As I write this, it looks clear that Proposal 3 has passed in the state of Michigan, and that abortion is now considered a constitutional right. I have tried to back away from speaking about politics because there are more important things to talk about, and when I do speak up, I often choose to critique my own movement rather than preach to the choir and raise the banner. I don’t want to win. I want to get at what is true and good together.

But today I want to why it is that so many people see this as a horrifying defeat while at the same time so many more see this as a glorious victory. How can one event be interpreted in such vastly different ways?

Of course, I’ve seen the easy answer online: the other side is pure evil. “They” are full of hate. “They” just want to murder babies. “They” just want to enslave women. No doubt some do, but I hope you, dear reader, are wise enough to know such extreme positions don’t represent the whole group.

So if “they” aren’t pure evil, while else would they disagree with me? The next step is to say they are acting irrationally for one reason or another. Perhaps “they” are driven by an unconscious bias or hatred; some deeper inner drive is overriding their sense of good judgment. Maybe it’s the desire for sex, the desire for freedom, the desire for control, or some kind of homophobia or misogyny or racism. These, if true, may be forgiven to some degree, because we are complex people and sometimes unaddressed issues can throw anyone off course. With a little counseling, a little reflection, a little education, maybe we could overcome some of these hidden drivers.

Less forgivable is the idea that their irrationality is caused by an obstacle not from within but from without. Perhaps “they” have been brainwashed by some organization. Whether it’s the church, the state, the family, some corporation, some NPO, we worry that someone in power is lying to the people and manipulating them. This is less forgivable. In fact, the idea fills us with rage. I am informed! You are a pawn! My team is trustworthy, but yours is destroying my country! How dare they do this, and how dare you let them.

No doubt these are factors, too. We live in a marketplace of influence and attention, and there are some who want influence badly enough to do anything for attention. They will lie if lying gets them more influence. They will manipulate if they think it will benefit them. But how do you know who is playing this game and who is actually after the truth? House used to say “everybody lies.” Is the solution to trust no one? This only hastens the breakdown of society. We can’t live like that.

It is possible everyone is bent on power over principle. But I don’t believe we’re there yet. I think there are people of goodwill who want to raise healthy families, who want to do right by their neighbors, who want to leave to their children a society that is in some way better than the one they inherited. I think that kind of person is still the majority in America. I am convinced that we are not divided by hate or lies, although the haters and liars do benefit from our division. I am convinced we are divided by different beliefs about what it means to be good, and different beliefs about what is true.

So I submit that, despite there being some evil people, some tainted by irrational drives, and some hoodwinked by powerful organizations, we primarily interpret this event in two opposite ways because it seems rational to us. It fits with what we believe about what is true and good. We discern who to trust based on our pre-existing beliefs. We discern what is rational and what is irrational, or what is pure evil and what is accidental, based on our pre-existing beliefs.

And so while many will either lament or celebrate today’s outcome, I lament the underlying reality. I lament that a country full of people who want to do the right thing are so fractured in their understanding of what the right thing is.

Some no doubt believe that the rift has grown too wide, that there is no going back. I pray that this is not true. In fact, I have staked my career on the opposite of this. The reason that I applied myself to the study of philosophy and theology is because I believe it’s possible to discover the truth, and even to persuade one another of the truth. I don’t believe we are locked in our own minds with our own prejudices, helpless to change. I believe that we can come to see truths we would not initially accept. I believe we can grown in our ability to think well, to identify errors, and to help one another do the same.

In some ways it feels silly to have to write that. I have heard grown men tell me to my face that people become who they are are kids and when they are adults, they can’t change. And perhaps it is harder, sure, but it is patently false. We have evidence of this all around us, all throughout history, all throughout literature. Don’t buy the lie that says if you disagree with someone today, you will always disagree for the rest of your lives.

There is a more spiritual version of this argument that I hear as well. It says that people who don’t believe are trapped in their unbelief, and only people who do believe can see the truth. And since these beliefs are foundational to all others, you can never persuade someone who isn’t a believer about anything substantive, and you shouldn’t bother trying. This is a warped doctrine you will not find in the Bible. Don’t believe it.

How can I say this? Easy. We already share a great many beliefs in common. We already have many things in common that we take for granted. We learn to emphasize and brood over our differences, and at a more fundamental level we tend to find our identity in our uniqueness, but the reality is we share much in common, even if it’s only the capacity to emphasize, brood, and be unique. Of course, I believe it’s more than that.

Not only do we already have things in common, but we are already changing. We have changed over the past 10 years, and before that we had changed over the previous 30 years, and so on. Change is happening in the externals and in our fundamental values. And if they can change in one direction, they can change in another.

So if we have some values in common and have demonstrated an ability to change, then it’s not only possible but necessary to try and build on our commonality and change in productive ways.

Some on both sides want to see groups or even government dismantled. The problem with overthrowing the old culture is that the first act of the new culture is destructive. It is not a neutral action or merely an outward facing action, but it is an action that changes us. We become a culture of destruction. Again, we cannot live that way. We need a more constructive approach.

What blocks us first is fear. We are afraid that whoever we are meeting with won’t be honest, will be manipulative, or a pawn of someone else’s manipulation. We need to rebuild trust, which I am told comes through going through difficult times together and finding that we have each other’s backs in a crisis. The past decade has not been good for this either, because whether the issue is race or economy or public health, so many of us feel like we have been through the crisis and found others have let us down. That is a real challenge. I can only hope that we will give each other another chance.

And this brings me to my final point: how do we come to know who was wrong so that we can apologize and reconcile? If it’s true, as I have argued, that there are a great many people of goodwill on both sides, and that our disagreement is not over desiring the truth and doing what is good but rather over what is true and what is good, then we confront again the real task, and it is monumental: we have to find some way of talking about what is true and good constructively. We have to find some way of reexamining our own beliefs to see where they can be corrected and trusting that others will, too.

Because, and this is crucial, to be this divided can only mean one of two things at a fundamental level. For any single conviction where we disagree, either one side is right and the other is wrong, or the disagreement stems from a paradox that needs to be addressed. For example, if I say abortion is always wrong and you say abortion is sometimes right, we are faced with a contradiction. We cannot both be right, at least not in the same sense. We would either have to explore whether there is some imprecision in what we are saying and nuance our positions until we found how they fit together, or, if we find we face a true contradiction, we need to determine which stance is wrong. To do that we need a shared way of exploring our beliefs and some shared set of criteria that identifies what is true.

What I am describing is nothing new. In fact, it is very, very old. There are some who want to give up this process, who see this process as itself part of the problem. But I tend to think that most of us attempt to do something like this but overestimate our abilities and actually practice something far less rigorous and far sloppier.

Is it possible to examine our beliefs and values, to work toward consensus, and to believe the best about each other? I believe it is. The problem is (1) it is hard work, (2) we are too distracted, and (3) simply winning feels like enough. But if my victory is at the expense of half the country, it is a hollow victory. That was true for the end of Roe v. Wade, and it is true again today for those who supported Prop 3 in Michigan.

So I will continue to look for ways to test and refine my beliefs, and for ways to help you do the same. I will try to get better at explaining what I think is true and good and why, and inviting you to discuss that with me. But I call on all people of goodwill to believe the best about the people you disagree with. Some of them are liars and haters; I am not denying that. But please do whatever you can to make sure the people you are connected to get the benefit of the doubt.

It is probably too late for simple solutions, but I hope things will not have to get any worse before we take seriously our responsibility to build a society together rather than tear one apart together.

In exploring Romanticism, I expected to find some key seeds of thought at the root of the movement, things that contrasted with Rationalism. I was not disappointed.

I have taught for years on Descartes’ famous statement, later summarized as “I think, therefore I am.” In case you are unfamiliar, Descartes was a French philosopher/mathematician who was trying to bring about an end to the religious strife in his day by trying to discover truth that would unite, truth that could not be doubted. Not a bad wish. But his method was all wrong: first of all, because he tried to discover this truth by reason alone, shutting out the world of sense experience and inherited traditions. Second, because he opted to search through doubt. His conclusion was that he could find a way to doubt everything except the act of doubting itself. This, he reasoned, was a form of thinking, which must be done by a thinking thing, which must be me! Thus, he “proved” to himself the truth of his existence beyond all possibility of doubt. One perhaps unintended side-effect was the way it cast man as essentially a thinking thing. What am I? A reasoner.

It turned out proving anything else was harder than Descartes thought, which drew attention to the problem of how you know your perceptions are related to reality. This is the turn to the subject, where we focus on the subjective (mind dependent) in hopes of finding a way back to the real world “out there.”

Of course, rationalism as a movement didn’t get stuck in this subjectivity problem. It was too busy making sense of the universe through deduction and induction, through math and experimentation. But it would create other problems that I won’t get into in any depth today. Suffice it to say that, according to Isaiah Berlin, rationalism applied as a worldview was too much for some to bear, and so reactions percolated and coalesced until Romanticism was born.

I’m not able to tell that story yet. What I want to focus on is this: Romanticism as a counter-movement had its own moment like Descartes, with similar ripple effects. The German philosopher Fichte asserted, according to Berlin, “You become aware of the self only when there is some kind of resistance. . . . In the resistance emerged the self and the not-self” (Berlin 108, 109). In other words, “I resist, therefore I am.” I noticed it right away, and Berlin himself circled back to make this very point a few pages later, “I will, therefore I am.”

I have long been fascinated by the relationship between faith and reason, and in some ways this is a part of this larger conversation, the relationship between will and reason. Some scholars think European civilization shifted into modernity because of new teachings about God that placed His will above His reason and even His goodness (see Theological Origins of Modernity by Gillespie). God could never bind Himself by a promise because He is radically free. This is the “voluntarist” (from the Latin for will) picture of God, and the theory is that such a God could not act as the basis for knowledge about reality, so mankind turned to nature looking for something more stable. (I am truncating the argument considerably, but I hope not distorting it too badly.)

If so, it should be of no surprise that this voluntarist conception of God would, through one change and influence after another, result in something of a voluntarist conception of self. If my identity is in my will, especially as an expression of resistance toward the world and its order, then I am going to be encouraged to look inside to find myself, to insist on self expression as a necessary aspect of life, and ultimately to reject any categories that are foisted upon me. This is more or less the picture painted in Trueman’s Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self, although he highlights other, later contributors.

Supposing all this is true, then is it possible the same corrective I was taught about Descartes and rationalist skepticism could address Fichte and voluntarist individualism?

Anselm said, quoting Augustine, that “unless I believe, I shall not understand.” He saw his reasoning abilities and overall relationship to truth as dependent on believing rightly, although whether or not he saw himself as a “believing thing,” I cannot say for sure, but that seems unlikely.

Augustine also, with Luther after him, famously emphasized his inability to will correctly apart from God’s work. But this cannot be recast so simply as “Unless I believe, I shall not will [what is good].” Believing itself is usually seen as an act of the will, or at least closely bound up with it. But to some degree this is what we must say; faith is the first act of the will (or among them; I don’t want to be pedantic here) that makes possible the healing of the will. How this first act of faith comes about is a mystery debated over for centuries, but Western Christians are usually united in saying man is incapable apart from some help from God (see Second Council of Orange).

For my part, whichever thread we pull, whether reason or faith or will or any other human faculty, (e.g., conscience, intuition, sense experience, etc.), it will always lead us back to God. He existed first. He created us. He is intimately involved in all of reality. Before man’s reason was God’s wisdom, before man’s will was God’s “let there be.”

The fundamental principle of identity is I AM. And, crucially, that “I” is not me.

(Note: I usually try to write things that I think might benefit others, but this post is shaping up to be a little more personal, self-indulgent, and reflective. If that’s not interesting to you, don’t tell me, as I shall then have to pretend not to know you.)

I’ve been exploring some new trails lately and today I would like to try writing about them. This is in part to collect my thoughts, but also to combat the ever-present urge to wait until you have something better to say.

When trying to land on a specialization, venturing someplace new is a risky proposition. Everything is unfamiliar, which is exciting, but you can’t yet tell what is important and what isn’t. Of course, there are some things fresh eyes appreciate that old eyes have come to take for granted, but in academia, you have to wait there and be patient, take it all in and out and in again.

So I’ve chosen some new trails that run through my hometown. It’s a familiar place seen through new vantage points. Time will tell if it’s the place to settle down or another stop on the way.

I’ve been dabbling in history, you see. History! After majoring in English and theology and philosophy, minoring in film and meddling in music. History, where one Ford thing after another warns away good Baptists and where unplanned obsolescence is made to bow to the latest iPhone Galaxy.

I have always loved systematic theology, and for a time I believed (because I was so taught) the best theology was indistinguishable from philosophy. And while I do defend reason and believe in a good argument and find joy in programming and debugging, I have come to believe that to do that in the academy means contributing to secular scholarship. And I don’t at all enjoy trying to fashion arguments that do not follow from Christian premises or wading shoulder deep into analytic proofs. (Besides, my brother has already claimed the handle “Philosophy Vajda,” so I am too late. I must embrace another identity.)

While systematic theology is my passion, I find it hard to locate a scholarly grounding there. It seems to me that most of theology is either philosophy, history, sociology, or interpretation, but related to theological interests in some way or another. One of my mentors assures me that systematic theology is real and scholarly and essentially means citing the scholars in other disciplines. I am open to that idea, but for now I am unsure. I suspect that if I want to contribute scholarship that exists not just for my denomination or tribe and instead builds on the great city to which all scholars strive to contribute, I must embrace to some degree or another one of these feeder disciplines. If so, history is the obvious choice.

I won’t go into all the personal reasons why, but suffice it to say, history has always been a part of my life, always an interest; it is what I most often read for fun, it is an element in much of my favorite fiction, it is an essential framework for understanding the world. In fact, (this anecdote I will share), while on staff at Cornerstone, I took the StrengthsFinder survey and was appalled to find “Context” was my number one strength. It might as well have said my greatest strength was “walking without tripping” or “breathing with astonishing effortlessness.” Over time I came to see that “context” is so basic to me I was completely unaware of another way to view the world.

But enough of all that. History is a direction, not a destination. I have been poking around a corner of history that is new and old to me. Growing up I was immersed in 20th century history, and it still fascinates me. But over time I came to see that the seeds for the 20th century were planted in the 19th (that is, the 1800s, for you practical types). So I have been dabbling in that century for many years now, mostly in audiobooks and Great Courses, but occasionally in books, too. Marsden’s first edition of The Soul of the University and Noll’s Princeton Theologians, for example.

Right now, I am poking around the early parts. I am learning about the roots of liberalism and their connection with Romanticism, and here’s where things get really wild for me. Nearly to the degree that history is in my blood, Romanticism is, too. Only toward the end of my education at DTS did I become aware that it was its own theological movement, and that its fingerprints were all over my life. I knew Modernity as rationalism, and Postmodernity as a kind of post-rationalism. I had heard about German Higher Criticism and Darwinism and fundamentalism and so on. I knew my denominations. I knew my doctrines. But Romanticism was always talked about under other names, or perhaps only through nearby relations like Pietism, Scottish Common Sense, Idealism, and so on. This really landed on my radar as an area worth exploring after reading Carl Trueman’s Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self.

So on the one hand, I am curious, and that is always a good sign. I also feel a burden to understand liberalism, postmodernism, and progressivism, and I have never been able to shake that burden. I’m not interesting in winning some apologetic debate; I wish to find the truth, not defeat an opponent. But if I can learn something from these traditions and perhaps bring to light things that could bring healing to the church, that would be an incredible priviledge.

But one last connection. Did I mention I majored in English? In every elective where I had the choice, I focused on 19th and 20th century literature. Until now, that education was preparation for the mind in general, but it has not proved all that useful in theological conversations. So studying the roots and effects of Romanticism puts me in a position to re-engage with my undergraduate work. This is thrilling to me for many reasons, not least of which is that I chose these studies because I enjoyed them and not because I planned to get anything professionally advantageous out of them. I have since been haunted by the need to choose the thing that will make my efforts “count” in some way, (see above), and that always casts a bit of doubt over whether there is anything deeper there to ground the labor. I look forward to exploring further whether there is something there in the natural growth that can feed the more structured enterprise.

Goodness. I sat down with the hopes of sharing what I had been reading about the Romantics, but it’s turned out to be all prelude instead. I promise to come back to it, though I know not when.

I was provoked in my spirit the other day by some tweets from a person I only began following this year. Sometimes it is important to name names, but I’m not ready to do that at this stage. I appreciate some of what he has to say, and he was recommended by a friend from church. I even have a book he co-authored sitting in my stack of books to be read in the near future.

So being new to him, I don’t know if this is his thing or if he’s gone off on a tangent, but there is a reason I don’t think it matters that you know who he is: he represents a way of thinking that has been around evangelicalism for longer than I’ve been alive. So I mean to critique the movement and the idea, not the man.

But what is this strange yet familiar teaching, Josh?

It’s about who church is for.

I almost went on a nostalgic rabbit trail here, but I stopped myself, for you. The point I was going to make stands on its own: I have grown up in churches that embraced change and churches that resisted change, and I am a big fan of the former. But with one caveat: what you change and what stays the same makes all the difference in the world.

I was once someone who pushed for change in one of those resistant churches. I saw modern rock instruments as neutral tools, not the spiritual poison many decried. I saw modern translations as making God’s words more accessible, and how could that be a bad thing? Choirs, pews, hymnals, stained glass—none of it sacred. Just one strategy or another.

What mattered above all else is this: what are we trying to do here?

I bought the idea that church should be welcome to visitors, and that sermons should be evangelistic, and that the Sunday morning experience should be geared around the kind of thing you could invite your friend to, because the pastor was better at sharing the Gospel than the rest of us. I had nothing against old things, per se, but I wanted to see improvement. I wanted to cast off anything that hindered.

But these impulses have changed over the years. Perhaps in part due to other doctrines learned in seminary, learning to appreciate the local church, membership, communion, baptism, etc. I came to appreciate not the value of old things in and of themselves but the possibility that I had not fully reflected on their wisdom. It was not history that won me over but philosophy, teaching me that every object and every image and every practice is part of a network of beliefs. There are no neutral tools.

I’ll save the implications of that thought for another time, but that wasn’t what effected the big change. Seminary didn’t directly change my mind. Instead, I found myself in another church that was generally resistant to change, and it made me reflect on the doctrines behind that. I had never really come back to that main question: what are we trying to do here? Or better yet, what should we be trying to do here?

Sure, there are the big categories of worship, teaching, evangelism, service, and fellowship. (If I recall, that version came through Rick Warren.) I still find this list helpful. But it’s missing a crucial element: who is the Sunday morning service for?

So I began, as any good Baptist would, looking at Scripture. I know the church is the people of God, not the building, so the local church meeting seems to be the local people-of-God meeting. So far, so good. In Acts, we see the apostles going out into the synagogues, the marketplaces, etc. to share the news about Jesus, and people were being invited back to their gatherings. None of the formal elements we recognize in church yet, but obviously a bunch of new people are going to change the dynamics of the meeting.

And there’s a lot of freedom in Scripture about how we can organize a church meeting; there is nothing that prescribes the size of the building, the order of service, the relative emphasis on different aspects. So maybe this is one of those issues? Some churches are inward focused and some are outward focused and we all have our strengths, amen.

But wait. When Jesus recommissions Peter at the end of John’s Gospel, what is His charge? “Feed my sheep.” This is the heart of pastoral ministry as distinct from other kinds of ministry, that the leaders of the church take up Jesus’s work of caring for believers needs. The work of the ministry belongs to all the saints (Eph 4) but pastoring is a unique ministry from one saint to another. It is caretaking.

This doesn’t in and of itself settle all the questions. But it does explain why it bothers me so much when people say things like this: “Church leaders, you need to decide who you’re going to lose: the people in your community who don’t know the love of Christ, or the church member who thinks the church revolves around him (or her).”

I want to read this charitably. I really hope the author meant being willing to offend members who don’t care about other people and refuse to do the minimum to reach them. But I fear some will take it a different way, and indeed some do teach it a different way.

Or then there’s this quote: “The gap between how quickly you change and how quickly things change is called irrelevance. The bigger the gap, the more irrelevant you become.” I’m struggling to find a charitable reading here. As though relevance were a virtue the church needs to cultivate, a fruit of the Spirit that comes from abiding in Christ.

What I fear is this: creating an experience for unbelievers and calling that “church.”

I fear a pastor who would say to his flock “you’re already saved, so get out of my way! I have to go find new sheep!” Presumably, once they are saved, they can get out of the way, too.

I fear a false dichotomy imagined between evangelism and discipleship. Either we evangelize, or we don’t. Either it’s for unbelievers or it’s for you stubborn insiders.

Church is not an experience. It’s a family. When you invite an unbeliever to church, it is not like inviting a friend to go to a restaurant with you; it’s like inviting a friend over for dinner. You don’t say “this is our home, stay out!” You practice hospitality. You make them feel welcome. But it’s still your house, for your family, with your awkward pictures on the wall, your grandma’s old blanket in the corner, and the smell of the foods you cook the most lingering in the air. You’re inviting people to your community, your family, your Heavenly Father.

The pastor on the lookout for unbelievers to add to the flock might say, “look at Jesus! He left the 99 to find the one.” Yes, but who is the one and where did He leave the 99? Isn’t the one a family member who has lost their way, someone perhaps struggling with doubt or burdened by sin or wrecked by life’s circumstances? Isn’t it someone who is already an insider, a believer, who needs help? And in leaving the 99 did He expose them to hunger and danger? No, the good shepherd leads His sheep into fertile pastures and will not leave them unprotected. Jesus does not advocate abandoning the 99. He doesn’t bring the 99 with Him into danger where the one lost sheep had wandered.

This is not either/or. If your vision of the one lost is the person who needs to hear the good news of Jesus Christ, and reaching him or her means mistreating those who are already saved, what kind of good news do your actions preach? Come over here with the rest, so I can leave you, too.

No, “feed my sheep” means don’t let the desire for a bigger flock cause you to overlook the flock you have. Pastor, Jesus has already entrusted these people to you! Don’t let them go hungry in a quest to find the ones that have not yet been entrusted to you.

My pastor in Dallas loved to tell the story of a church member who came to him with a complaint about the way they did something there. Todd would say, “I’m so sorry. No, really, I’m sorry. Would you please forgive me? I’m so, so sorry for whatever I did that gave you the impression that church is about you.” Powerful words. And there is an important truth behind them: just as the family does not revolve around the whims of the individual, so we should guard against trying to make the church fit all of our desires, our preferences, our conveniences. We are in this together. Our job is not to cater to the squeaky wheels.

But nevertheless, I disagree with the words at face value: it’s not exactly right to say that church isn’t about you; you are the church! Again, with the analogy of family: if I say to my brother “family isn’t about you,” I risk communicating or even believing that he doesn’t belong. That’s baloney.

Church shouldn’t revolve around you, but you belong here.

I believe churches should be welcome and hospitable to unbelievers. I believe we should translate our family practices and lingo so that everyone can understand. I believe we shouldn’t set up unnecessary obstacles in the way of our guests. But I also believe church is a family, that it is a place where only brothers and sisters can truly belong, and that the health of the family should be a higher priority than growing the family.

If someone is standing in the way of the change you want to make, especially if that change is something you believe is an obstacle to hospitality, the easy thing is to alienate that sister or brother. But the right thing to do is feed them. Disciple them. Invest in their maturity. And be open to the possibility that the change you want may not be the change your family needs.

I don’t have the platform of the person I’m quoting, and I don’t have my own church to pastor, but I am a student of the Word. “So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith” (Galatians 6:10). Don’t give in to the false dichotomy that says you must either cater to the whims of insiders or cater to the whims of outsiders. Invest in a healthy family, practice hospitality, and be amazed at how the two work together.

The other day I saw an old debate come back around: how should we think about the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah in the Bible? It’s common in conservative circles to think destruction came about because of rampant homosexual activity. For them, the sin of Sodom was quite simply sodomy. The “other side” then quotes a passage from Ezekiel, which says the sin was actually failing to take care of widows and orphans. For both sides, there is a tendency to think “it’s right there in the Bible! How could you get this so wrong?!”

For conflicts that seem so obvious, it is perhaps all the more important to take a step back and examine what the Bible really says. First, we will look in detail at the story of Sodom in context. Then we will survey all the other references to Sodom in Scripture. Finally, we will take in some other examples in the Law of God’s moral reasoning about the nations.

The Story of Sodom

The first mention of Sodom in the Bible is in Genesis 10, where the land of the Canaanites is first introduced. Having just read about Noah and the flood, we find that he fathered Ham, and Ham fathered Canaan. Canaan’s family provides a list of peoples that will become familiar to any reader of the Pentateuch: it’s a list of nations that will one day be wiped out when Israel conquers the Promised Land. But for now, they seem harmless enough. Their territory extends “in the direction of Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, and Zeboiim, as far as Lasha” (Gen 10:19 ESV)

Settling Near Sodom

Fast forward a few chapters and many years, and we find Abram now entering the land of Canaan for the first time in Genesis 13. He has answered God’s call in faith, and because of their massive flocks, he is dividing up the space with his nephew, Lot. He gives Lot first pick of the land.

And Lot lifted up his eyes and saw that the Jordan Valley was well watered everywhere like the garden of the LORD, like the land of Egypt, in the direction of Zoar. (This was before the LORD destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah.) So Lot chose for himself all the Jordan Valley, and Lot journeyed east. Thus they separated from each other. Abram settled in the land of Canaan, while Lot settled among the cities of the valley and moved his tent as far as Sodom. Now the men of Sodom were wicked, great sinners against the LORD.

Genesis 13:10–13 ESV

So Lot is attracted to the natural beauty of the Jordan Valley and goes there. But of all the places to pitch his tent, he chooses the city of Sodom, and right away we are clued in to the fact that Sodom is a poor choice. As exceptionally beautiful as the Jordan Valley was, Sodom was exceptionally evil.

It’s interesting that mention of Sodom and Gomorrah’s destruction precedes the mention of its wickedness. The writer of this passage expects his readers to know already that these cities have been destroyed. Whether by experience or word of mouth, Sodom is known (to borrow a Pythonesque phrase) as an ex-city.

Often reading well depends on knowing many important details. But sometimes we gain important details by pretending to forget what we know, in order to appreciate better the story as it unfolds. As my ancient literature professor liked to remind us, classic literature is about the raising and fulfilling of expectations. So what does this text teach us to expect? So far, we are supposed to know that Lot has chosen a city that will eventually be destroyed, but the text has not yet given us the details. So as we read we expect its destruction, and we watch and wait to find out how—and perhaps why.

War in the Valley

In the next chapter, things are already looking pretty bad. Whether this is a new development or a quick history lesson, the text does not say, but the king of Sodom and the king of Gomorrah are on the losing end of local politics (v1–12). They have been made to serve Chederlaomer, king of Elam, for 12 years, and in the 13th year they have had enough. So the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah, along with three other kings in their situation, rebel against Chederlaomer and the three other kings that are allied with him. In the end, the kings of Sodom and Gomorrah are defeated, their armies scattered, and their cities plundered.

Is this the end of Sodom? No! Perhaps it might have been, except that Lot was captured, and so Abram comes to the rescue. King of no one, with a small army, he defeats the four kings and retrieves all that was plundered, rescuing the people.

In case we should feel conflicted that Abram saved Sodom, one of the other local kings blesses and praises him. This king is Melchizedek, who is also a priest of God Most High. He tells us (for anyone who wasn’t sure) that God delivered Abram’s enemies into his hand. And if you read enough of the Old Testament, you should have noticed a big clue in our story: God promised that small armies of the faithful would put large armies to flight because God would be fighting on their behalf (e.g., Joshua 23:10).

At this point, the king of Sodom asks that Abram give him back his people and keep the rest of the plunder, presumably as a reward. But Abram refuses the loot and gives everything back to the king of Sodom. The city is essentially restored. It’s interesting, in light of what’s ahead, that the king of Sodom is willing to give up all their possessions. He also saw an example of generosity and self-sacrifice in Abram refusing any payment except the food his soldiers ate.

The Outcry and the Mediator

Fast forward again to Genesis 18. Significant things are happening in the life of Abram, not the least of which being a name change. We know that he fathered Ishamael 13 years before the time of the next story, but it’s possible that many more had passed since the restoration of Sodom. (16:16 and 17:1 are clues to the timing here.)

On this occasion, it happened that God appeared to Abraham in the form of three men. This alone is incredible, but I will not dwell on it now. Suffice it to say this is a momentous event. Abraham convinces the three men to stop at his tent and enjoy his hospitality: footwashing, rest, fresh bread, and meat. Why is God here? In the course of conversation, God repeats His promise that Sarah would soon have a son, but something else occupies God’s attention. We find out in the next few verses:

Then the men set out from there, and they looked down toward Sodom. And Abraham went with them to set them on their way. The LORD said, “Shall I hide from Abraham what I am about to do, seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him? For I have chosen him, that he may command his children and his household after him to keep the way of the LORD by doing righteousness and justice, so that the LORD may bring to Abraham what he has promised him.” Then the LORD said, “Because the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is great and their sin is very grave, I will go down to see whether they have done altogether according to the outcry that has come to me. And if not, I will know.”
So the men turned from there and went toward Sodom, but Abraham still stood before the LORD.

Genesis 18:16–22 ESV

What an incredible moment. God is up to something big, and to highlight that, I want to rearrange the text a bit:

1. Sodom and Gomorrah are guilty of terrible sins. Note: we still do not know what they are yet.
2. These sins have caused a great outcry to God. For anyone looking for evidence of the power of prayer, this is a powerful example. The outcry has gone up, and now God has come down.
3. God is coming for evidence. We know from elsewhere in Scripture that God already knows the truth, so this is not an educational exercise on His part. But much like a later scene where Abraham is tested with Isaac, God is putting man to the test, to give people a chance to prove their character or lack thereof.
4. News of Sodom’s destruction is couched in a mini-sermon to Abraham. You are chosen to greatness, for the purpose of teaching your children and all the world to “keep the way of the LORD by doing righteousness and justice.”

What follows is another incredible sequence: Abraham is pleading for Sodom. How often does this come up in our retelling? We remember Sodom’s destruction, but do we remember how Abram saved them with God’s help? Do we remember how Abraham pleaded for them? Perhaps this should temper how we treat the people there, regardless of their sin.

Abraham’s pleas are not based on Sodom’s worthiness but on God’s character. He says,

“Will you indeed sweep away the righteous with the wicked? Suppose there are fifty righteous within the city. Will you then sweep away the place and not spare it for the fifty righteous who are in it? Far be it from you to do such a thing, to put the righteous to death with the wicked, so that the righteous fare as the wicked! Far be that from you! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?”

Genesis 18:23–25 ESV

Abraham recognizes God is the Judge of all the earth, and that He will do what is right. This includes sparing the guilty in order to protect the righteous. What an incredibly hopeful thought! And God agrees: he would spare the whole city for the sake of 50 good men. However bad the sin is and however great the outcry may be, God would rather spare the guilty than punish the innocent. This is not a promise that bad things won’t happen to good people. But it is an insight into God’s character. He is patient and kind. While the rest of the city deserves punishment, God may answer the prayers He received in other ways.

In a bizarre twist, we will find in the New Testament that while God would not put to death the righteous with the wicked, He would one day put the righteous to death for the wicked. And this is not in spite of His role as the just Judge of all the earth, but because of it.

But that story is a long way off. When Jesus died and rose again, He became our mediator before God. But here, Abraham is the only mediator the people of Sodom have. God initially says He will spare the wicked for 50, but Abraham presses until God says he would spare the whole city just for the sake of 10 righteous. 10! At this, the conversation ends.

So we know Sodom and Gomorrah are wicked, and we know they will be destroyed. But we also know that for the sake of 10, God would have spared it. Even 10 righteous people can make a difference.

Contrast this also with Jonah and Nineveh. Another wicked city is marked for destruction and just one prophet (whose righteousness is questionable) helps bring about citywide repentance. The first readers of Genesis would not have known this, but we know about it now, and it helps us get a fuller picture of what is happening here.

Now God will test Sodom to see what they are made of. The text does not use the word “test,” but it is essentially what He is doing by coming down to see for Himself what the people of the city is like. Again, He is not here to gain knowledge He lacks. He is here to witness it in person, to see how they respond to a particular situation.

Last Night in Sodom

So here we are at last: the infamous Genesis 19. The two men who were with God are now revealed to be angels in disguise. Lot greets them at the city gate and shows them respect and hospitality. He honors them just as Abraham did, offering to wash their feet, feed them, and provide a place of rest. Don’t miss this. Hospitality is the expectation in their culture. Lot is (at least so far) a good man.

The angels initially want to sleep in the town square, and this hints that the outcry they are coming to see is somewhere out there. But we still don’t know what it is.

Next comes the part everybody knows: the whole town comes out to gang rape the visitors. All the men, young and old. Wow.

Now, time-out for a second. Whatever your feelings are about gay marriage, this is not that. Yes, it’s men, but it’s all the men. At once. By force. No one reading this passage is going to defend that. So before you are tempted to say Sodom was destroyed for homosexuality, recognize that what’s going on here is far, far worse. We can all agree that this is a nightmare scenario.

At this point, Lot does the unthinkable: he offers his daughters to the mob.

This might give some the impression that Lot was ok with gang rape as long as it’s heterosexual gang rape. But that’s not what is going on here. Lot tells us why he would rather give up his daughters than his guests: “they have come under the shelter of my roof” (v8 ESV).

I’m in no way defending Lot’s reasoning here. But if I’m taking Lot at his word, his highest priority here is hospitality toward strangers. We may question his priorities, but we should acknowledge that he is trying to do right by his guests, sparing no expense. He is willing to pay even the extreme cost of sacrificing his children.

When I teach ethics, I love to discuss the Trolley Problem with my students. It’s a thought experiment where you are placed in an impossible situation: watch a train kill 5 innocent people, or throw a switch that redirects the train to kill only 2 innocent people. Many find it frustrating because it’s such a difficult question, and the difficulty is the whole point: it forces us to think very carefully about why we do what we do and what is most valuable to us.

Lot here faces a kind of Trolley problem: let the town gang rape your guests or throw the switch and let them gang rape your daughters instead. Either way, it’s a terrible situation. The question is which do you value more: your own flesh and blood or strangers who have entrusted themselves to you? If you think the answer is obvious, then I submit that you have just been granted a window into your culture.

Back to the action: the men of the city refuse the offer and turn on Lot, but the angels save him, strike the town with blindness, and let Lot know they have reached their conclusion: this town is going down.

Initial Thoughts

There’s so much more to this story; it really is captivating in its details. But I have lingered over narrative details long enough. Our question remains: what is the sin of Sodom?

No one ever says.

Isn’t that amazing?! The action gives us a new and terrible clue: homosexual gang rape of visitors. Is that it? Is it that specific? Is your hometown safe from God’s wrath just as long as that never happens? Or does one of these elements crowd out the others as the one that tips the scales? Is it possible that the sin is something hidden from sight here? In order to find out, we have no choice but to look and see what the rest of the Bible says about Sodom.

Looking Back on Sodom

For Lot’s wife, literally looking back on Sodom was a mistake that cost her her life. But the events that happened here were meant to send a statement throughout the world and all generations. “Sodom” became a byword, a warning. For everyone else, we are supposed to look back and take notice. Don’t let this happen to you.

Deuteronomy 29

The book of Deuteronomy is at the other end of the Pentateuch, and it’s the second giving of the Law that will guide a new generation into the Promised Land. It’s here that we find the first mention of Sodom after its destruction.

And the next generation, your children who rise up after you, and the foreigner who comes from a far land, will say, when they see the afflictions of that land and the sicknesses with which the LORD has made it sick—the whole land burned out with brimstone and salt, nothing sown and nothing growing, where no plant can sprout, an overthrow like that of Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah, and Zeboiim, which the LORD overthrew in his anger and wrath—all the nations will say, ‘Why has the LORD done thus to this land? What caused the heat of this great anger?’ Then people will say, ‘It is because they abandoned the covenant of the LORD, the God of their fathers, which he made with them when he brought them out of the land of Egypt, and went and served other gods and worshiped them, gods whom they had not known and whom he had not allotted to them.

Deuteronomy 29:22–26 ESV

In this example, God is warning the people that if they turn away from the Mosaic covenant, they can expect to end up like Sodom and Gomorrah. There is no indication whether the sin is the same or not, but the outcome will be the same. Here the sin is idolatry, betrayal, faithlessness. It is breaking the Law without repentance, persisting in sin and rejecting God.

So this does not tell us much about the sin of Sodom. After all, Sodom had no covenant relationship with God, so we should not expect them to feel the same punishment for the same reason. But this actually allows us to make a crucial observation through contrast. If Sodom wasn’t judged by breaking covenant expectations, there must still be moral expectations God had for them—perhaps even expectations He has for all nations. Israel is given a specific set of commands with blessings and consequences. Sodom was not, and yet they were held guilty.

This is an important point for anyone who recognizes that our modern nations are not the nation of Israel. We may look to the Law and appreciate it as a fuller revelation of God’s character and His expectations for us, but our secular nation is not in a covenant relationship with God. The covenant blessings and curses do not apply to us. But that does not mean we are off the hook! Instead of looking to Israel for clues on how God may or may not judge us today, we are wise to look at Sodom and the other non-covenantal nations that God has punished over the centuries. It may be that we in the 21st century, wherever we are, should still take seriously the possibility that God could hold us accountable in the same way.

More about this later.

Deuteronomy 32

The next mention of Sodom is in the Song of Moses, where he is describing the adversaries of Israel.

For their vine comes from the vine of Sodom
and from the fields of Gomorrah;
their grapes are grapes of poison;
their clusters are bitter;
their wine is the poison of serpents
and the cruel venom of asps.

Deuteronomy 32:32, 33 ESV

This appears to be saying there is a connection between Sodom and Gomorrah and the rest of Israel’s adversaries. In the verses that follow, Moses says essentially that the judgment that awaited Sodom now awaits the enemies of Israel. In context, this is speaking not of the impending conquest of the land, but the judgment of Israel’s enemies after they (Israel) have forsaken God. So think more Judges than Joshua, more Daniel than David.

In short, Sodom is still a byword for those destroyed because of their sin, and sins will be punished whether or not you have the Mosaic Law.

Isaiah

If the LORD of hosts
had not left us a few survivors,
we should have been like Sodom,
and become like Gomorrah.
Hear the word of the LORD,
you rulers of Sodom!
Give ear to the teaching of our God,
you people of Gomorrah!

Isaiah 1:9, 10 ESV

These are the first of four mentions of Sodom in Isaiah. While Moses has in mind the enemies of God, here Isaiah has stern words for the people of God themselves. Instead of the Canaanites being compared to Sodom, now the Israelites are guilty. Isaiah’s emphasis here is again on destruction due to sin.

Which sins? Isaiah lists rebellion against God, corrupt dealings, iniquity, infirmity, and evil deeds. Does it get more specific than this? Yes, in verse 17 (with 16 for context):

Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your deeds from before my eyes;
cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
bring justice to the fatherless,
plead the widow’s cause.

Isaiah 1:16, 17 ESV

The rest of the chapter continues along these lines, as does the third reference, in Isaiah 3:9. At this point, we have to admit that no one is really paying attention to the sexual aspect of what happened in Sodom. Either the main sin was not mentioned in the narrative, or God destroyed it for the way they treated their guests.

“Guests?!” you say. “These were angels, not widows and orphans.” In the Law, God repeatedly calls out widows, orphans, and sojourners/aliens as three vulnerable groups in need of protection. While it’s true that there is no direct connection between what is here in Isaiah and what we saw in Genesis 19, the way they treated their sojourners is at very least a clue into how they treated the fatherless and widow. Regardless, God is clearly calling Israel “Sodom” not for sexual sins but for sins of oppression.

Isaiah 13:19, the fourth reference, likens Israel’s conquerer Babylon to Sodom, declaring its destruction at the hands of the Medes. In chapter 14, Babylon is indicted with oppression and persecution. Again, no mention of sexual sin.

Jeremiah and Lamentations

“But in the prophets of Jerusalem
I have seen a horrible thing:
they commit adultery and walk in lies;
they strengthen the hands of evildoers,
so that no one turns from his evil;
all of them have become like Sodom to me,
and its inhabitants like Gomorrah.”

Jeremiah 23:14, 15 ESV

Again, we see the recurring theme: Israel will be destroyed just like Sodom, because of its sin. In this case, the sins called out are adultery, lying, and strengthening the hands of evildoers. For the first time, sexual sin is clearly implicated, but note how justice is still at the fore.

Sodom is again mentioned in Jeremiah 49:18, where Israel’s neighbor Edom is likened to Sodom, again to highlight the utter destruction awaiting it. In Jeremiah 50:40, almost the exact same language is used of Babylon again.

Moving on to Lamentations, Sodom is invoked again, this time not for comparison but for contrast:

For the chastisement of the daughter of my people has been greater
than the punishment of Sodom,
which was overthrown in a moment,
and no hands were wrung for her.

Lamentations 4:6 ESV

So the picture of Sodom is used to lament the state of Israel. And the context again gives us some clues as to why: prophets and priests shedding the blood of the righteous (v13). The concerns are again more about justice than sex.

Ezekiel 16

There are a few other references to Sodom in Amos and Zephaniah, but they add nothing new to what we have already seen. (Although the fact that Moab and Ammon get likened to Sodom and Gomorrah is particularly poignant because they are the descendants of Lot and his daughters. Alas, we must press on.)

The last big one is the text that is always used as a proof-text for the “Sodom wasn’t about homosexuality” crowd. It’s in Ezekiel 16, and it’s so important that I’m going to quote it at length here:

“Behold, everyone who uses proverbs will use this proverb about you: ‘Like mother, like daughter.’ You are the daughter of your mother, who loathed her husband and her children; and you are the sister of your sisters, who loathed their husbands and their children. Your mother was a Hittite and your father an Amorite. And your elder sister is Samaria, who lived with her daughters to the north of you; and your younger sister, who lived to the south of you, is Sodom with her daughters. Not only did you walk in their ways and do according to their abominations; within a very little time you were more corrupt than they in all your ways. As I live, declares the Lord GOD, your sister Sodom and her daughters have not done as you and your daughters have done. Behold, this was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy. They were haughty and did an abomination before me. So I removed them, when I saw it. Samaria has not committed half your sins. You have committed more abominations than they, and have made your sisters appear righteous by all the abominations that you have committed. Bear your disgrace, you also, for you have intervened on behalf of your sisters. Because of your sins in which you acted more abominably than they, they are more in the right than you. So be ashamed, you also, and bear your disgrace, for you have made your sisters appear righteous.

“I will restore their fortunes, both the fortunes of Sodom and her daughters, and the fortunes of Samaria and her daughters, and I will restore your own fortunes in their midst, that you may bear your disgrace and be ashamed of all that you have done, becoming a consolation to them. As for your sisters, Sodom and her daughters shall return to their former state, and Samaria and her daughters shall return to their former state, and you and your daughters shall return to your former state. Was not your sister Sodom a byword in your mouth in the day of your pride, before your wickedness was uncovered? Now you have become an object of reproach for the daughters of Syria and all those around her, and for the daughters of the Philistines, those all around who despise you. You bear the penalty of your lewdness and your abominations, declares the LORD.

“For thus says the Lord GOD: I will deal with you as you have done, you who have despised the oath in breaking the covenant, yet I will remember my covenant with you in the days of your youth, and I will establish for you an everlasting covenant. Then you will remember your ways and be ashamed when you take your sisters, both your elder and your younger, and I give them to you as daughters, but not on account of the covenant with you. I will establish my covenant with you, and you shall know that I am the LORD, that you may remember and be confounded, and never open your mouth again because of your shame, when I atone for you for all that you have done, declares the Lord GOD.”

Ezekiel 16:44–63 ESV

Wow. If Lamentations claimed that Israel’s punishment was worse than Sodom’s, now Ezekiel is claiming that Israel’s sin was worse than Sodom’s. Sodom’s sins are called abominations, and if we’re not careful, we can read that as a code word. It has often been associated with gay sex because God describes it as an abomination in Leviticus. But Sodom’s abominations are listed for us here: “pride, excess food, and prosperous ease, but [they] did not aid the poor and needy. They were haughty and did an abomination before me. So I removed them, when I saw it.”

Perhaps you may still be tempted to think the text is pivoting from the list to something else; “an abomination = gay sex.” The truth of the matter is God calls a great many sins abominations. It is not a special category for things done by people with struggles you may not have. A great many things are called abominations in the Bible, things like lying lips (Proverbs 12:22) and an arrogant heart (Proverbs 16:5). If you surveyed all the times it is used, you would realize that you have been guilty of many abominations in your life. Don’t be fooled. Better instead to see “did an abomination” in the terms given here: pride toward God and selfishness toward the needy.

The Gospels and Paul

Talk of Sodom is not restricted to the Old Testament, and so while Ezekiel presents the clearest word, it is not the last word.

Jesus spoke about Sodom and Gomorrah, which is recorded in both Matthew (10:15 and 11:23, 24) and Luke 10:12. In each case, He is using them to condemn Israel for its persistent disbelief. Remember that Nineveh repented when it heard Jonah’s message, and how that was thematically in contrast with the destruction of Sodom? Well, Jesus says that if He had sent a prophet to do miracles in Sodom, they would have changed their ways. So again, Jesus is following in the tradition of the prophets by using the byword for sin-unto-destruction to condemn Israel, and not by being the same, but by being worse.

Jesus also uses Sodom to talk about the urgency of His return, which we usually associate with the other historic image He gave, the Flood. See Luke 17:29.

Moving on, Paul only mentions Sodom once while quoting a passage we have already seen. There in Romans 9:29, he uses Isaiah’s words about Sodom as a picture for what could have been in his day except for God’s mercy in leaving a remnant of believing Jews.

Peter and Jude

Finally we come to the end. (There is a mention in Revelation, but it does not add anything to our previous analysis.) It’s here toward the end of the New Testament in some tiny letters that we find the Bible has more to say about Sodom than just concerns about justice.

“…if by turning the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah to ashes he condemned them to extinction, making them an example of what is going to happen to the ungodly; and if he rescued righteous Lot, greatly distressed by the sensual conduct of the wicked (for as that righteous man lived among them day after day, he was tormenting his righteous soul over their lawless deeds that he saw and heard); then the Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trials, and to keep the unrighteous under punishment until the day of judgment, and especially those who indulge in the lust of defiling passion and despise authority.”

2 Peter 2:6–10 ESV

Here Sodom is used in its ultimate sense: as a foreshadowing of hell. This is in some ways theologically satisfying because we have seen all along that Sodom is a picture of destruction due to sin, and ultimately this is the essence of hell. (Note: this is not to wade into the debate on whether punishment is eternal or not. I believe it is eternal, but I will not defend that here.)

The real twist is that Peter uses language that is more sexual than the prophets ever did. It is truer to the language of the narrative, which clearly depicts sexual sin. Of course, this is not really a twist; again, it’s talking about things that were obvious in Genesis 19. It only feels like a twist because no other writer has seen fit to talk about this aspect so far.

I suspect at least some of the difference is because of Lot. In every other reference to Sodom, we are called to see Sodom in Israel, Edom, Moab, etc. The focus is on judgment for sin and a warning call to repentance, and the emphasis is almost always on justice and oppression. But here in 2 Peter, Sodom is used to describe a problem “out there.” He is writing to relate his readers to Lot, who is usually not mentioned with Sodom. He was surrounded by sin that grieved his soul just as we are often surrounded by sin that grieves our souls. Part of the Christian life is pursuing holiness in sometimes dark places. In this case, it might make more sense to appeal to the details in the narrative. Just as we can see Lot working hard to stay pure amid his debauched neighbors, so we should take comfort that God sees our struggles to stay pure in a sex-saturated society and will one day judge the sins around us.

By the way, this is not to ignore problems of injustice, which surely happened in Rome as well. But taking care of the poor was a high priority for the church, and a problem they could address. Sexual sins in the culture, on the other hand, could not be dealt with so easily.

Jude 7 also uses Sodom and Gomorrah to talk about sexual immorality and the judgment of the wicked. However, here the emphasis is not on Lot or on our perseverance but as part of a list of Old Testament examples of sin to avoid. And it’s clear from the narrative in Genesis 19 that sexual immorality is one of the sins to avoid.

So just as Ezekiel 16 does not equivocate about the sin of Sodom being pride and selfishness toward the needy, Peter and Jude testify that the sexual side of the actions we see in Genesis 19 are no mirage and not to be excused.

However, this still does not narrow down the list of sexual sins we saw in Sodom to the homosexual aspect. To risk stating the obvious, rape is a sexual sin. In order to clarify our understanding of how to think about what we saw in Sodom, we have to return to a question we began to raise earlier.

What Does God Expect of the Nations?

“Not because of your righteousness or the uprightness of your heart are you going in to possess their land, but because of the wickedness of these nations the LORD your God is driving them out from before you, and that he may confirm the word that the LORD swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.”

Deuteronomy 9:5 ESV

What does God expect of the nations? This is by no means a simple question. In one sense, we could simply look at God’s character and recognize the myriad ways we all fall short. This is clearly one way to measure God’s expectations. But God is patient with sin, and if He were going to wipe out any city for any and every sin, the Flood would have happened sooner and no one would have escaped.

We can see in the Law a more detailed expression of God’s character manifested in a covenant relationship with one specific people. This again gives us clues for understanding right from wrong. However, again, we are concerned with understanding God’s basis of judgment for cities like Sodom, nations that do not know Him, do not have Scripture, do not have the Law, do not have a covenant.

For this, we could look in three places: the Law, the Prophets, and the New Testament. For our purposes here, I’m going to limit my focus to those portions of the Law where God gives us some explicit clues about why He is judging the nations. This focus is not because the rest is irrelevant, but partly for the sake of time, and partly because these are the insights that speak closer in time to the situation at Sodom and Gomorrah.

Clue #1: Leviticus 18

“Do not make yourselves unclean by any of these things, for by all these the nations I am driving out before you have become unclean, and the land became unclean, so that I punished its iniquity, and the land vomited out its inhabitants.”

Leviticus 18:24, 25 ESV

Here we can see one set of rules that God applied to non-covenant nations: sin that pollutes the land and demands cleansing. And the list found in the 23 verses preceding is almost exclusively about sex. Most of it is about various forms of incest and marking the boundaries of what is too close versus what is acceptable—and this includes family that is not your blood relative. I say this because we often focus on biological concerns in incest when clearly more than this was in view. Then it says not to marry both a woman and her sister, which may be less about sex and more about kindness toward the woman, preventing a life of sibling rivalry. Then comes no period sex, no adultery, no gay sex, and no animal sex. In the middle of this is one command that is not explicitly related to sex: no child sacrifice.

Now, before I go on, let me be clear: I am not saying that these verses say the sin of Sodom was gay sex. But they do indicate that gay sex is one of a number of sexual sins that caused God to do a very similar thing to other nations.

In case you’re wondering how seriously we should take these, note that verse 25, quoted above, is not the end. He continues:

“But you shall keep my statutes and my rules and do none of these abominations, either the native or the stranger who sojourns among you (for the people of the land, who were before you, did all of these abominations, so that the land became unclean), lest the land vomit you out when you make it unclean, as it vomited out the nation that was before you. For everyone who does any of these abominations, the persons who do them shall be cut off from among their people. So keep my charge never to practice any of these abominable customs that were practiced before you, and never to make yourselves unclean by them: I am the LORD your God.”

Leviticus 18:26–30 ESV

God does not give us details about which sins happened the most in Canaan, and whether some on this list are worse than others. We may crave more details, either to acquit or condemn, but we have to accept the list as it is.

These rules were given to Israel, but they were not only applied to Israel. These rules were applied to people who had never heard of God. And if they applied to the Canaanites, I submit that they also applied to Sodom. And if to Sodom, I am convinced they apply to everyone. God does not need to establish a special covenant with your people to hold you accountable for these actions, including, but not limited to, the destruction of your city or your country.

“But wait,” you might say. “Wasn’t the Promised Land special?” Well, yes, it was. But to that I say, again, consider Nineveh. Nineveh is clearly outside the Promised Land and yet God was going to destroy their city because of their sins. So we cannot put any geographical boundaries on God’s willingness to act.

Does this mean that “the sin of Sodom” really was sexual after all? No. That’s not what this text says. But I am saying it could have been. If it was enough to destroy Jericho, for example, it could have been enough for Sodom, too. So anyone who is quick to dismiss the sexual aspects of the sins at Sodom have not only 2 Peter and Jude to contend with, but Leviticus as well.

You may wonder if I am being biased here, if perhaps I am being prudish and obsessing over sex. Again, I’m just reporting what is in the text. God explicitly says He has a sexual code that He has at times used to punish other nations. Do with this knowledge what you will.

Clue #2: Leviticus 20

“And you shall not walk in the customs of the nation that I am driving out before you, for they did all these things, and therefore I detested them.”

Leviticus 20:23 ESV

Here is a second instance where God pulls back the curtain, as it were, and explains why He is driving out the nations before Israel. What’s on this list? Well, child sacrifice makes a reappearance, in greater detail than last time. Other repeats from the previous list include adultery, incest, gay sex, animal sex, and period sex. New to the list are turning to mediums and necromancers, cursing your father and mother, and sleeping with both a mother and her daughter.

Yes, sex figures prominently in this list, too, and it comes later on down the list so that it is in closer proximity to the judgment in verse 23. To be clear, I don’t think proximity matters in this case, but I say this in case one is tempted to think God is only condemning what came immediately before.

I have heard some argue that these Levitical laws no longer apply. While it’s true that Jesus declared all foods clean and that His sacrifice on the cross put an end to the sacrificial system, the other laws are debated. However, even if you hold that the rest of the Mosaic Law is not binding on Christians, these passages are talking about transgressions by non-covenant nations with no record of warning. God does not need the Mosaic Law to judge the nations fairly.

But of course someone will say, “It doesn’t matter. You cannot rely on biblical teachings about sex and gender because they were written in patriarchal times and are either corrupted by culture or at least dependent on a culture that no longer exists. Better to just emphasize the clear teachings in Ezekiel and keep your mouth shut about other people’s sex lives.” True, these laws are human words that come from a particular time and place and culture. But if you believe, as I do, that they are not merely human words but divinely inspired, then you can appreciate the need to inspect our own culture and biases and not let present-day passions and hegemonies restrict the words of God. Perhaps the sexual code in the Bible does not merely function to prop up patriarchy but reflects the way we were designed by our Creator. This seems to be what Jesus is saying when He talks about sexual ethics. Better to condemn the sins listed in Ezekiel without excusing any aspect of the sexual misconduct, since that’s what the Bible does.

Clue #3: Two Contrasts

Before I conclude, let’s consider some additional passages where God makes moral judgments of other nations in similar but different ways.

In one of many examples where Egypt is used as a warning for Israel, God says, “You shall not wrong a sojourner or oppress him, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt” (Ex. 20:21 ESV). Notice how God does not say “Egypt oppressed you, that’s why I judged them.” He says you know what it’s like to be oppressed; don’t oppress others. Egypt clearly did what was wrong, but God tells Israel the lesson they are to learn from this is more like “do unto others.”

This is very different from the warnings we have been looking at. These were not sins committed against Israel but against God. Instead, the lesson they are to learn from the Canaanites is “don’t let this happen to you.”

The example of the Egyptians is especially tuned to the second greatest commandment, to love your neighbor as yourself. And perhaps this next example relates to the greatest commandment, to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. 

“Take care, lest you make a covenant with the inhabitants of the land to which you go, lest it become a snare in your midst. You shall tear down their altars and break their pillars and cut down their Asherim (for you shall worship no other god, for the LORD, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God), lest you make a covenant with the inhabitants of the land, and when they whore after their gods and sacrifice to their gods and you are invited, you eat of his sacrifice, and you take of their daughters for your sons, and their daughters whore after their gods and make your sons whore after their gods.”

Exodus 34:12–16

Here Israel is warned in no uncertain terms that the nations being driven out are guilty of worshiping false gods. However, unlike the lists we have been looking at, God does not say that they were driven out for idolatry, per se. Again, such would condemn every culture, not these in particular. So while God would be justified in judging any nation for following after false gods, this warning appears to be especially for Israel. God is jealous for her. This jealousy applies to the people of His covenant, but He does not often use these concepts with other nations. Jealousy is associated with God’s name, His people, and the Promised Land. Only in the final judgment does God speak of His jealousy for all the nations (e.g. Zeph. 1:17, 18).

So the lists in Leviticus 18 and 20 seem to specifically indict the Canaanites, but on universally applicable grounds. However, the oppression from the Egyptians and the idolatry of the Canaanites, while also sinful, are treated differently in God’s warnings.

However, to bring things full circle, God does say that Canaanite idolatry was linked to the detestable practices that are forbidden. “…But you shall devote them to complete destruction, the Hittites and the Amorites, the Canaanites and the Perizzites, the Hivites and the Jebusites, as the LORD your God has commanded, that they may not teach you to do according to all their abominable practices that they have done for their gods, and so you sin against the LORD your God” (Deut 20:17, 18 ESV).

So while idolatry is a sin, and it is grounds for judgment for Israel, it appears that the practices associated with idolatry were grievous enough to cause the destruction of these cities.

Conclusions (Finally)

In some ways, we shouldn’t be surprised if the quest for “the” sin of Sodom is complex. After all, we would be hard pressed to identify “the” sin of David or “the” sin of Israel. We are all guilty of many sins, often at the same time. Looking for “the” sin quickly becomes an exercise in ranking one sin over another, which can easily get out of hand.

We know for sure that Sodom was destroyed for its sin and made an example of for all to heed: do not persist in sin or you will be destroyed, too. It is a lesson for nations, but ultimately also a lesson for individuals. Repent of your sin, otherwise your own personal destruction awaits.

And when we look in the narrative for “the” sin, we see a whole city of men willing to gang rape visitors. It is a sexual sin. It is a sin of violence. It is a sin of oppression of a vulnerable group. The Bible makes clear none of these are tolerable. The Law makes especially clear that sexual sin pollutes the land and can lead to destruction.

But the Prophets make equally clear that injustice pollutes the land and can lead to destruction. And in Ezekiel 16, God makes plain that mistreating the poor is “the sin” that should grab our attention when we think about Sodom.

The problem for people of both camps is when we linger over one set of sins and refuse to acknowledge the other. Both are heinous, according to God’s Word.

But someone may say “you’re just giving in to cultural pressure by downplaying gay sex in the narrative. Everyone can see the abomination in Genesis 19 is men sleeping with other men. I don’t need the prophets to tell me what’s right there in front of me.” Yet the same God who inspired Genesis inspired Ezekiel and we would be foolish to rank one above the other, as though some of God’s words had more “God status” than others. It is not “giving in” to stand by the Word in all its fullness and all its complexity. Further, to insist on Genesis 19 as support for God’s design for sex is a case of right doctrine, wrong text. It’s not about marriage. It’s about a whole town of men so depraved that they cannot wait for some poor traveler to wander in so they can gang rape him in the street. No one is defending the men of Sodom. If you are more concerned about the homosexual aspect of the story than you are about the violence, I’m concerned for you. If you are more concerned that the town might be gay than you are that the town might be affluent but completely indifferent to the needy, God is concerned for you.

Or perhaps concerned is not a strong enough word. For as God told the Israelites, “You shall not wrong a sojourner or oppress him, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt. You shall not mistreat any widow or fatherless child. If you do mistreat them, and they cry out to me, I will surely hear their cry, and my wrath will burn, and I will kill you with the sword, and your wives shall become widows and your children fatherless.” (Exod. 22:21–24 ESV)

In the end, I wonder if the story of Sodom isn’t primarily about which sin was the clincher. Maybe the sin was not specifically listed in the narrative in order to keep the emphasis on the outcome, as a sign to the world that there are significant consequences for sin. After all, as we have seen, “Sodom” in the Bible was not a byword for homosexual or for injustice; it was a byword for sin unto destruction. The name Sodom was a reminder that your own sins can end in destruction because the Just Judge of the Earth always does what is right. Neither Leviticus nor Ezekiel should be used to hush this fact.

I’ve created a new space on this site that was really what this page was originally about: a place to write anything. I’m calling it the “wanderlog.” This ultimately is a category to protect me from me, to give me permission to write anything without purpose, without apology. Of course, I very much hope that it’s not useless, but I’m giving myself permission to be useless.

And really, that’s an important value to protect. Usefulness is good, but the world pushes you to make it ultimate. I may have shared this before (maybe I should give myself permission to be repetitive, too!) but I really connected with something I heard on Peter Bregman’s leadership podcast years ago. He said he has a tendency to turn his hobbies into projects, and almost without meaning to, he would find that he keeps repeating this cycle of professionalizing.

You may laugh and wonder how I relate to that since I currently walk around with an imaginary “master of none” sign on my back. He does it better, don’t get me wrong. But I feel the same pull to take something I enjoy and professionalize it. I can’t just journal; I feel compelled to write books, to improve in the craft, hone a message, build an audience, and find a publisher. I can’t just build a loft bed for my son; I feel compelled to practice, refine, get better tools, build better things, maybe start selling some of them. I can’t just write songs; I have to record them, produce them, refine, share, monetize, etc. I can’t simply teach; I want to be a teacher. I can’t simply learn; I want to be a scholar. I can’t simply counsel; I want to be a counselor.

I imagine this is just part of living in 21st century America. Technology and social media have given us the tools to access vast amounts of knowledge, to DIY anything, to monetize anything, build your own brand. There’s an invitation—for anything you want to do—to do it better, do it for money, and find your identity in it.

My problem is not lack of interest or lack of aptitude, but lack of focus. But I’ll save that thought for another day.

Casting aside the details, my first blog very gradually turned into a professional online presence. So I created a second one. And that one gradually turned into a different kind of professional online presence. This is partly because there is a pressure—often self-imposed—to curate your online image, to carry yourself a certain way. And this is probably more true in some disciplines than others. But whether on the altar of professionalism or to some other god, “just write” eventually gets sacrificed to “just write something amazing.” And what counts as amazing? Well, it sure isn’t useless!

Don’t get me wrong. Usefulness is great. Everything has a purpose, and without purpose, I don’t know that anything could exist. Even our most useless moments are made possible by thousands of useful components.

I want to be useful. I find joy in serving others. We also play a role in God’s plan that lends itself to talk of being “used by” Him. It comes up when Paul talks about being clay in the Potter’s hand, crafted for one purpose or another. It comes up in images of the church, where a part contributes to the body, or a living stone contributes to the greater structure.

Further, God gives us spiritual gifts so that we can help one another. We are to use them for each other, and by extension make ourselves useful in these ways.

Usefulness is good. Isn’t it?

I was recently trying to explain to a friend my beef with Pragmatism. It’s not that being useful is bad. It’s not that being better is bad. The problems arise when you look at “to what end?” and “in what context?”

All things being equal, it’s better to help more people than fewer. All things being equal, it’s better to do something well than to do it poorly. All things being equal, it’s better to be efficient rather than wasteful. All things being equal, it’s better to fit the medium to the message. All things being equal, it’s better to to maximize impact.

But all things are never equal. Ever. It’s a thought experiment. It’s an imagined world. In the real world, there is always a context, and in that context, bigger may not be better, efficient may not be better, polished may not be better, and, paradoxically, better may not be better. There’s the cost of resources to do the thing, whether time, money, etc. There’s the potential for your thing to compete with other goods, not just in production but in the life of the consumer. There’s the unintended consequences of attributing value to one thing and, by implication, devaluing whatever is not being emphasized. There’s human nature, there’s the cost of amplifying a mistake, etc., etc.

These costs don’t mean “stop trying to be better!” They just need to be factored in. Sometimes slower is better, fewer is better, messy is better. The first problem of Pragmatism is that we tend to take the one thing we’re trying to improve and make it ultimate. Then more and more things become instrumentalized toward one end. And the more we emphasize their usefulness toward that end, the more we endanger their inherent worth and their role in other systems toward other goods.

And then of course, there is the more basic problem of “what are you chasing?” Is what you think is good really, actually good? Do you really need fame? Do you really need membership in that club? Do you really need more people than you can serve at your current capacity? So there are good things that become corrupt by being made ultimate, and there are sketchy things that we chase that really aren’t worth our time. I’m sure there are better examples, but for now, let’s move on.

If something is worth doing, it’s worth doing well. It’s worth doing poorly, too, but (all things being equal!) do it well if you can. If you can’t, there are probably times you need to stop. But why assume that you should? Let’s say making food is worth doing, but you can’t do it well. Would you starve because someone else does it better? Of course, you don’t want to poison anyone, and maybe you shouldn’t set up a stand by the roadside, but if it’s worth doing, do it! Dare to be less than the best.

But I would challenge you to more than that. Don’t content yourself with simply being bad at something. Dare to be useless. Dare to leave money on the table, potential untapped.

Why? Well, there are all the concerns I mentioned above about context and pursuing bad ends or making the wrong thing ultimate. But I believe it goes deeper than that. I think our interest in usefulness is itself a good thing that has become twisted by being made ultimate. We so quickly move from wanting to help to being seen as a helper, then to finding our identity in helping, then to feeling lost when we can’t help. We so quickly move from valuing someone to valuing their contribution, then to measuring them by their contribution, then to writing them off when they don’t contribute enough. So whether we are measuring ourselves or someone else, who we are and whether we are loveable comes down to a measure of utility.

Dare to be useless. Dare to love the useless. Not as an excuse to be lazy or apathetic or in any other way to promote some alternative destructive value. We need to recognize that some things have value not because they do something but because they simply are.

Consider the idea of rest. I have a tenuous relationship with rest. It seems wasteful. “Sleep is for the weak.” Rest is for people who aren’t determined enough, who are content with less. I have gotten better at this as an adult as I realize I need rest in order to be restored, and that this is a good gift from God and not merely a form of coddling.

But so far, my idea of rest is still tied to its utility. When God rested on the seventh day, it did Him no good. It was a good thing, don’t get me wrong, but because He did not exhaust Himself, it wasn’t restorative. You might reply that He used it to set an example, and I’ll grant this. He is wise and has His reasons. But the example He sets is one that need not be restorative. It may be ceasing for its own sake. It may just be without accomplishing one agenda or another. It comes with permission for dignified uselessness.

Now, I realize I risk stepping on toes here. Some traditions take Sabbath very seriously, and I don’t mean to say that it shouldn’t be an opportunity for worship or that it precludes the possibility of doing something else that is somehow restful in a different way. I don’t mean to empty Sabbath rest of any of these good things. I simply want to make the case that there may be room in the Sabbath for dignified uselessness. Maybe, just maybe, one day a week can be free from the very idea of accomplishment. It can just be without any consideration of being for.

This is why I think we should dare to be useless. Because the very thought of uselessness seems like heresy, like wickedness, like debauchery. But as Christians, we know that there are some people whose usefulness is very difficult to measure, but their value remains untarnished. We know that an unborn baby is valuable not because it has potential or because it makes her parents feel good, but simply because she is. Value without use. We know that someone at the end of life may have lost physical and mental faculties, even to the point of being unresponsive, and yet their value is not indexed to inability. He is valuable not because of legacy or independence, but simply because he is. Not because he is for. The same can be said for people in the middle of life who are unable by one measure or another. Is their utility hampered? Maybe. Their value? Not on your life.

Dare to be useless, to love useless things, to break the tie between value and impact, worth and work, praiseworthiness and potential.

Now, you might say, (and I confess, I hope you would), “Josh, that was a helpful thing you just said.” Does that undermine the point? Aren’t useful blog posts better than useless ones? Contexts and ends, my friend. Contexts and ends. In this case, it is only because I was willing to risk uselessness that I even started typing.

“Aha!” you say, “so uselessness is a useful idea!” Well, I suppose it was today. I don’t think my point requires uselessness to persist in itself or to become a dominant value. I simply need to accept it as part of life, and accept the possibility that actual uselessness need not be a threat or a sin. Maybe it’s not possible for any good or true idea to be completely fruitless; but I suspect it’s not necessary for the content of the idea to somehow govern the nature or quality of the idea itself. I’ll save that debate for another time. For now I’m content to simply push back against the cult of pragmatism and leave it at that.

I have two blogs and rarely contribute to either one. Why is that?

It’s because I’m a writer. That’s what I do when I have time to myself. It’s what I do because I have no other choice. It’s how I see myself and how I want to be seen.

Of course, I want to be seen as more than that. I don’t want to be mistaken for some caricature. So I have a YouTube space so I can share educational videos, and I have a SoundCloud account so I can share music and sermons, and I have an Instagram account so I can share pictures. I enjoy these things. I enjoy making these things. I want others to see me as someone competent in these areas, too.

But I rarely contribute to any of these venues. Why is that?

Did I stop writing music? No. I stopped performing music in public, but I still make music for my kids and I on any given day you may catch me recording a voice memo of some new idea for a hook or a lyric.

Did I stop taking pictures? No. Now that I have kids, I take more pictures than ever. I never get tired of trying to capture a beautiful moment in nature, hoping to savor it beyond its given window of time.

Did I stop making videos? Well, I only ever do that in professional contexts. I make them for other people, not so much for my own purposes.

I could never stop creating. (Feel free to type me under your personality profile of choice. You’re probably not far off.)

So why do all of these accounts remain unused? Because of fear.

You see, right now I can enjoy the process of creating with little risk. I can enjoy the spark of discovery, the delight of insight, the turn of a rhythmic phrase as it dances with an image, and honor it for what it is. And I know God sees these things and delights in them, too. Occasionally I will share one with the kids or with my wife. Very rarely with a close friend.

But in so doing I content myself with a lesser joy. My passion has been to share these things with other people. In preaching, I can say “look at this amazing thing in the text!” In teaching, I can say “watch the unique way this idea flies back to its nest!” I write and speak because I want to share these treasures.

This is why I have always struggled with music. It is a deep passion, but I can’t separate myself from the work. I don’t know how to say “listen to this wonderful lyric!” without meaning in my heart “listen to my wonderful lyric!” I have been trying to work through this, and maybe it’s part of the answer to my larger problem.

By the “larger problem,” I simply mean the fear I mentioned before. I love to share, but. But. What if you don’t see the beauty? I’m so convinced it’s beautiful, so sure that if you saw what I saw, you would wonder at it, too, that it can only mean that I have failed to present it properly.

I have been losing my audience. People I used to count as friends have drifted away as the cultural currents push and pull. The same holds true for my seminary classmates, as politics has charged divisions that once posed no threat. And after leaving a church and leaving a job, after isolations and deconstructions, I want more than ever to share good, beautiful things. But I don’t want to stutter. I don’t want to trip. I don’t want to be the reason you miss the thing.

So somewhere along the way, I started writing for my critics. Because some days friends and critics are indistinguishable.

At first, I thought writing for my critics would make me better at this. But the truth turns out to be something I’ve known for a very long time: if you’re committed enough to your position, there is always a way to maintain it.

For a while I was searching for the right starting place. I wanted common ground that we could build from. If I could just establish that space and build from there, then maybe you could see the beauty of the thing. Or at very least maybe we could learn to talk with respect again.

But I found myself walking a path I’ve read about and never wanted to visit. I found myself knocking on the door of Descartes, thinking if I could just hold enough things at arms length conceptually, I could make peace and invite them all back afterward. But of course that’s not how it goes or how it could go.

No! That’s the way of the weak. I will try harder. I’ll find the answers and vindicate myself! I will tear and ball and pitch every idea with vigorous animosity toward its imperfections. I. will. share. nothing. Not until I’m sure it will be good enough.

This is how you remain silent for months. Be content to write for yourself, and kill anything that dares to recommend itself to others.

I can’t write for my critics by becoming someone they would approve of. I used to believe in common ground, but now I can no longer conjure the thought. It feels exhausted. Where you are, I cannot be. Where I am, you may not wish to be. Perhaps isolation was inevitable, with or without the pandemic.

I am only lately admitting to myself that trying to find the right starting point is a misguided quest. (Perhaps someone will say there is a way. Good! Let him take it.) Where was I going? I just wanted to share something of worth, something beautiful that struck me. I wanted to share it in a way that guaranteed you saw it, too. But of course that’s a fool’s errand. I can’t make you see. (I wrote that in a song over 20 years ago. Apparently even if you see, you may forget.)

So I want to go back to sharing. And I want to renounce the thought of seeking some artificial quarters from which to write.

Some will say it takes courage to share your writing, but I don’t want to risk cheapening the word. But sharing anything in public means you can’t control the way it is received. It may be ignored, unappreciated, misunderstood, or condemned. And perhaps you may be, too, by extension. But I have to believe that if something is worthy of sharing, it’s also worthy of the risk involved.

And what are the risks, really? That all my friends should prove to be critics? I don’t really fear that, and only by confronting the possibility can I put it to bed. That writing in an unscholarly way might bar me from a chance to do something more rigorous? That would be an odd punishment for so little a crime. That my convictions prove a clumsy fit to any community that I would want to join? Well, let’s just say if we can’t learn to live together, we’re going to die alone. (Thanks, Jack.)

So I’m going to try and go back to writing in public more often and with less calculation, to “say something true in public every day.” Then what will be, will be.

And what you will see, you will see.

Now when Jesus saw a crowd around him, he gave orders to go over to the other side.
And a scribe came up and said to him, “Teacher, I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

Matthew 8:18-20 (ESV)

For most of church history, it was easy to draw connections between Scripture and the best learning of the day. But as the scientific revolution picked up steam, it began to generate more and more conflicts with traditional Christian teaching about the world and the way that it works. Some (e.g., deists) were increasingly willing to use worldly knowledge to reinterpret their faith. Others were willing to disengage to one degree or another, focused on the truth of Scripture above all.

As the standard account goes, Schleiermacher began the liberal theological tradition by proposing a synthesis: keep religion as a matter of personal experience, and let human learning advance unhindered. Instead of being religious, you can be spiritual. Instead of insisting the Bible is true, you can say that it’s true for you.

Conservative Christians were able to keep up with science to some degree until evolution forced a decision: will you insist that the accounts of the Bible actually happened? Or will you admit that we now know the truth about human origins and must reinterpret the Bible?

Those who maintained their resistance came to be called fundamentalists.

Those who returned a generation later to insist that the Bible should make an impact on culture were called the new evangelicals. They worked hard to engage with the best learning, to resist the urge to retreat and let the liberals and other non-Christians take control of society. Their students became formidable scholars in fields like philosophy and history. They engaged not just higher learning, but politics, the arts, and business.

I grew up in the age that was reaping the benefit of these efforts. I could buy Christian alternatives to popular music, I could watch Christian leaders fight for biblical values on TV, and when I came to seminary, it had been over a decade since The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind heightened the efforts to arm the minds of believers for action.

But the more I study evangelical history, the more convinced I am that this desire to engage came with strings attached. Engagement is good, depending on how you define it. But neo-evangelical engagement sought respectability. And I believe that has turned out to be too high a price to pay.

Respectability has sent some of our best minds to secular schools. Respectability has sent some of our best schools on secular quests. Respectability necessarily subjugates Christian values to secular values. What is good scholarship? Don’t ask the Christian scholar. Ask the real scholar. What is good art? Don’t ask the Christian musician, ask the real musician. What is a good school? Don’t ask the church. Ask the secular accrediting agency.

How does a good enterprise go off-track? Well, there are many ways. But respectability is a well-worn path: just get the credentials, then they’ll respect you. Just add that degree to your resume, or that scholar to your faculty. Just take seriously the work of non-Christian scholars, then they’ll respect you. What? You haven’t read so-and-so? How am I supposed to take your work seriously? What? You reject his work?! I don’t find your reasons compelling.

We are always on the lookout for a respectable face, a respectable theory, a respectable mission, and in the end it always turns out to be bait in the trap. Just a little more. Just a little more. You’re so close! And then you find yourself among the enlightened few, so glad you’re not like those fundamentalists. You are different. You are respected.

But I don’t mean to speak too broadly. I’m sure there are many faithful Christians who have earned the respect of their secular peers, and for that I am grateful. But I wonder how many of them are capable of telling these peers something they don’t want to hear. I believe they are out there. But if evangelicalism has launched a thousand scholars, I fear only a handful have the ability to take a stand when needed.

It is perhaps easier in the arts, where there is a personal element to the craft. But how many Christian artists, if given the choice between respectability and rejection, choose the former so that they can have a bigger platform and make more of a difference? The problem is, the larger the platform gets, the more you have to lose. There are precious few people, I fear, who are willing to lose it.

Ah, and then there’s politics. We’ve done away with the old kind of respectability, for better or worse, but don’t be fooled: respectability has only moved. It’s the ability to raise money and gather crowds. It’s always been this, of course, but it used to be that the old kind of respectability was necessary to get you those things. (At least for a time. I don’t doubt that the days before television saw a much wilder political spirit.) If you want to make it these days, you have to earn your respectability with the right buzzwords, attacking the right opponents, signaling the right virtues. How much Christianity do you have to give up? Only as much as it takes to win.

I’m speaking in broad terms for the sake of time; each of these points should be a paper with proper evidence and argument. But this is a blog, and I speak as the medium allows.

Whatever you are trying to keep in motion, there will eventually come a day when you fear you will have to close the doors because you are not respectable enough. Maybe it’s a party, a movement, a church, a school, a denomination, or some other organization. You wanted to make a difference for Christ. What do you do now?

“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

I know you’re willing to work your way to the top with Jesus. But are you willing to be homeless with Him?

Today I’m writing on my smartphone. Normally I only use my phone for notes, and especially voice memos, but I haven’t been posting enough and the phone is always with me, so it’s time to learn something new.

I’m writing on the way to learning to be a better parent. I saw an interview the other day which really got me thinking about how I parent. The video was about agency, not parenting per se, but it helped me to see a missing piece. Still working out what it means, but the new direction has been a breath of fresh air.

I’m writing on the way to theological community. One of the persistent struggles since seminary has been finding a theological place to belong. In seminary, I found people with similar interests, and even though we had diverse backgrounds, we could work together. But since then I have found myself a “free grace” guy in a lordship church, a baptist in a CRC town, a traditionalist in a modern church, and a conservative in progressive times. I have been challenging my assumptions, trying to make sure that our differences are worth preserving. And the process is teaching me much about the role of doctrine and how to deal with objections. Soon I expect to post articles that will draw lines that may eventually put most of my friends on the outside of one or another stance. Without a stable theological community, this is a foreboding thought, but I am ready to accept whatever comes.

I’m writing on the way to music, of all things. I starting to let music back into my life last year when the lockdowns began, and the time away from writing and playing has done me good. I’m fixing songs I used to be stuck on, finishing projects that have been open for many years, and finding inspiration for new work for the first time in a a very long time. Not sure what God is doing here, but the idea of teaching theology through music is not lost on me.

I’m writing on the way to new professional projects. In the past month I went from mostly church projects to a resurgence of university projects. I’m grateful, and they have been good for me, but I do feel the loss of freedom to pursue my own studies.

I recognize this part isn’t very substantive, and that it’s more of a journal entry than anything, but the point was to write anything, so from that standpoint it’s a success.

Still letting the perfect get in the way of the good, I suppose. But I was also reminded yesterday that while I want to share everything I’m learning and make things to help others, simply studying is good on its own. it doesn’t have to be shared to be worth my time. I don’t have to squeeze every ounce of utility out of an act.

I had planned to write something else next, but I was struck by a thought this morning and wanted to take this opportunity to meditate on it. And since decisions of sequence are currently arbitrary, I don’t feel bad in the least.

The spark happened on social media as one friend commented on another friend’s post. (If you’re ever wondering what social media is good for, this surely belongs on your list.) This commenter spoke in praise of mystery over and against claims of knowledge, and spoke as one trying to swing the pendulum back from the extreme in which we often find ourselves. I don’t wish to recap his comments or put words in his mouth. Today’s post is not a reply as such, but a reflection on mystery itself.

Let me also say that I have no desire to correct someone of such a mindset. We do need reminders of the goodness of mystery in our devotion. And if his or her relationship with God thrives on this, I say “praise God.”

It seems to me that mystery can be thought of in at least two different ways: one as an acknowledgement of our limitations, and the other as the only mode of approaching God. The former is necessary for orthodoxy. Anyone who has faith in Christ will sooner or later have to admit his limitations—that he is not God, that he cannot know everything, and what is unknown is no less true. I don’t wish to make this a strict test of faith or acceptance, but I can’t imagine someone lacking these views could have a healthy relationship with God and men. To be a disciple requires submission, not just of the will but of the mind.

The latter is traditionally known as the “via negativa” or the way of negation. It embraces denial as the path to true wisdom. On this view, I cannot say what it means that “God is light” except to know for sure that He is not darkness. The true knowledge of the statement is beyond me; I can only hope to know the truths of its negation.

There is a long tradition of this view in Christianity, and I don’t wish to condemn it, but I would not commend it to anyone. It seems to readily falter when one asks what, precisely, one is negating. How can I affirm “not darkness” unless I know what darkness is? What am I negating?

There is no doubt an answer to my questions out there somewhere, but I have not found it worth seeking out. I am untroubled by claims to knowledge, and this for two simple reasons: one, they appear to be unavoidable, and two, they are endorsed in Scripture. Knowledge is not a Western invention; it is an aspect of humanity that crosses cultures. We may define it in slightly different ways or give it greater or lesser honor, but it cannot be denied. Experience (and the testimony of others) indicate that knowledge is something we have to live with. But when God Himself commands us to know, to understand, to obey—well, it would seem this is not only normal for humanity, but normal for discipleship. If I want to submit to God, part of my devotion is to know that which He wants me to know.

But here I am talking at length about knowledge. Isn’t the post about mystery? Yes. And if my first point is that mystery as an acknowledgement of our limitations in the face of God is necessary for discipleship, my second is this: mystery and knowledge need each other. To embrace only mystery is to go too far; to embrace only knowledge is fraught with many of its own dangers. But mystery has value precisely because knowledge has value. Only in knowing what I know and the limits of what I know can I truly appreciate the mystery of what I don’t know. Only in embracing mystery can I affirm my frailty, God’s transcendence, and the sheer beauty of a God that would disclose knowledge of Himself to us. Mystery is to be valued because knowledge is valued.

Now, third: even as we affirm and embrace both, we must take care not to adore either for their own sake. This is a danger I think both “camps” fall into—that is, the people who wish to adore the mystery, and those who adore knowledge by wishing to seek out, share, and refine it. All praise belongs to God. All adoration is His. The mystery we adore is not mystery itself but God in His “beyondness.” We adore the mysterious God. We adore God where knowledge fails, where reason breaks down, and where our souls are met with silence.

Just the same, those who pursue knowledge must take care not to pursue “knowingness.” We must not in adoring wisdom find ourselves merely adoring our cleverness. If anything in knowledge is to be adored, it is God we adore—God as He has revealed Himself. We adore a God who draws near. A God who speaks our language. A God who knows us. We adore God’s words because we adore Him. We adore wisdom because it is His wisdom. Whether in speech or stillness, absence or presence, clarity or confusion, God is to be adored.

I have wrung my hands for a season, fretting over whether I could know anything and what that meant for following God. I am done with this. Knowledge is good. Mystery is good. Where God has spoken, we adore by listening, by reflecting, and by passing it on. Where God has not spoken, we carefully consider what, if anything, can be said. Where nothing can be said, we adore God in our silence and by our silence. And whether in speech or in silence, we marvel. Because God is always partly disclosed and partly hidden, and so our praise is always partly in understanding and partly in accepting the mysteries. Mystery does not undermine knowledge, nor knowledge mystery. But God is all in all, worthy of the highest praise. We submit to Him on His terms, and they turn out to involve both knowledge and mystery. To embrace Him is to accept both.