I have permission to run an excerpt when the book comes out in about a month. But here is Glenn talking about lament:

Most of the things we’ve learned to do well we learned from watching others. We watched our mothers (or Emeril) cook; we watched our older sibling play the guitar; we watched our coach show us how to dribble.

used by permission

Paul knew that it’s the same way with a cruciform life. We need guides, mentors, examples. We need to peek over their shoulders and see what that looks like.

This is why in Philippians, where Paul is trying to create unity (2:1-5) despite the internal tensions they’re facing (4:2f, e.g.), he holds up before them examples: Jesus (2:6-11 — which Michael Gorman calls Paul’s “master story”) . . . himself (1:12-26; 3:8; 4:11-13) . . . Timothy (2:19-24) . . . Epaphroditus (2:25-30). These are people who model the emptying life of service. They are people who are working out their own salvation (2:12) by allowing God to do his work of allowing us to participate in the death and resurrection of Christ. They model a way of unselfish love.

This invites us to look around us to see who the people are in our lives who have been examples of this love.

Who is there in your life who reminds you of the importance of humility, compassion, forgiveness, unselfishness, and deep love?

In a pluralistic world, Christians must bear in mind that the Bible has both mediated grace and motivated genocide. Even as Christian ministers stand on sacred ground in pulpits preaching from the Bible, we must confess that the Bible is contested ground. As contested ground, the Bible is saturated by the tragic trail of tears from untold victims of scripture-sponsored violence.

Consequently, Christian leaders must construct notions of biblical authority that acknowledge the Bible’s ambiguous history. I offer such an approach in my book Preaching Paul (p. 23):

Many Christians assume that the Bible is supposed to hold us accountable to live the gospel. Is it not possible that God also expects us to hold the Bible accountable — accountable to being, through our interpretations of it, an ever more genuine witness to the gospel?

Slave castles, concentration camps, and hateful biblical interpretation marginalizing other religions, women, and gay and lesbian people place a question over the Bible: After religiously-motivated violence whose effects continue, what good news does the so-called “Good Book” contain?

Exclusive approaches to scripture that fail to address the oppressive impulses sponsored by, and contained in, scripture will be whitewashed tombs — antiseptic exteriors masking death and corruption below. On the other hand, nuanced, inclusive understandings of biblical authority openly admit that on certain matters of justice and compassion the Bible misbehaves and is not at its moral best. By forthrightly addressing the Bible’s moral miscues and its oppressive statements, progressive Christians can more honestly proclaim the tomb-breaking power of holy hope and inclusive love.

So then there was the scholarly debate about who peeked off of whom. I side with those who think Mark wrote first and was used by Matthew and Luke; then Matthew and Luke shared some other common source or, perhaps, Luke also had access to Matthew’s gospel when he wrote.

What was at first a problem for me, though, is now a source of encouragement. I like thinking about the early church preserving the stories of Jesus — passing along stories and teachings, sharing with one another what they knew, even recording the accounts. I appreciate Luke telling us that he “carefully investigated everything from the beginning” (Lk 1:3). And I enjoy contemplating why certain changes were made to Mark’s order, perspective, and wording by Matthew and Luke (though I know people can get carried away with this, claiming to know more than they really know about all the reasons).

Now I think my problems came from leaning too heavily into words like “infallible” and “inerrant” instead of better words like “gospeled’ and “trustworthy” and “authoritative” — thereby forcing modern categories onto ancient texts.

Now the task: to live a life formed by that world-altering story!

Revelation begins with a vision of Christ. And what a vision it is for believers in the late first century who need to summon their courage in light of the power and pressure of Rome. (Note here: The United States isn’t the best place to try to understand Revelation. Since Christianity is the majority here, it’s hard for us to understand the underdog language of apocalyptic. We keep wanting to flatten the imagery and kill the symbolism.)

Words go out to the seven church. Jesus knows! He knows their situation, their strengths, and their weaknesses. They are commanded to be loyal — refusing to buckle even with pressure and persecution.

Then we are whisked up to God’s throne where he is worshiped by 24 elders and by 4 living creatures. John sees a scroll with seven seals, but he’s crushed that no one can open the seals. Then he’s pointed to the Lion . . . the lamb who was slain . . . the one who is worthy to open the seals.

One by one the seals are opened; and one by one the calamities are unleashed. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse gallop forth and suffering is everywhere. When the sixth seal is opened, it seems as though all hell has broken loose: stars fall, figs drop, the sky recedes, the sun becomes black, the moon is blood red. “Who can stand?” people cry?

But if we’ve just seen the world “from below” — with all the evil and pain — we are now given a chance to see “from above” (chapter 7). We learn that hell hasn’t broken loose. And who can stand? Well the four angels sent by God are standing (7:1). God knows his people! John “hears” them, and it sounds like 144,000 (a symbolic way of saying, “God sees every last one of you!”) Then he “sees” them and realizes the number is beyond counting. From heaven’s perspective, we are safe. Not necessary protected from evil; but “safe” in a deeper sense.

Finally there is silence in heaven: a time to contemplate the full measure of evil.

You’d think the end has come. But this isn’t a prophesy conference; it’s an apocalyptic call to courage — in light of the fact that God is in control (despite appearances to the contrary).

Seven angels now appear with seven trumpets. More catastrophes ensue. Then we meet the three great enemies: the dragon (in a rather unconventional Christmas story . . . try performing that little scene next December . . . “Ok, kids. Who wants to be the dragon who tries to eat the baby when he’s born?”), the beast of the sea, and the beast of the earth. Satan — along with the power and prestige of Rome — seems too much. But really, he’s no match for the Lamb and his people.

Seven more angels pour out the contents seven bowls — the seven bowls of God’s wrath. Seven seals, seven trumpets, seven bowls. That’s a lot of devastation!

We learn that the great “whore of Babylon” (Rome) isn’t a match for God. Some will cry (18); while others will rejoice (19). But “our Lord God Almighty reigns!”

Now it’s time for the final battle: Armageddon. But it doesn’t really live up to its billing. It’s a boxing match that ends with a KO after 2 seconds. Because God is one of the ones in the battle. Satan is thrown into the pit for a thousand years. Then he’s released for a while until God’s final judgment. Then Satan, death, and Hades are thrown into the lake of fire.

But are we ever going to get to “the end”? Or, the beginning of the end? Oh, yes. In Revelation 21-22, we see the “new heaven and new earth” which the prophets had anticipated. Those who’ve long prayed “thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven” will finally see that prayer answered in full. God’s dwelling place descends out of heaven. Eden is restored. Tears are wiped away.

“There will be no more night. They will not need the light of a lamp or the light of the sun, for the Lord God will given them light. And they will reign for ever and ever.”

“Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.” (22:20)

First, once again I’m struck by Paul’s brilliance. Even when scolding them for putting too much stock in rhetorical excellence, he does so in a way that is rhetorically brilliant! But I’m especially captured by Paul’s ability to see the deep, subterranean issues. Ostensibly the issues were incest, taking others to court, food offered to idols, spiritual gifts, etc. But beneath that Paul could see a deeper issue: division based on social status, a skewed understanding of wisdom, and spiritual inclinations. But even further beneath that he could see the deepest issue: a failure on the apart of the Christ-followers in Corinth to understand the implications of “Jesus Christ and him crucified.”

Which leads to the second thing that struck me: the stunning relevance of this message for today. For we still prefer triumphal theology; we still struggle with hyperspirituality. We want God to be our genii; we offer assurances that our prayers will be answered the way we think they should be; we insist on our best life now.

Their primary understanding of spirituality was glory now; Paul’s was suffering now and glory ahead. His deepest theological conviction, in other words, was cruciform. A word of the cross: foolishness to some, a scandal to others, but to those of us who are being saved the power and wisdom of God. Because we follow a faithful, crucified Messiah, we should expect suffering and humility now with glory ahead.

Does that mean prayers are never answered? No. But it does mean that our faith does not tenuously await a certain answer. We live in the mystery of it all, knowing that God is good no matter what happens. For we follow a crucified one.

A dear friend of mine who’s been praying for a family member was recently told by a woman that she had a word of the Lord for him: he just needed to claim what he was praying about. . . . Welcome to the Corinthian heresy. Just name it and claim it. Just like Jesus.

Oh, wait. That isn’t just like Jesus. He prayed for the cup of sorrow to be removed, but as a Faithful Son he bore the suffering and shame on our behalf. From him we learn a way to suffer and a way to live in humility with others . . . while anxiously looking for the resurrection and glory ahead!

The Corinthian form of spirituality always winds up dividing. It is full of knowledge (which “puffs up”), but short on cruciform love (which “builds up” – 1 Cor. 8:1). In contrast, the self-giving love of Jesus “is not self-seeking” (13:5).

“For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. I came to you in weakness with great fear and trembling. My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on human wisdom, but on God’s power” (2:2-5).

The short version of that “gospel” is this: God is wrath-filled because of our sin yet we are helpless to do anything about it because we can’t keep the Law/law perfectly. But Jesus died as a penal substitute for us, and when we put our faith in Jesus (Arminianism: because of our choice; Calvinism: because of God’s preordained choice), his righteousness is imputed to us.

Those who follow current studies in Paul have met serious responses to this reduction through the works of Richard Hays, N. T. Wright, Ben Witherington, Scot McKnight, Douglas Harink, etc. (See, most recently, Wright’s insightful Justification: God’s Plan and Paul’s Vision.) But in this new tome, Campbell has thoroughly exposed the weaknesses of “justification theory” — its textual weaknesses, as well as its intrinsic and systematic difficulties.

Here’s a taste of what Campbell was hoping to accomplish:

“It is very important to appreciate that this analysis is consequently not an attack on the gospel but an attack on a version of the gospel, and one that I maintain Paul himself would view as false. It is therefore a thoroughly evangelical discussion in both method and purpose. Moreover, the solution that I am aiming toward is deeply Protestant if not Lutheran. To put things at their simplest, only if my rereading is true is it possible to affirm coherently Paul’s slogan that ‘God justifies the ungodly,’ since he means by this that God delivers the wicked from their enslavement to Sin, when they cannot deliver themselves, and thereby demonstrates his unconditional grace and love. . . . [Paul's] description of deliverance and cleansing ‘in Christ,’ through the work of the Spirit, at the behest of the Father, the entire process being symbolized by baptism, is the good news. It requires no supplementation by other systems.”

Here’s what Michael Gorman, author of some of my favorite recent works on Paul, has written about Deliverance:

“I blurbed Douglas’s book and was possibly the most positive of the five who did so:

This means, more bluntly, that in my estimation Douglas is both profoundly right (’his overall thesis is persuasive’) and simultaneously off the mark (’One may disagree with parts of the analysis, or take a somewhat different route to the same destination’). Fortunately, he is terribly right where it really matters: in his perceptive characterization of the liberative and participatory character of justification in Paul. Unfortunately, the relatively narrow topic of this panel’s review—the book’s treatment of Romans 1-3—is where Douglas is, I think, off the mark.”

I loved what McKnight wrote about it: “It would be a fantastic vacation read or summer read for pastors; it is a must for professors and I believe should be read by seminary students as a primary text on Paul — whether one agrees with it or not.” If I were not a reader of McKnight’s Jesus Creed blog, I’d think that he needs to better understand what vacation reading is!

While I am still rethinking his proposal about Romans 1-3 (and am not convinced), this is a valuable and welcome contribution to a discussion that sits right at the center of the church’s mission. And I’m quite convinced that Campbell’s suggestion that “justification theory” is a computer virus that, “having infiltrated a system, overwrites some of its key commands with a foreign code from another programmer and then goes on to execute a series of embarrassing and even destructive actions, often losing original material in the process.”

If the book could help steer us away from having our thoughts dominated primarily by God as Judge and by retributive justice, that would be a nice start.

More coming as I continue to blog about justification, “faith of Christ,” and the book of Galatians.

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Here is one of the most shocking discoveries of my early life: the Bible has to be interpreted.

I know that’s a no-brainer. But I grew up thinking that what set us apart from all other religious groups is that we just believed the Bible. God said it. We believed it. That settled it.

Other people had creeds. Others twisted it because they liked musical instruments or didn’t like baptism. They put their trust in commentaries–the words of mere humans. But we just read the Bible.

It helps to live an insular life if you want to hold onto that belief. Because when you begin engaging Christ-followers from other groups, you quickly realize that many of them think about the same thing.

But the Bible has to be interpreted. In a sense, that happens even in the earliest stages of translation. Those translating the Bible from Hebrew (and a bit of Aramaic) in the OT and Greek in the NT have to make choices. How do they translate a passage when it’s ambiguous? How do they express in English a word that seems to have a wide range of meanings?

Several times I’ve heard people say they’re jealous because I can read the Greek New Testament. (Hey, seven years of Greek and you’d be there, too!) They wish they could just read what the text says.

Guess what? It’s a blessing to be able to do that and it’s helpful to know what the original text said (as best we could piece it together from manuscripts–since we don’t have any original copies of the NT books), BUT . . . you still have to interpret. Reading Greek rarely makes things more obvious. Otherwise, all the Greek-readers would be unified.

We are not unique because be follow the Bible. Or because we’re nervous of creeds. Or because we like the “plain meaning of the text.”

As I’ve led discussions about the ministry of women, I’ve often heard people say, “We shouldn’t make the Bible say what we want it to say.” I agree. Absolutely. But let’s also be honest about this: none of us comes to scripture completely objective and unbiased. All of us are having to use tools of interpretation.

I don’t want to twist scripture. I want to live under its authority. But I also have to humbly admit that this is harder than I might have imagined.

This recognition demands two things from us:

First, it demands community. We need to read scripture together–with other Christians we know and with believers from other times, places, and denominations. As people seeking to follow Jesus, we need to rely on the insights of the larger community of faith.

Second, it demands humility. Before I write off other people who disagree with me, I’d better realize how very challenging this whole task of biblical interpretation has been. And it wouldn’t hurt me to remember that so many wars in the world have come because everyone has their own holy book that they believe they have the inside track on how to interpret.

Those who opposed the mission to the Gentiles on the terms being offered were, strictly speaking, right. They had scripture on their side. But Peter (Acts 11) and Paul (Acts 15) argued that they had experienced the grace of God among the Gentiles — beyond all the familiar boundary markers.

Those who said that the Messiah couldn’t have been crucified on a tree had scripture on their side. Such a person was deemed to be accursed. But the early church had experienced the truth of the unimaginable.

Those who argued against abolition had scripture after scripture to help make their case: scripture seemed to regulate the practice of slavery but not abolish it. However, Christ-followers who opposed slavery argued from their experience of the good news of Jesus that it was morally wrong. Thankfully, they won the day.

In an issue like the ministry of women, one question is: How do we interpret the relevant scriptures? But another hermeneutical question (that follows the former one) is: What is our experience of the gospel here? What are we observing about women, gifts, ministry, and leadership?

“What does the Bible say?” is a wonderful question. It is not, however, the ONLY question. There are also the questions and observations that arise from community discernment!

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I had breakfast with Shaun Casey yesterday. Shaun is the coordinator for evangelical outreach for the Obama campaign. He was speaking to some students at ACU, his alma mater, following a similar appearance at Harding. That’s a man with some interesting stories! Shaun is a professor of Christian ethics at Wesley Seminary and a member of the Fairfax Church of Christ.

I asked how he could accept those invitations from groups at Harding and ACU this late in the campaign, since Texas and Arkansas don’t appear to be states that are up for grabs. Turns out he was doing it on his “time off”!

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I’m not even going to peek at my financial statements.

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Taking a brief break from the UT/OU game following a kick-off return by Shipley for Texas. Growing up, this was our family’s version of a religious holiday (since we weren’t allowed to celebrate Easter). The two big games each year (since my parents were both University of Texas grads) were the Oklahoma/Texas and Arkansas/Texas rivalries.

This is what I wrote almost three years ago:

I was a campus baby while my parents attended the University of Texas. Whoever didn’t have a class was my babysitter. And apparently one of my first phrases to speak was HOOK EM HORNS.

I was introduced to the biblical concept of “alien and stranger” by being a UT fan while growing up just an hour from the University of Arkansas campus. Every fourth year when the UT/UA game was played in Fayetteville (the Arkansas home games alternated between Fayetteville and Little Rock), our family dressed up in orange and attended, finding our place in the sea of red. We were there for the game of the century in 1969–despite the fact that President Nixon took our tickets.

(The full story is that when the President decided to attend, they had to take some tickets from around the stadium for security and ours were chosen. Hmmmm. Did they know we’d be wearing orange? But my dad snagged some last-minute tickets from another source.)

So . . . this was a big night. The first national title for the Longhorns since 1970. And does anyone doubt what I’ve been writing about Vince Young? He was 30-for-40 in passing for over 250 yards. That’s a good night for a QB. But what sets him apart is that he rushed for 200 yards. That was the difference.

Hook em horns!!

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By the way, my congrats to whatever UT alumnus convinced the good people at OU that Dallas (where the game is played each year at the Cotton Bowl) is a neutral site.

I’ll try to send one or two more short notes. I’m pecking out on my Blackberry, so they will be short!

For one thing, for many families this isn’t just a hypothetical discussion. They have sons and daughters who are in the military — some of whom are deployed overseas. And others are veterans who are proud of their military service.

There are two historic positions that are represented in almost all our churches.

A third “position” I won’t consider. It’s the one that seems dominant in places — the “I’m-proud-to-be-an-American-and-let’s-kick-some-Islamic-butt” position. It isn’t Christian, so I won’t discuss it.

One view is that Christians must never participate in or support war. This position has, among other arguments, these convictions:

(1) The teaching of Jesus encourages us, in light of the inbreaking shalom of God, to refrain from anything except love for our enemies. He insists that we not pay back “eye for eye and tooth for tooth” — the law of retaliation (Matthew 5:38-42). And he says: “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven” (Matthew 5:43-48).

(2) The death of Jesus points us to a way of nonviolence. He broke the cycle of violence through life-giving sacrifice.

(3) The Old Testament points to a time when swords will be beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks (e.g., Isaiah 2:4). I remember when Hugo McCord came to our church in Missouri for a gospel meeting and taught the pacifist position. This was his text.

Pacifism has historically been an emphasis in leaders of the Restoration Movement — leaders who were convinced that others trust in horses and chariots but we trust in the name of the Lord our God. You’d perhaps be surprised to know that many of the influential Christian leaders whose books you read or sermons you’ve listened to are pacifists.

The other position is the just war position. This conviction is that in this fallen world, evil must be contained. With reluctance and with tears, we must hold back those who seek to oppress, even if force is involved — all the while longing for the peace-filled kingdom to come in its fullness.

What’s my position? That’s not significant here. (Perhaps I’ll drop a note if a discussion develops. You might be surprised.) What IS significant is that churches are going to have to have this discussion. We’re going to need to listen to each other without condemning. We’re going to have to study afresh and agree to disagree, since study alone (contrary to what I thought growing up) won’t solve this!

Fast forward to Deuteronomy (2:1-8; 23:7) and you learn that this relationship still mattered centuries later when the Israelites were about to enter the Promised Land after the exodus. The Edomites (descendents of Esau) were to be treated respectfully, because they were relatives.

This area of Edom was just south of the Dead Sea — about 70 miles north-to-south and just 15 or 20 miles east-to-west. It’s a hilly area that felt to the residents like secure protection.

One famous Edomite in the New Testament was (apparently) Herod the Great. His father, Antipater, was an Idumean, or an Edomite. Herod married into the Jewish royal family and kept the Jewish law. Ok, some of the Jewish law. He had minor lapses like the propensity for killing off family members.

Despite the warnings to treat the kinsmen Edomites well, when you move ahead many centuries later, the Edomites are roundly condemned. Check out Psalm 137, Lamentations 4, Ezekiel 25 and 35, and Jeremiah 49.

There’s something vile the Edomites did when Neduchadnezzar and the Babylonians destroyed Jerusalem. But what was that?

It’s in Obadiah that we find out.

For the most part, their sins were not sins of commission but of omission. While Jerusalem was attacked, they kept their distance from the south, up in their mountainous crags, and cheered on the defeat of Judah. They are the nanner-nanner-nanner people of the Bible.

Their central offense appears to be that they stood by when they should have stood with their relatives being attacked.

If that’s true, then could this, the shortest book in the Old Testament, be a piece of prophetic literature that has a fresh word for the church today?

It invites us to ask how we are standing by rather than standing with. Wasn’t that what offended so many religious types about Jesus? He kept stepping into the messes of the world. He refused to stand at a distance condemning.

The conflict at his home town synagogue (Luke 4:16ff) was over his examples of how God wants his people to move beyond their own safe, gated communities. His story of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16) highlights the evil of standing by while another is in need. (Note that there’s no evidence the rich man was actively doing harm. He just stood by.) When he talked of judgment (Matthew 25), the key questions weren’t about obtuse questions of doctrine but about standing by or standing with. When you see him naked, thirsty, hungry, and in prison, what is your response?

Obadiah says that the moutains of Seir would not protect the Edomites: “‘Though you soar like the eagle and make your nest among the stars, from there I will bring you down,’ declares the Lord.”

Apparently God takes this seriously. His final evaluation isn’t based on the edict: “Do no harm.” It goes beyond that: when we see Lazarus . . . when we see the person beaten along the road to Jericho . . . when we see someone hungry, hurting, or lost — what is our response?

Do we stand by? or stand with?

Here are the insightful questions of Eugene Peterson:

There is so much here that we cannot comprehend, so much that violates our pious sensibilities, so much that refuses to conform to our expectations. How can God command a murder? And not just murder in general but the murder of a beloved son? How can God go back on the miracle-promise fulfilled in the birth of Isaac? How can God, who our parents and pastors have taught us loves us from eternity, command this cold-blooded cruelty? How can God, who Jesus tells us has such a tender heart that he is moved even by the death of sparrows, command a father to kill his son, without so much as a hint of explanation? We Can’t handle this.

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Have you ever noticed how Matthew’s gospel blocks together the words of Jesus? If you’re reading Mark with a red-letter Bible, it’s constantly red-black-red-black-red-black. But in Matthew there are large chunks of the red. Scholars have noted that it probably isn’t accidental that there are five of those teaching sections (chapters 5-7, 10, 13, 18, and 23-25) — likely corresponding to the five books of the Law.

In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus is the fulfiller of and authoritative interpreter of the Law. All things point to him, as you can tell immediately from the genealogy and from the many statements that say “and so was fulfilled.” Often, these “fulfillments” are surprising — until you understand how Matthew understands the Old Testament and Jesus.

E.g., Isaiah 7 had said that a young woman (a Hebrew word that doesn’t necessarily mean a virgin) would conceive and give birth to a son. It was a sign that applied to the people in the looming days of the 8th century. But now, Matthew says, those words find their deepest sense in the one who was born of a virgin. (He uses a Greek word that specifies that THIS young woman is a virgin.)

Similarly, when Joseph and Mary take their newborn to Egypt because of the madman Herod the Great and then return after Herod’s death, this fulfilled the words of Hosea 11:1: “out of Egypt I called my son.” But when you’re reading Hosea, it’s clear that’s a reference initially to the exodus. However, now in a deeper sense they point to Jesus, the one who fulfills all those dreams.

He came as the faithful Israelite. He was the new Moses. (Maybe it’s not an accident that Matthew moves from Egypt to water to desert to teaching — the same as you find in the story of Moses.)

Here now is the one who speaks authoritatively. Here is the one who fulfills God’s dreams for Israel. All of scripture points to him.