THE POLITICS OF LOVE

 

By Stephen Palmquist (stevepq@hkbu.edu.hk)

 

The Ministry of Reconciliation

 

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

Because he anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives,

And recovery of sight to the blind,

To set free those who are downtrodden,

To proclaim the favorable year of the Lord. [Lk. 4:18-19]

 

 

      Jesus read this passage from Isaiah 61:1-2 in the synagogue of his home town, not long after suffering a period of temptation in the wilderness [Lk. 4:1-13]. Having finished reading, he sat down and said to those present (including, no doubt, some of his childhood peers) "Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing" [4:21]. By saying this Jesus implies that his fellow-citizens in Nazareth are themselves poor and oppressed. Coming from someone whom they know to be merely a carpenter's son, this and his following remarks (which imply that they will not benefit from his miracles) are too politically sensitive for them to bear. So they reject his offer to free them from their supposed "oppression", and angrily "cast him out of the city", threatening to kill him [4:29].

 

      Such drastic action may seem strange to us today; yet, once we recognize that the people's action stems from a fear of suffering and a desire to protect their own world, we will see that in many respects the home town from which we come, and indeed, we ourselves, are in no better shape.  For the "alienation" so characteristic of those who live in modern societies is essentially the type of oppression caused by too much freedom, or by freedom exercised outside of a loving relationship with the eternal. Accordingly, Jesus' words apply to us too, calling us to follow him in his ministry of love, which is firmly rooted in the idea that we are to seek out the oppressed and free them from their bondage.

 

      This is what Paul means when he says "we are ambassadors for Christ" [2 Cor. 5:20]. He uses an obviously political term to convey the idea that we are to be carrying out the task Christ began: namely, that of "reconciling the world to [God]" through "the ministry of reconciliation" [5:18-19; cf. Col. 1:20]. In other words, although God in Christ completed the task of reconciling God and the world (i.e., all mankind), the theocrat is called to respond by making this reconciliation a reality in the relationships between individual human beings in the world. Jesus' "headship" of the church-body [e.g., Col. 1:18] is a symbol of God's reconciliation of the world to himself; our task is to reconcile the bodily parts to themselves by mutually submitting and helping others to submit to the Lordship of the head.[1] To do this involves, first and foremost, releasing the oppressed on God's behalf from the hidden, evil sources of their oppression. But in today's world, this nearly always requires first bringing people to an awareness of the often-denied fact that they are oppressed.[2]Thus, one of the main purposes of this book has been to point out the extent to which we are oppressed, even (or especially) by our own political systems and dogmas, and to shed light on the path of theocratic freedom the Bible sets out in its place.

 

      A good way of expressing this message of reconciliation is to say we are called to speak peace to the world even in the midst of the "storms" of oppression.[3] Jesus makes this clear both in his farewell speech to the disciples before his death [Jn. 14:27; 16:33] and upon meeting them again after the resurrection, when "he show[s] them his hands and side" immediately after greeting them with the words "Peace be with you!" [20:19-20, 26-27]. In the latter situation, moreover, his second blessing of peace is followed by an explicit challenge to go out in the power of the Holy Spirit to carry on the reconciling work of forgiving people of their sins [20:21-23].

 

      The fact that theocracy must be a two-eyed vision [see pp.110-112], both giving and receiving blessings such as those of peace and forgiveness, suggests two primary sorts of oppression from which we need to be released, both caused by the inability of people to see each other's true needs:

 

                       

(1) Nobody will give a person the help he or she needs.

and   (2) Nobody will receive the gift a person has to offer.

 

 

These are both critical areas of oppression, of which anyone who wants to love must be aware. But today, nearly everyone in western countries tends to suffer from the second type of oppression far more than the first. In large part this is because governments have attempted to do away with the first area of privation by implementing welfare programs. In theory at least, anyone who is really poor can get help, if they want it, from the govern­ment.[4]

 

      As a result of the widespread "success" of government sponsored welfare programs in superficially doing away with abject poverty, such free-market socialism has come to be regarded by many as the perfect economic application of the theocratic principle of giving and receiving. Neuhaus, for example, admits that some who support his "liberal democratic faith" [N1: 259] view it as the best way to "build the kingdom of God on earth" [231-232]! However, he inadvertently belies a crucial difference between his own political faith and theocracy when he reminds us that "democratic happiness" is normally based on "a political process of give-and-take" [8, em­phasis added]. Although well-intentioned, and in­deed, sometimes viewed as an implementation of biblical injunctions to care for the poor, in practise liberal versions of democracy that emphasize social welfare programs often end up taking away from those who "get" (as op­posed to receive) the handouts-e.g., taking away their motiva­tion to work, and often their dignity along with it. Moreover, they often create a false sense of having fulfilled one's duty in those from whom the welfare money is "taken". But the worst effect is when such policies cause people not to want to receive help from those who genuinely want (and need!) to give.[5]

 

      There are innumerable other examples of areas in which people today refuse to receive, either from God or from other people, because of their prideful fear of anything outside the world they have constructed for themselves. And religious people are, sad to say, often the worst offenders. In some circles the threat of "secular humanism" instills fear in the hearts of believers, leading them to use worldly politics to defend their faith [see M4: 111-113]; and as a result, anything that smacks of "humanism" tends to be treated as anti-Christian. Yet, as Neuhaus rightly argues [N1:23-25], the problem with secular humanism (which in reality is a far smaller movement than many who preach against it would lead us to believe) is with its belief in the secu­lar [see above, pp.34,35n], not its belief in what is human! Thus Christians should affirm, or at least not reject in principle, those who seek to develop a "Christian humanism" [e.g., T3:42; cf. K5:110-116]. For this can be an effective way of showing love to our persecutors (i.e., to the sec­ular humanists), and in so doing, to practise the ministry of reconciliation.

 

      Along the same lines, Christian churches of various persua­sions throughout the last two thousand years have worked out statements of faith, or "confessions", to which all members are required to adhere.[6] People often depend on such confessions in order to avoid having to de­pend on God: they are afraid of not possessing the truth, yet as soon as they tie a rope around it and claim it as their own, they lose the life it once gave them. One of the saddest examples is when Christians draw a circle around the Bible and claim the entire text (properly interpreted, of course) as their "inerrant" confession. This not only renders many Christians deaf to any other ways in which God might wish to speak to them,[7]but it may also deceive them into believing that what a particular interpreter says is necessarily God's Truth. For in many cases the doctrine of inerrancy is defended (whether consciously or not) out of a person's fear of everyone else's version of the truth, and reluctance to promote reconciliation in love.

 

      The ministry of reconciliation aims at establishing not an absolute uniformity of all beliefs, but a uniformity of purpose in human life and action; hence it is not incompatible with diversity of belief. Such diversity of belief, especially when it stems from different cultural backgrounds coexisting within the same society, is commonly called "pluralism", and is one of the aspects of modern society which is feared by some religious believers. But pluralism existed to some extent even in biblical times, and was not regarded as necessarily evil in itself. On the contrary, as Neuhaus points out, Romans 9-11 reveals that Paul was already coming to terms with the fact that the Jewish religion was not going to pass out of existence simply because of the onset of Christianity. Paul's conclusion, he says, is "that diversity of belief is inherent in, and not accidental to, the divine purpose.... [Thus] the entirety of God's purpose is not limited to our programs, including our programs of evangelism."[8] Although Neuhaus unfortunately says this primarily in order to defend democracy [see above, p.36n], we can accept as valid the insight that no system of beliefs, as such, is our enemy.

 

      The theocrat's enemy is Satan, not other denominations (or even other religions); hence we must always beware of the fact that the Enemy can invade our own system of beliefs just as readily as any other. As the "father of lies", Satan attempts to deceive us by presenting part of the truth as if it were the whole truth, just as he did with Eve in the garden of Eden and with Jesus in the desert. Anyone called into the ministry of reconciliation must constantly be on the lookout for this all-too-common tendency to think and believe in one-sided ways. Instead, we must make every effort to bring together those who grasp opposing sides of the truth, through a deeper and fuller recognition of Truth. The humility required to view those with different beliefs in this way is implicit in Jesus' admonition against the prideful self-deception of judgmentalism: "Do not judge lest you be judged yourselves. For in the way you judge, you will be judged; and by your standard of measure, it shall be measured to you."[9]

 

      Paul's warning to beware "that no one takes you captive through phi­losophy and empty deception" [Col. 2:8] is sometimes used by religious believers as an excuse for condemning all philosophies (except their own!) as anathema. Yet philosophy can be used to further the ministry of reconciliation, for example, by helping to release those who are held captive by an unhealthy philosophy.[10] So those who close their minds to philosophy as such may actually block themselves from receiving God's gift of a philosophy that can break the chains of the philosophical oppression hidden behind their religious clothing. Perhaps the best biblical example comes when Jesus, preparing to offer his most severe criticism of the hypocritical philosophy of the "teachers of the law and Pharisees" [Mat. 23:13], offers the striking admonition quoted earlier [p.90]:

 

But you are not to be called "Rabbi", for you have only one Master and you are all brothers. And do not call anyone on earth "father", for you have one Father, and he is in heaven. Nor are you to be called "teacher", for you have one Teacher, the Christ. The greatest among you will be your servant. For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted. [23:8-12; cf. Jer. 31:31-34; Ezk. 36:26-27]

 

 

If we really accepted this as our philosophy of life, we would find reconciliation happening at every level of society: between intellectuals and the "common" folk, between the clergy and the laity, and in countless other sorts of relationships that are all too often as alienated today as they were when Jesus first spoke these words.

 

      These days the best example of a "philosophy" which some religious believers think should be avoided like the plague is that which goes under the banner of "New Age" thinking. The tragedy is that many of the ideas being developed in New Age books are entirely compatible with (and at times identical to) truths expressed in the Bible and/or Christian traditions, so that a golden opportunity for reconciliation is missed by those who are afraid to consider respectfully anything blacklisted as "New Age". Of course, the ideas expressed in some of these books, such as those dealing with the occult, are bound to be incompatible with a theocratic outlook. Yet even the occult should not cause us to run away and hide in fear: if this is our response then Satan has won the battle! For the word "occult" means "hidden", and the ministry of reconciliation requires us to bring the dark and hidden things of the world out into the light for all to see. Once we do this, the truth in them (if any) can be separated from the deception, so that their evil power will be broken.[11]For the occult wields its evil powers only when it remains occult.

 

      Obviously, this means the whole notion that some books or films should be banned by religious organizations, or blacklisted as "unsound", is a use of political power directly contrary to theocracy and our ministry of reconciliation. For it is rooted in the fear of what might transpire if ordinary people were to be exposed to such corrupt ideas (i.e., ideas outside the bounds of what is "safe"). This certainly does not mean that all books are healthy; but it does mean that many which are in part unhealthy might in other respects be of utmost value to religious believers in their ministry of reconciliation.[12]In other words, our judgment in such cases should not be determined by the fiat of some church authority, but by the guideline Paul offers in 1 Corinthians 10:23 [see also 10:24-33 and Rom. 14]: "'Everything is permissible'-but not everything is beneficial. 'Everything is permissible'-but not everything is constructive."

 

      The lesson in all of this is that Satan has no tools other than those we give him! How do we do so? By fearing the things in the world instead of freely receiving them as God's gifts. Once we realize that the whole creation is for us, provided we do not try to possess it, we will begin to understand true religious freedom, that there is nothing too dirty (or too clean!) for God to use for his purposes [1 Cor. 10:23-26]. And this will enable us to be far more effective ambassadors of love and reconciliation.

 

Pacifism and Theocratic Force

 

      Biblical theocracy, especially in light of its emphasis on the ministry of reconciliation, denies the validity of using political force as a tool for establishing peace and order. This view is usually called "pacifism"-a term derived from a form of the Latin word "pax", meaning "peace". Yet not all forms of pacifism are consistent with a theocratic outlook. Merton warns against confusing "pacifism" with "quietist passivity and nonresistance".[13] Indeed, true pacifism requires not mere passivity in the face of aggression, and certainly not fear of war in principle, but a theocratic activism of peace and love-a position which follows Jesus in his "sweeping rejection of both quietism and establishment responsibility", as well as the "genuinely attractive option of the crusade".[14] For as we have seen [pp.114-115n; cf. B2:126-127], Jesus' blessing on the "peacemak­ers" in Matthew 5:9 applies to those who actively make peace happen. These givers and receivers of peace "shall be called sons of God." Being a child of God means sacrificing all one's rights [see above, pp.24-28], so we should not be surprised to read in the subsequent verses that making peace in the world will involve persecution and self-sacrifice [5:10-12].

 

      The most common argument against implementing pacifism as a government policy is that to do so would be to renounce justice, which in effect, is to renounce God.[15] Such a criticism might be valid for non-theocratic forms of pacifism, but it is entirely inappropriate as a criticism of theocratic pacifism. This is because the latter sees justice from a fundamentally new perspective: justice is something which by its very nature cannot be accomplished if human beings try to force it on other human beings, since the one-sided "justice" of worldly politics always succumbs to the demonic. Theocratic justice recognizes God alone, especially in his self-emptying character, as worthy of enforcing justice, confessing that all attempts to force justice into existence through worldly power are bound to fail in the long run, even if they appear to succeed in the short term.[16]

 

      Nevertheless, theocratic pacifism is not diametrically opposed to all uses of force whatsoever, but only to its misuse. For example, since the theocrat is not to fight against the established politi­cal means of enforcing the law [Rom. 13:1-7; see above, pp.73-83], the existing legal force (e.g., the po­lice) ought to be tolerated and obeyed-though actively participating in it would be at least as difficult for a theocrat as it would be to serve as a politician [see above, pp.87-92]. Moreover, using force can be legitimate if it is necessary in order to show love to a neighbor-such as, by disciplining a child, by grabbing a person who is about to walk into the path of a speeding car, or by physically restraining a man who is about to rape a woman. For such actions do not employ any of the methods of worldly politics, but apply self-sacrificing force as an immediate expression of the politics of love. Theocratic pacifists cannot agree entirely with those who, like Ellul, call for an "absolute rejection of violence";[17] rather, we must allow for violence and even war in certain instances, though the rationale bears little resemblance to what has come to be known as the "just war".[18]

 

      The principle of love provides the basic guideline for answering the question posed earlier [p.84] about the use of military force. In order to be a truly loving use of force, "theocratic violence" (whether military or otherwise) would have to be based on retribution rather than retaliation. The proponent of the latter says to the adversary, "You did it to me, so I will do it to you", whereas the proponent of the former says "You did it, so it will be done to you." In other words, a theocrat must have enough faith in divine justice to suspend judgment, perhaps even in some cases that seem clearly evil, thus leaving vengeance entirely to God [Deut. 32:35; Rom. 12:19]. Such a course of action is utter foolishness, unless there is a God who "will judge his people ... when he sees their strength is gone" [Deut. 32:36], and who will see to it that everyone is "measured" by the "measure" they use to measure others [Mat. 7:1-2]. Jesus' prayer in Matthew 6:12 shows that our willingness to offer forgiveness to those who do us wrong is the very foundation upon which we can ask God to view our own wrongdoings with like-minded compassion [cf. Deut. 32:36]. But our hope in God's forgiveness does not preclude (on the contrary, it may well imply) the belief that God himself will use those who ignore these guidelines-those who judge others and/or seek revenge-to do justice to others who break them. For this reason, although theocrats should not themselves participate in the evils of violence and war, nor even condone a government that does so for a "good cause", we must expect war [Mat. 24:6] as a sad but inevitable sign that God's sovereign justice will be done even when we cannot understand it.

 

      When force is used by a worldly political power to defend a "just cause", the result is virtually always unloving-notwithstanding the rhetoric typically used to convince people otherwise. This is because such force, based as it generally is on a fearful protection of one's own national interests, is retaliatory rather than retributive. But must it be so? Many Christians would say "yes", and defend a policy of retaliation as the only "moral" alternative.[19] Yet this only testifies to a lack of clear vision when it comes to understanding the radically political implications of the theocratic gospel.[20] David had everything to gain by killing Saul when he had the golden op­portunity to do so. Yet, even though he had already been chosen by God to be the next king [1 Sam. 16:13], David knew he was not to usurp God's timing through the use of force [see above, p.76]. The theocrat who, like Bonhoeffer, is irresistibly compelled to go against these guidelines and resist evil forcibly [see above, p.79n], must do so not with the attitude of a righteous "crusader" defending God's cause, but with a hum­ble recognition of his or her own sinfulness.[21]

 

      Our earlier discovery [pp.77-78] that we might sometimes be required to break a law applies only when obeying that law would prevent us from pursuing our relationship with God. Those who appeal to biblical examples of lawbreaking to condone civil disobedience, which is in effect an effort to force others not to do evil, fail to realize that theocracy asks us instead to allow God to deal with such situations.[22] But what about our duty to help the victims of those who do evil? Stringfellow is surely correct to say "the church of Christ is called as the advocate of every victim of the rulers of this age", not because the victim is always right, but simply "because the victim is a victim" [S6:94]. That we must help the victimized is not a point at issue: the question is, how? To regard civil disobedience as an appropriate expression of this duty (as Stringfellow seems to assume) is to stand in danger of helping the victimized in a way that merely breeds more violence and hatred.

 

      The loving recognition that, in some sense, the oppressor is also a victim, makes it difficult to explain how, for example, a policy such as capital punishment could be regarded as properly theocratic. The many Old Testament references to capital punishment [e.g., Lev. 24:17; see A3:114] ought to be regarded not as proof that God approves of this use of worldly violence, but as his way of insuring that people did not take their natural desire for revenge further than merely killing the offending person. In other words, the whole "eye for eye, tooth for tooth" mentality [Ex. 21:24; Lev. 24:20; Deut. 19:21] is best regarded as a concession to those whose desire for revenge would otherwise be unrestrained.[23]

 

      The story of Moses killing the Egyptian [Ex. 2:11-15] instructs us on the dangers of misusing theocratic force. When Moses sees "an Egyptian beating a Hebrew", some intervention is called for, especially in light of the political oppression of his people at that time. But his mistake is twofold. First, he bases his action on the motive of protecting an "insider" to his world, which therefore leads him to hate the outsider. And as a result, he reacts with even more force than the force he was supposedly reacting against. This story is typical of the results of the wrong use of force, inasmuch as it tells of the fear [2:14] and subsequent exile [2:15] Moses experiences when he discovers others know of his deed. His exile symbolizes how the use of force to defend our rights and possessions (rather than to love the oppressed) often ends in the loss of access to the very thing being defended (for Moses, his oppressed brethren). Fortunately for the people of Israel, God uses Moses' exile to humble him, to the extent that he agrees to return later as God's instrument for releasing the oppressed [3:9-10,13].

 

      It is no accident that the following comments on revenge in Romans 12:17-21 appear immediately before Paul's discussion of submission to governments:

 

 

Never pay back evil for evil to anyone. Respect what is right in the sight of all men. If possible, so far as it depends on you, be at peace with all men. Never take your own revenge, beloved, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." "But if your enemy is hungry, feed him, and if he is thirsty, give him a drink; for in so doing you will heap burning coals upon his head." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. [See also Deut. 32:35; Prov. 25:21-22; Mat. 5:39.]

 

 

Of course, these remarks apply primarily to how individuals should relate to each other and to their own governments; but if the political character of the gospel is taken seriously, then they must apply to the way theocrats should encourage governments to relate to each other as well.[24]

 

      Along the same lines, Revelation 13:10 makes it clear that such a view is not merely optional, but is bound up with the very nature of theocratic faith: "If any one leads into captivity, to captivity he goes; if any one kills with the sword, with the sword he must be killed. Here is the perseverance and the faith of the holy ones." And Jesus makes a similar statement to this when he is about to be led away into the hands of the Jewish Council of Elders (i.e., the Sanhedrin). After one of his followers "drew out his sword, and struck the slave of the high priest" [Mat. 26:51], Jesus nips any further violence in the bud ("Stop! No more of this") and proceeds to heal the man's wound [Lk. 22:51]. In Matthew's account he then adds, "all those who take up the sword shall perish by the sword."[25]

 

      How is this well-intentioned action on the part of one of Jesus' followers different from the proper use of theocratic force in the story of Jesus clearing the temple [Mat. 21:12-13]? The main difference is that the former was performed out of worldly fear of losing the Master, whereas the latter was performed out of Jesus' love for his Father's house-albeit, seasoned with a touch of righteous anger (i.e., anger rooted in the fear of God). Jesus applies force only against those who would use religion (i.e., the temple grounds) to rob God of his rights-in this case, by replacing the spiritual life of a society with material possessions [see also pp.166-167n below]. Yoder may be right in claiming Jesus' action did not involve any violence [Y1:48-51]; but inasmuch as some degree of force must have been used to perform this very sensitive political act, it does not fit properly into the category of non­violence either. For Jesus was not trying to change any law or put political pressure on anyone; rather, his clearing of the temple was motivated by a desire to change people's hearts. That is why he replaces the money­changers' stalls with a "stall" for healing, teaching, and prayer [Mat. 21:14; Mk. 11:15-18; Lk. 19:45-47]. The difference between such theocratic force and worldly violence is that the former restores the authority of God and the dignity of mankind, whereas the latter corrupts both. Thus, as Yoder puts it in Y1:243-244: "what Jesus renounced is not first of all violence, but rather the compulsiveness of purpose that leads men to violate the dignity of others." This renunciation "itself constitutes our participation in the triumphant suffering of the Lamb."

 

A Modern Good Samaritan

 

      The parable of the good Samaritan [Lk. 10:23-37] vividly illustrates the reconciling force of theocratic love. When we see suffering or oppression, the natural human response is to chase after the wrong doer, or to fight for better laws or a better enforcement of the existing laws. Jesus does not mention such options in his parable, so we cannot conclude that they are wrong; nevertheless, the spirit of the parable clearly requires us to view them as, at best, secondary to the immediate task of showing love to the person in need.[26] For it is in so doing, and not by following the world's methods, that alienation (in this case, between Samaritans and Jews) can be overcome, so that rival nations can begin to reconcile their differences.

 

      Perhaps a modern adaptation of this parable can bring home its relevance as a guideline for putting theocratic love into practise today:

 

... And turning to the theocrats, Jesus said privately, "Blessed are the eyes which see the things you see, for I say to you, that many evangelists and politicians wished to see the things which you see, and did not see them, and to hear the things which you hear, and did not hear them."

        And behold, a certain theologian stood up and put Jesus to the test, saying, "Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" And he said to him, "What is written in the Bible? How does it read to you?" And he answered and said, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." And he said to him, "You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live."

        But wishing to justify himself, the theologian said to Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus replied and said, "A certain woman was jogging in a public park; and she ran into a gang of hoodlums, and they stripped her and raped her, and went off leaving her half dead. And by chance a certain pastor was passing through the park on his way to a protest rally at the local abortion clinic, and when he saw her on the path ahead, he took a less direct path in order to avoid getting involved. And likewise, a Christian senator, when he was walking down the same path and saw her, went another way, for he was late for an important debate on the latest anti-abortion bill. But a certain feminist homosexual from "the other side of town",[27] who was going into the city to do some business, came upon her; and when he saw her, he felt com­passion, and came to her, and bandaged up her wounds, comforting her; and he lifted her in his arms, and brought her to a nearby hospital, and stayed by her side all night. And on the next day he took out two thousand dollars and gave it to the head nurse and said, 'Take care of her; and whatever more you spend, when I return, I will repay you.'"

        "Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the woman who ran into the gang of hoodlums?" And he said, "The one who showed mercy toward her." And Jesus said to the theologian, "Go and do the same."

 

 

This adaptation suggests one of many areas in which theocracy, as the politics of love, can have a practical application of the utmost relevance to contemporary political issues. For if the woman discovers she is pregnant, she will be faced with the ominous responsibility of choosing whether to preserve or end the unsolicited life growing within her.

 

      For over a decade, the major concern for many politically active Christians, at least in the United States, has been the issue of abortion.[28]The "pro-choice" group argues that women have the right to choose what to do with their own bodies or anything in them. The "pro-life" group argues that a tiny foetus is already a distinct life which nobody has the right to kill. So far, the former group has been winning most legal battles, though the latter group has been making its voice heard by protesting at the enormous tragedy (the "holocaust") of millions of lives being "murdered".[29] In this section I do not intend to take sides on the issue of whether or not it should be legal to abort unwanted pregnancies; rather, I will sketch a theocratic response to the debate itself, with a view towards understanding the root problem and forging a path on which reconciliation could take place.

 

      To discuss this debate in terms of "pro-abortion" versus "anti-abortion" positions virtually precludes any chance of achieving reconciliation. Throughout this section I shall instead adopt the terms used by each group to describe itself: a "pro-choice" versus "pro-life" debate does have some chance of being resolved, since both sides are thereby portrayed as affirming positive values, which are not directly contradictory. This debate is unnecessarily polarized when pro-life advocates refer to their opponents as "pro-abortionists" [see e.g., F2:4; T1:16] or when pro-choice advocates refer to their opponents as "anti-abortionists". Each side rejects such titles for itself on the grounds that more is at stake than the survival of a single foetus.[30] The problem is that this "more" is normally described in terms of a person's "rights", either to "life" or to "freedom of choice". Yet a foetus' right to live and a person's right to self-determination are equally (il)legitimate claims; so reconciliation can never come about by defending rights, but only by transcending the issue of rights by adopting a "pro-love" position.[31] And this will require respecting the opposing party at least enough to avoid referring to them with terms presupposing a negative moral content.

 

      The abortion debate is a critical issue in the modern world not only because of the millions of lives which are ending when they have not yet fully begun, but also because pregnancy is one of the most appropriate human images of the coming of God's kingdom. Just as the arrival of the child (or the "son") symbolizes the final culmination of this kingdom, pregnancy is a vivid picture of our present time, when that kingdom is being formed within us (and us, within God). Our ability to minister reconciliation to the two sides of this debate, our ability to speak peace and love to both the suffering foetuses and the op­pressed mothers, is likely to be directly proportional to our ability to see the coming of the kingdom as a present reality. For the "pangs of childbirth" of which Paul speaks [Rom. 8:22] are, quite literally, the pangs of love yearning to be expressed. Moreover, Jesus encourages children to come to him [Mat. 19:14] and insists that we ourselves must "become like children" in order to enter God's kingdom [18:3]. And the entire Old Testament ends with the claim that before "the great and terrible day of the Lord" (i.e., the culmination of God's kingdom) arrives, "the hearts of the fathers" must be turned "to their children, and the hearts of the children to their fathers" [Mal. 4:5-6]. These verses can be taken as hints that the abortion issue will not go away until the ministry of reconciliation extends even beyond the mothers, to the fathers whose irresponsibility (in unrestrained sexual activity and/or lack of proper care for the woman) lies at the root of the whole problem.

 

      A theocratic perspective on the abortion issue cannot side with either the pro-choice or the pro-life groups, because both groups make the same mistake by bas­ing their arguments on the issue of rights. The problem will never be solved as long as it remains a question of legal (or even moral) rights.[32] For this is a demonic perversion of what is actually the root issue causing the whole problem. The root issue is oppression. And the complexity of the issue is revealed by the fact that in this tragic situation, both the mother and the aborted foetus are under oppression. The pro-choice group tends to ignore the fact that a mother who chooses to abort is oppressing the foetus. The pro-life group focuses on this oppression, but tends to ignore the fact that the mother is in many cases forced into making such a choice because of the oppressive lovelessness of her society-a problem which everyone who lives in that society has equal responsibility to solve. Only when we recognize that the alarmingly high number of abortions taking place every day is just as much the effect as the cause of oppression can we truly appreciate the extent to which a pro-love position is the only hope for the future.

 

      For this reason, the question this debate often focusses on, "When does life begin?", can be sidestepped [see above, p.132n]. The very assumption that we are capable of answering such a question belies an arrogance which is contrary to the theocratic spirit. From a biblical point of view, God's ways always remain ultimately inscrutable; thus, we could say human life begins before conception, since God forms us "in the depths of the earth" [Ps. 139:15-16; cf. Ru. 4:13; Jer. 1:5], or as we take our first breath at birth, since the Greek and Hebrew words for "spirit" also mean "breath" and are closely connected with "life" [see e.g., Gen. 2:7; Ac. 17:25]! These two answers would have radically different implications for the two sides of the traditional debate, yet each is equally (il)legitimate. The solution must rather be to accept humbly our inability to answer such questions, and focus instead on a more fundamental question, "When does love begin?"

 

      Until now, the battle over the abortion issue has been waged primarily on two fronts: in courts of law and on the doorsteps of abortion clinics. Yet neither of these venues is conducive to the implementation of a theocratic solution to the real problem.[33] Concerning the former, theocrats must come to realize that the law is usually not the organ of truth and justice, as our modern mythmakers would have us believe. Rather, it is in reality a forum for testing lawyers' skills in devising rational proofs or disproofs of a given case, without breaking the rules of court etiquette which have come to be accepted as "proper". This is why so often someone who everyone knows is guilty is allowed to go free, or vice versa: in worldly politics proper procedure rather than truth is usually the governing force.[34] This, surely, is part of the reason why Paul admonishes Christians not to take each other, or any "neighbor" to court [see 1 Cor. 6:1-11; cf. Mat. 5:25]: to do so is to live the world's way, thus clouding the vision of theocratic politics (and compromising a truly Christian way of life).

 

      Jesus goes even further than Paul in his demand that his disciples give up the idea of implementing truth and justice through legal battles. He gives several examples [Mat. 5:17-42] of how his theocratic gospel "fulfills", and thus transcends, various issues which in that day were governed by the courts of law. In each case he shows that the real law is one that no court can ever judge, for it is the law of the heart. At one point he even refers explicitly to the issue of suing. After telling them never to take oaths [5:34], as required by the courts, he commands:

 

 

do not resist him who is evil; but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any one wants to sue you, and take your shirt, let him have your coat also. And whoever shall force you to go one mile, go with him two. [5:39-41; cf. Prov. 9:7-8.]

 

 

Is this a travesty of justice? No, it is Jesus' attempt to give us a glimpse of a higher plane of justice: the supreme justice of self-emptying love. Thus he ends this passage on the law with a general principle applying to all situations when we are tempted to resort to the world's system of justice: "love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you" [Mat. 5:44].

 

      These "enemies" refer general­ly to those who do evil for religious reasons [Mat. 5:11-12], and can be identified with the "weeds" in Matthew 13:24-30,36-43.[35] More specifically, the enemies are those who commit acts of violence against us [5:39; cf. 5:21-24], those who bring lawsuits against us [5:40; cf. 5:25-26], and those who force us into unfair service [5:41; cf. 5:27-30]. These are hardly the examples Jesus would have cho­sen had he wanted us to apply his words only to our personal relationships! Such an interpretation may be a tempting alternative to biblical theocracy.[36] Yet it is precisely this sort of "human tradition", based as it is on the "wisdom of men", against which Paul's warnings about "philosophy" are directed [see above, pp.119-120]. Thus, just as Jesus refers to implicitly legal/political issues, so also, as we have seen, Paul's very similar admonitions about loving enemies and not resisting evil [i.e., Rom. 12:14,17-21] are followed by an even more explicitly political example [13:1-7].

 

      Whether or not we wish to associate "changing a law" with "resisting evil", we must nevertheless recognize that no law, either allowing or banning abortions, will be able to solve the real problem. In fact, although changing the current laws to make abortions illegal would probably reduce the number of abortions, it might actually worsen the real problem by hiding it, whereas at present it is at least out in the open where anyone who wishes can see it, responding in love with a ministry of reconciliation to those who are oppressed.[37] The real problem is a growing unwillingness to take responsibility for the care and nurture of the children we bring into the world. As a result, those pregnant women who know in advance that their baby would not receive adequate care, often because there is no father who is willing to take responsibility for loving it, decide to abort before the suffering grows even worse. And their plight is understandable: a foetus is a gift of pure, potential personhood from God; but an unwanted gift is often regarded as a curse [see e.g., Gen. 3; 1 Cor. 1:23; Gal. 3:13]. Of course, just because we regard something (such as an unplanned pregnancy) as a curse, does not justify us in refusing to accept it, since it may turn out to be a blessing in disguise [Rom. 8:28]. Thus, I am not suggesting here that there is no need to care for a foetus, but only warning against putting the cart before the horse. Our first responsibility is to care for those we see: how can we emphasize care for unborn children if we are unable to care for those who are already born?

 

      Those well-intentioned protesters who block the entrances to the abortion clinics will only worsen the real problem if they make the oppressed mother feel even more guilty and unloved than she already feels.[38] Rather than attempting to prevent abortions forcefully, which only breeds stronger opposition, I believe those who really wish to help remedy this problem should approach these women individually, with hearts (if not lips) which say: "Please choose to let your baby live. I will pay all medical bills. Then, if you wish, put the child in my care. I will love it as one of my own; and if you ever decide you want to care for the child yourself, just ask and I will return the child to you!" Of equal importance would be to show them, in whatever way is appropriate, that someone understands their dilemma and is willing to share the responsibility for it,[39] even to the point of a married couple giving up their desire to have their "own" children in order to care more responsibly for those who would otherwise have been aborted.[40]

 

      The conflict between pro-choice and pro-life can be reconciled in a theocratic way only when both sides are willing to lay down their rights in order to adopt the pro-love standpoint. I believe that if all the energy which has been poured into giving "pro-life counsel" on the doorsteps of abortion clinics, and into lobbying for anti-abortion laws, had been channelled into concrete, individual acts of loving care for the women whose thirst for love has driven them to choose to abort unwanted pregnancies, far more children's lives would have been saved in the past decade.[41] To insist it is never God's will that a foetus be aborted is to take the role of God upon oneself, thus turning theocracy into a form of ecclesiocracy, just as much as forcefully aborting a foetus; for what is ecclesiocracy except a human attempt to establish theocracy without love? By loving the parents, we take the matter of the life of the foetus out of our own hands and allow God to exercise his power and authority over the situation.

 

      Focusing on the parents' needs more than on those of the foetus is necessary mainly because the foetus actually has only one need: to have parents who know how to love. The idea of ministering to the foetus by ministering to the parents is parallel to the idea of ministering to an unseen Jesus by ministering to anyone in need whom we see, such as prisoners, sick people, etc. [see Mat. 25:31-46]. This is not to deny that the foetus is also our "neighbor", as some might think [e.g., F2:148-149n]; rather it is to recognize that the status of "neighbor" applies first and foremost to those we actually do see [cf. 23]. Along these lines, we can paraphrase 1 John 4:20 as follows: "If anyone says, 'I love this foetus,' yet hates its mother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love the mother, whom he has seen, cannot love the foetus, whom he has not seen."

 

      Once we recognize that only God, who actually sees us before we are born [Ps. 139:16], can ultimately save babies, then we must view the horror of mass abortion, though no less tragic from the human point of view, with humility. For it may be that somehow, paradoxically, this tragedy is hastening the coming of God's kingdom, much as the defeat of the saints does in Revelation 13:7. In any case, the bottom line for the theocrat is not one or the other party line on abortion, but the line drawn by God's inscrutable will [cf. Is. 55:8-13].

 

      Those who believe theocracy can be implemented in the real world will be given a vision of how they as individuals can do their share in promoting the coming of God's kingdom. Each person's vision will be different (e.g., not everyone will be called to minister to those oppressed by the problems giving rise to abortions), so it is important that we do not try to impose the details of our own vision on anyone else [cf. p.118n above]. Instead, like the good Samaritan, we must get on with the task of ministering to those whose oppression we ourselves see,[42] believing that, although our vision is only partial [1 Cor. 13:12], we are part of a Body whose head sees and guides its members perfectly [12:12-27]. This is the ultimate key to the practical implementation of theocracy: each individual takes responsibility for his or her own vision, and believes all visions, though apparently quite different from our human point of view, can be united in the transcendent vision of Christ.

 

Conclusion: The Kingdom of Self-Emptying Love

 

      Theocracy is in its very essence a politics of love. Although we have worked with this principle as a basic presupposition throughout this chapter, we have not yet discussed the precise meaning of the word "love" in this context. That love must be the central focus of any attempt to construct a "Christian" view of politics is a common enough assumption.[43] But unless we clearly understand the special biblical sense of love as agape, we are in danger of misrepresenting the true force of biblical theocracy.

 

      God's kingdom is the kingdom of love. We must always keep in mind, though, that the word "love" refers here neither to sentimentality nor to the pleasantries of friendship, but to the creative experience of discovering the powerful powerlessness of self-empty­ing.[44] Not only does it require us to endure suffering, it also opens us up to the risk of exposing our own hidden hatred, the purging of which is one of the purposes for our suffering. For this reason, apathy is always an easier alternative to choose, though often more destructive than hatred in the long run.

 

      Our model for understanding how to put this politics of love into practise must be the revelation of God's own self-emptying nature in Jesus himself. Ellul regards this as the principal defining characteristic of the biblical concept of God, whose power (even as "King of kings and Lord of lords" [e.g., Rev. 19:16]) is always "a self-limited omnipotence", so that God creates not "by a terrible explosion of power but by the simple Word" [E4:33]. Some defenders of democracy would see this as a justification for the "separation of powers" in a government, perhaps also interpreting Jesus' willingness to empty himself of his divine nature as providing a legitimate basis for emphasizing human rights-i.e., as suggesting that we must stand up for the rights of others, just as God in Jesus stood up for our rights [cf. pp.28-29n]. Along similar lines, Tinder claims that "Christianity ... implies democracy" [T4:178; see also S7:120], arguing that this conclu­sion follows directly from the Christian principle of agape [T4:175-178]! But a close examination of the relevant biblical passages reveals this to be a gross misinterpretation of the doctrine of divine kenosis (emptying).

 

      A verse that is sometimes quoted out of context for such a purpose is 2 Corinthians 8:9: "though [Christ] was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, that you through his poverty might become rich." Paul makes this statement in the middle of a passage [8:1-15] in which he is pleading with Corinthian Christians (who were known to have problems misusing spiritual gifts [see 1 Cor. 12-14]) to learn to practise the "gracious work" of giving [2 Cor. 8:7]. Thus, verse 9 is actually making the point that we should follow Jesus' example by willingly giving of our newfound riches so that those who are poor can also become rich enough to practise the grace of giving. Paul's vision is not equality through defending equal rights, but equality through willingly sharing with those in need [8:13-14].

 

      The most explicit "self-emptying" passage [Php. 2:5-11] would also have to be twisted in order to regard it as a pattern for defending anyone's rights. For when Paul says Jesus "did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped [i.e., as a right]" [2:6], he does not go on to say that Jesus then defended the rights of humanity; on the contrary, after emptying himself of his divinity Jesus proceeded to empty himself of his humanity as well, "by becoming obedient to the point of death" [2:8; cf. Y1:241-242]. Indeed, the Bible consistently portrays the incarnation as being motivated not by God's desire to defend human rights, but rather by his desire to show love [see e.g., Jn. 3:16; Rom. 5:6-8]. And if the Bible's message is that we should "have this attitude in [our]selves which was also in Christ Jesus" [Php. 2:5], then this clearly indicates that, as we saw in Chapter Two, the Christian Way is not meant to be one that involves (much less being based on) a defense of human rights. Christians are rather to give up their rights for the sake of loving their neighbor.

 

     We must be careful not to assume, however, that the posture of self-giving love requires a person to have a low self-image. When Jesus gave up his divine rights, he did not give up his own realistic appraisal of his divine value in his heavenly Father's eyes [cf. pp.25-26n]. On the contrary, he must have had a keen awareness of his value as God's Son in order to have the faith to die willingly, trusting God to offer the gift of new life in return [cf. Rom. 1:4]. So also for the Christian, "dying to self" does not imply an attitude of selflessness ("I have no value"), but one of unselfishness ("I ought not to claim any rights as my own"); for if the self we give has little or no intrinsic value, then our self-giving love will not be of any use to the person on the receiving end.[45]

 

      A familiar, though quite controversial, example of such self-emptying love comes in Paul's view of the politics of family relationships, especially the bond of love between husband and wife. Feminists rightly reject the male chauvinism implied in the typical interpretation of Paul's account of the roles of husbands and wives in Ephesians 5:22-33. However, this is largely due to a com­mon misunderstanding of what he means by "love": Paul is not saying that husbands can demand sex from their wives while wives must willingly cook and clean for their husbands! Once we realize that theocratic love requires self-emptying-that, as Paul himself says, a hus­band loves his wife by "[giving] himself up for her" [5:25]-then the political agreement he is proposing comes to appear, if anything, less "fair" to the husband. For Paul is asking husbands to die to their own self-interests, to seek always to do what is best for their wives. And what wife would complain about "submitting" to such an agreement? The wife is taking a risk, though, because she is supposed to submit even if her husband fails to love her in this way. The effect of Paul's outline for the politics of marriage is to divest the marriage agreement of any claim to "rights" by either partner.

 

      Few would deny that the kingdom of love can be realized in the context of a household, and perhaps even within the family of a healthy church congregation; but can this kingdom really compete with the prevailing king­doms of fear we see operating in governments, based as they are on worldly politics? On any non-theocratic view of Christian politics, the notion of a "politics of love" would certainly be a contradiction in terms, since love cannot actually be enforced as part of a legal system without destroying the spontaneity that makes it love. Worldly politics usually aims at maximizing the selfish interests of the citizen, whereas love requires us to pay at least as much attention to the interests of our neighbor. Especially in modern democratic and/or capitalist societies, a "politics of love" therefore tends to sound like an impossible dream. Yet this is because we have been blinded by the mediocrity of democratic ideas such as "equal rights" and capitalistic institutions such as "life insurance", which harden our natural impulse to love and fool us into believing selfish politics is a necessary evil. Perhaps a politics of love would not sound so crazy if the modern world had more countries ruled by kings (i.e., by good monarchs with real political power, rather than just figureheads).

 

      In any case, regardless of the nature of our particular political climate, the Bible asks us to believe that as individuals begin, one by one, to live with the love of God in their hearts, then theocracy, the politics of love, will become more and more real. This indeed is the bottom line. Our belief in biblical theocracy stands or falls on whether or not we have the faith to believe in a politics of self-emptying love whose creative power can penetrate even to the darkest domineering powers of worldly politics. "There is no fear in love", so if we really believe "perfect love casts out fear" [1 Jn. 4:18] in our personal relations, then why are we so reluctant to believe the same is true for international relations? Probably the most common excuse is that, although theocracy may be a nice ideal, it is unrealistic and "utopian": it would work only if everyone turned away from sin at the same time and became theocrats all at once. But this is an utter falsehood! As Sider puts it in S2:51, Christians must not be fooled into thinking "that they ought to delay living Jesus' ethic until non-Christians do so. That is to turn New Testament ethics ... on its head. Rather, Christians will by grace model now what they know all people will live when the kingdoms of this world become the kingdom of our Lord."

 

      Being the only political system really capable of combatting evil without itself becoming evil, biblical theocracy is very much intended to be implemented in the same, sinfilled world into which Jesus Christ was born. But Jesus never said we could submit ourselves to God's rule without great sacrifice. Thus, in order to apply theocracy to international relations, "a nation must", as G.H.C. Macgregor suggests, "be willing, if necessary, to incur the risk of martyrdom by refusing to equip itself against the possibility of aggression." In other words, it must "risk crucifixion" [quoted in A3:64-65; see below, Appendix B]. Indeed, the Bible's insistence on theocratic politics, its consistent vision of a humanity governed by the God-Man, is to be treated as an historical reality in precisely the same sense that Christ's resurrection was a real event in human history. And so Macgregor recognizes that a truly theocratic nation "might lose its own national life; but it would set free such a flood of spiritual life as would save the world." With the prospects of this potentially apocalyptic path to human "progress" in mind, it should come as no surprise that Paul's discussion of death and resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15 includes the revelation of the political significance of this pattern: "... then comes the end, when [Christ] delivers up the kingdom to the God and Father, when he has abolished all rule and all authority and power" [15:24].

 

      Perhaps the most appropriate conclusion to a book which presents us with such ominous responsibility, and before which our own Christian walk so often pales in insignificance, is to pray earnestly for help and guidance. For this purpose, I can think of no better model than the prayer Jesus himself suggests in Matthew 6:9-13. When Jesus gives his followers what we now call "the Lord's Prayer", he does not tell them they must recite these very words in order to pray properly. For this would directly contradict what he has just finished saying about the meaninglessness of mere repeti­tion [6:7]. Instead, he asks them to "pray ... in this way" [6:9], know­ing that God already knows their needs "before you ask him" [6:8]. And this means he expects them to adapt this model to each situation, praying meaningfully about the concerns gripping their hearts. With humble hearts, let us therefore close this formal study of biblical theocracy by each bringing before God our Father the political powers operative in our own particular city, using the adaptation on the following page to focus our attention on the theocratic implications of Jesus' prayer.

 

Holy Father, unspeakable name,

Your heavenly kingdom is coming to this earth;

We see it, and so we acknowledge the presence of your perfect will in (name of city) today.

Open our hearts to receive daily the gifts of nourishment from your Spirit.

 

Forgive our selfish ambition to defend our rights,

Just as we now release from blame those who have hurt us by defending their rights.

Open our eyes to the temptations of the world,

And save us from the political and cultural traps set by the Evil One.

 

For this earth is your kingdom.

Our power is your power.

Our glory-

What glory can we claim except that which comes from you?