Living as Earthly and Heavenly Citizens
Though Italian politics does not typically dominate English-speaking Twitter, a speech by Giorgia Meloni, expected to soon become Italy’s first female prime minister, recently caught the attention of a great many around the world.
The speech was from 2019. In it, Meloni decried the practice of commercial surrogacy, rebuked the heedless rush to chemically castrate teens with gender dysphoria, praised the natural family as the basis of society, called out the evils of euthanasia and abortion, and defended her identity as not just a citizen of the world but as someone both Italian and Christian. She closed with a quote from G.K. Chesterton, one of many predictions he made that has come true: “Fires will be kindled to testify that two and two make four. Swords will be drawn to prove that leaves are green in the summer.”
It was refreshing to hear classical truths of Western civilization defended with such passion. Many political and cultural conservatives, both in America and around the world, praised her, holding up her words as a model of what it means to resist progressivism’s continued march across institutions. Many media outlets, on the other hand, quickly labeled her “far right,” “nationalist,” and even “fascist.”
Most of these critiques can be dismissed with ease. After all, it’s not uncommon for journalists to describe anything or anyone not fully on board with progressive ideologies as “far right,” the mildest expressions of patriotism as “nationalist,” and any conservative ideal as “fascist.” Multiple news agencies have noted that Meloni’s political party has roots in the remnants of Italy’s Mussolini era, a level of scrutiny most political parties would not survive.
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The Syntax of Sacrifice
The worshiper offers purification and reparations offerings in order to repair breaches in the relationship caused by sinful and impure actions. Then the worshiper offers himself in total surrender to Yahweh, drawing near to him as a pleasing aroma in the ascension offering. And he may offer a tribute to Yahweh for all of his kindness to him. But even these aren’t the end. All of these offerings — purification, reparation, total surrender, and tribute — are meant to lead to communion. There are two different terms for the tabernacle in Leviticus: “tabernacle” (or “dwelling”) and “tent of meeting.” Both terms are important. God doesn’t merely want to dwell with his people; he wants to meet with his people. And he doesn’t just want to meet with his people; he wants to dine with his people.
Comedian Brian Regan tells a funny story about his struggles in school as a kid. He talks about the public humiliation of the spelling bee and his difficulty with the i-before-e rule. A particularly funny portion describes the teacher’s questions to him and Erwin (the smart kid in class) about how to make a plural.
Teacher: “Brian, how do you make a word plural?”Brian: “You put an s at the end of it.”Teacher: “Erwin, what’s the plural for ox?”Erwin: “Oxen. The farmer used his oxen.”Teacher: “Brian, what’s the plural for box?”Brian: “Boxen. I bought two boxen of doughnuts.”Teacher: “No, Brian. Erwin, what’s the plural for goose?”Erwin: “Geese. I saw a flock of geese.”Teacher: “Brian, what’s the plural for moose?”Brian: “Moosen. I saw a flock of moosen. . . . There were many of them . . . many, much moosen . . . out in the woods, in the wood-es, in the wood-es-en . . .”
Superficially, the joke is about Brian’s ignorance. But it actually demonstrates the complexity and difficulty of the English language (to which anyone who has learned English as a second language can attest). As native English speakers, we don’t always think about this difficulty and complexity because we’re so familiar with it. We inhabit the language, we use the language, and therefore, it feels (mostly) comprehensible to us.
For many of us, the book of Leviticus mystifies us. We find the sacrifices, rules, and regulations to be complex and confusing. To us, Leviticus is like a foreign language. It mystifies because we’re unfamiliar with it. Like Brian Regan and making plural words, the intricacies elude and confuse us.1
Levitical Language
Thinking of Leviticus as a language can help demystify it. Consider what goes into a language. First, we have an alphabet. We arrange the letters of the alphabet to form words. There are different kinds of words — nouns, verbs, adjectives, prepositions, adverbs. We arrange the words into sentences with meaning and purpose. We modify words by adding letters at the beginning or end in order to make plurals or speak about the past or future or communicate ongoing versus completed action.
What’s more, in English, in order to make sense, we must arrange the words in a certain order. “Bill throws the ball” means something very different from “The ball throws Bill.” Arranging the words rightly is necessary in order to communicate clearly.
The sacrificial system is similar. Instead of nouns, verbs, and adjectives, we have people, places, sins, animals, animal body parts, and actions, and they are arranged and combined in various ways in order to say something, in order to communicate.
The sacrificial system resembles language learning in another way. In truth, we don’t actually learn our native language by first learning the alphabet, then learning words, and then arranging words into sentences. In other words, we don’t move from the smallest parts up to the larger parts.
Instead, as children, we first learn nouns — like “Mommy” and “Daddy” and “milk” — and sentences — simple ones like “Yes” and “No” and “Help, please.” Then as we mature, we learn more nouns and more complex sentences. At a certain age, we’re taught to read, and we learn to break words down into letters and then to break sentences down into subjects, verbs, and direct objects so we can grasp the rules of spelling and grammar.
The Bible teaches us the sacrificial system in the same way. We get glimpses of it early on: God provides Adam and Eve with animal skins after their sin in the garden (Genesis 3:21). Cain and Abel offer tribute to God (Genesis 4:3–4). Noah offers whole burnt offerings of clean animals after the flood (Genesis 8:20). Abraham prepares to offer Isaac as a burnt offering, and God substitutes a ram at the last minute (Genesis 22:1–19). Moses makes burnt offerings and peace offerings and sprinkles blood on the people at Sinai (Exodus 24:4–8).
Then finally, in Leviticus, it’s like we pick up a grammar textbook that sets forth more detailed rules for how all of these sacrifices work in the covenantal arrangement established by God with his people after the exodus. Leviticus, along with Numbers, provides the basic spelling, grammar, and syntax of the sacrificial system, and in learning the language, we can better understand what God is saying to us.
Three Images
To grasp the symbolic system of Leviticus, we begin with three images. Leviticus builds on the book of Genesis, especially the early chapters. Recall the basic story. God made the world and everything in it in six days. The crown of his creation is man, made on the sixth day, male and female, in God’s own image, as his representatives and stewards. He gives the first man and woman a commission — be fruitful, multiply, fill the earth, subdue it, and have dominion over its inhabitants. He places them in a garden to work and keep it, and gives them one prohibition: “Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Genesis 2:17).
Under the influence of the crafty serpent, Adam and Eve rebel against God, eat the fruit, and are confronted in their rebellion. God judges them for their rebellion, cursing the ground, multiplying pain and hardship in their relationship, and dooming them to die and return to dust. But he mingles mercy with his justice, promising them descendants, and especially a redeemer who will crush the serpent’s head. He then clothes them with animal skins and exiles them from the garden.
Now, here’s the important image: in order to prevent Adam and Eve from eating from the tree of life in the midst of the garden, God “drove out the man, and at the east of the garden of Eden he placed the cherubim and a flaming sword that turned every way to guard the way to the tree of life” (Genesis 3:24).
This is crucial. The holy presence of God is in the garden. Life is in the garden. And there is an angelic bouncer with a sword of fire separating man from divine life. There’s no way to draw near to God without losing your head and being burned up.
The second image comes from the book of Exodus. Yahweh has just delivered his people from bondage and gathered them at the holy mountain. God descends in a thick cloud of smoke and lightning, and he says to the people through Moses,
You yourselves have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to myself. Now therefore, if you will indeed obey my voice and keep my covenant, you shall be my treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is mine; and you shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. (Exodus 19:4–6)
There is a profound tension between this image and the one in Genesis. In Genesis 3, we see life and glory in the garden, with an angel guarding the way with a flaming sword. In Exodus 19, we see life and glory on the mountain, with the words “you are my treasured possession; I have brought you to myself and intend to dwell with you.”
The tension between these two biblical scenes yields a third image. Imagine if the sun — the giant ball of flaming gas in the sky — wanted to come live in your neighborhood. What would happen? There is no atmosphere to protect you, no sunscreen strong enough, no covering to shield you: just the blazing inferno of the sun and your weak, frail, human self. How would that work out for you? Can you handle that heat?
The answer is obvious. We can’t handle that heat. The scene at Sinai confirms it. Yahweh invites the people to draw near, but he also commands them to consecrate and prepare themselves; they are to wash their garments and abstain from sexual relations for three days prior (Exodus 19:10–11, 15). What’s more, he sets limits around the mountain, a boundary that they are not to cross, on pain of death (verses 12–13). It seems we have not left the angelic guardian entirely behind. To cross the boundary, to touch the holy mountain, is to court death. And the passage couldn’t be clearer: the real danger is that the Lord will break out against them (verses 21–24). The danger is that they would get too close to the sun. And they can’t handle that heat.
We can summarize the basic problem in this way. The living God is holy. We are a sinful people in a world of death. But the living and holy God desires to dwell with his sinful people in this world of death. How is that possible? If we’re going to return to the garden of life, if we’re going to draw near to the holy God, how do we get past the angel and his flaming sword?
Basics of the Grammar
God’s answer to this problem is the whole Levitical system. It’s an entire symbolic system — a language — that testifies both to God’s holiness and life and to our sinfulness and death. And at the center of that system is atonement — the God-given covering that enables us to remarkably, miraculously, mercifully draw near to God and handle the heat.
So what are the basics of the grammar of this Levitical language? Let’s think in terms of nouns, adjectives, and verbs.
Nouns
Back in elementary school, we learned that there are three basic categories of nouns: people, places, and things. These categories offer a good way to approach the grammar of Leviticus as well.
Start with people. First, we have men and women. The book opens with a call-back to Genesis: “When an adam brings an offering . . .” (Leviticus 1:2). The word adam reminds us that we are sons of earth, since adam was taken from the dust of the adamah. But we aren’t merely “earth-men”; we are men and women, ish and ishshah (Genesis 2:23).
In the Levitical system, we can break God’s people down even more. First, we have the congregation as a whole. Within the congregation, we have the Levites, the priests, and especially the high priest. Beyond them, we have the leaders or rulers of the people. Then we have individual Israelites, some of them rich, and some of them poor. So the Levitical system recognizes distinctions in terms of people.
What about places? Here we need to connect sacred geography and sacred architecture. Leviticus is built on Genesis, especially the early chapters. And there, we remember the garden, in the land of Eden, and the world beyond (unsubdued and unfilled): garden, land, world (Genesis 2:8). The garden was on a mountain, and a river flowed down to water the garden, and then from there it split into four rivers spreading out over the earth (Genesis 2:10). So in terms of geography, think of a summit, a mountain, the land around it, and then the waters/ocean at the edge.
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Has Church Abuse Activism Taken a Wrong Turn?
Written by Samuel D. James |
Tuesday, February 21, 2023
The whole reason to call out church abuse wherever it happens is because the church is beautiful and valuable and immortal, and Satan, the master abuser, wants church to look more like him instead. To the degree that abuse awareness hands people a mirror and tells them they can only be truly safe at home, it surrenders the whole game to the enemy himself.My review of When Narcissism Comes to Church generated some of the more pointed pushback I’ve ever received from those I would consider generally in my theological/political tribe. My friend John Starke thought I mis-characterized the book. Mike Cosper agreed with this, and went further to explain why the book is valuable even at those points where my description might hold up. In one interesting section, Cosper offers a scenario where Chuck DeGroat’s framework could be helpfully applied:
If you confront a narcissist and say, “You’re prideful, abusive, and manipulative of others,” you’ll likely get one of two responses. You might hear them say, “That’s simply not true — I’m deeply insecure and I’m surrounded by people who tell me they don’t think I’m abusive and confront me when they think I’m wrong.” In this case, that’s likely all true! The confrontation fails to consider the way the individual’s pathology makes them profoundly blind to their own sins and motivations, and it fails to account for the way modern society incentivizes others to attach themselves to narcissists. The outcome is often a mealy-mouthed, “I’m sorry for the way my behavior made you feel” apology.
On the other hand, you might hear them address the accusation directly, saying, “I struggle deeply with pride, tell me who I’ve sinned against and I’ll apologize.” In this case if there is a kind of narcissistic pathology at work, they can easily perform these tasks again and again. Critics might continue to say, “They’re abusive,” but co-leaders can point to the acts of repentance and attempts at reconciliation as evidence of a malleable heart. That’s all the more likely within a system that’s benefitting from a narcissist’s charisma and energy.
DeGroat’s framework challenges us to consider the more complex interaction between sin and suffering at the heart of the behavior. By understanding narcissism as a psychological defense, a built-in response to internalized trauma and grief, we see a different kind of inroad for caring for the soul of a narcissist. They can be confronted with their sin and its impact on a community while also being shown connections between that behavior and their deeper wounds. It does nothing to diminish the power of sin and the need for the cross to do so. In fact, it expands the way we can see its power — addressing not only the sins that we might have committed, but the power of sin to malform us.
Now, what I think is particularly instructive about what Cosper writes here is that he’s offered a mini-case study of confronting an abusive leader, and in this case study, there is no question that the accusation of narcissism and abuse is valid. Cosper’s case study envisions two endings to such a confrontation: either the leader will blame-shift, or they will try to pacify the accuser by appearing to “repent.” In either case, Cosper’s illustration presumes that the person being confronted really is a genuine narcissist, and with this assurance and using DeGroat’s ideas, the accuser can be equipped to see through even an apparent confession and apology. In other words, Cosper is saying that we need DeGroat’s book in order to really hold narcissistic leaders accountable, because otherwise we might be fooled by their apologies and their apparent contrition. Without doing the thick psychoanalytical work—identifying past traumas, naming one’s insecurities, perhaps even taking the Enneagram—we are at the mercy of having to take a narcissist at his word.
In the very beginning of my review, however, I offered a much different hypothetical scenario:
You are approached by two people in your church, both people that you know, love, and trust with equal measure. Person A needs to tell you something about Person B. Person B, according to Person A, has been spiritually abusing them. Person B has been using their leadership and influence to convince other people that Person A’s beliefs and opinions are wrong. Moreover, according to A, Person B has persisted in a pattern of manipulation toward A: saying things to belittle, minimize, or ignore A. Person A feels incredibly victimized by Person B, and does not know how they can persevere at this church while Person B remains.
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Dying, Yet We Live: How Mortification is the Way of Life in the Spirit
Putting sin to death, likewise, is a difficult duty for the Christian, but Paul teaches us that it is necessary and possible. Romans 8:12–13 states that life in the Spirit includes liberation and mortification. We are no longer debtors to this present, evil age, so we walk in a different direction, think after the realm of Christ, and relate to God in a covenant of grace. Since God has delivered us, we are indebted and enabled to walk according to the Spirit, and we express our indebtedness by putting sin to death in the power of the Spirit.
Squatters are notoriously difficult to evict. They may disappear for a while, making you think they are gone, yet they always find a way back and may even bring a few friends along. Indwelling sin is not so easy to evict either, but it is a necessary duty of the Christian life. We are Christ’s temple, therefore all squatters must go. In Romans 8:12–13, Paul teaches us that mortification is not only necessary but possible. Putting sin to death is necessary because Christ has delivered us from this sinful age and possible because the Spirit of Christ leads us in holiness. This means that we are no longer debtors to live according to the flesh; rather, we are indebted and enabled to live according to the Spirit.
No Longer Debtors
Paul concludes the first eleven verses with a negative implication: “So then, brothers, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh” (Rom 8:12). You are no longer a debtor to the powers of this present, evil age because the Spirit of life has set you free from the condemnation of the moral law (v. 1) and the law of sin and death (v. 2). When the Holy Spirit takes up residence in your heart, he changes the direction of your life, the object of your mind, and your covenant with God.
Prior to regeneration, you were a debtor to the flesh. You walked according to the flesh (v. 4), set your mind on the things of the flesh (v. 5), and lived at enmity with God (v. 7). Outside of Christ you were spiritually dead, but you were by no means static or lifeless. To the contrary, you walked in the same direction as the world and followed the powers of this present age (Eph 2:1–2). Like those floating down the lazy river in an amusement park, so you were floating along in the same direction as this rebellious age. Furthermore, you set your mind on the things of the flesh. Your thinking was restricted to this sinful age, not the spiritual age of Christ. This means that you gave little thought to the divine, heavenly realm, to Christ and his gospel, or to God and his Word. Perhaps you did think about heaven–a life of eternal bliss and freedom from pain–but you did not think about Christ, your Savior and Lord. You were captivated and lured by the sins of the age. Finally, verse 7 teaches that you not only walked with the world, thought with the world, but you were at enmity with God. Before the Spirit of life united you to Christ you were in Adam, your federal head, and related to God through a broken covenant of works.
Now that you are indwelt by the Spirit of life, you are no longer a debtor to this age. You do not have to live for the flesh. This is the emphasis of Paul’s “therefore” in verse 12. Since you are united to Christ and indwelt by the Spirit, you are no longer a debtor to this world; rather, you are a son of God and heir with Christ (v. 15–17). When the world demands your allegiance or worship, you are free to refuse because you belong to another master. You were delivered from this world and bought by the Son. While we live in this world, we do not live for this world. We walk in this world, but we do not walk in sync with this world. Since we are sons of God, and no longer debtors to this age, we walk upstream in a downstream world, set our minds on the permanent age of the future, not the transient age of the present, and relate to God in a fulfilled covenant of grace, not a broken covenant of works.
Now, Paul is not just saying you do not have to live according to the flesh. In verse 13, he emphasizes that you ought not to do so. The transition from v. 12 to v. 13 is a shift from deliverance to warning. In verse 12, Paul emphasizes that you do not have to live for this world because you have been delivered from its grip. In verse 13, Paul shifts to a warning, saying that you ought not to live according to the flesh because those who do will surely die.
Verse 13 “If you live according to the flesh, you will die.” The first thing to note about this conditional warning is what it is not saying. It is not saying that those who have been delivered from this present age can lose their salvation. Rather this is a warning to the unrepentant, those who hold Christ in one hand and their sin in the other. Death is the eternal punishment for those who willfully persist in unrepentant sin, who obstinately refuse to part with their beloved sins, and who claim God as their Savior but deny him as their Lord. Death is the just punishment for those who walk according to the flesh, set their minds on the things of the flesh, and live according to the flesh.
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