A question on poverty

Is it more important to help the poor in absolute terms, or in relative terms? Put another way, is it more important to improve the standard of living of those who are poor, or to reduce the difference between their standard of living and that of those who are rich? Which would be preferable: economic conditions in which the standard of living of the poorest 10% improves by 50% while that of the top 1% triples, or conditions in which the standard of living of the poorest 10% improves by 10% while that of the top 1% declines by 10%?It seems to me that conservatives lean towards the former answer, while liberals lean toward the latter; conservatives generally don’t believe that income inequality really matters if standards of living are improving for everyone, while liberals, on my observation, seem to view income inequality as the primary problem. (This isn’t the only difference between left and right on this issue, as conservatives also still maintain a greater stress on the role of social pathologies such as drug abuse and promiscuity, as well as mental illness, in poverty, while liberals emphasize the role of injustice on the part of the rich and powerful; I’m hopeful that on these issues, however, the two sides have learned at least a little from each other, as it seems to me that there are more people now taking both sets of issues into account.) The question of which we value more goes a long way to determining what sort of policy approaches to poverty we prefer.

A further thought on economics

To pull a line of Doug Hagler’s again which I quoted below:

Everyone treats economics as a science, which in our culture, means a truth-discerning and truth-telling method, when it is in fact a value system of subjective measurement.

This is all the truer because of the nature of the math underlying economics, as the UK’s John Adams points out:

The mathematically trained “rocket scientists” in the City and Wall Street have been engaged in a financial arms race. They have been extravagantly rewarded for devising the clever financial “instruments” that are so clever that no one, themselves included, understands them.Almost 20 years ago, in Does God Play Dice?—The Mathematics of Chaos, Ian Stewart observed: “because we are part of the universe, our effort to predict it may interfere with what it was going to do. This kind of problem gets very hairy and I don’t want to pursue what may well be an infinite regress: I don’t know how a computer would function if its constituent atoms were affected by the results of its own computations.”The bubble of bad debt now distributed globally presents precisely the problem that Stewart does not wish to pursue. The rocket scientists are still absurdly well rewarded for playing war games with other rocket scientists – with other people’s money. But they are the constituent atoms in Stewart’s infinite regress. They have all become day traders trying to second-guess each other over the next move up or down of whatever it is they are betting on.The current bubble may prove to be the biggest ever. But maths courses, as Simon Jenkins has observed, don’t do history.

As someone trained in history, I might be biased, but I’d say that’s half the problem right there.

Considering art and the eternal

One of the great things about living in the Warsaw/Winona Lake area is experiencing the benefits of having a world-class music ministry, Dr. Patrick Kavanaugh’s Christian Performing Artists’ Fellowship and its MasterWorks Festival, located here. (This is especially great for me since Dr. Kavanaugh is also the music minister of the church which I serve as pastor.) Tonight, it was the Second Sunday series, which opened with Barbara Kavanaugh on cello playing a Bartok suite of Romanian folk dances and closed with Gert Kumi on violin playing a suite of Albanian dances by a 20th-century composer I’d never heard of before—both wonderful pieces beautifully played—as the bookends to a thoroughly enjoyable peformance. We are blessed.As I was sitting there in the dark of Rodeheaver Auditorium, the thought occurred to me: can we perhaps define art as those things which will endure, not only in this creation but in the new creation? There are various definitions and philosophies of art out there, with most of which I disagree at least in part, and I don’t have any well-developed and firmly-fixed ones of my own; that’s something I’ve been working on for a while now. I even wondered this past spring if art is even a small enough thing to define at all; I’m by no means sure it is. Even if it’s too big to define in its essence, it might yet be possible to define it operationally; hence my thought of this evening.On the one hand, I’ve believed for a while that what makes true art is partly about quality (for lack of a better word) and partly about truth; Ragnar Tørnquist wrote one of his key characters in The Longest Journey an excellent disquisition on the latter point, which I’ll post on at such time as I can ever get the game running on any of the computers that are currently consenting to function in this house. To say that those things which are both great enough and true enough to be preserved by God in the new heavens and the new earth qualify as art has a certain appeal to it. On the other hand, it does seem to me to be too restrictive. To take an extreme example, it seems safe to say that we won’t be reading Flaubert as we walk the streets of the new Jerusalem—but does that mean that Madame Bovary isn’t art? The conclusion seems to me self-evidently absurd. The worldview of the book is, I think, brutal hogwash; but Flaubert expresses it brilliantly and powerfully, and at an extremely high level of technical accomplishment. Can that not be art? I don’t really think so. Which means that my thought must be, at best, an incomplete definition: a category of art, but not the whole.Update: a conversation with my wife (who hated Madame Bovary) suggested an aspect I hadn’t considered: whatever the falsity of his philosophy and conclusions, Flaubert unquestionably captured the truth of the human condition under sin with great vividness; if one doesn’t believe (as I don’t) that human history and the reality of this world’s brokenness will be simply erased and forgotten in the new creation, then it makes sense to think that his artistic achievement might indeed endure for that reason. Maybe, then, the problem isn’t with my definition, but with my application of it.

A thought on elemental powers, courtesy of Doug Hagler

“See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the world, and not according to Christ. For in him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in him, who is the head of all rule and authority. In him also you were circumcised with a circumcision made without hands, by putting off the body of the flesh, by the circumcision of Christ, having been buried with him in baptism, in which you were also raised with him through faith in the powerful working of God, who raised him from the dead. And you, who were dead in your trespasses and the uncircumcision of your flesh, God made alive together with him, having forgiven us all our trespasses, by canceling the record of debt that stood against us with its legal demands. This he set aside, nailing it to the cross. He disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them in him.”

—Colossians 2:8-15 (ESV)

In Colossians 2, which I’m preaching through now with my congregation, Paul talks about thestoicheia, the “elemental spirits” or “elemental powers” who were believed by many in those days to control the natural world; the church in Colossae had gotten into a form of false teaching that was telling them they needed to pay homage or tribute of some sort to those spirits in order to progress in their spiritual lives. Paul, of course, will have none of that, and so he’s at pains to make it clear to them that Jesus is above all such powers and all such authorities that may exist, and that he’s the only source of the fullness of life they’re seeking.

Now, obviously, our culture doesn’t believe in those elemental powers anymore, but I don’t think that means it no longer believes in stoicheia; we just have different ones. Several weeks ago, I mulled this over in a post for a bit, and came to the conclusion that one such force in our society is sex. I didn’t come up with any others, though there are no doubt quite a few. In the comments thread, Doug Hagler named another one—and one which, I must say, makes him sound quite prescient in retrospect:

I almost shouted it, reading this—ECONOMICS. That is clearly our stoiche (not sure on the singular, its been a while), far more than sex is, IMO. When we wonder what to do as a nation, we listen to our economists. It is everyone’s fundamental concern going into a national election. It is our national obsession and our clearest deity. Everyone treats economics as a science, which in our culture, means a truth-discerning and truth-telling method, when it is in fact a value system of subjective measurement.

Anyway, that’s my vote for America’s “elemental spirit of the world”. Really, it probably fits better as a ‘ruler and authority’.

I don’t think it’s fair to say “far more than sex” as a general statement—for some people, certainly, while for others, it’s the other way around—but there’s no question, this is another power with overarching dominance in our society; and I can’t think of anything that could have illustrated or emphasized the truth of Doug’s point to a much greater degree than the crash of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and the whole chain of events which they precipitated. And in retrospect, given the saga of the rescue bill and the initial failure of the markets to respond to it as hoped, this part of his comment (emphasis mine) looks particularly telling:

Everyone treats economics as a science, which in our culture, means a truth-discerning and truth-telling method, when it is in fact a value system of subjective measurement.

That’s why we get things like this post of Hugh Hewitt’s considering the possibility that the stock market drop is not a rational response, but is in fact an irrational panic (which he says, incidentally, could mean a relatively quick rebound, at least to some degree): it’s the collision between our assumption that economics is a science and the reality of its fundamental subjectivity that produces, or at least is largely responsible for producing, bubbles and panics. A clearer illustration of the stoicheia in our culture and the way they affect our lives you would be hard-pressed to find. Kudos, Doug: good eye.

Of course, this raises the question (which Doug himself raised in his comment): if Christ has rendered all rulers and authorities impotent and has put them on display in his triumphal procession, what does that look like with respect to economics? Paul calls the Colossians, and by extension us, not to serve the stoicheia but only to follow Christ; how do we do that in the economic arena? The answer to that question is, I suspect, very large; one standard answer is the avoidance of materialism—not spending more than we can afford, not letting our lives be driven by owning and possessing things, storing up treasures in heaven, not allowing our belongings to become our idols—the prophets taught on this, Christ taught on this, the rest of the NT writers taught on this, and the church down through the ages has taught on this, and it’s nothing new. But when it comes to economics as a whole and its influence over us, that’s only part of the answer, and I’m not sure what the rest of it is. I suspect Doug or perhaps others might point in a socialist direction, away from the free market, but I don’t think that actually addresses, much less solves, the problem—as far as I can see, it just changes the terms. The real answer lies elsewhere.

The true reward

This is a great clip I found tonight on Ray Ortlund’s blog:

Good stuff in a short clip. I’m not familiar with 13 Letters, which apparently is a hip-hop curriculum on the Pauline Epistles—not a combination which it would have occurred to me to expect, but it looks like they have some solid teaching effectively presented.I should note as well that I also greatly appreciated this comment of the Rev. Dr. Ortlund’s in the thread on his post, not least because I could too often say the same of myself:

God made us for greatness, for glory, honor and immortality (Romans 2:7). God wants that for us. But it happens only under God’s approval. One of the worst parts of my own fallenness is that God’s approval doesn’t mean nearly as much to me as it should. Sure, he matters. But what would really make my heart sing today is if you would just please, pretty please, adore me.Dishonoring to God.Manipulative of you.Unsatisfying to and weirdifying of me.But God is at work in our hearts for better things, to the praise of the glory of his grace.

The heart of worship and the worshipful heart

I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice,the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.—Hosea 6:6 (ESV)Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world. My brothers, show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory. —James 1:27-2:1 (ESV)For whatever reason, I haven’t much mentioned Barb and her blog, A Former Leader’s Journey—maybe only once or twice, actually; I’m not sure why that is, since I appreciate her and what she has to say, but it’s just the way it’s played out. Tonight, though, I simply had to mention a beautiful post she put up today on worship, “Worship That He is Pleased With—or Worship in the Bathroom”; I think she goes right to the heart of the matter, and I commend her post to your reading.

On this blog in history: November/December 2003

As I’ve been doing these posts linking to material from the archives (my way of addressing the concerns Jared Wilson raised about the ephemerality of blogs as a medium), I’ve been working my way through posts from the first part of last year. There isn’t a lot from the middle of 2007, though, so for the moment I’m going to jump back to the end of 2003, when I first started doing this.“The Occupation of Iraq Means Liberty”
That line comes from a column by Kamel al-Sa’doun, an Iraqi then living in Norway, writing in a London-based Arabic daily, who called the U.S. invasion and occupation “a blessed and promising liberation for Iraq, even if the U.N., Europe, Russia, India, and all the Arabs say otherwise.”“Evangelism”? What’s that?
On the controversy over Avodat Yisrael, a Messianic Jewish congregation planted by the Presbytery of Philadelphia, and what it said about the PC(USA) and evangelism.No guru, no method, no teacher
On the incarnational art of Van Morrison.“All Americans”? Uh-huh, riiight . . .
On the illusion of post-9/11 international goodwill.“That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”
No, network execs weren’t any smarter 43 years ago, just luckier (maybe).“There’s too much to do—I’m bored.”
On the overstimulation and emptiness of contemporary Western society and how it stimulates us to sloth.A tree grows in Brooklyn
On Christmas, Kwanzaa, and the place of holidays in the public square.

The Fullness of God

(Genesis 17:9-14; Colossians 2:9-15)

If you were here last week, you’ve probably noticed the gap. Last Sunday, we read up to verse 5 of chapter 2, and now we’re picking up this morning with verse 9. Given that I’m a humanities wonk by my own confession, you might feel justified in wondering if this represents a small problem with my math skills—perhaps I haven’t noticed before that there are those other numbers in between 5 and 9?

Don’t worry, though—it’s nothing like that. I’ll grant you I’m not the first person you’d want planning economic policy or doing the math to make sure your roof will bear the snow load, but I’m up to basic counting. The truth is, we read what we read this morning because of the way verses 6-23 of this chapter are structured. We have this long passage in this chapter in which Paul for the first time explicitly attacks the Colossian heresy, the false teaching that’s been seducing them away from Christ, and tells them how they ought to be living. It’s practical in the beginning and practical at the end—you might say that’s the “what”—and then here in the middle, we have the section we read this morning which gives the “why”: the theological foundation and justification for what Paul says before and after it. So what I decided to do is to take things a little out of the order Paul uses, take this section first, and then look at the passage as a whole next week and see how he applies it.

The opening statement of this section should sound familiar to you by now: “In Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form.” If this sounds a lot like “He is the image of the invisible God,” chapter 1 verse 15, and “God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him,” 1:19, to you, good, because it should; Paul here is making that same point in a different way, from a bit of a different angle, because this is the point that the Colossians just have to get straight. They want to see God, they want to know God, they want to experience the reality of the presence of God, which is completely right and completely admirable—but they don’t know where they need to go to do that, or how to have that experience, because they haven’t really figured out who Jesus is. They haven’t grasped that in Jesus, the invisible God became visible, and the whole of God—not just part of God, not just certain aspects of God, but God in all of who he is, in all his character, all his love and mercy and justice and grace and holiness, in all his power and glory, became human, and (as we talked about earlier this year) is still human. They haven’t figured out that everything they’re seeking is already theirs in Christ.

And so Paul says again, “In Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form,” and then he continues, “and you have been given fullness in Christ, who is the head over every power and authority.” For the Colossians, as we’ll talk about in greater detail next week, those words “power and authority” relate to the spiritual powers they thought they needed to appease in order to pursue the fullness of spiritual life; for us, they may mean something different. The point is clear regardless: whatever other powers there might be, whatever other authorities you might think you need to acknowledge and respect, they are under Jesus’ control, and they aren’t the way for you to find the fullness you’re looking for. The only source of true fullness of life is Jesus—and in him, if you belong to him, you already have it.

Where Paul goes next with this may sound quite strange to our ears, since we lack the Jewish background: he discusses this in terms of the Jewish sacrament of circumcision. (“Sacrament” of course isn’t a Jewish term, but I think we can reasonably use that language.) Circumcision of males was a physical sign of God’s covenant with his people, going all the way back to the covenant he made with Abraham in Genesis 17; but fairly early on in the life of God’s people, God started using it as a metaphor and talking about the necessity for a spiritual circumcision—that his people didn’t just need to snip their flesh, they needed to circumcise their hearts, to cut away the parts of them that resisted God and his will. Just as physical circumcision was an act of outward obedience, accepting the sign of the covenant, so too they needed an act of inward obedience, accepting the authority of the covenant; but as the history of Israel showed, this spiritual circumcision was a task beyond their ability or will to accomplish. It was only in the work of Christ that that could finally become a reality.

I should note at this point that I part company with the NIV in verse 11. A more literal translation here would read, “In him you also were circumcised in the putting off of the body of flesh”; the NIV, as you saw, takes “the body of flesh” to mean “the sinful nature,” but I don’t think that’s what Paul’s on about here. Rather, I think he’s using this as a metaphor for the death of Christ on the cross. In circumcision, a strip of flesh was cut off to mark the entry of the boy or man into the covenant of God; in the crucifixion, Jesus’ whole body was torn away on our behalf to bring about our entry into the new covenant of God. In his death, we received that spiritual circumcision to which Moses and the prophets had pointed, because our hearts were made new.

Specifically, our hearts were made new through our participation in the death and rebirth of Christ. We were circumcised with him in his circumcision—which is to say, who we were before, our old natures and old selves, died with him in his death—and then buried with him in baptism; and then in his resurrection we were raised with him, with a whole new life—his life in us, by the work of his Holy Spirit. The work of God has obviously not been completed, and will not be until Christ comes again, but it has already been accomplished; all that remains is to see it worked out and brought to its full harvest, because the work Christ has begun, he will most surely finish. In the meantime, we can live in the assurance that, as Paul says in Galatians 2:20, it is not we who live, but Christ who lives in us, and that we have his power by his Spirit to walk in his ways.

In verse 13 Paul intensifies this point by changing his terms: not only have we been given new life in Christ, but that life is the first true life we’ve had; before the work of Christ in our hearts, we were alive physically, but dead spiritually, crushed under the weight of our sin and “the uncircumcision of our flesh.” Here again, the NIV takes “flesh” to mean “sinful nature,” and here again I disagree. This is a literal statement with a symbolic meaning: many at least in the Colossian church were in fact uncircumcised, because they were Gentiles. This was significant because circumcision was an act of obedience to the command of God to his people, and thus uncircumcision had been a marker that one had not accepted God’s authority; it was a symbol of alienation from God and his covenant. The point of Paul’s words is clear: you were estranged from God by your disobedience, you were spiritually dead in your sin, and then God came to you in Christ and forgave your sins in order that he might bring you back to life in Christ. He did this freely, as an act of his grace, in spite of the fact that we didn’t deserve it.

But how did he do it? Well, that’s where things get a little tricky, in verses 14-15. The NIV doesn’t help matters here—in truth, their translation committee didn’t cover themselves in glory on this passage—but the translation “written code” is just a bad one, because that suggests a code of laws to our ears, and that’s not what’s in view here. The Greek word at this point literally means “handwritten,” and it was used to signify a note of indebtedness written in one’s own hand—an IOU, but legally enforceable, and containing penalty clauses. We owed God obedience, and the penalty for defaulting on that debt was death; that certainly includes the Old Testament Law, which made both the debt and the penalty explicit, but it’s a far larger thing than that, going all the way back to God’s creation of humanity at the very beginning. God had an IOU on us, and he could have simply enforced it. Instead, he erased it, and then he took it and nailed it to the cross. The IOU against us was nailed to the cross of Christ as the accusation against him; the debt we could never repay, he paid with his life.

Now, remember, back in verse 10, Paul proclaimed Christ the head over every power and authority; one of the points he’s trying to make to the Colossians is that these spiritual powers they’re all caught up about are nothing next to Jesus. Here in verse 15, he comes back around to that point, in a very strange sentence. The word the NIV translates “disarmed” here, following the standard English translation, is actually the same word that’s translated “putting off” back in verse 11; it means that God stripped the powers and authorities. Of what? The translation “disarmed” suggests their weapons, but I think there’s a better read here than that. I believe the imagery here is of a royal court, of a king stripping public officials of their position, authority, rights, and pay, reducing them to powerlessness and insignificance, and symbolizing that by taking away their badges of office and their finery.

I think that’s what we have here. Jesus, by allowing those powers and authorities—working through human leaders—to strip him of his body by killing him, turned the tables on them; in doing that, he took the IOU against us that gave them their power over us and destroyed it, thus enabling him to strip them in turn of that power. And then, having reduced them to utter helplessness, he exposed that utter helplessness to the world, displaying them in a triumphal procession. This was something the Romans did; when one of their generals won a war, he would drag the enemy leaders back to Rome, where he would have a massive victory parade through the streets, with all the people of the city turned out to cheer him—and right behind the general would come the leaders he’d defeated, in chains, naked, exposed to the whole city of Rome in every sense of the word. They had dared to challenge Rome, they had dared to think that they had the power to resist—so they would receive the just punishment of having their complete powerlessness, their inability to resist the might of Rome, put on display before the gods and everybody. Jesus did the same to the powers and authorities in his resurrection, proving their complete powerlessness before him by showing the whole world that not even their greatest weapon—death—could overcome him.

And the sign of his triumph, the banner of his procession, the mark of his victory, was the cross. Normally an instrument of torture, both physical and psychological, designed to make dying not only as long and agonizing but also as humiliating and degrading as possible—the Romans were big on making examples of anyone who gave them trouble; the idea that criminals should be allowed to die with dignity in comfort would never have occurred to them—the cross was a horrible thing; but Jesus took that and flipped it around, making that place of sorrow and defeat a place of glorious victory.

Now, this is pretty dense stuff, and it comes out of a mindset that’s unfamiliar to us; that’s why I thought it was important to take the time to go through it this week and lay it all out before looking at the whole passage, and how this section fits into it, next week. So, we’ll be coming back to this; but for this morning, I want you to notice something. Let’s look at this in the ESV, since it’s a more literal translation and we can see this more clearly. Verse 9: “In him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and”—verse 10—“you have been filled in him”; verse 11: “In him also you were circumcised with a circumcision made without hands”; verse 12: “having been buried with him in baptism,” and here I think the ESV gets it wrong, “in him you were also raised with him through faith”; verse 13: “God made you alive together with him”; and then verse 15: “He [that is, God] disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame by triumphing over them in him.” In whom? With whom? Christ. Everything is in Christ, with Christ, by Christ. It’s not in our own strength, it’s not in our own work, it’s not in our own accomplishments, it’s not in our own determination, it’s not in our checklists or anything we can do; it’s only in Christ, only by his grace, only by his power, only through the cross.