© 2013 by Jim Wallis

Published by Brazos Press

a division of Baker Publishing Group

P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516–6287

www.brazospress.com

Excerpted from On God’s Side: What Religion Forgets and Politics Hasn’t Learned about Serving the Common Good

Ebook edition created 2013

ISBN 978-1-4412-4595-3

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1989, by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright Page

Who Jesus Is and Why It Matters

Epilogue: Ten Personal Decisions for the Common Good

Notes

About the Author

Back Ad

Back Cover

Who Jesus Is and Why It Matters

Precious Lord, take my hand, / lead me on, let me stand.

—Gospel hymn by Thomas Dorsey[1]

Jesus did not come just to save our souls. The Jesus I was told about as a child was quite different from the one I met later, years after leaving my childhood church. As much as we loved the Bible in the congregation my parents helped to found, we somehow missed the central message of the New Testament, the message that Jesus called “the kingdom of God.” Jesus’s gospel of the kingdom is much more than the gospel I was raised with, which I will call the atonement-only gospel—a message that was mostly about how I could get to heaven and not about a new order that had come to change the world and me with it.

The question is, why did Jesus come? The answer is, of course, fundamental for Christians. But it could also be of great interest to all who want to understand the true meaning of their nation’s and the world’s largest religion. Are we getting it right? What would be the implication if we weren’t, and, even more important, what might happen if we did get it right?

If we are asking why Jesus came, it makes sense to see what he said himself and what the New Testament says. So let’s begin there. And because faith always has a lot to do with each of our stories, I will tell mine in relation to the question of why Jesus came.

Why Jesus Came

When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up and read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because he has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,

to let the oppressed go free,

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4:16–19)

The people who sat in darkness

have seen a great light,

and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death

light has dawned.

From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

As he walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. (Matt. 4:16–20)

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” (Matt. 5:1–12)

These are the words Jesus spoke at the outset of his ministry. When Jesus chose the text from Isaiah 61 to read in the temple, he was announcing his mission, as recorded in the Luke 4 text. These were the first public words out of his mouth, his first sermon, his first public appearance, his opening gig, and his mission statement. I’ve always called it his “Nazareth manifesto.” Very clearly, justice would be at the center of his mission. He came to “bring good news to the poor.” The root of the Greek verb Jesus uses there for “good news” is evangel, from which we get the words “evangelize” and “evangelical”; Jesus’s movement was to be based on proclaiming the good news. Without a doubt, Jesus’s gospel was always to be good news for the poor. Therefore, any of our gospels that are not good news to poor and vulnerable people clearly fall short of what Jesus proclaimed in his opening statement about why he came. In other words, any gospel that is not good news to the poor is simply not the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The promise of justice and freedom for those who are oppressed or enslaved is at the core of the Nazareth proclamation of Jesus’s mission. Captives of all kinds would welcome this, as would all those who suffered under the burdens of injustice. Giving sight to the blind carries both literal and spiritual meaning, as Jesus’s next steps reveal.

Evangelical theologian Scot McKnight says, “Jesus thought he was anointed by God to proclaim the gospel to the poor and to proclaim freedom for prisoners and recovered sight for the blind and to set the oppressed free. This is why he came. These are his words. Jesus got his job description from Isaiah. What Isaiah predicted would happen is what Jesus is saying he is doing. It’s his mission.”[2]

The Matthew 4 text, like the one in Luke 4, comes at the outset of Jesus’s ministry. This is the beginning of his public life, so what he starts with is certainly important. In this Gospel text, the book of Isaiah is again invoked to prophesy about a people living in darkness who are about to experience a great light.

And the very first thing Jesus does is announce that his coming is literally the beginning of a new order of things called the kingdom of heaven, or the kingdom of God. Jesus was the herald of a whole new way of living that was, from the start, meant to change the world; and he called people to join that change, beginning with their own lives.

“Repent” here is the Greek word metanoeite, which doesn’t mean feel “guilty” or “sorry” but rather “turn around”—you are going in the wrong direction and you need to make an about-face. Jesus was saying, “Turn around, for the kingdom of God is at hand.” A new order is breaking in, and it’s time to set off in an entirely new direction.

The biblical assumption is that we are on the wrong path, heading in the wrong direction, away from God. The Scriptures refer to our self-determined course as walking in sin, darkness, blindness, dullness, sleep, and hardness of heart. To repent is to make a complete turn and take a new path. And throughout the New Testament, the kingdom of God is the central theme of the gospel story.

After announcing the breaking-through of the new order, Jesus goes right ahead and begins to call individuals to follow him. Conversion of persons, therefore, would also be central to this new order, this new way of life. Indeed, the earliest name for Christians was “the people of the way.” And these simple fishermen, whom we would likely call working class today, were the first to be invited to join Jesus and his new order—to be completely changed by it, to experience a transformation so profound that John (another disciple) in his Gospel would later refer to it as a “new birth” (John 3:3–8).

No aspect of human existence—the personal, spiritual, social, economic, or political—is safe from this sweeping change. Everything must change. Our choice is whether we will offer our lives and our allegiance to the kingdom of God. And making that choice requires conversion.

This is not an add-on to personal spirituality or private piety meant to merely enhance one’s life. These Galileans were called to give up everything else to follow Jesus, and the Gospels report that those who were called “left their nets,” their former way of life and their previous work and vocations, to follow Jesus. A new order has arrived, and if we want to participate in it, we will need to be converted to the One who brings it.

The Charter of the New Order

As the audience was beginning to swell in response to Jesus’s teaching, he went up a hill, his disciples followed him, and he began to teach them the meaning of this new order. The Beatitudes and the Sermon on the Mount are the charter of the kingdom of God, the Magna Carta or constitution of the kingdom; they are the instruction manual for living in the new age.

In fact, the Beatitudes and the Sermon were used by the early church to instruct all new converts in what it meant to follow Jesus and enter into his kingdom. It was the church’s most basic course or catechism, The Gospel 101. These radical teachings were never simply for a certain age or time; they are meant to describe and define our lives right here and right now. Yes, the kingdom has come, and yes, it has yet to be fulfilled in history. It is therefore “already” and “not yet,” meant to be lived now by those who follow Jesus as a sign and community and catalyst for the new order.

Much has been written on the Beatitudes and the Sermon on the Mount, and all of that commentary should be the subject of continual study and devotion by believers.[3] It is the place to begin to understand the kingdom of God. Here is my brief summary:

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Luke’s version of the Sermon on the Mount sayings simply has “blessed are you who are poor” (Luke 6:20); so, taking Matthew and Luke together, the kingdom will become a blessing to those who are afflicted by both material and spiritual poverty. The physical oppression of the poor will be a regular subject in this kingdom (as Jesus’s “Nazareth manifesto” also made clear), but the spiritual impoverishment of even the affluent will also be addressed and healed. In affluent churches and countries, the Beatitudes’ focus on the materially and physically poor is often a threat and even an embarrassment, but the consistent biblical imperative cannot be denied. For the biblical writers, spiritual poverty is often the result of having too much affluence and no longer depending on God. But the message is holistic in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke—Jesus offers blessings and healing to those who are both poor and poor in spirit.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Those who have the capacity to mourn and weep for the world, those who have the compassion to care, will be comforted by the coming of this new order. What we call “empathy” is perceived not as a weakness in Jesus’s new way of living but rather as one of its most important strengths. Of course, Jesus’s disciples would later hear him say that to love their neighbor as themselves was one of the two great commandments (Matt. 22:39; Mark 12:31; Luke 10:27). To be able to feel the pain of the world is to participate in the very heart of God. The compassionate response of God’s people to human suffering is one of their defining characteristics.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

It will be the humble, not the haughty, who will be the favored ones here; this kingdom turns our understanding of the logic of power and who’s on top upside down. Mary’s Song, called the Magnificat, promises the same when she prays about what the coming of her son means: “he has scattered the proud . . . brought down the powerful from their thrones . . . lifted up the lowly . . . filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty” (Luke 1:51–53). And when Jesus is asked by his disciples who will be first in his kingdom, he tells them it will be the servants of all. Humility is one of the most underappreciated values in our intensely competitive culture, economy, and politics.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

To be hungry for “righteousness,” a word in the Scriptures that is often synonymous with “justice,” will be a leading characteristic of Jesus’s new order. While religion has often covered up and even benefited from injustice, this kind of faith will overcome it. Justice—social, economic, racial, and gender—is at the core of the kingdom of God. Those who love the kingdom will both seek and pursue it. And those who long for the presence of justice, who are hungry and thirsty for it, demonstrate that they belong to a God who promises it.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

Those who have the grace to show mercy and forgiveness will be an example now. If you want to be shown mercy, or if you need to be forgiven for anything (and who doesn’t, in all honesty?), the only way to receive it is to also offer it, says Jesus. In a world of such enormous pain and violence, and all the hurt and scars that come from it, it is critically necessary for us to learn the ethics of forgiveness—a key to this kingdom. There is no way that all our conflicts and sins against each other can be rectified in this very human world, but those who have learned to forgive by practicing “truth and reconciliation”[4] herald the coming of the kingdom of God.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

“Pure in heart” is another way to say “having integrity,” something that seems to be sorely lacking in cultures that encourage us to get away with anything we can. We long for people who have an inner quality of truthfulness, honesty, goodness, and honor. We want to trust them because we know we can depend on them. And they will be both admired and trusted in this kingdom. Little is more countercultural in our society than to teach such integrity to our children, and nothing will better demonstrate the quality of true leadership. Such leadership is the only kind that will be trusted today.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Conflict is found in every corner of our world, and violence is the habitual way of resolving our grievances and disputes. Even being “for” or “against” wars becomes just another confrontation. What we need most are not just peace lovers, who talk against all the violence, but peacemakers, who actually learn how to resolve our endless and inevitable human conflicts without recourse to such destructive methods. The practices of conflict resolution are urgently needed in both our personal and political battlegrounds and will be the only way to break the tragic cycle of violence. In this new order, those who show the skills, behaviors, disciplines, and courage of peacemaking will have the honor of being called “children of God.”

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

There is always a special and honored place for those who are persecuted or who end up giving their lives for the cause of right. We remember them as our heroes, and our children look up to them as role models. Even in death, their spirits seem to live on and inspire others to follow in their steps. Those who are persecuted for the sake of what is right and just will inherit the kingdom, says Jesus.

Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

The assumption is that if you live by Jesus’s new order, you will be persecuted for it—by all those who feel threatened and challenged by its values and practices. You may be reviled, attacked, and falsely accused of many things, all on account of Jesus and his kingdom. But don’t worry, you will find good company with the biblical prophets, who were often persecuted for proclaiming the word of God. Instead, rejoice and be glad, for you will be rewarded by God for such good and world-changing behavior.

The rest of Matthew 5, 6, and 7 is all the Sermon on the Mount. Its words are among the most elegant in all of Scripture and show how the kingdom that Jesus brings will turn the world upside down. And those who truly follow it will become the “salt of the earth” and “the light of the world” (Matt. 5:13, 14). Jesus comes not to “abolish” the law and the prophets who came before but to “fulfill” them (Matt. 5:17). Over and over, we hear him say, “You have heard it said . . . but I say to you,”[5] and then take everything said before to a new and much deeper level. He connects anger with murder. He brings moral clarity to personal choices like adultery, lust, and divorce, and in ways that especially protect women. His instructions about retaliation call for revolutionary tactics of nonviolent resistance, and he follows that by giving us the most radical command ever—to love our enemies.

Prayer and giving are to be done quietly, before God, not in a trumpeting of piety and philanthropy. Where we have invested our “treasure” will show where our “heart” truly is (Matt. 6:21): either on earth or in heaven. And don’t worry so much about what you eat, drink, or wear, or how you look; in other words, pay absolutely no attention to the entire message of modern advertising. “Look at the birds of the air. . . . Consider the lilies of the field,” and see how “your heavenly Father” looks after them (Matt. 6:26, 28). Don’t “strive for all these things,” but do trust God, and “strive first for the kingdom of God” (Matt. 6:32–33). And remember the key choice Jesus gives us here: “You cannot serve God and wealth” (Matt. 6:24). A serious look at these teachings would turn most churches upside down, not to mention Wall Street and the economy, which is likely why these teachings are seldom seriously studied, even in our congregations.

We are also told in this sermon not to judge others, so that we won’t be judged in the same way—advice that would save our religious communities a lot of time and effort. And then we are confronted by the most chilling challenge to hypocrisy ever written: “Why do you see the speck in your neighbor’s eye, but do not notice the log in your own eye?” (Matt. 7:3).

The Sermon also contains what was later named “the Golden Rule”: “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you” (Matt. 7:12). There has likely never been a better formula for the common good spoken or written in history.

Jesus warns against false prophets who will come to us as wolves in sheep’s clothing. He suggests we evaluate so-called prophets by what they do and how they live, not just by what they say. And he says not everyone who calls him “Lord” will enter into this kingdom. In fact, Jesus tells us, there is a broad gate and easy road that leads to destruction, but “the road is hard that leads to life, and there are few that find it” (Matt. 7:14).

The Sermon concludes by predicting that those who don’t heed these words of Jesus are like foolish people who build their houses on sand; they will be blown away when the storms of life come. But, he says, “everyone . . . who hears these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock” (Matt. 7:24–25).

Of course, the Sermon on the Mount contains the Lord’s Prayer, which many churches ritually repeat every Sunday in worship liturgies. But do we really listen to it, believe it, take it seriously, or honestly act on what it says? “Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matt. 6:10). That’s what Jesus asks us to pray—for his kingdom to come “on earth as it is in heaven.” That means now, in this life, in this world—in our lives, families, churches, neighborhoods, and nations.

The Personal Stories of Theology

The biblical texts I cited above are Scriptures I heard almost nothing about in all my formative years in church. And the commentary I just offered on them was never even vaguely discussed in any sermon or Sunday school lesson I received. The fact that many other Christians in the second half of twentieth-century America could say the same thing points to a very serious theological and spiritual crisis in our church history. While the kingdom of God is central to the New Testament, it was never central in the churches that many of us grew up in. Instead, in our conservative churches, the gospel of the kingdom was replaced by an atonement-only gospel.

Let me try to reveal that tragic story by telling my own.

Four decades after leaving my seminary, I went back there for a debate on the question, “Is social justice an essential part of the gospel and the mission of the church?”[6] Trinity Evangelical Divinity School is a very “evangelical” school and one, like many other evangelical institutions, that is trying to correct mistakes of the past.

It was great to be back at the place where our Sojourners magazine and movement had begun. I still have many fond and powerful memories from those days when we were young seminarians wrestling with these very issues of social justice and the church’s mission. I looked out over a packed chapel and was told that this Trinity Debate had the largest audience of any in ten years.

I was debating a leader from the Southern Baptist Convention who is a seminary president. I argued yes, that justice is integral to the gospel, while he said no. Dr. Albert Mohler argued that social justice was important but that “the gospel” was the atonement brought about in Christ that saves us from our sins and secures our souls for heaven. It was a very civil and respectful conversation because Al and I know each other and because both of us wanted to demonstrate a kind of discourse different from what now prevails in our culture and politics. But we did disagree, and our disagreement is at the heart of very different visions today for the future of the church. The big question is, what is the gospel?

I spoke about the “gospel of the kingdom,” outlined in Jesus’s initial proclamations in Matthew 4 and Luke 4, with the meaning of the kingdom then elaborated in Matthew 5, 6, and 7 in the Sermon on the Mount—just as I have discussed it above. I believe that Jesus’s own words are very clear when it comes to answering the question posed at the Trinity Debate.

Dr. Mohler said he agreed with everything I was saying about the biblical imperatives for justice, but that it was only an implication of the gospel and not the gospel per se. The gospel, he said, is about the singular issue of substitutionary atonement and personal redemption outlined in the Pauline Epistles.

I find Paul’s later teachings on justification by faith fully consistent with and complementary to Jesus’s gospel of the kingdom. But I agree with Paul himself that we should interpret Paul in light of Jesus, and not Jesus in light of Paul. Thus, for me, “social justice” is integral to the meaning of the gospel—a holistic message that includes both personal salvation and social transformation. This is the gospel of the kingdom, not an atonement-only gospel. In the latter, it almost seems that Jesus wasted his first three years with all those teachings, parables, and healings. He might have just gone straight to the cross to make atonement for our sins. In that case, why worry about this world? Why not just focus on heaven?

Red and Yellow, Black and White, They Are Precious in His Sight

I shared with the young Trinity seminarians the story of my evangelical church’s “atonement-only gospel.” I thought that, as part of a new generation of evangelicals, they might be looking for something different from what I was raised with and what was very prominent in my own seminary years.

I still vividly recall being put on the front row one Sunday night when our church hosted a revival preacher. I was there because all the “unsaved” kids had to be, and my parents were concerned that I had yet to be “saved,” as I was getting up in years. I was six.

It felt like the fiery evangelist was pointing his finger right at me when he said, “If Christ came back tonight, your mommy and daddy would be taken to heaven, and YOU would be left ALL BY YOURSELF” (emphasis added based on how it sounded to me at the time). He got my attention. I knew I had a problem if that were to happen: I would be a six-year-old with a five-year-old sister to support. My mom was good at fixing things, so I went to her. As was her way, she didn’t tell me about the wrath of God, but that God loved me and wanted me to be his child.

That all sounded pretty good to me, so I signed up. It wasn’t very deep, but it was real enough for a six-year-old child. After “adult baptism” when I was eight, I went through the usual evangelical church pilgrimage: church every Sunday all day, Sunday school, vacation Bible school, summer Bible camp, and eventually the youth group. I was very good at “sword drill” competitions, in which the object was to see who could most quickly find a Bible verse and read it aloud. And every Sunday night, I was usually the youngest at the men’s prayer meetings before the evening service, which got me lots of pats on the back and hopes for my future spiritual leadership.

But when I reached my teenage years, other questions began to grow inside of me. Mostly they were questions about what was happening outside of me and outside of our church in the city of Detroit. My hometown, the Motor City, was completely segregated and deeply divided by race—and the tensions were on the rise. In my Sunday school, they had taught us kids a song whose lyrics went, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world; red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight; Jesus loves the little children of the world.”

But the only children in our sight were white kids; we never saw any black people at all, except when we would pass by them downtown and my grandmother would have us wash our hands afterward. I had heard there were black churches in Detroit, but we never went to them or knew much about them. We also never had a black preacher or even a black choir in our all-white church.

We were called the Plymouth Brethren, a small evangelical group that came to America after breaking off from the Church of England many years ago. We believed that most other churches were likely not really Christian, but the closest to us were probably the Baptists. Plymouth Brethren didn’t have ordained ministers but relied on laypeople to lead and preach.

My father was the head “elder” and pastor in our church. He was an engineer and businessman for Detroit Edison but rose every day early in the morning to read and study his Bible before we all got up for work and school. My mother—really a pastor too, if you count taking care of everybody as the role of a pastor—couldn’t be recognized in any official church leadership role because she was a woman. (But her memorial service was the largest event in our church’s history, rivaled only by my father’s several years later.)

I learned that there were actually black Plymouth Brethren churches in Detroit, but we were never told anything about them. We loved the same Jesus, read from the same Bible, and sang from the same hymnals (though we never sounded as good as they did). They knew about us, but we didn’t know about them.

I began asking questions about the things I was hearing and reading. Why were there hungry people in Detroit? Why were so many black people poor? Why were there so many black men in jail? Why were we all so separate? Why didn’t we know any black Christians or ever go to their churches or have any of them come to ours? And who was this minister in the South named King? What was he up to?

The questions led to trouble, as questions from young people often do, and nobody wanted to or could answer them. We lived in a white suburb, but I began to go into the city by myself when I could. I eventually found some of those black Christians and churches, who took me in and began to answer some of my questions. Then I started to take jobs in the city to save money for college, alongside young black men who were using their salaries to help their families survive. We began to talk to each other, as young people do, about our lives. And I began to understand that we had been born and raised in different countries, even if we lived in the same city.

I was discovering that something was terribly wrong in my city and my country. So I pressured my church elders to have a church meeting to discuss the problem, and after a long time, they finally agreed. They asked me to take the “side” of the blacks, and they had some church elders defend the way things were. I studied hard, learned lots of facts, and read the Bible where it seemed to apply. But it didn’t matter. The church meeting did not go well, and the majority opinion was that blacks had to “pull themselves up by their own bootstraps,” as all of “us” had done. “Would you really want your sister to marry one?” was the question I most remembered. Nobody except me mentioned the Bible much or cared much when I did.

The culminating conversation came when a church elder later took me aside and said, “Son, you have to understand that Christianity has nothing to do with racism; that’s political, and our faith is personal.” I think that was the night that I left my church—at least in my head and heart—and, after a little more time, I was off to university and away from my childhood faith and church, much to my liking and to theirs. I found my new home in the civil rights and student movements of my generation. My old church members weren’t “political,” they said, but most were against the civil rights movement and ministers like Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

So what happened was this: a young Christian became slowly aware of the momentous moral issues of justice and injustice that surrounded him, his nation, and his church. He tried to apply his faith to them, but the church shut that down. He wanted to change the world because of his faith. But the church told him that faith was not supposed to change the world, just to change us and get us to heaven.

The great lesson I learned from all that, many years later after coming back to faith, is a message I now say over and over again: God is personal but never private. I believe in a God who wants relationship with every one of us and then wants to sign us up for God’s purposes in the world. And ever since, I have been distrustful of private gospels and theologies that refuse to address the world and its need to be changed.

The theology that deals only with the atonement, one of personal salvation and the life hereafter, was the theology of both my Plymouth Brethren church and Al Mohler’s Southern Baptist church. Both churches, mine and his, missed the greatest moral issue of our time. We missed the civil rights movement, and most of our white Christian brothers and sisters were on the wrong side of it.

When a church gets something that big that wrong, it certainly raises very deep questions about its theology. The theology of our churches made the church complicit with white racism, opposed to the civil rights movement, and completely unsupportive of our brothers and sisters in the black church. That enormous moral failure drove me and many other young people away from the churches and faith of our childhoods.

At our debate Dr. Mohler admitted that his Southern Baptist tradition had failed on the issue of race and had been on the wrong side of the civil rights movement. He also affirmed the role and leadership of the black churches in America, just as I had. But he said the gospel was still about atonement, and we just needed to do a better job of making the implications of the gospel clearer—helping Christians become disciples committed to social justice, along with their primary preaching of personal salvation.

The Gospel of the Kingdom versus the Atonement-Only Gospel

I came back to my faith only after reading Matthew and Luke and discovering the gospel of the kingdom, which wasn’t just about “me and the Lord” but about a new order breaking in to change the world and us with it—an integral gospel inclusive of justice.

And my post-debate reflection was this: if the atonement-only gospel churches in America—like my Plymouth Brethren church and Dr. Mohler’s Southern Baptist church—were on the wrong side of the civil rights movement and are still generally less involved in issues of justice, maybe something is wrong with their theology and not just their practice.

The same was true of white South African churches that also had an atonement-only definition of the gospel. They too were on the wrong side of justice and were the bulwarks of the brutally oppressive apartheid system. They were completely opposed to inspirational and prophetic Christian leaders such as Archbishop Desmond Tutu, just as white evangelicals in America were opposed to Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.

Conversely, the churches that have been on the side of justice, such as black churches both in the United States and South Africa, were always the ones to say that justice was integral to the meaning of the gospel and not just an implication of it. That should tell us something.

If justice is only an implication, it can easily become optional and, especially in privileged churches, almost nonexistent. In the New Testament, conversion happens in two movements: repentance and following, belief and obedience, faith and discipleship, personal conversion and social justice. It’s all part of the biblical vision of conversion to the kingdom of God.

Atonement-only theology and its disciples are in serious jeopardy of missing the vision of justice at the heart of the kingdom of God. Their gospel is simply too small, too narrow, too bifurcated, and ultimately too private. And, in the end, it is (as we evangelicals are prone to say) not biblical.

Here is what it comes down to. A gospel message that doesn’t try to change the world and that concentrates only on individuals works only for those who don’t need the world to be changed. Therefore, it ends up being too white, too privileged, too male, and too American.

Today, many in the worldwide evangelical movement are rejecting the atonement-only gospel. The clearest examples of this can be found in the global South, where “good news to the poor”[7] must be central to the gospel; in the international Lausanne movement, which advocates a holistic gospel; and in the World Evangelical Alliance as well as the National Association of Evangelicals, which both see poverty, creation care, and peacemaking as essential to the gospel and the mission of the church.

A new generation of evangelicals and young believers across theological boundaries is seeking a gospel that can change both them and the world, because they too have become aware of things in the world that tear at their hearts and cry out for their commitment, just as I did when I was their age. I know that feeling as a young believer, and I don’t want the church to shut them down this time, as it did me. Rather, we need to welcome that energy and passion and say to them: Come, young brothers and sisters, and help us change the world, for the sake of Christ and his kingdom.

For God So Loved the World

It was “the world” that was missing in the church that I grew up in. The world never came up much, except for the constant exhortation not to be “worldly.” Ironically, the biblical text most famous in our evangelical churches was from the Gospel of John, chapter 3, verse 16. These were the words of Jesus, too: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” We’ve all seen John 3:16 signs held up in the end zones on televised football games—a witness of Christians to their favorite text. It was the first verse I ever memorized.

But somehow, all we got from that passage was assurance for our “eternal life” in heaven someday. And we missed the entire beginning of the text: “For God so loved the world.” God loves the world. As already mentioned, Jesus also told us to pray these words: “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matt. 6:9–10). I believe the life that Christ brings us is “eternal,” but it is also for this world, this earth, right here and right now.

The crowd and conversation at Trinity Divinity School that night showed me again how much the evangelical movement is changing and how much my seminary had changed since I started there almost forty years ago. Too many churches today are still tragically split between those who stress conversion but have forgotten its goal and those who call for Christian social action but have forgotten the necessity of personal conversion. It’s time for seminarians and pastors from both our evangelical and liberal churches to get this right. And a new generation may help do that.

All the ways the New Testament epistles and the early church described what happened on the cross must not be reduced to narrow teachings that avoid the reality and meaning of the kingdom of God. Human sin is very real, as we have all painfully experienced and seen. Our selfish sins separate us from God, from others, and even from creation itself. And the consequence is indeed the reality of guilt and a spiritual death that affects us even now. But Christ comes to bring us back to life!

The Creator of all chose to make the sacrifice of his only Son to bear and forgive all the sins committed against a loving God, the rest of humanity, and the natural order. It is the most unbelievable and powerful story in all history. But how our great sin debt was overcome is part of what the New Testament calls the mystery of faith—“not some legal transaction that turns God into a combination of rigorous accountant and tough policeman,” as a pastor friend of mine, Bob Smith, put it in his Bethel Bible class called “Jesus the Savior.”

The word and image that most attracts me and stirs my imagination about that New Testament mystery of salvation is reconciliation. In his Second Epistle to the Corinthians, the apostle Paul says, “So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation” (2 Cor. 5:17–18). In Christ, everything that has been broken and divided is reconciled, and now we are “ambassadors for Christ since God is making his appeal through us; we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God” (2 Cor. 5:20). I’ve talked to pastors, like Will Campbell from Tennessee, who used that text to minister to the most racist whites in the South, even during the heart of the civil rights movement. We are all sinners, said Will, and we can all be reconciled to God in Jesus Christ.

But this salvation is never just private. It runs from the personal to the cosmic in the New Testament. It saves us from our alienation and separation from God, from the power of sin and guilt, and from spiritual death; but it also saves from injustice, oppression, captivity, violence, and fear. And from a biblical perspective, salvation extends far beyond the personal, to seeing God acting in the world to redeem and restore the whole of creation—persons, relationships, institutions, and the natural environment itself.

This was always God’s intention, and the coming of the kingdom in Jesus Christ is the pivotal event in that history. Paul describes the cosmic dimensions of salvation in one of my favorite texts:

For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God . . . that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves. . . . For in hope we were saved. (Rom. 8:19–24)

Spiritual revival always begins with conversion. And the revivals I am most drawn to are the ones that aim their personal conversions at the changing of the world and the overcoming of the great injustices of their time. In fact, some church historians actually say that spiritual “renewal” doesn’t get to be called “revival” unless it addresses the issues of the day—changing society as well as the hearts of its converts.

“Altar calls” were historically used by evangelists to call people to faith. Walking down the aisle to the “altar” to give your life to Christ was the practice. But in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, altar calls in both British and American revivals signed up their converts, on the spot, to join the abolitionist movement to end slavery! A renewal of faith brought black and white Christians into the civil rights movement and antiapartheid struggles in the United States and South Africa. Today, that engaged vision of faith is enlisting a new generation of believers in campaigns against global poverty, pandemic diseases, the exploitation of labor, and human sexual trafficking.

In the Bible and church history, conversion is always historically specific. What the gospel means in relationship to our times and our issues is always key. What we are turning from and turning to defines what we mean by the gospel.

Jesus’s last words to his disciples are called the Great Commission. In it, he simply instructs them, “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations . . . teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matt. 28:19–20). We go out, teaching “all nations” about the kingdom of God and the new way of living Jesus has invited us into. We go out, teaching what he taught us—all those beatitudes and parables and lessons. And, as we go out into the world, the Teacher will always be with us.

Epilogue

Ten Personal Decisions for the Common Good

The common good and the quality of our life together will finally be determined by the personal decisions we all make. The “commons”—those places, as we noted earlier, where we come together as neighbors and citizens to share public space—will never be better than the quality of human life, or the human flourishing, in our own lives and households.

Here are ten personal decisions you can make to help foster the common good.

1. If you are a father or a mother, make your children the most important priority in your life and build your other commitments around them. If you are not a parent, look for children who could benefit from your investment in their lives.

2. If you are married, be faithful to your spouse. Demonstrate your commitment with both your fidelity and your love. If you are single, measure your relationships by their integrity, not their usefulness.

3. If you are a person of faith, focus not just on what you believe but on how you act on those beliefs. If you love God, ask God how to love your neighbor.

4. Take the place you live seriously. Make the context of your life and work the parish that you take responsibility for.

5. Seek to develop a vocation and not just a career. Discern your gifts as a child of God, not just your talents, and listen for your calling rather than just looking for opportunities. Remember that your personal good always relates to the common good.

6. Make choices by distinguishing between wants and needs. Choose what is enough, rather than what is possible to get. Replace appetites with values, teach your children the same, and model those values for all who are in your life.

7. Look at the business, company, or organization where you work from an ethical perspective. Ask what its vocation is, too. Challenge whatever is dishonest or exploitative and help your place of work do well by doing good.

8. Ask yourself what in the world today most breaks your heart and offends your sense of justice. Decide to help change that and join with others who are committed to transforming that injustice.

9. Get to know who your political representatives are at both the local and national level. Study their policy decisions and examine their moral compass and public leadership. Make your public convictions and commitments known to them and choose to hold them accountable.

10. Since the difference between events and movements is sacrifice, which is also the true meaning of religion and what makes for social change, ask yourself what is important enough to give your life to and for.

Finding the integral relationship between your own personal good and the common good is your best contribution to our future. And it is the best hope we have for a better life together.

Notes

[[1]]. Thomas A. Dorsey (1899–1993), “Precious Lord, Take My Hand”; melody by George Nelson Allen (1812–77).

[[2]]. Scot McKnight, One.Life: Jesus Calls, We Follow (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2010), 64 (emphasis added).

[[3]]. For more on these passages, see J. H. Yoder, The Politics of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1972); C. Jordan, The Cotton Patch Version of Matthew and John (New York: Association Press, 1970); and G. Stassen and D. Gushee, Kingdom Ethics: Following Jesus in Contemporary Context (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity, 2003).

[[4]]. Two biblical words used in naming the South African Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which put forgiveness into practice after the incredible injustice and violence of the apartheid regime—a practice that likely prevented the prospect of great retaliatory violence. Forgiveness, but not the weak kind that obstructs the truth, is always a herald of the kingdom of God.

[[5]]. E.g., Matt. 5:21–22, 27–28, 33–34, 38–39, 43–44.

[[6]]. Jim Wallis and Dr. R. Albert Mohler, “Is Social Justice an Essential Part of the Mission of the Church?,” The Trinity Debates, October 27, 2011, http://www.henrycenter.org/programs/trinity-debates/.

[[7]]. Luke 4:18.

Jim Wallis is president and CEO of Sojourners and editor in chief of Sojourners magazine. He is a best-selling author, public theologian, national preacher, social activist, and international commentator on ethics and public life. Wallis has written ten books, including the New York Times bestsellers God’s Politics: Why the Right Gets It Wrong and the Left Doesn’t Get It and The Great Awakening, and is a frequent speaker in the United States and abroad. He has written for major newspapers and appears frequently on CNN, MSNBC, and Fox News, on shows such as Meet the Press, Morning Joe, Hardball, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, and The O’Reilly Factor, and on NPR. He also teaches at Georgetown University and has taught at Harvard University.

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