HOW TO BE A HERETIC

       What if you were to discover that there was a secret group of heretics in your church?

       Worse still, what if they weren’t even secret?  What if they lived right out in the open with their heresies, tempting your Christian brothers and sisters to join them in their profane heterodoxy?

       Worst of all: What if you discovered that you were the heretic?

 

THE BLOG POST THAT NEVER WAS

       I’ve always had sympathy for the author of the Bible’s epistle of Jude.  This past month, though, that sympathy has evolved into downright empathy.   He’d planned, he says early in his letter, to write about the glorious salvation he shares with the members of his audience.  Instead, he was forced to address the threats faced by that audience.  He had to change his writing plans.  His group, his audience, probably covered a number of churches under the author’s influence – churches he knew well, people he knew personally given the outpouring of wrath Jude directs at those threatening the faith of the believers.

       Invaders.  Heretics who’d snuck into the church to take it over from the inside out.

       Like Jude, I sat down with a firm idea of what I’d write about this month.  I was going to compose “Jude’s Got ‘Tude,” an in-depth examination of the nature of heretics.  I mean, Jude gave me so much material to work with there!  He goes off on heretics, literally spews forth condemnation after condemnation, accusation after accusation.  In a couple dozen scant verses, he showed me that heretics:

• Respond to challenges with violent uprising, falling into the error of Cain
• Pursue profit over piety, falling into the error of Baalam
• Tolerate immorality in their own leadership structure, mimicking the error of Gomorrah
• Pollute their bodies, forgetting they're the temples of the Spirit
• Reject any authority God has placed over them
• Say rude, nasty, disparaging things about their betters
• Cause their own destruction, like those fleeing Egypt with no true belief
• See themselves as subject to no laws, like angels fleeing their places in heaven
• Whip up insurrections like the rebels of Korah
• Cause divisions, splintering churches and even nations

 

  Oh, yeah, that blog post I imagined I would write was going to be a doozy, an exemplar of exegesis!  Half of you would say, “Wait, is she really writing about Donald Trump?” and the other half would say “She must be writing about Joe Biden!” and the third half would say “No, this is definitely just about church heretics” and the fourth half would ask “How many halves are packed in here anyway?”  Go me! 

        Spoiler alert: That isn’t happening.

 

HERESY, AND A LITTLE HISTORY

        I am the heretic.  I chose a different path for the blog.

        Let me clarify.  The word “heretic” came to us through Middle English, bouncing in from French, where it had wriggled in from Latin as a conduit from the ancient Greek hairetikos.  Heretic, hairetikos.  Not so different, right?  Except that hairetikos did not originally mean “person believing ideas contrary to orthodox Christian doctrine.”

        It meant “able to choose.”  No more, no less.

        In the early years of the church, there was a lot to choose from.  Valentinianism, Marcionism, Montanism, Adoptionism, Docetism, and every mystical-woo variation of Gnosticism that you can imagine.  Christianity spent several centuries fine-tuning what would one day be called “orthodoxy.”  It was by means of defining orthodoxy that Christianity invented heresy.

        Don’t be thrown by those last three words.  By the new definition it was being given, heresy no longer meant choosing anything   In his 1934 book Orthodoxy and Heresy in Earliest Christianity, Walter Bauer makes a persuasive argument that many regions’ first establishments of Christianity were founded on ideas that would now be viewed as heretical, "heterodoxy."  Those churches came around in time, although we shouldn’t forget the vast differences between western and eastern Christian faiths that remain to this day.  Most western hemisphere believers, in fact, remain mostly unaware of the variety of Christian doctrines found east of Moldova and north of the Caucasus (and unaware of the locations of Moldova and the Caucasus, for that matter.  ‘Murica.)

        Heresy didn't exist in paganism.  Prior to the spread of Christianity’s monotheism, having different doctrines within the vast expanse of polytheism didn’t mean you were wrong.  It meant you decided to follow a different god.  All gods were legit, even if they didn’t always get along with one another.  If you followed the mystery cults of Isis over the emperor’s preferred, traditional Jupiter following, you were simply picking differently.  Hairetikos.  You were able to choose.

        Not so in Rome’s new Christianity.  If you chose a different path, a different god, you were completely off track.  That wasn’t a choice you could make any longer.  The church father Irenaeus took that distinction a step further in the century after Jesus’ death, writing that even differences of opinion in ideas about Jesus should no longer be a matter of choice.  There were four gospels, no more, and no other trustworthy sayings of the apostles.  The apostles crafted successors by the laying on of hands, and no earthly authority could claim supremacy over them or claim alternate facts.  As time rolled on, the lists of doctrines firmed up more, and in 325 C.E. the council of Nicaea—a tool of the Roman Empire which during the 300s was being taken over from inside by Christendom—firmed up the basics of orthodoxy in what is still called the Nicaean (or sometimes the Apostles’) Creed.

         There was no longer a need to choose.  Being hairetikos was off the table.  In fact, it became dangerous to choose a variant Christian belief.  Downright deadly, praise the Lord.

 

THE HISTORY OF HERESY UPENDED YOUR BLOG?

        But it wasn’t that history that made me veer off course from the blog I intended to write.  It was Jude himself who thwarted me.  I read his epistle.  I read it again.  I played with a number of the (very accomplished) Greek phrases he uses.  I read a few commentaries and listened to a couple audio commentaries.  I read Jude again.

        Then I read a commentary that used a single word that jammed my gears.  The word was “triplet.”  It didn’t mean “a child with two siblings of the same birthing.” It meant “the literary device of tripling a word or concept to drive the idea home.”

        My next read through Jude made my jaw drop.

        Triplets. 

        When I teach students how to write argument essays, I impress upon them the idea of a Rule of Three.  Arguments are either true or false, one thing or another thing – a “couplet” of contention, if you will, a dichotomy.  Are you trying to convince me of your side of the couplet?  Then go beyond single arguments, beyond couplets, and into triplets.  One example alone won’t sway me; for all I know, the one lonely fact you provide as your proof could be a fluke, a quirk, an outlier.  You need a second example of the argument or point you’re making … but even then, a second piece of verification could just be a coincidence.  When you layer on a third supporting claim, you’re closing the sale.  Now you’ve established a trend, and you’re making good use of the Rule of Three.  I might buy your argument.  In threes, it sounds like evidence.

        When I read through the epistle of Jude with the word triplet bouncing in my brain, I begin to see things I haven’t seen before.

        Were my assumptions about the text right?  I thought his arguments against “heretics” in the congregation were a vitriolic volleying of vindictives against the enemies within, like an unhinged jeremiad.  I perceived them as disconnected, the way individual mashal sayings in the book of Proverbs are singular and stand-alone.  I assumed his attacks were a stream of consciousness akin to Qoheleth’s wandering waves of whimsy in Ecclesiastes.

         Look how I wrote the above paragraph.  I gave you a couplet situation (am I right about Jude or am I wrong?)  Then I gave you a triplet of verbs (I thought, I perceived, I assumed) with a triplet of Biblical allusions (Jeremiah, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes) to make it look like I was working hard, thinking really hard, studying insanely, inordinately hard to get things right about Jude.

        (Geek side note: And I just used a tripled anaphora with climactic parallelism borrowed from Hebraic style in that last sentence explaining the previous paragraph.  I also did an apophasis at the start of the post, raising an issue by claiming not to be mentioning it.  I’ll stop now.  But if you’re a blog writer, an argument maker, or a sermon deliverer (Rule of Three there!), it never hurts to review rhetorical techniques.  As you’ll see below, Jude certainly used them.)

 

THE BRILLIANCE OF JUDE

            One-two-three, one-two-three,

            Read the Book of Jude with me!

            Then we’ll see (thee and me!)

            Everything turns triple-y!

 

       There.  I dropped my academic pretense by remembering I’m a mom with a tyke who reads Dr. Seuss to me.  Let’s take a simple look at Jude.  I was wrong.  He’s not spewing.  He’s not frothing at the mouth.  I should have suspected it from the quality of Jude’s Greek, but I missed something in my first few dozen reads: Jude’s letter is a carefully crafted essay whose power comes from its form as much as its content.

       I’ll clip back my prose here and let Jude’s format do the talking.  Follow his flow, even if the outline form throws you a bit.

       Jude opens with a triplet of triplets – three lines of three –

1.   FROM: Jude’s name, his role in Christ, his tie to James
2.   TO: those called, those loved, those kept
3.   HIS PRAYER FOR READERS: mercy, peace, and love

       Then a dastardly couplet: The enemy within (1) perverts grace [by wrong behaviors] and (2) denies Christ [by wrong belief].  Double trouble.

Next comes a major triplet of triples:

A: THE ANCIENTS ARE A WARNING SIMILAR TO THESE ENEMIES:

1.   Those destroyed who’d been freed from Egypt (disbelief)
2.   The now-punished angels who left their place (disobedience)
3.   Sodom and Gomorrah who lost their cities due to immorality (carnality)

B: LIKEWISE, these enemies within:

1.   Pollute their bodies
2.   Reject authority
3.   Heap abuse on their betters

C: THEY’RE LIKE OTHER BAD EXAMPLES

1.   Cain’s murderous ways (violence)
2.   Baalam’s error of pursuing profit (greed)
3.   Korah's rebels who fell to destruction (anti-authority)

       This movement of the letter closes with another couplet: These enemies (1) mock what they don’t understand and (2) are destroyed by the impulsive passions they do understand.  To this point, we’ve seen a couplet of couplets encasing a triplet of triplets.

        Now there’s a breather with a barrage of metaphors, each making the same point about the evil of the enemy within.  In rhetoric, this is called an exergasia, a “work out” of the full idea.  Think of it as the drum solo in the middle of an old 1980s song, a rapid ticking off of points.  These enemies are blemishes, they’re self-feeding shepherds, they’re fruitless and rootless trees, they’re wild waves, they’re wandering stars.  It’s intermission in the epistle of Jude until the triplet assault begins anew.

 A: They’re scoffers of these end-times

1.   They divide you
2.   They follow their own natural desires
3.   They do not have the Spirit

B: In contrast, you, believer, have this trinity in your favor:

1.  You pray in the Holy Spirit
2.  You have the love of God
3.  You await the mercy of Jesus

C: As for how to treat this enemy:

1.  Show mercy to the doubters
2.  Snatch some from the fire
3.  Snatch even the worst, but fear them

         The letter closes with a second barrage, a final exergasia drum solo of sentiments.  It’s Jude’s doxology, without doubt the most famous element of the letter.  It’s a graceful step away from the wrathful tone, reminding us point by point by point of how the Lord has saved us and of all the homage God deserves.

         I’ll indulge myself with one final observation.  There are three nonbiblical citations in the Letter of Jude:

1. A story of Michael and Satan arguing over Moses’ body (from The Assumption of Moses)
2. A prophecy of Enoch, seventh from Adam (from The Book of Enoch)
3. A prophecy from the apostles that occurs nowhere else in Scripture (perhaps from a text lost to us)

Obviously, this last triplet is just an amusing (to me) epilogue to the patterns that so awed me in the text.  Jude had no way of knowing whether the Assumption of Moses or the Book of Enoch would wind up in a canon that would be hundreds more years in the making, and he couldn't know that his would be the only letter extant today recording the apostles’ words of prophecy.  But it made me smile, nonetheless, to see that the extra-biblical citations turned out this way, a final, parting triplet of pure chance.

 

SO … HERESY?

       It turns out the word “heretic” doesn’t appear anywhere in Jude.  In fact, it shows up only once … maybe … in the New Testament.  Titus 3:10 gives counsel on how to deal with a “factious” man, our hairetikos, one who causes splits among the brethren.  The word is an offshoot of hairesis, usually translated as a sect (or denomination, if you will), and only considered “heresy” fleetingly in scattered Bible translations.  The word was still growing its negative connotation in the era of New Testament writing.  It wouldn’t get full muscles for at least a couple more centuries.

       But it’s obvious Jude opposes those “blemishes on your love feasts” against whom he rails.  He just didn’t have the right word yet to call them heretics.

       I have to thank you for sticking with me this long and wading through my sheer joy at finding complexity in a work I always falsely assumed was crafted as angry chaos.  I’ll leave you with a final consideration about Jude’s fury at those who had secretly slipped into churches, bringing their ungodly ways.

       He attacked them for behaviors.  He attacked the lusts they brought into the fellowship.  He attacked the money grabbing and greed they embodied.  He attacked their violent tendencies.  He attacked their rejection of God-placed authority.  He attacked their arrogance and their false sense of superiority.  He attacked them for all these immoralities – and it’s probably rather telling that in our era of the church, the word “immoralities” usually refers to sexual behaviors, never immediately conjuring church greed, arrogance, rebelliousness, or even violence.

       Jude attacked them for behaviors, and not for a suite of doctrines they held.  For Jude, heresy—admittedly a word still in formation in his day—was not about wrong dogmas and wrong beliefs, the key meaning of the term in our era.  It was about wrong behaviors within the church, committed by those who needed to be snatched back and kept in the fold, if possible.  We’re to have mercy and grab them back from their bad behaviors.

       There was only one doctrinal error for which Jude despised these enemies: “denying the only master and Lord of us, Jesus Christ” (v. 4).  Denial of His mastery over us is what leads us to presume on his grace and follow the baser instincts of humanity.

       After codifying orthodoxy for post-biblical times, many early Christians turned to the practice of executing heretics, inflicting their own form of persecution on those who chose differently.

       Perhaps we need to consider Jude’s recommendation.  Angry as he was, he still wanted to snatch them away from their bad behaviors and back into fellowship.

       I’ll think of that the next time I consider someone a heretic.  I'll even pause and think of it three times over.

Marana Tha,

Cosmic Parx / YoYo Rez

JUDE: The Unbiblical Epistle

 

According to Tom Bissel – journalist, Bible scholar, and video-game writer (who knew that combo was a profession?)—the epistle of Jude is “the most neglected book of the New Testament.”  The letter weighs in at only 25 verses and it does seem to have suffered some scholarly and pulpit neglect.  It’s even stirred up a bit of hostility over the centuries; more than one esteemed church father has considered it an unworthy addition to the Bible's canon.

An “unbiblical epistle,” if you will.

I’ve got a soft spot for underdogs, so of course this book of the Bible catches my eye for a little blog spotlighting.  I usually focus on single verses or even single words, but this month I’ll take a bite of a whole book.

 

IMPORTANT NOTE

If you’re a little vague on the contents of Jude’s letter, it’ll be far more useful for you to pop out of this blog and read the Scripture yourself, because the words of the Bible are infinitely more edifying for you than mere blogs about them.  Wander back here in five minutes, since it takes less than that (seriously) to get through the entire letter.  Better still, you can sit back and have it read aloud to you without leaving your chair.  Just click here to hear all of Jude in the New King James Version.

 

JUDE THE OBSCURE

The first challenge of reading Jude’s epistle is to figure out who Jude is.  If we immediately think it’s one of Jesus’ apostles, we need to slow down.  The epistle doesn’t say that.  The writer never calls himself an apostle, and in verse 17 he writes of the apostles as if they’re someone other than himself and perhaps even long gone at the time he’s writing:

But you, beloved, remember the words that were spoken before by the apostles of our Lord Jesus Christ ….

          It’s true that Jesus had two among the Twelve with the name Jude/Judas, one the Iscariot and the other sometimes tagged “not the Iscariot.”  In Greek, Luke calls this Judas “of James” in both his gospel and in Acts, a term which can mean “son of” or “brother of” James.  If you glance at Acts 1:13 in the KJV versus the NKJV, you’ll see that this linguistic problem is far from settled, although most current versions have favored “son of.”

          Whether an English manuscript translates the name as Jude or Judas, the Greek has the same name for each apostle.  The name of the epistle itself is usually rendered “Jude” in English-language Bibles for the purpose of making it clear they’re not penned by the Iscariot.  But as I said above, they are also unlikely to have been written by the apostle Jude (called “Thaddeus” in Mark and Matthew’s gospels).  The writer does say his name is Jude (a name in old Palestina that was as common as John and Mark), but claims no apostolic title and writes about apostles as past luminaries.

 

DID I JUST LOSE A COUPLE READERS?

          Please allow me a quick aside.

          I have a hunch I may have just annoyed a few readers by saying that Jude probably wasn’t the apostle Judas Thaddeus.  Many Bible-believing churches teach it as a given that the apostle Jude and the epistle-writer Jude are the same person, even though Scripture makes no such direct claim.  Still, having assumed for years, even decades, that a Jude is a Jude is a Jude, they may have felt jarred by my explanation, then presumed me misguided, and then clicked away.

          That’s cool.  I mean it.  No one’s salvation rests on agreement over the authorship of Jude.  I do, however, always feel concerned when traditions of men are elevated in our minds to a level of Biblical truth.  Consider: There’s a manmade tradition that Paul wrote the letter to the Hebrews, although that’s unlikely and the letter makes no such assertion.  There’s a manmade tradition that the first five books of Scripture are “the Books of Moses,” meaning he must have written them – also unlikely, especially the parts about Moses’ death and reflections that “in those days, there were not yet any kings over Israel.”  Many assume, even insist, that John of Patmos who authored the Revelation was the same John as John the gospel writer, a claim I debunked at length in a talk (linked here) that I gave at Second Life’s House of Prayer last decade.  John could very well be the apostle with the most manmade concoctions surrounding his life story, a winding tale that was mostly pieced together two hundred years after Jesus lived.  Human traditions.

          Thanks for granting me that aside.

 

THE LITTLE EPISTLE THAT COULD

The earliest church Fathers accepted the epistle of Jude without hesitation, but doubt started setting in after the first and second generations of believers.  Eusebius, one of the early leaders, entered Jude into his list of “disputed writings,” without rejecting it outright.  Origen of Alexandria, another church Father, also spoke of growing doubts about Jude’s place in Scripture.  He said that he himself did not doubt its canonicity, but that many others did.  He was just mentioning it.  For a friend, I guess.

Still, Jude’s epistle held in there and competed its way into the semi-finals, safe for over a thousand years.  Why do I say “semi-finals”?  Mostly because the Bible had one more obstacle to overcome: The Martin Luther hurdle.

Martin Luther tossed plenty of Deuterocanonical books from the Bible, and he had serious concerns about several New Testament favorites like Hebrews, James, the Revelation, and, of course, Jude.  I guess I can understand some of Luther’s reasoning when it comes to Jude.  Let’s chat with him about it.

 

LUTHER: This writer Jude couldn’t be the same person as the apostle Jude!  He speaks of apostles as if they’re someone else, people in their past!

ME: I've already said that, but, very true, he does, right there in verses 17 and 18.

LUTHER: The apostle Jude went to Persia after Christ's ascension, not to Greek-speaking lands, and the epistle’s Greek is too good for a Hebrew!

ME: Again, true, that’s some accomplished Greek that Jude’s got there.  Although let’s not forget that the stories about where apostles went after the close of Scripture is pretty much post-Biblical folklore from later centuries.

LUTHER: He quotes non-scriptural books as if they were scriptural!

ME: I know!  Stories from the “Book of the Watchers” and the “Assumption of Moses.”  So cool!  Jude quotes Gnostic texts and turns them into Bible text!

LUTHER: Not cool, I say!  And the epistle reads like it’s ripped off from 2 Peter.

ME: Actually, Bible scholars say it’s probably the other way around – the writer of 2 Peter found Jude good enough to edit and co-opt.

LUTHER: Why are you contradicting me, girl?!

ME: Chill, dude.  You’re not really here.  I’m just writing a blog post.

 

As time passed, all the New Testament books Luther doubted made it past his editing attempts – even the Revelation, which he really disliked.  (“I see no Christ in it” is one of his more famous statements about the Revelation.)

Still, Jude faced – and faces -- ongoing challenges.  Why does Jude quote non-biblical texts as if they were Scripture – the story from the gnostic text "Assumption of Moses” with Michael arguing with Satan for Moses’ body, and the extended quotation from the Book of the Watchers, an apocalyptic text from the Book of Enoch written in the intertestamental period?  Should we be as suspicious of Jude as Luther was?

 

JUDE WHO?

Okay, so, the apostle Jude probably wasn’t the author.  I’ll stick with “probably” because I like to stay open to discovering I’m wrong.  If I am, I’ll probably blame Luther.

Let’s consider other candidates.  We have a few to pick from, since “Judas” was a popular name at that time.  Parents doing the naming were Jews descended from of the tribe of Judah, after all.

Our main hint: We have the way Jude introduces himself in the epistle – Adelphos Iakobou, brother of James.  Of course, this is the second thing Jude says about himself.  First, he calls himself a Iesou Christou doulos, a Jesus Christ servant.  This little trio of identifiers – Judas, a Jesus servant, the James brother – is very cozy.  And there might be good reason for that.  Judas, James, and Jesus might all have been family.

Mark the evangelist lists the names of Jesus’ brothers when the people of Nazareth wonder about Jesus’ claims to importance: “Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary, the brother of James, and Joses, and of Judas, and Simon?”  (Jesus’ sisters are mentioned, too, but not named.  Go figure.)

Our epistle-writing Jude calls himself the brother of James, which is a real claim to fame in the early church.  James was certainly Jesus’ brother, and he was the recognized leader of Jerusalem’s new Jesus movement.  Is this the same James as the one mentioned in Jude 1?  If so, that would make Jude a brother of Jesus, too.

Yes, I know.  I just lost even more readers, the Catholic ones, by mentioning Jesus had brothers by Mary.  I’ll press on, though.

Why wouldn’t Jude call himself “brother of Jesus” in his introduction to the epistle if he was, in fact, family?  Wasn’t being Jesus' brother even more impressive than being a brother of James?  Some Protestant commentators think the omission may be humility on Jude’s part, a reflection of his new relationship with the human who’d been his brother Jesus.  Sure, Jude had to mention James to give his epistle street cred.  But when it came to his relationship to Jesus, he was doulos, a servant, a slave.

The few Catholic commentaries I was able to consider while preparing this blog took a different direction.  Several of them declared that the apostle, the half-brother of Jesus, and writer of the epistle were all the same Jude.  However, this seems unlikely.  The Gospels say that Jesus’ brothers didn’t believe during His time on Earth (John 7:1-5), only coming to the faith later.  That a single Jude could be both an apostle and an unbelieving brother, simultaneously, is pretty doubtful.  If the evangelists went to the trouble to refer to Judas parenthetically as (not Iscariot), it seems they’d also mention “his brothers did not believe in Him (except for Judas [not Iscariot]).”

Conservative protestant commentators also throw a few curveballs at the identity of Jude.  As I mentioned earlier, Luke 6:16 refers to our Jude the apostle as Ioudan Iakobou, which early Bible translators translated “Judas the brother of James” to harmonize it with the epistle writer.  But those two words simply mean, “Judas of James.”  Most translations render that as “Judas the son of James,” as I mentioned.

Still, those conservative Protestant exegetes continue to insist it must mean brother, and that the Jude of the epistle was, as Catholics say, the Apostle.  Like Luther, they see no reason for the epistle to be in the Bible if it isn’t the words of an Apostle like John and Matthew and late-comer Paul.

Here’s my pushback, though: “Must be written by an apostle” is an odd demand to put on a New Testament book.  True, the ancients started that idea in order to justify allowing some epistles into the canon.  However, what Luther, the church Fathers, and modern conservative exegetes all seem to miss – you’re getting my opinion here now, but I think it’s a good one – is that being an Apostle is a silly criterion for getting your writings into the Bible.

Mark wasn’t an apostle, and he gets his own Gospel slot.

Luke wasn’t an apostle, and, frankly, his Acts plus his gospel equal 28% of all the words in the New Testament, more than any other New Testament author.

You don’t have to be “conservative” or “liberal” in your hermeneutics to allow non-apostle writers a place in the Bible.  You just have to be logical.  Look at what you’ve already allowed in.  All the Judes don’t have to be the same Jude, and this Jude isn't required to be that Jude.  We can have a Jude multitude.  The Jewish home of ancient Palestina certainly did.

Confusing yet?  There’s more.

I regret to mention that lists of the 12 apostles don’t always agree from one gospel to the next.

Mark appears to call Jude by the name “Thaddeus.”  Some ancient manuscripts have Matthew calling him that, too, while other variations of Matthew call him Lebbaeus.  Some other ancient Scripture manuscripts unhelpfully dub him Judas the Zealot.  Others add the name Jude onto the apostle Thomas's name, because of course we needed more.

I think you see the point:

No one definitively knows who our epistle-writing Jude was or wasn’t.  Too many centuries, too many names, too many of us, myself included, approaching the question with motivated reasoning and cognitive bias.  We will probably never know if all the New Testament Judes are two, three, or many people.  However, we have a single page of writing from one of these Judes (or perhaps a different one altogether), so we do get to know a couple things that will pop out as we read the twenty-five verses of this tiny epistle:

Number One: Jude REALLY loves reading nonbiblical writings, especially crazy tales tied to angels and demons; and

Number Two: He is really ticked off.  I mean, really.

 

WAIT, DID WE EVEN GET PAST VERSE ONE?

          We just did a whole lot of thinking, and we didn’t even get to the second verse of the epistle!  I’ll be honest: I knew that I wouldn’t get past the first seven Greek words of this letter.  I’m saving that for next month, where I’ll dive into just how angry Jude is at those corrupting the church of God from the inside.

          If you’ve read my blog post from last month, you may recall I discussed how a Christian's freedom to judge only includes judging themselves and, with the right heart, their brothers and sisters within the church.  No judging outsiders, just insiders.

          Jude goes all out on the freedom to judge those inside the church.  His fury matches that of any Old Testament prophet as he unleashes his condemnation against

·        those who despise authority;

·        those mounting insurrections;
·        those using churches just to pocket profits;
·        those spouting fake news;
·        those who are lewd or murderous; and most important

·        those just pretending to be Christian.

 

Intrigued?  Then I’ll get to work on it right away so that you’ll have next month’s post: DAT JUDE’S GOT ‘TUDE.

 

Marana Tha,

Cosmic Parx / YoYo Rez / Iesou Christou doula

Hey, Let's JUDGE Some People!

Since I’ve finally racked up four decades on this planet, I realize maybe I’m one of the adults now.  And as an adult Christian, I get to start doing what I’ve seen countless adult Christians do throughout my life.

I can finally start judging people!

 

WHOA, WHOA, WAIT A SEC, YOLANDA

Okay, I hear the protests.  From one side of me come aghast voices claiming, “Jesus said not to judge anyone, so you can’t judge me!”  From the other side come entitled voices insisting, “Jesus didn’t say that, He said you’ll be judged in the manner that you judge, so I can judge you fairly all I want!”  Then the first side says, “But only God is the final judge!” and the second side says “Christ lives in me so it IS God judging you” and the first says “You’re arrogant!” and the second says “You’re hell-bound!” and …

Yikes.  Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.  Being a grownup is hard.

Here’s what I’ll do: I’ll search the Scriptures to see what I come up with.  That puts me in a minority position, of course.  About 80% of Americans don’t crack open a Bible more than once a month, if ever (American Bible Society’s State of the Bible report, April 2023).  That’s in a country claiming to be 63% Christian (Pew Research, September 2022), which means, best case scenario on that overlap, about half of U.S. Christians don’t really bother taking too much of a look at the book they deem holiest.

The true numbers are probably even more grim.  Self-reporting survey analyses often doesn’t account for how people try to put themselves in a better light.  Clinical psychological studies adjust for this reality using something called the K Scale, but general surveying doesn’t use that tool.  It wouldn’t surprise me to discover that Christians, feeling embarrassed by their own truth, might fudge responses more in their favor when reporting on themselves and their alleged Bible reading habits … this despite Proverbs 6:17 clearly warning that God hates a lying tongue like theirs.

 

AGAIN, WHOA!  DID I JUST JUDGE THEM?

Ay, caray, I did, didn’t I?  And I hadn’t even cracked open the Scriptures yet!  I’m totally banging my head against Romans 2:1, the one that tells me:

          Therefore you have no excuse, O man [or O Yolanda], every one of you who judges.  For in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice the very same things.

There it is, a judgmental bit about judging from the Bible that judges me as being too judgy.  It’s as good a place as any to start, since the koine Greek “judgment” terms are flying in all directions in this single verse.  I count three, yea verily, four:

                krinōn: “the one judging”

                krineis: “you judge”

                katakrineis: “you are judging/condemning”

                krinōn: a replay of “the one judging” at verse end

In writing this verse, St. Paul makes it sting a bit more than we’re able to see in our English translations.  The Greek terms rendered here as the words “you” are all singular – just one person, a solo you.  Since Paul usually writes to groups, he tends to use the plural form of “you” in his Greek, humeis.  English doesn’t have a distinct plural you apart from regionalisms like the cozy southern y’all or the homey New Jersey youse.  By switching to the singular, Paul seems to point a finger right in my face, saying, “You getting’ this, girl?”  In fact, if I were translating this passage, I might even express the “O man” as “Okay, pal?” just to get the feeling across of how Paul spotlights individuals and their individual judging habits.

You might notice, above, that words about judging have a –kri– element in common.  That’s the chunk of the word related to judging, and it comes originally from the Greek noun krisis.  Krisis is a flexible word.  It basically means a separation or a discernment, signifying anything from an opinion to an outright condemnation (as translated in Romans 2:1 above).  It could refer to a decisive contest.  It could be a moral or civil right.  The key thing to remember is that it isn’t a negative or a positive word all by itself.  It needs to be in context to deliver a full meaning.

It’s no coincidence that krisis looks nearly identical to the English word crisis.  Hang with me here if you think I’m getting a little too nerdy about the language, because it really does serve an important point.  Crisis in English did not originally have an all-negative meaning.  In fact, in the medical field, the “crisis point” of a disease still signifies more of a turning point than a disaster.  Like in koine Greek, it’s a time of decision.  At the crisis point, a sickness will either get far worse or will turn toward recovery.  A “crisis team” at a hospital isn’t named for how badly things are going for the patient, but for the fact that the team intervenes when the sickness or injury can go either way.  The team’s job is to make it go the good way.

And that is the kind of krisis, the kind of judgment, that Christians like me need to learn.  The right setting, the right time and place, determines whether our judging is good or bad in God’s eyes.  We want our Lord to say to us, “Ortho ekrinas,” as he said to Peter in Luke 7:43. “You’ve judged rightly.”  And since we’ll one day be tasked with judging angels (1 Corinthians 6:3), we’ll want to practice getting it right while we’re still Earthbound.

 

SO WHAT HUMANS DO I GET TO JUDGE?

Every Christian, and this girl especially, needs to pause in the moments before judging others to turn the focus inward.  My favorite Scripture on self-judging comes from Paul’s discussion of taking communion with my sisters in Christ at our church services. 1 Corinthians 11:29-32 reads

For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgement on himself.  That’s why many of you are weak and ill, and some have died.  But if we judged ourselves truly, we would not be judged.  But when we are judged by the Lord, we are disciplined so that we may not be condemned along with the world.

The Greek –kri– fragment is working overtime in these verses, and not just in the words translated to say “judge.”    It’s there in the words “discernment” and “condemned” as well.  To my eye, this verse is a ping-pong match between the positive and negative meanings of the word judgment.  Good judging: discerning the spiritual depths to which the bread is “body.”  Bad judging: not discerning that.  Good judging: when we judge ourselves honestly.  Bad judging: getting judged for not judging ourselves honestly.  Less-than-bad judging: discipline from the Lord.  Bad judging for sure: the condemnation befalling the world.

Note the split there.  All the good judging derives from me believing God and judging myself.  All the bad judging comes when I neglect those things.  All the judging that takes a punishing form, including the discipline I get, comes from God, not from me.  I’m not punishing myself.  I’m not punishing others.  Vengeance is His, not mine.

 

BUT WHEN DO I GET TO JUDGE OTHERS?

All this self-examination is fine, but I’m still itching to throw shade on somebody else.  When do I get to judge other people like the Christian grown up that I am?  After all, a lot of people in this world annoy me and need my direct correction.  Take politics, for example.  People love judging each other about that, and I’m not immune to giving some eschatological, heaven-shaking significance to my own political opinions.  For example, I’m dying to heap some righteous condemnation on a classical Monetarist who doesn’t accept the Christian wisdom of my Keynesian economic ideologies ... not to mention how much I’m pining to hamstring a New Growth theorist with the divine realities of my Tragedy of the Commons ideology.

Okay, those may not be the politics you were expecting, but I didn’t want to ruffle any feathers.  I already did that to a few people earlier by saying “my sisters in Christ” without mentioning the brothers.  (If that was you getting ruffled, would you have reacted similarly if I’d only said “brothers in Christ”?  A point worth pondering in the self-judging context of 1 Corinthians 11 above.)

The fact is, before I start taking swings at the world, I need some more Scripture guidance.  Let me not-so-randomly plunk my finger down on 1 Corinthians 5:11-13.

But now I am writing to you not to associate with anyone who bears the name of brother if he is guilty of sexual immorality or greed, or is an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or swindler—not even to eat with such a one.  For what have I to do with judging outsiders?  Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge?  God judges those outside.  “Purge the evil person from among you.”

Wait a second.  Does that say I am to judge those inside the church, but leave the judging of outsiders to God?  That can’t be right.  Most of the best stuff I could wield my wrath at occurs outside the walls of the church, stuff like opinions on taxation levels and immigration policy and books about minorities being read by non-minority school kids.  Does God really expect us to focus less on that stuff and more on, say, the clerical sexual immorality rampant in the Southern Baptist Convention, the greed of a Creflo Dollar megachurch, the swindling by Peter Popoff with Miracle Spring Water donation schemes?  Doesn’t God realize that when we call attention to those things, we make the church look bad?  Isn’t it better simply to move forward and explain that those kinds of Christians aren’t us at all, since we’re righteously judging the world outside and telling them how off-base they are?

 

TWO TARGETS: MYSELF AND OTHER CHRISTIANS

My options to judge others are getting seriously squeezed here. Call it a crisis of krisis.  I guess, though, that I still have available to me the time-honored privilege of judging those in the pews around me.  There may be some satisfaction in that if I don’t trip over another Bible section that –

Oh.  Wait.  I just found James 4:11-12.  And he’s talking about judging fellow Christians, of course.

Do not speak evil against one another, brothers. The one who speaks against a brother or judges his brother, speaks evil against the law and judges the law.  But if you judge the law, you are not a doer of the law but a judge.  There is only one lawgiver and judge, he who is able to save and to destroy.  But who are you to judge your neighbor?

And there it is.  The closer I look at my Bible-based judging permissions, the more careful I discover I need to be.  I can judge me.  I might get to judge you, fellow sister or brother in Christ, but I’d better remember who the real Judge is and who gives the laws.  Am I speaking evil against you, or am I speaking against your sin?  Am I arrogantly raising myself to the role of judge instead of trying to help you escape a wayward path?  And when I wander down a wayward path myself, can I hope for a loving attempt from you to call me back?  Or will I be judged in the manner that I judged you, reaping what I’ve sown?

I ask a lot of questions, don’t I?

I’ll close without more questions, and with a simple observation.  We’re in crisis, in the modern sense of that word.  We live in a world of ever-increasing Christian activism.  That activism grows garrulous, loud, and, lamentably, violent.  Our church, or portions of it, has decided to judge the world and move against it.  It’s time we remember that the judgment throne is not ours to sit on.  We must learn to judge ourselves, individually, so that we can commune as a body.  We must learn to see ourselves corporately, as brothers and sisters in Christ who care about each other … and, yes, judge each other without evil intent, when required … more than we obsess about matters of the world.

Scripture says: It’s not our business to judge the world.

I say: It’s a wonder we can even see it past the planks in our own eyes.

 

Until next month, Marana Tha –

Cosmic Parx / YoYo Rez