Full Contact Christianity

As an experienced minister, I sometimes find myself in conversations with younger ministers seeking a good way to handle a tricky pastoral situation. In one such conversation, the presenting problem was a man mired in serious sexual sin. I gave the (to me) standard answer: remind him that he was cleansed from his old sins, challenge him to live in his new identity, and support him intensively as he does it. My young interlocutor objected that surely you can’t tell an adulterer that he used to be an adulterer while he’s still cheating on his wife.

Well…yes you can. Paul did exactly that in 1 Corinthians 6:9-11. Consider the context of the whole book: Paul has to address their lawsuits with one another (extortion, theft, covetousness), their drunkenness (and at the Lord’s Table, even), their eating from the tables of pagan temples (idolatry), dallying with prostitutes (fornication, idolatry), and so on. The addressees of this letter manifestly still have the sorts of problems he’s talking about in 6:11, and what does he say? “…and such were some of you. But you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God.” (And by the way, it’s not just Paul. Peter tells us that a believer who lacks virtue “has forgotten that he was cleansed from his old sins.”)

What my young friend was missing is no trivial oversight; it’s one of the major points of New Testament teaching. Paul does not say “You stopped all that nonsense, and therefore you’re now clean,” as though your cleanliness rests on your works. Paul says “Jesus cleansed you from all that nonsense, so stop it already.” If you belong to Jesus, your cleanliness is an accomplished fact, a gift you were given. Your practical holiness is based on that gift, not the other way around.

That’s not just a major theological difference (although it is that); it’s a major practical difference too. When I have a man on my hands who belongs to Christ and is committing adultery, do I tell him, “You used to be an adulterer”? Would I really say that? YES, YES, YES!!!! I would, Paul did, and if you would not, repent! He has been washed from his adultery, and made as clean as it gets, and therefore we help him enact his new identity as a son of God rather than his old identity as an adulterous son of Adam.

How is this defeated man, his life rotted out by adultery, supposed to confidently embark on a new course? Where would he get the chutzpah to believe that he could have a different life than the nightmare that he’s made for himself? From God’s assurance that he is no longer an adulterer, that’s where! The adultery was nailed to the cross with Jesus, died on the cross with Jesus, was buried in the grave with Jesus, and when God raised Him from the dead three days later, Jesus did not come out of the grave dragging the adultery with Him. It’s gone! Finished. Dead forever, and good riddance. So we tell him that, and we walk with him and make it stick.

“Preaching” doesn’t mean what you think it means. “Pastor” doesn’t mean what you think it means. “Church” doesn’t mean what you think it means. “Household” doesn’t mean what you think it means. “Ministry” doesn’t mean what you think it means.

All of those are perfectly fine biblical words, but in modern English, these words and many others have been radically redefined away from their biblical meaning (“preaching,” “pastor,” and “church”), narrowed to a much smaller scope than their biblical meaning (“ministry”), or very nearly emptied of all meaning whatever (“household”).

So when you say “I’m just reading the verse, man!” — No, you’re not. At least not usually. Usually, you’re imposing the accrued ecclesiastical traditions of the West and the definitions of our post-industrial consumer society on a text that knows absolutely nothing of those things. You’re reading a first-century text with a twenty-first century dictionary, and then pretending that what you hear is what the original authors meant. That’s just not so.

What to do about it? Bridge the contextual gap. Learn what the biblical authors meant by the words that they use, and remember that when you read them. Ask yourself, “What did obedience actually look like for them?” and be sure to flesh that answer out before you start thinking about how to apply the same truths to yourself today.

The church through most of history did not view typology as a feature of literary texts. We viewed typology as a feature of history that is reflected in literary texts.

That sounds like a small difference; it’s not.

There is really only one true Story, and God is telling it. It starts with “In the beginning, God created…,” continues through the Deluge, Abraham offering Isaac, Moses breaking the tablets, Jesus touching the lepers, your breakfast this morning, and right on until the New Jerusalem comes down from heaven…and then it gets really good! This genius Story has themes and motifs running through it that happen in your life just as surely as they happen to anybody else.

Understood that way, the Bible is not just a storehouse of theological knowledge or moral directions for living your life; it’s the Rosetta Stone. The Bible doesn’t contain the whole Story (what book could?), but it contains key parts, told by God Himself. Understood rightly, the parts of the Story contained in the Bible don’t just teach us what sort of story we’re in; they teach us how to read all the rest. Particularly the part we happen to be living in.

New Testament authors read the Hebrew Bible this way. In fact, later Old Testament writers read earlier ones this way as well. If we can be taught by them, then we can read, not just the OT, but our own lives.

As we aim to emulate Jesus, we should pay attention to how He made decisions. Above all, believe His own testimony. He told us how He makes decisions: He watches and listens to the Father (John 5:19, 8:28). God is good at surprises, so there’s no substitute for just listening to His voice. That said, there are also some patterns worth noticing in the gospels:

“A bruised reed He will not break.” Jesus doesn’t pile onto somebody who knows they’re broken. Based on what we know about Zacchaeus’ life, Jesus could have blistered his ears. But he was already ashamed, and Jesus just invited Himself to his house. The woman taken in adultery deserved to die, but Jesus only spoke to her sin after He’d driven her accusers away.

“Woe to you!” Every time Jesus really goes off on somebody, it’s someone who’s proud of their sin, or proud of their righteousness, or both. He embarrasses Simon the Pharisee at his own dinner party.

”Unless you repent you will all likewise perish” Jesus does at times talk about the sins of public figures/authorities even when they’re not around, but the overwhelming pattern is that He speaks to the sins of the people who are in front of Him. You don’t see Him sounding off about other people’s sins in order to pander to a base.

”Mint and anise and cumin.” When Jesus has you in the sights, there’s not much that’s off limits. Jesus makes fun of their long faces and their long prayers and their clothes and their big phylacteries. He impugns their motives and insults their giving habits. He shows up the absurdity of the way they do “right” by the ceremonial requirements while evicting widows, and He’s not afraid to be memorable doing it.

We tend to be afraid to offend people, lest we turn them off to the gospel. There are two reasons we shouldn’t be like that. First, Jesus and His early followers manifestly were not that way. It’s counterintuitive to your average evanjellyfish pastor, but strong stands for the truth actually work. Second, when we’re seeking the common good in society, we’re going to need to tell some hard truths. People will be offended, and it’s ok that they are – first they’re supposed to be offended, then they’re supposed to repent. That’s what the strong statement is for.

When they tell you, “You’re not Jesus!” you come right back with, “Right–but I’m supposed to be!” Don’t let them talk you into being less like Jesus than you are already.