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The Prophetic Critique of Sacrifice

by churchOld TestamentTheoMisc Blog

Critique of Sacrifice…

There’s a story I’ve often heard told about Old Testament prophets. I don’t think it’s true, but here’s how it goes.

God apparently gave Israel a sacrificial system. He asked for obedience. He asked for victims. And he asked for bloodshed. But in time, and as Israel’s knowledge of God matured, certain groups came to realize that God didn’t actually want this. A religious system that depends on scapegoats, victims, and bloodshed stands in opposition to the divine way of justice and love.

Who made this discovery? It was the radicals … the prophets. It took prophetic insight to imagine a religious world beyond sacrifice. The religious establishment was bent on its own preservation, and lacked the imagination to see otherwise. Here are a few examples of what the prophets came to realise:

For I desire mercy, not sacrifice, and acknowledgement of God rather than burnt offerings (Hos. 6:6).

‘The multitude of your sacrifices—what are they to me?’ says the LORD. ‘I have more than enough of burnt offerings, of rams and the fat of fattened animals; I have no pleasure in the blood of bulls and lambs and goats’ (Isa 1:11).

Even though you bring me burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them. Though you bring choice fellowship offerings, I will have no regard for them (Amos 5:22).

With what shall I come before the LORD and bow down before the exalted God? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? [Implied NO!] He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God (Mic 6:6, 8).

Even the psalmist piles on:

Sacrifice and offering you did not desire—but my ears you have opened—burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require (Ps 40:6).

You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.  (Ps 51:16)

The prophets and poets make a forceful case. God apparently wanted one thing before, and then later said that he didn’t. To resolve this apparent tension, interpreters propose that their theology matured. It is somewhat akin to a parent helping their kids bzzzzaaaap! the bogeyman under their bed before they sleep. Later, kids realise that all the bzzzzaaaaping wasn’t necessary. It wasn’t doing anything but speaking their language.

Likewise with sacrifice. God spoke the language of the day (ritual sacrifice), and then later led the people to a more mature and even corrected religious practice.

Angels stained glassBeyond Sacrifice?

Some also contend that the prophets and poets presaged the abolition of sacrifice in the New Testament. God set his sights on substitutionary sacrifice, or specifically, the scapegoating and violence of victims in the sacrificial system, marking them for elimination. The prophets caught wind of this, and argued that worship would eventually move beyond its primitive state.

Greg Boyd reflects this evolutionary view of Israelite religion and ethics in his recent Crucifixion of the Warrior God, though from a slightly different perspective. He writes:

While an earlier tradition depicted Yahweh as enjoying animal sacrifices (e.g., Exod 29:25, 41; Lev 1:9, 13, 17), later authors make it clear that Yahweh placed no value on them.[1]

He states later the ‘canonical authors begin to realize that Yahweh completely disapproves of animal sacrifices.’[2]

In a provocative post on ‘God and Genocide,’ Brian Zahnd writes:

The Old Testament is the inspired telling of the story of Israel coming to know their God. But it’s a process. God doesn’t mutate, but Israel’s revelation and understanding of God obviously does. Along the way assumptions are made. One of these assumptions was that Yahweh shares certain violent attributes with the pagan deities of the ancient Near East. These assumptions were inevitable, but wrong. For example, the Hebrew prophets will eventually begin to question the assumption that Yahweh desires blood sacrifice. Jesus was fond of quoting Hosea’s bold assertion that Yahweh doesn’t want sacrifice, he wants mercy.[3]

I agree with much that Zahnd says here. Israel’s understanding of God certainly mutates and changes. The OT can provide us with countless cases of change and development.

Problems with the Prophetic Critique

There are serious problems with this story of advancing religion beyond sacrifice. Here are a few:

  1. In the same breath that the prophets excoriate the people for animal sacrifice, they also say that God also rejects songs and prayer. For example:

Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. (Amos 5:23).

When you stretch out your hands, I will hide my eyes from you; even though you make many prayers, I will not listen; your hands are full of blood. (Isa. 1:15)

We would also have to eliminate fasting as an effective spiritual practice. Jeremiah pronounces: ‘Although they fast, I will not listen to their cry; though they offer burnt offerings and grain offerings’ (Jer 14:12a; cf. Isa 58:3-6).

To argue that the prophets were urging Israel to move from one (primitive) worship system to another (enlightened) doesn’t work when we consider all the religious practices they attack, unless we also want to displace prayer, music, and fasting as legitimate spiritual practices.

  1. The prophet’s critique doesn’t reflect God’s inherent displeasure with the sacrificial system as such. Instead, the prophets insisted that God hates injustice. When a worshipper robs from the poor, and then uses that lamb, goat, or ox to worship God, God is disgusted. When a worshipper beats their slave to a pulp, and then lifts their hands in prayer, Yahweh says, ‘[Away!] Your hands are covered in blood!’ (Isa 1:15). The primary issue is that injustice + worship = foul play. God will shut the show down.

It’s important to remember that the prophets were rhetoricians. They used shocking language to arrest listeners’ attention. When the prophets said that God rejected sacrifice (and music/prayer), they weren’t making timeless assertions. Nor were they making claims about the evolution of religion in Israel! Instead, they wanted people to treat their neighbours with dignity. Isaiah thus urges the people to cleanse themselves for worship by looking after the oppressed:

Wash and make yourselves clean. Take your evil deeds out of my sight; stop doing wrong. Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow. (Isa 1:16-17)

  1. The same prophets that railed against sacrifice envision a day when God’s people would sacrifice rightly.

So the LORD will make himself known to the Egyptians, and in that day they will acknowledge the LORD. They will worship with sacrifices and grain offerings; they will make vows to the LORD and keep them. (Isa 19:21)

These [foreigners] I will bring to my holy mountain and give them joy in my house of prayer. Their burnt offerings and sacrifices will be accepted on my altar; for my house will be called a house of prayer for all nations. (Isa 56:7)

These passages show us that the prophets weren’t moving beyond sacrifice. Instead, they were moving toward wholesome sacrifice.

Even one of the most forceful prophetic critiques eventually gives way to restored worship. In Jeremiah 7:22 the prophet exclaims that Yahweh ‘did not speak to your fathers or command them concerning burnt offerings or sacrifices on the day I brought them out of the land of Egypt.’[4] Taken on its own, one could imply that upon further reflection, God decided he didn’t want the whole worship system he set up after all. However, Jeremiah 7 is a textbook case of prophetic provocation, in the context of the most damning denunciation of the temple in the whole prophetic corpus (cf. 7:12). So again, the prophet is not issuing a press release about God’s changed religious expectations. Jeremiah does circle back to say that ‘in that day’ sacrifices would be restored (Jer 33:18, 21-22).

The psalmist also comes around. After saying that God does ‘not delight in sacrifice’ (Ps 51:16), the psalmist declares that God would ‘delight in the sacrifices of the righteous’ just a few verses later (51:19). The psalmist wasn’t of two minds. Instead, he recognised that sacrifice was not delightful to God when accompanied by adultery and murder (cf. Ps 51:1). Only after confronting those issues would God again delight in sacrifice.

  1. The prophets (or NT writers) never critique sacrifice on the grounds that it was violent, bloody, or anything of the sort. That’s modern squeamishness (and alienation from our food processing) speaking, not the Bible.
 Jesus’ Critique

In Mark 12, a young scribe came to Jesus and asked him which was the greatest command. Jesus, unwilling to give one law, says that the first is to love God, and the second to love your neighbour (vv. 29-31). The scribe who asked Jesus likely observed Jesus’ quotation from Deut 6:5 and Lev 19:11. Jesus had woven together the heart of the Torah. The scribe sees that Jesus answered rightly. But notice how the scribe, who was likely pro-temple, continues: ‘And [you answered rightly that] to love your neighbor as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices’ (Mark 12:33).

But Jesus hadn’t said this!

Well, Jesus didn’t directly quote Hosea 6:6 (or 1 Sam 15:22), but the scribe teases out he hermeneutical implications of Jesus’ one-upmanship. He plays along with the hermeneutical game. The scribe asked for one. Jesus gave two. The scribe answered that Jesus was right, and gives three.

But notice the scribe’s answer. He says that loving God and neighbour is more important than burnt offerings or sacrifices. The OT says that God doesn’t delight in or want burnt offerings or sacrifices (1 Sam 15:22; Hos 6:6). The scribe isn’t misquoting; he’s interpreting what the prophets imply. He (and Jesus) recognise the prophets’ rhetorical point.  Love for God and neighbour take priority over the sacrificial system, and where the two clash, sacrifice must give.

Abolishment of Sacrifice & Other Means of Atonement

The early Christians did contend that that the sacrificial system would eventually be abolished. It wasn’t apparent to early followers of Jesus how this was so, and what it would mean. Even after the resurrection Peter and later Paul still worship and even sacrifice at the temple (Acts 3 & 21). Their actions complicate any attempts at an easy Supersessionism, and show the temple’s ongoing value to Jews, at least while the temple still stood.

The destruction of the temple accelerated Jewish and Christian thinking about a world without sacrifice. Note these words from Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai, who responded to another Rabbi who lamented the loss of the temple and thus atoning sacrifices:

My son, do not be grieved. We have another atonement as effective as this (temple sacrifices). And what is it? Acts of loving-kindness (mercy), as it is said, ‘For I desire mercy and not sacrifice’ (Hos. 6:6) (Avot de Rabbi Nathan, A, 4).[5]

The book of Hebrews argued that Jesus’ death and resurrection brought an end to sacrifices at the temple. Though the temple and its sacrificial system was good, it was also provisional. From a Christian point of view, Jesus ushered in a more complete and permanent atonement.

Interestingly, Hebrews never quotes from the prophetic critiques of sacrifice. The reason, I imagine, is that the author recognised the prophetic critique of injustice (and not ritual). Moreover, Hebrews builds its argument on a ‘good-to-better’ logic, and not a ‘bad-vs-good’ logic:

For if the blood of goats and bulls, … sanctifies those who have been defiled … how much more will the blood of Christ … purify our conscience from dead works to worship the living God! (Heb 9:13-14)

The fact that Jesus brings an end to sacrifice doesn’t negate its value in the story of God and his people, or even for some of Jesus’ early followers.

Perhaps most importantly, we see that Jesus does leave his followers with a sacrifice to ritually perform—the Lord’s Supper. This meal gathers up themes, symbols, and rituals from the atonement sacrifices, grain offerings, libation offerings, and Passover meal.[6] So, ‘Let us celebrate the feast!’ (1 Cor 5:8; Deut 16:3).

[1] Gregory A. Boyd, Crucifixion of the Warrior God: Interpreting the Old Testament’s Violent Portraits of God in Light of the Cross (2 vols.; Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2017), 11-12.

[2] Boyd, Crucifixion of the Warrior God, 754.

[3] Brian Zahnd, ‘God and Genocide,’ https://brianzahnd.com/2013/04/god-and-genocide/ accessed 31/07/2017. Emphasis mine.

[4] Thanks to Brad Jersak for this example.

[5] Qtd in Mark Turnage, Windows into the Bible: Cultural and Historical Insights from the Bible for Modern Readers (Springfield: Logion Press, 2016), loc 5548.

[6] Thanks to Dru Johnson for this insight. Cf. Christian A. Eberhart’s What a Difference a Meal Makes: The Last Supper in the Bible and in the Christian Church (tr. Michael Putman; Houston, TX: Lucid Books, 2016).

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Harvest_Community_Church_Goshen_Worship_Service_1-24-2016 (1)

A Time for Minor Chords (Part III): Objections to Lament

by churchNew TestamentOld TestamentTheoMisc Blogworship

[This is Part III of a series on lament. Part I is HERE, and Part II HERE]

Objections objections…

Grieve, mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. (Jas 4:9)

Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, ‘children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation.’
Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky (Phil 2:14)

In the popular worship scene, lament songs exist. Sometimes they’re even sung. I appreciate the efforts of those with enough facility in musical style and lyric to lead God’s people in lament, and through lament, to praise.

By Scott Lucht (Own work) [GFDL -http://bit.ly/2pPqcTG]

But attempts to shift contemporary music toward substantial engagement with lament feels like trying to pull a Carnival Cruise off its course with a canoe. Even if it’s headed for rocks. The ship is just too heavy and the music too loud to hear the shouts of those paddling furiously away from the boat—the line taut between them. Those in the canoes might seem like they’re ‘working against’ the boat (big thumbs down!). It might be pointed out—rather obviously—that they’re ‘not on board.’ They’re ‘overly negative’ in all their talk about ‘sharp rocks’ and whatnot. Even more, they’re not grateful for all the benefits offered on the party ship … not to mention Paul’s insistence that we do everything ‘without grumbling or arguing.’

This reaction shouldn’t be surprising, especially since lamenters often describe themselves as isolated and unseemly to others:

Do not ignore me in my time of trouble! Listen to me! When I call out to you, quickly answer me, for my days go up in smoke, and my bones are charred like a fireplace …. I am like an owl in the wilderness, like a screech owl among the ruins (Ps 102:1-6).

The canoe tips over.

Resisting Lament

Why the resistance to lament?

Some reasons are cultural. Maybe we don’t like public displays of negative emotion. Perhaps we ought to endure our hardships quietly, with a stiff upper lip. It can be hard to hear lament.

But I think other reasons are more idiosyncratic to church cultures that emerge in the wake of the mega-ship Carnival Cruise liners. Despite the lyrical gestures toward vulnerability, brokenness, and desperation in the songs I reviewed (in the first post of this series), we’ve simultaneously exorcised the practices that instantiate those ideals—individual confession and lament.

Some Objections

Let me address just a few common objections to the use of lament in worship services.

  1. Lament doesn’t fit the tone of our worship services

It isn’t uncommon to refer to worship services as ‘Celebrations,’ and for churches to seek to create an environment where people—especially visitors—feel warm and welcome. I’m going to sidestep debates about seeker-sensitive church services, but suggest that creating a worship culture that allows people to voice their pain to God is not only welcoming (of all human emotion) but might eventually facilitate a turn toward genuine praise. Maybe worshippers are longing for that kind of environment, where real pain and suffering finds their voice and praise becomes real.

  1. Lament is for personal use

They are, but not exclusively. The psalms are replete with ‘psalms of communal lament,’ set to music. It might be hard for some to imagine … especially if you’re not connected with wider traditions (cf. the African American MAAFA service),[1] and not closely affiliated with an actively practising liturgical tradition,[2] but the biblical evidence tips strongly in favour of laments for communal use. Even individual psalms of lament were often set to music by the choir director (e.g., Ps 5, 88), giving the lonely individual worshipper an opportunity to cry out to God in a corporate environment—or perhaps more to the point, giving the community an opportunity to take up the cry of others.

  1. Lament is uttered by those without hope of the resurrection

(I have actually heard this argument) The basic premise here is that lament is an Old Testament activity, and symptomatic of life BC. But this claim is wrong on two accounts. Individuals in the Old Testament did have hope of resurrection, though perhaps not in the same way Christians would express it (‘But God will rescue my life from the power of the grave’ Ps 49:15).[3] 

But more to the point, I’d be so bold as to say that Jesus had resurrection hope. Yet, from the cross he cried out (from Ps 22:1), ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?’ And by the way, Ps 22 is ‘for the choir director, according to the tune …’ In other words, it was meant for inclusion in the worship repertoire. In Gethsemane Jesus’ soul was ‘deeply grieved, even unto death’ (Matt 26:38, echoing Ps 42:5-6).  And he cried out to his father to be spared from the cross.

The author of Hebrews writes that ‘Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission. (Heb 5:7). For many of us, this sounds like an oxymoron. How could ‘loud cries and tears’ count as ‘reverent submission’? To this I suggest reading the book of Job, where the suffering man of God rails against God, takes him to court, accuses God, yet is declared to have ‘spoken rightly about me [God]’ (42:7). Reverent speech sounds irreverent when we lose connection with the biblical lament tradition, and sounds defeatist when disconnected from the hope of the resurrection.

  1. There aren’t any lament songs

There are. There just aren’t (m)any on the CCLI lists to which many churches subscribe, especially those that use ‘praise bands’ to lead in sung worship. Reclaiming lament requires re-education for all of us, especially those of us who have grown up in worship environments oriented toward the positive and uplifting. We might consider resources like THIS, THIS, or THIS, and songs like Dry Bones,  By the Waters of Babylon (or THIS version), or Leonard Berstein’s Chichester Psalms, or the songs listed HERE or HERE. There are enough to at least get started.

  1. People aren’t/wouldn’t be comfortable singing lament songs

See point #4 … and as an addendum, those going through terrible suffering are not comfortable singing only praise, and perhaps we might heed the words of Ecclesiastes:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of everyone; the living should take this to heart. (Eccl 7:2)

Or the words of Jesus,

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted (Matt 5:4).

Or Paul,

            Weep with those who weep (Rom 12:15).

[1] The ‘MAAFA Service’ remembers slaves who died in the ‘Middle Passage.’

[2] J Frank Henderson, Liturgies of Lament (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1994).

[3] See Jon D. Levenson, Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel: The Ultimate Victory of the God of Life (Yale: Yale University Press, 2006). I can’t recommend this book enough!

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Madigan - Medieval Christianity

Review of Medieval Christianity: A New History – Kevin Madigan

by churchHistoryReviewsTheoMisc Blog

Kevin Madigan, Medieval Christianity: A New History (Yale University Press, 2015). 544 pages.

Steve Watts profileDr Steven Watts teaches Church History and History of Spirituality at WTC. He is passionate about the creative relationship between Christian belief and culture. Steve completed his PhD in Mediaeval History at the University of St Andrews, and believes there is much to be gained today from an informed understanding of the Medieval Church.

Why bother with medieval Christianity?

In an (apparently) increasingly secular West, where the adjective ‘medieval’ is most often employed in the public forum as an intellectual swearword. Why even ask the question? Judging from the narrative both explicitly and implicitly expounded in the wider culture, is not the medieval world and its dominant religion simply a relic of a funereal, ignorant past from which the children of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were reborn and from which the daring young men of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were enlightened?

As is often the case with such totalizing accounts, however, a different picture emerges when one pays attention to the details. For how is it that this morass of superstitious ignorance give birth to a remarkable crop of universities? How could a society apparently hampered by technological backwardness give rise to such towering monuments of architectural excellence as the gothic cathedrals and the rich symbolism inscribed into their frames and illustrated upon their walls? How could an apparently close-minded theocracy produce such landmark developments in jurisprudence as the emphasis on intention and gaining a fair hearing before a jury of your peers? Indeed, the more one attends to the medieval period––that sprawling millennium stretching from roughly 500-1500––the more one is confronted by its importance in the formation of the western world and the numerous cultures which it has impacted. In short, the Middle Ages are important. And that means the same is true of the Christianity that coursed through its veins. As Kevin Madigan points out in his Medieval Christianity: A New History, by the early middle ages “the church was the single institution that cut across… lives political boundaries, and ethnic divisions” (xvii). The Middle Ages may not have been “an age of faith”, as is commonly supposed, but it cannot be understood without the faith so closely associated with it.

So then, why a new history of Medieval Christianity? Madigan justifies his contribution on the basis of the “important new scholarly developments” in the field in the four decades and counting since R. W. Southern’s landmark Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages (1970). By incorporating these developments into what has become something of a standard account, he shines light on number of subjects that were overlooked in earlier scholarship (notably women’s history), of particular resonance to the geopolitical present (Christians interactions and perceptions of Jews and Muslims), and misconceived in the popular imagination (the Crusades / for an example of which see: http://www.historytoday.com/jonathan-phillips/crusades-complete-history).

Madigan’s book offers a narrative account that follows a broad chronological trajectory along the more-or-less traditional periodization of ‘early’ (600-1050), ‘high’ (1050-1300), and ‘late’ (1300-1500). It does diverge from this path from time to time, but only to address broader themes, such as the often––but not always, as Madigan reminds us––harrowing treatment of Jews by their Christian neighbours. As such, we have accounts of “the Means of Christianization”, of “Saints, Relics, and Pilgrimage”, and “Parochial Life and the Proprietary Church”, alongside descriptions of the rise of monasticism, heresy, and the schisms of the later middle ages. The vast majority of the touchstones of medieval religion are therefore present and accounted for.

At its best, the work offers the student or non-specialist a more nuanced grasp of such developments as the rise of the papacy, which was generally inspired more by reform than sheer megalomania (though in the person of Gregory VII it is unclear where one began and the other ended), and the conflicts that quickly arose within the Franciscan order when Francis of Assisi’s followers emerged out from under their founder’s uncompromising shadow. Also welcome is the attentiveness to the importance of women in medieval Christianity. Typically left as afterthoughts in major histories of medieval religion, Madigan makes sure to include them in “virtually every chapter of the book”.  He also navigates some of the more contested areas within the historiography of the past few decades, such as the validity of “popular religion” (that is, distinct from literate or clerical religion) as a historical category and the purpose and extent of the medieval inquisition (not to be confused with the Spanish Inquisition, which––let the reader understand––the reader may not have expected). In the latter case, let us just say that the histrionic presentation of Bernard Gui in the film adaptation of Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose is sorely mistaken. On a number counts, then, the book can be considered a success. It is clearly written, generally well organized, and offers a good deal of exemplary accounts to furnish the narrative with personality.

Madigan’s book, however, is not without its problems. As a number of reviewers have already pointed out, this is really a history of western medieval Christianity. It remains most closely tied to England, Italy, France, Germany, and––to a lesser degree––Spain. Scandinavia goes almost unmentioned and the same is substantially true of eastern Europe. There is little mention of Ireland, Scotland, and the Netherlands. More problematically, Madigan’s claim to incorporate recent scholarship is not always borne out by the research upon which he depends. Indeed, the book often relies on books that are many decades old, and it comes to some conclusions (such as the authorship of the Augustinian rule) that are already outdated. The result is that while some topics are relatively flush with “new scholarly developments”, others seem strangely tied to the past.

And just as there is a geographical imbalance, so there is also disparity in its chronological scheme. The lack of material on the late middle ages, which is only a few chapters long and is populated by much that does not fall within the stated chronology, is perplexing. Perhaps a subsequent edition might trim the book’s first chapters (which deal with the early centuries of Christianity in a manner not especially helpful for understanding the medieval Church) in order to provide a better treatment of a subject more directly relevant to the book’s central concern.

Finally, and perhaps the most substantial objection, is that the book does not offer enough opportunities for the student or non-specialist to expand their knowledge further. It is not always clear what sources or even scholars lie behind some of the positions given in the text. Moreover, while a narrative account is a helpful way to tell the story of the Middle Ages, the book misses something of the broader currents or mentalités (that is, how people thought about the world) that are characteristic of a religious culture so different from what we find in the West today. What about the Church’s response to death and suffering? What of its need, especially in the twelfth century and beyond, to organize, clarify, and synthetize wisdom––both old and new? What of the continuing and ever-changing resonance of the accounts of the first disciples of Christ in the reformations of its religious life? Answers to these kinds of questions, in my view, would help to explain rather than just to describe what was central to the various ebbs and flows of medieval Christianity.

To conclude, then. On the book’s front cover, the eminent scholar John Van Engen asserts that “this will undoubtedly be the fundamental narrative account of medieval Christianity for the next generation”. For the reasons noted above, I am not so sure. To be clear, Madigan has done a great service, particularly in light of the sheer scope of the task. One thousand years of Christianity (and then some) is a massive task and is only becoming more unwieldy as the scholarship continues to mount. But from the perspective of this reviewer, the book would be better received by students and non-specialists as a transitional work. It gives a sense of direction––more confidently in some places than in others––but does not constitute a place of arrival, not at least when compared with Southern’s earlier work. Perhaps that is simply the state of our understanding of medieval Christianity. However odd it might sound to twenty-first century ears, medieval Christianity is not a closed book. Its pages are continually being opened and poured over. Sometimes its contents are newly discovered, more often they are re-interpreted. Perhaps this continued interest reflects a growing suspicion that the narratives that we have been led to believe do not hold up to closer scrutiny. Madigan’s work certainly points in this direction. It is only a matter of whether one heeds the words so famously heard by Augustine in the garden: “Take up and read”.

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A Fresh Look at Jesus’ Final Judgment Parable

by churchcultureNew TestamentSocial JusticeTheoMisc Blog

Bob EkbladBob Ekblad has spent 25 years in international mission and is particularly passionate about working with the poor and ethnic minorities, as well as teaching on Mission and Social Justice.

To read more from Bob and to find out about his work, visit his website here.

A judgment parable…

Jesus’ parable of the judgment of the nations is often presented in ways that associate our treatment of anyone who is hungry, thirsty, a foreigner, naked, sick and imprisoned as synonymous with how we treat Jesus. Many Scriptures clearly call us to care for the poor, excluded, immigrants and prisoners. But numerous details in this parable suggest a different interpretation.

Jesus here teaches on the future judgment of non-Jews (the nations=ethnos), whom he commissions his disciples to evangelize and make disciples of before he departs (see Matthew 28:18-20). This parable is not about the judgment of nation states as institutions (though they will be judged), but about Jesus’ future response to how people treat his followers who go out spreading the word.

In this parable the King, who is also a Son of the Father in Heaven, returns and is enthroned. He calls non-Jews together and like a shepherd he separates sheep from goats. He says to the sheep, identifying himself as their shepherd:

“Come, you who are blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

“For I was hungry… thirsty… a stranger… naked… sick… imprisoned” and “you gave me food… drink… hospitality… prison visits.”

These “righteous” don’t understand when they had done this for him, this Son of Man– the shepherd King. They hadn’t recognized him or made the associations he names.

“The King will answer and say to them, ‘Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of mine, even the least of them, you did it to me’ (Matt 25:40).

Who exactly are the King’s “brothers” and also “the least of these” in this parable?

For most of my ministry I read this as referring to anyone in the category of hungry, sick, naked, a foreigner, or prisoner. This interpretation puts permanent pressure on all non-Jews to serve everyonewho fits into these categories—or else you will be accursed and sent into “the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels” (25:42).

Is this the motivation Jesus is suggesting we should have as we minister to the poor, immigrants, refugees and prisoners? I don’t think so. God’s abundant and tender love for the poor and excluded is the only sustainable motivation.

I think that this parable is about God’s judgment of non-Jews who receive or reject followers of Jesus as they go to fulfill Jesus’ commission to make disciples, baptize and teach.

The King states “to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of mine, even the least of them,you did it to me.”

In Matthew Jesus consistently refers to his disciples as his brothers distinct from blood brothers/sisters (see Matt 12:48; 28:10).

A key Scripture is Matthew 10:40-42, where Jesus says to his disciples:

“The one who receives you receives me,” and “whoever in the name of a disciple gives to one of these little ones even a cup of cold water to drink… shall not lose his reward.”

Jesus also calls fellow believers to treat one another as brothers and sisters (Matt 18:15 35; 23:8) of our common Father in heaven.

Western Christians may find identifying Jesus’ followers as the hungry, thirsty, naked, foreigners, imprisoned of this parable difficult due to our distance from the ragged and persecuted state of early Christ followers and today’s persecuted believers and precarious ministry workers. Yet Christians today are marginalized, persecuted and martyred like never before in history in many places throughout the world—including inside our prison system.

Jesus’ disciples who carry on his mission were sent out in vulnerability, without money, extra clothes or even sandals (Matt 10:10), as persecuted “sheep in the midst of wolves”—a big challenge to us now. They were often strangers and even foreigners as they went from village to village and to foreign lands, fleeing persecution (Matt 10:16-23). They were dependent upon people’s hospitality (those people of peace who received them). But they were often rejected, persecuted, imprisoned and martyred (Matt 5:10-12).

In Jesus’ parable on judgment, receiving them equals receiving him—a total identification. Jesus’ identifying himself, the King with the “least of these” represents his deliberate inclusion of the humblest of his recruits who go out on mission. When we receive a humble disciple of Jesus, Jesus says we are receiving the King, the Son of the Father himself.

May we welcome, provide for, care for and advocate for those who minister in Jesus’ name. May we intercede for the persecuted church worldwide, and be inspired ourselves to join the company of Jesus’ brothers and sisters—even the “least of these,” knowing that even if the world does not always receive us, Jesus has our back.

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