Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

Chair, Division of Biblical Studies & Theology,

Bob Jones University

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On Being an Ambassador, Part 2: Walking the Tightrope

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Part 1: Cultural Diversity

As Christians, we get our instruction from the Scripture. We find there early examples of how Christians crossed cultural boundaries in taking the gospel to ends of their world. One instructive example is the preaching of the Apostle Paul. Since God called him to be the apostle to the Gentiles, we should expect that he would deal with widely diverse cultures—and he does.

On his first journey he travels to central Turkey, beginning at Antioch in the region of Pisidia. He begins by connecting with the people with whom he’s most familiar: on the Sabbath, he goes to the Jewish synagogue (Ac 13.14). Since he’s a rabbi, and even trained at the feet of the highly respected Rabban Gamaliel, the local Jewish community initially welcomes him and gives him a platform to speak. He addresses them at some length (Ac 13.16-41), repeatedly referencing the Jewish Scriptures and demonstrating that Jesus of Nazareth is the promised Messiah. This message would be of considerable interest to his Jewish audience and would stimulate interest in further discussion (Ac 13.42).

A few years later he arrives in Athens. Paul visits the synagogue there (Ac 17.17) but does not confine his outreach to that. He wanders the streets of the city and sees a statue “to the unknown God” (Ac 17.23). He immediately recognizes a point of cultural contact: Paul’s God can be known, because he has revealed himself in Creation as well as in the Hebrew Scriptures. In his discussions with the Gentile Athenians, several hearers seek to learn more, so they take him to a part of the city where people can deliver public speeches to passersby (Ac 17.19-21), and he offers to introduce the hearers to this “unknown God” (Ac 17.22-31).

This speech is very different from the one in the synagogue. He doesn’t cite the Hebrew Scriptures even once, presumably because this audience wouldn’t have the foggiest notion what he’s talking about. He doesn’t claim that Jesus is the Messiah, because, again, that is a meaningless term to the Athenians.

Instead he quotes their poets—Epimenides of Crete (“in him we live and move and have our being,” Ac 17.28a) and Aratus (“we are his offspring,” Ac 17.28b). (Apparently, Paul has read these poets enough to be able to cite them extemporaneously.) I find it interesting that both of these poets are describing Zeus—but Paul deftly redirects to the one true God.

So far these approaches are entirely different. But at the end Paul preaches essentially the same message: the resurrected Christ and the need for repentance (Ac 17.30-31). And in both environments he faces both scoffers and those who want to hear more.

Paul’s example leads us to believe that cultural adaptation is appropriate; ambassadors should be effective at communicating to a culture unlike their own. Yet the ambassador must not misrepresent his king; he must deliver the message that the king wants delivered, without distortion.

I’ve written an earlier series on the fact that some doctrines are more important than others; there are certain specified “fundamentals of the faith” on which we must not yield and for which we must do battle if they are under attack. An ambassador is not going to water down these essential doctrines or try to present them disarmingly.

But there are also many teachings, some of which we hold strongly and dearly, on which we must allow one another freedom, and over which we must not fight. I would suggest, for example, that while I’ll die on the hill of the deity of Christ and salvation by grace through faith, I must not fight with brothers who disagree with me on mode of baptism, or church government, or eschatological system.

A wise ambassador is going to pick his battles. He’s going to seek to bridge the cultural gaps as winsomely and effectively as possible while still delivering the king’s message accurately.

There are things about the gospel that are offensive to every culture, and we cannot and should not seek to avoid or disarm those offenses.

But we don’t always need to sacrifice our effectiveness in order to tell the truth. Christ’s great commission can indeed be obeyed and accomplished.

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

Part 3: Drawing the Line | Part 4: Seeing the Long View

On Being an Ambassador, Part 1: Cultural Diversity

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This week my pastor pointed us to 2 Corinthians 5, where Paul tells Christians that we are appointed as “ambassadors for Christ” (2Co 5.20) tasked with the responsibility to represent the King (Ps 2.6-9) by taking the gospel to the ends of the earth—as he commanded us just before he returned to his Father (Mt 28.19-20).

Most of us realize that we aren’t doing a very good job of that; we’re reticent to share the gospel, most often because of cultural pressure, and when we do, we often end up arguing rather than graciously and lovingly persuading. Sure, Jesus overturned tables in the Temple, but he didn’t treat everybody, or even most people, that way.

So representing the King is going to involve stewardship, careful thought about how we go about taking the good news to the whole planet. There’s been a lot written about evangelism, missiology, acculturation, and the other issues involved in a global outreach, and there have been plenty of examples, positive and negative, of attempts to carry it out.

I’d like to share a few thoughts on a biblical basis for proceeding, and point out a few questions that we all ought to consider as we do so.

To begin with, the globe displays a lot of cultural differences. Many Americans, isolated as we are by oceans on both sides, haven’t traveled at all internationally, and many more have cross-cultural experiences that are fairly limited—a quick foray from San Diego into Tijuana, perhaps, or from Detroit over the river into Windsor, or maybe even a cruise to the Bahamas. I realized years ago that one of the best ways to combat your cultural misconceptions is to travel—and when you do, ask questions, listen to the answers, and resist jumping to conclusions.

People are different, and thus cultures are as well.

Why?

Because we’re created by God, who is, well, creative. We see diversity and contrast all throughout Creation, from trees to birds to butterflies to rocks to weather patterns. And people. God doesn’t want us all to be alike.

And so we do things differently. I’ve noted before that in some cultures people are unapologetically late to church, because they stopped to talk to someone they passed along the road, and it’s just not polite to dismiss others with a wave of the hand and a verbal “Gotta get to church”—although that’s fine here in the good old US of A. And how in China, you can’t eat everything on your plate, because that makes the host think he didn’t give you enough.

And in many, maybe most, cases, these differences have no moral weight; they’re simply different ways of doing things.

But we also know that Creation is fallen, and humanity is broken, and we often choose to conduct ourselves badly. Sometimes entire cultures call good evil and evil good. The early Christians famously refused to participate in the civil religion by calling Caesar “Lord”; and they denounced the common practice of exposing unwanted babies and allowing them to die. In fact, they rescued these babies and raised them as Christians, thereby turning an evil practice into a source of both civil and religious good.

As ambassadors, then, we need to navigate the realities of cultural difference, speaking and living in a way that communicates clearly, winsomely, and effectively to people who are different from us, while being wise enough to reject cultural practices that are broken and thus evil.

That’s a tricky business; there are lots of things to consider, and the decisions aren’t always clear-cut.

I intend to take several posts to lay a foundation for making such decisions and to think through some of the issues involved.

See you next time.

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

Part 2: Walking the Tightrope | Part 3: Drawing the Line | Part 4: Seeing the Long View

Continuous Improvement, Part 2: Inch by Inch

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Part 1: No Fear

Deming’s fourteen principles included a second one that has greatly influenced my thinking: being satisfied with slow, iterative change, so long as it is constant because it is built into the system. That, too, reflects something in God’s relationship with us.

During Jesus’ earthly ministry, he has three years to save the world. We would certainly feel a lot of pressure in that situation. And that pressure would be compounded if we had to set up a system that would perpetuate itself for thousands of years—particularly if we found that our disciples unanimously and continuously Just Didn’t Get It.

A remarkable thing about Jesus’ ministry is that he never seems to be in a hurry. As he’s traveling through Galilee, he sees a funeral and stops to raise the lone widow’s only son back to life again (Lk 7.11-17). As he’s walking to a village to heal Jairus’s daughter (Lk 8.41-42), he pauses and asks, “Who touched me?” (Lk 8.45). And he takes time to talk to the woman, to comfort and encourage her. Though he sometimes expresses frustration over the thickheadedness of his disciples, he doesn’t fire them and look for someone else. At the end of his earthly ministry, though they are still essentially numbskulls, he instructs them patiently and at length about what’s coming next and what their responsibilities will be.

A little improvement here, a little improvement there. That’s good. We’re moving in the right direction.

It should be no surprise, then, that he works with us in the same way. At our conversion, a lot happens from the divine side, but we’re still just babies, dependent on constant care, feeding on milk and not solid food (He 5.12; 1P 2.2). Yet God has committed himself to us for the long term, uniting our efforts with his in the lifelong process called sanctification (Php 2.12-13). With our active participation, he begins to conform us to the character of his Son, a process that will take our entire lifetimes, even with the Spirit’s empowerment. And even at the end, we still won’t be there, and God will have to take us the rest of the way to perfect Christ-likeness—and he certainly will (1J 3.2).

He knows, of course, that all along that lifelong pathway we’ll stumble, sometimes from weakness, sometimes from inattention, sometimes from sheer bone-headedness. Even Paul didn’t do any better than that (Ro 7.14-25).

But our Father is utterly committed to our long-term reclamation, and he is in this with us for the long haul. He knows our dusty frame (Ps 103.14), and he knows that we’re going to progress in tiny steps, and that sometimes we’ll take steps backward. Though we are frustrated by the fickleness of our love for God and by the consequent inconsistency of our spiritual growth, he is not.

Why not?

Because God’s plans are never frustrated.

And because he loves us.

We’re going to get there, by God’s grace and with his empowerment. You can take that to the bank.

So, every day, we seek continuous improvement. As my pastor said recently, we just take the next step. What that next step is, is different for each of us, but by God’s grace we can see that far, and we can take the step in confidence that he will empower it.

I hope you don’t take this brief series to imply that God is following Deming’s fourteen principles; God is what he is timelessly, and Deming, through common grace, is following God’s principles rather than vice versa.

It shouldn’t surprise us that God is the perfect Father, the perfect Master, the perfect Director and Accomplisher of his good and eternal plans—that he has delivered us from all fear and empowered us to become like Christ, no matter how long it takes or how slow and inconsistent the process.

Take the next step, with confidence.

Photo by carlos aranda on Unsplash

Continuous Improvement, Part 1: No Fear

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Thirty years or so ago, when I was working for BJU Press, my boss assigned me the task of researching what was then commonly called “Japanese-style management,” to see whether we could apply some of its principles to our production processes. For several years the Japanese car companies had been cleaning the clocks of the American manufacturers, and companies of all kinds were beginning to take notice.

So I did some research. Interestingly, the Japanese companies were following the advice of an American statistician named W. Edwards Deming, who argued that companies, particularly in manufacturing, should evaluate their processes statistically and make changes to their processes that were called for by the hard numbers, rather than just acting on hunches. Deming composed a list of fourteen principles to guide company management in this process of continuous improvement.

I was particularly influenced by two of these principles. The first was the absolute necessity of removing fear from the workplace. Every employee must consider himself an equal member of the team, whose input is valued. (In many cases, the line worker’s input is more valuable than the boss’s, because he’s closer to the details of the process and more likely to see where the problems lie.)

The second was the idea of continuous improvement. A company often tries to roll out a new process or organization or morale campaign, with lots of horn-blowing and pom-pom shaking and fancy new slogans, but nothing about the process and the team dynamics really changes; it’s all just pomp and circumstance. Work harder! Try more! Rah rah rah!

Deming says you can’t become a perfect organization just like that. There’s no program or reorganization that is the magic solution to your problems. Instead, you must empower everybody in the organization to notice imperfections and to speak up about them. In the case of the Japanese automakers, they empowered every worker on the assembly line to pull the chain and stop the line if he saw a problem. Yes, it costs money to stop the line; but if you see a problem, stop the line.

Because management has removed fear from the workplace (see previous principle), the employee knows he won’t get cut off at the knees when he notices and immediately reports a problem.

And quality goes up, just a little bit.

And day after day, it goes up just a little bit more.

These days that approach to management is called continuous improvement, or total quality management.

And it works.

It’s interesting to me that God’s treatment of his people reflects both of these principles.

First, God removes fear from the relationship. He does this in a couple of ways. First, he begins the relationship by assuring the believer that although he was angry at his sin before salvation, that is no longer true. He is propitiated: the enmity has been removed, and he will never be angry at the believer again.

A friend of mine, a pastor, heard me say that in class once and challenged me on that. Isn’t God angry at us when we sin? Doesn’t he chastise his people (He 12.5-9)? Yes, he chastises us, but as a perfect father, out of restorative and corrective love, not out of anger. Christ’s sacrifice propitiated the Father, and he is no longer angry. For him to become angry at us, I would suggest, would devalue the sacrifice of his Son. Was Christ’s work effective, or not? Has he propitiated the Father, or not? I said to my friend, there are Christological implications in seeing the Father as ever angry at his children.

A lot of Christians continue to live under the fear of their Father. They know that their sin continues, despite all their efforts to eradicate it. Paul admits this of himself (Ro 7.14-24). But Paul ends that confession with a shout of triumph:

I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord. … There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit (Ro 7.25a, 8.1).

And he has already said, “We have peace with God” (Ro 5.1).

The second way he has removed fear is by assuring us of a good, and eternal, outcome. We will persevere (Jn 10.27-29); God’s enemies will be defeated (Re 20.10); and we will have abundant life eternally (Re 21.1-7), as well as in the present (Jn 10.10). Confidence, like love, casts out fear.

We’ll address the second principle next time.

Photo by carlos aranda on Unsplash

Part 2: Inch by Inch

On Congregational Singing As a Team Sport

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There’s been a lot of writing—and arguing—about worship, especially over how it ought to be done. I’m not going to rehash the existing hash, which is now solidly stuck to the bottom of the pan. But I did have a thought recently about the specific area of congregational singing.

As a prefatory note, I’ll observe that many these days seem to think “worship” and “congregational singing” are exact synonyms. I would suggest that worship is much broader than congregational singing; I think the whole Sunday gathering is worship—if it’s done with the right attitude—and that in fact our whole regenerate lifetimes should be worship. The word means, after all, ascribing value, “worthship” (what the Hebrews called chabod [“glory”], or “weight”), to God.

But that’s another post. Here I’d like to address just a part of that, the congregational singing.

To begin with, it’s worth noting that if the singing is part of worship, then it is an offering to God. While worship is a joyous thing, bringing delight to those offering it, the worshipers are not the audience; they are the worshipers. As such, they should be focused primarily on bring delight to God; their delight will certainly follow, but it is a side effect, not a goal.

That principle has a good many ramifications, of course. Most obviously, we should offer God what he wants, not necessarily what we want. That’s the thinking behind the Presbyterians’ “regulative principle”—the idea that we should offer in worship only what the Bible specifically commands. Even those who don’t follow the practice should be able to agree that its underlying principle—offering God what he wants—is indisputable.

Of course, the “worship wars” were all about arguing over how we can know what kind of music God likes, and that degenerated into pretty much everybody taking his toys and going home.

But to my point. When we sing as a congregation, we are offering a sacrifice of praise to God. We need to make it the very best offering we can. And I would suggest that we need everybody on board for that to happen. That means that even those who can’t sing well need to contribute. The offering is from everyone.

I’ve never been much of a singer; I was in my high school’s chorale, since I could hit the notes, but I never had any tonal quality. It’s a mystery to me where vibrato comes from, and my abuse of my speaking voice is the stuff of vocal coaches’ nightmares. As I’ve grown older, the tonal quality has stayed flat, the likelihood of my hitting the correct note has decreased, and the breath support is pretty much nonexistent.

So should I just mouth the words and let the singers make the offering?

I don’t think so. (Though if enough of my fellow church members say otherwise, I’ll respect their judgment.) I’m not singing for my own enjoyment, or to impress my fellow pewsitters.

I’m singing to God. He knows what my voice is capable of, and he wants to hear from me.

So I sing.

Anybody who’s been on an athletic team knows what’s going on here. We all—together—do the best we can, and we are brought together by our joint participation.

And God is praised.

Our own enjoyment, as I’ve said, is a side effect, not a goal, but by God’s grace we do reap enjoyment from our team effort. We are delighted as individuals, and we are drawn together as teammates.

Every Sunday, when we gather, we thrive by singing our praise to God—together—and by uniting our hearts in worship. It’s no surprise, then, that one day, in a perfect world, we will gather, from every kingdom, tribe, tongue, and nation, and sing our praise to the Lamb with one voice.

Until then, let us praise him. Together.

Photo by David Beale on Unsplash

When You’re Really Scared, Part 2: Panic

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Part 1: Background

David begins with his thesis statement in verse 1. I’ll get to that eventually, but first I’d like to take a look at what his advisors are telling him.

They begin with the action item: Run!

Flee as a bird to your mountain! (Ps 11.1b).

They’re going to explain the danger in a minute, but it’s as if they need to call for action immediately—as if they’re in a panic. That idea is reinforced by their simile; birds skedaddle in a hurry. And where should the bird that is David skedaddle to? A mountain, a place of strength, high ground, with a tactical military advantage.

David knows about fleeing like a bird. The second time that he confronts Saul and refuses to harm him, he describes the king as “one who hunts a partridge in the mountains” (1S 26.20). He also knows about taking refuge in a mountain; earlier in his flight from Saul, he “lived in the strongholds of Engedi” (1S 23.29). Many scholars think this refers to Masada, the mesa-top fortress used as a refuge through the years of Roman domination around the time of Christ.

Now his advisors give him the reason: You’re in immediate danger!

For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart (Ps 11.2).

Here’s another sign of panic: Lo! Look! Pay attention! This is serious!

The wicked, David’s enemies, are “stepping on the bow”—that’s the literal Hebrew—and they’re notching the arrow. In modern terms, they’re pulling back the hammer, they’re racking the round. This is an act of naked aggression, and evidence that they mean to harm him.

And they’re preparing to shoot “privily.” This is an Elizabethan-era word that means “secretly.” ESV renders it “in the dark”; CSB and NIV render it “from the shadows.”

This is an ambush, a sneak attack. You may not be able to see them just yet, but the threat is real and imminent. This is no idle threat, and it’s certainly no joke.

David’s advisors wrap up their presentation with an assessment: It’s hopeless!

If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do? (Ps 11.3).

This is a scream, a cry of despair. AAAAGGGGGHHHH!

I’ve seen this verse used fairly frequently by Christians who mean it as a warning against apathy and complacency, a call for alertness and stewardship in the face of danger. I once spoke at a Christian school convention that chose this verse as their organizing theme that year.

I wouldn’t deny that the Scripture calls God’s people to alertness, to stewardship. God called Nehemiah to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, and for much of the construction period the workers labored with a sword hanging from their belt, because of the imminent threat from the enemies of Israel (Ne 4.18). David himself chided Saul’s bodyguard for sleeping on duty during that second confrontation (1S 26.15-16). Paul tells Christians to “walk circumspectly [looking around], not as fools, but as wise” (Ep 5.15). Jesus himself repeatedly commanded his disciples to watch, to be alert (Mt 24.42; 25.13; Mk 13.37) and chided them when they didn’t (Mt 26.38-41).

But this is a different context, making a different point entirely. My friends at the conference were using the words of the godless to motivate the godly.

And David’s response to them tells us that. To this point I’ve skipped most of verse 1; it’s time to recall it here. David says to his advisors, “How can you even say this to me?! What are you thinking?! I have put my trust in the LORD! He is my refuge! How can I seek another?”

Of what use is a rocky Judean mesa when the Almighty God is your protector?

Here, halfway through the psalm, we already know where David is headed. We’ll see him develop his thesis more thoroughly in the next post.

Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

Photo by Alexandra Gorn on Unsplash

When You’re Really Scared, Part 1: Background

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Last week I preached on Psalm 11 in my school’s chapel service. Since this passage of Scripture is clear, counterintuitive, and timely, I’d like to repurpose the message here.

What do you do when you’re really, really scared? Everybody gets scared; that’s no evidence of cowardice. The key is how you respond to being scared—and how you respond depends primarily on your worldview, specifically what you believe about God.

The Psalm reads as follows:

1      In the Lord put I my trust:


How say ye to my soul,
Flee as a bird to your mountain?
2      For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.
3      If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do?


4      The Lord is in his holy temple,
The Lord’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.
5      The Lord trieth the righteous:
But the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
6      Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,|
And an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
7      For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
His countenance doth behold the upright. (KJV)

I’ve inserted vertical space to show the psalm’s three divisions: the opening thesis statement (Ps 11.1a), David’s report of the advice he’s getting (Ps 11.1b-3), and then his response to that advice with wisdom of his own. But we should begin by trying to figure out the historical context—why he’s getting the advice in the first place.

His advisors tell him that he’s in danger, that he has enemies who want to kill him. Anyone who knows the story of David knows that there were many times in his life when that would have been the case. Long before he became king, the nation’s prophet, Samuel, anointed him for kingship (1S 16.13)—while Saul was still king, and while this king was planning to have his son Jonathan succeed him (1S 20.30-31). We know that Saul pursued David for a decade, seeking to eliminate him as a claimant to the throne—during which time, ironically, David expressed no interest in seizing the throne and even passed up multiple opportunities to do so. On at least two occasions (1S 24.1-4; 26.3-12) Saul was within a few feet of David, unawares, and David was in a position to kill him on the spot.

This psalm could well have been written at almost any time during those final years of Saul’s reign.

We also know that David faced a rebellion from one of his sons, Absalom, which led to civil war, with David and his closest advisors being exiled from Jerusalem (2S 15.10-16) and from Israel (2S 17.22-24), to seek refuge across the Jordan River in northern Ammon.

The psalm could well spring from that period as well. While we can’t place it more narrowly than that, we can note that David was someone who knew what he was talking about when he spoke to personal physical danger; his experience made him a much more reliable judge of both the danger he faced, and an appropriate response to it, than his advisors were. Even if he weren’t inspired, he’d be well worth listening to.

Next time we’ll look at the psalm’s first stanza, which reports the counsel of his advisors; in the third post, we’ll consider the second stanza, in which he responds to them.

Part 2: Panic | Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

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On Protest, Part 5: The Long View

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Part 1: Initial Thoughts | Part 2: Biblical Principles | Part 3: What Now? | Part 4: Tactics

To wrap up this brief series, I’d like to call on a personal experience to highlight the most important point, the Big Idea.

Some years ago my Dad chose to become a tax protestor. I’ve written about that in an earlier post; I’ll give you a minute to go read it before I apply it to this issue.

…

No, seriously, you need to go read the story, or you won’t understand the point here.

…

OK. Now let’s talk about how my Dad’s experience applies here.

Really, now, why did Dad quit filing his taxes?

Because he didn’t want to pay them. He claimed, based on a book he’d read, that being forced to file a return is a violation of the Fifth Amendment, which says you can’t be forced to testify against yourself. He said, “If the government can show me how much I owe them, I’ll be glad to pay it. But I’m under no obligation to give them that information.” He claimed he was standing up for the Constitution, which is the real government.

Now, the book he’d read said very directly that you must continue to file; you just enter “5th Amdmt” in every blank where you would ordinarily write a number. I’ve never asked a lawyer about that approach, mostly because I’m pretty sure what the lawyer would say. But in any case, Dad didn’t follow the book’s advice; he just quit filing.

And the IRS let it slide. I’m sure they knew where he was, even though he’d recently moved across the country, from Boston to New Mexico. They knew because he was on Social Security, and they were mailing him a check—which he was cashing—every couple of weeks.

But they knew he was old, and retired, and had no savings to speak of, so they figured he wasn’t worth their time.

But as typically happens with believers, God’s Spirit doesn’t let things slide. Dad was in a church that preached the Word, and eventually he got under conviction, and he decided to make it right.

And when he did, it actually turned out better for him than if he’d just kept his mouth shut.

Now, I don’t think we can extrapolate from that to say that confessing your sin always increases your income. But when we get crossways with authorities, governmental or otherwise, God is doing things; he’s at work. And a significant part of that work is conforming us to the image of his Son.

Now, he might have things turn out well physically or relationally, to teach us that we were boneheaded to resist the authorities he has placed over us.

But he might not, either.

Either way, we’re going to be better for having done the right thing. My Dad isn’t here on earth anymore, but if he were, he’d tell you that the cleansing of his conscience and the faith he learned to exercise were worth far more than the piddling “refund” check he got from the IRS.

If you’ll trust in God’s providential working, you’ll never regret it.

That’s the Big Idea.

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On Protest, Part 4: Tactics

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Part 1: Initial Thoughts | Part 2: Biblical Principles | Part 3: What Now?

In the previous post I said that if we must disobey a constituted authority, we should do so humbly and accept the penalty.

As a general principle, I think that’s right.

The most famous biblical example of civil disobedience, I suppose, is in Acts 4, when Peter and John tell the Jewish Sanhedrin that they will not obey their order to refrain from preaching about Christ. In that case, their disobedience is public (Ac 4.19-20), and they do accept the civil penalty—which in this case was delayed (Ac 5.17-18) and overridden by an angelic deliverance (Ac 5.19-20). The disciples continued their disobedience (Ac 5.21) and accepted further arrest peacefully (Ac 5.26); they stated their intention to disobey during a second hearing (Ac 5.27-29) and were providentially delivered from execution (Ac 5.33-39)—though they accepted a beating (Ac 5.40). And they continued to disobey (Ac 5.42).

But I do find that the biblical data appear to be broader than that. I find, for example, that Paul responds to unbiblical authorities in several different ways:

  • In Damascus, shortly after his conversion, “the Jews took counsel to kill him” (Ac 9.23-24). These “Jews” are not identified as governmental authorities, but since this very Saul had come to Damascus to carry out the high priest’s authorization to arrest Christians and return them (Ac 9.1-2), presumably for imprisonment (Ac 8.1, 3) and eventual execution, involvement of the Jewish civil leadership is at least strongly implied. Further, Paul later writes that the Roman ethnarch was seeking to arrest him at the time (2Co 11.32). In this case, Paul goes “underground,” sneaking away in the dark of night (Ac 9.25; 2Co 11.33), to live to fight another day. Neither Paul nor the disciples who cooperated in his escape ever show any regret for their decision. So apparently, sometimes you can run and hide.
  • On his first missionary journey, at Lystra, Paul accepts a stoning, which was typically intended to be capital punishment (Ac 14.19). (Of course, we doubt that he had any choice is this case.) Many interpreters believe that Paul actually died and was resurrected—and some suppose that his description of visiting “the third heaven” (2Co 12.2) occurred at this time.
  • On his second missionary journey, at Philippi, we find Paul using his natural-born Roman citizenship slyly; he knows his rights, and he works the system, so to speak. When he heals a demon-possessed girl, the local business interests bring him before the local authorities, who beat them and throw them into prison overnight (Ac 16.22-24). Now, it’s illegal to beat a Roman citizen without trial, and Paul could have stopped this procedure by simply stating his citizenship—as we will see him do later. But here he withholds that information and takes the beating. Then the next day he reveals his citizenship—placing the local leaders under the death penalty if he reports them to Rome (Ac 16.35-37). He demands a public escort out of town (Ac 16.37b)—and on the way, he takes them by Lydia’s house, where the church meets. I can’t avoid thinking that he does that intentionally: “I’d like you to meet my friends. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to my friends, now, wouldn’t it?”
  • After his third missionary journey, back in Jerusalem, the roman chiliarch sentences him to a beating for causing a public disturbance (Ac 22.24). But here, Paul plays his citizen card; he turns to the centurion and says, “Say, isn’t it illegal to beat a Roman citizen without a trial?” (Ac 22.25). And everything screeches to a halt (Ac 22.29).

So what do we make of this?

Paul sneaks out of Damascus to avoid an unjust death. In multiple later cases he uses his legal rights to accomplish his desired ends—once by claiming them up front, and once by claiming them later to force the local authorities to act justly. In every case, he is facing the threat because of his obedience to his heavenly commission.

I think we can all take Paul’s example by acting prudently, wisely, creatively, and in obedience to God’s Word.

Photo by Teemu Paananen on Unsplash

Part 5: The Long View

On Protest, Part 3: What Now?

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Part 1: Initial Thoughts | Part 2: Biblical Principles

What do you do when you disagree with an authority?

Providence

Begin by recognizing that God is on his throne and that he has providentially brought you to this place for His purposes. His will is being done. Of course, that doesn’t mean that everything that happens is good; he brings things into your life, and mine, that he wants us to change. He does not call us to be passive. But when hard times come, even including the sinful acts of ourselves and others, he is using those things to make us more like Christ.

That may include changing our thinking, helping us see things from a different perspective, broadening our understanding of what is good and what is evil. It may include bringing to our attention calling he has for us, work that we need to do in order to bring change into his world. It may include simply teaching us patience, or strengthening us against temptation and sin.

But whatever it is, he has his purposes. If changing us, growing us, is his primary purpose for bringing this hardship upon us, it would be a shame for us to miss it, to waste the opportunity to learn and grow.

We need to trust him.

Submission

Our first job, then, is to try, as best we can, to discover that wise and good purpose and pursue it—to subordinate our thinking to his, to act on what we understand his will to be for our own growth. Wise believers have often said that the first question we should ask in hard situations is not “Why is this happening to me?!”—as though life should always be sunshine and roses—but rather “What is God doing to make me more like His Son?”

This calls for honest introspection and careful evaluation. It calls for us to determine for ourselves that God’s will for us is the wisest and best thing, and that we will pursue it no matter the cost. We need to start with the imperfections and failures in ourselves before we set out to change the world into something more comfortable.

Biblical Criteria

After we have begun to clean up our own house, then it’s time to bring careful consideration of biblical teaching regarding the matter we’re upset about. Is the authority with which we disagree actually acting in violation of biblical truth?

This will require objectivity, which of course is difficult when we’re upset or when our own interests are involved. Is a policy unjust? discriminatory? dangerous, or otherwise evidencing poor stewardship? immoral?

There are lots of biblical principles. The key here is to state clearly the principle(s) involved and to demonstrate objectively how the principle(s) are being violated by the policy.

It’s worth noting that our authorities are under authority as well. Employers need to obey national, state, and local laws, even if there’s no biblical principle being violated (other than the requirement to obey “kings and all that are in authority” [1Ti 2.2]). Bring all the legitimately applicable principles to bear on the specific situation.

Humility

We need to recognize our own limitations.

You and I cannot reliably discern motives, nor can we know all the considerations in any decision by an authority. Once again, that authority is in place by divine providence, and I would suggest giving them the benefit of the doubt when we know that there are things we don’t know.

Throwing the Switch

If you are convinced that the authority is acting unbiblically, begin by submitting to the authority’s procedure(s) for challenging the decision. Most employers, for example, have such procedures in place as a matter of policy. If the disagreement is with a governmental body, there are avenues for redress in the courts. We should exhaust the legal options before resorting to illegal activity.

If your conscience forbids you to submit to that authority’s procedures for redress, then disobey humbly and graciously, and submit to the penalty. If you do follow the procedures, and the authority overrules your plea, then you need to make the same decision: must you disobey in order to protect your conscience? If so, then do so, and accept whatever penalty the authority determines. In every action, you must guard your personal integrity and resist the constant temptation to act out of frustration and anger.

I’d like to take one more post to modify slightly what I’ve said here about submitting to the penalty. I think the biblical example is a little more complex than that.

But Thanksgiving is this week, so we’ll talk about being thankful next time, and finish this series next week.

Photo by Teemu Paananen on Unsplash

Part 4: Tactics | Part 5: The Long View