Wyatt Graham

We Are Resident Aliens

The spiritual house of God, full of living stones (us) who serve the cornerstone (Christ), live their lives as a holy nation among the nations. We are like resident aliens—long-term residents of a city or world that is not our own. For we are seeking a better city “that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb 11:10). Put more directly, “For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come” (Heb 13:14).

Christians sometimes debate politics. Some reason that if a nation has a majority of Christians, then we might speak of a Christian Nation with particular Christian laws and habits. Others hope for a new political order ushered in by Christ on earth that revives the laws of the old covenant for today.
Given the landscape of these debates, I wonder why few discussions highlight Peter’s political theology as expressed in 1 Peter? There, he provides not only political categories to identify us as Christians but also specific ways in which we act out this identity politically, economically, and socially as well as what it looks like when political powers use force against Christians.
While Peter does not aim to answer every question (and we should not press this one letter to do so), the apostle gives us categories for political identity and action. As Peter argues, we should see ourselves as resident aliens who do not belong to this world because we are born again as a holy nation and royal priesthood whose political orientation focuses on proclaiming God’s excellencies and holiness of action.
Resident Aliens
Peter opens the letter by calling Christians “elect exiles” in a diaspora (1 Pet 1:1). The reason why Christians are exiles in this world is because they are a new people: “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people” (1 Pet 2:10). Peter here draws on Hosea just as Paul does in Romans to indicate that Jews and Gentiles together are one new people of God (Hos 1:6, 9, 10; 2:23; Rom 9:25, 26; 10:19).
In the language of the anonymous letter to Diognetus, written in the early 100s, Christians are a “third race” (Letter §1). In Paul’s wording, Christ has created “in himself one new [human being] in place of the two,” that is, Jews and Gentiles (Eph 2:15).
As newly born again (1 Pet 1:3, 23; 2:2), Christians become a new human being, distinct from Jew and Gentile—the other two biblical categories for people groups. We are in the analogy of Peter “living stones” that make up “a spiritual house” (1 Pet 2:5). As living stones in this spiritual temple, we become a “royal priesthood” and a “holy nation” whose vocation is to offer “spiritual sacrifices” (1 Pet 2:9, 5).
Because we no longer belong to this world and our inheritance lies in heaven (1 Pet 1:4), we have become a people for God’s own possession (1 Pet 2:9). We are sojourners and exiles, explains Peter (1 Pet 2:11). In other words, we are akin to the modern category of resident aliens, which is what the Greek word for sojourner means.[1]
As Craig Keener explains, “As members of a new people (1 Pet. 2:9–10), Christ-followers are aliens on earth (1:1, 17; 2:11), but they should behave honorably in human societies, just as societies expected of other resident aliens (2:12–14) (1 Peter, 147).”
The biblical analogies of Israel in exile as they resided in Babylon, willing the good of the city of there, apply today (Jer 29:7). Hence, Peter even says he is writing from the city of Babylon in the letter’s closing (1 Pet 5:13).
And even further back, Abraham teaches us what it means to be called out of the land in which we were first born to seek the city of God. Keener again explains, “Abraham is a “foreigner” and “resident alien” among long-term residents of Canaan (Gen. 23:4), and the psalmist, echoing Abraham’s experience, is a “foreigner” and “resident alien” before God, like his ancestors (Ps. 38:13 [ET 39:12])” (1 Peter, 148).
“I am a sojourner and foreigner among you,” says Abraham (Gen 23:4). And so he was because he was not seeking a city built with human hands but one whose maker and founder was God.
The spiritual house of God, full of living stones (us) who serve the cornerstone (Christ), live their lives as a holy nation among the nations. We are like resident aliens—long-term residents of a city or world that is not our own. For we are seeking a better city “that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Heb 11:10).
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Treasuring the Psalms: A Review

During his exegesis of Psalm 110, Vaillancourt rightly pointed to the uniqueness of the psalm in which YHWH addresses David’s Lord. Given the psalm’s central use in trinitarian theology in the early centuries of the Church and its insight into an intra-trinitarian conversation (between the Father and Son), I wish he spent a bit of time pointing to the possible implications. Like Jesus’s baptism or transfiguration, this is one of the few places where we hear two persons of the Godhead communicating to one another. That seems significant. My complaint, however, could be accused of evincing the now tired observation that biblical studies and theology often don’t get along. But that’s not true of Vaillancourt’s work. Generally, Vaillancourt weaves together Scripture and theology skillfully and insightfully. But for that very reason, Vaillancourt could have spent a paragraph or two on the trinitarian implications. Even without this discussion, I have to concede that his interpretation of Psalm 110 is one of the clearest and (possibly) the best explanation of Psalm 110 that I have ever read.

I expected to read a well-written and useful introduction to the Psalms when I picked up Treasuring the Psalms by Ian Vaillancourt. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the book exceeded my expectations. Going beyond typical introductory books, it provides deep insight into the canonical shape of the Psalter and its theological meaning. And more than that, Vaillancourt does so while also reaching his target audience of college and seminary students as well as church groups.
A success of Treasuring the Psalms is that Vaillancourt possesses the skill of writing a book that is accessible both to academic and non-academic audiences. The book is structured in three parts: “The Story: Reading the Psalms Canonically”, “The Savior: reading the Psalms Christologically”, and “The Soul: Reading the Psalms Personally Corporately.” Across twelve chapters, along with an introduction and conclusion, it is full of biblical insight. I could give this book to a small group in a church or assign it in a classroom. One way that it appeals to both church and academic groups is by highlighting key words in the Psalms and providing both a transliteration and the Hebrew word itself in parenthesis. If a reader knows Hebrew, it’s great; if not, it’s easy to move on because the book does not assume you need to. As the author explains, “This way, those who work with Hebrew will be able to identify the words with greater clarity, and those who are not will be able to skip over them. A knowledge of Hebrew is not required in order to understand this book” (x).
As someone who not only has his Ph.D in the Psalms but has also himself taught on the Psalms in a classroom setting, I found myself learning new things, or at least sharpening my understanding of matters that I already knew. Vaillancourt has a particular gift of bringing technical details down to a common-sense level. Examples include how he explains the difference between individual psalms and their place in Psalter through a story about Joey Ramone of The Ramones. As Joey, whose real name is Jeffrey Ross Hyman, lay dying in a hospital, he listened to U2’s song “In a Little While.” Originally, the song was about a hangover. But Joey heard it as Gospel—“In a little while / This hurt will hurt no more / I’ll be home, love”). This even changed Bono’s interpretation of his own song! Now Bono, of U2, can only sing this song “through Joey Ramone’s ears” (17).
Applied to the psalms, something similar happens. Moses wrote Psalm 90 nearly 1,000 years before the last psalms were written after the exile, such as Psalm 137. But when we consider these individual psalms together in the collection of the Psalter they each take on “new depth” (19). This may remind us of how worship songs are put together for Sunday mornings; while each song was not crafted with each other in mind, the organizer of the worship service places them together for the sake of a unified worship service (19).
I relay these analogies to show how ably Vaillancourt illustrates how individual psalms and the final form of the Psalter work together.
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Jesus Became a Baby Because He Loves You

The cross is the central work in John’s Gospel. There, the Son goes to the cross because “the Father loves me.” And there, glory and love meet. The man bruised and broken and bloodied is the glory of God on a cross stained red with love. All of this happened because “God so loved the world.” He loved us while we were yet sinners (Rom 5:8). Out of love, God sent his Son into the world to save it. 

Why did the King of Glory become a baby? We can answer by saying “for his glory”! And we would be right to say so, but what does that even mean?
To start with, the word glory can sometimes describe doing good works. When a good deed is manifested in the world, we call it glorious. This is why all of God’s works are glorious, especially his creation of humans (Isa 42:7). The good works God does point back to the good Creator of all.
God also created humans for glory and honour. David says, God “crowned [humans] with glory and honor” (Ps 8:5). Paul even tells us to pursue glory and honour (Rom 2:7). While sin for a little while decrowned us of our glory, Jesus became human to bring “many sons to glory” (Heb 2:10, 14).
In summary, God created us for his glory, he crowned us with glory that we for a little while lost by sin, and Jesus restored that glory to us when he came into the world. Glory seems like a good answer for why Jesus was born, but I would say it is not a full answer.
A more complete answer includes the biblical truth that Jesus became a baby because he loves you. And this work of love is glorious.
Philanthropy
The Bible tells us “For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). In the New Testament, to be sent means the same thing as “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).
John tells us that God the Son (or Word) became flesh and dwelt among us, that is, God sent the Son into the world because he “so loved the world.”
God is Love (1 John 4:8, 16), and God loved us “while we were still sinners” (Rom 5:8).
The Church Father Athanasius (c. AD 298–373) used the word philanthropy to describe why Jesus was born.
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What Is Divine Simplicity? And Why It’s Simple to Understand

Some today find divine simplicity to be a strange doctrine because it means God can not be made up of a combination of things. So how can God be Father, Son, and Spirit? I find this objection even stranger because those most known to affirm the Trinity such as Athanasius and Augustine found no such problem!

Divine simplicity is the answer to the question, “What is God made out of”? Is he like us, body and spirit? No. Jesus says God is Spirit (John 4:24). Is he matter and form? No. Genesis 1 and John 1 say God made all “matter.” He is not a creature, but the Creator. God is simple.
Despite how basic this doctrine of God is, many today question its truthfulness. Some claim that no Bible verse teaches the doctrine. Others believe simplicity means that God cannot genuinely be Father, Son, and Spirit. Still others simply think divine simplicity does not make sense.
I disagree. Divine simplicity is the second most basic doctrine in Scripture—after the fact that God exists. It is both biblical and simple to understand. And lastly, divine simplicity guarantees that God is Father, Son, and Spirit—that God is one and three.
Let me explain.
Is Divine Simplicity Biblical?
Since Divine Simplicity is the answer to the question “What is God made out of,” it is biblical insofar as the Bible tells us what God is. Everyone agrees that the Bible tells us who he is: Father, Son, and Spirit. But does it say what he is?
Straightforwardly so. Jesus tells us that God is Spirit (John 4:24). By contrast, Jesus says humans have bodies and souls (Matt 10:28). In Paul’s language, we might say we have an inner and outer man (2 Cor 4:16).
And this is why Jesus is so special. Remaining what he was (Spirit), he became what he was not (human). Or in John’s language, “the Word became flesh” (John 1:14). Or as Hebrews says, Jesus partook of flesh of blood like we have (Heb 2:14). The point is that as God, Jesus has no flesh and blood. God is Spirit (John 4:24).
So by denying that God by nature has flesh and blood, we affirm that he is simple—Spirit.
From here, we can ask all sorts of questions about the revelation of God in Scripture. Is God made up of matter—material things like we are? Well, no. He has no flesh and blood. He has no human body. He has no nerves. He has no eyeballs. Those are created things. But Genesis 1 and John 1 say that all things came into being through God’s creative activity.
If God was made up of material stuff, he’d be a creature. But he is the Creator. So by denying that God has material stuff, we affirm that God is simple.
To me, this has to be one of the most simple doctrines in Scripture. Although, I can understand why some people get confused. Sometimes, divine simplicity doesn’t seem to make sense when we read about it.
Does Divine Simplicity Make Sense?
By asking the question “What is God made up of?”, we might answer: well, he is not made up of quarks and neutrons. That makes sense to us who live in the 21st century. But if you told someone living in AD 1220 that God is simple because he has no quarks and neutrons, they’d think you were out of your mind!
But here is the thing. Christians have affirmed that God is simple for 2,000 years. The combination of things that God can be made up of changes over time, given the language people use and what seems normal to them.
We think quarks and neutrons are normal. Medieval Christians thought potentiality and actuality were normal. They might say, God is pure actuality, and it would make sense like gravity, neutrons, and quarks might make sense to us. It is the language of our day.
Since the doctrine is as old as Christianity (really, it is eternal), people have used language normal in the 500s, 800s, 1200s, and 2000s to speak of God being simple.
We don’t talk about potentiality and actuality, or God being pure act today.
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Technology Isn’t the Bad Guy

Technology can kill you but it cannot harm you (to rephrase Socrates). It harms you when you let it harm you. Deep purpose, profound self-control for that purpose, and finding family or church or community to encourage you along the path—that’s what we need.

I am more and more convinced that the weight we put on the structural implications of technology and its deleterious effects on us misses the mark. The loss of civic virtues and institutions that had taught forms of self-control, gave community, and more have played a huge role.
This role is unstated, often in technology studies. But one reason why people attempt to find community online is because they cannot find it in real life. Everyone is isolated, lonely, living in cities that tend to further this isolation, prevent large families from existing, etc.
Without the traditional mediating institutions of clubs, churches, fraternities, schools, and other such places, people gravitate towards what’s left: social media and community online.
Further, these institutions valourized self-control and real-life community to curb negative impulses and emotions (in various ways). But now we lack those. And so we accelerate towards lack of impulse control.+
FDR famously said that the only thing we need to fear is fear itself. Now, why might he say that? Well, I am not sure of his exact source, but this line of thinking crosses 2,300+ years of moral and civic temperance—the fear of something in our mind is greater than in reality (a stoic doctrine).
The point is: we had these inherited ideas and institutions like the family which could cement them and support people through their traumas. With these gone or mostly gone, what’s left?
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Am I Responsible for Changing Others?

What’s outside of our power is someone’s internal dispositions. So, at one level, taking the emotional burden of changing someone else can only lead to worry or anxiety, because we cannot control the result. 

Am I responsible for changing others? Like a friend or someone you know?
I think we are responsible to do our best, but we cannot make someone change. So feeling responsible for someone’s change of disposition is outside of our power.
As I understand it, some things are within our power; some things are not. The future is outside of our power (don’t worry about tomorrow…). The present is in our power (whatever you do, do with all your might…).
What’s outside of our power is someone’s internal dispositions. So, at one level, taking the emotional burden of changing someone else can only lead to worry or anxiety, because we cannot control the result.
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Is Complementarianism Inherently Harmful?

This crisis partly calls for more theological and practical work that explains why Holy Scripture teaches a male-only episcopate. God does not act in arbitrary ways. A male-only episcopate is not a random or eclectic practice of the first century. Some deeper truth is at hand; some rational and explainable reason exists. God created the natural order to work in a specific way. 

During the last forty years, evangelicals have debated whether or not the Bible allows for women to occupy the role of elder or bishop. Egalitarians maintain that men and women may take the office of elder, while complementarians believe in a male-only episcopate. A host of other notions around gender and roles also appear in such discussions.
Yet I have noticed a recent shift in arguments. Yes, both sides still claim the Bible as their source for their conclusions. But egalitarians argue that complementarian teaching is inherently harmful or at least that it controls women. And since harming women is wrong (everyone agrees on this), it follows that complementarianism is wrong. 
A New Egalitarian form of Argument
To cite one example, Aimee Byrd explains in a recent article how she used to believe in complementarian teaching, but now she knows who pays the price for it (i.e. women). Sheila Gregoire explains in a comment how her body reacts—presumably due to experiencing trauma or seeing so much of it—when she considers complementarian teaching. She explains, “​​I just can’t do it anymore. Like, I physically can’t. My body has all those reactions as well.”
I trust that both Byrd and Gregoire have experienced all sorts of unkindness. My point here is not to deny their experience but narrate one example of what seems to be a common pattern. Egalitarians (or those who are at least anti-complementarian) argue:

Major premise: Abuse and traumatizing women are wrong (and all agree)
Minor premise: Complementarian churches have lots of abuse and trauma in them
Conclusion: Complementarian promotes abuse and trauma and is therefore wrong.

Now, churches that promote a late twentieth-century teaching called complementarianism could promote such things in their congregations. We might say they imbibed some modern and rotten theology. Recently, I met someone who basically followed Bill Gothard’s teaching of the family. Admittedly, I find such teachings bizarre and wrong. I had never encountered them before.
When I read Beth Allison Barr’s book on The Making of Biblical Womanhood, I found her negative examples of patriarchy wild and outside of my experience. You can read my review of her book by clicking here.
My suspicion is that those most critical of complementarianism have left a form of fundamentalism as well. And such an exodus often characterizes why they reject so strongly complementarianism. It, after all, encodes a gendered teaching on men and women in pervasive ways.
I also suspect there are many things evangelicals should reject that go under the name of complementarianism. As noted, when I heard about Bill Gothard or some of the things that Beth Barr narrates, I found them both foreign and incorrect.
With all that said, I still wonder if the argument that I described above masks the real debate at hand: what does the Bible teach about the role of a pastor and of men and women generally?
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If Perfect Love Casts Out All Fear, Why Should We Fear the Lord?

The Fear of the Lord must of a category that differs in part. And yet: the fear of the Lord—often assumed to mean awe—could easily mean the fear of the Lord’s judgment due to our irrational dread. If so, then this indeed is the BEGINNING of Wisdom. And love would be its end. Since this type of fear should recede, the more we come to realize the love of God in Christ for us.

Maximus the Confessor is helping me understand the fear of the Lord better these days. I have found it a bit hard to understand how fear can be sinful, we should fear God, and yet love casts out all fear. The Bible speaks in different ways about fear.

Maximus goes straight to Jesus, as he always does, to clarify the idea of the fear in Scripture.

First, we can fear in two ways, Maximus argues. We can fear in the natural way to preserve our existence. So we might fear being too thirsty since we need water to live; or we might fear heights since we know that falling might kill us. There is no sin in this fear. God made us to have this fear.

The second way of fear, Maximus explains, is the irrational fear that leads to dread.

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The Book of Job is About Asking the Wrong Question

God is too free and wisdom is too profound for the retributive principle to be immutably true in every situation; rather, it is mutably true in many situations. And so we should not judge on the basis of the appearance of things but be slow to judge. We will protect ourselves from thinking that God is unjust; and we will more wisely endure the vagaries of life.

In my view, the Book of Job centres on Job’s three friends and Job trying to understand why Job was suffering, while assuming the retributive principle (an eye for an eye).

The big reveal after 34 chapters is that everyone was asking the wrong question. The retributive principle, although wise as it is given in Proverbs, does not represent an immutable principle of justice.
Rather, as the narrative couching of Job tells us (chs 1-2 and 38-42), behind the appearance of things (Job’s suffering in this case) lies deeper truths and wider realities.
That’s why Job 28 likens wisdom to mining below the surface level to the deeps of the earth to find what’s valuable. Even so, wisdom is yet hidden. We cannot comprehend wisdom in full.
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Canadians Must Not Assist a Culture of Death

The proclamation of the gospel challenges aspects of MAiD. So does basic truth telling. MAiD ends lives. MAiD is euthanasia. MAiD preys on the suffering and weak. MAiD exploits the poor who apply for death on the basis of acute suffering to which their neighbors have turned a blind eye. The moral consensus that Canadians—both Christian and non-Christian—once shared has slowly eroded. In its place, Christians stand on morals and ethics that are offensive to a world that celebrates death.

In March 2023, Canada will begin assisting the mentally ill by terminating their lives. Canada first legalized medical assistance in dying (MAiD) in 2016. Bill C-7 in 2021 expanded the criteria for MAiD beyond those who had a foreseeable death. Now, a further expansion will allow those with mental illness to receive a prescription for death.
The slope is not only slippery—the ground below MAiD collapsed into the pit of the earth. We should expect the requests of parents to end their children’s lives to soon be granted. We will not have post-birth abortion; we will have parents requesting to have their children receive the care given by medical assistance in dying. Lest I be accused of exaggeration, Quebec’s college of physicians has already (in 2021) recommended euthanizing infants and teenagers.
The euphemism “medical assistance in dying” means a medical professional will administer drugs that end the life of a patient. In traditional language, MAiD is euthanasia. And it’s the new normal in Canada.
The stories of people applying for MAiD in combination with the sympathetic reception of MAiD among Canadians will force Canadian Christians into conflict because any attempt to save someone’s life will invoke the ire of those who call death good and preserving life wrong.
Stories of MAiD
In a Toronto, a woman with an incurable sensitivity to chemicals used in housing has applied for MAiD. The woman, Denise, cannot afford to find housing without the chemicals that destroy her life. She may qualify for MAiD due to this incurable sensitivity, but her poverty means she has yet to find long-term affordable housing to preserve her health. 
Denise has found “a temporary home” in a hotel, CTV News reports. Yet she has “not cancelled the MAID application.” Denise can’t live there forever; she may have to return to her apartment where she struggles to breathe.
A man in St. Catharines, Ontario, has also applied for MAiD because he suffers from depression, anxiety, and the real fear he might become homeless. Amir Farsoud explains, “I do nothing other than manage pain.” The fear of living with such mental anguish without affordable housing has driven him to the edge. “I don’t want to die but I don’t want to be homeless more than I don’t want to die.”
Homelessness doesn’t qualify someone for MAiD. But Farsoud may soon qualify on mental health grounds due to his ongoing anguish. Erin Anderssen explains, “On March 17, assisted dying will become legal for Canadians with a mental disorder as their sole condition.” Yet Farsoud doesn’t necessarily need the March update to MAiD. One of his doctors has already approved his application to MAiD due to his physical suffering, which is “intolerable and cannot be relieved.”
Julie Leblanc suffers from near-lifelong mental illness. She has an 8-year old son who plays a role in her will to live. Yet she “wavers between wanting to die and trying to live. . . . She feels trapped in despair and anxiety, while carrying the deepest sorrow of all—her illness prevents her from being a good mother to her son.”
Leblanc fears taking her own life because of the pain and the consequences of a failed attempt. MAiD tempts her since it promises a peaceful end.
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