The truth is that race is a complex issue. And race in America—and in the American church—is surely among the most complex of issues we confront today.
Acknowledging this should be uncontroversial. For the history of race in America has been convoluted, at best. So, too, the Evangelical church’s part in that difficult story—at times courageous, at times complicit, all the while complicated.
Is there something about human beings considered together that communicates something more about who we are as image bearers? In other words, what if it takes more than the individual to communicate the fullness of God’s image? This is precisely Herman Bavinck’s (1854-1921) provocative suggestion: the image of God is too rich to be confined to the individual or even to the human family.
Church members are not always acquitting themselves or representing Jesus well online. Yes, churches have added social media clauses into their personnel policies, but the vast majority of social media users in your church are not on your staff. They need guidance, too.
The wages of sin is death. That is apparent, if we have eyes to see. Adultery destroys marriages. Gluttony degrades one’s health—mentally, spiritually, and physically. Covetousness constricts the heart, making one increasingly unable to love. Lying destroys trust, and therefore destroys relationships. This much is plain. It is easy to see sin for what it is when we see its effects down the road, when the marriage is irrecoverable, the heart attack has occurred, or the job has been lost.
As a fellow minister of the gospel here in Southern California, I want to articulate why I believe cooperating with the current restrictions is not necessarily a cowardly desertion of our calling, but may instead reflect the path of wisdom, responsibility, and love. My motive in writing is not to attack MacArthur, who is my brother-in-Christ, but from sincere concern about the impact of his views on other pastors and churches.
Drawing on earlier work by N.T. Wright and McKnight, Bates rightly urges that the gospel is the true story of Israel that reaches its climax in the life, death, resurrection and ascension/enthronement of Jesus of Nazareth, who is Messiah, kyrios, and Son of God.
As pastor theologians, we can no longer afford to ignore the pain and suffering caused by systemic racism, particularly, anti-Blackness. The murders of Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and George Floyd, and the recent protests have made this abundantly clear. As those charged with leading the people of God and serving as theologians for the church, we have a responsibility to engage these issues with humility, compassion, grace, and truth. But I have found that many of us ask “what can I do?” The answers are many.
According to Paul, ‘the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us’ (Rom. 8.18). But let us not misunderstand: this does not mean that our current sufferings are merely compensated by the future glory, but rather, it is through our sufferings that we are enabled to participate in the sufferings of Christ, which are revealed to us as God’s glory.
Governmental authority has been given by God to promote order and punish the guilty. There is no list of exceptions; no list of peoples exempt from the cause of justice; and none who take up justice apart from the authority of God. When private citizens take the law into their own hands, they usurp the authority of God.
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