John Mark Hicks

May 21 is a dark day in my own history. Joshua died eleven years ago today at the age of sixteen. I offer this chapter out of my ebook on The Shack and spiritual recovery in his honor.

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Oh, the depths of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!
How unsearchable his judgments,
and his paths beyond tracing out!
“Who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has been his counselor?”

Romans 11:33-34 (NIV)

The death of a child, especially the brutal murder of Missy, raises passionate questions about God’s handling of the world. Mack’s “last comment” to the Triune God around the breakfast table on that first morning was something we have all thought at one time or another: “I just can’t imagine any final outcome that would justify all this” (p. 127).

There it is. Bold. In God’s face. It is almost a gauntlet challenging God’s own imagination, his own resources—his wisdom and knowledge. Can anything justify the evil in the world?

This is the problem of theodicy, that is, the justification of God. Why does God create a world in which evil is so pervasive, strong and unruly? Why does he give evil this space to grow? When a cyclone kills over 130,000 in Myanmar, an earthquake snuffs out the lives of 80,000 more in China, and a tsunami kills about 20,000 in Japan, I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

When my son dies of a genetic disorder after watching him slowly degenerate over ten years and I learn of the tragic death of a friend’s son (John Robert Dobbs)—both dying on the same date, May 21—I have little interest in defending or justifying God.

How could I possibly defend any of that? I suppose I could remove God from responsibility by disconnecting him from his creation but I would then still have a God who decided to be a Deist. That’s no comfort—it renders God malevolent or at least disinterested. I prefer to say God is involved and he decides to permit (even cause–though I would have no way of knowing which is the case in any particular circumstance) suffering. I would prefer to hold God responsible for the world he created and how the world proceeds.

I’m tired of defending him. Does God really need my feeble, finite, and fallible arguments in his defense? Perhaps some need to hear a defense—maybe it would help, but I also know it is woefully inadequate at many levels. God does not need my defense as much as God needs to encounter people in their crises. My arguments will not make the difference; only God’s presence will.

I know the theodices and I have attempted them myself. Young utilizes a few of them. A free-will theodicy that roots evil in the free choices of human beings does not help me with earthquakes, genetics and cyclones. It certainly does not explain why God does not answer the prayers of his people with compassionate protection from such. A soul-making theodicy that says God permits evil to develop our characters does not explain the quantity and quality of suffering in the world. Suffering sometimes breaks souls rather than making them. There are other theodicies and combinations, but I find them all pastorally inadequate and rationally unsatisfying.

My rationalizations have all shipwrecked on the rocks of experience in a hurting and painful world. The way I most often approach God in the midst of suffering is now protest, a form of lament.

Does God have a good reason for the pervasive and seemingly gratuitous nature of suffering in the world? I hope he does—I even believe he does, but I don’t know what the reasons are nor do I know anyone who does. My hope is not the conclusion of a well-reasoned, solid inductive/deductive argument but is rather the desperate cry of the sufferer who trusts that the Creator has good intentions and purposes for his creation. I believe there is a Grand Purpose that overcomes the Great Sadness.

Lament is not exactly a theodicy, but it is my response to suffering. It contains my complaint that God is not doing more (Psalm 74:11), my questions about “how long?” (Psalm 13:1), my demand to have my “Why?” questions answered (Psalm 44:24), and my disillusionment with God’s handling of the world (Job 21, 23-24). It is what I feel; it is my only “rational” response to suffering.

I realize that I am a lowly creature whose limitations should relativize my protest (as when God came to Job). But, as with Job and the Psalmists, I continue to lament—I continue because I have divine permission to do so! Of all “people,” I must be honest with God, right? I recognize that my feeble laments cannot grasp the transcendent glory of the one who created the world and I realize that were God to speak he would say to me something of what he told Job. But until he speaks….until he comforts…until he transforms the world, I will continue to speak, lament and protest.

But that response is itself insufficient. I protest, but I must also act.

As one who believes the story of Jesus, I trust that God intends to redeem, heal and renew this world. As a disciple of Jesus, I am committed to imitate his compassion for the hurting, participate in the healing, and sacrifice for redemption. I am, however, at this point an impatient disciple.

Does this mean that there are no comforting “words” for the sufferer? No, I think the story itself is a comfort; we have a story to tell but we must tell it without rationalizing or minimizing creation’s pain. We have a story to tell about God, Israel and Jesus. God loves us despite the seeming evidence to the contrary. God listens to our protests despite our anger and disillusionment. God empathizes with our suffering through the incarnation despite our sense that no one has suffered like we have. God reigns over his world despite the seeming chaos. God will defeat suffering and renew his creation despite its current tragic condition. The story carries hope in its bosom and it is with hope that we grieve.

Mack could not “imagine any final outcome that would justify” all the evil in the world. This is something that Mack says before he sits on the judgment seat before Sophia, but it is a function of the judgment seat to decide what would justify evil and would not. If humans can’t imagine it, then it can’t be possible, right? And that is the crux of the problem—human imagination has become the norm rather than trusting God’s wisdom and knowledge that is beyond searching out, plotting or understanding.

Human imagination or trust in divine wisdom? Which shall we choose? The former, as a criterion, excludes the latter. The latter is patient with the former’s limitations.

But trust is the fundamental problem. At the root of distrust is the suspicion, as Papa tells Mack, “that you don’t think that I am good” (p. 126). We humans tend to trust our own imagination (or rationality) more than we trust God’s goodness. We doubt that “everything—the means, the ends, and all the processes of individual lives—is all covered by [God’s] goodness” (p. 126).

In one of the most powerful scenes in The Shack Papa acknowledges that he could “have prevented what happened to Missy.” He “could have chosen to actively interfere in her circumstance,” but he decided not to do it (p. 222). Only love enabled Mack to trust God with that decision.

We can’t imagine what could possibly justify evil? But, at one level, that is the wrong question. God’s purpose is not to justify it, but to redeem it (p. 127).

My favorite scene in Mel Gibson’s The Passion of Christ is when Jesus, carrying the cross, falls to his knees under its weight. His mother runs to him and their eyes lock. With blood streaming down his cheeks and holding the symbol of Roman power and violence, Jesus says, “Behold, mother, I make all things new.”

This is the promise of God—a new creation, new heavens and a new earth in a new Jerusalem. There the old order will pass away and the voice of God will declare: “I am making everything new” (Revelation 21:5a).

A day is coming when there will be “no more curse” (Revelation 22:3). There will be no more darkness–the glory of God will fill the earth with light. There will be no more violence–the nations will receive healing and walk by its light. There will be no more death, mourning or tears–the Tree of Life and the Water of Life will nourish the people of God forever.

That renewal, however, is not simply future but is already present. Hope saves us even now. As the Father pours out his love into our hearts by his Spirit, includes us in the Triune fellowship at his breakfast table, and walks with us in our suffering, we can experience the joy of relationship, the peace of love and the hope of renewal.

Mack discovered it when he learned to trust. We will too.

As Jesus teaches in the temple courts, his opponents confront him with a series of questions. Jesus had enraged the temple authorities when he cleansed the Court of the Gentiles from merchandizers. They questioned his authority, his allegiances, and his theology. These hostile questions intended to subvert his popularity and/or endanger his life.

Now, however, a scribe—like one of those who questioned him in Mark 11:27—approaches him with some respect. While Matthew (22:35) portrays this incident as the result of a Pharisaic conspiracy to test Jesus once again, Mark is more ambiguous. Mark’s scribe was impressed with how well Jesus handled the succession of questions and consequently wonders how Jesus might answer the question that rabbis discussed among themselves: “Of all the commandments, which is the first of all?” Which commandment, he asks, ranks as “numero uno”! Which commandment is the most important?

Given that the rabbis counted 613 imperatives within the Torah, it is not surprising that there would be some discussion about which was the most important or which had priority. Allen Black (College Press NIV Commentary on Mark, 216) reminds us that many, including Jesus’ contemporary in Alexandria Philo (Who is the Heir of Divine Things, 168; Special Laws, 2.63), considered the ten commandments a summary of the Torah divided between responsibilities toward God (“piety”) and responsibilities toward people (“justice”). This two-fold categorization fits the answer Jesus himself gave: love God and love your neighbor.

Jesus identifies two commands—out of a host present in the Torah—as the first and second. “Love God” is the “first of all,” that is, it has priority, but the “second” is “love your neighbor.” The first quotes the great Shema (Hebrew for “hear”) of Deuteronomy 6:4-5 which was repeated twice daily by devout Jews in the Greco-Roman period (Allen cites Letter to Aristeas, 160; Jubilees 6:14). The second quotes Leviticus 19:18.

It seems rather amazing that Jesus could lift two isolated commands out of the Torah and identify them as first and second. The identification of the Shema as first is more understandable as its narrative function in Deuteronomy is the fountainhead of Israel’s response to God’s deliverance and land-grant recounted in Deuteronomy 1-5. Since God has graced Israel, Israel returns that grace with loving gratitude.

But the identification of Leviticus 19:18 appears more arbitrary. It seems to appear as one command in a list of others within the Holiness Code (Leviticus 18-20). Some suggest that Leviticus 19:18 functions as a summary statement in the Holiness Code, but this is not apparent. Nevertheless, Jesus recognizes its theological importance.

What enables Jesus to so clearly and succinctly identify these two texts—among many others that could have been chosen—as the first and second commandments? It is apparent that Jesus does not read Scripture as a flat text where every command is as equally important as every other command. Rather, he reads the text in a hierarchical fashion. That is, he recognizes levels of priority and importance. I suggest he reads in a narratival way such that the story (plot) of God moves us to recognize “love you neighbor” as the second greatest command. Some commands are more fundamental than others.

The scribe recognizes Jesus’ point. He repeats what Jesus quoted—and thus the narrative underscores the unparalleled significance of theses two imperatives—and also interprets the significance of prioritizing these two commands. In effect, Jesus has prioritized these two commands, according to the scribe, over “burnt offerings and sacrifices.” In other words, Jesus has prioritized loving God and neighbor over the temple, its sacrifices and their atoning significance. This does not mean that sacrifices are unimportant but rather that they are less important that what some might have thought. The two greatest commands are love God and love neighbor–and we must be careful that we don’t respond with “but….” [fill in the blank with an “important” command].

There is a tradition with the history of Israel which prioritized the sacrifices so that if one comes to the temple and offers their sacrifices, then God is pleased with them (despite their lives). This is the safety of the temple to which Jesus alluded when he cleansed the Temple as Jesus quoted from Jeremiah’s Temple sermon (Jeremiah 7). Some believed that despite their adulteries and social injustice (how they treated the poor, widows and orphans) their sacrifices were accepted because the temple represented God’s gracious presence. The second command, love your neighbor, does not sanction such an interpretation of the temple.

What makes one more fundamental than another? How are these two imperatives (“love God” and “love your neighbor”) more important than sacrifices? Perhaps we might see in “love God and love your neighbor” an act of sacrifice itself. It is the gift of ourselves to God (our whole body, soul and strength) and, in turn, to others. We are the sacrifices. This is more important than any ritual which expresses that devotion.

It reminds us that God loves mercy more than sacrifice (Hosea 6:6) or Micah’s declaration of what the Lord requires more than a thousand rams, that is, “to act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8). We are the sacrifices which God requires (cf. Psalm 40:6-8).

The context in which Mark places this exchange underscores the importance of “love your neighbor” (quoted twice). It appears between the exploitation the money-changers practiced in the temple courts (Mark 11:15-16) for which Jesus judges the temple complex and Jesus’ accusation that the wealthy temple authorities (“scribes”) exploit widows (Mark 12:38-40). Leviticus 19:18—love your neighbor—falls between the prohibition against defrauding (robbing) your neighbor (19:13) and honest business practices (19:35). Economic justice functions prominently in the last part of the Holiness Code.

Given the temple context, controversy and practices in Mark 11-12 as well as Jesus seemingly gratuitious comment about widows, “love your neighbor” has added significance. It is, it seems, a further judgment against the temple authorities. The scribe did not ask Jesus for the second commandment. He only inquired about what was “first of all.” Jesus volunteered the second and his reference to the social injustice of the scribes later in this chapter is a narrative clue for Mark’s readers as to why.

This may explain Jesus’ rather curious (backhanded?) compliment to the scribe: “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” Jesus notes that the scribe is “thoughful” (nounechos, only here in the NT)–he has got the right mind (nous) about it, but does he practice what he knows (loving God with soul and strength?)? Jesus did not invite the scribe to follow him and he did not say he was a kingdom participant. He still seems at a distance though near. Perhaps the scribe’s involvement in the temple complex was why, though near, he was not yet a Jesus-follower.

Whatever we make of Jesus’ “compliment,” the scribe correctly affirmed kingdom priorities. The kingdom ethic is to love God and love our neighbor. It is that simple though it is far from simple; easy to grasp perhaps, but difficult to live. The kingdom is rooted, grounded and expressed in love—God’s love for us, our love for God and our love for each other.

It is rather sobering, however, to consider whether, possibly like the scribe, we are “not far from the kingdom of God.” Is it possible that we might affirm but not practice the two greatest commands? Is it possible that we might know better but we don’t do better? Is it possible that we know about God but we don’t know God as people who love our neighbors?

Is it possible, I wonder, whether we know the commandments but we are so emeshed in the structures of oppression and injustice (much like the scribes in the temple; like those living under Jim Crow or in southern slave states) that we don’t even recognize that we fail to love our neighbors even as we insist that we do?

May God have mercy on us all.

In 1866 Lipscomb called for a representative meeting of Baptists and Disciples–whom he characterized as “brethren”–to seek a way to foster unity between the two groups. He identified their common theology (including a common baptism), but also stressed their common heritage which, he claimed, stretched back through “eighteen centuries of persecution and martyrdom.”

For Lipscomb, Baptists and Disciples have:

• common baptism
• common rule of faith
• common discipline
• common Lord
• common Heaven
• common ancestry

David Lipscomb, “To Baptists and Disciples in Tennessee,” Gospel Advocate 8 (10 April 1866), 236-37.

Brethern:–The Savior of the world prayed that his people and his followers might be one–that the world might believe that the Father had sent him. The oneness of the people of God, the unity of the followers of the Lord in one body, is made a condition of the world’s believing in the Son of God, that that world might be saved from the woe of hell. Division and strife to-day separate the professed followers of the Savior, and the world in infidelity and sin is going down to the dark abodes of eternal death. In the face of this lawful consequence of division among the people of God, what are doing to bring about union and peace? Are we making the efforts and the sacrifices to avoid division and bring about union that the importance of the subject demands? We divide and separate, and in careless indifference perpetuate that division in despite of the prayer of Jesus, and as a consequence our fellowmen, our neighbors, friends, brethren, husbands, wives and children go down to death, how can we be held guiltless in the sight of God? The union of Christians in one body, in one faith, in one walk, directed by the same rule, is the demand of God and the crying want of the world. Shall Christians make no effort to comply with the demand of God, and supply this want of the world? We appeal to Baptist and Disciples as having many points of agreement to make a move in this direction. They teach a common rule of admission into the Kingdom of Jesus Christ, to-wit: A penitent believer’s burial in Baptism, in order to a resurrection to a new and holy walk with God, they have a common rule of faith and practice for individual Christians, and book of discipline for the Church of God, the simple, pure, unadulterated word of God. They have one common Lord and Master, one common Heaven of rest and happiness after life’s trials and sorrows are over. They have, too, one common ancestry, one common history for eighteen centuries of persecution and martyrdom. Can they not live and labor together in love and harmony as children of a common Father? Our brethren, too, in Virginia, have set us the example of trying to effect a union. Shall we not follow their good example? Shall we not have a meeting either of men chosen from our respective bodies at large, or commend to the churches to meet together, with fasting and prayer to God, and seek to unite as one people. How greatly would our capacity for good be increased? What joy to the good of earth and the angels of Heaven, would such an effort cause?

Will our brethren, Baptists and Disciples, at once speak out and say whether we shall make the effort, and if so, how, and how soon.

In this story Jesus confronts the limiting rationality of Sadducees who think it impossible that God should raise the dead. Their theology is limited by their own experience and rational argumentation.

I dare say that is not too uncommon in our present moment as well. For example, it is not unusual to hear, “If God is like _________, then I could never believe in a God like that.” The assumptions present in that statement are numerous but at bottom it rests on the presumption that God must fit (or conform to) my rationality to be worthy of my affirmation. It turns the table on the God-human relationship as we judge an infinite God by a finite, fallible human rationality.

Jesus catches the Sadducees doing this very thing.

The Sadducees, authorities in the Jewish ruling council (the Sanhedrin), appear as the fourth group to attempt to trip up Jesus while he taught in the temple. The chief priests and elders questioned Jesus about his authority to cleanse the temple, the Pharisees and Herodians questioned him about the Caesar tax, and now the Sadducees question him about the resurrection. But this last question does not seem to be the same sort of question as the first two since those endangered his life. Actually, this last question was one of many inter-Jewish disputes between the Pharisees and the Sadducees.

So, what is the function of this question? At one level, it may simply be an attempt to stump Jesus and thereby undermine the hold he had on the populace as a teacher. The Sadducees, by using their “trump” question–the question that would immediately defeat the opponent (like “what about the person who dies on the way to baptism?”), possibly hoped to dishonor Jesus and demystify his status as a great teacher.

At another level, something more significant may be at stake in this question. Some suggest that it is about power, land ownership and ruling authority. Levirate marriage laws (Deuteronomy 25:5-6 ; cf. Genesis 38:8) secured the inheritance of land within a clan or family through regulations that mandated that a brother marry his sibling’s childless widow. The land could not be inherited by a widow (read: woman) and thus she needed a legitimate child to inherit the land. If this is the point, then their question is about who will inherit the land in the resurrection as much as it is whose wife will she be.

Others, I think more correctly, suggest that the issue concerns the nature of the new age, the reality of a resurrected world and life in it. The Sadducees assume that resurrected life is wholly identical with the present reality. For them resurrection, as they understood it from (presumably) the Pharisees, is that there is little to no difference between resurrection and resuscitation. And this is the point that Jesus addresses directly.

Jesus claims that they err because they “know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God.” This is an important characterization. It signals exactly how Jesus will respond to the query.

First, they do not know the power of God. They have limited God by their own conception of rational possibilities. Resurrection, for them, can only mean that life will continue as it is now. But Jesus undermines this assumption. While there is continuity between the present and resurrected life (our personal identities, for example), there is also discontinuity. The new age (the resurrected life) will be different. Procreation will not be part of the coming age so there is no need for marriage as it presently exists regulated by Torah legislation. We will be “like angels”–not that we will be angels ourselves; that is, our communal relations will be similar to how the angelic community lives in harmony with each other. The difference between angels and humanity, however, is that we will inherit the land (the cosmos).

Second, they do not know the Scriptures. Jesus quotes Exodus 3:6 which recalls a key moment in Israel’s history, the day when Moses encountered Yahweh at the burning bush. Many interpreters focus on the present tense (“I am the Gd of Abraham”) as the key to how Jesus uses the text in response to the Sadducees. In other words, God is still the God of Abraham, that is, Abraham is still living. This form of Jewish “grammatical exegesis,” however, does not seem to fully fit the bill since this does not really say anything about resurrection but, at the most, only their present ongoing existence (which is not resurrected life itself).

Instead, following Janzen’s suggestion [JNST 23 (1985) 43-58], Jesus is not utilizing a grammatical exegesis but is rather employing a narratival hermeneutic. When Jesus uses the ancestral formula, “the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,” we remember the ancestral narratives of these patriarchs. We remember Abraham whose wife was barren but yet gave life. We remember the barrenness of Rebekah and Rachel. The wombs of Israel’s ancestors were dead but God gave them life. Thus, the formula remembers a God who brings life out of death. This is the God of Israel, the one who brings life from death. Yahweh is a resurrecting God, one who delivers Israel from death. God does not leave Israel in death but gives life.

The Sadducees are faulted on two counts. They put God in the box of their own rationality and they don’t even know their own story.

Humans, whether we are talking about theodicy, omniscience or other issues in philosophical theology, tend to put boundaries on their gods. They like them to conform to their expectations and to the limits of their own rationality. We will only believe in a God who suits us or we will only believe something about God that fits within our parameters. This is the mistake of the Sadducees. They do not know the “power” of God or, we might add, the frailty and fallibility of their own rationality.

At the same time, we don’t just believe in any god. Rather, we confess the God of Scripture. We embrace a narrative logic. This God is faithful; Yahweh does not lie. This God is powerful; Yahweh can save. We read Scripture, not simply to do tidbits of grammatical exegesis, but to hear the narrative story–to embrace the narrative logic–of the self-revealing God. We know the Scriptures so that we might know our God and experience the life God gives. With Jesus, we confess that our God delivers from death.

Such a confession does not fit our experience. People die all around us and they do not come back to life. Just like the succession of seven brothers, they all die. But the narrative logic of Scripture–the narrative of a redeeming, life-giving God–overwhelms our experience and we confess that God will raise the dead and give life.

This confession, however, is not simply about resuscitation. Rather, we confess that God will inaugurate a new age. God will create a new heaven and a new earth in which the redeemed people of God will live in their resurrected bodies suited for the new age. While our rationality (and even our science) may find that hard to believe, Christians confess both the power of God and the narrative logic of Scripture.

I think the question is an important one. To whomever it belongs, it is owed.  One must decide their allegiance based on who the owner is. “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God’s the things that are God’s” (Mark 12:17).

The question whether Israel should pay the Caesar tax has been much abused. Many, if not most, have understood Jesus’ answer in a way that is subversive to his fundamental point. To say, ultimately, that there are two realms or two kingdoms, the nation-state and the kingdom of God (an ancient version of state and church), is to say there are two owners. But–and this is the key point–Yahweh owns it all. Consequently, only Yahweh’s kingdom–only the kingdom of God–has any ultimate claim on our lives as disciples of Jesus.

The context of Mark’s narrative is extremely important in this text. Otherwise, as is often done, we might lift Jesus aphorism out its setting and give it an independent status. When we decontextualize his statement then we are free to import a different meaning by recontextualizing in our own setting even without knowing that we are doing so. In this way Jesus’ statement is understood as a piece of American brilliance that separates church and state.

This text is set within a string of controversies that contrast the authority of the Jewish leaders with the authority of the kingdom of God. Jesus raised the question whether John the Baptist’s authority was divine or human (Mark 11:) and Jesus underscored that the temple authorities are stewards of God’s vineyard (Mark 12:1-11). God is the owner; no human authority is. Jesus, thus, undermines any claims to authority that the Sanhedrin or leaders might assume. God reigns; human authority does not. It is in this context that the question arises: to whom does it belong? The assumed answer, on the part of Jesus, is that it belongs to God who reigns over the world.

The leaders responded to this agenda by seeking to arrest and execute Jesus. But his popularity was too high and his presence too public. Consequently, they had to find a way to either undermine his popularity or enrage the Romans who would execute him, and they thought they had the perfect question to do it. “Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar or not? Should we pay them, or should we not?” It is important to note that Pharisees and Herodians posed the question. It was a group effort, and the Herodians themselves were royalists who compromised with Rome in order to remain in power.

Either way Jesus answered would get him into trouble. If he said, “Yes,” pay the tax, then his popularity would wane as the tax was a hated aspect of popular culture. If he said, “No,” don’t pay the tax, then the Romans would have cause to move against him for treason and fomenting rebellion.

At our distance it is difficult to imagine how politically and religiously explosive this question was.   The tax under question is a specific one called kenson (which is a Greek transliteration of the Latin census). When Judea came under direct Roman administration in 6 C.E., this tax spawned a rebellion by Judas the Galilean who, according to Josephus, called collaborators “cowards for consenting to pay tribute to the Romanists and tolerating mortal masters, after having God for the Lord” (Wars, II.viii.1). Finally, when imperial taxes were raised in 64 C.E. the land revolted in 66 C.E. and this rebellion resulted in the destruction of Jerusalem and its temple (cf. Wars, II.xiv.1).

Would Jesus dare to say, “pay the tax” and alienate the populace? Or, would he dare to say, “don’t pay the tax” and suffer the charge of treason?

The cunning with which the Pharisees and Herodians approach Jesus belies their duplicity. They recognize that Jesus is someone who speaks the truth and is unconcerned by populist or political views. Jesus, they ostensibly believe, will “teach the way of God.” In other words, they attempt to “play” Jesus and encourage him to give a direct answer to a politically-charged question. Playing to the crowd, they affirm Jesus as one who will tell the truth no matter what the consequences. They have baited Jesus like a fish.  But will he bite?

Jesus sees through the question–he sees their “hypocrisy.” This hypocrisy is revealed when Jesus asks for a denarius (an imperial coin). They have one! Not only that, “they” have one in the temple courts! “They” give him a coin and Jesus asks his own question.

“Whose image and inscription is this?” This is a loaded question itself. The term “image” reminds us that Emperors invited worship through their images; this was idolatry in the minds of devout Jews in the first century. To use the word “image” is to conjure up all sorts of “images” of imperial oppression and idolatry, the command to make no graven images, and humans are the “image” of God rather than gods themselves. Further, the word “inscription” only occurs one other time in Mark when one is placed over the head of Jesus on his cross (Mark 15:26). Roman images and inscriptions are hostile ideas in first century Palestine. It is Caesar’s image and Caesar’s inscription. This is not a welcome point in colonial Palestine occupied by Roman legions.

The image is Caesar and the inscription makes a claim over the world. The imperial denarius of Tiberius contains not only the likeness of the Emperor but also an inscription which read: “TI(berius) CAESAR DIVI(ni) AUG(usti) F(ilius) AUGUSTUS,” which means “Tiberius, Caesar, Son of the Divine Augustus.” The image on one side of the coin represented Tiberius sitting on his throne as one who ruled over the known world. The inscription reads “PONTIF(ex) MAXIM(us) or “High Priest.” Tiberius Caesar claims to rule the whole world–both politically and religiously. It claims that Caesar owns the known world.

It is little wonder that this coin was unpopular among Jews in occupied Palestine. In fact, Herod the Great and Herod Antipas minted bronze coins for daily use without images to avoid any offense to Jewish sensibilities. The imperial coin, however, represented imperial claims and interests.

Then Jesus amazes his questioners with his response. “Render (repay?) to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.”

Many read this as a parallelism (Caesar/God) which separates the world into two legitimate spheres: state and religion. In this way it is read as an affirmation that there are two kingdoms–divine (kingdom of God) and human (nation-states), and each are equally legitimate and each bears their own authority in their separate realms. In other words, in this view, Jesus is saying, “pay the tax; it belongs to Caesar.”

This is often extended to mean that the state has its own authority such that it may legitimately authorize violence whether in a “just” war or in capital punishment. This is something citizens owe Caesar when asked. Or, this is something citizens owe their state when asked to defend it. This is how Sergeant York came to the conclusion that he should serve his country in WWI according the popular movie (see the clip here).

But there is another way to read this which better fits the context as Jesus denies any human authority that subverts divine ownership. The saying is actually antithetical, that is, either it belongs to Caesar or it belongs to God. Render what is owed to the owner. Is Caesar the owner or is God the owner? Is it imaginable that Jesus could have legitimated Caesar’s claims and affirmed Caesar’s ownership when, contextually, Jesus has just denied the ownership of the vineyard by the Jewish leaders?

It seems to me that Jesus is pushing the question back on the querists. You decide, Jesus says. If you think it belongs to Caesar, then pay the tax. If you think it violates God’s ownership, don’t pay the tax. In effect, Jesus is non-committal. He will not decide for them but rather turns it back on them for them to answer. What will they do? And, thus, they are caught in their own trap. They have to decide what belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God.

This is why, I think, they marvel. This is the only place in the New Testament where this strong word occurs (exethaumazon). They are incredulous; they are stumped. They have no response.

Jesus does not answer with a cute–“yes, of course, pay the tax since it belongs to Caesar.” Instead, he turns the question back to his interrogators. Let them judge what belongs to Caesar and what belongs to God.

But implicit in Jesus’s answer–if we understand it as an antithesis–is a rejection of Caesar since everything already belongs to God. Caesar is owed nothing because  God already owns everything. Jesus is not legitimizing the authority of Caesar. On the contrary, he claims that God is the owner.

That does not mean that Jesus necessarily opposes paying any taxes under any circumstances. Rather, it simply means that it is God who reigns rather than Caesar. Jesus lives under the authority of the kingdom of God; he does not live under the authority of Caesar. Jesus will give to God what belongs to God, that is, everything….and that may very well include legitimately paying taxes as part of shared responsibility in a social compact (but that is another topic altogether).

The 1866 Gospel Advocate, the year its rebirth after the Civil War, is filled with notices about sharing resources with the poor and encouragement for churches both north and south to do so. Apparently, the Advocate was accused by some of controlling these resources as they came to Nashville for distribution as if the paper was a functioning benevolent society, but Lipscomb strongly rejected that libel. Rather, the Advocate was only one communication tool among others for churches to connect with each other and while the Advocate was happy to help, it was more important for one church to directly “fellowship” another church.

Lipscomb was concerned to maintain the rightful function of the church. The relief of the poor “is the true, holy, Godlike work of the church. This is the work for which the  church was established, and if it fail to do the work for which it was established, it had as well dissolve its organization and cease to be.”

This work of the church, according to Lipscomb, is the ministry of Jesus Christ. It was the work Jesus did and Jesus “personifie[s] himself in his poor brethren.” If the church does not minister to the poor, then “it can never enjoy the blessings of God.”

Below is the full article entitled “Dispensing Christian Fellowship,” Gospel Advocate 8 (24 July 1866) 478-79.

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We have received contributions from one church at least, for needy preachers, accompanied by the suggestion that a part of it should be applied to the relief of a brother within reach of that congregation. Now it is eminently proper that that congregation should aid that brother, but there is no sense in sending that aid to the Gospel Advocate. The Gospel Advocate, nor either of its editors, has proposed to become disbursing agents for any church. We being in constant communication with the brethren South, simply proposed to forward the contributions of those not favorably situated for doing so themselves, to those in need. There are brethren in Middle Tennessee in need, and the churches should supply their wants, but do not send the means for so doing to us. We have made no effort to post ourselves in reference to the brethren in Middle Tennessee, and are as little competent to judge of their necessities as any one that could be found. We have confidence the churches will attend to the wants of those in necessity in their midst. Except in a few well known instances we have not ourselves applied what we have sent  South. Our object has been to find the members, elders of the congregations in the different desolate sections  South, best suited to distribute to the needy, and have sent to them. So that it goes as true fellowship should go, as the contribution of the Churches of Christ, to the Churches of Christ in need. Our instruction has been to remember first the wants of the preacher, so as to enable him to preach as much as possible; secondly, the impoverished widow, orphan and poor of the church, and, lastly, the suffering of the world. But in all cases it must be given as the offering of Christian fellowship to the churches South for the relief of their poor widows and orphans, and those of their vicinity. We have the fullest assurance and confidence that every dollar will be faithfully and worthily distributed, and we would earnestly urge Christians to increased activity in administering to the relief of the poor. It is the true, holy, Godlike work of the church. This is the work for which the church was established, and if it fail to do the work for which it was established, it had as well dissolve its organization and cease to be. The church must be educated to the true appreciation of its proper work, and the solemn obligation that rests upon it to perform that work, or it can never enjoy the blessings of God. Jesus Christ personified himself in his poor brethren. He stands to-day personified in the gaunt and hollow face, sunken eye, and half-clad emaciated form of widowed mothers and hungry, starving children in the South. If Christians fail to relieve their wants, no matter whether we or they believe in societies or not, and no matte whether their sympathies were Northern or Southern, the stern truth will one day meet them, “Inasmuch as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me. And these shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into everlasting life.”

On Monday of Passion Week, Jesus entered the temple’s courts and prevented the normal merchandising that turned God’s “house of prayer for all nations” into a “den of robbers.” In other words, Jesus cleansed the temple just as earlier prophets had acted out symbols to embody their message. Jesus judged the temple authorities and their practices by his actions, also symbolized by the cursing the fig tree.

On Tuesday of Passion Week, Jesus encounters opposition from temple and religious leaders as he taught the people in the temple courts. Jesus’s temple cleansing had enraged the authorities and they had begun “to look for a way to kill him” (Mark 11:18).

Jesus spent Tuesday in the temple courts—walking, teaching, and watching. His presence was not ignored. Rather, the temple authorities and religious leaders—one group after another—confronted him, tested him and hoped to catch him in some trap which would expedite his death. Mark highlights these successive attempts by moving from one to the other without any narrative break. Mark 11:27-12:44 is a series of seven controversial encounters between the kingdom of God and the ruling temple authorities and their practices.

1.  “By what authority are you doing these things?” (Mark 11:28)
2. “The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone.” (Mark 12:11)
3. “Is it right to pay taxes to Caesar or not?” (Mark 12:14)
4. “At the resurrection whose wife will she be?” (Mark 12:23)
5. “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?” (Mark 12:28)
6. “How is it that the teachers of the law say that the Christ is the son of David?” (Mark 12:35).
7. “This poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the rest” (Mark 12:42).

These confrontations between Jesus and the religious leaders are nestled between the cursing of the fig tree which represents Israel (Mark 11) and the private discussion with his disciples concerning the destruction of Jerusalem (Mark 13). The confrontations themselves provide reasons for divine judgment against Israel’s leaders and thus with consequences for Israel itself, just as the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah had done in the past. Each of the exchanges represents some aspect of Israel (more specifically, the leaders with consequences for the people) which comes under divine judgment but at the same time illuminates the path of the kingdom of God.

1. Israel rejected the authority of God’s messengers.
2. Israel rejected the stone which God had chosen.
3. Israel divided its allegiance between Caesar and God.
4. Israel lost hope in God’s power over life and death.
5. Israel failed to love God and neighbor more than burnt offerings and temple sacrifices.
6. Israel had false expectations of the Messiah.
7. Israel relished wealth and did not honor the poor (widows).

The first confrontation sets both the tone and the context for the other exchanges between Jesus and the Jewish leaders. The question they raise is central: “By what authority are you doing these things?”

What things? We would certainly include the cleansing of the temple the previous day, but there is more that is untold. We might surmise from the succeeding confrontations the sorts of “things” the leaders had in mind. They valued their wealth and favored status; they loved their power and the praise of their constituencies. They compromised with Caesar and solidified their power by distancing themselves from Messianic hopes.

The message of Jesus is the kingdom of God. Israel was supposed to flourish as that kingdom, but it—in the persons of its leaders—had rejected John the Baptist’s prophetic message of repentance. John came to prepare Israel for the coming of the kingdom through repentance, but the “chief priests, teachers of the law and the elders” refused to repent. They did not see the contrast between their present reign and the reign of the kingdom of God.

The authority of the kingdom of God—in the person of Jesus—threatened their authority. The message of the kingdom of God undermined their understanding of what it meant to reign as God’s leaders among the people. Consequently, they could not acknowledge John and now they had to kill Jesus, just as John himself was martyred for the sake of the kingdom.

Jesus, of course, does not answer their question except by implying that the answer to his question is the answer to their question. Jesus was commissioned by the same authority that John was. They are both prophets sent from God.

Jesus stumped them because they were unwilling to acknowledge John’s authority lest they hear the call to repent, but they were also unwilling to deny it because the people honored John as a prophet.

Jesus does not deny he has authority. Indeed, he implicitly asserts it. Moreover, the previous day he had acted on that authority by cleansing the temple. He simply refuses to justify his authority to those who not only would not believe what he says but who are only interested in some pretense for executing him. Jesus exercises the authority of the kingdom of God against the authority of the temple priests and rulers who live in shocking compromise with Roman authorities.

This exchange begins a series of confrontations that will ultimately lead to his arrest, trial and execution. But at the same time these exchanges reveal the just judgment of God against the ruling authorities in Jerusalem. The drama that will lead to the cross is now fully in play.

Zechariah 12-14 is the second oracle of the second half of the book of Zechariah. The first half of Zechariah contained eight visions (Zechariah 1-6) and four messages (Zechariah 7-8). The second half of Zechariah comes in the form of two oracles (the Hebrew term only occurs in Zechariah 9:1, 12:1 and Malachi 1:1). The first (Zechariah 9-11) promised a restored Israel—both Judah and Ephraim—but delayed the promise due to the rejection of Yahweh’s appointed shepherd. The second oracle (Zechariah 12-14) envisions a bright future for Israel and uses apocalyptic (eschatological) language to describe the day when God will realize his promises for Israel.

Zechariah 12-14 falls into two halves with a transitional poem between them. The first half (Zechariah 12:2-13:6) describes the triumph of Israel in the wake of their mournful laments and their subsequent cleansing. The second half (Zechariah 14) envisions a day of rejoicing when even the nations of the earth will worship Yahweh and everything will be inscribed “Holy to Yahweh.” The transitional poem (Zechariah 13:7-9) celebrates the redemption of the remnant of Israel. Zechariah 12-14, then, narrates the final disposition of Israel in God’s eschatological agenda.

Structurally, Zechariah 12:1 functions as a superscription for the whole oracle containing a doxological or liturgical affirmation of Yahweh while the term “behold” (hinneh) identifies new sections. The language recalls the creative work of God, particularly in the Isaianic tradition (cf. Isaiah 42:5; 44:24; 45:12; 51:13): stretching out the heavens, laying the foundation of the earth, and forming the spirit of humanity within them. This liturgical memory underscores God’s universal claim upon the heavens and earth as well as upon all humanity (including the nations). Further, it emphasizes God’s ability to actualize what is promised concerning Israel. Moreover, and perhaps most significantly, the imagery shapes this new work of God which is the stretching, laying and forming of a new creation—a new humanity upon a new heavens and new earth in a new Jerusalem (cf. Isaiah 65:17ff). God is about to repeat his creative work which means redemption for Israel, the nations and the whole earth.

The Hebrew phrase, literally translated “and [it] shall be on that day…” occurs three times in Zechariah 12-13—at 12:3, 12:9 and 13:2. This is a structural device for the first half of the second oracle in Zechariah 9-14. The first half of the oracle is thereby divided into three messages: (1) the renewed status of Israel, particularly Judah, Jerusalem and the house of David (Zechariah 12:2-8); (2) the mourning of Israel over the pierced one (Zechariah 12:9-13:1); and (3) the cleansing of Israel from idolatry and false prophecy (Zechariah 13:2-6).

Zechariah 12:2 is a thematic or thesis sentence for the first movement within Zechariah 12-13. Judah and Jerusalem will be besieged by the nations but the nations will stagger from their encounter as a person drunk with wine. As the succeeding verses recount, this will be a “day,” that is, an eschatological or apocalyptic day. It is the vision of an ultimate future, the goal of God’s work in Israel. It is an “end-time” vision of the “day” of redemption.

On that day (12:3), Jerusalem will be an “immovable rock.” The nations will hit a brick wall. The nations are powerless before Jerusalem.

On that day (12:4-5), Yahweh will blind the horses and their riders from among the nations but will benevolently and graciously keep a watchful eye upon Judah. The leaders of Judah will recognize that Yahweh is the God of Jerusalem.

On that day (12:6-7), the leaders of Judah will consume the surrounding peoples like grass in a wildfire or a firepot deposited in a woodpile. Jerusalem will be safe. Yahweh will preserve the homes of Judah, the house of David and Jerusalem.

On that day (12:8), Yahweh will protect those who live in Jerusalem so that weakest will be as strong as David and the house of David like God. The Davidic promise, the assurance of king who will reign over Israel, is as certain as God is. Israel’s experience will be like the Exodus when the Angel of the Lord led them out of Egypt and into the promised land (Exodus 32:34; 33:2).

Israel will experience a new Exodus, a new creation; a new birth of freedom in the land God promised Abraham. Jerusalem is preserved, Judah is renewed and Israel once again lives in the land free from the oppression of the surrounding nations. This is the eschatological hope of Israel

The situation in the South through 1866 and for several years thereafter was critical. The hungry, naked and homeless were present in overwhelming numbers. The War had devastated the country. I think this is one reason we see a constant stream of small blurbs from Lipscomb in the 1866 Gospel Advocate on the poor and the responsibility of Christians to share with others.

In addition, there is a not-so-subtle protest against wealthy religion and how it fosters something other than the kingdom of God. In the following two blurbs–both appearing on the same page (March 27, 1866, p. 205)–we see the two themes in juxtaposition.  The first is titled “Giving,” but the second is untitled.

The two seem related.  Lipscomb encourages a private, daily sharing of resources instead of a public, occasional large gift. The former arises out of a lifestyle but the latter arises out of a desire for reward. The former is the daily life of a Christian but the latter is more tuned to the formal religion with its love of a holy place that is “worldly.” The former practices the gospel in sharing with the poor but the latter practices the religion of building and forms.  I think this all sounds a bit too familiar.

Perhaps the two blurbs are not connected in Lipscomb’s own mind as they are in mine. See what you think.

It seems to me, as well, that there are hidden agendas in his words.  There is a class consciousness present (maybe even class envy?) as well as a latent sectionalism. The Civil War with its wealth and sectional dimensions still lies in the background. Moreover, one hears the plea for simplicity in life and worship as the key to faithful obedience to the will of God.

First blurb, “Giving”:

He who wants to be able to do a great amount of good before he does any, will die without benefitting his race.  “Do good as opportunity offers,” is Heaven’s law. He who takes an interest only in doing good on a large scale, generally does it for the sake of display. He who does good for the sake of obeying God and benefitting the oppressed and afflicted, will relieve the wants of the needy in the quiet, humble, unobserved walks of life, wherever he may find them. Will avoid all ostentation and publicity in giving. The reason it is so much easier to raise means for a public charity than a private one, is because the greater portion of the human family wish to be seen of men in their giving, hence will give publicly when they refuse to add more needy and deserving private objects of charity. The true Christian acts not so. “When thou doest alms, let not they left hand know what thy right hand doeth; that thine alms may be in secret: and thy Father, who seeth in secret, himself shall reward thee openly.” God has never promised to reward alms that are done openly. We should not await to be able to give largely before we give. A pittance, a kind word, an encouraging smile, a cup of cold water, in the Master’s name, to the suffering, distressed, weary, faint-hearted children of misfortune and sorrow, comes in remembrance before God, and verily, has its reward.”

Second blurb:

A letter from Hannibal,Missouri, contains the following: “Brother Wilkes appeared at Palmyra for trial on Monday last, to answer to the charge brought against him, viz: Preaching the Gospel. The man who had sworn to the fact, did not appear, consequently the suit was dismissed. When he first informed against  Bro. Wilkes, he charged him simply with preaching. When asked what he preached, he replied the gospel. He was then asked, “What is the Gospel?” He frankly answered, he did not know.”

So it goes. Why is it that zealous religionists do not know what the Gospel of Christ is? Ask almost any one you meet, of any denomination, and you get no answer. Is it because the preachers are so indefinite in their discussions that is is impossible to learn? They are, then, blind leaders of the blind. The prevailing ignorance is almost lamentable. It is appears to be the popular feeling that anything will answer to save a sinner. A large house of worship, called a church, a grand organ, and music by a choir, rented pews, respectability, a handsome preacher, a soulless sermon, containing no [sic] one word of Scriptural instruction, a ritual unknown to the New Testament–performed by a  clerical dignitary, and an exclusive and selfish spirit, seem to satisfy the longings of such, and they are legion as love to worship? In “a worldly, holy place.” When will a dying world learn that the gospel itself, in its original simplicity and beauty, as found in the New Testament, is, alone, “the power of God under the salvation of every one that believes” and obeys it.

The February 27 issue of the 1866 Gospel Advocate contains two short blurbs by David Lipscomb about the poor (p. 141).  The first expresses his concern that the poor “should, above all others, feel at home in the church.” The second encourages believers to continually share with the poor.

This first blurb reminds us that our church buildings, our dress and our attitudes should be shaped by an incarnational posture that welcomes the poor. Do we create spaces, relationships and opportunities where the poor feel welcome? Given our upper middle class buildings and fashionable dress and expensive stuff, it is little wonder that the poor are generally uncomfortable. I don’t know exactly what to do about that, but here is a reminder from David Lipscomb.

The poor often feel backward in the church, because in the corruptions that wealth has brought into the church, it has been so changed that they cannot conform to its customs and they do not feel at home there. This is a wrong feeling. The church is the especial legacy of God to the poor of the earth. The poor then should, above all others, feel at home in the church. Should feel they had special privileges there above all others. It is the rich that are out of their element in Christ’s Church. They should feel the backwardness, not the poor.

The second blurb tackles the oft-heard retort that “the poor ye have with you always” as a potential excuse for less attention to the poor than we might otherwise give. Lipscomb does not believe this Jesus saying means less giving but more giving to the poor.

“The poor ye have with you always,” therefore give always and continually. The Christian must cultivate a disposition to give–must so school his heart to giving, that he realizes that “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Only then has he brought himself to the true Christian spirit.

The kingdom of God is for the poor; it is the rich who should not feel at home there. Wow!  That is quite a statement. It has some biblical roots in James 2, for example, as well as in the prophetic tradition.

Lipscomb’s statement should at least, it seems to me, remind us that while our American churches–for the most part–are oriented toward the middle class and rich, this is not the fundamental orientation of the kingdom of God within the narrative of Scripture.