Note: This post is adapted from a sermon I first delivered at Bethany Bible Chapel in Winchendon, MA on July 3, 2022. It follows the outline of the sermon on every point but is not verbatim what I said in the initial delivery; the message was also originally taught from the ESV but has been switched to NASB here.

While some people who know me on Facebook may expect differently, it has been about 15 years since I was last punched in the face. That time, it was by my ex-fiancée; she had been led to believe by some people who didn't like me (admittedly, for good reason) that I had been cheating on her. I hadn't, but at the moment when that right hook connected, that didn't really matter. What mattered in that moment was that she really believed it, and through her actions, I was finally convinced that she really believed it. The reason for this is actually pretty simple: we act in accordance with our beliefs. That is, our behavior displays what we really believe, whether we intend to or not.

The epistle of James is heavily focused on this. James wrote his preserved letter to believers who already understood the gospel. This letter doesn't deal heavily with the basics of the faith or how to understand salvation; his concern is what they're doing about it. The passage we're looking at today is essentially a summary of the whole book in that it condenses a lot of these concerns into one neat little package.

What does it mean to say that this faith can't save? Every commentary I consulted in preparing this message had something to say on this matter, always addressing a stated concern that Paul taught a salvation of faith and James taught a salvation of works. How these commentaries addressed this was usually something along the lines of recognizing that Paul and James aren't contradicting each other because they aren't talking about the same thing. Where Paul in Romans is focused on the gospel as the basis of establishment in maturity, and therefore concerning himself with the means of salvation when talking about faith and works, James is presenting the results of establishing one's maturity on the gospel, and is therefore concerning himself with the effects of salvation when talking about faith and works. We have to understand this distinction when reading James; we read it through the lens of understanding what salvation looks like as it plays out in our lives, not how we enter into it in the first place. And James is very concerned with how it plays out in our relations to one another. In fact, the passage cited above is sort of the climax of James' condemnation of partiality. I summarized the section before it for time concerns when preaching this message, but I'll include the actual text here because I can:

James has, for some time now in the letter, been calling out the practice of treating some people in the body better than others. This is especially focused on the treatment of the poor as compared to the rich; James expresses grave concern about the church treating the rich better simply because they are rich, and will go on later in the letter to attack accumulated wealth in one of the most inflamed condemnations of the entire Bible. We can tell from James' examples in today's passage, in which he primarily focuses on the treatment of those who lack as examples, that this is still part of that condemnation. James is declaring here that our behavior, especially toward one another, is a gospel issue.

Now, I've mentioned this before, but it bears reminder here: when I and others call something a gospel issue, we are not saying that this issue is the content of the gospel. That is, when someone says that our approach to racial reconciliation or sexual abuse is a gospel issue, they aren't saying that Christ came to save us primarily from inequality or assault, as it is sometimes framed by its critics. What we're saying when we reference something as a gospel issue is that it is an issue that reveals what we believe about the gospel. James is saying that in today's passage, that our treatment of others reveals what we believe about the gospel. And Jesus said the same in the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats. In the parable, people are sorted 'like sheep from goats,' and each is given their due reward and an explanation on why they're receiving what they are. For example,

Jesus declares that the evidence of whether they belonged among the sheep or  the goats wasn't in lofty words or fancy theological training or their volunteer hours at church. He is answering on their behalf a series of questions that he treats as pretty fundamental to the issue at hand:

• When I was hungry, did you give me food?
• When I was thirsty, did you give me drink?
• When I was a stranger, did you welcome me?
• When I was naked, did you clothe me?
• When I was sick or in prison, did you visit me?

He makes it very clear that the answers to these questions matter. In both cases, those receiving reward as well as those receiving punishment, the addressed parties express confusion. Both ask when they ever saw Jesus in these situations, when they ever had the opportunity to act in accordance with these questions. And Jesus tells both of them "to the extent that you did (or did not) do it to one of the least of these, you did (or did not) do it to me" (Matthew 25:40,45; NASB). By their actions, the people in the parable displayed whether or not they had love for one another, but that wasn't all. Jesus tells us, by delivering this parable, that this very same behavior reveals whether or not we have love for Him. The answer to those questions, as it concerns "even the least of these my brothers," is the very same answer as it concerns Him. But how does this work?

This may sound a bit controversial, but hear me out: our actions are determined by what we believe, not by what is true. For example, I can say with certainty that it is true that Jesus rose from the grave. The historical accounts for this event meet or surpass the standards to be taken as serious historical evidence, the nature of the accounts themselves have elements that lend them credibility, and the timing lines up with what we would expect for first-hand accounts. I could go into detail, but that isn't the point right now. The point right now is that people who don't believe it's true don't act like it's true. Maybe they deny the supernatural and their actions reflect a belief in naturalism. Maybe they deny that Christ is God, and their actions display that they are not fundamentally considering Christ in their decision-making processes. Whatever it is, the actions of those who do not believe in the resurrection are defined in some measure by the fact that they don't believe it. The fact that the claim is true isn't enough to change the behavior of everyone who comes in contact with that truth; the truth of the resurrection does not, by itself, change our behavior, but our belief in the resurrection does.

As such, our actions serve as evidence of what we believe. Our words are an inferior proof in this regard. After all, we can lie about what we believe. We can even lie to ourselves. Titus is warned by Paul about false teachers that "They profess to know God, but by their deeds they deny Him, being detestable and disobedient and worthless for any good deed" (Titus 1:16, NASB). James touches on this same idea in our passage, when he says "What use is it, my brethren, if someone says he has faith but he has no works;" note here that he doesn't say "what good is it that he has faith," but rather, "what use is it if he says he has faith" (James 2:14, NASB). James isn't even comparing faith and works, he's showing that an empty statement of faith is not sufficient evidence that said faith exists! Works serve as evidence of what faith exists, and I don't mean big showy works. My standing at the pulpit and preaching isn't the kind of evidence God is looking for, and Jesus goes so far as to say that even miracles aren't enough on their own.

The will of the Father is not a matter of mighty works or big displays, but rather the daily knowing and being known. After all,

It's for this reason that I haven't historically liked Valentine's Day or the later addition, Sweetest's Day. I'm not anti-romance or anything, but I don't like the idea of being told I need to go big on the same day as everyone else. More so than that, though, I don't like the implication that a big showy practice on a scheduled interval is we show love. I firmly believe that if Carol and I relied on an annual ritual to prove our love, we'd be doomed. That stuff is nice, it's fine to do it, but if it exists in a vacuum it actually proves the opposite. If I can't muster up any energy to display my love outside of circumstances where I'm being pressured to do so, it sends the message that I don't actually have any love dwelling in me for her. It's the daily life, the love shown bit by bit, day by day, hour by hour; it's the life of love that proves love, not the holidays of love.

Similarly, it is the daily walking with God that displays our love for Him. In my previous Sunday morning message at this church, I referenced the then-current sermon series about the heart of Christ and said that the point of so much of what we were saying was to take the things we learn about the nature of Christ and behave as though they are fundamental truths of the universe. That all of creation, including us, is defined by the very heart of who Christ is. This happens by way of a growing relationship with Him, in which we make decisions in service to Him. Loving Him above all and loving others in that is essential to our walk as Christians, and it will be displayed in our actions toward one another. James warns, "If a brother or sister is without clothing and in need of daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace, be warmed and be filled,' and yet you do not give them what is necessary for their body, what use is that?" because a faith that is fixed on God will draw us closer, not only to Him, but to those who bear His image (James 2:15-16, NASB).

It can go the other way, as well. Actions that do not glorify or serve God are evidence of faith that is not fixed on Him. One of the things we need to keep in mind here is that we each have some areas in which there is room to grow. None of us are perfect; even if our lives in general point to a faith fixed on God, we have some element in our lives that is still skewed, whether by holding onto it for ourselves or being just a little wrong about who God is in that matter. That which we believe can be our undoing just as easily as they can help us grow, and even one area of false faith in our lives will impact our general behavior. Jude warns about this, though he's mostly focused on false teachers and therefore on a pattern of behavior that displays a whole life rooted in something other than Christ, when he says that "...these men revile the things which they do not understand; and the things which they know by instinct, like unreasoning animals, by these things they are destroyed" (Jude 1:10, NASB). Our actions are the means by which the immediate fruit of our beliefs are realized in our lives. But we need to discuss why that is.

In my church, we do a communal scripture reading during a part of the service that happens before the sermon, and whoever is preaching that Sunday selects the passage to be read. On the Sunday when I first preached this message, I asked for the reading to be the entire third chapter of 1 John. John tends to follow more cyclical logical paths than Paul and James, so throughout the chapter (and the epistle) there's a degree to which he's saying the same thing over and over again in different ways; but what he's saying in this epistle strongly mirrors what James is saying in our text, and this message is highly apparent in chapter 3. Consider the parallels between the James passage and this from 1 John 3:

I would encourage you to read that whole chapter as related to this concept, but for now I'd actually like to highlight a verse a couple chapters later.

If we have true faith, it will be made manifest in our lives. By submitting to Christ, we overcome the world; we are no longer bound by its sinful nature, we are no longer subject to its whims and passions, we are free in the way only the victorious can be free from that which they've defeated. This new state, this nature of being one who has overcome, is manifested in the keeping of God's commandments. But not as a burden! A heart aligned toward God will have a natural inclination to move toward Him and to act in a manner that pleases Him, and what pleases Him and makes up the bulk of His commandments is love for Him and love for His image-bearers, especially those of His family. This isn't a demand that we are struggling to meet, it isn't a weight we are being forced to carry. When our hearts change, our desires and drive will change, and that will shape our behavior. We can determine if a heart is oriented toward God by whether or not that heart is producing fruit that glorifies God. In contrast, James warns us in 2:17 that a dead faith cannot stir the heart to action. The warning is presented as a question, "can that faith save him?," but it's a very stern question. And John provides an equally stern answer:

That is, if our 'faith' is so weak that it cannot stir our hearts to love the person next to us, the person we can see and touch, the person whose pain we can directly witness and understand, the person who struggles daily against the same sinful worldly systems as we do, how can it possible move us to love God? God knows our pain intimately, but we barely know His. How many of us sat with Jesus, ate with His disciples, heard His laugh and rested our heads against His shoulder? Will a heart be moved more strongly by stories about someone than by experiencing life with someone? James goes so far on this basis as to suggest that faith without works doesn't even deserve to be called faith. In verse 18, he challenges those who will not put their faith into practice to follow through; he asks for proof of faith without works. But there's no way to show faith if it isn't impacting anything! It's like asking someone to show you the wind without allowing the wind to push against anything. How can you possibly say there is wind when it affects nothing? By definition, if wind is not moving and pushing against anything (even the air itself), is it even wind? Categorically, no. And faith is the same way. Hebrews 11:1 tells us that faith is, categorically, evidence and conviction. And these have real world results; if one will not act in accordance with their convictions, it stands as evidence that they do not hold those convictions. What James is doing here is highlighting the impossibility of faith being knowable, even the possibility of faith being real, if it has no works.

If our faith is not moving us along the path highlighted by John, that of growing in our service to God's commandments and manifesting His love ever more, then it simply is not faith. Or at least, it isn't faith in Christ Jesus. One can have faith in many things, but if that thing is the God of the Bible, these results being discussed by James and John will be the fruit of it. James is helpful here, in that he provides some examples, and these examples are expanded upon and added to by the writer of Hebrews. James highlights Abraham and Rahab; the former is discussed in more detail in Hebrews 11:8-10 and 11:18-29, while the latter is addressed in Hebrews 11:31. They are, in Hebrews, listed among a collection of examples, people who held great faith, and whose faith was proven by their works. The examples we have of faith throughout scripture are people whose faith drove them to action. In every case, they believed God was going to do something or had done something, and they acted in accordance with that belief. The chapter highlights not only great and major decisions made in faith, but consistent daily life spent in light of God's nature, God's works, and God's promises. This is boiled down in Matthew 8, where in verse 10 Jesus declares a centurion as having more faith than He had seen in all of Israel. But what showed Him that faith? Simply put, a man who recognized Christ's authority, understood who Christ was in daily terms that impacted his life, and acted in full confidence of what Jesus would do.

There's a process to this, so let's break down how it works with an example from my own life. The first step is that our beliefs about the truth of the world inform how we process information. We decide who and what we're going to trust, and how we will analyze new data, based on the beliefs we already have about the world and the bigger picture. I'm habitually anti-authority, and while God has softened my heart toward those in authority, my natural inclination still isn't exactly instant trust. This became glaringly relevant the first time I was arrested. I was 13, got attacked in art class over a misunderstanding paired with a bad day, was arrested for fighting in school, the details aren't important right now. What is important is that the police officer who sat across from my parents and me explained that he knew I hadn't actually broken the law, every witness' testimony lined up on that fact, but it had been determined that it was better to charge me anyway so ensure the department would not get accused of racism, seeing as the young man who attacked me was black and I wasn't. He assured us that this was a thing that happened from time to time and they therefore knew the court would throw out the charges and everything would be fine; he was right in that regard, the court did throw out my case and I was never in trouble, and the family of the young man who attacked me accused the court of racism for punishing their kid but not me.

So the idea was that I wouldn't get in trouble, the police would look squeaky-clean, the kid who attacked me gets punished, and everyone wins. Based on conversations with my parents since then, I'm under the impression they very much accepted that answer as the best way to navigate a complicated situation. As I said, they had ample evidence as the situation continued to unfold that the officer was right about how the situation would be seen and how best to offer some measure of satisfaction without putting me at undue risk. I, however, did not. What I heard in that explanation was that the police were, on a systemic level, putting their image as a higher priority than their actual job. That they were more concerned with looking like they were practicing justice than in actually practicing justice. As the officer's worldview made him think he was explaining a reasonable compromise for a broken world, and the worldview of my parents made them hear a reasonable compromise for a broken world, my worldview made me hear a confession of repeated offenses against my community. While my parents thought about how much pressure that officer must have been under and how complicated the situation was and worried whether or not the judge would follow through on the officer's promise, my head was elsewhere. How many people, I wondered, had been thrown under the bus before me? How many of them didn't get their cases thrown out like mine was? How many people were in prison, or had criminal records, or were now dead because it was easier and more important to maintain the image the police were after than to do right by them?

Now, I'm not actually advocating for my position in this post, and I wasn't in the sermon. I've done that elsewhere and certainly will again, but the point here isn't whether or you agree with me or my parents. It's why you agree with who you found yourself agreeing with. The point is that, as you were reading that story, some things stood out as more reasonable than others. Some things clicked easier, some people sounded like they were being more fair to the circumstances than others did. That's what I'm trying to highlight. That moment where your mind began to interpret the story through the lens of what you already believed, that's how this works. We process information based at least in part by a system of credibility we establish based on our existing beliefs about the world and how it works. And then, once we've processed the information, the information we have deemed as credible informs how we make decisions. That event (and others) formed a long-standing distrust of police in my mind, and that distrust manifests in how I handle encounters with police. But that's not limited to isolated encounters, because how we make decisions and the bulk of our decisions shape our daily lives. How I view cops is evident in how I drive, how I vote, how I talk to my kids about the law. There is a fair chance that my anti-authoritarian mindset, by shaping how I interpreted that one situation, will not only prove to shape my whole life, but the lives of generations after me. And this is true of all of us, and it is true of every belief we hold. They all impact our behavior in this way, and by doing so, they all shape every day of our lives. Even if we try to act differently without changing those beliefs, it will break down. The consequences of our beliefs will find a way to show through, even when we don't realize it. There will be cracks, and people who know how to recognize the beliefs at play will see them glowing bright and clear through those cracks.*

We would be wise to remember that God always knows how to recognize the beliefs at play and sees all our cracks.

The result of all of this is that we can't simply "fake it til we make it." We don't rely on our own strength or willpower to behave in a manner that glorifies Christ, and the goal of sermons and posts and books aiming to help us on our walk with Christ, if they are handled properly, never seek to put pressure on us to just do better. I told the church during this sermon that I, the lead pastor, and the other regular preacher at our church are concerned with helping the church, including ourselves, live our lives in a manner that more clearly displays God's love and glory, but none of us are under the impression we can push people to any sustainable actions that will accomplish that. Sermons there and posts here are fundamentally invitations for all of us to examine our beliefs. The fact is that the only way to produce a life that glorifies God is to constantly have God before us and examine ourselves for places where we are not believing rightly about Him. As we know Christ more clearly and seek after Him more fervently, change will happen in our lives. The more we align our hearts and minds with the truth of who God is, the more our lives will reflect Him. The goal here is to ensure that our instinctive means of interpretation is who Christ is, and submit to the process by which God changes our lives through that lens.

Having Christ as our interpretive lens is more than just knowing things about Him. James ends our passage with a warning to that effect, when he says "You believe that God is one. You do well; the demons also believe, and shudder" (James 2:19, NASB). One commentary I consulted pointed out that the faith of demons is better than the faith of some of us, because they at least know God well enough to shudder.  That is, they have enough awareness of who He is and who they are and what that means for them to recognize the end result of that interaction; but even that is not enough faith to bring about any change in them. But this shouldn't be so for us!

We have the mind of Christ! By submitting to Him and becoming a new creation, we have available to us the true interpretive lens for all of reality, the very mind of the God who knows all and sees all, who dwells in us and leads us. And this perspective is alien to the world, the ways of Christ stand out against the ways of mankind. If we are living this out, truly living it out, we will begin to look strange in the sight of the natural world around us. So we need to ask ourselves some hard questions. How much of what drives our reactions to things are cultural pressures, put onto us by families, friends, our environment, our affiliations, and other social sources? How much are we actually trusting Christ to guide our minds and actions? Are we living like we have the mind of Christ? Do we look like little Christs in our contexts, or do we look like the natural product of our contexts? Our behavior is a relatively easy means of analysis, both self-analysis and the analysis we open ourselves to by entering into the family environment of the local church. Our behavior will always reveal the truth of what's happening inside us, eventually.

I used to have a Nissan Truck. It was old enough that that was its name on the title: Nissan Truck. I was delivering pizzas with it one day when I suddenly found myself sitting at an usual angle, facing significantly more upward than I was before. The truck was making a weird noise, as well, so I pulled over and checked it, and found that the frame had rusted through and snapped right where the cab met the bed. I pulled it all back together using zip ties, and used some electrical tape to close up the severed fuel line. And from the outside, for the rest of that delivery, it looked fine. But it was very apparent in the driving of it, and with even a cursory examination, that it was very broken. Sometimes we want to be like that, just make it look good and ride it out til glory, but that doesn't work. We can't prop up our lack of faith with empty works or even empty knowledge. Sin rusts us to our core, and we need a new frame. Too many of us are trying to drive around on zip ties and tape, and it's time we honestly face how little that helps us.

If you're reading this, and you've been treating the Christian life or social morality or ethics or even some other faith as a checklist that you think will save you, it's time to stop. You need to repent, recognize Christ for who He truly is, and place your trust fully in Him. Lay down whatever it is in your mind that tells you to interpret discussions like this as anything you can or should do to fix yourself, and lean on Him to change you on a fundamental level.

If you've already done that, if you've recognized your need of Christ and submitted to Him, then you need to take stock. have you fully given yourself over to Him, or are you still trying to hold on to rusty pieces? We need to always be looking to the person of Christ and our beliefs about Him, examining how well we reflect Him. And this side of eternity, there will always be something where we're lacking, where we're a bit off the mark. We need to identify those places where we don't quite look like Christ, where we don't have a natural draw to glorify Him more, and take things like this post as an invitation to ask why. What belief am I holding that doesn't align with the truth of who God is? Don't beat yourself up, don't try to force a new behavior; take a step back and examine your beliefs. Where are our hearts and habits leading us? Any place in our lives where we are not being drawn closer to God is a place that needs examined.

Our works cannot save us; they are, rather, a declaration of what has been done in the core of our being by God by His grace through our faith. We do not change ourselves, but we submit to His changing power. And the result of this is that we will practice the good works He has intended for us. So let us be a people who are trusting God enough to walk in His power down the strange paths he has for us, now and forevermore.

* - For the record, this is the essential claim behind things like microaggressions and casual racism/sexism/antisemitism/etc. The idea is that those who hold institutional power in some way are trained by their social structures themselves to view those who do not hold that same power as inferior, through various ideas that are embedded in one's worldviews. These ideas then filter through into individual words and actions across one's daily lives, and that the act of trying to resist the effects of those ideas (the stuff we quickly identify as racism, like lynch mobs) without changing those ideas themselves will still result in little signs of those ideas showing up in one's words and actions in ways the racist/sexist/etc. person does not recognize as wrong but the target of those ideas is intimately familiar with.

What follows was originally a paper completed as part of my studies through the Antioch School. The objective of this assignment was to demonstrate that I had "developed a biblical definition for missionary and missionary work as taught in Acts."

Our church is going through this lesson series, and we're currently in a section where we're talking about the church and the function of the church and how members should relate to the church. It's pretty good stuff, and has been very helpful for us in refocusing our priorities and determining what's next for us. The passage above was the heart of last night's lesson, and we spent a good while talking about it and exploring what it means and how it relates to the lesson series at large and how its context informs that understanding, and something specific really popped out to me in the midst of that conversation and reading. It's about where we center our priorities and sense of purpose.

Note the passage that opened this article. It's part of a larger discussion on living lives that honor God, but note the communal nature of it. Throughout Ephesians chapters 4 & 5, Paul constantly ties the things he's saying to a group context. He talks about "bearing one another in love" (4:2), "equipping of the saints for the work of ministry, for the building up of the body of Christ" (4:12); tells us to "SPEAK TRUTH EACH ONE OF YOU WITH HIS NEIGHBOR, because we are parts of one another" (4:25), "be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you" (4:32), "walk in love" (5:2). Why? So that we, "being fitted and held together by what every joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in love" (4:16).

See, the thing is, it's easy for us to think about our involvement in the body in terms that focus on us as individuals. We so often talk about the Christian life as though we are solitary cups that need to sit alone to be refilled, and then we can bless others with the excess that pours out of us. Or as batteries, that get plugged into the body to give it what energy we have, but then have to be unplugged and sent to recharge so we have something to bring when we return. And there is a certain sense in which this is true; we all have our own lives and we bring to the body that which is unique about us. We do not, however, primarily grow in isolation. When the New Testament addresses the Christian life, it addresses bodies of believers. It addresses churches, and expects them not only to grow together, but to grow because they are together. We do not grow in isolation any more than a finger can grow when separated from the body. Our priority, if we are to be the body we have been called to be, must be other-focused.

Allow me to paint a different picture.

The study we're doing has a section where it cites various scholars talking about the passage at hand. One of those scholars was Howard Snyder, and in the midst of his statement from The Community of the King he quotes Karl Barth (from Bromiley's translation of Church Dogmatics) as saying, "I can edify myself only as I edify the community." This stood out to me as distinct from the way I've been taught to think of edification, but aligned well with how scripture treats the subject. But what does it mean to be edified only as we edify the community? What does it mean to grow only as we grow together?

The image that came to my mind as we discussed it last night was one of a circuit board. See, the parts of the circuit work specifically because they're connected. They all do different things and they serve the whole in different ways and maybe even at different times, but they are all part of the same circuit. And being part of the same circuit is not only preferred, it is required. The thing about body analogies (which, admittedly, was probably the best image available to Paul at the time) is that it's easy to note that the eye can continue to work as designed even if the hand has been cut off; but this isn't true of the church, and it isn't true of a circuit. In the case of the hand, the hand suffers complete loss by being separated from the body, and the body suffers the loss of a single function but continues on working in general. In the case of a circuit, breaking the circuit at any point shuts the whole operation down. The pieces are interdependent. It doesn't matter how close an LED is to the power source, if the circuit is broken at a missing transistor twenty connections away, the circuit is broken, and the light will not shine.

The church is not a collection of individuals, each empowered by the Holy Spirit and thus made greater than the sum of its parts when brought together. The church is a circuit, with each part energized by the Holy Spirit because the Holy Spirit is energizing the whole. He does live in us individually, and unlike a circuit component we can learn some in private reading and prayer, but the design for us as Christians and the way we are expected to function is as a community, working together and supporting one another in all that we do. We must prioritize the ways we connect and help keep the circuit working over our private edification if we're ever going to be effective at the mission. My phone will not work properly, will not have any ability to serve its purpose well, if I started taking pieces out of the motherboard. If I expected the components to do their work apart from the whole.

In what ways are we prioritizing ourselves over our communities? In what way can we put the health and mission of the church as higher than our own personal calling, and align our lives to serve in the way we're designed? Are we taking seriously that we are a part of a whole, and have we considered what that means for the way we spend our time, the way we exercise our gifts, the way we relate to one another?

Until one died of old age (and a rough life) a couple months ago, we had two cats, which we got at the same time from the same shelter. Both were considered special cases and, even though there was a line out the door because it was a mass adoption event, we had no conflict or objections in taking them both. One, who we named Cullen, was 10 years old, had spent some unknown amount of time living on the street, and had to receive a number of medical procedures during his time at the shelter to make sure he would be okay. The other, who we named Cassandra (but usually call Cass or Cassie), was almost a year old and therefore should have been in high demand; however, she was the product of inbreeding and had some neurological and physical problems which we were warned may or may not become major issues later on. The major impact of her neurological issues is that, while she clearly wants attention and loves people, she was incredibly skittish and her behavior was described as "she doesn't really know how to be a cat."

This was actually a big part of why we got both of them. We would have been very happy with either alone, each for their own reasons, but we specifically wanted both of them. The logic was that having an older cat who knows how to interact with the world and with people, and has a grasp on general cat behaviors, would help Cassie adjust; while having a younger cat to look after and play with would help Cullen stay active and healthy.

Some of the things Cass needed to learn from him were just social cues, but over the time Cullen was with us, he also seems to have taught her necessities like how to hunt. She didn't learn everything exactly the way he does it, but she clearly picked things up from him. Like how Cullen was very fond of headbutting me and rubbing our foreheads together as a form of social connection; she has not acquired that specific behavior and I doubt she will now, but after watching him do that she has taken a habit of leaning her face close to mine so we can sniff at each other for an apparently similar end.

The fact is, no one in our house was ever going to be able to teach Cass some of these behaviors ourselves. She would have, I'm sure, found some way to engage with us that worked for everyone involved, but it would have been alien to us as previous cat owners and stressful for her to figure it out on her own. And there's no guarantee she would have picked up everything. Maybe she would have taken an interest in hunting mice all on her own (a very valuable skill for our old house in the forest), but we certainly would not have ever been able to help her do that, let alone do it well. There are probably countless little daily behaviors that she picked up from Cullen, some necessary to her well-being but completely unnoticed by us, that we would have never known how to handle or been in a position to teach if we had.

A couple years ago I was talking with a friend who was finishing his ministry training in something similar to a church internship. His congregation was mostly older, and he was looking for some way to get them active in his community while accepting their limitations, and asked me if I had any thoughts. After gaining some information about his congregation and the community from him, I suggested that he reach out to a local college's campus ministry and see if they would be interested in an arrangement where his congregation served as mentors and the young Christians helped with church activities that the congregation wasn't up to doing. After he asked me to explain the mentor relationship I had in mind a bit more, he told me he was certain the pastor he was working under would not take well to the notion that some Christians are more mature in their walk than others.

I called myself a Christian for most of my life, but never really knew what that meant until a pastor in Boston started actively investing in me. He asked me tough questions about my life and faith, met with me to discuss application, gave me resources that I needed, and treated me as more of a son than a random face he saw every week. It was in his church that I began actually feeling the gravity of the teachings I had believed, and for the first time in my life I spent time actually fighting against this body of sin; it was shortly after moving away from that church, at my lowest point, that I finally fully submitted to Christ. This was a step I was not ready to take until someone realized how lost I still was and made a point of showing me the way.

One of the ministries that seem the hardest to put into place in churches today seems to be discipleship ministries. Which is a shame, because we are all, in our earliest days as Christians, very much like Cass was when she was brought home. New to this life, excited about living it out but not really knowing how to do it, and in need of guidance from someone who has experience in the daily grind of the Christian life as well as some of the hardships that arise in it. Even as we mature and wrestle with deeper theology or a wider range of practical concerns, we still find ourselves needing someone who has already been to this part of the road, who has made it through, who is just that little bit further along. We all, at every stage of our Christian walk, need a Cullen.

The Bible describes the Christian life as one of growth and maturity. We start out looking very much like the world we just came out of, with old habits still clinging to us and not accustomed to thinking of the world in a Christian framework. This is expected for that stage of development, but we aren't meant to stay there. I've addressed before that the general epistles were frequently written to people who were expected to be able to discern the difference between true and false teachers, not only by glaring theological deviations, but by subtle behaviors and even intentions. In the passage cited above, the author of Hebrews compares his readers to little children, not yet ready for the meat of truth. This concept of spiritual children is not uncommon in the New Testament; Jesus spoke fondly of children and the need for us to look to Him as children, Paul calls Timothy his "true child in the faith," and the epistles of John consistently refer to his readers as his children, even when he acknowledges that there are elders among them.

One thing this current pandemic has made clear to me is that we, as the church in America, do not have a rich understanding of what discipleship looks like, and this is because we do not give it the importance it deserves. This is, as I mentioned above, not a new concern, but consider how the pandemic has made it more glaring. We were forced into a situation where we had to decide what was most important about our functions as a church. The things we put the most effort into continuing to do in the current environment show not only what we think church is for, but what defines the Christian life. And what have those things, by and large, been? Sure, there is some variety church-to-church, but I'm talking about the large-scale trends. In what basket have we put all our eggs?

The Sunday morning sermon.

This has been the one constant, and make no mistake, it is an important thing. Of the things we do on the average Sunday morning, I would argue it should take precedent. If we are only able to do one thing from our normal Sunday morning services, it should be the preaching. But if we are only going to do one thing total? If we are going to push against government orders and demand that we be free to exercise the function of the church as declared by God? That should be personal discipleship.* After all, in the Great Commission which guides the function and purposes of churches and Christians in the world, teaching was presented as one aspect of making disciples rather than a distinct and superior task. Even those parts of scripture that seem to elevate the role of teachers do so in the context of their service to the body.

What does it look like to elevate the members who have the lowest number, or at least lowest visible number, and least showy of gifts? What does it look like to put the last first? What does it look like to aim our mission at those considered the least in the church, the least mature, the least skilled, the least educated, the least eloquent? It means turning our eyes away from the man in the pulpit long enough to see each other, and in doing so, invest in one another and build one another up and teach among ourselves what it looks like to live this Christian life. To have, as our daily behavior, to be both someone's Cullen and someone's Cass. The sermon is crucial, it has a necessary place in the Christian life, but it is little more than a single weekly tool designed to support a lifestyle of direct, personal discipleship. But have we done that? How many of our churches put the same effort into making pandemic-suited small groups and facilitating the direct growth of individual members as we put into getting our sermons on Facebook Live? Full confession, I didn't. Not at first.

Did Jesus stand before large crowds and explain the scriptures for them? Yes. Is this how He built His church? No. That was through personal relationships in which He walked with people for years, showing them what life He was calling them to, explaining things they were ready to understand, calling them to active participation in His ministry. We have letters to Timothy, but is that method of teaching how he became Paul's spiritual child? No, that was through Timothy's time spent traveling with Paul, watching how he worked and lived, actively taking part in the mission. Were His final and ultimate orders to His disciples to "call all the world into your sanctuaries and have them sit quietly as you explain the Word to them," or were they to "go therefore and make disciples of all the nations" (Matthew 28:19a, NASB)?

Our job is discipleship. To both teach and learn from personal experience, close relationships, and active participation in the life of the church. May we learn to put discipleship of one another higher than our pastoral hero worship as we continue to navigate this Christian life.

*- I am not of the opinion that we must defy current government and medical orders to practice faithful discipleship and therefore am not here arguing that we should at this time. We are in a very privileged position, historically, in that we have ample tools available to allow us to invest in one another's lives even when we must be apart. However, should it become the case that we must choose between discipleship and obedience to mortal powers, we must choose discipleship.

**- Yes, I know the verse that tells us not to forsake gathering. However, there is a great deal of flexibility in terms of how many of us gather in one place at one time, how we gather, and how frequently we gather. The Sunday Morning All-Church In-Person Service expression of worship is not here, or anywhere, commanded.

After all, the Christ Paul is seeking to imitate will color everything about our own attempts to wrestle with his words. I fear we tend to forget this because, so often, Paul is seen primarily as a theologian, a man who wrote treatises that we must dissect and systematically piece back together, a collection of important doctrines written for our education. But this is not the Paul of Acts, or even of his epistles. The Paul we have recorded in the Bible is a missionary and pastor, concerned with the spiritual and physical well-being of those he meets and pointing them to Christ. Even his most detailed doctrinal passages are not written to seminary students but to struggling believers that he is attempting to help and guide. He is feeding sheep, not arguing from an armchair, and that which he feeds those sheep is always Christ. Everything he says goes back to the Christ who has given him the call to ministry, the Christ who appeared to him on the road outside of Damascus, the Christ who showed him all he must suffer while he sat blind in a stranger's home.

There is a surprising lack of material on Paul's understanding of Christ, considering this is the very foundation upon which everything else we have of him is built. In seeking resources for this, I found only two books that spilled any ink on Paul's understanding of Christ, and one was citing the other. If there are journal articles that handle this matter in any detail, they were lost in hundreds of pages of results that seemed to exclusively contain more doctrinal arguments than anything. Paul urges strangers to encounter Christ, he tells his readers to look to Christ in all they do, he strives to live a life that can be rightly said to be Christ living through him. If we treat Paul as a theologian writing doctrine in a vacuum, we will get a lot of very good theology, but we will miss the point of what Paul was trying to communicate. In all things, Paul is writing about Christ.

The initial limiting factor for my research into this project was that, whatever Paul may be directly talking about in a passage, the passage must say something specific about Christ in the process. As it turns out, calling Jesus Lord or Christ is saying something important about who He is, but I had to trim away any passage where that was the only thing that was being said about Him because it was nearly impossible to sift through everything with that pile mixed in. Except the passage above, which I kept just so Philemon wouldn't go ignored if I'm honest.

The fact is, Paul almost never says the name of Jesus without appending a title, either Lord or Christ in our translations. This is the most fundamental truth of who Jesus is as far as Paul is concerned: he is God, and every mention of Him is apparently lacking if it does not in some way acknowledge that fact. This is, in fact, the first thing he learns about Jesus during his conversion; in Acts 9:5, Paul recognizes that whoever is speaking to him is certainly the Lord, but asks for further identification. When he receives the answer that this Lord is none other than Jesus, he immediately obeys Him. This fact will inform everything else Paul ever says or does concerning Jesus. Clarifying what it means for Jesus to be Lord, then, will tell us a great deal about everything else.

While this would be best addressed in length elsewhere, Paul also consistently takes the Jewish idea of the Day of the Lord and ties it to the return of Christ; he even goes so far in Philippians to refer to this as the Day of Christ (1:6, 10, 2:16). Not only is Christ to be given the title of Lord, but the ultimate victory of God is understood through the lens of being the ultimate victory of Christ.

The God of Israel was never like the gods of the surrounding lands. There was no image of Him, no statues decorating their landscapes and homes bearing the face of divinity. They were, in fact, forbidden from even attempting to display Him. Nevertheless, this was a God who sought a relationship with His people, maintaining access at His temple and carrying on conversation with and through prophets. Moses, seeking a deeper relationship, asked to see God, only to be informed that to see His face would kill the man; he was allowed to see, at most, the divine back.

It emphasizes, however, how deeply relational this God is. It was not enough to show His people only a temple, or a mercy seat, or a fleeting glimpse of His back. He had to walk with us, dine with us, cry with us. The God that Paul knows in Christ is driven to reveal Himself to us as much as possible, ultimately promising to dwell with us forever.

As Jesus reveals the nature of God by being the perfect image and fullness of Him, traits which Paul attributes to Jesus are also true of the full Godhead unless those traits are directly related to the work and incarnation that only Christ carried out. He is faithful in Romans 8:35-39 and 2 Timothy 2:11-13, Lord of glory in 1 Corinthians 2:6-8, Lord of the dead and the living in Romans 14:9, patient in 1 Timothy 1:16, sinless in 2 Corinthians 5:20-21, the source of life in 1 Corinthians 10:1-4, and steadfast in 2 Thessalonians 3:5. Beyond this, however, He is the fullness not only of God but of the things that mankind uses to connect with God.

The festivals, the day of rest to honor God, point to Christ, who is the fullness of what they are trying to convey. Where the practices under the Law paint a picture, Christ is the model being painted. He not only serves as the fullness of God, but as the fullness of our understanding of God and our relationship to Him.

In Christ, God is revealed to be not only One who seeks relationship with us, but One who exists in relationship within Himself. God is not a solitary being residing in Heaven alone, but a Father and a Son and a Spirit in one.

The fact that Paul refers to Jesus as the fullness and image of God, as well as the Son of God, suggests a far more complex relationship than we are fully prepared to understand. This is perfect unity, to the point where Paul and those he teaches can all acknowledge that there is but one God and that the Son and Father are equal (Philippians 2:5-7). But the distinction between persons is such that not only can the Son be sent by the Father, but even that the Son is subject to the Father in all things. 1 Corinthians 11:3 describes God as the head of Christ, while 15:23-28 describes Jesus' subjection to the Father in the same breath as the subjection of all creation to Jesus.

​This is no light language, either. A lot of the terminology Paul uses for Jesus play into positions of authority across the full spectrum of time. Whether this is about preeminence or calling Him firstborn or heir of God (Romans 8:16-17, 29; Colossians 1:18; etc.), describing Him as the head/husband of the church and all things (Ephesians 1:19-23, 4:15; Romans 12:4-5; etc.), or the supreme judge and ruler at the end of the age (2 Thessalonians 2:8; 2 Timothy 4:1, 8; etc.), Paul regularly views Christ as bearing the full authority of God.

But the work the Father had for the Son was not to take place entirely on a throne in Heaven.

Paul very clearly believed that Christ had come in the flesh. While a full look at His earthly ministry must be reserved for another time, he focuses largely on two aspects of the Incarnation: the ancestry of Christ, and the death and resurrection of Christ. The former will be the focus here at this time.

Paul clearly believed not only that Jesus had been born of a Jewish woman, lived a human life, died a human death, and experienced a supernatural resurrection, but that this experience allowed Him to be something more important to the human race than a wandering preacher along the coast of the Mediterranean. To Paul, Christ is fundamentally the reverse of Adam.

So who is Christ to Paul? The Christ that Paul taught in his recorded statements is nothing less than God Himself, the fullness and full revelation of the Godhead that is three in one, who reigns supreme over all things. This Christ showcases who God is on an intimate level, humbling Himself to take on human flesh as the child of Abraham through the line of David and, by doing so, redeeming that flesh and reversing the effects of sin introduced by Adam. This is the Christ that Paul preaches; the gospel of that Christ is how He accomplished that purpose. Everything Paul says in his letters, then, traces back to this understanding. We will not fully understand the church without understanding the teachings of Paul, and we will not understand the teachings of Paul without confronting this Christ.