On October 7-9, the peace section of the Mennonite Central Committee assembled about 70 persons in Kansas City, Missouri. Many were academicians. Predictably, the gathering tended to resemble a scholarly conference replete with papers and respondents minutely dissecting John Howard Yoder’s The Politics of Jesus in a medley of learned dialects. Author Yoder, responding on the final day, was a bit distressed.
The gathering, he felt, was called not to look backward to Politics, but forward to the challenges facing those who shared its perspective; not to focus on one book, but to begin articulating its themes in other disciplines and ministries: not as a scholarly debate, but as a gathering of the broader believing community, thinking with and encouraging each other for service.
Despite Yoder’s misgivings, this writer witnessed more communal dialogue than what usually goes on at conferences with scholarly input. It was an encouraging sign for those who hope to see theological reflection eventually arising less from individual academicians and more from communities committed to common tasks.
Yoder is primarily a biblical scholar. Politics, he insisted, consists of mere “specimens” from the work of exegetical specialists. Yoder disavowed claims to originality or creativity, beyond that involved in suggesting how these specimens might yield a biblically based socio-political stance.
Politics repeatedly argues that Christian social involvement must be modeled on the lifestyle and teachings of Jesus. But don’t all Christians affirm this? Not at all, says Yoder.
For evangelicals, Jesus’ unique mission was to die for our sins. Thus much of his behavior, especially his suffering and renunciation of power, was also peculiar to him, not socially normative for us. On the other hand, liberals usually bypass the biblical Jesus. They substitute modern ethical notions for his. Yoder argues that Jesus, acknowledged as lord by both, led a life of humility, servanthood, and nonviolent suffering -- and commanded the same from his followers.
Politics’ appeal lies partly in the novel and suggestive ways in which Yoder’s exegetical specimens flesh out Jesus’ ministry. For instance, Yoder argues that the struggles against the “Zealot option,” the very live possibility of leading an insurrection against Rome, lay at the heart of Jesus’ wilderness temptation and his struggles in Gethsemane. In rejecting it, he explicitly rejected violence.
Further, Yoder suggests that Jesus came proclaiming the Year of Jubilee. As sketched in Leviticus 25, the Jubilee involved the remission of all debts and the equal distribution of property. If Jesus actually proclaimed this, and if his teachings are normative, we must figure out their social and political implications.
Since the biblical Jesus is Yoder’s ethical norm, further discussion must evaluate his exegetical samples and determine whether his lines of argument follow. For instance, did Jesus really proclaim the Jubilee? According to George Edwards of Louisville Presbyterian Seminary (author of Jesus and the Politics of Violence) the Jubilee theme “just isn’t there” -- at least not in the thematic sense which Yoder traces.
According to Willard Swartley of Eastern Mennonite College, the Jubilee theme is more pervasive. But rather than basing one’s case on it, one should show its connection to broader Lucan themes, e.g. concern for the poor. And rather than focusing on Luke, as Politics does, Yoder’s case should be bolstered by similar themes from other gospels.
Clearly, if the biblical Jesus is our ethical standard, and biblical scholarship must delineate his ethics, much remains to be studied. Politics’ perspectives, somewhat uncommon in the scholarly world, are based largely on samplings from Luke and Paul. Swartley’s detailed paper got outside Luke, but barely beyond the Synoptics. The Old Testament hardly figured at all in the discussion.
Politics endeavored to reunite the frequently estranged disciplines of biblical research and social ethics. But, understandably, Yoder’s creative New Testament work could only provide a broad orientation towards complex modern problems. Work in hermeneutics, ethics, sociology, and political science awaits those who would develop his perspective further.
Yoder’s concluding responses aroused mixed feelings. In effect, he told the assembly, “Don’t ask me for all these answers, work them out in your various fields.” This response seemed appropriate in focusing responsibility for further work but disappointing in avoiding comment on most of the issues raised.
Crucial issues cluster around the contrasts between Yoder’s Anabaptist approach and contemporary Reformed views, such as those of Richard Mouw, author of Political Evangelism.
Anabaptists have tended to think of God as working on two parallel tracks. The church lives by Jesus’ nonviolent standards regardless of current social realities. Thus its witness often involves suffering and apparent failure to influence society. God also works in social institutions but largely by permitting them to preserve society through repressive measures which prevent total chaos.
Politics, however, affirms that the church’s witness has some sort of positive influence on social institutions, or “powers,” themselves. A power such as the state need not always have the same inflexible, God-denying structure: “Instead of a stable institution, dating from creation, the ‘state as such,’ we are then told to think of a dynamic process related to and reflecting the saving work of Christ, as this work reaches even beyond the realm of the church.” (pp. 195-196)
Still, Politics does not say precisely how or to what extent the church might influence the powers. Like a good Anabaptist, Yoder usually speaks of the church’s simply being the church, living an alternative lifestyle and proclaiming to the powers the lordship of Christ.
But might not this approach sometimes come close to what Glenn Stassen (Southern Baptist Seminary, Louisville) called “ethical dualism”? A dualism theory makes the intrinsic nature of social and political institutions such that they invariably operate by godless standards. Thus the church often fails to interact critically with the powers (for, after all, how could one expect them to behave otherwise?). Such withdrawal, however, gives the powers a free hand and tacitly legitimatizes their actions. Christians become self-righteous and critical, but remain uninvolved.
Stassen suggested that dualism often occurs when Christian behavior is thought of primarily in terms of conformity to a certain static standard, while society adheres to opposed, autonomous standards. But perhaps we should think of Christian behavior as being in tune with a process, with God’s action in history. This process is most evident in what God is doing in the church, but is also visible at various points in society. The church can then discern where this process is in operation and join with it.
Stassen’s emphasis on God’s activity in the overall historic process may be consistent with Yoder -- and perhaps also with Mouw. Calvinists have always stressed the sovereignty of God in society and history. Yet, while Anabaptists may have sometimes isolated the church from society, Mouw admits that Calvinists have occasionally aligned them too closely and attempted to “Christianize society” by compromise and/or coercion.
However, Mouw is highly appreciative of Politics. He feels Calvinists must put more emphasis on the church as a unique body living in radical conformity to Jesus and frequently at odds with the powers. But whereas Yoder prefers to speak of “witness to the structures” (which might imply non-involvement, to some), Mouw also talks of “taking responsibility for the structures” (though this might imply compromise, to some). “Taking responsibility” does not mean that Christians should attempt to change things on their own or according to society’s fallen standards. Rather, Mouw wishes to stress that because these structures are created by God and affected by the redemptive process, Christians must be alert to what is happening in them and willing to participate as God directs.
What are the precise distinctions between Yoder’s Anabaptism and Mouw’s Calvinism? Though it may distress academicians, exact lines could not be drawn at the conference. Clearly, both agree that God’s historical action is positively influencing the “powers,” and that the church is called to be a distinct social entity following Jesus’ radically different lifestyle.
But there remain differences, at least in emphasis. Yoder stresses the distinct life of the church, partly because of his intense focus on Jesus as norm. He knows well that such a lifestyle often provokes rejection and suffering. Such suffering often does influence the powers positively. Yet the way God uses this faithful witness is often unforeseen and surprising. It is therefore difficult to concoct broad-scale social strategies which will yield precisely calculated results. Hence, Yoder is less specific about the church’s effect on the state. He wants to leave history genuinely open for God’s creative action. He is wary of spelling out a theory of God’s activity which Christians could use as a “key” to discern -- and consequently manage -- what God is doing.
Compared to Yoder’s, Mouw’s stress on Jesus as norm is slight. But this is partially because he insists that Jesus’ example alone is less helpful than when it is connected with contemporary ethics, politics, and sociology. He would rather stress God’s working in history, and the complexities of modern issues, because he fears a “neo-fundamentalist” reading of works like Politics.
Fundamentalism, like some Anabaptist groups, posited an ethical dualism between the saints and a totally corrupt world. This easily led to self-righteousness, anti-intellectualism, and oversimplification of complex issues. “Neo-fundamentalists” criticize society not from the right but from the left. They reject fundamentalism, but retain its dualistic attitudes. They translate Jesus’ unique, uncompromising stance into one of indignant protest, devoid of compassion and sensitivity -- and thus of genuine reaching out. Since works like Politics deal sparingly with specific social complexities, they assume that knowledge of them is unimportant.
Consequently, Mouw, noting such possible interpretations of an Anabaptist ethic, enlarges upon the social context in which we witness. Politics focuses primarily on the message we take into that context.
For the future, numerous areas -- biblical, ethical, political -- await the exploration of those intrigued by Politics. Leading Reformed and Anabaptist thinkers are open to dialogue. But if, as both believe, God really is at work in the church and the world, the exact style of social witness will not be discovered by scholars alone. Scholarship might determine guidelines for involvement, but God’s pattern may not be known more precisely save through involvement itself. Only through action can one really learn how God is acting.
So there is need for more than scholars. Both Yoder and Mouw highlight the importance of the church -- communities sharing and living Christ’s unique life together. Perhaps ongoing discussion about the politics of Jesus will be carried on most profitably by such communities.
When this article appeared, Dr. Thomas Finger was assistant professor of systematic theology at Northern Baptist Theological Seminary.
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