In modern thought, the very question about a relationship to God leading to the death of child is repugnant beyond comprehension. And yet in the time and culture of Abraham, allegiance to one’s god could result in his child’s death. Abraham’s poignant experience with the God of the Bible presented a radically new understanding of God, and on this basis God’s blessings would extend to all generations to follow. What happened between the time of God’s calling for the sacrifice of Isaac and angel’s staying of the execution that wrought such a profound theological shift? Or, more directly, how did Abraham’s experience illustrate the modern notion that fidelity to God should result in preserving children, rather that destroying them?

This question is especially relevant to contemporary theology, since it has roused heated debate in the public arena. Some faith-healers claim, for instance, that if their children die of sickness, it is because God willed it. Conventional practice of medicine attempts to save the life of a child, without regard to God’s intentions. Government is often torn between the responsibility to save children and its obligation to defend the right of individuals to practice their faith in God.

A closer look at the tension in Abraham’s trial, pitting his faith in God against the life of his son, can shed light on this difficult question. There is a significant shift in his thought between the time he heard God’s command to offer his son Isaac as a burnt offering and the angel’s command not to lay his hand on Isaac; and this shift is the key to the Bible’s consistent theme that “it is not the will of your Father which is in heaven, that one of these little ones should perish.”1

At the time of Abraham’s ordeal, burnt offerings in general were normal components of religious practice by his neighboring Canaanite tribes. Sacrifices of all types symbolized an intercommunion between a deity and his worshiper. They were presented s gifts of gratitude and tokens of allegiance.2 Even the sacrifice of children was offered as a proof of one’s loyalty to his god. So, it’s reasonable to consider that Abraham may have already been considering how he might demonstrate his loyalty to the invisible God he had come to know.3

The command for sacrifice might have sounded reasonable to him. It was a voice that spoke of his beloved son of the promise: “Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love…”4 He had heard of others who were willing to sacrifice their children to their deities, and so regardless of Abraham’s opinion about it, it would have seemed possible for his God to ask the same of him: “offer him…as a burnt offering on one of the mountains that I shall show you.”5

The text in Genesis doesn’t offer a description of Abraham’s reaction. It’s as if the story were told by an observer who could witness only his behavior, leaving the privacy of Abraham’s thoughts untold. In Narrative in the Hebrew Bible, Gunn and Fewell point out the peculiarity of Abraham’s solitude.6 Why would Abraham have ignored Sarah and kept the enormity of this request from God all to himself? A reasonable explanation for this aloneness is found in the introduction to the story, where it is announced curtly that, “after these things god tested Abraham.” The story is strictly about Abraham and his God. All the other characters are incidental to this particular plot.

Abraham was taking responsibility for his own thoughts and actions. If anyone else had consoled him or guided him, the opinions of others would have served as an interference, and the conclusion of the test would have been uncertain. The servants were left behind when they had reached the place in their journey when they were no longer needed. Abraham was acutely alone from the world and tenaciously close to God in this closing scene.

What was going on in thought during that hike to the altar of sacrifice? The only hint of Abraham’s sate of mind is found in his verbal response to Isaac’s question: “‘Father!…the fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?’” Abraham said, ‘God himself will provide the lamb for a burnt offering, my son.’”7 Was this a lie? He was carrying the tools for the sacrifice of his son, and yet he spoke the words that were ultimately true. There is no indication that he foreknew the substitute sacrifice, since he did place Isaac on the altar; but Abraham’s response to Isaac does indicate the possibility that his thought was changing. At some point Abraham was going to know that his fidelity to God would not involve the death of his child.

If Abraham was lying about God’s provision for the burnt offering, why did he choose that particular lie? He might have suggested a servant was already there with the lamb; he might have said he (not God) was going to find one. Instead, he at least thought the possibility that God would provide it. The mere thought of it made him immediately receptive when the Lord’s angel told him it was so.

The quiet three-day walk gave Abraham an opportunity to consider a radically new concept of fidelity and sacrifice, an idea he may have been considering in his response to Isaac’s question. While the text doesn’t indicate the reasoning or revelation unfolding to Abraham, the conclusion that came directly from the Lord’s angel is explicit: “Because you have done this, and have not withheld your son, your only son, I will indeed bless you, and I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars…”8 Unlike the sacrifices offered to the tribal gods, the God of Abraham would promise perpetuity and blessing on the offspring.

Although Abraham didn’t have the advantage of knowing the outcome of his sacrifice during his walk to the sacrificial altar, a detachment was taking place. His detachment from Isaac was becoming as vivid as his detachment from the material gods of his neighbors. In effect, Abraham was required to relinquish every material attachment to Isaac - his biological relationship, his physical sense of him, his knowledge of successive generation - through the act of making a burnt offering. But Abraham already had experience with the blessing that comes with disconnecting from materiality. His God who was only known to him spiritually had convincingly blessed him, especially with the promise and birth of Isaac.9 The material law of generation had already been broken, since Sarah was well past menopause when she conceived Abraham’s son.

Was it necessary for Abraham to climb as high as he did up the mountain of sacrifice, when God’s intention was to preserve and bless his child? If, as the introductory phrase of Genesis 22:1 suggests, this was God’s test for Abraham, what was he expected to prove in passing this test? The angel said, “because you have…not withheld your son…I will indeed bless you.”10 Because he was able to relinquish his son - to God - he was able to discern the blessing born of sacrificing whatever was not of God.

Abraham’s capacity to sacrifice might be expressed by a more contemporary writer, Thomas Merton, who describes his own discovery of joy that comes from sacrifice. He writes;

“I ought to know by now, that God uses everything that happens as a means to lead me into solitude. Every creature that enters my life, every instant of my days, will be designed to wound me with the realization of the world’s insufficiency, until I become so detached that I will be able to find God alone in everything. Only then will all things bring me joy.”11

Merton’s sacrifice is of the world’s insufficiency, or perhaps one might say of the material component of creation. He found that all things of joy have their source in God, and that by sacrificing an attraction to the worldly, or material sense of them, he finds the joy of all God’s creation. Here is a hint that Abraham actually did fulfill his obligation to sacrifice and that the test determined whether he could discern what it was that needed to be sacrificed.

As Merton expressed a detachment from the insufficiency of worldliness, Abraham was experiencing that kind of detachment in his three-day journey. One aspect of worldly attachment to Isaac might have been a false pride of fatherhood. After all, God is the one who promised and gave him.

Mary Baker Eddy offers a helpful insight into the nature of the blessing that comes from such sacrifice. She describes in Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, that the purpose of Abraham’s trial was to reveal the “life-preserving power of spiritual understanding.”12 The “offspring (made) as numerous as the stars of heaven and as the sand that is on the seashore”13 is a vivid description of the opposite of a dying child. Abraham’s detachment from the worldly (material) sense of Isaac awakened a spiritual sense, or understanding of him. And it was joyous, indeed. Blessings included numerous offspring, authority over enemies, and the blessing of all nations.14

This concept of gaining life-preserving power through the sacrifice of worldly attachments is the critical point needed in the current discussion on whether fidelity to God leads to the death of a child. Those who claim God’s will is the death of a child mistake the message of Abraham’s sacrifice; and those who cling to matter as the life-preserving power mistake the means of attaining Abraham’s blessings. Alone with the invisible God of Spirit, Abraham’s trusting obedience revealed the life-preserving blessing that comes from the detachment of material longings. Modern thinkers can be reassured that fidelity to God does not lead to the death of a child; but they can be challenged to sacrifice the world’s insufficiency and find the life-preserving power of spiritual understanding.

Eddy’s system of spiritual healing (described more fully in Science and Health) is based on this concept of worldly detachment and spiritual understanding; and those who practice it today are often mistaken for those who think it is God’s will for some children to die. The modern practice of spiritual healing will be better respected when Abraham’s sacrifice is understood as an awakening to the Lord’s blessings and to his authority over his enemies, rather than to potential loss. The promise echoes through the generations: “by your offspring shall all the nations of the earth gain blessing for themselves, because you have obeyed my voice.”15

1 Matt. 18:12
2 The New Westminster Dictionary of the Bible, 1970 ed.,s.v. “Offerings.”
3 Walter Russell Bowie, The Interpreter’s Bible, (New York: Abingdon-Cokesbury Press, 1952), vol.1, 642-643.
4 Gen.22:2.
5 Ibid.
6 David M. Gunn and Danna N. Fewell, Narrative in the Hebrew Bible, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993) 95.
7 Gen. 22:7,8.
8 Ibid,vv.16,17.
9 Ibid, chaps. 17 and 21.
10 Ibid. 22: 16-17
11 Thomas Merton, the sign of Jonas, quoted in Heather King. “Notes from a desert sanctuary,” The Sun, December 2001.
12 Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, (Boston: The First Church of Christ, Scientist, 1875), 579.
13 Gen. 22:17.
14 Ibid, vv. 17-18.
15 Ibid.

“Go! Jesus sent his disciples out into the community with the specific assignment to “cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.”1 These solemn words were spoken with authority and compassion to those who were to become the first Christians. Their work would be dangerous and difficult, Jesus warned them, but the same Father who watches over the sparrows would be tenderly caring for them.2 In this brief business plan spelled out in chapter 10 of Matthew’s gospel, Jesus established a work model complete with work to be accomplished, compensation, skill development, instructions for doing the work, obstacles to overcome, safety regulations, assurance of success, motivational support, and retirement package.3
But there is reluctance in contemporary Christian practice to acknowledge this calling in Matthew 10 as directly relevant today. The assignment to “cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, and cast out demons” may seem unrealistic, and therefore the rest of the calling doesn’t apply. Even the language sounds strange to modern ears, because the explicit goals of our business plans are generally geared around making money, not loving our neighbor. Allen Verhey describes vast changes in the economic landscape since the time of Jesus and thereby implies that we shouldn’t read too much into the literal details of the ethics of work from the Bible.4
However, if it is possible to perceive this specific calling (described in Matthew 10) as the duty and privilege of all Christians, then certainly we should take great care to follow the instructions to the best of our ability in thought and in deed. It is beyond the scope of this essay to fully defend this position, but there is ample evidence in contemporary practice and scholarship to justify it.5 To draw from the scriptural text itself, Jesus appears to be speaking to everyone present and in the future who would expect to follow him, when he said in the context of this calling, “Everyone therefore who acknowledges me before others, I also will acknowledge before my Father in heaven…”6 Also, “whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me.”7
Indeed, this calling is not an avocation or post-retirement diversion for ancient or modern Christians. It is the serious full-time business of being a Christian. In a previous paper, I noted that the power to heal lies in one’s willingness to become enslaved to Christ.8 In his work plan, Jesus said that those who took up the cross would be qualified to follow him. The degree to which one takes up this cross is the criterion for which a Christian knows his calling. To understand the application of this command, a question emerges: “Is taking up the cross a metaphor for the contemplative or active life, or both?” I argue that it is both.
For the ancient Greek philosophers, there was no question that the contemplative life was superior to the physical toil of slave labor. The economy was based on slavery, and the few who were privileged to be unemployed were free to escape the bodily annoyances in contemplation. This demeaning attitude toward work persisted in Christian practice from antiquity through the Middle Ages. The best Christian, therefore, was one who was free to think and pray. Augustine admitted that charity (labor on behalf of one’s neighbor) might be momentarily greater, but the sincere Christian would turn from the distraction and “give [himself] over in leisure to study and contemplation.”9
But was there a genuine cross to bear in the monastery? On the surface, the relinquishing of earthly possessions may have appeared to be a sacrifice. Ironically though, in being poor, the monks earned a badge of pride, and in this way became rich. Being poor carried a corrupting influence and attracted large numbers of monks. Eagerness to sacrifice all for the life of contemplation and admiration revealed a flaw in the concept. The monastery was not the model for a contemplative life that bore a cross.
Ultimately, it was a radical shift in the understanding of God in the Renaissance that brought about a complete reversal in the attitude toward work. The distant and passive God whose image and likeness was withdrawn from the active life was overthrown for a God of power and action. The image of this God made man possessing both intellect and hands. Writing of the glorified human worker, Lee Hardy explains, “The ideal human being is not the thinker who merely contemplates the idea of beauty, but the artist, who both contemplates that idea and shapes the world accordingly.”10
Does the freedom to create involve a cross to bear? As technology has increasingly become the ontology of late modernity, humans and their tools have become blurred. Humans appear to be literally making themselves, as they adapt to the creation of their machines, according to Hannah Arendt.11 As long as machines appear to offer comfort and more freedom from work, technology promises an escape from sacrificing. This model of work in the post-modern age, where work is the consuming act of our lives, promising personal leisure instead of loving (or healing) of others, is not the model Jesus left.
A Christian’s two great commandments, loving God and loving one’s neighbor, both involve genuine sacrifice. However, the incompatibility of loving God and loving our neighbor was a precept that originated with Aristotle and persisted throughout the Middle Ages. The act (or work) of loving one’s neighbor prevents the opportunity to contemplate, or love God, Aristotle taught. The popularity of monasticism stemmed from the widespread belief that the contemplative life was superior to the life of action, and it provided a convenient way to “bear a cross”, since Christians were no longer being persecuted. Centuries later, though, Luther overthrew the monastic way of life, as faith in God had ultimately been replaced with striving for God’s acceptance. This selfish motive was exposed, and the honesty of working for others was elevated to religious significance. Luther saw the worker as God’s representative, cultivating and stewarding God’s good gifts.12 Therefore, turning away from a neighbor in need is tantamount to turning away from God himself. Calvin likewise saw that the knowledge of God (or love of Him) must bear fruit in the active life and that serving our neighbors is impossible without the love of God.13
If seeking the contemplative life (serving God) and seeking the active life (serving our neighbor) are unified by taking up the cross, then a sincere Christian will trust there is a relationship between his prayer and his actions. But there are questions concerning the choice of one’s particular vocation. Luther and Calvin disagree, for example, on whether the discernment should come from one’s station in life or his God-given talents. Luther argues that God’s will placed each individual where he is needed, and that station is the means for his service to others. Calvin, on the other hand, claims that usefulness comes not from those who gave birth to us but from what God has given us. Both options are problematic, however, as Luther’s formula leaves no room for the development of greater capacities to give, while Calvin’s design could result in the temptation for self-improvement and thereby helping self above others.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer offers an alternative method for discerning one’s calling based on the acceptance of responsibility. More like Paul’s concept of being enslaved to Christ, his model of utter unselfishness may ultimately help every Christian follow in some degree Christ’s command to cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. “It is the fact,” he explains, “that life is bound to man and to God which sets life in the freedom of a man’s own life. Without this bond and without this freedom there is no responsibility.”14 The freedom of a man’s own life that comes from being bound to God is an indication of one’s access to infinite Spirit, from which to perform deeds of great importance to others. Taken to its full range of possibility, the Christian who lives so selflessly, so faithfully to God, and so full of love for his neighbor will naturally cure him of sorrow, selfishness, and strife. As Jesus explained through teaching and demonstration, the healing of sin comes from the same source (Holy Spirit) as the healing of sickness, “demons,” and the dying.15
Therefore, instead of despairing over the overwhelming task of curing the sick, sinful, and dying, Christians can appreciate the opportunity to bless their neighbors at any station. Whether currently working as a fisherman, tent-maker, or financial analyst, Christians can take responsibility through their love of God and their neighbor. The first healings may consist of binding up the broken hearted or stilling the storms of hatred. All followers of Christ learn the skills for their calling gradually, through taking on more of the responsibility described by Bonhoeffer.
According to his definition of responsibility, a locker repairman and seminary professor are equally capable of taking on the Chrisian calling. The essential issue is not the form of the vocation, but the choice of freedom in Spirit to commit to the service of man and God. Many of the limitations of work could be called into question when vocation is discerned from the freedom in Spirit, rather than in its form.
For instance, the selection of a job can be guided more wisely when the options are evaluated on the basis of the opportunity to serve, rather than the mechanics of the work. Lack of appreciation by fellow workers is always difficult, but the sting is lessened when work commitment is made to Spirit, rather than a project. Being passed over for promotion is less devastating when one’s worth is contingent not upon the form, or title of a job, but on finding freedom in service. Instead of early burnout, workers who engage in responsibility enjoy increased opportunity to be useful. Even the historical tension between labor and management is relaxed when both parties seek responsibility, as is taking place in the recent turnaround of the US steel industry. The Christian Science Monitor reports that “in an industry that has a history of difficult union-management relations, much of the animosity in the hot and noisy mills is dissipating…Now the workers are basically running the plant, making many of the day-to-day operating decisions.”16
Steel laborers on the shop floor and clergymen preparing sermons all have the option to follow Jesus’ command. Regardless of the form of their labor, Christians can commit their lives in service to God and to their neighbors. Wherever they are, their freedom in the Spirit enables them to heal the broken hearted and even to cure the sick. Their life of action keeps them in relation to their neighbor, but their life of contemplation is necessary in order to know how to bless their neighbor. The more earnestly they commit to the well-being of others, the more dangerous and difficult their work will become. But Jesus promised the same Father who watches over the sparrows will still tenderly care for all of them. Even today.

…..The Christian Science Monitor reports that “in an industry that has a history of difficult union-management relations, much of the animosity in the hot and noisy mills is dissipating…Now the workers are basically running the plant, making many of the day-to-day operating decisions.”17
The issue of equality (or inequality) extends even beyond corporate management, to the systemic causes of global poverty and other forms of oppression. Christine Pohl points out, “Today, some of the most complex political and ethical tensions center around recognizing or treating people as equals.”18 The freedom in Spirit spoken of by Bonhoeffer would be irrelevant to the oppressed and poor, unless the recognition of equality has a firm basis and results in a corrective action. Agape is a firm basis, because it is a self-sacrificing love, and its concern is for the well-being of all.
A biblical example of agape’s capacity to bless the masses in a practical way is Jesus’ feeding of the multitude. Each individual had tangible proof of being loved, since there was enough food for everyone. Not even the one who brought the bread and fish was singled out as privileged above others; nor were large groups of people deprived of the blessing. The purpose of Jesus’ work, helping — or curing — anyone in need was not for the purpose of accruing to himself. His “freedom in Spirit” resulted in a compassionate action that benefited everyone in need. Christians can learn from this example how to make social, political, and moral decisions based on a commitment to bless others. The Spirit that blesses one is the same Spirit that is available to bring food and blessing to even the poorest in the world. Therefore it is the work of the contemplative Christian to see that his practice of agape results in restorative action that improves the lives of all mankind.
Steel laborers on the shop floor, those who heal the sick in Jesus’ name, and those who feed the hungry all have the option to follow Jesus’ command. Regardless of the form of their labor, Christians can commit their lives in service to God and to their neighbors. Wherever they are, their freedom in the Spirit enables them to heal the broken hearted and even to cure the sick. Their life of action keeps them in relation to their neighbors near and far, but their life of contemplation is necessary in order to know how to bless their neighbor. The more earnestly they commit to the well-being of others, the more dangerous and difficult their work will become. But Jesus promised the same Father who watches over the sparrows will still tenderly care for all of them. Even today.

1 Mat 10.8
2 Mat 10.31
3 Work to be accomplished: “Cure the sick, raises the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons” v. 8
Compensation: “Laborers deserve their food.” v. 10; “Find out who is worthy and stay there…” v. 11
Skill development: “…it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.” v. 20
Instructions for doing the work: “As you enter the house, greet it…if anyone not welcome you…shake off the dust from your feet.” V. 12,14; “Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” v. 16; “Take up the cross and follow me.” v. 38
Obstacles to overcome: “They will hand you over to councils…” v. 17; “When they persecute you…” v. 23; “…how…they will malign those of his household.” v. 25
Safety regulations: “When they persecute you in one town, flee to the next…” v. 23; “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul…” v. 28
Assurance of success: “…you will not have gone through all the towns of Israel before the Son of Man comes.” v. 23
Motivational support: “So do not be afraid; you are of more value than many sparrows.” v. 31; “Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” V. 40
Retirement package: “…the one who endures to the end will be saved.” v. 22; “…those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” v. 39.
4 Allen Verhey, Remembering Jesus, (Grand Rapids, MI: William Eerdmans Publishing Co, 2002),253-262
5 See, for examples, Robert Peel, Spiritual Healing in a Scientific Age, (San Francisco: Harper & Row, Publishers, 1987) and Healing Spiritually, (Boston: The Christian Science Publishing Society, 1996).
6 Mat. 10.32
7 Mat. 10.38
8 Shirley Paulson, “We become perfectly free by becoming enslaved to Christ,” paper for Christian Moral Reasoning, Dr. Brent Waters, November, 2003.
9 St. Augustine, City of God,XIX, 19, quoted from Lee Hardy, The Fabric of this world, (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1990), 19.
10 Lee Hardy, The Fabric of this World, (Grand Rapids, MI: William Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1990), 28.
11 Class notes.
12 Hardy, 48,49
13 Ibid, 58.
14 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Ethics, (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1955, trans, Neville Horton Smith, 1949), 221.
15 Mat 9.5
16 Ron Scherer and Adam Parker, “Big Steel’s surprise comeback”, The Christian Science Monitor, December 5, 2003, p. 1.
17 Ron Scherer and Adam Parker, “Big Steel’s surprise comeback”, The Christian Science Monitor, December 5, 2003, p. 1.
18 Christine D. Pohl, Making Room: Recovering Hospitality as a Christian Tradition, (Grand Rapids, MI: William Eerdmans Publishing Co. 1999), 61.

Copyright 2007-2008. Spirituality and Christianity.All rights reserved.

The tension implied in this question arises from the fact that Christianity includes a foundational element of the divine, whereas culture is predominantly human. Where the divine relates to the human is the task of theology, and therefore the entire prism of Christian theology is relevant in a full answer to the question. However the scope of this paper is limited to a comparison between the writings of postmodern theologians Kathryn Tanner and James McClendon Jr., and their relevance to my own Christian experience.
All three of us concur that Christianity might be defined as a culture, but there are nuances in the meaning of the locutions, “Christianity” and “culture” that alter the relationship between them. For instance, whereas McClendon sees aspects of Christianity that form its own culture, Tanner sees the force of influence working in reverse, where Christianity is formed by culture. And yet their overall understanding of Christianity and culture works more characteristically in parallel, rather than in contrary motion. My own Christian practice is based on a perception of a transforming power of Christianity, closer to McClendon’s formula.
Tanner and McClendon both acknowledge a postmodern diachronic perspective of culture, in contrast to the modern notion of synchronic perspective, and therefore culture for them reflects the instability inherent in postmodern anthropology. Culture, therefore is an entire way of life and includes all the conflicts that keep it in perpetual motion. If Christianity were seen only as a principle or system without fluctuation, it would not be consistent with a postmodern sense of culture. However, Hans Frei denotes three orders of Christian theology that make it possible to broaden the definition of Christianity beyond the reliability of a constant system. While the first order establishes the continuity of Christianity through its confession of specific beliefs, and the second order serves as a commentary on the first order, it is the third order that allows for conflict and adjustment.1
The third order, according to Frei, meets the community and makes the attempt to tell others of the first two orders. It forms the effort to define Christian practice in human life, and this is naturally where tension should be expected. Culture itself is in flux, as it is influenced by a wide variety of factors, from historical events to the philosophical attempts for humans to understand themselves. So insofar as Christianity is seen in relevant relationship to an unstable culture, it can itself be defined as culture. Tanner’s analogy of Christianity to a poem illustrates the significance of practice in the defining characteristic of Christianity. “Christianity is one big poem,” she says, “in that the meanings of its elements are subtle and ambiguous, and the connections among them elusive and associative, as matters of practice always are.”2
When Christian practices become a way of life for a group of people, it can be said that Christianity is a culture, regardless of the ambiguity and conflict in those practices. In fact McClendon points out that culture consists of a set of conflicts; therefore the nature of conflicts that arise in Christian practice becomes irrelevant. The polyphonic characteristic of theology is merely reflected in the rich fabric of community practices and struggles.3
Tanner broadens this definition of Christianity as a distinct culture of its own by showing that theology is a form of cultural activity itself. Theology can therefore be seen broadly as an aspect of being human, as Gordon Kaufman posits.4 But Christianity is not lost in the overarching realm of culture, when Tanner reminds us of the all-important question, “Where is God’s influence in culture?”5 This is the question that unites Tanner, McClendon, and myself, as we would all agree that the task of Christian theology is to benefit all mankind in its cultural expression, even while it offers the means to salvation for the believer.
Tanner approaches the question of influencing culture from an analysis of academic and every day theology. While academic theology is responsible for the technical accuracy of first and second order theology, the third order may discern more accurately the beliefs and values of every day Christians. Tanner recognizes the power with which beliefs govern the practices and actions of people, and therefore she conceives the task of theology as a pragmatic one. Changing the beliefs and thoughts of Christians through every day theology can result in beneficial change;6 and of course, this third order of theology can ultimately inform the second and first orders through telling them the conditions and issues that need to be addressed.
Tanner does not claim, however, a tidy causal relationship between beliefs and actions. She explains that since people are able to act against their own beliefs, the needs of society are not met merely through a reworking of Christian beliefs. In her postmodern approach, she determines first which actions proceed from which beliefs, and on that basis she assesses the better beliefs. For example, the belief that people are created in the image of God can direct human action by either causing submission for oppressors or else strengthening for the weak.7 But there are four factors that influence those actions (meaning, circumstances, other beliefs, and applications), and it is the task of theology is to understand the relationship between beliefs and actions in order to support a Christian way of life.
McClendon agrees with Tanner that beliefs and convictions have practical relevance. But his focus is on the action caused in culture by the Christian message, or as he refers to it, the “Great Story”. McClendon uses four American histories to demonstrate what it means for Christians to connect beliefs and actions. The stories of the missionaries to the Navajo Indians, the justification of the American Revolution, the mixed report on the Gospel Revivals, and the defeat of the Social Gospel all illustrate the potential for Christian beliefs to make positive contributions to culture, but resulted in little reward.
McClendon’s concern for the weakness in Christianity’s ability to raise up “fruitful seed” in the soil of American culture lies in a breach between empirical and transcendental poles. Highlighted especially in his account of American visual art, he shows how the transcendentalism of the Hudson River School could never replicate the created world, while the empiricism of Eakins, Bellows, and Wood could never unite earthly facts with heavenly transcendence. McClendon finds the lingering modern culture still offers too feeble witness as it swerves between gnostic transcendence and gross experientialism,8 but he finds hope that the Great Story will exercise more authority in shaping the culture of America through some cultural examples such as jazz.9
The mending of the breach between transcendental gnosticism and worldly empiricism resonates in my Christian experience. I find the motives behind the Social Gospel movement similar to my understanding of the relationship between Christianity and culture, because I think of God’s kingdom as not “far off hereafter but [working in] the actual present world of people.”10 It results in good news to the needy and guidance to the conversion of the individual, and therefore the transcendental nature of God is able to connect with the fleshly needs of mortals. In this way Christianity is a culture. Reinhold Niebuhr critiques this Social Gospel system by writing it off as an impossible ideal, but as McClendon points out, the Social Gospel might have helped its cause by making more evident the solid Christian doctrine it espoused.11
My own modest practice of this relevant Christianity, closing the gap between the transcendental and empirical, leads me to think that more is possible. I hear and hope to heed the warnings from the failure of the Social Gospel. It is important to make better known the thoroughly Christian theology that supports it. Also, when the practice becomes too closely involved in the political structure, or when the entire way of Christian living becomes absorbed in the political struggle,
then the Christian practice is swallowed up in the work of the nation. I conclude with McClendon that “there is an ongoing need in every religious culture, every cultural religion, for the correction of ethics and doctrine that seeks once again to set Christ at the center.”12

1 Hans Frei, Types of Christian Theology, (Yale University Press, 1992), 21.
2 Kathryn Tanner, Theories of Culture: A New Agenda for Theology, (Fortress Press, 1997), 91.
3 Class notes, February 12, 2004
4 Tanner, 64.
5 Tanner, 63.
6 Class notes, February 19, 2004
7 Ibid.
8 James Wm. McClendon Jr. Witness: Systematic Theology, Vol. 3 (Nashville: Abington Press, 2000), 180.
9 Ibid, 158.
10 Ibid, 92.
11 Ibid, 96.
12 Ibid, 97.

Copyright 2007-2008. Spirituality and Christianity.All rights reserved.

I just posted one of my papers from seminary. I’ll be posting more of them, so watch for them on the Theological Topics page of this website.

Jesus went down to the shore of the sea of Galilee and found two fishermen. He distinctly selected them to enter a powerful relationship, asking if they would drop everything they were doing and commit their lives to following him. Simon (later called Peter) and his brother Andrew did just that. This extraordinary event illustrates a poignant example of one of the scriptural terms for love, called philia, in which a preferential bond is based on a mutual attraction. In this case, Jesus selected these friends to be the recipients of his love, and the brothers’ reciprocal offer included a loyal commitment to this particular friend. However, this is the same Jesus who would soon be reinforcing the scriptural command to love all neighbors as themselves. This generous expression of love, known as agape, would mark the shift in discourse and practice for the followers of Jesus throughout the subsequent centuries.

Gilbert Meilaender discusses in his book, Friendship: A Study in Theological Ethics, how the Christian calling to serve others is in tension with loyalty to selective friendship. But a careful look at the relationship between Jesus and Peter demonstrates a harmony, not a tension, between philia and agape. Meilaender argues that there is justification for recapturing the importance of philia in Christian practice, but he does not show convincingly that friendship tends to assist relationships with near and distant neighbors.1 The central unresolved element in the apparent opposite forces of philia and agape, he claims, lies in the “preferential character of friendship”.2

I find the example of Jesus’ friendship with Peter disproves this tension in its demonstration of the ideal unity of divine Love. If philia and agape are both found in the works of Christ Jesus, they must have their origin in this divine Love. In Jesus’ faithful practice of philia is found a profound support for his own and for his friend’s broader practice of agape. Therefore, the preferential character of friendship, if practiced in the way of Jesus’ teaching, is an ally to neighbors and strangers.

Jesus loved Peter preferentially. He selected him to be among his closest and trusted friends. At times there were only three who were invited to be with him during his most significant experiences, and Peter was always there.3 Jesus healed his mother-in-law;4 he invited Peter to walk with him on the water.5 Peter loved Jesus specifically. He gave up his livelihood to learn from him and to support him; and he struggled with himself in order to be a more faithful friend. Their friendship was not self-centered or self-consuming. Rather, its distinct purpose was to discern and support the individuality of the other. It is clear that honoring each other’s individuality resulted in strengthening each other’s capacity to be of service to mankind. Jesus’ life was wholly dedicated to the salvation of the humankind, and Peter was being prepared to establish the church.
The essential aspect of philia that supports the activity of agape is this discernment and commitment to support individuality. Therefore, a precise meaning of the term “individuality” is necessary to establish the consistency of this argument. According to the American Heritage Dictionary, individuality is “the aggregate of qualities and characteristics that distinguish one person or thing from others.”6 Since Christians agree that the distinguishing characteristics of God’s creation are determined by God and to be celebrated by all creation, man is better understood as a reflection of the infinite Soul and does not relate to God in autonomous self-sufficiency. What greater friend is there than the example of Jesus who discerned and supported all that reflects God in his friends?

Meilaender turns to Kierkegaard to justify his attempt to unify philia and agape, although there remain tensions within the relationship that are not fully resolved by Kierkegaard.7 However, there is a way to consider how utter unselfishness characterizes the type of philia that can result in agapeic neighbor-love. While the Greek word philia may include the meaning of self-fulfilling neediness,8 the example of Jesus’ friendship with Peter, seeking not its own, illustrates philia’s promotion of agape. Without the discernment and support for a friend’s life purpose, philia is a negative influence on agape, as it loses focus on support for the friend and feeds on neediness. Likewise, without the commitment to support individuality (life purpose), agape is a negative influence on philia. That is, the attempt to love our neighbors would be hollow and perhaps insincere without the sharp learning experiences inherent in practical friendship. Therefore, the friendship of philia can be seen as an ally to the practice of agape, only when it is practiced as Jesus lived it.

Peter and Jesus specifically addressed the question of their individuality, when Jesus asked his disciples if they knew who he was. They reported what others thought, but Peter identified him as the Christ, the Son of the living God. With that, Jesus blessed him and in turn identified Peter with his new name.9 In both cases, they discerned the God-given individuality in each other in such a way they understood the other’s calling to serve mankind. In this scene, their mutual discernment of true individuality (God-given life purpose) exemplifies the way philia naturally results in the broadest experience of agape.

Another characteristic of friendship discussed by Meileander is the need for a relationship “between free and equal participants.”10 As was often the case when Peter needed to learn from his friend, Peter found the lesson of equality difficult to understand and admit. While Jesus was preparing for his separation from them, he purposefully took care to wash the feet of his disciples. But Peter rebuked him, probably feeling too intensely his own inadequacy for an implication of equality. Jesus’ commitment to friendship, seeking equal participation from them, helped them to discern their own God-given, pure individuality as he saw them. Proof of this intent lies in Jesus’ explanation for washing Peter’s feet: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”11 Rebuking the impurity, Jesus pointed to the origin of purity for himself and his friends. And as in the other lessons of friendship, this one also pointed to a greater service to neighbors. Jesus continued, “I have set you an example, that you should do as I have to you.”12 In this case, Jesus is perhaps referring to their duty to neighbors who are “near”, or those who are more conscious of following a similar path in life.

Another argument in favor of the tension between philia and agape is that friendships are fragile and yield to greater causes. If forced to choose between loyalty to a friend over loyalty to the nation, Aristotle chooses the nation.13 Indeed, Peter desperately fought this notion of infidelity, insisting he would never betray his friend even to the end (through Jesus’ death). Meilaender describes the type of difficulty Peter was facing: “…if one simply becomes far superior to the other and the ‘distance between them becomes great,’ it is impossible that friendship should be sustained.”14 Jesus understood this strain and warned Peter that he wouldn’t be strong enough to follow through. Three times the cock would crow before the next morning, and Peter would discover his own denial of this friendship three times.

However, Jesus’ solid commitment to friendship (philia), his loyalty to the God-given individuality in his friend healed even this breach, when Jesus forgave him. The pain of Peter’s weakness was redeemed, when Jesus gave him the opportunity to affirm his love, including both philia and agape: “Do you love me?” Jesus asked him. After being questioned for the third time, each affirmation canceling his three denials, Peter understood the basis of the love between them. Jesus was again affirming the strength of Peter’s individuality, as Peter admitted, “You know everything (implying everything about me). You know that I love you.”15 Jesus brought home the lesson to Peter that he could be forgiven, because Jesus knew Peter’s true God-given individuality was strong enough to be faithful, even beyond death.

Peter learned through this encounter in friendship that his individuality could sustain the responsibility placed upon him. His three-fold confession of his love for Jesus was met with three commands to feed (or care for) his sheep (his followers). This deeply personal experience of forgiveness produced an equally deep commitment to love the neighbors near and far.

Another argument for the tension between the practice of philia and agape, expressed by Jeremy Taylor, is that “universal love can become an inhumane requirement rather than an inspiring ideal.”16 Indeed, unselfishness is honorable, and yet a Franciscan approach to life is not an honest calling for everyone. It often leaves the unwary Christian in an undesirable position of practicing stoicism. The pain of unreturned friendship can cause one to retreat to himself, putting himself at the center of his concerns.17 The opposite extreme from stoic self-sufficiency is the claim to a spirituality beyond the point of demonstration. Some early Christians, ascetics, excused themselves from the rigors of friendship, by claiming they had already passed the human necessity for individual relationships. These “spiritual enthusiasts …claimed to participate already fully in the future age, claimed to be already fully spiritual, already ‘angels.’”18
In defense of philia’s support of agape, however, the two extremes of stoicism and asceticism illustrate how an escape from the rigors of unselfish friendship merely bypasses the essential lessons of love. Peter’s ordeals in his friendship with Jesus were the very strengthening lessons he needed in order to fulfill his role as leader of the church. It was a friendship that brought upon him rebuke and correction, but it also saved him from the uselessness that would have come through stoicism or asceticism. The courage to discern and defend individuality brings force to the shared purpose of friends, and therefore agape is a natural outcome.

Friendship based on self-consumption has been found to be fragile and unreliable. But the standard set by Jesus, a friendship committed to discerning and defending individuality, shows why true friendship never loses purpose nor dies. This is the kind of friendship that is an ally to all neighbors near and far. Peter had been tempted to go back to his old ways, as if his friendship with Jesus never took place, fishing for fish instead of men. But Jesus, returning again to restore Peter’s confidence in his worth, gave him a chance to prove his loyalty. From that day forward, the apostle Peter, friend of Jesus, devoted the rest of his life to “feeding his sheep”.

1 Gilbert C. Meilaender, Friendship: A Study in Theological Ethics, (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame, 1981).
2 Ibid, 3.
3 Matthew 17.1 (the transfiguration); Mark 5.37 (raising of Jairus’ daughter); Mark 14.33 (in Gethsesmane)
4 Luke 4.38
5 Matthew 14.9
6 The American Heritage (r) Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Copyright (c) 2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Published by the Houghton Mifflin Company. (c) 1996-2002 yourDictionary.com, Inc.
7 Meilaender, 47.
8 I do not claim to have the linguistic skills to know the Greek understanding of the term “philia”. I merely surmise its meaning from English-speaking theologians.
9 Matthew 16:17
10 Meilaender, 46.
11 John 13:8
12 Ibid, v.15.
13 Class notes.
14 Meilaender, 58.
15 John 21:17
16 Meilaender, 26.
17 Meilaender, 39.
18 Allen Veryhey, Remembering Jesus (Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 2002), 220.

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