An Expository Survey of 1 Corinthians 1:1-3

 1 Corinthians 1:1 – 3

[1] Paul, called as an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of God, and Sosthenes our brother, [2] to the church of God which is at Corinth, to those who have been sanctified in Christ Jesus, saints by calling, with all who in every place call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, their Lord and ours: [3] Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.[1]

The elements of a salutation within the Greco-Roman culture consisted of three things: the author’s name, the recipient(s), and greetings[2]. The apostle however, uses his salutation in a more calculated and distinct manner, establishing clear positions of salvation, office, authority, and in a more subtle manner, purpose.

Paul – Luke the historian is the first to reference the apostle by his Greco-Roman name, Paul (Acts 13:9). Originally identified as Saul (Acts 7:58), prior to his conversion experience (Acts 9:3-9), Paul had been a persecutor of the early church (Acts 8:3). The change or pre-dominant use, of his Greek name Paul, versus his Hebrew name Saul, is directly associated with, and best understood as, the resulting course of his calling by Christian experience. The meaning of his name is “little”, and his perpetuated use of it is not only in keeping with Paul’s self diminishing view, evident throughout the Pauline corpus[3], but it is also an expression of his own perspective of his function, place, and role within the context of the work of Jesus the Christ, despite his voluminous contribution to the New Testament portion of the Biblical canon. The apostles further use of his Greco-Roman name aided in the advancement of his ministry throughout Asia Minor, and thus ultimately the gospel, which was paramount in the thinking of Paul (Rom. 1:9a, 15-17; 1 Cor. 2:2).

The reference to being called is deliberate, and as we will see later it is a preliminary and foundational remark to questions surrounding the legitimacy of Paul’s ministry. Aware and undeterred by the skeptical and suspicious Corinthian factions who expressed doubt about his claim to apostleship, Paul immediately asserts and affirms his calling as an apostle, implicitly as a result of his encounter with the resurrected Jesus Christ, and by the will of God.

It has been accepted over the course of the 2,000 plus years of the church, by Christian historians and theologians alike, that the definitive qualifications for an apostle met the following three criteria: (1) he was one who had been chosen by the Lord Jesus himself (Matt. 10:2-4; Acts 9:1-9). (2) He was one who witnessed the earthly ministry of the Lord Jesus (Acts 1:21-22). And (3) he is one who was entrusted with the organization of the early church (Acts 2:42-43, 4:33-35, 6:2-4, 15:6). While acknowledging the tardiness of his rather unusual, as well as unexpected calling by the Christ to serve as an apostle

(1 Cor. 15:8), Paul’s conversion, calling, life and ministry, meet all three criteria, and it is on this basis that he finds his office and authority. In other passages, Paul will further assert his position, as one who is a steward of the gospel and the mysteries of God (Rom. 1:15; 1 Cor. 4:1).

Throughout the Pauline corpus, the apostle opens every letter with an adjectival[4] reference to his position. In Romans 1:1 and in Titus 1:1 he identifies himself as a bondservant of Jesus Christ. In Philemon 1:1 he identifies himself as a prisoner of Jesus Christ. In all of the other epistles attributed to Paul, to the exclusion of the Thessalonians letters, he is referenced as an apostle of Jesus Christ[5].

The name Jesus Christ combines the twofold designation of His personal name, ‘Jesus’, which is the greek transliteration of ‘Joshua’, and title, ‘the Christ’, meaning ‘anointed’ or ‘Messiah’. The significance of this title became clear during the scope of His life, ministry, and resurrection.[6] For Paul however, the resurrected Jesus was both God, and God’s promise, revealed in the frailty of flesh; the mediator above all between the Lord God and a fallen humanity. This truth is essential to Pauline theology (Romans 1:1-6), and confirmed for the apostle by the Word of the Old Testament prophets, and for Paul, the witness of Jesus himself on the Damascus road, which resulted in his simultaneous conversion and calling.

From Damascus forward (Acts 9:1-9), and with much consideration given to Paul’s persecution of the church prior too, as recorded in the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 8:1-3; 9:1-2; 22:4-5; 26:9-11), and in his own epistles (1 Cor. 15:9; Gal. 1:13,23; Phil. 3:6), Paul explains his calling purely as a result of the will of God. Paul will later respond more forcibly to this matter, but here, in the salutation, he lays the ground work by situating that both his call and the authority therein associated with, is the byproduct of God’s will. As a result, God is the absolute appraiser of his life and ministry, and thus he is not beholden to no one particular congregation.  

Acts 18:17 records a synagogue ruler at Corinth at the time of Paul’s first visit, who’s name was Sosthenes [Sos-thuh-knees]. His name means “of safe strength.” According to the passage, this Sosthenes was seized by a crown of Jews and beaten before the judgment seat following the refusal of Gallio to manage their complaints against Paul. It is widely held that this Sosthenes mentioned by Paul is the same. Further, he is referred to as a “brother”. The point of his salvation is not mentioned and it is not need. The affirmation of the apostle, called by the will of God, in service to Jesus Christ, and filled with the Holy Spirit, is enough.   

(2) Paul addresses this letter to the only Christian congregation at Corinth. With his address to the church of God he clarifies who the recipients are. This sect is different and distinct from all other groups that are gathering throughout the highly secular and pagan metropolis of Corinth. The Corinthian congregation is distinguished as being the one that belonged to God (10:32; 11:16, 22; 15:9) and confesses Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord. Further, with this singular use of the term, the apostle strikes a chord that will be repeated throughout the epistle.

From there, he proceeds to qualify those who have been sanctified.[7] This is the result of divine activity, as from the divine perspective throughout scripture, as God’s intention in saving His people involves holiness. In this context, Paul is, and will throughout the epistle, speak in terms of practiced behavior. The sanctification comes as a result of one’s confession in Jesus Christ.

           Saints by calling, redundancy of word use and meaning aside, Paul identifies that they are the people of God as a result of His involvement through the person and work of Jesus Christ. And in the same sense that the apostle is called, they are the called of God as believers and as a congregational community.

The inclusion of this line within and its wording speaks to the fact that the Corinthian congregation had been moving in a direction that was independent of the apostles teachings and the one body identity (4:17; 11:16; 14:33), which has unfortunately gone on to become global denominationalism within Christendom. With this remark, Paul is attempting to lovingly gesture them back into the right mindset and direction that they are a part of the one church established by Jesus Christ, as a result of the will of God the Father.

(3) Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ – Augmenting the traditional Hellenistic salutation of the day, Paul deviates to Christianize the opening of the epistle. By employing grace and peace, Paul is expressing the sum total of the redemptive experience. The activity of the triune God’s is most easily understood through grace and peace. Grace is seen in God’s love toward humanity; unmerited, undeserved, unqualified mercy reveal in the Christ. The benefit this grace is realized in, and best expressed as, peace. It has been called many things: joy, blessing, favor, and while all are applicable, peace, it would appear, best summarizes the byproduct of grace. And all of this is the result of the collaborated work of the triune God, whose will is of the Father, realized and fulfilled through the Son, Jesus Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

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[1] (2009-03-19). Holy Bible: New American Standard Bible (NASB 1977 edition) (Kindle Locations 39046-39049). The Lockman Foundation. Kindle Edition.

[2] Example writings of the period can be found in F. X. J. Exler, The Form of the Ancient Greek Letter of the Expository Papyri (3^rd c. B.C. -3^rd c. A. D.) (Chicago, 1923), pp. 23-68.

[3] Within the context of literature, a corpus is a large collection of writings of a specific kind, by a specific person, or on a specific subject.

[4] A phrase wherein the head word is an adjective, e.g. glad about it, disappointed in the news, eager for the results; glad, disappointed, eager.

[5] (2 Cor. 1:1; Gal. 1:1; Eph. 1:1; Php. 1:1; Col. 1:1; 1 Tim. 1:1; 2 Tim. 1:1)

[6] Who was who in the Bible: the ultimate A to Z resource. Nashville:  Thomas Nelson, 1999. (p. 189)

[7] The verb ‘sanctified’ functions as an metaphor for the consecrate or convert of Christianity. Throughout the Pauline corpus it functions in a variety of ways, but coherently as describing a set apart purpose, as well as the ethics of the Christian (1 Thess. 5:23).

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Z. M. D. McGregor is the senior pastor of The Relevant Church, in Dallas, Texas.

He Sat Down to Teach Them: A Reflection on Matthew 5:1-2

"Seeing the crowds, he went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his disciples came to him. And he opened his mouth and taught them.”

 

I remember the first time I sat down to teach. It was at a college Bible study in my hometown university. The normal teacher was away, and being one of the ministers on campus he asked me to fill in for him. I obliged, although it was during our college gospel choir’s rehearsal. After a day filled with work and study, I had to conduct rehearsal for about an hour, and then rush across campus to the science building where my friends were already sitting; waiting for things to get started. Exhausted and voice hoarse from frantic scurrying, something in me would not let me remain on my feet. As soon as I hit the door, I headed toward the first chair and stayed in it until my lesson was over.

Of all my professors that had the habit of sitting when they taught Dr. Eric Nisula comes to mind the most. Dr. E was the professor of music and director of choirs at Saginaw Valley State University. He was an older gentleman who always wore t-shirts. One most notable was a black t-shirt with the words “don’t dither, do” written in bright red across the chest.

Whether he was sitting at the piano hashing out our notes or sitting in front of us annotating the choir score with us, Dr. E was always sitting. He only stood to conduct what he was satisfied to call a finished product. The voice and conducting students hated it, not to mention the aspiring educators. He sat in the middle of the floor, in front of students who sat in risers elevated over him. Not only that, but he was known to slouch a little, which made him the lowest person in the room and set a horrible example for young musicians always trained to be mindful of posture.

However, it never ceased to amaze us how awesome we sounded. There was never a flat note that he couldn’t catch, nor was there ever a dissonant sound that he couldn’t fix. We sounded good: from Louis Armstrong’s jazz to the Beatles’ rock, from Bach’s oratorios to Mozart’s Requiem, we always sounded good. I think we sounded so good, because he was never too proud to sit, or even slouch a little. In sitting, he could treat the musical score like a blueprint and all of us like a design team. He explained every dynamic mark and was unashamedly particular about how everybody breathed. So, he sat down and, with pencils in hand, explained everything to us; leaving no stone unturned. The results were always amazing.

As for my college Bible study, I prepared to teach John 1 from a scattered outline. When I sat down, finding rest from a day filled with rushing, I took a deep breath and it was like everything I studied flowed naturally from my mind. Never before was I so comfortable nor had I felt so competent. Liberated from the formalities that make up effective homiletic practices, I was free to be in conversation with a community of believers; being formed right along with them as we studied the Word of God. That experience continues to shape the way I teach, preach and relate to people. It continues to form my concept of ministry and illuminate my imagination when it comes to pastoring. Instead of addressing God’s people with lofty monologues, I’d rather grow and be formed with His people in humble dialogue: so I sit when I teach.

Dr. E and I are in good company, because when Jesus began to give what would become the most influential speech in history, He “sat down and taught them”. In so doing He gives us a clue into who is best equipped to deliver the kind of profundity that lasts throughout the ages. Such profundity needs the intuition of the prophet, the mind of the genius, the eloquence of the poet and the vision of the statesman. But, all of the above are too lofty and distant; too deep and cerebral, too prolific to come to our street and descend to our level. It is when all of these together find themselves taking the posture of the teacher, who sits beside us as one on the journey toward wisdom with us, that the profound is chiefly delivered.

Therefore, when Jesus began to teach us about true blessedness, He sat down. He sat before us when summing up the Law with Himself. When He taught us how to pray, He was sitting down. He sat down while explaining to us the power of a turned cheek and the awesome witness of forgiveness. He was sitting when He called us salt and light, but He takes that same choice posture beside the Father as He intercedes for us in His glorious victory.

Perhaps you will never sit when you teach; I’m not trying to convince you to do so. I do, however, hope you see the importance of the humility that our Lord displayed in this informal posture; modeling it in your own way as a Christian teacher. If Christ’s example shows us anything, it should show us one whose ministry of revealing God to us was presented in humility and brotherly patience: so much so that he gave the most influential speech of history sitting down.

 

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Samuel J. Doyle is a teacher–preacher, and currently serves as the Executive Pastor at the Greater New Light Baptist Church of Waco, TX

An Indistinguishable Noise: A Reflection on Ezra 3

Ezra 3:12-13

But many of the priests and Levites and heads of fathers' houses, old men who had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice when they saw the foundation of this house being laid, though many shouted aloud for joy, so that the people could not distinguish the sound of the joyful shout from the sound of the people's weeping, for the people shouted with a great shout, and the sound was heard far away.

An indistinguishable noise! With certainty, anyone present could conclude that a celebration was going on; given that the priests, fully dressed in their ceremonial regalia, gathered the entire city of Jerusalem to celebrate the laying of the Temple foundation. After seventy years of captivity, God’s people were finally allowed to return to their city, which for the same amount of time lied in ruins. The laying of the Temple foundation, therefore, carries more meaning than the mere accomplishment of a building project. Its laying meant that the people returning considered the privilege of worship to the one true God the central treasure of their story. The God who was present back then, through the laying of this foundation, was being called on to be present all over again. The captives have been set free: free to live, free to build their city and free to worship. However, the excitement that surfaced concerning the joys of now, mixed with the sobering reflection on the way things were then produced an indistinguishable noise that can best be described as nostalgia.

The black community knows something about nostalgia, at least the one that produced me. The church of my upbringing was the oldest black church in a virtually all-white city. The building that housed it was is about thirty-five years old, so everyone worshiping there could remember when the congregation worshipped at the old church: a two-story white wooden building that sat in the heart of the neighborhood. One could imagine a time when blacks in the city could wake up and walk to church on Sunday as they were greeted outside to the joyous singing of gospel hymns inside. Most of my Sunday school teachers and mentors never ceased to reminisce on the warm fellowship that abided among them in both a place and time that now belong to ages.

My last visit to the old church was to celebrate the anniversary of the congregation that presently worships there. This congregation was birthed out of our church, so the pastor and many of the founding members had their roots in the historic congregation that once worshipped there and could relate very personally to its fellowship. For them, occupying this space meant more than merely having the deed to a piece of property. It meant keeping this sacred historic space in the care of a community that once held it at their center. It meant holding precious the place where many, whose hair now grey and steps now slow, came to know Christ and found perpetual community and encouragement for a week that held much travail in its outlook. It meant holding sacred all the memories, people and milestones that now belong to the ages.

Just before the anniversary celebration came to an end, the time had come to open the floor for remarks and testimonies. As I listened to each remark, I noticed that a lot was said about the church’s past and little concerning its present. This bothered me. After all, we were there to celebrate the work God was doing now: a new congregation, a new vision, a new ministry. Here they were, in the heart of the city once again. Though the location and building were old, the opportunity was new and the field was ripe for a fresh work of ministry. So, it bothered me that people were only remarking about the church that used to worship there: the preachers that used to preach there, the choirs that used to sing there, the deacons that used to pray there.

After a while, all the reminiscing gave way to tears and laughter. Some would tell embarrassing stories and everybody would laugh (although the stories they told were stories that some spent decades trying to forget). Others would remark about loved ones passed on and would choke up as they spoke (they alone know whether their tears were of joy, mourning or regret). After a while, the noise testified to a different kind of sentiment. I could no longer call it joyous, and was not quite ready to call it despairing. It was indistinguishable.

The danger of the indistinguishable noise we call nostalgia lies in the purpose of its pause. It is the pause of Lot’s wife, who could not resist looking back at her beloved city as it was being burned to the ground at God’s command. It is a paralyzing pause that plays on every impulse in us that wishes to relive eras and moments that now belong to the ages, while causing us to intentionally neglect what God has called us to now.

Like the worshippers in Jerusalem who stood on a temple foundation, so stand we in communities that lie in rubble: HBCU’s are closing their doors, black school districts are dissolving, black boys are being targeted by toy cop vigilantes, the black family is under attack and black cities are going bankrupt while its churches meet every Sunday to give off an indistinguishable noise. This noise testifies to the reality that while we have much to celebrate in both our history and our future, a view in our past reveals points and places where our stewardship of God’s goodness was poorly carried out. Such reflection causes us to stand before God with guilt-laden praises and regret-filled adoration. It causes us to enter His presence with a kind of worship that lacks the necessary elements which distinguish weeping from witnessing.

If any hope lies in store for our community, the church must not let God’s call on us to a fresh work of transformation through the gospel be lost in our own nostalgia. Our preaching and worship cannot be an indistinguishable noise. Rather, it must remain a fresh gospel that transforms lives in this generation. Such lives will go into the world to rebuild our families and our communities, all for the glory of God.

 

 

Samuel J. Doyle is a teacher–preacher, and currently serves as the Youth Pastor at the East Saint Paul Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas.

 

The Last Righteous King: A Reflection on Josiah

King Josiah’s story is the testimony of a boy king who sought the Lord’s will and ignited an entire nation with righteous fire. He came to power at the age of eight, after the death of his father. He inherited a kingdom whose identity was lost in their blasphemy and mutated by their idolatry: a kingdom with pristinely preserved high places, overshadowing a decaying neglected Temple. He inherited a kingdom, wherein idols were exalted and God was forgotten: His house was forgotten, His face was hidden and His Law was lost.

This comes as no surprise to anyone familiar with the history of Judah. They were a nation, whose throne was in constant vacillation between worship and whoredom. During one reign, high places and idols would go up, only to be torn down during the next. During one reign, priests would burn incense to Baal, while in another they would offer sacrifices to God. Indeed, throughout their history, readers see and endless spiral of turning away and drawing near. However, amidst all this, these kings allowed the Temple to dilapidate and the Law to be lost.

Josiah was a righteous king: the last righteous king, one who comes on the hills of waywardness amidst the trauma of the royal coup that killed his predecessor/father. Righteous kings were a blessing to Judah, because their righteousness seemed to prod God’s favor over the people. There was always a reward in heaven stored up for the righteous king. For example Jotham’s reward was victory and strength, because he set his ways toward God. Hezekiah’s reward was extended life and prosperity. When he humbled himself and repented of his pride, God caused his kingdom to prosper. Even Manasseh, who waited until his distress to call on God, was rewarded with deliverance from God.

So, what reward laid in store for the king whose reign was likened by the chronicler only to David? What reward was coming to the king who sought God’s face when he was only 16, cleansing Judah of its idolatry at 20, repairing the Temple and finding the Torah at 26? How did God plan to bestow favor upon the one who threw Him an epic Passover, unmatched by any of his immediate predecessors?

According to 2 Chronicles 34:22-28, Josiah’s reward was death. God’s word came through Huldah the prophetess that He grew irredeemably tired of Israel’s waywardness. Most insulting to Him was the fact that they lost the Torah and ignored His prophets. As a result of this, God was sending the children into exile at the hands of the Babylonians. This daunting word did not come with an “if” clause, nor was God bluffing. The impending forecast was inevitable, but as a reward for Josiah’s faithfulness, God promised to gather him with his fathers before all this took place.

Reflecting on Josiah’s story causes a clear lesson to begin to surface for the 21^st century post-Christendom church: that God does not measure the holiness of a people by how they legislate, but by how they live. When defining true worship, He does not regard our laws, rather He regards our hearts.

Notice that this proclamation of doom came when a righteous king occupied the throne. It is not that God was not pleased through Josiah’s reform, but that none of his decrees and statutes could bring the hearts of the people to God. At issue was not whether idolatry was legal or illegal, but that it was the prevailing preference of the people. Although the God of glory made them His choice dwelling, they settled for hollowed out carvings and construed constellations; having eyes but not seeing and ears but not hearing.

This observation is especially relevant for our Western, American, post-Christendom context, because of the church’s long-standing association with power. The weapons of our warfare have become very carnal and all the more weak: and this is not a shot at ancient events like the Crusades and distant figures like Constantine. Even today, the church has taken up carnal weaponry, replacing preaching and prayer with ballots and bills. We equate standing for righteousness with electing “godly” politicians. We equate prophetic speech with passionate political involvement against the political party we don’t like.

Through this replacement, we have been deceived into thinking that these carnal measures are means that truly gain victories for the kingdom. Therefore, it has become more important to “win the culture war” than offer the world a new transformative reality through the gospel. Such a premise offers justification to the George Tiller tragedy, wherein the abortion doctor was gunned down at church by a fanatic, pro-life “Christian”.

In a light more relevant to the black community, we have replaced gospel preaching with political activism. “Go ye therefore” has been replaced with “vote or die”. Whether or not the Church is dead has been measured with standards that decentralize the concept of the transcendence and holiness of God’s will: a thing distinct and completely free from human construction. We have redefined prophetic speech to focus on racism and injustice: all the while failing to communicate God’ vision for our families, communities and schools. We march like King, but neither pray like King, nor confess like King; immortalizing and deifying him all the while neglecting the God who burned in his bones, silencing the Spirit that ignited his words and decentralizing the Christ that gave his message vibrancy and relevance.

The hard truth remains that what looks like power is actually a weakness that makes the whole church more polarized: ultimately being reduced to a passive puppet for its respective political and cultural camps. More importantly, we miss God’s will entirely throughout in process. At issue is not the legality or illegality of abortion and gay marriage. Rather, what seems to grieve God is our general confusion over who we are and gradual disregard for the sacredness of life; a privilege given only by the Creator. To the same token, what grieves God beyond the existence of injustice and racism is our collective failure to see the image of God in every person, preferring rather to see the false inscription of Caesar.

The solution to what ultimately grieves God is not legislation that will dictate people’s actions, but transformation that will change people’s hearts. This solution does not call for a Josiah, but for the people of God to be the people of God and bear witness to His reign by living in His reality before the world. This will allow the world to “see our Good works and glorify our Father in heaven”. Through this being and witness-bearing, we regain the greater power once surrendered by previous generations. With this power, whether or not laws change, lives will be transformed, because the body of Christ will offer the world a reality no longer driven by the edicts of a crumbling culture, but one anchored in the Solid Rock: the coming Lord.

 

Samuel James Doyle is a teacher–preacher, and currently serves as the Youth Pastor at the East Saint Paul Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas.

"The Decline of African American Theology": A Review

Thabiti Anyabwile is the pastor of First Baptist Church in the Grand Cayman Islands. Before serving there, he served as a staff minister in churches serving the Washington, DC area. He grew up in the segregated south, which caused him to foster a genuine anger and hatred for white people, a hatred he would often associate with black pride. He converted to Christianity in the Washington, DC area, being exposed to the Reformed tradition. Anyabwile can be considered a conservative, with a Calvinistic persuasion seen clearly in his present work, The Decline of African American Theology. This review will summarize his argument and attempt to place him in conversation with his contemporaries and critique his work on the basis of his own authority and his handling of black theology.

The author wishes to chronicle the decline of African American theology, beginning from 1600 to the present. He tackles this task systematically by dealing with central issues within Christian doctrine. In a nutshell, Anyabwile attempts to show that black theology is rooted in orthodoxy.

In the North, African Americans were heavily influenced by Puritans, Anglicans and Reformed thinkers; therefore, they spoke of revelation in terms of general and specific. In the South, inheriting the southern resistance to Anglican influence, they spoke of revelation in terms of dreams and encounters—experiential, while still holding high views of the Bible. From there, he basically argued that such a view could not sustain with conservative theology’s stance on race and treatment of blacks and liberal theology’s welcoming of blacks into their institution. He argued, however, that the theological task of orthodox blacks before the civil war was to show, by Scripture, the white church’s misuse of the Scripture and assert the proposition that knowing God and knowing the Scripture is to know true happiness. From here, he critiques the developments of Cone and then the word-of faith movements, respectively. Cone dominates the late 60’s and early 70’s while charismatic movements dominate in the late 70’s to the present. Howard Thurman is a precursor to both.

From the doctrine of revelation, he moves to the doctrine of God. For the most part, the conversation developed is one centered on sovereignty as an answer to the question of slavery. The Sovereign God allowed such injustice as a means for those enslaved to meet Him. Further, liberation and freedom belonged to him. Therefore, the only task of the slave was to watch God work out His will. He begins with this as the orthodox view, and moves into concepts of revolt and views of God centered ideas of liberation. Included in this vision is a vision of Howard Thurman’s pantheistic vision of God, who shows up anywhere.

Anyabwile offered a quote by Thurman, wherein Thurman was commenting on how he went off into seclusion and sat in silence, being one with nature. The longer he sat there, the longer he recognized God in the silence and in the stillness. For Anyabwile, this rang with pantheism; which may be unfair.

When Anyabwile wants to talk about African American anthropology, he begins with the early sermons that stressed the equality of man under sin. For him, the early concept of African American anthropology did not make the case for equality from the common value of all humanity. Rather, he makes such a case from the common fallibility of all humanity. From there, African American anthropology moves to the brotherhood of all humanity, the idea that just as God is man’s common Father, so also is man tied to each other in brotherhood. In the middle of the twentieth Century, African American anthropology begins to take on more exclusionary language to highlight the problem of racism.

Anyabwile also deals with Christology, soteriology and Pneumatology in the same light. His basic contention is that as time has progressed, and as orthodox Christianity has been stewarded by proponents of white racism, the black theological experience has declined in that it has developed reactionary theologies and has taken up the theological identities of more amiable, but unorthodox, Christian expressions. Major players in the theological change for Anyabwile are Jupiter Hammon and Lemuel Haynes on the orthodox end, and James Cone and Howard Thurman on the other end. In a systemic sense he seems to be making two assertions; one I can affirm and one I must deny.

The first assertion seems to be that the African American religious tradition has orthodox roots. On the surface, such an assertion is quite normal. However, in making such an assertion, he is combating a common attempt at revisionist history that seeks to root the black religious experience in America with that of its African ancestry. What seems crucial, however, is a clear estimation on how this orthodoxy morphs over time. Interestingly, he marks a stunning ictus in the thought of Marcus Garvey, who emphasized the emergence of new thought, which informs the rise of prosperity theologies within the black church. He also gives much credence to the work of James Cone, whose basic method seeks to marry the theology of King with the theology of Malcolm X to offer a theology for the Black Power movement. It is safe to conclude, therefore, that the mainstream of black thought held on to a considerable orthodoxy until the end of the Civil Rights movement. I say this because of the strong activity of the black Church in the early to mid 20^th century, which may prove more influential than Garvey.

I affirm this assertion of black orthodoxy; however Anyabwile’s Calvinism might not be satisfied by what I call orthodoxy, which is where his second assertion seems to focus. For Anyabwile, orthodoxy means orthodox Calvinism as expressed through the Puritan and Presbyterian theologians of the North. This proves a cause for concern, because of the limited framework by which he develops his argument. For him, the Northern Christians possessed the seat of right theology, while the southern Christians had a distorted and folk interpretation of the same. This logic clearly ignores the involvement and struggle of the Free Church, which included black Baptist pastors of all stripes, widely forgotten in his theology.

To this point, he understands the emergence of Pentecostalism as a black reality. This builds on the logic that southern blacks contribute a spiritual element to black theology that is real, vibrant and evolves over time into Pentecostalism. Perhaps this does not adequately adhere to Pentecostal history. In fact, most Pentecostals, even though segregation became an unnecessary inevitability within their movement, would strongly affirm that it developed as an interracial movement.

I also question his emphasis on scholars divorced from the life of the black church. His emphasis on Thurman and Cone evince an excessive concentration on scholars whose works are ultimately at the fringes of theology, best utilized as sharp critiques or radical expressions in conversation with orthodox theology. For example, had Thurman’s work been more influential, I imagine he would be studied more widely and there would be more universalism within the black church. The reality is, however, that 20^th century theologians like Thurman and Cone have not had as central an influence to black theology as some might imagine.

This may seem hard to believe, if one were to follow this assertion up with a question on the language of liberation. Most black preachers might say that they affirm liberation theology, having at the forefront of their minds the comments made by Jeremiah Wright during the 2008 election or the scattered quotes and lectures of James Cone. To be honest, this is where my affirmation of it existed. It is, in fact, the point at which I agree with many tenants of it. True Christianity is a faith that is not expressed in physical power but transcendent power in us expressed through our witness of the gospel. Therefore the West’s thirst for power, which drives the church to mutate the Christian religion into one that endorses domination and oppression, should be condemned as foundationally sinful. Such is a powerful statement in much of black theology. Therefore, I affirmed black theology without knowing what it really was. After reading the works of Cone, I discovered that nothing exists within his work, beyond the aforementioned contention, that adequately adheres to doctrines that I could affirm. The same observation could be made about Thurman. Black people affirm them, in that they are figures in black history who contributed to the body of knowledge, but may not agree with what they said once they actually read their works.

To this point, I would have preferred Anyabwile engaged the largest expression of black theology within American history, which seems to be our development of worship. The slave songs intertwined the reality of their oppression and the deep struggles of the eternal with the eschatological promise of justice and reward. The hymns of our tradition were reinterpreted to cohere to our expression. We have even changed the lyrics to many of them, such as Near the Cross. Whereas our white brethren have ransomed souls; we in the black church have raptured souls. Such is a reinforcement of our real expectation to experience Jesus completely. The gospel music of Dorsey and Cleveland spoke to a wounded community who knew from where to draw strength. The rise of the National Black Anthem declared God as the one who ruled over our “weary years and silent tears” and as the one who has “brought us thus far on the way.” This was reinforced by preachers like Adam Clayton Powell, Sr., Dr. Joseph Jackson, Dr. Gardner C. Taylor, Rev. C.A.W. Clark and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., although a theologically liberal revision of King’s ministry would highlight his work as a civil rights leader and early dissertations where he gave a soft consideration for figurative interpretations on the resurrection. The preaching of King, toward the end of his life especially, testified of a confessing Christian who took his function as a minister and Christian preacher seriously.

To conclude, not much accounts as an adequate explanation of how slaves, devoted to tribal religions, became Christians. The only example they had for such were their slave masters who behaved brutally toward them. Yet and still, African Americans have largely devoted themselves to the Christian faith. Many secular sociologists would claim that this happened over time as a pacifier to their slave condition. While such a claim could account for a coercive or customary move to faith, it fails to account for the genuine spiritualism within the black community. To put it bluntly, nobody loves Jesus like black people do. No coercion caused this, nor did any pacifying surrender. Only a community of the genuinely encountered, genuinely addressed, genuinely comforted, genuinely advocated, genuinely converted and genuinely set free could love Jesus like that. The true task of the church which ministers to the black community remains to powerfully and sincerely remind them of the God whom their ancestors fell powerfully in love with, and to proclaim to them that this same love is still real today.  

 

Rev. Samuel J. Doyle is a teacher–preacher, and currently serves as the Youth Pastor at the East Saint Paul Baptist Church in Fort Worth, Texas.

ETERNAL OPTIMISM

During his retired years my grandfather would, go to coffee, as the expression was in the home, meaning he would go to a local diner where he and his friends met in the early afternoon; they would have a cup of coffee and discuss the local and global news. On several occasions during the course of my childhood, I would go with my grandfather to coffee, and on one particular occasion I happened to pay close attention to their discussion.

                Depending on the topic, the conversation, which was shared from the perspective of educated and well-to-do African American men who happened to be Christian, was more often than not relatively objective but grime. On this occasion my grandfather verbally painted a positive portrait of what America could be if she could ever purge the sin of prejudice from her soul. Needless to say the other gentlemen were shocked and rather dismissive of my grandfather’s hope-filled positive outlook. One of the gentlemen followed my grandfather’s remarks with this question, “what makes you so optimistic?”, and my grandfather replied, Jesus.

                In another instance, I am reminded of the captivating and wonderful film, The Color Purple. In this masterpiece there is a scene where Ms. Celie is in the corn field putting up a scarecrow. As she is in the process of doing this, a lively and rather angry Sophia comes marching through the corn stocks to confront her. When Sophia comes upon Celie she says to her, “You told Harpo to beat me!” Celie, who is obviously caught off guard by Sophia’s presence and temper responds in a way that suggests a sad acceptance of this life, but joy in the life to come; Celie says, “this life be over soon, heaven last always.”

                In both accounts I am reminded of Revelation 22:12; and that Christianity in its proclamation that history is moving towards the return of Jesus the Messiah, is eternally optimistic; but the history of Americans who are of African descent, scared as it is, by discrimination, slavery, terrorism, and deliberate oppression, is pessimistic. While this history is wrapped in a real and understandable pessimism; for those of us who are Christians, we look at those realities, be them past, present, or future, and inspite of them, because of Jesus we are eternally optimistic.

                Perhaps this great truth crossed his mind at some point, as he sat like John the Baptist or the Apostle Paul, in prison, waiting for the final result of absolution. Alone, yet not. Mocked, yet resilient. Criticized by his own brethren, and yet, undeterred, . . . with one prayer in his heart, and on his lips, . . . "Lord, come quickly."

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Z. M. D. McGregor is the senior pastor of The Relevant Church, in Dallas, Texas.

Encouraging One Another

 A Reflection on 1 Thessalonians 4.18:

“Therefore, encourage one another with these words.”

This verse became personal in my life when my aunt lost her battle with cancer in 2009. Thankfully, I was able to visit her, while on vacation in Detroit in the last year of her life. As I sat in her home with my brother, I could not help but notice as her voice, once strong and elegant, grew faint and weak with cancerous hoarseness. Besides that, she seemed to be in lifted spirits.

After sharing with us the seriousness of her situation, she shifted the conversation to bear witness to the strength of her faith. She prayed fervently that the Lord would heal her completely, so that she could enjoy the rest of her life. She even shared how her faith moved the doctors to affirm her attitude toward the cancer. After all, a lifted spirit is the best weapon against such a disease. Upon sharing this testimony, we prayed with her and agreed  to keep  praying in faith that God would heal her body completely.

Imagine the sorrow, therefore, when I received the news of her worsening condition. I was mature enough in faith to concede that God’s will trumps my will; and even that God did not have to say “yes” to every prayer. In fact, I knew that God required no explanation beyond His sovereignty and wisdom for rejecting my request. However, I considered myself justified in considering God’s “no” something to grieve over. In other words I considered her death a consolation prize of sorts, “God said ‘no’ but at least she’s in Heaven.”

In a real since, I felt like Martha when Jesus finally arrived at Bethany four days later. When she confronted Jesus about His tardiness, Jesus informed her that Lazarus would rise again. Her response revealed that her resurrection theology was abstract and cerebral, in that she affirmed it doctrinally, but not as a reality in which Christ had called her to live in and lean her life into. She rehearsed what she knew as if the resurrection was a consolation prize. Jesus’ response and subsequent miracle revealed that resurrection was not a far off theory, but an at-hand reality: “I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live”.

He is the resurrection, and the one who is resurrection yields resurrection power. However, Christ does not call us to believe in His power, but to believe in Him. The former can bring temporary confidence, but such confidence fades away when God says “no”. To be sure, I have heard the testimony of those sick unto death, but was healed by the power of God. I know the testimony of those, who by the power of God were set free from addictions and sins. I must even bear witness that even in my own life; God has shown Himself miraculously strong. However, nothing compares to the degree of doubt I’ve suffered, when in the midst of all God’s “yeses”, He says “no”. Perhaps it is because faith in the resurrection power is limited unless at its foundation lies an even stronger faith in the resurrection person.

The former was my faith, the latter was my aunt’s faith. When it came close to the end, my father’s visits grew in frequency. At his last visit, he stayed until the night grew late and bid her farewell with these words, “Goodnight Mencie, I’ll see you at the Rapture”. To that, my aunt responded, “Junior, tell me about the Rapture.” Without hesitation, my father recited these words in the King James:

“The Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God: and the dead in Christ shall rise first: Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.”

I heard that story retold at her funeral, and was encouraged. Not only did this comfort me at my hour of bereavement, but it reminded me that even I may one day face the grave in slumber. But unlike West, I am not a being towards death, rather one beyond it. If it pleases the Lord to send me to the grave, I need not go in anger that He has tarried His coming, nor do I have to go with Sam Cooke’s uncertainty for what’s beyond the sky. I will not go uncertain of my future, because I know that the one who conquered the grave, will one day descend with a shout, and I will be with Him forever.

Samuel J. Doyle