Biblical Ethics and Social Change

Biblical Ethics and
Social Change
This page intentionally left blank
Biblical Ethics and
Social Change
Second Edition
STEPHEN CHARLES MOTT

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Mott, Stephen Charles.
Biblical ethics and social change /Stephen Charles Mott.—2nd ed.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references (p.) and indexes.
ISBN 978-0-19-973937-0 (pbk.)
1. Christian ethics. 2. Social ethics. 3. Ethics in the Bible. I. Title.
BJ1251.M66 2011
241—dc22 2010015725
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper
In memory of
Royden Cross Mott
1908–1979
and
Katherine Irene Mott
1911–1998
Contents
Preface to the Revised Edition, ix
Preface to the First Edition, xi
Acknowledgments, xvii
Abbreviations, xix
PART I: A BIBLICAL THEOLOGY OF SOCIAL INVOLVEMENT
1. Biblical Faith and the Reality of Social Evil, 3
2. God’s Grace and Our Action, 19
3. Love and Society, 33
4. God’s Justice and Ours, 49
5. The Long March of God, 69
PART II: PATHS TO JUSTICE
6. Evangelism, 93
7. The Church as Countercommunity, 111
8. Strategic Noncooperation, 123
9. After All Else—Then Arms? 143
10. Creative Reform through Politics, 165

viii CONTENTS
Notes, 179
Index of Biblical References, 223
Index of Authors, 229
Index of Subjects, 235

Preface to the Revised Edition
I have been told by some professors who are currently using this
volume as a text in seminary or university courses that the thought
structure of the book is still current. The illustrations, however, need
to be updated. I have consequently provided throughout more
current examples for the theory of the book. In addition, I have
incorporated pertinent materials from my study since the completion
of the first edition almost three decades ago. These additions or
substitutions do not change the argument of the book but deepen
and sharpen its points. One type of illustration from the first edition
that I have decided for pedagogical reasons to continue is material
relating to the civil rights struggle in the 1950s and 1960s and earlier.
I have found, similar to my use of slavery, that the reader in most
every case agrees with me on the issue and so can listen to the point
that I am making with it.
I have also have clarified and strengthened the argument of the
book by drawing upon my reading and thought over the past three
decades since the writing of the first edition. This reflects my
ongoing and deep love for the biblical grounding of social justice and
its application to intentional institutional change.
In the first edition, I noted the unhelpful disparity between the
disciplines of Christian social ethics and biblical studies. In the
succeeding quarter of a century that disparity has been overcome in
many significant ways. Many solid studies of biblical ethics have
been written by ethicists. The social sciences have been incorporated
x PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION
in several ways for the understanding of the biblical contexts and the exegesis
of Scripture. Writers with a vision for contemporary social transformation have
drawn upon the biblical longing and mandates for action.
There remains, however, room for a treatment that combines the breadth
of biblical theology with the perspective of Christian social ethics to establish
the basis for institutional change for social justice and to evaluate the various
forms of social change for carrying it out in contemporary society.
I appreciate the readiness of Cynthia Read, Executive Editor of Oxford
University Press, to produce a new edition of this book. This effort required
significant extra labor given that the first edition preceded the widespread use
of word processing and was not available in a digitized format. I also appreciate
the thorough editorial and copy editing work of Charlotte Steinhardt, Jennifer
Kowing, Susan Ecklund, and Preetha Baskaran.
In the first edition, I cited the contribution of my parents to my social con-
sciousness. I dedicated the book to the memory of my father. Now this edition
must be dedicated to the memory of my mother as well.
S.C.M.
Beverly, Massachusetts
Thanksgiving 2007
Preface to the First Edition
When one is asked to recommend a thorough treatment of the

biblical basis for implementing social change, few books come to
mind. The writings of Walter Rauschenbusch (and his social gospel
contemporaries) as well as the promising Third World treatments are
addressed to a situation different from that facing most
contemporary American readers. The most pertinent of
Rauschenbusch’s writings, moreover, are out of print. Further,
readers often perceive in such writings particular theological or
political stances—social gospel, immanent theology, Marxism—that
stand in the way of an open reading for many who seek biblical
support. And the recent resurgence of evangelical interest in
applying Scripture to the problems of society has mainly produced
writings aimed at a popular audience.
The divergence between the academic disciplines of Christian
social ethics and biblical studies has been noted by several authors
recently.1 James Gustafson describes biblical ethics as “a complex
task for which few are well prepared; those who are specialists in
ethics generally lack the intensive and proper training in biblical
studies, and those who are specialists in biblical studies often lack
sophistication in ethical thought.”2 For an introduction to the
principles of the use of the Bible for ethics, I recommend Bible and
Ethics in the Christian Life by Bruce Birch and Larry Rasmussen as
particularly helpful in showing the varied ways in which Scripture
xii PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
provides authority for ethical discourse and the use of the total canon in ar-
riving at valid conclusions about the ethical teachings of the Scriptures.
I would also like to identify an approach to the social application of the
Bible that has been particularly fruitful for my own ethical understanding. The
interpretation of Scripture begins in the life experience of listening in faith as
the Word of God is read and taught and of obedient conduct guided by this
Word. Among the truths experienced in this way, the biblical message of jus-
tice creates a basic loyalty to the poor and weak and a commitment to their
defense. Scripture is then interpreted in the light of this biblically formed
understanding.
The Bible is read with the expectation of answers to questions of social
justice and human oppression. Accordingly, J. Andrew Kirk writes that the
starting point of any theological interpretation must coincide
with the bias of the Christian gospel itself (“good news to the poor . . .
release to the captives . . . liberty to those who are oppressed,” Luke
4.18). . . . There is no option; theology must be done out of a
commitment to a living God who defends the cause of “the hungry”
and who sends “the rich empty away” (Luke 1.53).3
But the interpreter of the social ethics of Scripture brings to the text not
only a disposition shaped by his or her own experience and background. The
interpreter’s own focus on social need has led to an increased interest in all that
can be known about social and economic structures and ways of expressing
and evaluating social norms. In aid of greater methodological self-conscious-
ness in interpretation, modern sociological and ethical categories are applied to
the materials of the Bible to suggest new possibilities of meaning and to pro-
vide a means of assessing the applicability of the results of exegesis to contem-
porary discussion. When such terminology does clarify the meaning of
Scripture, biblical interpretation finds a new vocabulary with which to address
current problems. Sometimes, however, the categories are dissonant with the
text, and analysis makes it apparent that the passages have little immediate
relevance to modern questions. Then for scriptural guidance we must depend
upon the more general framework of values and attitudes in the biblical
witness and can arrive at a clear-cut Christian position only after extended
study of these general claims in the light of historical and current empirical
information.
As an example of this approach, comparative economics provides the
category of property arrangements in the traditional cooperative village.4 This
property system supplies an understanding of Hebrew land tenure that will
be missed by exegetes who, although possessing considerable linguistic and
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION xiii
textual skill, approach Scripture with assumptions based on either the eco-
nomics of Western private property or of socialism or who ignore economic
considerations altogether.
Thus one interprets Scripture with knowledge of sociological, economic,
and ethical categories employed elsewhere to understand socioeconomic struc-
tures and conflicts. Careful exegesis and reflection reveal which principles are
helpful in understanding the social phenomena and norms of biblical thought.
These nonbiblical constructs aid the understanding of Scripture and are tested
and refined where the biblical Word relates to them; where it does not relate,
they are set aside.
In the following pages we shall see that the heart of biblical thought man-
dates efforts to correct economic and social injustices in our communities. The
emphasis in this book on the use of political authority to achieve justice should
complement the stress upon the witness of the church as countercommunity
that is found in many recent writings.
The first part of the book builds a biblical theology of social involvement.
Chapter 1 shows the recognition in Scripture of the social reality of evil, as
reflected both in its concepts of “the world” and in its acknowledgment of the
existence of evil supernatural powers. Chapter 2 finds social responsibility at
the core of biblical faith in the grace of God present through the death of Christ
and argues that in the early church responsibility for the neighbor extended
beyond the Christian community. Chapter 3 shows that love, the expression of
grace and the basis of Christian ethics, consistently points to the existence of
human rights based on the divine bestowal of dignity upon every person. In
Chapter 4 biblical justice is seen to be in continuity with love, rather than con-
stituting a separate ethical pole, which explains its egalitarian disposition
toward oppressed groups. Chapter 5 brings biblical theology into the perspec-
tive of history with the idea of the Reign of God, conceived as only partially
present yet at work in all spheres of life; particular attention is given to the ef-
fect of Jesus’ earthly ministry upon social reality.
The second part of the book treats the variety of ways in which Christians
bring about social change. The dangers of relying on any single approach are
pointed out, and the contribution of each such approach is demonstrated. This
part of the book deals with crucial questions faced by the church today, includ-
ing “the primacy of evangelism, the relationship between reconciliation of
man to man and reconciliation of man to God, and the precise nature of evan-
gelical socio-political involvement.”5 Chapter 6 highlights the importance of
evangelism for moral character and as the motivation for justice, while point-
ing out the unbiblical thinking of those who would rely upon evangelism alone
for social change or subordinate other missional activities to it. Christian
xiv PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
community (chapter 7) provides necessary support for the individual in mis-

sion and also serves as a visible sign of the new community God is creating.
Chapter 8 uses the concept of “strategic noncooperation” in discussing nonvi-
olent forms of action for situations in which normal modes of public change
are blocked. The argument from the New Testament for a posture of absolute
nonviolence is questioned nevertheless (chapter 9), and the theoretical context
for political revolution is described. The final chapter of the book argues that,
despite the ease with which it can be co-opted or distorted, political reform can
be defended as a necessary instrument of biblical justice.
The readers for whom this book is intended will have had some theological
training and may be working in (or preparing for) pastorates and other posts of
Christian leadership, service, and learning. It is hoped that scholars will be in-
terested in the book both as a synthesis of biblical studies and ethics and as a
developed presentation of social ethics from an evangelical perspective. The
topical arrangement facilitates use as a textbook, although the intended hori-
zon of the book extends beyond such use.
This book has received substance and spirit from my wife, Sandra R. Mott.
She has made the book possible not only through her love and support but also
in her competence as wife, mother, professor, and nurse. She is a dear compan-
ion and also a trusted consultant for many aspects of my work.
I must thank my daughter Sarah, for much clarification of argument and
wording was done in those times when she was a baby and I had nothing else to
do but hold her and think. One of the added comforts of working on the book at
home was being able to gather around me my older children, Adam and Rachel.
I want to express my gratitude to Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary
for granting me a sabbatical leave during 1977 when I researched and wrote the
final stages of the book, and I am appreciative of the support over many years
of my colleagues on the faculty. I want to thank Corinne Languedoc, faculty
secretary, for her skill in making order out of my drafts in all their stages and
for her personal support as a leader of Christian social action. I am grateful to
Jan Neumeister and Kathleen Horak for their outstanding work in typing the
final copy. I must acknowledge my great debt to the students of Gordon-Con-
well Theological Seminary, with whom I have worked on the ideas of the book
for more than a decade. Only a few times have I been able to document their
contributions, and not only by raising questions but also in offering their own
knowledge, they have contributed as much to me as I to them. I appreciate
particularly the careful work on the indices by Robert L. Renfroe, my student
assistant in 1981–1982.
Both the reader and I are indebted to Charles W. Scott, Religious Books
Editor of Oxford University Press. Out of his understanding of the intent of the
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION xv
book and of the English language, he has lent greater clarity to the argument
through his suggestions. Cynthia A. Read and Curtis Church also provided
valuable editorial assistance on the style.
It is in memory of my father, Royden Cross Mott, that I dedicate this book.
From him, and from my mother, Katherine Hyde Mott, I learned the natural
association of faith and social compassion. Much of my father’s pastoral min-
istry was spent with those whose lives were lived on the edge of the community:
across the river, on the other side of the tracks, on the backcountry roads.
Among his flock were the lonely old man in his shack, the obese single parent
and her children living on macaroni and gravy, the large black family with their
illnesses and their burly, brave, illiterate father without a job and without a
winter coat. My father battled the liquor industry that took his people’s money
and fueled their weaknesses, and he challenged the YMCA and the hospitals
that would not let them in. The psalmist, the prophets, Jesus, John Wesley,
Charles Dickens, Mom, and Daddy are blurred together in these memories;
some taught the others so that they all taught me. My father combined active
social love with a ministry of revival. Why? Because he lived his sermons, and
his sermons received their life from the wrinkled pages of the Word of his
God—and mine.
S.C.M.
Beverly, Massachusetts
December 1981
Acknowledgments
The author and publisher are grateful to the following for permission
to reprint (with revisions):
The Society of Christian Ethics for portions of “God’s Justice and

Ours,” which appeared originally as “Egalitarian Aspects of the
Biblical Theory of Justice,” in The American Society of Christian
Ethics Selected Papers 1978, edited by Max L. Stackhouse.
Christian Scholar’s Review for “Biblical Faith and the Reality of
Social Evil,” which appeared in the volume 9, number 3
(1980) issue.
Biblical quotations from the New Revised Standard Version of
the Bible, copyright 1989, are used with the permission of
the Division of Christian Education of the National Council
of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A.; all rights reserved.
Translations of biblical passages not otherwise identified are
my own.
Abbreviations
Bauer, Lexicon6 Walter Bauer, A Greek-English

Lexicon of the New Testament, 6th
ed., trans. and ed. F. Danker, W.
Arndt, and F. Gingrich (1999)
Brown, Driver, Briggs, Lexicon Francis Brown, S. R. Driver, and
Charles A. Briggs, eds., A Hebrew
and English Lexicon of the Old
Testament
KJV King James Version
Koehler, Baumgarten, Lexicon3 L. Koehler, W. Baumgarten,
J. J. Stamm, and M. E. Richardson,
The Hebrew Aramaic Lexicon of the
Old Testament, Study Edition (2001)
LXX Septuagint
NEB New English Bible
NIV New International Version
NRSV New Revised Standard Version
RSV Revised Standard Version
TDNT Theological Dictionary of the New
Testament, ed. G. Kittel and
G. Friedrich
PART I
A Biblical Theology of
Social Involvement
1
Biblical Faith and the Reality
of Social Evil
In the time of Jesus, violence and oppression led people to see

underlying the lawless deeds of humanity a structure of evil,
personified by fallen angels. Some Israelite visionaries believed that
events of the days of Noah explained their own. The bloody warriors
then raging over their Mediterranean world were like the giants in
Noah’s day, the offspring of the rebellious chief angel, Shemihazah,
and other “sons of God” who followed him. The treacherous
technology of the making and using of metal and weapons had been
taught to humankind by Asael, another chief of angels. In response
to the pleas of humanity, God had provided (and would again
provide) deliverance. God sent the mighty angels Michael and Gabriel
to “bind Asael” and “to bind Shemihazah and his companions,” so
that the evil on the face of the earth might be destroyed and a new
age of justice and truth brought in (1 Enoch 6–11).1
The explanation of the injustices of history through reference to
angels may seem unrelated to the economic and political problems
of our communities. But, as we shall see, this overshadowing
community of evil, described by New Testament writers as “the
powers,” is cited frequently in recent efforts to provide a biblical
account of the contemporary social situation.2 Such personages as
Shemihazah and Asael, along with the New Testament concept of the
world (cosmos), may help us to see that injustice and other evils not
only depend upon the decisions of individuals but also are rooted in
manifestations of culture and social order. This recognition affects our
4 BIBLICAL E THICS AND SOCIAL C HANGE
understanding of the spiritual struggle and victory in which we participate, for

God has “disarmed the powers and the authorities and made a public mockery
of them, leading them as captives in Christ” (Col. 2.15). These biblical concepts
relate to phenomena that can be sociologically described, and they extend
rather than nullify personal responsibility in society.
The World as the Evil Social Order
A basic way of describing evil in the New Testament uses the term cosmos, “the
world.” This word refers to the order of society and indicates that evil has a
social and political character beyond the isolated actions of individuals.
It is unfortunate that cosmos has been translated in English Bibles as world,
which primarily refers to a physical place. The Greek term, cosmos, however,
essentially means order, that which is assembled together well. In this sense it is
used in a variety of ways. Adornments that make a woman beautiful are thought
to “make her orderly.” So 1 Peter 3.3 admonishes wives not to let their “external
adornment [or order (cosmos)] be with braided hair, gold ornaments, or dressing
in robes.” From such usage comes our term cosmetics.
The term naturally came to be attached to the most important ordering of
earthly life, the social order. It referred to the structures of civilized life and
specifically the civic order represented by the city-state, which among other
things secured the bonds of friendship in the face of the threat of social chaos
(Plato, Prot. 322c).3 As cosmos, the universe itself is a city-state. Plato wrote,
“Heaven and earth and gods and people are held together by sharing and
friendship and self-control and justice; therefore the universe [to holon] is called
cosmos, not disorder [acosmia] or licentiousness” (Gorg. 508a).
The New Testament uses cosmos in a variety of ways. Among these, it can
mean all people (John 3.16), the inhabitants of the universal social order. But
most striking and most important theologically is a usage that picks up the
meaning of social order that I have discussed, but with a difference. For classi-
cal Greece, cosmos protected values and life, but in the apocalyptic thought
patterns of first-century Judaism, and particularly of the New Testament,4 cos-
mos represents the twisted values that threatened genuine human life. For
Plato the order stood guard against licentiousness; now the order is the intruder
bearing immorality. Paul writes that to avoid the immoral persons of the social
order (cosmos) one would have to leave human society (cosmos) altogether
(1 Cor. 5.10). Ephesians 2.1–2 provides another example. The author refers to
the individual “trespasses and sins” of the Gentile readers of the letter and
then describes the greater order of evil after which their individual acts were
BIBLICAL FAITH AND THE R EALITY OF SOCIAL E VIL 5
patterned: “You were dead through the trespasses and sins in which you once
lived, following the course of this world [cosmos], following the ruler of the
power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedi-
ent” (NRSV).
There is no radical distinction between the actions of the person as an
individual and as a social being. Evil exists in the society outside the individual
and exerts an influence upon him or her (cf. Rom. 12.2 with aiōn for society).
The basic fiber of society is comprehended in the New Testament use of
cosmos. It includes the system of property and wealth: 1 John 3.17 speaks of
“whoever has the world’s means of livelihood [bios tou cosmou].”5 It thus
includes necessary economic relationships; Paul admonishes his readers to
“make use of the world” (meaning the essential functions from which one can-
not get away) but not to “overuse” it (1 Cor. 7.31). The world also has a stratifica-
tion of class and status. Reference is made to the poor, foolish, weak, and lowly
of the world (James 2.5; 1 Cor. 1.27–28). Paul associates the world with status
distinctions based on religion (Gal. 6.14–15 [circumcision]; cf. Gal. 3.28 [slavery
and sexual status]).6 The world has its “wisdom” (1 Cor. 1.20), its system of
learning. The political rule of societies also belongs to this order (Matt. 4.8). In
Revelation 11.15 heavenly voices shout, “The kingdom of the world has become
the kingdom of our Lord.” Cosmos here is grammatically parallel to “our Lord.”
Both terms indicate the sovereign force (subjective genitives): “the kingdom
ruled by the world has become the kingdom ruled by our Lord.” The govern-
ment had been controlled by the evil social order but was now to be subject to
Christ. Finally, the most characteristic social aspect of cosmos in the New Testa-
ment is a system of values that are in opposition to God: “Love neither the
world nor the things of the world. If one loves the world, the love of the Father
is not in that person. Because everything that is in the world—the desire of the
flesh and the desire of the eyes and the boasting of wealth—is not of the Father
but is of the world” (1 John 2.15–16).
C. H. Dodd writes that the cosmos is “human society in so far as it is orga-
nized on wrong principles.” It is characterized by the sensuality, superficial-
ity, pretentiousness, materialism, and egoism that are the marks of the old
order.7
In this usage, cosmos is not a place. It is a collectivity that in many Johan-
nine references is personified: it loves, hates, listens, knows, and gives.8 This
does not mean that cosmos is simply the sum total of human beings. We are told
to hate it, and to hate all people would contradict God’s example of loving the
world in the sense of humanity (John 3.16). The cosmos we are to hate is human
values and conduct insofar as they are organized in opposition to God. Evil is in
the very fabric of our social existence.
The Evil Supernatural Powers
In Ephesians 2.2 it is stated that our individual sins were patterned not only
after the evil social order but also “according to the ruler [archōn] of the domain
of the air.” Evil exists external to the individual not only in the order of society
but also in the social and political roles of powerful supernatural beings. Peter
Wagner describes them as “territorial spirits” that attempt to keep human
beings in bondage by working through cities, nations, industries, and other
forms of human society.9 We are to put on the armor provided by God because
“our battle is not with flesh and blood, but with the rulers [archai], the author-
ities [exousiai], the rulers of the order [kosmokratores] of darkness” (Eph. 6.11–12).
These opponents are not human; they are not “flesh and blood.” They are “the
powers.” Their titles denote that they wield great power.
Who or what are these powers? To understand the powers that come
between human beings and God, two things should be kept in mind. The first
is the pervasive awareness of power in Hellenistic thought. The second is the
angelology of the Jewish tradition. The Hellenistic world understood life as an
expression of forces. To be able to do anything, one needed to participate in
some force. Abstract power without a concrete attachment was inconceivable.
The power must come out of something. It was primarily understood as
belonging to the gods and lesser beings who upheld the social order.10 Plato
stated that the deity maintains the virtue of the universe through the justice
and self-control of rulers (archontes) appointed by the deity. Plato identifies these
rulers as gods and lesser deities (daimones; not evil) (Leg. 10.903b, 906).
The belief in angels was a part of this Hellenistic outlook. God’s care and
control of everything in creation from the stars to the elements, from individ-
uals to nations, was directed through angelic agents. The universal care of the
angels was presented with the most detail in the Jewish apocalyptic literature.
2 Enoch 19.4–5 (first century A.D.)11 speaks of “angels who are appointed over
seasons and years, the angels who are over rivers and sea, and who are over the
fruits of the earth, and the angels who are over every grass, giving food to all, to
every living thing, and the angels who write all the souls of men, and all their
deeds and all their lives before the Lord’s face.”
Like Plato’s archontes the angels are responsible for morality. In the Book of
Jubilees (mid-second century B.D.) the watchers, who are linked with angels,
instruct humankind in justice and righteousness (4.15).
The powers and principalities in the New Testament are angelic beings;
they are not yet depersonalized into social forces or principles.12 I stress this
background not to bring the occult into the understanding of institutional evil
BIBLICAL FAITH AND THE REALITY OF SOCIAL E VIL 7
but because it shows the political and social significance of the powers. 1 Peter
3.22 makes this connection, speaking of the subjection to Christ of “angels and
authorities and powers” (cf. Rom. 8.38). Greek translations of the Old Testa-
ment helped pave the way for the association of angels with the Hellenistic
terminology of power by translating Hebrew references to angels as power
(dynamis) and rule (archē). “The Lord of Hosts” becomes “the Lord of Powers
[dynameis].”13 Two listings of the classes of angels in apocalyptic literature
include all the different powers mentioned in Colossians 1.16 and Ephesians
1.21: rulers, authorities, powers, dominions, and thrones (1 Enoch 61.10—
around the turn of the era—and 2 Enoch 20.1).14
The terminology for describing these angelic guardians is also used for
human rulers, and we should note that these terms do not always refer to
supernatural powers. There is no indication, for example, that such powers are
involved in the authorities discussed in Romans 13. The familiar statement that
the powers crucified Jesus is based on 1 Corinthians 2.8; but whether the
“rulers” in this verse are cosmic or human is extremely difficult to determine,
as the context provides little indication.
But since the government is a major factor in the control of human life,
it is not surprising that those celestial beings charged with “the good govern-
ment of the world” (2 Enoch 19.2) play significant roles in political life, which
in these societies incorporated to some degree most of the activities of the
community. Each of the nations has its own angelic ruler and guardian.15 In
Daniel, Michael is a celestial prince “who has charge” over Israel. He con-
tends with the corresponding custodians of Persia and Greece. These angels
(archōn [ruler], LXX) guard and represent the earthly states (10.13, 20–21;
12.1).16
In the New Testament the powers are fallen. Already in the Old Testament
disobedient divine beings (“gods”) in God’s council had been condemned for
their unjust rule in human affairs (Ps. 82;17 Ps. 58.1–2;18 Exod. 12.12). In the
New Testament, these powers are linked with Satan (Eph. 2.2; 6.11–12), and
Christ triumphs over them (Col. 2.15). They use their authority over the govern-
ments to attack the Christians. Paul’s discussion of the persecutions and tribu-
lations of the believers (Rom. 8.35) is the context for his assurance that the
angels and rulers (archai) and powers (dynameis) cannot separate us from the
love of God in Christ Jesus (vv. 38–39).19 The powers can afflict Christians by
working through very human political and social bodies.20 The book of Revela-
tion depicts in eerie imagery the complete control of the political apparatus of
society by the satanic power structure.21
A category of “the powers” called stoicheia (Gal. 4.3, 9; Col. 2.8, 20) merits
our attention at this point: their relationship to the Law, understood here as the
pattern of the created world, shows further the influence of the powers through-
out the social fabric of the universe. Stoicheia, meaning the elements, basically
referred to the physical elements—earth, air, fire, and water.22 But since all
forces tended to be viewed as animate, the elements came to be regarded as
personal beings or as controlled by personal beings.23 In apocalyptic writings
angels are associated with the forces of nature.24 In 2 Enoch 16.7 (cf. 15.1) angelic
beings are called “elements.” There is evidence that stoicheia were venerated as
gods or angels, and the New Testament letters to Galatia and Colossae support
this conclusion.
In Galatians and Colossians the stoicheia are personal supernatural beings
associated with the Law. In the former letter the stoicheia are likened to guard-
ians and house managers who had kept the people in slavery (4.2). Subjection
to the stoicheia was at the same time subjection to the Law: “When we were
minors, we were enslaved by the stoicheia of the world” (4.3); but God sent the
Son “that he might redeem those who were under the Law” (4.5). Paul has said
that angels were mediators of the law (3.19); the references to stoicheia make
sense if interpreted as angelic custodians of the Law.25 According to then cur-
rent Jewish tradition an angelic ruler had been assigned to every nation.26 In
Colossians, the stoicheia appear to be identified with “the powers.” After warn-
ing his readers against a philosophy that is according to the stoicheia (2.8), Paul
goes on to give his reasons: the readers have been brought to fullness in Christ,
“who is the head of every power [archē] and authority [exousia]” (v. 10; cf. 1.13–16).
God has nullified the legal charge against them and its demands, “by nailing
it to the cross. God disarmed the powers and the authorities and made a public
mockery of them, leading them as captives in Christ” (vv. 14–15). Paul describes
this false philosophy; it includes matters of food purity, holy days, self-abasement,
and, significantly, the worship of angels (vv. 16–18). Paul then asks why, if they
have died to the stoicheia, they are again submitting themselves to these
regulations.
The situation addressed in both Galatians and Colossians is comprehensi-
ble if we see, as has been suggested, that the churches are confronted with a
syncretistic form of Jewish Christianity. The angels who brought the Law and
administered it also control the seasons and the harvests. The principles of the
Mosaic Law, including its separatist injunctions, were incorporated into the
forces of the universe at its creation; following the law requires worship that is
in harmony with the seasons and scrupulosity in the choice of foods. Angelic
beings who administer both nature and the Law are venerated out of fear and the
desire to be in accord with the universal Law.27 As the Law permeates the struc-
ture of the customs and institutions of society, so do the powers; and with them,
so does evil.
BIBLICAL FAITH AND THE REALITY OF SOCIAL E VIL 9
Social Reality
The biblical concepts of cosmos and the supernatural powers constitute an

objective social reality that can function for good or for evil. Careful observation
of institutional life suggests ways in which the powers and the cosmos protect or
threaten human life in the spheres attributed to them in the biblical world. A
mystery of evil appears in our social life. The existence of an evil order ruled by
supernatural beings must be either accepted or rejected on faith, but such re-
ality would not be dissonant with our social experience. Our concern here is not
to settle the cosmological question of whether angels and demons should be
demythologized but rather to come to terms with the social material to which
their biblical existence points. The cosmos, a more pervasive theme in the New
Testament than the powers, represents the social structuring of evil without
necessitating recourse to the symbolism of supernatural personages.
An examination of the objective characteristics of social reality can help
us understand how there can be an intermediary locus of evil. One obvious
characteristic of social life is that its formal elements are much older than the
individuals who constitute it. Even in our very mobile society the continuity
outweighs the changes by far. The symbol system, the customs, the traditions,
the basic laws, the technology, the techniques for getting things done and
distributing power were here long before we came and will be here long after
we are gone. The invisible agreement upon which society depends regarding
politics and morals contains evil that is part of the bondage that is the price of
society.28
Gentrification is the process of home buying in which a more wealthy class
of home owners takes over a community by their ability to pay a higher price
for housing. The community may be attractive because of its proximity to
downtown jobs and the original style of the buildings. The previous working-
class and low-income inhabitants can no longer afford the rising rents, and
they are forced out. The community loses its previous character. The buyers,
nevertheless, had no intention of harming the previous residents. Mel King, an
African American leader, commented on the gentrification of the South End of
Boston: “People come in, they push people out, they’re nice people, they’re not
evil or anything, but they assume because they got money and money is might
that they have the right and we have a system that operates on that.”29 They are
operating within a long-standing economic structure and value system that is
assumed rather than chosen.
People go into business and enter a kind of enterprise that existed long
before they started and may continue long after they retire. It will go on with
little regard to their personal morality, for “business is business.” We die, but
society goes on.
This social longevity is beneficial. We could not invent the wheel or dis-
cover metallurgy anew in each generation. The stability of society requires that
we build on the solutions of previous generations.30 As a consequence, how-
ever, the evils of those earlier generations continue as well. Another character-
istic of social life, therefore, is that it not only goes on but does so with relatively
little dependence on conscious individual decision making or responsibility.
Robert Lifton commented to a survivor of the slaughter of the Jews at Aus-
chwitz about the ordinariness of most of the Nazi doctors who carried it out,
that they were not demonic figures. The friend replied, “But it is demonic that
they were not demonic.”31
A former president of the Midas Muffler Corporation described business
corporations as “a circumstance of large, impersonal forces over which no one
seems to have much control.” Even heads of corporations, he said, are like a
muffler. They are “fungible”: “One part can be replaced with another, a replace-
ment part. . . . So indeed are corporate chairmen and presidents—and they
know it.” They are not that important. The corporation itself goes on with or
without them.32
The process is driven by the pursuit of power and often even more by system
maintenance. The result is the drive to grow and the fear of any decline in sales
or innovation.33 An individual director may have regret regarding the impact
that his or her company’s pursuit of profits has on the poor in developing coun-
tries but feels that there is no use in resisting the process. If one is not willing to
do it, he or she will be replaced by someone who is; and if the company stopped
the practice, other companies would continue so that first company would face
disaster in a few years in terms of profits and stockholders. They are caught up
in a web of obligations and a competitive structure that knows no mercy.
Who is responsible for the evil in such a bureaucracy? We become more
conscious of evil as what people suffer than evil as what people do.34 Social life
includes objective realities that evolve according to their own laws.35
Some of our greatest evils are characterized by this absence of conscious
individual decisions on the critical issues. One thinks of the horrible evil of
American slavery. Even those who appeared to be the better and more consid-
erate people of the society not only acquiesced in it but supported it. The moral
choices took place on minor issues—whether to take 150 slaves rather than 200
on a particular ship. The major issue of the evil of the institution of slavery
itself was seldom faced or considered.
Our churches are not exempt from this moral myopia. The members of an
all Euro-American church in a racially mixed neighborhood may assert that
BIBLICAL F AITH AND THE REALITY OF SOCIAL EVIL 11
they are aware of no thoughts or acts of discrimination on their part. They may
need to see not merely that their outreach really extends only to Euro-Americans
but also that, in a society that tells African Americans in countless ways that
they are not accepted in equality or association with Euro-Americans, they must
take the initiative if they are to be any different from other Euro-American
institutions in this respect.
We are socialized into the acceptance or the avoidance of major ethical
issues. Our socialization reflects the moral conscience of others who share our
position in society, and our ethical reasoning is shaped before we actually come
to reflect upon life or make conscious moral decisions. David Wells states,
“Worldliness is when sin seems familiar.”36 In Reinhold Niebuhr’s terms, vir-
tue is being defeated at a lower level.37 In short, social life consists of group
ways of thinking and acting in which every individual participant’s decisions
are but a small portion of the development of the whole.
Finally, social life often consists of complex problems for which there seem to
be no solutions. Every attempt at solution only creates serious problems at an-
other point. Jürgen Moltmann calls these patterns “vicious circles” and speaks
of the “hopeless economic, social and political pattern formations which drive
life toward death.” He appropriately suggests that in them we sense the pres-
ence of the demonic in our lives.38
Examples of these vicious circles abound. There is the cycle of deprived
children who become depriving parents, of welfare payments that are necessary
to sustain life but do not produce a free life, of armed actions against terror that
in effect multiply the motivation and action of terror, of the standoff in world
trade between workers in industrial countries and workers in others hurt by
trade policies designed to protect the former. We can also think of our drive to
solve our material problems through technology and growth while in the
process depleting our resources and threatening the ecological balance. Cer-
tainly, rational analyses of the problems are needed and can help, but beyond
what we can analyze there is the mystery of evil, which defies our understand-
ing and thwarts our efforts to improve people’s lives. This evil is real and pow-
erful and more than the sum of its individual parts.39
Various systems work together, compounding the difficulty of solution. A
Christian leader of development in India, Jayakumar Christian, describes the
various systems that bind the poor in that country. There is the local social
system that validates the superior position of the nonpoor, for example, the
landlord choosing the names of children or deciding who will marry whom. As
a result the poor believe that they were meant to be inferior and without value.
Another system is the religious worldview of the culture. The idea of karma
tells the poor that their current condition is in response to their former life and
12 BIBLICAL ETHICS AND SOCIAL CHANGE
must be accepted. Another system that impacts them is the international trade
system by which land formerly devoted to domestic food consumption is trans-
ferred to export crops. The new production is less labor-intensive. The result is
increased hunger and poverty. The Christian sees all these levels as existing in
a cosmic system in which the principalities and powers work out their rebellion
against God’s intentions for human life in creation.40
In describing social reality and social evil our intention is by no means to
argue against individual responsibility for our social life, blaming everything
on the Devil. The powers are able to rule because individuals follow their influ-
ence and conform themselves to the world order in actions that are system
serving rather than system critical. The objective social situation and individual
choice exert influence on each other. Social entities came into being through
individual decisions; they result from the conscious decisions of individuals
over the years. But they also are powerful influences upon our choices. Jesus
recognized the interrelatedness of the social source of evil and individual
responsibility. “Woe to the world because of temptations to sin! For the coming
of temptations is necessary; nevertheless woe to the person through whom the
temptation comes” (Matt. 18.7). We must admit to unknowables in this matter
of responsibility. One of the most challenging problems in ethics is to assign
responsibility for the exploitation that goes on around us, which we participate
in or fail to correct, yet fail to acknowledge. “How many times can a man turn
his head, pretending he just doesn’t see?” One way to increase individual
responsibility is to increase awareness of social evil: this is our concern.
Our social systems are not eternal or absolute but reflect the ambiguous
nature of humankind and of the angelic guardians of culture. Our institutions
are not just a constraint on sin (a conservative attitude toward institutions);
they themselves are full of sin. The structures of social life contain both good
and bad. Because of the hold of self-interest we will tend to see only the good in
those social forms that favor our interests unless we have a strong theology of
sin. Our social life is fallen with us, and no social system is beyond the need of
reform or perhaps even of reconstitution.
A qualification must be made at this point. One cannot evolve a total theol-
ogy of culture from the concept of the fallen order of society and of the fallen
powers of the world. These concepts must not be understood to mean that so-
ciety, government, or other institutions are evil or demonic in themselves. We
cannot do without institutions. They are integral to human life. This point is
not always made clear in discussions of the powers. The New Testament pas-
sages that we have examined deal with a battle for the control of creation, of
which the social life of humanity is a part. In this battle God has the advantage—
the opponents are God’s own creatures and appointees. They cannot create;
they can only thwart. They must start with the materials, powers, and designs
made by God. As indicated in the prologue to John, even in the darkness exists
the divine creation.41 “The light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness
did not overcome it” (John 1.5).
Earthly authorities are appointed by God and serve God (Rom. 13.1, 4), but
government is marred by the disobedience and opposition of the angelic lieu-
tenants, a disobedience that is more in evidence at some times than others and
will culminate in the demonic capture of the state at the end time (Rev. 13). But
even then that rule is under God’s permission (Rev. 13.5). The claim of the Devil
in the wilderness that the authority and glory of the kingdoms have been
entrusted to him (Luke 4.6) should be treated for what it is, a claim of the Devil.
The fallen angels have authority only to the degree that they are serving God. It
is a characteristic of the demonic powers to deny their divine source and claim
to be on their own.42 The world order and the evil presence of the powers are
never synonymous with the concrete forms of social and institutional life. Insti-
tutions function both to enslave and to liberate human existence. The powers
are always present along with enslavement and death in small or large degree;
but their real existence is behind the scenes in a system of hostile values vying
for control of the life of the world.
Implications of Evil Residing in Society
In its teaching about the world the New Testament provides direct witness for
a conclusion that should be inferred from our theology of sin. If sin is as per-
vasive as we say that it is, if it violates a divine intent that is not removed from
history, if it is not tolerable to life but a force that is viciously destructive of
person and society, if it is not only against the will of God but against nature,43
then it will affect not only our personal motivations, decisions, and acts but also
our social life. It will powerfully influence our customs, traditions, thinking,
and institutions. It will pervert our cosmos.
The consequences of acknowledging the presence of evil in institutions
are considerable. Our attitude to society will be changed. Our struggle with evil
must correspond to the geography of evil. In combating evil in the heart
through evangelism and Christian nurture we deal with a crucial aspect of evil,
but only one aspect. Dealing with the evil of the social order and the worldly
powers involves social action, action in the world. Christian social reform has
been effective when there has been a sense of a stronghold of evil in society that
must be resisted. Evangelical reform in the nineteenth century was characterized
by this perspective, particularly in the struggle against slavery. William Knibb,
a British missionary who was a hero in the struggle for abolition in Jamaica,
wrote upon his arrival on that island, “I have now reached the land of sin,
disease, and death, where Satan reigns with awful power, and carries multi-
tudes captive at his will.”44 His mission board, like many Christian bodies
before and since, failed to discern the intrusion of evil into the prevailing prac-
tices of social life. Aware of the anger of the powerful planters at amelioration
proposals, they wrote to Knibb: “You must ever bear in mind that, as a resident
of Jamaica, you have nothing to do with its civil or political affairs; with these
you must never interfere.” “The Gospel of Christ, as you well know, so far from
producing or countenancing a spirit of rebellion or insubordination, has a di-
rectly opposite tendency.”45
The discovery that evil resides in the social order as well as in our personal
life confounds the common inventory of besetting sins. Sins that are empha-
sized often relate to direct personal relationships and have a connection to sexu-
ality and reproduction, such as the important matters of pornography and
abortion. An otherwise excellent sermon that I heard recently is typical of such
omission. In order to illustrate how we need God’s power, not just our own will-
power, the preacher talked about how we must use that power of God to take a
public stand on matters in the areas of the unborn, sexuality and marriage, and
euthanasia. That was all, however. The biblical sins of economic exploitation or
oppression or hoarding of wealth from the poor have vanished. But the prophets
spoke out not only against sinful personal relationships but also against break-
downs of complex social relationships between groups with unequal shares of
power. Thus they attacked broad economic patterns, such as the consolidation of
the holdings of peasants into vast estates of the rich (Isa. 5.7–8). In Scripture, sin
includes participation in social injustices or failure to correct them. Yet insensi-
tivity to social evil often dulls comprehension when this dimension is encoun-
tered in the reading of Scripture. Isaiah 1.18 (KJV) is familiar: “Come now, and
let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall
be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”
Some familiar hymns use the striking wording of this verse: “Whiter than
snow, whiter than snow, wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.” But do we
recognize that the sins spoken of are a failure to address particular social needs
and unjust practices? The preceding two verses state: “Wash yourselves; make
yourselves clean; remove the evil of your doings from before my eyes; cease to
do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan,
plead for the widow” (NRSV; cf. v. 23 also, which involves governmental neglect
and injustice).
“The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure” (Jer. 17.9, NIV) is
a familiar verse. Less well known is the fact that the first example of this condition
that Jeremiah gives is the one who “gains riches by unjust means” (v. 11). The
biblical witness provides the key to the identification of the characteristics of
the fallen social order and the marks of the social holdings of the powers.
The Christian should become sensitive to sin arising from social condi-
tioning. Social evil lies close to home. The powers that rule through the cosmos
speak with a familiar voice. As mentioned earlier, the sociology of knowledge
has shown us the degree to which, through socialization, our class position af-
fects the way we think. According to John Bennett, the interests of class distort
the day-to-day decisions of the ordinary citizen more than do his or her individ-
ual interests.46 But we are also conditioned in our outlook by considerations of
race, sex, and national loyalty. We should examine our inner selves to discover
these biases.
The recognition of the habitation of evil in social life will affect our activity
in the world. It will change the mode of Christian citizenship from passive
obedience to active responsibility. We can no longer discharge our responsibil-
ity by passively accepting the status quo (the order which is) as the will of God.
John Calvin spoke of “public error,” in which vice was protected by customs
and laws; “one must either completely despair of human affairs or grapple with
these great evils—or rather, forcibly quell them. And this remedy is rejected for
no other reason save that we have long been accustomed to such evils” (Insti-
tutes, Prefatory Address, 5). It is in this context of the corruption of the system
that the Christian is enjoined to be the salt of the earth (Matt. 5.13), resisting
corruption just as light resists and combats darkness: “You are the light of the
world” (v. 14; cf. John 9.4–5).
We serve a different order, the Reign of Christ, which he sets up in contrast
to the prevailing way of life in the social order as supported by the fallen powers.
To the old order there must be enmity; according to James 4.4, to be a friend of
the fallen order is to be an enemy of God.47 We are to follow the Lordship of
Christ who judges the world and conquers it. Christ’s victory over the powers
is sure; he has disarmed them (Col. 2.15). The hostilities still continue, how-
ever, for it is only at his return that “every power and every authority and power”
will be brought to an end (1 Cor. 15.24).48 By faith we live in Christ’s victory, yet
we must continue to struggle.
This struggle against the hold of the forces of evil is expounded in the Letter
to the Ephesians. We are to fight the demonic powers that rule the world by arm-
ing ourselves with truth, justice, peace, and the Word of God (6.10–18). We are
to “expose” “the unfruitful works of darkness,” taking the offensive against sin
(5.11). The many-sided wisdom of God will be made known to the “rulers and
authorities in heavenly places” through the church (3.10). In his interpretation of
these passages, Heinrich Schlier sees the church opposed to the principalities,
as the church provides a haven of justice and truth. Human history is seen as a
great struggle between the principalities and the church, ending in the down-
fall of the demonic spirits.49 The church is to be engaged in a battle against evils
within the social structure because they mark the points of these powers’ pen-
etration into our history.
Mobilization for social change follows more clearly, however, from the
mandates and models associated with God’s activity in the world than from this
theology of the cosmos. The direction of our efforts is suggested by such
themes as the scope of Christian love, the implications of divine grace, the
mandate to justice, and the dimensions of the Reign of God. We turn to these
themes in the next chapters.
The Activist Who Takes Sin Seriously
A conviction of the existence of evil in the social system can lead to one of two
responses according to a typology worked out by Max Weber.50 Weber called
both patterns “asceticism.” Asceticism is a mode of religious response in the
face of a larger society given over with little restraint to self-seeking. The goal of
ascetics is to achieve mastery over fallen nature. To achieve this control, they
structure the whole of life in an effort to be conformed to the will of God.
Asceticism produces a systematic, methodical character and an avoidance of
what is purposeless and ostentatious.
Weber identified two very different forms of asceticism. One he called
“other-worldly asceticism,” the other “inner-worldly asceticism.” Of the two,
inner-worldly asceticism was the most likely to provide leverage for evolution-
ary social change. Inner-worldly ascetics, best represented in certain types of
Puritanism, apply their concern about sin and spiritual discipline to a mastery
of life around themselves, rather than to defeating sin within. Other-worldly
ascetics flee the world. Inner-worldly ascetics face the world, extending the
quest for the mastery of evil to all aspects of the human condition.
Because inner-worldly ascetics reject the existing world order, the world is
their place of mission. The theocentric viewpoint on which their criticism of
the world is based is also the source of a calling to glorify God in the world. The
energies committed to the struggle with evil within are channeled into vigorous
support of this outward mission. For the Calvinists, for example, in addition to
a specific calling in daily work, there was also a general vocation in the world to
work for the establishment of a society of justice and mercy.51 Calvinism every-
where formed voluntary associations for deeds of neighborly love and was
engaged in a systematic endeavor to mold society as a whole.52
Evangelical Christianity has borne several marks of the inner-worldly

ascetic pattern. Although in modern times the drive for social righteousness
has frequently been lacking, the unmatched commitment to worldwide mis-
sions is a form of activism expressing that religious energy and discipline in
financial sacrifice, physical suffering, vocational choice, and prayer. The pleth-
ora of supportive organizations is also characteristic. Even separatist patterns
in church polity and personal ethics can be seen in part as a methodical disci-
pline to support the mission. Accordingly, zealous activity has been directed
not to saving one’s own soul but to setting one’s redeemed soul to the saving of
the world. In ancient Israel one also sees a separated people with a mission to
the nations. In the Bible, the notion of the separation of a people from the evils
of the world around them is but the corollary of the revelation of the Lord to a
people who will become a missionary to all humanity and a demonstration of
the life that God requires of the nations (Exod. 19.5–6).53
Biblically informed concern about sin thus provides a piety capable of
energizing effective social action. Vigorous and systematic social involvement
requires not that Christians weaken the structure of their piety but rather that
they carry it through to its natural social consequences.
Finally, there is a danger that an awareness of evil may lead to nothing
more than dogmatic condemnation of the surrounding society. But social evil
also means the fear, the humiliation, the suffering, and the loss when people
hurt people. God knows that hurt and cries out against it. We do not know what
sin is until we weep with the weeping of the earth. We are in touch with the
substance of justice when the hunger for righteousness within us is one with
our anguish at human suffering. Then we know more fully what it means that
Christ was “made sin” for us.
2
God’s Grace and Our Action
“A piety of works” is an idea about social action that discourages

many Christians from becoming involved. To work actively to make
changes in society seems to them to reflect a lack of trust in God’s
providential care. Instead of relying on the power of Christ’s work to
change lives and to change history, social activists are accused of first
depending upon their own works to initiate change and then trusting
in the programs of social change thus produced. Christian social
action is suspected of being a religion of works separate from, and
not growing out of, God’s saving work in Christ.
From a different perspective, the radical demands of Jesus (or of
his contemporary interpreters) are not effectively acted upon by many
Christians because fulfillment seems beyond their personal resources.
But despite suspicion on the one hand and fear on the other,
Christian social action, indeed all Christian conduct, properly
understood, is grounded in the grace of Jesus Christ. Because of sin, we
are dependent upon God’s power through Christ working for us, in us,
and through us. Christian social action builds on everything that the
Scriptures say about the grace of God in salvation. As a form of Christian
ethics, it starts with the cross, with appropriation of atonement.
Christian Ethics Grounded in God’s Acts of Grace
“By sending the Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and to take away
sin, God condemned sin in the flesh in order that the just
requirement of the Law might be fulfilled in us who walk not in conformity

with the flesh but in conformity with the Spirit.”
—(Rom. 8.3–4)
Grace Preceding Christian Ethics
Every system of ethics must have some ultimate basis of goodness and obliga-
tion; God is the basis of Christian ethics.
But why does God have that authority over us? Why do we keep God’s com-
mandments? If we wish to respond by means of a coherent presentation of
theology, there is more than one approach. We could start with human need.
We could start by considering God’s character, God’s sovereignty, and God’s
intentions in creation and history and in the Law. But the question can be
answered in terms of spiritual autobiography. The “why” now does not call for
purely rational explanations; rather, it asks why in fact you as a person seek to
obey this God. It was with this question in mind that Karl Barth stated that God
does not have authority over us because of a particular definition of God. We
recognize this claim because God is “the God who is gracious to us in Jesus
Christ.”1 Barth here has encapsulated a central truth of New Testament theol-
ogy and ethics. Our obedience to God is inextricably bound up with our recep-
tion of divine grace in and following conversion.
“Clean out the old yeast,” writes Paul, “in order that you may be a fresh
batch just as you are, without fermentation. Because Christ our Paschal lamb
was sacrificed” (1 Cor. 5.7). Paul demands that the behavior of the believer con-
form to his or her identity as a Christian. “Without fermentation” is the charac-
ter of the Christian through conversion and baptism, based on Christ’s
sacrificial act for us. “Clean out the old yeast” describes the ethical duty of the
Christian to conform to this reality. The “old yeast,” as the context shows, is
vice, particularly sexual immorality, but also such things as swindling and
greed (v. 10). In this exhortation the Christian is told to “become what you are.”2
Our ethical behavior is to correspond to what God has enabled us to be by adop-
tion and grace based on God’s historical, once-for-all act in Christ’s death and
resurrection. Be (imperative) what you are (indicative) in Christ; thus we are
given an “indicative and imperative” ethical appeal. We could call it “grace and
ethics.” I am to do what I am.
Romans 6 is a classic passage illustrating this relationship of grace and
ethics. A section on grace, demonstrating our union in baptism with Christ’s
death and resurrection (vv. 2–10), is followed by a section of instructions on the
obedient behavior that this union impels (vv. 12–23). Verse 12 is the link between
the two sections: “Therefore let not sin reign in the death of your bodies so as
GOD ’S GRACE AND OUR ACTION 21
to obey its desires.” Yet even within the ethical section statements of grace pen-
etrate the imperatives.3 “Do not put the parts of your body at the disposal of sin
as tools of wickedness but put yourselves at the disposal of God” states the
imperative (v. 13a). In the phrase that follows, Paul presents the state of reality,
the situation of grace, on which the injunction is based, echoing the thought of
the first part of the chapter: “as those who have risen from death to life” (v. 13b).
We find an outstanding example of this biblical perspective in the second
chapter of Philippians. Confronting rancor and self-centeredness in this
church, Paul argues that this conduct denies the grounding of the new life of
these believers. A spirit of love and putting others before oneself (vv. 2–4) is
what corresponds to the “incentive of love” (v. 1)4 at the heart of their faith.
Their mind-set should express the core events of love that have made possible
their relationship with Christ,
who, although he was in the form of God, did not consider being equal
with God something to take advantage of, but he humbled himself by
taking the form of a slave, being like us. And when he appeared in
human form, he humbled himself and became obedient unto death,
indeed, death on a cross. Therefore God has raised him to the loftiest
heights and granted him the name which is above every name in order
that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow. (vv. 6–10)
Ernst Käsemann, in an important article on this passage, argued that Paul

is not urging a self-conscious imitation of Christ, but participation in the ethos
of this drama of salvation—the source of their being as Christians.5
John 3.21, for a final New Testament example, states that “those who do
what is true come to the light that their deeds may be clearly seen as being done
in God.” What are “deeds done in God”? They are deeds rising out of and in
harmony with a relationship with God.
Grace appears as the foundation of ethics in the Old Testament also. Verne
Fletcher writes, “For ancient Israel, the basic motive for ethical action of a par-
ticular kind is the obligation to respond to the activity of God on her behalf.”6
The covenantal structure provides the form. The earlier Hittite covenants
already had a historical prologue that told of the benefits that the lord had in the
past bestowed upon vassal people who had no claim to them; having received
these benefits, the vassal is bound to obedience.7 Thus the Decalogue begins, “I
am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the
house of slavery” (Exod. 20.2, NRSV). The conduct mandated in the laws that
follow is required in response to what God has done (see also 19.4–5). The
Decalogue begins by recalling the deliverance as the focal point of the whole
history of Israel, and the Law is the charter of that which has resulted from this
deliverance. Even the persistent formula “I am Yahweh” serves to recall the

great events of history in which this name was revealed, continually underlin-
ing the motivation to respond to God’s acts of grace.8
The priority of God’s grace to ethics, in the sense that the root is prior to
the stem, reflects the sovereignty of God. As Victor Furnish points out, righ-
teousness is not something under our control; rather, we are controlled by it.
Righteousness does not involve what we do on our own; rather, it is the power
of God in whose services we stand. Righteousness as created and shared by
God is the presupposition, not the goal, of obedience. Paul’s ethic is thus radi-
cally theological; it “presupposes that man’s whole life and being is dependent
upon the sovereign, creative, and redemptive power of God.”9
The first question regarding the motivation and obligation of the be-
liever is not “What ought I to do?” but “What has God done for me?” “What
am I, as a believer in Jesus Christ, as a member of his church to do? The
answer is, ‘I am to do what I am.’”10 The authority that God’s commands
have over us, our understanding of their meaning, and even the ability to
carry them out, all stem from the reality that it is our salvation in Christ that
now defines our basic identity. These dimensions of God’s demand are actu-
alized as, in faith, gratitude, loyalty, and love, we “are ourselves”—our newly
created selves.
To base Christian ethics on God’s activity for us is not to imply that God no
longer addresses our conduct with words of injunction. The Word that reveals
to us the deeds of God also declares their meaning,11 and with that declaration
of meaning come the commandments of God for our conduct.
But the grace of God expressed in the Law (and in creation) did not pro-
duce the corresponding conduct in humanity. Christ’s restoring work points to
the words of Scripture and makes them live. God’s demand is heard no longer
as charging us with our inability to fulfill it, condemning us to death. Hearing
what God has done for us and putting our trust in it, we now can understand
and carry out what God would have us do. We are set free by the act of Christ
so that, in the words with which I opened this section, “the just requirement of
the Law might be fulfilled in us” (Rom. 8.4). The plenary authority of Scripture
remains the norm for all aspects of life, addressing us with specific demands
of God.
The indicative and imperative formulation emphasizes the indispensability
of grace for ethics, but it also indicates that ethics is crucial to grace. Ethics is
not an appendage to grace, and ethical admonitions are not one of several op-
tional ways in which theology can be applied. The ethical as much as the dog-
matic is the substance of the revelation and work of God.12 As Victor Furnish
states, “God’s claim is regarded by the apostle as a constitutive part of God’s
GOD’S G RACE AND O UR ACTION 23
gift.”13 What God is creating is a new realm of social existence, a believing and
obedient human community. In Christ the new Israel is found. Creating and
urging new ways for human beings to relate is not a by-product of God’s plan;
it belongs to the essence of God’s work in Christ.14 The indicative only exists in
conjunction with the imperative.
Grace Empowering and Invoking Christian Action

God’s redeeming grace has two aspects: (1) grace is God’s power for us, the work
of pardon and justification through atonement by the Son; (2) grace is also
God’s power in us, the work of sanctification by the Spirit of God, as well as the
Spirit’s work in drawing us to repentance and transforming us.15
As God’s power in us, grace gives us strength to be what we cannot be in
ourselves. The Spirit empowers us to act ethically, including social action, as
grace “reigns through righteousness for eternal life” (Rom. 5.21). The obedi-
ence invoked by what God is and does is not dependent upon our wills alone,
for God works in us through both our will and our actions for God’s own pur-
pose (Phil. 2.12–13). Karl Holl, in an essay on the distinctive elements of Chris-
tianity, notes that grace “creates an inner affection, a feeling of gratitude which
must find expression and for which the highest is not too much to do.”16 This
affection is the source of the naturalness, the spontaneity of action rising out of
a relationship with God.
When a prostitute embraced Jesus at supper, her affection aroused suspi-
cion (Luke 7.36–50). Having come to anoint Jesus, she stood behind him cry-
ing. Apparently overcome by her feelings and without premeditation, she
washed his feet with her tears. She wiped them with her hair, inviting shame
by letting down her hair in public. She “continually kissed” (v. 38 [imperfect
tense, see v. 45]) his feet—a sign of complete submission, further humiliating
herself for Jesus.17 Jesus explains her actions, “Her sins, which were many,
have been forgiven, as is evidenced by [hoti] the great love that she has shown.”18
To explain the situation and to teach a beautiful and enduring lesson, Jesus told
a parable about a creditor who forgave the debts of two debtors, one who owed
him the equivalent of nine dollars, the other ninety dollars. The point of the
story is that those who are forgiven more will love their benefactors more (vv.
42–43).
For purposes of our present discussion of grace, it should be noted that the
term for forgiveness (charizesthai) used in these two verses is the verbal form of
the noun for grace (charis); basically it means to be gracious to. Grace is the
power that frees one for love and action. From where does the force of the pros-
titute’s love come? It comes from the grace that she has received.
Christian Ethics Corresponds to God’s Gracious Action
Christian ethics is a response to the grace of God that we have received in Jesus
Christ. What is the nature and content of our ethical response? “We love,
because God first loved us,” states 1 John 4.19.19 Once more we see the pattern
of grace preceding our ethical action. Our action is grounded in God’s action:
our ability to love is preceded by our reception of God’s love. “We love because
God loved us.” Verse 10 clarifies the form of God’s love: “God loved us and sent
the Son as the expiation for our sins.” But we have more than the basis of ethics
here. Our action corresponds in kind to God’s action. We love because God
loved us. The content, the nature of God’s grace determines the content and
nature of our acts. Our response is love because God’s grace is manifest as love.
Karl Barth writes that we are to do what responds to God’s grace. With our
actions we are to render account to it.20
Ephesians provides a similar teaching: “Become imitators of God as much
loved children and conduct yourselves in love, just as Christ loved you and give
himself on behalf of us” (5.1–2). We are loving in our conduct because its founda-
tion is the love expressed in Christ’s sacrifice for us. The command in this pas-
sage to imitate God as children reiterates the lesson. As children copy their
parents in appearance and conduct, we are to be like God in love. The preceding
two verses have the same thought: “Let all bitterness and anger and wrath and
clamor and slander be put away from you along with every vice. But become kind
to each other and compassionate, being gracious [or forgiving, charizesthai] to
each other just as God in Christ was gracious [charizesthai] to you” (4.31–32).
Because God has been gracious to us, graciousness is to characterize our relation-
ships with others. We are to carry out to others the pattern of God’s actions for us.
The presence of God’s grace in us as a power reproducing itself is a key to
understanding a paradox: a faith that opens itself to the worst of sinners yet
confronts them with the highest of moral standards. The ancient foe of the
church, Celsus, sneered at the Christian God, who seemed to him to be like a
robber baron who gathered only criminals around him. Yet in the relationship
between the indicative of grace and the ethical imperative we are bidden to live
the life of Christ himself (Rom. 6.5–12); we are to share the life of the new
Adam, the focus of the new creation, the embodiment of the human ideal.21
Holl marvels at this faith, which holds that to the sinner God extends a total
self-offering; yet on this relationship of grace the most exacting ethic conceiv-
able is built. This forgiveness brings the sinner into a close and warm relation-
ship with God and at the same time establishes a morality in which God’s own
perfection provides the model (Eph. 5.1).22
G OD’S G RACE AND O UR ACTION 25
Social Actions of Grace
Karl Barth states that grace demands that we do in our own circle that which
God does by Christ. We should attest to God’s creating, reconciling, and
redeeming acts by deeds and attitudes that correspond to them.23 What is “our
circle”? It is as broad as the sphere of human relationships in which we partic-
ipate, which today is not less than global. Our circle includes, certainly, inti-
mate relationships and persons needing to hear of Christ’s redeeming love. Yet
we cannot exclude our extended social and political relationships and responsi-
bilities, including those social forces that so frequently oppress. As we saw in
Philippians 2, in which Paul applied the lesson of the great drama of salvation
to the strife in the church, we are to act out what God has done, in the context
of our own lives.
The parable of the hard-hearted servant is a warning to us. Jesus tells the
parable of a minister (doulos) of a king who had been forgiven by his lord a
debt of $10 million (Matt. 18.23–35), yet this official then imprisoned a fellow
minister who owed him a debt of $20. When the king heard of this act, he
put the minister in prison. The story comes to a climax with this statement
by the king: “Should you not have had mercy on your fellow minister as I had
mercy on you?” (v. 33). Jesus drives the point home with a severe warning:
“Thus my heavenly Father will do to you if you do not each forgive your broth-
er or sister from your heart” (v. 35). The minister did not enact what the king
had done to him, and so the king did to him as he had done to his fellow
minister.24
Because we have received grace at an enormous cost through Christ’s
death, grace must characterize all our human relationships. The reception of
grace puts one under a heavy responsibility: “You only have I known of all the
families of the earth; therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities” (Amos
3.2, NRSV).25
In the Law of Moses, God’s act of grace in the deliverance from Egypt is
frequently invoked as the basis for commands to do justice to the socially and
economically weak: “You shall not deprive a resident alien or an orphan of jus-
tice; you shall not take a widow’s garment in pledge. Remember that you were
a slave in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you from there; therefore I
command you to do this” (Deut. 24.17–18, NRSV). Because they had received
justice from the Lord, they were to extend justice to others.26
Jhan Moskowitz, a leader of Jews for Jesus, gives an example from his own
experience of this response in justice to grace. His father had been a slave of
the Nazis for four and a half years, including having a number branded on his
arm. When Jhan was a child, he used to play with the daughter of the African
American super of their apartment building. One day a racist man in the neigh-
borhood came into his father’s tailor shop. “You had better not let your son play
with that colored girl,” he said.
His father threw the man out of his shop. “This is not Nazi Germany. This
is America. My son will play with whomever he wishes.”
Moskowitz’s comment was, “He did not forget that he had been a slave.”27
The special grace of God in Christ’s death and resurrection quickens our
impatience with oppression and affliction. Because Christ was subjected to the
depth of suffering and oppression in his death yet was raised victoriously, we
can hope that the vicious circle of human suffering may be broken through by
the sovereignty of God.28 Because in God’s grace we “have experienced healing
in our life together, we cannot be content in the knowledge that there is broken-
ness and suffering in the world.”29
The objection may be raised that since God’s grace in Christ brought us
salvation, the activity that would most appropriately come out of it would be
testimony through evangelism, so that others may share our blessing. Cer-
tainly, evangelism is in this sense a basic response to grace; it would seem
impossible to be grounded in the grace that brought us to life and not want to
share it with others. But to limit our obligation to evangelism is not only to
underestimate the scope of God’s work of reconciliation (to which I will return
in later chapters) but also to miss the fact that Scripture calls for a broader
response to grace. 2 Corinthians 8 and 9 delineate the social implications of
grace and illustrate the characteristics described throughout this chapter: “You
know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ who although he was rich became poor
in order that by his poverty you might become rich” (2 Cor. 8.9).
In this powerful summary of the drama of salvation, which is reminiscent
of Philippians 2.6–10, Paul supplies the highest motivation for our action, con-
necting it here more closely than in any other passage with the redemptive gift
of Christ,30 yet the action it calls for is a collection for the poor in the Jerusalem
church. Paul wrote these two chapters to prepare the church of Corinth for the
collection upon his arrival.
The point is that God’s grace toward us is to find expression in our grace to
the poor. As table 2.1 indicates, grace (charis) moves back and forth between
God’s grace imparted to Christians and Christians’ grace in their contribution
to the poor.
The correspondence of the human grace to the divine is noted at the begin-
ning of chapter 8. Paul speaks of the grace of God (v. 1), which has been given
to the churches of Macedonia (where Paul is as he writes these chapters). That
grace enabled the Macedonian Christians to give despite their own affliction
GOD ’S G RACE AND OUR ACTION 27
TABLE 2.1. God’s Grace to us and our Grace to the poor

God’s Charis to the Christians Christians’ Charis to the Poor
8.1 8.4
8.9 8.6
9.8 8.7
9.14 8.19
and poverty (v. 2). They even surpassed the example set forth in the book of
Acts of giving according to one’s ability; they gave beyond their ability. They
begged Paul that they might have a part in his collection (v. 4). They “asked for
the act of grace and the sharing which is the contribution for the saints.” God
gave charis, and they responded with charis in giving to meet the material needs
of the poor. By grace the active solidarity and economic sharing (koinonia, v. 4)
of the village community, expressing age-old covenantal traditions, was now
global in scope. They gave abundantly to people in need with whom they had
no blood kinship or political connection.31
This application of charis to both the giver and the receiver, to the benefac-
tor (here God) and the beneficiary (the Christians), is common in Greek writ-
ings, in which charis has a reciprocal meaning.32 The benefactor’s charis is a
gift; the recipient’s charis is gratitude. But we have more than reciprocity. Grace
in these chapters remains God’s power. God’s grace flows into them and
emerges as their grace toward the poor (see 1 Cor. 16.3, where the collection is
also called charis). God’s benevolent act does not merely “inspire” the response,
it actually creates the ability to respond—it is both the reason and the power for
the response.
Thus in 2 Corinthians 9.8 and 14 it is difficult to distinguish between
God’s grace and that of the believers. “God is able to provide you with grace in
abundance so that while always having everything you need, you will have
much left over for all kinds of good deeds” (9.8). Grace abounds for them; every
good work comes from it; yet it is grace imparted by God. Further, because of
the liberality of their sharing (9.13), the poor recipients will long for them
“because of the surpassing grace of God” in them (9.14). The grace is God’s,
but the poor have seen it in the Corinthians’ contribution of money. God sup-
plies the resources that they distribute (9.10–11). The true actor in the collection
is God.33
Giving to the poor is one of the gifts of the Spirit. In chapter 8 Paul states
that he is sending Titus to the Corinthians in order to complete “the same act
of grace” in them that the Macedonians had performed (v. 6). Paul makes this
request: “Just as you have all things in abundance—faith and speech and
knowledge and full zeal and the love from us in you—so I exhort you to have
this grace in abundance” (8.7). Moffatt describes this statement as a call to exer-
cise grace in all areas of the Christian life. Paul is saying that the Corinthians
have an opportunity to distinguish themselves in liberality as in the other gifts
of the Spirit.34 They already have power to speak about their faith and insight
into its meaning, but grace must also affect the relationship to the poor of those
who have more than they need.
Paul’s language is difficult in this verse (8.7). He starts with a comparison
(“as you have all things in abundance—faith and speech . . . and the love from
us in you”); but instead of completing the comparison (“so . . . ”), he ends the
sentence with these words: “that [hina] you have this grace in abundance.” Most
interpreters supply a verb of exhortation, as I did earlier, “I exhort you that you
have. . .” But Georgi reads the verse just as it stands, seeing it as a noteworthy
case of a comparative clause amalgamated with a purpose clause (which still
has its imperative function). “As you have all things in abundance . . . in order
that you may have this grace also.” One purpose for their possession of the
charismatic gifts of faith, speech, knowledge, and zeal is that they may also
have the gift of giving to the poor.35
As indicated in the verse with which I began my discussion of this passage,
Paul uses the contrast between poor and rich to illustrate Christ’s great acts of
grace and to give weight to this exhortation (8.9). As in Philippians 2, this verse
shows the character of the power that vitalizes them as Christians. Care for the
poor will demonstrate their love if it is genuine (v. 8).36 They only have to be
reminded of Christ’s love. If truly grounded in the event of Christ’s total
self-giving on behalf of the helpless, our response to those who are weaker than
we are can hardly be begrudging or niggardly. Jonathan Edwards made this
comment on the verse: “Considering all these things, what a poor business will
it be, that those who hope to share those benefits, yet cannot give something for
the relief of a poor neighbor without grudging! that it should grieve them to
part with a small matter, to help a fellow-servant in calamity, when Christ did
not grudge to shed his own blood for them!”37
The goal that Paul sets for them is a basic principle of social ethics that we
too readily ignore: “I am not asking that there be release for others and distress
for you, but out of equality in the present time your abundance should go for
their lack that [at another time] their abundance may go for your lack, the pur-
pose being, that there may be equality” (vv. 13–14). The goal is equality (isotēs)
among the churches.
Paul ends this passage by returning thanks (charis) for God’s ineffable gift,
the whole spectrum of grace (9.15). This is the nature of Christian social action:
God’s grace in us expressed in human relationships.
GOD ’S G RACE AND OUR ACTION 29
Social Ethic or Community Ethic?
1 John describes the illegitimate response to God’s grace, the one that denies
the source: “If anyone says that one loves God and hates one’s brother or sister,
this person is a liar” (4.20). Even more specifically: “Anyone who possesses
property in the world-system and sees one’s brother or sister having needs and
closes away from them one’s heart, how can the love of God dwell in this per-
son?” (3.17). Christianity demands a compassionate response to the poor. With-
out this response one cannot have assurance of salvation. The meaning of the
epistle seems unmistakable. It makes unconditional for the Christian the code
of maintenance of the poor already found in Deuteronomy and Leviticus.
But does 1 John imply a social ethic? Are the recipients of this love all the
poor or only the Christian poor? The passage at first reading would seem to
indicate the latter. Brothers, as used in these verses, is the common designation
used by Christians for one another in the early church, a term familiar in the
circle of Johannine Christians (see John 21.23, NIV). They are brothers and
sisters because they have gained the same heavenly parent by being born again
through faith (1 John 5.1–2).38 Brother means fellow Christian just as brother or
neighbor meant fellow Israelite. Thus 1 John would appear to present not a
social ethic but a community ethic, advocating responsibility to the Christian
community rather than to society in general. The same objection can be raised
regarding Paul’s collection for Jerusalem; it was for the poor of the saints (2 Cor.
8.4). According to a recent interpretation, even in the beautiful and powerful
passage in Matthew 25 (“inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of
these my brethren”; v. 40, KJV), brethren may have the restricted meaning of
Christian missionary. Elsewhere, also in a missionary context, Matthew uses
“these little ones” in reference to needy Christians to be helped, who are iden-
tified with Christ (10.40–42).39
This restriction of reference in these New Testament passages has been
noted by many who interpret the obligation for sharing in material goods as
directed primarily to the fellowship of those in Christ. Some of these inter-
preters see little in the New Testament that points to a Christian responsibility
to the larger society.
But we cannot rest with these qualifications. (1) We are not at present
even carrying out our responsibility to the Christian community. How many in
the slums in America are our Christian brothers and sisters, not to mention
poor Christians in the developing countries? In addition, we cannot get at the
social and economic roots of their problems without society-wide efforts that
would affect all in the community, whether Christian or not. Helmut Gollwitzer
questions whether we can be consistent in our love if we are satisfied with a

political situation in which the brother or sister to whom we relate on an equal
basis in the church receives outside the church inferior health care, educational
opportunities, disadvantages in the courts, or less pay for equal work.40
(2) We must put the limited social perspective that we have noted in the
preceding passages together with the principle of love for the enemy. Jesus
broke away from the traditional restrictions on love for one’s neighbor. In Mat-
thew 5.43–48 and in the parable of the Good Samaritan, he specifically and
directly rejected the concept of a qualitatively different responsibility for those
in one’s own group as opposed to those outside the group; one’s neighbor (or
brother or sister) is anyone in need—not only the fellow member of one’s com-
munity (see Rom. 12.13, 20). Therefore, to be consistent and faithful to the
whole of Scripture and particularly to be true to these teachings of Jesus, we
would have to generalize and universalize the teachings of 1 John, 2 Corinthi-
ans 8 and 9, and Matthew 25 and see them as material for a social ethic. They
become a standard and example of the love that we must apply to all people.
One of the Tales of the Hasidim is consistent with this perspective. An old
rabbi asked his students how they could tell when night ended. They suggested
it would be when one could see well enough to identify a distant animal or a
distant tree. “No,” the rabbi answered. “It is when you look on the face of any
woman or man and see that it is your sister or brother. Because if you cannot
see this, it is still night.”
(3) A denial of love to non-Christians was not intended in 1 John and the
other passages. John’s intention is to supply principles for the Christians in
their relationship to those around them, and thus the focus is upon the Chris-
tian community. The early Christians had no one upon whom they could
depend but each other. Not many of them were socially advantaged (1 Cor.
1.26). They were hated (1 John 3.13) and could expect no love from the world.41
But if the question of the larger sphere of responsibility were raised, brother or
sister should be replaced by fellow man or fellow woman.
Augustine accordingly felt no tension between 1 John’s love for the brother
or sister and Jesus’ command to love one’s enemy. When you love your enemy,
he said, you have a brother or sister. “You love in him, not what he is, but what
you would have him to be.”42
(4) Paul also gives evidence of this universal application. In 2 Corinthians
9.13, he says that their contribution will cause the saints to praise God for the
Corinthians’ “obedience to the gospel of Christ and their liberality of sharing to
them and to all.” That all here means all people and not just all Christians is sup-
ported by the similar Pauline statements that I mention later.43 The principles of
2 Corinthians 8 and 9 have application beyond the Christian community.
GOD’S G RACE AND OUR ACTION 31
Galatians 6 also deals with giving, in this case giving to the teachers of the
Word (v. 6). (The “teachers of the Word” may be the Christians in Jerusalem
[see Rom. 15.27].) Paul ends his exhortation with the words “Let us do what is
good to all people, but especially to the household of faith” (v. 10). The termi-
nology doing good (ergazesthai to agathon) in Greek means kind concrete acts of
helping others, not merely having right relations, or not being bad. This care is
commended especially to the Christian community, and specifically to Chris-
tian teachers, but “defines only the minimum of love’s responsibility, not its
farthest extent.” The first part of the verse states the presupposition that love is
“for all.”44 Specific attention is given to the needs of the church with the
assumption that the general social responsibility is already understood and
accepted (see Jer. 29.7).
This obligation to both local and universal loving care is mentioned twice in
1 Thessalonians: “May the Lord cause you to increase and overflow with love to
each other and to all” (3.12); “Strive always for what is good for each other and for
all” (5.15).45 Our attention is called to those who are close to us and who depend
upon us, but this responsibility is not qualitatively different from our responsibil-
ity to all people. The community ethic both draws upon and implies a social ethic.
Conclusion
The reception of God’s grace will affect our attitudes toward the weak and
oppressed and needy—those for whom we have the power to do good as God
did for us. We should be mindful of our own situation: “When we were still
weak, Christ died for the ungodly” (Rom. 5.6). This grace in our lives will cut
down the pretension and resentment that keep us from caring for those in
need. Our disposition will be the opposite of attributing people’s need of wel-
fare to their own laziness and waste. The Apostolic Father Ignatius warned,
“Let us not be lacking in feeling for God’s kindness, for if God were to imitate
our way of action, then we would exist no more” (Magnesians 10.1). If we look
upon those who are on welfare the way God looked upon us, we can no longer
subscribe to the bigoted notion that the needy are deserving of their lot. In his
classic guide to spiritual life, William Law wrote about a poor person not
needing to be good enough to receive his help, “Shall I use a measure toward
him, which I pray God never to use toward me?”46 If our own worth depends,
as it must, “on what God has done in Jesus Christ, then all our claims to supe-
riority crumble into dust. According to Paul, we are all saved by welfare.”47
An attitude of grace toward society will cut through the rationalizations
and stereotypes used to defend the advantaged positions of our class, race, or
gender. The spirit of suspicion and resentment will be replaced by one of gen-
erosity and readiness to help. The attitude of grace will lead to a new political
consciousness and to a political orientation that does not merely reflect the
interests and ideology of our own social class.
To expect a group of people to have a social attitude that cuts across its
self-interest is utopian from the standpoint of political sociology or Marxist
critique or even Christian realism regarding the natural state of humanity. But
we are speaking of what is possible for God as people yield themselves to
God’s grace. And God’s grace is sufficient; the dowry that God bestows like a
bridegroom on those married to God supplies the needed social virtue: “I will
take you to be my wife with justice, with right, with loyal love, with mercy”
(Hosea 2.19).48
3
Love and Society
Love as Grace
Love is the preeminent New Testament virtue. Significantly, it is also

the fullest expression of God’s grace. Both grace and love are
expressed in actions that go far beyond the call of duty, but love ties
the lover to the beloved with a greater bond of affection.
Love’s connection with grace is important for an understanding
of its biblical meaning. The deepest significance of the love upon
which our Christian faith is based is not its ethical quality but the
fact that the lover was God, the sovereign Lord of life. As Stanley
Hauerwas has said, “God does not exist to make love real, but love is
real because God exists. God can come to us in love only because he
comes to us as God, the creator, sustainer, and redeemer of our
existence.” Thus our ethic is not an “ethic of love” but an ethic of
adherence to Jesus Christ.1
In the previous chapter I noted that the response and
correspondence of our conduct to grace are basic to biblical ethics.
Love describes both God’s action and our response: “We love because
God loved us” (1 John 4.19). “Walk in love as Christ loved us” (Eph.
5.2). “Who loved him more?”—“The one to whom more was for-
given” (Luke 7.42–43). Love begins in God’s act of grace: “In this is
love: not that we loved God, but that God loved us and sent the
Son as expiation for our sins” (1 John 4.10).
“The liberating and transforming grace of God is active as love, and Christ’s
death (‘for us,’ ‘for our sins’) is the decisive actualization of that love in history.”2
In 1 John this love is extended and completed in the believer’s love for other
people.3 John Wesley wrote: “There is no motive which so powerfully inclines
us to love God as the sense of the love of God in Christ. Nothing enables us like
a piercing conviction of this to give our hearts to him who was given for us. And
from this principle of grateful love to God arises love to our brother also.”4
Human love can be neither compelled by the will of another nor created by
self-discipline; love is a simple response that goes out to the other person. Love
is a creation of grace. The capacity to love is a gift of God, but more than that,
it is activated by the action of love upon us. We receive love from beyond our-
selves or we do not have it at all.5 As Jayber Crow says of love in Wendell Berry’s
novel, “We do not make it. If it did not happen to us, we could not imagine it.”6
If a child is not loved, he or she is deprived of the capacity to love—thus the
tragic spiral of parents, deprived as children, re-creating their own misery in
their children. The recipients of deep and genuine love gain personal security
and insight into personhood that enable them to love better. Correspondingly,
the love in our lives reflects our openness to the love of Christ.
How, then, can love be commanded, as it frequently is in Scripture? Our
responsibility for loving is not negated by love’s origins in grace. The ability to
respond in love is a reflection of our basic character,7 and our character is the
result of the reasons according to which we have ordered our desires, affec-
tions, and actions.8 We can repress our deepest feelings or we can allow them
to be expressed. Thus the will is important in encouraging conditions favorable
for love, as is repentance.
Christian Ethics Grounded in Love
That love is the pattern of life into which we are reborn in Christ is a dominant
theme in the New Testament: “Affliction produces endurance; and endurance
produces character, and character produces hope. Now hope does not disap-
point us because the love of God has been poured into our hearts through the
Holy Spirit, whom God has given to us” (Rom. 5.3–5).
The first fruit of the Holy Spirit is love (Gal. 5.22). The Spirit is not an aid
to doing good; it is the power of new life that creates love if one gives it room.9
This supernatural infusion of love into our lives produces the character upon
which eschatological hope is based. The relationship of grace to works accord-
ing to Paul is seen here: we are not saved by works; we are saved by God’s grace-
which-produces-works, which is God’s love.
LOVE AND SOCIETY 35
Love is the “new commandment” of Jesus. “I am giving you a new com-

mandment, that you love one another; as I have loved you that you also love one
another” (John 13.34). This passage, set at the time of Jesus’ Last Supper with
his disciples, provides a bridge between love as grace and the central place of
love in Christian ethics. The love command is not unique in the history of
ideas; what is new is its relationship to the redeemer who calls forth a new
world that makes love possible. In this verse (as elsewhere in John), as (kathōs)
includes both comparison and cause: “That you should love each other as and
because I loved you.” Jesus’ love is both the source and the measure of their
love. The model (hypodeigma, v. 15) for love is given in his act of washing the
disciples’ feet. To follow his example does not mean literally to imitate this act.
Instead, his service penetrates our lives and liberates us to serve others as we
become aware of their needs. The second that (hina) in verse 34, unlike the
first, indicates purpose. “I loved you in order that you should love each other.”
Jesus’ great acts of love for us are done so that we will love actively.10
When this love is actualized, the other demands of God upon us are being
fulfilled. Paul writes, “Love does no harm to the neighbor; therefore love is the
fulfilment of the law” (Rom. 13.10). Paul’s statement echoes Jesus’ great sum-
mary of our moral duty. “Which is the greatest commandment?” “‘You shall
love the Lord your God with your whole heart and your whole soul and your
whole mind.’ . . . The second is similar: ‘You shall love your neighbor as your-
self.’ Upon these two commandments hang the whole Law and Prophets”
(Matt. 22.37–40). These two commandments taken together provide the
grounds for the demand of God upon us. We can compare 1 John 4.20: “If
someone should say, ’I love God,’ and hate his or her brother or sister, this per-
son is a liar.” “If one loves God one is not free to decide whether to love the
neighbor or not.”11
The second commandment, to love your neighbor, is a quotation from
Leviticus 19.18. Its crucial importance for the early church can be seen in the
fact that it is quoted four other times in the New Testament (not counting the
Synoptic parallels to this passage): Matthew 19.19 (where it is added to the sec-
ond half of the Decalogue); Romans 13.8–10 (where it fulfills the law and sums
up the second half of the Decalogue and “any other commandment”); James
2.8 (where it represents the “royal law”); and finally, Galatians 5.14 (where it
again is said to be the fulfillment of the law, following Paul’s statement in verse
13 that our freedom in Christ is not an opportunity for selfishness but that we
are rather to be slaves to each other in love).
In the light of such instructions, a Christian ethic, and with it a Christian
basis for social action, obviously must be established in love. The following
representative phrases are crucial to an understanding of the meaning of New
Testament love: “as Christ loved us” (Eph. 5.2); “as yourself” (Matt. 22.39);
“whatever you want people to do to you” (Matt. 7.12); “aims not at its own
advantage” (1 Cor. 13.5);12 “not looking out for your own interests, but for the
interests of others” (Phil. 2.4). Love is measured against the two strongest
forces that we know: God’s love for us in Christ and our own love for our-
selves.13 Love seeks the good of the other person, of every person, looking to his
or her well-being and not to our own self-benefit; this is the minimal statement
of Christian love. But as grounded in God’s sacrificial love and measured
against the depth of our own self-seeking, love achieves its highest expression
in self-sacrifice for the good of other persons.14
The Social Importance of Love
The Worth of Human Life
The most important implication of love for social action is that it provides the
evidence for the worth of human life:
When we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the
ungodly. But one will hardly die for a just person though perhaps one
will dare to die for a good person. But God demonstrates love for us
in that when we were still sinners Christ died for us. Therefore, now
that we are justified, how much more will we be saved by God from
the wrath! Because if when we were enemies we were reconciled to
God through the death of the Son, how much more, now that we are
reconciled, will we be saved by his life! (Rom. 5.6–10)
Paul Ramsey states that the lesson of God’s love is “Call no man vile for
whom Christ died.”15 In this passage the apostle Paul notes that to give one’s
life for the good and righteous is an extraordinary heroism. God’s love is seen
in the fact that when we were weak (sickly), when we were sinners, when we
were enemies, Christ died for us. This shows us how much we are valued in
God’s love; we therefore have confidence in the face of the future judgment.
The basis of the argument is that, by ordinary human standards, it is astonish-
ing that anyone would die for the vile and unworthy. The dignity of all persons
is fixed firmly in God’s dying love for them (2 Cor. 5.14–16).16 As an ex-slave
sang:
Am I not a man and a brother?

Ought not I then to be free?
Sell me not one to another.
L OVE AND SOCIETY 37
Take not thus my liberty.

Christ, our Saviour, Christ our Saviour,
died for me as well as thee.17
The far-reaching character of the ethics that Jesus taught corresponds to the
nature of these actions of God’s for our atonement. Christ goes beyond the
neighbor ethic to a universal ethic. (By neighbor ethic is meant an in-group ethic
that teaches a higher ethical responsibility toward those belonging to one’s own
group.) His command, “Love your enemies” (Matt. 5.43–44), continued but
sharpened a principle already present in the Law, in the form of the responsibil-
ity to the resident alien, for whom we are to have an active love by the command
of the God “who is not partial” (NRSV) (Deut. 10.17–19). Even stronger is Levit-
icus 19.34, for which, like 19.18 (“love your neighbor”), the Hebrew is better
rendered not by “love the alien as yourself” but by “love the alien, who is as you,”
that is, “who is your equal.”18 The only reason Jesus offers for this command is
that our love is to be grounded in God’s providential love for all. “Become chil-
dren of your Father in heaven,” who sends rain and sunshine on both the bad
and the good (v. 45). “Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect” (v. 48). Per-
fection is here a perfection in love, a love that can be extended impartially to all.
Our attitudes toward all people are important in this passage. Furnish
notes the parallel between loving only those who love us and greeting only our
brothers and sisters (Matt. 5.45–47). In the ancient world to greet someone
meant to affirm his or her existence as a person and in relation to oneself. To
love the enemy, to greet the enemy, suggests “acknowledging their presence
and the bond that exists between oneself and them.”19 Love means recognizing
the humanity of all persons, thus perceiving oneself as fundamentally linked to
a “shared humanity.”20
Two attributes define us in our relation to one whom we love. The first,
which I have been describing, is our attitude revealed in the dignity and status
that we assign to the loved one. The second is intention, the behavior that we
intend toward the loved one in contributing to what is good for him or her.21
This second characteristic is emphasized in Luke’s account of the com-
mand to love our enemies. Luke places the command to “do good to those who
hate you” in a position parallel to “love your enemies” (6.27), and there is a
similar parallelism in verses 32 and 33. The terms used for doing good in these
verses (kalōs poiein and agathopoiein) in Greek ethics have specific reference to
concrete acts of helpfulness in social relationships.22 We are directed to love in
the mode of deeds of mercy and kindness. “For Jesus love is not just an atti-
tude, but a way of life. Love requires the real expenditures of one’s time, effort,
and resources.”23
Both these characteristics must be present in genuine love. Paul warns of

the shallowness of deeds performed without a loving attitude (1 Cor. 13.3). Con-
versely, we can mask our lack of performance by self-satisfaction with our lov-
ing attitude. I may think that I love the neighbors on my block, people in need,
or all people, because of the presupposition that Christians are loving. I always
speak kindly, and I would be available if called upon for my help. In the mean-
time, I am too busy with the more important affairs of my “calling” in life. But
the call for help of course does not come because the extent of my love is not
seen; it remains within me, unexpressed. The following illustration wryly ex-
presses the point.
A cartoon once showed a picture of a woman lying in her sick bed,

obviously in misery. In the sink were stacked piles of dirty dishes.
A huge basket of clothes to be ironed sat nearby. Two dirty children
were fighting in one corner, and in the other sat a cat which was
licking milk from a bottle that had been broken. A smiling woman
stood in the doorway, and the caption under the cartoon pictured her
as saying, “Well, Florence, if there is anything I can do to help, don’t
hesitate to let me know.”24
A contrast is related by Bishop Dan Solomon about a woman in his episco-

pal area, in San Antonio, Texas. She was with a friend in a restaurant beside a
busy eight-lane boulevard. The woman suddenly got up, ran out to the highway,
threw up her hands, and stopped all lanes of traffic. She then helped three chil-
dren across to the other side. She came back across and resumed her seat.
Her friend asked her, “Why did you do that?”
Her reply was, “When I saw what was happening, it became my responsi-
bility.”25
Jesus’ great account of the active love that breaks out of in-group limits is
the story of the Goo d Samaritan (Luke 10.29–37). The parable is told in
response to the question “Who is my neighbor?” (v. 29). The astonishing
answer is that the neighbor is the one least likely to be so considered: a Samar-
itan; or if you are a Samaritan, a Jew. Your neighbors include the “neighbor”
who would seem to be excluded by definition: the enemy, the opposing ethnic,
religious, or economic group. It is any person in need whom one encounters.
The parable also stresses the concrete expression of neighborly love; it is
introduced with Luke’s version of the double commandment of love (vv. 25–28).
But in Luke it is not Jesus who states the commandment of love but the ques-
tioning lawyer. Jesus affirms that the lawyer has correctly identified the basis
for obtaining eternal life according to the Law (vv. 25–26, 28); “Do this and you
will live,” continues Jesus (v. 28). The emphasis in the Lukan account is not on
knowing what love is but on love’s activity; the parable of the Good Samaritan
confirms Jesus’ point.26 The parable does not deal with optional behavior,
Christian electives, but with what people who expect eternal life will be found
doing as a matter of course. The lawyer correctly perceives that the one who
recognized the neighborly relationship was “the one who showed mercy to
him.” Jesus’ response ends the narrative: “Go and do likewise” (v. 37).
People are candidates for our love because they are our fellow human
beings, not because they are members of the same community or have some
other special characteristic beyond being human. Love’s evaluation of the other
person “as of irreducible worth and dignity extends to everyone alike.” There is
something in every person that claims our acknowledgment of value, our love.27
God’s love for all people is not the only source of universal human value.
Dignity was bestowed upon humanity in the fact of the Incarnation. As a hu-
man being Christ shared our lot, and in him the potential glory of humanity is
seen (Heb. 2.5–18). Basic to the idea of human dignity is the biblical assertion
that human beings are created in the image of God. Scripture draws out the
ethical implications of this divine image, for example, in reference to murder
(Gen. 9.6). And in the wisdom literature of the Old Testament, the fact of a
common creator, if not the image, is the basis for equality between classes and
for kind and just treatment of the poor and slaves: “If I have rejected the cause
of my male and female slaves, when they brought a complaint against me; what
then shall I do when God rises up? When he makes inquiry, what shall I answer
him? Did not he who made me in the womb make them? And did not one
fashion us in the womb?” (Job 31.13–15, NRSV).28
Several authors have distinguished dignity that is appraised from dignity
that is bestowed. An appraised dignity is based on the recognition of notable
characteristics in a person. Bestowed dignity is imparted to a person, but not
necessarily recognizable.29 Human value based on the love of God for all people
is bestowed dignity. Human worth may seem to be appraised dignity, since the
human race, created in God’s image, must possess certain qualities that enable
it to carry out its mandate to have a caring dominion over the rest of creation
(Gen. 1.28; 2.15). But as the concept functions in the ethical texts to which I
have referred, the value accruing to humanity through its creation in God’s
image is in fact bestowed by God. All people are honored because their com-
mon creator and loving protector is God.
The idea that human dignity is based on appraisal is opposed by those
who feel that to grant any inherent human nobility would take away from the
glory of God. Differing opinions as to the extent to which this divine image has
been effaced by the Fall present further problems. Also, self-interest and greed
can block the perception of dignity in others. Oppressors use the perceived
40 BIBLICAL E THICS AND SOCIAL CHANGE
worthlessness of their victims to rationalize their own subhuman treatment of

them. Finally, appraised dignity can be attributed on the basis of a romantic
idea of humanity in general or of certain groups in particular. When sentimen-
tality is replaced by a more realistic viewpoint, the basis on which honor was
granted may be undercut. If a minority group subject to mistreatment is judged
on the basis of its value in the sight of God, however, this deeper foundation
will stand firm against any stereotype or misconception.
When the dignity of all people is established in the love of God, and espe-
cially in the offering of Christ, this not only connects human value to the source
of all grace but also posits worth in what, in terms of appraised dignity, might
be seen as the most worthless of all human conditions. No one is so sinful or
so depraved as to be beyond the love of God.
Dignity bestowed through the cross upholds rather than negates whatever
nobility people have by creation. When we think of others in the light of the
love God has for them, we see qualities we might otherwise miss.
The assertion that dignity is bestowed on all people by virtue of the atone-
ment does not necessarily entail acceptance of the doctrine of the universal
availability of grace (that Christ died for all). In fact, even those who hold the
doctrine of limited atonement (that Christ died only for the elect) believe that
behind this offering lay God’s love for all people. As an illustration of this
belief: A French philanthropist, out of his great love for Americans, establishes
a scholarship program to enable Americans to study in Paris. His motivation is
love for all Americans, but the places can only be filled by some, who are cho-
sen at random without reference to qualifications or abilities.30 A stipulation of
the gift is that the program is open to participants from all groups in society.
This story illustrates the Calvinist doctrine of predestination and limited
atonement. The doctrine has an equalizing aspect, in that the elect are chosen
without regard either to virtue in themselves or to their place in society. More-
over, according to this doctrine, no one but God knows who are God’s elect. Thus
one cannot assume that any particular person is or is not among the elect. There-
fore, just as in evangelizing one must witness to every person as possibly elect,
so one must accord to each person the dignity of one for whom Christ died.
In summary, one of love’s greatest contributions to social responsibility is
the establishment of the value of every person. John Wesley used the following
illustration to demonstrate the implications of the scriptural injunctions to
honor all people and to love all people:
A poor wretch cries to me for an alms: I look and see him covered
with dirt and rags. But through these I see one that has an immortal
spirit, made to know, and love, and dwell with God to eternity. I
LOVE AND SOCIETY 41
honour him for his Creator’s sake. I see, through all these rags, that
he is purpled over with the blood of Christ. I love him for the sake of
his Redeemer. The courtesy, therefore, which I feel and show toward
him is a mixture of the honour and love which I bear to the offspring
of God, the purchase of his Son’s blood, and the candidate for
immortality.31
Love the Basis of Justice
There are two important aspects of the New Testament statement that love is
the fulfillment of the Law: (1) love is the meaning of the Law; (2) the Law pro-
vides content for love.
That love states the meaning of the Law is the emphasis in Matthew’s ver-
sion of the Great Commandment. Only in Matthew does Jesus state that upon
those two commands of love “hang the whole Law and Prophets” (Matt. 22.40).
And Matthew ends the story with these words, giving them an emphasis that
recalls the comment on the Golden Rule in Matthew 7.12: “This is the Law and
the Prophets.” For Matthew the Great Commandment of love is the key to the
right interpretation of the whole Law.32 Commitment to God and the good
of the neighbor is what every part of the Law is about. The other commands of
Scripture have their moral meaning as they are integral to a total attitude of
preparation to love God in everything and of genuine respect for one’s fellow
humanity.33 Love thus serves as the measure of every requirement of the Law.
But it is also significant that love fulfills the Law, and not something else.
It is the Law of God that love brings to completeness. Love is a commitment to
the good of the other, but it does not in itself specify what that good is. The
implementation of love must depend upon a theory of human needs and of
values and of how they are interrelated.34 In appealing to love, one also must
specify with what understanding of morality one loves.35 The morality that
directs the way in which one loves in the Bible is the Law of God, articulated in
the Old Testament and clarified in the New.36 With the help of the Holy Spirit,
we compare our context to the biblical contexts to see what that requirement of
love means for us.37
An essential part of the Law, the meaning of which love discloses and the
content of which is made complete in love, is justice. Jesus regarded it as one
of the more important parts of the Law (Matt. 23.23). Justice is a virtue, as it is
present in love; it also articulates love’s completion.
Love creates images of itself potent for discerning social responsibility.
Three elements in Christian love contain seeds of the recognition of human
rights: equality, respect, and perception of common needs.
Because Christian love for all people is based on characteristics that are
shared by all—God’s love in Christ, God’s providence, the image of God, a
common creator—this love does not take into consideration those particulars
that make one individual seem greater or lesser than another. The result is a
basic equality in which the well-being of one neighbor is as valuable as that of
any other.38 In terms of inherent worth or dignity before God, all persons are
equal. Kierkegaard saw this clearly: “Your neighbor is every man, for on the
basis of distinctions he is not your neighbor, nor on the basis of likeness to you
as being different from other men. He is your neighbor on the basis of equality
with you before God: but this equality absolutely every man has, and he has it
absolutely.”39
Love is particularly unconcerned with worldly factors such as social status.
The letter of James makes this point. Over against such considerations as status
and class James cites the love command. Concerning discrimination against
the poor in the church and the economic exploitation and political and reli-
gious harassment of the Christian poor by the wealthy (James 2.1, 5–7),40 James
writes: “If, however, you carry out the Royal Law according to the Scripture,
‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself,’ you do well. But if you show partial-
ity, you commit sin and are condemned by the law as transgressors” (vv. 8–9).
African American Christians, in the face of the denial of their essential human
equality and dignity by an oppressive white society, found that equality and
dignity upheld in the love of Christ. In one of the most moving passages in
recent theological and ethical literature James Cone describes this experience:
“Through Jesus Christ they could know that they were people, even though they
were bought and sold like cattle. Jesus Christ was that reality who invaded their
history from beyond and bestowed upon them a definition of humanity that
could not be destroyed by the whip and the pistol.”41 Love not only deals with
each person on an equal basis but also respects the human dignity ascribed to
and shared by everyone. This involves both a perception of what humanity was
meant to be and respect for this potential in every person.
A prerequisite for such caring for the humanity of each person is the
acknowledgment that everyone else is similar to me both in needs and in ca-
pacity for enjoyment. “The first step to regard our neighbor as ourself is to see
that he is as real as oneself, and that his reality has the same sort of actual
structure and quality as our own.”42 Norman Porteous translates Exodus 23.9,
“ . . . because you know what it feels like to be an alien”43 (see Heb. 13.3). The
chosen people are reminded that all persons are alike in ways that are likely to
be forgotten, such as the capacity to feel pain and affection, and to desire
self-respect.44 Love is denied when we rationalize someone else’s suffering as
less important than ours. We may see poor people living in circumstances that
we would never choose yet convince ourselves that they are content and can be
left alone. Nadine Gordimer, in describing growing up in South Africa, recount-
ed the lie that justified the big lie of privilege: “Blacks don’t really need the
things that we need.”45 The suffering people of the world do not have less
refined sensitivity to hunger, or cold, or the pain of sickness. A single mother
on welfare or a South African black farmer feels just as deep a void at the death
of a child as do we. Che Guevara’s last letter to his children addressed this
implication of love: “Above all, always be capable of feeling deeply any injustice
committed against anyone anywhere in the world.”46
A desire for the well-being of each person leads to the idea of basic rights
for each person. The concept of human rights reflects the three aspects of love
that I have just described: love as equality, in that rights are possessed by all;
love as respect, in that rights help preserve human dignity;47 and love as percep-
tion of common needs, in that rights work to protect the minimal conditions
for life in community.
William Ernest Hocking said that the historical process of making life more
humane requires the search for principles that people can know as they are con-
fronted by the complex moral demands of their mutual relations.48 The
implications of love have to be spelled out so that they will be permanent and
normative rather than changing with situations, subject to rationalization, distor-
tion, or ignorance. In social relations rights define a basic minimum of human
values from which to start.49 These implications of love are stated as fixed duties
that must be insisted upon even for those who do not wish to be loving or to
recognize the authority of God or to recognize the authority of God on this point.
Some Christians have difficulties with the concept of rights. Rights are
viewed as secular in origin, with an emphasis on humanity over God and on
freedom over responsibility.
While more than an extrapolation of Christian love, the development of
the concept of rights was influenced by the Christian perception of the value of
the person. Although the terminology of natural rights was Stoic in origin, the
motivation for its development was Christian. Human rights are a crystalliza-
tion of the claims that a person has when valued as an end. Paul Ramsey states,
“These so-called natural rights are measured out historically to men in the
West by the supernatural measure which gave the meaning of obligation in
Christian ethics. By its very nature Christian love counts men to be things of
value, ends to be served in spite of everything.”50 Early Protestantism, and
especially Puritanism, played an important role in the development of the mod-
ern concept of rights. Rights of individuals that protect them from oppression
by the larger community developed from the medieval concern for the needs of
the human community.
Although the Bible does not have a catalog of duties called “human rights,”
it does reveal claims of justice that function as rights for each member of the
community; some translations perceptively translate the justice terminology at
times as rights (e.g., Jer. 5.28: “They do not defend the rights [mišpāṭ] of the
needy,” NRSV [see NIV]; see Prov. 29.7 [dîn] NRSV).
The later practice of specifying rights in a catalog or bill is an important
development, for it more clearly identifies the agreed-upon minimum in social
relations. If there had been a biblical list of human rights, it might have begun
with such items as these: the sanctity of life; the right not to be permanently
deprived of land (productive property); equality in the means of livelihood and,
where this is not possible, equality of opportunity; the right to rest from work
one day in seven; the right of a servant of God not to be the servant of anyone
else; the right to be protected from the arbitrary exercise of power; and equality
before the law or equal subjection to the law of all classes.51 The implications of
some of these tenets go beyond even the rights provided in modern liberal
states.
According to the theology of love and human dignity that we have devel-
oped, human rights are not claims against the sovereignty of God; rather,
respect for human rights is an implication of recognizing God’s supremacy.
Because human dignity is bestowed, based in God’s love, the rights necessary
to protect and express that dignity concretely are also bestowed. God is the pro-
vider and protector of human rights; we accept them as duties as we perceive
God’s love and acknowledge God’s authority over us. Rights are not a claim of
a person against God; they are God’s claim on us.
Rights, properly defined, are as much a matter of responsibility as they are
of freedom. Every right implies a duty. Rights free us from indignity and op-
pression and at the same time mandate respect for others. Rights guarantee the
mutual nurture and protection necessary to sustain community.52 Even so,
their limitation is in their concentration on the individual versus the common
God
’s di
be
od gn
sto
e G e ity
ws
se lov on
I accept rights
each person
as duties to
FIGURE 3.1. God’s Love and Our Commitment to Human Rights

good of the community; herein lies the risk of freedom and the weakness as
well as the strength of the early Protestant contribution.
Defined and acknowledged rights are an essential element of justice. The
language of rights is the language of political criticism. The American Revolu-
tion drew its ideology and stated its cause to the world in terms of human
rights. A social program can be built upon rights but not on a vague conception
of the worth of the individual alone. One must draw out the broader implica-
tions of this worth in order to have a social ethic.
One needs justice in addition to love to carry on what love starts but cannot
finish alone. Love is the greater factor, but justice is a necessary instrument of
love. Ramsey defines love as “regarding the good of any other individual as
more than your own when he and you alone are involved” and justice as “what
Christian love does when it is confronted by two or more neighbors.”53 Because
love affirms that the well-being of each person is as valuable as that of each
other person, love itself cannot present a reason for preferring the cause of one
neighbor over another. It responds equally to both. We assume that we have
particular moral obligations to certain individuals: spouses, children, parents,
members of the church. How can these relationships be affirmed in terms of
love? How can love take into account the special needs of particular people? It
is justice that aids love in these considerations because it deals with the individ-
ual needs of my neighbor as a member of the community, in the context of his
or her special claims, for example, as a child or a parent, as impoverished or a
victim of discrimination.54
Justice carries out what love motivates. It is “the order which love requires.”55
As order, it shapes the kind of society to which love points. Because of the reality
of sin, we cannot simply leave it to each individual in each situation to act on the
impulses of love. Justice is not a different principle, in contradistinction to love;
rather, it expresses in terms of fixed duty and obligation the appropriate response
to love in certain social situations. Loving actions may take place in an evil soci-
ety, for example, in a slave society. But if the order of society is not changed—if
“the rich remain rich and the poor poor, and nothing in the fundamental rela-
tionship is changed”56—then love itself is thwarted. Love cannot rest until it
“will breathe a peculiar spirit into the existing world-order.”57 The institution
perverts the love within it; therefore, structural changes are needed to “make
love more possible.”58 Love provides the impulse to change through justice.
Love Transcending Justice

Love must persist even after it has propelled us into the realm of justice. As
Emil Brunner put it, “Love can only do more, it can never do less, than justice
requires.”59 It transcends justice because it is that which gives justice its moral
meaning. Paul wrote, “If I divide up and distribute my possessions . . . and do
not have love, it is of no benefit” (1 Cor. 13.3). Such a disposal of one’s property
could be an appropriate response to the claims of justice. In the Septuagint
version of Psalm 112.9 (which Paul later quotes in 2 Cor. 9.9), such an act of
distribution to the poor, using the same verb (psōmizein), is called justice
(dikaiosynē [Heb.: ṣedāqāh]) and is highly praised. Yet unless a loving attitude of
respect for the neighbor motivates justice, the act is empty.
Love also transcends justice because love’s work is never done. Love pro-
duces moral actions that cannot be ordered by justice. A familiar example is
that of the soldier who throws his body on a grenade to save his companions.
One can never say that one has fulfilled the love command. How could one say
that one has so loved God with one’s whole heart, soul, and mind that one will
not attempt to love God even more?60 The precepts of Jesus have the disturbing
characteristic of rendering it impossible ever to say categorically that you have
kept them.61
Love is needed in any movement for justice. When justice is seen as the
instrument of love, love may undercut the self-interested disposition that
hinders a perception of true justice. Further, love is needed to protect the indi-
viduals who might otherwise be sacrificed to a cause, even a just cause. A Chris-
tian involved in bitter social conflict, whether violent or not, must retain his or
her concern for the individual person. The Christian is distinguished not only
by commitment to justice but also by commitment to love over and above jus-
tice. Exploitative slumlords are still persons, although they are persons under
great temptation, and economic power is a corrupting force. Rauschenbusch
made this distinction and attacked capitalism, not the capitalist. Our sensitivity
to social evil helps us view the opponents as persons like us with human
frailties.
The demands of personal ethics still apply in the midst of the imperatives
of social ethics. Social ethics may demand activities that will hurt the personal
interests of the individual involved (the economic interests of the slumlord
may suffer), but love can soften the blow and prevent the transference of hate
from the structure to the individuals caught in it. Saul Alinsky said that he had
learned not to confuse power patterns with the personalities involved—in other
words, to hate conditions, not individuals.62 Reinhold Niebuhr put it well: “One
of the most important results of a spiritual discipline against resentment in a
social dispute is that it leads to an effort to discriminate between the evils of a
social system and situation and the individuals who are involved in it. Individ-
uals are never as immoral as the social situations in which they are involved
and which they symbolize.”63
The Creative Power of Love

Paul Ramsey notes that love has the capacity to create community, whereas the
ethics of enlightened self-interest or mutual interest—the utilitarian ethic—
can only preserve it. Since that ethic is based on common interest, it can get no
further than common interest. A person or cause that contributes to the com-
munity or to me is protected by my obligation to the community. But what of
areas that lie outside what is perceived as common interest: where there is no
community, where there are no visible ties to what is good for the whole or for
me personally? It is the work of Christian love to respond in these areas, the
work of reconciliation. As Ramsey states movingly, “Only Christian love enters
into ‘no man’s land’ where dwell the desperate and the despised outcasts from
every human community and brings community with them into existence.”64
General William Booth wrote, “No one will ever make even a visible dint on the
Morass of Squalor who does not deal with the improvident, the lazy, the vicious,
and the criminal. The Scheme of Social Salvation is not worth discussion which
is not as wide as the Scheme of Eternal Salvation set forth in the Gospel.”65
Christian love cuts through many secular concepts of right in a way that is
consistent with its character as the ethical content of grace. Robert Funk has
noted that in one type of parable told by Jesus there are two respondents in the
story. The first represents the normal standards and expectations of justice. This
person is on the right side of the fence religiously and socially. An example is the
elder brother in the parable of the Prodigal Son in his reaction to the effusive re-
ception of the younger brother. The other respondent is one who does not expect
anything and has no right to expect anything according to everyday logic: those
who were hired at the eleventh hour, the uninvited street people at the banquet,
the younger son, the victim on the road to Jericho. Jesus always sides with the
latter. The fortunes of the respondents are always transposed in relation to their
expectations. “Jesus announces a fundamental reversal of the destinies of men.”66
This reversal, which finds expression in biblical justice, reflects again the
influence of grace upon Christian love. For the justification of the ungodly of-
fends the sensibility of everyday moral perception. To those who assume
because of their relation to the Law or ethics that they are in a right relationship
with God, Paul announces that the righteousness of God is separate from the
Law and that this is demonstrated by the resurrection of Jesus, which vindi-
cated him who was cursed according to the Law (Gal. 3.13). The expectations of
everyday moral sentiment are thrown into disarray.67
This moral shift brings with it a demand for action. As we have already seen,
the point of the parable of the Good Samaritan is the obligation to do mercy.
Furnish concludes his discussion of the parable with these words: “Obedience in
love establishes relationships where none were conceivable or possible before.”68
Christian love is different from Hellenistic benevolence, which was based
on the institution of reciprocity.69 A worthy recipient was considered to be one
capable of making a concrete return of gratitude. But Jesus renounces gifts that
anticipate a return (Matt. 5.42, 46). Instead of equity and reciprocity, he chal-
lenges us to a unilateral and self-sacrificing acceptance of the burden.70 The
logic of reciprocity is thrown out by a superabundance of love that is to flow
even to the enemy (Luke 6.35).71 As Jonathan Edwards preached, Jesus shows
this love in his atoning death, knowing that we should never be able to requite
him.72 Love compels us to go beyond institutional security in search of those
who have strayed from the fold, but those little ones are brought to institutions
created by love that take them in and keep them safe. The ancient church gave
shape to its love in a social organization in which every person had dignity.
Extrapolation of Love for an Individual

In practice love brings Christians into social involvement through the carrying
out of the full implications of love for an individual. The first contact of Chris-
tian love with social action is what John Stott calls a “simple uncomplicated
compassion” that spontaneously serves wherever it sees need.73 But if we see a
person in dire poverty or one who has been hurt by prejudice, and we love that
person, there comes a time when that love must consider the causes of the
misery of the loved one—a time when love not only binds the wounds but turns
to stop the attack. If every time the Good Samaritan went down that road from
Jerusalem to Jericho, he found people wounded and did nothing about the ban-
dits, would his love be perfect? Spontaneous, simple love, following the dictates
of its own concern for persons in need, grows into a concern for the formal
structure of the society. It expands from attention to single individuals to the
interaction of groups with which the individuals are caught up.
There are no limits to the extent of social action that can be extrapolated
from genuine love. Troeltsch argues that this explains what happened in the
ancient church. It was primarily concerned with social problems affecting its
own life, but the problems all had to do with institutions that were part of the
state: its legal system, its ordering of property, its social structure. The church
was thus forced to confront the state.74
“To love one’s neighbor means to concern oneself with his need for bread,
clothing, shelter, economic security, peace, education, and freedom, as well as
his fundamental need for Jesus Christ.”75
4
God’s Justice and Ours
Justice and Grace
Together, love and justice make up the most important and most
characteristic component of biblical ethics.1 The Bible is full of the
language of justice. Its presence is often veiled from the English
reader by the ambiguity of the terms righteousness and judgment. Table
4.1 shows the chief Hebrew and Greek words that approximate our
term justice. A rule of thumb is that when one sees righteousness or
judgment in the context of social responsibility or oppression, one can
assume that justice would be a better translation.2
Our justice corresponds to God’s justice just as our grace
corresponds to God’s grace (chapter 2) and our love to God’s love
(chapter 3). In 2 Corinthians 8 and 9, after encouraging the
Corinthians in their collection for the poor with the promise of the
sufficiency of God’s grace, Paul reminds them of God’s justice for the
poor: “‘God distributes, God gives to the poor. God’s justice lasts for
ever.’ Now God who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food
will also supply and multiply your seed and cause the harvest of your
justice to increase” (2 Cor. 9.9–10).Our justice corresponds to God’s.
We are able to give because God gives to the poor through us,
equipping us for this purpose. God’s grace flowing through us is
manifested in the form of justice.
In Scripture, the people of God are commanded to execute justice
because God, after whom they in grace and love pattern their lives,
TABLE 4.1. Leading Biblical Terms of Justice

Original Term Translation in English Bibles
e
Hebrew ṣ dāqāh righteousness, justice
mišpāṭ justice, judgment
Greek dikaiosynē righteousness, justice
krima judgment, justice
krisis judgment, decision, justice
executes justice. Because God has a special regard for the weak and helpless, a
corresponding quality is to be found in the lives of God’s people (Deut. 10.18–
19). The justice that they are to manifest is not theirs but God’s, the “lover of
justice” (Ps. 99.4; see 37.28; Isa. 61.8). In deciding a case between neighbors,
judges are told not to show partiality, “for the decision of justice belongs to
God” (Deut. 1.17; see 2 Chron. 19.6–7). God is to be thanked in the place where
human government carries out justice (Ps. 122.5). When justice is properly
executed, people are the agents of the divine will (see Isa. 59.15–16; see James
1.20, 27).
Justice is a chief attribute of God (e.g., Isa. 5.16).3 God is the one who vin-
dicates the oppressed and defends the weak. “The Lord works vindication
(ṣedāqāh) and justice for all who are oppressed” (Ps. 103.6, NRSV). This general
statement about God has a particular application in the next verse: “He made
known his ways to Moses, his acts to the people of Israel.” This refers to the
Exodus, in which slaves were freed and forged into a nation. Psalm 146 repeats
this statement. The Lord “executes justice for the oppressed” (v. 7). Several
images reflect the nature of this justice: “who gives food to the hungry. The
Lord sets the prisoners free; the Lord opens the eyes of the blind. The Lord lifts
up those who are bowed down; the Lord loves the righteous. The Lord watches
over the strangers; he upholds the orphan and the widow, but the way of the
wicked he brings to ruin” (vv. 7–9, NRSV).
For the poor and the powerless—those for whom, unless God did some-
thing, nothing would be done4—God remained the sure defender. To God they
could appeal “to do justice to the orphan and the oppressed” (Ps. 10.18; see
35.10, 23–24). “In you the orphan finds mercy” (Hosea 14.3). The truly wise
person is one who “understands and knows that I am the Lord who carries out
on the earth loyal love, justice, and what is right because I delight in these” (Jer.
9.24). Those who understand God know that God is on the side of the poor, and
this knowledge determines their own position in the social struggles of their
day. And if they fail to see the implications of God’s character, God makes their
responsibility clear through the commands of Scripture.5
GOD ’S JUSTICE AND OURS 51
To those who wonder about the Christian use of such Old Testament pas-
sages, it must be pointed out that this justice cannot be restricted to the Old
Testament or to any one period, covenant, or dispensation. It precedes, suc-
ceeds, and transcends the Israelite theocracy and is the basis of the contempo-
rary Christian social ethic.6 For it is grounded in the character of God as
sovereign of the universe (Ps. 99.1–4).7 God “works justice for all who are
oppressed” (Ps. 103.6). God establishes “justice for all the oppressed of the
earth” (Ps. 76.9; see Jer. 9.24). The beneficiaries are not only oppressed Israel-
ites (or Christians). There is one God and therefore one justice for all people
and for all time.
Human justice is a manifestation of grace not only in the sense that it is
provided by a gracious God but also because it is similar in nature to grace and
to grace’s expression in love. As Augustine said, “justice,” “ruling rightly,” is a
form of love: “love serving only the loved object.”8 In Scripture love and justice
do not appear as distinct and contrasting principles. Rather, there is an overlap-
ping and a continuity. The importance of interpreting justice as an expression
of grace lies not only in the fact that it ties this primary social obligation to the
motivation and capacities received in the saving work of Christ; it also has
important consequences for understanding the content of justice.
Some theologians have argued that justice and love are two distinct theo-
logical principles, some even contending that they reflect a distinction within
God’s nature. Justice, not love, it is said, is the concern of the state. It is related
to God’s wrath toward evil and preserves society through the enforcement of
morality. According to this understanding, justice is impartial; it renders with-
out favor what is due to each person and is therefore appropriately expressed in
political or civil rights, which can be extended equally to all. Basic economic
needs are not given the status of rights because a justice that met such needs
would have to be partial, taking from some to give to others. In this view, there-
fore, those who appeal to love in seeking the expansion of the role of govern-
ment to include concerns of social and economic welfare are said to exhibit a
confusion of love and justice.9 The issue is important. As Reinhold Niebuhr
said, “The effort to confine agape to the love of personal relations and to place
all structures and artifices of justice outside that realm makes Christian love
irrelevant to the problem of man’s common life.”10 The direction of one’s polit-
ical philosophy will be determined by the outcome.
The idea that love and justice are distinct in principle can be traced both to
a confusion of terms that is prevalent in systematic theology and to a failure to
analyze the biblical material regarding justice. At some point it became cus-
tomary to speak of God’s judgment on sin as God’s justice, in contrast to God’s
redeeming love. This distinction makes justice a static (and conservative) term,
while love conveys the dynamic action of God. Our point will be made clearer if
we use the example of two prominent modes of justice within a social system:
distributive justice and retributive (or criminal) justice. The first provides the
standard for the distribution of the benefits of the society, the second for the
distribution of the penalties (punishment according to one’s deserts). In classi-
cal soteriology, when God’s justice, which demands death for sin, is satisfied by
God’s love through Christ’s vicarious death, this is retributive justice, which is
what justice has meant in systematic theology. But the Bible applies the termi-
nology of justice extensively to distributive functions, which in the Bible are
continuous with the concept of love. So in atonement, God’s righteousness
(dikaiosynē) (distributive justice) overcomes God’s wrath (retributive justice).
Biblical justice includes distributive justice and stands in continuity with
love. Of the Hebrew words for justice, ṣedāqāh has the sense of “bringing about
that which is right,” which can lead even to the idea of abundance and generos-
ity in light of what God wants for God’s human creation,11 and mišpāṭ also often
communicates relief, release, and deliverance.12 It is highly significant that
ṣedāqāh is never used in Scripture to speak of God’s punishment for sin.13 It
deals with God’s positive actions in creating and preserving community, particu-
larly on behalf of marginal members thereof. So positive (versus punitive) is
the terminology used for justice that according to Exodus 23.7 God says, “I will
not do justice [Hiphil, causative, conjugation of ṣādaq] to the wicked.” Justice
applies to the innocent.14 The justice of God can appear in the context of judg-
ment, as it does in the prophets. Justice may then represent God’s victory for
the innocent or the oppressed, the negative side of which is the defeat of the
wicked or the oppressors, often described with terms other than those of jus-
tice. But my point is not that biblical justice is never punitive but rather that it
is not restricted to that function. Justice is also vindication, deliverance, and
creation of community.
A similar observation must be made about dikaiosynē, the New Testament
counterpart to ṣedāqāh. In Paul the righteousness of God is the creative power
that brings God’s gift of salvation and opens the way into the redeemed com-
munity that God is forming.15 Paul follows the Old Testament pattern in that
the power of judgment is never the righteousness of God but is rather the
wrath (orgē) of God.16
Accordingly, grace is closely related to God’s distributive justice. As people
who are weak and oppressed seek the justice of God to establish their rights, so
they seek God’s favor (ḥên) on the basis of their weakness and distress.17 The
other term most associated with charis, grace, by the translators of the Septua-
gint is ḥesed, “loyal love,” often rendered in English as steadfast love or covenant
loyalty. While justice describes the content of covenant and defines the order of
G OD’S JUSTICE AND OURS 53
the relationships within the community, loyal love expresses loving faithfulness
to a covenant or a gracious kindness within a given relationship or role.18 Loyal
love is closely associated with justice and is not a contrasting principle: “Sow for
yourselves justice, reap the fruit of loyal love” (Hosea 10.12; see 2.19; 12.6).19
This combination of justice with loyal love applies also to government, divine
and human (Ps. 89.14; Prov. 20.28; Isa. 16.5).20 A justice that includes partiality
to those who are afflicted in their social relations extends the meaning of the
creative power of grace and love; received by the weak and alienated, these vir-
tues create community where there is no apparent basis for it, reversing the
normal expectations of the world. God’s elective love can be described as justice
in the context of the redemption of Israel from Egypt (Mic. 6.5 [ṣidqôt]), for
example,21 or of the deliverance of the lost human race from sin (Rom. 3.21–25
[dikaiosynē]; see Rom. 1.16–17; 6.7 [dikaioûn, set free]; cp. the parallel use of love,
agapē in 5.8; see 8.39). In the atonement of Christ, we all are those at the bottom,
in extreme need of deliverance from sin and death (Rom. 3.22–23; 5.9–10).
When justice is an instrument of love, how does love affect the nature of
justice? Because it applies equally to all, demands respect for each, and appre-
ciates the needs and capacity for enjoyment of every person, love gives birth to
human rights—the fabric of justice. Justice functions to ensure that in our
common life we are for our fellow human beings, which is, indeed, the mean-
ing of love.22
Love raises justice above the mere equal treatment of equals; biblical jus-
tice is the equal treatment of all human beings solely for the reason that as
humans they possess bestowed worth from God. God’s people are commanded
to do justice on the basis of what they themselves have received in the gracious
acts of God. In a passage in which justice and love are parallel, it is stated: “[The
Lord your God] executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and . . . loves the
strangers, providing them food and clothing. You shall also love the stranger,
for you were strangers in the land of Egypt” (Deut. 10.18–19, NRSV).23
Because their good lot is attributed to God’s grace rather than to their
superior claims, in discharging their responsibility to those others who are now
the ones in need, it is need that determines the distribution of justice, rather
than worth, birth, merit, or ability. It is this assumption of all having equal
merit that allows justice to be expressed by the principle of equality. Otherwise,
egalitarian treatment would be an expression of benevolence above and beyond
what people are owed in justice.24 The presence of grace and love in justice
universalizes the formal principle of equal treatment of equals, shows a regard
for the needs of each person, and creates the obligation to seek the good of
each. The well-being and freedom of each other person become as valuable to
me as my own.
Commitment to the Oppressed
Creative Justice
In biblical justice, the openness of Christian love to the unlovely is a principle

of behavior cutting across the distinctions of society. In its combination of the
affirmation of the equal worth of each person in the community with sensitivity
to the needs of each person or group, biblical justice is most concerned with
those who are on the fringes of the community. It is dynamic justice that can
create a free nation out of slaves.
Biblical justice is creative justice, in contrast to the preserving justice of the
Aristotelian type, which is oriented to sustaining people in their place in the
community.25 According to preserving justice, if there is a disruption of the social
order, justice is defined in terms of the state that previously existed. The people
involved are judged according to their former positions in the community, as
determined by considerations of personal ability, merit, rank, or wealth. As they
were not equal before, they will not receive equal shares in the benefits awarded
in the redress. Marginal people remain marginal after justice is finished.
Through the creative power of biblical justice, however, the individual’s
ability to contribute to the community is not merely preserved but actually cre-
ated by justice. The point at which Aristotelian justice stops is the place where
biblical justice can begin. The difference between scriptural and classical jus-
tice lies in the understanding of what is to be the normal situation of society.
The Scriptures do not allow the presupposition of a condition in which groups
or individuals are denied the ability to participate fully and equally in the life of
the society. For this reason, justice is primarily spoken of by the biblical writers
as activity on behalf of the disadvantaged.
The Principle of Redress

To understand justice in the Bible, one must be conscious of the relatively egal-
itarian nature of the ideal Hebrew community.26 It was a society of vinedressers
and herders—freeholding peasants who had similar resources in orchards,
pastures, and habitations. Most significant was the possession by each family
in Israel of its own patrimony in the land, the precious means of production.
This patrimony (inherited property [naḥălâ) is real property, meant to be held in
perpetuity and unsalable. The result is an egalitarian society of independent
peasants.27 In Numbers 26 God dictates the original distribution of the land, to
be divided into relatively equal portions, and the prophets also understand the
G OD’S JUSTICE AND OURS 55
patrimony as a sacred right from Yahweh. Micah condemns those who “oppress
a man and his house, a man and his landed inheritance [naḥălâ (Mic. 2.2).
Applying the terminology of political equality to property, Albrecht Alt states
that the prophet’s view was that “according to the ancient and holy regulation
of Yahweh,” the property system “was to be and to remain in unconditional
recognition of one man—one house—one allotment of land.”28
By the eighth century B.C., the time of Amos, Micah, and Isaiah, many of
the small properties of the peasants had been absorbed into latifundia (large
landed estates) of a new aristocracy (Isa. 5.7–8). Through mortgage foreclos-
ings and oppressive sharecropping arrangements, the peasants lost their
heritage from the Lord and their economic and social position. They were dis-
appearing as an independent class, many even passing into slavery (Isa. 3.14–
15; Amos 8.4–6). It is in this context that the prophetic call for social justice is
to be heard. The task of creative justice was to restore the poor to their position
of independent economic and political power in the community.
If such justice is to treat similar cases similarly, it must take a “context-
dependent” form in which “identical treatment” is defined with reference to
individual needs and capacities.29 If we are to fulfill the obligation to seek for all
persons security of life and well-being, some individuals will need more care
than others. If a threat of violence is made on any citizen’s life, that person is
entitled to special police protection to bring his or her security level nearer to
the norm. This “unequal” treatment ensures equal distribution of the right
to security.30 The equal provision of basic rights requires unequal response to
unequal needs. Justice must be partial in order to be impartial. Only by giving
special attention to the poor and downtrodden can one be said to be following
“the principle of equal consideration of human interest.”31 As Bishop Des-
mond Tutu put it, if the elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse, and you say
that you are neutral, the mouse won’t appreciate it.32
A contemporary example of such just partiality is the situation where there
is a much higher rate in low birth weights and thus higher mortality and mor-
bidity among African American infants than among Euro-American infants.
The variables that contributed to that tragic situation include variables of the
mothers’ health status (including their childhood and adolescent health his-
tory), stress, the economic status of the mothers’ parents and grandparents,
and the quality of care during pregnancy.33 That the proposed solutions are
prenatal interventions that focus on African American mothers is a partiality
that is just because it reflects greater need. This is true in other cases of affir-
mative action for those who legitimately qualify.
This close association between special needs and basic rights is supported
by the covenantal context of justice. Needs become rights under the provisions
of the covenant because the basic needs of all are to be met by the whole com-
munity: “If members of your people become poor and their power slips, you
shall make them strong [ḥāzaq in the Hiphil, causative, conjugation]” (Lev.
25.35). The unequal distribution of basic needs violates the normative order
that the covenant is to maintain. It is only in this sense that biblical justice can
be described, as it frequently is,34 as rectifying broken covenantal relationships.
Justice is not reduced to a formal principle of reconciliation or faithfulness to
unspecified types of community relationships. It is restoration of that commu-
nity as originally established by the justice of God; it is a community of equality
and freedom from oppression.
Accordingly, biblical justice is more than an attitude favoring the weak; it
implies that each member of the community will in fact be strong enough to
maintain his or her position in relation to the other members (Lev. 25.35–36).
The special needs to be equalized are thus not only those things necessary for
subsistence (food, clothing, shelter, e.g., Deut. 10.18; Isa. 58.7)35 but also the
possession and control of the resources that are preconditions for meeting
those needs: land (e.g., 1 Kings 21; Isa. 65.21–22 [see 3.14]), due process of law
(Exod. 23.1–3, 6–8), independence from subjugation either as a nation or as
individuals (Lev. 25.39, 42; Deut. 23.15–16; 1 Sam. 8.11–17),36 and participation
in legal decisions.37 So John Wesley held that the only legitimate claim to the
earth’s resources is not industry, capital, enterprise, or labor but the needs of the
neighbor.38 Biblical justice is dominated by the principle of redress, which postu-
lates that inequalities in the conditions necessary to achieve the standard of
well-being be corrected to approximate equality.39
The Lord is the source and standard of such justice: “When they are dimin-
ished and brought low through oppression, trouble, and sorrow, he pours con-
tempt on princes . . . but he raises up the needy out of distress” (Ps. 107.39–41,
NRSV).40 “Who raises up the poor from the dust; who lifts the needy from the
dump heap” (1 Sam. 2.8).41 Justice means “vindication by God of those who
cannot themselves secure their own rights.”42
As Psalm 107 indicated, the redress often will not be to the advantage of
everyone in the community. “If people are poor, it is the arrangements of the
powerful rich that are seen as primarily responsible.”43 The interests of the
wealthy who have profited from the distress of the needy, who have indeed cre-
ated the structures that have produced it, will have to suffer (also 1 Sam. 2.4–10;
Ps. 75.7). Their luxury is as much out of line as is the affliction of the poor (Isa.
3.14–26). The new elite have no need or right to continue as a class. “He has
filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1.53).
The goal of redress is to return people to a normal level of advantage and
satisfaction in the community, particularly with respect to the capacity to earn
GOD’S JUSTICE AND OURS 57
a living and to have a reasonably happy life.44 The restoration of equality in the
land was an important element of redress in Scripture. The Year of Jubilees,
recorded in Leviticus 25, is the best known of these provisions, but its concerns
are also reflected elsewhere in the Law and in the wisdom literature,45 as well
as in the prophets. The provisions of the Year of Jubilees exemplify biblical
justice. Among its stipulations is the provision that after every fifty years all
land, whether sold or foreclosed, is to be returned to the family whose heritage
it is (Lev. 25.25–28). The effect of this arrangement was to institutionalize the
relative equality of all persons in the landed means of production. It was a
strong egalitarian measure and a far-reaching means of redress. When the
number of sufferers becomes too large, private charity cannot cope with the ills
of society; love then requires structural measures to achieve social justice.46
In the prophetic literature the concern for the hereditary egalitarian land
system appears in the concept of redistribution. The book of Ezekiel, written in
the context of the exile and the destruction of the old society,47 spells out what
should be done if the people were given the opportunity to begin again. The
prophet sets forth a new distribution of the land that would correspond to the
first: “You shall divide it equally; I swore to give it to your ancestors, and this
land shall fall to you as your inheritance [naḥălâ]” (Ezek. 47.14, NRSV).
In this distribution, as with the Year of Jubilees, the property law is based
on the concept of landed patrimony. The provision of land for free and inde-
pendent peasants is understood as normative and is contrasted to previous
injustice:48 “And my princes shall no more oppress my people. . . . Put away
violence and oppression, and do what is just and right. Cease your evictions of
my people. . . . The prince shall not take any of the inheritance of the people,
thrusting them out of their holding . . . so that none of my people shall be dis-
possessed of their holding” (Ezek. 45.8–9; 46.18, NRSV). Thus the coming
redistribution of the land is presented as a work of justice.
Finally, in Micah 2.1–5 there is a prophecy of social reversal—those who
had taken the land would lose it; and if Alt is correct in his interpretation of a
difficult text, there is also a prediction of redistribution of land. Alt interprets
the references to measuring and dividing the allotment of the land and casting
the lot in the assembly of Yahweh (vv. 4–5) as indicating the end of the latifun-
dia of the aristocracy based in Jerusalem. Yahweh will intervene to nullify the
unauthorized claims of this controlling group and administer a new distribution
of the land. The families who went into slavery will regain property, the division
of which will be as equitable as possible.49 Micah looks forward to a time when,
with equal and secure access to the means of production, each person will
again sit “under one’s own vine and under one’s own fig tree” (Mic. 4.4; see
Zech. 3.10).
Ownership of land thus was a basic right. In that agrarian economy, land
was the basic form of productive property. What the productive property is will
vary by the type of economy. A right to a job that pays sufficiently to provide for
the basic needs of oneself and one’s dependents is but a minimal application
of this demand of biblical justice.
For the advantaged, justice is a duty (and, conversely, a right that marginal
groups can claim under God’s provision) to bring all who are economically
disadvantaged to the point where they have the capacity to participate in the full
life of the community: “For there shall be no poor among you” (Deut. 15.4).
Catherine Marshall, describing the missionary work of her mother, Christy
Huddleston, in the mountains of eastern Tennessee early in the twentieth cen-
tury, provides a moving picture of justice as inclusion in community, in this
case the education community. She describes the joyous response of an iso-
lated mother as Christy begins to teach her to read: “Up to this point in her life,
she had been like some outcast child staring through the iron railings of the tall
fence around the great estate of knowledge, longing to romp with the other
children on the clipped lawns inside, but always excluded. . . .For the first time
that Saturday morning the hinges moved, the gates began to swing open.”50
It is only after the basic conditions for well-being have been met for all that
there is room for liberty to use “the rewards of enterprise”;51 the distribution of
luxuries according to ability comes only afterward.52 But the extent of this lib-
erty was limited in Israel by the fact that it was a society of scarcity and because
the norm for material possession was sufficiency: neither poverty nor wealth
(Prov. 30.8–9; 1 Tim. 6.6–8).
I summarize this discussion of the principle of redress in biblical justice
with the aid of the listing by Vlastos of differing and often conflicting “well-
known maxims of distributive justice”:53
1. To each according to each one’s need;

2. To each according to each one’s worth;
3. To each according to each one’s merit;
4. To each according to each one’s work;
5. To each according to the agreements each one has made.
For biblical justice the first maxim has priority. “According to each one’s
need” was the basis of redress,54 and the principle was put into practice in the
early church as fulfillment of the Old Testament expectation (Acts 4.35).55
“According to each one’s worth” was not a basis of differentiation, since each
person has equal worth. “According to each one’s merit” pertained primarily to
corrective justice, which I shall discuss later; merit of birth or status was not
recognized. “According to each one’s work” came into play only after the basic
needs of all in the society were met. “According to the agreements each one has
made” had secondary importance in promise keeping but functioned primarily
in the context of the basic covenant with God, which originated and enforced
the other valid maxims. To these Scripture adds a further maxim, which, like
the first, is a departure from formal equality: “from each according to each
one’s ability”; it also was expressed in the early church (Acts 11.29). The ability
to meet the needs of the poor is provided in God’s material blessings: “Give
freely to [your poor fellow citizen] and do not begrudge him your bounty,
because it is for this very bounty that the Lord your God will bless you in every-
thing that you do or undertake” (Deut. 15.10, NEB).
This principle returns us to justice as grace. “God is able to provide you
with a surplus of every blessing so that while always having everything you
need, you have much left over for all kinds of good deeds. . . . God will cause the
harvest of your justice to increase” (2 Cor. 9.8, 10).
Bias in Favor of the Oppressed

The priority given to redress on behalf of those who have fallen below the min-
imum necessary for participation in social life means that, in the words of Nor-
man Snaith, there is a “deep-seated and fundamental bias at the root of [this]
ethical teaching.”56 Biblical justice is biased in favor of the poor and the weak of
the earth. This partiality was nowhere more clearly and succinctly stated than in
the prophetic Beatitudes of Jesus: “Blessed are the poor. . . . Woe to the rich”
(Luke 6.20, 24). The first principle of justice in distribution is the correction of
oppression. This is the first concern; others follow. In assessing the level of jus-
tice in the society, the needs of the least advantaged member must first be iden-
tified; it is from that person’s position that the social system is then evaluated.57
Distribution according to needs differs from distribution according to de-
serts in that deserts are a corollary of some favorable attribute whereas need
connotes a lack or a deficiency.58 In Israel poverty was viewed as an evil and
feared. Only later was poverty voluntarily sought as a desirable spiritual state by
ascetics. As Proverbs puts it, “The poverty of the poor is their ruin” (Prov. 10.15,
NRSV). Oppression includes a destructive spiritual and emotional impact
(Exod. 6.9). As Moses discovered, the response to oppression is not usually
rebellion but rather the oppressed defining themselves as the established order
defines them, “consenting to be what they have to be.”59 The poor are given
priority only because their wretchedness requires greater attention if the
equality called forth by the equal merit of all persons is to be achieved.60
Some arrangements entailing a kind of inequality were permitted, the rationale
being that they were to the benefit of everyone, and particularly to the least
advantaged.61 One such inequality was in political power—the need for author-
ity, whether elder, judge, or king. Inherent in their station was their role in
delivering the oppressed (e.g., Ps. 72.1–4, 12–14). This inequality is tied to the
office rather than the person.
Accordingly, in criminal justice (“retributive” or “corrective” justice) the
norm is the formal equality of all before the law (see Col. 3.25). The bias in favor
of the poor is qualified in this sphere. Before the court the poor could expect no
special recognition above and beyond that of their rights (Deut. 16.19). In this
sense there is to be no partiality to the rich or to the poor (Lev. 19.15). If a poor
person has violated the covenant, he or she is to bear the prescribed penalty
(Exod. 23.3). But the dominant concern seems to be the power of substantive
inequality (wealth) to corrupt the formal equality of the courts: in the instruc-
tions regarding partiality the focus is frequently on bribes (Exod. 18.21; 23.8;
Deut. 10.17;62 16.18–20; 2 Chron. 19.7).
The judges were not to be impartial in the sense of being neutral. They
were not to be detached from the issue at hand, but active to see that the law
was used for good and not for oppression.63 A narrow interpretation of the law
was not to be used to deny the poor their rights in the land. Job states that it
would have been iniquitous for him to have raised his hand against the orphan,
“knowing that men would side with me in court” (Job 31.21, NEB). Even if he
could have ensured for himself the blessing of the law, it would still have been
wrong to afflict the weak.64
Richard Cohen in 1989 won a monetary award in a civil suit on behalf of the
wife and six children of an African American man who died in police custody in
Hemphill, Texas. The law officers had been acquitted on murder charges. Cohen
also collected evidence that was later used by prosecutors to convict the police
officers on civil rights charges. Cohen says that he learned from the case that
justice is something that has to be fought for. “We tend to think things will work
out in the end. That’s false. . . .It’s dangerous to think justice is inevitable.”65
Because biblical justice shows a bias toward the poor and because it is a
socially active principle demanding responsibility on the part of the people of
God, we can describe it as the taking upon oneself of the cause of those who are
weak in their own defense: “I put on justice. . . . I was a father to the poor, and I
searched out the cause of the one whom I did not know” (Job 29.14, 16).
The Command to Justice
God executes justice through the obedience of God’s people. Jack Nelson
recalled walking through the poverty of Calcutta and wanting to scream at God.
GOD ’S JUSTICE AND O URS 61
Then he realized, “In the suffering of the poor God was screaming at me, in
fact at all of us and at our institutions and social systems that cause and perpet-
uate hunger, poverty, and inequality.”66 Apart from descriptions of the justice of
God or that of the king who represents God, biblical justice is seen primarily in
the commands of God. Justice is not so much what we know as what we are to
do. It goes beyond simply being just in one’s personal relationships; it implies
an active responsibility to see that justice is done in the community. God sought
someone among the people of the land who (along with correcting other
wrongs) by alleviating the oppression of the poor, the needy, and the alien,
would “repair the wall and stand in the breach before [God] for the land.” No
one was found, and God’s wrath was poured out upon them (Ezek. 22.29–31).
Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to
undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to
break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and
bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to
cover them and not to hide yourself from your own kin? . . . If you
remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, and
speaking of evil, if you pour yourself out for the hungry and satisfy
the needs of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness
and your gloom be like the noonday. (Isa. 58.6–8, 9–10, NRSV; see
Zech. 7:3–10)
The activism of the language here is striking: “loose the bonds . . . undo the
thongs . . . let the oppressed go free . . . break every yoke” (see Job 29.12, 14, 17).
The action goes beyond simple charity to attack the causes of suffering, and
every form of oppression is touched upon. The will of God is that the people of
God be engaged in those actions that will bring to an end human misery in all
its manifestations. The imagery implies the use of power to effect justice.
The first sphere in which one would expect such power for justice to be
applied is that of government and law (see Job 34.17a). It is to rulers (v. 10) that
Isaiah directs his appeal to “learn to do good, seek justice, set right the oppres-
sor, defend the cause of the orphan, plead the case of the widow” (Isa. 1.17).
Justice here means the lifting of oppression. The orphan and the widow are
examples of oppression’s victims. Just rule also involves supplying the needy
with the essentials of life (Job. 36.31). It is with the king more than any other
personage that justice is associated. The chief function of the king was “the
administration of justice and especially the assistance given to the weak against
their oppressors.”67 John of Salisbury, the great twelfth-century Christian
scholar, wrote that the people who are most advanced by the duties of the
prince’s office are “those who can do least for themselves.”68
Because government is the instrument of justice, it may also become the

instrument of injustice. The biblical authors deal with both possibilities. Jere-
miah addresses “the house of the king of Judah” (Jer. 21.11): “O house of David!
Thus says the Lord: Execute justice in the morning, and deliver from the hand
of the oppressor anyone who has been robbed, or else my wrath go forth like
fire, and burn with none to quench it, because of your evil doings” (Jer. 21.12,
NRSV).
The people of God as a whole share responsibility for justice in society,
including the political sphere: “Hate evil, and love good, and establish justice in
the gate; it may be that the Lord, the God of hosts, will be gracious to the rem-
nant of Joseph” (Amos 5.15, NRSV).
These oracles are addressed to the populace, “the house of Israel” (vv. 1,
4, 25). The gate is the political focus of the Hebrew village. The peasants
would gather for legal matters early in the morning at the gate, the only exit
from the protected area, as they passed from their homes to their fields.
“Whoever desires judgment calls for it, and all willingly respond to the call,
for the administration of justice is the affair of everyone.”69 The Lord made
the peasants responsible for maintaining justice in the legal processes, even
when this was increasingly difficult to achieve. The deliberations in the gates
fulfilled judicial, legislative, and executive functions; thus Zechariah enjoins
justice in the political system: “Speak the truth to one another, render in your
gates judgments that are true and make for peace” (Zech. 8.16, NRSV). Jere-
miah addresses both the civil establishment and the people as well with this
mandate:
Hear the word of the Lord, O King of Judah, sitting on the throne of
David—you and your servants, and your people who enter these
gates. Thus says the Lord: Act with justice and righteousness, and
deliver from the oppressor anyone who has been robbed. And do no
wrong or violence to the alien, the orphan, and the widow, nor shed
innocent blood in this place. (Jer. 22.2–3, NRSV)
The prophets, through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, used every means
available to get across to the people the seriousness and the centrality of the
command to do justice. All who by grace seek to be God’s people will pay heed.
The prophets warned that national calamity was the consequence of disobedi-
ence to this command, and they promised life as ensuing from obedience
(Ezek. 18.5–9; see Deut. 16.20; Ps. 119.121; Zeph. 2.3). Social justice is a theme
that runs through the prophetic literature and into the New Testament. “The
relation between human life and the divine is at stake when injustice occurs.”70
The imagery is powerful:
I hate, I despise your feasts, and I take no delight in your solemn

assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain
offerings, I will not accept them, and the offerings of well-being of
your fatted beast I will not look upon. Take away from me the noise
of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harp. But let
justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing
stream. (Amos 5.21–24, NRSV)
“With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God
on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a
year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten
thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my first-born for my
transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?” He has
told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of
you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with
your God? (Mic. 6.6–8, NRSV)
Isaiah 1.11–20 similarly contrasts sacrifice and justice. Sacrifices without

social justice cannot maintain a relationship with God. In biting irony, describ-
ing increasingly absurd magnitudes of sacrifice, Micah makes his point. We
only offer God such absurdities when we are indeed far from God and do not
care for the divine ways of “justice, love, and an intimate relationship” with
God.71 Likewise, Jesus taught that reconciliation between neighbors must pre-
cede the presentation of gifts on the altar of sacrifice (Matt. 5.23–24). The prin-
ciple behind this teaching calls into question the validity of any type of piety
that shuns responsibility for social justice.
Trust in the temple cult was attacked by Jeremiah. The people were delud-
ed in thinking that their failure to do justice would escape punishment because
the presence of God’s temple would protect them.
Do not trust in these deceptive words: “This is the temple of the Lord,
the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord.” For if you truly
amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly with one
another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan and the widow, or
shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other
gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the
land that I gave of old to your ancestors for ever and ever. (Jer. 7.4–7,
NRSV)
Obedience in carrying out social justice is integral to what it means to

know the Lord: “Does it make you a king to have more and more cedar? Did not
your father have food and drink? He did what was right and just, so all went
well with him. He defended the cause of the poor and needy, and all went well.
Is that not what it means to know me?” (Jer. 22.15–16, NIV). How can doing
justice be said to be knowledge of God? Because God’s concern for the
oppressed is essential to who God is and to what God does in history. Those
who have truly encountered this God in faith will manifest the same quality.
The challenge of these commands to our own lives cannot be dismissed on
the grounds that they are in the Old Testament. They are so central to the ethics
of the Old Testament that such dismissal would imply the rejection of any eth-
ical demands of the Old Testament upon the Christian. The Old Testament was
“the Scriptures” of the early church. Far from repudiating the Old Testament,
the New Testament taught that every passage in it was “inspired by God” and,
among other things, “useful for . . . education in justice [dikaiosynē]” (2 Tim.
3.16). As I have noted, the teaching of justice in the Old Testament is not bound
to a particular dispensation but is based in the very nature of God, anteceding,
ceding, and succeeding each covenant.
In the Old Testament God’s attitude toward the weak and what correspond-
ingly is expected of the strong is revealed. The New Testament presupposes this
revelation and reinforces it. Paul associates the Old Testament obligation of
justice with Christian responsibility for the poor (2 Cor. 9.9–10 [quoting Ps.
112.9]). Jesus in his ethical teaching and practice stands in the tradition of the
prophets; one will not understand Jesus or New Testament ethics except in the
light of that continuity: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites, because
you tithe the mint and the dill and the cumin and neglect the more important
parts of the Law: justice and mercy and loyalty” (Matt. 23.23).
Two aspects of this passage are noteworthy: (1) Jesus carries on the pro-
phetic attack on that piety which leaves out social justice;72 (2) he clearly indi-
cates the place of the Old Testament teachings about justice: they reflect the
highest level of Old Testament ethics and are essential to his new order.
The Epistle of James is also pertinent here. It enjoins that which the
prophets found to be lacking. “Worship which is pure and undefiled before
God is . . . to care for the orphans and widows in their oppressive circum-
stances” (1.27).
Justice and Society
The obligation to do justice makes us responsible for the conduct of society in

the most comprehensive sense. Wherever there is basic human need, we are
obliged to help to the extent of our ability and opportunity. “Do not hold back
good from those who are entitled to it, when you possess the power to do it”
(Prov. 3.27) sums up the whole teaching and how we are to relate it to our
varying circumstances. Our power includes not only our personal resources
but also class position and political opportunities. The theme of justice pro-
vides the most direct and far-reaching biblical authorization for social action.
Justice is first of all the basic norm for social behavior. All theories of jus-
tice—whether based on natural rights or social utility—are in agreement on at
least this point: justice is a term regulating our associations with many people;
the individual affected by justice exists in society.73 So the biblical term ṣedāqāh
“stands for the norm in the affairs of the world to which [people] and things
should conform, and by which they can be measured.”74
Justice provides the standard by which the benefits and burdens of living
together in society are distributed. It regulates from an ethical as well as a legal
and customary standpoint the apportioning of wealth, income, punishments,
rewards, authority, liberties, rights, duties, advantages, and opportunities.
Behind the structuring of these values of society is a view of human good; it is
justice which expresses that view.75
Any genuine justice, and any commitment to carrying out justice, must
apply to the spectrum of institutional life. For it is the institutions of society
that regulate the assignment of the benefits and disadvantages. John Rawls
says: “Justice is the first virtue of social institutions, as truth is of systems of
thought. A theory however elegant and economical must be rejected or revised
if it is untrue; likewise laws and institutions no matter how efficient and well-
arranged must be reformed or abolished if they are unjust.”76
There are radically different conceptions of justice, as we saw at the begin-
ning of this chapter. Because justice is related to the distribution of the neces-
sities of life, great differences in the human condition will be determined by
the view of justice applied. The inequalities in institutions contribute to the
different expectations of various groups in the society. Consider the institu-
tions involved in education as an example. Who is to be educated? The sons of
the rich and noble families? Some societies take that course, reflecting a view
of justice that assigns what is due on the basis of status, financial power, and
masculinity. Are African Americans to receive as good an education as Euro-
Americans, the poor as the rich? The practice and even the theory of justice in
our society have often said no. Should all be educated equally? Or should there
be a priority given to the disadvantaged—the poor, those with learning and
physical challenges—so that a larger proportion of funds is spent on them?
Our concept of justice will determine our answers to these questions.
One cannot deal with the full responsibilities of justice without dealing
with law and public authority. There are areas of justice in which a community
66 BIBLICAL ETHICS AND SOCIAL C HANGE
feels there to be a need for special attention: justice is then expressed in laws
backed by the authority of government. As Samuel Johnson defined it, a “law”
is “a rule of justice.”77 The basic structure of the society is shaped by the cumu-
lative effect of social and economic legislation.78 A society can hardly be evalu-
ated without attention to its laws; thus justice cannot be separated from
coercion, law, and government.
A separation of justice and government would certainly be foreign to the
thought of one living in Hebrew society (see pp. 61–62). “The law becomes
slack and justice never prevails” (Hab. 1.4, NRSV). The relationship could not
be made clearer than the use of mišpaṭ as a chief term for justice. For mišpaṭ
most commonly means either a legal decision or the legal claim of an individ-
ual.79 In the plural it signifies laws and ordinances (e.g., Deut. 33.21). Because
the biblical command is to do justice, a critical evaluation of our laws will lead
to actions that support, reform, or overturn the existing legal system. Melissa
Fay Greene movingly describes how in the civil rights struggle in Georgia in the
early 1970s, an African American came to the Georgia Legal Service lawyers.
With joy he discovered in their response to him that the justice that he and
others had instinctively longed for and fought for over the years, relying on the
Bible, in the meantime had become the law of the land.80
When God’s justice motivates us, our political loyalties and sympathies will
be profoundly affected. We can then identify with the welfare mother whose real
income decreases because the legislature avoids raising taxes by eliminating
cost-of-living increases for welfare recipients. We shall appreciate the viewpoint
of the Hispanic worker who fights prejudice to get a job only to lose it because
the economics of treating inflation through increased unemployment often
result in the last hired being the first fired. We shall feel the discouragement of
the laborer who works full-time yet remains in poverty. We can feel the despair
of a father in a developing country who sees the marks of torture on the body of
his son who died in prison and wonders why money from a foreign country
goes to finance a dictatorship infamous for its violation of human rights. Our
perspective will include the woman whose husband is dying of liver cancer as a
result of working with vinyl chloride, which is produced in his country because
its production is too strictly regulated in the manufacturer’s own country.
A heightened sense of creative justice will cause the Christian to become
more sensitive to the needs of the weak; such compassion is certainly a gift of
the Spirit. This will cause us, individually and in our institutional involvement,
to give priority in our actions and thought to all who stand in a position of
weakness with respect to the rest of society.
Because justice is based on the equal worth of each person and one’s right
to inclusion in the life of the society, every act that favors the oppressed is not
GOD ’S JUSTICE AND O URS 67
therefore automatically just. Justice must work with the whole range of basic
rights and duties. I will be returning in later chapters to the question of clashes
between basic human rights. But for now I can state that the closer claims are
to what is basic to life, dignity, and other aspects of minimal inclusion in com-
munity, the higher is their degree of inviolability—and the higher is the burden
upon us who are called to do justice.
Justice in the life of the Christian is a sign of the work of the Holy Spirit,
for Christian justice is distinctive. It demands a willingness to put the just
claims of others before the advantages of one’s self and one’s class—an impos-
sibility from many points of view. But God is the protector of the poor, and God
provides such protection through the servants of God. When our deeds are
“wrought in God” (John 3.21, KJV), God’s concerns for the weak in human
communities are manifest in us. Thus it is legitimate to ask how we have
thwarted the grace of God, if our political choices invariably coincide with those
of the rich in our society and not those of the poor and of racial minorities; let
us not delude ourselves into thinking that neither the rich nor the poor know
where their self-interest lies.
Such justice is not too much to expect from us, whose salvation took place
when God looked upon us, who had no rights in the commonwealth of Israel
(Eph. 2.12) and, in Christ, took our cause upon God’s own self. It is not by
chance, but rather it is consistent with the whole pattern of biblical justice, that
Paul describes God’s great act for us as justice: dikaiosynē.
5
The Long March of God
The Reign of God
The Reign of God is a central biblical concept that incorporates the

imperative for social responsibility into God’s goals in history. Rather
than merely an ethical principle, justice is made part of the story of
God’s provision—the fall of humanity, the coming of Christ, and the
final reconciliation of all things under the sovereign rule of God. We
can then understand social righteousness in the context of God’s
patient toil to win back God’s lost creation.
The Reign of God is central in Jesus’ teaching. That Jesus
actually spoke of the Reign in his Beatitudes and parables is largely
agreed upon by contemporary scholarship. The Gospels summarize
Jesus’ proclamation with this phrase: “Repent because the Reign of
Heaven has come near” (Matt. 4.17). Matthew uses the same words to
show the content of John the Baptist’s message (Matt. 3.2). The
centrality of the concept is strikingly shown in Jesus’ use of “the
Reign” eight times in his core teaching, the Sermon on the Mount.1
The concept also is used to encapsulate the message of the early
church. The Acts of the Apostles ends with Paul under house arrest
in Rome proclaiming to those who visited him “the Reign of God and
teaching the things pertaining to Jesus Christ” (Acts 28.31; see 19.8
and 28.23 with 24.25). The Letter to the Hebrews speaks of the “city”
of God (11.10), giving the church a term from Hellenistic Judaism
that it would use for centuries to describe the same idea.
The Greek word basileia, which is used for reign or kingdom, means primar-
ily the act of reigning rather than the place of reigning; thus in most cases it
should be translated as reign or rule, rather than its usual English rendering,
kingdom. (Rev. 17.18 is a striking example.) The parallels in the Synoptic Gos-
pels show that the phrase Reign of Heaven is a variant of the Reign of God;
compare, for example, Matthew 3.11, Mark 4.11, and Luke 8.10. Heaven is a Jew-
ish circumlocution to avoid mentioning the sacred name of God;2 and the
phrase Reign of Heaven was probably customary in Matthew’s church, which
had close contacts with the Jewish synagogue. The Reign of God is a technical
phrase for the idea of the rule of God over history. That it is a symbol drawn
from the world of politics is of great significance.
Old Testament Background
Herman Ridderbos states that the New Testament proclamation of the Reign
cannot be understood without a knowledge of the Old Testament background.
Jesus and John assumed in their preaching that their hearers already under-
stood what was meant by the Reign of God. They stressed its imminence, the
fact that it has “come near,” and not its nature.3 In Mark’s account, Jesus began
his ministry by announcing, “The time has reached its end and the Reign of
God has come near. Repent and believe the good news” (Mark 1.15). In this
phrase he summarized all of Israel’s expectation for the future4
Yahweh’s royal power had been described in two ways in the Old Testa-
ment. First, God was the guardian and leader of Israel. Moses’ Song of the Sea,
after proclaiming the Lord’s “doing wonders” (v. 11) in winning deliverance
from the Egyptians, ends with the words “The Lord will reign forever and for-
ever” (Exod. 15.18, NRSV). Awestruck, Balaam says of this people, “The Lord
their God is with them, acclaimed as a king is among them” (Num. 23.21,
NRSV). God’s Reign is experienced in historical events.5 The psalmist speaks
similarly: “They shall speak of the glory of your kingdom, and tell of your
power, to make known to all people your mighty deeds, and the glorious splen-
dor of your kingdom” (Ps. 145.11–12, NRSV). With power and mighty deeds
God’s rule is evident in the challenges and conflicts of human history. Fre-
quently, God is addressed as king in the context of praise for deliverance from
distress.
The Old Testament speaks not only of God’s special kingship over Israel
but also of a kingship over all creation. The “King, the Lord of hosts” in Isaiah’s
temple vision sits in the midst of a heavenly court, and the glory of God fills all
of creation (Isa. 6.3, 5; see Ps. 103.19).6 God’s universal Reign derives from
THE LONG MARCH OF G OD 71
God’s role as creator: “For the Lord is a great God, and a great King above all
gods. In his hand are the depths of the earth; the heights of the mountains are
his also. The sea is his, for he made it, and the dry land, which his hands have
formed” (Ps. 95.3–5, NRSV). Thus all nations and peoples are under God’s
command (Jer. 10.10–12; see Ps. 22.28–29).
The Reign is timeless; yet there was an expectation in Israel of a fuller
manifestation of God’s glory: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet
of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces
salvation, who says to Zion, ‘Your God reigns’” (Isa. 52.7, NRSV).
There was much in their personal and national experience that indicated
that the fullness of God’s Reign was not present in history. Suffering and dis-
obedience were undeniable facts, and the people of God looked forward to a
time when God would enter history in a much more powerful and certain way.
Their hope was compounded of the “appeal of the ethical consciousness against
things as they are and the incontrovertible assurance that God will act.”7 The
Reign of God may be called the center of the whole Old Testament promise of
salvation.8
What would this awaited Reign bring? An interior change in the people
was expected: a new heart and a new spirit that they might obey God’s law and
be God’s people (Ezek. 11.19–20). But there were also important social and
political components. “As I live, says the Lord God, surely with a mighty hand
and an outstretched arm, and with wrath poured out, I will be king over you”
(Ezek. 20.33, NRSV). This coming would bring both deliverance and judgment.
God’s Reign is Marked by Justice
“The Lord is king! Let the earth rejoice; let the many coastlands be glad! Clouds
and thick darkness are all around him; righteousness and justice are the foun-
dation of his throne” (Ps. 97.1–2, NRSV; see v. 6). “Say among the nations, “The
Lord is king! The world is firmly established; it shall never be moved; he will
judge the peoples with equity ” (Ps. 96.10, NRSV; see also p. 51).
After describing how God executes justice for the oppressed (Ps. 146.7–9;
see p. 50), the psalmist proclaims, “The Lord will reign for ever. . . . Praise the
Lord!” (v. 10). The promise or expectation of a full manifestation of God’s jus-
tice in the coming Reign of God is repeatedly given.9 “He comes to judge the
earth. He will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with his
truth ” (Ps. 96.13, NRSV; see 98.9).
The preparation for the arrival of the King had significant social and moral
implications as we see in the following passage. A voice cries out: “In the wil-
derness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for
our God. Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made
low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain” (Isa.
40.3–4, NRSV).
The straightening of the roads is a metaphor for establishing justice. The
contrast is the twisting trails of the wicked. “Their roads they have made
crooked.” “There is no justice in their paths” (Isa. 59.8, NRSV).10 Isaiah 40
then goes on to describe the compassion and justice shown by the victorious
monarch: “See, the Lord God comes with might, and his arm rules for him; his
reward is with him, and his recompense before him. He will feed his flock like
a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep” (vv. 10–11, NRSV).
Zechariah hopes for the time when “the Lord will become king over all the
earth” (14.9); then there will be an agricultural utopia with no frost, no night,
no drought, no mountains, no curse, and no danger (vv. 6–11).
Micah connects the hope of social tranquillity and well-being with the com-
ing Reign. After characterizing the evil in Israel as cannibalism (3.1–3) and
prophesying the destruction of Jerusalem in judgment (3.12), the prophet
speaks of the promise of “the latter days.” Then God
shall judge between many peoples, and shall arbitrate between strong
nations far away; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and
their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against
nation, neither shall they learn war any more; but they shall sit under
their own vines and their own fig trees. . . . In that day, says the Lord,
I will assemble the lame and gather those who have been driven
away. . . . The lame I will make the remnant; and those who were cast
off, a strong nation; and the Lord will reign over them in Mount Zion
from this time forth and for evermore. (Mic. 4.3, 6–7, NRSV)
In this coming day the Lord will restore justice to the gate. The political
and judicial system will again function justly (Isa. 1.26; 28.6; 32.1). The original
relative equality in landholding will be restored (see pp. 56–58).
According to many prophecies, God would accomplish God’s own pur-
poses through an agent, later called “the Messiah.” God’s representative would
lead the people in obedience under a new covenant of peace (Ezek. 37.24–28)
and even die for their iniquities (Isa. 53, according to the traditional interpreta-
tion of the suffering servant in this chapter as an individual rather than the
people collectively). He would also establish social justice:
Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen, in whom my soul

delights; I have put my spirit upon him, he will bring forth justice to
THE LONG MARCH OF GOD 73
the nations. He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in
the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning
wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice. He
will not fail or be crushed until he has established justice in the
earth; and the coastlands wait for his teaching. (Isa. 42.1–4, NRSV)
From the House of David would come a king whose rule would be based
on justice (Isa. 9.7), who would finally establish justice for the poor of the earth
(Isa. 11.4; see 16.5).
Toward the end of the Old Testament writings we find this answer to the
complaint “Where is the God of justice?” (Mal. 2.17): “See, I am sending my
messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will
suddenly come to his temple; the messenger of the covenant in whom you
delight—indeed, he is coming” (Mal. 3.1, NRSV). With fire he would purge the
people of their iniquity and social injustice (v. 5) so that their offerings would
again be acceptable to the Lord (vv. 2–5). This answer finds an echo in the New
Testament in John the Baptist’s proclamation of the one who soon will come
with a baptism of fire (Matt. 3.11; Luke 3.16; see Matt. 11.10 par.).
At the time of Jesus, the notion of the Reign of God, although it took vari-
ous forms, pervaded Jewish expectations for the future.11 The hopes of the
faithful remnant of Israel were voiced by Mary and Anna and Simeon in Luke
1–2. Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, also prophesied that God’s peo-
ple, having been delivered from the power of their enemies, would “without
fear worship God in holiness and in justice . . .” (Luke 1.74–75). Other writers
of this time share the three elements of this hope: (1) deliverance from national
enemies, (2) faithful worship of God, and (3) living in justice (Psalms of Solomon
17.26, 28 [63–30 B.C.] and the Book of Jubilees 1.15–19 [mid-second century B.C.]).
The Jewish apocalyptic literature envisioned a divine revolution that would
create a society in union with its God and end oppression forever; the vision
compelled its believers to conform their lives and actions to the values embod-
ied in their hope.12 To a prediction of the time when a house would be built for
the Great King (1 Enoch 91.13, early second century B.C.), 1 Enoch adds an appeal
to love justice because this is the time for the destruction of injustice (94.1,
early second century B.C.). There follows a series of woes to be visited on the
wealthy who have oppressed and plundered the just (especially 94.6–8; 95.6;
96.7; 97.8–98.3, 8; 102.9). The Third Sibylline Oracle (ca. 145 B.C.) states, “And
then indeed he will raise up his kingdom for all ages among men.” Justice will
characterize this Reign: “There will be just wealth among men for this is the
judgment and dominion of the great God” (3.767, 783–84 Charlesworth; see
5.414–19 [A.D. 130]).
The Present Justice of the Reign
This Reign, seen from afar by the prophets, taught and lived by Jesus, with him
began to enter history; it is both “the starting point and the goal of the church.”13
It is present, yet only in part. Günther Bornkamm warns of the peril of sepa-
rating the statements made by Jesus about the future from those about the
present. The presence of the Reign of God reveals the future as salvation and
judgment, and the imminence of the future Reign reveals today as the day of
decision and action.14
Jesus preached that the nearness of the full manifestation of God’s Reign
gives urgency to the present. As both promise and menace, “the victorious
divine will and power [are] waiting at the door of the times.”15 The proclamation
of the Reign is a call for repentance, a radical change of one’s life: the time is
full; the opportunity (kairos) is at its climax; the Reign of God has come near;
repent! (Mark 1.15). The Reign brings both salvation and doom, and failure to
recognize the time and the opportunity it offers results in judgment. Before his
crucifixion Jesus wept over Jerusalem, for it did not recognize the time of its
visitation (Luke 19.41–44; see 12.56; 13.1–5). A similar urgency is incumbent
upon those who do repent: they must hold themselves in watchful readiness for
the return of their Master (Luke 12.37). The fact that blessing or wrath lies in the
future lends, rather than denies, crucial significance to the present moment.16
On the other hand, the present fulfillment speaks of the imminence of the
remaining final acts of God. The salvation that is evident now gives assurance
that the whole of which it is part will soon follow.17 The mystery concerning the
Reign of which Jesus spoke is that it begins before the Great Judgment and the
end of the world.18 To those who expected to be able to observe its coming as
they would an astronomical phenomenon, Jesus replied, “Look, the Reign of
God is in your midst” (Luke 17.21); it is already effective in the events that are
related to Jesus.19
Various aspects of Jesus’ teaching and actions reflected this present fulfill-
ment. Before the coming of John the Baptist, the Reign had been the object of
prophecy; since John, it had been present as a factor in history, even suffering
violence. (The alternative reading of Matt. 11.12–13 is “exerting force.”) The
Reign is present, and it is that Reign of which the prophets spoke.
Jesus’ personal authority signaled the time of fulfillment, both in his au-
thoritative interpretation of the law and in his authority in forgiving sin (Mark
2.23–28; 2.1–12). The time of forgiveness had come.20 The note of urgency in
his preaching did not signify that time had run out, but rather that the time had
come.
THE L ONG MARCH OF GOD 75
Jesus’ ethical precepts are the ethics of the Reign, not ethics of preparation
or of waiting for the Reign. They are the ethics of the present Reign of God, or
new covenant ethics: “the righteousness of those living in the days of the new
covenant and empowered and qualified by the reconciliation and redemption
of that age.”21 Those who respond to Jesus are to live by the demands of the
new age of justice that is breaking into history.
Now was a key word in early Protestantism and can serve as an illustration
of the ethical significance of perceiving the presence of the Reign. “Justification
was now to be apprehended; assurance of salvation was now to be received; the
rule of Christ was now to become effective.”22 A sense of catastrophe but also of
newness of life gave urgency to the idea of the Kingdom of God and deprived
the feudal-hierarchical order of its halo. For the Puritans, “the more the idea of
the end and goal of life was brought into relation to their fundamental faith in
sovereignty, the more it came to be an idea of the coming kingdom rather than
of the other world.”23
The conviction of the presence of the Reign of God was strengthened
rather than crushed by the crucifixion of Jesus. By his resurrection and ascen-
sion, the apostles believed that God had made the crucified Jesus Lord (Acts
2.36). Christ is King. God’s Reign is operative in the rule of Christ raised on
high and is being realized in Christ’s rule.24 God has exalted him “that every
tongue may confess that ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’” (Phil. 2.9–11). The book of Rev-
elation, the saga of the battle between the demonic as manifested in human
government and the Reign of God, begins by acclaiming Jesus as “the ruler of
the kings of the earth” (1.5).
A dictum of the theorists of constitutional monarchy, according to Karl
Mannheim, is “The king reigns but does not govern.”25 We can apply this state-
ment (somewhat roughly) to our concern. Christ reigns but at present is gov-
erning only partially. The rebellion against God continues. God’s purpose in
the present age is to narrow the gap until Christ not only reigns but assumes
complete control of the government of the world (see also pp. 79–80) so that all
will join in the song of Revelation: “You have taken your great power and begun
to reign” (Rev. 11.17). We live in a period between the small beginnings of the
Reign and its triumphant and magnificent end. “The Reign of Heaven is like a
mustard seed,” which, when it is planted, is the smallest of seeds but, when it
grows, is the largest herb (Matt. 13.31–32). It is “like leaven which a woman
takes and hides in a peck and a half of flour until the whole is leavened” (Matt.
13.33).
By holding together the presence and the future of the Reign, we eliminate
a barrier that has kept many Christians from involvement in efforts for social
justice. If the decisive battle of the Reign of God will not be won until after the
Second Coming of Christ, if a cataclysmic intervention of God must come at

the end of history before God assumes the full government of the world, can
efforts to improve human institutions be part of the Christian mission? Why
build, if the structure is to be torn down? Is not our task rather to help men and
women come into the allegiance of faith which will ensure that they can share
in the final blessings of God? Marx had precisely this attitude in mind when he
called religion the opium of the people.
Our situation is like that of the first disciples of Jesus. We wait, as they did,
in anticipation of his return. But according to his instructions our wait means
renewed diligence in carrying out the will of God, not a slacking off (Matt.
24.44–51). The demand of God upon us now is intensified by anticipation of
the future, and there is to be no narrowing of the scope of God’s demands. The
physical and social are integral to the Reign that is breaking in.
The awareness that we cannot build a perfect society in history must not
deflect us from the obligation to work for a better society. We would not think
of postponing personal righteousness—sexual purity, for example—on the
grounds that perfection will not come until after the Second Coming. Rauschen-
busch correctly stated that any argument mandating the postponement of
social righteousness to a future era would in the same way justify the postpone-
ment of personal holiness.26
God is not asking us to build eternal structures but to accept our respon-
sibility for God’s creation. We are properly concerned about the health of our
bodies even though we know the certainty of death. We should also be con-
cerned for the health of our institutions despite their temporality. A similar
comparison can be made with respect to evangelism, in the sense of winning
allegiance to Jesus Christ. Our task is to bring the message of his love to every
person, even if only a portion of humanity will be believers at the Second
Coming.
The Miracles of Jesus

Luke depicts Jesus in an inaugural sermon in Nazareth stating the objectives of
his ministry: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me. The Lord has anointed me for
this purpose: The Lord has sent me to proclaim good news to the poor, to pro-
claim release to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who
are oppressed, to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord” (Luke 4.18–19).
These tasks are stated in the terms of the Old Testament message of justice
(Isa. 61.1–2; 58.6), and the Gospels show Jesus as in fact giving sight to the
blind. This literal fulfillment should warn us against spiritualizing the refer-
ences to justice in his ministry. The consequences of the advent of God’s Reign
are experienced in the social and political institutions of everyday life; their
oppressive power is broken.27
John the Baptist inquired whether Jesus was the Coming One. When Jesus
heard his question, he responded with an action: “He healed many from dis-
eases, suffering, and evil spirits and graciously gave the power of sight to many
blind people.” Jesus then spoke: “Report to John what you saw and heard: blind
people are receiving sight; lame people are walking; lepers are being cleansed;
deaf people are hearing; dead people are being raised; and good news is being
proclaimed to poor people” (Luke 7.20–21). This passage can hardly be spiritu-
alized. Jesus performed the miracles at the time in which he spoke the words.
His actual deeds of compassion for physical suffering are the evidence that he
is the agent of God’s Reign.
In a key passage, Jesus argues that it is the arrival of the Reign of God that
has made possible the power that healed a man who had been sightless, speech-
less, and demon possessed: “Since I by the Spirit of God cast out demons, then
the Reign of God has come upon you” (Matt. 12.28). The Reign of God is pre-
sent in the physical world, not only in the hearts of those who receive him. It is
present in the relief of suffering of a physical body.
Healing and announcing the Reign are closely linked elsewhere. When
Jesus sends out his disciples on their missions, which are prototypical of the
mission of the church, their instructions are to “heal the sick and say, ‘the
Reign of God has come upon you’” (Luke 10.9; 9.2; Matt. 10.7–8). This combi-
nation also characterized Jesus’ own mission (Matt. 9.35).
What is the significance of the fact that each of these examples from Jesus’
ministry is a healing, rather than another aspect of the Old Testament prophecy
that he had applied to himself in Luke 4.18? To us healing would seem distinct
from the more political acts of liberating prisoners and ending oppression. But
to the Hebrews, physical healing and economic or political deliverance do not
belong to separate spheres. Their juxtaposition in Isaiah 61.1 is not unique. In
Psalm 146, for example, the opening of the eyes of the blind is made parallel to
such divine actions as executing justice for the oppressed, setting prisoners
free, and upholding the widow and the fatherless (vv. 7–9).28 Thus it is appro-
priate for Matthew to view Jesus’ acts of healing as the fulfillment of the predic-
tion that the Servant of the Lord would establish justice (Matt. 12.18–21; Isa.
42.1–4; see pp. 92–93). Malachi had promised that “the sun of justice” (ṣedāqāh)
would “rise with healing in his wings” (Mal. 4.2). Indeed, healing can be seen
as a form of justice because the body is a person’s link with the world (see
pp. 100–101), and disease is one of the many forces by which it is assailed.
Healing also is linked to justice as restoration to community. Not only had
the physical condition itself prevented participation in community, it also had
continually excluded them from the social community. The sick were often so-
cially set apart because of the nature of their disease (e.g., leprosy) or by being
accused as being under divine judgment. In addition, those who were healed so
often were persons regarded as secondary for other reasons (e.g., as pagan,
woman, or child).29 Jesus in his healing brought them back into community,
removing barriers and giving a new dignity. His healing was a work of justice.
Jesus’ ministry of justice was not confined to his healing. We should, how-
ever, note the restrictions to which his ministry was subject. His incarnation
confined him to a specific place at a specific time in history. He was limited by
the brevity of his public ministry over against the limited options for good
under the rule of Jerusalem oligarchy, backed by the power of the empire. He
was restricted by the obligations of his unique task of making atonement by his
death for the people. Yet in compassion he used his special gifts and opportu-
nities to relieve suffering. The nature of Jesus’ healing ministry as serving
physical and social needs has too often been overlooked when the miracles
have been interpreted primarily as authenticating the gospel, rather than as
bringing deliverance. But the Gospels frequently show Jesus’ healing as moti-
vated by simple compassion. In the accounts of seven of his miracles it is stated
that he was moved by compassion; in five others he heals in response to a plea
for compassion.30
Since the Reign is present in healing of the body, it cannot logically be ex-
cluded from dealing with other material factors that make people suffer. Au-
gustine defined medicine as everything that either preserves or restores bodily
health and included “food and drink, clothing and shelter, and every means of
covering and protection to guard our bodies against injuries and mishaps from
without as well as within.”31 General William Booth, founder of the Salvation
Army, drew attention to the person whose “circumstances are sick, out of order,
in danger of carrying him to utter destruction.”32 We may have different gifts
(we may not have the gift of healing) and different opportunities from our
Lord’s, but in our way we too can respond in compassion to the whole spec-
trum of human suffering needing to be healed. “And he sent them to proclaim
the Reign of God and to heal” (Luke 9.2).
The Fight Against Satan

The healing miracles of Jesus and his liberation of individuals from demonic
oppression are both aspects of the same ministry. The Reign of God was pre-
sent as he healed the sightless and speechless man and also as he cast out the
demon who had possessed him (Matt. 12.22–26). The Reign is not an idea or a
purely “spiritual” force. It is manifested as power in the physical affairs of
people as they are hindered by demonic forces. God’s victory is won in Jesus’
actions overcoming the power of Satan and loosening Satan’s hold on crea-
tion.33 The strong man has been conquered by one who is stronger; now the
strong man’s plunder from God’s creation can be redistributed (Luke 11.22).
The recovery of creation is seen in Jesus’ directions for male-female rela-
tionships, which he based in the creation ideal.34 In Matthew 19.4–5 Jesus
draws upon Genesis 1.27 and 2.24 to present a radical view of marriage not
relativized by the reality of the sinful order. The breaking-in Reign of God is a
return to the purity of the time of creation. Gender differences are irrelevant to
the concerns and processes of God’s Reign.35
The Reign of God frequently implies God’s sovereignty over other rulers.
In the Old Testament, God’s universal power was contrasted to that of the East-
ern monarchs. At the time of Jesus, people saw a whole order of evil powers in
opposition to God’s Reign. In the first century A.D., The Testament of Moses
looked to a time when “His Kingdom shall appear throughout all His creation,
and then Satan shall be no more, and sorrow shall depart with him” (10.1, R. H.
Charles; see Test. Dan 5.13–6.4). At Qumran, the community awaited God’s
triumph in which by a mighty hand God would defeat Satan and the angelic
hosts of his rule. Then “the Reign will belong to the God of Israel” (1QM 1.15;
6.6). In the New Testament, the Reign of God combats the powers of the de-
monic and is contrasted to the power of the evil social order (see Luke 12.30–31;
John 18.36; Col. 1.13; Rev. 11.15). “The true front on which the liberation of
Christ takes place does not run between soul and body or between persons and
structures, but between the powers of the world as it decays and collapses into
ruin, and the powers of the Spirit and of the future.”36
Our age comes between the initial triumph of Christ over the demonic
powers and his securing from them the final lordship over history. After men-
tioning the Second Coming of Christ, Paul states: “Then will come the end,
when he [Christ] will hand over the Reign to the God and Father after he has
destroyed each rule and each authority and power. For it is necessary for him to
reign until he has placed all his enemies under his feet. Death, the last enemy,
is in the process of being destroyed” (1 Cor. 15.24–26).
Christ’s Reign is associated with his battle with the evil power structures,
described here as “rule, authority, and power.” Paul describes death as the most
powerful of these forces. The Reign of Christ will see the destruction of every
power that is in opposition to the will of God. The Second Coming marks the
final victory in the battle against the demonic. Christ’s work here affects all of
history, not only the salvation of individuals.37
There is basic disagreement among interpreters of this passage as to
whether the defeat of the demonic will come entirely at the end or whether
Christ is carrying out this conquest now. The form of the verb used to speak of
death being destroyed (katargeitai) is the present indicative, which indicates
action in process. Because Paul is writing of the end (v. 24) and the last enemy,
some take this present tense to be futuristic (e.g., in English, “I am coming”
can refer to the future). But the normal use of the tense is present action now
in process. Paul finds hope in the fact that the last events are under way. Christ’s
Reign ends when all the enemies are put in subordination to him, but the con-
quest of even the last of these is already in process. The present age is the time
of the consolidation of Christ’s Reign, as the enemies are being put under his
feet and death is being destroyed, yet the final victory will come only with his
triumphant return at the end of history. Until then, life is a battlefield of the
divine and demonic, as Tillich correctly observed. Each event in which there is
a victory over the demonic is to be seen in light of the outcome of history, when
Christ will present to the Father a universe restored to its proper order.38 This
triumph of God is actual in our history to the extent that the destructive de-
monic forces are broken. If we limit the presence of the Reign to action within
the church, we neglect this work of God upon the forces that govern social his-
tory39 Historical struggles are thus not irrelevant to the coming of God’s full
Reign. Like cool breezes before a refreshing summer storm, the small victories
in which we share speak of the approaching outcome.
Tolkien strikingly captures the power and hope that the presence of the
Reign brings to our struggle against evil. As the two hobbits advance in their
perilous travel to Mordor, the seat of the evil power, the wind begins blowing
from the west. There is a remarkable change in the weather, driving back the
billowing clouds of Mordor. “‘Look at it, Mr. Frodo!’ said Sam. ‘Look at it! The
wind’s changed. Something’s happening. He’s not having it all his way. His
darkness is breaking up out in the world there. I wish I could see what is going
on!’”40 So with the presence now of Christ’s Reign: Something’s happening!
The power of evil is no longer having it all its way. C. S. Lewis in The Lion, the
Witch, and the Wardrobe also captures this sense of the restoring power of God’s
present Reign. Even though the wicked Witch is still ruling, the snow is melt-
ing. Aslan is in the land!
The struggle against the demonic in general becomes concrete in the
struggles against the oppression exerted by the power structures of our day.
These can be discerned through a spiritual awareness of the existence of social
evil and the injustices through which they work. Tyrannical governments, mil-
itary aggression (including terrorism and genocide), racism, subjection of
women, HIV/AIDS, weakly fettered capitalism, famine, abortion on demand,
and non–living wages are only a few examples of the identifiable foci of such
oppressive powers in our century.41
To what extent are we to participate in this struggle of the Reign against the
demonic powers? We are involved by our basic allegiance to the Lordship of
Christ over all of life and our consequent duty to resist the Devil (see
pp. 15–16). Our involvement is in proportion to the measure of the injustice
ranged against us, since as people of God we have that basic duty to execute
justice (see pp. 60–64).
Further, we have a share in Christ’s mission. “As the Father has sent me,
so send I you” (John 20.21). His ministry is ours (see John 9.4). We can start
with the commission that he applied to himself in Nazareth (Luke 4.18; see
pp. 76–77) and with the work that he shared with his earliest followers: “The
seventy-two returned with joy saying, ‘Lord even the demons are subjected to
us at the mention of your name!’ He said to them, ‘I watched Satan falling from
heaven like lightning. Look, I have granted you the power to tread on snakes
and scorpions and over every power of the Enemy; and no one will injure you’”
(Luke 10.17–19).
The disciples had been sent out to heal the sick and proclaim the approach
of the Reign of God (Luke 10.9), just as Jesus had done (Matt. 9.35). Satan fell
as a result. The fall of Satan as a consequence of the witness of Christians is
also praised in the book of Revelation. This time it is their faithful testimony to
the atonement, even in martyrdom, that causes the downfall of their accuser
(Rev. 12.10–11; see 13.10).42 The disciples also have power over snakes and
scorpions (Luke 10.19; see Deut. 8.15). The hostility and bondage that have
characterized the created world since the Fall (Gen. 3.13–15; see 3.17–18) were
being overcome in their work. It is not surprising, therefore, for the fellow
workers of Paul to be called “helpers [with him] in the work of the Reign of
God” (Col. 4.11).43
Justice for God’s Reign
The proclamation of the approach of the Reign of God brought with it an im-
perative for justice. When asked by the crowds what they should do in response
to his preaching about the Reign, John the Baptist stressed the egalitarian
theme of biblical justice and told them that “the one who has two tunics should
share with the one who has none and the one who has food should do likewise”
(Luke 3.10–11; see Luke 3.4; Isa. 56.1). Jesus’ demand that his disciples sell their
property on behalf of the poor echoes the same theme (Luke 12.33; 14.33; Matt.
19.21 par.). The communitarian sharing of the early church is seen by Luke as
the norm for a church that had been open to the outpouring of the Spirit at the
end of the age (Acts 2.44–47; 4.32–35). It was appropriate for a community that
sought to live according to the ethics of the Reign which it sought. Because the
Reign comes with a claim that compels response, it was not possible to tolerate
a situation in which some had much and others had little or nothing at all.44
In both Luke and Matthew, Jesus is seen to associate his ministry from the
beginning with the same downtrodden groups who were given priority in the
justice of the Old Testament. At Nazareth, Jesus stated his goals to be the relief
of oppression and proclamation of good news to the poor (Luke 4.18–19). In
Matthew, Jesus’ teaching begins with the Beatitudes, in which the blessings of
the Reign are promised to groups similar to those of Luke 4. Particularly in the
Lukan version, in which the blessings are accompanied by woes to be experi-
enced by the rich and the plight of the weak is stated in unqualified terms, the
Beatitudes are a radical expression of the principle of redress (Luke 6.20–26).
This theme of social reversal is also reflected in the parables of Jesus (e.g., Luke
16.1–9; 16.19–31).
Jesus confronted a leadership consisting of the religious, economic, and
political elite.45 His triumphal entry into Jerusalem and subsequent cleansing
of the temple were a public demonstration, one of the most effective means of
protest available in a peasant society. Control of the temple was the basis of
both economic and religious power in Judea. Thus when Jesus symbolically
seized that control, the Jerusalem aristocracy sought his death (Mark 11.18). In
his public denunciation of the leadership of the nation, he included their fail-
ure to execute justice (Matt. 23.23/Luke 11.42; see Mark 12.40 par.). By such
actions he took up the role of social prophet.
John 18.36 has been understood by some Christians to dismiss the social
and political aspects of the Reign of God. For some, no matter how persuasively
the other side of the case may be stated elsewhere in Scripture, the question is
settled once and for all by this proof text. Jesus says to Pilate, “My Reign is not
from this world [cosmos]. If my Reign were from this world, then my servants
would fight in order that I might not be handed over to the Jews. But now my
Reign is not from here.”
The keys to understanding John 18.36 are the meaning of term world and
the phrase from (or of ) this world. What is the relationship between the fact that
his Reign is not of this world, and the fact that his servants do not fight?
World or order (cosmos) has a variety of uses in the New Testament (see
pp. 4–6). Many readers understand world in this verse as the material world (a
spatial interpretation). Jesus is understood to be saying that his Reign is “spiri-
tual” or internal; it is seen as a matter of faith and personal relationship to God.
His followers will not fight because his Reign has nothing to do with the mate-
rial world.
But it is not for the reason that the world is material that it is opposed in
the Johannine writings. This would imply that matter is evil or inferior and
would allow no contact between God’s rule and sensual reality. This Gnostic
option was rejected by the church. John, in contrast, affirms the physical reality
of Jesus’ human body (John 1.14).
A second possibility would be to give a temporal interpretation to the world.
This world is evil in contrast to the next world. The Reign of Jesus does not
involve fighting because it does not relate to this age. The Bible, however, does
not use world (cosmos) for the new time to come.46 Other terminology is used to
speak of the future age in contrast to the present. The world is transitory, but it
is not an age. The word now in the last sentence might seem to lend support to
the temporal interpretation: “But now my Reign is not from here.” Now (nun),
however, responds to the conditional clause, “if my Reign were of this world. . . .”
It functions not temporally but logically to show the real situation in contrast to
the unreal hypothetical condition: “But, as a matter of fact,47 my Reign is not
from here.” As Augustine put it, the meaning is not “now is my kingdom not
here,” but rather, it “is not from hence.”48
The best possibility is that world refers to the organization of society on
principles in opposition to God’s (an ethical-religious interpretation). For the
very reason that Jesus’ Reign does have to do with social and political values, it
cannot be of the evil social order. This world functions for John like world by
itself.49 Jesus says in one place, “I have come into the world” (16.28); in another
place he says, “I have come into this world” (9.39). Satan is “the ruler of this
world” (12.31), as well as “the ruler of the world” (14.30). This world is the world
as it is estranged from its Creator and Lord.
Particularly telling is the phrase from or of the world. It literally means “out
of [ek] the world.” It speaks of one’s source, the source of one’s values. It is
always used negatively by John.50 Whenever the phrase is used with the verb to
be (einai), it refers to evil values. “Everything that is in the world—the desire of
the flesh and the desire of the eyes and the boasting of wealth—is not of the
Father but is of the world” (1 John 2.16). Therefore, not only the Reign but also
Jesus and his disciples “are not of the world” (John 15.19; 17.14, 16). Yet they are
in Jerusalem and in the first century! Neither the spatial nor the temporal mean-
ings of the world fit. The same phrase is used in 18.36. The Reign of Jesus was
in society and in the present just as were Jesus and his followers. Jesus, how-
ever, does not draw the values of his Reign from the fallen human order. Because
the values that were the basis of his kingship are distinct from those of the
world, Jesus’ servants do not fight.51 His Reign requires the saving death of its
king, and its origins lie in the Father’s commission rather than in the political
support of human beings (see John 10.18; 12.23, 27, 33; 18.37; and pp. 154–155).
The Reign of God breaking into history brings a demand for justice that
must affect the political outlook of those who seek this Reign. Its presence in
history both relativizes and radicalizes the activity of building the human city.52
In this respect the concept of the Kingdom of God has had a powerful impact,
particularly in the Puritan tradition. The Kingdom of God represents a standard
that is over and above any national culture or political or economic interest. By
it all else is measured, and to it all else must conform.53 Calvin stated that the
civil government, “in some measure, begins the heavenly kingdom in us.”54
Calvinism insisted that God was king over every creature, and thus it refused to
regard any part of human life as outside the need of restoration to the harmony
of God’s kingdom.55 The political life of society may be used to reform the out-
ward person and encourage moral virtue; so that while a government may not
belong directly to Christ, it may apply to life the discipline that Christ desires.56
How, then, is the Reign of God present to us? “If the joyful news of the rule
of God is proclaimed, if people humble themselves to do justice to its claims, if
evil is overcome and people are made free for God, then the Rule of God has
already become actual among them, then the Reign of God is ‘in their midst.’”57
God’s Purpose in History
Behind our personal redemption in Christ, the formation of the Christian com-
munity, the overcoming of injustice, and the subordination of the supernatural
powers, Christian faith sees a divine purpose in history. Paul states that after
the universe becomes subject to Christ, Christ himself will then become sub-
ject to his Father “so that God may be everything in everything” (1 Cor. 15.28).
The same thought occurs in Philippians. In the exalted Lordship of Christ
every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord “to the glory of God the
Father” (Phil. 2.11). Beyond the victorious Lordship of Christ is the goal of the
glory of God.58 The ultimate purpose in history is the total sovereignty of God
over all things. The hymnic materials in Colossians and Ephesians express this
thought. It pleased God through Christ “to reconcile to himself all things,
whether on earth or in heaven” (Col. 1.20, NRSV; see Eph. 1.10). In the end, all
the created world—people, supernatural powers, natural forces, and institu-
tions—will be conformed to the will of God.
In this ultimate purpose we have a solidarity with the rest of the material
world. The creation that fell with our Fall (Gen. 3.17; Rom. 8.20) retained within
it a redemptive purpose. It was subjected to futility “in hope” (Rom. 8.20).59
The creation will be set free from corruption at the time when our mortal
bodies are redeemed from their temporality and weakness (Rom. 8.18–23).
Seen in eschatological perspective, the material world gains significance
because it shares in the ultimate redemptive purpose. A privatization of the
gospel that refuses to take seriously the world with its sorrows and injustices is
a sign that the eschatological dimension has been lost.60 Christ “did not come
in order to create a religion, but in order to accomplish God’s purpose of plac-
ing all things under [God’s] government.”61 The Reign thus is not fulfilled in
the satisfaction of private social needs. Its goal is as great and wide as creation
itself.62
Creation and salvation do not exist as distinct spheres of divine action. In
the Old Testament, worship, ethics, politics, and the non-human created world
are all closely related. God blesses the faithfulness of the people with prosperity
and fertility. Their disobedience is punished through natural catastrophe.63
God’s saving work is described as creation in two stages of the Exodus
tradition. Mythic imagery associated with the creation (e.g., Ps. 89.10–11; 93.1–
4; and in Canaanite texts) is utilized in a description of the Hebrews’ escape
from Egypt and crossing of the sea.
When the waters saw you, O God, when the waters saw you, they
were afraid; the very deep trembled. The clouds poured out water; the
skies thundered; your arrows flashed on every side. The crash of your
thunder was in the whirlwind; your lightnings lit up the world; the
earth trembled and shook. Your way was through the sea; yet your
footprints were unseen. (Ps. 77.16–19, NRSV)
Later God’s future provision of salvation is pictured as a second Exodus,

again using creation symbolism:
Awake, as in days of old, the generations of long ago! Was it not you
who cut Rahab in pieces, who pierced the dragon? Was it not you
who . . . made the depths of the sea a way for the redeemed to cross
over? So the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion
with singing. (Isa. 51.9–11, NRSV)
Thus the divine warrior of deliverance merges with the warrior of creation
who defeats chaos.64 God’s coming deliverance of the people of God is seen as
a new act of creation:65
I form light and create darkness, I make weal and create woe, I the
Lord do all these things. Shower, O heavens, from above, and let the
skies rain down righteousness; let the earth open, that salvation may
spring up, and let it cause righteousness to sprout up also; I the Lord
have created it. (Isa. 45.7–8, NRSV)
Divine actions are interrelated, and God’s purpose in history has a unity;
creation and redemption are parts of one divine process, as justice is not
separable from love. Thus human action against misery and exploitation and
the effort to build a just temporal city are relevant to the divine work of redemp-
tion. In its particular concern for redemption, the church is involved in all
aspects of human striving.66
The incarnation of Christ is also a link between creation and redemption.
The incarnation is the divine gift of God’s own self to the created world. The
earthly form that God chose was humanity, indeed, the humanity of the
oppressed. At his birth, God’s Son was wrapped in rags in a barn and visited by
the lowly shepherds. In his travels he had no shelter for his head, and he suf-
fered the most despised death.
The Holy Spirit in the church continues the saving work of God. Our Lord
ascends from the earth, but he leaves his Spirit within history. The mission of
the Spirit includes convicting the fallen order about right social conduct
(dikaiosunē, John 16.8). The Spirit becomes incarnate in the church, which, as
the body of Christ (see Eph. 2.14–18), continues his incarnation. Christ’s Spirit
now dwells in a people whom he expected to be among the hungry and impris-
oned (Matt. 25.31–46; see 1 Cor. 1.26–28; Jas. 2.5). This church does the work
that Jesus would be doing if he were physically upon the earth. It is not the
mystical body but the “working body of Christ.”67 God’s Reign is evident in the
service of the crucified one, and it spreads wherever the word about Christ is
preached and acted upon.68 The body of Christ contributes to the cosmic task
of reconciliation. After stating that Jesus has been exalted over all the supernat-
ural powers and has had all things placed under his feet, Ephesians says God
“appointed him as the supreme head for the church, which is his body, which
is the fullness of him who fills the universe in every way” (Eph. 1.22–23). The
church is the vessel of God’s action to fill all things with the Spirit of God and
with power. This epistle indicates that the church contributes in at least three
ways. The first is in overcoming the hostility between Jew and Gentile (2.11–
22). The second is through its growth in the love and knowledge of Christ (3.19;
4.13). The third is by deeds of goodness, justice, and truth, as well as by expo-
sure of the works of darkness (2.10; 5.8–11; see Col. 1.6, 10). Schnackenburg
notes that the conquest of the world in Ephesians takes place in two ways: by
the church’s growth in grace and by its mission. The two functions are inti-
mately associated:
By being built up in love, the Church, directed and nourished by its

Lord and head, bears witness to the reign of Christ, the defeat of the
powers and the return of [our] world to God’s order; and as, growing
stronger, it proclaims all this to the world and summons [us] to
accept Christ’s rule, it widens its influence and sphere of action in
the cosmos, it forces back the cosmic powers and takes their sphere
of activity away from them.69
The Reign of God represents the promise and expectation of the conquest
of all opposition to God in creation, both within individuals and within society
as a whole. It is no longer the Reign that we seek if we serve a gospel that
“haunts churches but never ventures out into the market and the stock exchange
and the real estate office.”70 Neither is it the Reign if the neglect of its inner
aspects results in empty and haunted churches.
The Reign is the Creator’s constitutional order for every creature:71
As he has for every [person’s] life a plan, so has he for the common
life a perfect social order into which he seeks to lead his children,
that he may give them plenty and blessedness and abundance of
peace as long as the moon endureth. Surely he has a way for [us] to
live in society; he has a way of organizing industry; he has a way of
life for the family, and for the school, and for the shop, and for the
city, and for the state; he has a way for preventing poverty, and a way
for helping and saving the poor and the sick and the sinful; and it is
his way that we are to seek and point out and follow.72
Attention to the Reign of the sovereign God creates moral responsibility for
all spheres of life. We cannot do everything, “but we cannot arbitrarily decide
that something is outside of the scope of Christian moral responsibility.”73
“Any department of human life which has not been sanctified and brought
under the obedience of Jesus Christ is a province to be reclaimed for him by the
church.”74
“First of all seek the Reign and its justice” (Matt. 6.33).75 This commitment
to and longing for the triumph of God’s will is the basis of the prayer “Thy
kingdom come, Thy will be done, On earth as it is in heaven” (Matt. 6.10, RSV).
We are to choose our ultimate allegiance and then to be zealous in it. And we
seek not only the Reign but also the justice that belongs to it.
A Kingship that Arrives by Joy
“The Reign of Heaven is like a treasure hidden in the field; the person who
finds it, because of joy goes away and sells everything that he or she has and buys
that field” (Matt. 13.44).
The Reign of God has broken into history with Jesus Christ, and the will of
God no longer wears the aspect of a legal demand. The obligation now is caught
up in our joyous response to the gracious work of Christ.76 We can now be

obedient to the rule of God through the special resources made available by
Christ’s coming: the power of the Holy Spirit and membership in the body of
believers. We can carry out the requirements of the Law because with the Reign
has come the new covenant by which God’s law is written upon our hearts (Jer.
31.33; see Rom. 8.3–4).
This new covenant came into history through the atoning death of Christ,
as he told his disciples at the Last Supper: “This cup is the new covenant in my
blood which is shed for you” (Luke 22.20). His death was a necessary precon-
dition for the completion of the Reign of God. The eschatological banquet of
peace and joy can only come after his death is accomplished. “I will not drink
again from this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it in a new way with
you in the Reign of my Father” (Matt. 26.29).77 Through “the blood of his
cross” Christ makes the peace that reconciles the universe (Col. 1.20). The cos-
mic reconciliation corresponds to the forgiveness of sin that the justified per-
son shares in the new age ushered in by Christ.78
The resurrection continued the entry of God’s Reign into history. It not
only indicated God’s acceptance of Christ’s work on the cross but was also an
act of the new creation. The resurrection of his body was the “first fruits” for
the resurrection of all who believe (1 Cor. 15.20; Rom. 8.21–23).
The Reign of God, breaking into history with its demand, also brought the
Spirit, who makes the Reign present in joy (Rom. 14.17) and in power (Matt.
12.28-29; 1 Cor. 4.20). The gifts and powers of the Reign have been granted to
the church (Matt. 21.43). It has tasted the powers of the age to come (Heb. 6.5).
It is “surrounded and impelled by the revelation, the progress, the future of the
kingdom of God.”79 The church is to be the community in which, through its
behavior and its mission, the Reign of God becomes visible, serving as precur-
sor and vanguard of the society that will be the fulfillment of all hope. The
church is called to represent the Reign of God “between the times.” It cannot,
therefore, remain passive in the face of the evils of society.80
In reaction to the liberal preoccupation with the social aspects of the Reign,
it has become fashionable in contemporary writings to state that the Reign of
God is not a social program and that people do not bring it in. But the very fact
that it is God’s Reign and is already present in grace means that our response
cannot be passive. What is involved is not our creating or building up the Reign,
since we are rather to expect it, but rather our service to God who is creating
and building it up.81 We receive the Reign as a gift, but with it comes a demand
and the power to meet that demand so that we can be channels of God’s crea-
tion. The Reign of God is not a social program, but faithfulness to its demands
for justice necessitates social programs and social struggle. The Reign, which
exposes the relativity of such efforts, also provides the motivation and grace to
carry them out.
Perhaps the most powerful motivational aspect of the Reign of God has
been the image of Jesus as sovereign (e.g., 1 Cor. 15.24–27; see p. 79). The Stu-
dent Volunteer Movement for Foreign Missions was a world evangelism pro-
gram with the watchword “The evangelization of the world in this generation.”
Its rallying cry around the turn of the twentieth century was “Make Jesus King!”
The leader, John R. Mott, challenged the movement in 1908: “Jesus Christ is
Lord and therefore must reign. He only has authority to rule social practices. . . .
He is the Savior of the individual and the one sufficient Power to transform [the
individual’s] environment and relationships.”82
Social action in service to God who is creating the Reign is not a matter of
human arrogance. It is the obedient and joyful use of the powers that God has
given us in Christ. It is faithfulness in the opportunities that God has opened
up to us in God’s long march through the history of the peoples, and powers,
and institutions that form the kingdom that God will not give up.
PART II
Paths to Justice
6
Evangelism
In the preceding pages we have seen that God has provided the
means to achieve justice. God has made justice known through
creative love and the revelation of the Word. Through the power
available in the death and resurrection of the Son, God imparts the
resources for carrying out God’s will for justice in the world. We shall
see, however, that those who would respond to God’s provision and
face the injustices of the world find that they must traverse many
paths in the effort to make justice a historical reality. Each such path
is important, but none is sufficient by itself. The first path to justice
to be examined is evangelism.
The Importance of Evangelism for Social Change
I prefer to use the word evangelism to describe one central function of

the church in the world, rather than its total work. Our terminology
should preserve the distinctions among the different tasks of the
church so that our labels do not delude us into thinking that by doing
one task we are carrying out another as well.
Evangelism is the communication of the gospel in a way that
requires a decision from the hearer. The content is the good news of
the coming into history of God’s Reign, centered on the death and
resurrection of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. The hope of this
communication is that the hearers will be converted—that they will
give allegiance to God by accepting for themselves Christ’s atoning work. The
message is well summed up in Julius Schniewind’s rendering of Matthew 4.17:
“Turn to God for God has turned to you.”1
While evangelism is extremely important for social responsibility, it is not
synonymous with it. Evangelism is aimed at the basic allegiance of the person;
it operates only through freedom, never by compulsion; it is addressed to the
individual or to individuals in a group. To become a child of God through trust
in Christ as one’s own savior is an end in itself of utmost worth. While a great
variety of nonverbal means can contribute to the communication of the good
news, the spoken and written word is essential, since the content is a past
event, which ultimately must be communicated with language.
The biblical theology that discloses the provision and requirement of jus-
tice (see part I) at the same time teaches the vital role of evangelism. The ability
to be God’s channel for justice is a gift of grace; conversion marks the begin-
ning of a new life governed by God’s grace, and conversion often comes as a
result of that work of the Holy Spirit that is evangelism.
The contribution of conversion and consequently of evangelism to social
change comes about not only through God’s provision of gracious power to
help others but also through the satisfaction of the personal need for healing in
the center of our being. Conversion is a redirection of life, characterized by a
new allegiance at the center of the personality and by a new direction in social
relationships.2 As the self is delivered from itself and reoriented so that God is
at its center,3 the hampering hold of self-will is released and the person’s latent
creative and benevolent impulses are given free play. A break with the interests
and values of the world accompanies a heightened awareness of moral respon-
sibility. Paul stated that when one becomes a Christian “there is a new creation”
(2 Cor. 5.17). There is new longing for virtue, for growth, for justice. As the
Quaker John Woolman wrote in his journal, “From an inward purifying, and
steadfast abiding under it, springs a lively operative desire for the good of
others.”4
Conversion will have manifest ethical and social consequences. The com-
ing of the Spirit will be visible in love and joy and kindness and self-control
(Gal. 5.22). John the Baptist, in his proclamation that the Reign of God was at
hand, demanded “fruits worthy of repentance” (Luke 3.8). When asked what
these fruits would be, he referred to such concrete acts as the sharing of prop-
erty and abstaining from injustice (vv. 10–14). Similarly, in the Old Testament
conversion was a turning (šûb) to God that was manifested in love and justice:
“You by the help of God return; keep loyal love and justice and have hope in
your God” (Hosea 12.6). In the Gospels, Zacchaeus, the tax collector, provides
a striking picture of what conversion is meant to be. When he responded to
E VANGELISM 95
Jesus in joy and resolved to distribute his wealth to the poor and to those vic-
timized by his extortion, Jesus declared, “Today, salvation has come to this
house” (Luke 19.9).
Correspondingly, when revival and spiritual awakenings have been wide-
spread in a society, they have frequently resulted in movements of social con-
cern and reform. The best example in America are the urban revivals in the
1850s. In a pioneering work, Timothy Smith demonstrated the close relation-
ship between the revivals and the movements for social service and legislative
reform that sprang up in this period.5 Most significant was the movement to
abolish slavery. In large measure an offshoot of the movement animated by
evangelicalism in Great Britain, it spread to America with the spread of evan-
gelicalism.6 Orange Scott, the abolitionist and founder of the Wesleyan Meth-
odist Church, did not want to change people’s minds, but rather their hearts.
They would repent and work to change the laws.7
The order of society is fragile if its members are without the personal re-
sources contributed by evangelism and Christian nurture. Not all aspects of the
personality are adequately touched by external, societal change. Personal virtue
is necessary for social health, and conditioned social behavior cannot create it.
Erich Fromm, despite his great sympathy with Karl Marx, notes a dangerous
error in the latter’s neglect of the moral factor in man. Just because he assumed
that all the goodness of man would assert itself automatically when the eco-
nomic changes had been achieved, he did not see that a better society could not
be brought into life by people who had not undergone a moral change within
themselves. He paid no attention, at least not explicitly, to the necessity of a
new moral orientation, without which all political and economic changes are
futile.8
George Hunter states, “Our social causes will not triumph unless we have
great numbers of committed people.” Evangelism is a major factor in produc-
ing social activists by bringing people into the kind of commitment and em-
powerment that enable them to become involved in effective social service and
reform.9 People are God’s channels of justice, as well as of proclamation. The
coming of the Reign in the acceptance of the gift of Christ provides workers for
the growth of the Reign in historical and political events.10 As Elton Trueblood
observed, we “cannot reasonably expect to erect a constantly expanding struc-
ture of social activism upon a constantly diminishing foundation of faith.”11
Finally, any commitment to social action not accompanied by commitment
to evangelism, or otherwise failing to proclaim the transcendent origins of our
social claims, undercuts support within the church for social justice. This fail-
ure allows those who suspect that Christian social activism reflects a merely
humanitarian interpretation of religion to remain content in applying faith
only to the personal life of the individual.12 An example of this limitation oc-
curred when the president-elect of the Christian Coalition of America felt he
had to decline the job because the organization would not let him expand its
agenda beyond abortion and gay marriage. He had felt biblically compelled to
focus also on issues such as poverty and the environment.13
The Limits of Evangelism for Social Change
The OnlyWay?
Some Christians not only would agree that the change that comes through
evangelism is crucial for changing society but also would assert that it is the
only way to achieve significant improvement. In any case, it is said, evangelism
is the Christian path to justice. They would agree that Christians have a respon-
sibility in society but would insist that the way in which Christians are to man-
ifest it is by seeking individual conversions.
The world has been seriously infected by the contamination of sin.

Blisters of crime and war and divorce and immorality and disrespect
for authority are breaking out everywhere. Every institution of society
has been damaged and disfigured by sin.
Everybody has a solution to offer: get rid of unemployment, change

the environment, rehabilitate the criminal, do away with racial and
social and educational differences, soften the laws, shorten the
workweek, build one great common world.
Sadly, such “cures” not only fail to bring relief and health; they also
distract from the one cure that will work—the cure from within, a
changed heart.14
In this understanding, evangelism equals the mission of the church; only

as the persons who make up society are changed through conversion are social
institutions and the life of society changed. The advocates of this position either
discourage other means of change as distracting, secular, ignorant, or disobedi-
ent or they never get around to specifying how the converted person will change
society apart from “being good” and being faithful in evangelism.
To view evangelism and the process of conversion as the only Christian
way of furthering justice is to neglect the full imperative of biblical justice,
which includes as one of the central commands the execution of justice both
in the structures of society and in direct service to the needy. Other unbiblical
EVANGELISM 97
elements present within this view are optimism, individualism, and a Stoic
view of the body.
Optimism
The position that conversion is all that is needed for social change is based on
an optimism that is surprising in light of the fact that those who hold this po-
sition generally consider themselves to be pessimistic about human nature and
history. Optimism is evident, however, in an overestimation both of the number
of conversions occurring and of the moral renewal of those converted. Such
optimism must assume that large masses of the population will be born again
so that beneficial social changes can occur. The Bible provides no grounds for
thinking that such numbers of conversions will take place. On the contrary,
Jesus asked, “When the Son of Man comes, will he then find faith on the earth?”
(Luke 18.8). “Narrow is the gate and confined is the road that lead to life, and
those who find it are few” (Matt. 7.14). Christ comes again when the gospel is
proclaimed in every nation, not after mass conversions in every nation (Mark
13.10). Luther, in arguing for the role of power and authority in society, stated
that we cannot rely solely on the inner working of the Holy Spirit to assure
external peace and welfare. To do so would mean first filling “the world with
real Christians. . . . This you will never accomplish; for the world and the
masses are and always will be unchristian.”15
If Christian conversion is the only means to achieve it, then significant
social change is unlikely; one must either be very optimistic regarding evange-
lism or very pessimistic regarding the implementation of justice. This pessi-
mism often begets passivism.
Reliance upon conversion also requires an optimism regarding Christian
character. What we may think people should be when converted is one thing;
what they actually are is another matter, thus Luther’s reference to “real Chris-
tians.” Bible Belt conversions resulted in no general change with respect to
racial segregation, nor did northern Fundamentalist conversions result in more
just relationships between the classes of the industrial structure. In addition,
the convert as such has no greater knowledge of the principles governing the
life and death of societies; conversion does not make us wise in any particular
area of knowledge.16
Optimism is further reflected in expectations concerning the ability of the
average Christian to cope with his or her social environment. Such optimism
may be expressed about the life of the industrial worker: “While modern indus-
try, at worst, may distort and thwart one’s spiritual sonship during working
hours, it cannot really make a machine of one who is a son of God. . . . Even
monotony can be justified in the ministry of God and of humanity; it stems

from a constructive activity that has no better alternative.”17
Some have taught that if one is born again, one will not be spiritually or
emotionally affected by social and economic forces destructive to others in the
same situation. But many Christians who are hired agricultural or construction
laborers often do feel that they are machines in their working life, alienated
from their true humanity in their labor. Assembly-line workers in addition
often question whether producing needless or destructive items for a wasteful
or a militaristic society is a legitimate form of God’s ministry or a service to
humanity. Their anxiety and frustration have an adverse effect upon their un-
derstanding of themselves as God’s children, as well as upon their functions as
parents, spouses, and church members. If we encourage such people to ignore
the reality of the antispiritual and dehumanizing forces afflicting them, we
cause Christianity to function as an opiate, suppressing the impulse for con-
structive change. If they deny the oppressive conditions of their employment,
that will not change the economic system. Even if such a denial were a virtue,
these workers could not change the impact of the system on others by such
personal goodness. An element of dualism is apparent in this view of the Chris-
tian in an oppressive situation. The spiritual reality of the sufferings of the body
and psyche is denied. This is not the biblical view of the body or of suffering.
Stoic View of the Body
Reliance upon evangelism alone to bring relief to our social problems thus is
often accompanied by the idea that conversion transforms a person in such a
way that change of the social environment becomes unnecessary. The way to
deal with physical and psychological conditions is to have the spiritual re-
sources to keep the situation from affecting one’s attitudes rather than to at-
tempt to change it. This Stoic approach carries the implication that bodily con-
ditions can be ignored if one is spiritually strong. If conditions are
dehumanizing, however, should they not be objects of our concern? Christian-
ity does provide comfort for situations that cannot be altered, but it does not
deny the reality of the suffering in them.
Statements about the proper relationship between a person and a hostile
social environment are often based on the behavior possible for “the real Chris-
tian,” the behavior of the strong few. But, as John Bennett observed, “It is not
enough for the world to be a gymnasium for saints.” It is more important that
the world be a good school or a hospital for the rest of us.18
Our attitude toward suffering and our concern about the environment
reflect our understanding of the nature of the body. According to Scripture
E VANGELISM 99
the person is a unity (e.g., Prov. 17.22). The suffering of the body affects the
whole person. Failure to grasp this truth fully has caused many to devalue
social concern.
In both Paul and the Old Testament, anthropological concepts such as
body or soul do not refer to distinct parts of a person, like individual members
or organs. They are terms, referring to ways in which the person as a whole
functions.19 Almost all of them can be used as equivalents of “I”: “My flesh
trembles for fear of you, and I am afraid of your judgments” (Ps. 119.120,
NRSV).
The phrase “your bodies are members of Christ” (1 Cor. 6.15) can be ren-
dered elsewhere as “you are the body of Christ and individually members”
(1 Cor. 12.27). The manner in which this language deals with functions of the
whole person rather than with isolated components may be seen in the state-
ment “how beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who
announces peace” (Isa. 52.7, NRSV); the beauty is not in the graceful form of
the feet but in the messenger’s swift movement.20 In Hebrew poetry the images
are frequently interchangeable: “My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of
the Lord; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God” (Ps. 84.2, NRSV).
If flesh and Spirit in the New Testament appear to be a dualism, it is
because they are taken from a Hellenistic context. But flesh describes the whole
person and therefore does not refer to an inferior, material part of the individ-
ual. As Augustine stated, flesh means the person. Many of the sins attributed
to the flesh are not physical but mental or social, for example, hatred, jealousy,
strife.21 Whereas in Greek philosophy flesh has only a physical reference, in
Scripture it has psychical aspects as well. It has a will (John 1.13), it reasons
(Rom. 8.6–7), and it has a mind (Col. 2.18).22
Flesh also has a social aspect, describing us in relationship and solidarity
with others. In the Old Testament it refers to that which binds people together,
from marriage (Gen. 2.24) to family (Gen. 37.27) to tribe (Lev. 25.49).23 In the
New Testament, flesh represents social status and relationships: reputation for
wisdom (1 Cor. 1.26), mastery over slaves (Col. 3.22), and status ascription (Gal.
6.12). Thus for Onesimus to be a brother “in the flesh and in the Lord” to Phi-
lemon (Philem. 16), means that he is to be a brother in the social sphere as well
as in the Christian fellowship.24 Flesh reveals our social nature, in both its good
and its corrupted aspects. In a negative context, flesh has a meaning close to
that of the evil social order, the cosmos. A phrase like “wise according to the
flesh” (1 Cor. 1.26) differs little from “wise according to the world” (see 1 Cor.
1.20: “the wisdom of the world”). Flesh, then, is “the sphere of human weak-
ness in which the individual shares,” as opposed to the sphere that is according
to the Spirit.25 It represents the person in his or her human frailty, subdued by
the values of the evil social order and controlled by the evil powers. Thus when
flesh is used with a verb, for example, “to walk according to the flesh,” it means
that the person in one way or another is making his or her goal something in
this world.26 But the reference is to the person as a whole.27 “When we were in
the flesh,” says Paul (Rom. 7.5), referring to the time before he and his fol-
lowers became Christians. Obviously, they were no more disembodied than
prior to their conversion. Rather, the role of each as a whole person was now
different.28 No longer were they functioning “according to the human stan-
dard” (1 Cor. 3.3); they now functioned as people who live according to the
Spirit.
Body for Paul designates the person insofar as one is part of the world and
communicates with the world. It represents the person insofar as something
can be done to one, can happen to one,29 or as one can act on something else
(Rom. 8.13). It is the person in relation with his or her environment. The per-
son does not have a body, but rather is a body in this usage.
This concept of the body is perhaps best seen in connection with death. “We
groan and long to put on our dwelling from heaven inasmuch as, after having
put it on, we will not appear naked” (2 Cor. 5.2–3). Death is nakedness. The per-
son as body has been lost, which makes Berdyaev’s description of death com-
prehensible: “To die is to experience absolute solitude, to sever all connection
with the world. Death implies the disruption of a whole sphere of Being, the
termination of all relationships and contacts—in a word, complete isolation.”30
John Gibbs states, “Christians do not await release from their bodies, but
the release of their bodies.”31 The body is essential to the person; to be fully a
person one must have bodily existence. In ancient Hebrew thought there was
no nonbodily existence after earthly life; one continued in Sheol in a physical
but shadowy form. In Paul’s teaching, the perishing physical body of one who
trusts in Christ is the seed of an imperishable body in the next life (1 Cor.
15.42–44, 53–54). The resurrected person retains personal identity; he or she
remains a body.32 The continuity appears even more clearly elsewhere, in refer-
ence to the empty tomb and the nail prints in the body of the risen Christ, and
in Paul’s statement that God “will give life also to your mortal bodies” (Rom.
8.11). In the Christian hope of the resurrection of the body may be seen the
value both of the body and of the individual’s relation to the surrounding world.
What, then, in a person is saved from sin? We cannot isolate one part of
the person as the locus of salvation. Salvation is of the whole person. We do
not share the Greek view of the body as a prison or a tomb. The body is not
something to be sloughed off (as seems to be implied in speech about “saving
the soul”); it is to be resurrected as the last phase of salvation. The work of
God does not end with conversion, that is, with the person as soul, soul being
EVANGELISM 101
understood as the person in relation to God. The person as body also is in-
cluded in God’s saving work.
When the Bible says that Jesus came “to save his people from their sins”
(Matt. 1.21), it means that he will deliver them from the political and social con-
sequences of their sins, as well as root out the sin itself. God’s saving concern
cannot be restricted. Salvation extends to the whole of creation (Rom. 8.18–23;
see the section “God’s Purpose in History”in chapter 5). The creation waits to
be set free from corruption at the time when our bodies will be redeemed. For
Paul the body is not the sign of our independence from the rest of creation but
is an element of solidarity.33 The body is part of nature, and the hope of its
redemption is one with the hope of all creation.34 A person who is free from
guilt but whose body is still subject to injury is not fully redeemed. “We groan
to ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies” (Rom.
8.23). For Paul there is no definitive salvation without bodily resurrection.35
Our concern, then, must be with the whole person—with the body as well
as the soul. We cannot deal with the soul in evangelism and leave aside the
bodily needs of the person. Action to free a person from the forces of evil, cor-
ruption, and death is not irrelevant to the total process of salvation.
The body is the person’s link with society, and with the uses and misuses
of power. When buffeted by external forces, the whole person is affected
adversely. This biblical understanding of the mind-body unity has been rein-
forced by modern psychology. Concern for people’s salvation should arise from
genuine and informed love for them as whole persons and must take into
account the relationship between the person and his or her total environment.
Individualism
Those who would offer evangelism as the only Christian method of social
change need not necessarily have a Stoic view of the body. They may see a rela-
tionship between the inner dimension and the social dimension of the person
and maintain that, when one is changed inwardly, one is affected in one’s social
relationships, and consequently society is changed. The difficulty with this po-
sition is that it sees influence flowing in only one direction. This places undue
emphasis on the character of the individual to the neglect of the structures of
society.
Those who have been raised in Western culture, with its heritage of indi-
vidualism, have difficulty in grasping the biblical perspective of the person in
society. Only recently has this ancient biblical understanding been recovered by
contemporary sociology and psychology. The Bible’s view of the person as flesh
and as body promotes an understanding of the individual as living in solidarity
with the social group to which he or she belongs. The biblical social imperative
involves an understanding of the importance of the community. It was to a
community that the life-giving Law and Covenant were given. The New Cove-
nant is proclaimed by a new community, to which people are called.
According to biblical doctrine, the person is truly human only as a member
of a group.36 Otherwise, “I am like an owl of the wilderness, like a little owl of the
waste places; I lie awake, I am like a lonely bird on the housetop” (Ps. 102.6–7,
NRSV). This cry of the individual abandoned by society reflects the dependence,
in biblical thought, of the individual on community. The desire for solitude has
no part in the biblical idea of happiness. Separation from society is a dreaded
fate. Social isolation implies wretchedness and affliction (see Ps. 25.6).37 The
sentence of expulsion from the community was so serious that it could not be
pronounced by local judges but only by the central court (Deut. 17.8, 12).38
Reliance upon individual change ignores the objective reality of social life
and social evil.39 As we have seen, one cannot deal with the problems posed by
our economic systems merely by getting enough good people into the system.
The well-being of society depends not only on the personal virtue of those in
power (and out of power) but also on the nature of the social and economic
system in which they work. Our society often regards drive or ambition as a
virtue that will cause one to get ahead, and some argue that a lack of drive is the
reason many people remain poor. Some years ago a study by the New York
State Commission against Discrimination showed that, at that time at least,
African American children had more aspiration than Euro-Americans from
the same income level but less opportunity to fulfill their hopes.40 Their per-
sonal “virtue” was thwarted by the nature of the social structure. The structures
have an autonomous character that is distinct from that of the individuals
within the structure; there are aspects of the structures that the Bible describes
as demonic, as we have seen (see pp. 6–9).
There are no psychological Robinson Crusoes;41 our personalities do not
develop in isolation from social influence. We come naked, crying, and com-
pletely helpless into the three worlds of Karl Popper’s definition: the first is the
world of nature, the physical world; the second is the world of the mind; and
the third is the world of human culture. The third world is the realm of abstrac-
tions the reality or power of which cannot be denied. They include kinship re-
lations, forms of social organization, and government, law, custom, learning,
religion, and language. The Bible itself belongs to this world. The power of the
third world over the other worlds can be illustrated by what it has done to the
first world of nature through the application of nuclear theory.42
Human personality develops through the process of encounter in culture.
We become aware of our own existence as we experience ourselves and see the
E VANGELISM 103
results of our activity in the attitudes and responses of those with whom we are
in close reciprocal relationship. We see ourselves reflected in the attitudes, first
of persons with whom we have close primary relationships, particularly our
parents, and later of the subgroups of society to which we are attached. The
consistent behavior of others makes us aware of ourselves, at the same time
revealing the ethos of the society of which they and we are members.43 Our self
emerges in the midst of a social process and becomes a part of it.
Thus Popper’s third world, which we encounter even in our earliest devel-
opment, is not merely human culture in general. Socialization always takes
place in a very specific social situation, with distinct class and subcultural char-
acteristics. Just as we speak the language of our group, we think in the manner
in which our group thinks. The words and meaning that are at our disposal
reflect the angle and the context of the thinking of the group from which we
derived them. In a culture with a strong sense of private property, for example,
the child will find that if one states that something is one’s property, one will
get a response stressing respect for the property of others. From the attitudes
of others the concept of “my property” becomes established in the child. We
inherit patterns of thought that are determined by the alignment and the ten-
sions of the forces of social life.44 Even personal expressions as creative as “the
highest forms of art” “avail themselves of the tools and forms, of characteristic
insights and styles which betray the time and place of the artist.”45
We do not choose those who are responsible for our socialization; yet soci-
ety influences our basic attitudes and ethical thinking, passing on to us as we
come to maturity not only its strengths but also its evils.
In the process of socialization the individual does have an influence on
society. Our distinctive, creative adjustments to society force society in turn to
change. Healthy individuals have a capacity to transcend their social environ-
ment. Moreover, they respond not only to society but also to God, as a transcen-
dent referent beyond society.46 But the individual is never free from the influence
of society. Our creativity exists in the context of the existing order. Change comes
out of the struggle of the individual with forces of the third world of culture.47
Rollo May has stated that it is a truism that mental health and a healthy
social order are intimately interdependent:
Such diseases of society as unemployment, economic insecurity of all

sorts, fear of war and the social upheaval that follows war have a
tremendous bearing upon the adjustment of individuals concerned.
Spasmodic unemployment with its consequent continuous burden of
insecurity increases the personality tensions with a severity the
importance of which cannot be exaggerated.48
Concern for the conversion and spiritual nurture of the person caught in
that situation does not complete the full Christian responsibility. The structure
must be confronted directly.
Conversion’s benefits are not realized in a society until conversion mani-
fests itself in a concern for structural reform.49 Richard Lovelace, historian of
great awakenings based in revival, commented on the lack of correlation
between the number of conversions and the mores of society at large in the
twentieth century: “The evidence indicates that when Christians are quiet and
passive about either mores or issues of social justice transformation does not
occur. The implicit power to shape culture latent in a general awakening almost
needs political organization if Christians are to function as the ‘salt of the earth’
to inhibit cultural decay.”50
Paths to justice other than evangelism must also be followed. Responsibil-
ity for the social environment and its structures is tied in with our highest re-
sponsibility for the souls of people. William Booth stated: “While recognizing
that the primary responsibility must always rest upon the individual, we may
fairly insist that society, which by its habits, its customs, and its laws, has
greased the slope down which these poor creatures slide to perdition, shall se-
riously take in hand their salvation.”51
The Interdependence of Evangelism and Social Action
Evangelism and the implementation of justice are inseparable in Christian

conduct and in the goal of God’s work in history. Both tasks are subordinated
to making real the sovereignty of God in every outpost of creation. Both arise
spontaneously out of love for our fellow human beings who are hurt, who need
us, and whose need we feel within us. When Jesus “saw the crowds, he had
compassion for them” and sent out his disciples to proclaim and to heal (Matt.
9.36; 10.7–8). John Stott states that the Great Commission to make disciples
does not explain, exhaust, or supersede the Great Commandment of love for
the neighbor; rather, it adds a new and urgent dimension to love.52 For this
reason, when one has met either the need for material help or for commitment
to Jesus Christ, “there must be deep restlessness of the Christian’s spirit” until
one has met the dimension of need yet unfulfilled.53 To the crisis of individual
meaning and to the crisis of society, our response must be that of Peter before
healing the lame man: “What I have I give unto you” (Acts 3.6). Neither in view
of the basis of our mission nor of its goal may our hands remain unstained if
they withhold a justice that could have been achieved, or the message of re-
deeming hope that could have been shared.
E VANGELISM 105
Social ministry and evangelical witness exist side by side in Scripture with-
out conflict or subordination. In Luke, as demonstrated most notably in Jesus’
programmatic Nazareth sermon (Luke 4.18–19), disassociating from the other
two any element of the three activities of empowering the weak and lowly, heal-
ing the sick, and saving the lost is impossible.54 Paul states that because of the
church’s monetary contribution, the poor saints in Jerusalem “will praise God
for the obedient way in which you confess the gospel of Christ and for the gen-
erosity of your sharing to them and to all” (2 Cor. 9.13). Care for the material
needs of others leads to the praise of God; it is an obedient subjection to the
requirements of the gospel.
Witness Is Hurt When Social Action Is Absent
Michael Green states, “Our life-style, our attitudes, our concern for the sick and
the suffering, the underprivileged and the hungry, either confirm or deny the
message of salvation, of wholeness, which we proclaim.”55 Frequently the
public posture of the church and its witnesses has constituted a denial. This
failure has given rise to persistent and damaging criticism of evangelistic
Christianity in particular. When our faith is not made relevant to the imme-
diate problems of social justice, our witness is dismissed as a hypocritical
luxury with which imperiled people can hardly identify.56 If we allow Christian
faith to be viewed as pertinent only in the private sphere of life, we subject to
suspicion its claim of integrating every area of life.57
Witness Is Helped When Social Action Is Present

If the absence of genuine justice presents a stumbling block to the world, its
presence can make people attentive to the presentation of the gospel. Jesus said
that our good deeds would lead people to glorify God (Matt. 5.16). Missionaries,
such as two in a flood-stricken province in northern India, report that “the
primitive urge” for meeting the most essential physical needs drowns out any
response to sharing biblical truths. “When we provide emergency help and care
for their illnesses we get some response.”58 So Charles Spurgeon wrote about
those consumed in the struggle for even food and clothing. “When we can
relieve the wants of the destitute, we may be doing a necessary thing for them
by placing them where they are capable of listening with profit to the Gospel of
Christ.”59
The spectacular growth of the ancient church in the first few centuries was
in a large part due to its placing “people with all their spiritual and social needs
at the center of its divine mission.”60 Sociologist Rodney Stark, in examining
this extraordinary growth, argues that a major factor was its loving care. In the
midst of ongoing urban misery marked by overcrowding, disease, and fires, the
Christians’ faithfulness to their ideal of serving God by ministering to everyone
attracted many to the faith of those to whom they owed their lives.61
Actions are certainly important in our day of mass communications. The
spectator attitude has robbed the preaching of the Word of some of its verbal
power. As they sit before a television set, people become unaccustomed to
respond in depth.62 Especially in the inner city, where experience has engen-
dered a skeptical attitude toward promises and claims, the verbal message of
the gospel needs credentials of active compassion and justice. A genuine pas-
sion for social justice can open doors for personal sharing in situations where
overt witnessing may be restricted—in the workplace, in a Head Start program
with other teachers, in cultures where Christianity is restricted.
One of the greatest barriers to evangelism is the failure of Christians to have
significant relationships with non-Christians. Social action frequently places the
Christian in the midst of nonbelievers in a situation in which the question of
one’s motivation comes to the fore. A common struggle for justice establishes
vital links and a kinship that facilitates evangelism.63 A seminarian,64 studying
the power structure of a community, in an interview with a selectman found
himself questioned as to why a Christian, particularly a seminarian, would be
engaged in such a study. The student wrote in a report:
For the next two hours I was beset with a barrage of questions and
was able under the empowerment of the Holy Spirit to present from
the Old Testament to the New the ethical demands of Scripture and
God’s concern with human society and its shape. This person was
literally brought to tears as he exclaimed, “I have never heard the
message of the Bible presented in this way.” I have been invited to
return to talk over community politics and my “unusual” concept of
biblical faith. His concern is now not only focused upon society but
his own individual lack.
This opportunity might never have arisen without social involvement. The
fear that social involvement will draw believers away from evangelistic efforts
misses the fact that social involvement gets them into the world, where evange-
lism must take place.
Social involvement can open doors for a church. A sociologist, David
Moberg, writes
When a church engages in social action and social services, community

leaders and agency representatives become aware of its existence.
EVANGELISM 107
They become favorably disposed toward it, are more likely to listen
when its leaders speak to public issues, will refer people with
spiritual problems to its ministries, may turn to the Christian for help
in times of personal need, and are more likely to open their minds to
give favorable consideration to the claims of Christ in their own
lives.65
But will not social involvement hurt evangelism by offending people with its
specific commitments to justice? Jimmy Allen was chided for a strong statement
on racial injustice: “When you as a Baptist preacher get into that kind of contro-
versy, you cut off my chance as a Baptist to win my neighbor who has racial
prejudice.” Allen’s response is appropriate. “Evangelism is not tricking people
into signing the policy and then letting them read the small print.”66 Evangelism
is the proclamation that God’s Reign has broken into history; the nature of the
rule of God cannot be removed from the proclamation. As Paul stated, “If I were
to please people, I would not be a slave of Christ” (Gal. 1.10).67 The founder of
the “Brazil for Christ” Pentecostal movement, Manoel de Mello, declares, “The
Gospel cannot be proclaimed with half-truths, but only with the whole truth. . . .
The Gospel cannot be proclaimed fully without denouncing injustices commit-
ted by the powerful.”68 Jesus and John the Baptist are then appropriate models
for evangelism. Social involvement does not hurt evangelism, although it may
hurt certain narrowly conceived attempts at making disciples.
Social Action Is Needed to Protect the Fruits of Witness

Because the person as a whole is affected by his or her environment, and
because conversion is neither a total transformation nor a separation of the
Christian from the world, we must take responsibility for the environment of
the young Christians under our care. Thomas Guthrie, a Scottish pioneer of
the “ragged schools,” said: “So long as religion stands by silent and unprotest-
ing against the temptation with which men, greedy of gain, and Governments,
greedy of revenue, surround the wretched victims of this basest vice . . . , it
appears to me utter mockery for her to go with the word of God in her hand,
teaching them to say, ‘Lead us not into temptation.’”69
Guthrie is talking about alcohol; his logic applies to many other concerns.
In our priestly responsibility for the nurture of Christians we cannot ignore the
surroundings which for six days may be turning a person’s whole personality
away from what is shown to him or her on the seventh.70 William Booth spoke
of environments in which “vice has an enormous advantage over virtue,” whose
influence could be summarized as “atheism made easy.”71
Pigeonholing the Commands of God
It is dangerous to give priority to any one of God’s basic tasks for the people of
God. Many of such emphases reflect not a priority in Scripture but the bent of
one’s personal piety, or the choice of one’s favorite portion of Scripture.
When Jesus was asked to assign priorities, his answer differed markedly
from those frequently heard. “What is the greatest commandment? . . . You
shall love the Lord your God. . . . You shall love your neighbor. . . . There is no
commandment greater than these” (Mark 12.28–31). Victor Furnish notes that
the two commandments together are set over against all other requirements of
the Law. When in Matthew’s account (Matt. 22.39), Jesus says the second is like
(homoios) the first, this means that the second is equal to the first in impor-
tance.72 Luke does not describe them as “first” or “second”; the priority is the
double commandment of love.73
“It is time for evangelicals to refuse to use sentences that begin with ‘the
primary task of the church is . . .’ regardless of whether the sentence ends with
evangelism or Bible teaching or ‘social concerns.’ They are all integral, necessary
aspects of the church’s task.”74
In rejecting the designation of primary and secondary tasks, René Padilla
states that “in order to be obedient to the Lord the church should never do
anything that is not essential; therefore nothing that the church does in obedi-
ence to its Lord is unessential.”75 This observation is pragmatically as well as
normatively true. Christians will really exert themselves only for what they
regard as essential. Moreover, neither the work of evangelism nor the imple-
mentation of justice is ever finished; if one is given precedence, there never
will be time for the other. But the effort to assign priority to evangelism or to
social responsibility belies their true fusion “into one conceptual framework
and one incarnational ministry.”76 When it is said that something is not pri-
mary for the church, this is an excuse for giving it only token attention. James
Daane has put it bluntly: those who claim that “the primary task of the church
is to preach the gospel” do not really believe that the church has either spare
time or a secondary task.77 Instead of classifying the tasks that God gives to us
as primary and secondary, we should respond with the humility of whole-
hearted obedience. “We are unprofitable servants. What we ought to do we
have done” (Luke 17.10).
The biblical concern is for the totality of creation. Therefore, in addition to
utilizing the special gifts of the Spirit given to each of us, we are all to be active
in witness and in working for justice. When the church neglects one part of
EVANGELISM 109
this concern, the other part loses vitality and is endangered. Concern for inner
personal commitment to God is part of the concern for the reconciliation of all
creation. Political and social concern for the created world is motivated by
God’s grace within the individual. As servants of God, we must make both
tasks our own if we would be true to either.
7
The Church as
Countercommunity
“The primary social structure through which the gospel works to

change other structures is that of the Christian community.”1 This
statement is startling, but no more so than Jesus’ words to his
disciples: “You are the light of the world” (Matt. 5.14). Neglect of
Christian community would place the mission of the church in
jeopardy.
The Significance of the Church in God’s Strategy
When Jesus said that salvation had come to the house of Zacchaeus,
the “lost” tax collector, he added, “For he also is a son of Abraham”
(Luke 19.9). Jesus’ work of salvation is the preparation of a people
dedicated to God, a people to whom Zacchaeus, having strayed, is
here restored. We share together the life-giving promise as a people
who are by faith members of the family of Abraham and heirs of
God’s favor (Rom. 4; Gal. 3). The Epistle to the Hebrews depicts the
church as the people of God journeying toward a goal promised by
God. Only in association with the whole people of God is there life
for the individual. Outside of this company there is only lonely and
hopeless wandering in the wilderness.2
“The new life of the individual ‘in Christ’ (see 2 Cor. 5.17) is at
the same time life in a new society founded ‘in Christ Jesus.’ A
separation of the individual and social aspects is not possible;
the personal union with Christ also involves incorporation in the collective
Christian society.”3 Our participation in the Spirit as individuals brings us into
community with all who share that “fellowship in the Spirit” (Phil. 2.1).4 For
this reason the term saint is never used in the singular in the New Testament.
One is a saint in connection with one’s relatedness to others in Jesus Christ.5
John Wesley wrote, “‘Holy Solitaries’ is a phrase no more consistent with the
Gospel than Holy Adulterers. The Gospel of Christ knows of no religion but
social; no holiness but social holiness.”6
The individual act of faith by which we are born anew takes place in the
context of the church, which proclaims the gospel, nurtures the converts, and
shares the eternal blessings for which it was chosen by God (Eph. 1.3–4, 11–12;
Rom. 8.28–30). Since the church is the context for conversion, all that has been
said about the social significance of conversion (see the section “The Impor-
tance of Evangelism for Social Change” in chapter 6) is equally relevant to the
social importance of the church.
Because the Bible shows our basic need for and dependence on commu-
nity, it is not surprising that God’s salvation calls us into a community. The
importance of the church for salvation is not only that it is an instrument of
God for our conversion but also that to which we are converted is a new realm
of social existence that God is calling into being (see p. 23).
The church, then, must be understood in relation to the Reign of God, the
eschatological order now appearing in history. The church is not in itself the
Reign of God. As a new society founded in God’s love and grace, the church is
the community in which the Reign of God becomes visible in society. The
church demonstrates and serves the demand and promise of God. It is “the
space created by God” wherein God’s salvific Reign “can be spoken of, assented
to, completed and realized for and by humanity.”7 It is both the presence of God’s
grace and God’s instrument. It is the partial realization of Christ’s goal in history
and also carries forth his purposes toward the world.8 At the Last Supper Jesus
indicated that it was with his followers that God was making the promised new
covenant. In covenant the church is a “purposive social-group” representing
the new order that God intends.9
Ephesians puts forward this view of the church, on a cosmic scale. As “the
fullness of him who fills the universe in every way” (Eph. 1.22–23), the church
is the instrument of Christ’s work to place all things under the sovereignty of
God. This is the significance of the shift of the people of God from a nation to
the church: the church is a social organization in which the power of the Spirit
and the resulting power of love can find embodiment.10 As Christ’s body, it is
the continuation of the incarnation; it is the agent of Christ for reconciliation.
This reconciliation is partially realized within the church (see pp. 86–87). In
THE CHURCH AS COUNTERCOMMUNITY 113
the war against the evil supernatural powers, the church is the beachhead
established by the resurrection triumph of Jesus (see pp. 15–16).
The role of the church in God’s mission in the world compels us to attach
the utmost importance to the community of believers of which we are a part.
The Church is Community
In recent decades many Christians have sought a form of Christian community

in which members would be in closer relationship, and which would involve
greater actualization of the values of the Christian life. One such seeker has
said, “It’s sad that we even need to use the word ‘Community.’ ‘Church’ should
suffice.”11 These intentional Christian communities are not of a different order
from the church. They should not in effect serve as a new monastic movement
governed by a higher standard of values than the rest of the church, whom they
would thus represent as surrogates in fulfilling the command of Jesus. What
they seek should be sought by every body of believers.
I am not suggesting that the churches should necessarily adopt such insti-
tutional forms of these communities as communal living. Some of the forms,
if mandated, could be inimical to Christian mission in the world. The mainte-
nance of a radical fellowship of Christian love often requires such an expendi-
ture of energy and emotion that intentions for outreach in the community go
unfulfilled. Furthermore, it has been observed that too large a number of rela-
tionships on an intimate and primary level can provide an overrich social and
emotional life, making it difficult to establish new friendships outside the com-
pact community.12 The form of the church will depend on the situation and the
needs and strengths of the persons involved. Because the church is mission as
well as close association and worship, the need for contact with the world must
be taken into consideration along with the internal growth of the community.
Some churches, such as the Church of the Saviour in Washington, D.C., have
met this dual need by using groups organized around tasks as the locus for
fellowship without neglecting within these groups the requirement for a depth
of sharing and growth beyond the mission enterprise alone.13
The church is itself a society. It is not a task force whose members’ mutual
social contacts stem only from the common task itself. It is not a periodic
encounter of otherwise unrelated individuals. Moreover, the relationships
among its members, the ways of dealing with their differences and needs, and
the patterns of leadership and decision making14 constitute a discrete societal
structure within the larger society. Thus the church can embody the patterns
for shared life that God desires for all of human society.
Because the church is a manifestation of the Reign of God, the norms that
guide it must exemplify the highest vision of human community. It cannot
leave to another group the effort to live wholly according to the teachings of
Jesus. In the Pauline letters a direct consequence for the ethical life of the
church is drawn from the fact that, as “the fullness of him who fills everything
in everything” (Eph. 1.22–23), it is the instrument of Christ’s work. When
“Christ is everything and in everything,” then all external distinctions of status
cease to exist: “Put on the new nature [literally, the new human being] . . . where
there is neither Greek nor Jew, circumcised nor uncircumcised, Barbarian,
Scythian [the savage par excellence], slave, free person, but Christ is everything
and in everything” (Col. 3.9–11). The unique character of this new nature
derives from the fact that, when the body of Christ (v. 15) truly acts as Christ’s
body, it is totally ruled by him. The “new human being,” which closes the rift
between Jew and Gentile, is also described in Ephesians 2.14–16:
For he is our peace, who made both elements [Jew and Gentile, vv.
11–12] one, by tearing down the dividing wall, that is, the enmity, and
in his flesh invalidating the law of commandments consisting in
ordinances, in order to create in himself one new person out of the
two so that peace shall come, and to reconcile in one body both
persons to God through the cross, thus putting the enmity to death.
Schnackenburg comments,“The apostle can . . . only be understood to be

saying that the one physical body of Christ which bled on the cross for the two
previously divided groups of mankind and which established reconciliation,
then becomes after the resurrection in a new way through the Spirit the one
‘Body of Christ’ which is the Church.”15 In three passages Paul states that
status distinctions in the church are abolished by the putting on, or the creation
of, the new human being: Colossians 3.9–11; Ephesians 2.14–16; and Galatians
3.27–28; 6.15. Gone is the diminished status of being a Gentile, uncircumcised,
a barbarian, a slave, or a woman. Status based in class, gender, ethnicity, cul-
ture, or religious practice is canceled.
This canceling of social status does not apply only to the grounds of salva-
tion (as solely by faith in Christ) without having application to society. These
are directions for human relationships. Status distinctions have been canceled
in the church, that society which has “put on Christ.” The church exemplifies
the order that God desires for human society.16 Colossians 3 continues with
further principles for behavior:
Therefore, as chosen and loved saints of God, put on a merciful heart,

kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, bearing with one another
and forgiving each other if anyone has a complaint against any other;
. . . and in addition to all these put on love, which is the bond of
completeness. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you
richly in all wisdom, teaching and admonishing each other, in
grateful response with songs of praise, hymns, and spiritual songs
singing in your hearts to God. (Col. 3.12–16)
Such a community, embodying the presence of God’s Reign, submits itself

in uncompromising faithfulness to its new covenant ethics (see p. 75). James
Luther Adams recounted a situation at a trustees meeting in a church. A man
repeatedly used racial epithets. He was challenged with the striking question,
“What is the purpose of this church?” He eventually responded, astoundingly,
“The purpose of this church is to get hold of people like me and change them.”17
As that “fullness” of Christ who fills all things (Eph. 1.23), the church is not
only the instrument of Christ’s work. In its unity the church also is a sign of the
renewal of the human community by the power of God.18
The church, then, is a countercommunity: alternative norms and values
are organized into a social grouping.19 The difference between the church and
the world is “the exceptionally normal quality of humanness to which the com-
munity is committed.”20 For the church to have a corrective impact on culture
it must maintain a separate and distinct identity from the surrounding society
and any new society that it may help to create.21 Mission is consistent with sep-
aration as long as it is kept in mind that the motivation for that separation is
mission, and not separation for its own sake (see p. 17). Because the church
exists for the world, “it is necessary that the church not become the world, that
it retain its own countenance.”22 This dynamic nonconformity finds its base in
Scripture (rather than in the culture of two generations ago), and those who live
by it will be enabled to give moral and spiritual direction to the world.23
The practicality of this vision of the church may be questioned by those in
struggling churches whose total efforts are needed to support flagging faith
and keep the doors open for a witness in the community. Is the church to be
primarily the fellowship of the strong or a hospital for the sick? Paul’s churches
often seemed to be the latter. The point I would make here is that, while these
maintenance efforts are used by God, we must not be content with this level of
Christian community. The vision of what the church is meant to be can provide
the hope and the courage to draw us out of ourselves in the openness that the
Holy Spirit so often has given and used in the history of the church. As Martin
Luther King put it, like the early Christians the church is not to be a thermom-
eter, merely recording current popular opinion. Rather, the church is a thermo-
stat transforming the mores of society.24
Genuine Christian community contributes to social change in three ways.

The first is through various forms of social action and service. The second is the
impact its nonconforming life has on the surrounding community. Third and
most important is the support it gives to the individual involved in mission.
Support of the Christian in Mission
As social beings, we are strongly influenced by our society in the formation of

our personalities and the maintenance of our values; yet we have seen that this
social order is unredeemed and basically hostile to God and God’s standards
(see beginning of chapter 1 and “Individualism” in chapter 6). Therefore,
because in conversion our system of values is transformed and in mission we
are to set forth the new order that God has for society, we require the support
of a community that expresses this new order in its life. Christian community
is the social context for the supernatural transforming work of the Holy Spirit.
If we are to reject significant aspects of the cultural context, we must be
able to react against the approval of the very community that previously has
been crucial to us. This calls for a higher form of community, which can “out-
vote” the influence of the former community. A new process of socialization is
needed. As “newborn infants” in Christ, we must have as our spiritual parents
and peers persons with whom we can identify and who exemplify the type of
person we are to become.25 Such relationships are important for developing,
mastering, and maintaining Christian attitudes and values. Political convic-
tions that grow out of our faith, for example, are most likely to be sustained if
those in our immediate social grouping support them.26 Such support is all the
more important when the viewpoint not only is a minority opinion in society
but also runs against class and social interests, including one’s own. Growth in
one’s Christian life is strongly dependent upon the growth and maturity of
others in Christian community.
Christ has given to his body, the church, gifts for carrying out the work of
his Reign. These spiritual gifts include a social ministry: giving to the poor (2
Cor. 8.7; see pp. 27–28), and service, sharing, giving aid, and acts of mercy
(Rom. 12.7–8). Because the church is granted these gifts, it is responsible for
their nurture and support. Involved in social mission, weakened by encounters
with power, pressured to compromise, heartsick from weeping with those who
weep, frustrated by the struggle against human inertia, we find in the commu-
nity that sent us forth the renewal of life and vision. There strength to continue
must be found. As an African proverb states, “If you want to walk fast, walk
alone. If you want to walk far, walk together.”27 In mutual searching of the Word
THE CHURCH AS C OUNTERCOMMUNITY 117
of God and in prayer, we gain perspective on our task and are able to make re-
sponsible decisions. Because we are fulfilled in love and companionship in this
community, we do not pursue mission to satisfy our own social needs; we are
freed to work on behalf of the needs of others and to relate openly to them.28 We
go forth backed and empowered by the prayers of our community.
“What we are together is what we shall be for others.”29
The Witness of Community Life
A City on a Hill
The presence of the church as a visible sign of the Reign of God produces social
change in the surrounding society. Two movements in the Christian commu-
nity help to effect such change. The first is withdrawal of support from prac-
tices contrary to the inbreaking of the Reign. The second is the example a com-
munity creates when its social relationships are characterized by the new
human person that God is creating. The two are interrelated. The nonconfor-
mity is based upon and points to the vision of a new order: “The radical No can
be a valid witness to the Yes because implied in the No is often a radical Yes.”30
A society that places a high value on conformity views the people of God as
a band of deserters who ignore the social order as in Exodus they rise up and
depart in search of the city whose founder and maker is God (see Heb. 11.8–9,
22).31 The society perceives this moral independence as undermining its social
system and challenging its authority.32 An integrated community in a segre-
gated society raises questions about assumptions otherwise easily left unexam-
ined. Such a refusal to cooperate with entrenched legal and cultural practices
may act as a rallying cry to other sensitive citizens.33
A Christian community is a voluntary society, freely chosen by its mem-
bers and not hampered by the responsibilities of maintaining community-wide
institutions or the temptations of great economic or political power. It is free to
create experimental institutional forms whose usefulness can be appreciated in
the greater community and adopted by analogy. Existing alongside structures
in society that are oppressive, the Christian community can serve, in the words
of Arthur Gish, as a parabolic community and parallel structure:
The parallel structure serves three basic functions. First it unmasks

the moral bankruptcy and contradictions of the society around it. . . .
Second, it points to a new reality. It indicates new possibilities. . . . It
means raising new alternatives, asking questions that are not being
asked, and challenging commonly held assumptions. Third, it helps
create new alternatives. . . . The parallel structure is free to try new

approaches, to do the unthinkable. Out of the experimentation with
new forms, the radical community can show concretely to the larger
society not only what can be done, but what in fact is already being
done.34
In an area of Georgia where 40 percent of the homes were declared

“unsafe, structurally unsound, or too run-down to be repaired economically,”
Koinonia Partners built and sold sixty homes at cost to neighbors in need. It
demonstrated to its community that southern rural African American and
Euro-American families do not need to be consigned to substandard housing
but could have new homes for a down payment of $700 (in 1977 figures) and
payments of less than $60 a month for twenty years.35 The existence of the new
exposes the needlessness of the misery of the old. A tested and proven model is
provided for the efforts of others.
John Howard Yoder suggested that a Christian community by “a sort of
moral osmosis” over the years can raise the general moral level in the secular
world around it. Its influence works upon those who receive religious educa-
tion in their youth but may not become adult members, in the example of the
diligent lives of individual Christians, and through customs that continue even
after their religious roots are forgotten.36
Finally, the Christian activist pressuring for justice in society has a greater
legitimacy because of his or her association with a community that is itself
demonstrably working in good conscience on the same issues.37
The potency of the church’s exemplification of the new order should not be
used, however, to justify a lessened commitment to pressure for justice, or
other forms of social ministry within the secular society. The following state-
ments can be misconstrued to yield such an argument:
The church is not directly God’s agent for the realization of the
kingdom, but rather it is God’s harbinger of the kingdom by being
the fellowship in which the reality of the kingdom is manifest.38
The church’s value to the world is not so much in what she does for
the world as in what she is in the world. . . . Over the long run, the
greatest service which the church can perform in and for the world is
to be the household of faith which, by its example, demonstrates a
better way of life.39
As we have seen, the Scriptures do present the church as the agent of

God’s Reign (pp. 81, 86–87, 88). On the other hand, the biblical evidence is
THE CHURCH AS C OUNTERCOMMUNITY 119
slim for the ability of the Christian fellowship of love within the church to pro-
duce, by itself, positive changes in the social environment. The acts of love that
lead to individual conversion and the glorification of God40 are not restricted to
deeds within the community but include what the church does for the world (2
Cor. 9.13; Gal. 6.10; 1 Pet. 2.12; Jer. 29.7).
The traditional biblical image of the social influence of the presence of
Christian community is found in Jesus’ statement “You are the light of the
world. A city set upon a mountain cannot be hidden” (Matt. 5.14). The Christian
community as a city shedding light in the world seems a fitting picture of the
social impact of the church as an alternative social reality.
It must be remembered, however, that light in Scripture represents a posi-
tive, aggressive force combating darkness (Eph. 5.8-14). In Isaiah the great light
seen in Galilee is associated with the breaking of the rod of oppression and the
establishment of justice (Isa. 9.2, 4–5, 7). The light to the nations (Isa. 42.6) is
the servant who brings forth justice (v. 1; see v. 4). In these passages the light is
a force for justice, an image of triumph and dignity.41 Kings prostrate them-
selves (Isa. 49.7) before the light to the nations (v. 6; see 60.1–3, 12). Matthew’s
Gospel was written for a church in close dialogue with the Jewish synagogue.
“Light of the Gentiles” appears to have been a view of itself held by Israel at this
time (see Rom. 2.19). Rudolf Schnackenburg argues that in the Matthaean con-
text this lofty title for Israel is applied to the disciples, and so represents the
church.42 But the church is raised to this dignity through faithful service to God
in ministry and suffering. It is through helpful deeds that the light shines
(Matt. 5.16), as the light to the nations in Isaiah 42 comes through the Servant
who opens the eyes of the blind and releases prisoners (v. 7).
With the metaphors of the light and the city upon the mountain (and salt,
v. 13), Jesus reminds a hesitant church of the dignity of its mission and its des-
tiny and thus encourages it to boldness and rigor in its task. Matthew 5.14
functions much as does Luke 12.32: “Do not be afraid, little flock, for the Father
has considered it good to give you the Reign!” The imagery of light brings the
tasks of service and justice to the foreground.
A surprising optimism underlies the argument that the example of a new
social order in the church will by itself produce significant changes in the
world. This assumption is surprising because advocates of this position are
often extremely pessimistic about the level of morality in the systems and insti-
tutions of the world, which are controlled by the powers. Yet they must depend
upon the possession by members of the secular community of personal virtues
such that they will be attracted by the example and in numbers sufficient to
create new social structures. The position thus seems to reveal a tendency
toward pessimism regarding institutions and optimism regarding individuals.
The historic Anabaptist model of the church was theologically sounder

than the foregoing position because it did not assert that the existence of an
intentional community would lead to changes in other structures of the soci-
ety43—thus avoiding the implicit optimism regarding human nature or history.
But when the church is to be defined in terms of social change, some assump-
tions in historic Anabaptist theology are affected. The Anabaptists believed that
any such change would have to result from the conversion of individuals to the
church, but they had little confidence that this would happen on a mass scale.44
To suggest today that significant social change can be effected through the pro-
liferation of Christian communities is analogous to expecting social change
from evangelism alone (see the section “The Only Way?” in chapter 6).
What appears to be a theological defect, however, may actually be a failure
to detail thoroughly this theory of change. How does the threat to the establish-
ment posed by nonconformity result in change? Some advocates appear to at-
tribute to the disconformity of Christian community effects that more properly
belong to forms of social noncooperation more public and more disruptive,
or which withhold from the greater community more crucial resources (see
chapter 8). The relationship of the theory of countercommunity to the general
theory of nonviolent direct action needs more elaboration, as does the under-
standing of power.
The creation of an alternative community has validity in itself but is inad-
equate to express fully the biblical images of executing justice in the gate and
breaking every yoke. The demonstration of Christian community is a facet of
social change but is insufficient as the single expression of social justice.
There is no such thing as “the very presence” of Christian community as
distinct from what Christians are to do in the world, and the notion involves us
in an unnecessary either-or choice. There is no “presence” or “existence” of
Christian community without mission. The church is not to be absorbed into
mission, but neither is it to be divorced from its tasks in the world. Neither
mission nor church is to be subordinate to the other; both are essential in the
great work of the Reign of God.45 The call of Jesus to discipleship was a call to
a task. It came first as a call to be fishers of people (Mark 1.17). The Twelve were
chosen to be with Jesus and that he might send them to proclaim the Good
News and to cast out demons (Mark 3.14–15). Then in the period before the
Spirit came to the church at Pentecost, the risen Lord commissioned his apos-
tles for service in the world.46 We do not have to choose between “the very
existence” of Christian community and the mandates that God has given to it.
Indeed, we cannot and must not make such a choice.
The battle for change must be fought on a variety of fronts; the necessity
of one campaign does not negate that of another.47 Innovation should not be
advocated without reference to the fact that ideas which threaten the estab-
lished order will not be adopted without a power struggle. It may be true, as
Gish asserts, that “the modern ideas of hospitals, schools and universities,
mental care, public health, and training for the blind have come out of the
church.” But to add that “hospitals began not because Christians petitioned the
government for new structures”48 sets the reader up for unnecessary conflict;
although hospitals did not begin as a result of petition, the battle for public
health, education, and mental care is in fact a long political effort. The two
methods of change are compatible. Many who participated in the educational
innovation of “ragged schools” and Sunday schools for the poor in the slums of
nineteenth-century Great Britain, for example, were at the same time putting a
great deal of pressure on the government for badly needed reforms. Lord Shaft-
esbury is among the best known of such reformers.
Moreover, alternate Christian community can be and has been a vital sup-
port and basis of other forms of intentional social change. A vivid example
comes from Zimbabwe. Prior to the change from the white-dominated govern-
ment there, Cold Comfort Farm was formed. It not only was cooperative in its
ownership and management but also was interracial. The government pro-
ceeded to abolish it. Those who continued used it as a place of refuge for those
fleeing in the liberation struggle. When that became intolerable, the commu-
nity shifted to being an alternative, secret farm community in the hills in the
eastern part of the country. It later became a center for reconciliation efforts in
both South Africa and Zimbabwe.49
In these areas as well, we must avoid the presumption of allotting prior-
ities to aspects of God’s gifts and tasks. When we speak of creating an alterna-
tive community as well as establishing justice in the gate, it is not for us to
consult our personal predilections and pronounce which is the greatest, the
primary, or the most powerful force for social change. Instead, we need a new
boldness in affirming both Christian community and the tasks of the Christian
in the world, and new creativity in carrying them out together. Both are given
to us by God. Both flourish or fail together. We are the presence and the agents
of the Reign of God. Jesus prepared his apostles to be his church, but he also
prepared his church to be apostolic. As apostles, they were the agents of the one
who sent them.50 Their power was not their own but that of the Spirit of God
whose Reign they represented. They were a community, and they had work to
do in the world. They were a small and seemingly insignificant group, but they
were called the Light of the World.
8
Strategic Noncooperation
Three statements well express the biblical teaching on the relation-

ship of the believer to the institutions of society: “Do not be con-
formed to this age” (Rom. 12.2); “be subordinate to ‘every fundamen-
tal social institution’”1 (1 Pet. 2.13); “establish justice in the gate”
(Amos 5.15). There is a distinct tension among these imperatives.
One is to submit, yet one is not to be conformed to the world with its
institutions; and one has the additional positive duty to carry out
justice within them. The command to submit reflects God’s intention
that the basic structures of society be instruments of good for God’s
creation. The command to nonconformity is a recognition of the
organization of social life in opposition to God. The command to
establish justice places in the hands of God’s servants the responsi-
bility for recovering God’s purposes for human society.
Strategic noncooperation seeks justice through selective, socially
potent forms of nonconformity. Although it is brought to bear when the
fallen nature of society denies normal channels of political decision
making to those who work for justice, it is carried out under the self-
discipline of respect for the order of society. In recent times, civil
disobedience has been the best-known form of strategic noncooperation.
The Theory of Selective Noncooperation
The political theory of strategic noncooperation stems from the fact

that social organizations must have the consent of their members to
the exercise of power over them by persons in certain roles. We call this “legit-
imized power” or “authority.” A foreman in a factory can give orders without
making threats, and a police officer can make an arrest without using force
because others accept the power vested in their roles. The government, the key
agency of decision making and control in the society, must rely upon continual
support from many sectors of that society.
The theory of strategic noncooperation asserts that if power is volun-
tarily granted it can be voluntarily removed. Institutions with immense
power can falter if those who customarily cooperate decline to do so. The
sixteenth-century French essayist Étienne de La Boétie stated that the tyrant
is the same as everyone else in society “except for the advantage you give to
him to destroy you.”2 Gene Sharp describes the effects of massive political
noncooperation:
Political power disintegrates when the people withdraw their

obedience and support. Yet the ruler’s military equipment may
remain intact, his soldiers uninjured, the cities unscathed, the
factories and transport systems in full operational capacity, and the
government buildings undamaged. But everything is changed. The
human assistance which created and supported the regime’s political
power has been withdrawn. Therefore, its power has disintegrated.3
Most forms of noncooperative action are local and specific, as, for example,
the boycott of a department store chain that engages in exploitive labor
practices.
When an institution is involved in injustice, noncooperation can be a form
of protest to draw public attention to the fact and threaten the institution’s
ability to function under the cover of a presumed goodness.4 The form of non-
cooperation may be only the violation of convention or disruption in the expected
pattern. In May 1963, normal business transactions in downtown Birmingham,
Alabama, were interrupted by 3,000 African American children going through
the stores singing, “Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me ’round” and “I’m on
my way to freedom land.”5 A startling departure from “business as usual” was
combined with a message of protest.
Other forms of noncooperation are more aggressive. Sit-ins at a U.S. For-
est Service building to protest a timber-cutting plan in a national forest not only
refuse cooperation with legal ordinances supporting the contested practice but
also interfere with the normal process of business by politicizing its transac-
tion, breaking the normal pattern of operations, and thwarting the desires of
clients and agents. The conflict between migrant workers and growers in
California involves not only employee noncooperation in the form of strikes
STRATEGIC NONCOOPERATION 125
but also customer noncooperation in the form of consumer boycotts in several

cities across the nation.
When noncooperation is widespread and daring, the targeted institution is
placed in an awkward position. If it ignores the opposition, it appears helpless
in the face of defiance, and risks its spread. If the opposition is repressed, the
power of the institution may be weakened by adverse public reaction or the
hardening and enlarging of the protest movement.6
The attraction of strategic noncooperation is that it provides nonviolent
corrective actions outside the normal working of the political system based
on a realistic analysis of power and self-interest. It exercises power by mak-
ing the existing situation, including the specific injustice involved, less
attractive than the alternatives. The loss of prestige, the nuisance of contend-
ing with the resisters, the difficulty in carrying out normal functions, the
internal division as the movement picks up allies in the institution’s own
ranks all help to determine the outcome. Noncooperation, as in the boycott
and picketing of a business, can bring new considerations of order and
profits into the debate.7
Practical considerations make nonviolence important for this strategy.8
The demoralization of the “target” is crucial. Those engaged in noncooperative
actions must present to the public a moral position superior to that of the insti-
tution they oppose. Their nonviolent posture often serves to confirm their
claims regarding justice; their position will almost always be undercut in the
eyes of the public by the use of violence or the destruction of property.
Christian community can make an important contribution to this strategy.
The refusal to cooperate requires solidarity. Group support is important to
prevent the target institution from dealing with the resisters one by one.9
Groups serve to crystallize sentiment, embody morale, and mobilize for
action. A Christian countercommunity can provide in addition a lifestyle of
self-discipline and sacrifice.10 The right to organize group action (freedom of
association) accordingly is fundamental to effective communication of ideas
(freedom of speech).11
Strategic noncooperation does not require conventional economic or polit-
ical strength. The United Farm Workers has estimated that a consumer boycott
needs the participation of only 2 to 3 percent of the population to succeed, and
10 percent participation would critically affect a producer within a few days.
Studies of the African American movement for civil rights in the South showed
that conventional appeals were effective for this minority group only when
used in combination with political protest actions and economic sanctions.12
Direct action makes a cause a public issue and forces a response from the
wielders of political and legal power.13
One of the most significant forms of noncooperation is civil disobedience.

Here the purpose is to hinder the execution of a law and make its legitimacy a
public issue, and thus such an act raises the question of the scriptural injunc-
tions to submit to governing authorities.
Subordination to Government in Scripture
The statement “be subordinate to ‘every fundamental social institution’” is

applied to the state in 1 Peter: “whether to the king as the ruler or to the gover-
nors as sent by him” (2.13).14 A similar but longer passage in Romans 13 states,
“Let every person be subordinate to the ruling authorities. . . . One who resists
the authorities sets oneself against the ordinance of God” (Rom. 13.1–2). Civil
disobedience would appear incompatible with faithfulness to these passages.
In interpreting these passages, as always with Scripture, we must try to
discern the intention of the authors. With what questions were they dealing?
Were they concerned with anything like the modern idea of civil disobedience,
which is motivated by a concern for a higher standard of justice than a particu-
lar law and by the quest for the implementation of justice? Or were they dealing
with something quite different?
Two contexts have been proposed for Romans 13 that suggest that Paul was
condemning disobedience, even if it be motivated by moral principle or a sense
of justice. If either proposal is valid, the injunction might appropriately apply
to modern movements of civil disobedience.
Marcus Borg proposes as background an event that took place in Rome in
the decade preceding the composition of the letter. A Roman historian, Sueto-
nius (early second century A.D.), reported of the emperor Claudius (A.D. 41–54)
that “since the Jews constantly made disturbances at the instigation of Chres-
tus, he expelled them from Rome” (Claudius 25.4). Borg argues that the messi-
anic anti-Roman agitation occurring then in Palestine had spread to Rome. By
“Chrestus” (a rendering for Christus that has other documentation in Rome)
Suetonius might be referring to a messianic pretender who sought to lead the
Jews to rebel against Rome. Since at the time of the Epistle to the Romans the
turmoil continued in Palestine, the Roman Jewish community could have
again been stirred up. The Christians had close contacts with the Jewish com-
munity, and Borg suggests that Paul is warning them against participation in
such an insurrection.15
In another article Johannes Friedrich, Wolfgang Pöhlmann, and Peter
Stuhlmacher suggest a different background for the chapter. They cite the his-
torian Tacitus, who wrote circa A.D. 80–115, and who mentioned tax protests
under Nero in A.D. 58 (Annals 13.50–51; see Suetonius, Nero 10). Noting the
unusual emphasis on taxes in Romans 13 (see vv. 6–7), they propose that, when
Romans was written in A.D. 56, the tax issue was alive and Paul wanted to avoid
a repetition of the disturbances of the Jews under Claudius.16
However, there are compelling arguments against both of these sugges-
tions. Tacitus does not give evidence of any form of insubordination or antigov-
ernment resistance. He writes that Nero instituted tax reform in response to
“frequent requests” (flagitationes) by the people, who complained about extor-
tion on the part of the tax collectors. These petitions should not be seen as a
new phenomenon. (Suetonius does not even mention complaints.) Complaints
about corruption in the collection of the customs tax went back to the days of
the Republic. The reform is rather presented as an example of the spirit
of clemency that inspired the early reign of Nero.17 Indeed, the popularity of
Nero’s reign during this period makes an insurrection unlikely, particularly
since a climate of unrest would necessarily have had to extend back at least two
years (from the tax protests in 58 to the time of the writing of Romans in 56).
His domestic problems did not begin until the 60s. The early administration of
Nero was thoughtful and enlightened. The senate had an increased role in
administration and policy, and there were popular measures in support of
public welfare and morale.18
Romans 13 does not mention the specific tax that was involved in Nero’s
reform, the import duty (portoria); instead, the tax that is emphasized is the tribute
(phoros, v. 6 and listed first in v. 7). The singling out of taxation in an argument for
accountability to government does not need special explanation. Payment of taxes
represents allegiance and acceptance of rule. The tribute, a tax paid by a subject
people to the imperial state, particularly symbolizes formal allegiance.
There are equal difficulties in Borg’s suggestion of a resistance movement
spreading from Palestine to Rome. On sociological grounds one would not
expect the uprising of Palestinian Jewish peasants to be quickly reproduced in
an urban situation. Furthermore, the title Christus would not indicate such
activity; Josephus, our source of information for these movements, nowhere
applies this title to the figures leading the uprising. Even if there were evidence
that Claudius had in fact expelled the Jews for anti-Roman nationalistic agita-
tion in sympathy with Palestine, there is still little evidence of later disturbances
among the Roman Jews related to the Palestinian upheavals. Even during the
Jewish Wars (A.D. 66–73 and 132–135), the Jewish community in Rome remained
calm, causing no embarrassment to the government.19
The fact that “today there is a growing number of scholars who do not see
the situation at Rome as the primary occasion for Romans”20 creates further
difficulties, although not decisive ones, for these arguments. Robert Karris has
summarized the recent literature interpreting Paul’s ethical teaching in

Romans 12–15 as expressing Paul’s mature reflections upon problems encoun-
tered in his earlier missionary work, particularly as reflected in 1 Corinthians.21
Paul’s emphasis on tribute, a tax on subject peoples and not collected in Italy, is
difficult to understand if he has in mind a specific situation in Rome.22 Paul is
dealing with a general problem of Christians in the Roman Empire.
The historical issue behind 1 Peter 2 and Romans 13 is actually the ques-
tion of Christian freedom. Particularly in the Pauline churches, there were
Christians who overemphasized and misused their freedom in connection
with their spiritual gifts, whether present possession of the powers and privi-
leges of the age to come, or a mystical participation in the perfection of knowl-
edge and moral purity that freed them from material reality. As a result, they
sought to cast off the duties of their roles in society, in the form of moral codes,
marriage, slavery,23 or labor. It would not be surprising if secular civil authority
should also be disregarded by those who in their spiritual powers “reigned as
kings” (1 Cor. 4.8). Indeed, 1 Peter indicates that the emphasis on Christian
freedom is that which necessitates the admonition concerning subordination
to the state: “[Subordinate yourselves] as free persons and not using your free-
dom as a covering for vice, but as slaves of God” (1 Pet. 2.16). The author recog-
nizes that the Christian freedom of those who live as aliens upon the earth
(1 Pet. 1.1) is their motivation for denying the authority of the state, but he
informs those so tempted that their interpretation is contrary to the calling of
the slaves of God. Those owned by God must bear their share of community
responsibility; they are not exempt from such responsibility.
E. G. Selwyn notes the similarity of this teaching in 1 Peter to Romans
6.18–22.24 In Romans 6 Paul asks the question “Are we to sin because we are
not under Law but under grace?” (v. 15). To those who might misinterpret the
implications of Christian freedom Paul has to demonstrate that although the
Mosaic law is not the basis of salvation, this does not mean that the Law itself
was not good (chap. 7), or that we are free to participate in the immorality for-
bidden by the law (chap. 6). We are set free from slavery to sin in order that we
may become slaves of God and God’s righteousness (6.18–25; see 8.3–4).
Romans 13 has also been taken as an argument against spiritual “enthu-
siasts” parallel to Paul’s arguments elsewhere on marriage and slavery.25
Earlier in Romans Paul established the continuing integrity of the Mosaic law,
and in Romans 13 he asserts the integrity of the civil law. Table 8.1 illustrates
his argument.
The writers of both Romans and 1 Peter assume for the sake of their argu-
ment that the government is good, that it is in accord with the will of God. They
do not deal with the exceptions, where it is obviously not; the position they were
TABLE 8.1. Paul on Freedom and Law

Freedom Law Affirmation of Law
Grace Mosaic Law Law is good (chap. 7)
Power given to fulfill it (chap. 8)
Spirit Civil Law Government is good (chap. 13)
Obligation to be subordinate (chap. 13)
refuting called into question the very principle of secular government, as sym-
bolized particularly by the payment of taxes. In contrast, they present the state
as indispensable to the support of a morally good order in human society. Both
authors restate a formula known in the Greco-Roman world for nine centuries:
the government is to praise or honor those who do good and to dishonor or
punish those who do evil (Rom. 13.3–4; 1 Pet. 2.14).26 Paul further describes
government as the “servant of God for good” (eis to agathon, Rom. 13.4; see Ps.
119.122 LXX, where eis agathon is protection from oppression). Both authors
assume that the acts of government conform to the highest ethical and reli-
gious standards.27 “Therefore one must be subject . . . for the sake of con-
science” (Rom. 13.5); “Be subject for the sake of the Lord” (1 Pet. 2.13).28 And the
reason for the rejection of the antinomian attitude is the occasion that it pro-
vides for vice (1 Pet. 2.16; see Rom. 13.4).
The passages demonstrate that public authority has a claim upon us.
Order, law, and even coercion have a legitimate purpose that we must accept.
Yet the passages do not establish the validity of the assertion “Because one
does have an obligation to obey the law, one ought not ever disobey the
law.”29
Romans 13.1–7 and 1 Peter 2.13–17 do, in fact, imply a limit to government.
The authority of God, under which government functions, provides the basis
for judging specific acts of governments. Further, those purposes of govern-
ment raised in the argument can serve as a yardstick for evaluating laws and
the conduct of governments. Yoder states, “We can judge and measure the
extent to which a government is accomplishing its ministry, by asking . . .
whether it persistently . . . attends to the rewarding of good and evil according
to their merits; to be ‘minister to you for good’ is a criterion, not a descrip-
tion.”30 As a pastor commented about having been charged with disorderly con-
duct for his nonviolent demonstration against the government of Nicaragua, “I
am a pretty square guy, usually in a white dress shirt. It was the world that was
disorderly.”31
If the ruler is sent by God, one might possibly acknowledge the ruler’s
wrongdoing without viewing the injustice as one for the subjects to cor-
rect.32 But these passages go further, authorizing obedience on the grounds
of the critical discernment of what is duty and what serves the Lord. From
the fact that conscience is to be a motivating force in obeying government,
a basis may be inferred for disobeying government when its actions are not
in conformity with the voice of informed conscience. If our civil responsi-
bility stands under our recognition of God’s supreme authority, then “Chris-
tian obedience comes to an end at the point where further service becomes
impossible—and only there.”33 As Augustine addressed Romans 13.1–2
regarding the government: “But what if it enjoin what thou oughtest not to
do? In this case by all means disregard the power through the fear of the
Power.”34
Other biblical passages indicate that the relationship of the Christian to
government includes more than obedience. In the Gospels Jesus says, “Pay
back to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s and to God the things which are
God’s” (Matt. 22.21 par.). Jesus is here responding to an effort to trap him into
speaking against loyalty to the state (see Luke 20.20).35 His opponents assumed
that Jesus was disposed to reject authority because of his teaching about the
Reign of God: “We know that you teach the way of God in truth and that you
look at the appearance of no one” (v. 16). They suspected that he lacked rever-
ence for the ruler’s authority. Jesus’ response affirmed obligations to the gov-
ernment but placed them within limits. Arguing that use of the imperial
coinage system indicated participation in an administration that expressed and
acknowledged Roman authority, Jesus stated that his questioners should per-
form the obligations resulting from their involvement. But then he introduced
a concept that qualified and limited what he had just said: “And pay your obli-
gations to God” (since you also participate in God’s transcendent administra-
tion; see v. 16).
Bornkamm correctly asserts that the emphasis in Jesus’ teaching is on this
second part of the response.36 The state is placed within limits and made sub-
ject to criticism. There is a duty to God apart from that to Caesar. Such a con-
cept was novel in the Greek and Roman world; religious and political claims
were combined in one system. Jesus’ statement shows that the state was no
longer to be regarded as intrinsically sacred. Moral and religious claims exist-
ing apart from the state can be drawn upon for criticism of the state. None of
his listeners, drilled in biblical monotheism, would understand God placed on
the same plane as any other ruler. God is the only Lord (1 Chron. 29.11, 14).37
Caesar himself had to pay back his obligations to God. “God rules and politi-
cians merely hold limited office.”38
Denial of the possibility of civil disobedience is contrary to Jesus’ answer;
it implies that the authority of the state is absolute and that all its laws belong
to “the way of God.” Or, if it is acknowledged that laws can be unjust, then the
relevance of injustice to “the way of God” is denied, since the laws are still to be
obeyed in any case. But the Bible, more than any other ancient document,
exposes government as frequently acting in disobedience to God, and it reveals
God’s will that such injustices be corrected.
The relationship of the apostles to the local Jewish authorities in the book
of Acts is consistent with this interpretation of Jesus’ teaching. Peter and the
apostles say, “It is necessary to obey God rather than persons” (Acts 5.29).39
They had been ordered not to teach in the name of Jesus (v. 28). They were
resisting the authority of the Sanhedrin, which had responsibility for internal
legal affairs delegated to them by the Roman officials. The high priest, who in
turn was subject to the Roman procurator, served as its president and con-
vener.40 The terminology in Acts reveals the political nature of this local coun-
cil. It is called “the Sanhedrin, that is to say [epexegetical kai] all the senate
[gerousia] of the sons of Israel” (Acts 5.21). Peter addressed the Sanhedrin (4.15)
as “the rulers [archontes; see Rom. 13.3] of the people” (Acts 4.8). The Sanhe-
drin, which the apostles openly disobeyed, accepting the consequences, was
nevertheless an authority in the terms of Romans 13 and 1 Peter 2. The Old
Testament also provides examples of disobedience to human governments by
the people of God. The book of Daniel emphasizes God as the King of Kings.
When Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused to worship the golden image
of King Nebuchadnezzar (chap. 2) and Daniel violated the ordinance against
praying to any god for thirty days (chap. 6), they showed, in the words of
Charles Ryrie, that “subjection to the law of God takes priority in a believer’s
life over obedience to the laws of man.”41
One traditional response at this point is first to note that the apostles in
Acts had been involved in witnessing and then to draw the conclusion that a
ruling prohibiting witnessing (or worship, as in Daniel) is the only law that a
Christian may disobey. But what is the criterion for such an arbitrary distinc-
tion? Romans 13 and 1 Peter 2 make no such exception. Is God’s will in conflict
with the state only with regard to Christian proselytizing and worship? This
view reflects a narrowly defined doctrine of sin. In the prophetic confrontation
with the state in the Old Testament, social and economic matters were a point
of contention between God and human governments. Elijah, Amos, Jeremiah,
and others resisted the will of kings in their quest for justice and suffered the
consequences; they belong to “the prophets, who by faith . . . carried out jus-
tice” and “suffered chains and imprisonment” (Heb. 11.32–33, 36). Such a
prophet was Moses, who saw to it that justice was done (ekdikēsis poiein, Acts
7.24, 37; see Bauer, Lexicon6, 301). He repeatedly sought the normal legal
redress, the permission of the king, to deal with the plight of the people. Pha-
raoh withdrew his earlier consent for the people to leave, as such a monarch
was free to do. But with Pharaoh in pursuit, the people of Israel “went forth
defiantly” (Exod. 14.8, RSV; literally, “with a high hand” [beyād rāmāh]), still
within his jurisdiction, disobeying his edict. The concern behind this action
was not simply freedom of worship but deliverance from physical, economic,
and social mistreatment (Exod. 3.7–8; Acts 7.34). Earlier the Hebrew midwives
had violated the command of the king by sparing the newborn sons of Israel,
and they were honored by God for their disobedience (Exod. 1.15–21). The basis
of their action was “fear of God” (vv. 17, 21); ultimate loyalty to God led to dis-
obedience of a governmental decree relating to physical life. Likewise, Esther
violated the law and risked her life to preserve the lives of her people (Esther
4.16). Our duty is not only to preach the gospel but also to live it.
Christians through the centuries have often resisted political laws deemed
in violation of duty to God. The ancient church suffered persecution for dis-
obeying decrees requiring participation in emperor worship. This early defi-
ance of laws was not forgotten when the Christian church became part of the
political establishment and individual Christians were confronted by uncon-
scionable laws enacted by other Christians, often in the name of the church
itself. Civil disobedience became the first principle of Christian jurispru-
dence.42 As John Wesley wrote in an address to the king, “We cannot indeed say
or do either more or less than we apprehend consistent with the written word
of God. But we are ready to obey your Majesty to the uttermost in all things we
conceive to be agreeable thereto.”43
In light of this tradition, it is not surprising that fifteen years before Tho-
reau’s imprisonment for refusing to pay his poll tax, Christian missionaries
among the Cherokees were arguing for civil disobedience on biblical grounds.
A Georgia law stated that the Cherokees must give up their claim of sovereignty
over their land (1829). To restrain their missionary advocates it ordered the
missionaries either to acknowledge this law and obtain a license to preach or to
leave the state. The Reverend Samuel A. Worcester and Dr. Elizur Butler defied
the law and went to jail. The missionaries argued that the Cherokees needed
the support of the missionaries in their efforts to retain their rights, and that
they themselves were bound to uphold the cause of justice for the oppressed.
Worcester argued that he was not acting from political expediency but from
“clear moral obligation—a question of right or wrong—of keeping or violating
the commands of God.”44
Civil disobedience has also been a path toward change among Christians
in developing countries. For example, in the community of Oro in Nigeria,
Christian women protested an order of the chief and some of his subordinates
levying burial ceremonial fees on relatives of the deceased that would be a
strain on the poor and would be used by the officials for themselves. The
women complained, called meetings, demonstrated several times, and later

boycotted the market center. Such a boycott customarily takes place only when
the chief dies. To take this action while the chief was still alive implied that they
desired his death. Their request was quickly granted.45
The Ethics of Conflicting Duties
We possess normative values that we regard as mandatory. We consider them

binding upon us at all times and in all cultural situations. They are primarily
presented to us in Scripture, but they also arise in rational reflection upon his-
torical experience with scriptural norms. Thus basic human rights are claims
upon us, without exception, wherever and whenever other human beings are
present. One method of dealing with the unalterable character of our basic
values, while dealing realistically with situations in which they cannot be car-
ried out, is the concept of prima facie duties.
Prima facie means “on first appearance.” A prima facie duty derives from
moral rules that hold true whenever the factors that they govern appear in a
situation. They are not culturally bound, yet other moral considerations may
intervene so that finally they may not be the actual duty in the situation. Our
basic ethical norms are expressed in relationships with particular people. The
people around me stand in relation to me, wife to husband, child to parent,
friend to friend, creditor to debtor, citizen to citizen, unbeliever to witness, and
so forth. Each of these relationships forms the basis of fundamental duty, such
as fidelity, justice, or noninjury to others. The Ten Commandments enumerate
several such duties. If we make a promise to someone, we put ourselves into a
relation with that person that creates a basic duty to that person. We can call
these prima facie duties.46 They are often described as embodying “absolute” or
“universal” values.
We are surrounded by people in various relationships who represent a
multiplicity of duties. Sometimes we must choose among duties to various
individuals. “Most moral problems arise in situations where there is a ‘conflict
of duties,’ that is, where one moral principle pulls one way and another pulls
the other way.”47 “Every moral problem of the slightest interest is a problem
about who is to get hurt.”48 W. D. Ross suggests that every act has countless
effects and will have some adverse effects (however trivial) and probably some
beneficial effects. Even if only indirectly, these effects involve prima facie duties
that are met or not met.49 The fact that the reader is spending his or her time in
studies rather than in some form of ministry or service means that there are
claims which are presently unmet.
In deciding among these claims, we must consider three types of duty:

prima facie, secondary, and actual duty. The actual duty is the right decision for
the given situation. The prima facie duty is the same as the actual duty unless
there is an overriding moral consideration in the form of another prima facie
duty. A secondary duty, such as a claim of custom, etiquette, efficiency, or utility,
cannot be the actual duty if there is a prima facie duty in the situation. One
could not shoot another person or tell a slanderous lie in order to deliver the
mail on time. A prima facie duty allows no exceptions. It has a claim upon us
even in a situation in which we cannot fulfill it. It must always be taken into
account. The prima facie duty is duty—other things being equal. The actual
duty is duty—all things considered.
Why bring in this new terminology instead of speaking of absolute values?
The purpose is to use language that accurately reflects the fact that in practice
even permanently binding values cannot always be the actual duty, while pre-
serving “the absoluteness of the general principles of morality.”50 The term
absolute or universal disguises the actual process of ethical decision making.
The Scriptures contain many instances of moral conflicts. Norman
Geisler calls God’s command to Abraham to kill Isaac the classic example of
such a conflict and also cites the tension in the Gospels between following
Jesus and filial responsibilities or between the Sabbath regulations and the
hunger of the disciples.51 In such situations prima facie duties are not always
actual duties. The command of God prohibiting divorce is accordingly mod-
ified in the case of adultery or of the desire for divorce on the part of an
unbelieving spouse.52
Similarly, we do not hold a householder morally culpable for leaving the
home lighted when on vacation to deceive burglars into thinking that someone
is at home. Or if a mother sees a murderer in pursuit of her child, most people
would believe that she has a right to mislead the murderer by any means in her
power.53 In both cases there are overriding duties and claims.
Many ethical arguments are simplistic because they look at only one char-
acteristic of the act in question. For example, let us take the act of abortion and
consider the variety of claims upon a woman who is considering this action. I
am not concerned at this point with her actual duty, but with the complexity of
the situation. In an abortion there is the claim of the human embryo or fetus
(and there are differing medical, religious, and philosophical opinions as to
when the embryo or fetus is to be regarded as a person), the life of the mother,
the claim of the mother to control her own body, the mental health of the moth-
er, the stability of her marriage, the future physical and emotional condition of
the fetus when it is born, and the other children of the mother and their eco-
nomic and psychological needs.
As I have stated, every act involves a multiplicity of claims, not all of which
can be met. The claims that are met in a particular action are the right-making
characteristics54 of the action. Claims that are not met are wrong-making charac-
teristics of the action. These characteristics are right-making or wrong-making
according to whether they would be right or wrong if they were the only factors
involved. Right actions are those that have the greatest balance of prima facie
rightness over their prima facie wrongness.55 It is, of course, not a matter of
counting up duties met and not met, since even prima facie duties differ qual-
itatively according to basic moral claims as well as degree of involvement in the
specific action. The harm of another person is always a wrong-making charac-
teristic, but not every act that includes this characteristic is necessarily wrong
for that reason. We grant the state the authority to coerce, to put people in jail.
We do this not because liberty and personal dignity are not duties that must
always be considered but because having a community that preserves many
values including liberty and personal dignity outweighs some particular claims
of liberty and dignity. The latter remain as wrong-making characteristics of the
right actual duty of preserving community.
Let us suppose that you have a reputation for never showing up on time.
You have agreed to conduct a service at a church, and the pastor, knowing your
weakness on this point, makes you solemnly promise that you will be at the
service on time. You leave in plenty of time to get to the service, but as you are
driving along, you see that there has been an accident and someone is injured
and in need of help. What do you do? The right choice for this situation may be
clear, but at this point our concern is how to regard the alternative not taken. No
matter what you decide, your action will have a wrong-making characteristic
representing the claim that is not met. Doing the actual duty of helping the
injured person still has the wrong-making characteristic of not keeping your
word. Promise keeping is a prima facie duty. It is always there even when it
cannot be fulfilled.
Harvey Seifert approaches the dilemma of decision making from another
angle. We are responsible to a total system of values.56 Because of the limita-
tions of nature and our imperfect human situation, realizing all values at the
same time in a given situation is usually not possible. Ethical norms become
goals to be approximated as closely as possible under existing circumstances.57
Again we must be reminded that all norms are not equal in their claims upon
us, and a stronger claim cannot be surrendered for a weaker one.
The advantage of this approach to ethical decision making is that it al-
lows a person to approach complicated situations honestly and realistically,
recognizing that responsible involvement often means a choice among values
and duties, so that one valid claim must sometimes be denied in order to
fulfill a stronger one. This method allows one to think and act without para-
lyzing guilt or shame.
Another advantage of this method is the recognition that the duties that
are not met remain as valid claims upon us. Thus we shall sometimes act with
a sense of sorrow fitting to the difficult choices we have to make. This regret is
not equivalent to guilt because we know that we must choose and act;58 seeking
the Lord’s guidance in our choices, we know that God accepts and understands
the integrity of the choice of the right duty (Rom. 14.23). The consciousness of
unmet claims should make us self-critical of our choices. We must act; we must
make commitments; we cannot wait for perfect understanding or crystal-clear
choices between good and evil. Yet we are aware of the high possibility of error
when choosing one claim over another, and we must review our choices in
order to discern error and the intrusions of selfishness.
When one says, “The ends do not justify the means,” one holds that even
though the purposes of the act in question have a preponderance of right-mak-
ing characteristics, we are not justified in dispensing with consideration of
wrong-making characteristics in the means to reach those ends. Our evaluation
of the act must include the duties involved in the means as well as in the ends.
It is possible that, in the total evaluation, the right-making characteristics in the
act may outweigh wrong-making characteristics that lie in the means. The
wrong-making characteristics in the means continue to exist, yet the actual
duty may be to go ahead despite these reservations. We may not like to use
coercion, such as the threat of a fine or prison, to make a slumlord act more
responsibly, but it may be necessary in order to meet the higher claims of jus-
tice for the tenants.
In considering what our actual duty is in a situation of ethical conflict, we
must first isolate and evaluate the different duties that are involved. We then
must try to determine which claims have more weight. Is one claim prima facie
while another is secondary? Are the prima facie claims of one alternative of
greater weight than those of another? Ethicists have rightly refrained from the
impossible and counterproductive task of providing a recipe for making
decisions in all situations. Certain priorities can be identified, however. For
example, persons are more valuable than things (one does not shoot a boy steal-
ing tomatoes), and Infinite Person is more valuable than finite person(s)59 In
many conflicts the concept of justice will come into play. Here the special
claims upon us of parent, spouse, child, fellow citizen, and so forth have weight
to the degree that they indicate dependence upon us, and if there is not a sig-
nificantly greater good that could be done to a person who does not have this
special claim. Justice has priority over efficiency, but justice that also promotes
secondary principles such as efficiency and stability is preferable to the same
justice without them.60 As was stated earlier (p. 67), the greater the extent to
which an ethical claim is related to what is basic to life, dignity, and minimal
inclusion in community, the higher its priority.
One may also refer to one’s concept of the good, whether it is conceived in
terms of the relief of suffering or the realization of self-potential. (Other con-
siderations of the good include pleasure, power, and knowledge.) An evaluation
of ethical action would then include an analysis of which alternative would
produce more highly valued consequences. When there is a conflict among
basic claims, we should not, however, simply invoke the principle of what will
result in the most good, since that in effect leads to the adoption of the utilitar-
ian principle, that is, consideration of the quantity of good rather than the
nature of the duties involved.61 What brings about the most good is only one
factor. Ross gives the following illustration. If I have made a promise to a per-
son that will do him or her 1,000 units of good (assuming for the sake of the
argument that such measurements are possible), while in breaking the prom-
ise I could do 1,001 units of good for a different person, I would not be justified
in breaking the promise.62
Although we cannot prepare specific answers for unforeseeable future
conflicts among values, our best preparation, over and above a clear knowledge
of the nature of our duties, is to foster in ourselves those traits of character
“that will sustain us in the hour of decision when we are choosing between
conflicting principles of prima facie duty or trying to revise our working rules
of actual duty.”63 If the church is to assist in this work of the grace of God
within us, it must not only instruct us in the knowledge of ethics but also shep-
herd us in personal growth.
The words of Peter to the Sanhedrin were literally, according to Acts, “to
obey God is more of an obligation than to obey persons” (Acts 5:29). One of our
prima facie duties is obedience to government. This is our obligation unless it
is overridden by stronger prima facie claims. The character of such an act of
civil disobedience is conditioned by the realization that the obligation to gov-
ernment continues as an unmet claim and a wrong-making characteristic of
the act.
Civil Disobedience as Subordination
Civil disobedience accords with the major characteristics of the biblical teaching
on the relationship of the believer to society. It is nonconformity with the world
as in conflict with the new life under God. It is undertaken in order to establish
justice. But in its classical form it also expresses subordination to government.
Civil disobedience, as it has been defined in modern times, is a limited

tactic. It is based on the principles that regulate civil life.64 In principle it recog-
nizes the prima facie claim of governmental authority, and in method it appeals
to moral sympathy in the general populace. Civil disobedience seeks to bring
law and morality into greater congruence, and this congruence underlies
respect for law.65 Those who employ civil disobedience act within the frame-
work of acceptance of the legitimacy of a particular system of law. The action
taken implies that the system is generally worthy of support. Such an act
respects rather than defies the authority of the government, and thus legitimate
civil disobedience entails certain qualifications. (This does not mean that other
forms of disobedience or resistance are never ethically valid. The nature of the
action contemplated may be incompatible with the restrictions of civil disobe-
dience. For example, transportation of slaves through the Underground Rail-
road obviously could not be a public act.66 Or in a highly repressive political
regime, such as in Nazi Germany, the chances of success may be negligible and
the cost too high for it to be worthwhile to engage in public disobedience and
accept the penalty.)67
Qualifications of Civil Disobedience
(1) The law opposed is immoral. Because of the prima facie duty of subordination
to government, the first characteristic of genuine civil disobedience is that the
law to be protested must be in conflict with a higher prima facie claim. The law
stands in contrast to what is basic to life, dignity, and social harmony—indeed,
to the very purpose of law. The law violates values fundamental to personal
morality and allegiance to God.68
It must be recognized that subordination to government makes it impossi-
ble to avoid totally involvement in every instance of injustice. No social institu-
tion is entirely free from evil, and participation in any existing society involves
compromise with the ideal of the Reign of God.69
The thought of Thomas Aquinas on obedience to civil law is relevant to
contemporary considerations of civil disobedience. He wrote that laws can be
unjust in two ways. A law is unjust if it is unfair or unconstitutional. It may be
beyond the scope of the power that has been granted to the authority. For
example, a law may not interfere with matters that depend on “interior move-
ments of the will” (conscience), are essential for life, or are voluntary and
private, such as contracting marriage or a vow of chastity. We would say that
such a law interferes with basic liberty. A law is unfair if the ruler acts for per-
sonal interests rather than for the common good, which is the legitimate basis
for law and the possession of power. Laws are also unfair when they lay bur-
dens unevenly on the governed. A law that violated the civil rights of a minority,
we might say today, could be disobeyed because it fails to provide equal protec-
tion and thus distributes justice unevenly. Because these laws are not legiti-
mate, says Aquinas, they are acts of violence rather than true laws. He quotes
Augustine, “A law that is not just, goes for no law at all.” Such a law is therefore
not binding on the conscience; it has no power of obligation although one
might go the second mile and obey it to avoid scandal or turmoil.
The second way in which Aquinas says that a law may be unjust is that it
may be in conflict with the good itself, with God. This would include anything
that is against the divine law. An oppressive law may contradict God’s com-
mands of justice for the oppressed or love for the neighbor. Aquinas states that
such a law is not lawful at all. It must be resisted. One is obliged to disobey.70
Accordingly, laws directly contrary to one’s basic moral integrity and conscience
should not be obeyed.71 They are not legitimate; they do not exemplify the au-
thority spoken of in Romans 13.
If it is a sin not to respect legitimate law and order, it also is a sin to fail to
oppose unjust law and order. Disobeying unjust law has always been part of the
struggle for justice. Walter Rauschenbusch stated:
Law is unspeakably precious. Order is the daughter of heaven. Yet in

practice law and order are on the side of those in possession. The
men who are out can get in only through the disturbance of the order
now prevailing. Those who in the past cried for law and order at any
cost have throttled many a new born child of justice.72
Similarly, William Booth wrote:
Some men go to a gaol because they are better than their neighbors,
most men because they are worse. Martyrs, patriots, reformers of all
kinds belong to the first category. No great cause has ever achieved a
triumph before it has furnished a certain quota to the prison
population. The repeal of an unjust law is seldom carried until a
certain number of those who are labouring for the reform have
experienced in their own persons the hardships of fine and
imprisonment.73
To protest an unjust law, one may have to disobey a different one. How
does one oppose a voter qualification law when one does not have a vote? How
does one protest the absence of a law by disobeying it? The law actually
disobeyed should not be a law that protects or provides for a value with a higher
moral claim than the one opposed. One would not destroy property to protest
discrimination in the mail service, a service that is a subsidiary good. One

chooses the least important law that will allow an effective protest74 The effec-
tiveness of the protest will usually depend on the relevance of the substituted
law to the one protested.
It is important to reiterate that civil disobedience is a matter of moral dis-
sent. Unacceptable motivations include self-interest, prejudice, unexamined
emotional reaction, and unconfirmed factual claims.75 One supports one’s
judgment with reference to moral principles—to a higher law. This criterion of
civil disobedience, as well as those that follow, refutes the argument that civil
disobedience is no different from any other type of lawbreaking.
(2) Every possible nondisobedient recourse has been exhausted. Because civil
disobedience affirms obligation to the legal system, one must first vigorously
attempt to change the law through the means of change that the system pro-
vides. Some would apply this qualification legalistically to stifle any civil disobe-
dience. However, there are situations in which the political processes are
flagrantly inefficient, and there are times when immediate action is necessary.
The meanings of exhaust and possible will be tempered by the context.76
(3) The protest is not clandestine. The clearest sign of the affirmation of legal
authority in civil disobedience is the fact that it is carried out in full view of the
agents of law enforcement and of the public. This indicates that one is not try-
ing to benefit from disobedience or subvert the system. Openness is required
not only for the sake of principle but also for the strategy of appeal to public
opinion. There should be a clear statement of the purpose of the act, and one
should relate one’s actions to one’s goals in such a way that this relationship
will be clear to the outside observer.77 For the same reasons the act should be
nonviolent (see p. 125).
(4) There is a likelihood of success. Michael Bayles distinguishes between two
types of civil disobedience. In the first, personal civil disobedience, obedience is
incompatible with one’s moral integrity. One acts solely for the sake of con-
science, not for social change. Here the criterion of likelihood of success is in-
applicable. One has no other choice—either engage in that evil or disobey the
law that supports it. A physician who considers that a fetus is a human person
from the time of conception disobeys a law requiring doctors to perform an
abortion when requested even though almost all the other obstetricians are
willing to conform. He would be doing so on grounds of conscience alone.
The second type is social civil disobedience, in which the purpose is to change
or protest a law.78 Because we are considering strategies for social change, we
are primarily concerned with this type. Because the violation of the duty to
submit to governmental authority is a grave act, one does not seek change
through civil disobedience without some assurances that one’s purpose is
attainable. Consideration should also be given to the proportion between the

good that may probably be accomplished and the probable evil effects accom-
panying the good. The latter might include disrespect for the law, violence, and
social conflict, as well as the disadvantages of the punishment that could
follow.79
(5) There is a willingness to accept the penalty. Because civil disobedience is
carried out in the context of support for the legal system as a whole, the partic-
ipant in civil disobedience does not try to evade arrest, trial, or the penalty that
the legal system may assign to him or her. The rule of law means indictment of
all persons whom it is reasonable to believe have violated the law, and accep-
tance of the rule of law includes a commitment to the equal enforcement of the
law. Therefore, respect for the system means accepting the application of legal
punishment to oneself.80
This criterion is closely connected with the openness of the act. One does
not flee prosecution or sentence. One does not try to hide one’s act. By accept-
ing the penalty, one reaffirms one’s membership in the community. By accept-
ing the penalty, one also admits that one’s judgment is fallible. One might be
wrong and society right after all.81
This criterion does not mean that one does not use all the means of defense
available through the law. Using the legal system is one aspect of affirming it.
In addition, the court process often provides the public and legal attention that
the act of disobedience sought.
Civil Disobedience Contributes to the Legal Order

No constitutional process is so perfect that it avoids injustice entirely. Civil dis-
obedience, stepping into the breaches of constitutional order, gives justice a
second chance.82 If it were not for the possibility of civil disobedience, depar-
tures from justice would have less chance of being corrected. Pressure for jus-
tice and resentment against injustice could be ignored and continue to build up
until there was a threat of violence and revolt. As James Luther Adams put it,
without the disturbance of civil disobedience, “the legal system and the social
order can become a stagnant haven of injustice, a harbinger of violence or of
revolutionary action. When other checks and balances in the society and the
government do not function adequately, civil disobedience can step into the
breach and promote the fundamental values of a just democratic society.”83
Thus civil disobedience can truly be a way of paying our obligations of respect
and honor to the political system (Rom. 13.7).
The method of civil disobedience is strategic noncooperation (see
pp. 123–126). Civil disobedience aims at changing law. Real change of laws and
customs is a long process, but the first step is to alter public opinion and to stir
people to action. Civil disobedience may be considered effective when it con-
tributes to either or both of these ends.
Civil disobedience shares the limitations of other forms of strategic nonco-
operation. It is a criticism of the social system but inadequate by itself for the
positive achievement of justice.84 It is not an alternative to political action
within the system but a component of such action.85 Strategic noncooperation
is most effective when it can feed back into the constitutional system. For
example, in the successful African American civil rights struggle, the protests
and boycotts were accompanied by the intervention of federal power. Civil dis-
obedience contributed to the racial integration of public schools, but it had little
effect until there was a federal decision, which in turn required the cooperation
of a whole network of individuals and public agencies.86 Because civil disobedi-
ence exists in the framework of a government the authority and legitimacy of
which it supports, it accepts its place beside other aspects of the political activity
of that system.
Civil disobedience is not the normal path to justice, but the situations that
demand it in a world hostile to God are not uncommon, and they often involve
the most crucial issues of justice.
9
After All Else—Then Arms?
Think of them laughing, singing

loving their people
and
all people who put love
before power
then
put love with power
which is necessary
to destroy power without love.1
We have seen that, because evil is embodied in powerful social

structures, our response to the claims of love must take the form of
determined resistance against injustice. Love for the powerless
cannot be separated from the struggle against power. Are there social
and political conflicts in which justice requires the use of arms?
Evil can infest the institutions of a society to the point of
subverting their true purpose, which is to maintain the welfare of all
the people. At the same time, this evil discloses the fact that those
who benefit from social perversion also control the government,
thereby preventing significant amelioration. In such societies, the
terms reform and development often connote mere changes in
appearance and do not touch the reality of the problems. At the same
time, radical change through strategic noncooperation and other
forms of nonviolent action may prove impossible because of the
diffused nature of the targets, the absence of an established democratic context, and
the lack of commitment to nonviolence among the masses, or on the parts of signif-
icant numbers of the advocates for change. In the face of massive and concentrated
oppression, the justification of recourse to arms becomes a serious ethical question.
The claim of justice is prior to that of peace because there can be no genu-
ine peace without justice. The false cry of “Peace, peace,” against which Jeremi-
ah railed, came in circumstances of social injustice (Jer. 6.13–14; cf. v. 12; Zech.
8.16). Final peace follows upon final justice: “The effect of justice will be peace”
(Isa. 32.17; cf. 2.4; Exod. 18.22–23).
Many leading contemporary advocates of nonviolence agree that without
some form of power governments cannot maintain order nor can activists
secure justice. The question remains, however, whether the use of force to
secure the common good can properly embrace the use of instruments that
inflict personal injury and death.
Even if justice is obtainable only through the use of arms, it does not neces-
sarily follow that such use is therefore ethically warranted. Certain acts cannot be
justified by the common good. If the inhabitants of a city were to preserve their
lives by handing over their children (or even one child) to an invader to be killed,
the worth of the continued existence so obtained would be negated by the crime
against innocent human life that secured it. The same can be said about the cur-
rently popular lifeboat analogy according to which, when there are not enough
provisions for all, some must be sacrificed so that all do not perish. But would it
in fact be better for all to die than for some to maintain their existence on a sub-
human level (if these are indeed the only two alternatives)? The Akamba people of
Kenya resist taking a life in such a situation, believing that God indeed will pro-
vide another alternative. If they have treatment sufficient for saving the life of only
one person when two people are dying, they will provide half treatment to both.
“Their outlook is sustained by the conviction that God is prone to heal not
only where medical personnel have faithfully applied all available scientific
knowledge but also where they have been to faithful to the moral law as they are
capable of knowing it. As long as the healers remain faithful (that is, moral),
they maintain, the responsibility for patients’ lives remains God’s.”2
Do we find support in biblical values for the claim that the taking of life cannot
be justified by any duty or good, including the overthrow of violence and tyranny?
Order and Revolution
By revolution, we mean a change in the external structure of a society involving

both a redistribution of power and a revision of the form and direction of the
AFTER ALL E LSE—THEN ARMS? 145
institutions of that society. A group with a different power base from another
quarter of the society takes control. The change is sudden rather than gradual
or evolutionary. A revolution need not be violent in the sense of directly intend-
ing the physical injury or death of its opponents. (Whether violence includes
acts against property is contestable.) But revolutions frequently involve the use
of armed force, and this is the fact that now challenges us. Thus, for the pur-
poses of this discussion the following definition of revolution will apply: “an
internal war directed toward changing a government’s policies, rules and orga-
nizations and transforming the social and economic structures.”3
The ethical problems inherent in this act of revolution are complex. One is
confronted with not only a seeming conflict with the prima facie claim of public
authority but also a conflict with the prima facie claim of personal security, the
duty not to injure physically or take the life of another person.
I laid groundwork for dealing with the conflict between revolution and
political allegiance in the last chapter, in the discussion of civil disobedience.
Now, however, we are faced with a broader conflict, between the duty of justice
and respect for a whole system of law, when that system is characterized by the
same immorality perceived in a particular law in the case of civil disobedience.
Now the whole system is opposed, as standing in basic violation of God’s inten-
tion for the political order. The government itself is rejected on the grounds
that it has failed to provide basic security, welfare, and justice for a significant
portion of the populace. As Ernst Käsemann states in reflecting upon Romans 13,
one can participate in a revolution as an authentic act of service to God “only . . .
when the possessors of political power are threatening and destroying in a rad-
ical way those ties which hold together a political community as a whole in
bonds of mutual service . . . when every concrete act of service within the indi-
vidual’s province takes on the character of participation in a common self-
destruction.” Käsemann cites as an example the Third Reich of the Nazis, at
least after Stalingrad.4
In other words, revolutionary disobedience is warranted when the possessors
of political power by their every act reveal themselves not to be an authority sent
by God as God’s servant for the good of the people (cf. Rom. 13.4). Despite their
claims, they are not legitimate rulers and are not owed the duty of obedience.
There are a number of examples in Scripture of movements overthrowing
governments that have become illegitimate by opposing the will of God. In the
book of Judges one savior after another is sent by God to deliver the people of
Israel from the hand of oppressive rule (e.g., Judg. 3.12). There are many socio-
logical indications of social revolution in this record of the aggressive self-
defense of the Hebrew peasants in the hill country against the Canaanite
city-states in the bottomlands.5 Even in the period of national independence in
the Divided Kingdom, the Lord sent prophets to anoint civilians as kings with
instructions to destroy the existing rulers (2 Kings 9.6–7). While today one
cannot claim such direct revelation of the divine will, such episodes indicate at
least in principle the opposition of God to those who would seem to be “the
powers that be.” The problem for us is to discern when those who hold political
power have moved off the base of legitimacy.
One must consider the need for government and the duty of respect for
authority with great seriousness, but the greater ethical conflict associated with
armed revolution is centered on the question of violence.
The New Testament and Violence
If the question of a just use of arms is to be dealt with on a biblical foundation,

we must include the teaching and example of Jesus. Most Christian ethicists
who approach this issue assume that the Gospels present Jesus as teaching
nonviolence, although they may differ on how his teachings relate to contem-
porary society. In this section I will challenge the assumption that the teaching
and example of Jesus have direct application to the concept of violence as it
functions in Christian political deliberation.
Because Christian love seeks the well-being of the other person and
expresses itself in provisions that preserve the minimal conditions of life
together, it would be expected that love prohibits inflicting physical injury on or
taking the life of another person. This aspect of love (from the New Testament
perspective, Rom. 13.9–10) is found in the Ten Commandments: “You shall not
murder” (Exod. 20.6). But this Sixth Commandment is a prohibition of the
unjust taking of life. It is not an absolute proscription of life taking. The term
used in Exodus 20.6 is the term that can be used for murder or killing accord-
ing to the context (rāṣaḥ e.g., Num. 35.16; Deut. 22.26; Hosea 6.9), rather than
the comprehensive term for killing (hārag, e.g., Exod. 32.27; Deut. 13.9). Because
the Law does have several provisions requiring killing in the form of capital
punishment (e.g., for deliberate murder in Exod. 21.12–15), the command in
Exodus 20.6 must mean murder, not killing of any nature.6 That the Old Cov-
enant contains only a relative prohibition of killing is recognized by many who
advocate a nonviolent interpretation of biblical ethics; they argue that the reser-
vations in the Sixth Commandment have been overcome by Jesus’ teaching,
whose interpretation is decisive.7 The question then becomes in what way Jesus
has extended the command against murder to a total prohibition of killing. I
will examine the key passages used by those who have made specific scriptural
arguments for nonviolence.
AFTER ALL ELSE—THEN ARMS? 147
Turn the Other Cheek

In commenting on the law of talio, “an eye for an eye,” in which the sufferer
had the legal recourse of demanding satisfaction from the aggressor even to
the administration of the same injury,8 Jesus used examples that have little to
do with violence directly but could logically be seen to limit several forms of
violence (Matt. 5.38–42).9 None of these forms of violence, however, are perti-
nent to the classical Christian defense of certain uses of arms.
Jesus states that a slap on the right cheek may not be returned (Matt. 5.39).
But a slap on the cheek should not be interpreted as an image of violence. Rob-
ert Tannehill has shown that in these verses Jesus used a type of imagery in
which in each case a concrete example shocks his hearers into a new moral
awareness. The hearer knows that because the instance is extreme, it includes
all similar relevant cases up to and including the literal sense.10 A slap on the
cheek cannot be considered an extreme case of physical injury. Rather, in the
culture of Palestine a slap on the cheek, apparently with the back of the hand,
was an extreme form of insult.11 In the freedom of love, Jesus expects his fol-
lowers to have no need to even the score, even against an extremity of scorn and
contempt that would normally severely damage pride. A similar teaching in
Romans 12.17–21 speaks against vengeance in more general terms: “Do not
render to anyone evil for evil” (v. 17). Vengeance provides the context for Paul’s
often quoted statement “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with
good” (v. 21, NRSV; cf. 1 Sam. 25.31, 33, 39).
In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus deals with situations in which not only
does one not resist what may be an unjust claim against oneself but one goes
beyond, to give more than is demanded. In these situations of social interaction
in the local peasant sphere,12 Jesus exhorts his followers not to defend them-
selves in court against wrong,13 not to respond to insult with pride or revenge,
to allow even the protection of their garments to be taken away (Matt. 5.40).
Jesus asks of them actions expressive of a freedom from anxiety and self-protec-
tion that can only be understood in terms of the total trust in the providence of
their Heavenly Protector (cf. Matt. 6.25–34) enjoined in his teaching elsewhere.
In addition in 1 Peter 2 we are called to endure our own unjust suffering because
of the example of Jesus’ unjust sacrificial suffering and death for us (vv. 19–24).
If these injunctions regarding response to unjust actions against oneself are
applied to more complex social relations, the consistent thrust would be to pro-
hibit any attempt to resist injustice, much less the employment of violence in
such resistance. A social ethic extrapolated from these injunctions would
exclude both violent and nonviolent resistance. Yet such utter passivity is reject-
ed even by many who believe these teachings to enjoin total nonviolence.14
Even though the passage does not treat the question of violence per se, it
(with Romans 12) certainly rules out any use of violence for the purpose of
vengeance, retaliation, or protection of one’s property; such actions are pro-
scribed. To argue further that the examples used by Jesus implicitly prohibit
protecting oneself from violence is to argue from the lesser to the extreme;
Jesus’ argument was from the extreme to the lesser. Nevertheless, in the light
of these passages it is questionable whether one could use force to defend one-
self against violence without offending the spirit of “freedom from the self-
protective consciousness”15 and utter trust upon God that Jesus calls forth. The
passage does not deal with the question of self-protection against violence, but
the call to total trust in the care of God would seem to exclude even that.
But these applications of the teachings of Jesus still do not speak to the
crucial questions regarding the use of arms. The traditional Christian rationale
for armed force does not permit arms for the sake of vengeance or retaliation.
As we shall see in the next section, the classical argument often did not permit
force even to save one’s own life from an aggressor. Each of the cases of Mat-
thew 5.38–42 is bilateral, concerned with the relationship between you and one
other person. As Martin Luther commented on the passage, we, however, are
also persons in relation to others, to family members, to neighbors, whom we
are “obliged, if possible, to defend, guard, and protect.”16 The situation for
which arms were permitted was multilateral,17 in which the subject’s duty is not
only to a second person but also to a third person (or party) for whom one bears
responsibility.
Does the injunction against resistance in self-defense cover the different
question of resistance to injustice done to a third party? The passage is not
applicable to this crucial question, which includes the role of the state; one
cannot answer the multilateral question with bilateral injunctions alone. As
Paul Ramsey states, it is one thing to turn one’s own cheek; it is another thing
to lift up the face of another.18 The evidence of Jesus’ commitment to justice,
however (e.g., Luke 4.18–19; Mark 12.40; Matt. 23.23–25)—indeed the whole
tradition of biblical justice—indicates that bilateral nonresistance does not
extend to one’s responsibilities for others, but we do not have instructions as to
whether resistance to the injustices suffered by others is or is not to include the
use of arms.
Jesus and the Absent Zealots

Several scholars have interpreted the temptation of Jesus by Satan in the wil-
derness as including the temptation to advance his messiahship by means of
violence. Showing Jesus all the kingdoms of the earth and claiming that they
were under his power, Satan said they would be Jesus’ to rule if Jesus would
worship him (Matt. 4.8–10; Luke 4.5–8). Jesus’ refusal to yield to this tempta-
tion has been seen as a rejection of the use of the sword.19 With this refusal,
Jesus rejected the Zealot option.20
The interpretative key to the temptation narrative in Q appears to be the
fact that each of Jesus’ answers to Satan is drawn from the same section of
Scripture, Deuteronomy 6–8.21 Jesus experienced testings similar to those of
the people of Israel, who were also led by God into the wilderness, to be tested
as God’s “sons” (Deut. 8.2, 5), and he strengthened himself by reflecting upon
these Scriptures. Through his hunger and their dependence upon the manna
bread, trust in the word of God was learned (Deut. 8.2–3; Matt. 4.4 par.). In the
contexts of the temptation to leap from the temple and the demand for water,
Jesus and the people learned not to violate the relationship of patient trust by
forcing God to provide protection (Deut. 6.16; Matt. 4.7 par).22 Finally, neither
the lands that God promises to put under the Son nor those given to the peo-
ple of God must become a cause of distraction from utter loyalty to God, lead-
ing to the worship of false gods associated with them (Deut. 6.10–13; Matt.
4.10 par.).
Declared Son of God in his baptism, Jesus is now tested in his filial trust
and loyalty to God. The temptations do not involve “ways of being a king.”23
What Jesus might do for others does not enter into the temptation narrative.
Rather, it is a matter of what he might wrongly attempt to do for himself. Like
Israel, Jesus is tested in his devotion and trust in God.
All reference or allusion to violence is absent from the passage. If worship
of Satan is rewarded with kingdoms, this does not mean that Jesus would also
be expected to fight for them.24 Satan claimed that the kingdoms were under
his control and his to give (Luke 4.6). Jesus’ answer “You shall worship the
Lord your God” is not concerned with violence or politics but rather focuses on
the matter of allegiance.
How can violence be introduced into the exegesis of this account? The
answer lies in a so-called Zealot option that was supposedly constantly before
Jesus. The interpretation of the passage has been influenced by an understand-
ing of the Zealots as a powerful revolutionary force within Judaism in the days
of Jesus—a movement so significant that Jesus surely had to confront it in his
teaching and ministry. If Jesus were to take control of the kingdoms of the
world, this would mean overthrowing Roman rule. Acceptance of Satan’s offer
would thus associate him with the anti-Roman politics of the Zealots. Since the
Zealots were violent, Jesus would thus also be accepting a violent course. Set-
ting aside the question of the validity of this logic, the picture of the Zealots as
an unavoidable option in this context is now under question. Recent studies on
the Zealots have shed new light on the chronology and the diversity of the rev-
olutionary movements of first-century Judaism.
The Zealots have been thought to have been a major party in Judaism,
formed in A.D. 6 in the turmoil following the death of Herod and continuing
through the Roman War and the fall of Jerusalem in 70. Later studies of Jose-
phus indicate, however, that the Zealots did not in fact become a party until
66–67 or 67–68.25 Even during the war, the resistance against Rome was car-
ried on by several diverse groups, not by a distinct movement unified in ideo-
logical motivation (Josephus, Jewish War 7.253–74).
The evidence of Josephus26 supports the assertion of Tacitus regarding Pal-
estine that “under Tiberius [A.D. 14–37] all was quiet” (Histories 5.9–10).27 From
A.D. 6 to 66 there is no evidence of an organized movement of violent resis-
tance that agitated for armed revolt.28 The idea that the Zealots were the fourth
major party of Judaism in the first century down through the Roman War is
based on Josephus’s statement that Judas of Galilee (A.D. 6) started a fourth
philosophy and planted the roots of the subsequent troubles (Antiquities 18.9).
But Josephus’s own treatment of the subsequent history does not indicate that
he meant by this more than that Judas and his forces set a destructive example
that gained currency in the two decades before A.D. 70. He connects none of
the major political and religious disturbances after A.D. 6 and before the 50s
with the party of Judas.29 If the fourth philosophy of Judas of Galilee was indeed
continued by the Sicarii (terrorists in Jerusalem who stabbed their victims with
a curved dagger, Latin sica), it must have disappeared or lain dormant after the
turbulence of Herod’s death until the rise of the Sicarii movement in the 50s.
The various independent prophets who led the masses with promises of deliv-
erance did not begin their activities until the mid-40s. The last flurry of insur-
rectionist activity had been in the generation previous to that of Jesus’ ministry,
and not even the beginning signs of the deterioration that led to the Roman
War would occur until more than a decade after his crucifixion.
The incidents of confrontation between the Jews and the Romans that did
take place between A.D. 6 and the late 40s support rather than contradict the
claim for a low level of revolutionary activity during the period around the min-
istry of Jesus. These confrontations were provoked by Pilate’s troops carrying
standards bearing Roman images into Jerusalem (and possibly a separate inci-
dent involved hanging votive shields inscribed with the emperor’s name in the
palace in Jerusalem), Pilate’s confiscation of temple funds to finance an aque-
duct, and the placing of a statue of Caligula in the temple. In each of the situa-
tions the Jewish response was an understandable spontaneous reaction to an
extreme violation of their religious sensitivities. In general the confrontation
was nonviolent, and where it was not it was a case of an angry crowd rather
than an armed uprising. The participants were from all groups of the society,
and there is no indication of instigation from a particular party. The limited
extent of the protest and the apparent readiness to return to peaceful citizen-
ship when the incident was past support the picture of a relative tranquillity in
relations with Rome at this time.30 Of course, intensified by memories of the
slaughter, enslavement, and destruction in 4 B.C. in towns like Sepphoris in
Galilee and Emmaus in Judea, a smoldering animosity against the Roman
rulers must have existed;31 but it was only a part of the larger picture of conflict
and social hatred between the landless and the landed, the country and the city,
and the sects and the temple.32
It is in the context of this social unrest that the indications of civil strife and
violence in the Gospels are to be understood. If the external evidence showed
an established resistance movement in existence at the time, some of the
material might reasonably be seen as referring to that phenomenon. But the
Gospel instances alone are insufficient to establish the existence of such a
movement. The reference to Pilate’s mingling the blood of the Galileans with
their sacrifices (Luke 13.1), according to Josef Blinzler’s careful analysis, cannot
be connected to the Zealots and apparently was too incidental to merit Jose-
phus’s attention. Blinzler suggests that it was a short and swift police action
initiated by Pilate against a small group of insubordinate Galilean pilgrims
who had provoked the Roman soldiers at the temple with a leer or gesture.33
Such an event would indicate a long-standing resentment against the Romans,
but the narrow reference of the incident does not point to an extended move-
ment. Barabbas, who was released instead of Jesus at the request of the people,
is called (John 18.40) a lēstēs (robber), a term Josephus uses of the later insur-
gents. Richard Horsley’s argument that we should take Josephus at his word
and understand these figures in the framework of the widespread phenome-
non of peasant banditry is sociologically compelling.34 Accordingly, the impris-
onment of Barabbas, charged with sedition and murder in a significant social
uprising (Mark 15.7; Luke 23.19), reflects the severe social tensions of the time
but not necessarily the existence of an anti-Roman revolutionary party. The
charge under which Jesus was delivered to Pilate, that he stirred up the people
(Luke 23.5), must be treated seriously; but the Gospel context indicates that the
charge was based on actions of Jesus, centered on the temple, which were per-
ceived as threatening to the Jerusalem hierarchy and not directed against the
Romans.
With this in mind, we can see that the fact that one of Jesus’ disciples was
called “the Zealot” (Luke 6.15) has little political significance in the sense of
national liberation. In the time of Jesus this title would not mean membership
in a revolutionary party, since such a party with that name was not founded
until thirty-five years later. Rather, at this time zealot (zēlōtēs) referred to those
individuals, modeled after Phinehas and Elijah (e.g., 1 Macc. 2.24, 26, 58; 4
Macc. 18.12), whose zeal to defend the Law was so great that they were willing
to use violence if necessary; their principle opponents were not foreign occupy-
ing forces but Jewish apostates. In the New Testament we find zealots (Acts
17.5), who in attacking the Christians in Thessalonica even identified them-
selves with the interests of Rome in the prosecution (v. 7). Paul, in speaking of
his former role as a persecutor of the church (Gal. 1.13), states, “I was a zēlōtēs
for the traditions of my forefathers” (v. 14). If during Jesus’ ministry an apostle
was named “Zealot” because of his background, it would have been extremism
for the Law, not revolutionary activity.35 One should note, finally, that Galilee,
the center of Jesus’ ministry, did not have a Roman military occupation at this
time. Herod Antipas toed the line, and there does not appear to have been a
widely organized or sustained guerrilla resistance during his reign.36 The evi-
dence does not support the existence of a Jewish party of resistance in the 30s
A.D. of such significance that Jesus would certainly have had to take a position
with respect to it and which can be identified by reading between the lines of
the Gospel account.
The Exemplary Suffering of Jesus

The strongest New Testament case for nonviolence for many of its defenders is
drawn from the event that is at the heart of the New Testament ethos—the death
of Christ. Christ did not use violence to protect his life but allowed himself to be
killed. He dealt with his enemies by dying for them. And his sufferings are
presented as exemplary for us. Therefore, it is argued, we are also to be nonvio-
lent, particularly in the situation where it is most difficult—before our enemies.
The passage that most explicitly uses Christ’s sufferings as a model for
Christians in their conduct is 1 Peter 2.18–25.37 The passage deals with the
behavior of slaves with respect to their masters (v. 18), with special attention to
situations where suffering is inflicted upon them. The main point of the pas-
sage is that they should follow the example of Jesus in being sure that they have
done no wrong to deserve punishment (vv. 19–22). But verse 23 goes further in
applying Jesus’ suffering as a model (v. 21) for their conduct in the midst of
suffering: “Who although he was reviled, did not revile in return, who when he
suffered, did not threaten; instead, he placed himself in the hands [paradidonai]
of the one who judges justly.”
This verse (v. 23) recalls Matthew 5.38–42. One does not return the evil of
one’s accusers or tormentors. While the idea of not reviling or not threaten-
ing in response to suffering does not necessarily imply waiving any form of
self-defense, it is consistent with the spirit of handing oneself over to God,

mentioned in the last part of the verse. As he seems to have commanded in
Matthew 5.39,38 Jesus himself, according to Matthew, did not answer the false
testimony against him (Matt. 26.62–63). The Petrine passage is not as radical
an exhortation to nonresistance as the Matthew 5 passage, but it is grounded
in the basic principle of taking the suffering Christ as one’s pattern.
How does this imitation of Christ apply to the question of violence? In
Jesus’ example, we find a refusal to consider retaliation to verbal and physical
abuse, even to the point of the loss of one’s life. This would seem to imply non-
resistance to injustice to oneself. The point, however, would be nonresistance,
not nonviolence as such. If a principle of nonviolence can be drawn from the
passage, it must derive from a broader principle of not resisting injustice. Non-
violent resistance then would be as equally excluded by 1 Peter 2 as violent
resistance.
But this interpretation must be questioned because once again it applies
bilateral materials, that is, the behavior of Jesus in relation to his executors, to
situations structurally different, in particular, to the multilateral situation pre-
sented by action in defense of a third party. If I preserve the life of an aggressor
by allowing that person to kill me, I may be following the model of Jesus’ death
on behalf of his enemies (Rom. 5.6).39 The model does not, however, apply to
the dilemma that is created when such surrender would allow the aggressor to
kill someone under my protection.
Is the death of Jesus presented as an alternative to violence? The Gospels
indeed portray Jesus as dying without using violence, but do they see his death
resulting from an intentional rejection of violence? The mere absence of the
use of force by Jesus does not necessarily mean that force is disapproved of in
principle. The hermeneutical principle that whatever is not made normative is
therefore wrong is not satisfactory. The silence may only indicate that the ques-
tion was not present in the minds of the authors.
Jesus may be described as choosing death over the use of force in Matthew
26.53, where the Matthaean account has Jesus say that he could call upon twelve
legions of angels but will not. The purpose of calling such angels would be to
do effectively what Peter was attempting to do ineptly: to protect him from ar-
rest and death. Why did Jesus choose not to call upon such angels? The reason
for Jesus’ choice is not an ethical principle of nonviolence over violence (if so,
it would rather be a choice of nonresistance over violence, since Jesus did not
resist in any form). The prudential proverb given to Peter that “all who take the
sword will die by the sword” (v. 52) does not illuminate Jesus’ choice because he
did in fact choose a violent death. Jesus states in the next verse (26.54) that the
reason for his not calling upon angels was “that the Scripture might be fulfilled
that it might be so [that he die].” If one is to deal with the passage at the level of
Matthew’s presentation (and the saying about the legions of angels would then
also be on this level),40 Jesus’ death must be interpreted in terms of the unique
divine intention of his death as a sacrifice (Matt. 20.28 par.; 26.28 par).
That Jesus surrenders to death because it is his destiny in God’s plan of
salvation, rather than in obedience to a principle of nonviolence, is also seen in
the other text in which the consideration of arms is raised in the context of the
Passion. In John 18.36,41 Jesus states that if his Reign acknowledged the values
of the world, then his supporters would fight, but the values that control his
Reign are different.
The uniqueness of the kingship of Jesus is the reason his servants do not
fight. How is his kingship unique? Jesus discloses its character in the following
verse: “Then Pilate said to him, ‘So, then you are a king?’ Jesus answered, ‘You
yourself are saying that I am a king. For this purpose I have been born and for
this purpose I have come into the world that I should bear witness to the truth’”
(v. 37).
Jesus’ kingship is unique in its origin: “for this purpose I have come into the
world.” He is one who has come into the world from God. The basis of his king-
ship does not lie in any human support but in the will of God who has sent
him. In addition, his kingship is distinct in its purpose: “that I should bear wit-
ness to the truth.” That Jesus’ Reign is not of this world does not mean that it has
no contact with material, temporal, or political reality; such a conclusion mis-
ses the Johannine conception of cosmos as an ethical-religious concept rather
than a temporal one (cf. pp. 82–83). His Reign involves material and political
reality, but it has an ultimate purpose that goes beyond any human kingship.
The truth to which Jesus witnesses in his kingship is knowledge that the only
true God has sent God’s Son to provide eternal life to those who receive this
knowledge in trust (cf. John 17.1–3). Jesus’ witness to this truth is uniquely and
most clearly made through his death. In his death the Son and the Father are
known and glorified. Through his death all people are drawn to him (John
12.23, 28, 32).
Accordingly death is chosen, even sought, by Jesus. The Gospel of John
emphasizes Jesus’ choice of death by showing him to be in control of the situ-
ation at his capture and trial. For example, John, in contrast to the other Gos-
pels, has a force (speira, normally a cohort of 600) of hundreds of troops
pouring into the garden, yet Jesus orders them to let his disciples go and is
obeyed (18.8); the disciples do not flee as in the Synoptic Gospels.42 And the
dialogues with Pilate show that it is Jesus who is in command—that it is Pilate
and Jesus’ accusers who are truly on trial. Pilate, powerless and driven by cir-
cumstances into doing what he would have liked to avoid, is told that he would
have no authority to kill Jesus if it had not been given to him from above (19.11).
Jesus is in control, and he chooses death. His servants do not fight, not because
Jesus chooses nonviolence but because he chooses death. To the violence of the
cutting off the ear of the slave of the high priest, Jesus responds not with an
admonition about violence but with an affirmation of his choice of death: “Am
I not to drink the cup which the Father has given me?” (18.11, NRSV). Jesus’
servants do not fight, not because violence is the wrong means but because it
has the wrong end: to prevent Jesus’ death. Earthly kings cannot die and reign.
Jesus must die to reign; that is what his kingship is about.
Fighting has the wrong end in light of Jesus’ purpose; it also is irrelevant
in terms of Jesus’ origins. The authority of Jesus’ kingship is based on his com-
ing from God and God’s commission to him. It is a kingship that is not based
on human effort or support. With respect to the legitimation of his rule, in
another cultural context Jesus could have said, “My government is not of this
world; therefore my followers do not support me by the ballot.” The passage
leaves unexamined the methods by which human governments, which cannot
and indeed must not claim such an origin or mission, are (or are not) to be
established or defended; that question is not touched upon in the passage.
There is a theme in the Gospel of John that does relate Jesus’ death to eth-
ical conduct. Here the meaning of his death is love (cf. 13.1), a pattern of con-
duct that his disciples are to follow: as Christ in love had died for his friends so
they now are to love one another (15.12–14; 1 John 3.16 makes the connection:
“he gave up his life for us, and we ought to give up our lives for our brothers
and sisters”). This ethical exhortation to loving self-sacrifice as the proper appli-
cation of Jesus’ death does not appear, however, in the passages that present his
death as willed by God for the sake of human salvation. There is a clear demar-
cation in John between the two treatments of Jesus’ death, the ethical and the
theocentric.43 The dialogue with Pilate in John 18.28–19.16, in which the refer-
ence to arms is found, belongs to the theocentric not the ethical type, as we
have seen; the interpretation of the death as love calling forth love is not pre-
sent. The passages that interpret Jesus’ death in terms of love do not mention
arms and do not speak to the question of whether situations could arise in
which arms should be taken up, not to save our own life but as a form of giving
up our life for our brothers and sisters.
But what would be the implications if we accepted the suggestion that in
rejecting the angels in the Garden, Jesus was rejecting an “apocalyptic holy
war” to bring in God’s Reign?44 Or what would be the implications for current
revolution or warfare, if Jesus had chosen that option (or had chosen such an
option in the wilderness temptation)? Holy warfare, in which Yahweh as the
Divine Warrior directly leads the chosen people, who prepare themselves for
war as a religious ritual, is not like other warfare. Accordingly, efforts to cite the
Old Testament holy war as a precedent for ordinary warfare have rightly been
rejected. For the very same reasons, a choice by Jesus of holy war would not
constitute a general sanction for wars by earthly rulers. Because his acceptance
of holy warfare would not have supported the principle of the use of arms, nei-
ther would his rejection support the general rejection of arms. The most that
can be made of the holy warfare materials in both Testaments is that there is
not an absolute rejection of arms in the Bible.
Jean Lasserre, whose War and the Gospel was described by John Yoder as
“the most adequate theological presentation of Christian pacifism,”45 has writ-
ten, “The New Testament never speaks of the principle of military service, nor
of the problems raised by the Christian’s submission to this service, for the
good reason that the problem did not then arise.”46 This explanation may quite
well be correct, but this does not alter the fact that the question of arms is
simply not discussed, nor is the simple case of which the state’s use of arms is
a much more complex instance: the armed defense of one’s neighbor from
violence.
The absence of such discussion in no way negates the possibility that non-
violence might prove to be the only legitimate Christian position, when the full
implications of biblical values have been understood. But this must be estab-
lished through other means than exegesis and exposition of particular pas-
sages. If the case for nonviolence must be built on the general structure of
biblical values, this will require reflection upon the historical and philosophical
implications of biblical principles as applied to situations concerning which the
Gospels are silent. Only by such reflection can one arrive at valid conclusions
about the use of arm; merely pointing to the teaching and life of Jesus or calling
for obedience to the canonical Scripture is not enough.47
Reflections on Love and Armed Force
Continuation of Responsibilities of Love

When one turns from the ethical situation involving the relationship between
oneself and one other party, to the situation that concerns relationships to
many distinct parties, one comes to an area in which the various duties of love
often can conflict. The multilateral situation may consist of two or more bilat-
eral obligations that cannot be met at the same time. The actual duty may be
different from what is called forth by a prima facie duty that is involved (cf. the
section “The Ethics of Conflicting Duties” in chapter 8). One who acts either as
a leader of a state or as a leader against the state must make choices in a very
complex multilateral situation. In such a position one is responsible to many

other people, and one’s obligations may differ from what would obtain if it
were a case of just oneself and another person. For example, individuals are
commanded not to “avenge (ekdikein) themselves” (Rom. 12.19), while the ruler
“does not bear the sword for no purpose for he is an avenging (ekdikos) servant
of God for wrath upon the doer of evil” (Rom. 13.4).48 What is not permitted to
individuals is authorized for the state.
We are not faced with a dualistic ethic: there is not one ethical standard for
private and intimate life and a different one for commercial and political life.49
The same criteria of judgment apply to both situations, but the latter is more
complex. Love for the evildoer will always prohibit the ruler from retaliating for
the sake of his or her own self-interest; love for others in the community, how-
ever, will call on the ruler to punish the evildoer. The ruler cannot refuse the
requirements of love for the citizens of the community on the basis of what
would otherwise be required in his or her own personal relationship to an evil-
doer; the requirements of that bilateral relationship do still obtain, however.
To the extent that Jesus’ teaching affects the question of the use of violence,
it applies to all in the society, whatever their position. The use of force to protect
one’s pride, property, or other self-interest is ruled out. Arms cannot be used
against any person or group on the grounds that they are an “enemy.” When
the state kills without justification, it is guilty of murder, just as an individual
would be. Accordingly, the state’s use of arms cannot be justified by analogy to
a principle of individual self-defense, for self-defense is forbidden by Jesus.
Augustine and Luther, who were among the classic formulators of the criteria
for a just war, forbade the use of force to save one’s own life, and they did not
base their theories of just war on the principle of self-defense.50
When Love Requires Arms
When one encounters a hostile force that threatens not one’s own life and
security but those of others of God’s children, the obligation of Christian love
may necessitate the use of armed force. In most cases, love for the neighbor in
community means abnegation of force. In this situation, however, it may mean
risking one’s own life and security on behalf of others. Here the question is not
whether one is ready to suffer unjustly at the hands of the neighbor but whether
one is willing to suffer so that injustice to the neighbor can be prevented. Will-
ingness to suffer in defending others can be a form of taking up one’s cross
and following Christ. Such suffering on behalf of either type of neighbor is
made possible by transforming grace and expresses the presence of the Reign
of God.51
At this point there is a conflict of duties, in which one must choose between
force sufficient to stop the perpetrator of injustice and protect the security of
innocent people, on one side, and the claim of the aggressor for security from
personal injury, on the other. Christian love, in obedience to the demand of
biblical justice to use power when needed for the defense of the weak and
needy, will act with the minimal force sufficient to protect the innocent and
helpless from the agent of an unjust and hostile force.52 As Job described his
clothing himself with justice (Job 29.12, 14), “I broke the fangs of the unrigh-
teousness, and made them drop their prey from their teeth” v. 17, NRSV; cf. Ps.
72.4; Num. 10.9). Biblical justice is the criterion for choosing the duty to pre-
serve the life of the victim over the duty to preserve the life of the aggressor.
The gravity of the taking of human life cannot be overstated. The Christian
will never take human life, the Christian will be nonviolent—unless the re-
quirements of love in the situation demand otherwise. We are not speaking of
compromising duty. We are speaking of a situation where the claims upon the
person make the bearing of arms a duty as the expression of Christian values.
Against possible misuse of this exception, one should remember Yoder’s ob-
servation that even having accepted this theory one will still actually follow a
pragmatic pacifism because this argument would condemn most wars and
most causes for war.53
Yoder raises the pertinent question of in what way the death of the aggres-
sor even if it prevents evil can be considered an expression of Christian love
toward the aggressor. Is not the argument for violence based on the assump-
tion that “the life of the aggressor is worth less than that of the attacked”?54 The
problem raised for a love ethic by this question is not limited to the question of
violence. Yoder’s question applies in principle to all instances of distributive
justice. In answering, one can assert, first of all, that the aggressor is not
repelled because the aggressor belongs to an unpopular group or has undesir-
able personal characteristics. The aggressor is repelled solely because of the
aggression and the unavoidable choice that it presents. The unmet duty of pre-
serving the life of the aggressor is a wrong-making characteristic of this choice.
One’s response must be grief.
Second, in a situation involving justice one must choose in favor of one
claim over another (cf. p. 45), but this does not mean that the choice is not
motivated by Christian love. What if two persons ask for my cloak but only one
actually needs it? Is Christian love relevant to the choice? Does love have any-
thing to say in a choice between the welfare of tenants and the economic inter-
ests of a slumlord? Is it inconsistent to enact a law to compel or restrain the
slumlord, to use the sanction of jail or a fine to back up the law, to use arms, if
necessary, to enforce it? Love has a biblical content to aid us in such choices.55
Biblical justice enjoins the defense of the oppressed against the perpetrator of
injustice That this may sometimes mean the use of arms makes the choice
more difficult, but it is not inconsistent with the other expressions of love in
justice.56
Justice and Arms

Widespread injustice in the institutions of a society can cause physical injury
and death comparable in scope to that caused by the use of military force. It is
in such a society that the question of justified revolution is most pertinent. We
are discussing the type of society in which 2 percent of the rural population
might own 45 percent of the land even though almost 70 percent of the rural
population is employed in agriculture. Seventy percent of the population lives
on less than two dollars a day. Forty-seven percent of children under five suffer
from malnutrition, reflecting the class structure. The life expectancy rate stands
at only fifty-eight years, with the mortality rate for children under age five at 126
per 1,000.57 Rape is used as an intentional tool of powerful, politically con-
nected landowners to terrorize peasants into abandoning their lands; if that is
not sufficient, murder can often follow.58 The physical damage caused by injus-
tices built into many such societies in the situation that I have in mind is com-
pounded by injustices committed by those in power against any who resist the
injustice. The political opposition and the critical press routinely face harass-
ment, violence, imprisonment, and torture, adding to the toll. In such situa-
tions the claim for social justice is similar to the claim of defense against
aggression: a demand for a public order that assures the minimal conditions of
security and well-being for its citizens.
From the biblical perspective, violence is a subcategory of injustice. Vio-
lence here is not simply physical abuse or even the taking of life but killing or
injury arising from injustice. The force condemned is that which is employed
by the economically strong for the victimization of the weak, or, secondarily, it
is excessive brutality, cruelty, and murder of innocents.59 On the other hand,
the use of armed force can be described as justice, for example, Judges 5.11
(“the just actions [ṣidqôt] of the Lord”).60
In the Old Testament the distinction between physical force used for jus-
tice and unjust physical force is reflected even in the terminology itself. Vio-
lence (ḥāmās) is frequently linked with oppression (Amos 3.10) and injustice
(Job 19.7 [cf. v. 12]).61 The victims are aliens, orphans, widows (Jer. 22.3), and
the needy and the poor (Ps. 72.12–14). The perpetrators are the rich and power-
ful (Ezek. 7.11, 19, 23–34; Mic. 6.12). Violence is also frequently coupled with
false testimony in the context of oppression (cf. Ps. 27.12; 35.10–11; 55.9–11);
social repression occurs both in the use of force and by means of false testi-
mony in court.62 Violence is physical force in company with malice, deceit, and
economic oppression. The physical force that puts down this injustice is not
condemned as violence but is allowed to those in authority, whether judges
(Judg. 6.1–6; 7.19–25) or kings (Isa. 11.4). Force is condemned when it serves
social injustice, but legitimate armed force to overcome injustice is approved.
In this biblical perspective, the sanctity of life and person is not a claim that
clearly and always outweighs any other claim. Physical brutality is an injustice
closely associated with a comprehensive range of other injustices. Neither
one’s own biological survival nor that of a perpetrator of injustice is a supreme
value, standing above all other considerations. Force is assigned a value in
accordance with the more basic concepts of justice: “Happier were those
pierced by the sword than those pierced by hunger, whose life drains away,
deprived of the produce of the field” (Lam. 4.9, NRSV).
In certain situations, which I will now briefly consider, armed revolution
becomes a duty, with the claims of order and physical well-being yielding to the
stronger claims of the oppressed.
Justified Revolution
It has been understood, at least since the time of the early Calvinists, that the
classical Christian criteria for justifying and limiting warfare apply also to rev-
olution. Paul Ramsey has stated that the only way Christians can speak of al-
lowable revolutionary violence is in terms of a “just revolution.”63 The just war
theory states the conditions and limitations of the justifiable use of force in
terms of moral criteria, which include concerns of both duty and consequences.
The theory takes cognizance of the tension between the obligation to do no
harm to one’s neighbor, on the one hand, and the obligation to protect and lay
down one’s life for one’s neighbor, on the other. Under exceptional circum-
stances it justifies the use of force to protect the innocent and to vindicate jus-
tice.64 I shall summarize the main points of this theory in order to construct the
hypothetical situation in which armed revolution would be obligatory.
(1) The cause must be just. The motivation for revolution must be the attain-
ment of a relative degree of justice with realizable peace and order,65 in the
overthrow of a regime whose perversion of justice has made manifest the ille-
gitimacy of its claim of authority. The claims of the oppressed neighbor for
relief of gross injustices that threaten life itself must outweigh the claims for
public order and physical security of those who would defend the aggression of
the ruling powers. The controlling motivations of the revolutionaries must not
be pride, private interest, personal retaliation, hatred, greed, or vindictiveness.
Karl Marx spoke of “the war of the enslaved against their enslavers” as “the only
justifiable war in history.”66 Often the revolutionary use of arms will be precip-
itated only by an attack of the regime’s soldiers on groups engaged in nonvio-
lent resistance. The injustice shows its violence in the direct and intentional
aggression against life, and the choice between life and life becomes unavoid-
able. The moral imperative is then comparable to repelling an international
aggressor in the just war theory.
(2) The last resort. Before there can be a resort to revolution, efforts to
change the laws and conduct of the oppressive regime through parliamentary
and nonviolent means must have been crushed beyond hope. As Nelson Man-
dela declared at the Rivonia trial regarding the struggle against apartheid, “We
first broke the law in a way which avoided any recourse to violence; when this
was legislated against, and when the Government resorted to a show of force to
crush opposition to its policies, only then did we decide to answer violence with
violence.”67 Even then, however, the use of arms is not justified by this fact
alone. All conditions of the theory must be met before action is justified.
(3) By a lawful public authority. This criterion for a just war may seem inap-
plicable to a revolution because the premise of revolution is that, since the
purposes of a state are not being met, the agents of the state are not lawful
public authorities; the question of legitimacy is fundamental to revolution. In
the Calvinist tradition the concept of revolution developed side by side with the
concept of democracy. Given a covenantal concept of civil society, it can be
argued that when a government exceeds its bounds and passes into tyranny, the
authority to rule reverts to the people from whom it originates.68 The require-
ments for a revolution then would include evidence of broad support among
the populace.
The revolution is on firmer ground if the sovereignty of the people is
expressed in the formation of a parallel government.69 Such an organization
makes clear that the movement’s intentions are not anarchic, provides a focal
point for the people’s allegiance, indicates to some degree what the nature of
the hoped-for new order will be, and eases the transition to a new government.
By giving their allegiance to the parallel government, individuals can ease their
consciences regarding the subordination to authority required in Romans 13.
(4) Reasonable hope of victory. This provision by itself could never justify a
revolution, but its absence is thoroughly damaging. A strong chance of success
is of the utmost importance; it is demanded by the seriousness of the denied
claims of order and personal safety. Lives have too frequently been needlessly
lost in blind and futile revolutionary attempts. A revolt against Rome in the
time of Jesus and the early church would not have been a just revolution, as was
seen in the Jews’ tragic experience in A.D. 66–70.
(5) A due proportion between the good that may probably be accomplished and
the probable evil effect. This criterion is related to the criteria of justice and the
hope of victory. Again, by itself it cannot justify revolutionary action. But the
movement also cannot be justified unless a realistic assessment of the probable
consequences yields a preponderance of good over evil. In practical terms it
means that the revolutionary movement should possess forms of power other
than military force sufficient to ensure success with minimal physical force.
This certainly includes support by the mass of the people.
Because of the horror of warfare, one can understand those who would ques-
tion whether this criterion can ever be met. Warfare is anarchy. Even in the six-
teenth century, Erasmus could say, “If you have ever seen towns in ruins, villages
destroyed, churches burnt, and farmland abandoned . . . all this is the conse-
quence of war.”70 The losses are not only the terrible loss of life but also the break-
down and destruction of economies, families, and morality. Too often there is
rape, starvation, and to the surviving soldiers, permanent psychological damage.
( 6 ) Rightly conducted through the use of right means. The duty of using force
to protect the innocent from an aggressor cannot justify the use of force against
any who are not directly engaged in or immediately cooperating with a force to
be resisted. Only military personnel and their political commanders can logi-
cally be included in this category. Any lethal force that is directed against non-
combatants is therefore murder.71 Any terrorist violence against civilians is
ruled out. Too many revolutionary guerrilla groups in developing countries in
recent decades have intentionally murdered civilians. The observer can judge
the character of the proposed new order by the respect that the revolutionary
forces show for human life. Without such respect the movement confounds its
basic purpose, which is to secure the dignity of human life.72 The prima facie
duty of not taking an innocent life is always the actual duty. That killing of in-
nocent persons has been a constant in modern warfare is reason for the denial
of just war as any longer an option.73 For example, Enda McDonagh found that
the Rhodesian guerrilla struggle in 1978 met the criteria of just war except for
the attacks on innocent civilians.74
Torture of anyone, whether military or civilian, cannot be justified. Torture
is able to be inflicted only on a captive, who thus by definition is not then an
aggressor, but rather is weak and helpless. Torture can constitute a greater as-
sault on the dignity of human life even than killing. Torture is one of the surest
indications of the denial of justice by a regime. Any revolutionary movement
that engages in it reveals the superficiality of its alleged commitment to justice.
“One cannot dehumanize the oppressors without ultimately dehumanizing
oneself, and aborting the possibilities of the liberation movement into an
exchange of roles of oppressor and oppressed.”75
The Importance of Christian Reserve

The teachings and Spirit of Jesus are indispensable to revolutions in preserving
them from their own excesses. Many revolutions have been successful mili-
tarily only to suffer a much greater defeat when the new order of justice was
thwarted because the revolutionaries took their cause, or worse themselves,
seriously to the point of idolatry. From such overinvolvement, the Christian is
restrained by three factors: (1) the concern to meet all claims engendered by the
obligation of universal love; (2) the awareness of evil within oneself and others;
and (3) the knowledge that revolutionary goals, like all political goals, are nei-
ther ultimate nor total. There are many paths to justice, including daily taking
up our cross and following Jesus. A role in armed revolution can only be “ago-
nized participation.” The conflict can never be joyous.
Christians will demand of a revolutionary movement an awareness of the
extraordinary temptations of postrevolutionary power and the preparation of
checks on that power and provision for the protection of minorities. The possi-
bility of just revolution is undercut by the many contemporary examples of
liberation leaders unable to handle this postrevolutionary temptation, violating
the rights and even the physical life of democratic opponents. One example is
Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe. We have access to a power that can transform
“self-justifying self-destruction” into the “displacement of the love of power by
the power of love.”76
We should have the capacity to accept death or failure, if it comes,77
rather than grasping at excessive power to avoid facing the reality of defeat.
Our self-knowledge should forestall the projection of evil and failure upon
the enemy so as to avoid criticism of ourselves and our movement.78 Finally,
this Christian reserve should provide a sense of the need for continual
change, an awareness that no revolution can produce a static and final good
state, and an expectation that a new system must ever be in the process of
being established.79
10
Creative Reform
through Politics
The Importance of Government
In the Bible the government, more than any other human agency, is
given responsibility for justice. The first task of government is to
ensure the basic rights of living in community. In this way love
promotes the good of every person.
God has granted specific powers to individuals and institutions
within society, which serve as instruments of God’s sovereignty for
the benefit of human life and as barriers against tyranny, chaos, and
disorder.1 One of these agents of power to which special authority is
given is the government. Power created by God for good is perverted
by the selfishness of individuals and groups that struggle for power
over one another; in this context the state is authorized by God to
“bear the sword” (Rom. 13.4). Force may be used to protect the
innocent and punish those who prey upon them. Likewise, the state
is God’s instrument for the maintenance of order2 and the securing
of justice in society (Rom. 13; 1 Pet. 2).
The ruler is the servant of God for the good of the people (Rom.
13.4). The content of this good (to agathon) needs to be understood in
light of the Hellenistic Jewish understanding of the ruler as father
and shepherd of the people and the Old Testament view of the king
as the one who feeds and heals the people in justice by seeking the
lost, bringing back the strayed, binding up the crippled,
strengthening the weak, and keeping watch over the fat and strong
(Ezek. 34.3–4, 15–16, 23–24; see Plato, Leges 862b). Throughout the ancient
Near East, justice was a royal function. Thus God, in the context of the divine
attribute of justice, could be addressed as a king: “Mighty King, lover of justice,
you have established equity, you have executed justice and righteousness in
Jacob” (Ps. 99.4, NRSV).
The ideal earthly ruler is characterized as one who carries out justice and in
particular defends the cause of the oppressed (Ps. 72.1–4; see Jer. 22.11–18).3 Even
pagan monarchs are commanded to exercise such justice (Dan. 4.27; Prov. 31.1,
8–9).4 The state, when it is obedient to God, advances the welfare of its citizens
through laws that contribute to freedom and solidarity;5 if the state is disobedi-
ent, it voids its God-given responsibility and threatens the welfare of its citizens.
Attention to the activity of government thus follows from Christian concern for
welfare and justice.6 Calvin reflected the biblical perspective when he taught that
civil rulers should “exhibit a kind of image of the Divine Providence, guardian-
ship, goodness, benevolence, and justice.”7 As Hubert Humphrey stated, “The
moral test of government is how that government treats those who are in the
dawn of life, the children; those who are in the twilight of life, the elderly; and
those who are in the shadows of life—the sick, the needy, and the handicapped.”8
The far-reaching institutionalized benevolence characteristic of biblical
justice, with its connection to the ruler, stands in contrast to a historical theme
in American political thought in which the power of the state figures primarily
as a threat to freedom. Accordingly, some would restrict the activities of the
state to maintaining security of the borders and to such limited functions as the
enforcement of contracts and protection against physical violence, theft, and
fraud. Christian realism about the tendency toward evil in individuals and in
groups will question the practicability of leaving significant areas of social rela-
tions without a higher authority. Relieving the government of responsibility
and going “back to the grass roots” “in actuality means, back to the more intrac-
table power groups of the local or regional community.”9
Biblical thought is quite aware of oppressive forces against which the gov-
ernment must act. In an industrial society such forces appear in groups hold-
ing concentrated economic and social power and in environmental factors such
as disease and hunger. Here justice often requires an expanded role for the
state. Objections to civil rights legislation on grounds of “states’ rights,” or ob-
jections to taxation for support of basic social programs, bring to mind Bishop
Francis McConnell’s observation about “the absurdity of raising small prob-
lems of coercion when the necessity of providing against a more general coer-
cion is upon us.”10 Justice Thurgood Marshall said of African Americans, “They
were enslaved by law, emancipated by law, disenfranchised and segregated by
law; and, finally, they have begun to win equality by law.”11
CREATIVE R EFORM THROUGH POLITICS 167
Although the state continues as servant of God, it belongs to the fallen

order of society.12 Unjust laws and corruption in government participate in the
reality of social evil. The government, like other spheres of social life, is the
scene of the struggle between the fallen worldly powers and the authority of
God for the control of the human community. Two value systems are in con-
flict. We are to “battle for God’s intention” over the powers and “against their
corruption.”13 This charge has a political dimension. We either passively acqui-
esce in the activity of the government, even though that activity is contrary to
God’s will, or we refuse political subjection to the powers by struggling for
justice “in the gate,” as the Scriptures command (Amos 5.15; see Zech. 8.16).
The political task receives a new dynamic with the Reign of God breaking
into history. The new social order that God is creating intermingles with and
acts upon and against the old order, which it will someday replace. Such a theo-
logical motif enabled the Puritans to become the first group in history to under-
stand that one could intentionally and organizationally make changes in one’s
community.14 The Puritans combined their passion for the sovereignty of God
over all of life with the conviction that the fruits of conversion were relevant to
the reconstruction of the social order. Against the traditional conservative view
that intentional changes interfere with the natural order of things, the Puritans
perceived history as a degeneration, arrested only by the intervention of God.
Historical precedent does not prevent required change; Scripture and reason
are sufficient. God, not history, is sovereign. Consequently, Thomas Case could
proclaim, “Reform the university . . . reform the cities . . . the countries . . . the
ordinances . . . the worship of God. . . . Every plant that my heavenly Father hath
not planted shall be rooted up.”15
Some contemporary Christians allow the necessity of the government’s
authority yet argue that they cannot be involved in that process because the
Christian is under a higher ethical standard with which the coercive role of the
state is incompatible. For some, the basic text excluding Christian participa-
tion in politics is Mark 10.42–43 (Matt. 20.25–26/Luke 22.25–26): “You know
that those who are regarded as rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and
their high officials exercise authority over them. But not so with you. Instead
whoever would be great among you must be your servant” (NIV). One inter-
pretation of this text can be that there is something basic to the Christian ethic
that is contrary to the meaning of the state, which is to lord it over others, to
tyrannize.
Jesus refers his teaching in this passage to relationships among the disci-
ples (“with you,” “among you”). What is here observed of secular government
is not to characterize the voluntary Christian community. While Jesus does not
suggest the application of this teaching to the conduct of the state, the standard
for the Christian community will create a critical awareness in evaluating anal-
ogous functions in the political community.
But what is actually said about the state? The rendering “lord it over” is a
misinterpretation. The Greek term (katakyrieuein) is not an intensive usage; it
carries no suggestion of arrogance or oppression but simply means “to rule over,
to be lord over.”16 It is not true that the passage equates political coercion with
tyranny or the abuse of power. Jesus is referring to the fact that there is a hierarchy
of authority in the state that is not to be repeated within the Christian community.
As it appears in Luke, this saying has an added point: “Their authorities are
called ‘benefactors’” (Luke 22.25). The term benefactor (euergetēs) was an hon-
orific title given in gratitude to a human or divine benefactor. It was a sought-
after title of very high status. A grateful recipient of benefaction who bestowed
this title acknowledged his or her inferior position by so doing. The term
belongs to a status system that, though highly developed in the Greek and
Roman world, is nonetheless not an essential or universal aspect of the state.
This extension of status went so far that such terms as benefactor served as cen-
tral expressions of the “benefactor cult,” through which a community honored
its human benefactors with sacrifices and other religious honors otherwise
reserved for divine benefactors.17 It is noteworthy that the designation which in
the Lukan account is associated with the fact of rule connotes status, rather
than use of force. In the Christian community there must not be such distinc-
tions of rank.
The contexts supplied for this saying of Jesus by the Gospels support the
contention that the teaching primarily concerns status rather than authority. In
the Markan tradition, the context is the request of James and John to receive
positions of highest honor in Christ’s coming rule (Mark 10.35–41/Matt.
20.20–24). The saying refers specifically to the one who desires to be great
(megas) or first (prōtos), both terms of rank and importance (Mark 10.43–44/
Matt. 20.26–27).18 The desire for status is condemned.
The Lukan account places this saying at a later point in the ministry of
Jesus. The context is simply a dispute among the disciples about who would be
the greatest (megas, Luke 22.24). They are told that the ruler or leader (ho
hēgoumenos) will appear as the servant (Luke 22.26); the function of authority
exists in the community but carries with it no superiority in status.19
In both these accounts, Jesus alludes to the rulers of the Gentiles in order
to condemn not the power of authority as such but rather the pride of seeking
to be elevated above others. It is not the fact of rule that is proscribed but the
personal misuse of authority. The function of authority is an acceptable in-
equality insofar as it is of service to everyone, but it does not carry any implica-
tion of superior dignity or worth.
CREATIVE REFORM THROUGH POLITICS 169
These passages, when applied by analogy to the political community, will

not prevent the Christian from participating in the decision-making processes
of government. They should, however, sensitize one to the temptations of
political power for personal pride and superiority.
The other means to justice—evangelism, the Christian community, strate-
gic noncooperation, and even revolution—are completed by legislation. Politi-
cal reform is a normal path to social change; only in the breakdown of this
process must recourse be had to the use of nonviolent coercion or, most excep-
tionally, to justified armed revolution.
The Limits of Politics
Many who at first appear particularly hostile to the legislation of social change
upon further examination are seen to oppose not political reform itself but,
one, an excessive dependence upon reform or, two, the use of excessive power
in reform.
With respect to the first concern, they are rightly critical of such heavy reli-
ance upon political and economic means to deal with social evil that political
action becomes the principal thrust of the church in society. While seeking
external controls to resolve social problems, we may come to neglect other
aspects of Christian mission. Creative reform must be only one in a spectrum
of means to justice.
Not only is a preoccupation with reforming the legal structure of society
unfaithful to the full responsibility of Christian life and mission, but as a con-
sequence it also fails to nurture the vital forces that can make genuine reform
a historical reality. In a democratic society the institutions of government can
do little to improve the general morality and values of the community at large.20
The effectiveness of a law depends in large part upon the ability of voluntary
associations, such as religious and educational institutions, to lead and mold
public opinion.21 The person in office, much of whose energy is spent on the
maintenance of society and on staying in office, needs the creative support of
those out of government, who are free from these obligations.22 The Christian
drive for social righteousness needs to be present in both spheres.
The legislative and judicial processes promoting social justice, though vi-
tally important, are but the tip of the iceberg. A just and humane society can
exist only because its people possess such qualities as self-respect and self-ac-
ceptance, tolerance, mutual respect, unselfishness, honesty, trust, the sense of
right and duty, the desire for equal treatment, and fidelity to law. Law itself is
more than a system of regulations; it embodies many of these same qualities,
which constitute the indispensable foundation of every legal order. It is impor-

tant that the content of legal regulations encourage the growth of these values.
The creation of these values, however, must come about through associations
distinct from the state; the formation of these values should not, and indeed
cannot, be subject to governmental control. Inattention to these ethical, even
religious, dimensions of order can deprive justice of its capacity to survive.
Politics alone will not suffice to elicit or instill such values. Evangelism and
Christian community do contribute to the process, even when only indirectly
through a leavening effect in society.23
The abuse of power in reform movements has also been rightly protested.
Although the advance of justice requires support from political authority,
Christians must always be mindful that, as Reinhold Niebuhr warned, power
easily becomes the tool of the will to power, the sinful need to have power over
others. The very corruptions that make the use of power necessary for achiev-
ing justice may infect the reformers themselves.
It is essential, in the attempt to combat evil and to advance righteousness
by means of legislation, to distinguish between those actions that impose
necessary restrictions on others in order to further the welfare of the neighbor
and those actions that stem from a will-to-power and the desire to dominate
others. The goal must not be to gain power for oneself, or one’s group, in the
interest of attaining one’s own objectives but rather to empower others.24
Christian efforts for just legislation will find expression in democratic pro-
cesses rather than in change dictated from above, which circumvents participa-
tion from below. Social processes that involve each person in the decisions that
personally affect him or her have a dual theological basis: on the one hand, the
impulse of love, which demands respect for every person, and on the other, the
imperative to oppose the abuse that arises from the unchecked power of one
person over another, which is one symptom of human depravity. Participatory
democracy can be focused upon a centralized or a decentralized administra-
tion, depending upon the particular social and political situation. In the drive
for civil rights for African Americans in the 1950s and 1960s, it was centralized
administration that most often implemented justice and freedom. Centraliza-
tion and decentralization do not involve basic principles of justice, however,
but are variables to be used to promote social good, particularly for the disad-
vantaged.
Should one attempt to coerce adherence to Christian values? One writer
sees little difference between forcing all citizens to be “their brothers’ keepers”
and the use of taxes to support preaching.25 There are three things to be consid-
ered: the commands of Scripture, the criteria for Christian political decision
making, and the types of duties that are subject to legislation.
C REATIVE REFORM THROUGH POLITICS 171
The Christian must be supportive of legislating the public duties arising

from responsibility for members of the community because Scripture teaches
that the care of the needy is a matter of justice and therefore an obligation upon
the whole.
The Christian must be guided by Christian values and duties in his or her
participation in politics. What other set of values could guide a Christian?
“Which morality” is what much of politics is about; behind the dispute in polit-
ical issues lies disagreement about ethical values.26 Christians with a sense of
the sovereignty of God should not be reticent about the social necessity for their
standard of justice. “Nobody in all the world is more qualified for political
action than the child of God.”27
But as I have indicated, work for justice is to be carried out through demo-
cratic processes. It is not a matter of the imposition of a minority’s will (with
the attendant necessity of endless restraints). If Christian ideals are to be
embodied in the regulations of a secular society like the United States, the
process will need support from non-Christians. Christian reform is advanced
by the fact that, while we do not live in a Christian society, neither do we live in
a pagan society without any Christian heritage. Ours is a semi-Christian soci-
ety, which has been influenced by past and present leavening of Christian in-
fluence, and in which Judeo-Christian social values are often advanced with
more vigor by nonbelievers than by many believers. The concerns of biblical
justice are capable of being understood through the reason from God available
to all in the created world. We need to translate our principles derived from
Scripture and theology into secular language.28 We then can work with others
through common agonies with injustice and common visions of greater good.
But whether one is with the majority or not, one can work democratically
only from one’s own social outlook. A pluralistic society would become sterile
if all traditions were reduced to the least common denominator. As David Hol-
lenbach puts it, “Is it really possible to maintain that fundamental convictions
about the meaning of the good life can be regarded as private preferences
rather than matters of high public importance in a society like ours?” The alter-
natives, “common sense, uncontroversial science, and instrumental rational-
ity,” are “very shaky foundations.”29 How, then, would one deal with a question
such as racism or slavery? Could one countenance a refusal to work for laws
that would reflect the Christian ideal in such a situation? Would one back off
from sanctions on slave masters in the name of freedom from coercion?
Yet the question of freedom is relevant because not all matters of right are
appropriate for legislation. Legislation deals with matters of justice; it deals
with matters that substantially involve rights. Legislation is also appropriate in
order to regulate actions that may cause harm to individuals or to institutions;
it does not pertain to private matters that neither interfere with the well-being
of another nor diminish the well-being of the community as a whole.
Legislation is also not appropriately used to give special advantage to a
private group, such as a church. Merely cultic values must not be imposed.
Such coercion was part of the defect of the Constantinianism of the medieval
Corpus Christianum, in which the state and the church formed one whole, each
using the other for its own ends.30 Payment of preachers’ salaries by the state
would be an obvious act of Constantinianism; there is a long democratic tradi-
tion that would distinguish that practice from legislating community responsi-
bilities for the needy.
Creative or Co-Optable Reform
The kind of reform rightly condemned by many who are searching for action
to deal with the basic problems of a society is a co-optable type of reform; slight
improvements are proposed to deal with what are in fact the fundamental prob-
lems of the society.31 The changes that are sought and allowed are only those
compatible with the preservation of the present social and economic system.
The present system’s needs are what determine which actions are rational,
practical, and possible.32 The assumption is that the system is fundamentally
sound.33 The situation of the people may be improved, but no real alternatives
to the present power relationships are considered.
Constantinianism lends itself to such palliative reform through the mutual
approval and support of church and state, in its old form, or in the current sec-
ular version, between the church and “the establishment.” In this relationship
the church cannot preach judgment on the selfish purposes at the heart of
society without condemning its own role in that society. The ethics taught are
those that are feasible within the limits of the acceptance of the established
society.34
The short-term co-optable perspective has characterized some of the
reform movements that have received the most attention in recent decades.
Many struggles to correct disproportionate economic power have resulted in
the appointment of independent regulating commissions, to cite a leading
example. The hope of many was that a commission would serve as an effective
watchdog to protect the public interest from the industry regulated.35 Yet the
regulating commissions become the captive of the industry to be regulated. In
the Progressive reforms of the period 1900–1916 the very form of the regulat-
ing legislation was usually proposed by the industry involved.36 The typical reg-
ulating commission goes through a life cycle of increasing control by the
industry. As public and congressional attention is withdrawn after the creation

of the commission, the agency drops its police role and begins to play more the
role of a manager of an industry. It is accepted and supported as an essential
part of the industry, providing stability and predictability. The attitude toward
the public interest becomes one of passivity and cold neutrality. The close rela-
tions with the industry and the narrow definition of its activities hamper the
commission from even discerning the public interest.37
But the discouraging history of regulating commissions was to be expected
from the nature of the reforms. Gabriel Kolko argues that the reforms of the
Progressive period were prototypical of the regulating reforms that followed.
They were founded on the assumption of the soundness of the basic patterns
of property relationships in the American economy. No serious alternatives to
the actual power in the hands of economic elites were proposed for organizing
society.38 What has been sought is not a reordering of economic relationships
but the elimination of flagrant abuses.39 When the commissions dealt with the
abuses and then became spokespersons for the industry, they were only fulfill-
ing their original purpose of aiding the continuation of the established system
of business, minus the practices that exposed it to serious public criticism.40
Such reformers, operating in the “genteel tradition of middle-class reform” and
lacking a deep conviction of the reality of economic evil, hope to modify basic
economic institutions by “tinkering with the machinery of government.”41
Similarly, we think of the 1960s as a time of vision and reform. Its pro-
grams, however, were in fact palliative, and disappointment with them led to a
“neoconservative” movement of reaction to governmental reform. As Michael
Harrington argued, despite the claims by the government and the fears of the
conservatives, the Great Society programs never included a pervasive govern-
mental intrusion into the private sphere. Nor was there a massive trend toward
equality in the 1960s. The programs were oversold and underfinanced.42 Not
their prodigality but their lack of a radical innovative character contributed to
the urban struggle between the have-nots and the have-littles. It is not govern-
mental generosity that has created the incentive for recipients of welfare pro-
grams to remain dependent but the timidity of government and the failure of a
full-employment policy.43 One can say of the whole climate of protest in the
1960s that the focus was upon a more open society in policy formulation and
social movement with only peripheral concern to economic institutions and
economic power.44
But there is another type of reform. It is built on the premise that many
social changes, even revolutionary changes, come only through a cumulative
series of partial steps.45 Here the reformer’s goals are dissonant with the cur-
rent social structures, but he or she recognizes that these goals cannot be
achieved all at once. One accepts concrete solutions to specific problems but
only on premises that question the assumptions of the present order and only
as leading in the general direction of a new order. The Christian reformer first
of all has a vision of the new order of the Reign of God but also realizes that the
Reign will be only partially realizable in history. The Christian also operates
with a vision of a community in history that is not the Reign of God but that is
more proximate to the Reign than is the present society. Specific reforms are
advanced as they reflect the ultimate and the historical vision.
Creative reforms are addressed particularly to those changes that modify
power relationships, set forth a new order of priorities, and provide new models
of life and culture.46 They are changes that limit the power of those currently
holding disproportionate power, make the weak more aware of their human
rights, and grant the poor and members of the working class (both in capital-
ism and in state socialism) more control over their lives. According to commu-
nity organizer Mike Miller, “the question is whether people power is enhanced
so that next time around democratic prerogatives challenge the status quo even
further.”47 In creative reform the limits of what is possible are redefined so as
not to reflect the needs, criteria, and rationales of the present way of doing
things but rather what should be made possible in terms of human needs.48
But what should be possible often only becomes reality piecemeal. I have
found John Yoder’s strategy in an Anabaptist perspective helpful for models of
Christian political reform that reflect more direct participation of Christians in
the political process. There is a disparity between the demands of God and
what is politically possible, between a Christian ethic dependent upon regener-
ation and its political expression, particularly in a secular state. Thus what is
sought through creative reform cannot be the elimination of all evil or even the
immediate structuring of a new social order. Rather, the political strategy is to
seek changes toward what should be made possible by concentrating upon
identifiable concrete problems of justice that are capable of being dealt with at
present. The greatest possible step toward the desired restructuring of society
is what is always required for creative reform.49 Walter Rauschenbusch put it
this way: “All that we can do is to take our social relations and institutions as we
find them, and mold them whenever we find them at all plastic.”50
We have no grounds for great optimism about the possibility of far-reach-
ing political reform producing radical structural changes. Yet the “neoconserva-
tive” counsel of diminished public intervention in our economic and social
problems is not the answer, for such timidity is a cause, not the solution, of the
failures in the reformist posture. There are no easy answers, but “there are some
solutions to some of our problems.”51 Small victories are important, especially
as they advance toward what should be possible. One must evaluate political
change in the light of the difficulty of creating change at any level of human
behavior. In considering political possibilities, we should remember that the
security possessed by individuals and major segments of our society rides the
crest of past political struggles to distribute power and the fruits of technology.
“Yesterday’s radicalism becomes today’s common sense.”52
The shortsighted perspective on reform, which does not confront the grav-
ity of the problems of the current system, leads to short-run efforts. Some of
the failures of reform have been due to a lack of vigilance on the part of the
reformers. This failure, for example, has been damaging in the history of the
regulatory commissions, where once regulation is legislated, the reformers
take what they view as an earned rest and fail to provide sustained vigilance
over the administration of the regulation.53 In the time of Lincoln Steffens,
Philadelphia was regarded as the worst-governed city in the country, but it
reflected a condition that followed reform: “Reform with us is usually revolt,
not government, and is soon over.”54 Bishop Francis J. McConnell once said,
“The trouble is not that we don’t get mad but that we don’t stay mad.”55 “Never
settle for winning,” warns Dieter Hessel.56 More should be expected from those
with the Christian perspective of human society and the Christian grounds for
concern.
You can’t Legislate Morality?
Our view of human nature and of history makes us aware that we cannot guar-
antee or assume sufficient personal morality to control injustice in society.
What, then, are we to do? One answer is enforceable law. Can morality be
achieved through the legal process? A frequently heard answer is the slogan
“You can’t legislate morality.” This phrase is applied by many to matters of
private activity or consumption that do not harm the well-being of others: in
such cases legislation is indeed futile. Others, however, aware that morality
extends to matters of social responsibilities, hold legislation to be futile in such
matters as well. It is to this attitude that we would respond.
There are two aspects to morality. One aspect is subjective—our disposi-
tions, intentions, even perceptions; it would appear difficult to legislate subjec-
tive morality. But the other aspect of morality is objective—our external
behavior. Biblical ethics gives considerable space to regulating external actions,
and social policy is more concerned with objective behavior. For social policy,
tangible justice is more important than intangible love (although the highest
standard is the presence and interconnection of both). Harvey Cox wrote in the
midst of the civil rights struggle of the 1960s:
The recent civil rights revolution in America has proved at least one
thing: Negroes are not so much interested in winning whites to a less
prejudiced attitude as they are in preventing them from enforcing the
prejudice they do have. The Negro revolt is not aimed at winning
friends but at winning freedom, not interpersonal warmth but
institutional justice. . . . The inmates of the urban concentration
camp do not long for fraternization with the guards; what they want
is the abolition of the prison; not improved relations with the captors
but “release from captivity.”57
External actions can be legally controlled and motivated,58 even though

inner motivations cannot. The slogan “You can’t legislate morality” is often
used to offer a rationale for government to do nothing; but governments always
regulate public behavior, and the great majority of our laws are attempts to
control human behavior.59
Law, however, also has an impact upon the subjective aspects of morality.
Law has an educative factor. It communicates a standard of right that can func-
tion through the superego. Law can legitimate morality. Law also has a condi-
tioning factor. Virtues are habits, and habits are formed by doing similar acts
over a period of time. The habits that are formed from youth do make a differ-
ence. One can promote public behavior by encouraging the desired values
legally. Aristotle was aware of that function: “This is confirmed by what happens
in the city-states. For the lawmakers make the citizens do good by forming good
habits in them and certainly this is the will of every lawmaker; and those who do
not will miss the mark” (Nicomachean Ethics 1103b.2–6). This viewpoint taken
without qualification runs the risk of overreliance upon law (see pp. 169–170),
but it is generally correct. One cannot in this way make new creatures, but one
can affect character in ways that are socially perceptible. One can make a better
society even if not a wholly well society.
Coerced actions have an impact even upon basic values, perceptions, and
attitudes. A case in point is the effects of the creative civil rights legislation and
judicial decisions in the struggle for African American equality in the 1960s.
Surveys at the University of Alabama from the time of its forced desegregation
in 1963 until 1969 showed an increasing acceptance of African Americans.
There was a growing willingness to include African Americans with Euro-
Americans in activities over which the general society was in conflict, such as
worship and travel. On campus there was less reluctance to include African
Americans in activities involving close relationships with Euro-Americans.
Traits traditionally associated with African Americans were viewed more posi-
tively, and stereotypes were falling. There was growing support of African
C REATIVE R EFORM THROUGH POLITICS 177
Americans having political and economic equality with Euro-Americans. The

student majority in 1963 accepted the “separate but equal” doctrine. The stu-
dent majority in 1969 approved desegregation. In 1969 the majority had not
yet accepted social desegregation (rooming with African Americans, double-
dating, mixed dating), but there were strong trends in that direction.60
Robert Coles studied the attitudes of southern Euro-American teachers in
desegregated schools. Many found that their sentiments about desegregation were
changed by the experience of having to teach African American children. One
said, “At first he was a Negro, then he became just another pupil. I’m not against
him, though I still feel loyal to the way we’ve always lived down here. It’s two dif-
ferent problems, you know.”61 There were still tensions, but feelings were being
conditioned even by compulsory experiences. The new attitudes were becoming
part of the way of life to which people later would come to feel some loyalty.
The impact of civil rights legislation upon a locality has been carefully
examined in a model political essay by Frederick Wirt. It is an interesting, well-
written work based on impeccable research in Panola County, Mississippi.
National law and national law enforcement were instruments of change in voter
registration, schools, and economic rights. There was no evidence that there
would have been significant change without such enforcement. In 1960 two-
thirds of the African American population earned less than $2,000. Only one
African American could vote. Except as private household workers, African
Americans earned less than Euro-Americans in every occupation. Expenditure
for African American pupils was one-half to one-third of that for Euro-American
pupils; almost two-thirds of African Americans received no more than six years
of education. That law enforcement was effective was due in large part to the
role played by the Justice Department in the 1960s in litigation, overcoming the
breakdown in the adversary system, in which the Euro-American lawyer out-
weighed his African American opponent in power and status and the judge was
connected with the interests of the Euro-Americans. In 1967, a total of 3,500
African Americans (50 percent of those eligible) were registered to vote. Their
votes were being sought by Euro-American candidates. There were graveled
roads to African American homes for the first time in memory. The local press
had more and better coverage of the African American community. Official vio-
lence had been curbed. There was little impact in the area of economic rights,
such as employment needs. The legislation was palliative here; the federal pro-
grams met symptoms and did not deal with the roots of the problem. While
perception of African Americans had changed little, behavior patterns had,
which made it possible that the change in perception would follow.62
Such legislation and enforcement represented creative reform. The increase
in the liberty of African Americans led to an alteration in their perception of
themselves and the possibilities in their community. The reform created new
possibilities of change. A vote and better schools can open out the old self-
defeating perspective to a new vision of life’s potential. There follows a new
belief in one’s worth as an individual.63
The direct path to this achievement of partial justice was creative reform
through politics. This path was not the only one, however. In the distant back-
ground was the teaching of the Christian church on the meaning of the life of
everyone for whom Christ died. Behind the civil rights legislation was the pow-
erful witness of those who had laid down their bodies and even their lives in
noncooperation with evil. And behind those witnesses were communities that
sustained them.
These paths came together to provide a road to justice. It is a road that can
most easily be followed by those who at the beginning meet One who gives
them in place of oppression a yoke that is easy and a burden that is light.
Notes
PREFACE
1. See Bruce C. Birch and Larry L. Rasmussen, Bible and Ethics in the
Christian Life (Minneapolis, Minn.: Augsburg, 1976), 11–44.
2. James M. Gustafson, “The Place of Scripture in Christian Ethics: A
Methodological Study,” Interpretation 24 (1970): 430.
3. J. Andrew Kirk, Liberation Theology: An Evangelical View from the
Third World, New Foundations Theological Library (Atlanta, Ga.: Knox, 1979),
205.
4. See P. J. D. Wiles, Economic Institutions Compared (New York: Wiley,
1977), 41.
5. Athol Gill, “Christian Social Responsibility,” in The New Face of
Evangelicalism: An International Symposium on the Lausanne Covenant, ed. C.
R. Padilla (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 1976), 99.
CHAPTER 1
1. For this interpretation of 1 Enoch 6–11, see George W. E. Nickelsburg,
“Apocalyptic and Myth in 1 Enoch 6–11,” Journal of Biblical Literature 96
(1977): 383–405; Nickelsburg, 1 Enoch 1: A Commentary on the Book of 1 Enoch,
Chapters 1–36; 81–108, Hermeneia (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 2001),
137–232. The Shemihazah material is basic to the passage and tentatively goes
back to the wars of the Diadochi at the end of the fourth century B.C. The
Asael material was added later.
2. See, among others, Walter Wink, The Powers, 3 vols. (Minneapolis,
Minn.: Fortress, 1984–1993); John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 19942), 139–161 [19721, 140–162]); Jim
180 NOTES TO PAGES 3–7
Wallis, Agenda for Biblical People (New York: Harper, 1976), 63–77; Richard J. Mouw,
Politics and the Biblical Drama (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1976), 85–116; and C.
Peter Wagner, Confronting the Powers: How the New Testament Church Experienced the
Power of Strategic Level Spiritual Warfare (Venture, Calif.: Regal, 1996). The work most
influential upon the early phase of the current discussion was Hendrikus Berkhof,
Christ and the Powers (Scottdale, Pa.: Herald, 1962). The purpose of this chapter is to
clarify and validate the thrust of these writers.
3. See Hermann Sasse, “Kosmos,” TDNT (1965), 3.868; Tebtunis Papyri 45.20;
47.12 (113 B.C.); George W. Redding, “KOSMOS from Homer to St. John,” Asbury
Seminarian 4 (1949): 63.
4. Sasse, “Kosmos,” 891.
5. Bios in 1 John 2.16 and 3.17 signifies means of subsistence, property, wealth (see
Bauer, Lexicon6, 177; Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Johannine Epistles (New York:
Crossroad, 1992 (19844), 122.
6. For a discussion of cosmos and the powers as structuring the hostile divisions
of humankind, see Paul S. Minear, To Die and to Live (New York: Seabury, 1977),
66–106; see Amos N. Wilder, Kerygma, Eschatology, and Social Ethics, Facet Books,
Social Ethics 12 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1966), 28.
7. C. H. Dodd, The Johannine Epistles, Moffatt New Testament Commentaries
(New York: Harper, 1946), 42–44.
8. Sasse, “Kosmos,” 894. See Paul in 1 Cor. 1.18–21, Hans Conzelmann, A
Commentary on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, Hermeneia (Philadelphia: Fortress,
1975), 43.
9. Wagner, Confronting the Powers, 22. We are to confront them as well as the
demonic powers attached to individuals (36, 135).
10. Martin P. Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion, Handbuch der Alter-
tumswissenchaft, 5,2 (Munich: Beck, 19612), 2.539; Walter Grundmann, “Dynamai/
dynamis,” TDNT (1964), 2.288.
11. In dating intertestamental literature, I frequently follow George W. E.
Nickelsburg, Jewish Literature between the Bible and the Mishnah (Minneapolis, Minn.:
Fortress, 20052).
12. Versus Berkhof, Christ and the Powers, 59 n. 6.
13. In Psalm 148.2 this translation results in angels and powers being parallel.
14. See Wilhelm Bousset, Die Religion des Judentums im späthellenistischen
Zeitalter, ed. H. Gressmann (Tübingen: Mohr, 19664), 326.
15. Martin Rist correctly sees an analogy in Revelation 2 and 3 where angels are
closely related to ecclesiastical social bodies. The angel and the corresponding church
share the praise or censure of Christ; “The Revelation of St. John the Divine,”
Interpreter’s Bible (1957), 12.379. Deuteronomy 32.8 states that when God separated the
people of the earth, God set their boundaries “according to the sons of God.” This
translation follows the text found at Qumran (Patrick W. Skehan, “A Fragment of the
‘Song of Moses’ [Deut. 32] from Qumran,” Bulletin of the American Schools of Oriental
Research 136 [December 1954]: 12), which seems to be the reading inferred by the LXX
rendering, “according to the number of the angels of God.” (The Masoretic Text has
NOTES TO PAGES 7–8 181
“according to the sons of Israel,” which appears to be an anti-polytheistic alteration.)

Related to the concept is Deut. 4.19. It is represented in New Testament times by Jubilees
15.31f. See G. B. Caird, Principalities and Powers: A Study in Pauline Theology (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1956), 5–12. The book of Daniel describes angelic “watchers”
who sit in judgment over the kingdoms and assert the sovereignty of God (Dan. 4.13,
17). Because the nations have these guardians, in the final days when God fights with
and defeats the human rulers, there is a corresponding battle in the heavens (Isa. 24.21;
34.2, 4). This vision is vividly presented in the War Scroll of Qumran (1 QM).
16. Gerhard Delling, “Archē, archōn,” TDNT (1964), 1.488; Bousset, Religion des
4Judentum, 324, 237.
17. See C. R. Dickson, “The Hebrew Terminology for the Poor in Psalm 82,”
Hervormde Teologiese Studies 51 (1995): 1034–1035.
18. See James Anaparambil, “Psalm 58, a Song of the Marginalized,” Living Word
106 (2000): 256–257.
19. Bo Reicke, “The Law and This World According to Paul: Some Thoughts
Concerning Gal. 4.1–11,” Journal of Biblical Literature 70 (1951): 270–271. H. Berkhof
(Christ and the Powers, 13) interprets Rom. 8.38–39 as enumerating realities that
dominate our lives. The context, however, is persecution, not domination or free-
dom—a specific situation of the church, not a general condition of society.
20. See Neil Elliott, “The Anti-imperial Message of the Cross” (1994), in Paul and
Empire, ed. R. Horsley (Harrisburg, Pa.: Trinity Press International, 1997), 179.
21. Revelation 13 and 17 speak of a coming great empire of evil. This coming
empire is symbolized by the empire present to John, the Roman Empire: the empire is
represented by a harlot who sits on a beast with seven heads (17.3), which are identi-
fied with seven hills (v. 9). Rome has been known from the sixth century B.C. as “the
city of seven hills”; G. B. Caird, The Revelation of St. John the Divine (New York: Harper,
1966), 216. The identification of the woman is clarified in 17.18; she is “the great city
which has dominion over all the kings of the earth.” The beast is disclosed more fully
in chapter 13 when Satan (12.9) calls forth two beasts representing supernatural evil
power, to whom he gives his power and authority. The first beast, an anti-Christ figure
associated with Nero (13.3) (G. R. Beasley-Murray, “The Revelation,” New Bible
Commentary, ed. F. Davidson [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 19542], 1184), gains
control of the government and receives worship directed by the second beast, a satanic
priestly figure.
22. Not all scholars are agreed that the stoicheia are personal beings in these
chapters; see Gerhard Delling, “Stoicheion,” TDNT (1971), 7.685, who takes them as
“that whereon man’s existence rested.” A better alternative for interpreting this passage
is that of Eduard Schweizer, who argues that the stoicheia contained divine force and
real power and threatened the world, but that they are not clearly personal beings until
the second century A.D. (“Slaves of the Elements and Worshipers of Angels: Gal 4:3, 9
and Col 2:8, 18. 20,” Journal of Biblical Literature 107 [1988]: 455–468); a connection to
the fallen powers still would make sense.
23. Xenocrates, the second successor to Plato at the Academy (339–314 B.C.),
developed extensively Plato’s ideas about the world of divine forces and taught about
how these forces dwelt in the elements (Nilsson, Geschichte der griechischen Religion,
2.256; see Martin P. Nilsson, A History of Greek Religion [London: Oxford University
Press, 19522], 289–291). Jewish apologists criticized the pagan practice of worshiping
the gods associated with elements (Philo, Dec. 53–54; Wisdom of Solomon 13.2).
24. Revelation 14.18 speaks of the angel “who has authority over the fire”; G. H.
C. MacGregor, “Principalities and Powers: The Cosmic Background of Paul’s
Thought,” New Testament Studies 1 (1954): 22, who also cites Rev. 7.1; 16.5; and 19.17.
(MacGregor argues for an astral interpretation for the stoicheia, for which there is some
evidence, but the stars also are related to angels and gods.) The Book of Jubilees speaks
of angels of fire, winds, clouds, snow, the seasons, and other forces (2.2).
25. See Reicke, “The Law and This World,” 259–262. Also see Gal. 3.24 (Law)
with Gal. 4.2 (stoicheia).
26. E.g., Deut. 32.8 LXX; Jub. 15.31–32; TestNaph. (Heb) 8.4–9.4.
27. See Helmut Koester, “Häretiker im Urchristentum,” Religion in Geschichte
und Gegenwart (19593): 3.18–19. Berkhof (Christ and the Powers) misses this possibility
when he argues that the powers are depersonalized by Paul, on the basis that it is
difficult to understand how angels or astral powers could be related to dietary laws (59
n. 6).
28. Patrick Devlin, The Enforcement of Morals (London: Oxford University Press,
1965), 9–10, 17.
29. “Interview: Mel King,” South End News 9.
30. Patrick Kerans, Sinful Social Structures (New York: Paulist, 1974), 74–75. Pages
55–82 have an excellent discussion of the meaning of social structures in the context
of individual responsibility.
31. Robert Lifton, The Nazi Doctors (New York: Basic, 1986), 4–5.
32. Gordon Sherman, “The Business of Business Is to Make a Profit,” Unauthor-
ized Version (Divinity School, Harvard University, 13 March 1972), 10; see Mary Douglas,
Natural Symbols: Exploration in Cosmology (New York: Vintage, 19732), 90–91, 135.
33. Bob Goudzwaard, Capitalism and Progress: A Diagnoses of Western Society
(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 19792), 94.
34. Kerans, Sinful Social Structures, 59.
35. Roger Mehl, “The Basis of Christian Social Ethics,” in Christian Social Ethics
in a Changing World, ed. J. Bennett (New York: Association, 1966), 45.
36. David F. Wells, sermon, 18 April 1989, Gordon-Conwell Theological Semi-
nary, South Hamilton, Massachusetts.
37. Reinhold Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society (New York: Scribner’s,
1932), 40.
38. Jürgen Moltmann, The Crucified God: The Cross of Christ as the Foundation and
Criticism of Christian Theology (New York: Harper, 1974), 293, 329. Using the example
of the federal bureaucracy, Hugh Heclo shows that we are unwilling to eliminate the
components that create the dilemma. To protect democracy, we keep the tenure short
at the top levels of government; to avoid patronage, we remove the bureaucracy from
political control (Government of Strangers: Executive Politics in Washington [Washington,
D.C.: Brookings Institute, 1977], 109; see 112).
39. N. T. Wright, Evil and the Justice of God (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity,
2006), 76; see 38.
40. Bryant Myers, “Poverty as a Disempowering System,” MARC Newsletter 98,
no. 3 (September 1998): 3–4.
41. Günther Baumbach, “Gemeinde und Welt im Johannes-Evangelium,” Kairos
14 (1972): 125.
42. Heinrich Schlier, Principalities and Powers in the New Testament, Quaestiones
Disputatae (New York: Harper, 1964), 37.
43. Ernst Troeltsch, The Social Teachings of the Christian Churches (New York:
Harper, 1960), 344, draws such a distinction.
44. John Hinton, Memoirs of William Knibb, 45, as quoted by Philip Wright, Knibb
“The Notorious”: Slaves’ Missionary 1803–1845 (London: Sidgwick, 1973), 24.
45. S. C. Lord’s report from the Select Committee on Slave Laws in the West
Indies, as quoted by Wright, Knibb, 31–32.
46. John C. Bennett, Christian Ethics and Social Policy (New York: Scribner’s,
1946), 67.
47. In John 8.23 Jesus asserts that he “is not of this world-order,” which means
that he does not share its values. Yet he came “to take away the sin of the world”
(John 1.29). The order is judged in Christ; the “ruler of the world will be thrown out”
(John 12.31). Thus, according to John 17, although the Christians cannot be taken out
of the social order, opting for ascetic retreat, they are not to belong to it; their
existence and values cannot have that source (vv. 14, 15, 18). Christ has come to
“destroy the works of the Devil,” and his followers are not to participate in them (1
John 3.8).
48. Wilder, Kerygma, Eschatology, and Social Ethics, 24–25; Alan Richardson, An
Introduction to the Theology of the New Testament (New York: Harper, 1958), 214. Against
the background of the apocalyptic materials, in which the defeat of the fallen angels is
a victory for justice and truth (see Nickelsburg, “Apocalyptic and Myth,” 391–393),
Christ’s victory over the powers is seen as a divine act achieving justice and liberation
from oppression.
49. Schlier, Principalities and Powers, 50–52.
50. For Weber’s discussion of inner-worldly asceticism, see Max Weber, “Reli-
gious Rejections of the World and Their Directions,” in From Max Weber, ed. H. Gerth
and C. W. Mills (New York: Oxford University Press, 1946), 323–359; and Weber, The
Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (New York: Scribner’s, 1958), chap. 4.
51. James Luther Adams, “‘The Protestant Ethic’ with Fewer Tears,” in The Name
of Life, E. Fromm Festschrift, ed. B. Landis and E. Tauber (New York: Holt, 1971), 178,
185 (most recently reprinted in Adams, Voluntary Associations [Chicago: Exploration,
1986], 107, 114).
52. Troeltsch, Social Teachings, 604.
53. R. Tamisier, “La séparation du monde dans l’Ancien et le Nouveau Testa-
ment,” in La séparation du monde, Problèmes de la religieuse d’aujourd’hui (Paris:
Cerf, 1961), 29, and Christopher J. H. Wright, An Eye for An Eye: The Place of Old
Testament Ethics Today (Downers Grove, Ill., InterVarsity, 1983), 40–43, 61.
CHAPTER 2
1. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics 2,2 (Edinburgh: Clark, 1957), 565.
2. B. M. Styler, “The Basis of Obligation in Paul’s Christology and Ethics,” in
Christ and Spirit in the New Testament, C. F. D. Moule Festschrift, ed. B. Lindars and S.
Smalley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 178–179.
3. See Otto Merk, Handeln aus Glauben: Die Motivierungen der paulinischen Ethik,
Marburger Theologische Studien 5 (Marburg: Elwert, 1968), 34.
4. Victor Paul Furnish, Theology and Ethics in Paul (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon,
1968), 218.
5. Ernst Käsemann, “Kritische Analyse von Phil. 2, 5–11,” Zeitschrift für Theologie
und Kirche 47 (1950): 313–360.
6. Verne H. Fletcher, “The Shape of Old Testament Ethics,” Scottish Journal of
Theology 24 (1971): 52.
7. George E. Mendenhall, Law and Covenant in Israel and the Ancient Near East
(Pittsburgh: Biblical Colloquium, 1955), 31–34.
8. Ed. Jacob, “Les bases théologiques de l’éthique de l’Ancien Testament,” Vetus
Testamentum Supplements 7 (1960): 43, 47.
9. Furnish, Theology and Ethics, 195–196, 213.
10. Paul L. Lehmann, “The Foundation and Pattern of Christian Behavior,” in
Christian Faith and Social Action, ed. J. Hutchison (New York: Scribner’s, 1953), 100,
107; see James M. Gustafson, Christ and the Moral Life (New York: Harper, 1968), 26.
11. Fletcher, “Shape of Old Testament Ethics,” 52.
12. Wolfgang Schweitzer, “Glaube und Ethos im Neuen und Alten Testament,”
Zeitschrift für Evangelische Ethik 5 (1961): 130–131.
13. Furnish, Theology and Ethics, 226.
14. Amos N. Wilder, “The Basis of Christian Ethics in the New Testament,”
Journal of Religious Thought 15 (1958): 142.
15. John Wesley, “Justification by Faith,” Sermon 5, 1, in John Wesley, The Works
of John Wesley (Bicentennial ed.) (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon, 1984), 1.187 (“what God
does for us”; “what he works in us”); and Reinhold Niebuhr, The Nature and Destiny of
Man, vol. 2, Human Destiny (New York: Scribner’s, 1964), 104–105 (grace as “God’s
power over man” and “God’s power in man”). This pairing of grace as justification and
as power was a theme of Wesley; see also Works (Bicentennial ed.), vol. 1, pp. 121–122
(Sermon 1, 1.5 and 2.20); 1.309 (Sermon 12, 15); 1.431–432 (Sermon 19, 2); 3.119
(Sermon 79, 8); 3.560, lns. 25–26 (Sermon 69, 30).
16. Karl Holl, The Distinctive Elements in Christianity (Edinburgh: Clark, 1937), 22.
17. C. G. Montefiore, The Synoptic Gospels (London: Macmillan, 1909), 2.901,
903.
18. Love is the evidence, not the cause of the forgiveness; I. Howard Marshall,
The Gospel of Luke, New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids,
Mich.: Eerdmans, 1978), 313; Sharon H. Ringe, Jesus, Liberation, and the Biblical Jubilee,
Overtures to Biblical Theology 19 (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985), 70. On the woman as
a prostitute, see Ringe, Jesus, Liberation, and the Biblical Jubilee, 69.
19. This ethical argument does not hold with the textual reading reflected in
the King James Version: “We love him. . . .” But this textual variant is secondary for
the following reasons: (1) it is easier to explain how it might have been added, since
it balances the statement, is more pious, and may have been influenced by the
references to loving God in v. 20; (2) the manuscripts that support it are less
weighty.
20. Barth, Church Dogmatics 2,2.576.
21. Styler, “Basis of Obligation,” 184, 186–187.
22. Holl, Distinctive Elements in Christianity, 17–23. Holl also is the source for the
reference to Celsus.
23. Barth, Church Dogmatics 2,2.579.
24. Liem Khiem Yank, “Enacting the Acts of God: One Important Aspect of the
Life and Proclamation of Jesus and Paul,” South East Asia Journal of Theology 14, no. 2
(1973): 26.
25. See Norman N. Snaith, The Distinctive Ideas of the Old Testament (Philadel-
phia: Westminster, 1946), 136.
26. See also Exod. 22.21; 23.9; Lev. 19.33; Deut. 10.18–19; 15.14–15.
27. Jhan Moskowitz, address to Promise Keepers convention, Worcester,
Massachusetts, August 26, 2000.
28. Moltmann, Crucified God, 317.
29. Richard J. Mouw, Political Evangelism (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1973),
91. Accordingly, those with a view of God as mother or as lover and who thus feel loved
by God are more apt to show social concern and to express that in political behavior
(sociological studies by Thomas Hoffman and Andrew Greeley in Greeley, The
Religious Imagination [New York: Sadlier, 1981], 120–128, 211).
30. Merk, Handeln aus Glauben, 232. There are ten occurrences of charis in 2 Cor.
8–9.
31. See Richard A. Horsley and Neil Asher Silberman, The Message and the
Kingdom: How Jesus and Paul Ignited a Revolution and Transformed the Ancient World
(New York: Grossett, 1997, 185–186).
32. Stephen Charles Mott, “The Greek Benefactor and Deliverance from Moral
Distress” (Ph.D. diss., Harvard University, 1971), 102–109.
33. Merk, Handeln aus Glauben, 155; see Dieter Georgi, Die Geschichte der Kollekte
des Paulus für Jerusalem, Theologische Forschung 38 (Hamburg: Reich, 1965), 78.
34. James Moffatt, Grace in the New Testament (New York: Long and Smith, 1932),
230.
35. Georgi, Die Geschichte der Kollekte, 60.
36. See ibid., 60–61.
37. Jonathan Edwards, “Christian Charity,” in Works of President Edwards,
Research and Source Work 27, eds. E. Williams and E. Parsons (New York: Franklin,
1968 [1817]), 5.403.
38. See Schnackenburg, Johannine Epistles, 111. Schnackenburg notes that brother
can mean fellow Christian as a special group within Judaism. The Pharisees and
Essenes spoke similarly of themselves.
39. J. Ramsey Michaels argues that when the text is interpreted in this way,
several elements are parallel to other texts of the ancient church; “Apostolic Hardships
and Righteous Gentiles: A Study of Matthew 25:31–46,” Journal of Biblical Literature 84
(1965): 27–37. Michaels notes that even within the bounds of this exegesis, the passage
has social relevance with respect to style of life. Noting the condition in which Jesus
expected his teachers to be found, Michaels states, “For those who carry on the work of
the apostles by preaching and teaching the word it is essential to follow Jesus’ example
by taking upon themselves the poverty, sickness, and suffering which they found in
the world and in the church” (36).
We should note that Prov. 19.17, “Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord”
(NRSV), approximates the traditional interpretation of the identity of Jesus with the
oppressed. Further, would not the basis of obligation to the needy missionaries be the
general principle of justice to the weak? The text then would still reflect the universal
character of the Old Testament demand for justice.
40. Helmut Gollwitzer, “Liberation in History,” Interpretation 28 (1974): 415–416.
41. Schnackenburg, Johannine Epistles,113. Schnackenburg sees a universal love in
the “visible brother and sister” in 1 John 4.20, applying love to those who bear human
countenance, and also in the reference to Jesus’ double command of love in v. 21 (p. 121).
42. Augustine, “Eighth Homily: 1 John 4:12–16,” in Augustine, Later Works,
Library of Christian Classics 8, ed. J. Burleigh (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1955), 324.
43. And the antecedent of them in “sharing to them” is saints (v. 12), which is
without qualification. It is not sharing with particular Christians and with all other
Christians, but with Christians in need and with all others in need. The Pauline
writings customarily use precise terms when referring to all Christians: “all the saints”
(Eph. 1.15; 3.18; 6.18, 24; Philem. 5).
44. Furnish, Theology and Ethics, 204.
45. Also Rom. 12.13–14; Phil. 4.5; 1 Tim. 5.10; Tit. 3.8, 14; Heb. 13.1–2 (the Greek
shows the holding together of love of Christians and love of strangers in philadelphia
and philozenia).
46. William Law, A Serious Call to a Devout and Holy Life 8, Classics in Western
Spirituality, ed. P. Stanwood (New York: Paulist, 1978 [1728]), 118–119.
47. David Nehring, “Biblical Resources for a Theology of Poverty,” Christian
Community Action Newsletter (New Haven, Conn.) 8, no. 6 (August 1976): 9.
48. Walter Zimmerli, “Charis: B. Old Testament,” TDNT (1974), 9.386.
CHAPTER 3
1. Stanley Hauerwas, “Love’s Not All You Need,” Cross Currents 22 (1972):
227–228.
2. Victor Paul Furnish, The Love Command in the New Testament (Nashville,
Tenn.: Abingdon, 1972), 92.
3. Ibid., 157–158. Troeltsch noted that since “what they do is not done by men
but by God or Christ,” the exercise of active love does not involve a superiority in the
giver (Social Teachings, 77).
4. John Wesley, “Law Established through Faith, II,” Sermon 36, 3.3, in Wesley,
Works (Bicentennial ed.), 2.42. Love for humans “flowing” from God’s love for us
(Works 3.300 [Sermon 91, 2.6]) was a theme of Wesley’s; see also Works, 2.598
(Sermon 2, 70.9); 3.96 (Sermon 77, 2.5); 3.173 (Sermon 83, 8); 3.295 (Sermon 91, 1.2).
5. Albert Rasmussen, Christian Social Ethics (Englewood Cliffs, N. J.: Prentice-
Hall, 1956), 164.
6. Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow (Washington, D.C.: Counterpoint, 2000), 249.
7. Gene Outka, Agape: An Ethical Analysis, Yale Publications in Religion 17 (New
Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1972), 126–127.
8. Stanley Hauerwas, Character and the Christian Life (San Antonio, Tex.: Trinity
University Press, 1975), 103, 203.
9. Leander E. Keck, “Justification of the Ungodly and Ethics,” in Rechtfertigung,
E. Käsemann Festschrift, ed. J. Friedrich et al. (Tübingen: Mohr, 1976), 202.
10. Rudolf Bultmann, The Gospel of John: A Commentary (Philadelphia: Westmin-
ster, 1971), 475–476, 525–526; Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament (New York:
Scribner’s, 1955), 2.81–82; Furnish, Love Command, 138; C. H. Dodd, Gospel and Law:
The Relation of Faith and Ethics in Early Christianity (New York: Columbia University
Press, 1951), 71: “an obligation to reproduce in human action the quality and direction
of the divine action by which it was initiated.”
11. Outka, Agape, 44.
12. There is a place for benefit to self, but love in the New Testament means we
“should give precedence to the other’s good, and only seek (our) own when it does not
conflict with others” (Garth L. Hallet, Christian Neighbor-Love: An Assessment of Six
Rival Versions [Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 1989], 61, see
47–62).
13. Christian love is “self-inverted”: Paul Ramsey, Basic Christian Ethics (New
York: Scribner’s, 1950), 243.
14. Professor Outka in his outstanding study raises some important objections
to self-sacrifice as the highest form of love (Agape, 274–279). Nevertheless, the
highest model of love is Christ’s self-sacrificial death. In addition, the placement in
Luke of the sayings on turning the other cheek and giving up the tunic (Luke
6.29–30) in the midst of the discussion of love for one’s enemies (6.27–36) shows
that they are understood as dealing with love. Their self-sacrificial character is
heightened with the perception of Robert C. Tannehill that the essential garments
would figure in a lawsuit only of the extremely poor who had no other valuable
property, “The ‘Focal Instance’ as a Form of New Testament Speech: A Study of
Matthew 5:29b–42,” Journal of Religion 50 (1970): 378–379. Yet the clarification that
love is the principle in these sayings on nonresistance at the same time gives support
to Outka’s qualification that self-sacrifice must be for the welfare of others and not for
self-sacrifice in itself. We then can say that the quintessence of love is self-sacrifice for
the good of others.
15. Ramsey, Basic Christian Ethics, 340.
16. See J. Paul Sampley, Walking between the Times: Paul’s Moral Reasoning
(Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 1991), 16, 30.
17. William Wells Brown, The Anti-slavery Harp: Collection of Songs (Boston: Bela
Marsh, 1848), 5; see William M. Swartley, Slavery, Sabbath, War, and Women (Scottdale,
Pa.: Herald, 1983), 58.
Ÿ Ÿ
_ rl UŸ bh
18. Wolfram Hermann, “Erneut jv́mK jx . av Lev 19, 18ab,” in Hermann,
: ¨ : : _ _
Von Gott und den Göttern, Beihefte zur Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissen-
schaft 259 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1999), 103, 108, 114; and Andreas Schüle, “Kāmokā der
Nächste, der ist wie Du. Zur Philologie des Liebesgebots von Lev 19,18.34,” Kleine
Untersuchungen zur Sprache des Alten Testaments und seiner Umwelt 2 (2001): 98,
101–102, 121–125. Kāmokā (“as you”), as in its other uses in the Hebrew Bible, is not
reflexive relating to the verb (here, “love”) but is attributive, here modifying the
nominal object (“alien,” v. 34; “neighbor,” v. 18). See Job 33.6 for a different expression
of basic human equality with the preposition k.
19. Furnish, Love Command, 51, who cites 2 John 10–11 as an example of the
significance of the greeting.
20. Kristen Renwick Monroe found that perceiving oneself to be linked to a
shared humanity was the only characteristic that sets apart altruistic individuals (“John
Donne’s People: Explaining Differences between Rational Actors and Altruists through
Cognitive Frameworks,” Journal of Politics 53 [1991]: 417, 426–429).
21. Outka, Agape, 130–132. Outka draws upon Donald Evans’s distinction of the
verdictive and the commissive; The Logic of Self-Involvement (London: SCM, 1963). Outka
also speaks of this distinction as viewpoint about the neighbor (recipient-evaluation)
and declaration of policy by the lover (agent-commitment) (Agape, 10). Evans argues that
both features are included in looking upon each person as one for whom Christ died.
By deciding that each person is also loved by Christ, I am also deciding to think and
behave in a corresponding way (Evans, Logic of Self-Involvement, 129, 136–137, as cited
by Outka, Agape, 131).
22. W. C. Van Unnik, “Die Motivierung der Feindesliebe in Lukas VI 32–35,”
Novum Testamentum 8 (1966): 297–298; see James Moffatt, Love in the New Testament
(London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1929), 202.
23. Furnish, Love Command, 60, 202.
24. Thomas J. Mullen, The Renewal of the Ministry (New York: Abingdon, 1963),
72.
25. Dan E. Solomon, sermon, Northeast Jurisdictional Conference, United
Methodist Church, Syracuse, New York, July 15, 2004.
26. Furnish, Love Command, 38–42.
27. Outka, Agape, 13, 161.
28. See Jacob, “Bases théologiques de l’éthique,” 47–51, who also cites Prov. 14.31;
17.5; 22.2; 29.13.
30. This illustration was kindly suggested by my former colleague Professor
Roger R. Nicole, then of Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary. Troeltsch makes this
observation of Calvinism: “Since in dealing with one’s fellow-men, at least, it is
impossible to distinguish outwardly the elect from the reprobate, everyone is to be
considered and exhorted as belonging to the elect” (Troeltsch, Social Teachings, 598).
31. John Wesley, “On Pleasing All Men,” Sermon 100, 2.5, in Wesley, Works
(Bicentennial ed.), 3.425. Love for every person on the basis of Christ’s atoning death is
a theme in Wesley; see also Works, vol. 1, pp. 163, 166 (Sermon 4, 1.5; 2.2); 1.579
(Sermon 26, 3.5); 2.315 (Sermon 52, 3.8); 2.428 (Sermon 59, 1.5); 2.580–81 (Sermon
69, 2.5–7); 4.8–9 (Sermon 115, 1.5).
32. Furnish, Love Command, 33–34; see 205.
33. See Karl Rahner, “The ‘Commandment’ of Love in Relation to the Other
Commandments,” in Rahner, Theological Investigations (Baltimore: Helicon, 1966),
5.440–443.
34. Peter A. Bertocci, “Does the Concept of Christian Love Add Anything to
Moral Philosophy?” Journal of Religion 38 (1958): 6, 8.
35. Hauerwas, “Love’s Not All You Need,” 236.
36. An example of loving your neighbor as yourself fulfilled in concrete injunc-
tions of the Old Testament Law is in James. Luke T. Johnson shows by verbal or
thematic allusions that this “royal law of love” (Jas. 2.9) is explicated concretely and
specifically not only by the Decalogue (2.11) but also by the commands found in Lev.
19.12–18 (see James 2.1, 9; 4.11; 5.4, 9, 12, 20) (“The Use of Leviticus 19 in the Letter of
James,” Journal of Biblical Literature 101 [1982]: 391–401).
37. Christopher J. H. Wright, God’s People in God’s Land: Family, Land, and
Property in the Old Testament (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1990), 265.
39. Søren Kierkegaard, Works of Love (New York: Harper, 1963), 72, quoted in
Outka, Agape, 159.
40. Furnish, Love Command, 178; see Cain Hope Felder, Troubling Biblical Waters:
Race, Class, and Family (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Bishop Henry McNeal Turner Studies in
North American Black Religion, 1989), 120–125.
41. James H. Cone, God of the Oppressed (New York: Seabury, 1975), chap. 2, p. 33.
42. Austin Farrer, “Examination of Theological Belief,” in Faith and Logic, ed. B.
Mitchell (London: Allen and Unwin, 1958), 23, quoted in Outka, Agape, 161.
43. Norman W. Porteous, “The Care of the Poor in the Old Testament,” in
Porteous, Living the Mystery (Oxford: Blackwell, 1967), 146.
44. See Bernard Williams, “The Idea of Equality,” in Philosophy, Politics, and
Society, 2nd ser., ed. P. Laslett and W. G. Runciman (Oxford: Blackwell, 1962), 112, 114;
Stanley I. Benn, “Egalitarianism and the Equal Consideration of Interests,” in Equality,
ed. J. R. Pennock and J. Chapman (New York: Atherton, 1967), 71.
45. David Mehegan, “Nadine Gordimer’s Next Chapter,” Boston Globe, November
29, 1994, 75.
46. Che Guevara, in Che: Selected Works of Ernesto Guevara, ed. R. Bonachea and
N. Valdes (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT, 1969), 426.
47. See Daniel C. Maguire, A New American Justice: Ending the White Male
Monopolies (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1980), 58: justice shows “what we think
persons are worth.” If we deny persons justice, we deny them worth.
48. William Ernest Hocking, Man and the State (Hamden, Conn.: Archon, 1968
[1954]), 13.
49. Juan Luis Segundo, A Theology for Artisans of a New Humanity, vol. 5,
Evolution and Guilt (New York: Orbis, 1974), 39–40.
50. Ramsey, Basic Christian Ethics, 247.
51. See Hayim Simha Nahmani, Human Rights in the Old Testament (Tel Aviv:
Chachik, 1964), 30–31, 53, 65, 71, 78. Christopher J. H. Wright provides a long list of
social roles and conditions for which rights are provided in Scripture (“Human
Rights,” in Wright, Walking in the Ways of the Lord [Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity,
1995], 266).
52. See Arthur J. Dyck, Rethinking Rights and Responsibilities: The Moral Bonds of
Community (Cleveland, Ohio: Pilgrim, 1994), 29, 123–149.
53. Ramsey, Basic Christian Ethics, 243, 347.
54. The helpful suggestions of Outka regarding how special considerations can
be worked out within the context of love seem to me to be more the work of justice
(Agape, 268–274).
55. Daniel Day Williams, The Spirit and the Forms of Love (New York: Harper,
1968), 250.
56. Eduard Heimann, Reason and Faith in Modern Society (Middletown, Conn.:
Wesleyan University Press, 1961), 293.
58. Carl Oglesby, “Democracy Is Nothing If It Is Not Dangerous,” quoted from
undated reprint from The Peacemaker, in Arthur G. Gish, The New Left and Christian
Radicalism (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1970), 32.
59. Emil Brunner, Justice and the Social Order (London: Lutterworth, 1945), 117.
60. Rahner, “‘Commandment’ of Love,” 451.
61. Dodd, Gospel and Law, 76.
62. Saul D. Alinsky, Reveille for Radicals (New York: Vintage, 19692), x.
63. Reinhold Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society (New York: Scribner’s,
1932), 248.
64. Ramsey, Basic Christian Ethics, 241–242.
65. William Booth, In Darkest England and the Way Out (London: International
Headquarters of the Salvation Army, n.d.), 36.
66. R. W. Funk, “Structure in the Narrative Parables of Jesus,” Semeia 2 (1974):
51–73. Roger Ruston shows Jesus’ rejection of a justice understood in terms of ability
or merit in favor of justice as the preservation and creation of community; “A Christian
View of Justice,” New Blackfriars 59 (1978): 344–358.
67. Keck, “Justification of the Ungodly,” 199–200, 207.
69. Stephen Charles Mott, “The Power of Giving and Receiving: Reciprocity in
Hellenistic Benevolence,” in Current Issues in Biblical and Patristic Interpretation, M.
Tenney Festschrift, ed. G. Hawthorne (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1975), 60–72.
70. Dietrich von Oppen, The Age of the Person: Society in the Twentieth Century
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1969), 13, 16.
71. Paul Ricoeur, “The Golden Rule: Exegetical and Theological Perplexities,”
New Testament Studies 36 (1990): 392–397.
72. Jonathan Edwards, “Charity Contrary to a Selfish Spirit,” Sermon 7 in

Edwards, Works, vol. 8, Ethical Writings, ed. P. Ramsey (New Haven, Conn.: Yale
University Press, 1989), 267.
73. John R. W. Stott, “The Biblical Basis of Evangelism,” in Let the World Hear His
Voice, ed. J. D. Douglas (Minneapolis, Minn.: World Wide, 1975), 68.
75. Eric S. Fife and Arthur F. Glasser, Missions in Crisis: Rethinking Missionary
Strategy (Chicago: Inter-Varsity, 1961), 36–37.
CHAPTER 4
1. See also my treatment of justice in A Christian Perspective on Political Thought (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 74–88, which is intentionally complementary to this
chapter. There I expand upon biblical justice as deliverance, restoration to community,
including benefit rights and an economic focus, as well as its relationship to equality.
2. As John Wesley wrote, “righteousness or justice” (“Scriptural Christianity,”
Sermon 4, 2.3 and 3.4, in Wesley, Works (Bicentennial ed.), 2.166, 171.
3. Also Deut. 32.4; Isa. 30.18.
4. Snaith, Distinctive Ideas of the Old Testament, 69.
5. Léon Epsztein states that similar concerns for justice as protection of the poor
and abused elsewhere in the ancient Near East came to a halt while in Israel it was
carried out more consistently and constantly throughout the period. The reason was its
theological vision, grounding this justice in God (Social Justice in the Ancient Near East
and the People of the Bible [London: SCM, 1986], 136, 139–140).
6. Doing justice is basic to the covenant with Abraham (Gen. 18.19), which is
carried out in the church of Christ (Gal. 3.29).
7. See Pss. 9.4, 7–9; 82.1, 8; 89.14; 98.6, 9; Gen. 18.25; and also p. 71 below. See
also Bruce C. Birch, Let Justice Roll Down: The Old Testament, Ethics, and Christian Life
(Louisville, Ky.: Westminster, 1991), 200–202.
8. Augustine, Of the Morals of the Catholic Church, chap. 15, in Christian Social
Teachings, ed. G. Forell (New York: Doubleday, Anchor Books, 1966), 76.
9. E.g., Carl F. H. Henry, Aspects of Christian Social Ethics (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerdmans, 1964), 146–171.
10. Reinhold Niebuhr, Christian Realism and Political Problems (New York:
Scribner’s, 1953), 167.
11. John W. Olley, “‘Righteousness’: Some Issues in Old Testament Translation
into English,” Bible Translator 38 (1987): 309–311; see H. Cazelles, “A propos de
quelques textes difficiles relatifs à la justice de Dieu dans l’Ancien Testament,” Revue
Biblique 58 (1951): 185–188.
12. Wallace I. Wolverton, “The King’s ‘Justice’ in Pre-exilic Israel,” Anglican
Theological Review 41 (1959), 286; see José Porfirio Miranda, Marx and the Bible: A
Critique of the Philosophy of Oppression (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1974), 109–160.
13. See Cazelles, “A propos de quelques textes,” 168–188. In this article Cazelles
examines texts where ṣedāqāh is alleged to be punitive and rejects that interpretation.
In some passages, e.g., Isa. 10.21–22, punishment is present but is interpreted as

accompanying the deliverance and that from which one is delivered. Mišpāṭ and
related words, however, acquire a use describing the judicial process associated with
God’s wrath (e.g., Jer. 25.31; Ezek. 39.21).
14. Deut. 25.1 (and the wicked are condemned [rāšă ͑(to be wicked in the Hiph’il)]);
see 1 Kings 8.32; Pss. 69.27, 29, 33; Prov. 17.15; Isa. 5.23. See Rom. 3.20 “by the works
of the law no flesh will be justified [dikaiōthēsesthai]”).
15. Ernst Käsemann, “God’s Righteousness in Paul,” Journal for Theology and the
Church 1 (1965): 100, 103; Peter Stuhlmacher, Gerechtigkeit Gottes bei Paulus, Forschun-
gen zur Religion und Literatur des Alten and Neuen Testamentes 87 (Göttingen:
Vandenhoeck, 19662), 78, 83; Karl Kertelege, “Rechtfertigung” bei Paulus: Studien zur
Struktur und zum Bedeutungsgehalt des paulinischen Rechtfertigungsbegriffs, Neutestamentli-
che Abhandlunger, n.s. 3 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1967), 107–108; Marcus Barth, “Jews
and Gentiles: The Social Character of Justification in Paul,” Journal of Ecumenical Studies
5 (1968): 259. J. Louis Martyn speaks of dikaiosunē in this context as “God’s making right
what has gone wrong” and suggests “rectification” as the translation (and “rectify” for the
verbal form) (Galatians, Anchor Bible [Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1997], 250); these
suggestions make clearer the continuity of dikaiosynē in salvation and in social justice.
16. Stuhlmacher, Gerechtigkeit Gottes, 80. See the contrast in Rom. 1.17–18. The
element of judgment both in the doctrine of the atonement as satisfaction or propitia-
tion and in the eschatological future, which Carl Henry associates with his view of
justice (Aspects of Christian Social Ethics, 169), would be expressed by terms other than
dikaiosynē. For an example of the distinct uses of this terminology, see Rom. 8.33
(RSV), “It is God who justifies [dikaioun], who is to condemn [katakrinein]?”
17. Zimmerli, “Charis,” TDNT (1974), 9:378, 380, 386. God’s favor is given
specifically to the poor (Prov. 3.34). Also see justice with mercy (rahamîm) as well as ḥên:
Pss. 111.3–9; 112.4–6; 116.5; 119.149, 156, 159; Isa. 30.18; and justice with mercy alone:
Ps. 135.14.
18. See Zimmerli, “Charis,” 381–386.
19. Also Pss. 33.5; 36.5–6; 48.9–11; 98.2–3; 101.1; 145.17; Prov. 21.21; Jer. 9.24;
Mic. 6.8. See C. van Leeuwen, Le développement du sens social en Israël avant l’ère
chrétienne, Semitica Neerlandica 1 (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1955), 184. Van Leeuwen
demonstrates the closeness of ṣedāqāh to love rather than to the Greco-Roman view of
“to each his own.” Later eleēmosynē (“act of mercy, alms”) begins to replace dikaiosynē
as its equivalent (pp. 184–189).
20. See Moshe Weinfeld, “‘Justice and Righteousness’–hqdx tpLm–The
Expression and Its Meaning,” in Justice and Righteousness, JSOTSup 137, B. Uffenhe-
imer Fest., ed. H. Reventlow and Y. Hoffman (Sheffield, Eng.: JSOT, 1992), 231, 237.
21. See 1 Sam. 12.7–8 ([ṣidqôt]). Hos. 11.4 describes this redemption as “love.”
22. Charles E. Curran describing Paul Ramsey’s view of justice, Politics, Medicine,
and Christian Ethics (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1973), 19.
23. See Deut. 5.14–15; 24.17–18.
24. See the defense of meritorian justice by Roger Hancock, “Meritorian and
Equalitarian Justice,” Ethics 80 (1970): 166, who questions the assumption of equal
merit. Even John Rawls, in his effort to demonstrate a basis for democratic equality
without recourse to self-evident principles or a theory of human nature, develops
justice out of a situation that functions in a way that approximates Christian love. In
his hypothetical situation representative persons contract a scheme of justice, but they
are ignorant of their share in the eventual society. As a result, each has to consider
what he or she would want if in the place of each other person, particularly the least
advantaged; one accepts restrictions on oneself because of empathy with the situation
of others (A Theory of Justice [Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1971]).
25. Ramsey, Basic Christian Ethics, 13–14.
26. See David Miller’s argument that a conception of justice is held against a
particular model of society; justice as “distribution according to needs” is correlative to
society as a “solidaristic community” (“The Ideological Backgrounds to Conceptions of
Social Justice,” Political Studies 22 [1974]: 387–399).
27. G. Ch. Macholz, “Noch Einmal: Planungen für den Wiederaufbau der
Katastrophe von 587,” Vetus Testamentum 19 (1969): 325–327. Elie Munk states that
“the point of departure of the system of social economy of Judaism is the equal
division of the land among all its inhabitants” (La justice sociale en Israël, Israël et le
monde 3, [Boudry, Neuchâtel [Switzerland]: Baconnière, 1948], 75).
28. Albrecht Alt, “Micha 2, 1–5 GĒS ANADASMOS in Juda,” in Kleine Schriften
zur Geschichte des Volkes Israel, vol. 3 (Munich: Beck, 1959), 374.
29. W. T. Blackstone, “On the Meaning and Justification of the Equality Princi-
ple,” Ethics 77 (1967): 240, 243.
30. Gregory Vlastos, “Justice and Equality,” in Social Justice, ed. R. Brandt
(Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1962), 40–41.
31. Stanley I. Benn, “Egalitarianism and the Equal Consideration of Interests,” in
Equality, ed. J. R. Pennock and J. Chapman (New York: Atherton, 1967), 61–62, 74; see
Snaith, Distinctive Ideas of the Old Testament, 70.
32. Desmond Tutu, quoted by Jim Stipe, at United Methodist Church Northeast-
ern Jurisdiction Church and Society conference, “From Globalization to Global
Community,” Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, November 6, 2003.
33. Joel C. Kleinman and Samuel S. Kessel, “Racial Differences in Low Birth
Weight: Trends and Risk Factors,” New England Journal of Medicine 317 (1987): 751, 753.
The education level of the mother was not a significant factor, and the racial differ-
ences remained sharp even apart from the significant factor of teenage pregnancies
(752, 753).
34. E.g., Heinz-Horst Schrey et al., The Biblical Doctrine of Justice and Law
(London: SCM, 1955), 51–52, 57, 141; John R. Donahue, “Biblical Perspectives on
Justice,” in The Faith That Does Justice, ed. J. Haughey (New York: Paulist, 1977), 68–112.
35. The intertestamental Jewish writing, Ben Sira (early second century B.C.),
adds respect and self-empowerment to water, food, clothing, and housing (29.21–28);
see John H. Elliott, A Home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its
Situation and Strategy (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981), 29.
36. Bruce Vawter, “A Tale of Two Cities: The Old Testament and the Issue of
Personal Freedom,” Journal of Ecumenical Studies 15 (1978): 261–273; and Wolff,
Anthropology of the Old Testament, 194–205; also Interpretation 27 (1973): 259–272.

Wolff recognizes the toleration of conditions contradicting this ideal but also shows
the intensification of criticism of slavery that ultimately led to a fundamental rethink-
ing of the problem.
37. Ludwig Koehler, Hebrew Man (London: SCM, 1956), 153, 155; see Robert
Gordis, “Primitive Democracy in Ancient Israel,” in Gordis, Poets, Prophets and Sages
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1971), 45–60, which describes a representa-
tive assembly not on the village level but on the national and possibly originally also
the tribal level. This right existed but is not commanded in our texts as are the other
rights listed earlier.
38. Theodore W. Jennings Jr., Good News to the Poor: John Wesley’s Evangelical
Economics (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon, 1990), 117. Jennings describes this position as
“the heart of evangelical economics” (117).
39. See Herbert Spiegelberg, “A Defense of Human Equality,” Philosophical
Review 53 (1944): 113–114; Rawls, Theory of Justice, 100.
40. See Pss. 113.7–9; 140.12; 145.14–17; Job 5.11, 15–16; 36.6; Prov. 22.22–23.
41. The dump pile is the area outside the city where trash is piled and burned.
There the outcast and homeless gather. It is a vivid image for those regarded as the
lower-class refuse of society with a social locus the extreme opposite of the seat of
honor (Norman K. Gottwald, The Tribes of Yahweh: A Sociology of the Religion of
Liberated Israel 1250–1050 B.C.E. [Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1979], 538).
42. Snaith, Distinctive Ideas of the Old Testament, 70. Normally, God’s justice is
implemented by means of human justice, but when human institutions fail in this
purpose God acts directly (Isa. 59.12–16).
43. Maguire, A New American Justice, 138.
44. D. Daiches Raphael, “Justice and Liberty,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society
51 (1950/51): 188–189. See the description of productive justice in Mott, Christian
Perspective on Political Thought, 81–83, 179–181.
45. For the Law, see Deut. 19.14, where the command not to remove one’s
neighbor’s landmark is tied to the fact that they were set up in a land (naḥălâ) that has
been portioned out by Yahweh (see 27.17). The original divisions are to be revered. For
the wisdom literature, cf. Prov. 23.10–11: Yahweh the go’el, the redeemer and guardian,
enters the field of the orphan in the case of the right of redemption (see Prov. 15.25).
As in Deut. 19, justice is tied to possession of the land and the ancient provision of it.
Walter Zimmerli, The Old Testament and the World (Atlanta, Ga.: Knox, 1976), 95.
46. See Walter Rauschenbusch, Righteousness of the Kingdom (New York: Abing-
don, 1968), 228.
47. Walter Zimmerli, “Plans for Rebuilding after the Catastrophe of 587” (1968),
in Zimmerli, I Am Yahweh (Atlanta, Ga.: Knox, 1982), 126.
48. Macholz, “Noch Einmal,” 330, 336, 338, 341.
49. Alt, “Micha 2, 1–5,” 377–378, 379–381.
50. Catherine Marshall, Christy (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1967), 165.
51. Raphael, “Justice and Liberty,” 170, 193.
52. See Blackstone, “On the Meaning and Justification of the Equality Principle,” 242.
53. Vlastos, “Justice and Equality,” 35.

54. Outka suggests that of all the conceptions of justice, the one that overlaps the
most with agape is “to each according to his needs” (Agape, 91). We have seen the
rectifying bias of love toward the handicapped and defenseless.
55. This principle is also expressed in 1 Cor. 12.23–24; 2 Cor. 8.13–15. In the
parable of Matt. 20.1–16, the payment of a day’s wages (denarius) even to those who
were able to be hired for only one hour is rendered not according to their contribution
but according to their need as the amount sufficient to live on and thus is just (dikaios,
v. 4; see v. 13).
57. See Rawls, Theory of Justice, 91.
58. Miller, “Ideological Backgrounds,” 389.
59. Using the words of Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the
Judgement of Taste (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1984), 471.
60. This priority of the poor is not because they are more virtuous religiously or
morally but because of the “historical accident” of their socioeconomic condition
(Ismael García, Justice in Latin America Liberation Theology [Atlanta, Ga.: Knox, 1987],
94).
61. See Rawls, Theory of Justice, 15.
62. Note that right after the statement of impartiality linked to bribes is the
selection in “justice” of the orphan, widow, and resident alien (Deut. 10.18). Impartial-
ity does not exclude priority to special needs.
63. H. McKeating, “Justice and Truth in Israel’s Legal Practice: An Inquiry,”
Church Quarterly 3 (1970): 55.
64. Robert Davidson, “Some Aspects of the Old Testament Contribution to the
Pattern of Christian Ethics,” Scottish Journal of Theology 12 (1959): 379.
65. J. Richard Cohen, “Public Sector 45,” American Lawyer (January–February
1997): 70. Cohen was then legal director of the Southern Poverty Law Center, a public
pressure group effective in legal action against actions of racial hate.
66. Jack A. Nelson, Hunger for Justice: The Politics of Food and Faith (Maryknoll,
N.Y.: Orbis, 1980), vii.
67. Zeev W. Falk, “Two Symbols of Justice,” Vetus Testamentum 10 (1960): 72–73.
As the king became more distant from the village, his responsibilities increasingly
were delegated to princes and elders (Wolverton, “The King’s ‘Justice,’” 281–282).
When the ruler fails to enforce the law, the rights (dîn of the oppressed are perverted
(Prov. 31.5). On “set right the oppressor [ḥāmôṣ]” in Isa. 1.17, see Brown, Driver, Briggs,
Lexicon, 80, 330; and J. Alec Motyer, Isaiah: An Introduction and Commentary, Tyndale
Old Testament Commentaries (Downers Grove, Ill., Inter-Varsity, 1999), 47, who
follow the Hebrew text versus the passive sense in Old Versions, which is followed by
the Authorized Version tradition: “rescue the oppressed” (NRSV).
68. John of Salisbury, Policraticus 4.2, in From Irenaeus to Grotius: A Sourcebook in
Christian Political Thought, ed. O. O’Donovan and J. O’Donovan (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerdmans, 1999), 284.
69. Koehler, Hebrew Man, 153, 155. See his appendix, “Justice in the Gate,” 149–175.
70. Richard Quinney, Providence: The Reconstruction of Social and Moral Order
(New York: Longman, 1980), 110.
71. Valdir R. Steuernagel, “Christian Responsibility Today: Reflections on the
Lausanne Covenant,” Journal of Latin American Theology 1, no. 1 (2006): 38–39, see
Prov. 21.3. Franz-Josef Steiert notes that, unlike Egyptian wisdom, in the wisdom of
Israel justice is a central demand of God (Die Weisheit of Israel–ein Fremdkörper im
Alten Testament? Eine Untersuchung zum Buch der Sprüche auf dem Hintergrund der
ägyptischen Weisheitslehren, Freiburger theologische Studien 143 [Freiburg: Herder,
1990], 91).
72. See similar teachings in Matt. 12.7; 19.16–22 par.
73. Otto Bird, The Idea of Justice (New York: Praeger, 1967), 168, 171.
75. See Rawls, Theory of Justice, 4, 62, 259.
76. Ibid., 3; see 7, 54–55, 58.
77. Samuel Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language (New York: AMS, 1967
[1755]), s.v. “Law.”
78. Rawls, 259.
79. Koehler, Hebrew Man, 157. This is true also of the Babylonian laws in the
background. The term mî/êšārum means both “justice” and “just law.” The introduc-
tion to these laws indicates that they are “to set forth justice.” The prologue to the Code
of Hammurabi speaks of the purpose of justice as “that the strong might not oppress
the weak” (G. R. Driver and John C. Miles, The Babylonian Laws, Ancient Codes and
Laws of the Near East [London: Oxford University Press, 1952–1955], 21, 37).
80. Melissa Fay Greene, Praying for Sheetrock (Reading, Mass.: Addison-Wesley,
1991), 179.
CHAPTER 5
1. See Glen H. Stassen and David P. Gushee, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in
Contemporary Context (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2003), 30. (They count nine,
apparently including the alternate reading in Matt. 6.13.)
2. Bousset, Religion des Judentums, 314.
3. Herman Ridderbos, The Coming of the Kingdom (Philadelphia: Presbyterian
and Reformed, 1962), 3–4; also Albert Schweitzer, Quest of the Historical Jesus (New
York: Macmillan, 1964 [1906]), 16.
4. Ridderbos, Coming of the Kingdom, 13. For example, Stassen and Gushee
(Kingdom Ethics, 23–24) note that when Jesus announced the Reign of God, he used
words that seem to have come from Isaiah (e.g., Matt. 8.11//Luke 13.29 with Isa. 49.12;
59.19). We may add that this influence is true of other prophets as well, e.g., the
frequent reference to “the lost” (with and without “sheep”) is language used by Ezekiel
in describing God’s taking over the rule through the Messiah (34.4, 16, 23).
5. Rudolf Schnackenburg, God’s Rule and Kingdom (Freiburg: Herder, 1963),
12–13.
6. Ibid., 18.
7. Amos Niven Wilder, Eschatology and Ethics in the Teaching of Jesus (New York:
Harper, 1939), 27.
8. Ridderbos, Coming of the Kingdom, 5.
9. Wolverton gives the following examples: Isa. 5.16; 28.17; 30.18; 32.16; 33.22
(“The King’s Justice,” 285).
10. See also Pss. 5.8; 125.4–5; Prov. 8.8.
11. Schnackenburg, God’s Rule and Kingdom, 41.
12. Klaus Koch, The Rediscovery of Apocalyptic, Studies in Biblical Theology 22,
2nd ser. (London: SCM, 1972), 131.
13. C. René Padilla, “The Kingdom of God and the Church,” Theological Fraternity
Bulletin, nos. 1 and 2 (1976): 1.
14. Günther Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth (New York: Harper, 19603), 92.
15. Wilder, Eschatology and Ethics, 19, 153ff.
16. See ibid., 47, 197.
17. See Ridderbos, Coming of the Kingdom, 521.
18. Ibid., 55.
19. Other interpretations are offered for this passage. The interpretation “the
Reign is inside you,” as a purely spiritual reality, is hindered by the fact that Jesus’
audience are the Pharisees and by the use of entos rather than en, the normal word for
in. Entos often means among when the object is plural. The other leading interpretation,
that Jesus is referring to a statement that will be made in the future, is more persuasive.
But if this is taken to mean that it will be sudden, rather than something that can be
calculated, then one must note that there is nothing in the passage to suggest sudden-
ness. See Werner Georg Kümmel, Promise and Fulfillment: The Eschatological Message of
Jesus, Studies in Biblical Theology 23 (Naperville, Ill. : Allenson, 19573), 32–36. If it
means that the Reign would then already be present as a religious, ethical, and social
reality, then that assumes a coming of the Reign into history. The most plausible time
for such a nonobservable coming would be with the work of Jesus.
20. See Wilder, Eschatology and Ethics, 192.
21. Ibid., 196.
22. H. Richard Niebuhr, The Kingdom of God in America (New York: Harper
Torchbooks, 1959), 26.
23. Ibid., 131, see 26–28.
25. Karl Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia, Harvest Book (New York: Harcourt,
1936), 104.
26. Walter Rauschenbusch, Christianity and the Social Crisis (Boston: Pilgrim,
1907), 346.
27. Sharon H. Ringe, Jesus, Liberation, and the Biblical Jubilee: Images for Ethics
and Christology (Philadephia: Fortress, Overtures to Biblical Theology 19, 1985), 31–32.
28. Other examples are 1 Sam. 2.5, 7, 10; Job 29.14–17; Ps. 107.17–18 with vv. 4,
10, 23, 36, 39–41; Prov. 31,8–9; Isa. 33.23–24; 42.7.
29. Jean-Thierry Maertens in a study of twenty-seven Synoptic miracles found
that the recipient had been excluded from full identity in the community in one degree
or another (“La structure des recits de miracles dans les synoptiques,” Studies in
Religion/Sciences Religeuses 6 [1976/77], 257–58.)
30. Miracles motivated by compassion: Mark 1.41 (the text is questionable,
however); Matt. 14.14/Mark 6.34; Matt. 15.32/Mark 8.2; Matt. 9.36 (see 9.35 and 10.1);
20.34; Mark 5.19; Luke 7.13. Miracles in response to a plea for compassion: Matt.
9.27; 15.22; 17.15/Mark 9.22; Matt. 20.30–31/Mark 10.47–48/Luke 18.38–39; Luke
17.13.
31. Augustine, Of the Morals of the Catholic Church, chap. 27, in Christian Social
Teachings, 78. Similarly, John Wesley wrote that he was using the term sick broadly as
those “who are in a state of affliction, whether of body or mind” (“On Visiting the
Sick,” Sermon 98, 1.1, in Wesley, Works [Bicentennial ed.], 3.387).
32. Booth, In Darkest England, 221 (emphasis added).
33. See Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth, 67–68; Schnackenburg, God’s Rule and
Kingdom, 124–126.
34. Gilbert Bilezikian, Beyond Sex Roles: A Guide to the Study of Female Roles in the
Bible (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker, 1985), chap. 4.
35. David L. Dungan, The Sayings of Jesus in the Churches of Paul: The Use of the
Synoptic Tradition in the Regulation of Early Church Life (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1971),
117; Bilezikian, Beyond Sex Roles, 93–94, 118.
36. Moltmann, Crucified God, 24.
37. See René Padilla, “Evangelism and the World,” in Let the Earth Hear His Voice,
ed. J. D. Douglas (Minneapolis, Minn.: World Wide, 1975), 122.
38. See Schnackenburg, God’s Rule and Kingdom, 297.
39. Paul Tillich, “The Kingdom of God and History,” in Church, Community and
State, vol. 3, The Kingdom of God and History, authored by H. G. Wood et al. (London:
Allen and Unwin, 1938), 115, 124–131.
40. J. R. R. Tolkien, The Return of the King (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 19652),
196.
41. See Tillich, “Kingdom of God and History,” 119, 132–135.
42. See Schnackenburg, God’s Rule and Kingdom, 333.
43. Scholars differ over the meaning of the preposition into (eis) in this verse
(literally, “coworkers into the Reign of God”). I have followed Bauer’s interpretation
that it indicates the field in which the cooperation takes place (Lexicon6, 969).
Schnackenburg represents the view that it indicates the goal: toward the Reign of God
(God’s Rule and Kingdom, 288; see RSV: for). The parallels in 2 Cor. 8.23 and 1 Thes. 3.2
seem to favor Bauer.
44. Arthur Rich, “Die Radikalität des Reiches Gottes,” Zeitwende 43 (1972): 254.
45. Glenn Stassen and David Gushee count forty times in the Synoptic Gospels
alone, not including parallel passages, in which Jesus confronted these authorities
(Kingdom Ethics, 357).
47. Bauer, Lexicon6, 681.
48. Augustine, In Johan. Evang Tract. 115.1–5, in Augustine, The Political Writings
of St. Augustine, ed. H. Paolucci (Chicago: Gateway, 1962), 295.

50. N. H. Cassem, “A Grammatical and Contextual Inventory of the Use of kosmos
in the Johannine Corpus with Some Implications for a Johannine Cosmic Theology,”
New Testament Studies 19 (1972): 84–85.
51. The same thought is expressed in 2 Cor. 10.3, using sarx (“flesh”) rather than
cosmos. Christians do not “fight” according to the flesh, i.e., according to the values of
this world.
52. Edward Schillebeeckz, “Foi chrétienne et attente terrestre,” in L’Eglise dans le
monde de ce temps, 151–158, as cited by Gustavo Gutiérrez, A Theology of Liberation
(Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1973), 284.
53. Niebuhr, Kingdom of God in America, 10, 23, 28.
54. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerd-
mans, 1957), 4.20.2 (vol. 2, p. 652).
55. Niebuhr, Kingdom of God in America, 40.
56. John Saltmarsh, Smoke in the Temple (1646), in Puritanism and Liberty, ed. A.
S. P. Woodhouse (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951), 184–185.
57. Hedda Hartl, “Die Aktualität des Gottesreiches nach Lk. 17, 20f,” in Biblische
Randbemerkungen, R. Schnackenburg Festschrift, ed. H. Merklein and J. Lange
([Würzburg], Echter, 19742), 30.
58. See John G. Gibbs, Creation and Redemption: A Study in Pauline Theology,
Novum Testamentum Supplements 26 (Leiden: Brill, 1971), 76.
59. Gibbs, Creation and Redemption, 37, 40.
60. Rich, “Radikalität des Reiches Gottes,” 254.
61. Padilla, “Evangelism and the World,” 145.
62. The position of Christoph Blumhardt according to his biographer, Friedrich
Zündel, cited by James Luther Adams, “Encounter with the Demonic” (1971), in
Adams, An Examined Faith, ed. G. Beach (Boston: Beacon, 1991), 151.
63. Hans Heinrich Schmid, “Rechtfertigung als Schöpfungsgeschehen: Notizen
zur alttestamentlichen Vorgeschichte eines neutestamentlichen Themas,” in
Rechtefertigung, E. Käsemann Festschrift, ed. J. Friedrich et al. (Tübingen: Mohr,
1976), 405.
64. Frank Moore Cross, Canaanite Myth and Hebrew Epic: Essays in the History of
the Religion of Israel (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1973), 135–137. Also
see Cross, “The Redemption of Nature,” Princeton Seminary Bulletin 10 (1989):
94–104: in texts like Isa. 65.17–20, 25, the new redemption embraces a redeemed
humanity and a healed nonhuman creation (p. 100; see 35.1–2; 43.16, 19–21; 51.3;
Ps. 114).
65. See also Isa. 41.20; 43.7; 48.7; Gutiérrez, Theology of Liberation, 155. The
merging of creation and redemption, however, is not as common as suggested by
some. Many of the texts cited seem to praise God’s power in creation as evidence of
God’s sufficiency for salvation rather than actually to merge the two functions.
66. Gutiérrez, Theology of Liberation, 159–160, 169.
67. T. W. Manson, The Servant Messiah: A Study of the Public Ministry of Jesus
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1953), 98.
68. Wolfgang Schweitzer, “Das Reich des Gekreunzigten in exegetischer und

sozialethischer Sicht,” Zeitschrift für Evangelische Ethik 20 (1976): 188.
70. Rauschenbusch, Righteousness of the Kingdom, 87; see 86, 88, 110.
71. Bernard Zylstra, “The Bible, Justice and the State,” International Reformed
Bulletin 16, no. 55 (Fall 1973): 3.
72. Washington Gladden, Social Salvation, in Christian Social Teachings, 362.
73. James M. Gustafson, “Christian Conviction and Christian Action,” in
Gustafson, The Church as Moral Decision-Maker (Philadelphia: Pilgrim, 1970), 102.
74. Walter Rauschenbusch, Annual Report of the Baptist Congress (1892), 127, as
quoted in Paul M. Minus, Walter Rauschenbusch: American Reformer (New York:
Macmillan, 1988), 84.
75. The reader may object that in some of these New Testament passages,
dikaiosynē represents the total obligation in interhuman relations and is not as specific
as when it means justice, in which dikaiosynē is assigning to a person her or his due
(see Aristotle, Eth. Nic. 5.1129b and 1130b). Even where this objection might be valid,
however, justice still must be included as the central and determining part of the
whole.
76. The finder’s joy in Matt. 13.44 relates to acquiring a treasure for which he has
not toiled; J. Duncan Derrett, Law in the New Testament (London: Darton, 1970), 14–15;
see Philo, Quod Deus 91–92. John Wesley stated that the kingdom of God implies
happiness and holiness joined in one (“The Way to the Kingdom,” Sermon 7, 1.10, 12,
in Wesley, Works [Bicentennial ed.], 1.223–24).
77. Schnackenburg, God’s Rule and Kingdom, 194; see 251–254.
78. Eduard Schweizer, “Versöhnung des Alls. Kol. 1,20,” in Jesus Christus in
Historie und Theologie, H. Conzelmann Festschrift, ed. G. Strecker (Tübingen: Mohr,
1975), 500.
79. Ridderbos, Coming of the Kingdom, 356.
80. Padilla, “Kingdom of God and the Church,” 1, 10.
81. Mehl, “Basis of Christian Social Ethics,” 53.
82. John R. Mott, Addresses 3.352, cited in C. Howard Hopkins, John R. Mott
(Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1979), 276; see 70, 209, 249, 278.
CHAPTER 6
1. Julius Schniewind, “The Biblical Doctrine of Conversion,” Scottish Journal of
Theology 5 (1952): 271.
2. Stow Persons similarly characterizes the American Puritan understanding of
conversion as reorientation of the personality and moral engagement; American Minds:
A History of Ideas (New York: Holt, 1958), 12–13.
3. See William Temple, Nature, Man and God (London: Macmillan, 1934), 394, 397.
4. John Woolman, The Journal and Major Essays of John Woolman, Library of
Christian Thought, ed. P. Moulton (New York: Oxford University Press, 1971 [1774]),
31.
5. Timothy L. Smith, Revivalism and Social Reform in Mid-Nineteenth-Century

America (New York: Abingdon, 1957).
6. Henry V. Jaffa, Crisis of the House Divided (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday,
1959), 74.
7. Donald G. Mathews, Slavery and Methodism: A Chapter in American Morality,
1780–1845 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1965), 24.
8. Erich Fromm, The Sane Society (New York: Rinehart, 1955), 264.
9. George Hunter, “Can United Methodists Recover Evangelism?” Church
Growth Bulletin 13 (1977): 118.
10. Gutiérrez (Theology of Liberation, 176–177) makes this distinction between the
coming and growth of the Kingdom.
11. Elton Trueblood, The New Man for Our Time (New York: Harper, 1970), 61.
12. See Maurice B. Reckitt, Faith and Society: A Study of the Structure, Outlook and
Opportunity of the Christian Social Movement in Great Britain and the United States
(London: Longmans, 1932), 30.
13. This was the Reverend Joel Hunter (“Christian Coalition Elect Rejects Top
Job,” Boston Globe, November 29, 2006, A2).
14. Jessie Rice Sandberg, Sword of the Lord, 27 December 1974, 5.
15. Martin Luther, “Secular Authority: To What Extent It Should Be Obeyed,” in
Martin Luther: Selections from His Writings, ed. John Dillenberger (Garden City, N.Y.:
Doubleday, Anchor Books, 1961), 370–374.
16. Emilio Castro, “Conversion and Social Transformation,” in Christian Social
Ethics in a Changing World, ed. John C. Bennett (New York: Association, 1966), 363.
17. Henry, Aspects of Christian Social Ethics, 59. This author speaks elsewhere
from a broader perspective than appears in this quotation.
18. John Bennett, Social Salvation: A Religious Approach to the Problems of Social
Change (New York: Scribner’s, 1935), 46.
19. Rudolf Bultmann, “Paul,” in Bultmann, Existence and Faith (New York:
Meridian, Living Age Books, 1960), 130; Hans Walter Wolff, Anthropology of the Old
Testament (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), 7–8.
20. Wolff, Anthropology of the Old Testament, 8.
21. Augustine, The City of God (New York: Modern Library, 1950), 14.2–3, pp. 443, 446.
22. Bo Reike, “Body and Soul in the New Testament,” Studia Theologica 19 (1965):
202. In The Vitality of the Individual in the Thought of Ancient Israel (Cardiff: University
of Wales Press, 1964), Aubrey R. Johnson shows that various organs and parts of the
body—bones, heart, bowels, kidneys, face, head, flesh, and so forth—have psychical
properties in Old Testament usage. They have emotions, make ethical responses, have
rational activity (87; see 10–11, 18, 38).
23. Wolff, Anthropology of the Old Testament, 29.
24. Reike, “Body and Soul,” 203.
25. Ibid., 202.
26. This is the interpretation of Professor Helmut Koester.
27. See Augustine, City of God, 14.4, p. 446: “Man living according to man.”
28. Similarly, John Wesley in commenting on Paul’s statement that “those who
are in the flesh cannot please God” notes that Abel, Enoch, Abraham, and the wit-
nesses of Heb. 12.l were in the body but pleased God. Flesh here means rather that
they are in their natural state in the world, apart from God (“On Perfection,” Sermon
76, 3,3, in Wesley, Works [Bicentennial ed.], 3.80).
29. Bultmann, Theology of the New Testament, 1.195. Paul never calls a corpse body (sōma).
30. Nicolas Berdyaev, Solitude and Society (New York: Scribner’s, 1938), 104.
31. Gibbs, Creation and Redemption, 142.
32. Leonard Audet, “Avec quel corps les justes ressuscitent-ils? analyse de 1
Corinthiens 15:44,” Studies in Religion/Sciences Religieuses 1 (1971): 172–175.
33. Audet, “Avec quel corps?” 166.
34. Jürgen Moltmann, Theology of Hope: On the Ground and the Implications of a
Christian Eschatology (New York: Harper, 1967), 214.
35. Audet, “Avec quel corps?” 175.
36. G. Ernest Wright, The Biblical Doctrine of Man in Society, Ecumenical Bible
Studies 2 (London: SCM, 1954), 47.
37. See also Ps. 1.5; Num. 9.7; Job 15.23, 28, 24; 16.7.
38. Wolff, Anthropology of the Old Testament, 217–219.
39. Also see Mott, Christian Perspective on Political Thought, 58–60, 119–120, 147,
190–191, 205–206.
40. Michael Harrington, The Other America: Poverty in the United States (Balti-
more: Penguin, 19712), 81.
41. Erich Fromm, “The Dogma of Christ,” in Fromm, The Dogma of Christ and
Other Essays on Religion, Psychology and Culture (New York: Holt, 1963), 3.
42. Karl R. Popper, Objective Knowledge (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1972),
106, 159; Bryan Magee, Popper, Modern Masters (Glasgow: Fontana, 1975), 59; Peter L.
Berger and Thomas Luckmann, The Social Construction of Reality: A Treatise in the
Sociology of Knowledge (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1966), 21–23.
43. George H. Mead, Mind, Self, and Society (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1934), 152–164; Alfred Schutz, “The Dimensions of the Social World,” in
Schutz, Collected Papers, vol. 2, Studies in Social Theory, Phaenomenologica 15 (The
Hague: Nijhoff, 1964), 3, 32; Berdyaev, Solitude and Society, 90; H. Richard Niebuhr,
The Responsible Self (New York: Harper, 1963), 76–79.
44. Berger and Luckmann, Social Construction of Reality, 150; Mannheim, Ideology
and Utopia, 3, 269; Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, 161–162.
45. Reinhold Niebuhr, The Children of Light and the Children of Darkness (New
York: Scribner’s, 1972 [1944]), 50.
46. Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, 215; Berdyaev, Solitude and Society, 89–91;
Niebuhr, Responsible Self, 85.
47. Mannheim, Ideology and Utopia, 206–207; Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, 168,
215; Popper, Objective Knowledge, 147, 149.
48. Rollo May, The Art of Counseling (New York: Abingdon, 1939), 33.
49. See Larry C. Ingram, “Evangelism as a Social Strategy,” Quarterly Journal of
Ideology 3, no. 3 (Fall 1979): 13.
50. Richard F. Lovelace, Dynamics of Spiritual Life: An Evangelical Theology of

Renewal (Downers Grove, Ill.: Inter-Varsity, 1979), 391.
51. Booth, In Darkest England, 48.
52. Stott, “Biblical Basis of Evangelism,” 67; and John R. W. Stott, Christian
Mission in the Modern World (Downers Grove, Ill.: Inter-Varsity, 1975), 29.
53. See Jimmy R. Allen, “Urban Evangelism,” in Toward Creative Urban Strategy,
ed. G. Torney (Waco, Tex.: Word, 1970), 119.
54. David J. Bosch, “Mission in Jesus’ Way: A Perspective from Luke’s Gospel,”
Missionalia 17, no. 1 (April 1989): 5, 7, 16. All are multifaceted responses to suffering
and are liberation from powers that held these victims captive.
55. Michael Green, “Evangelism in the Early Church,” in Let the Earth Hear His
Voice, ed. J. D. Douglass (Minneapolis, Minn.: World Wide, 1975), 176.
56. See Reinhold Niebuhr, An Interpretation of Christian Ethics (New York: Harper,
1935), 140; Bernard Iddings Bell, Crowd Culture (Chicago: Gateway, 1952), 79; Gilbert
Haven, “The State a Christian Brotherhood” (address, 1863), in Haven, National
Sermons (Boston: Lee and Shephard, 1869), 342.
57. Thomas Luckmann, The Invisible Religion: The Problem of Religion in Modern
Society (New York: Macmillan, 1967), 85.
58. Mildred Tengbom, “‘I Give Only to Evangelism,’” World Vision 22, no. 4 (April
1978): 15.
59. C. H. Spurgeon, The Soul Winner (Springdale, Pa.: Whitaker House, 1995
[1893]), 112.
60. David Batson, “Community Care and the Growth of Early Christianity,” The
Fourth R 18, no. 4 (Fall 2005): 18 (emphasis added).
61. Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princ-
eton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1996), 90; for the urban chaos, see his chap. 7.
62. George W. Webber, God’s Colony in Man’s World (Nashville, Tenn.: Abingdon,
1960), 38.
63. Philippe Maury, Politics and Evangelism (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1959),
104 (speaking out of his personal experience in French underground activities against
the Nazis).
64. Douglas Ganyo, in a paper for a course that I taught, fall, 1976.
65. David O. Moberg, The Great Reversal: Evangelism versus Social Concern,
Evangelical Perspectives (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1972), 159; see Robert C. Linthi-
cum, Empowering the Poor, Innovations in Mission (Monrovia Calif.: MARC, 1991),
113–114.
66. Allen, “Urban Evangelism,” 118.
67. See Samuel Escobar, “Evangelism and Man’s Search for Freedom, Justice and
Fulfillment,” in Let the Earth Hear His Voice (see note 55, above), 310.
68. Roberto Barbosa, “The Gospel with Bread: An Interview with Brazilian
Pentecostalist Manoel de Mello,” in Missions Trends No. 2: Evangelization, ed. G.
Anderson and T. Stransky (New York: Paulist, 1975), 150–151.
69. Thomas Guthrie, The City: Its Sins and Its Sorrows (Glasgow, 1862), as quoted
in Smith, Revivalism and Social Reform, 167–168.
70. Reckitt, Faith and Society, 58–59.

71. Booth, In Darkest England, 233, 256.
72. Furnish, Love Command, 26–27; Bauer, Lexicon6, 706.
74. Ronald J. Sider, review of The Evangelical Renaissance by Donald G. Bloesch,
Christianity Today 18 (1974): 1161.
75. Padilla, “Evangelism and the World,” 144–145.
76. Partnership (newsletter by Partnership in Mission, Abingdon, Pa.), no. 5 (21
September 1976), 3.
77. James Daane, “The Primary Task of the Church,” Reformed Journal 24, no. 7
(September 1974): 7. It should be noted that priorities in this chapter are treated on the
level of the basic goals of an organization and not on the administrative level of
rationally combining the skills and opportunities at hand in planning toward those
goals. So in the church we must not make a basic command for God’s people to be a
secondary goal, but we will still make strategies that will at a given time assign priority
to a particular task in working toward the goals.
CHAPTER 7
1. Yoder, Politics of Jesus2, 154 [1st ed., 157].
2. Ernst Käsemann, Das wandernde Gottesvolk, Forschungen zur Religion und
Literatur des Alten und Neuen Testaments 37, n.s. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 19614), 8.
3. Rudolf Schnackenburg, The Church in the New Testament (New York: Herder,
1965), 167.
4. Hendrikus Berkhof, The Doctrine of the Holy Spirit (Richmond, Va.: Knox,
1964), 57–59.
5. Robert A. Evans, “The Quest for Community,” Union Seminary Quarterly
Review 30 (1975): 197.
6. John Wesley and Charles Wesley, Hymns and Sacred Poems (London: Strahan,
1739), preface 5, viii.
7. Robrecht Michiels, “Church of Jesus Christ: An Exegetical-Ecclesiological
Consideration,” Louvain Studies 18 (1993): 314.
8. Berkhof, Doctrine of the Holy Spirit, 65.
9. See F. W. Dillistone, The Structure of the Divine Society (Philadelphia: West-
minster, 1951), 37.
10. See James Luther Adams, “Theological Bases of Social Action” (1950–51), in
Adams, On Being Human Religiously, ed. M. Stackhouse (Boston: Beacon, 19762),
114–115.
11. “An Interview with Reba Place Fellowship,” Post American 2, no. 4 (Septem-
ber/October 1973): 10, quoting David Jackson.
12. Jay Ogilvy and Heather Ogilvy, “Communes and the Reconstruction of
Reality,” Soundings 55 (1972): 91; Troeltsch, Social Teaching of the Christian Churches, 339.
13. See Elizabeth O’Connor, Journey Inward, Journey Outward (New York: Harper,
1968), and other works by this member and interpreter of the Church of the Saviour.
She states, “There is no Christian community not rooted in service, no Christian

service not rooted in relationship” (40).
14. See John Howard Yoder, The Christian Witness to the State, Institute of
Mennonite Studies 3 (Newton, Kans.: Faith and Life, 1964), 17.
15. Schnackenburg, Church in the New Testament, 174–175.
16. A similar consequence is drawn from the church as a family of brothers and
sisters, e.g., Philemon is no longer to treat Onesimus as a slave but now as a brother
who is loved (Philem. 16). See Bernard Lategan, “Intertexuality and Social Transfor-
mation: Some Implications of the Family Concept in the New Testament,” in
Intertextuality in Biblical Writings, B. van Iersel Fest., ed. S. Draisma (Kampton:
Koch, 1989), 105–116. We may add that Philemon’s brotherly relationship to
Onesimus is not just “spiritual” (“in the Lord”) but an actual social relationship (“in
the flesh”).
17. James Luther Adams, “The Vocation of Ministry and The Praying Hands”
(1985), in Adams, An Examined Faith, ed. G. Beach (Boston: Beacon, 1991), 53.
18. John Austin Baker, “L’unité de l’Eglise et le renouveau de la communauté
humaine,” Istina 31 (1986): 294, 300.
19. Calvin Redekop, “Church History and the Contrasystem: A Case Study,”
Church History 40 (1971): 58. Redekop’s term is contrasystem.
21. See Rosemary R. Ruether, Radical Social Movement and the Radical Church
Tradition, Colloquium 1 (Oak Brook, Ill.: Bethany Theological Seminary, 1971), 25.
22. Gerhard Lohfink, Jesus and Community: The Social Dimension of Christian
Faith (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 146. (Lohfink himself lives in Christian commu-
nity [xii].)
23. Paul Mininger, “The Limitations of Nonconformity,” Mennonite Quarterly
Review 24 (1950): 164, 169.
24. Martin Luther King Jr., “Letter from Birmingham Jail” (1963), in King, Why
We Can’t Wait (New York: Signet Books, 1964), 91.
25. Mead, Mind, Self, and Society, 167–168; Berger and Luckmann, Social
Construction of Reality, 144–145.
26. Theodore Newcomb et al., Persistence and Change: Bennington College and Its
Students after Twenty-five Years (New York: Wiley, 1967), 53.
27. Quoted by Robert Edgar, United Methodist General Conference, Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania, 14 May 2004.
28. Gish, New Left and Christian Radicalism, 129–130.
29. Quoted by Evans in “Quest for Community,” 197.
30. Dale W. Brown, The Christian Revolutionary (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans,
1971), 127–128.
31. Käsemann, Wandernde Gottesvolk, 24.
32. Jim Wallis, Agenda for Biblical People (New York: Harper, 1976), 53, 68, 135.
33. John Howard Yoder, “Living the Disarmed Life,” Sojourners 6, no. 5 (May
1977): 19.
34. Gish, New Left and Christian Radicalism, 130.
35. Koinonia Partners newsletter (Americus, Ga.), Spring 1977, 1–2. It should be
noted that this example does not belong to the pure type. This demonstration is not
what the community is doing for its members but what it is doing for and with its
neighbors. And even in its voluntary action, it has made an intervention in the
society’s housing system.
36. Yoder, Christian Witness to the State, 20–21; and “Christ the Hope of the
World,” in Yoder, The Original Revolution, Christian Peace Shelf (Scottdale, Pa.: Herald,
1972), 164 (also in Yoder, The Royal Priesthood: Essays Ecclesiological and Ecumenical, ed.
M. Cartwright [Grand Rapids, Mich., Eerdmans, 1994], 206).
37. See Yoder, Christian Witness to the State, 21.
38. Stanley Hauerwas, “The Nonresistent Church: The Theological Ethics of John
Howard Yoder,” in Hauerwas, Vision and Virtue (Notre Dame, Ind.: Fides, 1974), 221
(emphasis added).
39. Larry Christenson, A Charismatic Approach to Social Action (Minneapolis,
Minn.: Bethany Fellowship, 1974), 75, 93.
40. “Glorifying God” in 1 Pet. 2.12 and Matt. 5.16 means acclaiming his presence
in the action carried out by the believers: C. Spicq, Les Epîtres Pastorales (Paris:
Gabalda, Études Bibliques, 19694), 681.
41. The triumphant image in Matt. 5.14 is even stronger if one accepts, as have
many, Gerhard Von Rad’s suggestion, in “Die Stadt auf dem Berge,” Evangelische
Theologie 8 (1948/49): 447, that the city on the mountain is the eschatological city of
God on the world mountain of Isa. 2.1–4 (see Mic. 4.1–4); Isa. 60; Hag. 2.6–9. In
these passages the nations are in willing political and spiritual submission to Zion.
The syntax of Matt. 5.14, however, does not indicate that Matthew was aware of this
allusion (absence of article with city [polis] and the separation of city and mountain
[oros]). To deal with a separate concern, city as a symbol separable from the metaphor
drawn in the text should not be interpreted as indicating the nature of the church any
more than salt or candle.
42. Rudolf Schnackenburg, “‘Ihr seid das Salz der Erde, das Licht der Welt’: Zu Mt.
5,13–16,” in Schnackenburg, Schriften zum Neuen Testament (Munich: Kösel, 1971), 190–194.
43. J. Lawrence Burkholder, “The Anabaptist Vision of Discipleship,” in Recovery
of the Anabaptist Vision, H. Bender Festschrift, ed. G. Hershberger (Scottdale, Pa.:
Herald, 1957), 137, 142; Franz Heimann, “The Hutterite Doctrine of the Church and
Common Life: A Study of Peter Riedemann’s Confession of Faith,” Mennonite
Quarterly Review 26 (1952): 22–23, 32.
44. Harold S. Bender, “The Anabaptist Vision” (1944), in The Recovery of the
Anabaptist Vision, 53–54.
45. Berkhof, Doctrine of the Holy Spirit, 41.
46. Ibid., 31.
47. See Richard Shaull, “The Church and the Making of a Counter Culture,”
Chicago Theological Seminary Register 61, no. 4 (May 1971): 26.
49. Mark Collier, lecture to a pilot immersion group of Globalization of Theologi-
cal Education, Cold Comfort Farm, Harare, Zimbabwe, 10 January 1992.
50. R. Newton Flew, Jesus and His Church: A Study of the Idea of the Ecclesia in the
New Testament (London: Epworth, 1938), 115–116.
CHAPTER 8
1. The translation of Edward Gordon Selwyn in The First Epistle of St. Peter
(London: Macmillan, 1946), 172.
2. Étienne de La Boétie, “Discourse de la servitude voluntaire,” quoted by Gene
Sharp in The Politics of Nonviolent Action, Extending Horizons Books (Boston: Porter
Sargent, 1973), 11.
3. Sharp, Politics of Nonviolent Action, 63–64.
4. John M. Swomley Jr., Liberation Ethics (New York: Macmillan, 1972), 186–187.
See chap. 10, “Strategies of Liberation,” 183–207.
5. Sharp, Politics of Nonviolent Action, 151. All systems operate within a “zone of
compliance.” Much of life’s activity occurs not by reason of great thought or special
motivation but by habit, convention, or mere compliance. P. J. D. Wiles states, “Mere
routine . . . is the mightiest force of all” (Economic Institutions Compared, 19). The
Birmingham children’s action forced people to think about that which had not needed
thought. Sharp’s book describes almost 200 methods of nonviolent direct action
(119–433); the table of contents is an education in itself.
6. Sharp, Politics of Nonviolent Action, 111; Elliot M. Zashin, Civil Disobedience and
Democracy (New York: Free Press, 1972), 260.
7. Zashin, Civil Disobedience, 124–125.
8. Sharp, Politics of Nonviolent Action, 68.
9. Ibid., 47.
10. See Swomley, Liberation Ethics, 193.
11. James Luther Adams, “Civil Disobedience: Its Occasions and Limits,” in
Political and Legal Obligation, Nomos 12, ed. J. R. Pennock and J. Chapman (New York:
Atherton, 1970), 329.
12. See the survey of literature on the African American struggle in the South in
Zashin, Civil Disobedience, 250–258.
13. Ibid., 251; see 244.
14. John Elliott notes that in the term hypotassein, “to be subordinate” (1 Pet. 2.13;
also Rom. 13.1), the stress is on the second part, “order,” not the first part “under” (A
Home for the Homeless: A Sociological Exegesis of 1 Peter, Its Situation and Strategy
[Philadelphia: Fortress, 1981], 139). The authority of government in the order of society
is to be recognized. Subordination is a rational response to higher authority, “control-
led by motives of respect, honor, and concern for the well-being of an orderly society or
household” (Ralph Martin, “The Theology of Jude, 1 Peter, and 2 Peter,” in Chester
Arthur and Martin, The Theology of the Letters of James, Peter, and Jude, New Testament
Theology, [Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994], 126). Submission is not a
synonym of subordination.
15. Marcus Borg, “A New Context for Romans xiii,” New Testament Studies 19
(1973): 205–218.
16. Johannes Friedrich, Wolfgang Pöhlmann, and Peter Stuhlmacher, “Zur

historischen Situation und Intention von Röm. 13, 1–7,” Zeitschrift für Theologie und
Kirche 73 (1976): 131–166.
17. See Michael Grant, Nero (London: Weidenfeld, 1970), 60.
18. Ibid., 56–64; A. Momigliano, “Nero,” in Cambridge Ancient History (1934),
10.704; Frederick W. Danker, Benefactor: Epigraphic Study of a Graeco-Roman and New
Testament Semantic Field (St. Louis, Mo.: Clayton, 1982), 281–283.
19. George La Piana, “Foreign Groups in Rome during the First Centuries of the
Empire,” Harvard Theological Review 20 (1927): 374–375; Henry J. Leon, The Jews of Ancient
Rome, Morris Loeb Series (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1960), 27–28, 37.
20. Robert J. Karris, “Rom. 14:1–15:13 and the Occasion of Romans,” Catholic
Biblical Quarterly 35 (1973): 155, with bibliography.
21. Ibid., 174–177. Karris’s article is reprinted on pp. 65–84 of The Romans
Debate, ed. K. Donfried (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 19912), where Karris also
responds (pp. 125–127) to Donfried’s criticism (pp. 102–125) of his argument.
22. See Jon Nelson Bailey, “Paul’s Political Paraenesis in Romans 13.1–7,”
Restoration Quarterly 46 (2004): 23, 26.
23. It is important to note that the responsibilities Paul sets forth for slaves are
not set over against a quest for justice but rather a quest for release from social
obligations. Paul, in common with all other writers of his time, does not deal with
slavery as an institution that is unjust in itself; see S. Scott Bartchy, MAΛΛON
XPHΣAI: First Century Slavery and the Interpretation of 1 Corinthians 7:21, Society of
Biblical Literature Dissertation Series 11 (Missoula, Mont.: Council on the Study of
Religion, 1973), 299–300. Paul does not consider slavery in terms of justice; therefore,
his failure to accost it more directly does not stem from an opposition on his part to
struggles for justice. It is invalid, therefore, to cite Paul’s treatment of slavery as a
norm opposing Christian efforts for social justice.
24. Selwyn, First Epistle of St. Peter, 174.
25. Advocates of this position include Ernst Käsemann, “Principles of the
Interpretation of Romans 13,” in Käsemann, New Testament Questions for Today
(Philadelphia: Fortress, 1969), 209–212; and Gerhard Delling, Römer 13, 1–7 innerhalb
der Briefe des Neuen Testaments (Berlin: Evangelische, 1962), 66.
26. W. C. van Unnik, “Lob und Strafe durch die Obrigkeit: Hellenistisches zu
Röm. 13.3–4,” in Jesus und Paulus, W. Kümmel Festschrift, ed. E. Ellis and E. Grässer
(Göttingen: Vandenhoeck, 1975), 334–343; see Selwyn, First Epistle of St. Peter, 87, 173.
27. The eighteenth-century American Puritan Jonathan Mayhew commented
with regard to Rom. 13.4a that obedience does not apply to rulers who care for their
own interests and do not take care of the public interest to the ruin of the public (“A
Discourse Concerning Unlimited Submission and Non-Resistance” [1750], in Puritan
Political Ideas, American Heritage, ed. E. Morgan [Indianapolis, Ind.: Bobbs-Merrill,
1965], 307).
28. I owe the comparison of the two phrases to Selwyn, First Epistle of St. Peter, 172.
29. Richard A. Wasserstrom, “The Obligation to Obey the Law,” in Contemporary
Political Theory, ed. A. de Crespigny and A. Wertheimer (New York: Atherton, 1970),
270, describes this viewpoint while rejecting it.

31. Michael J. Clark, Pastors’ Assembly, Geneva Point Center, Center Harbor,
New Hampshire, 31 August 2006.
32. Rawls, Theory of Justice, 383.
33. Käsemann, “Principles of Interpretation of Romans 13,” 213–214.
34. Augustine, Sermons 62.13, in Augustine, Political Writings, 310–311. Raul
Lugo Rodríguez notes how God is carefully distinguished from the emperor in 1 Peter
2.17 (“fear God; honor the emperor”). In vv. 11–17 we are to occupy the appropriate
position of submission in the structure of society; this, however, is not a blind
conformism (“El verbo hypotassein y las parénesis social de 1 Pe 2,11–17,” Efemerides
Mexicana 9 [1991]: 66).
35. See F. F. Bruce, “Render to Caesar,” in Jesus and the Politics of His Day, ed. E.
Bammel and C. F. D. Moule (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), 251.
36. Bornkamm, Jesus of Nazareth, 122.
37. See Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence: Popular Jewish
Resistance in Roman Palestine (San Francisco: Harper, 1987), 309–312.
38. Alan Storkey, Jesus and Politics: Confronting the Powers (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Baker Academic, 2005), 115.
39. As the Puritan Christopher Goodman commented with reference to Peter’s
related statement in Acts 4.19, obeying humans, even the highest authority, in
something contrary to God and to God’s precepts is “no obedience at all, but disobedi-
ence” (“How Superior Powers Ought to be Obeyd of their subjects: and Wherin they
may lawfully by Gods Worde be disobeyed and resisted” [1558], in Puritan Political
Ideas, 2). “The most effective opponents to tyrannical government are today, as they
have been in the past, [persons] who can say, ‘We must obey God rather than man’”
(Niebuhr, Children of Light, 82).
40. See Ellis Rivkin, “Beth Din, Boulé, Sanhedrin: A Tragedy of Errors,” Hebrew
Union College Annual 46 (1975): 183–189; T. A. Burkill, “Sanhedrin,” Interpreter’s
Dictionary of the Bible (1962), 4.215–16.
41. Charles C. Ryrie, “The Christian and Civil Disobedience,” Bibliotheca Sacra
127 (1970): 160. Professor Ryrie, however, sees this conflict only where the govern-
ment forbids one to worship God (162).
42. Harold J. Berman, The Interaction of Law and Religion (Nashville, Tenn.:
Abingdon, 1974), 52–53.
43. John Wesley, “Journal 6, 5 March 1744,” in Wesley, Works 20: Journals and
Diaries 3, ed. Ward (Bicentennial ed., 1991), 16.
44. William G. McLoughlin, “Civil Disobedience and Evangelism among the
Missionaries to the Cherokees, 1829–1839,” Journal of Presbyterian History 51 (1973):
118–125, 139; see McLoughlin, Cherokees and Missionaries, 1789–1839 (New Haven,
Conn.: Yale University Press, 1984), 239–266, 282–283, 295–299.
45. Stephen J. Akangbe, “The Effect of Christian Social Action Change in Oro
Community (Oro Ago, Ilorin, Kwara State, Nigeria, Africa),” (unpublished course
paper prepared for me, 1975), 13.
46. W. D. Ross, The Right and the Good (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1930),
20–21, 38.
47. William K. Frankena, Ethics, Foundations of Philosophy (Englewood Cliffs,

N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1963), 2.
48. Herbert McCabe, What Ethics Is All About (Corpus, 1969), 33, quoted in
Hauerwas, “Love’s Not All You Need,” 230.
49. Ross, Right and the Good, 41.
50. Ibid., 29.
51. Norman L. Geisler, Ethics: Alternatives and Issues (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Zondervan, 1971), 107.
52. Matt. 19.5–9; 1 Cor. 7.12–16; Helmut Thielicke, Theological Ethics, vol. 1,
Foundations (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1966), 610–611.
53. Examples by Charles Hodge, Systematic Theology, 441–445, cited by Geisler,
Ethics, 91.
54. Frankena, Ethics, 24.
55. Ross, Right and the Good, 28, 41.
56. In Eastern Orthodox ethics, this system of values is called “economia,” see
Stanley S. Harakas, Toward Transfigured Life: The Theoria of Eastern Orthodox Ethics
(Minneapolis, Minn.: Light and Life, 1983), 174.
57. Harvey Seifert, Ethical Resources for Political and Economic Decision (Philadel-
phia: Westminster, 1972), 22.
58. See Ross, Right and the Good, 28.
59. Geisler, Ethics, 116.
60. Rawls, Theory of Justice, 6.
61. Ibid., 339.
62. Ross, Right and the Good, 34–35.
63. Frankena, Ethics, 53.
64. John Rawls, “The Justification of Civil Disobedience,” in Civil Disobedience,
ed. H. A. Bedau (New York: Pegasus, 1969), 247.
65. Zashin, Civil Disobedience, 127.
66. James F. Childress, Civil Disobedience and Political Obligation: A Study in
Christian Social Ethics, Yale Publications in Religion 16 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale
University Press, 1971), 8.
67. Sanford Jay Rosen, “Civil Disobedience and Other Such Techniques: Law
Making through Law Breaking,” George Washington Law Review 37 (1968/69): 454.
68. James Luther Adams was the first to note the similarity between the criteria for
civil disobedience and for just war (“Civil Disobedience,” 302). In both cases concern
for basic prima facie duties imposes strict qualifications upon the actions taken.
69. See Kent Greenawalt, “A Contextual Approach to Disobedience,” in Political
and Legal Obligation (see note 11 above), 347.
70. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, 1.2, qu. 96, art. 4.
71. Michael Bayles, “The Justifiability of Civil Disobedience,” Review of Metaphys-
ics 24 (1970): 13; see Thielicke, Theological Ethics, 1.533.
72. Rauschenbusch, Christianity and the Social Crisis, 325.
73. Booth, In Darkest England, 174.
74. Bayles, “Justifiability of Civil Disobedience,” 17–18.
75. Ibid., 11.

76. See Adams, “Civil Disobedience,” 304–305.
77. Rosen, “Civil Disobedience,” 455.
78. Bayles, “Justifiability of Civil Disobedience,” 13–14.
79. Adams, “Civil Disobedience,” 306–310.
80. Bayles, “Justifiability of Civil Disobedience,” 20.
81. Greenawalt, “Contextual Approach to Disobedience,” 347.
82. Wasserstrom, “Obligation to Obey the Law,” 287.
83. Adams, “Civil Disobedience,” 328.
84. Ibid., 330.
85. Childress, Civil Disobedience, 239.
86. Zashin, Civil Disobedience, 315. On this point, see 313–316.
CHAPTER 9
1. Norman Gottwald’s tribute “to the memory and the honor of the first
Israelites,” The Tribes of Yahweh (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1979), dedication page; taken
from “an anonymous tribute to the people of Vietnam.”
2. John F. Kilner, “Who Shall Be Saved? An African Answer,” Hastings Center
Report (June 1984): 19.
3. J. G. Davies, Christians, Politics and Violent Revolution (London: SCM, 1976),
165.
4. Käsemann, “Principles of the Interpretation of Romans 13,” 216.
5. Gottwald, Tribes of Yahweh, 325–326ff.
6. See Koehler, Baumgarten, Lexicon 3, 225, 1283; Brown, Driver, Briggs, Lexicon,
953–954, 246–247; David Bivin, “Jesus’ Attitude toward Pacifism,” Jerusalem Perspec-
tive 45 (1994): 3. Some of the thirteen uses of the finite verb forms of rāṣaḥ, like Exod.
20.13, are ambiguous from the context as to whether murder is meant. Murder would
not seem be the meaning in Deut. 4.42 (unintentional killing). Num. 35.29–30 (see
also vv. 26–28) also uses it for a court-sanctioned killing. For such reasons Wilma Ann
Bailey disputes the simple identification of rāṣaḥ with murder (“You Shall Not Kill” or
“You Shall Not Murder”?: The Assault on a Biblical Text [Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical,
2005], 1–25). Num. 35.29–30 may be in a lex talionis format (“the murderer shall be
murdered”). The lexicons cited earlier do note these exceptions while still maintaining
murder as a predominate meaning of rāṣaḥ, including “murder” for Exod 20.13.
7. Jean Lasserre, War and the Gospel, Christian Peace Shelf 7 (Scottdale, Pa.:
Herald, 1962), 169–170.
8. See Solomon Zeitlin, “Prolegomenon” to The Jewish Sources of the Sermon on
the Mount, by Gerald Friedlander, Library of Biblical Studies (New York: Ktav, 1969),
xxii–xxiii.
9. Matt. 5.38–48 was “the key passage” for G. H. C. MacGregor, The New
Testament Basis of Pacifism (Nyack, N.Y.: Fellowship, 19542), 31–37; see John Ferguson,
The Politics of Love: The New Testament and Non-violent Revolution (Greenwood, S.C.:
Attic, n.d.), 3–6; Lasserre, War and the Gospel, 30.
10. Robert C. Tannehill, “The ‘Focal Instance’ as a Form of New Testament

Speech: A Study of Matthew 5:39b–42,” Journal of Religion 50 (1970): 372–385.
11. Baba Kamma 8.6; see Herman L. Strack and Paul Billerbeck, Kommentar zum
Neuen Testament (Munich: Beck, 1926), 1.342; James Moffatt, Love in the New Testament
(London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1929), 118; Job. 16.10; Lam. 3.30; 1 Esdras (3 Ezra in
Vulgate) (possibly ca. 300 B.C. or a little later) 4.30. Glen H. Stassen states that the slap
is an insult by the superior thus taking the other as inferior (Just Peacemaking [Louis-
ville, Ky.: Westminster, 1992], 64).
12. Richard A. Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence: Popular Jewish Resistance in
Roman Palestine (San Francisco: Harper, 1987), 266–272; Martin Dibelius, The Sermon
on the Mount (New York: Scribner’s, 1940), 54–55. Horsley, notes, for example, the
clearly local interaction between creditor and debtor over a loan in v. 40 (p. 268). The
perpetual inequities in productive property were exacerbated, however, by what
Horsley describes as disintegration under the impact of Roman and Herodian exploita-
tion of the economic products of the peasantry (“‘By the Finger of God’: Jesus and
Imperial Violence,” in Violence in the New Testament, ed. S. Matthews and E. L. Gibson
[New York: Clark, 2005], 69–71).
13. Stuart D. Currie, “Matthew 5:39A: Resistance or Protest?” Harvard Theological
Review 57 (1964): 140–145, argues that even the expression often rendered “resist not
the evil person” refers concretely to not protesting wrong in court. In Deut. 19.15–21,
the law of talio is applied to one who has given false testimony against a person in
court. As in several other places in the Septuagint, the word for resist (anthistanai, Matt.
5.39) appears in 19.18 as “to testify against someone.” (The word for evil person [ponéros,
Matt. 5.39] also appears in 19.19, where it does not refer to the enemy as an outsider or
a foreign enemy.) With this background in the law of talio, it can be argued persua-
sively that Matt. 5.39a forbids speaking against someone in court in one’s own defense.
14. E.g., Ronald. J. Sider, “Christ and Power,” International Review of Missions 69
(1980): 10.
15. William A. Beardslee, “New Testament Perspectives on Revolution as a
Theological Problem,” Journal of Religion 51 (1971): 28.
16. Martin Luther, The Sermon on the Mount, in From Irenaeus to Grotius, ed. O.
O’Donovan and J. L. O’Donovan (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1999), 599.
17. This terminology is that of R. M. Hare, Freedom and Reason, Galaxy Books
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1965), 117. For the following discussion, see Lewis
Smedes’s argument that “love does not seek its own” (rights) (1 Cor. 13.5) except when
assertion of one’s own rights is only a means to protect or foster a neighbor’s rights
and not an end in itself; Love within Limits: A Realist’s View of 1 Corinthians 13 (Grand
Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1978), 36–41.
18. Ramsey, Just War, 143. I owe this reference to John D. Carlson.
19. MacGregor, New Testament Basis of Pacifism, 46; Lasserre, War and the Gospel,
63; see Ferguson, Politics of Love, 20.
20. Oscar Cullmann, Jesus and the Revolutionaries (New York: Harper, 1970), 39; J.
Andrew Kirk, “The Messianic Role of Jesus and the Temptation Narrative: A Contem-
porary Perspective,” Evangelical Quarterly 44 (1972): 97–98.
NOTES TO PAGE 149 213
21. See Birger Gerhardsson, The Testing of God’s Son, Coniectanea Biblica, New
Testament Series 2 (Lund: Gleerup, 1966).
22. Another connection to Deut. 6–8 is that Satan’s temptation of Jesus to force
God’s hand uses the promise of Ps. 91.11–12; the overcoming of serpents in Ps. 91.13
relates to Deut. 8.15–16.
23. Yoder, Politics of Jesus2, 25 [1st ed., 30]. The rejection of violence at Jesus’
temptation is a keystone in the argument of this book; in several instances references
to it carry the argument about other passages (see 34–35, 47–48, 96, 98, 236 [1st ed.,
42, 57, 98, 100, 242–243]). Professor Yoder bases his case for kingship in the
temptation narrative upon the fact that Jesus is there twice addressed as Son of God
and that in the baptismal narrative (which precedes immediately in Matthew but not
in Luke) the title has its background in the messianic royal Psalm 2. Even with that
understanding of the baptismal narrative (not all scholars agree that there messiah-
ship is stressed), it does not follow methodologically that Son of God in the distinct
temptation pericope would have the same nuance. Son of God in the Gospels has a
variety of nuances, reflecting various types of backgrounds; see the survey by I. H.
Marshall, “The Divine Sonship of Jesus,” Interpretation 21 (1967): 87–103. (Interest-
ingly, the offer of “the kingdoms of the earth,” the temptation that would seem most
kingly, or messianic, is the one lacking the title [Matt. 4.9 par.].) The conclusion of
Marshall’s study is that the roots of the New Testament designation of Jesus as Son of
God lie in his consciousness of having a unique filial relationship with the Father; the
filial relationship is the basis of his mission and task as Messiah (Marshall, “The
Divine Sonship of Jesus,” 93, 103). (Matt. 11.27 par. would be the key text, but also
important are the prayers of Jesus and the birth narrative; see Luke 1.35, which shows
sonship to be a characteristic of his nature and not simply an expression of function;
Marshall, The Origins of New Testament Christology [Downers Grove, Ill.: Inter-Varsity,
1976], 122.) Thus the stress on filial loyalty in the temptations is consistent with the
term Son of God (particularly with the reference to Israel as son in Deut. 8.5). The
identification of the particular nuance of Son of God is controlled by exegesis of the
passage.
24. The Old Testament provides examples of battles won or kingships changed by
direct acts of God rather than human effort (2 Kings 7.6; 19.35; Dan. 5). One can think
of the examples of victories won in holy war without any fighting on the part of the
Israelite army; see Millar C. Lind, “Paradigm of Holy War in the Old Testament,”
Biblical Research 16 (1972): 16–31. The prophets described by Josephus apparently
revived the hope that God would directly intervene—by knocking down the walls of
Jerusalem, parting the Jordan, or unspecified “signs of freedom” (Josephus, Jewish War
2.259). Satan could be expected to act in an analogous manner.
The worship of the Devil can be understood as direct worship of God’s rival in the
struggle for the world as in Rev. 13.4, or it can refer to the great struggle with polythe-
ism. Jewish apologetics confuted idolatry either by denying the reality of the gods or, as
in the tradition upon which Paul draws in 1 Cor. 10.20, by identifying the gods as in
fact demons. This latter alternative would be consistent with the worship of the gods
of the land in the context of Jesus’ citation from Deut. (6.14). To understand the
passage in light of the mind of that day, reducing worship of the Devil to a disobedient
moral course not specified in the text is not necessary.
25. See Morton Smith, “Zealots and Sicarii, Their Origins and Relation,” Harvard
Theological Review 64 (1971): 1–19; and the modification and critique of Smith’s
position in Valentin Nikiprowetzky, “Sicaires et Zélotes: Une reconsidération,”
Semitica 23 (1973): 51–64. Smith’s argument for greater discernment of chronology
and diversity is a sharp critique particularly of Martin Hengel, whose Die Zeloten
(Leiden: Brill, 1961 [trans.: The Zealots (Edinburgh: Clark, 1989)]) had been the basic
authority on the subject and which remains valuable for its ideological treatment. A
similar criticism can be made of S. G. F. Brandon’s stimulating yet less widely
accepted treatise, Jesus and the Zealots (New York: Scribner’s, 1967).
26. Josephus certainly has an ax to grind in his historical works. But it is difficult
to see why his agenda would lead him to cover up earlier outbreaks of the insurgent
movement. In the Antiquities (the real theme of the Jewish War is the war that started
in A.D. 66) in light of his concern to dispel dislike and mistrust of the Jewish people
and to explain the disaster in A.D. 70 in terms of the pernicious activity of those whom
he calls Sicarii, Zealots, or “brigands” (see Brandon, Jesus and the Zealots, 30–31),
Josephus could be expected to put the blame on the latter, if possible, for public
disorders earlier in the century. Such an explanation would also support his descrip-
tion of a “fourth philosophy” beginning with Judas of Galilee.
27. See P. W. Barnett, “‘Under Tiberius All Was Quiet,’” New Testament Studies 21
(1974/75): 564–571; Jean Giblet, “Un mouvement de résistance armée au temps de
Jésus?” Revue Théologique de Louvain 5 (1974): 422–426; David M. Rhoads, Israel in
Revolution (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1976), 64–68, 174–175.
28. Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence, x–xi.
29. Smith, “Zealots and Sicarii,” 5, 13; see Giblet, “Mouvement de résistance,” 422.
30. Rhoads, Israel in Revolution, 64; Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of Violence,
61–62, 98–118.
31. Horsley, “‘By the Finger of God,’” 55, 57.
32. See M. Stern, “Aspects of Jewish Society: The Priesthood and Other Classes,”
Compendia Rerum Iudaicarum ad Novum Testamentum, section 1, The Jewish People in
the First Century, ed. S. Safrai and M. Stern (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1975), 2.563–564,
577; S. Applebaum, “Economic Life in Palestine,” in ibid., 2.663–664, 692; Martin
Goodman, “The First Jewish Revolt: Social Conflict and the Problem of Debt,” Journal
of Jewish Studies 33 (1982): 417–427.
33. Josef Blinzler, “Die Niedermetzelung von Galiläern durch Pilatus,” Novum
Testamentum 2 (1957): esp. 30, 37–40, 47.
34. Richard A. Horsley, “Ancient Jewish Banditry and the Revolt against Rome,
A.D. 66–70,” Catholic Biblical Quarterly 43 (1981): 409–432; Horsley, “Josephus and
the Bandits” (1979), in History of the Jews in the First Century of the Common Era,
Origins of Judaism 6, ed. J. Neusner (New York: Garland, 1990), 279–305. In “The
Sicarii: Ancient Jewish ‘Terrorists,’” Journal of Religion 59 (1979): 435–458, Horsley
adds support to the argument in these pages that the fourth philosophy may have lain
dormant, perhaps even gone out of existence, until the Sicarii sprung up in the 50s.
35. See Giblet, “Mouvement de résistance,” 413–414; Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral
of Violence, 126–129.
36. John Pairman Brown, “Techniques of Imperial Control: The Background of
the Gospel Event,” in The Bible and Liberation, ed. N. Gottwald and A. Wire (Berkeley,
Calif.: Community for Religious Research and Education, 1976), 74–75, 83 n. 17; Seán
Freyne, Galilee from Alexander the Great to Hadrian, University of Notre Dame Center
for the Study of Judaism and Christianity in Antiquity 5 (Notre Dame, Ind.: University
of Notre Dame Press, 1980), 244, 247.
37. See MacGregor, New Testament Basis of Pacifism, 37, 73–74; Yoder, Politics of
Jesus2, 124 [1st ed., 127], and on 1 Pet. 3. 16–18, Ferguson, Politics of Love, 15–16.
38. See note 13 above.
39. Ronald Sider, “To See the Cross, to Find the Tomb, to Change the World,” The
Other Side 13, no. 1 (February 1977): 18.
40. For Rudolf Bultmann, The History of the Synoptic Tradition (New York: Harper,
19682 [1931]), 282, the saying about the angels involved legendary elements with an
apologetic motive.
41. See Ferguson, Politics of Love, 43–44.
42. Ernst Haenchen, “History and Interpretation in the Johannine Passion
Narrative,” Interpretation 24 (1970): 199–201.
43. Georg Richter, “Die Deutung des Kreuzestodes Jesu in der Leidensgeschichte
des Johannesevangeliums (Jo. 13–19),” Bibel und Leben 9 (1968): 25. The theocentric
interpretation in John of Christ’s death and the paraenetic interpretation are so
distinct that Richter attributes the former to the Evangelist and the latter to the
Redactor. He argues that the paraenetic texts without exception are found in verses or
passages that the literary criticism of the Gospel has on other grounds considered
secondary (p. 30).
Theofried Baumeister observes that the concrete situation in relation to which
laying down one’s life would be understood in the Johannine church is not evident
(“Der Tod Jesus und die Leidensnachfolge des Jüngers nach dem Johannesevangelium
und dem Ersten Johannesbrief,” Wissenschaft und Weisheit 40 [1977]: 88).
45. John Howard Yoder, The Christian Witness to the State, Institute of Mennonite
Studies 3 (Newton, Kans.: Faith and Life, 1964), 49.
46. Lasserre, War and the Gospel, 55.
47. Cf. the choice that Professor Sider presents: either to accept the way of
nonviolence or to abandon the principle of scriptural authority (Sider, “To See the
Cross,” 18).
48. This contrast is noted by Yoder (Christian Witness to the State, 31). The text
does not, however, support his contention that Christians are therefore not to partici-
pate in this function of the state (Politics of Jesus2, 198 [1st ed., 199]). The grounds for
Yoder’s interpretation lie in his helpful perception that “Christian ethics is for
Christians” and that there is a lower demand for nonbelievers who cannot understand
or fulfill God’s ultimate standard (Christian Witness, 28–32). The stress in Romans 13,
however, is that the authorities are to be obeyed because they are channels of God’s
purpose for human community. The argument would be undercut by an accompany-

ing contention that, because they are pagan, there is a lower expectation of their
performance; in fact, there is no evidence in the passage of this contention.
49. See Edward LeRoy Long Jr., “The Social Roles of the Moral Self,” in Private
and Public Ethics, ed. D. Jones (New York: Mellen, 1978), 166–178. Long suggests a
relationship not of radical discontinuity but of amplifying and extending the quality of
individual morality into the social.
50. Lisa Sowle Cahill, Love Your Enemies: Discipleship, Pacifism, and Just War
Theory (Minneapolis, Minn.: Fortress, 1994), 69–70, 108; Paul Ramsey, War and the
Christian Conscience: How Shall Modern War Be Conducted Justly? (Durham, N.C.: Duke
University Press, 1961), 38–40.
51. For an exegetical and ethical argument that the suffering that has such
characteristics must be intentionally nonviolent, see Richard B. Hays, The Moral Vision
of the New Testament (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1996), 313–346; see 310.
52. See Mott, Christian Perspective on Political Thought, 21–25; Mott, “Lethal Force
in the Context of a Theological Understanding of Power,” Comprendre 47–48 (1981):
61–68; Ramsey, War and the Christian Conscience, xvi, xviii, 40, 305; Paul Ramsey, The
Just War: Force and Political Responsibility (New York: Scribner’s 1968), 143, 159; Claude
J. Peifer, “Jesus and Violence,” Bible Today 46 (1970): 3209–3210.
53. John H. Yoder, “If Christ Is Truly Lord,” in Yoder, The Original Revolution,
Christian Peace Shelf 3 (Scottdale, Pa.: Herald, 1970), 87. I was surprised, therefore,
when I asked Yoder once during the 1980s in response to a lecture by him at Gordon-
Conwell Theological Seminary about whether the Sandinista revolution would be
supported by the just war theory. He answered, “It comes very close.” While in
disagreement, Yoder respected just war theory because of the degree to which it is duty
driven rather than merely utilitarian. James Gaffney refers to the “almost pacifist”;
these are those who apply “just war theory to the real world, only to find that real wars
hardly ever make the grade” (“Just War: The Catholic Contribution to International
Law,” Blueprint for Social Justice 56, nos. 8–9 [April–May, 2003]: 7).
54. Yoder, “If Christ Is Truly Lord,” 85, 90; see Yoder, “The Political Axioms of
the Sermon on the Mount,” in Original Revolution, 48.
55. How Jesus related to figures like the scribes, Pharisees, and Herod shows that
love may include condemnation, resistance, and rejection (José Miguez Bonino, Doing
Theology in a Revolutionary Situation, Confrontation Books [Philadelphia: Fortress,
1975], 122.
56. For a similar conclusion on the New Testament and armed force, see I.
Howard Marshall, “New Testament Perspectives on War,” Evangelical Quarterly 57
(1985): esp. 123–125, 130, 132.
57. I thank Eric Munoz, policy analyst for the Bread for the World Institute, for
recommending Pakistan as the example of this type of situation and for providing
2007 online documentation from the World Bank, Asia Development Bank, and
Human Rights Watch.
58. Don Belt, “Struggle for the Soul of Pakistan,” National Geographic 212, no. 3
(September 2007): 51; see 50–55.
59. See the similar interpretation of violence in Scripture by José Míguez Bonino,
“Violence: A Theological Reflection,” Ecumenical Review 25 (1973): 471, 474, who says
that whether violence is approved or renounced is secondary to its direction in the
conflict of oppression and liberation as to whether or not it opens up the existence of
human beings. It was Professor Harry A. Hoffner Jr. of the Oriental Institute who
pointed out to me the character of the Old Testament terminology for violence.
60. Rolf P. Knierim, “The Interpretation of the Old Testament,” in Knierim, The
Task of Old Testament Theology (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1995, 103). Knierim
notes that the language of violence is scarcely used for actions of justice that are clearly
violent.
61. H. J. Stoebe, “Ḥāmās,” in Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament (1997
[Germ., 1971]), 1.439, notes the broad range of injustice, including the abandonment
of duty to the neighbor and the restriction of right and space for life, with which the
term is connected. Somewhat similarly, biazein in Josephus is associated with the
deprivation of rights; Ernest Moore, “BIAZŌ, ARPAZŌ and Cognates in Josephus,”
New Testament Studies 21 (1975): 522, 524, 536, 538.
62. I. Swart rightly notes that ḥāmās often does not mean violence. It might
have a more general sense of injustice. Swarrt’s restricting of violence to texts that
actually describe physical force in the context is too restrictive, however (“In Search
of the Meaning of ḥāmās: Studying an Old Testament Word in Context,” Journal for
Semitics 3 [1991]: 156–166). We know from these biblical texts and experience that
violence often coincides with other forms of injustice such as this perversion of
justice in the courts (see also [without ḥāmās] 1 Kings 21.13–14). We should continue
to use violence for ḥāmās in contexts of social strife where physical violence makes
sense.
63. Paul Ramsey, “The Just Revolution,” Worldview 16, no. 10 (October 1973): 37.
64. Ralph B. Potter, War and Moral Discourse (Richmond, Knox, 1969), 45–54.
65. Ramsey, War, 127.
66. Karl Marx, “The Civil War in France,” in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels,
Basic Writings in Politics and Philosophy, ed. L. Feuer (New York: Doubleday, Anchor
Books, 1959), 386.
67. Quoted in M. M. Thomas, “The Church and the Politics of Social Revolution,”
in Thomas, Towards a Theology of Contemporary Ecumenism (Geneva: WCC, 1978), 169;
see Anthony Oswald Balcomb, “Third Way Theology: The South African Church’s
Struggle for Significance, 1980–1990, with Special Reference to the National Initiative
for Reconciliation” (Ph.D. diss., University of Natal, 1991), 206.
68. E.g., John Ponet (fellow exile with John Knox), “A Shorte Treatise of Politike
Power” (1556), in From Irenaeus to Grotius, ed. O’Donovan and O’Donovan, 698–701.
The social compact dissolves, since it has lost its justification of protecting life and
liberty (James Luther Adams, “Pietism and Prophetism” (1969), in Adams, The
Prophethood of All Believers (Boston: Beacon, 1986), 241.
69. See Sharp, Politics of Nonviolent Action, 423–433.
70. Desiderius Erasmus, The Complaint of Peace (1517), in From Irenaeus to
Grotius, ed. O’Donovan and O’Donovan, 579.
71. Ramsey, War and the Christian Conscience, xix–xx, 72, 127; Ramsey, Just War,
154, 159.
72. See Herbert Marcuse, “Ethics and Revolution,” in When All Else Fails, ed.
IDO-C [International Documentation of the Contemporary Church] (Philadelphia:
Pilgrim, 1970), 220.
73. E.g., Robert L. Holmes, On War and Morality (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton
University Press, 1989), 187–189. Anton-Andreas Guah states that there has been a
drastic reversal in the ratio of soldiers killed to civilians killed. In World War I the ratio
was 20 to 1, but in World War II it was 1 to 2. In Vietnam it was 1 to 13; in fact in the
200 wars since 1945, 90 percent of all victims were civilians (“Zivilisierte Kriege,”
Frankfurter Rundschau, 13 April 1995, 3); see Margot Kässmann, Overcoming Violence:
The Challenge to the Churches in All Places, Risk Book (Geneva: World Council of
Churches, 20002), 61.
74. Enda McDonagh, Church and Politics: From Theology to a Case History of
Zimbabwe (Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1980), 117–122, 139.
75. Rosemary Radford Ruether, Liberation Theology (New York: Paulist, 1972), 13.
76. Paul Lehmann, The Transfiguration of Politics (New York: Harper, 1975), 271.
77. Beardslee, “New Testament Perspectives on Revolution,” 32.
78. Ruether, Liberation Theology, 12–13.
79. Rolland F. Smith, “A Theology of Rebellion,” Theology Today 25 (1968):
10–22.
CHAPTER 10
1. Berkhof, Christ and the Powers, 55; Yoder, Politics of Jesus2, 142–144 [1st ed.,
144–147]; Wallis, Agenda for Biblical People, 65, 71.
2. Yoder, “If Christ Is Truly Lord,” 63; Yoder, Christian Witness to the State, 12;
Wallis, Agenda, 74–75.
3. In Jeremiah 22, the legitimacy of Josiah and Johoiakim is “evaluated respec-
tively on the grounds of their treatment of the poor and needy, the workers, and the
‘innocent’—i.e. precisely the dominant concerns of the Sinai law” (Christopher J. H.
Wright, “The People of God and the State” [1990], in Wright, Walking in the Ways of the
Lord [Downers Grove, Ill.: IVP, 1995], 231).
4. In Prov. 31.8 that upon which political parties and governments are to be
judged is their willingness to take up the cause of those who cannot help themselves
(Richard Bauckham, “Wisdom for the Powerful. Proverbs 31:8,” in Bauckham, The
Bible in Politics [Louisville, Ky.: Westminster, 1989], 45, 47; see Wis. 6.1–8).
6. Yoder, Christian Witness to the State, 14.
7. Calvin, Institutes, 4.20.6 (vol. 2, p. 655).
8. A 1977 speech quoted by Charles J. Ogletree Jr., “Who Will Speak for the
Poor?” Boston Globe (July 18, 2003), A19.
9. James Luther Adams, “Freedom and Association” (1974), in Adams, On Being
Human Religiously, ed. M. Stackhouse (Boston: Beacon, 1976), 81.
10. Francis John McConnell, Christianity and Coercion (Nashville, Tenn.: Cokes-
bury, 1933), 34.
11. Thurgood Marshall, speech to San Francisco Patent and Trademark Law
Association, Maui, Hawaii, 6 May 1987, Focus, June 1987, 5–7.
12. For an expanded treatment of these two aspects of government, see Mott, Christian
Perspective on Political Thought, chap. 4 (“To Seek and to Distrust Government”), 58–73.
13. Berkhof, Christ and the Powers, 23; see 49.
14. I owe this perspective on the Puritans to Professor Talcott Parsons of Harvard
University. He saw the Puritans as the first group in history with an ideology of
modernization because of the combination of their stress on personal decisions with a
social organization in which there is a goal-setting process through a democratic
conception of the needs of the group.
15. Thomas Case, Two Sermons to the Commons (1641), 21–22, as quoted by A. S.
P. Woodhouse in “Introduction,” to Puritanism and Liberty, ed. Woodhouse (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1951), 43. For the Puritan view of history, see pp. 39–51,
95–97 of Woodhouse’s introduction.
16. Kenneth Willis Clark, “The Meaning of [KATA]KYRIEYEIN,” in Studies in
New Testament Language and Text, G. Kilpatrick Festschrift, Novum Testamentum
Supplements 44, ed. J. K. Elliott (Leiden: Brill, 1976), 100–105. Similarly, Clark
translates katexousiazein (v. 42) as “have authority”(103).
17. Mott, “The Greek Benefactor,” 95, 104–105, 146–176. Despite its usage in the
benefactor cult, of which “emperor worship” was an expression, the mere title of
euergetēs, as in Luke 22.25, does not connote a claim of deity.
18. See Bauer, Lexicon6, 624, 894. The Markan account also restates the rulers as
the great ones (hoi megaloi, “those with high rank and dignity”; Mark 10.42 par.).
19. Jesus’ concern is not the abdication of leadership but prizing the status of
greatness (Peter K. Nelson, “The Flow of Thought in Luke 22.24–27,” Journal for the
Study of the New Testament 43 [1991]: 117–118, 121–122). In Jesus’ community there is
not less power, but the power is a serving power. The function of power continues (Jan
Lambrecht, “Diende Macht,” Erbe und Auftrag 60 [1984]: 436). There still are thrones
with the purpose of carrying out justice (Luke 22.30) (Horsley, Jesus and the Spiral of
Violence, 245).
20. Marver H. Bernstein, Regulating Business by Independent Commission (Princ-
eton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1955), 289.
21. John S. Jackson III, “Shall We Legislate Morality?” Review and Expositor 73
(1976): 175; James Luther Adams, “The Indispensable Discipline of Social Responsibil-
ity: Voluntary Associations” (1966), in Adams, The Prophethood of All Believers, ed. G.
Beach (Boston: Beacon, 1986), 258–259.
22. Yoder, “Christ the Hope of the World,” 177–178 (also in Yoder, Royal Priesthood, 215).
23. See Yoder, Christian Witness to the State, 40; Yoder, “If Christ Is Truly Lord,”
77; Berman, Interaction of Law and Religion, 25–29, 144.
24. Richard J. Mouw, Politics and the Biblical Drama (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerdmans, 1976), 109; Wallis, Agenda for Biblical People, 139; Yoder, Christian Witness
to the State, 27.
25. Christenson, Charismatic Approach to Social Action, 87.

26. Jackson, “Shall We Legislate Morality?” 176.
27. William M. Pinson Jr., “Why All Christians Are Called into Politics,” in
Politics, ed. J. Dunn (Dallas, Tex.: Christian Life Commission of the Baptist General
Convention of Texas, 1970), 18.
28. See Barack Obama, “The Role of Religion in Politics,” Christian Ethics Today
12, no. 5 (Christmas 2006): 7. Walter Brueggeman, commenting on the paradigm in 2
Kings 18–19 (see esp. 18.26–26 and 19.1–7), states, “People of faith in public life must
be bilingual. They must have a public language for negotiation at the wall. And they
must have a more communal language for processing behind the gate, in the commu-
nity” (“II Kings 18–19: The Legitimacy of a Sectarian Hermeneutic,” Horizons in
Biblical Theology 7, no. 1 [June, 1985]: 7).
29. David Hollenbach, “Contexts of the Political Role of Religion: Civil Society
and Culture,” San Diego Law Review 30 (1993): 889–890. See Richard John Neuhaus,
The Naked Public Square: Religion and Democracy in American (Grand Rapids, Mich.:
Eerdmans, 1984), 19, 22, 102, 120–125, 139.
30. Fritz Blanke, “Anabaptism and the Reformation,” in The Recovery of the
Anabaptist Vision, H. Bender Festschrift, ed. G. Hershberger (Scottdale, Pa.: Herald,
1947), 68.
31. Denis Goulet, Is Gradualism Dead? Ethics and Foreign Policy Series (New
York: Council on Religion and International Affairs, 1970), 12. The term co-optable
reform is that of Peter Dreier, “Power Structures and Power Struggles,” Insurgent
Sociologist 5 (1975): 238–240.
32. André Gorz, Strategy for Labor (Boston: Beacon, 1967), 6.
33. See Rosemary Ruether, “The Reformer versus the Radical: The Problematic of
Social Change,” Lutheran Theological Seminary Bulletin 51, no. 1 (February 1971): 23.
34. Yoder, “Christ the Hope of the World,” 151–152 (also in Yoder, Royal Priest-
hood, 196); Yoder, “Let the Church Be the Church,” in Yoder, Original Revolution, 119
(Royal Priesthood, 173); Yoder, “If Christ Is Truly Lord,” 82.
35. An example would be the U.S. senators’ charge in a hearing that on a review
board on pesticides (the Scientific Advisory Panel of the Environmental Protection
Agency) seven of the eight members were consultants for the chemical industry (Eliot
Marshall, “Science Advisers Need Advice,” Science 245 [7 July 1989]: 20). Corporate
political action committees express their power not on the final votes on bills in
Congress but in the ways laws are written in committee and in how they are inter-
preted or enforced by the regulatory agencies (Dan Clawson et al., Money Talks:
Corporate PAC’s and Political Influence [New York: Basic, 1992], 5–6, 107, 118–120).
36. Gabriel Kolko, The Triumph of Conservatism: A Reinterpretation of American
History, 1900–1916 (New York: Free Press, 1963), 5, 283.
37. Bernstein, Regulating Business, 82–83, 87–88, 90, 156–157, 276, 296.
38. See J. Philip Wogaman, The Great Economic Debate: An Ethical Analysis
(Philadelphia: Westminster, 1977), for consideration of the premises involved in this
economic critique.
39. Kolko, Triumph of Conservatism, 279, 281–283, 305; Bernstein, Regulating

Business, 76.
40. Theodore Caplow, Toward Social Hope (New York: Basic, 1975), 127–128.
41. Bernstein, Regulating Business, 129–130.
42. The total programs were underfunded but scattered, and short-term local
grants were often overfinanced, particularly in relation to the services provided. Local
grants had the character of too much money for the level of planning (see Caplow,
Toward Social Hope, 165). The Great Society programs can also be criticized for their
failure to make use of available knowledge about social improvement (see ibid.,
164–168).
43. Michael Harrington, The Twilight of Capitalism (New York: Simon and
Schuster, 1976), 268–269, 271–272, 281.
44. Caplow, Toward Social Hope, 151–152.
45. Goulet, Is Gradualism Dead? 12, 31.
46. Gorz, Strategy for Labor, 8, 12.
47. Mike Miller, “Organizing and Education,” Social Policy 24, 1 (Fall 1993): 57.
48. Goulet, Is Gradualism Dead? 15; Gorz, Strategy for Labor, 6.
49. See Yoder, Christian Witness to the State, 32, 38, 42.
50. Walter Rauschenbusch, Christianizing the Social Order (New York: Macmillan,
1912), 328.
51. Harrington, Twilight of Capitalism, 266.
52. Garry Wills, Confessions of a Conservative (Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday, 1979),
165.
53. Bernstein, Regulating Business, 82–83.
54. Lincoln Steffens, The Shame of the Cities, American Century Series (New York:
Hill and Wang, 1957 [1904]), 137; see 134.
55. Francis J. McConnell, as quoted in James Luther Adams, “Introduction,” to
Political Expectation, by Paul Tillich (New York: Harper, 1971), xx.
56. Dieter T. Hessel, A Social Action Primer (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1972),
108.
57. Harvey Cox, The Secular City (New York: Macmillan, 1965), 140–141, 143. C.
Willie similarly writes that the quality of race relations in cities is a function less of
attitudes than of institutional arrangements that limit or facilitate opportunity; in a
review of Race in the City by J. Aberbach and J. Walker, Contemporary Sociology 5
(1976): 495.
58. The coercive impact of law is not only to control those who are opposed to the
values expressed in the law but also to control those who agree with these values but
who otherwise might not be willing to pay the cost of compliance (Malcolm Feeley,
“Coercion and Compliance: A New Look at an Old Problem,” Law and Society Review 4
[1970]: 505–519).
59. Jackson, “Shall We Legislate Morality?” 173–174.
60. Donal E. Muir, “Six-Year Trends in Integration Attitudes of Deep-South
University Students,” Integrated Education 9 (January/February 1971): 21–27.
61. Robert Coles, “How Do the Teachers Feel?” Saturday Review, May 16, 1964,
90.
62. Frederick M. Wirt, The Politics of Southern Equality: Law and Social Change in a
Mississippi County (Chicago: Aldine, 1970).
63. Ibid., 312.
Index of Biblical References
Genesis 23.9 42, 185n.26 8.15–16 213n.22

32.27 146 10.17–18 60, 195n.62
1.27, 2.24 79
10.18–19 50, 53, 56,
1.28, 2.15 39 Leviticus 185n.26
2.24 99
19.15 60 15.4 58
3.13–15, 17–18 81
19.12–28 189n.36 15.10 59
3.17 84
19.18 35, 37 15.14–15 185n.26
9.6 39
19.33–34 37, 185n.26 16.18–20 60, 62
18.19 191n.6
25.25–28 57 17.8, 12 102
18.25 191n.7
25.35–36 56 19.14 194n.45
37.27 99
25.39, 42 56 19.15–21 212n.13
25.49 99 22.26 146
Exodus
23.15–16 56
1.15–21 132 Numbers 24.17–18 25
3.7–8 132 25.1 192n.14
6.9 59 10.9 158 27.17 194n.45
12.12 7 23.21 70 32.4 191n.3
14.8 132 26 54 32.8 180n.15, 182n.26
15.11, 18 70 35.16 146 33.21 66
18.21 60 35.26–30 211n.6
18.22–23 144 Judges
Deuteronomy
19.5–6 17
3.12 145
19.4–5 21 1.17 50
5.11 159
20.2 21 4.19 181n.15
6.1–6 160
20.6 146 4.42 211n.6
7.19–25 160
20.13 211n.6 6.10–13 149
21.12–15 146 6.14 213n.24
1 Samuel
22.21 185n.26 6.16 149
23.7 52 8.2, 5 149, 213n.23 2.4–10 56, 197n.28
23.8 60 8.15 81 8.11–17 56
224 INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES
12.7–8 192n.23 72.1–4, 12–14 60, 158, 159, 8.8 197n.10

25.31, 33, 39 147 166 10.15 59
75.7 56 17.15 192n.14
1 Kings 76.9 51 17.22 99
77.16–19 85 19.17 186n.39
8.32 192n.14
82 7 20.28 53
21 56
82.1, 8 191n.7 21.3 196n.71
84.2 99 21.21 192n.19
2 Kings
89.10–11 85 22.22–23 194n.40
7.6 213n.24 89.14 53 23.10–11 194n.45
9.6–7 146 89.11–13 85 29.7 44
19.35 213n.13 91.11–13 213n.22 30.8–9 58, 197n.28
93.1–4 85 31.1, 8–9 166, 218n.4
1 Chronicles 94.2 99
95.3–5 71 Isaiah
29.11, 14 130
96.10, 13 71
1.10, 17 61, 195n.67
97.1–2, 6 71
2 Chronicles 1.16–18, 23 14
98.2–3 192n.19
1.26 72
19.6–7 50, 60 98.6, 9 191n.7
2.1–4 206n.40
98.9 71
2.4 144
Esther 99.1–4 50, 51, 166
3.14–26, 55, 56
101.1 192n.19
4.16 132 5.7–8 14, 55
102.6–7 102
5.16 50, 197n.9
103.6 50, 51
Job 5.23 192n.14
103.19 70
6.3, 5 70
5.11, 15–16 194n.40 107.4, 10, 17–18, 23, 36
9.2, 4–5, 7 119
16.10 212n.11 197n.28
9.7 73
19.7 159 107.39–41 56, 197n.28
10.21–22 192n.13
29.12, 14–17 60, 61, 158, 111.3–9 192n.17
11.4 73, 160
197n.28 112.4–6 192n.17
16.5 53, 73
31.21 60 112.9 46, 64
24.32 181n.15
34.17 61 113.7–9, 194n.40
28.6 72
36.6 194n.40 114 199n.24
28.17 197n.9
114.11–12 70
30.18 191n.3, 192n.17,
Psalms 116.5 192n.17
197n.9
119.120 99
5.8 197n.10 32.1 72
119.121 62
9.4, 7–9 191n.7 32.16–17 144, 197n.9
119.149, 156, 159 192n.17
10.18 50 33.22 197n.9
122.5 50
25.6 102 33.23–24 197n.28
125.4–5 197n.10
22.28–29 71 34.2, 4 181n.15
135.14 192n.17
27.12 159 35.1–2 199n.64
140.12 194n.40
35.10–11, 23–24 50, 40.3–4, 10–11 72
140.14–17 194n.40
159 41.20 199n.65
145.17 192n.19
33.5 192n.19 42.1–4 73, 77
146.7–10 50, 71, 77
36.5–6 192n.19 42.6–7 119, 197n.28
148.2 180n.13
37.28 50 43.7 199n.65
48.9–11 192n.19 43.16, 19–21 199n.24
Proverbs
55.9–11 159 45.7–8 85
58.1–2 7 3.27 65 48.7 199n.65
69.27, 29, 33 192n.14 3.34 192n.17 49.7 119
INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES 225
49.12 196n.4 46.18 57 8.16 62, 144

51.3 199n.24 47.14 57 14.6–11 72
51.9–11 85
52.7 71, 99 Malachi
Daniel
53 72 2.17–3.5 73
56.1 81 2, 6 131
4.2 77
59.6–8, 9–10 61 4.13, 17 181n.15
58.6 56, 76 4.27 166 Matthew
59.8 72 5 213n.24
1.21 101
59.15–16 50
Hosea 3.2 69
59.19 196n.4
3.11 70, 73
60 206n.41 2.19 32, 53 4.8–10 par. 149,
60.1–3, 12 119 6.9 146 213n.23
61.1–2 76, 77 10.12 53 4.8 5
61.8 50 11.4 192n.123 4.17 69, 94
65.21–22 56 12.6 53, 94 5.13–14 15, 119, 206n.41
65.17–20, 25 14.3 50 5.16 105, 119, 206n.40
199n.64
5.23–24 63
Amos 5.38–48 211n.9
Jeremiah
5.38–42 147–148, 152,
3.2 25
5.28 44 212n.13
3.10 159
6.12–14 144 5.43–48 37
5.1, 4, 15, 25 62
7.4–7 63 6.10 87
5.15 62, 123, 167
9.24 50, 51, 192n.19 6.13 196n.1
5.21–24 63
10.10–12 71 6.25–34 147
8.4–6 55
17.9, 11 14–15 6.33 87
20.33 71 7.12 36, 41
Micah
21.11–12 62 7.14 97
22.2–3 62 2.1–5 55, 57 8.11 par., 196n. 4
22.11–18 166, 218n.3 4.1–4 206n.41 9.27 198n.30
22.15–16 64 4.3, 6–7 72 9.35 77, 81, 104
25.35 192n.13 4.4 57 9.35–36, 10.1 198n.30
29.7 31, 119 6.5 53 10.7–8 77, 104
31.33 88 6.6–8 63, 192n.19 10.40–42 29
6.12 159 11.10 par. 73
Lamentations 11.12–13 74
Habakkuk 11.27 213n.23
3.30 212n.11
12.7 196n.72
4.9 160 1.4 66
12.18–21 77
12.28–29 77, 88
Ezekiel Zephaniah 12.22–26 78
7.11, 19, 23–24 159 2.3 62 13.31–33 76
11.19–21 71 13.44 87, 200n.76
18.5–9 62 Haggai 14 par., 198n.30
22.29–31 61 15.22 198n.30
2.6–9 206n.41 17.15.32 par. 198n.30
34.3–4, 15–16, 23–24 166,
196n.4 15 par. 198n.30
Zechariah 18.7 12
39.21 192n.13
37.24–28 72 3.10 57 18.23–35 25
45.8–9 57 7.3–10 61 19.4–5 79
19.5–9 210n.52 6.29–30 187n.14 16.8 86

19.16–22 196n.72 7.13 198n.30 16.28 83
19.19 35, 212n.13 7.20–21 77 17.1–3 154
19.21 par. 81 7.36–50 23 17.20 108
20.1–16 195n.55 7.42–43 33 17.14–16 83, 183n.47
20.21 81 9.2 77, 78 17.18 183n.47
20.28 par. 154 10.9 77 18.8 154
20.30–31 par. 198n.30 10.17–19 81, 83 18.11 155
20.34 198n.30 10.25–37 38 18.28–19.16 155
21.43 88 11.22 79 18.36–37 79, 82–83, 154
22.16, 21 par. 130 11.42 82 18.40 151
22.37–40 35–36, 41, 108 12.23, 27 83 19.11 155
23.23–25 41, 64, 82, 148 12.30–31 79
24.44–51 76 12.30 130 Acts
25.31–46 86, 186n.39 12.32 119 2.44–47 81
25.40 29–30 12.33 81, 83 3.6 104
26.29 88 12.37 74 4.8, 15 131
26.53 153 12.56 74 4.32–35 58, 81
26.62–63 153 13.1 151 5.29 131, 137
13.1–5 74 7.24, 37 131–132
Mark 14.33 81 11.29 59
16.1–9 82 17.5, 7 152
1.15 70, 74 16.19–31 82 19.28 69
1.17 120 17.13 198n.30 24.25 69
1.41 198n.30 17.21 74 28.23, 31 69
2.1–12, 23–28 74 19.9 95, 111
3.14–15 120 19.41–44 74 Romans
5.19 198n.30 22.20 88
10.35–43 par. 167, 219n.18 1.16–17 53
22.24–26 168
11.18 82 1.17–18 192n.16
23.5 151
12.28–31 108 2.19 119
23.19 151
12.40 par. 82, 148 3.21–25 53
13.10 97 3.23 192n.14
John
15.7 151 5.3–5 34
1.14 83 5.6 31, 153
1.29 183n.47 5.8 53
Luke
3.17 29 5.6–10 36
1–2 73 3.21 67 5.9–10 53
1.35 213n.23 3.16 5, 155 5.21 23
1.74–75 73 3.21 21 6.2–10, 12–23 20
1.53 56 4.20 29 6.5–12 24
3.4, 8–14 81, 94 5.1–2 29 6.7 53
3.8 94 8.23 183n.47 6.15, 18–25 128
3.16 73 9.4–5 15, 81 7.5 100
4.6 13, 149 9.39 83 8.3–4 20, 88, 128
4.18–19 76, 77, 81, 82, 105, 12.23, 28, 32 154 8.4 22
148 12.31 183n.47 8.6–7 99, 116
6.15 151 13.1 155 8.11 100
6.20–26 82 13.15, 34 35 8.13 100
6.20, 24 59 14.30 83 8.18–23 84, 101
6.35 48 15.12–14 154 8.21–23 88, 101
6.27, 32–33 37 15.19 83 8.28–30 112
INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES 227
8.33 192n.16 8.23 198n.43 4.5 186

8.35, 38–39 7, 181n.19 9.8–10 46, 49, 59, 64
8.39 53 9.13 105, 119 Colossians
12–15 128 10.3 199n.51
1.6, 10 86
12.2 5, 123
1.13 79
12.7–8 116 Galatians
1.16 7
12.13, 20 30
1.10 107 1.20 84
12.13–14 186n.45
1.13–14 152 2.8, 20 7
12.17–21 147–148
3.13 47 2.8.10, 14–18 8
12.19 157
3.19 8 2.15 4, 7, 15
13 7, 131
3.27–28 5, 114 2.18 99
13.1–7 13, 126–129, 131,
3.29 191n.6 3.9–16 114–115
141, 145, 157, 165
4.2–5 8 3.22 99
13.8–10 35, 146
4.3 7 3.25 60
13.10 35
5.13–14 35 4.11 81
14.17 88
5.22 34, 94
14.23 136
6.6 31 1 Thessalonians
15.27 31
6.10 31, 119
3.2 198n.43
6.12 99
1 Corinthians 3.12 31
6.14–15 5, 114
5.15 31
1.20 20, 99
1.26–28 5, 30, 86, 99 Ephesians
1 Timothy
1.18–21 180n.8 1.3–4, 11–12 112
2.8 7 1.10 84 5.10 186n.45
3.3 100 1.15 186n.43 6.6–8 58
4.8 128 1.22–23 86, 112–113, 115
4.20 88 2.1–2 4 2 Timothy
5.7 20 2.2 6, 7 3.16 64
5.10 4 2.10 86
6.15 99 2.11–22 86 Titus
7.12–16 210n.52 2.12 67
7.31 5 2.14–18 86, 113 3.8, 14 186n.45
10.20 213n.24 3.15 15
12.17 99 3.18 186n.43 Philemon
12.23–24 195n.55 3.19 86
12.27 99 5 186n.43
4.13 86 16 99, 205n.16
13.3 38, 46 4.31–5.2 24
13.5 36, 212n.17 5.2 33, 36
15.20 88 Hebrews
5.8–11 86
15.24–27 15, 79, 89 5.8–14 119 2.5–18 39
15.28 84 6.10–18 15 6.5 88
15.42–44, 53–54 100 6.11–12 6, 7 11.8–9 117
6.18, 24 186n.43 11.10 69
2 Corinthians 11.32–33, 36 131
Philippians 13.1–2 186n.45
5.2–3 100
13.3 42
5.14–16 36 2.1–4, 6–10 21
5.17 94, 111 2.1 112
James
8–9 26–28, 30, 49 2.4 36
8.7 116 2.11 84 1.27 64
8.13–15 195n.55 2.12–13 23 2.1, 5–9 42, 189n.36
2.5 5, 86 2.18–25 147, Revelation

2.8 35, 189n.36 152–153
7.1 182n.24
2.11 189n.36 3.3 4
11.13 75
4.4 5 3.16–18 215n.37
11.15 79
4.11 189n.36 3.22 7
12.10–11 81
5.4, 9, 12, 20 189n.36
13 13, 181n.21
1 John
13.4 213n.24
1 Peter
2.15–16 5, 83, 180n.5 13.5 13
1.1 128 3.8 183n.47 13.10 81
2.6 128 3.13 30 14.18 182n.24
2.12 119, 206n.40 3.17 5, 180n.5 16.5 182n.24
2.13–17 123, 126–129, 131, 4.10 33 17.18 70, 181n.21
165 4.19 29–30, 33 19.17 182n.24
Index of Authors
Adams, James Luther, 115, 141, Baumbach, Günther, 183n.41

183n.51, 199n.62, 204n.10, Baumeister, Theofried, 215n.43
205n.17, 207n.11, 210n.68, Bayles, Michael, 140, 210nn.71, 74,
211nn.76, 79, 83–84, 217n.68, 211nn.75, 78, 80
218n.9, 219n.21, 221n.55 Beardslee, William A., 212n.15,
Akangbe, Stephen J., 209n.45 218n.77
Alinsky, Saul, 46, 190n.62 Beasely-Murray, G. R., 181n.21
Allen, Jimmy, 107, 203nn.53, 66 Bell, Bernard Iddings, 203n.56
Alt, Albrecht, 55, 57, 193n.28, Belt, Don, 216n.58
194n.49 Bender, Harold S., 206n.44
Anaparambil, James, 181n.18 Benn, Stanley I., 189n.44, 193n.31
Applebaum, S., 214n.32 Bennett, John, 15, 98, 183n.46,
Aquinas, Thomas, 138–139, 210n.70 201n.18
Aristotle, 54, 176, 200n.75 Berdyaev, Nicolas, 202nn.30, 43
Audet, Leonard, 202nn.32, 34 Berger, Peter L., 202nn.42, 44
Augustine, 31, 51, 78, 83, 99, 130, Berman, Harold J., 209n.42
186n.42, 191n.8, 198nn.31, 48, Bernstein, Marver H., 219n.20,
201nn.21, 27, 209n.34 220n.37, 221nn.41, 53
Berry, Wendell, 34, 187n.6
Bailey, Jon Nelson, 208n.22 Berkhof, Hendrikus, 180nn.2, 12,
Bailey, Wilma Ann, 211n.6 181n.19, 182n.27, 204nn.4, 8,
Baker, John Austin, 205n.18 206nn.45–46, 218n.1, 219n.13
Balcomb, Anthony Oswald, 217n.67 Bertocci, Peter A., 189n.34
Barbosa, Roberto, 203n.68 Bilezikian, Gilbert, 198nn.34–35
Barnett, P. W., 214n.27 Billerbeck, Paul, 212n.11
Bartchy, S. Scott, 208n.23 Birch, Bruce C., 179n.1, 191n.7
Barth, Karl, 20, 24, 25, 184n.1, Bird, Otto, 196n.73
185nn.20, 23 Bivin, David, 211n.6
Barth, Marcus, 192n.15 Blackstone, W. T., 193n.29, 194n.52
Batson, David, 203n.60 Blanke, Fritz, 220n.30
Bauckham, Richard, 218n.4 Blinzler, Josef, 151, 214n.33
230 INDEX OF AUTHORS
Boétie, Étienne de La, 124, 207n.2 Davies, J. G., 211n.3

Booth, William, 47, 78, 104, 107, 139, Delling, Gerhard, 181nn.16, 22, 208n.25
190n.65, 198n.32, 203n.51, 204n.71, Derrett, J. Duncan, 200n.76
210n.73 Devlin, Patrick, 182n.28
Borg, Marcus, 126, 207n.15 Dickson, C. R., 181n.17
Bornkamm, Günther, 74, 130, 197n.14, Dibelius, Martin, 212n.12
198n.33, 209n.36 Dillistone, F. W., 204n.9
Bosch, David J., 203n.54 Dodd, C. H., 5, 180n.7, 187n.10, 190n.61
Bourdieu, Pierre, 195n.59 Donahue, John R., 193n.34
Bousset, Wilhelm, 180n.14, 196n.2 Douglas, Mary, 182n.32
Brandon, S. G. F., 214nn.25–26 Duncan, David L., 198n.35
Brown, Dale W., 205n.30 Dreier, Peter, 220n.31
Brown, John Pairman, 215n.36 Driver, G. R., 196n.79
Brown, William Wells, 188n.17 Dyck, Arthur J., 190n.52
Bruce, F. F., 209n.35
Brueggeman, Walter, 220n.28 Edgar, Robert, 205n.27
Brunner, Emil, 190n.59 Edwards, Jonathan, 28, 48, 185n.37,
Bultmann, Rudolf, 187n.10, 201n.19, 191n.72
202n.29, 215n.40 Elliott, John H., 193n.35, 207n.14
Burkholder, J. Lawrence, 206n.43 Elliott, Neil, 181n.20
Burkill, T. A., 209n.40 Epsztein, Léon, 191n.5
Butler, Elizur, 132 Erasmus, Desiderius, 217n.70
Brunner, Emil, 45 Escobar, Samuel, 203n.67
Evans, Donald, 188n.21
Cahill, Lisa Sowle, Jr., 216n.50 Evans, Robert A., 204n.5, 205n.29
Caird, G. B., 181nn.15, 21
Calvin, John, 15, 84, 166, 199n.54, 218n.7 Falk, Zeev W., 195n.67
Caplow, Theodore, 221nn.40, 42, 44 Farrar, Austin, 189n.42
Case, Thomas, 167, 219n.15 Feeley, Malcolm, 221n.58
Cassem, N. H., 199n.50 Felder, Cain, 189n.40
Castro, Emilio, 201n.16 Ferguson, John, 211n.9, 212n.19,
Cazelles, H., 191nn.11, 13 215nn.37, 41
Childress, James F., 210n.66, 211n.85 Fife, Eric S., 191n.75
Christenson, Larry, 206n.39, 220n.25 Fletcher, Verne, 21, 184nn.6, 11
Christian, Jayakumar, 11 Flew, R. Newton, 207n.50
Clark, Kenneth Willis, 219n.16 Frankena, William K., 210nn.47, 54, 63
Clark, Michael J., 209n.31 Freyne, Seán, 215n.36
Clawson, Dan, 220n.35 Friedrich, Johannes, 126, 208n.16
Cohen, J. Richard, 60, 195n.65 Fromm, Erich, 95, 201n.8, 202n.41
Coles, Robert, 177, 222n.61 Funk, Robert, 47, 190n.66
Collier, Mark, 206n.49 Furnish, Victor, 22, 108, 184nn.4, 9, 13,
Cone, James, 42, 189n.41 186nn.2–3, 44, 187n.10, 188nn.19,
Conzelmann, Hans, 180n.8 23, 26, 189nn.32, 40, 190n.68,
Cox, Harvey, 175, 221n.57 204nn.72–73
Cross, Frank Moore, 199n.64
Cullmann, Oscar, 212n.20 Gaffney, James, 216n.53
Curren, Charles E., 192n.22 Ganyo, Douglas, 203n.64
Currie, Stuart D., 212n.13 García, Ismael, 195n.60
Daane, James, 204n.77 Geisler, Norman L., 210nn.51, 59
Danker, Frederick W., 208n.18 Georgi, Dieter, 28, 185nn.33–34
Davidson, Robert, 195n.64 Gerhardsson, Birger, 213n.21
INDEX OF AUTHORS 231
Gibbs, John, 100, 199nn.58–59, 202n.31 Hocking, Willliam Ernest, 43, 189n.48
Giblet, Jean, 214nn.27, 29, 215n.35 Hodge, Charles, 210n.53
Gill, Athol, 179n.5 Hoffman, Thomas, 185n.29
Gish, Arthur, 117, 205nn.28, 34, 206n.48, Hoffner, Harry A., Jr., 217n.59
218n.5 Holl, Karl, 23, 184n.16, 185n.22
Gladden, Washington, 200n.72 Hollenbach, David, 171, 220n.29
Glasser, Arthur F., 191n.75 Holmes, Robert L., 218n.73
Gollwitzer, Helmut, 29, 186n.40 Hopkins, C. Howard, 200n.82
Goodman, Christopher, 209n.39 Horsley, Richard, 151, 185n.31, 209n.37,
Goodman, Martin, 214n.32 212n.12, 214nn.28, 30–31, 34, 215n.35,
Gordimer, Nadine, 4 219n.19
Gordis, Robert, 194n.37 Humphrey, Hubert, 166
Gorz, André, 220n.32, 221n.46 Hunter, George, 95, 201n.9
Gottwald, Norman K., 194n.41, 211n.1 Hunter, Joel, 201n.13
Goudzwaard, Bob, 182n.33
Goulet, Denis, 220n.31, 221nn.45, 48 Ignatius, 31
Grant, Michael, 208nn.17–18 Ingram, Larry C., 202n.49
Greeley, Andrew, 185n.29
Green, Melissa Fay, 66, 196n.80 Jackson, David, 204n.10
Green, Michael, 203n.55 Jackson, John S. III, 219n.21, 220n.26,
Greenawalt, Kent, 210n.69, 211n.81 221n.59
Grundmann, Walter, 180n.10 Jacob, Ed., 184n.8, 188n.28
Guah, Anton-Andreas, 218n.73 Jaffa, Henry V., 201n.6
Guevara, Che, 43, 189n.46 Jennings, Theodore W., Jr., 194n.38
Gushee, David P., 196nn.1, 4 Johnson, Aubrey R., 201n.22
Gustafson, James M., 179n.2, 200n.73 Johnson, Luke, 189n.36
Guthrie, Thomas, 107, 203n.69 John of Salisbury, 61, 195n.68
Gutiérrez, Gustavo, 199nn.52, 65–66, Johnson, Samuel, 66
201n.10 Josephus, 150, 213n.24, 214n.26
Haenchen, Ernst, 215n.42 Käsemann, Ernst, 21, 145, 184n.5,

Hallet, Garth L., 197n.12 192n.15, 204n.2, 205n.31, 208n.25,
Hancock, Roger, 192n.24 209n.33, 211n.4
Harakas, Stanley S., 210n.56 Kässmann, Margot, 218n.73
Hare, R. M., 212n.17 Karris, Robert, 127, 208nn.20–21
Harrington, Michael, 173, 202n.40, Keck, Leander E., 187n.9, 190n.67
221nn.43, 51 Kerans, Patrick, 182n.30
Hartl, Hedda, 199n.57 Kertelege, Karl, 192n.15
Hauerwas, Stanley, 33, 186n.1, 187n.8, Kessel, Samuel S., 193n.33
189n.35, 206n.38 Kierkegaard, Søren, 189n.39
Haven, Gilbert, 203n.56 Kilner, John F., 211n.2
Hays, Richard B., Jr., 216n.51 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 115, 205n.24
Heclo, Hugh, 182n.38 King, Mel, 9
Heimann, Eduard, 190n.56 Kirk, J. Andrew, 179n.3, 212n.20
Heimann, Franz, 206n.43 Kleinman, Joel C., 193n.33
Hengel, Martin, 214n.25 Knibb, William, 13–14
Henry, Carl F. H., 191n.9, 192n.16, Knierim, Rolf P., 217n.60
201n.17 Koch, Klaus, 197n.12
Hermann, Wolfram, 188n.18 Koehler, Ludwig, 194n.37, 195n.69,
Hessel, Dieter, 175, 221n.56 196n.79
Hinton, John, 183n.44 Koester, Helmut, 182n.27, 201n.26
Kolko, Gabriel, 173, 220n.36, 221n.39 205n.25

Kümmel, Werner Georg, 197n.19 Mehegan, David, 189n.45
Mehl, Roger, 182n.35, 200n.81
Lambrecht, Jan, 219n.19 Mello, Manoel de, 107
La Piana, George, 208n.19 Mendenhall, George E., 184n.7
Lasserre, Jean, 156, 211nn.7, 9, 215n.46 Merk, Otto, 184n.3, 185nn.30, 33
Lategan, Bernard, 205n.16 Michaels, J. Ramsay, 186n.39
Law, William, 186n.46 Michiels, Robrecht, 204n.7
Leeuwen, C. van, 192n.19 Miguez Bonino, José, 216n.55, 217n.59
Lehmann, Paul L., 184n.10, 218n.76 Miles, John C., 196n.79
Leon, Henry J., 208n.19 Miller, David, 193n.26, 195n.58
Lewis, C. S., 80 Miller, Mike, 174, 221n.47
Lifton, Robert, 10 Minear, Paul S., 180n.6
Lind, Millar C., 213n.24 Mininger, Paul, 205n.23
Lohfink, Gerhard, 205n.22 Miranda, José Porfirio, 191n.12
Long, Edward LeRoy, Jr., 216n.49 Moberg, David, 106, 203n.65
Lovelace, Richard, 104, 203n.50 Moffatt, James, 28, 212n.11
Luckmann, Thomas, 202nn.42, 44, Mogigliano, A., 208n.18
203n.57 Moltman, Jürgen, 11, 182n.38, 185n.28,
Luther, Martin, 148, 201n.15, 212n.16 198n.36, 202n.34
Monroe, Kristen Renwick, 188n.20
McCabe, Herbert, 210n.48s Montefiore, C. G., 184n.17
McConnell, Francis John, 166, 175, Moore, Ernest, 217n.61
219n.10, 221n.55 Moskowitz, Jhan, 25–26, 185n.27
McDonagh, Enda, 162, 218n.74 Mott, John R., 89, 200n.82
Macholz, G. Ch., 193n.27, 194n.48 Mott, Stephen Charles, 185n.3, 190n.69,
MacGregor, G. H. C., 182n.24, 211n.9, 191n.1, 194n.44, 202n.39, 216n.52,
212n.19, 215n.37 219nn.12, 17
McKeating, H., 195n.63 Motyer, Alec, 195n.67
McLoughlin, William, 209n.44 Mouw, Richard J., 180n.2, 185n.29,
Maertens, Jean-Thierry, 197n.29 219n.24
Magee, Bryan, 202n.42 Muir, Donal E., 221n.60
Maguire, Daniel, 189n.46, 194n.43 Mullen, Thomas J., 188n.24
Mannheim, Karl, 75, 197n.25, 202nn.44, Munk, Elie, 193n.27
47 Munoz, Eric, 216n.57
Mandela, Nelson, 161 Myers, Bryant, 183n.40
Manson, T. W., 199n.67
Marcuse, Herbert, 218n.72 Nahmani, Hayim Simha, 190n.511
Marshall, Catherine, 58, 194n.50 Nehring, David, 186n.47
Marshall, Eliot, 220n.35 Nelson, Jack, 60, 195n.66
Marshall, I. Howard, 184n.18, 213n.23, Nelson, Peter K., 219n.19
216n.56 Neuhaus, Richard John, 220n.29
Marshall, Thurgood, 166, 219n.11 Newcomb, Theodore, 205n.26
Martin, Ralph, 207n.14 Nickelsburg, George W. E., 179n.1,
Martyn, J. Louis, 192n.15 180n.11, 183n.48
Marx, Karl, 95, 161, 217n.66 Nicole, Roger R., 188n.30
Matthews, Donald G., 201n.7 Niebuhr, H. Richard, 197n.22–23,
Maury, Philippe, 203n.63 199nn.53, 55, 202n.43
May, Rollo, 103, 202n.48 Niebuhr, Reinhold, 11, 46, 51, 170,
Mayhew, Jonathan, 208n.27 182n.37, 190n.63, 191n.10, 202n.45,
Mead, George H., 202nn.43, 46–47, 203n.56, 209n.39
INDEX OF AUTHORS 233
Nikiprowetzky, Valetin, 214n.25 Ridderbos, Herman, 70, 196nn.3–4,

Nilsson, Martin P., 180n.10, 182n.23 197nn.7, 17–18, 200n.79
Richardson, Alan, 183n.48
Obama, Barack, 220n.28 Ricoeur, Paul, 190n.71
O’Connor, Elizabeth, 204n.13 Ringe, Sharon H., 184n.18, 197n.27
Oglesby, Carl, 190n.58 Rist, Martin, 180n.15
Ogletree, Charles J., Jr., 218n.8 Rivkin, Ellis, 209n.40
Ogilvy, Heather, 204n.12 Rodríguez, Raul Lugo, 209n.34
Ogilvy, Jay, 204n.12 Rosen, Sanford Jan, 210n.67, 211n.77
Olley, John W., 191n.11 Ross, W. D., 209n.46, 210nn.49–50, 55,
Oppen, Dietrich von, 190n.70 58, 62
Outka, Gene, 187nn.7, 11, 14, 188nn.21, Ruether, R. Rosemary, 205n.21, 218nn.75,
27, 29, 189n.38, 195n.54 78, 220n.33
Ruston, Roger, 190n.66
Padilla, C. René, 108, 197n.13, 198n.37, Ryrie, Charles, 131, 209n.41
199n.61, 204n.75
Parsons, Talcott, 219n.14 Saltmarsh, John, 199n.56
Peifer, Claude J., Jr., 216n.52 Sampley, J. Paul, 187n.16
Persons, Stow, 200n.2 Sandberg, Jessie Rice, 201n.14
Pinson, William M., Jr., 220n.27 Sasse, H., 180nn.3, 4, 8, 199n.49
Plato, 4, 6, 166 Schillebeeckz, Edward, 199n.52
Pöhlmann, Wolfgang, 126, 208n.16 Schlier, Heinrich, 15, 183nn.42
Ponet, John, 217n.68 Schmid, Hans Heinrich, 199n.63
Popper, Karl, 102–103, 202nn.42, 47 Schnackenburg, Rudolf, 86, 114, 180n.5,
Porteous, Norman W., 42, 189n.43 185n.38, 186n.41, 196nn.5–6, 197n.24,
Potter, Ralph B., 217n.64 198nn.38, 42–43, 200n.69, 200n.77,
204n.3, 205n.15, 206n.42
Quinney, Richard, 196n.70 Schniewind, Julius, 94, 200n.1
Schrey, Heinz-Horst, 193n.34
Rad, Gerhard Von, 206n.41 Schüle, Andreas, 188n.18
Rahner, Karl, 189n.33, 190n.60 Schutz, Alfred, 202n.43
Ramsey, Paul, 36, 45, 47, 160, 187nn.13, Schweitzer, Albert, 196n.3
15, 190nn.50, 53, 64, 192n.22, 193n.25, Schweitzer, Wolfgang, 200n.68
212n.18, 216nn.50, 52, 217nn.63, 65, Schweizer, Eduard, 181n.22, 184n.12,
218n.71 200n.78
Raphael, D. Daiches, 194nn.44, 51 Scott, Orange, 95
Rasmussen, Albert, 187n.5 79 Segundo, Juan Luis, 190n.49
Rasmussen, Larry, 179n.1 Seifert, Harvey, 135, 210n.57
Rauschenbusch, Walter, 139, 174, Selwyn, E. G., 128, 207n.1, 208nn.24, 28
194n.46, 197n.26, 200nn.70, 74, Sharp, Gene, 124, 207nn.3, 5–7, 217n.69
210n.72, 221n.50 Shaull, Richard, 206n.47
Rawls, John, 65, 193n.24, 194n.39, Sherman, Gordon, 182n.32
195nn.57, 61, 196n.78, 209n.32, Sider, Ronald J., 204n.74, 212n.14,
210nn.60–61, 64 215nn.39, 47
Reckitt, Maurice B., 201n.12, 204n.70 Silberman, Neil Asher, 185n.29
Redding, George W., 180 Skehan, Patrick W., 180n.15
Redekop, Calvin, 205n.19 Smedes, Lewis, 212n.17
Reicke, Bo, 181n.19, 182n.25, 201nn.22, 24 Smith, Morton, 214nn.25, 29
Rhoads, David M., 214nn.27, 30 Smith, Rolland F., 218n.79
Rich, Arthur, 198n.44, 199n.60 Smith, Timothy L., 95, 201n.5
Richter, Georg, 215n.43 Solomon, Dan E., 38, 188n.25
Snaith, Norman, 59, 185n.25, 191n.4, Webber, George W., 203n.62

193n.31, 194n.42, 195n.56, 196n.74 Weber, Max, 16, 183n.50
Spicq, C., 206n.40 Weinfeld, Moshe, 192n.20
Spiegelberg, Herbert, 194n.39 Wells, David, 11, 182n.36
Spurgeon, Charles, 105, 203n.59 Wesley, Charles, 204n.6l
Stark, Rodney, 203n.61 Wesley, John, 34, 40, 56, 112, 132,
Stassen, Glen H., 196nn.1, 4, 212n.11 184n.15, 187n.4, 189n.31, 191n.2,
Steffens, Lincoln, 175, 221n.54 198n.31, 200n.76, 202n.28, 204n.6,
Steiert, Franz-Josef, 196n.71 209n.43
Stern, M., 214n.32 Wilder, Amos N., 180n.6, 183n.48,
Steuernagel, Valdir R., 196n.71 197nn.7, 15–16, 20
Stoebe, H. J., 217n.61 Wiles, P. J. D., 179n.4, 207n.5
Stott, John, 48, 191n.73, 203n.52 Williams, Bernard, 189n.44
Strack, Herman L., 212n.11 Williams, Daniel Day, 190n.55
Stuhlmacher, Peter, 126, 192nn.15–16, Willie, C., 221n.57
208n.16 Wills, Garry, 221n.52
Suetonius, 126–127 Wink, Walter, 179n.2
Stipe, Jim, 193n.32 Wirt, Frederick M., 222nn.62–63
Storkey, Alan, 209n.38 Wogaman, J. Philip, 220n.38
Styler, B. M., 184n.2, 185n.21 Wolf, Hans Walter, 193n.36, 201nn.20,
Swaltmarsh, John, 199n.56 23–24, 202n.38
Swart, I, 217n.62 Wolverton, Wallace I, 191n.12, 195n.67,
Swartly, William M., 188n.17 197n.9
Swomley, John M., 207n.4, 207n.10 Woodhouse, A. S. P., 219n.15
Woolman, John, 94, 200n.4
Tacitus, 126–127, 150 Worcester, Samuel A., 132
Tamisier, R., 183n.53 Wright, Christopher J. H., 183n.53,
Tannehill, Robert, 147, 187n.14, 212n.10 189n.37, 218n.3
Temple, William, 200n.3 Wright, G. Ernest, 202n.36
Tengbom, Mildred, 203n.58 Wright, Philip, 183nn.44–45
Thielicke, Helmut, 210n.52 Wright, N. T., 183n.39
Thomas, M. M., 217n.67
Tillich, Paul, 198nn.39, 41 Yank, Liem Khiem, 185n.24
Tolkien, J. R. R., 80, 198n.40 Yoder, John Howard, 118, 156, 158,
Troeltsch, Ernst, 48, 183nn.43, 52, 186n.3, 174, 179n.2, 204n.1, 205n.14,
188n.30, 189n.57, 191n.74 205nn.20, 33, 206nn.36–37,
Trueblood, Elton, 95, 201n.11 209n.30, 213n.23, 215nn.37,
Tutu, Desmond, 55, 193n.32 44–45, 48, 216nn.53–54,
218nn.2, 6, 219nn.22–23, 220n.34,
Unnik. W. C. van, 188n.22, 208n.26 221n.49
Vawter, Bruce, 193n.36 Xenocrates, 181n.23

Vlastos, Gregory, 58, 193n.30, 195n.53
Zaschin, Elliot M., 207nn.6–7, 12–13,
Wagner, Peter, 6, 180nn.2, 9 210n.65, 211n.86
Wallis, Jim, 179n.2, 205n.32, 218n.1, Zeitlin, Solomon, 211n.7
219n.24 Zimmerli, Walter, 186n.48, 192nn.17–18,
Wasserstrom, Richard A., 208n.29, 194n.47
211n.82 Zylstra, Bernard, 200n.71
Index of Subjects
Abortion, 80, 134, 140 Capitalism, 80, 97–98, 166, 172–174

African American church, 42 Centralization, political, 166, 170
Alienation, 97–98 Church, 111–121. See also Community,
Anabaptists, 120 Christian
Angels. See Principalities and vanguard of Reign of God, 88, 112,
powers 113, 115, 121
Apartheid, 43, 121, 161 continues ministry of Jesus, 86
Apocalypticism, 4–5, 7, 73 instrument of mission, 112,
Asceticism, inner worldly, 16–17 118–119, 120–121
Association, freedom of, 125 opposition to principalities and
Atonement, 23, 94, 114, 153–155 powers, 15–16
basis of ethics, 19, 24, 33–34, 51 significance of, 111–113
basis of human dignity, 36–37, Church and state, separation of
40–41, 178, 188n.21 170–172
concept of justice involved, 52, 53, Church of the Savior (Washington,
192n.16 D.C.), 113
mission of Jesus, 78, 153–154 (See Civil Disobedience, 126–133,
also Grace of God) 137–142. See also Authority
Authority, 123–124, 168 Christian tradition of, 130,
civil disobedience as submission 132–133, 208n.27, 209n.39
to, 137–138 criteria of, 138–141, 210n.68
submission to, 13–14, 123, 126–133, grounds of criticism of govern-
169 ment, 129–132, 145, 208n.27
limitations on, 142
Body, 98–101, 201n.22, 202n.29 personal vs. social, 140–141
“Brother” (adelphos), 29–30, 185n.38 Scriptural examples of, 131–132
Scriptural objections to, 126–133
Calvinism, 16, 40, 84, 160, 188n.30. Class, social, 5, 57, 97, 159
See also John Calvin in Persons interests, 31–32, 67, 116
index in socialization, 15, 103
236 INDEX OF SUBJECTS
Coercion revolution, relationship to, 161

abuse of, 170 theological basis of, 170
effect on behavior, 176–177, 239n.58 Demonic. See Principalities and powers,
as means of justice, 136, 158–159, 169 Satan
in purpose of government, 165–166 Developing countries, 10–12, 60–61, 66,
Cold Comfort Farm, 121 129, 159
Collection for Jerusalem, 26–28, 105 Africa, 121, 132–133, 144, 163. See also
Commissions, regulating, 172–173, 175 Apartheid
Community, Christian, 111–121. See also Direct action. See Noncooperation
Church
based in mission, 112, 116, 120–121, Ecology, 11, 124
204n.13 Education, 65, 121, 177–178
as church, 113–115 Equality, 28. See also Land, and equality
limits of social change through exam- and criminal justice, 60
ple of, 118–121 in human rights, 41–43, 44
noncooperation, contribution to, 121, implication of love, 41–43, 53
125 and justice, 53–55
social change by example of, 117–121, in Reign of God, 81
170 where inequality permitted, 58, 60,
support of individual in mission, 116– 168
117, 178 Eschatology, 75–76. See also Reign of God
Community, social, 101–102, 171–172. See Ethics
also Justice, community, creation of basis of, 19–23, 35–36
Consent, 123, 161 bilateral and multilateral relationships,
Conversion, 94–95, 116, 178. See also 148, 153, 156–157
Evangelism conflicting claims, 67, 133–137
Corporations, 10, 66, 98 constitutive part of God’s work, 22–23
Cosmos (“world”), 4–5, 9, 99–100, 123, not dualistic, 45, 94, 157, 216n.49
180n.6 ends and means, 136
conquered by Christ, 15, 79, 183n.47 indicative and imperative, 20–23
and individual responsibility, 12 objective morality and subjective mo-
in John, 18, 36, 82–83, 154 rality, 175–178
and theology of culture, 12 prima facie, actual, and secondary du-
Countercommunity, 115, 117–121. See also ties, 133–138, 145, 156–157
Community, Christian right-making and wrong making char-
Covenant, 21, 27, 55–56, 161 acteristics of actions, 135
Creation vs. situational ethics, 41, 43, 45
basis of God’s reign, 70–71 teleological considerations, 136–137
and human dignity, 39, 41 utilitarian, 47, 137, 144
relationship to salvation, 84–87, 101, Evangelicalism, 13, 17, 95
108–109 Evangelism, 11, 13, 76, 93–109
restored in Christ’s conquest of the social change, contribution to, 93–96,
demonic, 79, 81 170
Culture, 12–13, 103 social change, limitations for, 96–104
social responsibility, distinct from, 94
Death, 79, 100 social responsibility, interdependence
Democratic participation with, 104–109
in biblical society, 56, 62, 194n.37 Evil, social, 3–17, 163. See also Cosmos,
and control of one’s life, 174 Principalities and Powers, Self-
legislating justice, means of, 170 interest
INDEX OF SUBJECTS 237
characteristics of, 9–13 power for ethical action, 23, 178

implications for action, 13–17, 25, 143, social expressions of, 25–28
170, 175 “Great Society” programs, 173, 221n.42
individual responsibility for, 10–12,
102, 182n.34 H
. esed (“loyal love”), 52–53
limits of, 12–13 High priest, 131
and optimism, 119, 131, 173 History, philosophy of, 167. See also Reign
Exodus, 131–132 of God
as creation, 85–86, 199n.64 Holy Spirit
continues work of Christ, 86
Flesh, 99–100, 201n.27, 202n.28 empowers social action, 23, 34, 81, 100
Freedom, 43–45, 56–58, 125, 138, 171–172 gifts of, 27–28, 78, 108, 116, 128
Christian, problem of in Pauline and presence of God’s Reign, 88, 121
churches, 128–129 Housing, 118, 158
Fundamentalist, 17, 97 Human dignity, 36–41, 44, 189n.47
Gate of the village, 62 Incarnation, 39, 86

Gender status, 5, 15, 31–32, 79. See also Individualism, 43, 101–104
Status Infant birthrate and mortality, 55
Gentrification, 9 Institutions, 12, 58, 65, 165
Gnostic, 83 responsibility to, 123
God. See Grace of God; Justice, God’s Insult, 147
Government. See also Church and State,
Civil Disobedience, Gate of the Jerusalem aristocracy, 82, 151
village; Justice, political characteristics Jesus Christ. See also Atonement,
of; Reform Incarnation, Justice, Messiah,
abuse of legal power, 169–172 Miracles of Jesus, Prophets, Parousia
bureaucracy, 182n.38 in African American church, 42
Christian participation in, 167–169, conquest of cosmos and powers, 4, 15,
215n.48 183nn.47, 48
elitist control of, 143 his death, meaning of, 152–156
eschatological vision of, 72–73 lordship of, 75, 81
expression of divine purposes in, 13, Jubilee, Year of, 57
83–84, 129–130 Justice, 49–67. See also Reign of God,
failure in its purpose, 145, 166 justice of
injustice by, 61–62, 130–131, 161, 167 Aristotelian, 54
parallel government, 161 bias to the weak, 50, 52, 54–61, 66,
purpose of, 60–62, 73, 145, 165 81–82, 158–159, 174, 191n.5,
relationship to cosmos, 5, 167 195nn.55, 60, 62
relationship to principalities and pow- biblical terms for, 49–50, 52, 65–66
ers, 7, 13, 167, 180nn.15, 21 a central concern of true piety, 63–64,
resistance to struggle for justice by, 159 96
responsibility for, 48 community, creation of, 52–58, 67, 137,
responsibility for justice, 61–62, 193n.26
65–66, 165 distribution according to need, 53–54,
welfare responsibilities of, 51–52 56, 58–59, 195n.54
Grace of God, 19–32 distributive, 49–67
basis of ethics, 19–23 extent of, 64–67
corresponding conduct by recipient, God’s, 49–51, 56, 64, 166, 191n.5,
24, 27, 185n.29 196n.71
Justice (continued) universal, 27, 30–31, 36–37, 40–42,

human responsibility for, 49–50, 186nn.41, 43, 45, 188n.20
60–64, 123, 194n.42, 192n.24, Messiah, 72–73
193n.35 Miracles of Jesus, 76–78
Jesus’ teaching, 59, 64, 190n.66 Mission, 86–87, 88–89, 104–105, 115–116
and love and grace, 25, 49–53, 59 danger of prioritizing, 108–109,
peace, prior to, 144 120–121, 204n.77
political characteristics of, 53, 61–62, Missions, 17, 89, 105, 132
66, 167, 195n.67, 196n.79
redress, principal of, 54–58, 82 Nationalism, 15, 80
retributive, 52, 58–60 Nazism, 10, 25–26, 138, 145, 203, n.63
and rights, 44–45, 53 Needs, human, 41, 43, 51. See also Justice,
universal, 51, 53, 186n.3 distribution according to needs
Justification, 34, 47, 51–52, 67, 154, as rights, 55–56
192n.15 Noncooperation, 117, 111–121, 169, 178.
See also Civil Disobedience
Koinonia Partners, 118 limits of, 142
and parallel government, 161
Labor, 44, 66, 80, 97–98, 124, 128, 174 social theory of, 120, 123–126
Land, 14, 44, 159 Nonresistance, 147, 153
and equality, 44, 54–57, 72, 193n.27, Nonviolence, 125, 140, 143–144, 158
194n.45 biblical data on, 146–156
Law (Mosaic), 22, 128–130. See also Old
Testament, use of Old Testament, use of, 41, 51, 64, 146,
fulfilled in love, 35, 41, 189n.36 155–156, 166
Law, secular, 44, 56, 66
conditioning effect on morality, Parousia of Christ, 15, 79–80
175–178 significance of for social action,
and needed emotions and values, 75–76
169–170 Peace, 57, 72, 144
Lex talionis, 147, 211n.6, 212n.13 Pluralistic society, 171. See also Voluntary
Life, sanctity of, associations
biblical right, 44 Politics. See also Government, Justice,
in conflicting rights, 67, 127, 144, 158, political characteristics of; Power,
160–161 Reform
Lifestyle, 58, 81–82, 186n.39 class orientation, 31–32
Light, 119 grace, included in, 25, 37
Literacy, 58 justice, orientation to, 51, 66–67
Love, 33–48 Poverty, 158–159
creative power of, 47–48 attitude toward, 31, 42, 59
ethics, basis of, 33–36 giving to the poor, 26–28, 46, 48, 49,
the good, relationship to, 49 64, 81–82, 105
grace, expression of, 24, 33–34, 47, empowering the poor, 48 (See also
186n.3, 187n.10 Justice, bias to the weak)
human dignity, grounds of, 36–44 voluntary, 49
justice, basis of, 41–45, 47, 143, 165, Power
192n.24 abuse of, 163, 170, 174
rights, basis of, 41–45, 170 countercommunities, 120
sacrifice, 36, 187n.14 divine intent, 165
transcends justice, 45–46 Hellenistic thought, 6
INDEX OF SUBJECTS 239
in justice, 61, 143 ethics of, 75, 81–82, 87, 114

as responsibility, 64–65 expectation of, content, 71–73
Prayer, 20, 117 final sovereignty of God, 84, 87, 104
Principalities and powers, 6–8, 81, 100, human participation, 81, 86–89
102, 180nn.6, 15, 181n.19, 182n.27. justice of, 51, 71–73, 77–78, 81–84,
See also Reign of God, powers and 85–86, 87
cosmos, opposition to new social order, 23, 167
conquered by Christ, 4, 7, 15, 183n.48 powers and cosmos, opposition to, 5,
individual responsibility, 12 15, 78–81, 84, 86–87
theology of culture, 12–13 Old Testament background, 51, 70–73
Property. See also Land politics, relationship to, 174
biblical norms, 57, 81–82 present aspects, 74–75, 77
respect for, 125, 139–140 terms for, 70
in social evil, 5, 14 urgency, 74–76
subordinate to basic needs, 136 Resurrection of Christ, 26, 47, 100
Prophets, 14, 55, 62, 131 Revivals, 95
Jesus as prophet, 64, 82 Revolution, 45, 141, 143–163
Protestantism, 43, 45, 75 nonviolence, Scriptural arguments for,
Puritans, 16, 43 146–156
civil disobedience, 208n.27, 209n.39 definition, 144–145
reform, 219n.14 justice, expression of, 158–161
Reign of God, 75, 84, 167 just revolution, 160–162
limitations of, 163
Racism. See also Apartheid, Status Rights, 51, 67, 125, 133, 174
biblical inclusiveness, 38, 114 in Bible, 44, 190n.51
in churches, 10–11, 107, 115, 117 love, based in concept of, 41–44
civil rights movement, 124, 125, 142, community context of, 43–45, 56,
166, 170, 175–178, 207n.5, 221n.57 171–172
principalities and powers, 80 express basic needs, 51, 55–56
victimization, 42–43, 66, 102, 139 personal, 147, 212n.17
response to, 26, 36–37, 60, 66, 115, Romans, Letter to the, occasion of writ-
171 ing, 128
segregation, 97, 166, 117 Rome, 181n.21, 212n.12
Reform, political, 139, 161, 165–178 Jewish confrontations with, 150–151
Christian values, legislating, 170–172, Jewish resistance to, 126–127
174 Jews in, 126–127
co-optable, 172–173, 175
creative, 173–178 Salvation, 100–101. See also Atonement,
criteria of, 170–72 Conversion, Grace of God, Justifica-
government, understanding of, tion, Reign of God
165–169 assurance of, 29
limitations of, 169–172 Sanhedrin, 131
moral values, legislating, 175–178 Satan, 7, 81, 181n.21. See also Principali-
theological reasons for, 12, 65–66, ties and Powers
83–84, 165–167 worship of, 174, 213n.24
Reign of God, 69–89. See also Church, Scripture, 22, 116–117. See also Old
vanguard of Reign of God; Miracles Testament, use of
of Jesus hermeneutics, xi–xii, 41, 153, 155
death and resurrection of Christ, 75, Security, physical, 145–146, 157–161
88–89, 95 Self-defense, 147–148, 153, 156–157
Self-interest, 36, 125, 187n.12 Tyranny. See Government, abuse of legal

Sin, doctrine of. See Evil, social power
Slavery, 5, 10–11, 45, 99, 128, 205n.16
abolition of, 13–14, 95, 138, 171 Unemployment, 11–12, 66, 103, 173
and justice, 44, 50, 55, 57, 193n.36, United Farm Workers, 125
208n.23
Social ethic Vengeance, 148, 160
in New Testament, 29–31 Violence, 125, 141, 144–145, 158–160. See
non-dualistic, 156–157 also Revolution
Socialization, 11, 15, 102–104, 116 biblical meaning, 159–160, 217nn.59–
Society. See also Evil, social 60
dependence on, 11–12, 97–100 Vocation, 16, 108–109
divine purpose, expression of, 12–13 Voluntary Associations, 16, 125, 169–170
individual influence on, 103
reality of, 9–13, 101–104 War, 3, 11, 162
separation from, 16–17, 115, 117 holy war, 182–183, 213n.24
social order (see Cosmos) just war doctrine, 148, 157, 160–162,
Son of God (Christ), 213n.23 210n.69
Southern Poverty Law Center, 195n.65 love and arms, 156–159
Speech, freedom of, 125 Wealth, 58
Statism, 174 corrupting influence, 60
Status, 42, 99, 114–115, 168 materialism, 5
Stoicheia, 7–8, 181nn.22–25, 27 political choice, 67
Student Volunteer Movement for Foreign wealthy, opposition to, 56–57, 73
Missions, 89 Welfare, 11, 51, 66, 173
Suffering, 42–43, 71, 77, 98, 186n.39
Zealots, 150. See also Rome, Jewish resist-
Taxes, 126–127, 193 ance to
Technology, 3, 9, 11 absent in time of Jesus, 148–152,
Television, 106 214n.34
Temple, 82, 150–151 meaning of in time of Jesus, 151
Torture, 66, 159, 162 “Zealot option,” 148–150, 152

Biblical Ethics and Social Change

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Biblical Ethics and

STEPHEN CHARLES MOTT

Oxford New York

Copyright © 1982, 2011 by Oxford University Press, Inc.

Published by Oxford University Press, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Preface to the Revised Edition, ix

Preface to the First Edition, xi

PART I: A BIBLICAL THEOLOGY OF SOCIAL INVOLVEMENT

1. Biblical Faith and the Reality of Social Evil, 3

2. God’s Grace and Our Action, 19

3. Love and Society, 33

4. God’s Justice and Ours, 49

5. The Long March of God, 69

PART II: PATHS TO JUSTICE

7. The Church as Countercommunity, 111

8. Strategic Noncooperation, 123

9. After All Else—Then Arms? 143

10. Creative Reform through Politics, 165

Index of Biblical References, 223

Index of Authors, 229

Index of Subjects, 235

When one is asked to recommend a thorough treatment of the

community (chapter 7) provides necessary support for the individual in mis-

The Society of Christian Ethics for portions of “God’s Justice and

Bauer, Lexicon6 Walter Bauer, A Greek-English

In the time of Jesus, violence and oppression led people to see

understanding of the spiritual struggle and victory in which we participate, for

The World as the Evil Social Order

The Evil Supernatural Powers

The biblical concepts of cosmos and the supernatural powers constitute an

Implications of Evil Residing in Society

The Activist Who Takes Sin Seriously

Evangelical Christianity has borne several marks of the inner-worldly

“A piety of works” is an idea about social action that discourages

Christian Ethics Grounded in God’s Acts of Grace

requirement of the Law might be fulﬁlled in us who walk not in conformity

Grace Preceding Christian Ethics

Ernst Käsemann, in an important article on this passage, argued that Paul

deliverance. Even the persistent formula “I am Yahweh” serves to recall the

Grace Empowering and Invoking Christian Action

Christian Ethics Corresponds to God’s Gracious Action

Social Actions of Grace

TABLE 2.1. God’s Grace to us and our Grace to the poor

Social Ethic or Community Ethic?

questions whether we can be consistent in our love if we are satisﬁed with a

Love is the preeminent New Testament virtue. Signiﬁcantly, it is also

Christian Ethics Grounded in Love

Love is the “new commandment” of Jesus. “I am giving you a new com-

The Social Importance of Love

The Worth of Human Life

Am I not a man and a brother?

Take not thus my liberty.

Both these characteristics must be present in genuine love. Paul warns of

A cartoon once showed a picture of a woman lying in her sick bed,

A contrast is related by Bishop Dan Solomon about a woman in his episco-

worthlessness of their victims to rationalize their own subhuman treatment of

Love the Basis of Justice

FIGURE 3.1. God’s Love and Our Commitment to Human Rights

Love Transcending Justice