Christmas celebrates one of the most shocking and beautiful events in all of history––the Incarnation––when the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.
In my study of theology, I’ve found that many of the great theologians break from their typical prose into a higher, poetic language when they come to the Incarnation. This piece of our Christian faith calls for something that bare prose can’t seem to satisfy. I want to share a few of my favorite quotes with you.
Martin Luther:
It is not for the angels to be proud of Christ’s incarnation, for Christ did not assume an angelic but a human nature. Therefore it would not be a surprise if the angels looked at us with envy in their eyes because we human beings, creatures far inferior to them and sinners besides, are placed above them into an honor so high and great. They worship Christ, who has become our Brother, our flesh and blood.
(from Luther’s Sermon on Colossians 1:18–20, as cited in Thomas C. Oden’s Classic Christianity, p. 274)
And now listen to how Augustine talks about Christ’s birth in a sermon on Christmas Day:
My mouth shall speak the praise of the Lord (Ps 51:15);
of that Lord through whom all things were made (John 1:3),
and who was himself made among all things;
who is the revealer of the Father,
creator of his mother;
the Son of God from the Father without mother,
the son of man from his mother without father;
great as the day of the angels,
little in the day of men;
the Word, God before all times,
the Word, flesh at the appropriate time;
the maker and placer of the sun,
made and placed under the sun;
marshaling all the ages from the bosom of the Father,
consecrating this day from the womb of his mother;
remaining there,
coming forth from here;
producer of heaven and earth,
appearing on earth under heaven;
unspeakably wise,
wisely speechless as an infant;
filling the world,
lying in a manger;
so great in the form of God,
so small in the form of a servant,
in such a way that neither the greatness was diminished by the smallness,
nor the smallness overwhelmed by the greatness.
(from Augustine’s Essential Sermons, edited by Daniel Doyle, translated by Edmund Hill, p. 245)
We haven’t grasped the significance of the Incarnation if we haven’t been overwhelmed and awed by it. So this Christmas we celebrate with Augustine, who remarks, “That men might be born of God, God was first born of them.”
We’ll have only understood half the truth if we stop here –– even at Christmas. Why did God become man? Anselm presents it well:
Death entered through one man’s obedience
Life is restored through one man’s obedience
Sin came through the temptation of a woman
Salvation came through one born of a woman
The enemy conquered humanity by tasting of a tree
Christ conquered the enemy be bearing suffering on a tree
(from Anselm’s Cur Deus Homo)
Mild he lays his glory by, born that man no more may die!
This is not what the historical Jesus looked like.
Let’s get this straight—despite Megyn Kelly’s recent protestations, the ethnicity of the historical Jesus is pretty well settled. He was a Galilean Jewish man, almost surely with darker and more olive-toned skin than a typical white man. He didn’t have blue eyes. He didn’t have a golden halo hovering above his head or perfectly blow-dried hair. He probably didn’t even have long hair.
Why we need to acknowledge that Jesus was a Galilean Jew
First, it’s a shame that we’re having to say this at all. We have to say it because, as Megyn Kelly has shown us, some people really think the historical Jesus was a white man.
It affects how we read the Bible when we imagine this sort of supernatural figure walking among the masses. He seems not quite human, more floating than walking. We picture this type of mystical figure and have a hard time understanding how the world didn’t recognize him. (Here I’m not referring to his whiteness—which is nothing supernatural—but the total aura.)
In 2002, some British scientists produced this “reconstruction” of Jesus’ face. No one really knows, but it’s probably much closer than the above.
We see these images of Jesus, clearly out-of-place in a world full of regular-looking (sometimes even Jewish-looking) shepherds and fishermen, and his humanity seems almost an illusion. It’s hard to imagine that he could have actually gotten his feet dirty, smelled bad, or stubbed his toe. That all makes it hard to imagine he understood or had to deal with our actual human plight. All of that, though, dances on the edge of an ancient heresy called Docetism, which held that Jesus only appeared to be human.
One of the great marvels of the incarnation is that the Son of God became a real, regular-looking human being. He came into a particular culture as one of the people of that culture. We lose the significance of that when we portray Jesus as a conspicuous foreigner among a bunch of first-century peasants.
When we forget that Jesus was of Jewish descent, we also miss an enormous theme that runs throughout the Bible: God chose Abraham and then the people of Israel to bring salvation to the world. Salvation is from the Jews! Forget that Jesus was Jewish and you’ll misunderstand a lot of the Bible––both Old and New Testaments.
When Jesus isn’t a Galilean Jew
The historical Jesus was a Galilean Jew, and we must recognize that for all the reasons above. But I think there are theological reasons to accept some other depictions.
Chinese depiction of Jesus and the rich man (Mark 10) – 1879, Beijing, China
The painting at right is of Chinese Jesus. Why would anyone paint Jesus and his followers as if they were Chinese? We all know this isn’t historically accurate.
I think they would do it because Chinese people will understand the incarnation differently when they see a Chinese Jesus. Although Jesus surely didn’t speak Chinese and never set foot in modern China, I think the painting at right might help a Chinese person understand some of the deep theological realities of the incarnation better than a painting of a Galilean Jew.
I’ll make the same statement as above, but now with a slightly different intention. One of the great marvels of the incarnation is that the Son of God became a real, regular-looking human being. He came into our time to experience what we experience, to share in our limitations and hardships. “We do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are—yet he did not sin” (Hebrews 4:15).
This is where we run into something called the scandal of particularity. Jesus didn’t experience everything. He didn’t experience life in medieval Europe or 21st century Africa. He didn’t experience life as a woman or as an elderly man. We might even ask if he was really tempted in every way. He was unable to experience all of these things precisely because he was human. To be human is to be limited by time and space.
An African Jesus depiction
Jesus’ incarnation required him to come into a particular time and place with a particular ethnicity and race. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among a group of first-century Jews. While the gospel of John doesn’t mean less than that, I think it intends to mean more than that. When we read, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (John 1:14), I think we’re intended to read that “us” as even ourselves. I think we’re intended to see all the particularities of Jesus’ thirty-something years of life on earth and see broader implications in them––that he is truly able to empathize with all of our weaknesses and situations, even those he didn’t directly experience.
I suspect that many people in China would feel that point more deeply if they saw a picture of Chinese Jesus. Could they comprehend it while looking at a Galilean Jewish Jesus? Surely so. But I think they would feel it differently. What language would Jesus speak to a woman from Beijing? I expect it would be Mandarin Chinese––probably with a Beijing dialect. That’s easier to expect when you see a Chinese Jesus.
Let me stop and acknowledge here that our world is quickly globalizing. A woman in Beijing may meet someone who appears Jewish or African and then find out that person speaks perfect Mandarin, with a Beijing dialect even. People don’t have to look like us to be like us. While that’s true, I don’t think it’s enough for me to tell a Chinese friend to get rid his Chinese Jesus picture.
So I’m okay with Chinese Jesus. And also Indian Jesus and Hispanic Jesus and Ethiopian Jesus –– all for the same reasons. Can we continue to remember that the historical Jesus was a Galilean Jew and yet continue using these other images, as well? I hope so.
Why I’m (cautiously) okay with white Jesus
For all the same reasons I just gave, I’m okay with white* Jesus depictions. Just as I think an Ethiopian might see Jesus a bit differently––and more truly––if she sees an Ethiopian Jesus, I think a white person might see Jesus differently if he sees a white Jesus.
I’m more cautious of white Jesus than any other depictions, though. I’m cautious because people like Megyn Kelly actually believe that Jesus was white. They’ve seen so many white Jesuses that they have lost any sense of his true historical ethnicity. I’m cautious because we don’t need a white Jesus to suggest any more white privilege to our world. I’m cautious because of how prevalent white Jesus seems to be in the Western world––so much so that it might be hard for Westerners of other ethnicities to picture a Jesus that looks more like them.
When I was in seminary, a guest speaker came to one of my classes and celebrated all the great things about his ethnic heritage. He talked about the ways that they were including specific parts of that heritage in their worship, and it was beautiful. But then he looked at all of us (nearly all white) and said, “You need to remove everything that reflects white culture from your churches. White culture has done too much evil.” He went on to tell us that we had no ethnic heritage, and when someone asked what cultural patterns we should adopt, he told us to pick any other than our own.
I suspect that this man had been deeply hurt by what he called “white culture.” I’m sure many of his family and ancestors had as well. I regret that. Nevertheless, I don’t believe those past hurts are cause for telling anyone that they have no culture and should go and adopt someone else’s. For that reason, just as I’ll support a Chinese Jesus, I think there is still a place for a white Jesus. I don’t think we should rid ourselves of those depictions, though I think it’s time our depictions got a bit more diverse. Let’s keep white Jesus, but let’s be sure to add Jesuses of many other ethnicities to the mix. Most of all, let’s be sure Galilean Jewish Jesus has some prominent place in our vision.
———–
Excursus: A Female Jesus?
This discussion leads us to another important question. If we can depict Jesus as Hispanic or Indian, African or Chinese, can we depict Jesus as a woman?
Let me first say that I believe we have a Savior who empathizes with women just as well as with men. He understands their thoughts and experiences no less. And by no means does God favor or honor one gender over another.
But I wouldn’t depict Jesus as a female. Augustine says Christ “was not ashamed of the male nature, for He took it upon Himself; or of the female, for He was born of a woman.” Thomas Oden offers this as a hypothesis: “If the mother of the Savior must necessarily be female, the Savior must be male, if both sexes are to be rightly and equitably involved in the salvation event.”** I think there’s something important to keeping Jesus as a male, the Son of God, born of a woman.
I suspect my thoughts here represent a minority view. I’ve gotten myself into issues of race, gender, ethnicity, and historical accuracy. I’d be interested in your thoughts in the comments.
* I wade into all sorts of murky waters by using the word “white” here. I use it the way that Wikipedia defines the term “white people” to refer to a set of ethnic groups characterized by lighter complexions and with origins in Europe, the Middle East, or North Africa.
** All of this from Thomas Oden’s Classic Christianity, p. 505.
This story about a pastor’s new house has gotten a lot of attention. Enough that a half-dozen people have sent me links to it.
A summary: Steven Furtick, pastor of Elevation Church, is building a 16,000 square foot house valued at $1.7 million.
People across social media and the news media have rushed to share their opinions – most of them disapproving and condemning. I’ve seen two objections from people — one about the church’s money, the other about extravagance.
1. “A church shouldn’t pay their pastor enough that he can afford this kind of house.”
Some people have heard this story and concluded that Elevation Church is paying Furtick too much. Not many people in North Carolina can afford a $1.7 million home.
Let’s suppose that’s the case.
How much compensation is too much for a pastor?
Let’s assume Furtick’s salary + housing allowance is $680,000. That’s what CNN Money suggests he’d need to earn to afford this house. Is $680k too much?
How do we decide what too much is?
Every time I’ve questioned pastors’ pay within my denomination, other pastors have rebuffed me: “We have managerial-level jobs and professional degrees, why shouldn’t we have incomes comparable to other managers and professionals?”
If these arguments are valid, couldn’t we argue that Furtick is worth every bit of $680,000 per year? He started a church in 2006 with 14 members and leads a congregation of more than 12,000 today. That kind of talent is rare.
If we see no problems with a $130,000 package for pastors who have inherited and maintained congregations of 500, why should we object to paying Furtick much more?
Or is there a simple ceiling? $500k? $300k? $100k? Anything that would put our pastor’s household in the top 10% of the region? Top 5%? Top 1%?
Without having a line, what grounds do we have to criticize Furtick’s church and not our own?
Now if you read the article linked at top, you’ll see that Furtick says in defense, “I didn’t even build that house with money from the church. I built it with money from my books.”
In Furtick’s mind, the criticism is because people think he’s receiving too much from the church, and this proves that they’re wrong. (His church doesn’t disclose what he makes — a major transparency problem, in my opinion.)
Others might say, though, that the problem is extravagance.
2. “A pastor shouldn’t live this extravagantly.”
Perhaps the story is getting attention because of a gut reflex people have — something telling them that the gospel and extravagance are ill-matched — the same reflex that endeared Pope Francis to so many when they learned that as a Cardinal he rejected chauffeured cars and palaces and opted for the city bus and a simple apartment.
If this is how they feel, they have plenty of support from the church’s best theologians. Saint Augustine called extravagance (along with its opposing tendency — avarice) a mistress that enslaves people to its temporal lusts. John Wesley urged people to spend nothing on the pleasures of taste, expensive apparel, or vain purchases for the sake of status.
Furtick reveals no felt tension between gospel and extravagance. I suspect many people are reacting because they think his choices are unnecessarily lavish. “Who needs 7-1/2 bathrooms?”
But when do we cross the line from appropriate to unnecessary?
Is a $600,000 house in a gated community too extravagant? How about a home with 5 bathrooms and 6,000 square feet? House in a good school district, 1,200 square feet, and a big screen TV?
And what if we learned that Furtick gives half of his income to charity? Would that make the 16,000 square foot house more acceptable?
It’s hard for many of us to say that we’re living according to Wesley’s standards: never indulging in food, apparel, or other material things more expensive than we need to survive. So why have we determined that Furtick’s extravagance is unacceptable while ours is okay?
Taking the speck out of Steven Furtick’s eye
I began to feel a bit sorry for Furtick in all of this. We’ve raised him in a culture that bases pastors’ income on market rates and sees no problem with them living like their professional peers. If Furtick followed those same principles, who can fault him for accepting a CEO-type income and living like his celebrity peers?
Unless we’re constantly grappling with our own extravagance, why are we spending so much time looking at the speck in our brother’s eye?
Examining our own eyes
What level of pastoral income or extravagance is too much? Many people resort to the “I’ll know it when I see it” test. That’s what has happened here, isn’t it? People saw it, and it was clearly too much.
But the “I’ll know it when I see it” test fails. We grow soft with time. Gradual accommodation lulls and deceives us. Endless clichés prove the point: the slippery slope, the boiling frog, the married couple that forgets to keep dating, “first they came…”
In short, when we stop scrutinizing our own lives, we lose our edge. I think that’s true of any areas of our life — our health, our work, what kind of media we’re consuming, our parenting, our romantic relationships, the list could go on. Autopilot may work for a while, but stay there for long, and we’ll discover we’ve lost ground.
If you’ve read this blog for long, you’ll know that I have some pretty strong feelings about clergy income and about Christians living simply and giving generously. (By the way, that’s Christians — not just clergy. Where did some people get the idea that only clergy should avoid extravagance?)
What I may have failed to share is that this is a constant tension in my life. I have plenty of areas of extravagance remaining, and I know it. I go back to these words of Augustine regularly and ask how far off I still am: “Let the rich keep to the habits their delicacy requires, but let them be sad that they cannot do otherwise… So if the poor man isn’t proud of his beggary, why should you be proud of your delicacy?”
I’ve begun to think I’ll probably struggle the rest of my life with how much is too much (or too little) in several areas of life — simplicity, generosity, the media I consume, my use of time, etc. I used to lament that, but I believe it’s a good tension.
To be clear, if I become obsessive or paralyzed by these questions, it’s a problem. But if I ever get comfortable and complacent about these, I wonder if it will be a signal that I’m caving — either to my own desires or to hopeless despair about never knowing exactly where to draw the line.
What I may have also failed to share is that when the lines aren’t black and white, I don’t dare call people to hold the same line that I’m holding. My line is at least somewhat arbitrary and still being worked out.
But does that mean we say nothing at all?
Drawing lines when we can’t identify black and white
In some cases where the lines are too difficult to draw, we give up trying and excuse anything — or only go after the most extreme cases. This seems to be what happened to Furtick. None of us know where the line is, but his case is extreme enough to call out. Similarly, we don’t know where to draw the line on pornography, so we only worry about the stuff that’s classified as X-rated. We don’t know how to draw lines about appropriate sexuality, so we tend to ignore all but the cases that offend our own sensibilities most…
In all, it seems that Christianity’s inability to draw hard lines has caused us to accept as neutral a lot of things that have no business in the lives of Christians. We don’t want to speak too forcefully — and don’t want too much accountability — when we’re not sure exactly where to call something enough. Or on the other end, we draw an arbitrary line and walk it as tight as we can (think high school dating relationships) rather than constantly asking if we might be walking a bit too close to the edge.
Though we can’t draw hard and fast lines, we still have to do our best to discern what’s appropriate for us, and we should err on the side of prudence. For pastors, we have a duty to warn people, saying something like, “I don’t know where the line is, but I’m pretty sure this is over it…” That was my attempt in a post on pornography. That has been my attempt in talking about church salaries and justice.
In conclusion, I don’t actually defend Furtick’s decision to build this house. I believe his house is too much. It’s unnecessarily extravagant. I think the burden of proof is on him to show how this use of God’s money (it’s all God’s money) is most glorifying to God. And if his church is paying him anywhere near $680,000, I think it’s a horrible misappropriation of the church’s collection — which is sacred to God and the poor, not to enrich pastors. But is it Furtick’s mentality, or only his means, that’s so far different from many other pastors’?
I say all this because I believe it’s true and should be said. But I say it also with trepidation, knowing that I need to spend a lot of time examining my own life, my own income from the church, and my own indulgences before I spend any time pointing out the speck in Steven Furtick’s eye.
teddy ray 