Category Archives: Christianity

Michael Emerson, Thaddeus Williams, and Racial Disparities

Exploring the Cause(s) of racial disparities

I love it when my books start having a conversation with each other. Both Divided by Faith and Confronting Injustice without Compromising Truth ask the question: Why do we see so much racial inequality in America? Or, rather, how do we go about answering this question? Emerson (Divided by Faith) and Williams (Confronting Injustice) come at the questions with different goals and perspectives. The way they answer these questions — and the way those answers bounce off one another — have a lot to teach us about the need for having multiple mental categories by which to view complex problems, and the danger of having only a single category. 

Review of Divided by Faith

You may want to review two key ideas from Divided by Faith: The “racialized society“, and the “religio-cultural toolset.” The racialized society is “a society wherein race matters profoundly for differences in life experiences, life opportunities, and social relationships.” The racialized society describes the problem of race in America. Despite success in abolishing slavery and ending Jim Crow segregation Americans are still profoundly divided by race and that division leads to unequal outcomes. 

Christians, like others, see the racial division and inequality and attempt, using resources at hand, to solve the problem. Those “resources at hand” are what Emerson calls a “religio-cultural toolset,” or the way our religious and cultural categories help us interpret the world. Emerson argues that the evangelical toolset is comprised of three fundamental beliefs. 

First, we are fundamentally responsible for our own actions. We are accountable before God for our individual sins (individualism). Second, that sin works itself out in our relationships and leads to division and animosity (relationalism). Third, structural attempts to solve society’s problems are misplaced and should not be trusted because they ignore the root of the problem (antistructuralism). 

This toolset helps evangelicals see racism in terms of bigotry and individual acts of discrimination but prevents them from seeing broader structures or systems (in the justice system, education, housing, policing, etc.) which might account for inequality based on race.

Evangelicals try to solve for X in the equation:

Equally Created + Equal Opportunity + X = Unequal Outcome

Since structures are excluded from possible answers to X then evangelicals default to answers that go back to individualism (life choices, possibly arising from culture) and relationalism (isolated instances of discrimination or family breakdown). Emerson believes that a limited religio-cultural toolset prevents evangelicals from providing meaningful solutions to the division and inequality found in our racialized society

Social Justice A and Social Justice B

Now let’s turn to Thaddeus Williams in his new and well-praised book Confronting Injustice without Compromising Truth. In it, Williams distinguishes between “social justice A” and “social justice B” (both stand in contrast to a lack of concern with social justice.) Williams holds in tension the two ideas present in his title. He wants to confront injustice (racism, bigotry, oppression, systemic evil) while holding firmly to the truth. His emphasis is on this latter part and, in doing so, he spends much of his time critiquing social justice B. 

Both the A model and the B model of social justice care about justice and use a similar vocabulary. Distinguishing between A and B is what the book is about, so I won’t do a full delineation here. Instead, I’m going to focus on just one chapter to show how the two differ in trying to answer the same question presented by Emerson in Divided by Faith. Why do we see racial inequality? 

Unequal Outcomes and Systemic Injustice

Williams begins his chapter “The Disparity Question” by pointing out that Social Justice A and B have different definitions of systemic injustice. According to theory A “systemic injustice is any system that either requires or encourages those within the system to break the moral laws God revealed for his creatures’ flourishing.” Biblical examples include laws established by Darius and Pharoah and the Imperial Cult in the New Testament. While I think this definition is too narrow[1] it offers a good starting point and highlights the contrast with theory B. 

Social Justice B offers a different picture. Williams: “From a Social Justice B perspective, the way you spot systemic injustice is by looking for unequal outcomes. An unequal outcome becomes damning evidence that sexism, racism, or some other evil ‘ism’ is at the foundation of the system.” In other words, unequal outcomes are sufficient and definitive evidence to show that a system or institution is systemically unjust.

Why, then, do we see inequality? Williams quotes Ibram X. Kendi, an exemplar of Social Justice B in answering: “racial disparities must be the result of racial discrimination.” And again, “When I see racial disparities, I see racism.”[2] According to Social Justice B, inequality comes from discrimination which is baked into the system.

To illustrate how this plays out, let’s consider the New Jersey Turnpike where “black drivers received nearly twice as many speeding tickets as white drivers.” According to theory B, this disparity proves racial discrimination in policing. However, when a follow-up study was performed, a different story came to light. The study found that “in the southern segment of the turnpike, where the speed limit is 65 m.p.h., 2.7 percent of black drivers were speeders, compared with 1.4 percent of white drivers. Among drivers going faster than 90 m.p.h., the disparity was even greater.” In other words, black drivers were twice as likely to be speeding. But the story doesn’t stop there: “Demographic research has shown that the black population is younger than the white population, and younger drivers are more likely to speed.” In other words, the disparity, in this case, doesn’t appear to arise either from racial profiling, or from race, but from age.

Williams does not deny the existence of racial profiling or real discrimination (“Sinful discrimination indeed causes real disparities”) but says that we are too hasty to say that all disparities come from discrimination or systemic injustice. There may be other culprits.

It might be better, in my opinion, to view the presence of racial inequalities as an invitation to explore the ways either structures or discrimination or the effects of history, might contribute to those outcomes.  

 The Magic Wand of Equality

Williams invites us to perform a thought experiment. Imagine a world with zero discrimination. In that world, someone has a magic wand that he can wave to also eliminate all inequality. Everyone wakes up with one million dollars. It would not be long before unequal outcomes crept back in. Why? Different people make different choices with what to do with their money. Some would splurge and some would invest. Using this thought experiment Williams seeks to show that, while personal choice is not the only factor in different outcomes, it is a factor that is often ignored by those in the Social Justice B camp.[3][4]

Williams draws out two main concerns for the Social Justice B narrative that unequal outcomes must be the result of systemic discrimination. First, he argues, taking discrimination as a one-size-fits-all explanation is too simplistic. Such a simplistic explanation will cause us to see discrimination where it doesn’t exist and may prevent us from clearly identifying the real injustices around us. 

Second, if we fail to distinguish between inequalities that come from discrimination and those that arise out of personal choice, then we risk repeating failures of modern history. The magic wand of equality takes the form of oppressive government intervention which subverts the role of personal decision making. If personal choices lead to different outcomes and “different outcomes are a priori evidence of injustice, then freedom itself is unjust.” 

Sociologist George Yancey shares this concern in his critique of Kendi’s How to Fight Racism points out that “since Kendi argues that any differences between racial groups are due to racism, then to have the wrong idea about, say capitalism, is to not fully allow the mandates of antiracism if capitalism can be shown to contribute to differences between racial groups.” To be antiracist, we must also be anticapitalist. Since capitalism leads to different outcomes, supporters of capitalism are racist. 

Again, Williams doesn’t say that personal choice is all that matters, nor does he say that some cases of inequality can’t rightly be blamed on systemic injustice and discrimination. Instead, he’s concerned that if we believe it’s the only possible reason, then we will be blind to real injustice and offer dangerous “solutions” in the form of oppressive government intervention in the name of fighting injustice. 

The Danger of being Jobs Friends

I agree with much of Williams’ arguments in this chapter, but I have a few critiques. First, he tends to downplay the role of past discrimination as it concerns unequal outcomes. Let’s say that past systemic injustice led to unequal outcomes among people of different racial groups (as it most certainly did) and that while the current system is, at least on paper, totally free, it leads to the perpetuation of that inequality (up for debate)[5]. Such a system may not be unjust by Williams’ definition (it doesn’t require or encourage anyone to break God’s law) but it perpetuates the result of the past discrimination, one that was based on race. By what lens should a Christian view this moral dilemma? Williams does not explore that question.

My second concern does not go to Williams’ argument, but to the way aspects of his logic play out in real-world minds. If Emerson is right about the limited cultural toolset and the general difficulty evangelicals have in seeing structural issues or solutions, then an overemphasis on choice could lead to the following wrong conclusions: Poor outcomes come from poor choices. African Americans have worse outcomes. Therefore, African Americans make poor choices. Therefore (and this would never be stated out loud) there must be something inherently wrong within African Americans that leads to poor choices and poor outcomes. I’m not saying this last step necessarily follows from the premises, or is logical, but the step isn’t hard for many to take. It doesn’t take too long to get from “it’s all about personal choice” to real instances of feelings of supremacy and attitudes of bigotry. 

We might call this the problem of being Job’s friends. When Job suffered disaster after disaster his friends had only one lens by which to interpret these events. Job must have sinned. He must deserve what he had coming to him. They could not see any other explanation and that earned them God’s rebuke. 

The Danger of Having a Single Lens

Emerson and Williams have different concerns, but both point to the real dangers of viewing the world through a single lens. Emerson argues that white evangelicals fail to see real structural issues that contribute to a racialized society because of an overly individualistic religio-cultural toolset. Williams argues that Social Justice B advocates fail to recognize the complexity of inequality because they see discrimination as the only cause. Both failures of vision lead to either ineffective or dangerous solutions.

Complex problems require us to view the world through a multitude of perspectives. Inequality is a complex problem and we’re not well served by looking for single answers (personal choice, discrimination, historical impact). Neither extremes offer meaningful solutions because they fail to recognize the complex world in which we live.[6][7]

Both also, I believe, miss out on the nature and consequences of the gospel. Social Justice B, in transferring all guilt to the (other) tribe or the system, can fail to recognize the truth that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” By contrast, an overly individualistic reading of the gospel leads us to miss out on the calling to seek justice in the broader society. It could fail to recognize that God is not only concerned about saving souls but redeeming the entire cosmos. 


[1] I believe Williams’s definition of systemic injustice is too narrow because he focuses only on whether or not it actively encourages someone to break God’s law. I think a system could be unjust by establishing a system wherein one group is discriminated against through the morally neutral behaviors of the people in the society. Consider drug sentencing laws. The war on drugs set up sentencing guidelines that were far harsher for drugs common in African American communities than those in White communities which led to racial disparities within the criminal justice system. In such a system, it’s hard to see how a judge or a prosecutor would be actively disobeying God (at least in any obvious way) by following the guidelines imposed by the law. Yet, one could argue that the sentencing disparities, and their impact, led to injustice against African Americans. 

[2] Either Williams or Kendi or both seem to be missing a categorical distinction between discrimination and structural injustice. Per Emerson’s categories, discrimination falls under the category of “relationalism.” That is, discrimination is performed by one individual against another. In structured/systemic injustice, injustice can be maintained without active discrimination (see footnote 1). I’m guessing that Kendi believes that the systems are discriminatory, or as I saw later, that discrimination is baked into the system. In that case, then, it might be helpful to distinguish between the two types of discrimination at play: relational and structural. 

[3] Not only is the idea that personal choices affect outcomes intuitive it is also biblical. Williams cites several Proverbs to make his point.

[4] Williams’ “magic equality wand,” thought experiment show distinctions between individuals, but the question in this chapter is over racial disparities in groups. 

Consider this Twitter exchange: 

4/21/21 Anthony B. Bradley (@drantbradley) “White racism is not the cause of *everything* that’s wrong in poor black communities across America. Progressives ignore this fact, infantilize blackness, & won’t invite moral responsibility and conservatives know this but tend to weaponize it for their own self-righteousness.” 

4/22/21 Bradley Mason (@AlsoACarpenter) “But this confuses the issue. Everyone knows that bad behavior causes problems in EVERY community. The question that White Supremacy is brought in to help answer is, why is the DISPARITY between racial communities? Conservatives want to point to individual behaviors, but that doesn’t explain inter-group outcome disparity, only individual outcome disparity. Liberals at least recognize that individual and systemic racism is the broad explanation for vast society-wide racial disparity.”

Mason Bradly makes a good point and, to my knowledge, Anthony Bradley did not respond. However, what if there are personal behaviors that are more or less common in one group than another? (Williams earlier cites the Success Sequence). Could that be weighed as a possible explanation for disparities between groups? 

[5] This sentence represents a hypothetical not a statement of my personal belief. On the one hand, there’s strong historical evidence that greater freedom leads to greater equality. The most equal societies tend to be those with democratic systems. However, it is not hard to imagine how a capitalist society, given the existence of historical injustice, would perpetuate certain forms of inequality, especially without safeguards. Those groups with capital (power) could secure the best schools, places to live, and wealth-building institutions while those without such power would be shut out. A person with more power would have more choice and could use that choice to increase the wealth gap. If power is already distributed based on race then racial inequality could be perpetuated through the free and moral choices of the individual actors. Social Justice B solutions to this dilemma, however, seem dangerous to me (see Williams and Yancey) but it’s worth noting the existence of such a dilemma.

[6] Walter Wink’s quote (from a completely different context) also fits well here: “It is a virtue to disbelieve in something that does not exist. But it is dangerous and arrogant to disbelieve in something simply because it exists outside our current, limited categories.”

[7] This narrative-first thinking is perfectly illustrated by the left and right’s responses to the Derek Chauvin conviction and the tragic death of Ma’Khia Bryant as David French demonstrates in this piece.

Is God “conflicted within himself”?

Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers by Dane Ortlund has been one of the most celebrated Christian books of the year. In the midst of many positive reviews Jeremiah Johnson’s Grace to You review stands out as an exception.

Johnson sharply criticizes the book, going so far as to say that one portion “sounds blasphemous.” While I already had the book near the top of my reading list, Johnson’s negative review pushed it to the very top. What sort of book would evince such strong reactions, both positive and negative? 

While Johnson offers a multifaceted critique I want to focus on the “blasphemous” line, which comes from a quote from chapter 15 where Ortlund explores God’s judgment against Israel: “Something recoils within him in sending that affliction. . . . He is—if I can put it this way without questioning his divine perfections—conflicted within himself when he sends affliction into our lives. . . . But his deepest heart is their merciful restoration” 

For Johnson, we cannot describe God as “conflicted within himself” without doing violence to God’s divine perfections. To do so denies God’s simplicity and his impassibility (doctrines of Classical Theism) and passages like 2 Timothy 2:13 which says that God cannot deny himself. Despite Gentle and Lowly’s popularity, we must evaluate Johnson’s charge. Does Ortlund present a low, myopic, and nearly blasphemous view of God when he says that God is “conflicted within himself?”

Evaluating Ortlund’s Claim

To evaluate Ortlund’s claim, that God could be conflicted within himself over the judgment of Israel, and Johnson’s claim, that Ortlund approaches blasphemy, we need to step back and evaluate the context of this quote. 

Ortlund’s big idea in the book is that Christ’s heart for sinners and sufferers is best described by the phrase “gently and lowly” (Matthew 11:29). Ortlund: “[W]hen Jesus tells us what animates him most deeply, what is most true of him — when he exposes the innermost recesses of his being — what we find there is: gentle and lowly.”

Ortlund focus’s on the person of Christ but, as the book draws to a close, he moves on to show how Christ’s heart mirrors that of the Father and Spirit. In Chapter 15, he focuses on the heart of God displayed in the Old Testament. He states, “[W]hen we see Christ unveil his deepest heart as gentle and lowly, he is continuing on the natural trajectory of what God has already been revealing about himself throughout the Old Testament.”

He takes as his principal text for this chapter Lamentations 3:33 

“for he does not afflict from his heart

    or grieve the children of men.” (ESV)

Ortlund affirms that God, in his sovereignty, brings about affliction, but that he does not do so, “from his heart.” That distinction, between what God does to bring about retribution on Israel for her sins and his desire to restore Israel, is what leads Ortlund to say that “something recoils within [God] in sending affliction” and that God sends judgment only with “divine reluctance.” 

The Puritans and the “natural” and “strange” work of God

Ortlund isn’t pulling in new liberal ideas from a therapeutic culture, as Johnson claims. He’s attending closely to biblical language about God found in the prophets and is standing on the shoulders of Puritans such as Jonathan Edwards and Thomas Goodwin. Here’s what Goodwin has to say: “[T]hough God is just, yet his mercy may in some respect be said to be more natural to him than all his acts of [vindictive] justice itself that God does show… When he exercises acts of justice, it is for a higher end, it is not simply for the thing itself. There is always something in his heart against it… The act of mercy pleases him for itself. There is no reluctance in him.”

Similarly, Jonathan Edwards, another Puritan, commenting on Hosea 11:8, says that “He is a God that delights in mercy, and judgment is his strange work.” Ortlund makes much of this section of Hosea. In the context, God threatens judgment but relents: “My heart recoils within me; my compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute my burning anger; I will not again destroy Ephraim.”

Borrowing the language of Goodwin and Edwards Ortlund describes God’s mercy as his “natural” work and his judgment as his “strange” work (Edwards got his language from Isaiah 28:21). “Mercy is natural to him. Punishment is unnatural.” While both flow out of his perfect character, mercy gives God delight as an end in itself, the judgment only as a means to an end. 

What is God’s disposition?

Ortlund, for his part, anticipates the critique that he is violating God’s simplicity. He cautions: “We must tread carefully here. All of God’s attributes are nonnegotiable. For God to cease to be, say, just would un-God him just as much as if he were to cease to be good. Theologians speak of God’s simplicity, by which they mean that God is not the sum total of a number of attributes, like pieces making a whole pie; rather, God is every attribute perfectly.”

And yet, he goes on, following the language of Scripture, we see that “there are some things that pour out of God more naturally than others. God is unswervingly just. But what is his disposition? What is he on the edge of his seat eager to do?”

Ortlund here is touching on a tension, though not a contradiction, within the biblical text. Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann, in his commentary on Jeremiah, calls this God’s pathos. On the one hand, God declares that he will bring judgment against Israel because she broke her covenant. On the other hand, God longs to restore her. Brueggemann states, “This will [to a continuing relationship with Israel] is rooted in nothing other than God’s inexplicable yearning, which is articulated in Jeremiah as God’s pathos.” He goes on to state that “This deep tension forms the central interest, theological significance, and literary power of the book of Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah contains fearsome descriptions of God’s judgment and depicts that judgment as a necessary response of God’s justice. And yet, God only seems to bring about his wrath when he can hold it back no longer. Perhaps Ortlund might say that God “holding back” his judgment shows us the divine reluctance to exercise his “strange work.” 

I will rally three more passages to Ortlund’s defense. In Ezekiel 33:11 God says, “I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Turn! Turn from your evil ways!” In 2 Peter 3:9 Peter says that God “is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.” Finally, Paul says in 1 Timothy 2:4 that God “wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.” These three verses speak about what God wants, to his desires, to his heart. He does not want the wicked to perish. He wants them to turn, to come to repentance, and to come to a knowledge of him. 

Does Ortlund cross a line?

Does Ortlund cross a line when he says that God is “conflicted within himself?” If Ortlund had meant that somehow wrath was foreign to God’s character and that in his wrath he somehow ceased to be truly God-like, then yes, Ortlund would have crossed a line. But that’s not what Ortlund is saying. He affirms that out of the same God flows perfect justice and perfect mercy. God is being no less God when he exercises judgment than when he shows mercy. 

Instead, Ortlund draws on language inherent within the text and story of the Bible. Does this language exist in tension with classical expressions of God’s simplicity and impassibility? Yes. Does that mean we should abandon the language of Scripture? No. Does that mean that we should abandon the idea of God’s simplicity? Again, no. But, and here I will tread on dangerous ground, I am impatient with expressions of systematic theology that tell me I must say of the biblical text, “God didn’t really mean that” as in “God doesn’t really recoil within himself” (Hosea 11:8). To be biblical, we need to let the Bible speak for itself. If that means certain passages will be hard to smooth over with our systematic theology, then so be it. It is better to live in the tension than to do violence to the text.  

Ortlund has expressed a beautiful truth. We find love at the center of God’s heart. God longs to express that love by sending mercy to sinners and sufferers. Showing mercy is his natural work.

Should pastors reject the language of leadership?

I’ve spent most of my professional life studying and applying leadership principles. In Seminary, I took a class called “Organizational Leadership.” After Seminary I continued to read books and listen to podcasts (Rainer on Leadership) that addressed different aspects of ministry leadership. Meanwhile, in my “secular” job I moved quickly to the role of Tech Lead and, for several years now, have been functioning as a Project Manager. Project Managers who are certified through Project Management Institute, which I am, maintain their certification by reading books and watching videos on the topic of leadership.

I recognized early on that pastoral leadership and corporate leadership are quite different. I also learned (though it took me quite a bit longer) that I was better suited to the corporate leadership setting.

Pastoral training

Seminaries and other Christian institutions train pastors to be leaders. They school them in the language of leadership and leadership principles and practices. Prospective pastors read books like The Leadership Challenge and Good to GreatChurches expect pastors to be good preachers, care for their members, and lead their church to a brighter tomorrow. 

Scot McKnight and a Church Called Tov

While some people welcome and celebrate the modern American emphasis on leadership, Scot McKnight roundly rejects this shift. He (and co-author and daughter Laura Barringer) have written the book A Church Called Tov which describes the difference between churches with a toxic culture and churches with a “tov” (the Hebrew word for “goodness”) culture. Churches with toxic cultures shape toxic people. Churches with tov cultures shape Christlike people. 

McKnight’s final chapter distinguishes between churches that view the pastor as a “leader” (toxic culture) as opposed to churches that view the pastor as a shepherd (tov culture). 

Here’s how he states the problem: “Something radical has seeped into the church in the last fifty years. The American meritocracy has reshaped pastors and churches, and a new culture has taken root, based on achievement and accomplishment rather than holiness or Christlikeness.”

He directly ties the culture of achievement to the language of leadership: “Churches… now define pastor with business-culture terms, a pastor is a ‘leader,’ and a leader is defined by the meritocratic system of American culture.” Again, “When pastors are defined primarily as leaders–or entrepreneurs or visionaries–they’ve already ceased to be pastors in any biblical sense.”

He gives several signs of this unbiblical turn. Pastors are now expected to produce measurable results, like increased attendance and expanded giving. They are trained to look at the Bible as a leadership manual. They think about things like “branding” and “customer satisfaction.” 

McKnight is concerned that by calling pastors “leaders”, “we run the risk of their losing contact with the spiritual calling and [start] to shape the culture toward an institution or business run by a CEO.” By using the language of leadership, we lose the biblical vision of pastoral shepherding and flatten the picture of the church to that of an institution or business that produces a consumable product. 

The “spiritual calling” he refers to in the previous paragraph is what Eugene Peterson calls “spiritual direction,” or formation toward Christlikeness. McKnight states, “The role of pastor, then, is to mentor people into Christlikeness” and “become more like Jesus.”

In short, McKnight argues that we have allowed a secular vision of leadership based on meritocracy and measurable accomplishments to define the pastoral role. We inadvertently do this, in part, by referring to pastors as leaders. In contrast, we should allow the bible to define the pastoral role and that, in turn, to define the nature of pastoral leadership. We should let the term pastor define what sort of leader a pastor should be, not let the term leader, as shaped by American meritocratic values, define what a pastor should be.

Leadership Means and Ends

McKnight uses the term “leadership” primarily to refer to the values and goals of modern business. Businesses value success and achievement. They aim to gain market share, make money, and satisfy more customers. A church that adopts these values and ends values high “performing” individuals who can fill the pews and improve the church’s image to outsiders. With that understanding of leadership in mind, I agree with McKnight’s critique. 

At least in my formal education, however, leadership was not presented in this way. Instead, authors like Kouzes and Posner provide leadership principles unconcerned with values and ends. Consider Kouzes and Posner’s five leadership practices in The Leadership ChallengeModel the wayInspired a shared visionChallenge the Process, and Enable others to act, and Encourage the heart. All these practices have an analog in Scripture. 

  • Model the way: “Follow my example as I follow the example of Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1). 
  • Inspire a shared vision: Paul often presents an ideal picture of the future toward which his churches should strive (see Ephesians 4:14-16). 
  • Enable others to act: “So Christ himself gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the pastors and teachers, to equip his people for works of service, so that the body of Christ may be built up” (Ephesians 4:11-12). 
  • Challenge the process: Jesus challenged the Pharisees and their way of relating to God. 
  • Encourage the heart: “But your assistant, Joshua son of Nun, will enter it. Encourage him, because he will lead Israel to inherit it” (Deuteronomy 1:38).

None of these “leadership” practices imply, by themselves, corporate values of achievement and success. The organization, or the leader, will instead use (or misuse) these practices to achieve the goals that they define. They can be used to fill the pews (if your “shared vision” is a full church) or form a church family to Christlikeness (if your “shared vision” is a church growing to become spiritually mature.)

I think McKnight leaves room for this sort of nuance by adding that the church needs good leaders, but I think he may overemphasize the role that the language of leadership by itself shapes church culture. 

Perhaps McKnight’s greatest contribution is to show that churches and pastors should not uncritically adopt the values and goals of the corporate leadership culture. The two have different goals and objectives. That is not to say that churches are superior to businesses. Businesses often have goals that extend beyond profits. The “shared vision” where I work as a project manager is to “invent the future of flight and bring them home safely.” Both of these goals – innovation and safety – contribute to the broader common good. But, my pastoral role and project management role were still different. While I aimed to serve Christ in both fields in only one field did I am to make people more Christlike. While some leadership practices, like those listed above, are easily transferrable across fields, others are not. Pastors and churches practice wisdom when they let the Bible, not the business world, define both the ends and means of the pastoral role.   

Are Christians inherently conspiracy theory-minded?

In July of 2020, a church in my area opened its service with a video associated with QAnon. That video, which I watched along with the sermon, contained an amalgamation of conspiracy theories around the coronavirus, Black Lives Matter, and mail-in-voting. He followed his video with a political rant, with some Scripture sprinkled in.  

The spread of conspiracy theories, particularly around the election, race, and the coronavirus, among Christians online and within churches has caused me and others to ask some soul-searching questions. I will explore three in this post:  

First, are Christians inherently conspiracy theorists? Second, are Christians prone to conspiracy thinking? Third, what tools do Christians have to combat false conspiracy theories? 

Are Christians inherently conspiracy theorists?

I’ve struggled with exactly how to set the parameters to this question. How does it differ from my section question – are Christians prone to conspiracy thinking? What I’m trying to get at here is whether there is something inherent within Christianity that makes followers of Jesus conspiratorial. In my second question, I will focus specifically on our cultural moment.

Why would Christians be inherently conspiracy-minded? The argument goes as follows: Christians believe in God, miracles, and the unseen world. That is, they believe things without evidence. Conspiracy theories thrive with a lack of evidence, just thin threads weaved together into a compelling story that brings meaning to people’s lives. Therefore, Christians (and other religious adherents) must be inherently conspiracy-minded.

I have two responses to this argument. First, the Christian faith is not a “blind leap into the dark.” God does not ask people to follow him without evidence. That evidence includes philosophical arguments, historical arguments (evidence for the historical resurrection), evidence for the reliability of the bible, evidence from church history, the nature of the created world, and personal experience. Different people find different arguments persuasive, but there’s no doubt reason plays a role in Christian belief. 

Second, the argument relies on a bad (or insufficient) definition of a conspiracy theory. It assumes that a conspiracy theory is simply a story that is hard to believe. While that may be a part of a conspiracy theory, there’s more to the story. For this post, I will borrow Anna Merlan’s: “a belief that a small group of people are working in secret against the common good, to create harm, to effect some negative change in society, to seize power for themselves, or to hide some deadly or consequential secret” (Republic of Lies, 14).

While one can find examples of “small groups of people working against the common good” (Pharoah killing the Hebrew babies, officials conspiring against Daniel, Haman’s conspiracy against the Jews in Esther) these stories are not central to the theology of the Bible. Instead, they illustrate how to be faithful in the face of hostility.  

In that light then, I don’t see anything within the Christian faith that makes Christians inherently conspiracy theorists. That conclusion appears to match the empirical data surrounding conspiracy theories, which vary widely in content and span cultural, political, and religious boundaries. I was surprised while reading Merlan by the broad range of American conspiracies and how many of them were shared by people of different faith.

Are Christians prone to believe conspiracy theories?

I can think of several reasons why Christians might nevertheless be vulnerable to conspiracy theories. The reasons are cultural, theological, and hermeneutical (our approach to reading Scripture). 

First, let’s consider the cultural reasons. Merlan (quoted above) points out that conspiracy theories thrive in communities that feel disenfranchised or marginalized. They grow in communities that do not trust primary sources of knowledge or expertise. They spread most during periods of social upheaval. All of those describe well the state of the conservative Christian community right now. 

While it’s a stretch to say that conservative Christians are marginalized in America, they are steadily losing cultural power – and that at an accelerated pace. Christians feel pushed out of and vilified by pop culture, academia, and even the NCAA tournament. The shift from viewing Christians as the “moral majority” to the villains is part of a broader social upheaval. Amid this upheaval, Christians see many of American’s cultural institutions as enemies, unlikely to represent Christian belief in a positive light. “MSM” frequently gets maligned. Christians see fact-checkers as mere tools of the broader establishment. No one can be trusted to tell the truth. This cultural mood predisposes many Christians to latch onto conspiracy theories that attack their cultural enemies. 

Second, let’s consider a theological reason. Christians believe in an evil power, the devil, who influences the powers and authorities from “behind the curtain.” Most Christian conspiracy theories that I come across explicitly state that some human power has allied with (or been deceived by) Satan. [Edit: I’m not suggesting that Christians should abandon belief in Satan, not that such a belief necessarily makes us gullible when it comes to conspiracy theories. However, appeals to demonic forces are sometimes used rhetorically by those peddling conspiracy theories to gain traction in Christian communities.]

Third, some Christians read the books of Revelation and Daniel as codes that need to be deciphered through current events. Christians who read biblical apocalyptic literature in this way are always on the lookout for signs of the antichrist, the mark of the beast, or a one-world government that coincides with, or will bring about the great tribulation. I’m not referring here to mere premillennialism, but to the belief that Revelation was written to a future generation in a way that only that future generation would be able to understand. Those who read Revelation in this way almost always believe that they are a part of that future generation.

All of these factors predispose some Christians to believe certain kinds of conspiracy theories, especially those that are coded with spiritual language and malign their cultural enemies. 

What tools do Christians have to combat false conspiracy theories?

I would like to propose the following non-exhaustive list of ways that Christians can be more discerning when it comes to conspiracy theories. 

First, Christians should look to multiple, quality sources for their information. Not all sources have equal credibility. Look for unbiased sources, those that are not purely based on opinion or rhetoric, present the facts within context, and point to the source material. If you feel inflamed after watching a 5-second video clip, seek out the full speech to gather the context. Take the advice of Proverbs 17:18 “In a lawsuit the first to speak seems right until someone comes forward and cross-examines.” Cross-examine your favorite media outlet before reaching a conclusion. 

Second, Christians should approach conspiracy theories with a base level of skepticism. We need to do this to combat our own biases which predispose us to believe them. Our biases cause us to agree with the premise (“politicians are evil and untrustworthy”) that warm us to their conclusion (“they created the coronavirus to bring about massive social control”). The premise may be true but we need to force the conspiracy theory to present the evidence that leads to the conclusion. Then we need to cross-examine the evidence. 

Third, I would suggest that Christians re-examine the way they interpret apocalyptic literature. My basic premise is uncontroversial: The primary meaning of Scripture can be found in what the author intended it to mean. And, that author was writing to a specific audience who he thought could understand what he wrote. John wrote Revelation to churches in the first century. If we want to know what Revelation means, we should first ask what John meant to communicate to those churches. Here’s my more-controversial conclusion: If we need a current event – inaccessible to those readers – to be added to unlock or decode the text, we should be highly skeptical of our interpretation. 

I can think of another reason why we should be cautious about reading Revelation this way: Centuries of Christians have believed they could decode its meaning. So far, they’ve all been wrong. One of these days someone might get it right, but I believe that will more likely be a “blind squirrel finds a nut” scenario than unique intellect or prophetic revelation. Jesus himself says, “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matthew 24:36).

Finally, if conspiracy theories thrive in an environment of upheaval and fear then Christian communities can foster environments of security and hope. I’m not talking about winning a culture war, though fighting for religious freedom is one way to love all our neighbors. Instead, I’m suggesting that Christians draw on our rich tradition of finding hope and security in hostile and chaotic environments. Doing so will allow us to look up in worship to God and out in service to others and free us from inward gazing conspiratorial thinking. 

[Postscript, 3/28] Scripture, when properly applied, contains important resources to help free people from false conspiracy theories. God has given us wisdom for discerning the truth (see the Proverbs). He calls us to love that truth and to expose falsehoods that distort reality and slander our neighbors. And, he gives us meaning and hope.

Here’s another nugget from Merlan’s compendium of American conspiracy theories: “The UFO mystery… expresses our secret longings for a wisdom that might come down from the stars in a new, improved, easy-to-use packaging, to reveal the secrets of life and tell us, at long last, who we are.”

Christians do not need a UFO mystery, or any other conspiracy theory, to bring meaning to our lives. God has given us everything we need in Christ.

Should we use love to understand Scripture or Scripture to understand love?

This week I’m diverging from my typical book review/summary to review a cartoon I read a few weeks ago. In it, Jesus says to a group of modern Pharisees “The difference between me and you is you use Scripture to determine what love means and I use love to determine what Scripture means.” The implication of this cartoon is clear: We should interpret the Bible like Jesus did, through the lens of love.

The problem in interpreting Scripture through love

While this cartoon contains an element of truth, which I will get to later, I want to begin by pointing out a rather obvious danger: Who is to say what “love” means? “Love” is an especially ambiguous word with an incredibly broad range of meaning. That meaning is culturally bound. If 100 cultures use “love” to interpret Scripture, you will come up with 100 – probably wildly divergent – interpretations. In most of those cases, Scripture will end up being said to value whatever that culture already values (whatever the culture loves.) To put it more bluntly, a culture that equates love with sexual expression and freedom will interpret Scripture as permissive, even celebratory, towards sexual expression and freedom. In other words, to use one’s cultural conception of love to interpret Scripture will likely simply lead to an interpretation that already agrees with one’s preconceptions. 

The question remains, though, did Jesus read the Scriptures through this hermeneutic of love? Consider, for instance, Mark 2:23-28:

23 One Sabbath Jesus was going through the grainfields, and as his disciples walked along, they began to pick some heads of grain. 24 The Pharisees said to him, “Look, why are they doing what is unlawful on the Sabbath?”

25 He answered, “Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry and in need? 26 In the days of Abiathar the high priest, he entered the house of God and ate the consecrated bread, which is lawful only for priests to eat. And he also gave some to his companions.”

27 Then he said to them, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. 28 So the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath.”

Jesus counters the Pharisees’ interpretation of the Sabbath law with one that gets at the heart of the Sabbath. The Sabbath was given to man to give life. The Pharisees failed to love, so they arrived at a rigid understanding of the Sabbath. Jesus loved, so he saw the deeper meaning of the Sabbath. Or so the argument goes. But, more subtly, we see that Jesus didn’t interpret the Sabbath through an abstract concept of love. He interpreted the Sabbath law through Scripture, namely, the story of Abiathar the high priest feeding David and his companions (1 Samuel 21).

The necessity of love in interpreting Scripture

Jesus made it clear, however, that love and God’s commands should never be separated. Loving God and loving neighbor are the two greatest commands and “all the Law and Prophets hand on these to commandments” (Matthew 22:37-40). The apostle Paul agrees:

The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not covet,” and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” 10 Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law. (Romans 13:9-10)

Interpreting Scripture apart from love would be a dangerous thing indeed. “Knowledge puffs up,” says Paul, “while love builds up” (1 Corinthians 8:1). Again, in the famous love passage, “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing” (1 Corinthians 13:2). Without love, interpretation of Scripture, no matter how scholarly, is of little value.

We need something like the “hermeneutical cycle” I learned about in seminary. We use Scripture to correct and refine our cultural conception of love (this is not Pharisaical) and we read Scripture through the lens of love, recognizing that the two (when properly understood) will not contradict each other.

A brief note on this point: Should we expect any continuity between our human/cultural conceptions of love and God’s apart from Scripture? We should, for two reasons. First, God has given each of us a basic understanding (Romans 1:20) and the law (Romans 2:14-15). Since God’s law is fulfilled through love, we will all have a sense of God’s love and his law of love. However, we should not trust that conception to surely, since it can be warped by our fallen minds, our fallen cultures, and Satan’s deception. 

A third component to our cycle

To this “hermeneutical cycle” we must add a third component: Jesus. I know, that’s the Sunday School answer, but Scripture itself invites us to interpret Scripture and love through the Messiah. 

How do we know what love is? “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us” (1 John 3:16-20). Jesus’ life and sacrificial death cut through many of our cultural misconceptions of love. In Jesus, we see love personified. 

Likewise, Jesus instructs us to read Scripture in a “Christo-centric way.” Jesus says, “You study the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me, yet you refuse to come to me to have life” (John 5:39-40). Jesus’ words and life fulfill the Law and the Prophets (Matthew 5:17). In the passage from Mark quoted earlier, Jesus’ interpretation of the Sabbath, gave future generations new insight into its core meaning. His interpretation of the Sabbath was right for two reasons: First, because he used Scripture to interpret Scripture, but second, because He was Lord of the Sabbath. In a theological sense, he wrote the law, so he can give its authoritative interpretation. And, because all Scripture points to him, he fulfills the Sabbath (Colossians 2:16-17). 

But, the picture gets more complex: How do we know about Jesus in the first place? We know about him through our Christian communities, but also through Scripture in whom he is revealed. And, once again, we cannot help but bring our cultural conceptions of love to the table, the good and the bad.

At the end of the day, then, we have a hermeneutic cycle: Love, Jesus, and the Bible. Each helps us come to a clearer understanding of the others. But of these three, in a twist of Paul, the greatest of these is Jesus.

How can it be just that God would punish the innocent in place of the guilty?

How can it be just that God would punish the innocent in place of the guilty?

Many Christians stumble over the apparent injustice of the idea that God would punish the innocent Christ in place of guilty sinners. It appears to be an affront to God’s justice. After all, we would never accept as just a human judge who punished the victim of abuse in place of the victimizer.

There’s more than one way to answer this question, but in this post, I want to explore the one given by Joshua McNall in The Mosaic of Atonement. He refers to this problem as “penal nontransference,” that is, the problem of transferring penalty from a guilty to an innocent party. He heightens the tension by showing that not only does this go against human conceptions of justice, but the justice God reveals in passages likes Proverbs 17:15: “Acquitting the guilty and condemning the innocent—both are detestable to the Lord.”

Models of Atonement

To understand McNall’s answer we must understand the overall structure of his book. He shows that four atonement models can be made to harmonize without elevating one over the others. Each model of atonement forms a piece of a mosaic and together they give us a full picture of how Jesus’ death brings us salvation. Those four models are:

  1. Recapitulation – The feet and logical foundation of the atonement
  2. Penal substitution – The beating heart that gives life to the rest.
  3. Christus Victor – The head and purpose
  4. Moral Influence – The hands, one beckoning us to come to God, one restraining us from evil.

In this essay, we will show how McNall’s view of recapitulation solves a dilemma (penal nontransference) inherent in certain forms of the doctrine of penal substitution.

Defining terms

We must begin by defining some terms.

Recapitulation is the view the Jesus saves humanity by walking the same path as humanity but succeeding where humanity failed. The first Adam plunged humanity into sin and death through rebellion. The last Adam fully submitted himself to the Father and so God raised Him, and those who are “in” him through faith. I’ll expand on recapitulation later.

Penal substitution posits that Jesus saves humanity by experiencing God’s judgment for us. The wages of sin is death, but Jesus took our sin upon his body, and that sin was punished in his body on the cross.

As already noted, the problem of penal substitution is whether such an arrangement could be just. McNall wants us to see how recapitulation can give us the logical framework to answer that objection.

Recapitulation expanded

Recapitulation can be viewed from multiple angles. From the perspective of biblical history, we can see the parallels between Adam and Christ. Both were of a “virgin birth.” Both were tempted by the Devil, though only Jesus prevailed. Adam sinned by eating from a tree. Jesus redeemed by dying on a tree. Paul refers to Jesus as the last Adam (1 Corinthians 15:45).

Jesus also “recapitulates” Israel’s story. He was exiled to Egypt. He was tempted in the wilderness. He was baptized in the Jordan. He called to himself 12 disciples, which mirror the 12 tribes of Israel. Like Israel, he was called to be a light to the nations. Whereas Israel failed in its mission, Jesus succeeded by completely trusting the Father.

From a theological angle, we might say that Jesus’ recapitulation of humanity’s story allows him to be the new “head” of humanity. Theologians refer to this by the term “federalism” (nothing to do with its usage in American politics.)

McNall, following Irenaeus, believes that Adam, in being formed in the image of God, was formed in the image of Christ. He gets this from passages such as Colossians 1:15 and 2 Corinthians 4:4 which describe Christ as the “visible image of the invisible God” and “the exact likeness of God.” Since Christ is eternally existent, it would follow then, that Adam would be made in the image of Christ, who is the image of God. This means that Christ is the “pattern” of the whole human race. He simultaneously forms both the root and the branch of Adam, in the same sort of way that as the Messiah he forms both the root and branch of David (Revelation 22:16Isaiah 11).

Since he is the source of all humanity, all humanity can be said to subsist in him, not in a pantheistic sort of way, but in a mystical way, nonetheless. As the head, he can act on behalf of all humanity. The analogy of David and Goliath may help. David acted on behalf of all Israel by defeating Goliath, so all Israel won the battle that day. He acted in place of Israel as its representative and all Israel experienced the victory. Had he lost (by failing to trust God), all Israel would have experienced loss.

Likewise, under the representation/headship of Adam, all humanity experienced defeat. “When Adam sinned, sin entered the world. Adam’s sin brought death, so death spread to everyone, for everyone sinned” (Romans 5:12). Where, however, one man’s sin brought death to everyone, Jesus’s obedience brings life to everyone (Romans 5:15-191 Corinthians 15:22). Adam’s sin, at the root of humanity, poisoned the rest of the tree. But there is another root, deeper than Adam, who can bring healing to all.

In a memorable passage, McNall describes Jesus as “re-heading” humanity. When Adam sinned, humanity lost its appointed head. It was “decapitated.” Christ came as the new and rightful head, to act on behalf of humanity and bring it back to life.

Is McNall alone?   

McNall bolsters his views by showing how past theologians have drawn on the recapitulative tradition:

John Calvin: “[O]ur Lord came forth as true man and took the person and name of Adam… in order to take Adam’s place in obeying the Father.” Christ, therefore, “abolished sin” not merely by penal substitution but “by the whole course of his obedience.”

John Owen: “There is no contemplation of the glory of Christ that ought more to affect the hearts of them that do believe with delight and joy than this, of the recapitulation of all things in him.”

T.F. Torrence: “He came, then not only as the creator of our race, but as the head of our race, for in him the whole race consists (Col 1:15-20). It was thus that Christ, true God took upon himself our flesh and he became true man, and as such made atonement.”

Is McNall’s view universalistic? 

If you have followed the argument carefully you might observe that it could lead to universalism, the idea that all are eventually saved. If Christ, as the root and head of all humanity, acts on behalf of all humanity, then his righteous act should apply to all and thus all should be saved.

Against such a view, McNall reminds us of the language of faith in Scripture. While there is a sense in which Christ can carry with him all of humanity, only those who believe receive the benefits of his act. He can therefore re-head humanity, reconciling all things to himself, but only the church is truly described as his body. All are made in the image of God, but only believers are being formed into the image of his Son. We must move, by faith, from the (non)headship of Adam to the (true)headship of Christ to receive the benefits of his atoning work.

Returning to the problem of penal nontransference

From a Western individualistic perspective, we are primed to see three distinct “individuals” at work in the courtroom scene that is penal substitution. You have an angry judge (God) who punishes the innocent party (Jesus) in place of the guilty party (me). The Biblical record challenges our individualistic presuppositions in two ways. First, in a Trinitarian sense, while the Father and the Son are two persons, they are, with the Spirit, one substance. In this way, God himself can be seen as taking the penalty for humanity’s rebellion.

Second, from the perspective of recapitulation, not only are the Father and the Son bound up together but so are Christ and the whole human race. “All humanity is bound up with the moral actions of a single human (whether Adam or Christ) and this singular person, therefore, acts as a federal head, on behalf of others.” Indeed, because Christ is the root and head of humanity, “Christ’s life and our lives share a mysterious but real connection.” (See Col 1:15-20).

How does this solve the problem of penal nontransference? Since all humanity is bound up with the Messiah (Acts 17:28Colossians 1:16, 17) God’s judgment displayed on the cross was a judgment against all humanity. His judgment was substitutionary because only Jesus experienced the full wrath of God in his flesh, but humanity’s sin was the true object of God’s judgment. McNall says it like this: “The cross involves the judgment of the sin of the entire human race in the body of one person who really does (somehow) contain us all.” Again, “Christ may bear the judgment of our sin because he does, in some sense, bear us.”

Imagine a runner in a marathon. That runner, before completing a race, sees another runner collapsed on the road. The runner picks up his fallen companion and hoists him up on his back and finishes the race. Both runners can be said to have finished the race, though the work (and suffering) of one substituted for the work of the other. When Adam sin, humanity collapsed on the road. But Jesus, in his recapitulation, carries us with him to the cross and the resurrection.

The idea that we are bound up with Christ gives new light to verses like 2 Corinthians 5:14: “Since we believe that Christ died for all, we also believe that we have all died to our old life”, Galatians 2:20 “My old self has been crucified with Christ” and 1 John 2:2 “He himself is the sacrifice that atones for our sins—and not only our sins but the sins of all the world.”

Back to McNall’s original thesis

Recapitulation, then, forms the foundation of the atonement. That does not make it the most important aspect of atonement. All work together to form the body. But, it does provide a certain logic on which the others rely: “By reliving, retelling, and reconstructing the human story as the true Adam and true Israel, Jesus may be understood to bear the penalty for sin, secure the victory over evil, and set forth a loving example for us to follow.”

Book Review: I Am Restored by Lecrae

A caterpillar and a butterfly sit down for drinks. The caterpillar says to the butterfly, “You’ve changed.” The butterfly responds, “We’re supposed to.”

Lecrae refers to this cartoon in I Am Restored

For humans, these transformations don’t tend to happen in the safety of a cocoon, but in the crucible of crisis. Lecrae’s I Am Restored marks the second book that recounts crisis and transformation that I have read this year, the first being Another Gospel by Alisa Childers. One might add Esau McCaulley’s struggles with biblical interpretation to the list.

Childer’s crisis of faith had a single point of struggle: A pastor who called into question her fundamental beliefs about the work of Jesus and the reliability of Scripture. Lecrae’s struggles were more multifaceted and personal. He wrestled with the demons of past trauma – childhood sexual and physical abuse – that continued to haunt him into his adulthood. He also struggled with a sense of alienation from his fans and theological tribe, a rift that widened when he began to directly address issues of race and justice.

Other issues added to the chaos: substance abuse, marital division, clinical depression, a breakdown of accountability structures that led to highly curated “authenticity” and a general loss of faith. Lecrae’s restoration out of this turmoil didn’t happen overnight. Nevertheless, it proved to be the crucible that led to his (yet incomplete) transformation. Here are a few noteworthy shifts: 

From self-reliance to acceptance of help through licensed therapy: Lecrae found great value in therapy, not only when he faced depression, but as a way of maintaining good psychological health.

From curated authenticity to confession and openness with those who loved him most. He had previously shared sensitive areas of his life to help his fans but hid the darkest corners from his closest friends. Part of his transformation came from confessing his sins and experiencing the forgiveness extended to him. He doesn’t enter this new form of honesty in a performative way to help others heal, but to help him heal from his own trauma.

From rote spiritual disciplines to rhythms of rest and meditation. Lecrae’s relationship with the spiritual disciplines is idiosyncratic. At his worst moments, prayer and Scripture reading had gone out the window. In one false start to pull himself up by his spiritual bootstraps, he reignited those disciplines, but to no avail. Part of the problem was that he was going to Scripture primarily for head knowledge, not to see himself in God’s redemptive story. His new disciplines (rhythms) include meditation and daily, weekly (Sabbath), and annual times of rest. 

From a narrow to a broad view of the Church. Early in Lecrae’s spiritual journey, he fell in love with a distinct American Reformed theology and the community that surrounded it. He has since expanded spiritual and theological horizons to learn from brothers and sisters around the world. He discovered that Christianity was not just a white man’s religion, but one that found expression in many different cultures.

From self-righteousness to complete dependence on God. Ironically, you would think that his love for Reformed theology would have kindled in him a sense of dependence on God. Instead, his caterpillar self simply longed merely to be “right.” He prided himself on knowing all the theological facts. He looked down on others who did not. This pride lay at the heart of many of his issues. He needed to come face-to-face, once again, with the God who showed his grace, not only at a moment of salvation but throughout the whole of his life.

Here Lecrae makes a critical distinction for his readers. He wants us to know that God, and communion with him through Jesus, is the only final answer to our chaos and trauma. At the same time, he embraces the provisions that God offers to mediate his healing to us. Note this important paragraph: 

We must use every muscle of faith and every human tool in its proper context, as God intended. I’m tempted to say, at this point in my journey, that counseling is the answer. Counseling is not the answer, it is the provision for my health. Others might think that eating right and exercise are the answer. They are not the answer, but the provision. These tangible means are benefits, but they are not preeminent. We need every tangible muscle but we also need the intangible muscles of spiritual fellowship with God.

I have never experienced the sort of trauma that Lecrae has, but I found this book at points convicting and healing. It was convicting because he uncovered my own self-righteousness. It was healing because it reminded me of God’s love and redemption. Lecrae covers a broad range of topics, but at its core is the gospel truth that God’s restoration is available to absolutely anyone.

The Political Protest of the Church

In my previous post, I reviewed Esau McCaulley’s approach to finding the meaning of the Scriptures through the lens of the “black ecclesial tradition.” Here we see the fruit that this approach bears when considering the political witness of the church

In chapter 3 McCaulley asks the question “What does the New Testament have to say about the political witness of the church in response to the oppressive tendencies of the state?” (50) 

McCaulley asks this question primarily concerning political protest, in particular, the long tradition of African American protest in the Civil Rights movement and today. However, this topic has relevance, to any situations where “those in authority stand in the way of us living as free Christians.” (52)

McCaulley surveys several passages in the New Testament to answer the question. We’ll look at his interpretation of three of those passages: Luke 13:31-33, Galatians 1:3-4, and Matthew 5:3-12.

Jesus and Herod: Luke 13:31-33

“At that time some Pharisees came to Jesus and said to him, “Leave this place and go somewhere else. Herod wants to kill you.

He replied, “Go tell that fox, ‘I will keep on driving out demons and healing people today and tomorrow, and on the third day I will reach my goal.’ In any case, I must press on today and tomorrow and the next day—for surely no prophet can die outside Jerusalem!”

Luke 13:31-33

Why was Herod trying to kill Jesus? Why did Herod see Jesus as a threat? While Herod did not fear God he understood that the populace saw Jesus’ healing ministry “as a sign of the in-breaking reign of God.” (55) He would have known that “the possibility that the advent of God’s reign through Jesus might upset his own,” (55) if not through divine power then through popular uprising.[1] 

Jesus responds by calling Herod a fox. Jesus meant this as a critique of the cunning and deceit he used to gain power. Herod used his power only to make himself appear great, not use it for the good of the people. By calling Herod a “fox” Jesus offers a “description of his political activity as it relates to the inevitable suffering of the people.” (55)

After that, Jesus refers to his prophetic identity. Jesus stands in continuity with the prophets of the Old Testament who combined a religious critique with a political one. McCaulley uses Isaiah as a case study to show that prophets “offer a criticism of Israel both for its failure to follow the one true God and for its oppression of the poor.” (57) For examples see Isaiah 5:81:4, and 1:17. Isaiah saw that failures of righteousness and justice are linked. “Israel’s oppression of the poor in his day betrayed a practical apostasy” (58) and the prophets called out both the apostasy and oppression of Israel’s rulers.

Jesus and the prophets gave a political critique to those who practiced injustice and oppression.  

Paul and the Rulers: Galatians 1:3-4

“Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins to rescue us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father.”

Galatians 1:3-4

McCaulley identifies the “present evil age” as the world held under the domain of spiritual powers. These “powers and authorities” (Ephesians 6:12) influence earthly rulers and their political, economic, and social policies. In Rome, this would have included “the demonic evil of slavery… and economic exploitation of the populace… both of which existed because of the policies of Roman leadership as dictated by spiritual forces.” (60)

How, then, does Jesus rescue us from this present evil age? We could interpret this passage by saying that Paul is only referring to “spiritual enslavement.” Or, we could interpret Paul as calling the church to establish God’s kingdom on earth in the present. 

In contrast to these interpretations, McCaulley says that “Jesus saves us from our sins, and he also calls us into a kingdom that treats people better than the way Rome treats its citizens.” (61). Jesus rescues us from this present evil age by freeing us to live as free people while we await his return. As free people, we may with Paul call oppressive systems in this world evil. 

McCaulley concludes from Paul: “Protest is not unbiblical; it is a manifestation of our analysis of the human condition in light of God’s word and vision for the future.” (62) The church stands as a continual truth-telling beacon, embodying the freedom of Jesus, in a dark world.

Sermon on the Mount: Matthew 5:3-12

Finally, we turn to the beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-12). McCaulley reflects on three: Blessed are those who mourn, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice[2], and blessed are the peacemakers. 

Blessed are those who mourn: Those who mourn do so because they sense that something is wrong in the world. A theology of mourning keeps us from apathy. It causes us to hunger for something better. Mourning forms the basis of our protest.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice: We need to do more than mourn what is wrong with the world, but be armed with a better way. Jesus’ vision of the kingdom of God gives us that better world to long for. “Hungering and thirsting for justice is nothing less than the continued longing for God to come and set things right.” (66)

Blessed are the peacemakers: Mourning over the fallenness of our world, combined with a hunger to see things set right, leads us to pursue peace, to be peacemakers. The bible gives us a robust picture of peacemaking. Peacemaking involves more than just the cessation of external conflict, it involves truth-telling, righting wrongs, and restoring relationships. Biblical peacemaking can be both corporate (ethnic/national) and personal. 

What do these reflections have to do with the church’s political witness? While the beatitudes certainly have a personal application, in the messianic context, a context in which Jesus is announcing himself as the new King with a new rule (see note 1 below), they are “unavoidably political.” In this context, “Jesus asks us to see the brokenness in society and to articulate an alternative vision for how we might live.” (66) and then to pursue that vision through peacemaking. 


McCaulley does not offer us a systematic theology of political engagement. Instead, through this collection of texts (and more that I have left out[3]), he demonstrates a pattern in Scripture that shows us that the systems of this world are corrupt (a present evil age) and that Christians have a role in identifying that corruption. He uses phrases like “bearing witness” and “articulate an alternative vision” to show that the New Testament doesn’t speak of using coercive power, but of showing a better way forward.

I believe his key points are as follows: 

  1. Christ-followers have a role to play in calling out the evil of the present age embodied in unjust rulers and systems (political protest). In so doing, we follow the examples of Jesus and the prophets
  2. Christ frees us from this present evil age and that freedom enables us to live in such a way that bears witness to his coming kingdom (church as an alternate political reality)
  3. God calls us to seek the goodness of his kingdom, not as though we can construct it, but because we hunger and thirst for the justice that comes along with Christ’s reign. We do this through telling the truth, righting wrongs, and restoring relationships (advocacy, justice, reconciliation)  

As we wait for the final coming of God’s kingdom at Christ’s return “He calls us to enter into this work of actualizing the transformation that he has already begun in the death and resurrection of his Son… [which] includes bearing witness to a different and better way of ordering our societies in a world whose default instinct is oppression.” (70)

[1] We face an interesting dilemma right off that bat. Was Jesus a political figure and did he threaten Herod’s reign? He answers this in John 18:36 saying, “my kingdom is not of this world.” Jesus is the King who, in an ultimate and eschatological sense, undermines all of the world’s kings and kingdoms. Yet, his kingship and kingdom do not derive from worldly power. Herod was right to be threatened by Jesus, but he fundamentally misunderstood the nature of that threat, just as Jesus’ disciples were right that he came to bring in a new kingdom, but fundamentally misunderstood the nature of that kingdom. 

[2] Throughout this chapter, McCaulley translates Matthew 5:6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice” instead of the more common righteousness. I wish he had explained this move since it may distract his readers. I believe McCaulley’s translation to be valid for two reasons. First, the Greek word carries with it a sense of justice. Second, as noted in the discussion of Isaiah, Scripture closely links righteousness (personal) with justice (public, social). 

[3] Of particular note here is the book of Revelation, which stands as a critique of Roman power and oppression.

An Exercise in Hope


Esau McCaulley grew up immersed in the gospel, church, and Scripture. But when he attended a university that was 98% white to double major in history and religion he found himself thrust into the middle of a “hundred years’ war between white evangelicals and white mainline protestants.” (9) 

McCaulley was frustrated to discover that this debate had been carried out without the witness of his tradition in the Black church. He began to look to Black theologians in the academy but discovered that they did not share the high regard for Scripture that he had experienced in his home and church. His book, Reading While Black: African American Biblical Interpretation as an Exercise in Hope captures his attempt to identify a “fourth thing” between white progressives, white evangelicals, and African American progressives: the Black ecclesial tradition. 

A fourth thing 

Before we describe “African American Biblical interpretation” and how it is “an exercise in hope,” let’s define McCaulley’s conversation partners.

White progressives: McCaulley’s white progressive professors saw biblical fundamentalism as a problem. They saw the Bible as a tool in the hands of white slave-holders to oppress Black people. They had a point. But, McCaulley saw that the solution these progressive pastors offered robbed their Black students of a crucial spiritual resource. 

How did the white progressive story do this?

“In this story, Black students do not really enter in as actors. We are acted upon, our suffering functioning as examples of the evils of white supremacy… But there is a second testimony possibly more important than the first. That is the testimony of Black Christians who saw in the same Bible the basis of their dignity and hope in a culture that often denied them of both. In my professor’s attempt to take the Bible away from the fundamentalists, he also robbed the Black Christians of the rock on which they stood.” (8, emphasis added)

McCaulley felt alienated from the white progressives that surrounded him. They undermined Scripture by saying that it justified slavery. McCaulley, drawing on his upbringing, saw in Scripture a source of dignity and hope for Black Christians, a tool of liberation, not oppression.

White evangelicals: McCaulley next turned to evangelicalism, again in a primarily white environment. Evangelicalism, as defined by Historian David Bebbington, has four pillars: Conversionism (the need for new birth), Activism, Biblicism (high regard for Scripture), and Crucicentrism (stress on Jesus’ sacrificial death). On these beliefs, Black Christians and white evangelicals have much in common.  

However, while McCaulley felt comfortable with evangelical theology, he felt alienated from evangelicalism as a movement. He observed that along with the four pillars of evangelicalism listed above, white evangelicals held unspoken fifth and sixth pillars. “These are a general agreement on a certain reading of American history that downplayed injustice and a gentleman’s agreement to remain largely silent on current issues of racism and systemic injustice.” (11) 

McCaulley appreciated evangelicalism’s high view of Scripture but took issue with the way that the Bible functioned. It “had been reduced to the arena on which we fought an endless war about the finer points of Paul’s doctrine of salvation” but had next to nothing to say about the suffering and struggles of his community.  

Black progressives: Discontent with white progressives and white evangelicals, both of which mostly ignored Black voices, McCaulley turned to Black Christian voices within the academy. Here, however, he learned that there was a disconnect between what happened in the Academy and what happened in the Church. Because only white progressives had invested in Black pastors, the African American academy had become theologically progressive. Meanwhile, the African American Church felt stuck in the middle. COGIC pastors he talked to agreed with the theological analysis of evangelicals and the social practice of progressives but lacked an academic source for both.  

The Black Ecclesial tradition:

McCaulley calls this fourth way the Black ecclesial tradition. This “ecclesial” tradition is embodied within the Black church. It carries with it both a high view of Scripture and a deep concern for justice and liberation.

A socially located reading of the Bible

We must pause for a moment and address a possible question in the reader’s mind: Why should we seek a uniquely African American interpretation of Scripture? Doesn’t Scripture have but a single interpretation, regardless of one’s culture? McCaulley frames the question like this: “The social location of enslaved persons caused them to read the Bible differently. This unabashedly located reading marked African American interpretation since. Did this social location mean Blacks rejected biblical texts that did not match their understanding of God? Did Blacks create a canon within in a canon?”

His answer to the latter question is, in part, “yes”, but in this, they were not alone. Slave-holders had the letters of Paul as their canon within a canon, specifically, the passages which they believed justified slavery. Slaves, on the other hand, emphasized the exodus, the suffering of Christ, and the liberating character of God. Both read the Bible from a social location and, in this instance, the slave reading of Scripture proved correct. 

While Scripture has a single, objective meaning located in the authors’ (human and divine) intent, no one comes to the text from a purely objective perspective. We all bring with us our cultures and experiences. I saw a book in our church library called A Shepherd’s Look at Psalm 23. The title acknowledges that we can expect the author’s shepherding experience to yield insights not readily available to someone who has lived his entire life in an urban jungle. Likewise, we should expect that the African American experience will provide a certain perspective on Scripture not easily available to a member of the majority culture. 

McCaulley does not say that African American interpretation trumps other interpretations, but that we should enter into dialogue with it. Biblical interpretation is an exercise in dialogue. The interpreter brings her questions to Scripture and, at the same time, Scripture asks questions of the interpreter. Entering into a diverse community broadens the dialogue between people of different backgrounds and social locations. Sometimes these social locations leave us with blind spots and reading in dialogue helps us overcome our otherwise anemic interpretations. 

A Hermeneutic of trust

If McCaulley’s evangelical flank challenges the notion of a uniquely African American interpretation then he faces another challenge from the progressive flank: distrust of Scripture. Progressives, and what he calls “Black nihilists,” question whether Scripture can yield any fruit at all in the question for justice. Why would African Americans adopt the very religion and sacred Text used to oppress them? 

In the face of this challenge, McCaulley argues that we should “adopt a hermeneutic of trust in which we are patient with the text in the belief that when interpreted properly it will yield a blessing and not a curse.” (21) He does not call us to a naivete that buries hard questions glosses over difficult passages, but to enter into a careful, canonical, and theological reading of Scripture.

An exercise in hope 

Reading Scripture in this way produces hope. “The point of the very process of engaging these Scriptures and expecting an answer is an exercise in hope.” (166) I heard McCaulley say in an interview that, while the title went through several iterations, he always included the word hope. Hope saturates Reading While Black. McCaulley finds hope in God who brings physical and spiritual liberation. He finds hope in Jesus, who entered into our suffering and forgives our sins. He finds hope in the resurrection and the coming kingdom of God. 

McCaulley has much to teach us in the American church, no matter our social location. How do we read Scripture in a diverse community? What can white Christians learn specifically from the Black ecclesial tradition? How do we approach the Bible from the position of trust? How do we face the brokenness of our world with hope?

Perspectives on Critical Race Theory (CRT)

Near the end of 2020 the council of Southern Baptist seminary presidents issued a statement condemning Critical Race Theory (CRT) and Intersectionality stating:

“In light of current conversations in the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC), we stand together on historic Southern Baptist condemnations of racism in any form and we also declare that affirmation of Critical Race Theory, Intersectionality, and any version of Critical Theory is incompatible with the Baptist Faith & Message.”

That statement seems to contradict the 2019 SBC resolution on CRT. That resolution defined CRT as “a set of analytical tools that explain how race has and continues to function in society.” This set of tools must be subordinate to Scripture. However, Southern Baptists may carefully glean information gained from these tools.

The seminary President’s statement prompted prominent Southern Baptist churches to break from the convention. The question of CRT continues to be a significant point of debate within the SBC.  

The controversy in the SBC is only a microcosm of CRT in the broader culture. Within Christian circles “Critical Theory” and accusations of “cultural Marxism” have become reasons for immediate dismissals of any calls to address racism at the structural level. On the other side, if one criticizes CRT, he will be accused of not caring about racism, or worse, of being a racist. 

To add to this confusion, it’s hard to find a shared definition of Critical Race Theory. Evangelical defenders of CRT define it as a set of analytical tools. Opponents refer to it as a worldview that stands in stark contrast to the Biblical worldview.

I’m not nearly enough of an expert on the subject matter to offer my own opinions, but I want to point you to a few Christian thinkers I’ve encountered over the past several months: 

Jemar Tisby, The Witness

Jemar Tisby author of The Color of Compromise and founder of The Witness wrote a stinging critique of the seminary presidents in this article, which I will now summarize:

According to Tisby, “Critical Race Theory” has become nothing more than an epithet used to shut down anyone who wants to talk about racial justice:

“Do you want to talk about systemic racism? That’s Critical Race Theory.

Do you support the Black Lives Matter movement? That’s Critical Race Theory. 

Do you think white men may have a blind spot about race because of their social location? That’s Critical Race Theory. 

Do you think that people who identify as both Black and female face racism and sexism’s compounding effects? That’s Critical Race Theory and Intersectionality.”

No substantive definition of “Critical Race Theory” is given. Instead, it is only a way of putting racial justice advocates in the “box” of “the wrong kind of Christian.” By condemning CRT “the seminary presidents take aim at virtually anyone who advocates for racial justice beyond hugs, handshakes, and symbolic statements”

Worse, the statement fails to address the more significant issue in the SBC, namely Christian Nationalism, which Tisby sees as “the greatest threat to Christianity in the United States.”

David Fitch, on The Holy Post Podcast

The Holy Post podcast, hosted by Phil Vischer and Skye Jethani regularly discusses contemporary social issues, especially through Skye’s interviews. In a recent episode, Skye interviewed theologian David Fitch on the topic of Critical Theory.

Fitch described Critical Theory as a way of breaking down the layers of our cultural frameworks and deconstructing our assumptions, especially about power. He agrees that Critical Theory should not serve as the basis for building a theory of justice but says that we can use Critical Theory as an effective diagnostic tool to identify the functions of power in our world. We abused Critical Theory when we mistake the diagnostic tool for the cure.  

How can Critical Theory be used as a tool? It offers the discourse (language) by which we can talk and think about power. For instance, Fitch talked about “whiteness” (see Tisby’s article above for a short description) as a linguistic framework that sets the standard of what it means to be successful. By identifying this structure we can then deconstruct it. For the Christian, this deconstruction would be done in the light of the gospel.

Alisa Childers, Another Gospel

Another Gospel? (review) chronicles Alisa Childers’ deconstruction and reconstruction of her Christian faith. She tells the story of how she attended a class led by a progressive pastor who challenged core aspects of her faith. She then recounts how progressive Christianity differs from historic Christianity and shows how progressive Christianity comes up empty.

In one portion of the book, she specifically addresses Critical Theory (not Critical Race Theory specifically). She is among those who label Critical Theory not as a set of tools but as a worldview that stands in opposition to Christianity.

According to Childers, Critical Theory seeks to understand and critique power along the lines of gender, race, class, sexual orientation, etc. It sees the world as a struggle between the oppressed and oppressors and then seeks to re-align the power structures in favor of the marginalized. Additionally, she points out that Critical Theory is marked by its approach to gaining knowledge and discerning truth. It prioritizes lived experiences over rationality and argues that one’s privilege produces blind spots that can only be overcome by listening to the marginalized. 

She goes on to explain how Critical Theory functions as a worldview in answering life’s fundamental questions. Who are we? According to Biblical Christianity, our identity is defined by our image-bearer status. In CT, our identity is found in how we related to other groups based on our gender, race, class, etc. What is the problem with the world? According to Biblical Christianity, the problem is sin. According to CT, the problem is oppression. How can it be fixed? According to Biblical Christianity, our sin problem is fixed through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. According to CT, oppression is solved through activism, awareness, and the overthrow of oppressive systems of power.

Childers goes on to say that Christians should strive for good works as a response of faith but that Critical Theory establishes a works-based false gospel, apart from faith in Jesus.

David French 

David French’s article “On the Use and Abuse of Critical Race Theory in American Christianity” deserves a more significant treatment than I can give in this context, but here are a few of the highlights:

  • Good: CRT analysis “helps me not only understand the reason for persistent disparities, but it should also build empathy and motivate action. What can we do to ameliorate the effects of this disparate power and privilege?”
  • Not-so-good: Race is not always the best lens by which to view the world, so CRT doesn’t always view the world accurately. It’s a hammer that sees everything as a nail. 
  • Bad: The explicit rejection of liberalism found certain forms of CRT create “subjective authoritarianism” which “rejected any form of objective test for harassing speech.”
  • Worst: Extreme forms of CRT place race at the center of human identity, contrary to Galatians 3:27-28.

French pulls it all together like this (emphasis mine):

“In that construct, critical race theory can be an analytical tool (one of many) that can help us understand persistent inequality and injustice in the United States. To the extent, however, that it presents itself as a totalizing ideology—one that explains American history in full and prescribes an illiberal antidote to American injustice—it falters and ultimately fails. Moreover, as a totalizing ideology, it contradicts core scriptural truths.”

Interestingly, French concludes by pointing the reading to the 2019 SBC resolution linked at the beginning of this article. 


There’s much I could say about each of these perspectives but I’ll conclude with four observations.

First, I agree with Tisby that “Critical Race Theory” (and I’ll add “Cultural Marxism”) are frequently mere labels given to anyone who supports structural or systemic reform, even if those reforms have very little to do with CRT, either the analytical tools or the “totalizing ideology.” 

Using labels in this way endemic in our culture and is not unique to CRT. 

Second, I wish the SBC presidents had defined CRT, showing which aspects of it are opposed to historic Christianity. I appreciate that Childers did just that, but because of the polarized world in which we live, I fear that many people read “social justice” as “critical race theory” and therefore would conclude that entertaining social justice talk means that one has fallen into a form of progressive Christianity that represents a false gospel.

Third, I agree with Fitch and French that CRT may have value as a diagnostic tool. Power and oppression are not the primary filters by which we should view the world, but they are real factors of the world in which we live and they have real consequences. Power and oppression are tied to systems and structures. To the extent CRT can help us identify those systems, it has value. 

Fourth, I agree with Childers, French, and Fitch that Critical Race Theory fails as a totalizing ideology. At best its insights can supplement our understanding of the world. At its most extreme, it presents a false gospel.