In one of the new chapters of the paperback edition of Hunting Magic Eels, "Hexing the Taliban," I use the idea of hard and soft magic to draw some contrasts between witchcraft and faith. You can check out that new chapter if you want to explore that discussion. 

Having used the contrast between hard and soft magic in the paperback edition, I've kept exploring this idea and pondering its application to different questions of faith. So, here's a series of some experimental theology, exploring how the notion of magical systems might apply to Christian theology.

To start, what do we mean by hard and soft magical systems?

As I acknowledge in the paperback edition of Hunting Magic Eels, my son Brenden introduced me to this idea. Brenden is a huge fantasy fan, and loves the work of the fantasy novelist Brandon Sanderson. 

One of the things Sanderson is noted for is his theory about hard and soft magical systems, and how these systems should and shouldn't be used in the plots of fantasy fiction. According to Sanderson, the magic in fantasy fiction should never be used to resolve plot difficulties if the audience doesn't understand the mechanics of the magic. Otherwise, the magic looks like a cheat, a deus ex machina. However, if the author explains the mechanics of the magic in enough detail, its "physics" if you will, then magic can be used to resolve plot difficulties. Understanding the "physics" of the magic allows the reader to follow along and see the puzzle the characters are needing to solve to save themselves or defeat an enemy. Sanderson summarizes this belief of his as his "First Law" in using magic in fantasy fiction:

SANDERSON’S FIRST LAW OF MAGICS: AN AUTHOR’S ABILITY TO SOLVE CONFLICT WITH MAGIC IS DIRECTLY PROPORTIONAL TO HOW WELL THE READER UNDERSTANDS SAID MAGIC.

When an author explains the magical system in enough detail where it can be used to solve conflict in a story, Sanderson calls this a "hard magical system." As Sanderson writes:

[A hard magical system is] where the authors explicitly describes the rules of magic. This is done so that the reader can have the fun of feeling like they themselves are part of the magic, and so that the author can show clever twists and turns in the way the magic works. The magic itself is a character, and by showing off its laws and rules, the author is able to provide twists, worldbuilding, and characterization.

If the reader understands how the magic works, then you can use the magic (or, rather, the characters using the magic) to solve problems. In this case, it’s not the magic mystically making everything better. Instead, it’s the characters’ wit and experience that solves the problems. Magic becomes another tool—and, like any other tool, its careful application can enhance the character and the plot.

By contrast, there is what Sanderson calls "soft magic." In a soft magical world it's unclear to the reader how the magic works. According to Sanderson, in a soft magical world magic shouldn't be used to solve problems or conflict in the story. What's the point, then, of magic in a soft magical world? For Sanderson, soft magic is less about solving plot problems than used by the author to create a sense of wonder, awe and enchantment. Sanderson describes this, applying his system to the work of Tolkien:

[Soft magic is] for those who want to preserve the sense of wonder in their books. I see a continuum, or a scale, measuring how authors use their magic. On one side of the continuum, we have books where the magic is included in order to establish a sense of wonder and give the setting a fantastical feel. Books that focus on this use of magic tend to want to indicate that men are a small, small part of the eternal and mystical workings of the universe. This gives the reader a sense of tension as they’re never certain what dangers—or wonders—the characters will encounter. Indeed, the characters themselves never truly know what can happen and what can’t.

I call this a “Soft Magic” system, and it has a long, established tradition in fantasy. I would argue that Tolkien himself is on this side of the continuum. In his books, you rarely understand the capabilities of Wizards and their ilk. You, instead, spend your time identifying with the hobbits, who feel that they’ve been thrown into something much larger, and more dangerous, than themselves. By holding back laws and rules of magic, Tolkien makes us feel that this world is vast, and that there are unimaginable powers surging and moving beyond our sight.

As I shared, I used this contrast between hard and soft magic to draw some contrasts between Christianity and witchcraft in the new edition of Hunting Magic Eels. Having set the contrast before you here, I want to devote a few posts applying the notion of soft and hard magic to some other theological topics. 

So, our study of Revelation out at the prison kicked off last night. 

In starting the series, I surveyed four common ways people read the book. These are, as summarized by ChatGPT and edited by me:

1. Preterist:

The preterist view holds that the events described in the Book of Revelation were largely fulfilled in the past, specifically in the first century, during the time of the Roman Empire. Preterists argue that most of the prophecies in Revelation refer to first century events such as the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD or the Roman persecution of Christians under Nero and Domitian.

2. Historicist:

The historicist view sees the events of Revelation as unfolding gradually throughout the course of history, from the time of the apostles to the present day. Historicists often interpret specific symbols in Revelation as representing historical events, identifying them with different periods and figures throughout history. This view was popular during the Reformation.

3. Futurist:

The futurist view asserts that the majority of the events in the Book of Revelation are yet to occur and will take place in the future, often associated with the end times or the second coming of Christ. Futurists interpret many of the prophecies in Revelation, such as the rise of the Antichrist, the Great Tribulation, and the final judgment, as events that are still awaiting fulfillment.

4. Symbolic (or Idealist) View:

The symbolic view, also known as the idealist view, emphasizes the symbolic and timeless nature of the imagery in Revelation, suggesting that it conveys general spiritual truths rather than specific historical events. Symbolic interpreters see the book as describing the ongoing spiritual battle between good and evil, with the various symbols representing universal principles rather than concrete historical or future events.

Of course, people mix and match here. In the Churches of Christ I was raised with a mix of preterist, historicist, futurist, and symbolic readings. Most of Revelation, I was taught, occurred during the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD or the Roman persecution of the early church. Nero was 666. But I was also taught some historicist stuff, that various images in Revelation referred to Alexander the Great or the Catholic Church. The only real futurist view we held, being amillennialists, concerned the Second Coming. Finally, most of the sermons I heard about Revelation set forth a symbolic view, that we, as modern readers, can take from Revelation timeless truths and encouragements. We all struggle to "come out" from Babylons of various sorts. And as many preachers have summarized it, no matter what you think of Revelation, the book communicates one simple message: In the end, God wins.

I shared all these views out at the prison last night. I mainly did so as a therapeutic exercise. Simply appreciating the diversity of perspectives here cultivates some intellectual charity and humility. My way of reading Revelation might not be the only way. 

When the men asked me how I read Revelation I shared that my views are a mix of preterist and symbolic. I think Revelation was written to the seven churches of Asia and not to us, written to encourage those churches to hold fast during the difficult persecution they were facing or soon to face. But I take away from that encouragement truths and hopes for my own spiritual life. What inspired the seven churches of Asia to hold fast inspires me today to hold fast. In this, I read Revelation just like the other New Testament epistles, as letters written to specific churches facing particular problems that I can learn from and apply, with wisdom, knowledge, and care, to Christian life today.

But I then took my own poll, asking the men to raise their hands about which view described how they read Revelation. In a class of about thirty-five, one or two hands went up for the preterist view. One or two hands for the historicist view. One of two hands for the symbolic view. But over thirty hands up for the futurist view. 

Like I said, this is going to be a very interesting study...

In Brian K. Blount's commentary on the book of Revelation he offers a twist on how I've typically read the social setting of the book. 

Specifically, as described in the last post, I've read the social setting as being one of acute persecution. Revelation was written, therefore, to give the persecuted community hope. The theme of vindicated martyrs along with associated judgment upon the persecutors features large in Revelation.

Blount gives this setting a bit of twist. Yes, the church was being persecuted, but Christians were not being actively hunted down. As long as the Christian communities accommodated themselves to Roman culture and worship things were okay. According to Blount, it was this accommodation that Revelation is so fiercely calling out. As Blount describes:

[Christian] complicity in artisan, trade, and funeral associations allowed for upward social and economic mobility. They passed themselves off as Roman cultic devotees in order to avail themselves of Roman resources...

[John] wants the Christians to see that they are caught up in a draconian, prostituting system. The only challenge to that system resides in the will of those who refuse to participate in its many social, economic, and political benefits. Whatever it costs them, those Christians must find a way to stand up and opt out. That, in essence, is his prophetic charge.

This changes how we think of the word "martyr." Instead of a murdered person Blount asks us to pay attention to the meaning of the word. A martyr is a "witness." Not just or primarily in death, but in the visible contrast and nonconformity of our lives. Blount writes:

[John's] confessional witness (martys) language is, then, his prophetic language. Martys is a word of active engagement, not sacrificial passivity. A believer's witness might provoke such a hostile response that it leads to the believer's death, but always, at least in the first-century mind-set, it seems, transformative focus was on the provocative testimony that had to be given, not a passive life that had to be extinguished. When someone in John's turn-of-the-century environment said "witness," she meant witness, not martyr. 

In short, the prophetic and pastoral concern of Revelation, according to Blount, isn't persecution per se, but the Christian avoidance of persecution, refusing to stand up and become a witness. Christians were "passing" as Romans, reaping the social and fiscal benefits of political and religious conformity. John wants this accommodating behavior to stop. And he knows that if the Christian community comes "out of the closet," as it were, they are going to face fierce opposition, and even death. Fearlessly stepping out into the open as a Christian to face these hostile forces and bitter consequences is the demand of Revelation. Blount shares:

Here is where both John's prophetic call and a consummate prophetic problem arise. If John was indeed asking his people to stand up and stand out in a world they had accepted and that that accepted them, a world into which they had covertly and successfully passed, he was essentially telling them to go out and pick a fight! No matter the consequences! He was ordering his people to self-identify, to declare that they were not nonaccommodating Christians who could no longer participate in a world that had not really noticed them since they had heretofore been accommodating to it. In a classic "Don't ask, don't tell" (that I'm a Christian) kind of environment, John was essentially ordering his Christians to be about the business of telling on themselves, with a full knowledge of the repercussions such telling might bring...He was asking them to come screaming out of the Christian closet, knowing that it could well solicit the same consequence it had attracted to the Lamb: slaughter. 

John's visions operate in support of his effort to incite his followers to self-identify and then stand behind that self-declaration, that revelation, no matter what the consequences...

I love this, and these are stirring words. And yet, I'm mindful how easily they might be misconstrued. In the culture wars there's a whole of Christians "picking a fight" with the culture. But much of this conflict misunderstands the social context of Revelation. John wasn't asking the church to "win back" Rome. Following Blount, John was asking Christians to stop passing as Romans. In Revelation, the state is Babylon and the Christians are called to "come out" of her exploitive political, religious, and economic practices. Ponder the economic aspects of Babylon and how disconcertingly similar they are to America. In short, the proper way to translate Revelation into our context is to see America, not as Zion, but as Babylon, and to demand that Christians stop passing as Americans. 

Now that's a provocative question to ask! What might that mean to stop passing as an American? And what sort of persecution might that provoke? Such are the questions, I think, Revelation places before us.

"sing praise"

Here's something you probably didn't know, or didn't want to know, about me. I'm a bit of a Swiftie. 

Taylor Swift wasn't on my radar screen during her early career. But I do try to pay attention to what my students are listening to. So in 2014, our student office worker was listening to Swift's recently released album 1989. If you know Taylor Swift you know 1989 was the album where she stepped away from her country roots to fully embrace pop. My student played me some of the songs on 1989 and I thought Jana would like the album. Jana likes upbeat pop. So on a road trip, I played the album and Jana fell in love. We've been Taylor Swift fans ever since.  It's something we share together. We listen to the albums when they come out. I've taken Jana to both the Reputation and The Eras tour concerts.

As you might know, Taylor Swift released another album this week--she's a very busy and hardworking girl--entitled The Tortured Poets Department. Keeping with tradition, Jana and I listened to the album together.

My love of Taylor Swift is really about my love for Jana. Jana loves Taylor Swift and I want to share in what Jana loves. So when an album or concert comes out I want to experience that with her. The same way she watches football and basketball games with me. She does struggle, however, whenever I try to play Bob Dylan. Which I understand. Some pleasures just can't be shared. :-) 

Anyway, if you've been to The Eras concert you'll have witnessed what I witnessed, young girls (and old!), standing for three hours straight and singing every single verse and chorus. Non-stop singing, never missing a line. The Eras tour is a three hour singalong. 

Jana and I didn't stand for three hours. We're getting pretty old for that sort of exertion. Plus, while we love Taylor Swift's music, we aren't obsessed with Taylor Swift the person. I can't name you her past boyfriends. We don't wait up for her albums to drop or chase Easter eggs she puts out on social media. Basically, we like Taylor Swift's music, but we're normal, adult people with day jobs. 

But back to the three hour singalong of The Eras tour...

Watching the young girl to my left at the concert stand and passionately sing for three hours, I was struck by the power of music. Music is intoxicating. It creates an emotional connection. Music connected this young person to the artist and the music connected everyone in the stadium. As you're aware, music concerts are religious experiences for attendees. Sporting events create similar experiences of transcendence. To be sure, religious people detect a threat here. As we move deeper and deeper into a post-Christian culture, people will grow hungry for transcendence. And they will seek out those experiences at concerts and sporting events. That, or they'll experiment with psychedelics. 

Which brings me to Psalm 47's "sing praise." 

I've always been struck that ours is a singing faith. Singing is at the heart of our spiritual practices. And I believe that is due to the psychophysiology of singing. We are embodied and emotional creatures. And our spirituality has to penetrate and shape us affectively and physiologically. Music does this. Singing praise connects us to each other and to God. Singing creates the neurological and social scaffolding for an experience of transcendence. And I don't see why secular artists like Taylor Swift should be the only beneficiary of this aspect of human psychology.

Affectivity is often disparaged in many religious circles and in the spiritual formation literature. But I've been reading Jonathan Edwards' The Religious Affections, and Edwards is clear: Emotions are the motor of human psychology. You see it right there in the Latin root movere, which means "to move," in the words move, motor, motivation, and emotion. Emotions move us. Emotions motivate us. Emotions are our motor. 

And what is something that gets that motor engaged and running? Singing! Singing does this, perhaps more than any other spiritual practice we do. 

You might not like Taylor Swift. (And let's admit that the discourse about her online is getting very tired.) You'll have your own music to listen to and concerts to attend. But let's not forget the exhortation of Psalm 47. 

In all your singing, make space to sing praise.

In the last post I described how the extreme imagery of Revelation is rhetorical in nature. Still, people have concerns. As Brian K. Blount's observes in his introduction to his commentary on Revelation:

Revelation...is a violent book. Some interpreters argue that because of its violence, it does not belong in a New Testament canon that takes its direction and energy from a Jesus who extended forgiveness to sinners and counseled love even of one's enemies. 

How to respond to these concerns? Blount starts off with this observation:

John's presentation in the form of (divine) passive verbs demonstrates his understanding that the agent behind the violence is God. It is a violence meant to frighten those who are persecuting God's people so that they will cease their hostilities. It is a violence done on behalf of a people who are being persecuted so as to ensure them that God has heard their cries and is responding swiftly and convincingly. It is a violence meant to scare those who are evil straight back to the ways of a good God, and to warn those who already stand with God to maintain their place lest they find themselves in the same crosshairs as their intractable enemies. The violence is, then, like the furious fire of a kiln, which burns away all impurities until what is pulled from the furnace emerges unblemished and pristine. 

...The divinely orchestrated destruction is God's way of shepherding human traffic in the direction of eschatological salvation. Those who refuse to follow are pushed. Those who are following are often caught up in the maelstrom. Because there is no rapture in the book of Revelation, believers also find their way to God through the terror that those opposed to God inflict on the earth and the terror that God wields in what John sees as a just response. The conflict in heaven, having spilled onto earth, catches up everyone and everything in creation.

John justifies God's violence by staging it as a just response to the cries of God's people...

Blount continues by comparing Revelation to the Ten Plagues inflicted upon Egypt, cataclysms also intended to free God's people from violence and oppression. But such visions unsettle many modern readers of the Bible. Blount continues:

Can such a God be justified in a twenty-first century context? It is a difficult question, to be sure. It is the book's binary (either/or) dualism that almost ensures a need for God's violence. At every turn, good is threatened by great and powerful evil. If there is to be justice, such evil must be eradicated by the good at whatever cost. God therefore meets fire with apocalyptic fire.

It raises a question: Are modern readers of the Bible too sensitive and fragile when reading Revelation? Blount quotes Allan Boesak, who observes in his book Comfort and Protest, "People who do not know what oppression and suffering is react strangely to the language of the Bible." In a related vein, Miroslav Volf observes that in these strange reactions of the comfortable "one can smell a bit too much of the sweet aroma of suburban ideology." More, we see in progressive reactions to Revelation the "pleasant captivity of the liberal mind." 

This is true! I've observed it myself. In my Bible teaching I toggle between very different audiences back to back. On Sundays at church I teach a Bible class for a theologically progressive, politically liberal, highly educated, and comfortably middle class audience. And then, the very next day, on Mondays, I teach a Bible study for men incarcerated in a maximum-security prison. Here's what I've observed about these two Bible classes. The very comfortable and liberal church group blanches at Revelation. They are very triggered. The men in the prison? They don't blink an eye at Revelation. 

The strangest thing is how the very liberal group at church considers themselves to be social justice warriors. The very people who rage about injustice and oppression react very strangely when the Bible speaks up for victims and rains verbal fire down upon oppressors.

Out at the prison we are about to begin a study of the book of Revelation. Over the last few years we've been working our way through the entire Bible. We started in Genesis and now, at long last, we reach Revelation.

This is going to be an interesting study. The men out at the unit have been thoroughly marinated in dispensational theology. Many of them are convinced that we are in, or approaching, the end times. I have my work cut out for me.

In preparing for the study, I've been looking at various commentaries. One recommended to me by my friend Mark is Brian K. Blount's commentary. Blount's commentary is rare among Biblical commentaries because he's a really great writer, with a flair for vivid, bracing prose. I wanted to use this series to share some of Blount's material from his Introduction, how he approaches the book of Revelation.

Blount opens the Introduction by commenting on John's emotional state in writing the book: "In the literary storm that is the book of Revelation, John writes in anger." In the next paragraph, Blount continues:

Revelation is a mean book; it is not, however, mean-spirited. The line between those two points on the human emotional scale is admittedly razor thin. John's meanness is the effect of a sure cause. It derives from the anger he feels about the injustices that have been imposed upon him and his people, and the even greater injustices that he is sure will soon rise if his people live out their faith in the way that he hopes they will.

You might not like these descriptions, that John "writes in anger" or that Revelation is "a mean book," but Blount sure does grab your attention right out of the gate! And Blount does have a point. Revelation has some pretty grisly passages about the plight of the wicked and rebellious. Are these passages, in their imaginative excessiveness, "mean"? Feel free to debate that word, but the visions in Revelation are very violent and off-putting to many. Just spend time with graphic novel depictions of Revelation and the point is made. Consequently, it's critical when approaching Revelation to know how to handle the violence, pain, and blood. For example, as Blount continues, John has repentance on his mind, not retribution. Blount writes:

John not only allows for repentance; he also encourages it, begs for it, and pleads with those who have joined forces hostile to God's world-transforming intent to come back to God's way of being and doing in the world...

The point is that Revelation is rhetorically excessive because it's polemical. Revelation is trying to accomplish something in the lives of its listeners. Revelation is a jolt. A thunder clap. A five alarm fire. Stated simply, the violence is rhetorical. John's words are trying to kidnap your attention and galvanize your immediate energetic response. Focusing on those rhetorical goals is the proper way to approach the verbal onslaught that is the book of Revelation.

Toward the end of 1 John there is a puzzling and controversial passage:

If anyone sees a fellow believer committing a sin that doesn’t lead to death, he should ask, and God will give life to him—to those who commit sin that doesn’t lead to death. There is sin that leads to death. I am not saying he should pray about that. All unrighteousness is sin, and there is sin that doesn’t lead to death. (1 Jn. 5.16-17)

In this exhortation regarding petitionary prayer, two sorts of sins are described. There is a sin that "doesn't lead to death" and there is a sin that "leads to death." What, exactly, is 1 John talking about here? Specifically, what is the nature of these two types of sin?

Historically, there have been two streams of interpretation regarding the sin that "leads to death." On the one hand is the view that what is being described is a sin that is so grievous it places one's soul at risk. For example, in the Catholic church there is a contrast between venial (for example, lust or telling a lie) and mortal sins (like murder). Venial sins, being less severe, do not separate you from God. Mortal sins, by contrast, separate you from sanctifying grace. Dying in a state of mortal sin, therefore, would "lead to death."

An alternative take on this text goes back to the topic of the last post. Specifically, the sin that "leads to death" isn't a particular sin but is, rather, a continued habit or pattern of sinning. That is, there are occasional and isolated sins committed by those striving to do the will of God. These sins don't lead to death. By contrast, intentional and continual rebellion against God would lead to death. 

What is to be said about these two views? Is the sin that "leads to death" a particular, grievous sin? Or is it willful and habitual rebellion? 

The answer I floated out at the unit (recall, these are notes from my Bible study out at the prison) goes back to the point I made in the last post. Specifically, I think the issue here continues to concern the atonement. Let's back up and read the text right before the passage in question:

The one who believes in the Son of God has this testimony within himself. The one who does not believe God has made him a liar, because he has not believed in the testimony God has given about his Son. And this is the testimony: God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. The one who has the Son has life. The one who does not have the Son of God does not have life. I have written these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life. (1 Jn. 5.10-15)

Notice the focus on the work of Christ. The one who has the Son has life. And the one who does not have the Son does not have life. Everything is dependent upon one's relationship to Christ.

Then, right after the "sin that leads to death" passage, we read this:

We know that everyone who has been born of God does not sin, but the one who is born of God keeps him, and the evil one does not touch him. (1 Jn. 5.18)

Here it is again, the same point we discussed in the last post: The one who has been born of God does not sin. Which, as we noted in the last post, sits in seeming contradiction with 1.8: "If we say, 'We have no sin, we are deceiving ourselves, and the truth is not in us." How to make sense of this?

Well, if the argument I made in the last post is correct, then the issue here, regarding the sin that leads to death, is less about a particular sin or a pattern of sinning. Rather, the issue goes back how one relates to the work of Christ. The passage regarding the sin that "doesn't lead to death" is preceded by a passage describing how the person who has the Son "has life" (i.e, not death). Further, after the passage about the sin that "doesn't lead to death" we revisit the theme that the one who has been born of God "does not sin." As I argued in the last post, this sinlessness is due to the fact that there is no sin "in him" (that is, "in Christ"). 

Summarizing, it seems to me the issue concerning the sin that "leads to death" is if our sin is taking place "in Christ" or not. If our sin is taking place "in Christ" we are in a state of both life and sinlessness because, as 2.1-2a declares: "If anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father—Jesus Christ the righteous one. He himself is the atoning sacrifice for our sins."

An additional thing to note here is the Greek preposition pros, generally translated as "unto." Pros means "toward," as in tending or heading toward a destination. There is a sin, therefore, that is "going somewhere," either toward death or not.

Basically, here's my take about all this. The sin that doesn't lead to death is the sin of the Christian who remains in Christ. This sin doesn't lead to death because of the atoning work of Christ (see, again, 2.1). By contrast, outside of Christ there is no atonement. Sin outside of Christ, therefore, is tending toward death. Sin outside of Christ takes you down the dark road. 

Stated even more simply, the sin that doesn't lead to death is the sin of those in Christ. Outside of Christ, however, sin has a destination. And that destination is death.

The title of this post might seem strange. Of course Christians sin. But there's actually a bit of a puzzle here if you do a close reading of 1 John.

1 John starts off by making the claim that, as I said, Christians sin:

If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us. (1.8-10)

Seems clear and straightforward. And yet, later in 1 John we read this:

Everyone who remains in him does not sin; everyone who sins has not seen him or known him. (3.6) 

Everyone who has been born of God does not sin, because his seed remains in him; he is not able to sin, because he has been born of God. (3.9)

So what's going on here? If we say we have no sin we are a liar. But the one who is born of God "does not sin."

Some translations try to resolve the tensions here by translating 3.6 and 3.9 in a way that highlights an ongoing pattern of sin. For example, the NIV translates 3.6 this way:

No one who lives in him keeps on sinning. No one who continues to sin has either seen him or known him.

The NLT translates 3.9 this way:

Those who have been born into God’s family do not make a practice of sinning, because God’s life is in them.

I'm not enough of a Greek scholar to judge if these translations are legitimate or not, but you can see what they are trying to do to resolve the tension with 1.8-10. And not just 1.8-10, our lived Christian experience as well, the fact that we do sin. These translations are making a contrast between an isolated act and an ingrained habit and pattern of sinning, an ongoing rebelliousness. We do sin, yes, but Christians do not "make it a practice of sinning."

Such a contrast might be enough to resolve the tensions for you. But you still might have some questions. And there are some Christians who look at texts like 1 John 3.6 and 3.9 as evidence for the possibility of complete sanctification, like John Wesley's view of Christian perfection. 

I don't have any amazing or bulletproof answers here, but the argument I made out at the prison when we wrestled with these texts circled less about "sin" versus "patterns of sin" than about the centrality of the atonement. For example, let's go back up to 1.8-10 and read a bit further into Chapter 2:

If we say, “We have no sin,” we are deceiving ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and righteous to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say, “We have not sinned,” we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.

My little children, I am writing you these things so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father—Jesus Christ the righteous one. He himself is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours, but also for those of the whole world.

I think this is critical for 1 John's later discussion about sinlessness in Chapter 2. My thought is that, when 1 John mentions sinlessness in Chapter 3, the issue isn't about our behavior as much as Christ's atonement. We sin, but we are sinless, because of Christ. Let's look at the fuller context of 3.6 and 3.9:

Everyone who commits sin practices lawlessness; and sin is lawlessness. You know that he was revealed so that he might take away sins, and there is no sin in him. Everyone who remains in him does not sin; everyone who sins has not seen him or known him.

Little children, let no one deceive you. The one who does what is right is righteous, just as he is righteous. The one who commits sin is of the devil, for the devil has sinned from the beginning. The Son of God was revealed for this purpose: to destroy the devil’s works. Everyone who has been born of God does not sin, because his seed remains in him; he is not able to sin, because he has been born of God.

Notice how the work of Christ weaves through the passage about sinlessness. "He was revealed that he might take away sin." "Everyone who remains in him does not sin." "The Son of God was revealed for this purpose: to destroy the devil's works." Here is what I think 1 John is saying here, connecting 3.6 back to 1.8-10: Everyone who remains in Christ does not sin because there is no sin in him. I think that "in him" is key. Yes, I sin, but if I remain in him and confess my sin then I do not sin because I am in him and in him there is no sin. 

Simply put, I don't think the issue of sinlessness refers to our moral capacity for Christian perfection. I think the issue of sinlessness is primarily about "remaining in him" and that "in him" there is "no sin." The critical issue isn't our morality but Christ's sufficiency. 

I'm not saying I'm right about this and you might have a different take. But I raise this line of argument to set up one more post about 1 John, the discussion we had out at the prison about 1 John 5.16-17 and the enigma that is "the sin that leads to death." In the next post I'll share that discussion.

"we will not fear, though the earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea"

I have a new book coming out in October. The Shape of Joy is now available for preorder (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop.org). 

The Shape of Joy continues my project of integrating faith and psychology. After many books that have been very faith forward, The Shape of Joy is my most psychologically focused book, keeping my eye on our mental health crisis and sharing much of the literature coming out of the field of positive psychology. I talk about humility, ego volume, mindfulness, gratitude, mattering, meaning in life, the small self, and awe. All to have a conversation about a joy that is increasingly missing or fragile in the world and in our lives. The Shape of Joy tells the surprising story about how transcendence is good for you. Joy isn't found by turning inward. Joy is found by turning outward. Joy has a shape. Happiness has a geometry. 

In Chapter 1 of The Shape of Joy, entitled "The Collapse of the Self," I quote Psalm 46:

God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble with its tumult.

The point I make in quoting Psalm 46 is a point I also make in Hunting Magic Eels: We need to lean upon a reality more sturdy than ourselves. As I share in The Shape of Joy, psychological research is revealing just how unsteady and unhappy the mind is when it is left all alone, when we're trapped inside our heads to stew in anxious worry or depressive rumination. Left alone with our thoughts we are very unsteady creatures. The mind needs to make contact with and rest in a reality that is independent of its own subjectivity. Especially when the storms of life begin to howl. Especially when our dreams crash and burn. Especially when we face heartache and failure. 

Here, then, are the mental health benefits of transcendence. In making contact with God the mind finds refuge, strength, and help in times of trouble.

As I described in the last post, you can make a good argument that assurance is the major theme of 1 John, that the epistle is devoted to answering the question "How do I know if I'm a Christian?" As I showed in the last post, the refrain "This how we know" threads through the whole letter from start to finish. 

So, what's 1 John's answer to the question "How do I know if I'm a Christian"?

The answer is twofold. 

First, there is a confessional aspect. A Christian is one who confesses Jesus as the Son of God. For example:

"Who is the liar? It is whoever denies that Jesus is the Christ. Such a person is the antichrist—denying the Father and the Son. No one who denies the Son has the Father; whoever acknowledges the Son has the Father also." (2.22-23)

"Dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have confidence before God and receive from him anything we ask, because we keep his commands and do what pleases him. And this is his command: to believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ..." (3.21-23a)

"Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world. This is how you can recognize the Spirit of God: Every spirit that acknowledges that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God." (4.1-3a)

"And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. If anyone acknowledges that Jesus is the Son of God, God lives in them and they in God." (4.14-15)

"Everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ is born of God, and everyone who loves the father loves his child as well." (5.1)

"Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God." (5.5)

"Whoever believes in the Son of God accepts this testimony. Whoever does not believe God has made him out to be a liar, because they have not believed the testimony God has given about his Son. And this is the testimony: God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. Whoever has the Son has life; whoever does not have the Son of God does not have life." (5.10-12)

"I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life." (5.13)

The second part of the answer "Who is a Christian?" turns to love. We know we are Christians if we love. For example: 

"Anyone who claims to be in the light but hates a brother or sister is still in the darkness. Anyone who loves their brother and sister lives in the light, and there is nothing in them to make them stumble." (2.9-10)

"We know that we have passed from death to life, because we love each other. Anyone who does not love remains in death. Anyone who hates a brother or sister is a murderer, and you know that no murderer has eternal life residing in him." (3.14-15)

"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth." (3.16-18)

"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love." (4.7-8)

"God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus." (4.16b-17)

"Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen. And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister." (4.20-21)

I'm struck by the strongly behavioral aspect regarding assurance on Judgement Day. Confession, while critical, isn't sufficient. Love is necessary and required. 1 John 4.16-17 sums it up nicely. How can we be confident on the Day of Judgment? We can have confidence if we walk in the world as Jesus walked. Love is what "casts out fear" regarding judgment. Because God is love, and whoever lives in love lives in God.

So these are the two assurances in 1 John. Who is a Christian? The one who confesses Jesus Christ as the Son of God and the one who loves as Jesus loved. 

Out at the prison we were in the book of 1 John. There are passages in 1 John that I adore--God is love!--but I'd never done a close study of the book. 

What struck me about 1 John is that a major theme of the book, perhaps its main and overriding theme, is the issue of assurance. How do you know you are, in fact, a Christian? 

To start, consider how often the word "know" shows up in 1 John: 32 times in only five chapters. No epistle comes close to this sort of density. By contrast, Romans and 1 Corinthians, the two longest epistles, use the word "know" 31 and 39 times respectively. 

You can trace this theme of assurance--How do you know?--through the whole letter:

"This is how we know that we know him." (2.3)

"This is how we know we are in him." (2.5)

"This is how God’s children and the devil’s children become obvious." (3.10)

"This is how we have come to know love." (3.16)

"This is how we will know that we belong to the truth and will reassure our hearts before him." (3.19)

"The way we know that he remains in us is from the Spirit he has given us." (3.24)

"This is how you know the Spirit of God." (4.2)

"This is how we know the Spirit of truth and the spirit of deception." (4.6)

"This is how we know that we remain in him and he in us." (4.13)

"We have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us." (4.16)

"This is how we know that we love God’s children." (5.2)

"This is the confidence we have before him." (5.14)

"We know that the Son of God has come and has given us understanding so that we may know the true one." (5.20)

So, what's John's answer to the "How do you know?" question? It's a two-part answer, which I'll turn to in the next post.

For years here at my original blog (which also runs in parallel on Substack for those who like to follow the blog via email) I had a quote from Thomas Merton running in the banner:

You are not big enough to accuse the whole age effectively, but let us say you are in dissent. You are in no position to issue commands, but you can speak words of hope. Shall this be the substance of your message? Be human in this most inhuman of ages; guard the image of man for it is the image of God. 

After about a decade of writing under that quote, I changed it to lines from Flannery O'Connor's novel The Violent Bear It Away:

...trudging into the distance in the bleeding stinking mad shadow of Jesus...the Lord out of dust had created him, had made him blood and nerve and mind, had made him to bleed and weep and think, and set him in a world of loss and fire...

A lot of readers loved the Merton quote, frequently sharing it on social media. It is a great quote. Perfect for a meme. Few readers, by contrast, have shared O'Connor's strange and provocative lines about following "the bleeding stinking mad shadow of Jesus." 

Here's the story behind the change of quotations.

Merton's line "be human in this most inhuman of ages; guard the image of man for it is the image of God" is lovely and inspiring. And the attraction of that quote to me was something I learned from William Stringfellow, who inspired a lot of my writing for a season, that the goal of the Christian life is to "live humanly in the midst of the Fall." Our world is full of dehumanizing forces and our great act of resistance to reject and deny those forces of dehumanization. We must protect the image of man for it is the image of God.

I still believe this. And yet, as my thinking and writing progressed over the years, I felt that Merton's quote was too easily sentimentalized and co-opted by an insipid humanism. Even worse, purported resistance to dehumanization often did so though acts dehumanization. In modern moral and political discourse, you're allowed to hate so long as you're hating the right people. All we really do in the end is shift our hatreds around, depending upon how you vote or where you stand in the culture wars. Hate-shifters, that's who we are.

As hate-shifters, the really hard and difficult thing is to love as God loves. I am haunted by the things Jesus says:

For he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Who wants to be kind to the wicked? And our reluctance here isn't just an issue of motivation. The imperative strikes us as downright immoral. Here we come face to face with it, the bleeding stinking mad shadow of Jesus. The scandal, the offense, the shock. Our visceral revulsion. 

Each adjective hits us like hail stones. Mad. Stinking. Bleeding. Insane. Offensive. Costly. And yet, this is the medicine for the disease of dehumanization. Here's the antidote for our hate-shifting. If we want to protect the dignity of human persons, this is the path. Here is how we reset the broken bone. 

This is why I changed the Merton quote. Merton's vision is true, but I think readers too often misunderstood what the vision demanded of them. For me, O'Connor's quote brings those demands out into the open. We all want a more humane world, but few want to follow the Human One. He remains our scandal. 

So, my friends, we live in a world of loss and fire. Tragedy and trauma surround us. The Lord God has created you out of dust to live in the midst of this ambiguity and pain, created you bleed, to weep, and to think. To live humanly in the Fall. Let us trudge into the distance following the stinking bleeding mad shadow of Jesus.  

Today another film from my 2019 conversation with Travis Reed for The Work of the People. 

Again, you can preview the first two minutes of the film. The Work of the People is supported by a subscription-based model, so if you'd like to access the whole film, along with every other film at the site, it's only $7 a month for a personal subscription, which you can cancel anytime.

Today's film is entitled "The Great Campaign of Sabotage," and I start it off with this provocative claim: "I think Christianity is inherently involved in ministries of exorcism."

Again, this was in 2019, three years after my publication of Reviving of Old Scratch: Demons and the Devil for Doubters and the Disenchanted. Of all my books, Reviving Old Scratch has received the most reviews on Amazon. And is in second place on Goodreads after Unclean.

Regarding the quotations in the preview. The Biblical passage I cite, describing Jesus' ministry as being primarily one of exorcism, is from Acts 10.37-38:

You know what has happened throughout the province of Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John preached—how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power, and how he went around doing good and healing all who were under the power of the devil, because God was with him.

The second quote, which is cut off at the 2:00 minute preview limit, is from C.S. Lewis, and is where the title of the film comes from:

Enemy-occupied territory--that is what this world is. Christianity is the story of how the rightful king has landed, you might say landed in disguise, and is calling us to take part in a great campaign of sabotage.

The origin story of Reviving Old Scratch was the start of my prison ministry. As a deconstructing and disenchanted progressive Christian, my vision of Satan and spiritual warfare had been wholly demythologized. I replaced any supernatural vision of evil with a vision of social justice activism. During this season I leaned, and still lean, heavily upon Walter Wink's seminal and influential vision of the principalities and powers. William Stringfellow and Jacques Ellul were also, and remain, good partners.

And yet, the spiritual world of the prison, in the lived experiences of the inmates, was very enchanted. Satan was real and demonic attack an acute predicament, demanding a pastoral response from me. Inside the prison, the warning of 1 Peter 5.8 was no metaphor and no joke:

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

Facing this enchanted/disenchanted divide in the early days of my prison ministry, I tried to build Biblical and theological bridges between these worlds. Reviving Old Scratch was the result, an "in between" book, a "Devil for Doubters" book. Consequently, it's prospects for pleasing a wide audience were, and remain, dim. Too equivocal on the reality of supernatural evil for some, but also too believing for the skeptical. 

But more than a bridge, Reviving Old Scratch attempts to address the problems found among both progressives and evangelicals regarding spiritual warfare. When it comes to the devil, there is much to criticize within pentecostal and charismatic spaces. And much also to criticize among skeptical progressives who reduce spiritual warfare to social justice. As is always my goal in writing a book, I want every reader--evangelical to progressive and believer to atheist--to be on the hook. I wrote my book about the devil to do just that. 

No matter where you stand, I want to call you to the great campaign of sabotage.

Again, you can watch a preview of "The Great Campaign of Sabotage" at The Work of the People here.

"I recite my verses to the king"

Psalm 45 is a marriage song written for the Davidic king. The poem praises his physical beauty and martial prowess. The queen-to-be is also praised and encouraged to take the king's hand. Given all this, I don't think Psalm 45 is in anyone's Top 10 list. The song is too specific to the royal court, and some of its gender assumptions make it fall a bit flat for many modern readers. It's just hard to see yourself in the poem. 

And yet, throughout Christian history these songs have been interpreted as describing the wedding of Christ with his church. Israel's covenant with God is routinely described as a marital bond. Revelation describes the New Jerusalem as "the bride of Christ."

Within Protestantism, these marital metaphors remain pretty much metaphors, and thin ones at that. But within the Catholic mystical tradition, the bridal and erotic imagery of Scripture has been used to describe the soul's passion and longing for God. Consider the most famous treatise in the Christian mystical tradition, St. John of the Cross' The Dark Night of the Soul. John of the Cross' discourse is a commentary upon an erotic love poem entitled "Stanzas of the Soul." Here is the poem as translated by David Lewis:

I.
In a dark night,
With anxious love inflamed,
O, happy lot!
Forth unobserved I went,
My house being now at rest.

II.
In darkness and in safety,
By the secret ladder, disguised,
O, happy lot!
In darkness and concealment,
My house being now at rest.

III.
In that happy night,
In secret, seen of none,
Seeing nought myself,
Without other light or guide
Save that which in my heart was burning.

IV.
That light guided me
More surely than the noonday sun
To the place where He was waiting for me,
Whom I knew well,
And where none appeared.

V.
O, guiding night;
O, night more lovely than the dawn;
O, night that hast united
The lover with His beloved,
And changed her into her love.

VI.
On my flowery bosom,
Kept whole for Him alone,
There He reposed and slept;
And I cherished Him, and the waving
Of the cedars fanned Him.

VII.
As His hair floated in the breeze
That from the turret blew,
He struck me on the neck
With His gentle hand,
And all sensation left me.

VIII.
I continued in oblivion lost,
My head was resting on my love;
Lost to all things and myself,
And, amid the lilies forgotten,
Threw all my cares away.

St. John of the Cross uses this poem for the rest of The Dark Night of the Soul to expound upon "the way and manner which the soul follows upon the road of the union of love with God." The lover goes out into the night for a moonlight tryst with the Beloved. This romantic rendezvous with the Beloved is the regulating metaphor for The Dark Night of the Soul. 

And if you're familiar with the bridal and marriage Psalms, like Psalm 45, along with the Song of Songs, all of this imagery is perfectly natural and expected.