A friend of mine at UBBC remarked last Sunday that to figure out Paul’s letter to the Romans, you have to “wade through so much Lutheran bullshit.”
I love that phrase, with all apologies to actual Lutherans, who may or may not hold to the biblical interpretation it denotes. The “bullshit” my friend has in view is the idea that somehow, contra James, faith in God without works is alive or is worth something. This friend tends not to like Paul and sees Romans as Paul thinking out loud and thus confusing things. (My friend is not alone in making a remark along those lines.)
In a bid to both correct my friend and the Lutherans he imagines, allow me to say that Paul is plenty clear about this matter and is never, ever saying that faith without works is alive. On the contrary, behold the reasons he puts forward just in Romans alone that God gives us His grace in the Messiah Jesus:
“…through whom we have received grace and apostleship to bring about the obedience of faith among all the Gentiles in behalf of His name” (Romans 1:5).
“[G]race abounded all the more, so that…grace would reign through righteousness to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord” (5:20-21).
“We have been buried with Him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4).
“We know that our old self was crucified with him, so that the body of sin would be rendered powerless, so that we would no longer be enslaved by sin” (6:6).
“But now having been freed from sin and enslaved to God, you derive your benefit, resulting in sanctification, and the outcome, eternal life” (Romans 6:22).
“My brothers and sisters, you also were put to death in regard to the Law through the body of Christ, so that you might belong to another, to Him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit for God" (Romans 7:4).
“You…have been shown mercy…oh, the depth of the riches, both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!…therefore…present your bodies as a living and holy sacrifice acceptable to God” (Romans 11:30,33; 12:1).
“[N]ot one of us lives for himself, and not one dies for himself; for if we live, we live for the Lord, or if we die, we die for the Lord; therefore whether we live or die, we are the Lord’s. For to this end Christ died and lived again, that He might be Lord both of the dead and of the living" (14:7-9).
“…according to the revelation of the mystery which has been kept secret for long ages past, but now has been disclosed, and through the Scriptures of the prophets, in accordance with the commandment of the eternal God, has been made known to all the nations, leading to obedience of faith” (Romans 16:25-26).
And in Paul’s other correspondence:
“For you have been bought for a price: therefore glorify God in your body” (1 Corinthians 6:20).
“He made Him who knew no sin to be sin in our behalf, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians 5:21).
“[T]he love of Christ controls us, having concluded this, that one died for all, therefore all died; and He died for all, so that those who live would no longer live for themselves, but for Him who died and rose on their behalf” (2 Corinthians 5:14-15).
“…who gave Himself for our sins so that He might rescue us from this present evil age” (Galatians 1:4).
“[What] counts [is] faith working through love” (Galatians 5:6).
“For by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them” (Ephesians 2:8-10).
“For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all people, instructing us to deny ungodliness and worldly desires and to live sensibly, righteously, and in a godly manner in the present age, looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus, who gave Himself for us to redeem us from every lawless deed, and to purify for Himself a people for His own possession, eager for good deeds” (Titus 2:11-14).
What is the relationship that Paul wants us to understand between grace, faith, and good works? The words I bolded above telegraph the answer: We are saved by God’s grace (i.e., gift) through our faith (i.e., through believing Him about His gift or through Jesus’ faithfulness—or both) so that we do good works.
(See also the Paul-adjacent Hebrews 9:14 and 1 Peter 2:21-25, not to mention the liters of ink Paul spills simply telling Jesus-followers how to act and what to do.)
James may have be arguing with Paul’s hearers, including many Lutherans, Calvinists and evangelicals among us today, but he is not arguing with Paul himself. According to Paul, we can be—no, ought to be—both amazed at God’s grace andtherefore diligent to pay God back. God’s grace is freely, undeservedly, surprisingly, extravagantly, and purely benevolently given and it obligates us to grateful good works in response.
In the above, I’m just repeating an important takeaway from John M. G. Barclay’s Paul and the Gift or its lay reduction Paul and the Power of Grace, whose thesis I had Gemini reduce and polemicize as follows:
“Modern Christianity has fundamentally misunderstood the nature of ‘grace’ by projecting a modern, Western, ‘no-strings-attached’ fantasy onto the ancient world. Furthermore, modern scholars have flattened the explosive nature of Paul’s theology. God’s grace is undeniably free, but it is entirely obligatory; it requires a radical return, and its distribution shattered every existing Jewish and Roman system of social worth.”
Here’s a snippet of mine that just appeared in UBBC’s wilderness-themed Lenten devotional series:
In October 2014, I stumbled into a wilderness I hadn’t packed for. After decades of secure faith, I was suddenly struck by what I described at the time as “acute, soul-threatening” doubt. I looked for God, and for the first time, found only silence. I wrestled with the problem of evil, the problem divine hiddenness, and the problem of unanswered prayer, losing sleep and peace in the process.
But that wilderness wasn’t just a place of deprivation; it was a place of transformation. In that dry season, when my intellectual certainty withered, something new began to grow. Drought-tolerant virtues emerged from the dust of my doubt:
empathy (my uncertainty made me less dogmatic and more empathetic toward others),
Above all, I discovered that faith isn’t a feeling of certainty, but a decision of allegiance. And I have decided to follow Jesus.
(I haven’t since returned to my homelands of certainty, and probably never will. But thankfully, He has given me practicable confidence more than enough to carry on.)
After all that rumination on joy and on how to enact the less familiar modes of love I wish to practice, it turns out that for me for now, at least, the secret is this: “Whoever wants to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake and the gospel’s will preserve it” (Mark 8:35; see also Matthew, Luke, and John). (Let the record show that this illumination came to me yesterday while on a walk around Mount Nittany Middle School as I waited for Éa’s futsal tournament to begin—at least eighteen hours before I heard it in the scripture readings at church this morning. Thus says the Lord.)
What I mean is that over roughly the past ten years, in response to what I think can be safely summed up as social acceleration, I have grown to guard my attention and energies more and more in an attempt to preserve and optimize them for the subset of life’s overabundant opportunities that happens to make it onto my lists (to-dos, goals, albums to hear, and movies to watch).
I suppose that alone isn’t the problem. However, me being me, two problems arise:
Zealotry for my lists closes me off to novel opportunities, whether presented by impulse (my own or others’), emergent or newly revealed needs and desires (my own or others’), or invitations (God’s or others’). I often respond to invitations as if they are intrusions rather than “dancing lessons from God.”
I’m like a National Park Service employee who has decided it’s my desire or my responsibility to work on a path a hundred yards from the rim of Grand Canyon, where I often find myself working alone, and every single time a colleague closer to the rim invites me to come see what they see or to work alongside them on a path that descends into the canyon, I roll my eyes and shout grumpily, “Can’t you see I’m working?!” Some of the time, I go ahead and join them, but always with my path on my mind.
Since I claim to follow Jesus, such cranky insularity is an invalid option, and it forfeits my soul to keep trying it. Most unsettling among its effects is that I find myself growing stony: both unsympathetic and mildly anhedonic. Eesh! Let me be done with that. And yes, let me come see that vista you keep trying to get me to come see.
Lord, let my first response to the prospect of a novel social engagement no longer be, “Aw, man. That’ll impinge on my capacity to discharge my current responsibilities well.” The fact is, half of what I’m calling “my current responsibilities” are no such thing: They are instead scruples, habits, things I probably read at some point somewhere were good for me, parts of my misguidedly constant quest for constancy.
And most of the other half can probably wait.
It shouldn’t be that novel social engagements feel like detractions from these non-social responsibilities and “responsibilities.” From now on, let my first response to the prospect of a novel social engagement be, “Ooh. I’d love to do that.” And let the only energy preservation check be, “Can I do so without irresponsibly detracting from my other social engagements?”
Self care is a necessary evil, and for me, at least, it’s not as necessary or as frequently necessary as you think. More important are self differentiation, authentic self expression, and engagement of self with the world and with the God who made it.
I’m good at loving people by accomplishing and as a form of accomplishment. And I’m good at loving people by paying attention to them when called on or when prearranged. But there are other modes of loving people. I don’t know what they are. But I want to discover them.
Or is it REdiscover them? The above observation of myself is true, but it’s true in part because of the interaction of my psyche and social acceleration, I’m sure of it.
“Be yourself,” they say. “Stop trying to be someone else.” But what if who you are is wicked? But then again, who am I to judge myself? In any case, it seems to me the danger with “do the next right thing” is that “there is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death” (Proverbs 14:12, 16:25). If I went with “do the next right thing” unchecked, I’d be lonely, because I’d always choose things I can control. “Do the next right thing” must be defined. And its definition is this: “Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength” and “love your neighbor as yourself.”
C’mon, Enneagram 8! Use your drive for power and control on your own thinking—namely, correct yourself when you are wringing your hands in the face of circumstances you can’t control or people who are speaking or acting in ways you don’t expect. It’s just a variation of the partially reformed perfectionist’s hack: I am not exhibiting self-control if I cannot maintain love and joy when people and things are out of my control. (PSA: People are—justly—always out of my control.)
In recent years, Jesus’ frequent use of the future tense in the causal clauses of the Beatitudes (among a few other, subtler evidences) has inclined me to think of them not as a set of timeless aphorisms (e.g., if-this-then-that precepts or visions of human flourishing), but instead more as an historical announcement in direct relation to Jesus’ advent—a sibling to Jesus’ claim in Luke 4:16-21 to being Himself the messianic fulfillment of Isaiah 61:1-2, and a cousin to the Songs of Mary, Zechariah, and Simeon slightly earlier in Luke.
Hence, when I’m translating or paraphrasing Matthew 5:3-11, I’m now given to rendering μακάριος, traditionally translated “blessed,” as “fortunate,” “lucky,” or most colloquially, “in for a treat” instead and to making explicit the Jesus-specific, redemptive-historical subtext I sense. Like this:
[Now that I, Jesus, am here,] the poor in spirit are in for a treat, because the kingdom of heaven is theirs.
Those who mourn are fortunate, because now they’ll receive comfort.
[In light of what I’m up to,] gentle people are the lucky ones, because they’ll inherit the earth.
Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness/justice are in for a treat, because [with what I’m doing] that hunger will be satisfied.
The merciful are lucky, because they’re gonna receive mercy.
The pure in heart are in for a treat, because [in Me] they’re gonna see God.
People who make peace are the lucky ones now, because they’ll be dubbed God’s children.
Lord, may everything I do today be done out of a deep-seated, automatic regard for You and those around me as important, desiring Your joy and their prosperity.
In a concordant, resolute response to Damon Krukowski’s brief “Revisiting the Pyramid of Inequality that is Streaming Music,” I remind myself that if I want humanity to keep recording music that isn’t of mass appeal—and I do—then assuming I have the means, I must buy records from the recorders and not merely rent them from the tech fiefs.
Just finished reading: A Failure of Nerve (1997) by Edwin Friedman, which Morgan recommended to me. It’s a partial application of Bowen family systems theory to family and institutional leadership. It was sometimes difficult to wrap my head around. But it seems like it might quietly change my life. I’m not going to summarize it, but I will jot down some of what I think I’m taking from it, the first chunk of which draws some connections with Martin Buber:
To get to I and Thou, you’ve first got to have an I. This is the “self-differentiation” Bowen and Friedman view as paramount. Otherwise, you’ll never get beyond I and It: using, pushing around, or simply passing by other people in your life.
One of the ways to do this, or perhaps better, one of the signs that you have done this, is that you manage your anxiety and reactivity by maintaining some emotional distance from your own thoughts and emotions and the thoughts and emotions of others. Not that you should be unsympathetic to yourself or others; on the contrary, it’s only in understanding your thoughts and emotions and those of others—or at least in acknowledging them, even if you don’t fully understand them—that you’ll be able to maintain the distance necessary to be an I and thus be capable of relating to others as sacred subjects themselves.
Be sympathetic, yet be your self, not merely an outworking of the internal, partner, familial, institutional, or society anxieties in which you live. Be in these systems without being of them—except insofar as those systems are love. Only then might you be able to inspire change. (Note that I write “inspire change” and not “change” because a key principle for managing your anxieties and reactivity is to embrace that you cannot change other people.)
All this without disconnecting from others.
Copying from Bob Thune, I’ll recap Friedman’s list that well-differentiated leaders:
are a calm, steady presence, not reacting to other people’s reactions,
have a strong sense of self and can effectively separate while remaining connected,
take responsibility for themselves and inspire others to do the same,
realize that good, long-term change requires discomfort, and
take decisive stands at the risk of displeasing others.
Noel made a distinction I’d never thought to make before: extraverted is not the same outgoing. He defined the former as something like “given to gaining energy from social interaction” and the latter as something like “fully at ease making new friends, as if by reflexive desire rather than by effort.” This was to help me understand the difference between me, an extravert who isn’t outgoing, and him and Mary, who are extraverts and outgoing.
The fact is, Noel and Mary are inspiringly friendly. They show enthusiastic, obviously sincere interest in other people, regardless of their initial familiarity, in the same way that I show enthusiastic interest in virtue, reflective conversation, expressiveness, and good music. I want to be like them.
I do usually find it energizing to interact with new people. But I just don’t seek out such interaction quite as liberally or reflexively. And I’m certainly not as skilled as Noel and Mary at the talk required to make such interaction smooth. Frankly, and to my shame, I’m also not as naturally, actually, intrinsically interested in other people.
But all this may be a matter of exposure and practice. The first step will be to build a new habit: I’ll try to change my behavioral bias such that if I see a neighbor, I’m more likely to approach than to avoid. (I think an overzealous commitment to my own agenda is to blame for the avoidance.)
After this He then says to the disciples, “Let us go into Judaea again.” The disciples say, “Rabbi, the Judaeans were lately seeking to stone you, and you are going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours in the day? If one walks by day, he will not stumble, because he sees the light of this cosmos, But if one walks by night, he stumbles, because the light is not in him” (John 11:7-10).
If love is calling, damn the fear of death. Full speed ahead. Do what is right.
“Why does my heart feel so bad? Why does my soul feed so bad?” All year, You’ve had the strangle moral imperative to joy buzzing around my ears. It could be that I’m putting too much stock in a single command of Paul’s. But with:
“get to” being the word of the year,
Travis having made such an impression on me with the primacy he assigns to joy, and
all the specific words that have come to me on the subject this year,
it has been hard to avoid. And more than ever, the role of joy as an anchor for the words I say to others remaining words of life and not words of death has become apparent. I may not need to dig the well of self-love in order to love others, as so many folks extrabiblically claim, but I do apparently need to dig the well of joy: I have spoken brusquely again and again in recent weeks—this despite all the recent emphasis I have placed in my mind on letting “all my words be full of grace.” Why? Because it’s “out of the overflow of the heart” that “the mouth speaks.” If I feel despair, resentment, embarrassment, or any of joy’s other foils, I will not be able to keep those feelings off my tongue. Hence my alienating Carla yesterday evening after ending the workday feeling embarrassed and guilty that I had wasted an hour (at least) trying to coax ChatGPT and Gemini into providing me with business-hours difference formula I could use in a Salesforce report for Mike when a simple, classic Google search would have led me straight to the answer I sought. Hence my boorishly declaring my annoyance to Carla midmorning today after I spent two-and-a-half hours reviewing the College Township timeline into which she herself has put uncounted hours, a double layer of resentment (her absence and my feeling dragged into it). If I am unhappy, I am more likely—far more likely—to inflict my unhappiness on those around me. As such, digging and tending the well of joy—guarding my heart, as it were—is a moral prophylactic. Joy waters love. If any sentiments might be blocking or contaminating that well, I must spend the time and thought necessary to clear those sentiments out.
I deal with interruptions and pop-up requests at work much more gracefully than I do at home. I haven’t yet internalized and automatized “doing everything without grumbling or arguing” (Philippians 2:14). This despite the facilitation that my realizing that the Prime Desire is always fulfillable should bring. I must be missing a piece at home, something I have at work but don’t have at home. What is it?
At work, I’m glad when work piles up. At home, that stresses me out. At work, when someone approaches me about something they want done, I smile and sometimes even thank them for the cool thing to work on. (Naturally, this is not true when the thing they’re approaching me about is something I built that has broken.) But when someone approaches me about something they want done at home, I grumble and resent.
What are the contextual differences that might account for the differences in my response?