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God’s Upside-Down Kingdom

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a reflection on Luke 1-2

by Andrew Tai

As I read the passages from Luke this week, I was struck by some of the oddity of the stories and characters that Luke has chosen to highlight thus far in his Gospel. In no other Gospel do we hear Zechariah and Elizabeth’s story, or about Simeon and Anna, or even the Shepherds (as opposed to the seemingly wealthier Magi) who come to honor Jesus at his birth.

Of course, this is no accident.  It seems that from the beginning of his Gospel, Luke wants his readers to understand that God’s plan, revealed in the life of Jesus, came about through people that have been overlooked by the rest of the world, people who perhaps no one would’ve expected to be involved in world-altering events.  

And yet these are the precise people that God chooses—and whom Luke has highlighted. In doing so, Luke challenges his readers to recognize that God does not conform to society’s traditional notions of power and glory and worthiness.  This becomes a consistent theme throughout Luke: Jesus consistently acts in ways that do not line up with our expectations.  In Luke we find that it is no longer simply Israel who will receive God’s blessing; instead, God’s love and healing work is making its way throughIsrael to the entire world, including to unclean and undeserving Gentiles. It is no longer the societal and religious elite who are closest to God; instead, God is particularly concerned with the poor and downtrodden and those who don’t think they have it all together. 

To hear Luke’s gospel today and allow it to speak into our lives requires that we ask ourselves whether we’ve (knowingly or not) simply bought into society’s ways of thinking.  In my own life, I see how I have pursued the notion of the “good life” promised by the American Dream (i.e. nice house, nice car, nice family, nice job), sometimes even without consciously deciding to do so.  I see how I’m tempted to hold tightly onto money, rather than giving generously to others in need.  I recognize how I value people differently based on how successful in their careers or charismatic they are, rather than remembering that people are valuable not because of what they accomplish but simply because they are created in the image of God.  In other words, I am the exact type of person that needs to hear the Gospel message of God’s inclusive and radical love that upends all of the world’s traditional notions. 

As we continue through this season of Advent, may we remember that this Jesus we are waiting for is not here to conform to our expectations, but continually and consistently moves us to love and serve and give in ways that reflect the upside-down Kingdom of God.

artwork: Simeon’s Song of Praise, Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn (1606 – 1669)

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Mary’s Song (Luke 1:46-55)

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by Joseph Chen

“He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble.”

Luke 1:51-52

An excerpt from this week’s reading: the Virgin Mary’s iconic declaration, spoken soon after receiving the unlikely news that she was to bear a child. As I write this I’m preparing to lead the congregation in the song based on this—Mary’s Magnificat. And true to it’s name, it magnificently reflects her deep reverence for the Lord, and the upside-down way that He approaches the powerful and the humble, the rich and the poor.


Looking at both the song and the source material, I wonder how she could have come up with such beautiful writing so quickly. The scriptures tell us that the only time she could have composed the Magnificat was as she hurried to Zechariah’s house. It’s not long after she arrives that she blurts out to Elizabeth some of the most famous and often repeated words in Christian history. This past summer, Serena and I resolved to write an Advent song together, as a gift to the church. We took three months, and it’s, like, not even close to as good as what Mary came up with.


Speaking of gifted songwriters, Zechariah is also one of the main characters in this week’s readings. His very underrated song comes at the circumcision and naming of his son, John the Baptist. Perhaps the reason we don’t have as many worship songs based on his song is because of his strange back story: a righteous priest whose rendered mute because he had some doubt about an angel’s promise that his very old wife would become pregnant. Why is it that Zechariah’s voice is taken away for asking a question, when Mary asks a very similar, understandably skeptical, question of the angel Gabriel?


Anyway, a line sticks out to me from Zechariah’s song. “And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him, to give his people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins.” Though obviously the child Zechariah refers to is John the Baptist, the one who literally prepared the way for Jesus by preaching about him in the desert and baptizing him, I can’t help but hear that calling directed to the church too. During Advent, we’re again faced with the reality that Jesus has not yet made all things right. This year we’ve heard creation’s groaning in roaring wildfires, political unrest, and mass shootings, to name a few. In this day and age what does it mean for us, the church, to prepare the way for the King who scatters the proud and lifts up the humble? How is it that we can make known salvation through the forgiveness of sins to a world that seems to only know salvation through power and might?

For Mary and Zechariah, in that moment, their answer was to write elegant prose. But we are not all poets or songwriters. Just as the Spirit came upon Mary and Zechariah, may we too be filled with Spirit as we spend these precious few days of Advent preparing: for the coming of Jesus, and for the world, ourselves included, to be ready for his arrival.

artwork: The Annunciation, Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859 – 1937)

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The Seventh Word

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“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

Luke 23:46

This week our reflection on the Seventh (and final) Word is written by Anthony Ho.

 

Luke 23:44-46

“It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, for the sun stopped shining. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” When he had said this, he breathed his last.”

Near the end of this epic story is this surreal moment. The sun stops shining and for three hours it feels like time stands still. The curtain is torn – the barrier between God and man has finally been destroyed – and yet, creation cannot help but rightfully mourn the crucifixion of this righteous man.

At the close of the seven last words, I’m reminded of Jesus’s prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane. In an uncommonly human scene, Jesus pronounces his fear, anguish, and lament before the Father but yet still asks that God’s will take precedent over his own. In a setting similar to that of the fall of man, Jesus, unlike Adam and Eve, chooses to pray repeatedly that his heart be obedient.

Far too often I forget that the actual story of God’s people has been of a benevolent creator requesting obedience from his creation. From God’s calling of Abram out of Ur of the Chaldeans to his willing sacrifice of Isaac, to Saul’s deposition as King of Israel for disobedience, now to Jesus in Gethsemane and his crucifixion on the cross, God’s call for his people has always been towards obedience.

And yet, Jesus’s words on the cross are not from a place of fearful submission but rather abandonment of self-preservation for a deeply rooted trust in God. Despite the horrors that Jesus has already experienced and the impending fear to come, Jesus still refers to God as his beloved Father by whose hands he trusts his deliverance will come.

In the opening chapter of the Gospel of Mark, Jesus opens his ministry by declaring that “the Kingdom of God is at hand!” In my own observation, the use of the word hand (or the imagery of touch) thereafter is an indicator of another glimpse of the Kingdom of God drawing closer. When Jesus heals a man of leprosy with the touch he so desperately longed for, or the bleeding woman reaching to touch Jesus’s garments, or Jairus’s daughter being brought back to life, or Jesus breaking bread to feed the 5000, all of these instances evoke not only the image of God’s benevolent hand but also the Kingdom of God drawing ever nearer. It is into these same hands that Jesus chooses to commit himself, giving both his obedience and his trust. It is to these same acts of obedience and trust that God continues to call his people to as well.

In my pursuit of a career as a physician, I found that obedience and trust in God has led me to opportunities and a vision more wholly myself than I could have achieved on my own. God took a shame-filled college student with failing academic marks and provided the necessary steps and opportunities that not only renewed my confidence in myself but also meticulously demonstrated why and how he had called me to this practice.

In this Lenten season, however, it is ever more apparent that Jesus’s obedience and trust in God meant not only putting off false expectations but becoming more wholly himself, becoming more of the person God had intended for him to become, meant crucifixion on a cross. It is in light of these things that I am reminded of how bold and audacious my vicarious claim to the cross is. While victory over death is of course to be celebrated, for now I am learning to pray and sit underneath the gravity of God’s great love and the heavy weight of the cross. And for now, my heart doesn’t know how to do much else but join in with the rest of creation in mourning that perfection Incarnate’s obedience and trust meant humiliation and death for my sake.

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The Sixth Word

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“It is finished.”

John 19:30

This week our reflection on the Sixth Word is written by Joseph Chen.

 

Out of all of Jesus’s utterances on the cross, the sixth one—”It is finished”—is probably the most relatable. How many of us remember voicing a similar sentiment, maybe after a difficult project, a messy breakup, or just a long day of work? We reach the end, and usually with a long, deep sigh, we say under our breaths: It’s done. It’s finally over. It is finished.

Imagine the relief Jesus might have felt at that moment. He was finally going to die. A lifetime of being tempted, mistreated, misunderstood, and persecuted. The conclusion to the betrayal, humiliation, and torture he endured that very day. All suffered at the hands of the ones he loved and came to save. Who could blame Jesus for being glad when the pain had finally come to an end?

I confess, it’s uncomfortable for me to think about. God became flesh knowing full well he would end up on that cross, but he made his dwelling among us anyway. Surely, it was because Jesus knew he had a job to do. “It is finished” is a proclamation, announcing once and for all that the work of salvation has been accomplished. It is victory over death. The defeat of sin. The promise that all sad things are coming untrue. How could he have possibly felt relief when the pains of the present pale in comparison to the cosmic significance of the cross?

I need to remember, in Lent especially, that Jesus did not want to die. In Gethsemane, Jesus is “overwhelmed with sorrow” and asks the Father to take the cup away, his face pressed against the dirt as he prayed. In the story of Jesus at Gethsemane Matthew reminds us that Jesus dreaded the day of his crucifixion. He dreaded it because dread is the human response to what Jesus was about to go through. After all, Incarnation means that everything that humans have gone and will go through, he has been there. That includes the entire emotional spectrum: from joy, excitement, and relief to loneliness, depression, and anxiety. Jesus has been there before us, and therefore knows firsthand what we are going through.

So yes, Jesus completed something incredible on the cross. But it was also the completion of something awful, the worst pain that humanity could muster inflicted on one who could experience that bodily, spiritual, and emotional pain to its fullest extent. In the midst of our own pain, may we be comforted by the crucified God who has been there before us, and is with us still. In the midst of our journey through Lent, may we be discomforted by the fact that we were the ones that put him through that pain, a tension that we must continue to bear until He comes again.

I mentioned, at the beginning, examples of situations where, after some long arduous task, we too might be inclined to say “It is finished.” Though the details may differ, the constant in all of these situations is that every end leads to a new beginning. No matter how long, how painful, or how draining the experience was, life goes on. Perhaps sooner than we’d like, we wake up the next morning and head back to work again. But something is different about Jesus’s statement. Scripture speaks of a different pattern, one that goes beyond merely continuing what came before. The last time God said “It is finished” was all the way back in Genesis 2, on the sixth day of the creation story. The work of creation was over, but it was not the end, but rather the beginning of our story. Implicit in Jesus’s statement about one end is the anticipation of a new beginning. A new creation, a stone rolled away, an empty tomb…

But we are not quite there yet. It’s only the fifth week of Lent, and there is still a ways to go before we are ready to walk with Jesus to the cross, where we will once again remember what has been lost so that we may truly know what has been gained.

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The Fifth Word

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“I thirst.”

John 19:28

This week our reflection on the Fifth Word is written by Andrew Kosch (with love from Thailand).

 

Imagine a hot sunny day with temperatures in the 100’s. Imagine spending the day in the sun without any water or refreshments. Imagine your body becoming physically dehydrated as your skin becomes dry and leather-like. Your brains stops functioning properly, your head aches, and you become disoriented. You know you thirst for water. And when you finally get that glass of water, you are delighted with how satisfying and glorious it is. You vow to yourself to never go that long without water again.

Now imagine a busy day packed with responsibility and obligations. Imagine working through your seemingly never-ending to-do list. Imagine some degree of fear or anxiety or worry or stress setting in as you begin to lose control of your mental, emotional and spiritual situation. You are stressed. You seem to be losing track of God’s presence in the stream of busyness. Your mind may not realize it, but your soul knows what you thirst for is God. And when you finally run to God and receive rest, or comfort, or peace, or understanding, etc., you are delighted with how satisfying and glorious it is. You vow to yourself to never go that long without God’s nourishment again.

But oftentimes, and sometimes without even realizing it, we find ourselves spiritually dehydrated despite our best intentions. And I think that is because we lose track of God’s presence in our lives. This need not be the case though. See, on the cross Jesus drank the cup of wrath and suffering for us so we could choose to drink the living water of God that brings love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control into our lives. We drink this living water by believing in Christ and obediently submitting to His will in the moment. We can only receive this water of life by the gifts of grace and mercy from God, which we then access by engaging in spiritual disciplines like praying and fasting and meditating and serving and worshipping God.

So, in the same way we drink water to maintain a physical hydration, we should take action daily to maintain the spiritual hydration of our souls. The cup of destruction that Jesus received after declaring “I am thirsty” was intended for us. So in a way, Jesus’s sacrificial death purified the “water” we need for the proper functioning of our souls. So thank God and drink deeply.

(*The analogy may not be perfect, which is okay, because God is – so do not take my word for it, just talk to Him.)
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The Fourth Word

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“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Matthew 27:46

This week our reflection on the Fourth Word is written by Serena Lee.

 

It’s a cry I often prayed through several years of long-suffering. Growing up, I don’t think I really understood why Jesus said this while he was dying. Didn’t Jesus know and anticipate this kind of pain? Didn’t he know his death would bring glory to God, and save humanity from eternal punishment? Little did I know that my struggle with borderline personality disorder would render me so hopeless that these words of Jesus would become my daily cry in the midst of my darkest seasons. I was grasping for any relief from my psychological pain. But most of the time, I felt like I was drowning, and God was nowhere near.

Borderline personality disorder (BPD) is characterized by the intense fear of abandonment, unstable relationships, and impulsive behavior stemming from the inability to cope with strong emotions.  Having grown up in a fairly fundamentalist, Asian immigrant church context, I didn’t feel like I could be a good Christian while also struggling with BPD. After all, I often blamed my friends for not caring about me, and attempted to manipulate them by exaggerating the depths of my woes to force them to show me an even greater extent of love and loyalty. I harbored resentment towards people I loved, and confused them when I pushed them away even though I wanted them to stay. It felt like I was riding a roller coaster, my mood constantly swinging, and my “frantic efforts” to avoid real or imagined abandonment became my new obsession.

In the first few years of my struggle with BPD, I found no relief in Christian faith. Honestly, I didn’t try because many Christians would “comfort” me by saying that I just needed to trust in God more, perhaps believe in the “peace that surpasses understanding,” or focus on the joy of the Lord. It wasn’t until my senior year of college when I went through one of the darkest periods of my life that I finally cried out to God, blaming him too for abandoning me. I poured out my anger, my bitterness, and all my resentments towards God and asked him, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” I was so expectant of abandonment from all those I loved, that it seemed as though God finally decided to leave me too.

Admitting to myself and to God that I was angry was the moment I now recognize as my first step towards recovery. In my anguish, I found relief. In my bitterness, I found understanding. As uncomfortable as it was engaging in my deep anger towards God, I felt a freedom to be completely naked before Him, my heart and my mind pouring out laments everyday. He is, after all, my God. He is my God.

Using this very prayer gave me great comfort knowing that Jesus enters into my loneliness and fear of abandonment. It felt like Jesus created this prayer for people like me- people plagued by fear, anger, and confusion. More importantly, it seems that Jesus prayed this prayer because He needed it. Up until the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus had never been separated from His father throughout eternity, before time and space. Can you imagine the kind of anxiety Jesus had while he prayed, sweating blood and tears? Can you imagine the heaviness He felt while carrying His own cross up the hill, knowing that Father was nowhere to be reached? Can you imagine Christ in shock and disbelief that His own Father actually turned away from the Son in his most excruciating, painful hour? Perhaps Jesus was unprepared to accept the reality He had theoretically understood before agreeing to suffer for humankind.

God did not answer Jesus’ tireless supplication. Defeat is on its way, and God appears to have abandoned His one and only son. And yet, as much as Jesus feels indignation towards God, still he uses a personal pronoun “my” to describe the Father, demonstrating that the relationship with God still exists and has significance despite the fact that God will not save him from his suffering and imminent death.

Of course, we know how the story ends. But if we skip over the significance of Jesus’ lament on the Cross, the resurrection loses its compelling power to transform lives. As the Church, we need to be able to sit in the discomfort of lament in order to become more human. That is, Jesus’s death on the cross reveals that the goal as Christians and as humans is not to be joyful, peaceful, or strong all the time, as many of us grew up believing. Rather, allowing ourselves to change in thought, in emotions, and in resilience brings us the freedom to accept seasons of adjustment in our relationship with God. We can be filled with joy before the Lord, or sit in anger. We can hold both peace and anxiety. We can live in doubt and in faith, hold lament in one hand, and hope in the other. This is humanity the way Christ has exemplified for us. This is beautiful.

 

Paradox — by Serena Lee

What a relief to be at peace

with the reality of warring virtue and vice,

Spirit and demon,

voice of God and voices of untruth,

anxiety and serenity,

depression and joy.

To live in the in between,

the already not yet, 

is the path that leads to sanctification, to healing

to full freedom

I am looking forward to those very things.

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The Third Word

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“Woman, behold your son.”

John 19:26-27

This week our reflection on the Third Word is written by Brenda Mitchellweiler.

 

When reading texts involving Jesus’ parables, words, and actions, there is often more to the story, more than one way of exploring meaning. In this scene, Jesus agonizes on the cross. The soldiers have just cast lots for his clothing. Mary, a few other women and Jesus’ “beloved disciple” John are near Jesus. So near they hear his labored words calling to Mary, and then to John. He says to Mary “Woman, behold your son!” To John, he says “Behold, your mother!”

An amazing effort by Jesus to get their attention. From excruciating pain, he needs them to recognize a vital truth. In this dark hour, he works to get Mary and John to behold something beyond mere relational or societal dictates. Jesus may have been ensuring the practical care of Mary by John. However, he could have made these arrangements prior to the cross. So why now is Jesus, through labored breath, in the last moments of life, drawing Mary’s and John’s attention? To what does he call them to behold? Is there more?

Ultimately, on the cross Jesus is without words. His body is lifeless. The deep darkness of the hour is palpable, visual, and REAL! John and Mary walk away from the cross in REAL darkness. They feel fear, pain, confusion, hopelessness, gut wrenching sorrow, and agony beyond words.

Yet, the more of the story now comes into play.

We recall the words of Jesus at John 15:12 “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” The call of Jesus to Mary and John that they become family is key. He calls them to love one another, calls them to act as mother and son. We tend to not hear or behold the depth and power of loving one another as family. In this dark hour, Jesus gives Mary and John a way through their darkness. Be family, he says to them. The only way through our world and our own moments of fear, pain, confusion, hopelessness, gut wrenching sorrow, and agony beyond words is through loving each other as he has shown us. Be family, he says to us. Loving each other is essential to our survival in this world. Loving each other is more than just labeling each other brothers and sisters in Christ. Loving each other the way Jesus has shown us is active. It is sometimes difficult. It is sometimes awkward. But it is essential. It is family.

What drew my family to the Christ Kaleidoscope congregation most is the way you all actively love. We have been blown away and blessed by your works of love. The love you have for the school in Cambodia, the hurting in Florida, the marginalized, and simply the hurting is beautiful to behold and compels each of us to love more like Jesus. Your works of love are palpable, REAL and essential to those around you! We are grateful for your witness of Jesus’ love to us and this world. Grateful that you love one another!

 

 

 

 

 

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The Second Word

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“This day you will be with me in Paradise.”

Luke 23:43

This week our reflection on the Second Word is written by Ken Chuang.

 

Jesus is hung on the cross between two criminals. The first criminal mocks Jesus “Aren’t you the Messiah?  Save yourself and us!” The other says “Don’t you fear God even when you have been sentenced to die? We deserve to die, but this man has done nothing wrong … Jesus remember me when you come into your Kingdom.” To which Jesus replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”

What does this say about Jesus that even as he has been forsaken by his Father and is being crucified, in that very moment, he is still doing God’s work. Putting his own suffering aside, and forgiving the faithful criminal and offering him his salvation. Jesus is loving and merciful and constantly sacrificing for the good of others — the ultimate sacrifice of life. He is able to endure this because of his ultimate faith. What can we endure if we had such strong faith?

Salvation through faith and not deeds. The faithful criminal is the perfect example of this. We don’t know what heinous crime he has committed, but he puts himself at the mercy of Jesus and repents and through that faith is saved even as he is about to die. How awesome is it that this criminal can look past his current predicament and shame to the coming glory. Compare this to the first criminal who like the other is suffering, but all he cares about is saving himself through whatever means possible. Heck, he may even say he believes in Jesus for the sole purpose of saving himself without any care for right or wrong, regret or remorse … caring only about himself. Look at the Jewish leaders of that time with all their good deeds — they were unable to earn salvation because they lacked belief and faith. How different are they really from the first criminal?

Now, imagine how much more rewarding our lives can be if we are faithful each and every step of the way. How many times in our lives do we think we are doing good deeds, but if not done with the right heart, it is meaningless. Are we doing to please ourselves, others, or God? Only one can lead us to true faith and salvation. The posture we take with our actions and deeds belies our true belief.

Lastly, I’m reminded of Pastor Ken’s message on “Transfiguration Sandwich” … God with us, God above us, God for us. Our almighty Father is multidimensional. God with us: he is a loving God that answers our prayers. God for us: he is a merciful God forgiving our sins and offering us salvation. God above us: he is an almighty and enforcing God — the only one that will judge us and knows our true intentions. A God that we should all fear. All are important to our faith and ultimately leads to our salvation from this present evil age.

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The First Word

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“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Luke 23:34

 

1. “Father…”

How often do we respond to God with resentment when we don’t get our way? Even in the midst of a gruesome public death, Jesus continues to call God “Father.” Filled with anguish, Jesus petitioned God to remove the cup of death and suffering looming before him (Lk. 22:42-44). Yet God’s response was not the one Jesus desired. Still, Jesus does not let this stand in the way of his relationship with the one he calls “Father.” Even in the worst of situations, he affirms the goodness of our God.

2. “…forgive them…”

When beset by our own suffering and pain, how often is our first thought for the people around us? It seems appropriate that Luke’s account renders Jesus’s first words on the cross as a petition for the forgiveness of others. After all, what is the cross if not a symbol of God’s working for us? Still, it is striking that we find in such an agonizing image God’s word to us that we are forgiven.

3. “…for they know not what they do.”

Who is the “they” that Jesus prays for in his petition? Likely, “they” are the Roman soldiers who drove nails through his body and the Roman authorities who condoned it. “They” probably also includes the Jewish leaders who demanded his execution and the Jews in the crowd cheering for his death. An act at the height of injustice, the image of God on the cross is somehow accompanied with words that long for the forgiveness of those who perpetrated it. Apparently, forgiveness can come even to those who put God on a cross.

It is telling that we find Jesus’s petition for their forgiveness at the symbolic moment of man’s rejection of God. Clearly, these words together with the image of the crucifix demonstrate God’s willingness to be for us. Jesus does not define those who execute him by their actions; instead, he sees them as those whom God loves, finding space for God’s forgiveness to move.

Here, we remember Jesus’s famous words: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you” (Lk. 5:27-28). Just as startling a contrast as Jesus’s cry for the forgiveness of those who unjustly execute him, loving our enemies is the way we proclaim God’s kingdom. It is the way God accomplishes justice and moves through the sin we find rampant in humanity. Can we see our enemies as the very ones for whom Jesus cries out for forgiveness? In The End of Memory, Miroslav Volf writes, “The memory of the Passion urges — indeed, obligates — me to place the memory of suffered wrong in the service of reconciliation” (125). When we allow the image of Christ on the cross to define our actions, we find the grace of God in our own wounds. May we be strengthened by the words of Jesus to welcome the love of God into the lives of those he has forgiven.

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Violence in Scripture

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“‘If in spite of this you still do not listen to me but continue to be hostile toward me, 28 then in my anger I will be hostile toward you, and I myself will punish you for your sins seven times over. 29 You will eat the flesh of your sons and the flesh of your daughters.” (Leviticus 26:27-29)

For those of us that consider all Scripture to be God-breathed (which, really, all Christians should), passages like the one above serve as a huge headache and heartache. Headache because now we have to look up all the scriptural and historical context, find what our favorite Christian writers and thinkers have said about them, and finally try our best to think of a way to comfortably fit it in with the rest of our worldview. Heartache because, really? Would you really say something like this, God? Would you really threatenyour people with cannibalizing their own children?

There are many difficult passages in the bible. For example, I can think of nothing harder than Jesus’ command to love my enemies, to turn the other cheek, and to pray for those who persecute me. My feeling is that, “I’m having a hard enough time as it is with the gospels and the epistles, why throw the Old Testament in there as well?” Personally, I feel like I’d rather keep some of the Old Testament depictions of a violent God out of sight and out of mind, because realistically they do nothing to help me be a more faithful follower of Christ, here and now.

But for one reason or another we are forced to contend with the bloodthirsty, vengeful God of old. Sometimes it’s the in-your-face atheism of people like Christopher Hitchens or Richard Dawkins, whose words we see in media or from our acquaintances that have read their work. In The God Delusion, Dawkins famously says that “The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all fiction” calling him, among other things, vindictive, homophobic, genocidal, and a bully. Such attacks on the God we worship puts us on the defensive, and so we feel the need to defend God from those that seek to slander his name.

Other times the hard-hitting questions come from a more well-meaning place. Maybe this scenario is familiar to you: a newer Christian approaches someone she considers an experienced Christian and asks why God is okay with destroying entire peoples in the Old Testament. If God is love, why does he seem so unloving in those parts of the Bible? Whether you’re the newer or the experienced Christian in that situation, the impulse is to reach for some kind of favorable “spin”, or a way to justify according to our standards what it was that God said and did whenever he engaged in violence.

So far I’ve introduced three ways Christians respond to the problem of God’s violence in the Old Testament: push it out of sight and out of mind, defend God from those outside the faith, and put the best possible “spin” on it. But if you’re like me you are still unsatisfied. In the coming weeks I’ll be working through some alternatives that Christians have found, different ways of trying to make sense of these violent portraits of God. And, despite the headaches and the heartaches, hopefully come to a fuller understanding of the coherent story of God in Scripture.