Born again Christian Jimmy Carter was the only president ever to pardon a convicted pedophile, the late Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul, and Mary

Jimmy Carter died December 29, 2024, just nine days before Peter Yarrow also died.

 

Billy Graham, deceased at 99, followed the path first cut by George Whitefield, preacher of the new birth

Thomas Kidd, here:

George Whitefield, born on Dec. 16, 1714, was a Church of England minister who led the Great Awakening, a series of Christian revivals that swept through Britain and America in the mid-1700s. Whitefield drew enormous audiences wherever he went on both sides of the Atlantic, and his publications alone doubled the output of the American colonial presses between 1739 and 1742. If there is a modem figure comparable to Whitefield, it is Billy Graham. But even Mr. Graham has followed a path first cut by Whitefield. ...

“As you have made a pretty considerable progress in the mysteries of electricity,” Whitefield [once] wrote to [Benjamin] Franklin in 1752, “I would now humbly recommend to your diligent unprejudiced pursuit and study the mystery of the new-birth.”

By their fruitcakes ye shall know them: Hotty pastorette close to Donald Trump is a prosperity gospel heretic says Russell Moore

Here:

“Paula White is a charlatan and recognized as a heretic by every orthodox Christian, of whatever tribe,” read a recent tweet from Russell Moore, a prominent Southern Baptist leader and vocal Trump critic, who wasn’t available for an interview.

Moore stated his objection to what White represents clearly already last October, here:

Russell Moore, president of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission of the Southern Baptist Convention, is disputing conventional wisdom that Trump is hugely popular with born again Christians, insisting those actually in his camp follow the “dangerous false teaching of the prosperity gospel.” 

How Evangelicals trivialize the resurrection as present day love, consolation and social action

Zack Hunt, here:

[W]e can begin to see [the resurrection's] transforming power in how we respond to the tragedies in our own lives, how we love and console one another, how we work together to keep evil from ruling tomorrow, and how we come together to alleviate the daily suffering that is all around us.

Apart from its orientation, this is really little different than the historic catholic approach, in which the supposed "already" of the kingdom of God is manifest sacramentally, primarily through the Eucharist. It makes little difference, however, how the divine is immanentized. Either way it is immanentized by human agency through temporal means.

Neither conceptualization pays the proper respect due to the singular character of the resurrection as an idea, as a metaphysical phenomenon, if that oxymoron be allowed. The born again Christian protests that Jesus changed his life even though there is plenty of evidence to the contrary available to outsiders looking in, while the sacramentalist protests that he literally eats the body and blood of the Lord, purchased though it may be from a church supply house. The cemeteries are no respecters of these persons, and are as full of such people as of any other.

The thinking person must reject these expressions of human enthusiasm, for that is what they are, pale reflections of the "real" thing. The real thing was not under human control, was not susceptible of human interference and manipulation. To insist otherwise is to misunderstand the claim made by the resurrection.

If God ever transformed us, there wouldn't be any doubt about it. In truth that remains "not yet" for the Christian. Only the resurrection of Jesus can seem to lay claim to express such an "already" about which there is no doubt.

And yet there is doubt, as there is belief.

The problem of the resurrection of Jesus is not just a problem for the history of apocalyptic, with which the resurrection represents a radical break. The question also remains whether God really acted in human history in such a way, or did human hope once again overstep its bounds, as it is perennially wont to do, in claiming the apotheosis of a man? If we in our own day can insist on our own participation in the divinity to some extent on the very thinnest of evidence, the likelihood of the early Christians having committed this ancient sin is high.

The latter question is not new by any means. Jews, but also Muslims, have asked it, or rather charged it, for centuries. The great success of the West has much to do with the fact, from their point of view, that Christianity is a form of human hubris, a blasphemy. It is hard to imagine the world as it is today without it, or that it would have become the way it is without it, and the prospect of actually losing what we have achieved in the West by abandoning this plastic way we look at human nature to some extent stands in the way of our thinking about this important question on a Tuesday.

A lousy Tuesday.

Roman Catholics, Orthodox and fundamentalists fear Donald Trump's Protestantism

Here, here, and here, just to name three recent examples: Trump can't be a good Christian according to Cardinal Dolan because he supposedly doesn't welcome the stranger, or doesn't have a high enough view of the Lord's Supper, or hasn't repented and been born again.

Mitt Romney's Mormonism was supposed to be off limits in 2012, but suddenly fellow Christians get to pile on Trump.

Better watch out. He's been known to fight back.

A Romanist Defines John 3:3 By John 3:5, And So Requires Baptism To Be Saved

Roman Catholic interpretation of being born again is on display here, where being born of water and spirit is said to define being born again, a natural if mistaken view with a long pedigree:

In verse 5, Jesus clarifies what he meant by “born again,” saying a similar sentence again but substituting in the phrase “born of water and the Spirit.” While the term “born again” is vague enough to possibly mean simply a conversion experience, being “born of water and the Spirit” is obviously not, at least not exclusively – I’ve never seen anyone get wet from saying the sinner's prayer.

What Christian action involves water and the Holy Spirit? The answer: baptism. To be “born again” means to baptized. This is not only the current Catholic interpretation of this text (also held today by many Anglicans, Lutherans, and Orthodox), but also the interpretation given by the early Church Fathers – indeed all orthodox Christians prior to the 16th century Protestant Reformation. ...

Jesus is teaching something that evangelicals frequently deny, but that the Catholic Church has always maintained: that baptism is necessary for salvation.

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This exegesis pays no attention, needless to say, to the narrative's rich symbolisms featuring an adult skulking about in the dead of night as opposed to a helpless child who would fittingly be asleep in his bed at such a time and be approachable, naturally, only in the full light of day. It knows nothing of the need to recover the natural openness, submissiveness and wariness of evil characteristic of a child, to which the mature adult like Nicodemus has normally long past said farewell. Nicodemus' adult skepticism, of course, is notably presaged in the person of Nathanael already in 1:46.

Nor does the interpretation take any note of the difference between only "seeing" the kingdom in v. 3 and actually "entering" into it in v. 5, which suggests that being born again is different from actually believing and is instead the necessary praeparatio for conversion, a view consistent with the Synoptic triple tradition about little children, "of such is the kingdom of heaven". To be born again is something an adult must do, not a child, a vivid circumlocution for entrusting oneself to the care of the Father.

Submitting to baptism in v. 5 is clearly the theological point intended by the Evangelist, to be sure, but as such it is evidence of the Urkatholicismus which is not yet apparent even in the long endings later fabricated to finish the damaged Mark, where baptism is described but as yet not required.

Just another sign of "John's" later time and place, a correction of a prior narrative which was thought to be inadequate, Luke the historian's efforts notwithstanding.

To Be Born Again Is To Become A Little Child Again: Not To Believe But To Be Ready To Believe

Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God. -- John 3:3

"You know, my hearers, the text was spoken during some conversation between the Saviour and Nicodemus, who came to him by night. Important as this conversation is supposed to be by modern professors, one thing is certain, it was not regarded by any of the Evangelists but John, of sufficient importance to record. So that had it not been for the fact that John recorded this circumstance, we should hardly have known that it was necessary for one to be born again, as none of the Apostles, in their preaching or writings have referred to it, except Peter. I make these remarks, my hearers, in order to show you that the text and context was designed to apply to Nicodemus particularly, and not to the world. For it is not to be supposed, if the doctrine taught in the text is so highly important as some modern preachers imagine, that Matthew, Mark and Luke would have neglected to record so important a truth. Neither can we suppose, if it was designed to apply to all, and was so important a lesson, that Jesus would never have said it to any one but to Nicodemus, and that in the night, when none could hear but the one to whom it was addressed. ... There is, however, one phrase, which I think exactly corresponds with our text in its meaning. 'Except ye become as little children, ye cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven.' Becoming as a little child, and being born again, I think are synonimous terms. Here Jesus tells us, unless we become as a little child, we cannot believe the gospel. What is it to become as a little child? How is a little child? They are ready to be instructed, and anxious to learn. This is just what Nicodemus wanted. He wanted to be born again: to become as a little child, and with child-like simplicity to receive truth. Then, and not till then, would he believe."

-- from a sermon by Rev. Isaac D. Williamson (August 1831)

Mary Of Magdala, Just One Of The Many Problems Of The Fourth Gospel

Philip Jenkins correctly warns about taking "John" too seriously when it comes to Mary of Magdala, here:

Instead, we have to remember that virtually everything we hear about the special relationship between Jesus and the Magdalene comes from one scene in one gospel, and should be understood as the literary creation of that one author. Perhaps the author of John's Gospel just found the Resurrection meeting scene so wonderful that he could not resist writing it, even if he had to bury the other material he must have known, including Mary's seven demons. Sometimes, an artist just has to create, and never mind the consequences. Over many centuries, that outlying story became the standard popular vision of the Resurrection.

The case is similar with things like being born again, foot-washing and realized eschatology.

Is The Absence Of Human Transformation The Best Argument Against Christianity?

A certain fellow named Robin Schumacher, featured at Real Clear Religion, goes on at some length, here, to acknowledge that the best argument that is made these days against Christianity is the one made by ever larger numbers of contemporaries who point out that Christianity must be untrue because Christians behave so badly, and concludes:

"[T]he fact is that an authentic Christian life is the only thing that defeats the best argument against Christianity."

This is a very unsatisfactory conclusion to what really isn't a very helpful discussion about arguments for or against Christianity.

What it amounts to instead is a demonstration of what passes for the accepted understanding of what is true conversion in some circles. In other words, it's not really about Christianity per se, it's about human actors and their experiences relative to that subject. In short, it's about us, not about Christianity or its object, God.

Key for the author is the notion that conversion is a form of human transformation, which can be authenticated on the evidence of human experience. "If you were truly converted you wouldn't do x."

What is it about Christianity, contemporary or otherwise, that it so quickly veers off into a kind of narcissism where adherents and opponents alike wind up agreeing that man is the measure of all things? The authentic Christian life is the only thing that defeats the enemies of Christ? I'm sure that comes as quite a surprise to God. Last I checked, God needed or depended upon no one for anything. There is sophistry. And then there is philosophy.

I think one answer for this narcissism may have something to do with what Krister Stendahl once called the introspective conscience of the West. The tortured conversion of Muhammad comes to mind in W. Montgomery Watt's biography of the prophet. Or the Jesus of The Fourth Gospel, at war with the Jews over his paternity. Or the ever autobiographical 13th apostle, Paul of Tarsus, who happens to be the most interesting because he is so immediately, candidly available in his letters as he plies the waters between his sectarianisms and his Roman citizenship. It shouldn't come as a surprise that these models would attract adherents in whom the same tendencies operate. In truth, however, thoughtful people would probably agree that narcissism is a broadly human phenomenon, not simply a characteristic of the West.

But there are counter trends in some of our literature which bear thinking about. Consider, for example, that conversion in Luke's Acts of the Apostles is occasionally portrayed as conversion of a whole household, based on the personal experience of a single person in it. For those household members personal human transformation, being born again, is hardly in sight. Even in the cases of the personal salvation of the individual head of the household who leads the rest into the fold, notions of human transformation seem wholly absent. Far from the world of altar calls involving personal crises, repentance and emotional decisions for Christ, what we find instead is concrete deliverance from temporal calamities, infirmities, threats and dangers. Like Paul's own conversion, these amount to almost unwilled experiences submitted to and accepted in the face of an overwhelming, sovereignly acting, Providence.

Some of these stories in Acts are reminiscent of nothing so much as stories of God's deliverance of his people Israel from Egyptian slavery, the plagues, the angel of death and the Red Sea waters. It is more about God continuing to act in history than it is about what happens in the hearts of men.

One might also mention the apocalyptic ethics of Jesus in The Synoptic Tradition, where personal conversion amounts to a renunciation of all the traditional contours, roles and behaviors of human existence in a desperate attempt to escape the destruction which Jesus said was coming on the world forthwith. This is not some comfortable religion of personal fulfillment, but a (crazy?) rejection of it which depends utterly on God to establish his kingdom quite apart from any human agency, even Jesus'. 

Anyone with a little honest experience of the world knows that there are many what we call very fine people who are not Christians, and many Christians who are just plain drek. If one gets bogged down in this navel-gazing cul-de-sac, however, what gets distorted about our thinking about conversion is that conversion becomes too much about how we act, and not enough about how God does.

"We also are men of like passions with you, and preach unto you that ye should turn from these vanities unto the living God, which made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and all things that are therein: Who in times past suffered all nations to walk in their own ways. Nevertheless he left not himself without witness, in that he did good, and gave us rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness."

-- Acts 14:15ff.

You Got a Friend?

It will probably come as a surprise to many readers that the late-1946 film "It's a Wonderful Life" wasn't terribly successful in its debut. The movie placed 26th in revenues for 1947. One reviewer called attention to its unreality and "sentimentality," which is underscored in the closing when the angel Clarence, who finally gets his wings, tells George that "no man is a failure who has friends." Audiences fresh off the horrors of war weren't exactly overwhelmed. It took a generation to garner its critical acclaim and to reach its popularity as a Christmas staple, which its creator Frank Capra said in 1984 was sort of like seeing your kid grow up to be president. Obviously something had changed in America. The baby boomers had to take over before the film could really succeed.

In the intervening period the trend has continued in different forms with the buddy movie, a wildly successful television comedy called "Friends," and the meteoric rise of a friends craze on social networks such as Facebook, among others. The thirst for that sentimental something is strong among the boomers, but it gets harder to get a buzz on no matter how much they drink, and the morning after remains lonely, and is getting lonelier. Consider the conclusion of a 2004 study that the average number of confidants per citizen had dropped in America from three to two since 1985, and fully a quarter of the population reported having no friends to confide in at all.

There has been a similar trend toward the sentimental within the church of the boomers, where theology has taken on a distinctly more familiar tone, emphasizing a personal relationship with God and drinking deeply from the well of ideas found in the Gospel of John. There one meets such notions as being "born again" and "knowing" God, and its Jesus talks about friendship in ideal terms: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." These Christians appropriate these ideas and think God is deeply, passionately interested in everything about them and has an individual plan for each and every life, as if Salvation History culminating in the Incarnation was kind of beside the point. What matters in their minds is finding your own divinely appointed purpose in life. It is narcissism writ large.

These developments help explain the penetration of pentecostalism into mainstream Christianity in the 1970's, and the subsequent exodus from mainline Protestantism into conservative "evangelicalism" after that. But the novelty has definitely worn off. Maybe the boomers are finally ready to grow up. While the country today is still overwhelmingly Protestant, self-identification with it has now dropped below 50% and the numbers of the unaffiliated and the sectarian are on the rise. For growing numbers of people it would not be wrong to say that familiarity has bred contempt. More and more books are appearing which recount the de-conversion experiences of people from Bart Ehrman at Princeton University to William Lobdell, formerly of the Los Angeles Times, who wrote Losing My Religion: How I Lost My Faith Reporting on Religion in America-And Found Unexpected Peace.

In the same way the World War II generation was so different temperamentally from its children, it is interesting how the Synoptic tradition, which contains little if any positive teaching on friendship, differs dramatically in substance and in tone from the Fourth Gospel. For example, the Gospel of Matthew warns that "A man's foes shall be they of his own household." Its command to "love your enemies" practically makes friendship irrelevant by annihilating the category itself, which, as we have said before, is characteristic of the religious impulse. For the Jesus of the Synoptic Gospels, this abolition of the antonyms occurs at the eschaton, which for him has already dawned: "Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand." Wherever this thorough-going eschatological message of Jesus predominates in the record, conventional social constructions are overthrown. "For whosoever shall do the will of God, the same is my brother, and my sister, and mother," in contrast to his actual family which was in the street looking for him in the house where he was teaching. "In the resurrection they neither marry, nor are given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in heaven."

Cultivating strong friendships is about the last thing on Jesus' mind in part because there simply won't be time for them. The end of all things approaches so fast that one must abandon all traditional roles immediately and follow Jesus. The normal niceties of interaction no longer apply. At one point we see how even his closest associate is rebuked for a misplaced intention to protect him. Jesus may indeed call many to follow him, but few are actually chosen. And even those whom we would call his mates were always kept at a certain distance despite various purported confidences shared, and the record shows that these followers consistently misunderstood him, failed him, and at length even betrayed him. If with Cicero a friend should be as a second self, Jesus didn't just die alone, he lived that way.

Which makes the emergence of the ideal of divine friendship in the Fourth Gospel quite startling: "Henceforth I call you not servants . . . but I have called you friends." Here we meet with a response of interpretation to the failure of the imminent end of the world to materialize. But instead of adopting the later development which we see already at work in the apocalyptic narratives in the Synoptic Gospels where hope of terrestrial transformation is postponed to an indeterminate time in the future, the Fourth Gospel eschews talk of the "second coming." Instead it conceives of the promised kingdom in a new way, located in a celestial venue where Jesus has gone "to prepare a place for you." His kingdom will not come with the Son of Man appearing with the clouds of heaven, but rather "My kingdom is not of this world." This is how the original ideology is neatly transferred by the Fourth Gospel to the unseen world, where it can cause little offence.

The Fourth Gospel's response to the Synoptic tradition also is on display in the way it co-opts the eschaton. One way it does this is through its notion of the coming of the Spirit: "the Father shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth." Another is through the love teaching of Jesus, which no longer emphasizes love of enemies but rather brotherly love within the Christian community: "Love one another, as I have loved you. If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him." Christians will continue to co-exist with other human beings who are still going to hate them and be their enemies. But Christians are to look at it this way: "In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world."

It is interesting how for the Christian community imagined by the Fourth Gospel it is not the Lord's Supper but the washing of one another's feet which Jesus establishes for its social cohesion. "I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you," he says of this custom, instead of "This do in remembrance of me" which he says of the Lord's Supper in the Gospel of Luke. The reason for this is precisely because the Lord's Supper is still understood by the author to be potently invested with the original eschatological significance, which is why there can be no place for an account of its institution in his gospel. It is an issue best left unaddressed, and better yet replaced, in view of the changed circumstances.

When it comes to choosing between variant readings in the manuscripts it is often the case that we choose the more difficult reading because its existence is harder to explain. The same holds true of interpretation. The Fourth Gospel in the main is comparatively more easily explained as derivative of the contents of the Synoptic Tradition. The latter puts us closer to the Jesus of history, but he is a sterner, more urgent, and less friendly figure.