The
longer I live and study the Scriptural and other witnesses of my faith, the more
I discover how little my faith, and the faith of almost all Christians I know,
is based on the life—the teachings, the examples, and the ultimate rejection of
the world’s values—of Jesus of Nazareth. We quote selective—selective—sound
bites from the Bible to defend a faith and spirituality that scarcely models
the Carpenter of Galilee, opting instead to choose one of the many mutations
that have emerged, beginning in the fourth and fifth centuries (Current Era).
An honest and more nearly accurate approach to Christianity would resemble spiritual archeology, digging through the many layers of spiritual mutations, noting how Christianity in each historic period reflected its culture, rather than molding its culture according to the Gospels, until finally reaching—as nearly as possible—the original meaning and intent of Jesus.
The
choice of which gospels and epistles would form the definitive Christian
witness (New Testament) was not decided until the end of the fourth century (Council of Carthage in AD 397). By then, the mutations already had begun.
[Quick
aside to address the elephant in the room: the question of divine
inspiration. With more than 450 English translations today dating back
to the early 16th century[1]
(and countless translations into other languages), none of which are identical,
and with literally thousands of more ancient documents, scrolls, and codices in
the original languages dating back to the fifth century[2],
again, none of which are identical, which one is the divinely inspired
version? None of the original documents survive.]
In
the early fourth century when the Roman Emperor Constantine converted to
Christianity and declared Christianity to be the religion of the realm, two
mutations resulted. The first was that Christianity became the vassal of
the empire, with a primary role of chaplain of state, defending and confirming
the affairs of state (including military imperialism). This mutation reflects
the direct opposite of any New Testament concept and resulted (as one example)
in the anti-Christ Crusades of the middle ages. It also is emerging today into
a frightening level in American Christian Nationalism.
Second,
when Constantine convened the First Council of Nicaea in 325, Christianity
mutated from a kerygmatic[3]
faith to a credal religion. What had been for 300 years a dynamic behavioral
and relational moral response within a community to a preached message of God’s
presence and love as demonstrated through Jesus of Nazareth, at Nicaea mutated
into a static mental assent to the Creed of Nicaea, with morality defined by
the laws of the Empire.
A
hundred years later Augustine of Hippo (St. Augustine) engineered another mutation.
Until then, in the Christian understanding of Scripture, divine punishment was
restorative. Like a medical procedure that inflicts pain in the process of healing,
or like the smelting process of melting metal ore to extract the sluff and refine
the metal to a state of purity, God’s punishment was seen as a part of divine healing
and purification. Even the biblical teaching related to hell was understood as
a part of that divine healing process.[4]
Under
Augustine’s influence, divine punishment mutated into a punitive thing.
Moreover, until Augustine, the New Testament word αιών (ai - ón) was understood
to mean essentially what it means in today’s English, namely, “eon” or “age.” The
biblical understanding of eternity is an unending series of eons or ages. From
the time of Augustine, when the word appears in Scripture it usually is
translated, “eternity.” It is not thus translated in other religious or secular
contexts.
Thus,
what originally was described God’s punishment, including hell, as relating to
an eon or an age and accomplishing its intended purpose of restoration, under
Augustine mutated into a concept of eternal, punitive damnation and punishment
with no hope of restoration.
That
mutation, with some variations, continues at the center and core of most Christianity.
The fear of eternal damnation became a primary tool of control, even of monarchy,
and was wielded like a weapon to keep the rabble in line during the middle age
corruptions and Inquisitions of the church. It reached its peak and its harshest
application under John Calvin and Puritanism. It continues today in the
offshoot denominations and sects of Calvinism.
There
have been other mutations, like the emergence of American Christian Nationalism;
but probably none have had greater or longer lasting influence than the Constantine/Augustine/Calvin
combo. But the fundamental result is the emergence of a religion based upon
fear: fear of getting it wrong and thus inheriting eternal damnation. Each successive
sectarian division of Christ’s Body assumes an exclusive and infallible grasp
of the truth, with growing animosity toward any person or group who perceives
reality differently.
The
fallacy or heresy of each successive mutation is that it places the burden and
responsibility of the divine/human relationship squarely upon the shoulders of
humanity (if we get it right we go to heaven when we die; if we don’t get it
right, we go to hell—forever!)—it’s all up to us—which is a direct
contradiction of the New Testament’s undeniable witness that it is God’s grace
alone, and not any human effort or action or credal affirmation or sinner’s
prayer that determines either the immediate or the eternal destinies of humanity.
In
that context, our relationship with God takes on the character of a child’s
relationship with a loving parent, fully trusting and gratefully responding
with thanksgiving and praise, and humbly seeking to please that parent[5]
in all we do and say. “God is love” (I John 4:8), and “There is no fear in love,
but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has
to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection
in love” (I John 4:18 NRSV).
That’s
the way it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.
Together in the Walk,
Jim
[1] John Wycliffe is the first known
translator of the Bible into English in the 14th century; however, William
Tyndale’s translation (ca. 1525) was the first printed English version.
[2] Actually, some fragments date to the turn of the first century, e.g., the John Rylands fragment of the Gospel of John.
[3] Kerygma comes from the Greek word meaning “to proclaim” or, as applied in Christianity, “to preach.” Early 20th century theologians like C. H. Dodd and Rudolf Bultmann suggested that the gospels were a literary type that was unique in the ancient world. They called it kerygma and described it as a later development of preaching which morphed into a literary form. The Kerygma has come to denote the irreducible essence of Christian apostolic preaching, especially in its references to Jesus.
[4] See the writings of Origen of Alexandria in the early third century, as well as many other early Church Fathers.
[5] In contrast to responding out of fear of eternal punishment.
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