Understanding Jehovah’s Witnesses

 

I was wondering whether to write this post. But I think there is something worthwhile here.

I just want to say, as I have done before, that I admire Jehovah’s Witnesses in some tangible respects. If they were my next-door neighbours, I would feel confident that I had honest well-behaved neighbours whom I could trust. And I actually admire how they try not to be swept to and fro by the ever-changing culture of the fast-changing modern world, even if I don’t necessarily agree on their stances sometimes. And insofar as there is a genuine appetite for reading the Bible, I admire that too. Indeed, there is inevitably common ground with the mainstream of Bible-reading Christians, even if the narrative they tell themselves as a group is that this is not so. Even if they tell themselves that they stand in opposition to mainstream Christianity. I always like to acknowledge common ground.

In this post, I want to try to put my finger on why, however, orthodox Christians instinctively feel there is something a bit “off” about Jehovah’s Witnesses’ version of the Christian faith. And it’s not what JWs think.

It may be difficult to warm in the first place to a very polarised us-and-them way of thinking that is never far from the surface. But that it is the tip of an iceberg that we may get glimpses of. The tip of the iceberg signposts to their unusual worldview, and these glimpses of that worldview raise the red flags.

One thing you might get a glimpse of, like the outline of someone in the fog that tells you more than you can first make out is a revelling in a narrative of superiority. It may be slow to come out of the shadows and the fog, but an orthodox Christian may quickly sense that there's something there. I've looked further into the shadows, and this is what I find there. 

 

A love of superiority

Firstly, one has to understand that Jehovah's Witnesses actually believe that they are not representatives of Jesus but rather are representatives of one superior to Jesus, as they see it. 

They believe that, in their hierarchy, they represent a higher position by proxy, whereas Jesus represents a lower position, They literally describe Jesus as "inferior." 

That is, they think they represent someone superior (Jehovah). (Jehovah "superior," Jesus "inferior." That's their mantra.) 

This helps to explain why some Jehovah's Witnesses are keen to say that Jehovah is Almighty and Jesus is not. They don't consider themselves to be representatives of the "inferior" Jesus. They consider themselves to be representatives of the one who is Jesus' superior. This approach makes me feel quite queasy. 

It's as though they think that their Michael-Jesus is on one side of the equation whilst they are on the better side of the equation. 

It may well make them insensitive to how shocking it sounds to orthodox Christians. But when the Jehovah's Witnesses relegate Jesus to being an angel (archangel) and "inferior," all of this is going on in the minds of their organisation. However, ordinary JW members have probably never felt free to do the kind of analysis I have done in some of my posts. 

(If you were to wonder how Jesus being "inferior" reconciles with representing the "body of Christ", it doesn't have to, for Jehovah's Witnesses generally, as they reserve "body of Christ" for their "144,000." Which means they don't have to think through being the body of Christ. And they don't consider they represent Christ. See above.) 

 

De-centring Jesus out of ritual life

Orthodox Christians have included Jesus in their devotions from the earliest days of the apostles. These were well developed devotional practices already by the time the apostle Paul was writing his letters. Allow me to take a moment to explain, so you have the background to recognise the problem when it appears.

As Larry Hurtado wrote here (link) about original earliest known Christianity:

“There is a constellation of devotional actions that reflect the striking inclusion of Jesus: the rite of initiation (baptism) performed by invoking Jesus, the common/sacred meal as one where Jesus is the presiding figure, the invocation of Jesus as “Lord” to constitute the worship-gathering, the ritual confession of Jesus as “Lord” as the mark of early Christian identity, the singing of hymns/odes about Jesus as a central feature of early Christian worship, prayer through him and sometimes to him (either singly or jointly with God).”

Hurtado writes about how the earliest church made ritual invocations of a heavenly Jesus.  “The most common instance seems to have been the corporate acclamation/ invocation by which the corporate worship event was constituted, which involved a “calling upon” Jesus.  Likewise, in early Christian baptism, one called upon Jesus, invoking him over the baptized person.  Indeed, in 1 Cor. 1:2 Paul refers to fellow believers simply as those who everywhere “call upon the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” 

This absolutely makes the name of Jesus central to early Christian ritual. It thus feels decidedly odd when JWs preach as if the centrality has switched back to the name Jehovah, which is precisely going backwards.

And in 2 Cor. 12:6-10, Paul remembers his repeated appeals to the heavenly Jesus to relieve him of his “thorn in the flesh.” 

Hurtado also notes that “prayers are typically offered with reference to Jesus, e.g., “in his name” and/or “through” him (e.g., Rom. 1:8; 7:25; Col. 3:17; Eph. 5:20).” The centrality of the name of Jesus in early Christian ritual, such as prayer, immediately became part of the DNA. It’s so familiar that it easy to forget it must have been remarkably new to make Jesus’ name a central feature of ritual.

After Jesus' resurrection, baptism is changed from how John the Baptist would have done it. It's done "in the name of Jesus" in the Book of Acts. There is no baptism “in the name of Jesus and Jehovah" anywhere (not even in Kingdom Halls). Jesus is the central name of the earliest Christian ritual life. This apostolic innovation is so ingrained in Christian practice that it is quite jarring when JWs stridently demand that the name Jehovah be central to devotional life, as if early Christian innovation has made little impression on them. They thus seem to be outliers. And here lies the problem. Seeing the centrality of Jesus in church services, JWs are jealous to make the name Jehovah central instead. There is something disquieting about wanting to de-centre Jesus, even if ordinary JW members go into it with good intentions.

As Hurtado says (link) in relation to the early Christians, “the exalted Jesus is their Lord to whom they owe obedience and reverence.” Of course, this is not said or done to de-centre God the Father. Not at all. The centrality of Jesus in Christian life glorifies God the Father. 

There can be doubt about the central ritual confession “Jesus is Lord” and the ritual invocation of Jesus in “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved” (Romans 10:9-13). 

Paul refers to the common meal as “the Lord’s supper.”  Paul makes a favourable comparison with meals in honour of pagan deities, being a sharing in the blood and body of Christ and the Lord’s table (1 Corinthians 10:14-22). Whatever theology we attached to the bread and wine, it is obvious that Jesus is as central to the ritual as pagan gods are central to theirs. Orthodox Christians find it hard to suppress a laugh when they hear that ordinary JWs are not allowed to consume any part of the bread or wine when it is passed around at their annual commemoration of the Last Supper. But it is just one example of how they are sometimes strangely distanced from the centrality of Jesus in Christian ritual.  

Other examples of Jesus’ name being central to invocations are healings and exorcisms “in the name of Jesus” (Acts 3:6; 16:18). Hurtado: “the early Christian practice of invoking Jesus by name means that his name and power were regarded as the power by which they were able to perform these acts.”

Hurtado also reminds us to notice “the high and central place of Jesus in the early Christian circles” as seen in Paul’s letters: “grace and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ” (Romans 1:7; 1 Corinthians 1:3; 2 Corinthians 1:2). Curiously, JWs are marked in contrast by how frequently the say the word Jehovah. Theirs is a departure from Paul’s pattern.

Hurtado adds that Paul’s letters also typically conclude with a benediction as from Christ, for example:  “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you” (1 Thessalonians 5:28).” Consider that these words would have been read out in worship settings!

It all adds to the centrality of the name of Jesus in early Christian ritual life.

Consider also blessings such as this: “Now may our God and Father himself and our Lord Jesus direct our way to you.”  Not, note, “may Jehovah direct you.” This is because of these New Testament innovations, moving on from the ritual use of Jehovah’s name to the ritual use of Jesus’ name. To a large extent, it is what makes authentic Christian meetings Christian In the formal sense.

Elsewhere, Paul refers to pronouncing judgment on an errant believer “in the name of the Lord Jesus,” and to doing so “with the power of our Lord Jesus” (1 Corinthians 5:3-5). As Hurtado says, “the authority and power of the ritual is ascribed to the risen Jesus.” The resurrected Jesus is so central to this life that he is present in power on earth, notwithstanding his place in heaven. This too is remarkable.

Jesus is even salvation itself (John 14:6).

Whatever we think of the divinity of Jesus, it is clear that the central name of the authentic New Testament faith, the much repeated name, was Jesus. The fact that JWs’ insistence on the centrality of the name Jehovah seems odd to orthodox Christians doesn’t mean that JWs are hated, as they think, nor that Jehovah’s name is hated, as they think. It’s just that Christians may instinctively wonder why the JWs have gone backwards, when the New Testament goes forwards, as to which name is central to Christian life. It does make JWs seem a little peculiar. If they revel in that, so be it.

Of course, orthodox Christians are not walking around with lists in their heads like the one above. They have simply lived and breathed this stuff so long that they instinctively know when something isn’t quite right. De-centralising the name Jesus from Christianity is an example of something that isn’t quite right.

What else do the outlines we glimpse tell us about a worldview that can sometimes lead to people feeling polarised in an us-and-them way, which is one of the red flags that can make orthodox Christians recoil somewhat. 

I hope this attempt at capturing that sense that something isn't right is helpful so far.

Their Jehovah Bible (a.k.a. the New World Translation)

One of the great English hymns is “Guide me, o thou great Jehovah,” and this is not something that has required much worry. So it seems odd to Christians that JWs are drawn into being very heavily emotionally invested in the word Jehovah and seemingly anxious about orthodox Christians not saying it often enough and not reading the word Jehovah often enough. We may fairly feel something unbalanced is happening. It can lead to strange accusations emanating from the Watchtower that don’t endear people towards it.  

As happens sometimes, it strikes Christians as odd to be accused of “hiding” the name Jehovah and even “hating” the name - when they have never even had to worry about it. Let me explain.

It's an attack on published Bibles that follow ancient tradition, when there's actually nothing untoward about them. This dispute stems from the ancient Christian tradition of using the word “Lord” in the Bible where it might be expected by a scholar to say Jehovah/Yahweh. All through the New Testament, the apostolic authors quote Old Testament scripture substituting the word 'Lord' for 'Jehovah/Yahweh' and in so doing they established Christian tradition. The New Testament authors didn't do what scholars might expect. There is good reason for it.

But if you have listened to “the Watchtower script,” you will know that the accusation runs like this: in the Hebrew Bible, the name Jehovah/Yahweh occurs nearly 7,000 times. (To the uninitiated, this might just about make the category of “interesting statistic for people who like counting.”) But – oh disaster! – the title ‘Lord‘ appears as a substitute for the name ‘Jehovah.’ And that occurs in most translations.

But it's not hidden at all. The valid reason is explained transparently in the introduction on the New International Version and elsewhere. It's that the New Testament authors were innovative in how they substituted 'Lord' for 'Jehovah' to reveal truths about Jesus. 

So, if it's about revealing something Christian, why the strange accusation about ‘hiding’ something instead?

I’ve even heard the accusation elaborated to say that the name Jehovah is hidden as an agenda to make people believe in the Trinity. But the truth is instead actually rather beautiful. It’s not even to do with the doctrine of the Trinity. It's everything to do with the original New Testament authors being innovative in how they used the word Lord where you would otherwise expect to see the word Jehovah/Yahweh. The New Testament authors didn't do this to hide something. As I said, they did it to reveal something amazing about Jesus. There is more to be said on this.

What may strike orthodox Christians as peculiar is the suggestion of a conspiracy that no-one has ever heard of. And unnecessary and polarising accusations. But it may help us to understand that JWs believe that the name Jehovah is more important than the name Jesus. (This sort of hierarchical thinking is pretty fundamental for them.) So it's easy for them to latch onto the idea that there must be a conspiracy against their use of the word Jehovah. You only have to glimpse a little bit of this to quickly realise that something doesn't feel right about their argumentative positions.

You only have to sing the famous hymn 'Guide me, o thou great Jehovah' to realise that it's nonsense to portray a conspiracy to hide this name.

If one wants a Bible with Yahweh/Jehovah in all the right places in the Old Testament, these are freely available - such as the New Jerusalem Bible which is approved by the Catholic Church. So one can have both kinds of Bibles, reflecting the apostolic tradition and/or reflecting the New Jerusalem Bible approach. I have both.

But Christian translations generally follow in the apostolic tradition of revelation about Jesus, and substituting 'Lord' for 'Jehovah,' as the apostles did from the start, is how it was meant to be. And so turning that upside down and claiming spuriously that it's a dark plot to 'hide' something - instead of being in fact about revealing something - is just misplaced. The end result of their approach can be concealing the very things about Jesus that the apostles wanted to reveal. Which would be an accident of huge proportions, creating a cloud of dust in front of what's meant to be revealed - Jesus. It de-centres Jesus again. 

 

Doubling up

Any Christian could innocently show the divinity of Jesus by reading John 1:1: “and the Word was God.” Meaning Jesus was and is God. But "trying" to advance this runs straight into opposition from  “the script.” It can be quite disorientating to receive the JW answer that it should read “he Word was a god.” One instinctively knows one is being presented with an unwanted error. 

When one is so used to the authentic centrality of Jesus in Christian devotions, this is the sort of thing that seems a bit “off” and makes one intuitively recoil a bit from their message. Not without good cause. And one senses that if one knew a bit more about it, one would quickly see the unspoken problem in making Jesus “a god.”

Indeed, one only has to read what they are reading: “and the Word was with God and the Word was a god.” With no effort, we can count a total of two gods there ("with God... was a god" = 2). This is obviously problematic. The average Christian is not inclined to exhaust their time being Sherlock Holmes at this point, and just dismisses it without further ado. I made the extra effort so that you don’t have to.

Jehovah's Witnesses believe that both of them - the Father and Jesus - are unique, pre-existent, divine, heavenly beings with supernatural power on the cosmic universe-creating level. There is no-one else comparable on this level. Their John 1:1 is evidently a two god beginning, a two god creation, etc. Two unique pre-existent divine heavenly beings prior to anything else. Two at the beginning, two at creation. And they don't believe anyone or anything else is in that complex category. Unlike anything else that might bear the title 'gods.' It is ticking so many boxes on the 'god-like characteristics indicator' that it is really unpersuasive to try to disqualify this from being a two-god system. although they resists the obvious conclusion. (And the more they try to justify this by talking about “other gods,” it just feels more and more strained.) But then, rather tiresomely, you may then be told by a JW that there is only one God, having just been shown two - and this sort of encounter does strike people as odd. It makes for unsatisfying conversation.

It is in fact another way of de-centring Jesus.

Adherence to this sort of thing doesn’t seem attractive to anyone unless they are looking for this kind of thing in the first place.

 

 

Brooklyn, USA

It’s perhaps in this context that we can understand that they have also de-centralised the history of the church from Jerusalem, and re-centred it upon Brooklyn USA at the climax of history. Shifting the centre like this is apocalypticism on steroids. They shouldn’t be offended if it raises an eyebrow.

The strange way that ancient prophecies based on Judean circumstances were pulled out of shape by a small group of 20th century American men in Brooklyn into actually being prophecies about themselves (!!!) is self-serving and sadly a misuse of religion.

It's also difficult to see all this as respectful of a very Jewish Jesus of Nazareth.  But as we have seen, they also do not believe that they are representatives of Jesus.

It is standard Christian belief across denominations that Jesus has been reigning in heaven since the ascension, from around 33AD. It takes some really strained arguments to make Jesus instead be reigning from October 1914 through Brooklyn.

In summary, why would Jesus go to Brooklyn to choose a little committee of English-speaking American men in suits to head up replacements, an organisation of members to replace the entire Jewish race, led from Brooklyn? Does one not stop to think, hang on a minute...? Yes, the Watchtower organisation claims that the entire Jewish people have been replaced in God's plans by their own members (!!!). This is unsafe.

It only take a glimpse of a little bit of this strange picture for orthodox Christians to intuitively know that something there is problematic, and find no reason to dwell on it further.

Other things

I not going to get into very specific policies that the Watchtower has such as on blood transfusions, which is unnecessary here. The point of this post was to aim to put my finger on those Watchtower worldviews that orthodox Christians get glimpses of, which immediately give a clear sense - spiritually even - that something is untoward or unsafe. 

And so

Whereas, the rest of us, we instinctively feel reassured if someone is exalting the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. It’s what Christians have always done.

I hope I have somewhat succeeded, in a little way, in helping Christians understand their intuitive negative reaction, when they listen to Jehovah's Witnesses, the gut feeling that something is not quite right. And in writing this, I hope I have increased understanding.

 

 

Why it had to be God hanging there at Calvary

Why would it be God who was hanging there at Calvary 2,000 years ago?

(This post isn’t asking “Did the immortal die?” I’ve already covered that in another post here (link). This post today is about why nothing less than God would do. It had to be God hanging there at Calvary. The idea of it being nothing but a man on Calvary doesn’t work.

1 John 2:2 says that Jesus “is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.”

Let’s see where this goes.

The problems with the idea of Jesus being nothing but a man are multiple:

·       If Jesus were nothing but a man, then there was no more value in him than in anyone else. So his life is not a matching price for everyone else’s life. (Billions of us.)

·       If nothing but a man, then he doesn’t have the right to claim everyone else’s sins as his own.

·       If nothing but one man, how does he pay for history’s virtually limitless human sins? To reach out on that day at Calvary to cover all humanity’s future sins, it couldn’t be just a man doing it.

·       If nothing but a temporal man, how could this ever provide eternal atonement for all? How could an event by one man on one day pay for things of uncountable value in the far future? It’s too fanciful.

·       If nothing but a man, where’s the power to defeat Satan’s hold over creation? (As in Hebrews 2:14.) One man being perfect wouldn’t be enough to bring Satan down. It might save this man’s own eternity, but it wouldn’t bring Satan down. Sin is all-pervasive in our world, and it wouldn’t undo a whole world, a cosmos. This victory couldn’t be just a man’s achievement.

·       If God is not hanging there at Calvary, then humanity (through one of its own) has saved itself. How does God ever get the glory with humanity saving itself?

·       Whose victory was it? People of Judea could have said “We brought up this boy so well that he remained sinless. How clever we are.” How could God ever claim the victory if it were humanity claiming the victory (through one of its own)?

·       And if Jesus were not God, then it didn't have to be Jesus hanging there. The first person to avoid sin would do. A child would do. A most disturbing problem.

·       The curse of Genesis 3 is God’s curse. Man can’t revoke it. So, if nothing but a man, then Jesus couldn’t revoke someone else’s curse anyway. There had been righteous men before (Noah, Moses, Abraham) but none of them was able to break the curse of Genesis 3. Only God could do that. Calvary was the means of salvation. So it had to be God there. A man alone at Calvary could never revoke God’s words.

 

Yet 1 John 3:8 says that the Son of God came to undo the devil’s work. So the idea of this Son of God being nothing but a man doesn’t work.

The author of creation has to re-author it. That means God. That means God had to be hanging there at Calvary.

Indeed, God says that he has to do salvation himself (Isaiah 63:5). Calvary was the means of salvation. It was God hanging there. It was God and humanity united in a single person hanging there. Nothing else could deliver.

There are so many valid reasons for this, that it is insurmountable for any challenge against it. Did humanity save itself through one of it's own? No. Did humanity get the glory? No. Does one human life have more value than another human life? No. Can one simple human claim everyone else's sins as his own? No. Did God's curse get revoked by someone else? No. Did a mere human defeat Satan and the all-pervasive sin of history? No. 

To God be the glory. It was God hanging there at Calvary, for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.

(This post is indebted to the inspiring work of Debbie Laycock.)

King of Kings and Slave of Slaves

Evidence of a problem

 

Some religious groups are disquieting in their keenness for control over their members. And here’s one thing you might notice. Some of these groups like to make argumentative use of the word ‘almighty.’ The Jehovah’s Witnesses, well known for their vice-like grip on members, like to repeat that Jehovah is almighty and not Jesus Christ. This ‘not Jesus Christ’ mantra, that vice-like control, and this troubling emphasis on the word ‘almighty,’ actually seem to go together, making an untoward mixture. I find it concerning.

 

It is, in short, an organisation that not only claims to represent Jehovah, but also considers it within their mission to assert that Jesus is not as great as what's on their side of the equation. That is, they think Jesus is one side of the equation, and they are on the better side of the equation. 

They represent something greater than Jesus, they think. Putting themselves on the side of the equation "superior" to Jesus is what it's all about. 

 

This is why they are strangely comfortable describing Jesus as “inferior.” That’s part of their ethos. That, I’m sure, is why many Christians find listening to them disquieting. It's easier to understand this strange thing if you recall one thing: that they think that Jesus' underlying identity is really Michael the Archangel. So what they really think is that Michael is on one side of the equation, and they are on the better side of the equation, Jehovah's side of it. With Michael's name in view, it wouldn't seem so odd. It's the Jesus/Michael switch that exposes it for what is is. 

 

The Jehovah’s Witnesses could have opted to say that they represent Jesus, which would be nice. But they don’t. They think Jesus is Michael. So they literally use words such as “inferior” to describe Jesus. It is a blunt weapon, and a blatant powerplay by their organisation. Revelling in the word ‘almighty,’ they pitch themselves as the victors in a simplistic and sectarian battle of “kingdom” against “Christendom.” That’s how they cast their picture. Their argument is that they represent ultimate power (Jehovah) - whereas churches merely represent inferiority (Jesus). They cast themselves as Jehovah's witnesses and they regard that as superior over churches casting themselves as Jesus' witnesses. Churches proclaiming ourselves as Jesus' witnesses is part of our inferiority in the eyes of Jehovah's Witnesses. That’s not about love. It's about power.

 

Hence their using the word ‘almighty’ in an argumentative fashion. They do a lot of anti-church polemics because their ethos allows no other way than antagonism.

 

At the same time, this love of power contaminates their image of Jesus. Their weird magazine art paints Jesus at his second coming dramatically blowing up cities by throwing fireballs at people from the sky - this couldn’t be further from the biblical picture of the Lamb. Their emphatic stress on power is inherently intimidatory.  

 

So yes, there’s a problem here. And it needs considering biblically. If Jesus is the image of God – he says “anyone who has seen me sees the Father” – then we need to radically re-think where this emphasis on power and superiority is coming from.



Re-thinking a paradigm

 

You can see that this really matters, how we think about power. It’s going to be a healthy or unhealthy relationship with power. I’m not at all saying that the Jehovah’s Witnesses are unique in exhibiting this kind of behaviour, but they are a really good example of it. Hence my pointing it out. They’ll naturally feel nothing but antagonism towards me saying this. It’s hard for them to escape from their power ethos.

 

But there is a way of being Christian without modelling worship as about a great big pack of power.

 

And that got me to thinking about whether there is something altogether open to misuse about this word ‘almighty,’ something not quite right that I needed to put my finger on.

 

And what I find is this. Jesus repudiates religion that bases itself so heavily on the idea of “almighty”. I’ll come back to the word. You’ll better understand that there’s a problem with the word when you see what Jesus reveals.

John 13:12–17 has the ground-breaking story of Jesus at meal-time choosing to do a slave’s job, bending down to wash the disciples’ filthy feet wearing a towel. And then telling them that he was modelling the way they were to be to each other. If they were to do that kind of thing, they wouldn’t “need” slaves. It would be their own job from now on. Jesus said to the disciples that "you have no part with me" if you don't follow his lead in sharing this role.

What's more, Jesus indicates that none of them have shown themselves better than him at taking this lowly position, and to aspire to mastery is to aspire to take it. There is no room for mastery over other people here, only service to each other. To complete one's learning from this "master" is to complete the journey to total repudiation of mastery over others. This is like the final test of training before their "master," the initiation into his ways. No servant is equal to his master - in Jesus' training regime - until taking the position of the lowest slave like his master Jesus did. 

It's as if the sacred initiation ritual marking the formal completion of the correct training at the feet of the master is this holy practice to follow as a way of life: to imitate his act of being one who doesn't own slaves but who acts as lowly as one. Once they have grasped this, he sends them out as brothers of the same mind: they have mastered their own desire for power. They will never be greater than him. He is the King of Kings and Slave of Slaves. (If we ever resented the idea of our being "slaves of Christ," we have no idea how much more he is a slave to us. We might be called "slaves of Christ," but Christ isn't exercising mastery over other people.)

Washing feet is coded language by Jesus, here in John’s Gospel, as if it wasn’t safe to publish the message in an uncoded way. But it really suggests that Jesus was setting up for his followers to be a non-slavery community, like the Essenes (see below), and that John’s Gospel was originally received in the church in that spirit. 

This fits with Mark 10:44 which says that anyone who wants to be first among his disciples must be as a slave. This more or less forbids the disciples from being slave-masters; and suggests that slave-holders will be least in the Kingdom of God in Jesus' thinking.

It's not the way we might have thought of enslavement being abolished. It's not done by ridding of slaves. It's done by ridding the world of masters who would have control over their fellow human beings. That's how mastery over others is universally abolished in God's economy. 

I think the gospel writers would be aghast at the thought that people in the future would read such things and yet think owning slaves instead was what they were being cued up to do. 




And Paul agrees with Jesus

 

Paul writes, “do not use your freedom for self-indulgence… through love become slaves to one another… love your neighbour as yourself” (Gal 5:13-14). Here, Paul interprets “loving your neighbour as yourself” as all being one another’s “slaves” in mutual kindness. So, in describing his ideal picture of a Christian community, Paul eliminates "masters" from the vocabulary of how to relate to each other. Being a master over other human beings fails to have validity as a way of "loving your neighbour." This is quite a slap in the face to slave-masters. Only by taking the role of fellow slaves, without being slave-owners, do they have a part in this. 

o This is really significant. It means that the way Paul looked at the world, he knew there was a moral problem with the institution of slavery itself. It’s “masters” that Paul removes from the spiritual equation, meaning that the fundamental moral problem with the institution is people being “masters” over other people. And with that insight, he seeks to work out how to apply it. 

o Thus, if you are loving your neighbour how you love yourself, then you can't be your neighbour’s slave-master, because you wouldn't like it the other way round. Being the master is disqualified as a form of loving your neighbour in Paul's argument. 

o This is resistance to the institution of slavery and its fundamental imbalance. Not in the sense of being a tract against the Roman Empire. Rather in Paul's vision for the church, the idea of people being slave-masters over other people just doesn't make sense. The institution of slavery is radically out of kilter with it. 

o It also upsets people’s ideas of what their freedom is for. (Remember Jesus teaching his disciples about washing each other’s feet as if to make a society without slave-masters. Otherwise, Jesus says, they have no part in him.) 

o This simple instruction erases the worldly distinctions of slave and master in the Christian community; the slaves and the free must act as “slaves” to one another, because this is Paul's interpretation of what it means to love your neighbour as yourself. He wants his community to live like an owner-master-free zone.

What God the Father is like

I am coming to the point about the 'almighty.' Christianity contradicts other religions' ideas of a God who throws his weight around.

When Jesus said “to see me is to see the Father” and makes it an occasion for him to wash people’s grubby feet, he wasn’t joking. He was revealing something important about God the Father. This might make us feel uncomfortable. Perhaps. But we need to go where Jesus leads. Jesus says he is doing only what he sees his Father doing, If the Son is acting as a servant, then the Father is acting as a servant. It seems to me entirely in vain to resist this conclusion.

People think he was talking about how to be a good Christian. But he was also talking about the nature of God’s goodness. 

When Jesus takes the form of a human servant in Philippians 2, he’s not showing how to be different from God. He is showing what God is like. To those biblical or political figures who would aspire to be God’s equal, Jesus’ answer is that equality with God is not a snatching attitude, it’s a servant attitude.

Ultimately, the purification of the world won’t be a show of muscle, it will be the final redemptive cleansing of the Lamb.

Truths like this are hidden by mistranslating a New Testament word as ‘almighty’. I'll come back to that.

God’s creation of a beautiful universe was an act of service to those who would enjoy inhabiting its gardens. Our honouring of God in worship is an act of thanks for God’s generous service to us. 

God, without pay and often without thanks, sends the sun to shine and the rain to fall on the righteous and the unrighteous alike. Life-giving sun and rain brought to us by God, whose very image is the Slave of Slaves as well as King of Kings.

This image, this Jesus, is sometimes called The Servant King and rightly so. We are simply taking this to its fuller conclusion. 

What's in a word?

There really is a Greek word for ‘almighty.’ But... it’s not in the New Testament. Anywhere. It’s παντοδύναμος. What does it mean? It means “almighty.” But it’s entirely missing.

 

If the New Testament wanted this to be absolutely the defining thing about God, then it’s strange that it doesn’t appear even once. (And this word manages to make just one solitary appearance in the LXX, in its apocrypha actually, in Wisdom 7.23.) It’s not that God isn’t παντοδύναμος. It's just that the New Testament’s pious authors were clearly completely disinterested in the word. 

That's not to say that the New Testament authors lacked any interest in the subject. Jesus has unlimited power, having "the Spirit without limit" according to John's Gospel. Jesus is also called the Power of God. There is nothing lacking that qualifies as powerful. The Holy Spirit is God's unlimited power and is also called the Power of God. So really, looking to demote or denigrate Jesus' power is a fool's errand.

I will expand further on the subject of translation, looking closely at why the word 'almighty' appears in our English Bibles, in due course.

Ethics

It ought to be noted that in the picture of Jesus playing the slaves' part, these were all men. Men were to follow this example. My one slight nervousness in writing this post is how the concept of slavehood has been used to manipulate women and at times enslave women as subject to a male 'head of the household.' That is, the woman serves him, and the man doesn't serve her. He says, "I'm not going to be a servant." This is deeply problematic. It's not virtue either to uncritically allow your spouse to be your enslaver. And Jesus said to the disciples that "you have no part with me" if you don't follow his lead in sharing the slave's role.

Women in such situations have been manipulated to keep this arrangement that is indulgently self-serving for men who are unwilling to be "slave of all" as Christ is "slave of all," as the image of our God who must be "slave of all." This arrangement does not fulfil the wishes of Christ who expected us to be slaves of one another. Such men can call themselves the 'head' as much as they are like, but they are not a head as Christ is a head, nor a head as God is a head. What kind of 'head' wants abusive power and terrifying control over a human being? Satan perhaps. If that's not putting it too strongly. 

Satan probably would have liked to be called 'almighty.'

Relational theology: what does the buzzword mean?

Have you heard of relational theology yet? Its advocates certainly want you to. With some caution, I’m willing to put myself in that camp.

It intends a Christianity that describes God as a more relational being than we might have thought. It’s intended to sponsor a more ‘relational’ way of doing church. It's an aspiration to have a theology that thinks this through intentionally.

But here’s the first problem: every Christian tradition could claim the word ‘relational’ for itself, and it’s almost impossible to disqualify any of them. Any Christian tradition will hold that “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believes in him shall not perish”. That pretty much enables every church to appropriate the term ‘relational,’ and nothing can take it away from them.

Generally, when I speak to people who subscribe to relational theology, and I ask them what it consists of, they struggle to answer or look pretty blankly at me. The answer is usually minimal: God wants to have a relationship with us. I’ve sat through seminars on relational theology quite unable to pinpoint any clear thought in it, and the whole thing has seemed to have a hermeneutic of fluffy thinking. There’s a belief that awkward bits of the Bible are not awkward if you have a relational theology, but it can seem a bit unstructured, as if it approaches the Bible with no more strategy than hoping for a brainwave for a relational interpretation. You have to search harder to get a clearer answer on what relational theology actually is.

So what are proponents of relational theology generally laying claim to that could make them distinctive? What does that buzzword mean to them? If you could put the ingredients on the label, what are they? There isn’t someone who can decide that for us, and it can feel a bit like trying to nail jelly to the wall.

I’ll try to put a few things together, the good the bad and the ugly.

Method

There isn't a single clear method of reading Scripture to produce these perspectives. I think some of the people advocating relational theology now, saying they are reading the Old and New Testaments through a 'relational lens,' will be the same people who formerly said they were reading through a 'Christ-centred lens.' I can't tell whether for some of them this is more or less the same thing renamed. I can't tell whether it broadens or narrows the reading lens. Is it broadening the lens to bring a loving Father more into view as well as Jesus - good if so. Or is narrowing the lens to keep in mind only the parts of the Gospel's Jesus that we find most 'relational'? It could mean different things to different expositors.

Criticism of classical theism

Pushing against the deist-type idea that God is aloof and distant, relational theology emphasises that God is intimately involved in our lives up close and personal. That is to say, God affects us and we literally affect God. Our view of the image of God needs thinking through now. This sees the Imago Dei as a relational attribute. We are relational beings with family and friends, and we are made in God’s image, and therefore God is a relational being. And we can affect God as God can affect us.

Even though God is unchanging, yet God can be pleased or displeased. Thus, if we destroy the ecology of the world He made, God is genuinely displeased. If we love one another as Jesus loved us, God is genuinely pleased. This isn’t taken to be metaphorical language in relational theology. As such, this movement is drawn to story, to telling the biblical narratives in which God proclaims his feelings towards people. Stories are better at conveying character and emotion.

This is quite different from classical theism which would be rather critical of all that. Classic theism has had a Neoplatonic influence which some forms of relational theology reject in order to emphasise that God’s feelings are real and we can influence them. There is less attention to aseity, immutability, and so on, or there is even a repudiation of philosophy. A relational theologian might assert that such a God is arrived at by cold reason, a God who is basically satisfied with correctly performed rituals, and doesn’t feel our sorrows.

In ancient Greek thought, perfection is static and can’t be improved upon. In relational theology, creativity and messy interaction, rather than perfection, are the order of the day. Working on a theology of what perfection might mean to God is not typically a pursuit. Talking about love is a primary pursuit. Relational theology tells stories of a loving God who relates to each of us, person to person.

The transcendence of God may be downplayed to emphasise a very ‘relational’ form of immanence. This is justified by this mental framework: God created relational human beings to be relational with Him and with each other. As a theology, it’s an attempt to give earnest thought to how God is actively involved with us person to person.

Sometimes – not always – this comes with an emphasis on the existence of free-will and social Trinitarianism. Sometimes, I say, because all kinds of theologies claim a bit of relational theology. This is unsurprising as any branch of Christianity could claim that God is relational, but it is more likely to be claimed within those who advocate Arminianism (but that doesn’t exclude some Calvinists from the fold), or some Wesleyans and holiness movements, or feminist theologies, or liberation and post-colonial streams, some process theologians, some open theologians. Most are Trinitarians, but some are Oneness Pentecostals. And there’s a risk of a pick and mix approach to this. A bit of this theology, a bit of that theology.

Benefits

Advocates of relational theology claim its benefits.

Hermeneutics

On method. Ideas such as Church being the Bride of Christ may be more accessible if presented in relational terms, as something that brings joy to the heart of God as a wedding does, rather than in terms of motifs and symbols as might be the case in classical theism. It's a platform for preaching that God delights in weddings because God is love, to illustrate what God is like. This reading method is once place where relational preaching is distinctive.

Real-life comparisons

Compared to other theologies, it is easier to draw practical implications for discipling together, and provides greater stimulus to do so. I'm not sure, however, how well this describes a greater stimulus for being active. There have always been active Christians before the phrase was coined, and outside circles where it us used. I think there must be other drivers that need to be credited.

It is easier because we can rely on the evidence of our own eyes to see relationality in parents and children, family and friends. If we describes God’s love for humanity as being like a parent’s love for their child, it’s easier to explain than abstract theology. And it’s easier then to suggest we need to actively reciprocate in some or other practical ways.

Pre-eminent love

This idea that God’s pre-eminent characteristic is love is a bit of a cornerstone, although in some versions justice for the oppressed is a higher priority. Many Christians would never have thought of God having a pre-eminent characteristic in the first place, but this is rather important in relational theology. You’ll hear less about the final judgment compared to other traditions. You may hear nothing at all about it. Indeed, I wonder if the idea that God is primarily loving is partly a reaction to depictions of God that convey very little in the way of love. Perhaps God is a balance of attributes, rather than having primary and second ones. Certainly, the apostle Paul stressed the love of God, so it’s entirely fair that we should stress it too, whether it’s pre-eminent or not. Relational theology is intentional about doing so. In versions I’ve personally encountered, the theme is God’s love being unconditional, no strings attached, and steadfast, always reliable.

A God who mourns

Another claimed benefit is that it does help pastorally to speak of a God who mourns when we mourn, who cares about our tears. Advocates would say that classical theism does not bring as much hope and comfort as relational theology, although that seems perhaps insulting to some wonderfully pastoral pastors who are classical theists. The point is that one is equipped with a moral pastorally engaging message. God notices us and cares. Jesus wept. 

Worship that changes us

A major claim to a benefit is that it reframes what we worship. If we worship a distant God, we may act like dispassionate believers. If we worship a God who can be pleased by us, we may be keen to do so. (I did say ‘may’. It can adversely result in passive believers who think that God is so pleased with us that we needn’t worry about the effort of discipleship.) But I’m sure it is generally true that we are inclined to become a bit like our object of worship. Someone whose worship expresses that God is pleased with war is more likely to be warlike. Someone whose worship emphasise that God wants to heal us is less likely to be warlike themselves. Relational theology is pleased to present as an object of worship a God whose pre-eminent characteristic is love, and expects church members to be loving to one another.

Battling with sin?

And to those worried about their battle with sin, the pastoral message of relational theology is: don't fret about it. Just as a child’s naughty moments don’t dim their parents’ love, neither do ours dim God’s love. Just as a child’s naughty moments don’t shatter their relationship with the parents, neither do our sins shatter our relationship with God. A relational Father aims to restore us, not to demolish us. 

Now some traditionalists may think this sounds like a jail-break without a valid card, going straight to 'Go', and collecting £200, no questions asked. One finds different takes on solving this. 

One take is to say that any 'legalistic' framework about sin should be trashed when we think about how a loving Father would treat his child. This Father God would never say "Go to your room!" 

Another take is that a once-for-all atonement guarantees this: that our sins never obstruct this Father-child relationship. Bold we approach the eternal throne! (Curiously, this result is not unlike Word of Faith teachers like E.W. Kenyon who argued that the redeemed have a binding 'legal' right to boldly approach the eternal throne.) 

Your might hear that forgiveness of sins can be declared daily, but without a word of repentance for sins daily. You probably won't hear it suggested that you might say the Lord's Prayer daily. (It has that awkward phrase, "Forgive us our sins...")

We ought to recognise that there are wonderfully pastoral pastors who are classical theists, whose pastoral skills are not unrelational. But the relational theology claim is simply that the pastor is better equipped with the messages of relational theology, so as to help build people up in faith and assurance in a loving God will not reject them. I’m not sure how much you would find a contrary message in other Christian traditions. But advocates of relational theology want to depict God’s love in this fashion as a dominant pastoral message. Repentance is de-emphasised.

Anything new?

Now it must be said that none of this is particularly new. John Wesley could have said a lot of it. Christians have been singing “What a friend we have in Jesus” for nearly 200 years. For just as long, Christians have been singing the sentimental songs of Fanny Crosby, such as "I Am Thine, O Lord (Draw Me Nearer)", and "Safe in the Arms of Jesus." It could be argued that her songs were foundational in leading to this kind of relational Christianity. What relational theology represents is a more intentional approach to structuring our thoughts in all these things.

For example, it seems to provide a framework for making connections between the following, to hold them together as a Scriptural trajectory about a God of relationship and love:

·         God walking in the Garden of Eden

·         “Go forth and multiply”

·         God’s personal name Yahweh

·         Yahweh’s covenant with Israel

·         Stories that tell that God can be pleased or displeased

·         The Psalmist’s refrain that God’s love is steadfast

·         God with us, the incarnation, God sending his only Son to us

·         Jesus saying the more familial “Abba Father”

·         The greatest commandment being about love for God and neighbour

·         The new command to love one another as Jesus loved

·         The instruction to love enemies and neighbours

·         The practice of eating together in the early church

Grouped together like a story, they don't slip through our fingers. They make a path for telling the story of the Bible as God wanting to dwell with us and enjoy his love. Of course, there are many facets to God, and this framework is intentionally limited to one broad theme, the theme appealing to relational theology: love. You may hear advocates of relational theology may frame it that God’s chief desire is that we love God and neighbour as Jesus taught.

 

Red flags?

While relational theology claims benefits in how it addresses sin, there are also red flags in the same area.

Oh, those Pharisees!

Relational theology purports to reject a legal-contractual characterisation of God’s dealings with us, but advocates a relational-covenant view of God. The theological problem with that of course is that a contract is what a covenant is. So what is really being said? Such an argument is suggesting that other theologies are legalistic, and lack the flexibility of relationship. A relational God is not like one of those dreadful Pharasaic lawyer-types, in other words. Accusing other Christians of being Pharisaical is a rhetorical strategy of the movement which I really dislike. It’s using the name of a Jewish group as a bogeyman word, and thereby lies the spectre of anti-Semitism. The Pharisees ought not to be used as the hate figures of relational theology. In the entire New Testament, only Jesus gets to say a critical word about Pharisees, no-one else does. He also has positive things to say about them. And yet some relational theology advocates do not hesitate to so blacken the reputations of their target “legalistic” Christians in this degrading way. A lack of graciousness towards those who disagree with them seems to be a temptation that the movement doesn’t face up to properly, I fear. A good test of relational theology should be how relational you are with people who disagree with you. 

Of course, just because someone advocates relational theology does not entail that they are a nice likeable person. And just because a theologian is nice and likeable doesn’t mean that they advocate relational theology. People are so varied.

It can turn into an unpleasant sense of “those Christians are rigid Pharisees whereas we are moving into Christ-likeness.” This is dangerous. I do feel a need to sound a note of caution about the assertion of relational theology that it develops believers who are the ones more interested in being Christ-like. This may be so in some cases, but not always. The thing is, when someone claims this, you need to check what they include and what they exclude, lest they simply be re-making their Christ in their own image, the risk of a reduced version of the Christ of the Bible. You may want to be alert to notice which bits about Jesus they are comfortable with, and what they tend to leave out. It matters.

Punishment or abuse?

There is also confusion about punishment and abuse, or the problem of equating punishment with abuse. This most famously surfaced in the notorious statement that the penal substitution is a theology of divine child abuse. One of the problems there is this: if penal = abuse, then all punishment is abuse. Any punishment authorised in Scripture is abuse. This critique thus creates more problems than it seeks to solve. Of course, if Jesus didn’t bear what he did, then we would bear it instead, because “the wages of sin is death”. If these wages are not to be seen as abuse, then they mustn’t be seen as punishment at all. They have to be seen as a self-inflicted wound instead. I don’t think that is what Paul was saying. It is perhaps not surprising that relational theology (if you are familiar with it) shies away from the idea of punishment because punishment hurts. People who advocate relational theology are usually caring people who cringe inwardly at the thought of someone being hurt. The trouble is, biblical punishments exist and they don’t give people the right not to be hurt by them.

As I once heard Jackie Pullinger say, when you see what human beings sometimes do to each other, there has to be justice. Saying that justice is abuse won’t do.

There just has to be justice, and that is in peril if we confuse punishment with abuse. People who have done unspeakably terrible things to other people should not expect that justice to be convenient to them. Confusing punishment with abuse does nothing for credibility of a theological movement. And of course if you allow that there ought to be fair punishment, then the equivalent punishment of penal substitution isn’t abuse. If God doesn’t punish, it’s not because punishment is abuse, it’s because he shows mercy.

The wages of your arrow missing?

Similarly, it’s popular in some relational theology to teach that the Greek word for ‘sin’ really means falling short, like an arrow missing its target. (Based on the etymology of the word.) This makes one feel less guilty, which makes one more relationally confident before God, which is what relational theology want to foster. Good intentions. But… remember that “the wages of sin is death”? Well this reinterpretation would mean that “the wages of missing is death”! That sounds thoroughly dystopian! It actually sounds much worse than what it is trying to correct! How did this sloppy thinking ever catch on? The wages of missing are abuse then? Better be careful and not take part in any archery contest where this God sets the rules. It will be like the Hunger Games and not in a good way!

This also doesn't really account for the fact that sin, in the Bible, is sometimes compared to trespassing, which means overstepping the mark, not falling short. Abuse, for example, is more analogous to (severe) trespassing than to, say, a weak shot of an arrow. 

There's also the analogy of debtors. Indeed, I'm seeing much less in relational theology about debt and trespassing.

Cheapened gospel?

Along with that is a risk of a cheapened gospel in which, however it is that atonement works, we think we have swerved the kind of spiritual death that Jesus endured thanks to his substitution for us. The trouble there is that Paul is quite specific that we have to die to ourselves spiritually. Relational theology sometimes struggles to deliver messages that are not nice to hear.

So an idea that any punishment God dealt out to any member of humanity is divine abuse of humanity would sound worse than the problem it was intended to fix. Notwithstanding the good intention of being relational, mistakes can be made.

There are other possible red flags.

Order or hierarchy?

There also seems to be a bit of a muddle over order and hierarchy. Relational theologians are often opposed to hierarchy without necessarily addressing that, regardless of hierarchy, Scripture does describe divinely created order. This needs more exploration. The lack of clarity might be a sign of not differentiating order and hierarchy.  

"Jesus is my boyfriend"?

nother potential risk in the movement is manifested in the sort of worship that gets caricatured as “Jesus is my boyfriend” songs. Not only does the Father get neglected in such worship, but also it doesn’t give us anything like the whole Jesus of Scripture, such as neglecting Jesus being our reigning King unless he is “the King of my heart.” It’s as if what matters most is to make our King relatable, rather than the truth that he actually is reigning so that creation will be saved. It’s not likely to tell you that you need to die to yourself. Jesus isn’t our boyfriend, he’s a challenge to our inner selves.

Embarrassing apologetics?

A minor quibble, but there is a risk of looking for relationality beyond common sense. One of the odder apologetics for relational theology is this: physics shows that God made a relational universe. I have to say, there is nothing personable about Newtonian laws of physics. They describe impersonal forces evident in interactions between objects. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, etc. It makes no sense to try to translate this into an apologetic for hearts of love. It just doesn’t follow. There are much better arguments. I hope I’ve made some of them.

Rescue the antidote?

All these risks could be addressed without enormous effort. But perhaps it’s unsurprising that people struggle to articulate what relational theology actually is when such cloth-eared stuff is circulating uncritically. Do people not pause long enough to realise that they have made something which actually sounds worse? Perhaps critical thinking of the movement's ideas is not the done thing in the movement. But there is a risk that there will be no clear theology, just a framework with a few tools that may not be well used.

Is the future of relational theology in peril because of such nonsense? Probably not, but it will be at risk if collectively some of the risks I’ve mentioned coalesce into a destructive blob.

I hope it can be rescued. It tries to be an antidote where people have had negative experiences of church, and that’s probably the motivation for its recent rise. People really have been to churches with little or no emphasis on God’s love, authoritarian or hierarchy-driven churches where unapproachable leaders openly wield power over people, where someone’s appearance has been policed, their clothing openly criticised quite confrontationally, being “kept in your place” in a suffocating structure, never being consulted about things that affect you. It takes more than simply switching between Calvinism and Arminianism or whatever other option, to address this. Relational theology is an earnest and intentional attempt to articulate a church that looks more like Jesus. But as I’ve said, it has its own risks to navigate.

Back of an envelope version of relational theology

Here then, in nine bullets, is a back of an envelope version of relational theology as I have personally encountered it, and as seen by some of its advocates:

·         It criticises classical theism as having a problematic cold distant judgmental God, and it seeks to be an antidote to that. Judgment is dialled down, for example.

·         Scripture is about a God of relationship. So, biblical ideas such as Church being the Bride of Christ are read as examples of relationship, rather than in terms of motifs and symbols. A relational lens for reading.

·         God’s pre-eminent characteristic is love, unconditional and steadfast. Jesus shows us this. God created human beings for a loving relationship with Him and with each other.

·         Our better idea of what God is like will be reflected in our worship – worship tends to have more songs about personal connection with Jesus, with a good and loving God.

·         God has feelings too, and we can be a delight and a blessing to God.

·         Drawing on real-life relationships as a lens to see God's love smooths over the troubled waters of sin. E.g. just as a child’s naughty moments don’t dim their parents’ love, neither do our sins dim God’s love. Just as a child’s naughty moments don’t shatter their relationship with the parents, neither do our sins shatter our ongoing relationship with Father God. Bold we approach the eternal throne. This is a help in pastoral conversations about sin.

·         It also helps pastorally to speak of a God who mourns when we mourn, who notices us and cares. It brings hope and comfort.

·         It’s a stimulus for discipling together with strong relationships as a church.

·         Following these principles makes us each more Christ-like.

 

For some advocates, there may be bullet points about justice for the oppressed, or about God’s relationship with the ecology of the planet.

 

 Further reading:

Thomas Jay Oord: What is Relational Theology?

 

 

 

 

When the Old Testament refers to the one God with plurals

 

These are brief notes based on work by Steve Rudd. It’s not the argument I make in my book but it’s interesting data.

Some anti-Trinitarians would say that God is never referred to in the Bible with plural words. That isn’t strictly true, as this post will show.

 

Trinitarian perspective

When one sees in the text that God is referred to (as by God or by others) with any singular personal pronouns like He or I, then that’s one of the three persons speaking, not all three. Likewise, it’s one of the three persons saying to either of the others, "Let us make man in our image" (Genesis 1:26). This isn’t some random modern apologetic. It’s what the early church taught about Genesis 1:26 as being about the Father and the Son in particular. For example:

He speaks to the Son, "Let Us make man after Our image, and after Our likeness." (Epistle of Barnabas 6)

See similar arguments about the same verse in: Irenaeus, Against Heresies 4:20:1; in Tertullian, Against Praxeas 12 and 5.8); in Origen, Against Celsus 5.38); in Novatian, Concerning the Trinity 26; and in  the Apostolic Constitutions 5.8.

 

Elohim and Adonai

Elohim – God(s) - and Adonai - Lord(s) - are both plural words in Hebrew. And apart from the name ‘Yahweh’, that’s what God is usually called in the Hebrew OT. In that light, it’s unsurprising that plural verbs go with it. In Hebrew, it reads like ‘Gods’ and ‘Lords’ create (Ecclesiastes 12:1); and make (Gen 1:26; Ps 149:2; Job 35:10; Isa 54:5); and wander (Genesis 20:13); and reveal (Genesis 35:7); and judge (Psalm 58:11). But those plurals actually go with it being one God, one Lord.

It’s also unsurprising that a plural adjective can go with it, i.e. “holy” Gods or Lords. (In English, that doesn’t come across.) More on this below.

So it wouldn’t be true that you can’t find plurals, whatever explanation you prefer for it.

 

Plural pronouns

And “us” / ”our” – that’s God preferred plural pronouns in  the following:

·           "Then Elohim said, "Let us make man in our image, according to our likeness" (Genesis 1:26)

·           "Then Yahweh Elohim said, "Behold, the man has become like one of us" (Genesis 3:22)

·           "Come, let us go down and there confuse [plural verb] their language" (Genesis 11:7)

·           "Elohim saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?"" (Isaiah 6:8)

·           So it wouldn’t be true that you can’t find plurals, whatever explanation you prefer for it.

So again, it wouldn’t be true that you can’t find plurals, whatever explanation you prefer for it.

 

Other plurals

"Let Israel be glad in his maker [asah plural]" (Psalm 149:2)
"Elohim my maker [asah plural]" (Job 35:10)
"For your husband [baal plural] is your Maker [asah plural]" (Isaiah 54:5)
" Elohim had revealed [plural form of gla] Himself to him" (Genesis 35:7)
“Surely there is Elohim who judges [plural form of shaphat] on earth" (Psalm 58:11)
"You will not be able to serve Yahweh, for He is holy [plural form of qadosh] Elohim." (Joshua 24:19)

"And the knowledge of the Holy [plural form of qadosh] One is understanding." (Proverbs 9:10)

"Nor do I have the knowledge of the Holy [plural form of qadosh] One. " (Proverbs 30:3)

And God is called creator, with the plural form of bara (Eccl 12:1)

So again, it wouldn’t be true that you can’t find plurals, whatever explanation you prefer for it.

 

 

Appendix: Angels are not included in God’s "us" and "our":

For the avoidance of doubt, "Let us make man in our image" cannot be God speaking to angels. Angels are not made in God’s image in the first place and were not co-creators of humanity. 

(NB As “God never said to any angel that "Today I have begotten You" (Hebrews 1:5) Jesus cannot be an angel.)

For the avoidance of doubt, there are no instances of God speaking to angels with we / us. That’s despite God speaking to humanity in terms of "us" in Isaiah 1:18: ""Come now, and let us reason together," says the Lord.” It just doesn’t happen with angels.