Article
Ecumenism
Faith & Learning
Lutheran Identity

A God of Peace and Love? Reflections From a Biblical Scholar

Intersections No. 4 · Winter 1998

As a member of this journal’s editorial board, one of my duties is to read and evaluate articles submitted for publication as they are sent my way by the editor, Tom Christenson. When I read Gregory Clark’s article, I thought definitely that we should publish it. My main comment to Tom was that it would be greatly desirable to solicit respondents who might interrogate further the practicality of Clark’s proposal for church-related colleges. In the back of my mind, as I made that comment to Tom, I thought of how much I was looking forward to reading such responses when the issue came out. Tom had other ideas. He requested a response from me. What has resulted is actually some questions, derived mainly from my work as a scholar of biblical studies. I hope such questions prompt further comment—and further questions!—from readers.

Gregory Clark affirms the stance taken by John Milbank that all philosophies and institutions, whether ancient, modern, or postmodern, are built on an ontology of violence. In this way a critique is made of Alasdair MacIntyre’s position concerning the postmodern liberal university, which, for MacIntyre, would be a place of constrained agreement (and so, presumably, non-violent). The problem for Clark, who is following Milbank here, is that such a university, insofar as it engaged with other “institutionalized versions of moral enquiry,” would remain within an ontology of violence. For these engagements would be managed dialectically, and dialectics can never lead to harmony but, at most, only a sort of managed conflict which, in the end, is still violent.

Instead of an ontology of violence, Clark desires an ontology of peace. He argues that such an ontology of peace is to be found in the person of Jesus, the person who preeminently reveals “the God who is love and peace.” As a biblical scholar, my reaction is to interrogate the ways in which Jesus did, and did not, reveal such a God.

Jesus lived in a violent world. And far from shying away from that world and its violence, he seems to have deliberately opened himself up to it. Although his message was greeted frequently with suspicion, skepticism, and vilification, he did not back down or retreat from it, even when, as one account has it, the people of his own hometown attempted to kill him (Luke 4:14–30). Eventually he set his face toward Jerusalem, even though he knew the sharp opposition facing him there from the religious authorities. And, once in Jerusalem, he engaged in an act that most see as the precipitating event of his final suffering: the overturning of the moneychangers’ tables in the Temple itself. Although it may not have been as physically violent as has been depicted in such movies as Jesus Christ Superstar, the act at least had overtones of violence. Not only, then, does Jesus receive violence onto himself, here, at least, he actually imposes it on others. Jesus’ violence begets further violence, now enacted against him, as he is arrested, tried, scourged, and crucified—a sequence of events which, by all accounts, was horrifically violent.

Not only was violence a part of Jesus’ life, he also warned his followers that such would be their fate: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of one’s own household” (Matt. 10:34–36; cf. Luke 12:51–53).

If, indeed, the God who is found in Jesus is a God of love and peace, it seems that the love and peace comes about in and through the acceptance of violence—and the suffering that often accompanies such violence. The events of the Passion, which lie at the very center of Jesus’ life and mission, are an overwhelming witness to Jesus’ ready acceptance of, and patient bearing of, the violence being inflicted upon him. Followers of Jesus forget this at their own peril, for the message to them, too, is that if love and peace will be constitutive of their lives, such will not occur unaccompanied by, or exclusive of, violence.

If we do as Gregory Clark urges us to do, and proclaim Jesus on our campuses, what would that look like? In particular, what would it mean if we took to heart the Jesus who made himself vulnerable to the violence of his world? We, too, live in a violent world. Dare we look unblinkingly into the face of such violence, take it upon ourselves, and even, if called upon to do so, bear up and suffer in some way because of it? As staff, administrators, and teachers on college campuses related to the church, how might our tasks be affected, even altered, by a serious living out of the words?

Share this article