Marx, in the Grundrisse, discusses the ways in which economic relations of exchange (wherein exchange-value overshadows and replaces use-value) produce equality amongst all those who participate within that system of exchange because all of the participants are reduced to the status of 'exchangers'. In this way, he argues that this system simultaneously masks the social tensions inherent to bourgeois society.
Now what I found particularly interesting is the way in which Marx connects the notion of equality to indifference. He writes:
Since they only exist for one another in exchange in this way [i.e. as exchangers]… they are, as equals, also indifferent to one another; whatever other individual distinction there may be does not concern them; they are indifferent to all their other individual particularities.
These comments continue to be relevant for Christians who are interested in finding their way within our contemporary context, wherein the economic predominates. Of course, one obvious point of application is to note the way in which Marx's comments further explain the deficient and reductionistic anthropology of capitalism. However, much has already been said about these things, and I maintain the the root problem with capitalism is not its anthropology (which is deficient and reductionistic!) but its theology, upon which its anthropology is premised. Indeed, I sometimes wonder if the focus on anthropology that one finds in many Christian responses to capitalism is simply another expression of the anthropocentricism of modern thought. Thus, Christian responses to capitalism that lay their central focus upon anthropology are frequently (but not always!) insufficient in at least two ways: (1) these responses remain caught within a form of thinking that is itself definitive of capitalism; and (2) these responses focus on a symptom rather than a cause.
Points about anthropology aside, what I found especially interesting about the quotation from Marx was the connection he made between inequality and indifference.
Sometime ago, I wrote a post entitled “What Reversal? (Confronting Myths of 'Equality')” (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/102416.html), wherein I argued that the myth of equality is actually one of the keys to perpetuating inequality in our day to day living. That is to say, we have been told that we are all equal and this then becomes a way of engaging in victim blaming. If others do not have the happy, healthy life that I have, the obvious conclusion is that this is the case because those others are lazy, or immoral, or whatever. Thus, because we are all equal, we are exonerated from actually treating our neighbours as our equals.
Therefore, what I found intriguing about the quotation from Marx is that, while I was approaching the topic from the angle of the mythic stories told by our society, Marx was approaching the topic from the angle of the technical economic structures of society — and we came to the same conclusion!
This, I think, is a point that has not been sufficiently grasped by Christians who attempt to create social change through the avenues provided by the discourse of freedom, equality, and human rights. In my opinion, what these people (several of whom I consider close friends) tend to miss is the way in which that discourse continues to aid and perpetuate oppression, inequality, and degradation within our contemporary context. This is why it is not sufficient to simply appeal to the way in which such language has a long history within the Christian tradition. Regardless of where that discourse originated, and regardless of how it has been employed, the fact is that it cannot be employed in the same way today.
The proof, as they say, is in the pudding. Look at Christians in our society and what do we discover? Those who will defend equality until they are blue in the face, and those who simultaneously do nothing (and generally don't even think to do anything) about the fact that their neighbours are homeless.
Instead of pursuing equality, I suspect it may be better to begin to understand ourselves us douloi Christou, slaves of Christ, and in this way we may learn to share in the passion of God.

While there is a lower class, I am in it, while there is a criminal element, I am of it, and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.
~ Eugene V. Debs
This is the issue with which I am confronted: How can one live a contented life in a world that is torn and broken? How can one live joyfully while so many mourn? How can one experience a sense of ‘inner peace’ given the violence of the plotico-economic context in which we live? This, I realised, has been the topic driving my conversations with those near and dear to me, for quite some time now. Because I am not content, let alone joyful, and I am a long way away from experiencing anything akin to ‘inner peace.’
However, let me be clear about what is at stake here. What I am experiencing is not some sort of crisis about myself personally — I don’t think the problem comes down to me not doing enough, and I don’t think the problem comes down to me having some sort of ‘Messiah complex’ (as has been suggested, and was once the case half a dozen years ago). Indeed, the kicker about all of this is that it really isn’t about me. After all, I’ve got friends, family, and a wife who love me and who would drop everything for me, if that was what I needed. I’ve got a strong sense of being beloved by God, I’m healthy, I seem to be doing okay in school and work, and so on and so forth. I am not unhappy because anything in my life is lacking; I am unhappy because so much is lacking in the lives of others. Similarly, I am not unhappy because I am not doing enough (although one can always do more); I am unhappy because not enough is being done. What is breaking me is the brokenness around me, not any personal experience of brokenness per se.
I believe that the technical term for what I am experiencing right now is ‘vicarious trauma’, wherein one takes on the traumas of others (I reckon that this experience is also largely what many others refer to as ‘burn out’). I am aware of this, but this awareness does not resolve things because I cannot easily brush it aside and conclude that this is an experience I should avoid having. That is to say, I do not know how to love others and not feel this way. If those whom I love are being broken, shouldn’t I, in my love for them, also be broken? Isn’t this the model established by Jesus himself, as the image of the cruciform God who is broken out of his love for this broken world? Perhaps this vicarious trauma is a part of the process of laying down one’s life for those whom God loves; perhaps it is a part of the via dolorosa.
Of course, several people have been quick to tell me that if this is the road I go then I will quickly end up in a position where I am unable to help anybody in anyway because I’ll be so ‘burnt out’… however, like I said before, this really isn’t about me (and the difference that I make or don’t make). If I burn out once and for all, then I burn out once and for all. God doesn’t need me to save the world.
Speaking of God, others have pointed out that it is God who is saving the world, and so I don’t need to take the weight of the world onto my shoulders but can simply be contented with the little that I do on a day-to-day basis. I have mixed feelings about this. I, too, believe that God is saving the world, and will one day heal all of our wounds, wipe all our tears away, and make all things new… but that day has not yet arrived. Until that day brokenness continues. I do not know how to contentedly wait for that day. Certainly I long for it, I place all of my hope in it, but I cannot sit back and wait for it patiently. I want it to come now. I want God to say, “Enough.” Enough of all this bleeding, this killing, this shattering; enough of all this goddamn fucking shit. How much will be enough, Lord? I’ve had enough. Why do you linger, Lord? How long will you damn us with your absence?
This, then, is my final question: how can one find contentment in places of godforsakenness? For those of us who are worn down waiting for God, tired of seeing our friends bleed out, tired of watching The Brokenness settle ever more deeply into our loved ones, what does the notion of contentment offer us? Is such contentment possible? Is it appropriate?
I opened with a quote from Eugene V. Debs, a quote I discovered some year ago. I was first drawn to this quote because it sounded noble and romantic. Now I resonate with the quote on an altogether different level. Now I know that I too am not free. And so I am longing for a liberation that only God can bring.
But God, God is nowhere to be found.
Lord, have mercy.

These prophetic calls to shame [i.e. the 'penitential prayers'] in the context of history are not calls to a paralyzing personal guilt or humiliation. It is a call to recognize the constant failures of living according to the alternative ideals and values—universally identified in the penitential prayers as the Mosaic laws. Shame, therefore, is not a psychology, it is a politics…
Radical nonconformity for the exilic communities means the creation of a radically different identity from that exemplified by the period of the monarchy, and this requires a heightened sense of the shame of acting in other ways….
In the end, shame is a mark of honesty—it is an admission that allows transformation because it offers hope that the new way will not repeat the acknowledged mistakes of the old way.
~ Daniel Smith-Christopher, A Biblical Theology of Exile, 120-22.
We are accustomed to thinking of shame as something to be avoided at all costs. In a twofold sense, shame makes us 'feel bad' — it makes us feel uncomfortable, and it makes us feel as though we, ourselves, are 'bad'. However, in the passage quoted above, Smith-Christopher suggests that shame, when properly employed, can be a very good thing.
In A Biblical Theology of Exile, Smith-Christopher argues that the so-called Deuteronomistic History (Deut-2 Ki) was significantly redacted and rewritten by exilic or postexilic authors, who rejected the power-politics of Israel's monarchy, and presented the kings and leaders of Israel in a negative light so that Israel would be able to discover a more faithful way of following the (sociopolitical) Law that is laid out in Deuteronomy. The past, as well as some present efforts, are presented as shame-full so that a new way of being in the present can be discovered and a new future can become possible.
Contemporary Christians must also recover this positive use of shame in relation to their past and some of their present efforts. Here two things must be avoided. First of all, rather than attempting to disassociate themselves from the history of Christianity — and Christendom, in particular — Christians must choose to carry the shame that comes with that name. Thus, for example, rather than eschewing the name 'Christian', those who acknowledge the Lordship of Jesus (and depend on the fellowship of those in Christ) must choose to identify themselves as such, fully aware of the baggage that comes with that language.
Secondly, rather than romanticising past Christian involvement in power-politics, Christians must begin to look for a new way forward, embodied in an embrace of an exilic existence in the present. Of course, even in Israel's exile there were those who longed for a restoration of power. This is the position that is prominently displayed in 1 Maccabees, and in the various Jewish nationalistic revolutionary movements found in Palestine at the time of Jesus. 1 Maccabees, and many of the Jewish rebel movements refused exile as a state of existence, and sought a return to sociopolitical power. However, although this option was open to Jesus (let us not forget the presence of revolutionaries in his inner circle), he ends up rejecting it, and the Church, and contemporary Christians, must do the same.
Here, Jeremiah's counsel, 'the word of the Lord', to the exile's in Babylon is especially relevant:
Build houses and live in them; and plant gardens and eat their produce… Seek the peace of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf (cf. Jer 29).
This passage is commonly quoted — but by those who exhibit a nostalgia for Christendom. It is usually quoted by those who seek to justify Christian involvement in power-politics, in corporate business, and so on and so forth. However, that is not the point that Jeremiah is trying to make. Rather, what Jeremiah is doing is telling the people to declare an armistice and cease fighting (violently) with the Babylonians. To build homes, and plant gardens, requires the people of Israel to 'beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks' (cf. Is 2.4; Mic 4.3). Thus, rather than seeing this passage from Jer 29 as a justification for Christian involvement in violent structures of power, it is better understood as an appeal to the people of God to abandon all aspirations to power, as that power is understood by the political and corporate structures of this world.
This, then, is what the politics of shame requires of us: it requires us to remember our shame-full past, and to confess our connection to that past, thereby ensuring that we do not repeat that past. Rather than longing for a return to power, we must embrace our status as a pilgrim people, sojourning in exile until the day when God descends to earth and welcomes us into the heavenly city, the New Jerusalem, our true home.
The same approach applies not only to Christian attachments to power, but also to our attachments to wealth, comfort, and privilege. Given God's solidarity with the poor, and given the requirement to share all things with 'the least of these', I believe that we must, once again, be confronted with the shamefulness of our wealth, comfort, and privilege. Yes, when we have so much in a world where so many have so little, we should feel ashamed — especially if we profess to follow the God of the bible.
I am reminded of a conversation I once had with an undergraduate student about these things. When speaking in a class at a Bible College about God's preferential option for the poor, and the need for solidarity with the crucified people of today, a student raised his hand and, after noting that he was not very involved in such things, asked me 'should I feel guilty?' (cf. http://poserorprophet.livejournal.com/101527.html). Were I to answer that question today, I think I would say the following: “I don't know if you should feel 'guilty', but I do think you should feel ashamed.”
This, I think, is a part of what it means to follow in the footsteps of those like Saint Francis — those who proclaimed peace with penance. Peace is not possible apart from penance, and penance is not possible without shame. Here, I am reminded of the words of Dorothy Day:
Everyone of us who was attracted to the poor had a sense of guilt, of responsibility, a feeling that in some way we were living on the labour of others… Many left the work… because of their own shame. But enduring the shame is part of our penance (The Long Loneliness, 204, 216).
Yet how can we bear all this shame? Once we realise the extent of it all, it is so easy to become overwhelmed by it. Indeed, I think that we frequently do not embrace our shame, but rather run from it, precisely because it is so overwhelming.
It is the prior knowledge and experience of ourselves as God's beloved that allows us to carry our shame. Just as forgiveness enables repentance, so our being accepted by God enables us to confront our own shamefulness. Thus, rather than immediately removing all of our shame from us, God's embrace allows us to fully carry our shame for the first time. We rejoice because we are forgiven sinners, but we remember that we are forgiven sinners.
Furthermore, not only are we now enabled to carry our shame, but in this way our shame is carried away as we begin to discover new ways of sharing life together as members of a whole created order that groans under exilic conditions as it eagerly awaits the 'glorious freedom of the children of God' (cf. Ro 8). Thus, our shame is not, as Smith-Christopher says, a paralysing sense of personal guilt. Rather, our shame becomes an avenue to our own liberation, and the liberation of those around us.
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A little while ago a few bibliobloggers ran some posts wherein they listed their favourite verses from the bible. This got my wheels turning as I really hadn't thought about that idea since highschool. Back then, I had several favourite verses that I felt God had given especially to me (for example, Ps 27.10 — “my father and my mother have forsaken me, but the Lord will take me up” — meant quite a lot to me). Since then, my favourite passages have changed a little. Certainly some of my current favourites resonate with my own experiences, but others resonate with me because I think they capture broader aspects of the biblical narrative and the character of God. So here they are (in no particular order):
1. Ro 8.
To me, this chapter says it all: liberation through the victory won by Jesus and the indwelling of his Spirit, which transforms us into child-heirs of God; the groanings of creation, the saints, and the Spirit; the hopeful anticipation of what is to come; and the glory of God's unquenchable and ever-present love for us, even in the midst of suffering.
2. Phil 2.5-11, Mt 5.3-12; & Ro 12.9-21.
PHIL: Michael Gorman refers to this passage as 'Paul's master story' and the narrative centre of Paul's theology and I'm inclined to agree with him (cf. Cruciformity: Paul's Narrative Spirituality of the Cross). This passages summarises the cruciform nature of God's love and God's power and, IMHO, provides the narrative outline of how we are to live as disciples of Christ and God's restored humanity.
MT: I think that this passage best captures the 'identity markers' of those who are in Christ. These characteristics should be the 'badges of membership' of those within the Church. I try to pray through this passage everyday — Lord, make us poor in Spirit so that we can have the kingdom of heaven; Lord, make us mourn, so that we can be comforted; Lord, make us meek so that we can inherit the earth; and so on and so forth.
RO: This passage continues the theme of 'identity markers' or 'badges of membership' that are definitive of those in Christ. The theme of (victorious) suffering love, which is especially evidenced in forgiveness, empathy, and solidarity, is especially strong.
3. Lk 4.14-21 & Is 58.6-8.
LK: I've frequently referred to this passage of Jesus' 'manifesto' and I think that it is here, in the very first words that Jesus speaks in his public ministry, that Jesus summarises what he is all about: good news for the poor, healing, liberation, release — all of these things are elements of the end of exile, which means, of course, the forgiveness of sins. This passage reveals the total interrelatedness of the spiritual and the material and I think sets the agenda for how we go about proclaiming (in word and deed) the gospel today.
IS: This passage is one of many in the prophetic tradition that provide the foundation for the mission and ministry of Jesus in particular, and the people of God in general. Again, the connection between the spiritual and material is emphasised and a good many other passages in Is and the other prophets emphasise that those who separate the two create disasters for others and are heading for disaster themselves (cf. Is 1-2).
4. Is 63.15-64.12 & Mk 15.34.
IS: This passage is one of the most heart-rending laments found in the bible. It is a desperate cry from an utterly godforsaken place. It is this passage that comes to my mind more frequently than any other when I bring God the prayers of the people with whom I journey. I still remember the first time I stumbled across it. I had only just begun working at a drop-in for street-involved youth in Toronto, and I remembering crying (hard!) when I ran across this passage in my devotions. Here is a voice, a voice within Scripture itself, that expresses the hope of the hopeless, and the longing for God to return to the groaning places of the world and make us all new. God is the only alternative that we have, and if God does not 'tear the heavens and come down' then we are irrevocably lost.
MK: This passage connects to the passage from Is. Here we discover the revelation of God with the godforsaken. Here is a God who has come down, and he has come so far down that he is even found with us in hell. From this point on, this passage tells us, the love of God reaches for us, finds us, journeys alongside of us, and leads us out of hell itself.
5. Gal 5.1 & Acts 2.42-47; 4.32-35.
GAL: Freedom is a major theme in the New Testament, and it is worth remembering the emphasis on freedom as we live in a society where we feel like we are anything but free. We free trapped under overwhelming powers political-economic powers, and find ourselves enslaved through structures of consumption, accumulation, credit, and debt. Thus, if we have been set free and are to remain free, we must remember Paul's injunction to refuse other yokes.
ACTS: The model of the Church in Acts, a model that was continued by the majority of the Church for the next few hundred years (and by a minority of the Church until this day) is, IMHO, the model of how we are to live together in freedom refusing other yokes of slavery. Again, we are reminded of the interconnectedness of the spiritual and the material, and we are reminded that 'freedom from' sin and death is also 'freedom for' service and life.
6. Rev 21.1-5
This passage, IMHO, summarises what we are all longing for. The day when God comes to make his dwelling among us, the day when God makes all things new, the day when God wipes every tear from our ears, heals all of our wounds, and puts an end to death and mourning. Maranatha, come quickly, Lord Jesus!

[This, or roughly this, is what I said in a sermon I delivered at my church, Mosaic, on December 1st, 2007. For more on Mosaic, cf. http://themosaic.org/.]
About a week ago Don [the lead pastor at Mosaic] asked me if I would be interested in preaching tonight, as he and the other staff were going to be away on a retreat. Excited by the opportunity to speak I quickly agreed, and it wasn't until Wednesday when I realised that I had no clue what to speak about. Searching for a topic, I asked my wife, Mel, and she said that I should speak about joy. “After all,” she said, “we hear enough about how broken the world is, and how hard it is to follow Jesus. We need to hear is something about joy.” As soon as she said that, I knew she was onto something, and so I thought I would begin to explore the topic of joy.
Then, I also remembered that this Sunday is a the first Sunday of Advent and the beginning of the Christian year. You see, traditionally, Christianity followed a calendar that didn't run from January to December, but moved from Advent, through Christmas, then Epiphany, Lent, Easter, Pentecost, and so on. That means that, according to the Church calendar, tonight is New Year's Eve. And what do we do on New Year's Eve? We celebrate by looking back on past and remembering the good that has happened, and looking forward to the future and anticipating the good that has yet to happen.
So, as we think about joy, it is worth asking what do we, as Christians, celebrate?
First and foremost, we celebrate the 'good news' of Jesus Christ. But what is the good news that Jesus brings? Well, Jesus himself summarises this good news in Lk 4.18-19. He says:
The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and rcovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favour, (i.e. the remission of debts).
Notice just how physical and concrete this good news is. We are accustomed to think that the good news (i.e. the 'gospel') of Christianity is all about what happens to our souls when we die, but Jesus seems to think that the good news is about what happens to us, and our bodies, here and now. Thus, it is good news for the poor, it is freedom for prisoners, it is healing for the sick, it is release for the oppressed, and it is the release from financial debts.
All of this is summarised in Jesus' proclamation of the forgiveness of sins.
You see, to be a sinner in Jesus' day didn't just mean that you had made some sort of moral mistake, or thought some sort of bad thought in your mind, or something like that. Being a sinner was related to one's social status. Thus, those who were considered 'sinners' were marginalised and excluded — they weren't invited to the same places and parties as the people who had everything together, and who were well respected in society. The 'sinners' were the people that everybody treated like scum. Thus, the attitude that most people in Vancouver have towards people in the downtown eastside would be an example of how people in Jesus' day treated people they considered 'sinners.' In Jesus' day, polite society would call people sinners and then refuse to have anything to do with those people; in our day, polite society calls people 'junkies' and 'whores' and then refuses to have anything to do with those people.
Yet, it is to precisely this sort of people that Jesus brought good news. And this is why 'forgiveness' has to do with every area of life. To be forgiven doesn't just mean that you get to live with God after you die, it also means that you get to live with God, and with one another, here and now. Consequently, Jesus doesn't just tell people that they are forgiven, he enacts their forgiveness. How did he do this? By treating them, not as scum, but as equals. Thus, Jesus eats with the outcasts, he parties with the marginalised, and he touches the untouchables — and by doing these things he freed them, healed them, and showed them that good news for the poor really is good news for the poor.
Now, what is especially wonderful about all of this is that Jesus actually forgave people before they had even repented. When we read the Gospels carefully, we notice that Jesus almost always forgives people who aren't asking for forgiveness. For example, in Mt 9, a paralysed person is brought to Jesus asking to be healed — but Jesus forgives his sins, something the paralysed person wasn't asking for (of course, Jesus also heals him after). What we learn from this is that God's love for us is so great that we are already forgiven before we even repent. Jesus shows us that God doesn't look down on us as sinners that he is waiting to damn — he shows us that God looks down on us with love, and is waiting to welcome us home.
This, then, reverses the standard Christian approach to evangelism (i.e. spreading the good news). Usually we hear something like this: “you need to repent so that you can be forgiven and escape God's anger” but really the message Jesus brings is this: “God loves you and you already are forgiven, so now you can repent.” It is God's unconditional prior offer of forgiveness that empowers us to repent. Otherwise, we don't repent because we are afraid that we won't be forgiven. We start to think, “this time what I've done is so awful that God won't forgive me,” or “maybe God forgave me the first ten times I did this, but I've done this so much now that he won't keep on forgiving me.” Yet, Jesus says that, in all these situations, before we repent we are forgiven. So we can turn and face these things without fear, we can repent and know we will not be rejected.
The story of the prodigal son in Lk 15 illustrates this point quite well. The son goes to his father, takes half his money, and then goes and blows it all on women, booze, and parties, until he is broke and forced to steal food from pigs in order to survive. Realising that maybe he could go back and be one of his father's servants, he plans out this big apology and heads own, rehearsing his big apology over and over again in his mind. But what happens? The father never stopped loving his son, but kept looking for him to come back. Thus, when the father saw the son returning, he ran out down the road to meet his son. Then, before the son even gets a chance to apologise, the father embraces him and welcomes him home. Jesus tells us that this is the same way that God treats us. Before we have even had a chance to say our elaborate apologies, he has already caught us up in a joyful embrace.
Now by bringing good news, and proclaiming forgiveness, Jesus also becomes the revelation of God for us, and God with us. Furthermore, because Jesus is bringing good news to the poor and the outcast, he reveals that God is with us, not only when we are good and doing everything well, but also when we are neither doing good nor doing well. It is incredible that, when God comes to earth, he doesn't spend much of his time with the rich, the well-to-do, the powerful politicians, or the moral religious leaders. Rather, he spends his time with the poor, the oppressed, and the 'sinners.' Not only does he spend his time with them, he also shares their fate. He comes poor, homeless, and oppressed — and is even, at the end of it, put to death because the religious and political leaders don't like what he is doing. Thus, Jesus is the revelation of God with those of us who are in the same situation today. Here is God in solidarity with all who are poor and all who are sinful.
Even more incredibly, Jesus' solidarity with us doesn't stop with his death. Indeed, in between his death and resurrection, Christians believe that Jesus descended into hell in order to set free all who were held captive there. This means that Jesus even shares the fate of those who are damned, and abandoned by God. As odd as it sounds, Jesus becomes the revelation of God with the godforsaken (note, then, his cry from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” [Mk 15.34]). Thus, this means that there is no one among us outside of the company and love of Jesus. No matter how awful we think we are, no matter how many times we feel we have damned ourselves to hell, and no matter how many times we have been told by others we are going there, Jesus is still with us, revealing that God still loves us.
Of course, Jesus didn't stay dead, nor did he stay in hell, but God raised him to new life, and thus we see that the love of God, revealed in Jesus, is a powerful love. It is a love that overcomes hell, death, and all the other religious and political powers that seek to take away our lives and our joy, by continuing to define us as 'sinners.'
This, then, is why the Christian New Year begins with Advent, with Jesus, God has begun to make everything new — you, me, and the rest of creation, and so we celebrate this by making Advent the start of a new year. We celebrate the good news of Jesus Christ, we celebrate the forgiveness of sins, we celebrate Jesus as Emmanuel, God-with-us, and we celebrate Jesus' victory over all things, which means we are, here and now, free from all things that oppress us.
The problem with this is that we don't seem to be free. We still suffer sickness. We are still imprisoned. We are still oppressed by religious and political powers. We are still in bondage and enslaved by things like addiction and debt.
So where does this leave us? First of all, it leaves us in a place of hope and joyful expectation. Although we are still sick, all our wounds will one day be healed. Although we are still oppressed, those who oppress us will one day be overthrown. Although we are still in bondage, we will one day be set free. Although we are still suffering, one day God will wipe all the tears from our eyes. Although we are still homeless, one day God will welcome us into the home he has prepared for us.
Secondly, this also means that we are free to offer liberation and forgiveness to one another. Remember how I said that Jesus didn't just tell people they were forgiven, but also enacted that forgiveness by treating others as equals and as those beloved by God? Well, we can do the same thing. Because Christ has already won the victory we can also embody forgiveness in the same way that Jesus embodied it. We can eat together, drink together, party together, and treat each other, not as sinners and as those who are damned, but as God's beloved and as equals.
So, in a moment, we will do a little eating, drinking, and partying together, by sharing in the body and blood of Christ. However, before we do that, I would like us to spend some time in prayer for healing, freedom and release to come here and now. If you are sick, if you are oppressed, if you are in bondage, if you feel as though you are damned, there is good news! Christ has set us free from these things, he will set us free from these things, and he can set us free from these things even now.
Let's pray.

For [Christ’s] sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as shit, in order that I may gain Christ.
~ Phil 3.8
For all of us have become like one who is unclean,
And all our righteous deeds are like bloody menstrual rags.
~ Is 64.6
She [i.e. Jerusalem, who represents the Southern Kingdom of Israel] lusted after lovers who were hung like donkeys and ejaculated like horses.
~ Ez 23.20.
Generally, when the topic of swearing is addressed by Christians, an appeal is made to certain passages that talk about controlling the tongue, avoiding cursing, and speaking only ‘wholesome’ words. Here are three examples:
But no one can tame the tongue; it is a restless evil and full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father; and with it we curse men, who have been made in the likeness of God; from the same mouth come both blessing and cursing, my brothers and sisters, these things ought not to be this way. (Ja 3.8-10).
Their [i.e. the unrighteous] throat is an open grave. With their tongues they keep deceiving, the poison of asps is under their lips; whose mouth is full of cursing and bitterness (Ro 3.13-14).
Let no unwholesome word proceed from your mouth but only such a word as is good for edification according to the need of the moment, that it may give grace to those who hear (Eph 4.29).
From passages like these, the general conclusion that contemporary Christians draw is that all swearing, and all vulgar speech, should be thoroughly avoided and thoroughly condemned. Unfortunately, such a conclusion is drawn much too hastily and neglects the broader witness of Scripture (which is frequently watered-down by our modern English translations). When we read Scripture more carefully we notice that tensions arise because the biblical authors seem to be quite comfortable using ‘swear words’ and vulgar language to make their points at various times. Thus, Paul, who counsels against unwholesome language in Eph 4, isn’t afraid to describe everything else as “shit” compared to what he gains in Christ in Phil 3. Furthermore, Isaiah isn’t afraid to use language that was both vulgar and offensive, and Ezekiel, the most vulgar of all, is actually quoting the word of the Lord in the citation provided above. This means that even God uses rather foul language within Scripture! Indeed, Scripture as a witness to the word of God makes it clear that sometimes God doesn’t hesitate to swear and to use vulgar and offensive language.
So how are we to negotiate this tension in Scripture?
First, we need to be clear about the sort of swearing and cursing that Scripture condemns. Scripturally, cursing was understood in three ways (1) as taking God’s name in vain (e.g. “Jesus H. Christ!”); (2) as slandering others (e.g. “You’re a piece of shit!”); and (3) as wishing evil on others (e.g. “go to hell!”). Christians should never engage in any swearing or vulgar language that falls within these three categories — and it means that other words and other names that we use for people are just as wrong as our traditional ‘swear words.’
Secondly, apart from that threefold understanding of cursing, Scripture also shows us that there are times when it is both okay and appropriate to curse or use vulgar language. Indeed, at times cursing can be the best way to speak a word that is “good for edification according to the need of the moment” (Eph 4). A well-known example of this would be Tony Campolo’s famous talk about poverty statistics, wherein he concludes that the thing that troubles him the most is that “Christians just don’t give a shit.” Having personally heard him deliver that talk, I can confidently say that such a well placed ‘swear word’ did a fine job of both awakening and convicting his audience. I’ve also seen how a well placed ‘swear word’ can do a fine job of demonstrating empathy with those who are suffering. Sometimes, when people share their traumas with us, the most caring thing we can do is say, “Man, that’s fucked up” instead of brushing them aside with some throw-away remark about God being in control or whatever.
Ultimately, the most troubling aspect of the swearing debate is that not-swearing has become such a central marker of what it means to live Christianly in the public realm. Such a watered-down Christian public presence is devastating to both the Church and the world. Christians should be revealed in the public realm by the tangible ways in which they care for one another and for the disadvantaged, and not by the observation that they say ‘dang’ instead of ‘damn,’ ‘poo’ instead of ‘shit’ and ‘frig’ instead of ‘fuck.’ Indeed, when Christians publicly define themselves in this way, they have simply capitulated to a bourgeois morality, and middle-class sensibilities. It is that morality and those sensibilities which arbitrarily determine which words are allowable in public discourse, and it disallows a good many words, in part, to take away the voice from those (like the lower classes) who often have not had the opportunity to learn another language. Isaiah’s condemnation of the Jewish leaders, which is picked up and applied by Jesus to the religious leaders in his day, are just as applicable to us:
This people honours me with their lips, but their heart is far away from me. But in vain they worship me, teaching as doctrines the precepts of men (cf. Mt 15.1-9).
This means a few things. First of all, it means that we should be lot more comfortable around swearing and so-called vulgar language. When that is the only language that some people have learned, we should be open and receptive to hearing what they have to say in that language. After all, this comfort is also reflected in Scripture. Scripture records events wherein vulgar language used in ways that it condemns, but it doesn’t feel that it has to water things down in its presentation of those events (think, for example, of the advice given to king Rehoboam in 1 Ki 12.10 — we might miss it in our translations but the young men advise the king to tell the people that his little finger is bigger than his father’s penis!).
Secondly, that we can sometimes swear and use vulgar language does not simply mean that we are free to go around swearing like sailors, or engaging in any and every sort of vulgar talk. Our swearing and vulgar speech must be done in an edifying manner, just as the swearing and vulgar speech of the biblical authors (and of God!) is done in this way. Thus, for example, although I swear much more frequently around my ‘street-involved’ friends, I swear much less frequently around my ‘church’ friends. Sometimes it is worth picking your battles, and although God frequently doesn’t give a fuck about swearing, he does want us to be sensitive to our ‘weaker’ brothers and sisters (here, I can’t help but think that the advice Paul gives about eating food offered to idols is rather comparable to the issue of swearing [cf. Ro 14; 1 Cor 8]). Of course, even around our brothers and sisters, sometimes a well-placed swear word might be the best thing we have to offer.