Canter Bridge

At what is our twelfth chapter in his letter to the Romans, the apostle Paul makes a famous turn from the indicative to the imperative.

Although this bifurcation of the most well known of his letters is criticized by Pauline scholars as simplistic, it captures a distinction between the dominant tone of the first twelve chapter over against the prevailing note in those that follow. Paul moves from a concentration upon God’s redemptive initiative in his world through the cross-work of his son Jesus Christ, on the one hand, to the proper community response of Jesus’ followers, on the other. (more…)

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Novelty is not often praised in the Bible. Yet a different newish thing—fresh vigor—is a deeply respected asset, sometimes placed before its readers as a goal and frequently celebrated as a gift recently given.

The apostle Paul’s discussion of freedom could hardly contrast more sharply with modern and post-modern understandings of autonomy. The modern soul stands independently and makes its choices. Its post-modern sister stands in community and, similarly, chooses with that community (or so it flatters itself) a way of interpreting its world. (more…)

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The fifth chapter of the apostle Paul’s letter to the Romans shows the man bending his mind to sketching grace’s geometry. Over against the human tendency to imagine that heaven’s blessings fall—mechanically and by the dictates of our power of decision—in proportion to earthly behavior, Paul traces out a different story.

For him, heaven’s actions are not divine response to human provocation, whether for good or ill. Indeed, God is hardly the responder at all. Rather, he lavishes disproportionate love upon what appears to us to be a template our deeds have prepared but which in fact bears little relationship to what, as it were, comes down. (more…)

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The density of the apostle Paul’s words makes some of them accessible only to the degree that life’s experience prepares us to hear them well. As he exults in the relationship-restoring labors of Christ, Paul brings even our suffering into those gifts of God about which he is notably unembarrassed:

And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.

Suffering produces endurance. How else could we gain such stamina? There is no leisurely access ramp to such deep waters, only a steep and rocky one whose stones turn ankles and puncture soft skin.

This endurance, in God’s economy, produces that character at which we are otherwise singularly unadept. Love—that perduring divine affection for people who merit nothing of it—molds this character into hope-giving shapes. This love is not given sparingly, but rather is poured out in our hearts by God’s very Spirit, now given to accompany us on our unaccomodating, endurance-mongering path.

Such is our lot. Paul finds reason to exult in it. So does the reader who has exhausted all other promising roads to endurance, character, and hope, finding that each one disappears into the bush leaving no recourse but to return again to more sturdy beginnings.

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