Hymn for Nonviolence

Psalm 27

(3) Though an army encamp against me, my heart shall not fear.
(6) Now my head is lifted up above my enemies all around me, and I will offer in God's tent sacrifices with shouts of joy; I will sing and make melody to the Lord.
(10) If my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will take me up.
(11) ... lead me on a level path because of my enemies.
(12) ... they are breathing out violence.
(13) I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
(14) ... be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!

This psalm is one of extraordinary confidence. It is more than hope, but less than casual certainty. Most of all, however, it is a hymn of nonviolence in the face of violence. Though enemies surround and attack, the psalmist here chooses to worship and sing for joy rather than fight.

What's more, the psalmist wants to grow in the Lord through her enemies: in verse eleven, perhaps the most inspiring verse in addition to the final stanza, the psalmist asks that the enemy be instructive to her, that the enemy teach her something, that the Lord open her heart to see herself through the eyes of her enemy. Oh, that American Christians would pray earnestly to see themselves through the eyes of their enemies, that they would ask God to help them transform themselves through an encounter with their enemies! This is an incredible line.

The psalmist is singing a daring hymn - confident in God's ability to transform people, and not being primarily concerned for one's own physical safety at the hands of an enemy, but being concerned with one's own transformation in light of God and one's enemy. What would happen if American Christianity turned around and instead of supporting horrific violence against their supposed enemies in certain Islamic factions, asked to see themselves through their "enemies'" eyes, asked how they could change to meet their enemies' desires? What if American Christianity's first reaction was not to reach for the gun or aircraft carrier group, but to reach for our enemy and embrace them for a moment - recognize their worth, their perspective, their experience - and not be so preoccupied with securing our own physical safety. (The irony is clear: risking our personal safety then would actually secure it in the long run; while the opposite strategy is proving a terrible failure: secure our physical safety first - through the denial of such safety to others - is costing us our safety for generations to come.)

What if, when surrounded by armies, we Christians chose to worship and sing songs of joy, rather than fight?

This hymn gives us hope, speaks of confidence in God's power. It places the confession in our mouths: "I believe that I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of living." These are not idle words, not easy words - they don't rush to our mouths in the heat of approaching battle. When faced with an enemy, it is easy (and cheap) to speak bravado and boasting, to speak of vengeance and power. How much more difficult (and costly) is it to speak love on the battlefield?

What if, when "terrorists" charge at us, Christians waited... just waited a moment? "Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage." Just wait a second! Slow down. Think about what we're doing, about how we're reacting, about the possible legitimacy of our enemies' grievances. Wait. "Wait for the Lord."

In this psalm we have preserved for us a precious jewel in the foundations of our faith tradition. Even in that violent, tentative time and culture, we have here an articulation of a fundamental conviction that stands in contrast with the bulk of human discussion. Perhaps, when asking ourselves which voice to follow, we should look at these exceptions with special care - and ask ourselves which genuinely represent the mind and will of God.

Christians may find ourselves standing on the wrong side of things.

Prophets and Capitals

Luke 13:31-35 (esp. v 33b)

"It is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem."

It isn't impossible for anyone to be killed outside of Jerusalem... just take them outside the city walls and execute them there! Jesus isn't making a statement about someone being killed, so much as he is making a statement about being a prophet. What makes someone a prophet is if they speak truth to power, if they confront the Powers That Be on their own territory with the word and will of God. And in an occupied land, Jesus preaching his message of renewal and resistance, Jesus must eventually preach it at the seat of the oppressive occupation - in Jerusalem. (For the same reason that Paul, speaking to the whole Roman Empire, must preach - and be killed - in Rome.)

If one is to be a prophet, one must speak truth to power - and worldly powers are seated in capitals (unlike the Reign of God which is spread throughout creation, and thus has no "capital"). Jesus is declaring his intention to continue the prophetic critique of the status quo. The prophetic voice - so strong and clear throughout much of Hebrew history - in Jesus' time had not been heard again for several hundred years. Jesus knew that God continued God's desire for unity, solidarity, charity, hospitality... and felt called to give voice to God's longing.

A capital is the centerplace of earthly organization - it concentrates wealth and resources, it decides where to allocate resources and attention, it guides the machinations of institutionalized relationship between people. It has so much potential for good, but so easily falls prey to greed, gluttony, and deceit. Still, Jesus weeps over the city and its wasted potential. It could be so much, do so much, feed so many, lift so many out of poverty, answer so many needs - but it refuses to do so. Even though Jesus senses that he is facing his death by bringing this critical voice to the capital (particularly at a nationalist festival time when crowds are already gathered and restless), he still feels a loving lament for the city. He wanted to gather Jerusalem like a hen gathers her chicks - a surprisingly warm and intimate sentiment, given his critical stance and Jerusalem's likely violent reaction. You can see here Jesus' underlying love for this world - even the fallenness of it. No part of this world is beyond redemption.

This is a tough call for me. It is as if I walked to Washington D.C. and into the White House and told George W. Bush that I loved him, that God loves him, and that he must stop being an international terrorist. If I could gather a crowd to listen to and support me, I might be arrested and detained as a terrorist myself (perhaps tortured and executed as well). But even in the midst of all that drama, Jesus would have me still see Washington as redeemable. I can see tremendous potential in Washington, but considering the tremendous suffering it has inflicted and is inflicting the world over, I find it difficult to see it as redeemable, let alone worth loving. But this is what I am called to do, as a disciple of Jesus.

This isn't some "Love America" spiel. Bush is called to make the same journey to Baghdad, or the Sunni Triangle, or whatever outpost of resistance that seems to be leading at the moment. I'm not saying America is ok in what it is doing - just as Jesus was not condoning the brutality of the Roman occupation by preaching in Jerusalem. But Jesus brought a loving critique. And that is what I have to remember. "Washington, Washington, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! See, your house is left to you - you will not see Christ until you say 'Blessed is the one who challenges us in the name of the Lord.'"

Share with the aliens among you

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Lectio Divina is an interesting exercise for me. If I do it regularly, I find a pattern: I start with something that catches my eye - either something I really disagree with or, more often, something that fits well within my prepossessed convictions. But, through the exercise (and through the grace of God), I end up with a broader perspective than when I started, even broader than the selected scripture I seized upon. So I start again.

In this passage, we have one of the earliest articulations of the Hebrew faith - the crystallization of the central narrative core and its most important interpretation: a wandering alien became a great nation, this great nation became slaves, these slaves were freed by God and led to Palestine. Whatever you have belongs firstly to God, and whatever you have left should be shared with the aliens and lowly among you.

Sharing with God and extending hospitality to the strangers among us is part of the identity of those who would incorporate this story into their lives. Social and economic justice is built into the faith declarations of the Hebrews. God showed concern for them when they were a foreigner, when they were slaves, when they were few and poor and oppressed. God looks after these kinds of people. If we would remember that, then we too have to look after these kinds of people - especially when these kinds of people live among us. To forget them is a sin, a transgression of God's law, love and relationship with humanity. And this sharing among all people is an act that renews the people's solidarity with God.

God gives the land as an inheritance - that means it was previously "owned" (by God) and is the perennial inheritance of all. The point is not that it was given, but that it was an inheritance. If we forget the source of our bounty, then we dishonor the inheritance.

I have to think about this some more.

Citizens of Heaven: Living the Way of the Cross of Christ

Philippians 3:17-4:1

I am distracted this morning by an article I read yesterday evening in Christianity Today. The article was about an "arch-conservative" Christian radio host that claimed that living out Christianity makes one conservative. Of course, I couldn't disagree more (and I question the wisdom of subscribing to this magazine). And along comes this morning's scripture to rouse these feelings all over again - or perhaps to flush them out, to daylight them.

"Brothers and Sisters, become co-imitators with me of Christ," Paul says. "For many live as enemies of the cross of Christ."

There is little agreement among scholars who Paul is referring to here, living as enemies of the cross. But it seems reasonable to me to assume that these are individuals within their faith community - other Christians... otherwise, what would be the point of saying they live outside of and in opposition to the example of Christ, they don't know or care about the way of Jesus. The critique only has teeth if it describes individuals who ought to know better.

Paul describes them a little: their end is destruction, their god is the belly, their glory is in their shame, their minds are set on earthly things.

Their end is destruction - this might not be an eschatalogical claim, that is, it might not be describing their fate or future consequence. It might be describing their goal, their intention, their modus operandi. Enemies of the way of the cross seek destruction in the world, not creation. They seek to destroy - with bombs, with words, with laws, with torture chambers, with executions.... A contrast to the way of the cross of Christ is destruction. Those who seek it are living as enemies of the cross of Christ.

This is one place where we see the clear significance of the cross - an instrument of brutal oppression, fear, torture, execution, condemnation, revenge... destruction. Through Jesus, this symbol of everything Jesus stood against becomes redeemed, and represents Jesus' resistance and victory over the forces of destruction. The way "of the cross" in Jesus reverses expectations, inverts worldviews, goes against the "normal" way of the world. There is the cross of the Empire - brutal, vengeful, destructive; and there is the cross of Christ - forgiving, loving, suffering, creative.

Their god is the belly - their ultimate concern is their own satisfaction, their own sustenance, their own appetite. Paul is contrasting this with Jesus in the wilderness, when tempted by bread Jesus responds that humanity cannot live by bread alone. Living as an enemy of the cross of Christ is living for bread alone - with no thought to the greater issues at stake. Shopping at Wal-Mart with no thought to the working conditions of those employed by that company; "supporting the troops" with no thought to the vast mechanism of militarism, consumption, exploitation, waste, violence and misallocation of resources necessary for American militarism; and so on. Thinking primarily of oneself, of one's own satisfaction or comfort (even, perhaps especially, under the guise of "helping" someone else) is living as an enemy of the cross - living life as an enemy to the idea of self-sacrifice for others, of equitable distribution of wealth and resources, of equal stake in life and prosperity of all people, especially the lowly, weak, disenfranchised, poor and the enemy.

Their glory is in their shame - when we parade our vices and weaknesses as if they were our virtues and strengths. We cannot embrace Jesus' vision of creative nonviolent resistance, and so we parade tanks and boots in front of adoring crowds and fanfare. We cannot embrace Jesus' vision of the abolition of poverty, and so we parade the super-rich along red carpets in front of crowds and flashbulbs, and even in grocery check-out lines. We cannot embrace Jesus' vision of homeless itinerant preaching, and so we build bigger and more expansive houses for smaller families and fewer people. The World and the Cross are inversions of each other. What is glorious in one is shameful in the other. What is essential in one is impossible in the other. What we called upon to do and be in one is forbidden and disgraced in the other. This is the stark dichotomy presented to us in Paul's distinction here.

Their minds are set on earthly things - surely Paul is not condemning "earthly" things like food, shelter and remunerative work for the poor, hungry and homeless; things like liberation to the captive, freedom to the oppressed. Paul here is speaking of the values of the World: wealth, prestige, influence, power, strength, comfort at the expense of others, and so on. When people's minds are set on earthly things, they are subjects of earthly powers, adherents to Worldly ideas, victims and citizens of earthly principalities. This, Paul contrasts with discipleship.

The true Christian citizenship (alternatively translated "commonwealth") is in heaven, and it is there we look for salvation. The word Paul uses is "Savior" (in Greek, Soter), which is a word also used to describe the Roman emperor and Roman gods. Paul is making a clear distinction here - you owe your allegiance to God through the person of Jesus, or you owe your allegiance to the state. You can't have it both ways. One or the other. One allegiance is inimical to the cross of Christ, the other is subject to it. The rule of Jesus in oneself is a political as well as spiritual condition. Disciples of Jesus do not look to the President for hope or truth or security - because the President can only offer the ways of the World (violence, greed, destruction). Disciples of Jesus look to the example of Jesus for hope, truth and security.

But the example of Jesus is one of abject humiliation, poverty, death, and even failure. Jesus was executed as a convicted criminal, his life and movement and ministry snuffed out after only a couple years. This is the cross of Christ! To stand up to the Powers of this world and risk being cut down for it. Who would choose that?!

No wonder conservatives see the only way to solve problems in the world as to out-brutalize the enemy, to kill more of them than they kill of us, to see "freedom" as the power to exploit as many people as possible with as little inconvenience to oneself as possible. But that is not the way of the cross of Christ. That is the way of the cross of the Empire. And it is to live as an enemy to the cross of Jesus.

We are convicted, however, that Jesus was not snuffed out that day. We are certain that his life and ministry and movement continued. We agree that he was killed - tortured and executed as an example to those who would follow him. But we further hold that he didn't stop there. The reign of God was not defeated. We were shown the way to victory over earthly powers. Creative, nonviolent, intent, persistent resistance, and the willingness to sacrifice oneself (rather than someone else).

I think we often misunderstand what happened at the cross. Jesus didn't end sacrifice by dying on the cross. He ended the practice of sacrificing others. He brought a new law - a vision of a new world (grounded in the prophetic tradition of the old), and a new sacrifice (grounded in the tradition of sacrifice, but transformed in the way Jesus transforms so much). We worry about our humiliation and troubles, but Paul reminds us of our conviction that our humiliation will be transformed to glory. Our way of thinking about ourselves and our actions (enmeshed as we are in the ideas and priorities and understandings of this World) will be transformed (to conform with the ideas and priorities and understandings of God as revealed in the example of Jesus). By declaring ourselves loyal to the example and rule of Jesus, we are already being remade and transformed - we are becoming citizens of that Greater Kingdom. If we would but stand firm.

I have never been so moved by Paul's writing.

The Healing Faithless

Luke 9:37-43a

Why is Jesus calling the crowd a "faithless and perverse generation" here? They had come to him in hope and faith. The man who ran forward describing his son's demonic posession came to Jesus in the purest of motives - the healing of an only child. Surely they didn't deserve such blanket condemnation. What is Luke trying to convey to the reader with Jesus saying this so soon after the transfiguration on the mountain?

The father of the sick child also says that he brought his son to Jesus' disciples, but that the disciples could not heal him. Are the disciples the target of Jesus' venom here? Because they could not heal the boy, Jesus sees this as evidence of perversity and faithlessness? This all seems very harsh and unforgiving.

And when Jesus utters sentiments like "how much longer must I bear with you?" it gives the impression that Jesus feels he has already given the fullness of the gospel, already offered all that is needed for faith and purity, already provided (in the Sermon on the Plain and the few parables and miracles already narrated) sufficient teaching for discipleship.

Is Luke contrasting the transfiguration on the mountain with the disciples' lack of similar power down below? Is Jesus already expecting his disciples to exhibit the same wonder-working power and ministry that he has? Obviously, one lesson the disciples should be learning is that a follower of Jesus doesn't just tell about what Jesus did, but is to do what Jesus did. (Some will focus on the miraculous healing of the epileptic, others will focus on the barrier-breaking between separated peoples, others on the creative non-violent subversion of political and cultural mechanisms that perpetuate inequality and oppression.)

Another lesson for discipleship is that sometimes healing comes from a word of rebuke against evil possession. Jesus was asked to look at the boy, as so we must be willing to look at our world and see the demons at work in it. Jesus drove the evil spirit out with a word of rebuke. We should also be so challenged, to speak truth to power and honestly rebuke the Powers that possess people, that control people, that seize people and dash them to the ground.

And yet another lesson for disciples is that they will fall short of the best hopes of the Kingdom, but that the command to continue working does not disappear for all that.

Transformation: Vision and the Veil

Exodus 34:29-35

This week's lectionary scriptures develop the theme of transformation in the presence of God. Here, Moses' face is illuminated, so much so that when he descends people can't stop staring at him, can't stop talking about it, and Moses puts on a veil. Every time he goes to speak with God, Moses takes off the veil, then returns to the world and puts the veil back on again.

Moses understood something about encountering God and then returning to the world. In the presence of God one sees clearly, and is illuminated. When one returns to the world after such an experience, it is like looking at the world through a veil - things aren't as clear or as certain, the confidence and conviction and comprehensive understanding are gone, and there is a barrier between you and the world. This veil is only lifted again in the Presence of that Transforming Power.

Moses would try his best to communicate his experience on the mountain - and he phrased it in the language of commandment - a harsh and ruling word, but sometimes necessary to speak the truth. But note also that these words must be spoken, must be communicated. Commandments given to Moses cannot stay with Moses alone - they must be shared. Hence, the beginning of corporate spirituality, communal responsibility for faith. Even if we see but through a veil, we must share the vision given us in Transformation. When we come down from the mountains, come out from the Tabernacles, are are given new vision of the world, we must share.

Despite partial understanding, confused vision, we are commanded to act as if our world and behavior was sacred - to make our lives a covenant (a living sacrifice).

Shrub-mentality versus Tree-by-the-Water-thinking

Jeremiah 17:5-10

Here are contrasted two ways of being - two worldviews, two life-patterns, two paradigms, two approaches to life and the world. One is grounded in the trust of motrals and flesh, the other in the trust of God. One is rooted in a mindset and economy of scarcity, where there are never enough resources and one must get all one can when one can; and the other rooted in an economy of abundance, where one need not worry about resources or hoarding, and where sharing is the order of the day.

The scarcity model, or "shrub mentality", is grounded in the trust of "mortals" and "flesh." Don't mistake me here - our lives are embodied ones, and fleshy-experience is part of who we are (and therefore also a partial revelation of the divine, in whose image we are). When Jeremiah talks about trust in mortals and flesh, he isn't saying embodied experience is bad - he's saying trust in mortal things is misguided, trust in things that perish, that are transitory: things like wealth, popularity, strength, military might, prestige or position. When (a) people trust in these things supremely, they will see the world as one of scarce resources, and that their wealth or position or might or popularity are always under threat of being lost or supplanted or defeated. Shrub thinkers will see the world as a salted desert or wilderness where you have to fight to survive - and they won't even see when relief comes, because the rains threaten desert shrubs just as much as the sun does (washes away plants and dirt, exposes roots, causes plants to blossom and then leaves them parched in the heat). Even bounty and relief is a threat to them. And we can see this in those who put their trust in riches or strength - our nation has been extraordinarily fortunate in the past 200 years, but now we see our bounty as precisely what makes us a target, we see our bounty as something we have to defend - and go to great lengths to defend it. We're thinking in a shrub mentality! Take, take, take - consume, consume, consume - hoard, hoard, hoard - defend, defend, defend! We are the richest people on the planet, and yet we feel one of the least secure in what we have. We see ourselves as living in a salted desert, and can't even see what relief is.

In contrast to Luke, in the other lectionary scripture for this Sunday (6:17-26), Jeremiah describes the "cursed" first and the "blessed" second - the two texts ask us: you want the good news first or the bad news?

Opposed to the "scarcity model" of shrub-thinking, there is the "abundance model" described as tree-by-the-water thinking. Jeremiah says those who trust in the Lord are blessed. In contrast with those above who trust in temporary, transitory, perishable things, Jeremiah lifts up confidence in imperishable things: eternal, undying values such as love, fellowship, the long view, the eventual victory of justice (hope), peace, joy. People who don't put their trust in things like money or power over others to give them security or happiness are like trees planted by the water - no matter what droughts may come they feel watered, no matter what heat waves come their leaves stay green. And note what Jeremiah says: they're not anxious. (You want to know if our country is a tree by the water, ask if we're anxious.) My wife and I try to live by the motto: if everyone keeps sharing, there will always be enough. It's not a kind of mathematical equation you can work out or clear-cut trade-off you can point to. It's a way of looking at the world. (And some times it's easier than others.)

For Jeremiah, people who trust in the Lord - in the eternal - are like trees by the water: ever nourished and watered, and ever-bearing fruit. (Contrast that with desert shrubs who quickly blossom and seed in the short rainfalls - like some of us who, when fortune smiles on us we quickly burst out with a little gift or kindness and then just as quickly close up again, waiting for the next rain.) (Which is our tithing model? Which is our stewardship model?)

But then Jeremiah changes tact - and says: the heart is devious above all else, who can understand it? He answers himself: the Lord searches the heart - these eternal values, our endurance and dedication, our faith, search our heart. Jeremiah says God will give to all according to their ways, according to the fruit of their doings. Now, this might seem in contrast to the doctrine of Grace - that any gift of God is because of God's grace, not because of anything particularly good we've done (because, frankly, we could hardly ever deserve the kind of love God shows). But I don't think Jeremiah was commenting on grace here. He is laying this alongside his statement about the deviousness of the human heart. We can never escape mixed motives, but we shouldn't have to worry about our own purity before setting to the work of bringing about the Kingdom of God in the world.

There are two ways of looking at the world - one in which the world is a place of danger and villainy that is always threatening us and against which we must defend ourselves and our fortunes; the other in which the world is a place of abundance and grace that has the tremendous and perennial potential to feed us all despite the droughts and heat-waves that come.

Right now I know what you're thinking - you're thinking there's a little truth in each of them, that we need to be "realistic" and see some scarcity out there as well as some abundance. I know you're thinking that, because I'm thinking that too. I can feel the World telling me to not believe this gospel story too much, not to take this abundance view too seriously. I can feel the World's voice(s) inside me, saying that this tree-by-the-water thing is great and all, but that reality is more complicated than that, that the "real world" is a place of scarcity, no matter what we say here at church.

In the end, we have to decide which voice we're going to listen to. We're human - we live in a world of mortals and flesh, as well as a world of God - so we're mixed and confused and we'll probably go back and forth. But let's be careful in our desire to listen to one voice over the other that we not identify them as the same thing. One is the voice of the World, the other is the voice of God. We can choose which to listen to, but let's not do God (or the World) the disservice of confusing their sentiments. As Jeremiah puts it: there is the desert shrub and then there's the tree by the water. Who can understand the heart? One thing we can rest assured of: God is still searching us.

Death and Resurrection

1 Cor. 15:12-20 (esp. v 19)

To be honest, this is a very difficult passage for me. I'm not of the Corinthian faith that the dead are "raised" (at least in the sense that I have of the traditional notion of rising dead). Paul is calling me out on this - if I do not believe the dead have been raised (or are being raised), then I do not believe Jesus was raised; and if I do not believe Jesus was raised from the dead, then my faith is futile, he says. And I am almost convinced of the futility of my faith.

If we read a little further, however, in the following verses Paul expands on what he means - since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being (v 21). Now, we who have accepted a generally scientific worldview (as opposed to a "literal" interpretation of the Genesis story) are rarely convicted that "death" was a result of Adam's (and Eve's) actions. Death is just a fact of living in this universe. So if the physical death of the body isn't what we're talking about in interpreting the Adam story in our lives, then is the "resurrection" of physically dead bodies necessarily what we must talk about in interpreting the story of Jesus in our lives?

I don't want to dance around the issue - and it seems Paul is pretty clear what he believes here. I don't want to play semantic games to squirm my way out from under Paul's condemnation. But at the same time, I want to be faithful to the best that I know, all the best that I know. And confidence in dead people's bodies rising to life again doesn't speak to me that way. By invoking the Adam story as the beginning of the journey of which Jesus signals the start of the end, Paul opens up (for post-modern readers) an entirely different read of the point he is trying to make.

Verse 19 says: "If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied." This verse jumps out at me. In the traditional reading, Paul is talking about this life as this first living-and-dying, as opposed to the next living-again ushered in by Jesus. But read the verse again - "this life" being our short-term ideas, our narrow focus on our own priorities and experiences. If we have hoped in the transformative power of Christ merely for our own individual sakes, we are indeed pitiable. If, however, we have hoped in that transformation for the greater transformation of the world - not necessarily within our lifetime, or within our limited scope of knowledge or experience - then we are closer to deserving that transformation. If Christ means to us merely the reinforcement of our own ideas or preconceived notions, then we are indeed pitiable. If, however, Christ means to us a new life, bold and loving, then we see Christ in our selves and world. If we have hoped in Christ only within the context of our-lives-as-they-are, or sought Christ to be a soothing balm to heal our own wounds exclusively, then we are of all people most to be pitied. But in fact, Christ is not for us alone, for only our sins or only our redemption.

If the preservation of this right here, right now, is the only reason we hope in Christ, we are in for a big shock and disappointment. The life, death and continuing resurrection of Jesus is a challenge to the status quo, and changes those in whom Jesus would be resurrected.

For me, however much I enjoy this embodied existence, there is something more important than just this-my-life. If my hope in Christ has only been for this-my-life, then I've gone down the wrong road. But if my hope in Christ is for the greater good, the greater transformation, the greater redemption of the world, for the Kingdom of God, for Zion, for the peaceable Kingdom, then at least I'm pointed in the right direction, and can feel Christ urging me on.

for

1 Corinthians 15:1-11

In this passage, we have one of the earliest crystalizations of (Pauline) Christianity in the first century - small, condensed summaries like this would become for the early church like creedal statements and rules of faith. Selections like this would be read or recited at baptism, and formulas like this start to become common in Christian literature within the first hundred years.

Also, we see developing here an atonement understanding of the cross - an idea that is largely absent from the gospels, and so must be developing independently from the communities that produced those texts. This theology of the cross holds that our sins must be accounted for - a debt to be paid - and since humans in our smallness are unable to pay the debt, and because God loves us regardless, God took it upon Godself (in Jesus) to pay the debt with a blood sacrifice on the cross. (This idea actually dates back to medieval Christianity, and as such is somewhat grafted on Paul's theology, but it fits so well that Christians today can hardly imagine Paul saying anything else.)

Paul certifies that "Christ died for our sins" (v 3), and "for" will come to mean "in the place of". The preposition "for" (Gk: huper) in the genitive case can indeed mean "for (the sake of)" in a causal sense. Another meaning, "instead," also leans toward atonement - Jesus suffered instead of us. Yet another meaning, "regarding," is a little more slippery.

When George Bush says he is waging war for me - does that mean I forced him, or that he is doing it because of something I've done or am? Or, rather, does it mean that he is doing partly as a result of how we live, a somewhat direct result of our lifestyle and values?

Might Jesus have been crucified regarding our sins - our lifestyle and values as a backdrop and context for his death? It certainly seems reasonable: we make decisions every day that condemn the gospel to death (and thankfully it continues to rise again, as Paul confesses). Many of us have chosen our allegiances - Nation, Profit, Comfort, Prestige, Money-as-Security, Exclusive-notions-of-Family, and so on. Especially we North Americans, we crucify Jesus a thousand times a day, in our homes and businesses and commutes, and all over the world - we export crucifixion with our greed, guns and terror-power. But the gospel keeps on rising, and meeting us here again.

In one sense, Jesus died for us so we wouldn't have to - and in effect, we don't have to do much of anything at all to be received into the Kingdom. Atonement theology, in other words, seems like cheap grace.

In another sense, Jesus died because of our lifestyle, our decisions, our misplaced loyalties, because we are not willing to make the sacrifices necessary to see the Kingdom thrive - in our own lives and in our world. That is costly grace, because it doesn't come cheap.

So much depends on a preposition.