Sermon: Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Matthew 4.1-11 (Lent 1A)

1 March 2020 – Crookwell Uniting Church

‘Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil,’ goes the Lord’s prayer that we say together each week. Or, in some older translations, deliver us from the evil ‘one’.

In mainline Protestant Christianity, we rarely speak of the idea of a devil. Such language, it seems to us, is of a different age – more befitting the stories of the ancients who saw demons behind everything that went wrong in the world. Of course, we now know that many of these occurrences, whether they be drought or flood, or illness have more rational origins. Science has demystified much of our world. 

And we have other reasons for being sceptical of this devil character as well. The term ‘the devil’ has often been weaponised by folk, to demonize and dehumanize other people, or to dismiss the opinions of those who see the world differently than us. Rather than having to engage in the arguments of those who disagree with us, how much easier to simply write them off as being ‘of the devil.’

For those in my generation, the idea of the devil has also been seen as a cop-out – a way for Christians to avoid taking responsibility for their own bad behaviour. Rather than admitting our own evil deeds, how much easier to blame someone else. 

So, when we come to the reading of Jesus being tempted by the devil in the wilderness, which comes at the start of each Lenten season, it’s fair to say that our modern ears and brains may get caught up on a few snags. 

But, one of the problems with mainline Christianity, is that in our dismissal of the devil as a person, we have often been afraid to speak about evil at all. 

And evil, it turns out, is an important concept in Christian theology. 

The New Testament uses a great variety of language to talk about Evil: Sin. Death. The powers and principalities of this world. Satan and his angels.

And, for this reason, I’d like to suggest we lay aside any debates about whether there is a literal devil or not, and instead focus on how evil is a very real force active in our world.

If it is important and helpful for understanding your own experiences to speak of evil as an anthropomorphised Satan or Devil, then do. If it is more helpful to think of evil as a depersonalised force, then do that instead. 

But, let’s get on with the work of identifying how evil seduces all of us, not just the ones we disagree with. 


….

Growing up, studying history, there were certain things I could never get my head around. And chief among them were the ways that ordinary people had been seduced into allowing, enabling and participating in deeds that could only be described as evil. 

How was it, that an entire nation could justify the actions of the Nazis in killing Jews, academics, communists, Jehovah’s witnesses and members of the LGBTIQ community?

How was it that those of Western European heritage could justify the enslavement of fellow human beings for centuries?

How is it that men can possibly think it is ok to perpetrate violence against their wives and children?

And, how was it that the Church could seek to use God’s very name to excuse these horrendous acts?

I don’t wonder about these questions anymore. These days I know how. I have seen it unfolding whenever I read the newspaper, or log into Facebook. 

And I see it in our Gospel reading today.

Immediately after his baptism, and the moment when the Spirit of the Lord descended on him and he is identified as God’s beloved child, Jesus is led into the wilderness by the Spirit. 

Here, Jesus will have to wrestle with what it truly means to be the Messiah, as he is tempted by the devil through 40 days of wandering – the same length as our season of Lent. 

Matthew and Luke’s gospel both record 3 temptations, though they rearrange the order of them to suit their own theological understandings. Yet, in many ways, these 3 temptations are just variations on 1 theme: power. 

We know that Jesus’ messiahship does not look like traditional power but looks like a cross. It looks like loving sacrifice, self-denial and suffering with humanity. 

Yet, almost immediately Jesus is tempted with a different way of Messiahship: one which ignores the goodness inherent in creation and seeks to conjure a new reality out of nothing. Jesus is tempted to feed himself. To meet his own needs first. To ignore the fact he is here to love his neighbour, and to instead hoard goods for his own provision, and in so doing, to ignore the ‘enough’ that God has already provided. 

I wonder what a church that followed that kind of Messiah would look like.

The devil then tempts Jesus with another form of power – proving oneself: ‘IF YOU ARE THE SON OF GOD, THROW YOURSELF DOWN.’ This temptation will again come to Jesus at the end of the Gospel, as he is hanging on the cross and a member of the crowd calls out ‘IF YOU ARE THE SON OF GOD, COME DOWN AND SAVE YOURSELF.’

Now, here’s the thing: providing for ourselves, and seeking to prove our abilities do not sound unreasonable. In fact, it is the repeating refrain of our Western culture: pull yourself up by your own bootstraps or you are weak, lazy or a failure. 

But, if Jesus had lived into this temptation the way we do, the cross would never have happened, and our salvation would not exist. 

Then, finally, the devil shows Jesus all the Kingdoms in the world. He offers Jesus all the power in the world. ‘You want to save and redeem the world Jesus? Here, I’ll give you the ability to make these people do whatever you want. All you have to do is fall down and worship me.’

Now, here’s the thing: I am not convinced that the Church wouldn’t accept this offer.

Imagine we were told we could fill our church next week. 100 people here, singing hymns to God like the good old days. A full offering plate. A whole town that believed exactly what we believed, and thought exactly what we thought, and voted exactly how we voted – wouldn’t we take that offer?

And that is how evil happens. 

Because very few people who do evil things believe themselves to be doing evil. Indeed, all of us can find ways to justify our actions. 

When we were children, it was easy to believe that the world was made up of ‘goodies and baddies.’ But real life is far more complicated. 

We can have what we believe to be the most righteous reasons for buying into the temptation of power, but if our actions do not look like the cross, we have missed the mark and been seduced by evil.

And, for me, one of the most powerful warnings of this passage is that even the devil can quote Scripture. (for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you.’)

That is why saying ‘The Bible says so’ is simply an inadequate basis for theology.

ANYONE, can prooftext the Scripture and pull passages out of context to justify their actions and attitudes. Even the devil. 

And that is how the Church came to support Nazism – because we were offered power and position and protection, and then went to Scripture to find the passages that justified the temptation we had taken.

That is how the Church came to support slavery, and the subjugation of women, and the exclusion of others from Christ’s table – because evil offered us the power of being the centre of society in exchange for keeping up the status quo. And we went to Scripture and found passages we believed proved slavery was a righteous act of God, and gleefully ripped them from their context. 

In the hands of evil’s seduction, Scripture can be made to say many things. 

And, lest we think that these dark days of the Church are behind us, even right now, many Christians are demanding the government pass special legislation under the name of ‘religious freedom:’ legislation, that as it is written, will give Christians special power and exemptions to say hateful things to the ones that we don’t like or disagree with. 

And, I for one, can definitely see the Jesus who died on a cross for the sake of all humanity, demanding the Roman Empire give him special protections to hate other people – can’t you?

But, that’s not how this story ends. 

Because Jesus says no.

Jesus says no to evil and its seductiveness. 

Jesus says no to the temptation of power.

Jesus says no to selling out God’s self-giving love in exchange for coercive power over others.

And Jesus says no to ripping Scripture out of context for our own ends.

And ultimately, this is the good news of this passage: that Jesus says no to evil, and goes to the cross.  

And because we believe that when we are baptized, we are joined with Jesus in his life, death and resurrection, that means if Jesus has said no to this temptation, so have we. And, so has his Church. 

Of course, this side of God’s Kingdom, we live in the tension of the now and not-yet. We occupy a reality in which we are both sinner and saint. That is why ‘goodies vs baddies’, and seeing others as working for the devil, just doesn’t cut it. 

Because we have always, and continue to, fall into evil’s temptations. The Church is not finished stuffing up yet.

But, do you notice how the Western Church no longer supports slavery. Not even many denominations that were set up specifically to defend the institution of slavery.

That’s what happens when we have a living Lord, who encounters us where we are, sees us entrapped in temptation, and comes time and time again to say no to the power of evil within, among and between us. 

That’s what happens when we have a Messiah clothed not in the trappings of a king, but in the suffering of the cross. 

This Lent, as we witness to the reality of the cross, may our Living Christ come and refine us, leading us not into temptation but delivering us from evil power, self-provision and ego, until at last the Kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

God incarnate in a thirsty land

Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink?[1]

Where is God?

As I write this, I have spent the best part of the last week volunteering in an evacuation centre for the Australian bush fire crisis. As I have listened to the stories, pain, grief and anger of many people suffering at this time, I have been pondering where God is in this disaster.

Somehow, on this last day of Christmas – the season in which we celebrate incarnation (God with us) – the question seems to take on a whole new dimension of relevance.

On Christmas morning this year, my congregation and I listened to the account of Jesus’ birth according to Matthew (Matthew 1.18-2.25). This account, different than its Lukan equivalent, has the holy family needing to flee their homes suddenly, in the dark of night, as danger falls upon them.

In response to the reading, I shared the following with my community:

‘I do not know if God is here today in church. I hope so, but I don’t know. What I do know is that the God of incarnation is with those who have been displaced from their home today. I know that God is in an evacuation centre, right now. I know that God is on Manus Island and Nauru, right now. I know that God is in a homeless shelter, right now, being fed by those volunteering their time.’

Of course, there is nothing particularly radical about this reflection. Indeed, the famous passage of the sheep and goats from Matthew 25, which I have quoted at the beginning of this post, says much the same thing:

And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”[2]

Yet, this very same passage has also led me into a much deeper reflection this week, as I have sat in the stench of smoke and listened to the prayers for rain ring off the deafening walls of evacuation halls. And, as those prayers have fallen off tired lips, despairing eyes have turned skyward, seeking to catch a glimpse of God, or the first cloud on the horizon, or, perhaps, both.

I wonder how many of us, even subconsciously, fall into resentment of a god who sits in the clouds and continues to withhold from us the precious rain that would provide the only true relief to this troubled continent?

But, for me, this week, a very different picture of God has come to mind.

For, as I and others have stared upward, the wisdom of the first peoples of this land has invited us to look below our feet.

Indeed, each time I have felt despair beginning to overwhelm me, the closing words of Lisa Jacobsen’s poem There Are Stones that Sing have echoed in my head as a healing balm:

The churches are almost empty or sold,
as if they’ve reached their tipping point,
and from the pulpits, god slid out.

And all that fanciful gold leaf
on heaven’s floor was incinerated
by our telescopes, whose lenses caught
it in their scope. And bits of tattered
god fell down.

I’ve heard that âme (‘soul’ in French)
is the name of a wooden chip,
very exposed and vulnerable,
that violin makers insert into
the bodies of their instruments
to further enhance the sound.
So maybe that’s where god
lives now.

If you ask a priest, he’ll point up.
If you ask black fellas, they’ll point down
to stones that sing and rivers
vibrating underground. [3]

Our land is thirsty. Our land cries out for water as the cracks of drought and scars of fire mark the horizon. You can hear it cry out – its pain mingled with the exhaustion of those fleeing the coast right now.

But it was only upon remembering the wisdom of indigenous spirituality – the image of God with and through the land – that I suddenly heard Matthew 25 speak afresh to this Australian summer of hell.

I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink[4]

And so, I wonder, what does it do to our theology to finally understand God not as a sky-king in the clouds, granting or withholding rain as some plaything or punishment, but instead as the very one who is thirsting with the earth?

Then they also will answer, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?”[5]

I wonder how our Christmas might feel different when we discover God through the summer dust under our feet, feeling no less desperate than us as the clouds refuse to grace us with their precious cargo?

Then he will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”[6]

I wonder how such a discovery might affect our prayers: moving us beyond petition to the sky towards confession to the earth.

God who thirsts,
forgive us for not seeing you.

Forgive us for not seeing you through the precious gift of creation,
affirmed through incarnation,
and brought to devastation,
by our lack of consideration for the land.

Forgive us for not seeing you in the stranger at our door,
who came, seeking something more,
but was locked away offshore,
because we did not know before, what it was to have no home.

But as the flames engulf us now,
and all hope at last seems lost:
We give thanks, that you are not among the clouds,
but here with us,
incarnate,
God who thirsts.


[1] Matthew 25.37, NRSV.

[2] Matthew 25.40, NRSV.

[3] Lisa Jacobsen, There Are Stones that Sing In South in the World (Crawley: UWA Publishing, 2014).

[4] Matthew 25.42, NRSV.

[5] Matthew 25.44, NRSV.

[6] Matthew 25.45, NRSV.

Hope in the face of ecological despair: what Christian ethics might contribute to solving the Climate Crisis

Today, I am feeling overwhelmed by the continual intransigence of world governments in response to the Climate Crisis now impacting our planet. Then I remembered this essay that I wrote last year (2018) as an assessment task for my THL326 Theological Ethics Unit at St Mark’s National Theological College in Canberra. I offer it here, with all its imperfections, in the vague hope it might transformative to someone, somewhere.

In October 2018, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) released a report which outlined the benefits to both human society and the natural environment of limiting global warming to 1.5°C. The report noted that to realistically achieve this goal, however, would require not only significant technological innovation, policy change and investment in mitigation, but also the need for individual and societal behavioral change.[1] In other words, the Panel identified that addressing climate change requires not only pragmatic, economic and political responses, but the need for a transformation of individual and social moral imaginations. This essay seeks to explore what contribution, if any, Christian theology might make to such a moral transformation. Firstly, I will critique the impact that the concept of ‘dominion’ has had a detrimental effect on the ecology throughout the modern era, before identifying a more helpful theological basis for environmental care grounded in the overarching narrative of Scripture. Then, having demonstrated how the redemptive metanarrative of Christian theology demonstrates God’s loving intent toward the whole of creation, I will examine the impact this theology may have on the contemporary ethical response to anthropocentric climate change. Thus, this essay will argue that Christian theology provides a narrative framework for understanding and responding to current ecological crises.

God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.’[2]

A significant area of debate in ecological ethics revolves around whether in fact Christian theology has anything to contribute to environmental care. Indeed, many secular ecologists argue that the Christian faith is intrinsically anthropocentric and thus inherently exploitative of the world.[3] At the centre of any such debate, one encounters Lynn White’s seminal work ‘The Historical Roots of our Ecological Crisis.’ White, a Christian himself, famously argued that the intellectual origins for the mechanistic and utilitarian approach to creation that undergirds much of modern Western society lie not in the industrial revolution, but in late medieval theology.[4] In particular, White identified two theological foundations for modern ecological destruction: a transcendent nominalism which viewed the creator God as somehow ‘outside’ of creation; and the related emphasis on the human race’s God-given dominion over the earth, as found in Genesis 1.28.[5] In other words, the perception that God was somehow distant from the created order left the material world without any intrinsic moral value, but rather defined creation only in terms of its benefit to humanity.[6] Or, as Keith Carley puts it, ‘when heaven is God’s abode, Earth is devalued.’[7]

Yet, whilst important, White’s contribution to the theology of ecological ethics requires some qualification. Indeed, even as White has received significant support from secular ecologists, many Christian writers have provided important critiques of his arguments. For example, Lewis Moncrief does not deny an influence of Christian thought on the materialistic consumption of modern Western society, but rather frames such theology as only one of many ‘cultural variables’ that impacted on its development.[8] Others, such as Keith Thomas, deny that Christian theology had any significant influence, instead arguing that economic drivers formed the true foundation for environmental exploitation.[9] Most seem to end up somewhere in the middle: accepting that an anthropocentric nominalist theology likely had some impact on the current environmental crises of the world, without being able to specify exactly how.[10]

For my part, I strongly agree with David Livingstone that:

Insofar as Christian theology has failed to take with sufficient seriousness a concern for the environment, and indeed insofar as the Church has been complicit in practices resulting in ecological destruction, it must accept its fair share of the blame for botching up the world. We must beware of substituting irritation at Christianity’s critics for serious self-criticism.[11]

That said, the idea that Christian theology is intrinsically utilitarian demonstrates a severe lack of understanding of the overall arch of the biblical narrative.

Even amongst those scholars who accept, to whatever degree, White’s criticism of Christianity’s impact upon the environment, debate exists as to whether such influence represents a valid or perverted interpretation of Scripture. For example, reflecting the latter position, Young Seok Cha argues that whilst the term radah (translated as ‘have dominion’ in the NRSV, Gen. 1.28) elsewhere carries connotations of kingly power (i.e. Num. 24.19), true dominion belongs to God with humans only exercising a delegated, representative authority.[12] Consequently, he argues that ‘humans were supposed to reflect God’s love and justice in taking care of creation.’[13] In contrast, Carley notes that the other verb found in Genesis 1.28, kavash (‘to subdue it’), is elsewhere used in Scripture to refer to forcing people into slavery (Neh. 5.5.); rape (Est. 7.8); and, the subjugation of entire peoples (2 Sam. 8.11).[14] In other words, this passage of Genesis does seem to have intentionally violent connotations; and, as Carley argues ‘subjection is subjection however much it is qualified.’[15]

Yet, even if this passage does refer to the domination of creation by humans, rather than a benevolent stewardship as theologians like Young suggest, that alone does not form an adequate ethical foundation for the ecological exploitation of the modern era. For, as this essay will explore shortly, the overall narrative of Scripture points to God’s caring intent toward the created order, and humanity’s part in that. Indeed, even by turning to the very next chapter of Genesis, one encounters a fundamental challenge to such an assumption as, in the words of Jione Havea, while ‘the first story authorizes humans to be in charge and to dominate […] the second story obliges humans to labour and to serve the ground.’[16] Instead, what makes Genesis 1.28 helpful to a Christian environmental ethic is its acknowledgement that humans have the capacity to reshape and reorder creation (for good and for bad) in a way that no other species has.[17] Thus, the paradox of humanity is that we are the most powerful creatures on the planet, whilst remaining dependent on, and intimately connected to it.[18] This will become significant later as I examine the subject of anthropogenic climate change.

For the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.[19]

When one shifts focus from the ‘dominion’ passage in isolation, to the overall narrative arch of Scripture, a very different theology of creation emerges. Firstly, in the rest of the opening creation story of Genesis, one encounters God’s description of the created order as ‘good’.[20] In other words, Scripture presents creation as having a divinely-given intrinsic value apart from its value to humanity.[21] Matthew Fox famously refers to this concept as ‘Original Blessing’.[22]

This theocentric approach affirms that all of creation, including humanity, has intrinsic value as a gift of God’s grace, for God’s purposes.[23] This presents an important alternative to the failings of both the anthropocentric nominalism discussed above (in which only humans have an intrinsic value), and also to the biocentrism or ecocentrism that undergirds much of modern secular ecology (which argues that humans are only one creature of many, without explaining how humans alone can so devastatingly reshape the natural environment).[24] Further, where ecocentrism understands human material need and the natural good to exist inherently in conflict with one another (a fair assumption, given the ecological destruction to which such an ideology is responding), Christian theocentrism  instead identifies the human good as ‘directly related to the good of the Creator, and also […] in direct relational connection with the good of the rest of creation.’[25] Hence, in passages like Exodus 20.10, God gives commands to humanity which serve not just their wellbeing, but also that of other parts of the created order.[26]

Naturally, the question then arises as to how Christian theology might explain the present ecological crisis: if humanity and the created order share a common good, why has humanity had such a devastating impact on the Earth? In fact, part of the answer to this question rests in the discussion of the dominion passage above: namely, that humanity has created distance between itself and God, forgetting its rightful place and purpose. The theological term for this state of separation is sin. It is noteworthy that many parts of Scripture make an explicit link between human sinfulness and damage to the wider created order.[27] For example, in the fall narrative of Genesis 3, God tells the man ‘cursed is the ground because of you.’[28] Similarly, the book of Isaiah makes a causal link between the mistreatment of the poor in Judah with the land’s loss of fertility.[29] Thus, when people suffer, creation suffers; and when creation suffers, people suffer. Or, as Mark Lawson argues, ‘all of creation’s health is inexorably tied to the spiritual well-being of humanity, to whom God has entrusted the care of creation.’[30]

Yet the narrative arch of Scripture does not end with sinfulness, but rather redemption and hope. For this reason, perhaps the most important Christian theological basis for environmental care resides in the doctrine of the Incarnation.[31] Firstly, the Incarnation serves as an important balance to the image of a distant God discussed above: for in the logos ‘becoming flesh’, God uses the same principle by which God created the world to affirm its ongoing value.[32] Secondly, Scripture reveals that whilst the life, death and resurrection of Christ served to redeem a sinful humanity, the purpose of such redemption is also for the reconciliation of the whole creation that God loves.[33] For example, in the passage from Romans which serves as the heading for this section, Paul declares ‘in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.’[34] Thus, Christian theology provides an eschatological hope that through the redemption and transformation of humanity, God vindicates the ‘original relational ordering of creation’ toward Godself, and thus will restore creation to harmony and shalom.[35]

Climate Change and Consequences for Urban Life

Of the many ecological crises facing the contemporary world, perhaps the most significant is anthropogenic climate change.  The 2018 report from the IPCC notes that human activities are estimated to have already caused approximately 1°C of global warming above pre-industrial levels, and that even if anthropogenic emissions ceased completely tomorrow, the impact of human activity since the industrial revolution would continue to have affects for centuries and millennia to come.[36] Moreover, whilst the report attempts an optimistic outlook that suggests humans may still have the ability to limit global warming to 1.5°C (rather than the 2°C at the heart of the Paris Agreement), it acknowledges that even at this limited level, climate change would have significant impacts on ecosystems; ocean level and temperature; and health, livelihood, food supply and human security.[37] In addition, the West has slowly discovered the devastating impact that climate change is already having in places like the Pacific, where the island nations of Tuvalu and Kiribati are facing complete inundation in the next fifty years.[38] Yet, despite these factors being widely known and understood for at least a decade, changes in human behavior have proven slow or non-existent: a paralysis seemingly caused by feelings of despair and being overwhelmed.[39]

Such paralysis appears to have been particularly acute in urban areas where dense human construction causes a breakdown in people’s awareness of their interdependence with the natural environment.[40] This is unfortunate, particularly given that science acknowledges that wealthy urban populations have larger carbon footprints than the world’s poor; yet it is the poor who often suffer the most severe consequences.[41] Indeed, questions of environmental concern have deep links with questions of social inequality.[42] Thus, even the most anthropocentric utilitarian approach to creation would find itself needing to address the realities of climate change. For Christians, even if the Earth did not have an intrinsic value, the command to ‘love your neighbor as yourself’ would still compel urban Christians to evaluate their practice and behavior.[43] How much more then must this be the case given that God does love creation?

Thankfully Christian theology provides a potentially helpful and productive framework for addressing the challenge of climate change and overcoming human paralysis. Firstly, as discussed above, the Christian narrative of creation challenges all humans (including those in urban areas) to acknowledge the ways in which the fate of both humanity and the created order are intricately linked. Then, the concept of human sinfulness, and its destructive impact on the shalom of creation, enables people to recognize and comprehend the way in which their behavior, individually and collectively, has contributed to the current ecological crisis. As Claire Dawson and Mick Pope argue, ‘the claim that human beings are changing the climate due to the burning of fossil fuels is consistent with a biblical doctrine of human sinfulness.’[44] Dawson and Pope also contend that this honest confession forms an important first step in the transformation of people’s attitudes, and consequently their behaviors.[45] In this, the approach of Christianity is quite similar to that of secular ecology. 

Christian theology, however, contains two extra features which help overcome the inertia of despair which modern science has encountered: redemption and eschatology. As already discussed, the Scriptural narrative does not end with human fallenness, but instead with Christ’s redemptive work, and an eschatological hope for the reconciliation of all of creation. Such hope then enables Christians to acknowledge and confess their complicity in the crisis of global warming, without falling into the depths of despair. Instead, the Christian narrative invites people into a process of moral transformation in which, step by step, their behavior begins to align with God’s loving intention for the world.[46] As Young explains, ‘even though Christians live in the present world, which is moving toward destruction, their life should reflect the value of the future Kingdom.’[47] And, as those who live in hope of God’s restored shalom, Christians also have a sense of connectedness in their response to climate change: for rather than languishing in a sense of ‘what difference could I possibly make,’ Christians should perceive their small actions as working alongside the rest of creation, and the very Creator and Redeemer him/herself.

Conclusion

At the start of this essay, I outlined that the IPCC Report notes that an effective response to anthropogenic climate change will depend not only on political or economic levers, but on the transformation of moral imagination and human behavior. Subsequently this essay explored the destructive theology of ‘dominion’ and the complicity of Christianity in the current ecological crises of the world. And, ironically, it is this very practice of hopeful confession which may prove the most significant contribution that Christian theology can make to contemporary efforts to address climate change. For, what enables me to admit the harmful actions of both my religious tradition and I, is the overarching narrative of Scripture which points to an eschatological hope for redemption, reconciliation and renewal of the whole of creation.  As this essay has demonstrated, this hope, that God is working to restore the original shalom of the created order, which human actions have disturbed, enables Christians to face the realities of climate change without falling into the paralysis of despair which has defined so much of modern society’s response to date. Instead, the Christian narrative provides a theocentric framework which invites individuals and society into a process of moral transformation and alignment with God’s loving purpose for the whole of creation, in which we rediscover our true relationship with God and the world that God loves.

Bibiliography

Cameron, Andrew J.B. . Joined-up Life: A Christian account of how ethics works. EBook ed.  Nottingham: Inter-Varsity Press, 2011.

Carley, Keith. “Psalm 8: An Apology for Domination.” In Readings from the Perspective of Earth, edited by Norman C.  Habel, 111-24. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000.

Dawson, Claire, and Mick Pope. A Climate of Hope: Church and Mission in a warming world.  Dandenong: UPOH, 2014.

Fox, Matthew. Original blessing : a primer in creation spirituality presented in four paths, twenty-six themes, and two questions.  Santa Fe, N.M.: Bear, 1983.

Gushee, David P., and Glen H.  Stassen. Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in Contemporary Context. 2nd ed.  Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2016.

Havea, Jione. “The Politics of Climate Change: A Talanoa from Oceania.” International Journal of Public Theology 4, no. 3 (2010): 345-55.

IPCC. Global Warming of 1.5 °C: an IPCC special report on the impacts of global warming of 1.5 °C above pre-industrial levels and related global greenhouse gas emission pathways, in the context of strengthening the global response to the threat of climate change, sustainable development, and efforts to eradicate poverty: Headline Statements. (2018), http://www.ipcc.ch/report/sr15/

Lawson, J. Mark. “Romans 8.18-25 – The Hope of Creation “. Review and Expositor 91 (1994): 559-65.

Livingstone, David. “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis: A Reassessment.” Fides et Historia : Official Publication of the Conference on Faith and History 26, no. 1 (1994): 38-55.

Moncrief, Lewis W. “The Cultural Basis of Our Environmental Crisis.” Science 170, no. 3957 (1970): 508-12.

Northcott, Michael S. “Ecology and Christian Ethics.” In The Cambridge Companion to Christian Ethics, edited by Robin Gill, 209-27. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001.

Thomas, Keith. Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England, 1500-1800.  London: Penguin Books, 1984.

White Jr., Lynn. “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis.” Science 155 (1967): 1203-07.

Young, Seok Cha. “Theological and Ethical Implications of Creation Care.” The Journal of Applied Christian Leadership 6, no. 2 (2012): 88-106.


[1] IPCC, Global Warming of 1.5 °C: an IPCC special report on the impacts of global warming of 1.5 °C above pre-industrial levels and related global greenhouse gas emission pathways, in the context of strengthening the global response to the threat of climate change, sustainable development, and efforts to eradicate poverty: Headline Statements, (2018), D.5. http://www.ipcc.ch/report/sr15/.

[2] Gen. 1.28, NRSV.

[3] J. Mark Lawson, “Romans 8.18-25 – The Hope of Creation ” Review and Expositor 91 (1994): 559.

[4] Lynn White Jr., “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis,” Science 155 (1967): 1203-07.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Michael S. Northcott, “Ecology and Christian Ethics,” in The Cambridge Companion to Christian Ethics, ed. Robin Gill (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001), 212.

[7] Keith Carley, “Psalm 8: An Apology for Domination,” in Readings from the Perspective of Earth, ed. Norman C.  Habel (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 2000), 117.

[8] Lewis W. Moncrief, “The Cultural Basis of Our Environmental Crisis,” Science 170, no. 3957 (1970): 508-12.

[9] Keith Thomas, Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England, 1500-1800 (London: Penguin Books, 1984).

[10] For example, see Andrew J.B.  Cameron, Joined-up Life: A Christian account of how ethics works, EBook ed. (Nottingham: Inter-Varsity Press, 2011), 280.

[11] David Livingstone, “The Historical Roots of Our Ecological Crisis: A Reassessment,” Fides et Historia : Official Publication of the Conference on Faith and History 26, no. 1 (1994): 51.

[12] Seok Cha Young, “Theological and Ethical Implications of Creation Care,” The Journal of Applied Christian Leadership 6, no. 2 (2012): 90-91.

[13] Ibid.

[14] Carley, “Psalm 8: An Apology for Domination,” 118.

[15] Ibid.

[16] Jione Havea, “The Politics of Climate Change: A Talanoa from Oceania,” International Journal of Public Theology 4, no. 3 (2010): 346.

[17] Cameron, Joined-up Life: A Christian account of how ethics works, 281.

[18] Ibid.

[19] Romans 8.20-21, NRSV.

[20] Gen. 1.4, 12, 18, 21, 25, 31.

[21] Young, “Theological and Ethical Implications of Creation Care,” 98.

[22] Matthew Fox, Original blessing : a primer in creation spirituality presented in four paths, twenty-six themes, and two questions (Santa Fe, N.M.: Bear, 1983).

[23] David P. Gushee and Glen H.  Stassen, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in Contemporary Context, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 2016), 388.

[24] Ibid.

[25] Northcott, “Ecology and Christian Ethics,” 220.

[26] Young, “Theological and Ethical Implications of Creation Care,” 99.

[27] Northcott, “Ecology and Christian Ethics,” 220-21.

[28] Gen. 3.17, NRSV.

[29] Isa. 5.8-10; 24.1-6. See, Northcott, “Ecology and Christian Ethics,” 220-21.

[30] Lawson, “Romans 8.18-25 – The Hope of Creation ” 561.

[31] Northcott, “Ecology and Christian Ethics,” 214.

[32] John 1.1-18; see ibid., 211-13.

[33] Gushee and Stassen, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in Contemporary Context, 390.

[34] Romans 8.20-21, NRSV. See also Hos. 2.18; Eph. 1.10; Col 1.19-20; 2 Cor. 4.11

[35] Northcott, “Ecology and Christian Ethics,” 214-15.

[36] IPCC, Global Warming of 1.5 °C: an IPCC special report on the impacts of global warming of 1.5 °C above pre-industrial levels and related global greenhouse gas emission pathways, in the context of strengthening the global response to the threat of climate change, sustainable development, and efforts to eradicate poverty: Headline Statements, A.1, A.2

[37] Ibid., B.1-B.5.

[38] Havea, “The Politics of Climate Change: A Talanoa from Oceania,” 352.

[39] Claire Dawson and Mick Pope, A Climate of Hope: Church and Mission in a warming world (Dandenong: UPOH, 2014), 244.

[40] Cameron, Joined-up Life: A Christian account of how ethics works, 279.

[41] Havea, “The Politics of Climate Change: A Talanoa from Oceania,” 352.

[42] Northcott, “Ecology and Christian Ethics,” 220-22.

[43] Mark 12.31, NRSV.

[44] Dawson and Pope, A Climate of Hope: Church and Mission in a warming world, 67.

[45] Ibid., 240.

[46] Here, it is important to acknowledge that while some premillennialist eschatologies have been used to deny the need to act on climate change (arguing that God’s promise for future restoration forgoes the need to fix the current world), this is inconsistent with the overarching themes of Scripture identified elsewhere in this essay. See, Young, “Theological and Ethical Implications of Creation Care,” 91-92.

[47] Ibid.

Can you put old wine in a new skin?

If, like me, you grew up within the Church and Christendom, the title of this blog may sound familiar to you, if not quite right.

When you then go to Google why, you will be bombarded by endless articles citing the words of Jesus that one shouldn’t put new wine in old wineskins: ‘otherwise, the skins burst, and the wine is spilled, and the skins are destroyed; but new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and so both are preserved’ (Matthew 9.17, NRSV. See also Mark 2:18-22 and Luke 5:33-39).

This passage has become rather a catchphrase within missiology over the last decade and a half. Indeed, I can not count how many times I have heard colleagues quote it.

In essence, the phrase has come to convey something like: ‘we need to find contemporary ways to bear witness to the gospel in our post-Christendom culture, and we do not believe that the traditional parish church is the right ‘wineskin’ for the job.’

This, of course, represents a generalisation and oversimplification of the arguments made – but you get the idea.

To quote one site: ‘Jesus is still scandalous and intoxicating. The problem is that we who claim to follow him—no matter our status or stage in life—are so prone to pour the new wine of his life and word into the old rotten skins of “Churchianity” that cannot contain it, ruining both in the process.’ (http://www.new-wineskins.org/)

I find myself compelled, however, to challenge this meta-narrative, and to play with the image a bit more.

The reason for this is because of the particular ministry placement in which I find myself. I am an ordained Minister of the Word in the Uniting Church in Australia, working in two half-time placements: the first, a small, fairly traditional, rural parish; and the second a 7 year old faith community consisting of several fresh expressions.

Talk about a contrast between new and old!

Hence I find myself asking many questions whenever I hear someone quote the words of Jesus about not putting new wine in old-wineskins:

  • Is there really no hope for traditional congregations? Should I only be working with new plants?;
  • But don’t new plants fail to do some things that traditional parishes do really well in terms of embodying the gospel?;
  • Aren’t we people who proclaim transfiguration and resurrection?;
  • Why are we worrying about the type of wineskin at all? Isn’t Jesus the one who transformed water into wine WITHIN the same vessel?; and,
  • Isn’t the real question whether we can take a really old story (like 2000 years old say) and find new ways to give expression to the power and wonder and healing of that story – that good news – for our world today?

You know, like old wine in a new skin.

Which is where this project was born: as a tool for me to integrate the two halves of my ministry in the hope that it might help me and others find wisdom.

For, I do not think for a second that old wineskins never spoil new wine. I’ve seen them do it.

But I do find that true wisdom resides more in the application than in the image itself.