Some Observations on Romans 10: Righteousness

Every summer my granddaughter and her mother travel to northern Michigan to visit family and to escape the heat of Philadelphia’s July and August. It is always a joy when they return in early September and the family gets together. A few days ago, my son and granddaughter stopped by for lunch after a morning trip to the city zoo. Midafternoon, we decided a jaunt to a nearby playground was in order, and we began the short walk from my home. A minute into the walk, my granddaughter—now four years old—took my hand in hers and said that when we got to the corner, we’d need to hold hands because we were going to cross the street. I felt a little surprised at this, as it seemed such a short time ago that she needed to be reminded of this precaution. She had learned in the last two months that every street crossing required an adult’s hand, and she was even taking the initiative to ensure that she followed the rule. She had integrated this idea into her understanding of what is the right thing to do.

This little sign of maturation stayed with me, and I began to ruminate on how we humans each structure our understanding of “what is right,” beginning when we are toddlers and continuing into adulthood. We structure ourselves according to what we find to be right for us as individuals and according to socio-cultural guidelines: sometimes the two in concert and sometimes in contradiction.

We stand by our inward formation of righteousness, having tested its utility and honed its shape until it yields a reliable, sustainable guide to our daily life. Do I drink coffee every morning? Of course! Drinking coffee in the morning is good; I’ve been doing it for decades, and my morning’s routine gives structure to my day. This and ten million other choices over the decades have engineered my personal way of being in the world and have contributed to the stability of my personality, allowing me to affirm myself in what might be called a comfortable and politely hidden sense of self-righteousness. Nothing out of the ordinary, it’s just human nature: necessary and useful. With time, however, this reliance upon the constructed self, with its accompanying sense of righteousness, fails and must be transcended.

__________

For they being ignorant of God’s righteousness, and going about to establish their own righteousness, have not submitted themselves unto the righteousness of God (Rom. 10:3).

In this verse, Paul states the problem, and he then sets out to distinguish two different kinds of righteousness: (1) our own righteousness and (2) the righteousness of God. He does this by referring to the first kind of righteousness as “the righteousness which is of the law” (10:5) and the second kind as being “the righteousness which is of faith” (10:6).

Now the law of Moses that these Roman Jews—to whom Paul writes—would have seen as the guiding guarantor of righteousness is one of those many things that can be adopted to structure our understanding of what is right. Because it is adopted, however, it is therefore in the same category as every other idea that can be adopted, such as the idea that it is right to take an adult’s hand to cross the street; that it is right to drink coffee at the start of the day; that it is right to honor and extol the traditions of religion; or that it is right to be concerned for the welfare of our fellow beings. Major or minor, each decision and expression contributes to our personal sense of righteousness and thus to ourselves as righteous and good. Paul presents this self-affirming righteousness as being distinct from “the righteousness which is of faith.”  

The Jews to whom Paul is writing are also deemed “called of Jesus Christ” (1:6). Paul therefore undertakes to clarify for them the way Christ is to be known: he tells them that the righteousness of faith that is of Christ will not be found in their prior knowledge of him and all that he did and is, for that knowledge can be retrieved by calling it to mind; whereas the righteousness of faith is not retrievable. Christ, the Word, is nowhere to be retrieved: neither from heaven (6); nor from “the deep” (7); nor from thought, emotion, memory, nor from the tradition’s keeping: that is to say, the Word is not to be found in the Scriptures or traditions of religion. Rather, it is in your mouth and in your heart (8).

By announcing the word of faith is to be in the mouth and heart (9–10), Paul respectively stresses the Word’s immediacy and convincing power, which, when experienced, cannot but lead to knowledge of, trust in, and confession to Jesus’s lordship. Those who live responsive to the commands of “the Lord our Righteousness” (Jer. 23:6) will exhibit a righteousness that replaces their previously constructed lifetime’s compendium of what is right. No longer regarding the former inventory of righteousness as fully reliable renders us flexible to amendment. We are keenly aware of our own personal inability to know the right, and yet we are enabled to partake in the perfection of the righteous One: a state that allows worldly defeat to coexist with heavenly victory (8:36—37) and a genuine humility to go hand-in-hand with jubilant exaltation.

_____________

In our country’s politics, a rigid opposition exists between groups professing conflicting ideas of what is right: one side claims the Christian religion is its unimpeachable authority, and the other side claims its authority to be the humanistic values that have their roots in Christian history. In the public sphere, neither side puts forth the faith Paul extols in this tenth chapter of Romans, the righteousness of faith: for the one retrieves its faith from Christian religion but often lacks its values, and the other trusts in the values of but often disdains the Christian religion.

No cobbling together of the two halves can engineer true righteousness (though that solution may have passed muster in times past). For righteousness does not result from staking one’s claim inside the boundary of thought (theologically identified as “the world”) but will instead appear to those who have long worked the land within those worldly boundaries and, in truth, found it barren wasteland.

To the yet unknown abundance, the prophets point: they teach abundant life is not gained upon the rungs of aspiration but through the spontaneous cry of anguish (13) that arises in the heart that has too long endured the dry, barren spaces of the world-bound self. “I was found of them that sought me not; I was made manifest unto them that asked not after me” (20).

Our politicians give us what we want; that’s how they get elected. The time has come for us American people to reconsider our responsibility for our society: If we truly want good governance, a forward movement toward justice, then, as individuals, we each must see the flaws within our personal and group claims to righteousness. This honesty would be a step to ready us to receive the righteousness of faith that Paul describes in this passage in Romans 10, a faith that provides us with a sense of what is right, which yields different results from the ideologies that have informed us thus far. Not the “religion” of Christianity nor the philosophy of humanism but a new, profound awareness of the righteousness of faith can foster unity in the body politic.

For there is no difference between the Jew and the Greek: for the same Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon him (12).   

Agony in the Garden by Giovanni Bellini, 1459–1465

A Quaker Reading of Mark’s Gospel: To See the Invisible

I am pleased to announce the publication of my latest book, A Quaker Reading of Mark’s Gospel: To See the Invisible. This volume of essays was written mostly between the summer of 2022 and early this year, and much of its content has appeared here at Abiding Quaker. As with my last book, The Light That Is Given: Prophetic Quaker Faith, this book was published by Wipf & Stock Publishers and can be purchased from their site, as well as from bookstores and online sites. Links can be found in the “About” page in the blog’s menu.  

Below you can find the book description that is featured on the back cover, a few editorial reviews, and an image of the front cover, which happily bears resemblance to the one created for the earlier book. In each, light figures prominently in a landscape: gloriously breaking through to illuminate vision and reveal the truth of nature’s forms. Once again, the illustrators at Wipf & Stock have excelled in their choice of visual metaphor to portray both the content and intent of the work: to affirm Light is come into the world!

Book Description

In story after story and chapter after chapter of Mark’s Gospel, Patricia Dallmann approaches the text with senses attuned to the Light Within, an orientation in keeping with that of seventeenth-century Friends (Quakers). Though in accord with the faith and message of these first Friends, Dallmann offers insights that are original and, at times, accompanied by illustrations from her own life. Mark’s Gospel is seen to be a practical guide that stands ready in every age to alert those of living faith to the dangers they will face, the responsibilities they must assume, and the Spirit they will embody while navigating their passage through the world. Mindful of the inward reality to which the Gospel alludes, Dallmann provides paths of understanding that have been found in Truth and are presented with reason. Thus, readers will find this book to be a clear, sound, and useful examination of the Gospel of Mark.

Editorial reviews

Early Quakers claimed to read and understand the Bible differently from others in mid-17th c. England. George Fox, in particular, spoke of “figures”—what we might call “metaphors”—and the critical importance of reading Scripture with the same Spirit that had given it forth. Patricia Dallmann has taken the Gospel of Mark and walks us through it, verse by verse, explaining the “figures” that reflect our own internal spiritual condition. She accompanies the explanations with appropriate quotations from early Friends. The result presents a vital and living Quaker way of understanding the life and teachings of Jesus.  

—Marty Grundy, Quaker writer

I so enjoyed Dallmann’s A Quaker Reading of Mark’s Gospel that I often balked when someone disturbed me. Pat’s comments on the biblical text clarify the particular passages and identify their underlying relationships, tracing patterns that offered me another layer of guidance for my spiritual life. Her sprinkling of vignettes from her own experience balanced my reaction between the excitement of new understanding and the validation of personal example. I am eager for my second reading.

—Susan Smith, Former Clerk, Ohio Yearly Meeting

Patricia Dallmann’s commentary on the Gospel of Mark offers a spiritually insightful, figurative reading of the text. Drawing on Quaker tradition, she emphasizes inward transformation through the Spirit of Christ rather than outward law or ideals. Dallmann critiques literal and intellectual interpretations, urging readers to seek personal, experiential knowledge of God. Her chapter-by-chapter analysis highlights themes of unity, suffering, discipleship, and inner renewal, presenting Jesus as teacher, Messiah, and the source of spiritual wholeness.

—Charles Martin, Former Publisher, Inner Light Books

Version 1.0.0

The Furnished Soul

Midway through my daily walk, I realized that I’d forgotten the large glass of water that I drink before setting out each morning. As a result, I was feeling parched as I ambled along on this last-day-of-July morning of the hottest year on record. The bodily thirst corresponded to the frame of mind that had been occupying my thought throughout the walk: the longing for the refreshing Presence of Christ Within. As I was treading along in this state of both physical and spiritual thirst, the first two verses from Psalm 42 (KJV) came to mind:

As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God? 

I feel personal connection to these words, not only because they create an image that illustrates my soul’s profound longing for God, but also because the deer (hart) has been the animal I’ve felt closest to and the one that has figured, now and then, significantly in my life. I suppose that if I were a Native American, the deer would be my totem animal!

So I was delighted when earlier this week, I read of a fourth-century mosaic that depicted deer quenching their thirst at a fountain placed at the base of the Cross. The essay in which this description occurred is titled “Why We Need the Creed,” written by Erik Varden, the bishop of Trondheim, Norway. The mosaic he described is located in the apse of a prominent church in Rome, St. John Lateran. Taken from his essay, Bishop Varden’s description follows:

The image of Christ found there is like a pictorial precis of the Nicene definitions. Surrounded by angels, Christ is depicted in heavenly realms as a haloed torso suspended between, underneath, a naked cross, the emblem of his work in time, and above, a seraphic composition that symbolises the Father’s eternal throne. The Spirit, in the form of a diving dove, connects Christ’s apparition in glory with the earthly sphere, causing rivulets of water to gush down along the cross’s stem to form at its base, a fountain from which deer quench their thirst and around which sheep pasture. 

It is always gratifying to find imagery from past millennia that correlates with one’s inmost experience and discoveries, as both the psalm and the mosaic did in their depiction of the deer drinking the living water. The great lapse of time since the image and words were created did not diminish their relevance. For from age to age, time has no bearing on innate human nature with its universal, profound need, within which every particular person awaits the one, eternal resolution.

Images and words furnish each inward life just as one furnishes one’s home with domestic furniture and utensils. These externals can order and nurture our daily life: providing utility; comfort; beauty; and, most important, a sense of home. In like manner, the inward life is ordered and nurtured by words and images that allow us to feel at home, peaceful and content: known. Having thus furnished the inward habitation, we trust that when he appears, the Christ will find our soul to be a beautiful, hospitable, and familiar place of rest.

Detail of apse at St. John Lateran in Rome

Who Will Go Free?

At the festival season it was the Governor’s custom to release one prisoner chosen by the people. There was then in custody a man of some notoriety, called Jesus Bar-Abbas. When they were assembled Pilate said to them, ‘Which would you like me to release to you––Jesus Bar-Abbas, or Jesus called Messiah?’ For he knew that it was out of malice that they had brought Jesus before him (Matt 27:15–18 [NEB]).

In the New English Bible version of Matthew’s Gospel, “Jesus” is given as Barabbas’s first name. In Aramaic, his last name, “Bar-Abbas,” means “son of the father.”[1] In this story, only one Jesus, son of the father, will be chosen to live. It is likewise true that in each of our own lives, we, also, must choose one of the two spirits that are respectively embodied in these men. Whom will we choose: the spirit of Barabbas or the spirit of Christ? Which of the two spirits will animate and guide our life? Which of the two will have free rein in the heart? Which spirit—each with the same name and claim to entitlement—will live within? Will it be the one the world (the crowd) chooses, or will it be the one who must first die to the world?

Who is Barabbas?

All four Gospels mention Barabbas, but their descriptions vary: Matthew tells us that he was a “man of some notoriety”; Mark and Luke refer to him as a rebel and a murderer; and John calls him “a bandit.”[2] How we view Barabbas––freedom fighter or robber––does not alter the fact that his was a life engaged in the exercise of worldly power.  

To be under the thrall of a foreign nation or to crave wealth settles as a wound on a person’s pride and leaves him with a weakened sense of himself. Against suffering the untenable state of a diminished self-image, Barabbas rebelled, and in attacking his fellow beings, he attempted to regain that self-regard.  By overpowering others, taking their lives, property, or political authority, he could see himself as strong, i.e., as comparatively stronger. That this malicious dynamic is true wherever the worldly sensibility resides is confirmed not only by experience—historical, political, and personal—but also in the anchoring verse of this passage, spoken of one who is worldly and more crafty than noble: “For he [Pilate] knew that it was out of malice that they had brought Jesus before him” (18).

Barabbas’s true oppressor was not the Roman Empire nor his own lust for wealth; that oppressor was, in fact, his own fear of facing the truth of his existential condition, his fundamental inability to make life tolerable for himself. This universal human problem can be temporarily relieved by the acquisition and exercise of power, especially power over others. It is eternally relieved, however, only by means of courageously sustaining a regard for truth, though it leads to an impassable chasm where we teeter on the brink, stare into darkened depths, and faithfully endure in cross-like intensity.

“Do you refuse to speak to me?” said Pilate. Surely you know that I have authority to release you, and I have authority to crucify you?’ “You would have no authority at all over me, Jesus replied, if it had not been granted you from above” (John 19:10–11a).

For the word “authority,” substitute the word “power” in this exchange between Pilate and Jesus, and we have the quintessential showdown between the worldly and the heavenly sensibilities. It is the heavenly that has the final word, the final power: it is not the spirit of Pilate nor of Barabbas. Regardless of their differing worldly status, each had the worldly spirit: rebelling against and robbing both God and himself of his true nature as son of God.

Conclusion

In a recent meeting for worship, a Friend spoke of a problem that may come with knowing the stories of Scripture: this knowledge of the Bible can lead to crediting ourselves with more wisdom than is warranted. The ministering Friend used the story of Barabbas and Jesus standing before Pilate and the Passover crowd as an example. It was easy, he said, to criticize the crowd for choosing Barabbas over Jesus as the prisoner to be released, as we already knew the story. He asked us to consider if it was our knowledge the Bible story that led us to think that the choice was obvious. If we had been in that Jerusalem crowd and not known the story, what choice would we have made; whom would we have chosen to go free?

We can find the answer in self-reflection. Do we attack when we feel our self-image has been besmirched by another? Is the acquisition and retention of authority/power the impetus for our life? Do we trust the Father of life and his power to sustain our sense of personal worth, our sense of life, regardless of outward circumstance? Do we choose Jesus, Son of the Father, to be released and live free within our soul?


[1] Rees, T. “Barabbas.” International Standard Bible Encyclopaedia 1:402.

[2]  Descriptions are found in Matt 27:16; Mark 15:7; Luke 23:19; and John 18.40. I’ve used the New English Bible in this essay.

Jesus before Pilate, 1922. David Jones

Mark 2:13-28: Lord of the Sabbath  

So . . . they that are in old Adam are old creatures; and are in their old things, old ways, old worships, and old religions, and have the old garments, and the old bottles, that hold the old wine, and cannot endure the new; and have the old, rusty, moth-eaten treasure. And they that are in Christ, the heavenly and spiritual second Adam, who maketh all things new, are new creatures, and spiritual men, and are heavenly-minded, and are new bottles, that hold the new wine and the new heavenly treasure, and have the new clothing, the fine linen, the righteousness of Christ, and are the new and living way, over all the dead ways.—George Fox 

Although the warning Jesus gives his disciples to “beware of the leaven of the Pharisees” will not appear in this book for another six chapters (Mark 8:15), it is in this chapter, chapter 2, that we are given several examples of this false form of spiritual edification, along with Jesus’s opposition to and correction of the error.1 In this essay, I will be examining the chapter’s conflicts one-by-one to show how Jesus challenges the misuse of the tradition by which the religious authorities hinder the very thing the tradition was intended to foster, i.e. the spiritual rising to life in Christ. At the end of the essay, I will touch upon the appearance of this same problem in modern-day Quakerism.  

Hearing the call (13-14) 

The first scene in this chapter positions Jesus at the seaside: a vast, undifferentiated landscape where he teaches a vast, undifferentiated multitude. One verse later, the scene has shifted: Jesus is walking along, and he sees and calls an individual. It is a tax collector, one recognized by all as separate from society. “Follow me,” Jesus says to Levi, the son of Alphaeus, and the man, named and individuated, “arose and followed him” (14). The lesson to be taken from the first two verses in this passage is Christ teaches the multitude, but it is the individual whom he calls to follow him, i.e. to find and take up his way of being. Each person—we are being told—must locate and follow the truth within his own heart, regardless of the personal or social ramifications that surely will follow. He or she must honor the integrity of his God-given soul and reject the stance that he is justified by unsubstantiated, traditional ideas or by fitting into his social group. Those who do so will fail to hear the Light, Jesus Christ’s transcendent call within to follow him. 

Needing the physician (15-17) 

In verses 15 through 17, the setting has moved to the house of the called one, where “many publicans and sinners” who “followed” Jesus dine with him and his disciples. Here near the start of his ministry, Jesus’s conflict with institutional religion shows itself: the religious authorities imply that eating with publicans and sinners is a violation. Jesus disregards not Mosaic Law but the “tradition of the elders” (7:3): religious precepts long held necessary for righteous life.2  Jesus responds to the Pharisees’ challenge: 

They that are whole have no need of the physician, but they that are sick: I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance (17).  

In but a few words, Jesus not only sets out his healing mission (introducing the metaphors of health for salvation and sickness for sin) but rebukes those who proudly, erroneously refuse to see their own soul’s sickness (their unrighteousness), and thus exempt themselves from recognizing their need of the physician. Only the humble self-aware who feel their alienation from God (i.e. sin) will welcome the physician’s care and thus be restored to health and wholeness.   

Isaac Penington spoke of “the physician [who] is come inwardly and spiritually”3 when he wrote the following:  

the broken and humble-hearted ones (who have felt the inward power of life to change their natures, and to preserve them in that which God hath begotten in them), the grace prevaileth to save in every dispensation.4  

For seventeenth-century Friends, the willingness to recognize the truth of one’s inward condition was the crucial requirement through which the soul was prepared for salvation.  

Again, Penington describes Jesus Christ and his work:  

[H]e inwardly heals and restoreth his people, faithfully seeking after the sick, the distressed, the broken, the wounded; pouring oil into their wounds, and healing them. But there are some who are so sound and whole in their notional apprehensions and practices, that they have no need of the physician, and them the physician passeth by, as unworthy of him, and whom he intendeth shall have no share with him. “Ephraim is joined to idols” (he is well, he hath enough, he hath no need of me) “let him alone,” saith the Lord.5

The Bridegroom (18-22) 

In this passage, the authorities reproach Jesus for lack of holiness by calling attention to his disciples’ failure to fast, as do their own disciples and those of John the Baptist (18). Implied is their assumption that fasting, or asceticism, evinces holiness. Rather than downplaying his disciples lack of ascetic practice, Jesus capitalizes on it: By referring to himself as “the bridegroom” (19), he alludes to the wedding ceremony where feasting, not fasting, is in order. Jesus’s use of the bridegroom metaphor would rile the authorities further in that it would suggest to them that Jesus was making himself equal to God. For in their Scriptures, “bridegroom” was used metaphorically to signal God’s relationship to the soul: “[A]s the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so shall thy God rejoice over thee” (Isa 62:5b).  

In speaking immediately after of “a piece of new cloth on an old garment” (21), Jesus appears to continue his reference to Isaiah, where in 61:10, the prophet refers both to the marriage ceremony and to “the garments of salvation” (italics mine):  

I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my soul shall be joyful in my God; for he hath clothed me with the garments of salvation, he hath covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels.  

As do the religious authorities, Jesus knows the tradition. He uses his knowledge, however, more deftly than they because he understands the true intent and purpose of the tradition and thus goes beyond their mere retention of its words and history. 

Priorities (23–28) 

The final episode in this chapter features many of the same circumstances that have already been reviewed in this essay: the Pharisees challenge Jesus for his disciples’ failure to honor the tradition (24), and Jesus retorts by showing not only knowledge of the tradition but his superior, irrefutable understanding of its intent and function (27). The tradition’s intent has always been to prepare souls for unity with God, which unity is a person’s health and salvation. The tradition was never to be an end in itself: a stand-alone prescription for righteousness that the religious authorities have made of it. The last verse in this chapter presents the maxim that shows the precedence given to the salvation of man—to become “the Son of man”—over traditional practices, such as the sabbath, that were put in place as a means to that end: “the Son of man is Lord also of the sabbath” (28). 

For religious communities to make secondary principles and virtues their guidelines for righteousness is a human tendency that extends throughout history, and so Jesus’s exposure and correction, as shown in Mark 2, is needed in every age. In our own Quaker communities, such erroneous principles take the form of what Lewis Benson called “cults”: “the cult of love and good will,” “the cult of the Power of Non-violence,” and “the Cult of the Beloved Community” being a few examples that Benson identifies.6 These take precedence over the call to truth and righteousness that must be promoted, as the Discipline of Ohio Yearly Meeting (Conservative) states.7 Before truth and righteousness can be promoted, however, they must be sought, known, and followed—as Levi followed Jesus in this passage (14). Devotion to secondary principles that supplant the pursuit of truth and righteousness—such as notional ideals of peace, love, and community—is shown to be idolatry when challenged by the writings of Scripture or seventeenth-century Friends writings. Those who idolize the virtue of love ironically exhibit the greatest enmity when challenged and, like the Pharisees, will often conspire against those who honor truth. Laid bare, the foundation of their faith is found to be not the God of Truth but the aspiration to replace Him with their own notional ideals.  

Yes, peace, love, and community are fine qualities and valued among Christians and Quakers, but they must be authentically received, a consequence of coming into the knowledge of God; they cannot be attained through man’s aspiration, which can only be a facsimile that is rooted in pride, to “be as gods, knowing good and evil” (Gen 3:5). 

To know and honestly admit to one’s state is the essential thing: has one known that Spirit of Christ or has one not known that Spirit? This is an essential act of discernment that requires a truthfulness that too many in Quaker communities would prefer not to venture into, and so they don’t. The prophet helps others to see when that essential self-reflection has not yet been undertaken, as Jesus shows the Pharisees and scribes in this passage. In any age, those who undertake the same work can expect the same resistance and personal attacks that Christ’s prophets have always endured. 

 The Christians formerly (in the first day of the breaking forth of God’s power) had Christ in them, the living Word; they opened their hearts to him, received him in, felt him there, found him made of God to them their wisdom, their righteousness, their sanctification, their redemption. They had the thing that those words signify and speak of, and knew the meaning of the words by feeling of the thing. But Christians now, in the apostasy, have got several apprehensions from the words, without feeling the thing the words speak of; and there lies their religion. And now the heir is come, holding forth the thing they have all been talking of, all sects upon the earth are mad against him, and would fain kill him. They would not have the living substance . . . but they would have their dead apprehensions from the words live, and their dead forms and practices owned; and the heir of life must come in their way . . . or they will not own him.

1 Epigraph. Fox, Works 8:157. The King James Version is used throughout this essay.  

2 “The Greek word . . . translates “a giving over,” either by word of mouth or in writing; then that which is given over, i.e. tradition, the teaching that is handed down from one to another. The word does not occur in the Hebrew Old Testament (except . . . [when] used in another sense . . . ) but is found 13 times in the New Testament . . . . It means, in Jewish theology, the oral teachings of the elders (distinguished ancestors from Moses on) which were reverenced by the late Jews equally with the written teachings of the Old Testament, and were regarded by them as equally authoritative on matters of belief and conduct. . . . [These include] some oral laws of Moses (as they supposed) given by the great lawgiver in addition to the written laws. (The International Standard Bible Encyclopedia, vol.5, ed. James Orr and company (Grand Rapids, Mich. Wm B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1939), p. 3004.   

3 Penington, Works 3:278. 

4 Penington, Works 2:349. 

5 Penington, Works 3:278. 

Wallace, None, 56–58. Benson writes: “They are all notions and collectively they absorb and deflect the interest, energy, and devotion that should be conserved and redirected if we are to fulfill the purpose for which God called us to be a people.” None Were So Clear, ed. T.H.S. Wallace. Camp Hill, PA: New Foundation, 1996, (56–58). 

“Make it your aim to promote the cause of truth and righteousness, and to spread the Kingdom of God at home and abroad. Be ready to take your part fearlessly in declaring His message and in witnessing to His power” (Ohio Yearly Meeting [Conserviative] Advise 13.) https://ohioyearlymeeting.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/12/Advices.pdf  Accessed 1/20/25. 

8 Penington, Works 8:157. 

Study for “The Quaker,” 1975 Andrew Wyeth

Testimony to the Life: 1 John 1:1—4  

I knew then that w-a-t-e-r meant the wonderful cool something that was flowing over my hand. That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free.Helen Keller  

This brief account tells of the moment in which Helen Keller apprehended reality external to herself. Though Keller became deaf and blind while she was yet a toddler, her still-intact sense of touch allowed her to experience the fluidity and coolness of water. Identifying waterand the potential to identify any other thing in existencewas not Keller’s only discovery in that glorious moment. Through this event, she grasped something that was both more basic and more far-reaching. In the flash of an instant, Keller discovered the uniquely human ability to form an idea: to know, to comprehend the correlation between her sensory perception and that which existed apart from herself. It is intriguing that Keller describes this newfound power in spiritual terms: “That living word awakened my soul, gave it light, hope, joy, set it free.”1 

Keller’s discovery that material existence can be sensed; named; and ideated, that is, mentally recalled as an idea, offers us a clear analogy to what our tradition calls “the second birth” or being born of the spirit,2 for these are two of the names given to the sudden revelation of spiritual reality, which, once given and sensed, our natural mental powers allow us to name and call to mind. Prior to receiving a sense impression of Grace, however, we humans are as spiritually blind as Keller was physically and mentally blind: we are in a spiritual darkness that cannot see the reality of God and His Christ; nor can we accurately speculate upon the attributes of that reality, that Truth, by employing thought or the five senses, all of which are gifts bestowed by nature, the powers of the first birth. 

A case can be made that Keller’s story is similar to the opening verses of the First Epistle of John, in that each tells of a new thing in consciousness that has been evoked through an impression made upon our natural faculties, the senses. In Keller’s case, it was literally the sense of touch that evoked the ascent in her awareness. Figuratively, the apostle John lists several senses (hearing, sight, and touch) that were employed in his coming to know the new thing that has appeared within. By presenting a list of sense impressions, John tells us that his testimony is as valid as testimony evidenced by the natural senses. He strengthens his testimony by listing not one but three senses, thereby claiming his testimony is not only valid but is emphatically conclusive:  

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon, and our hands have handled, of the Word of life (1 John 1:1).3 

Interesting to note is the distinction made in the apostle’s description of the sense of sight: “which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked upon” (1). The distinction between the “seen” and “looked upon” is not negligible: for the latter phrase is one of agency while the former is not. This telling distinction encapsulates the overall effect caused by the inward shift in consciousness: there is a movement from passive reception of the Word of life (seen with our eyes) to active participation: to directing the gaze with intent and mental acuity (we have looked upon). The writer’s juxtaposing these two states hints atand to the enlightened mind alludes tothe passage from the first birth and into the second, from darkness into light, from spiritual deadness into eternal life. With that light, one can see; with that life, one can move and act; and one can—and must—testify.  

Additionally, in the accounts of both Keller and the apostle, the naming of the thing follows the sensing of it. Keller learns the word “water” by having its letters written on the palm of her hand; she could then tie that word to the cool flow she had felt. Likewise, the apostle at first gives no name but refers obliquely to “[t]hat which was from the beginning.4 It is only after telling of his sensory perceptions that John gives a name to that which was perceived: “the Word of life.” In both Keller’s story and in the opening lines of this epistle, the sensation prompts the human power to name (Gen. 2:19-20).5 

It is not only the act of naming that the sense experience calls forth; the apostle proceeds to tell his readers what more must follow one’s witnessing to and naming of the Word to the Church. The minister must give It context: [we] shew unto you that eternal life, which was with the Father and was manifested unto us” (2b). No longer are we humans to be alienated from God, creatures driven from His Presence (Gen. 1:23); we are instead to be “with the Father. 

After reminding his readers that his declaration is based upon sense experience (“[t]hat which we have seen and heard”), John identifies the intent of his witness: “that ye also may have fellowship with us” (3a). John once again reminds us that his fellowship is “with the Father,” and should another person also be in fellowship with the Father, that other will likewise be in fellowship with John himself.6 The apostle is here identifying the true, sole qualification of those who comprise the Church: first, fellowship with the Father, “and with his Son Jesus Christ” (3b), and through that alone comes true fellowship among the members of the Church. Absent this qualification, there is no true fellowship and no true Church.  

George Fox shows his agreement (and perhaps refers to this same verse) when he writes: “The true Christians’ fellowship is with the Father and with the Son, by whom all things were made and created, and all fellowships below this will come to nothing.”7 Isaac Penington notes that it is the individual soul which must be in fellowship (covenant) with God; no longer can the community be considered the entity with whom the Father joins in covenant relationship. Penington writes: What is the New Covenant? It is a new agreement between God and the soul, different from the former agreement, which was between God and that people of the Jews.8 

Finally, the apostle concludes his introductory statements in this first epistle by telling of his intent to benefit his readers: “And these things write we unto you that your joy may be full” (4).  

1. Epigraph. Keller. The Story of My Life, accessed 12/12/24, 

https://www.holloway.com/g/helen-keller-the-story-of-my-life/sections/chapter-iv.

2. In this book alone, we’re given several references to spiritual birth: 2:29; 3:9; 4:7; and 5:3-4. Other books containing references to the spiritual birth include John (1:1213; 3:3, 5-7) and 1 Peter (1:23). 

3. This citation and all subsequent ones are from the King James Version.  

4. The word “beginning” connotes birth or creation as well as pre-eminence (Gen. 1:1). 

5. To reverse this order—to know the name without first having received the sense impression within—is to fall into the category early Friends designated as befitting the aggressive, cultural “Christians” they encountered: “professors not possessors.” 

6. An example may clarify the meaning of this statement: If George is in relationship with the Father and Margaret is in relationship with the Father, then George and Margaret are in relationship with one another. Conversely, if George is in relationship with the Father, and Ross is not in relationship with the Father, then George and Ross are not in relationship with one another. 

7. George Fox, The Works of George Fox (Philadelphia: Marcus T. C. Gould, 1831), 6:242. 

8. Isaac Penington, Works of Isaac Penington (Farmington, Maine: Quaker Heritage Press, 1997), 4:19. 

John the Evangelist, 1428 Donatello

Shame and the Mixed Blessing (Part 3)

With part 3 of this series, Evan Knappenberger’s and my discussion on shame and the mixed blessing, as presented in Ezekiel 36, concludes. In this essay, Evan traces the evolution over time of shame’s appearance within the Hebrews’ culture, thus providing a scholarly context for the stark dichotomy between the rationales behind shame, either worldly or heavenly, that were identified in part 2. Following Evan’s essay, I briefly respond to his contribution and bring this series to a conclusion.

Evan wrote:

Now I am fully submerged in this interpretive question of Ezekiel 36, a state of intellectual engagement with the text which is the natural end result of serious reflection upon the spirit of the text. Too long and too detailed for meeting for worship, our commitment to this iterative message between sister Patricia and I nevertheless requires more of us. It is becoming easy for me to see how some Orthodox Jews believe it is necessary to devote all their time and energy to studying and interpreting the scriptures. Without writing a whole treatise on the issue, however, I will try to once more to forge an association or two between our contemporary Quaker practice and the inspired words of one who, long ago, was given a message to proclaim to the empty wastelands of Judea (Eze. 36:1-6).

Central to our discussion is a distinction between shame and sin. A brief perusal of scholarly literature on the topic of shame in the Old Testament is enough to convince me of its centrality to the exilic context. Several perspectives emerge in the scholarly work, not least of which is the Honor-Shame paradigm, an almost universal thinking which shapes the ancient semitic understanding in a unique way. In this system, shame has many roles and serves sociality as a mechanism of control; it is contrasted with honor, both of which enable a certain attributional thinking among human beings. Honor and shame form a dyad whereby either is susceptible to idolatry, both in ancient and in the modern contexts — witness “honor killings” of disobedient daughters in some cultures. This interpretation of shame is helpful to contextualizing our passage in Ezekiel, as well as many other places in the Old Testament, especially in the Psalms. However, despite the fact that there are more than three dozen Hebraic words centering shame, it is something distinct (if not altogether different from) the concept of Sin. More importantly, Ezekiel clearly complicates post-exilic ideas of shame and sin — in chapter 36 alone, there are about three different approaches to the same idea.

Again, this is not the place to derive a study of the differences between Sin and Shame, though one of the best sources on this I have seen is purely historical (not theological.) Kyle Harper’s From Sin to Shame, (2013), details the fascinating cultural shift in the Roman world wrought by Pauline Christianity. According to Harper, early Christian notions of sinfulness were almost totally focused on sexual sin, and operated in a way that tended to appropriate and contrast pagan sexual ethics with the Christian concern for mutuality, respect, and love-of-neighbor-as-self. The notional development of Christian sexual ethics of course parallel not just Judaic notions of shame and sin, but worldly forces of honor and shame as well. As Quakers we are doubly aware of notional shame, which is written into the very appellation “Quaker.”

As a historian I am trained to seek the “forces of endogenous historical transformation” — those seeds of change which are planted in the psychic soil of any given place and time, which grow and bear fruit and often transform society in unexpected ways. It is easy in our case to see an axial transformation of shame in several stages: a primitive semitic honor-shame evolves with the Hebraic cultus into notional Sin, something more attributional which can only be cleansed by blood sacrifice; this further evolves in the post-exilic period into a systematized transactional atonement whereby Mount Zion is covered in a never-ending gore of blood that is alien to the prophetic conscience. (Here we are tempted to enter into the great contemporary debate on atonement on the side of James Alison and Ted Grimsrud, who emphasize the prophetic denial of sacrificial atonement which plays out in both Old and New Testaments.) Finally, the “seeds of endogenous transformation” come to fruition in a transcendence of sacrifice through the transformational death of Jesus on the Cross, his deconstructive wearing of our shame or “bearing of our sin” — and lastly in the late-Pauline doctrinal apologetics of the Epistle to the Hebrews.

In the first iteration, the Hebrew peoples formalize semitic shame, which crystallizes into Sin. The prophetic awareness maintains a minor interpretation of both shame and sin which foretells their negation through the transformative act of the Lord. (Witness, that in the Genesis 2 account of the Fall of Humanity, there is no mention of Sin, original or otherwise; only of the shame of nakedness.) While in exile, new generations of Israelites begin to understand shame and sin in a complex series of ritualized ethnic and social constructions which cannot resist oversimplification. The prophets, including Ezekiel, maintain their minor theology, even through the exile. By the time of the second temple and of Jesus of Nazareth, the ascendency of transactional shame and attributional Sin is complete. Jesus comes to a humanity almost entirely entrenched in its understanding of Sin, its reliance on the Letter of the Law which is death, and its ritualized reliance on death and shame upon which it builds a world order.

All of this is context for our interpretation of Ezekiel 36, with its insistent mixed blessing (which I lately realize is foreshadowed by Jacob’s lower back trouble marking him as blessed.) And it all points to Jesus’ embracing/deconstruction of shame and sin by which the foolishness of the wise is laid bare. It shows us a way to maintain our own minor interpretative theological awarenesses in the face of Anselmian sacrifice-Atonement and other like imperial constructions. Finally, it is for us Conservative Friends to uphold a prophetic ministry which opposes both worldly shamefulness and churchly Sin. May we continue to read scriptures like this deeply and enrich ourselves in them and the Lord.

Evan

Patricia wrote:

Thanks, Evan, for providing a scholarly outline of the evolving demeanor of “shame” among the Israelites. Chapter 36 in Ezekiel puts the dichotomous opposition of sin and faith before us when the prophet replaces the false cause of shame—heathenish reproach—with the true, sole cause of shame: alienation from God, i.e. sin. The chapter becomes relevant to present-day readers when we realize that the “heathenish reproach” can stand for all the worldly catalysts of shame, including religious institutions, ordinances, mores, and values. It is important to identify and know “the one thing needful” that keeps us from sin, for should Christ be known and heeded, all false measures that would induce shame go by the wayside.

Let’s conclude this discussion on Ezekiel 36 and look forward to future examinations of our faith through the wonderful resources offered within our Quaker tradition.

The Prophet Ezekiel Writing, 1465, Medieval manuscript in National Library Netherlands

Shame and the Mixed Blessing (Part 1)

As is often the case in worship at Seekers’ Haven, Evan Knappenberger’s ministry last week (12/22/24) was insightful and evocative. Frequently the half hour following worship allows for discussion that centers on the ministry that’s occurred, but this day Evan had brought forward a Bible passage that was less familiar and contained complex ideas that we did not feel ready to discuss, though I had a very strong sense that the topic was important and needed to be understood. Within the next couple of days, I had emailed Evan and asked him “to identify the passage in Ezekiel [that the ministry had rested upon] and paraphrase [his] ministry and the thoughts on the topic that [he’d] had since.” Within another couple of days, Evan had sent me the information and his thoughts on chapter 36 of Ezekiel, and so began our email discussion.

At Evan’s suggestion, I intend to post the significant parts of this discussion here at Abiding Quaker. I expect to do so over a few days, as both his and my emails are too lengthy to be included in one post alone. From Evan Knappenberger comes Part 1 of this short series titled “Shame and the Mixed Blessing.”

Evan wrote:

As I was sitting in meeting this last first day, the verse came to me which is from Ezekiel Ch. 36, viz v. 26, “I will give you a new heart and a new mind. I will take away your stubborn heart of stone and give you an obedient heart” (GNT) or, if you prefer, King James Version: “A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh.”

As it has been some years since I read that passage, I was led to open a Bible and find it. As is my usual practice of opening the scriptures during meeting, I was led to look for context and for the spirit to reveal itself in the text just a little bit. Re-reading the entire 36th Chapter of Ezekiel was instructive.

Clearly God is telling the prophet that he plans to bless the exilic people of Israel, to bring them back together in their own land, and to multiply them and their flocks, to reinstate them as nation in a holy tradition. It would have been easy enough for the prophets of the exile to foretell this happy and most welcome reversal of their misfortune; for who does not readily cheer such good news that confirms us in all our patriotic and ethnocentric splendor? Many a post-nationalistic modern Friend might glance at Ezekiel (or Nehemiah or Ezra, for that matter) [and] might thus be put off by this seeming promise of fundamentalist resurgence: the sureness of political and tribal domination over the “heathen” (vv. 3, 5), for example, which the prophet delivers excitedly with repetitions of “Thus saith the Lord!” Has Thee heard? We are to be shamed no more but will prosper against all our neighbors!

And here precisely is where Ezekiel cuts short the celebratory self-congratulation. “I am not,” saith the Lord God of Israel, “doing this for your sake!” What’s that? How can this be? It is not our intrinsic virtue, our ethnic heritage, our cultural superiority, our pure cultus, our direct back line to David, our insistence on the Mosaic Law which has promised to deliver us. What then, how did we earn our salvation? By what virtue have we enticed Yahweh to heed our pleas? By none! “But for my name’s sake, which you have profaned among the heathen!” (v. 22)

Yahweh’s blessing upon those exiled Israelites is not contingent upon their own goodness, works, or purity. In fact, God is telling them plainly, you have failed even in exile—you have profaned my name; you have made me another idol among many; you have polluted the world with more filth (v. 25) rather than fulfilling your purpose of being a blessing to all the nations of the earth (recall God’s promise to Abraham). The Lord is going to do all these good things to you in spite of your failure and not for the sake of your pleasure, power, or plenitude, but in verses 26 and 27, the promise is much deeper: I will cleanse you from all this and give you new hearts of flesh.

Typically, Quakers might understand tenderheartedness and “hearts of flesh” in terms of conscientiousness, responsiveness to the tender mercies and leadings of the Lord who saved Jacob and Joseph and Abraham, who we also understand to be even He who saved George Fox and Margaret Fell and Friends of His down through the current day. This verse is the golden capstone of the pinnacle of God’s promise of restoration, by which we can understand the entire purpose of Yahweh’s setting apart of the people of Jacob: namely, to establish a politics of godliness and mercy and conscience on Earth as it is in Heaven. There is indeed much to wonder at in this passage.

But the chapter, the prophecy, [and] the story do not end there. Ezekiel reiterates God’s promises of plenitude and blessing to Israel. And then [there’s] something incredible. In verses 31 and 32, we hear: 

Then shall ye remember your own evil ways, and your doings that were not good, and shall lothe yourselves in your own sight for your iniquities and for your abominations. Not for your sakes do I this, saith the Lord GOD, be it known unto you: be ashamed and confounded for your own ways, O house of Israel.

What is this? Shame? What kind of blessing includes shame? Old Testament notions of blessing have never included this in their notional purview before: when Jacob steals the paternal blessing, for example, there is no explicit shame laid on him and his descendants for it. There has to this point in the Hebrew Bible been no such thing as a “mixed blessing.” 

In effect, [with] the inclusion in the text of these two verses, the introduction of a complication to the notion of blessing itself within the narrative of the fulfillment of the primal Blessing, we are forced to reckon [that along] with the psychological reality of plenitude and restoration [comes] a hard and unrelenting feeling of Shame. Not just shame, but confoundedness and even loathing!

This warning of shame is to be the result of God’s blessing, not directly but as a byproduct of the plenitude of God’s goodness. It is there, surely, in the filthy abomination of idolatry in which the exiles have been struggling but has heretofore been unacknowledged among them by reason of their stoneheartedness. 

When I was a soldier in the war in Iraq, we did some shameful things and justified them out of necessity: Yes, we killed those civilians, but we had to. Yes, we entrapped those people to their deaths, but it was necessary if not good. Yes, we mistreated detainees, and so on. It was only later, when we returned to the land of plenty, and went out to spend our pay on various vices that we began to comprehend the darkness of our own actions, and then only with encouragement and in the absence of other means of immoral coping.

We in America have been the recipients of much plenitude. Do we connect it with the shame of its origins? I don’t mean land acknowledgments, which have become rather formulaic recently, or even really any form of activism. There is no set form of tenderheartedness. The human conscience is responsive to God’s call and is as varied in content as God’s voice to each person. The real shame is not in how we acquired our wealth, our land, or whatever, but in how we have failed to perform God’s mission in the world; how we have failed to bring about the Kingdom of Conscience on Earth; how we have put various idols—church, politics, belief—in place of the immediate conscientiousness demanded of us. 

I have no answers here, and I did not deliver all this long of a message in meeting. But for the sake of the Friends, sister Patricia Dallmann has asked me to elaborate, and this is for all Friends. Yes, there will be moments of inevitable shame and confoundedness, and that is okay. To be expected. But that is not the end of the story, and though we are given many good things and though we are washed clean by the Spirit again and again, we must wrestle with Yahweh for a mixed blessing.

E.K. Knappenberger

Ezekiel in the Valley of the Dry Bones, 1956, Benno Elkan (1877–1960)

Some Observations on Prayer 

Prayer is wholly out of the will of the creature, wholly out of the time of the creature, wholly out of the power of the creature, in the Spirit of the Father, who is the fountain of life, and giveth forth breathings of life to his child at his pleasure. –Isaac Penington 

This past week I received an email from someone who had recently discovered this blog and, as a result, also had visited the YouTube channel where there are recorded sessions of our Isaac Penington Study Group.1 He had listened to the 24th session in which our small group had discussed “prayer.” In his email, this reader had offered some of his thoughts on prayer, describing it as “a state of being. . . . a living in the Life,” and he went on to summarize: “prayer is receptivity to the operations of the Spirit on our being.”  

I felt hesitant to accept his thoughts unconditionally and proceeded to identify the reason behind my hesitation: 

Although receptivity to the Spirit is one element occurring in prayer, it does not follow that all receptivity to the Spirit’s work on our being is prayer. Prayer is a heightened state of communion with God where one’s inward being is filled with the Light of Christ. This state is distinct from our normal day-to-day consciousness in which we may live with fear of God, meaning a knowledge and reliance upon Christ, the sure foundation of our life. If the transcendent state and daily consciousness are run togetheras if there were no distinction between themthen a problem may develop: the transcendent may be reduced tosomething less than it is and normal consciousness conflated with and raised up into something more than can be legitimately claimed, which was the first and is the ever-present temptation.  

Intending to explain and support my reason in my response to this person, copied a passage from Fox’s Journal in which he describes his “veiled” consciousnessthat is, when he doesn’t see Christ present yet nevertheless feels firmly grounded in him. Fox writes: 

And when at any time my condition was veiled, my secret belief was stayed firm, and hope underneath held me as an anchor in the bottom of the sea; and anchored my immortal soul to its Bishop, causing it to swim above the sea, the world where all the raging waves, foul weather, tempests, and temptations are.2  

(My response continued.) How this state that Fox describes here differs from prayer is that a person can sense (have a “secret belief”) that he is grounded and preserved by Christ and therefore feel hope, while yet attending to all the various distractions and requirements necessitated by daily existence. In prayer, however, one’s eye is single, and, as a result, one’s whole body is full of light (Matt. 6:22). Prayer is a very focused (single-eyed) activity that brings one into an exalted (Light-filled) state. Jesus often goes to a mountain to pray (Mt. 14:23; Lk. 6:12; Mk. 6:46), and this is a way of saying he ascends into a different space spiritually as well as literally. The Transfiguaration occurs following Jesus’s and the disciples’ ascent up the mountain; it is there that Jesus appears full of light, which is different from the state Fox describes as his “veiled” condition. So, you see I distinguish between my daily condition where I must attend to many things (distracted, veiled) while still feeling constantly undergirded by the Bishop of my soul, on the one hand, and, on the other, the high, focused, unveiled, Light-filled state of prayer.  

The following is a transcript of a portion of the Penington Study Group’s discussion on prayer, Session #24. This segment of the discussion (31:10) looks at the Lord’s Prayer as a means to prepare one to be lifted from regular consciousness into spiritual awareness. The transcript has been edited lightly for clarity. The complete discussion can be heard here: 

I think it’s significant that Jesus gives us a prayer to say in the Lord’s Prayer, and how this can be a transition or a fulcrum for moving into that wordless waiting upon the Lord. Those few verses function as a pathway, and what I find is that they allow me—as I focus on the words—to concentrate my attention in a way that is the state the mind needs to be in, in order to be in that open, waiting state. I think I’ve said this before here, but I find that intensely focus upon each phrase and proceed through the prayer phrase by phrase. My intent is to feel that each phrase has been incorporated into my mind, so that my mind is focused and has made meaning of that phrase: that I’ve come into contact with the meaning of it. You know how you can say words, and there isn’t meaning, but sometimes when you say words, there is meaning. So what we’re looking for in that process is to get a strong sense of meaning in the words that we are saying.  

One time my family was visiting a Quaker up in Maine, a Quaker family up in Maineand there wasn’t any meeting nearby so when Sunday came, we went to a Baptist church, and in that service the minister led the congregation in reciting the Lord’s Prayer in unison. We all stood upand we all began to say the Lord’s Prayer. My daughter, who was about seven at that time, pulled me down so that she could whisper in my ear, and she said, “They sound like zombies.” And they did, because there was there was no life in in those words that were being said; there was no meaning; it was just a recitation of words that everybody was familiar with and nobody was putting any meaning into them.  

I think how this Lord’s Prayer can help us is that if we take each phrase and just focus on it so intensely, the meaning comes to us. And when each phrase has had that happen, then we move to the next phrase; and we proceed through that prayer one phrase at a time, allowing it to gather meaning for us. I find that by the time I get to the end of that prayer, it’s like I am lifted off from the world into a spiritual realm where there are no words, but there’s just Spirit: it’s almost like being launched into a spiritual place. Those words in that prayer are arranged to help us move from our normal frame of mind into a place that we can receive God, that we’re prepared to receive God. All we can do is prepare, and that prayer does do that.  

Another part of that process for me is if I lose my concentration in any of those verses, I feel morally obligated to go back to the beginning and start overThere needs to be a sustained concentration, because at the end of it what we are is just focused concentration waiting, and what works against us is our distractions: our tendency to become distracted. So what we want to do is concentrate and focusand the difficulty is that we’re not focusing on a particular object or a particular thing; we’re focused on waiting, so it becomes that we’re focused on an absence of object. 

  1. Epigraph. Penington, Works, 2:345. Isaac Penington Study Group, 9/18/24, YouTube.
  2. Nickalls, Journal, 14.

St. Francis Receiving the Stigmata, Jan Van Eyck, c. 1438

Good or Bad Government

This post includes an email exchange with Evan Knappenberger, a Friend with whom I regularly worship at the Seekers’ Haven Worship Group, a Conservative Friends online group that meets each First-day morning for worship.  Evan is a graduate student, an Iraq war veteran, and has two degrees in theology. He often ministers in our worship sessions, and I am always led to listen closely, because he speaks with sincerity and a sense of the faith. Evan’s contribution to this post is a story about two Trump canvassers who appear on the protagonist’s doorstep one October afternoon and the response given to them. Evan sent the story to a local newspaper and to me, asking for my response, which is copied after the story.

Evan’s writing begins:

Dealing With Fascism at Your Door: A Friendly City Primer

By E.K. Knappenberger

for the Harrisonburg Citizen, 10/24/2024

It was 4:30 on a warm October Harrisonburg afternoon, and I was just sitting down to my 900-level university creative writing workshop on zoom, when the doorbell rang. The dogs immediately went nuts. Annoyed, I got up thinking that some important business was at hand. I was right, but not in the way I expected.

When I opened the door and stepped outside, two pasty, rotund old ladies were standing there with Trump literature. “Hello!” they tried to sound cheerful but they looked exhausted, “I’m Betty and this is Linda. We want you to vote republican.” They pushed some glitzy propaganda in my face. 

My first reaction, which I suppressed successfully, was to hiss, to rant, or to confront. Like many people who are not in the cult of the spray tan Mammon, I find the presence of the (somewhat more rare than last time) Trump signs and stickers to be a threat to everything that I hold dear as an American and as a Christian. Because of their convict-idol’s rhetoric of violence, which has explicitly called for the imprisonment and execution of those of us who helped the democratic party, it is not unreasonable to feel threatened by the mere presence of trumpian hate speech. The little old ladies walking around our town, who are by many reputable press accounts paid by shadowy post-Citizens United billionaire cash contributions, represent something much more sinister than appearances suggest.

Precisely because the self-described wannabe dictator has said repeatedly that anyone who stands in the way of his “extreme power” will face violent “bloody” consequences, I myself (along with the majority of my fellow Harrisonburgians who refuse to consent to authoritarian takeover of the federal government) have been forced to grapple with the hard truth that, like many countries on the brink of massive political violence in the past, one third of America would likely exterminate another third of America, while the last third did nothing to stop it from happening. Betty and Linda, despite their benign-seeming presence on our Harrisonburg front porches, whether they know it or not, are harbingers of death. I can say this as a historian, but also as a combat veteran and former intelligence analyst who witnessed a genocide up close. Every moral fiber in me revolts in disgust from watching such people advocate their death cult among the good people in our land of putative freedom.

My friend Sofia Samatar, in her beautiful meditations perambulating the Friendly City, recently wrote in her column describing the reactionary violence of a deranged diner at Capital Ale House, who verbally assaulted her children for purely political reasons. What does one do in such situations? What can one do against such pernicious, deep seated evil? As a Christian and as a thinking person I offer the following template, a Friendly City primer on telling off those trumpian idolaters who spread their evil in our little corner of the world. A template of certain terms and theological language that no true Christian can deny. Let me also add that one needn’t be a believing Christian to engage in the kind of theological argumentation below — Lord knows, there are scant few believing Christians among the Trump idolaters. But of course, it helps to be familiar with the New Testament to make a convincing argument as I have suggested below.

“Betty, Linda,” you can say with some practice, “I am glad that God has led you here for us to learn something today. Pray with me.” You can take their hands if you want, bow your head, and screw your eyes up tight. Before they can start talking, continue in a tone approaching prayerfulness.

“Lord, we know that you sent your only begotten Son, Jesus, so that we might not perish but have eternal life. We know this from the Gospel of John, chapter three, Lord. You told us that Christ Was, in the beginning, before the creation of the world, that he Was and Is and always Will Be your holy Word. We know that from John chapter one.”

Take a deep breath but don’t wait too long. Continue.

“Almighty God, we know that your Living Word Jesus Christ is the Truth, by whom alone we are sanctified (John chapter 17 verse 17); and that the Truth alone can set us free in body and in spirit (John chapter 8, verse 32). Heavenly father, we know that Jesus left us the Holy Spirit, who is an Advocate of God’s Truth (John 14:16) who alone can defend us and whom alone we should trust.”

Here you can begin to build your prayer louder so that all your neighbors can hear. Continue in power with conviction if possible.

“We also know that to blaspheme this Holy Spirit of Truth is an unpardonable sin. (Mark 3:28, Matt 12:31, Luke 12:10). Lord, we know that lies alone such as Trump makes every day, are a sin; but we confess to you Lord that when we blaspheme the spirit of Truth itself, as Trump also does daily, we are assaulting the very nature of our God’s goodness, freedom and aid. We are bothered, Lord, when worldly leaders like Trump lie openly, and even moreso when they expect the Truth to conform to their unholy word.”

 “We are perplexed when trumpian apologists ask, like Pontius Pilate, “what even is truth?” (John 18:38). But Lord, we are utterly confounded when the idolaters of Trump, like the pharisees who sought to murder your Word made Flesh, act in order to destroy every notion of what is true and what is false. (John 7 through 9). Help us to repent, Lord, of the blasphemous notion that Trump’s satanic lies are little white ones! Help us recant the diabolical assertion that while Trump is often factually incorrect, that he is still somehow correct in spirit, or in orientation. This, we confess to you, all-knowing God, is the blasphemy of placing Satan’s lies on the altar of your Truth.”

“In the name of Christ, we renounce the demons in Betty and in Linda and in all those possessed by the spirit of lies. We repent their worship of a false idol on their TV screens. Almighty one, save us, drive the lie-loving power-hungry exploitative ones who mislead these little old ladies into a lake of fire (Rev. 20:10) as you have promised. Father, do not wait to save us from the falseness of those who blaspheme and who seek the death of your servants (Psalm 38). 

“How long, Adonai, will you suffer your Truth to be trampled and devoured by lying, unclean hypocrites? (Matt 7:6).  But save us, let your Truth set these deceived ones free, and deliver us from the evil of Trump and his satanic snares, as you have promised. Take these two women, God. Turn their rotten hearts toward you, O Lord! Open their scaly eyes and teach them to stop causing others to stumble! Force them to unbind their deformed consciences, Lord! Chastise them that they might be saved from the evil they think they want to commit in the name of Trump!”

Let go of Betty’s and Linda’s hands, but before they can respond, say quickly “Go and sin no more! ” and be sure not to slam the door too hard in their faces.

Patricia wrote:

Thanks for this, Evan. I think you have zeroed in on the main issue: the avalanche of deceit that has been the mainstay of Trump’s public performance these past eight years. There are plenty of other behaviors that make him offensive, but the continual violation of truth is—as you have written—to “blaspheme the spirit of Truth itself . . .  [is to] assault[ing] the very nature of our God’s goodness, freedom and aid.” And in  Matthew 12:32, Jesus confirms the condemnation resulting from this assault. To speak against the Holy Ghost, the spirit of Truth, is to nullify in oneself the true standard and power by which one is guided to righteousness. Though lying about particulars is damaging to one’s soul, to deface the living law in the heart by which we discern truth is to render oneself incapable of functioning as a human being, i.e., a creature made in God’s image. This denial of Truth is the nature and beginning point of all evil words and actions, and is why the devil is called the father of lies. This is a problem that has plagued individuals throughout history, but it becomes exponentially terrible when social groups given to this blasphemy gain political power, as in Europe in the ’30s. 

It’s been particularly galling that Trump is getting support from so-called Christians. People need no further goad to despise Christians, as it’s been a mainstay of the entertainment industry for the past 60 years to see Christians as deceitful, hypocritical, and the contempt for Christians now permeates the psyches of most of the educated and spiritually immature. I keep my mind focused on the work of presenting sound understanding of the Way to those who love the Truth, as I do.  I have no expectation that those who have given over their God-given capacity to seek and love the Truth would be nudged to change their ways, nor that the spiritually immature might be transformed by my writing. That said, I think the deceitful can be shamed by having their behavior brought to light: their conscience might be pricked or their fear of social ostracization might influence them to take a new stance. I think your writing here is undergirded by that expectation: Who would want to see himself in unity with these two unthinking, buffaloed Trump supporters? I also used the technique of shaming bad behavior in my essay “The Ubiquitous War of the Lamb,” which was also anti-trump. Neither does Jesus hold back from calling out others (Matt. 11:21, 23:23).  

I am glad that you wrote this piece and sent it into the Harrisonburg paper. Please let me know if you hear of any response.

Your friend,

Pat

Allegory and Effects of Good and Bad Government (detail), Ambrogio Lorenzetti, 1338-39, Siena’s Palazzo Pubblico frescos