 
### Vashti's Choice:

### The Divine Relationship and the Coming Kingdom of God

Ran Vosler

Copyright 2019 Ran Vosler

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Vashti's Choice

Chapter 2 - Divine Relationships

Chapter 3 - It's a Relationship

Chapter 4 - Religion

Chapter 5 - Divine Distinctions

Chapter 6 - The First Covenant

Chapter 7 - Relating to the First Face of God

Chapter 8 - The Second Covenant

Chapter 9 - The Nation of the Law

Chapter 10 - Atonement

Chapter 11 - Ramifications: Gentiles

Chapter 12 - Ramifications: Lucifer

Chapter 13 - Decline & Fall

Chapter 14 - Relating to God the Judge

Chapter 15 - Jesus

Chapter 16 - The Dual Sacrifice

Chapter 17 - The Third Face of God

Chapter 18 - Transformation

Chapter 19 - The Rise of Christendom

Chapter 20 - The Post-Christian Era

Chapter 21 - The Fourth Face of God

Chapter 22 - Moving On or Digging In

Chapter 23 - Forgetting

Chapter 24 - A New Order

Chapter 25 - The Spirit

Chapter 26 - New Wineskins

Chapter 27 - The Coming Kingdom

About the Author
Vashti Choice

Humanity is fast approaching a fork in the road. The Christian church, particularly, will soon be faced with a choice: to continue on its current path or to dare to follow God into uncharted territory.

Every man and woman will have to choose. Every husband and wife will have to choose. Every father and mother will have to choose. Every church leader will have to choose.

The biblical book of Esther begins with this choice. The first chapter records that Xerxes, the king of the vast Persian Empire, threw an elaborate, six-month celebration in which he put the wealth and splendor of his majesty on display. The celebration culminated in a week-long feast. At the end of this feast, the king wanted to display the most valuable thing in his kingdom: his queen. Her name was Vashti, and just as her name means, she was exceedingly beautiful. Toward the end of his magnificent celebration, the king summoned his beautiful Queen Vashti.

She refused to come.

Her husband, the emperor of a vast and powerful kingdom, bid her to come to him, and she refused. This refusal sent a shock wave through the celebration. The king was enraged. The people were stunned. Despite her insolence, it seems Vashti was neither executed nor exiled.

But, she was dethroned. She was never again allowed in the presence of the king. And she was replaced.

The rest of the book tells the story of her successor, Queen Esther.

The Christian church will soon be faced with Vashti's choice. The King is about to summon His bride, the church. And the church, like Vashti, will have to decide whether to come to Him. Or to refuse. And stay where we are.

Which means what exactly?

Back in the time of the Judges of Israel, it was recorded that " _In those days there was no king in Israel; every man did what was right in his own eyes._ " (Judges 17:6) This is where the Christian church is today. The historical denominations of Christianity have either shriveled into irrelevance, transmuted into mere cultural entities, or exploded into splinter groups of varying sizes, formats, and theological deviations. There is no end to the cacophony of Christian "leaders" proclaiming this prophetic word or that divine revelation. Certainly, many people are coming into some kind of relationship with God. But the overall impression of today's church is that of the chaos of school kids at recess. Which makes sense. The children of God the Father are just that: children. Children unleashed by an over saturation of social media to proclaim whatever feeling or itch or critique that moves them at the moment. All in the Name of God. It's not that they are not sincere or committed or even devout. It's not that their relationship with God is dysfunctional or heretical. It's not that they are walking in disobedience or faithlessness.

It is simply that they are children. There is nothing wrong with children being children. The problem comes when children think they are mature adults. When they dress up with toy guns and plastic helmets and think they are a real army. When they are convinced that their current state is complete. When they are so invested in their present level of understanding that they are not able or willing to, like Apollos with Aquila and Priscilla, embrace a more perfect understanding of the ways of God. (Acts 18:26)

Children are not intended to remain children. The goal of every parent is to transform children into secure, mature adults. Throughout childhood, it is the parents' job to love, protect, provide for, and enjoy their children. Sooner or later, though, they must also direct and discipline them, training them how and when to speak and act, teaching them how to see and think and discern. It is the parents' job to grow their children up—children do not tend to grow up unless they're forced to. Hopefully, by their parents. If not, then by their coaches or teachers or job supervisors. If not these, then ultimately by policemen and prison wardens.

The Christian church today is generally a vast and varied day care center.

But a New Order is coming. Among other things, it will bring precisely that: order. God is about to establish a brand new thing according to the most ancient of promises. He is going to fulfill six thousand years of His dealings with mankind. He is about to unveil a new community. It will be a community that knows Him intimately, that will be united in love and faith, that will operate in His prescribed order according to His specified structure through the power and working solely of His Holy Spirit. It will be a community of those who know Him, not just as children know a Father, but as adults who know the King of the Universe. A community that knows God as King: the Kingdom of God on earth.

It will be a government, for that is what a kingdom is. The purpose of a government is to rule: to establish order from chaos, to bring sovereignty—the will and purpose of the Ruler—to a domain, and to eliminate its enemies. Since the beginning, God created the earth to be subject to His government through the agency of mankind. (Genesis 1:28) The Kingdom of God will finally accomplish that. The community that knows God as King will finally be that agent that effects the will of God " _on earth as it is in heaven_." (Matthew 6:10)

The Kingdom of God is not yet on earth. When it emerges, it will be a radically different community. It will be as unfathomable to today's church as the early church was to the Pharisees and Sadducees of Jesus' day, for the same reason: it will be visible only to those who are not invested in what they already know.

The Divine Relationship has been leading to this point for nearly six millennia. Since the beginning, God has been orchestrating events and people and nations toward a final goal. He has intentionally and specifically revealed Himself to humanity in three unique ways, through three binding covenants, creating three distinct communities. Each community has known Him differently. Each community has tended to think that how they relate to God is not merely the correct way to know Him, but the _only_ correct way.

But now, He is revealing that each of those communities, each of His prescribed ways of knowing Him, were merely starting places. They are the baselines from which we have a choice. To proceed to know Him better through a more complete revelation or to insist that our current limited vision is sufficient and intractable.

The King will soon call for us to come. Us and others. To an entirely new place: a new Divine Relationship. We may not recognize His new appearance, but if we know Him, we'll know His voice. If we follow Him, He'll take it from there. He'll take us from our incomplete perspectives to an entirely new, mature relationship with Him. The question is ultimately not whether we're able. The question is only about whether we're willing to come when He calls.

To come when the King calls. That is Vashti's choice. That will soon be our choice as well.

Divine Relationships

I had my first real conversation with my next door neighbor about a month after we met. I had moved into an apartment next door to hers and we had briefly spoken twice. One weekend evening, a friend had been visiting and as he was leaving, my neighbor wandered over. We sat in my living room and started talking. It was already late, though, and I was tired. She was very pleasant and very attractive, but I would have preferred that she just leave and let me go to bed.

I had been a Christian for a few years. I would love to report that my zeal for God and selfless commitment to His will was my primary motivation. It wasn't. I simply recognized that if I overtly shared my faith with her, she would probably politely find a reason to leave, and then I could go to bed.

It didn't work out that way. She had been raised a Catholic and was not unfamiliar with the stories and tenets of Christianity, so I could talk easily without a lot of fundamental definitions. I related how I had come from a Presbyterian background into a relationship with God through Jesus, and that that relationship was an entirely different experience and perspective than the practice and theology in which I was raised. I cannot remember what, if any, comments she made until, at one point, there was a lull, and with eyes wide in what turned out to be hopeful astonishment, she asked me the big question:

"You mean, He'll actually talk back to us?"

As she would do often over the next 40 years—we were married a year later—she had perfectly summarized the essence—and the primary issue—of the Divine Relationship. The essence is that the Divine Relationship is just that: a relationship. The issue is that it seems difficult for us to treat it as such.

The Divine Relationship is simply the relationship between you and God. In the English language, of course, "you" is both singular and plural. The same is true with the Divine Relationship. There is the corporate Relationship between God and humanity. And there is the singular Relationship between God and every individual.

Every human being is born into both Divine Relationships. As part of humanity, we each inherit the history, the promises, the warnings, and the predicted future God has given to mankind. While many of the details are still unclear, this macrocosmic Relationship has been fixed, predestined since before time began.

As individuals, on the other hand, we are each born with a cleaner slate, with a unique potential, with an unknown (to us) future. Although we aren't initially aware of it, our hopes, our dreams, our fears, our loves, our hates—all of these "substantials" of life—are wrapped up in an individual Divine Relationship which, at birth, is just beginning. Each of us relates to God in some way. And that individual Relationship is as unique as each of us.

The corporate Divine Relationship into which we were born provides the framework, at least initially, for our individual Divine Relationships. This overall structure is like a city, with a clearly defined perimeter, marked and named streets, and a prescribed gateway into it. Our individual Relationship, on the other hand, is like the path we each take through the city. We enter, as everyone does, through the common gateway. But from there, even though we are all contained within the city, our routes will be entirely different, completely personal and unique.

When we first enter the city, others often help us get our moorings. They point out where we can eat, where we can sleep, where the bathrooms are. They also tend to give us their own perspective of the city, with routes that they have taken and found to be either pleasant or challenging or helpful or even dangerous. Ultimately, however, God would have us explore the city ourselves, forming our own perspectives and perhaps discovering less common, even previously uncharted areas of the city.

God has built two such cities in human history. Billions of people have made their way through life on the streets of one or the other of those cities. Billions more wander outside those cities. Some have tried to attack or destroy the cities. Others walk by or around the cities, wondering why anyone would prefer the confines of such a metropolis to the freedom of living out in the open with no structures, no rules, no walls. Some have built camps outside the cities, proclaiming them to be cities in their own right.

Wherever we end up in our Divine Relationship, everyone starts in the same place: outside. Everyone begins without knowing God at all. Through parental teaching or Sunday school or just cultural assimilation, we may learn a little or a lot about God. We may learn about Him from a Christian perspective or a Jewish perspective or any number of other perspectives. We may learn about Him from history books or religious books or science fiction books or romance novels. We may learn about Him from those who are strictly orthodox or from those whose ideas are far out on the fringe or from those who never give the Divine Relationship a second thought. You cannot breathe without learning something that purports to be about God.

But learning about God is not the same thing as getting to know God. The former is theology, which is only helpful after you have the latter. Getting to know God is not unlike getting to know anyone else. Generally, we don't research the resume of someone we may meet at a neighborhood cookout. We just show up, get introduced, and proceed from there, as though we're the first person this other person has ever met. If, later, we discover that everyone else thinks the world of our new acquaintance, but we think he's a pompous idiot, we generally won't think better of him. We'll simply think less of those who have been hoodwinked by his social charms. What matters is our own personal experience with the relationship.

The same is true of God. However or whatever you hear about Him, actually knowing Him begins with getting introduced. After that, what matters, both in this life and beyond, is your own personal experience with the Relationship. Just entering the city is a joyful, exciting event. But it is the individual route we each take that determines what the city really means to us, what God means to us, what life means to us.

We may—and usually do—begin with assumptions about God. Whatever we have heard, whatever we have supposed, whatever we have concluded about Him, we can only determine the truth or falsehood of our assumptions by interacting with Him over time. By getting to know Him. However much or little we know about Him before we actually meet Him, getting to know Him ourselves is the only point of reality. There is probably no corollary proving that a person who spends fifteen minutes a day with God will know Him three times better than someone who spends five minutes a day. But by and large, over a lifetime, just as with any relationship, the more time you interact with God, the better you will come to know Him. And it begins, just as with any relationship, with an introduction.

One of the arguments against the goodness or fairness or even the existence of God insists that He would be unjust to sentence to Hell all the ignorant folks who grew up in outer Nowhere who never had a chance to learn about Him. This argument presupposes that there are other folks—us—who grow up amidst the high culture of television and the Internet and shopping malls who, if fact, have learned all about Him. But this is untrue. At least, it's not the whole truth.

It is true that considerably more theological information is available to those who come from religious families or those who live in educated societies than, say, nomads in the Gobi desert today—or shepherds in the Middle East 2,000 years ago. It is likely that such shepherds could hardly carry on much of a conversation about theology with the average college-educated professional. But when it comes to the Divine Relationship, it's not what you know, it's Who you know. And it is at least debatable that the odds of meeting someone who can introduce you to the Divine Relationship is as high or higher in the Gobi desert than, say, the hallowed halls of American academia or religious clericalism. Everyone—even those far outside—learns about the cities God has built. Just because someone has spent their life studying the dimensions of a city, and has even drafted a precise map of its walls and streets and buildings, doesn't mean he is actually in the city. Knowing about the city and living in it are two radically different things. Perhaps the most common and most tragic misconception we can make is to confuse knowing about God with personally, intimately, relationally knowing Him.

At the root of both the individual and the corporate Divine Relationships is a glorious and terrible fact. If we embrace the Divine Relationship because we think it will make our mental health better or our finances better or our love life better or our complexion or digestion or anything else better, we miss the point. Indeed, it is likely that if such is the case, we will soon lose interest in the Divine Relationship.

Rather, we embrace the Divine Relationship for only one reason. Not because it can help us. But because it is true. If it is true that God exists and is anything close to what we'd expect of Someone Who made such mysteries as Florida sunsets, the Swiss Alps, the Amazon jungle, and the feminine half of humanity, and if it's true that He both offers and expects us to relate to Him, then we most urgently should. If such is not true, then tinkering with any type of theological or religious speculation is counterproductive and distracting. If we're not sure, then we best find out.

We can dabble in religion or theology or spirituality. But one doesn't dabble with the Divine Relationship. Teasing the mind with cosmic questions and Jesuitical logic is one thing. Meeting, first-hand, the God of Creation is another thing altogether.

The Divine Relationship, once begun, quickly becomes the focus of one's life. Not merely the most important thing. But the true focus: the lens through which all of the rest of life is viewed, the center around which all the rest of life revolves. The Divine Relationship does not require us to reprioritize our lives. Knowing God does that for us. Automatically.

In the beginning, we know nothing. Whether as a young child or a grown, overeducated adult, we begin our Divine Relationship as we begin a fancy dinner sitting across from a very famous person. We've heard a lot. Now, let's find out what's real.

It's a Relationship

It is rather ironic that the most trouble we have with the Divine Relationship involves the most basic thing about it: it's a relationship. We all instinctively understand relationships, even if we mess them up. We are born into relationships. We spend our lives acquiring and fostering, neglecting and discarding relationships. Most of every day of every year of our entire lives is spent dealing with relationships. And yet, when it comes to that most important Relationship of our lives and our eternity, we are somehow quick to lose our footing, falling into the unreality of religious ritual, choking on the dust of spiritual lifelessness.

The Divine Relationship, like any relationship, is simply a connection between two persons in a mutual way. In any relationship, two individuals are somehow linked, and both are aware of this linkage. But if, for example, I am an avid fan of, say, Tiger Woods or Barbara Streisand or the Pope, and I know everything there is to know about one of these people, but they do not know who I am, then no relationship exists. By definition, I cannot have a relationship with Elvis Presley or Martin Luther or Martin Luther King, because I have never met them and, at least on this side of the veil between the material and the eternal, I never will. It has to go both ways. A relationship is a two-sided thing, a mutually understood connection between one person and another. At its heart, a relationship is about knowing another person and being equally known.

Getting to know others can be joyous. More often, it is tedious. It takes effort to listen to others, to care for others. To know another person is an act of self-denial. It is a sacrifice, of sorts, of the central desire of every human being to magnify himself, to be at the center of the universe, to demand the attention of all. To put this aside and actually get to know another is half—the giving half—of a relationship. This is the role, for example, of parents with their children. We are expected to listen to them, to care for them, to know them, not vice versa.

The other half of any relationship is being known. This is a fundamental human need. We each have a deep, desperate ache to be known by others, to be understood, to be identified. And with this understanding, we ache to be approved, acclaimed, deemed valuable and even special. The desire to be known is what gives us the energy to endure the sacrifice of getting to know another. It is the being known—and being loved—part of any relationship that makes getting to know the other worthwhile, and, as in the case of lovers, effortless and joyful.

This is the prime reason humanity is a social species. This is why battered women stay with their violent husbands. This is why abused children grow up defining abuse as "love." We will put up with oceans of pain to receive a drop of recognition.

This is why so many strive for fame. Fame is not relational. It is not two-sided. It pretends to offer the luxury of being known, without having to endure getting to know the other. At first, it appears that fame is the easy answer to our deep human need without the cost. It is the selfish, "taking" part of a relationship—being known—without the "giving" part—knowing. But of course, the lie of fame is that one is not really known at all, at least not in reality. With fame, it is an image, a mirage, a public relations construct that is seen and known, not a person. As is so obvious with the relational wreckage surrounding so many celebrities, fame is not a short cut to the human need for relationships. Indeed, fame can be a formidable obstacle to true relationships.

The Divine Relationship, like any relationship, involves a two-way knowing and being known. Admittedly, God already knows us better than we know ourselves, which means we begin the Divine Relationship a bit one-sided. But this is natural and familiar. Like a parent, He knows what's best for us more than we do. He knows what will harm us, even if we think it's what we want. Like children, we believe we know what's best for us, and often don't. And we tend to resent it when He protects us, even—if not especially—from ourselves.

Getting to know God is our end of the Divine Relationship. This doesn't require study and meditation and intense effort, any more than a child must study about his parents. He simply spends time with them, and they really do all the work. He doesn't have to learn how to communicate. It just happens. Through mere interaction, every child learns to speak and understand the language of his parents. Not merely the meaning of the words, but the inflection, the facial expressions, the body language, all the "ways" of the parents. Likewise, as we interact with God, we get to know Him and His ways.

There are two things that make the Divine Relationship different from every other relationship. The first involves the nature of God. The second involves the character of God.

God's nature is spirit. He communicates to us via our spirits. This is a faculty with which we are not very familiar until, upon meeting Him, He enlivens our spirits for the first time. This is the "spiritual birth" process Jesus referred to. Once spiritually alive, we then get familiar with communicating spiritually, simply by being with Him.

When a baby begins to talk, he doesn't make much sense. Noises just come out, often with no resemblance to anything intelligible. The mystery of human communication is that, in merely a year or two, the baby's noises become coherent speech. In the same way, we don't know how to communicate spiritually in a coherent manner at first. But over time, just spending time with God makes spiritual communication normal and, if not exactly easy, possible.

Our difficulty lies in insisting upon trying to communicate via other means, or, more accurately, insisting that God communicate via other means. Our proclivities insist that He communicate with us naturally: intellectually or audibly or visually or emotionally. We want to understand Him, hear Him, see Him, touch Him, feel Him. And when He persists in communicating only spiritually, we mope and grumble that He is far from us. But still we learn.

Spiritual communication often affects our senses. When He communicates spiritually, there often follows a mental awareness or emotional surge. But these are secondary side effects. To insist that God only speaks to us through a rush of emotion is to severely limit our interaction, or, at least our recognition of His interaction with us.

The second difference about the Divine Relationship lies in the character of God. Unlike every other person with whom we relate, God is perfect. He doesn't get hurt and reject us. He doesn't have insecurities which make Him magnify Himself at our expense. He doesn't tease us or tempt us or otherwise lead us into harm's way. He is eternally patient. He is kind and gentle, but not wishy-washy. He is just and firm, but not harsh or punitive.

God's perfection is a wonderful thing, of course. But we can sometimes be confused because, since no one else is perfect, we don't have a lot of experience in such a Relationship. We tend to assign Him human motives, human aspirations, human limitations, human moods, human perspectives. We may misread His silence as anger or grumpiness, His patience or kindness as consent, His gentleness as tentativeness.

Getting to know God is the challenge of the Divine Relationship. He is like no other person we'll ever meet. But He understands this, that we find Him to be so alien at first. He knows all of our challenges and has made allowances for them. The process of getting to know God is not reserved for the most intelligent, the most sensitive, the most gifted. He has made the Divine Relationship, not only possible, but normal and desirable for every one of us. Like a perfect parent, the process is gradual, but everything is under His perfect control and guaranteed to work. We need only do what is natural for the human being: relate. Interact. Be with Him.

Once we begin, the Divine Relationship is a most obvious and normal thing, even if it is supernatural and eternal. But it always comes as a surprise to us when we first learn that we can actually, personally, and intimately know God. And that this truly bigger-than-life Person not only can, but wants to know us individually. And to love us unconditionally. This is the promise of the Divine Relationship. This is the glory of being human.
Religion

The pursuit of the Divine Relationship is often confused with religion. This is like confusing a relationship with a businessman with joining his company. Or a relationship with a teacher with matriculating at a college. Or a relationship with a neighbor with the process of joining the neighborhood swim club. In all cases, one option involves learning the rules and regulations, the terms and conditions of acceptable behavior, the laws and procedures and processes of performing. The other option is simply getting to know someone.

It is obvious to most people that relationships have no cut and dried rules. Certainly, there are cultural norms which delimit acceptable behavior. You don't usually, for example, start off a relationship by spitting on a person's shoe. You don't usually come naked to a job interview or to your first neighborhood party. Doing these things will definitely initiate the relationship, but such actions may make relating a bit more difficult than you may like. At least initially.

But in truth, there are no real hard and fast rules for relationships. Getting to know someone is just that: learning what they like and dislike, what they care about and disdain, what interests and bores them, how they think, what they hope for, and what life means to them. And none of these things involves a written list of terms and conditions.

Unlike our other relationships, we invoke all sorts of these inanities when it comes to our Divine Relationship. That we do this only confirms that we have trouble seeing our Divine Relationship as just that: a relationship with God. Over time, this goofiness can evolve into highly structured, elaborately defined procedures. Some of these are concerned with how we perform when relating to God, and are called "rituals" or "rites." Rituals can range from a Roman Catholic High Mass to the habit of starting off the day reading a Psalm or saying the same prayer before a meal or bed. Other procedures are concerned with how we act in general, and are called "ethics" or "morality." The most perfidious rules in religion are concerned with how and what we think. Whatever they should be called, these are generally lumped together as "theology."

All of these rites, rituals, ethics, morality, and theology can be generally categorized as part of the domain of "religion." None of these things is intrinsically bad. As aspects of religion, they may provide any number of benefits for the follower. But none of these should be confused with the Divine Relationship.

The issue here is really one of priority, of cause and effect. Religion is, at its best, the effects of faith. Religious acts are those that are done by someone who, in their pursuit of the Divine Relationship, happen to do those things. They are the results of knowing God, not the cause of it. They are the consequences, so to speak, of relating to God, not the means by which relating occurs.

Going to church because it is the prescribed thing godly people do is to get the thing backwards. Instead, you would go to church because, in the sanctity and privacy of your relationship with God, you are drawn to worship with others. If I tithe as an expression of my relationship with God—as a generous response to His generosity—it is a good thing, a part of knowing God. If, on the other hand, I tithe because I think that's what religious folks are supposed to do, then I'm not relating to God at all. When religion becomes the means to the Divine Relationship, it has assumed a position of priority never intended. Only as it is subordinate to your personal, intimate relationship with God does it have value. Otherwise, it can lead to all sorts of problems.

At its best, religion is a type of primer, a series of steps that we can walk through when we do not know God, and are trying to learn how to relate to Him. Sooner or later, however, if the Divine Relationship will ignite, then God will personally direct the process. Until then, religion may have its place. But when religious leaders or others insist that certain rites, rituals, ethics, or theology are primary, that they are the cause of a proper relationship with God, that these things are not means toward an end but the ends themselves, then religion has usurped the Divine Relationship.

Because humility is a basic necessity in a vital Divine Relationship, it is not only acceptable, but admirable to listen to the advice and warnings and thoughts and ideas of others. When God teaches us anything in our own Divine Relationships, there's no telling who He may choose to use. If He can speak through Balaam's donkey, He can use anyone. The trick is not to confuse the Source with the mechanism.

Anyone and everyone—with or without a divinity degree—are merely the mechanisms God may employ to communicate with us. The core issue is the one-on-one relationship between you and God, between me and God, between God and any person. It is not a three-way relationship.

The same is true with marriage relationships. When a women marries a man, she has become one with him, has bonded with him, in a relationship that transcends all others when it comes to favor and preference and intimacy. Her mother, however, being used to a position of some authority over her daughter, may unintentionally (or, in the eyes of many sons-in-law, intentionally) try to continue in that authority. While a good daughter would want to hear all manner of advice from every avenue, that advice—and, more importantly, the source of that advice—can never overrule her own opinion and perspective. She, not her mother, is married to this man, and only she must make it work. In the same way, we can welcome advice about the Divine Relationship from every quarter. But let us never cede the authority of our relationship with God to any other.

Every parent can immediately see how a son or daughter can be headed for mistakes, and those same parents ultimately learn that, advice notwithstanding, we have to be prepared to watch the kids make the same mistakes we did. That's how we learned some things. That's how they'll learn some things. Similarly, others may see how our path toward our own Divine Relationship may lead to trouble here or there. It is good of them to warn us. It is better of us to heed those warnings. But more importantly than either is that it is finally and ultimately up to us, not them, not anyone, to walk the path. Mistakes and all.

At its best, religion is an interim tutor for spiritual babes. From there, the babes grow, and from their respective relationships with God come new things, new acts, new expressions of faith, specific to their Divine Relationships. Some of those expressions may resemble those that have expressed the faith of millions throughout history: praise, worship, prayer, fasting, communion, fellowship. But it is our responsibility in our Divine Relationship, to discover any or all of these, as though for the first time.

At its worst, religion assumes an arrogant, idolatrous posture that, regardless of your unique relationship with God, demands conformity to certain predetermined acts of performance. Perhaps, in your Divine Relationship, God will lead you to those very acts. Then again, perhaps He won't.

More than anything else, from a practical standpoint, religion is used to categorize people. We tend to view folks according to religious labels. When we discover that a new acquaintance is Catholic or Presbyterian or Jewish or Muslim, we instinctively assign to them certain attributes that come from our understanding of their theology or culture or history. Religious labels are used by human beings to sort people according to their relationship with God.

This is wrong for two very practical reasons. The first is that it is impossible to discern from labels or theology or any other natural thing how well another person knows God. If I am at a social gathering and see a couple of neighbors joking and laughing, I may assume they are best of friends. In fact, they may hardly know or even despise each other, but are enjoying the evening and working to at least act socially civil. Regardless of appearances, it is impossible to know from the outside how intimate a relationship between others really is.

The same is true with the Divine Relationship. God made it that way. I cannot know the vitality of your relationship with God, at least not from words and natural appearances. I can say all the right things, espouse all the correct theologies, attend all the services, read and quote (or display) all the right books, but none of these things is valid evidence of my relationship with God. Conversely, I can notice that you drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes, and periodically use colorful language, and may assume that you are heathen to the core. In fact, your relationship with God may be incomparably more intimate than my own, and my preconceptions about proper religious behavior may prevent me from sensing the spiritual reality behind the external performance. There is just no natural way to tell how well someone else is relating to God.

The second reason our religious labels don't work is because they are human distinctions. That is, these are man's methods, not God's, to sort humanity into boxes. We use all sorts of criteria to group others: religion, race, sex, occupation, place of origin, size of house, make of car, and a million other factors. None of these can accurately define any individual. More to our point, none is an accurate guide to the Divine Relationship of another. Religious affiliation is an attempt to define and understand differences in the Divine Relationships of others. But these are human definitions, not divine ones. They can tell us nothing about the spiritual vitality of the Divine Relationship of any individual. Human categories can tell us nothing about divine things.

In the realm of the Divine Relationship, there are, in fact, real and divine distinctions. There are groups into which God has divided humanity. Religion is our attempt to subdivide mankind according to the Divine Relationship. But these are based on human assignment and therefore, at least in God's eyes, worthless distinctions. He has made His own distinctions. And whether or not we like the way He has grouped humanity, understanding these distinctions is critical to understanding how He views mankind, how He has defined Divine Relationships.
Divine Distinctions

As mentioned before, we tend to group folks by all sorts of inane criteria. When it comes to our attempts to understand the differences in the Divine Relationships of others, our primary sorting method is by theology, by which we categorize folks by religion.

But religion is not God's way. Most often, religion is the means by which we try to put a neat handle on God and His ways. It is how we try to control the unknowables about God, the mysteries of His will, the uncertainties of His methods. Religion, at its best, is a tutor toward the Divine Relationship. More often, religion is the mechanism we use to try to control God, to keep Him at bay.

So even if we define ourselves and others according to religion, God does not. But that does not mean God doesn't make distinctions of His own. It is unfashionable, of course, in the rampant egalitarianism of today to talk about distinctions of humanity, about grouping people in any way. It is particularly loathsome to some to imply that God Himself has sorted humanity into groups. This is because no one wants to consider the possibility that his own relationship with God may be inferior or insufficient. No one wants to consider the possibility that God does not grade on a curve, that our sincerity may not be the sole criterion of righteousness, that there may, in fact, actually be things that are divinely true and false. We would rather talk about Jesus embracing children than about his distinctions between sheep and goats. We would rather talk about redemption for all of mankind than about descriptions of heaven and hell.

God has indeed made distinctions among humanity. But His distinctions are not based on the same things we use to differentiate one another. Rather, His distinctions are founded on the one thing that He considers important, the one thing that He has always considered the most important aspect to human life on earth. That thing is relationships.

God has grouped mankind into three distinct categories. These categories are based on His relationship with each group. Within any group, His relationship can and does have an infinite variety of expression. How we each know God can be and often is radically different from how others know Him, and these differences are often, if not usually, the result of the myriad of differences in individuals, in how He created each of us, to what end, for what purpose. But framing all this variety are three distinct relational categories, into one of which every human being falls.

God recognizes three corporate Divine Relationships. Every human being falls into one of these three Relationships. You and I and every other human being lives in either one of the two cities God has built, or outside of them. In any of these categories, there are as many expressions of the Divine Relationship on the individual level as there are individuals. But outlining them all are the three divine distinctions that, at least to God, supercede any and all human categories.

Understanding the nature of these relational categories and, at the same time, the infinite varieties of the particulars of the Divine Relationship, can be seen in the analogy of human relationships.

Consider that I have a wife and five children. I also have a dozen or so neighbors with whom I spend time playing tennis or having dinner or just visiting. I am intimate with my wife, less intimate with my children, and even less intimate with my neighbors. I am the same person to each of these folks, but every single relationship is different. I relate more easily to some of my neighbors than others. I relate more easily, especially concerning certain subjects, to some of my kids than the others. In all of these relationships, there are distinctions that testify to the unique personalities of each, to the differences in shared interests, to the differing ways we each see the world and appreciate things.

Within this variety, however, there are three distinct relational categories. My wife is a category all to herself. My children are another category. And my neighbors are a third category. There may actually be some things I will discuss with one or more of my neighbors which I would hesitate to discuss with my kids. Most of the subjects I discuss with my kids, I also discuss with my wife. But the perspective and nature of these discussions are quite different. As parents, my wife and I simply see the world differently than my children do.

Three of my children are daughters, all of whom are now young adults. That is to say, they are physically (i.e. sexually) mature females. My wife is also a sexually mature female. And some of my neighbors are sexually mature females. But although I have relationships with all of these sexually mature females, I have a sexual relationship only with my wife. That, according to my understanding of relationships, is one of, if not the most unique aspect of her being my wife. It's not that it isn't physically possible to have sex with the other females around. But sex is not within the scope of those relationships.

In the same way, I do not tell my neighbors—or my wife—to take out my garbage. Depending on circumstances, I may ask them to. But at least once each week I explicitly command one or more of my kids to do so. In my relationship with my children, this is, however unwelcome, an acceptable act. In my neighborhood relationships, however, it is likely they would question, at least my sensitivity if not my sanity, if I were to call one of them up and order them to take out my trash. Such authority exists with my kids, but only with my kids. It is part of the nature of the relationship.

In other words, there are parameters around relationships. Some of these parameters are innate: no one ever had to explain to me that I am not permitted to have sex with my daughters. Others are equally clear based on the nature of the relationship: the intimacy and trust in my relationship with my wife would be damaged if I were to have sex with my female neighbors. In all these relationships, the parameters are essentially the terms of the relationship, the framework of the expectations of each party. So, my wife understands that we will be intimate only with each other. My kids understand that I am the boss, but that my primary responsibilities include feeding, sheltering, and caring for them (but not buying them a new car or a new wardrobe whenever they want.) My neighbors understand that I am a peer, one whom they may or may not choose to spend time with. Unlike my wife and kids, my neighbors generally need to knock before they come into my house. Every one of my neighbors understands this, just as each of my children understand that they may enter at will. We learn all of these relational parameters as we go. We may never actually see much of this stuff in writing, but the distinctions are crystal clear.

In the same way, our Divine Relationship is circumscribed by relational parameters. In each of our individual relationships with God, they can vary, depending on the uniqueness of each of us. It may be part of your personal relationship with God that you never drink alcohol or smoke a cigar, while such may be permissible for another. These are individual things.

But there are also relational parameters for each of the three divine categories. Again, these are the terms of the relationship. That is, at some point in history, God chose to bind Himself to specific relational terms. He didn't have to, of course. Being all powerful and all knowing—or simply all powerful—He didn't and doesn't have to do anything He doesn't want to. But in His wisdom and His love for us, He chose to commit Himself, to limit Himself, to specific conditions of a relationship.

He even uses a special word for these relational terms. It's called a "covenant." A covenant is like a contract, but about relational things. Marriage is just such a covenant, because it establishes a relationship according to specific terms, clear commitments by each person to the other. A covenant, like a normal contract, has conditions and descriptions of responsibilities, and, if breached, terms of remedy and penalties for the breach. The biggest difference between a covenant and contract is the length of the term: a covenant expires only when one of the parties dies.

It is interesting to note that no other religion or philosophy includes divine covenants. Covenants are exclusive to the God of the Bible. Indeed, the Bible is essentially the story of the progression of His covenants with man.

God has made three distinct covenants with us. Each covenant established a new relationship between God and mankind. Each created a new subgroup of humanity—a new community. And perhaps most importantly, each new relationship brought a new revelation about God. With every covenant, God has shown us an entirely new facet of Himself, a new "Face," if you will. In our pursuit of the Divine Relationship, in getting to know God—not as we'd like Him to be, but as He really is—it is vital to see how He has revealed Himself to us thus far.

The First Covenant

At three unique times in human history, God established a new relationship with mankind. Each time, He bound Himself to a set of relational parameters—a covenant—which defined and limited His actions for our sake. Each time, the relationship revealed a startlingly new aspect of God's character; unveiled a dramatic new Face of God. And each time, He began the process with a man.

The first covenant between God and humanity followed the most terrifying, most sobering, and most widespread event in human history: Noah's Flood. Most of the culture of antediluvian civilization is lost to the mists of prehistory to the degree that many today see the Flood only as folklore and myth. What existed before the Flood was a mysterious place in which human beings lived an incredibly long time, in which, perhaps, supernatural beings mated with human women, and in which the offspring of these relations were giant "men of renown," perhaps the antecedents for the legends of the Greek gods. But, lest we presume that such wonders made our planet wonderful, it should be noted that the primary interest, hobby, and preoccupation of humanity at that time was violence. Enough violence that God had simply had enough. Mankind had, in His eyes, thoroughly and completely corrupted itself. So God chose a man and started over.

The controversy over the reality of Noah's Flood and the many current day expeditions in search of Noah's Ark are interesting, but they miss the essential point. The Flood was, primarily, a _relational_ event. It was a divine statement, albeit one with several exclamation marks. With the Flood, God "presented Himself" to humanity in an entirely new light. As an entirely different God. And His message was targeted for the entire human race. So, it is interesting at least that, despite all the academic, anthropological, and geological objections to and limitations of the veracity of the Biblical story of the Flood, every civilization on the planet has a "Flood myth." Some of the particulars are different, of course. But the essence of God's statement to humanity has survived everywhere.

His statement was this: I am God the Destroyer.

This, of course, doesn't fit with the currently fashionable idea that God is a nice, friendly Guy. But then, nothing He has ever done or said has positioned Him as such a nice Guy. That image, like many of our images of God, are simply our own devices, constructed in self-delusion to try to make us feel less uncomfortable with reality. Viewing the God Who not only destroyed the entire planet, but did so with His overt signature on it, as a nice Guy is merely whistling by the graveyard.

In the Biblical narrative (Genesis 6-9), the Flood was immediately followed by a covenant. Noah and his family disembarked from the Ark, and Noah built an altar and made a sacrifice to God. God responded to the sacrifice with a covenant. His covenant with Noah—and through him, with all of humanity and all other life on earth—limited His future actions. He promised to never again destroy all life on the planet with a flood. As a sign of that promise, God invented the rainbow. Every time a rainbow appears, it is a reminder that God has promised to never again destroy mankind with a flood.

Think about this a minute. God did not promise to never again destroy humanity. He just promised not to do so with a flood. And He didn't say that floods wouldn't destroy _some_ of humanity, as they do nearly every year. He said simply that He wouldn't destroy _all_ of humanity with a flood. Now, this was certainly gracious of Him, since He didn't have to make this or any promise to us. We surely couldn't demand it of Him. Considering our impotence compared with His omnipotence, there are no demands we can ever make on God. Unless, of course, He makes a promise. Which He does via a covenant.

But in the case of this first covenant with mankind, when we see a rainbow, what exactly is this telling us about God? If the covenant established a new relationship with mankind, what is the nature of this relationship? Specifically, according to the covenant, how is God presenting Himself to us?

Frankly, as the Destroyer. Every time we see a rainbow, we are reminded that, even though He'll never do it again _in the same way_ , at one point in time, God _did_ destroy humanity. The rainbow is a perpetual reminder that He has the capacity to destroy us. Sure, He has promised not to do so again. But, as evidenced through the "Flood myths" of many different civilizations, what has stuck in the collective memory of mankind is that _God can destroy_. That He has _all_ the power. That once, long ago, when we had given ourselves over to the violent animal instincts of our basest character, He proved Himself to be the absolute, unqualified Animal Warden. That if we choose to waste the divine potential of humanity in favor of our worst, violent nature, then He can respond _and has_ responded with the exercise of raw, unfathomably violent power. That if we elect to become beasts, He will show Himself as the strongest of all the beasts.

Which is how He portrays Himself in Biblical symbols. In both the Old Testament (Ezekiel 1) and the New (Revelations 4), God is mysteriously and symbolically portrayed as having Four Faces. One of these Faces was first unveiled through the Great Flood, and confirmed by the covenant with Noah. It was the face of God as the all-powerful King of Beasts: " _The first living creature was like a lion_...." (Revelation 4:7)

This, then, was the first Face God revealed to humanity, and He revealed it to all of humanity. This was the Person God showed Himself to be in His first covenantal relationship with mankind. He was the Lion, the King of Beasts, the God Who ruled through the exercise—and the continual rainbow reminders—of His absolute, barely restrained power. This is the Face of God that infuses the earliest memory of the Divine Relationship.

Mankind's response to this First Face of God was a predictable one: fear. Fear is the primary attribute of a relationship that is based on relative power. If you have more power than I do, and if that's the substance of our relationship, my first and only attitude toward you is to fear you. That fear, as every king, emperor, military commander, petty tyrant, poor business manager, and totalitarian regime has learned, is what keeps me in line. During Stalin's reign of terror over the former U.S.S.R., everyone lived in fear. As a result, crime, per se, did not exist. No one dared to cross the iron-fisted government. Meanwhile, in the United States, whenever fashion tilts toward the more liberal end of the scale with it's emphasis of individual freedom over governmental control, crime tends to rise. It's a simple axiom of human behavior. If I fear you, I will obey you.

Looking through the lens of Jewish and Christian history, we are tempted to become "revisionists," applying current perspectives to past realities. After the Flood, there was no mention of a "loving God," of a God of justice and mercy, of a God Who actually cares for humankind. There was only the legend of the divine expulsion of the first man and woman from the Garden of Eden. There was only the story of the first murder, of Abel by his brother Cain, and the divine sentence Cain received. And, of course, there was the indelible memory of the Flood, the greatest destruction in the history of our planet. This is how God was known. This was the reality of those who lived under the First Face of God. There was only the Destroyer.

So, fear was a normal, natural, and healthy perspective to assume. Disobeying God not only had consequences, but unimaginably terrible consequences. And if He did promise to never again unleash a globally catastrophic Flood, it didn't take much imagination to realize that He could certainly come up with something else equally catastrophic. So man feared God. Mankind preferred to obey this all-powerful, mysterious God than to again risk suffering His wrath. Fear and obedience were burned into our collective memory.

We had but one small issue: what exactly did He want from us? What were our obligations? What could we do to prevent another apocalypse?
Relating to the First Face of God

This was our problem with the First Face of God. We lived in fear of God, but we didn't know what exactly He wanted of us. The only thing He specified in His covenant with Noah was that we were not permitted to murder or to eat meat with the lifeblood still in it. Other than that, we didn't have a clue what He wanted. Only that violence had once ignited the fury of the Destroyer. Other than that, we had no idea how to relate to this terrible God, how to communicate with Him, how to know if He was communicating with us. Nothing.

So we were left to our own devices. We watched the heavens, trying to discern divine messages. We watched the weather, trying to figure out whether He was pleased or angry with us. We watched our friends and family get sick and die, and tried to guess how to stop it. We lived with a constant expectation that any wrongdoing would be met with swift and inexorable retribution, and a constant confusion about what God the Destroyer wanted us to do.

Our only flicker of hope was Noah. If we would do whatever it was that Noah had done, then maybe God would not be angry with us. We remembered mainly one thing that Noah did that pleased God. He made a sacrifice. He killed and burned some of the "clean" animals from the Ark. That they had been the special "clean" animals meant, to us, that they were the more valuable ones. This, combined with the legendary history of Abel's righteous sacrifice of an animal versus his brother Cain's unacceptable sacrifice of fruit and grain, left us with our only supposed solution: we must burn things. To satisfy this almighty and terrible God, we must burn valuable animals in sacrifice.

So we did. If there was drought, we sacrificed animals to God. If there was sickness in the family, we sacrificed animals to God. If the drought or sickness or whatever was bad enough, or if a decision we needed to make was important enough, we used more and more valuable animals. Ultimately, as our ignorance and fear led us to desperation, we sacrificed the most valuable of all animals: human beings. Our village's maidens. Or the captives of our military campaigns. Or our own children. Human sacrifice was the ultimate response in our attempt to pacify the great and terrible God the Destroyer. It became our knee-jerk response to God. And in doing so, we confirmed who we were and Who God was in this era of the First Face: we were beasts. And He was King of the Beasts.

This is the time that religion was born. Religion began with our feeble attempts to placate an unknowable God. We tried this, we tried that. We sacrificed birds and livestock and ultimately human beings. We did whatever it was that seemed to work, that seemed to pacify the wind and the weather. That seemed to keep God and His terrible, destructive wrath at bay.

Eventually, our attempts gave way to rituals, to preordained days of self-abasement, to elaborately orchestrated sacrifices on elaborately constructed altars in elaborately constructed temples. A class of priests and seers—men who presumed to know what God wanted and how He wanted it—arose to lead our religious activities, to read the omens predicted by astronomical events or by the shape of a goat's kidneys, to select and execute the sacrifices.

But our religion didn't entirely work. Our sacrifices didn't seem to entirely satisfy the capricious desires of God the Destroyer. At some point, on a vast plain in the land of Shinar, someone—perhaps the mysterious King Nimrod—convinced us that God wasn't important at all. That all our efforts to placate Him did not really matter. Instead, we should ignore Him, and look to ourselves for answers. That His destructive power had so long ago been used that we need not expect Him to ever show Himself again. That we could aspire to be our own masters, without Him. That by simply ignoring Him, we could, as a united people, decide for ourselves how to behave, how to think, how to act. And to that end, we should build a huge tower, proclaiming our own mastery of our fate. Proclaiming that we are mankind, and that mankind is sufficient in itself.

God looked down on our tower, and saw how our fear and ignorance of Him had led us to reach beyond the pale. We had begun down a road of fatal self-illusion. We had begun to think that we were sufficient, that the Divine Relationship was irrelevant, that we, in fact, were our own gods. And He knew where that road would lead. He knew how it was the same sense of self-sufficiency that had led antediluvian civilization to the horrors that brought about the Flood. That if we cut ourselves free from even the meager knowledge we had of Him, we would return to a level of animalistic violence that would finally and utterly ruin us again. That in our intoxication with ourselves, we would fall into permanent and inextricable deception, into another hell on earth which would necessitate another global purging, another final catastrophe.

So God responded with a strange and portentous gift: language. In an instant, God introduced humanity to multiple languages. Our speech was suddenly confounded, and through it, our ability to communicate, and, thus, to cooperate. Through the introduction of differing languages, God stopped us before we went too far, before we thoroughly ruined ourselves again. Our tower was never completed. Instead, it became a legend and a watchword for the confusion that comes from many tongues: the Tower of Babel. It stands in our collective memory as a monument, either to the foolishness of declaring our independence from God, or to the vast, untapped potential of united humanity—with or without God.

So, we slouched off to our various corners of the globe with the few who could understand us. We divided ourselves according to our new languages, and ran off to lick our wounds. After such a display of divine power, we were left to consider our ways, to wonder what would have happened had God not humiliated and confused our efforts. To wonder how God the Destroyer, Who had seemed so silent so long, had chosen, not to destroy us again, but to separate us into many varied groups. And through that separation, to somehow sap the mysterious power of what a united humanity could do.

Our pockets of civilization returned to the fear of God the Destroyer. Separated by language and locale, we grew into the nations and civilizations that would compete locally, regionally, and globally for preeminence and power. Varied permutations of religion evolved, with strange variations on a common theme: mysterious rituals, a powerful priesthood, and lots and lots of sacrifices. These are the universal fundamentals of man trying to keep the Destroyer at bay. Even with different languages and increasingly different cultures, we shared the same collective memory. That God is the Destroyer. That only through religion can we try to understand and placate Him. That only through sacrifice can we appease Him. And that even if we do not know or understand Him, we can ignore Him only at our own peril.

So, keenly aware of His power, but ignorant of His will, we suffered under the confusion and fear of not knowing Him, not knowing what He wanted of us, not knowing if and how He would show Himself again. This is the result of the first covenant. This is what we learned under the First Face of God. This is how we related to the Face of the Lion, to God the Destroyer.

We desperately needed to know what He wanted, and how we were to respond. We needed illumination, a set of instructions, a rule book for the Divine Relationship. We were fully and finally prepared for the next act in the Divine Drama: the second covenant.
The Second Covenant

God's first covenant was made with a man named Noah. Through that covenant, he revealed Himself as God the Destroyer to all of humanity. His second covenant was also made with a man. We know him as the patriarch Abraham. Today, Abraham is claimed to be the father of three of the world's major religions: Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. This is somewhat strange, since these three religions have been—and still are—at odds with one another, often violently so. That they all honor Abraham is not a testimony to any sort of ecumenical spirit or shared heritage. Sharing, at least outside their respective communities, is unequivocally one of the attributes not found in most adherents to Judaism, Christianity, or Islam, each of which espouses its own primacy. Honoring Abraham is not an indication that these three religions agree on at least one thing. Rather, it is a testimony to their competing interest in Abraham's history. Each claims, to the exclusion of all others, the rights to Abraham's legacy. Each claims to be the beneficiary of the second covenant.

Abraham's complete story is found in Genesis chapters 11-25, which we need not reproduce here. It begins by tracing his ancestry from Noah's son, Shem, from whom we get the term "Semites." The story finds Abraham living in Ur. Ur was a significant Mesopotamian city-state which had grown up from one of the many pockets of shared language into which humanity had been scattered after the debacle at the Tower of Babel. Abraham was married. He was childless. And when he was about 75 years old, God spoke to him. Abraham responded by following God to an unknown destination and an unclear destiny.

In the case of the first covenant, God foretold His plan to destroy mankind to Noah about 100 years prior to the Flood, if for no other reason than to give Noah time to build his Ark. In the same way, God's relationship with Abraham is the beginning of a centuries-long process. He begins by telling Abraham what He had planned. Later, He makes the second covenant with Abraham. And then, over a period of more than four hundred years, He enacts a series of "confirmations" of the covenant before the covenant is ever completely fulfilled.

God's second covenant was initially simple. He promised to make Abraham's descendents as numerous as the stars in the sky, and to give them the Land of Canaan, where God had led Abraham. As with Noah, a blood sacrifice was enacted to put the covenant into effect. With the sacrifice, the divine die was cast. But to Abraham, it must have seemed far off. He had neither the Land nor any descendents. At the time, the Land of Canaan was filled with, well, Canaanites. And Abraham, now an old man, was still childless.

About ten years later, when Abraham was eighty-five, he and his wife, Sarah, reasoned that perhaps God would fulfill His promise of many descendents through a legal maneuver by which Abraham would sire a child with Sarah's maid, Hagar. At eighty-six, Abraham became the father of Ishmael, whom he considered to be his heir, and the heir to the second covenant. It is not recorded that God said a word to Abraham for thirteen years.

Then, when Abraham was ninety-nine and Ishmael was the apple of his eye, God spoke to him again. He reiterated the promises of the covenant, with some added features. First, He made it unequivocally clear that the " _whole land of Canaan, where you are now an alien, I will give as an everlasting possession to you and your descendants after you; and I will be their God_." (Genesis 17:8) Then, God told Abraham specifically that He would give him a son by his wife, Sarah, and that he was to name the boy "Isaac." Finally, in what had to be a shock to the already stunned Abraham, God introduced circumcision as the sign of this covenant. Every male born in the line of Abraham was to be circumcised on the eighth day. " _Any uncircumcised male, who has not been circumcised in the flesh, will be cut off from his people; he has broken my covenant_." (Genesis 17:14) The Bible doesn't record Abraham's reaction to circumcision. Other than he obeyed.

It does, however, record his reaction to the promise of Sarah giving him a son. He laughed and incredulously asked how a son could be born to a hundred-year-old man and a ninety-year-old woman. He then reminded God that Ishmael, his thirteen-year-old son, was alive and well and, by implication, Abraham's favorite to inherit the blessing of the second covenant.

But God would have none of it. Certainly, He told Abraham, He would bless Ishmael. Indeed, He would make him the father of twelve kings. " _But my covenant I will establish with Isaac, whom Sarah will bear to you by this time next year_." (Genesis 17:21) A year later, Isaac, the miracle child, the son of the promise, was born. And with Isaac's birth, the competition with Ishmael began. It continues to this day.

The adventures of Abraham included many other things, most of which revolved around the second covenant. It was Abraham who first recognized God's second Face. In his famous "negotiation" with God over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham exclaims " _Shouldn't the Judge of all the earth deal justly_?" (Genesis 18:25) Whether this was simply a rash statement in defense of his position or a divinely ordained revelation—or both—it was Abraham who first saw God as Judge. As his descendents would learn later, the Judge would become the primary Face of God for nearly 2,000 years.

The second covenant was confirmed again and again until it's fulfillment. First to Abraham. Later, to his son, Isaac, setting him apart from Ishmael and Abraham's other sons. Still later, the covenant passed to Jacob, one of Isaac's two sons, to the exclusion of his brother Esau. There, on Jacob—whom God renamed "Israel"—the second covenant rested. Thereafter, all of Jacob's descendents, not just one of them, would be included in the second covenant. To them, God would give the Land of Canaan. Of them, God required circumcision. For them, God promised to bless and protect and provide in an unparalleled way. These had become God's "Chosen People." They were the descendents of Jacob, or, in other words, the "Children of Israel." As a nation, they were known as the Israelites. As a people, thanks to Jacob's fourth son, Judah, we know them as the Jews.
The Nation of the Law

The Jews became God's Chosen People before Isaac and Jacob were even born. But as God told Abraham, there would be a four-hundred-year span before they would come into possession of their divine inheritance. It was during that interim period that God not only confirmed His covenant with them, but also clarified His new revelation of Himself.

Through the covenant with Noah, God had revealed His first Face—as the Destroyer—to all of mankind. Through the covenant with Abraham and his descendents, however, not only did He unveil an entirely new Face, but He did so to an entirely new audience. Through the Law of Moses, He showed Himself to be, not only God the Destroyer, but God the Judge. This time, however, He showed Himself only to His Chosen People. By divine intent, the Face of the Judge is exclusively the Jewish Face of God.

The story of the deliverance of the Jews from Egypt and their establishment in the Promised Land is perhaps the most famous story of the founding of a nation. It can be found in its entirety beginning with the biblical book of Exodus. Indeed, the entire Old Testament is essentially the story of God's relationship with His Chosen People. For our purposes, however, an executive summary will suffice.

The Jews found themselves in the land of Egypt in the first place because of two things. First, there was a severe famine in Canaan. And secondly, Jacob's son, Joseph, through a miraculous series of events, had risen to prime minister of the Egyptian empire, second in command only to Pharaoh himself. Under his protection, he moved his aging father Jacob and the seventy members of the family to the best land of Egypt. There, the Jews prospered.

Centuries later, Joseph was a forgotten figure of history, at least to the Egyptians. A new Pharaoh ascended to the throne and considered the now numerous Jews to be a potential threat. He ordered them made into captive workers for his many building projects. There the Jews languished under the oppression of slavery. With the Chosen People of God enslaved by the superpower of the age—Egypt—the stage was set for the most dramatic display of divine power since the Flood.

Moses was the man God selected to lead this display. God met him on a mountain in the form of a burning bush. God told Moses to return to Egypt, where he had been born and raised as a prince in Pharaoh's household, and to command Pharaoh to release the Jews from their harsh slavery. So, with some reluctance, Moses returned to Egypt to face Pharaoh.

He informed Pharaoh of God's command to release the Jewish slaves. Pharaoh refused. Moses demonstrated God's power by turning his rod into a snake. Pharaoh's magicians duplicated the feat, at least to Pharaoh's satisfaction. Through Moses, God gradually increased the demonstrations of His power. After several such duels, the Egyptian magicians could not duplicate the infestation by gnats that Moses had released. Pharaoh's men were convinced, at this point, that they weren't dealing with some petty Jewish deity, but with the very God who had once wiped out mankind in a Flood. They advised Pharaoh to stop this silliness, and let the Jews go lest they find themselves on the receiving end of divine wrath. But Pharaoh wouldn't listen. Whether through his own ego or through some divine persuasion, Pharaoh had volunteered to prove a vital, if lethal, fact: that the God Who was about to show Himself to the Jews as the divine Judge was the very same God Who had long been known to all of humanity as the Destroyer.

Pharaoh was intractable. So God made Himself clear: He destroyed Egypt. Through an increasing level of severity, plague after plague struck Egypt, delivered by the rod of Moses. Finally, the Destroyer confirmed again Who He was and Who mankind was, by destroying the first born of Egypt. Just as humans had been sacrificing their children for centuries, now the Destroyer sacrificed them in a ruthless and brazen display of His power. Pharaoh's own son was one of the casualties. At this final horror, Pharaoh relented. The Jews could go.

But God revealed something else: His favor. Not all first born children were destroyed. The Angel of Death had passed over the houses of the Israelites. This was a new thing. Never before had God shown a blatant supernatural preference for a specific group of people. It was as if God was saying, "Yes, I am the Destroyer" to Egypt. But to Israel, He was saying "But I will spare you, whom I have chosen." God confirmed Himself as the all-powerful Destroyer, but also revealed Himself as the God Who would show mercy—at least, to Israel.

It was this selectiveness that was so unsettling. Pharaoh, like many today, chose to view the sudden appearance of the plagues at Moses' word as mere coincidence, as purely natural, if somewhat strange, events. But it was difficult to argue against the miraculous nature of God's blatant discrimination in favor of the Israelites, who, of all of Egypt, were repeatedly spared. That the first born in the Israelite homes where the sacrificial blood was applied to the doorways were the only ones saved, made it rather difficult to assign the event to solely natural causes. God's dramatic and selective exercise of His power is what convinced Pharaoh's magicians—and ultimately Pharaoh—that God's thumbprint was on this destruction. That God was helping the Jews.

After the desolation of Egypt, the Jews followed Moses into the desert en route to their Promised Land. All along the way, God the Destroyer was showing His power in an entirely new way. He fed them with the "miracle food" of manna, and with tons of quail from nowhere. He had water gush from desert rocks. He produced a flaming pillar to protect them, first from Pharaoh's troops, and then as the guide to lead them through the trackless wasteland. All along the way, the supernatural power of God—feared by mankind since the Flood—was made manifest, but for an entirely different purpose. Instead of displaying the wrath of a destructive God, that same power was being used to rescue, protect, and provide for this mass of escaped slaves. The same unfathomable power that had created the universe, that had wiped all but Noah and his family from the face of the earth, that had put a screeching halt to the Tower of Babel, and that had turned the thriving cities of Sodom and Gomorrah into steaming piles of ruin, was now being exercised for the benefit of this fledgling nation. The nature and scope of the power confirmed that this was the work of God the Destroyer. But the purpose of its use was revealing a dramatically different aspect of this formerly capricious and wrathful God.

At Mount Sinai, God again demonstrated His power from the top of the mountain. There, He spoke to the whole Israelite assembly, but they were so overcome that they insisted He only speak to Moses, who could relay His messages. So Moses went up to speak face-to-Face with God the Destroyer. Forty days later, Moses returned to fully reveal God the Judge.

To further confirm the second covenant, God the Judge gave Israel the Law of Moses. The Law was very specific, very comprehensive. It covered diet, cooking, health, relational morality, business ethics, festivals, feasts, fasts, ethnic and personal purity, family relations, community relations, foreign relations, and every other conceivable subject. The Law clearly and specifically stated the terms of this new covenant: what God expected of Israel. It also clearly and specifically stated what this covenant bound Him to: the prosperity, protection, security, health, and national identity of Israel. This was the exchange, the new order, the specific terms of the second covenant.

The first covenant left mankind with fear and confusion. We had no idea what God wanted of us. We only knew that if we somehow botched things up, He had the power to destroy us. His rainbow reminded us continually that He was the Destroyer, that whatever other attributes He had, He was absolutely powerful.

The second covenant introduced an entirely new attribute of God: justice. Through the Law, He gave us—well, He gave the Children of Israel—very specific instructions as to what He required. No longer did they need to cower in ignorance. Now, the Law clearly laid out what He wanted of them and what He promised. If they obeyed, He promised many good things. If they disobeyed, He promised certain and sometimes severe punishment.

Perfect Law from a perfect Judge requires perfect justice. Thus, if a Law is broken, something must be done. Somebody must pay. If not, then justice is left hanging, unfinished, imperfect. As the Judge, God could not just "make exceptions." To do so would invalidate justice, which would invalidate the Law itself, and by extension, invalidate the blessings that were to accompany obedience to the Law. Mercy is not merely an exception to justice. Exceptions to justice invalidate justice. Instead, mercy is a means by which justice is duly served, but the lawbreaker is somehow, simultaneously spared.

The Law was perfect. The Chosen People were not. The Law, therefore, was beyond the capacity for imperfect mankind to obey perfectly. This presented a quandary: If the imperfect People cannot perfectly obey a perfect Law, how could they survive? How could they escape the judgment which would eventually sentence them all to exile or execution?

To prevent the penalties of disobedience from ultimately obliterating the Chosen People, the Judge—in an act of unparalleled mercy—created a mechanism by which both the Law and the People could survive. He embedded into the Law itself certain provisions for human imperfection. He devised a legal way by which infractions of the Law could be made right, without making the Law wrong. Not felonies, mind you—as we would consider them—offenses that were purposed and evil in intent. But for the accidental infraction, the careless misdemeanor, the unknowing or unwitting error, God established a sort of perpetual "fail-safe" mechanism.

He called it "atonement."

Atonement

Nothing in human history is as significant to the Divine Relationship as atonement. Its importance can be misunderstood if we focus only on its mechanisms. That is, since animal sacrifice is the means of atonement, and since humanity had been sacrificing animals for centuries, it may seem at first glance that the Law did nothing more than codify our ancient response to our fear of God the Destroyer.

But atonement is radically different. For centuries, animal sacrifice was our knee-jerk attempt to please an unknowable and capricious God. The Law, however, changed all this. Instead of stabbing in the dark to try to please the Destroyer, the Law clearly spelled out what was required of those who would relate to God the Judge. Instead of trying to avoid the capricious wrath of a mysterious Deity, the Law specifically laid out what He wanted from us, how He wanted us to live, and what the exact penalties were for disobedience. Knowing that mankind could never fully comply with the strict terms of the Law, God created a mechanism by which the perfection of the Law would not destroy His People. Atonement provided a way for those who could not perfectly keep the Law to avoid the severe judgment of the Law. Atonement was the great gift.

In the Law, atonement is essentially an exchange of guilt. Guilt, here, is not an emotion. It is a state of being in violation of the Law. A guilty party has broken the Law, and, according to the Law, punishment is automatically due and forthcoming.

Atonement does not seek to eliminate the penalty for violating the Law. Rather, it transfers the guilt of the offender onto another party. That receiving party, in order to preserve the integrity of the Law, must be innocent of any wrongdoing. Thus, by punishing the innocent party, the Law is upheld and the offender is no longer guilty. The trick, of course, is to come up with an innocent party who is willing to accept this exchange. Since human beings, when measured by the Law, are not legally "clean" enough—not "holy" enough—to qualify, another innocent must be found. So God created a means whereby the punishment of the guilty is transferred to the innocent. He did so, ironically, through the age-old mechanism of animal sacrifice.

The Mosaic Law specifies many types of animal sacrifices. The most important of these, at least to the imperfect humanity who had no hope of perfectly obeying the Law, were the sacrifices to atone for sin. Certain animals were selected—either an ox or bull from the herd or a sheep or goat from the flock—and inspected for "legal perfection." That is, they could not be deformed or substandard in any way, but perfect, not only in innocence, but in health. These were sacrificed, not as bloody appeasements to an unknown and unknowable Destroyer, but as legitimate, divinely ordained substitutes to receive the guilt of the people. Through this atonement mechanism, the ruthless justice of the Law was upheld, yet the people were spared.

The Law, however, recognized that an animal was not equal to a human being. That is, the execution of an ox in place of a human is not an equitable exchange. A truly balanced exchange would be the life of an innocent human for a guilty one. But because the Law of the Judge was so exacting, God knew that finding a truly innocent human would be rather difficult. So He allowed for the exchange of an innocent animal for the sake of the guilty humans, but only temporarily. The atoning sacrifice must be repeated annually. The Law essentially set the currency of exchange as one animal for a year's worth of human sins. So every year, the High Priest would offer the sacrifice for the sins of the people.

This legal form of atonement was a revolutionary idea. It allowed an imperfect people to live under the unrelenting justice of a perfect Law. Atonement bridged the otherwise incalculable gap between heaven and earth. At its core, atonement, although a purely legal mechanism, was a consummate act of mercy. God the Judge found a way to execute the perfect justice of the Law without executing His Chosen People in the process.

Atonement was so revolutionary to the Divine Relationship that God chose to symbolically represent His second Face—as the Judge—through the very symbol of the atoning sacrifice: " _The first living creature was like a lion, and the second was like an_ _ox_...." (Revelation 4:7); and " _each had...the face of a lion and... the face of an_ _ox_ _.._.." (Ezekiel 1:10) Where He revealed His First Face as the Destroyer through the metaphor of the lion, the king of the beasts, He revealed His Second Face as the Judge through the metaphor of the atoning sacrifice: the ox.

At least for God's Chosen People, the second covenant superseded the first. As He demonstrated at the expense of Egypt during the Exodus, God the Judge was the same Person as God the Destroyer Whose primary attribute was awesome, ruthless power.

With the Law, however, God's power was no longer His predominant attribute. Instead, His justice was of primary importance. His justice tempered and redirected His power. Through the Law, He bound Himself to use His almighty power, if not always predictably, for the sake of the Children of Israel. No longer did His people need fear the unmitigated wrath of God the Destroyer. Now, they knew exactly what He wanted, exactly how He promised to use His power if they obeyed, and exactly what the penalties were for disobedience. This was the essence of the new Divine Relationship. This was the substance of the Jewish relationship with God the Judge.
Ramifications of the Second Covenant - Gentiles

The gist of the second covenant was the selection of Israel as God's Chosen People, the promise of the Land of Canaan, and the requirement—as a sign of the covenant—of circumcision. Through the Law of this covenant, God revealed Himself in an entirely new way, via an entirely new Face: as God the Judge. The Law was exactly what mankind had yearned for since the Flood: to know what He expected of us, to no longer have to walk around on eggshells, wondering if He was about to unleash His destructive power. The Law showed us what He wanted of us, and through it, He limited the exercise of His awesome and terrifying power to specific, predefined boundaries. God's new Face as Judge and His new relationship with us through the Law were perfect solutions to the centuries of fear and confusion we had lived with since the Flood. Except for just one small thing: it wasn't for everybody.

The first covenant was for all of humanity. The second covenant, however, began with the selection of Abraham. God further winnowed down His choice to Isaac, and then to Jacob. Of all the nations on the planet, of all the millions of people scattered across the globe, God finally chose one otherwise insignificant family—that of Jacob—to be His Chosen People. With them and only them, God established the second covenant. To them and only them, God showed Himself as the Judge. The rest of the world would still languish under the fear and confusion of God the Destroyer. Only His Chosen People would enter this new Divine Relationship. Only the Jews.

Logically speaking, when something is selected, then, by definition, other things are not. When God selected the Jews as His People, He created—for the first time—a distinction in humanity. Although until then, as today, individuals defined themselves by all sorts of criteria, most notably their bloodline or community or geographic heritage, they were still a single group. At least, to God, they were a single group. All of mankind, however divided now by language or culture or location, was nonetheless a single entity in their relationship with God the Destroyer. The first covenant with Noah established a Divine Relationship which applied to every human being. In all its oppressive fear and confusion, the Divine Relationship with the Destroyer was the only option open for humanity.

The second covenant changed all that. For the first time, God chose a specific group of folks—the Jews—for a special purpose, a special Divine Relationship. And by definition, the selection of the Jews also created a huge group of people who were clearly and specifically _not_ chosen. These—all of the rest of us—were the "non-Jews." The "unChosen." God gave us a name to distinguish us from His Chosen Ones: we were the "Gentiles."

For nearly two thousand years from the selection of Abraham, while the Jews were working through their special Divine Relationship with God the Judge, the rest of us—the Gentiles—spiritually subsisted under the oppressive fear of our own, earlier Divine Relationship—with God the Destroyer. The Gentiles were not included in the promises or demands of the Law. The Gentiles were not party to the justice of the Judge. The Gentiles were not deeded the Promised Land. The Gentiles were not selected to enjoy the security and peace of the second covenant. Only the Jews got all that. We were still stuck with the mysterious and lethal power of the "Rainbow God."

It's not that the Gentiles hadn't heard of the Jews. God's "disagreement" with Pharaoh at the Exodus was not done in a corner. Word got out that the Hebrew God had made a dazzling display of His power at the expense of the Egyptian nation; that these Jews had somehow discovered a God Who would actually work miracles for them, win battles for them, supernaturally intervene on their behalf. By this time, of course, every nation and culture had developed their own religious rituals, their own special names for Him or what they attributed to His powers, their own specific mechanisms for keeping the Destroyer at bay. But, just as Pharaoh's magicians had experienced first hand, even the high priests of the Gentiles had never heard of anything like this: a God Who actually worked wonders _on behalf_ of a specific people. A God Who had supernaturally destroyed the Egyptian army, Who had led the Jewish army to conquer the impregnable fortress of Jericho and to drive out the existing inhabitants of Canaan, and Who blessed, installed, and protected the Jews in their Land. This was something quite new.

But what followed was something that was old as mankind itself, and common to every man, woman, and child who ever existed: envy. To the Gentiles, the selection of the Jews seemed unfair. It was so utterly and capriciously unfair, that there were only two responses to their Chosen status. The first was to deny it. The second was to hate them.

The term "anti-Semitism" technically means an antipathy toward the descendents of Shem, Noah's favored son. But this is really a misnomer. If fact, the rest of the world didn't hate all the Semites. It only resented that small, specific bunch who came from the line of Jacob, of Israel. It only envied and hated those who had been chosen for a new Divine Relationship: the Jews. And that hatred has come down to us unfiltered and undiluted to this day.

The Old Testament of the Bible—at least, from Exodus onward—is, in its essence, the story of the Divine Relationship between God and the Jews. It is not, however, the complete history of the Jews. That history did not end with the return of the Jews from captivity in Babylon. It did not end with the destruction of Jerusalem and diaspora of the Jews by the Romans in 70 A.D. It did not end with slaughter of the Crusades, or with the Russian pogroms of the 19th century, or with the Nazi Holocaust of World War II. Their history did not even end when, in 1948, the Jews regained physical, political, and military sovereignty of the Promised Land for the first time since the Babylonian conquest of 586 B.C. Jewish history will not be complete until the end of time.

Which means that Gentiles will live with a constant reminder of their "unChoseness" until human history itself comes to an end. And that reminder keeps alive a glowing ember of anti-Semitism, however it seems to be eliminated or mitigated by culture or education or religion or anything else.

Gentile hostility to the Jews was overt against ancient Israel, whether under the leadership of judges like Samson and Deborah, or under the glorious reigns of Kings David and Solomon, or against the returning Babylonian exiles who rebuilt the destroyed Temple. That same hostility seemed to have waned in the enlightened culture of 19th century France, until the sham trial of Captain Dreyfus ignited the Gentile mobs to scream "Death to the Jews" down the streets of Paris. It seemed to have completely vanished in the tolerant Weimar Republic after World War I, when German Jews had become so assimilated and integral to German business and culture that to even distinguish who was and wasn't a Jew was nearly impossible, until the Nazis came to power less than a decade later and so institutionalized anti-Semitism that the industrious and bureaucratic efforts of an entire nation was set loose to root out and exterminate Jews. Gentile hostility to the Jews seemed to have dissipated when the United Nations voted to partition part of the British Mandate as a country for the Jews, until the Arab wars of 1949, 1956, 1967, and 1973 could not dislodge this little group of tenacious Jews, and now the United Nations is as openly hostile to the State of Israel as Sanballat and Tobiah ever were to Nehemiah and his band of Jewish exiles.

Anti-Semitism, like any evil, prospers in the dark. The idea that the modern world has "outgrown" prejudice in general and anti-Semitism in particular is regularly shown to be false with nearly every event in Middle East politics, in nearly every newspaper's Op-Ed or Letters to the Editors page. But this idea that we are finally civilized, that we are finally tolerant, that humanity has finally evolved to a place of reason and civility, is a recurring chimera. As history has so thoroughly taught us, anti-Semitism lurks just beneath the fragile veneer of every Gentile civilization, just below the surface in every Gentile heart. Our enmity toward the Jews for being chosen over us is as much of an innate, collective memory for every Gentile as is the fear we have toward God the Destroyer since the Flood. That we individually or collectively deny that anti-Semitism exists anymore—either in civilized society or in our own hearts—is an illusion. It is a self-deception that allows the seeds to lay festering in the dark, until the next Emperor Justinian or Pope Leo III or Chmielnicki Bogdan or Adolf Hitler arises to give it full vent.

This first effect of the second covenant will not be resolved until the end of time. Until then, Gentiles will continue to feel like divine second-class citizens. And until then, the Jews will be around. Indeed, God did not promise to give them the Land of Canaan until they disobeyed the covenant, or until they broke the Mosaic Law, or until the United Nations came along to mediate another "land for peace" deal. As God told Abraham, the " _whole land of Canaan, where you are now an alien, I will give as an everlasting possession to you and your descendants after you; and I will be their God_." (Genesis 17:8) Not just the coastal edge or the west bank of the Jordan, but the "whole land of Canaan." And not until some event or disobedience or other specified time, but "as an everlasting possession." That God gave the Jews _all_ of Canaan for _all_ time simply sticks in the craw of every Gentile, just like the rainbow does as it reminds us of the Destroyer's power. Anti-Semitism is the first effect of the second covenant. As pernicious as it is, this is nothing compared to the second effect.
Ramifications of the Second Covenant - Lucifer

Many moderns today consider the existence of Lucifer, the fallen archangel, the devil, to be juvenile or primitive fantasy. That many folks consider the devil to be childish myth doesn't make him any less real, however much we would prefer to believe so. It is ironic that many today believe in powerful aliens who regularly visit our planet and who abduct and torture human victims, and yet, consider the devil to be archaically inane. But that's exactly who he is: a supernatural alien, whose hatred toward God—for much the same reason that Gentiles hate Jews—is so tenacious that he vents his hatred on humanity simply because we are God's creatures. Just as the science fiction aliens do, he abducts human victims—through deception or addiction or delusion—and tortures them—through sickness or depression or fear or confusion—until they are utterly incapacitated, until they are as malevolent as he is, or until they are dead.

We don't know much about the relationship between God and Lucifer. The Bible only provides mysterious hints and tidbits. But it seems that Lucifer's demise came because he decided that he should be God's equal (or superior), rather than His subordinate. So, in whatever kind of cosmic disturbance that ensued, Lucifer and the third of the angelic hosts under him revolted against the authority of God. The rebellion was thwarted, but the damage had been done. Lucifer would hereafter consider God his enemy. And he would and will do anything to unseat Him from His throne.

Lucifer has a unique antipathy toward the Jews. He also believes they provide him with a unique opportunity. The second covenant presented him with a special chance to trip God up. When God bound Himself to Abraham in the second covenant, He made some specific promises. First, that the Jews would always be His special people forever, and secondly, that God would give the Jews the Land of Canaan. Because this was no mere "agreement," but a divine covenant, God essentially staked, not merely His reputation, but His entire Being, including His Lordship, on this covenant.

So Lucifer recognized that if that covenant can be broken, then God must concede His authority, for His word will no longer be good. Either through God's revocation of His promise—which would compromise His very capacity to make promises—or through a recognition that, even if God had good intentions, He couldn't make them happen, breaking the second covenant would prove, at least in Lucifer's mind, that God is, at worst, a sham, and at best, vulnerable. And, of course, a vulnerable God cannot also be an omnipotent One.

Hence, Lucifer is anxious to destroy one or both of the "non-negotiables" of the second covenant. That is, he has been and is doing everything he can to either utterly destroy the Jews, or absent that, to keep them from their Land. Either one of those two things will negate the second covenant.

But the economics of cosmic authority preclude Lucifer from using personal, overt power. Instead, he is forced to use the agency of humanity, to work his malevolent will by convincing or deceiving human beings to act for him. So, if Gentiles have a natural historical enmity toward the Jews, Lucifer inflames that enmity into action. He has done so throughout human history. He was very close to succeeding during the Holocaust. He was also close during the 1973 Yom Kippur War, when Israel was nearly destroyed by the surprise attack of Arab armies. Lucifer's cunning is beyond our imagining. But his tactics have been somewhat predictable: ignite the latent anti-Semitism of the Gentiles, and they will do his work for him.

Ultimately, however, the second covenant rests in the power and will of God, Who is Lucifer's real enemy. The Jews are merely a means to an end. But even if they—like all of humanity—may feel like pawns in a lethal cosmic chess game, their and our solace is that God is the Master of both strategy and power, and, what is most mysterious of all, He happens to care for us.

His care—His love—was clearly manifested to the Jews when He selected them, and established a new Divine Relationship with them as the Judge. For the rest of us, we Gentiles had to wait nearly 2,000 more years for God to show us another Face, one different from the ancient Face as Destroyer. At that time, He utterly revolutionized the Divine Relationship, not only for Gentiles, but for Jews as well.

Until then, only the Jewish People would have an option besides the Relationship with the Rainbow God. God had given them a new Divine Relationship, while the Gentiles continued to fear the Destroyer.

God had built His first city. And on the gates, He had hung a sign reading "Jews Only."
Decline and Fall

The history of the Jews as a people could begin with Moses, who was given the Law and led the Hebrew slaves to freedom under the Face of God as Judge. Or, it could begin centuries earlier with Jacob, who was given the name "Israel" and whose descendents qualified as God's Chosen People. Or, it could begin with Abraham, who first received the promise and the covenant from God in the first place. The history of the Jews as a people could go back to Shem, to Noah, or even to Adam.

But the history of the Jews as a _nation_ began with their crossing the Jordan river under the command of Joshua. This was the beginning of the fulfillment of the promise of the second covenant, of the Children of Israel finally taking possession of the Land God had promised to Abraham 400 years previously. The story of the Jews is primarily the story of a people and their Land. Today, that story continues. And it revolves around the descendents of the same people and that exact same Land.

To Abraham, God had initially promised the Land. To Moses, God gave the Law that fleshed out this promise. In a nutshell, God promised that, if they would walk with Him by obeying the Law, He would bless them _in their Land_. They would enjoy wealth and prosperity, international fame, physical and national health, and the security and protection of God Himself. If, on the other hand, they turned their backs on God, He would chastise them through poverty, sickness, plague, famine, and political and military defeat. If they responded to His chastisement and turned back to Him, He would restore their fortunes. If they did not, He would ultimately drive them from the very Land that was central to His promises.

All of this happened. Under, Joshua and the Judges of Israel, God reigned over His Chosen People in a political structure unlike any other before in history. The initial arrangement in Israel was not merely the evolution of competing clans or city-states until a great leader or common enemy united them into a nation, a la Scotland or Germany or most other nations. Instead, God made Israel into a nation first, uniting them in the trials of the desert after they left Egypt and wandered for forty years. Only then, after shaping a united national character—one that was forged by the continual and dramatic exercise of divine, supernatural power—did God settle them into their Land according to their clans. After decades under a single national leader, Israel settled into a political environment with no national government and no central authority other than God Himself. This bizarre type of rule lasted about four centuries. Throughout that time, the people responded to God's blessings—peace and prosperity—much the same way we do today. They got spiritually lethargic, selfish, and began to neglect their Divine Relationship.

As they spiritually wandered away from God, He responded with various chastisements. Often, God used the surrounding Gentile nations to harass them until the Jews returned to God and cried out for help. God repeatedly sent them heroic men and women who would lead them to victory and deliverance from their enemies. In keeping with the nature of the second Face of God, these leaders were called "judges."

This cycle of faith, blessing, lethargy, faithlessness, chastisement, and repentance repeated itself over and over again in Israel. At a critical time, when the nation was under repeated attack from the neighboring Philistines, the Jews had had enough of this trusting in an invisible God. They demanded a king, just like the Gentile nations. Through the prophet and judge Samuel, God warned them that a national monarchy would lead to all sorts of human evil. But they demanded a natural government, instead of the divine structure God had provided, preferring to trust in human mechanisms rather than trusting in God. However dire the situation that caused it, they wanted to establish a permanent governmental structure contrary to God's plans for His people.

This was not merely another cycle of faithlessness leading to repentance and divine rescue. This time, they wanted to institutionalize their faithlessness. They wanted to provide a permanent means by which they could avoid trusting in their invisible Judge. There was no going back if they took this fork in the road. So God sternly warned them. When they insisted, He gave them King Saul.

Saul was followed by David, the most beloved of Israeli kings under whom Israel was established as a player, at least on a regional stage. David was followed by his son Solomon, purportedly the wisest man to ever live and the richest king in the history of Israel. Under Solomon, the great Temple of the Judge was built. Unlike Gentile temples, the Jewish Temple, though brilliantly beautiful, was not imposingly large. This is because the Temple was a meeting place, but not primarily for human meetings. It was the place that God instructed Israel to bring the sacrifices of atonement. In the inner sanctuary—a relatively small room as temples go—the Jewish High Priest would enter once each year to make atonement for the nation. The Temple was vitally important, not as a rallying point or display case, but as a kind of courtroom. In the Temple, atonement allowed two mutually exclusive things to reside together: the perfection of the Law was upheld, and the sinful People were saved for another year. The Temple was the focal point of the Jewish Divine Relationship.

After Solomon, Israel was divided by civil unrest and competing kings into two kingdoms: Israel in the north and Judah in the south. The Jewish people of both kingdoms continued their cycles of faith-to-faithlessness, now often led—toward one extreme or the other—by the character of their respective kings. God sent them priests and seers and prophets to warn them of their waning faith, of the potential of being driven from their Promised Land, ultimately to no avail. Despite periodic surges of repentance and righteousness, Israel continued on its downward spiritual spiral. At their lowest level, they even fell to the level of the ancient Gentile religious reaction to the Destroyer: they sacrificed their children to other gods.

Finally, less than 500 years after their first king and less than 900 from their initial entry into their Land, God drove the remaining Jews from the Promised Land into captivity in the foreign empire of Babylon. As He had warned them, if they refused to obey and refused to repent, He would ultimately drive them from their Land. This finally occurred in 586 B.C., when Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, captured Jerusalem, sacked the city, destroyed the Temple, and took captive to Babylon most of those who were not killed in the conquest.

Through prophets like Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Ezekiel, God had made His point very clear: He had driven His People from their Land. He had empowered Nebuchadnezzar and allowed him to destroy Jerusalem. He—the Judge—had brought judgment to Israel, and had exacted the harshest penalty possible: exile. And not exile to just any place. But exile to the very land that had once been the place of human insurrection, to the land where a united mankind had declared their independence from God by building a enormous Tower. If His People had been so determined to do things their own way instead of His way, then He would send them back to Babylon, back to the site of humanity's wrestling match with the Destroyer.

But God also made some other things very clear. His People were exiled, not disenfranchised. That is, although He evicted them from their Land, that Land was still theirs. He was still their God. They were still His Chosen People. These promises were part of an "everlasting covenant," and God would not change His mind.

In fulfillment of a prophesy of Jeremiah, the Jews returned to their Land after seventy years in exile in Babylon. The first thing they did was to rebuild the altar—the place where atonement could resume. This allowed their Divine Relationship to be legally restored. But something was missing. Although God brought them back to their Land, they no longer owned it. Other kingdoms controlled the Land. Under first the Babylonians, then the Persians, then the Greeks, and finally the Romans, the Jewish Land was subject to the authority of others, described by the prophet Daniel as the "times of the Gentiles." The Jews lived in their own Land as de facto slaves of other powers, continually reminded that their unwillingness to trust and obey their Judge had resulted in the loss of their sovereignty over the very Land He had promised them.

The Jewish history of the Old Testament ends there. But the Jewish relationship with God did not. The Jewish People did not end there. The divine promises to His Chosen People did not end there.

Despite 2,500 years of anti-Semitic persecution, oppression, and bloodshed, the People of the Judge survive, and once again have sovereignty over their Land. That they will continue to be reviled and hated by Gentiles is irrelevant. That the sons of Ishmael will continue to fight them for the geographical inheritance of Abraham is irrelevant. That Lucifer continues to actively try to destroy them is irrelevant. God's People will remain, for "... _God's gift and his call are irrevocable_." (Romans 11:29)

God has staked His Name, His reputation—His very authority—on it. On them.
Relating to God the Judge

Humanity suffered for centuries, not knowing what God the Destroyer wanted of them. Knowing only that the terrible wrath of the Rainbow God could surface at any moment, mankind cried out to know what the terms were for the Divine Relationship. If only we could discover the truth of what He wanted, then we could escape the oppression of ignorance and fear.

God gave this truth to His Chosen People. And their story could be summed up by the phrase of Nathan Jessup in the film "A Few Good Men:" "...you can't handle the truth!"

God selected His Chosen People for a very special revelation. He gave them the Law. He gave them the terms of the Divine Relationship. He gave them the unyielding truth of what He expected if human beings wanted to relate to Him. These were the conditions of the Relationship. And those conditions proved to be impossible.

Through the Law, God drew a line for humanity. No longer could we claim ignorance. No longer could we plead innocence based on lack of knowledge. No longer could we swear at Heaven as the locust destroyed our crops or the river claimed our fields or some sickness carried off our children, exclaiming "What do you want from us?" Now, we knew. The Law made all that clear. It specified exactly what the God of Heaven wanted from these creatures of the earth. And what He wanted proved to be too much.

Even with all the promises God made to His People, even with their miraculous deliverance from Egypt, even with the manna and the pillar of fire, even with the fall of Jericho, the strength of Samson, the victories of Joshua and Gideon and David, even with the wisdom and wealth of Solomon, God's People could not keep the Law. And with such overt expressions of His favor and power, if His People could not keep it, how could the others—the Gentiles who were not so chosen—ever hope to fulfill such an exacting set of conditions?

The Law was not given to make the Jewish People righteous. The Law was given to show, first the Jews, then the Gentiles, that _no one_ is righteous. That no one is innocent. That no one is capable of relating to God on God's terms.

If humanity was oppressed by not knowing the terms of the Divine Relationship with the Destroyer, we discovered to our horror that knowing the terms did not help. Indeed, it only made things worse, for now we had absolutely no excuse. Now, we knew exactly what He wanted, and we still could not obey.

The Jews have been excoriated by the rest of humanity. Christians, particularly, have had the gall to rant against the Jews for not keeping the Law. This is, perhaps, the most onerously hypocritical and self-serving expression of ignorance or anti-Semitism in history. Christians, of all people, should know that the Jews could not keep the Law because _no human being_ can do so.

The Jews were not unique in their inability to comply with the terms of the second covenant. But they were chosen. They were selected by God the Destroyer to show exactly what was required of all of humanity by revealing Himself as God the Judge. They were chosen to display the horrible truth about humanity. And so, as part of their "chosen-ness", they were judged by the Law and sent into exile, where they have survived over two millennia of abuse and shame and hatred and death, all for one simple reason. Because God wanted all of us to know what He wants of us, and that we have no hope of complying with what He wants.

The special honor of being the Chosen People of the Judge also carried with it the special horror of being the divine example. Through the Jews, God showed the rest of us that there was no earthly way we could relate to Him satisfactorily. Through the Jews, God showed the rest of us that it is impossible to please Him, that even our best efforts are as unclean as "dirty rags," that the human condition is so spiritually and morally debased that nothing we can do can meet the terms of the Divine Relationship. Through the Jews, God showed us that trying to relate to Him as the Judge according to the Law was even more oppressive than relating to Him as the unknowable Destroyer.

Of course, we mostly missed the point. Instead of staring in awestruck horror at the fate of the Chosen People—grateful and sympathetic that they, not we, had to endure the wrath of the Judge—we chose another tack. We blamed them. We dared to point our collective finger at the Chosen People and exclaim in malicious delight that that's what they get for thinking they're something special. That's what they get for their religious arrogance. That's what they get for being so aloof, so inscrutable, so unwilling to be like us.

What they got was more heartache and despair and abuse than any other people in the history of the world. But God is not finished. Not with them. Not with us.

The glorious and tragic story of Jewish biblical history was supernaturally designed for one overriding purpose: to prepare the way for something new. If the history of the Jews would have been the last chapter in the Divine Relationship, all of us would be lost. Relating to the Second Face of God—even for the Chosen People—had proven to be oppressively impossible. It was now clear that the Law could not help us, but only clearly indict us. Now, sin was no longer a vague sense of displeasing the Destroyer, but a violation of the Law. No one was immune. No one was exempt. No one—absolutely no one—was righteous enough to relate to God. The Law drew a divine line in the sand, and humanity found itself on the wrong side of it.

In the face of this utter hopelessness, this impossibility, this spiritual Gordian knot, God began the next phase in His Relationship with humanity. As before, it would involve a new covenant. As before, it would reveal another Face of God. And as before, it would begin with a man.

His name was Jesus.
Jesus

Jesus of Nazareth is probably the most famous person who ever lived. The story of his birth and death are respectively enshrined in the holidays of Christmas and Easter. Nearly everyone, certainly in the western world, has heard of him. Ironically, however, although even most children can relate the story of his birth and the story of his death, too many seemed to have forgotten—or dismissed—what happened between those two events.

Jesus was born about 400 years after the Jews returned to their Land from Babylonian exile. The country, indeed much of the world, was under the control of the Roman Empire. It is reported that Jesus was born to a Jewish virgin named Mary, in the town in the Roman province of Judea called "Bethlehem."

Many strange stories are attributed to his birth. The archangel Gabriel appeared to Mary to explain that God would give her a special son. An army of angels appeared to a bunch of shepherds in the Judean hills proclaiming his birth. Three seers from the east—perhaps from Babylon—set out to find this child in response to their divinations and the leading of a bizarre, traveling star. Both an old man named Simeon and a holy woman named Anna prophesied that this child was unique in a divinely ordained way.

And they all had the same message. This child would be a king, the deliverer of Israel, the salvation of the world. Born of the lineage of King David, he would be the long-awaited Messiah of the Jews. This baby, Jesus, would be the one and only Son of God.

Not much else is recorded about Jesus' life until he begins to preach in the Galilean countryside. His ministry included some rather dramatic supernatural manifestations. Many people were healed. Many were delivered from demonic oppression. A few were raised from the dead. He turned water into wine at a wedding, and a few fish and loaves into a banquet for thousands, at least twice. He commanded a storm to cease, and it did. He was seen walking across the sea, and even one of his disciples followed him across the waves, for a few steps anyway.

Needless to say, he attracted attention. Soon, large crowds followed him. He chose a few to be his disciples, who traveled with him. After a while, he sent some seventy or so disciples out to continue his work: healing, exorcising, and preaching.

Jesus' popularity made the religious leaders envious and the political leaders nervous. Finally, after three years of itinerant preaching, the Jewish religious leaders arrested him and charged him with blasphemy—a crime punishable by death according to the Law. They found him guilty, but, since Israel was an occupied territory of Rome, they had to appeal to Caesar's governor, Pontius Pilate, to have him executed. After examining him and declaring him innocent of any wrongdoing, Pilate wanted to release him. But the religious leaders pressed Pilate until he conceded, so he turned Jesus over to the guards for execution.

Early in the morning, Jesus was crucified—nailed to a cross—a common method of Roman execution which was both shameful and agonizing. Jesus was dead by mid-afternoon. His body was taken down and put into a tomb, where it was sealed and guarded.

On the following Sunday morning, it was discovered that Jesus' body was gone. Some thought it had been stolen by his disciples. But soon, Jesus appeared, first to a few, then to all of his disciples, then to many others. He was seen alive by hundreds and spent nearly six weeks with his disciples teaching about "the Kingdom of God." At the end of this time, many saw him ascend bodily into the clouds, after which two angels appeared. They asked the spectators why they were just standing around, and told them that Jesus would return the same way he left. In all, Jesus was on the earth for about thirty-three years.

Today, Jesus is widely considered to have been a prophet, a visionary, and a generally nice guy. His words have been selectively distilled into a palatable pap that benignly calls for love and peace in the world. He has been increasingly portrayed as the guy who loved kids, who was gentle and caring to women in an age of harsh patriarchy, and whose aims were to bring healing and harmony to a hurt and hurtful world. To some degree, this is true.

But it misses the essential point. The teachings of Jesus are somewhat enigmatic, but one thing is spectacularly clear. His primary message was that the Kingdom of God was coming. And He claimed to be the heir to that Kingdom, the anointed one, the Messiah of Israel, the Son of God. Now, it's one thing for a bunch of illiterate shepherds to claim to hear angels proclaim such, or for an old man to claim Jesus to be the savior of the world, or even for his Mom to think he was divine. But it's an entirely different thing when Jesus makes those claims himself.

As C. S. Lewis has written, Jesus' claims about himself totally eliminate the possibility that he is to be appreciated for his theology or his social commentary or his caring attitude. He claimed to be God. There are logically only two options: either he was God, or he was not. If he was not and he knew he was not, then he was a malevolent deceiver on the order of Jim Jones or David Koresh or Adolf Hitler. If he was not God, but thought and claimed he was God, then he was a raving lunatic—on the order of someone who thinks he is a poached egg.

But Jesus' actions portray someone who was neither blatantly, self-servingly evil, nor absolutely off his rocker. If he wasn't malicious, and he wasn't crazy, then the only other logical option is that he is, indeed, God. And if Jesus is God, we have a decision to make. If Jesus is the same God Whose rainbow reminds us of His awful destructive power and Who ravaged Egypt in preparation for the Jewish Exodus, then our response cannot be a meager, polite applause or an intellectual critique of his sermons, or a self-satisfied appreciation of his enlightened view of society. No, our only response to the unvarnished truth of his divinity is a gut-wrenching awareness that drives us to our knees in adoration and devotion—or in fear. We can dismiss him as a madman, we can despise him as a charlatan, or we can worship him as God. But to view him as a "nice prophet" is inane. Jesus' claims about himself don't leave us that option.

That Jesus is the Son of God casts a blindingly bright light on his message and ministry. If Jesus is God, then he is, among other things, the Author of the Law. He, more than anyone, would understand its intent and scope. Like a writer in front of a confused audience, he confronted Israel about the meaning of the Law, the purpose of the Law, and their willful misinterpretation of the Law.

The Law said not to murder, but Jesus said that hating another is no less a sin than the murder itself. The Law said not to commit adultery, but Jesus said that even lusting after a woman was just as much a violation of the Law. The Law permitted divorce, but Jesus said that was a mere concession to the faithless frailty of man. If the Law seemed strict and severe, Jesus' message made it clear that, in God's eyes, the Law wasn't nearly strict enough. If the Law drew a line in the sand that confronted humanity with our sinfulness, Jesus moved that line significantly toward the harsh side of the scale.

Jesus made it abundantly clear that even the most fastidious observance of the Law was insufficient for righteousness. No one had or could satisfy God's perfect justice. No one could stand before God and claim that he had fully complied with the Law. And because the Law had been severely, continuously, and universally broken, judgment was due and payable to all. According to the Law, the sentence was as strict and unyielding as the Law itself: death. This was the inexorable fate of any and all human beings under the Law. Too many think Jesus came to make humanity better. He did not. Instead, he made it clear that humanity had been judged and needed to die, and that a new humanity would be born. He didn't come to make humanity better. He came to make a better humanity.

The history of Israel told the tale. Jesus spoke to an Israel that was subjugated to the soulless machinery of the Roman Empire. The Jews lived in their Land, but as subjects to their Gentile overlords. The blessing of "milk and honey," of divine protection, of health and prosperity and international glory were all gone. The prophets had made it clear that this disaster was the result of disobeying the Law and disregarding the Judge.

And Jesus made it all that much clearer. The Chosen People had been given a unique Divine Relationship; one that had been clarified by the Law, and which included promises of blessing and grace. By refusing to humbly recognize their inability to obey, they had brought judgment upon themselves and their Land. In a way, the Gentiles—those who did not know God as the Judge—faced a better fate than the Jews. For, as fearful as He was, God the Destroyer may or may not show up with His awesome power. With God the Judge, however, there was no uncertainty. The Law laid out the terms of the relationship. The Law laid out the penalty for disobedience. The whole bunch of them were doomed.

Yet, about his message, Jesus claimed to bring "good news." Considering his interpretation of the Law, what could he possibly offer that was in any way encouraging and hopeful?

Two things. With all his miracles and all his words, with all the divine prophesies that had been uniquely fulfilled by this man, with all the people who had been healed and forgiven and transformed by his message and his ministry, Jesus' life and death and resurrection revolved around two fundamental events. One was the permanent and final atonement of the Law. The other was our introduction to the Third Face of God. And Jesus accomplished both of these with a single, decisive act: his death.
The Dual Sacrifice

Jesus' death was initially perceived as a shocking failure. His ministry was so miraculous and his words were so deeply revolutionary that the crowds in Israel were becoming convinced that, after centuries of hope and disappointment, their Messiah had finally come. But when he died, all the hopes were dashed, all the anticipation had turned to ashes, all the divine expectations were met with utter despair. How could such a promising situation turn out so badly? How could this man who could control even the winds and the sea be nailed to a cross as any common criminal?

It was only afterward that things became clear. After his resurrection, after his appearing to his disciples and so many others, after his final six weeks of teaching, the reality of what had happened began to sink in. That reality was this: after all the miracles surrounding Jesus' birth, and after all that he had performed, none could compare to this most creative of all miracles: his death.

The death of Jesus Christ was not the failed finish of his ministry. Instead, it was a spiritual climax that would usher in an entirely new order, and which had put to rest the old nature of things. Although it seemed at the time to be an absolute catastrophe, Jesus' death was the most successful feat of spiritual and legal maneuvering ever accomplished.

Specifically, Jesus' death was a divine sacrifice. It was the ultimate sacrifice. Indeed, it was a kind of double sacrifice in one act. And through that single act, God completed His purpose for the Law, and He introduced humanity to the next step in the Divine Relationship.

Throughout the history of the Divine Relationship, God had instituted animal sacrifice for two fundamental purposes. The first, as with Noah and Abraham, was for the establishment of a covenant between God and humanity, the divine "legal" contract which initiated a new phase in the Divine Relationship. The second use of sacrifice was particular to the Second Face of God. Animal sacrifice was used here as a means of atonement, as a mechanism by which the penalties of the divine Law could be met without destroying the Chosen People. These two purposes—covenant and atonement—were the divine intentions for sacrifice.

These same two purposes were the divine intentions behind the death of Jesus Christ. In his act of voluntary sacrifice, he accomplished two astoundingly unique things. First, he fulfilled—once and for all—the Law of Moses as the perfect atoning sacrifice. And secondly, he became the sacrifice that instituted the third covenant in the Divine Relationship, through which he introduced mankind to the Third Face of God.

As a Jew, Jesus fulfilled the Law by first obeying it perfectly. He complied with every aspect of the strict terms of the Divine Relationship with God the Judge. And he was the first and last human being to do so. Even as he taught that the essence of the Law was internal and, accordingly, much more strict than mere outward obedience, he complied with all facets of it completely. He, of all men and women under the Second Face of God, had lived a life without sin, without a single infraction of the Law, without any violation of the Divine Relationship.

Our response to Jesus' obedience may be an envious "Good for him!" if it were not for what followed, for what he did with his legal perfection. For, by satisfying the demands of the Law, Jesus became the first human being who was qualified—if he was willing—to become an atoning sacrifice. That is, his life was spotless and sinless—a human version of the legally "perfect" animals used for the atoning sacrifices of the Law. Except that, since he was a human being, his life could be exchanged, not annually, but once and for all, for another. The atonement that God the Judge had built into the Law had pointed toward this very fulfillment from the beginning. The oxen and lambs used for the annual atonement in Israel were pale foreshadows of the human version to come. By fully obeying the Law, Jesus could trade himself for one who did not obey, who did not comply, whom the Law declared to be guilty and deserving of death. And, for our sake, he chose to make the exchange.

If the Kingdom of God the Judge was a club, it was a very exclusive one. No one, until Jesus, had ever completely conformed to the terms of the membership requirements. All the Jews in Israel had received "temporary memberships" which were renewed annually with the animal sacrifice of atonement. Jesus, on the other hand, earned his "permanent" membership card with a perfect life. Of course, this membership card admits only one. Jesus could have kept it for himself, or he could have given it to any number of other individuals.

But instead, God pulled off an almost magical legal maneuver. He devised a way for many individuals to gain entrance to the club on a single card. He did it through the mystery of unity, and with the ancient concept of authority. The transaction went like this: if a person accepted the divinity and lordship of Jesus, then he or she—legally—became "one" with Jesus. That is, if a person voluntarily submitted to the divine authority of God through faith in His Son, he was no longer an independent entity, but part of a larger, multifaceted "life." In this way, Jesus could exchange his single human life for this other life, composed of so many other individuals united under his authority.

According to the Law, Jesus exchanged his one life, for one other life. All of those who believe in him are, in his words, "one": " _I have given them the glory that you gave me, that they may be one as we are one_...." (John 17:22) " _His purpose was to create in himself one new man_...." (Ephesians 2:15) According to the Law, Jesus became the sacrifice that would forever atone for the sins of the united, one new Man of faith in him.

Through this legal mechanism, the death of Jesus became the perfect and final sacrifice of atonement for all who would believe in and submit to him. For these, at least in a legal sense, the Law was "finished." It had been completed. It had been fully and finally fulfilled. It could no longer bring judgment on those who didn't comply, because that judgment had already been executed. Hereafter, those who believed in Jesus were considered to be legally dead to the Law; to have been justly judged and legally executed once and for all.

Through Jesus' death, the Law was fulfilled. As he said, " _Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them_." (Matthew 5:17) Jesus not only fulfilled the Law in the sense that he obeyed it perfectly, but also in the sense that he brought it to its conclusion, he completed it. Afterward, the Law was still perfect and strict and eternal, but it was behind him, now that he had accomplished it. And, through God's unique legal maneuver, it was also completed for all who would believe in Jesus.

With Jesus' death, the Jews of God's Second Face now had a choice: they could continue to live under the Law, trying to obey its impossibly rigorous demands on their own, or they could recognize their long-awaited Messiah who had fulfilled the Law for them. They could essentially trade the commandments for this new life in Jesus. Many accepted his offer—his exchange of his life for theirs. Within a couple months of Jesus' death, thousands of Jews had become Christians, satisfying their ancient Law with this new relationship.

Which brings us to the second aspect of Jesus' death. Not only was his death the final and fulfilling atoning sacrifice prescribed by the Law, but it also served as the other kind of sacrifice which God had designed. Noah had made a sacrifice that initiated the first covenant and introduced mankind to God's First Face—the Destroyer. Abraham had made a sacrifice that initiated the second covenant and introduced Israel to God's Second Face—as Judge.

Now, as well as being the atoning sacrifice under the Law of God's Second Face, Jesus' death also served as the initiation of a new, third covenant. Like the previous two covenants, this one established a new Divine Relationship. Like the previous two covenants, this one defined a new set of terms by which God would relate to us. And like the previous two covenants, this one unveiled a new, Third Face of God.

God's Third Face would be just as revolutionary as His Second Face had been to the First. And just as the other two Faces had been symbolically represented in the Bible, so would the Third. The First Face—God the Destroyer—had been shown as a lion. The Second Face—God the Judge—had been shown as the atoning sacrifice: the ox. In the same way, the symbol of God's Third Face also hinted at its substance. For His Third Face was symbolized by the face of a man: " _The first living creature was like a lion, the second was like an ox, the third had a face like a man_..." (Revelation 4:7) Obviously, perhaps, what man would logically be revealed by the Son of God?

God the Father.
The Third Face of God

God showed Himself to humanity initially as the Destroyer, the Rainbow God of Noah. Then, He showed Himself as the Judge—albeit only to the Jews—through His covenant with Abraham and ultimately confirmed through Moses with the Law. Through His third covenant, God established a new relationship with humanity by revealing another, equally revolutionary Face. God the Destroyer Who had become God the Judge had now shown Himself as God the Father.

For God to move the Divine Relationship from the Judge to the Father, He had to finish the Law, and He had to explain the new Divine Relationship. He did this in one fell swoop. The death of Jesus Christ not only fulfilled the Law as the final atonement for sin, but also initiated the third covenant. And it was Jesus' message which revealed just Who the Father was.

As much as the healings and feedings and other miracles, it was Jesus' words that had attracted the crowds. His message spoke of an entirely new hope. The Jews had long escaped the capricious oppression of relating to God as the Destroyer. Through the Law, He had given them specific instructions about how He wanted them to behave. This brought light and clarity to the previously dark ignorance of man's understanding about God. But the light was too bright, the clarity too intense, for the Law was impossible to keep. The Jews had been chosen to trade the oppression of the life under the Destroyer to life under the Judge. The nature of the Divine Relationship was radically different. But the oppression felt very much the same.

Jesus taught that the Law was perfect, and that human beings were incapable of obeying it perfectly. This, the people already knew and suffered under. But he also taught that a new beginning was possible. That through faith like that of Noah and Abraham, they could be born again, and through that spiritual birth, they could enter into a new relationship with God the Father. If they would believe, Jesus would personally take care of the penalty and guilt of the Law. Which he did. With his own blood.

Jesus taught something surprisingly different about God. Every human being was already familiar with His primary attribute as Destroyer: His overwhelming power. Every Jew was already familiar with His primary attribute as Judge: His strict and seemingly ruthless justice. But Jesus taught that another of God's attributes was even more important, even more fundamental to Who He was. It was the primary relational attribute of a Father toward His children. It was love. Jesus taught that, more important than God's power or justice or anything else about Him, He loved us. He loved mankind corporately. And He loved each one of us individually. This was a novel idea.

Jesus taught that God's love was just like any father's love. As any father, God promised to protect us, to nourish and provide for us, to understand and know and care for us. As any father, God loved us, not for what we could do, but for who we were. He loved us first, just as He found us: pitifully disgusting creatures, ignorant and apathetic toward anything moral or ethical or good, far removed from holiness or righteousness or purity, so wrapped up in our own miserable attempts to control our little respective universes that we couldn't tell the forest from the trees—or the cross. From a spiritual standpoint, He didn't find us sick, he found us dead and rotting and stinking up the place.

But like any father, He could see through all of our arrogant ignorance, through our misunderstanding, our desperate hopelessness, our twisted sense of right and wrong and good and evil. He saw through it all, to the beautiful thing underneath. As any father, He saw us through His own goodness, His own completeness, His own perfection, with eyes of unqualified and unequivocal love.

Every human father sees the same way. There, in the hospital nursery, is a screaming, writhing mass of useless protoplasm, lying there announcing his displeasure with a world that offends him in any and every way, and capable of nothing more than eating specially designed and easily digestible food, and of excreting the indigestible remnants of that food all over himself. But his father sees a wonder of creation, the perfect glory of himself and his love, the undefined but infinite promise and potential of this little man-to-be.

It is unquestionable that the father sees his child as human raw material. Although he loves his son infinitely—it is likely that the first-time father never felt such love before—he also realizes that this child will require all of his efforts, all of his resources, all of his energy and time in order to mold a mature man from this raw material. It is also unquestionable that the father considers such an investment to be unequivocally worth the cost. But there is a cost. And there is a goal.

Just like that father, God sees us through an even more perfectly loving view. But He also sees that an investment is required—one that He was and is easily willing to pay—in order to shape us into something other than the mess we were when He found us. In other words, God's love for each of us—just as we are—is limitless. But it is that very love—a father's love—that will not allow us to remain in our sorry state indefinitely. That same love is the source of discipline and education and training and teaching and reminding and chastising when necessary. God's love is not that of a doting, spoiling grandparent, but of an active, involved father.

As Jesus had shown with the prostitute, God now accepted us exactly as we were—we did not have to toil toward some ill-defined sense of holiness. All we had to do was to go to Him. He would take care of things. So, although He accepted every one of us exactly as we were, He further promised not to leave us that way, but to lead us to a new life of purity and holiness and forgiveness and compassion for others. Just as the Father loved us, He would lead us to love one another.

An automatic corollary of the Third Face of God was that, if God was our Father, then we were brothers and sisters to one another. This was another unique thing about the new Divine Relationship. Jesus claimed that it was the love that we had for one another that would confirm to the world that we were his disciples, that we now had a Divine Relationship with God the Father. This love for each other would not only display the realities of the Divine Relationship to the world, but it would confirm that reality to us as well. Love for one another is the single biggest litmus test of the divine nature of the third covenant.

The Divine Relationship with God the Father was different from our previous relationships in two very significant ways. First, God promised to change us "from the inside out," not by defining and enforcing acceptable behavior from the outside in. And secondly, to give us a sense of confidence in this new relationship, God had taken away the overriding fear of judgment. This had begun as the fear of the capricious wrath of the Destroyer, and had been transformed by the Law into a fear of divine judgment. Now, that judgment was satisfied. The Law didn't go away, it had just been utterly fulfilled—sated, so to speak, on the innocent blood of Jesus' atonement.

With no pending judgment, we could approach God for the first time without fear. We could be honest with Him, confessing our sins and our sinfulness, and thereby allowing the reality of His love and healing and forgiveness to embrace us.

But it was even better than that. By accepting us in this new Divine Relationship, God further promised that everyone who believed in Him would have eternal life with Him. Not for scrupulously obeying the Law. Not for sacrificing our children to the flames. But just for believing and for expressing faithful submission through baptism. Just for believing in Someone who loved us unconditionally.

This was the "good news" of Jesus' message, and it was incredible. It was liberation at the most fundamental level, and the joy of an eternal future as well. And, just to add icing to the cake, much of the miraculous substance of Jesus' ministry was thrown in for good measure. Physical and emotional healing. Deliverance from evil spirits. Even raising from the dead. All this was part and parcel of this new group of folks who would soon be known as Christians. This was life under God the Father.

This new life was not—and is not—a religion. It was not a methodology by which human beings could fend off or placate or in some way make themselves pleasing to God. Rather, it was the creation of an entirely new species—spiritual man. The process of being "born again" was not—and is not—merely a euphemism for intellectual conversion or a natural acceptance of a new creed. Becoming a Christian was not an external thing, a compliance with a new set of rules, or a mental acknowledgement of a new philosophy.

Instead, one who is born again becomes an entirely new kind of creature altogether. Being born again—born "of the Spirit" according to Jesus—is an event with eternal and deeply substantive ramifications. Until then, each of our spirits—that immortal piece of us that defines who we are and which resides in us out of the range of our emotions, our intellect, or our physical senses—was dead. Entering into the Divine Relationship with God the Father made our spirit come alive in a supernatural and unfathomable way. That revived spirit is immune to sin, is the source of health and joy and faith, and is the means by which we could now relate to God through His Spirit.

This is the difficult part. Living in and by the Spirit is a foreign thing. It is not driven by the mind, but affects how we think. It is not driven by emotions, but certainly can cause emotional responses. As mentioned earlier, learning to communicate with God through the Spirit is not unlike first learning to communicate with our parents. As infants, we could not speak, we could not form ideas, we could not understand anyone or anything around us. As we left the hospital as the new addition to the family, we were not given a book or set of instructions to learn in order to make our way in the world. Instead, we were simply there, and others had to take care of us. We learned to recognize our Dad and Mom and their voices, not by classroom lectures or prescribed exercises, but simply by being around them. Through the magic that is still not fully understood, human babies learn to recognize sounds and faces and things and learn to speak extensive and complex languages merely by being with others. In grade school, we are taught that there are rules that structure our language, but by then, we have already learned to talk and listen and understand. We begin knowing nothing, and gradually—but rather quickly—learn, not only how to communicate, but also how to discern Mom's and Dad's moods and preferences and styles. No one knows how it happens, but it happens with every single child. It's a truly miraculous thing.

We learn to live by the Spirit the same way. Not from intellectually digesting books and sermons, but by being with the Source of our new life: God. We just spend time with Him, and we are changed as surely as we are naturally changed by spending time with our parents. It's just as simple. It's just as unfathomable. And it's just as miraculous.

Needless to say, the normal response of everyone who had been forgiven and born in the Spirit was to want to share it with any and everyone they met. Through this joyful sharing, the early Christian church grew from 120 to several thousand in a period of days. Miracles were abundant. Joy was predominant. Love was overt and universal. Jews everywhere, first in Jerusalem, and then throughout Israel, were embracing the love of God the Father, and being set free, not only from the external judgment of the Law, but from the internal sinfulness that made the Law so impossible. The Divine Relationship had progressed from the Second Face of God to the Third. God had build mankind a second city.

And then a strange set of events changed everything.
Transformation

God's second city in the Divine Relationship was built as a extension of the first. The initial Christian church was entirely Jewish. Indeed, Jesus made it clear that he came exclusively "for the lost sheep of Israel." As the long-prophesied Messiah, Jesus' ministry and message was aimed solely at the Chosen People of God the Judge. Only the Jews could understand the nature of his atonement. Only the Jews could appreciate the freedom from the penalty of the Law. Only the Jews could know the joy of becoming so spiritually renewed as to be both desirous and capable of keeping the terms of the Law from the inside out.

But a strange thing happened. Through a series of miraculous "interventions," God led Peter—the chief disciple of Jesus and an early leader in the church—to go visit a man named Cornelius. Cornelius was not a Jew. He was a Roman soldier, who had been sympathetic and helpful to the Jews in the town of Caesarea. Against his cultural upbringing—Jews were forbidden to mingle with Gentiles—Peter obeyed God and went. There, he found Cornelius and dozens of his friends all waiting anxiously to hear the good news from Peter. Somewhat nonplussed, Peter begins by insulting his guests, reminding them that, as a Jew, he was not even supposed to be there, but that God had prevailed upon him to come. Before he got much further, the Holy Spirit descended upon the group with clear manifestations of miraculous power. As Peter would later tell the other disciples in Jerusalem, if God so clearly baptized them in the Holy Spirit, who was he to stand in God's way by refusing them baptism with water? Thus, for the first time, the door was cracked open for Gentiles to enter into this new Divine Relationship.

For nearly 2,000 years, the Jews had been enjoying—and wrestling with—God the Judge and His exacting Law. During this time, however, the Gentiles—everyone else—had still been operating under the fear and oppression of life under God the Destroyer. The terrible First Face of God had been the only Divine Relationship available to Gentiles. They had been excluded from the Law of the Judge. They had not been allowed to enter God's Jewish city.

But then God clearly and completely opened His second city to them. Not only did the Gentiles discover all the benefits that the Jews did in this new Divine Relationship with the Father, they also—for the first time in human history—had been introduced to something more than the vague requirements of God the Destroyer. In an instant, Gentiles could not only know the terms of this new relationship, but discover, like the Jews, that the terms were stacked entirely in their favor. God required belief and baptism. And for that, the Father showered them with His love, provision, protection, deliverance, healing, unity, and all sorts of other blessing. They could finally know God without quaking with fear. Thus, once exposed to the gospel, Gentiles everywhere jumped into Christianity with joy and hope and fervor in unparalleled numbers.

Until this time, it was understood by all Christians that the Divine Relationship under the Father was the fulfillment and extension of that under God the Judge. That is, the Divine Relationship was reserved for the Jews, and, as Jews, they would continue to observe the Law, even if they no longer feared its penalties.

With the Gentiles becoming Christians, however, a dilemma arose. Since these folks had never known God as Judge, they did not even know of the Law, much less try to observe it. Many Jewish Christians insisted that all converts—whether Jew or Gentile—must observe the Jewish Law. Others, like Paul and Barnabas, countered that, since the Gentiles had received their Christian faith outside the Law, they were not obligated to try to observe the Law of the earlier covenant. This became a hot topic which led to one of the first church councils in Jerusalem. There, after much debate and, especially in consideration of the "Cornelius event," it became clear that the Holy Spirit was leading in an entirely new path. Gentiles, it was decided, did not need to embrace the Jewish Law. For that matter, since the justification of this decision was based on Jesus' perfect and final fulfillment of the Law, Jews really didn't have to either. But the Jewish mindset was not ready for that, yet.

This decision had two significant ramifications. First, it opened wide the door to Gentile conversions which was first breached in Cornelius' house. Gentiles entered the church in droves. Secondly, the decision—and its resulting influx of Gentiles—offended the cultural tradition of the Jews. Already, this Christianity seemed a bit odd for Jews who had nearly 1,500 years of Law behind them. Now, with the Jewish legal requirements dropped and so many Gentiles embracing the faith, Christianity seemed even less Jewish than before. Surely, the God Who had chosen them, Whom they had served for centuries as the harsh Judge of the unyielding Law, and Who now presumably changed Faces, required something more than mere faith. More importantly, if Christianity was open to Gentiles, how did the Jews retain their "chosen-ness"? After centuries of obeying the divine mandate to be different from the godless surrounding nations, how were the Jews to retain their special place as the Chosen People of God? God's second city, originally viewed as a mere extension of His first, was suddenly seen as an entirely different city altogether.

It is important to understand that Christianity was intended and established as a spiritual enterprise. Jesus made it plain that once born in the Spirit, people became "new creatures" of the Spirit. This new species of spiritual man transcended everything else. Culture didn't matter. Nationality didn't matter. Even—in a world of entrenched patriarchy—gender didn't matter. Becoming a new spiritual creature was so radical and so foundationally significant that nothing else mattered.

This new equality was difficult for the Jews. Remember, they did not choose to be different on a whim. The Jewish people had lived for centuries under the Law that had been supernaturally and dramatically given to them by God the Judge. They had kept themselves separate and distinct from the Gentiles, not because they were snobs, but because God had ordered them to. Living by the Law, no matter how difficult, was at the core of their national identity. After centuries of enduring the antipathy and persecution of Gentiles for the sake of their Divine Relationship, it was more than just inconvenient for them to suddenly chuck it all and embrace these Gentiles as spiritual brothers. It was functional heresy.

More significantly, the first and foremost promise of the second covenant had been the Promised Land. Jewish prophets had long foretold that the Messiah would reign as King of Israel in the Land. Jesus had fulfilled so many of the ancient prophesies about the Messiah. But he did not restore the Jews to their Land. No matter what else he did, if he did not restore the Land, how could he be the Messiah? This doubt, combined with the tremendous cultural differences from living under the Law, and living away from and opposed to the Gentiles, were the mechanisms that God used to cause Israel "... _a hardening in part until the full number of Gentiles has come in_." (Romans 11:25)

Had God not opened the Divine Relationship to the Gentiles, Jewish Christians would likely have continued to labor under the Law, even as they welcomed the grace of God the Father. As history has shown, this combination does not work well. Law and grace are, in a spiritual sense, antagonistic. Even in the first century, Gentiles had already started to transmute the grace of God the Father into rules and rites and regulations—their own version of the Law. If Gentiles, who had never known life under the Law, could so easily fall into this trap, how could the Jews—who had received the legitimate Law from God the Judge—ever fully embrace the grace that transcended the Law?

This difficulty continues even today, because the Law is essentially behavioral. That is, the Law governs _the actions and activities_ of people, not the attitudes and faith within. This was Jesus' primary indictment against the religious leaders of the Jews: that they had eschewed the internal faith toward God that gave substance to the Law in favor of a meticulous, but essentially lifeless, observance of legal details.

Where the Law was, in this sense, external, life under God the Father was first and foremost internal. In this new world of grace, behavior followed a supernatural transformation from within. Goodness and kindness and love were results of the new spiritual birth, not merely forced actions that were layered on top of the old, sinful nature. In this way, the Divine Relationship under God the Father was not only different in style, but radically different in substance from the that of God the Judge. But we humans have a problem with living spiritually.

We would prefer to live naturally. That is, our sinful nature within us would prefer—and will always prefer—to try to live by our own wits, according to our own terms, in our own ways that we have grown used to. Like the duffer who can never quite eliminate his tendency to swing a golf club too hard, human beings have an inescapable tendency to live in the natural. And since rules and rites are outward actions—that is, they can be performed naturally—we have the inexorable predisposition to transform the results of grace into legal regulations.

So, when God introduced the new Christian life to the Gentiles, although they had the universal human tendency to "naturalize" things, they had no divine legal history from which to break free. They embraced faith and grace under God the Father without regard for the Jewish Law. And as the Gentiles flooded into the church, the Jews found it harder and harder to accept the cultural terms of this new faith.

The result was the "Gentilization" of the church. In the beginning of the Book of Acts, the biblical account of the early church, almost all Christians were Jews. By the end of that book—just a few decades later—the church was already predominantly Gentile. This trend has continued since. Indeed, considering the rather sorry and bloody history of those who have used the term "Christian" over the past centuries, it is no wonder that many Jews consider the terms "Gentile" and "Christian" to be synonymous.

So, as the Jews wrestled with this seemingly irreconcilable confrontation between obeying God as they had known Him—as the Judge—and this new life of grace under God the Father, the Gentiles flocked into the church. Soon, the good news of spiritual birth and forgiveness had spread throughout the known world. In less than three centuries, despite the harsh reality that Christians were officially the scum of the earth and were regularly dispossessed of their property, persecuted, and often killed, Christianity had permeated the Roman Empire. Despite ten different ruthless persecutions by the Roman state, Christianity flourished. Even the Emperor's mother had become a believer.

Which set the stage for one of the most sweeping, tragic events in human history. It didn't seem very tragic at the time, at least from a natural perspective. But another transformation was about to occur that would give initial shape to the geopolitical and cultural world we have today. It would also seem to prove that the Jewish concerns about this Gentile Christianity were true: that Christianity was becoming more Gentile than it was Christian.
The Rise of Christendom

When Jesus Christ introduced humanity to the Third Face of God—God the Father—the response was explosive. Within weeks of his death, resurrection, and ascension, thousands entered into this new expression of the Divine Relationship. Within a few years, Christianity had spread throughout the Middle East. Within a couple of decades, it had spread throughout the Roman world, causing enough concern that the imperial Roman government tried regularly to stamp it out by force. Despite official ostracism and persecution, the number of particularly Gentiles who embraced this new life of faith continued to swell. By the end of the third century, the Roman world was riddled with Christians.

During the first century or two, Christians spent their lives hiding from the authorities. Everyone knows the stories of Nero using burning Christians as human torches at his parties, or of the games in the arena where wild animals ripped apart Christian men, women and children. It was a crime to be a Christian in the early years, and to be chosen as a leader in the church was a practical death sentence. The joy of early Christians was rooted solely in the fact that, as Jesus had told his disciples, "your names are written in the book of life." There sure wasn't much for them here on earth.

This continual persecution was very difficult for the Christians in all natural and material ways. Ironically, though, it was this very persecution that allowed Christianity to prosper. Jesus had made it clear and the early Christians keenly understood that their "citizenship was in heaven." They were not invested in things of this world. As pariahs of the most powerful empire on earth, they did not have the luxury to worry about, well, luxuries. To become a Christian was to take a permanent step beyond the pale. It was to make a conscious trade: to leave behind any and everything associated with life on earth, to accept a new life of spiritual pursuit, brotherly love, and the hope of eternity. To become a Christian was to presume certain things: that they would lose their property, their positions, their social and cultural standing, often their freedom and their lives. To the early Christians, this was a clear and inexorable choice. But to them, the choice for Christianity, however difficult, was well worth the cost. As it has been said, it is not foolish to give up something temporary you cannot keep for something permanent you cannot lose.

The result of persecution kept the Church reasonably spiritually pure. It was not distracted by owning property or constructing buildings or self-promotion. Everyone kept a low profile, quietly searching for and enjoying other believers with whom they shared everything. There was no concern for acquiring goods or status or wealth, because all these often disappeared as soon as anyone discovered you were a Christian. The only issues were eternal ones, because it was assumed that all things natural—all the things that clutter our lives today—were automatically gone, or soon to be so. In those days, there was little distraction from trying to pursue the Kingdom of God while simultaneously pursuing a life of natural ambition, acquisition, convenience, or luxury. When one had made the distinct choice of the early Christians—to receive the Divine Relationship in exchange for everything else, even one's life—then those things didn't matter any more.

The very difficulties that the people, the culture, and the government exacted upon Christians in the first centuries had shielded the early Christians from the natural diversions and pollution that confronted both the "rich young ruler" who met Jesus, and many or most of us today. The extreme difficulty was in confronting the initial choice: the Divine Relationship versus comfort in and friendship with the world. After that, the hardships and persecution of life as a Christian removed most other diversions. Although that initial choice was a potentially lethal one, once made, there was no easy way to turn back. Once known as a Christian, one was branded as an enemy of the state, so everything under the authority of that state—which was everything—suddenly became unavailable to these religious fanatics. All that remained were the spiritual promises of God the Father through His Son.

The pure spirituality and clear vision of the early church was enormously attractive to the Gentiles who had long labored under the oppression of God the Destroyer. The Roman Empire set itself against these Christians, only to have it continue to prosper and expand throughout the world. Christianity pervaded every corner of the empire, ultimately reaching even into the imperial palace. Then, with the conversion of one man, it seemed that Christianity was about to transform even the heart of Rome. In fact, the exact opposite occurred: Rome changed the essence of Christianity.

In 312 A.D., Constantine the Great, the would-be Emperor of the Roman Empire, won the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, securing his throne. He is said to have had a vision prior to this most important battle. In his vision, he saw a cross—actually a sign of the two Greek letters xi and rho—in the sky, and heard the words "In this sign you will conquer." He recognized Jesus Christ as the voice, the cross as the emblem of his name (xi and rho being the first two letters of the word "Christ"), and believed it was a divine message. So, he had the emblem painted on the shields of his army, and marched off to battle.

Constantine was reportedly convinced that the vision, combined with his victory, was a message that God had called him to conquer and rule in the name of Christ. As Emperor of Rome, he issued the Edict of Milan, officially "tolerating" Christianity and reversing nearly three centuries of Roman enmity toward Christians. The Edict of Milan made Christianity the de facto religion of the Roman Empire. And more than any other historical event, this act of Constantine created what we know today as Christianity. And destroyed what centuries of persecution could not.

Almost immediately after the Edict of Milan, Christians moved from caves and grottoes to huge basilicas and lavish palaces. Constantine not only freed the Christians from their beleaguered status as imperial pariahs, but also gave them property, riches, and prestige. To the leader of the church in Rome, he personally bequeathed the Lateran Palace, which is still the residence of the Pope today. Christianity had initially spread solely through the spiritual awakening of individuals on a one-on-one basis. Now, it would spread throughout the Roman world by priests and preachers escorted by Roman troops along Roman roads under the authority of Roman law. The Roman Empire had been the archenemy of Christianity. Suddenly, it had become its ally and protector.

Constantine's act looked like a gift, especially to the poor souls who had been dispossessed of their property, who had lost their jobs, who had perhaps been tortured, whose friends and relatives had been executed. At least, in the short term, it was a blessing.

But the gift was a Trojan Horse. It appeared as a gift, but was, in fact, a transaction, an exchange, a deal. It wasn't presented that way per se. Constantine gave the church the power and wealth of the Empire. It was his desire that the resources of this political and economic superpower would be used to advance the cause of the Christians; to propagate the love of God the Father through the strong arm of Rome; to present the truth of Christianity to an ignorant world; and to protect the church from all real and imagined, current and future enemies.

For this, Constantine wanted only one thing: that Christians would recognize his efforts on behalf of—and his authority over—the church. He wanted to be a friend and ally to the Christians. But he wanted them to accept his friendship as the Emperor of the Roman Empire.

Constantine misunderstood only one thing. As it says in Zechariah, "` _Not by power or might, but by My Spirit' says the Lord_." (Zechariah 4:6) Or, as Jesus told Nicodemas, " _Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit._ " (John 3:6) The Roman Empire, however powerful and wealthy and expansive and magnificent, was a natural entity. It was a thing of the earth. It was man-made. It was constructed of the realm of flesh. It used natural means to accomplish natural goals. And now Constantine wanted to use those unsurpassed natural means to try to accomplish spiritual goals. Unfortunately for him, Jesus had plainly promised that such a thing, no matter how seemingly noble, was simply impossible.

It wasn't even a question of motives. Like any child, and like many immature Christians, Constantine thought he could accomplish God's ways through the strength, wealth, and glory of man. He thought he could use natural means to accomplish spiritual ends.

He might as well tried to have a cow give birth to a human baby, or a to expect an oak tree to rise from a tulip bulb. Jesus did not teach that, because of the frailty of man it was unlikely we could fully accomplish God's aims; or that because of the sinfulness of man that it was improbable that we fulfill God's wishes. He said it was _impossible._ Things of the Spirit are not merely intensified versions of natural things, or holy versions of natural things, or sanctified versions of natural things. Spiritual things are as different from natural things as one species is different from another, as mineral is as different from animal or vegetable, as light is different from darkness. There is simply no way one can come from the other. They are just that different. And not just different, but mutually exclusive. What Constantine sought to do was not difficult or just way "out of the box" or merely counter to the norms and culture of his day. It was physically and metaphysically impossible. The only thing that could possibly come from the means of the Roman Empire, was more of the Roman Empire, regardless of what it was called. Flesh gives birth to flesh.

Constantine thought he was helping God. In fact, what he did was to buy a label. Through his efforts to "Christianize" the Roman Empire, Constantine used the might and wealth of Rome to put a Christian name, a religious facade, on the same old thing. Thanks to Constantine, the Roman Empire would later be called the Holy Roman Empire. Before Constantine, Rome was interested in geopolitical preeminence. That is, it wanted to rule the world. After Constantine, it wanted to rule the world _in the name of Christ_. But the methods, the means, the geopolitical goals were the same. The Empire was still concerned only with extending its authority over more and more territory; acquiring more and more wealth; ruling more and more of humanity.

Within 150 years of Constantine's death, the vast and mighty Roman Empire had broken apart, first into halves—the Eastern Empire in Constantinople and the Western Empire in Rome—and finally into pockets of shared culture and language not unlike that after the Tower of Babel incident. But even before his death, Constantine witnessed the emergence of the powerful and wealthy Christian church. Perhaps the best testimony to the fleshly nature of Constantine's creation are the schisms that divided the church. Where Jesus had promised that "love for one another" would be the normal response to being born of the Spirit and the primary Christian witness to the world, the church of Constantine found itself bickering and fighting over the same things—and pretty much along the same geopolitical lines—as its Roman sponsor. Practically, the church had split into Western (Roman) and Eastern (Orthodox) churches even before the fall of Rome in 476. Later, not only would this major split be ratified and known as the Great Schism, but other branches of the now thoroughly "naturalized" church would continue to break off as independent entities over issues usually related to who exactly was the greatest.

Today, we live in a world shaped by Constantine. This is largely visible on two fronts. The first is political. The nations that arose from the ruins of the Roman Empire have competed and cooperated and warred with each other for centuries as independent, sovereign states. Until the rise of communism in the early 20th century, most of the nations inhabiting the space of the former Roman Empire have historically considered themselves "Christian nations." Collectively, this group of sovereign Christian states have been known as "Christendom," the concept of a political, economic, and military entity governing physical land and human beings in the name of Christ. Christendom is the political expression of the merger of Rome with Christianity. In truth, like Constantine's "Holy" Roman Empire, Christendom was merely a collection of power and land-hungry countries who used the words of Jesus to justify its natural ambitions.

The second manifestation of the Constantinian transaction is seen in the Christian church. Institutional Christianity has continued to rend itself into an amazing array of independent entities which compete, if not militarily, certainly economically and culturally for membership numbers and membership dollars—the legacy of Constantine's wealth. Many of the churches today follow Constantine's lead perfectly by whitewashing the ancient practices of Empire—greed, glory-driven ambition, machiavellian maneuvering—with the words and phrases of God the Father.

Some would argue that only the church provided any continuity of civilization throughout the political and cultural anarchy of the Dark and Middle Ages. This may be true. But Constantine's merger of Christianity with Rome, of the Spirit with the flesh, has not aided the Kingdom of God at all. The Spirit has not prospered from the flesh of Rome. Rome has merely polluted the church to the extent that the greed, ambition, and hypocrisy we see today are considered unfortunate, perhaps, but "normal." That the Kingdom of God can be promoted and propagated by natural political, economic, and cultural means is seen as normal, not as heresy. That "God helps those who help themselves" is accepted as Christian dogma is simply a testimony to a church built on "Constantinian standards."

In our day, the religious and political heritage of Constantine is finally waning. Christendom has already become an anachronistic idea. After 1700 years of hegemony in at least the western world, the idea of a "Christian Nation" has given way to a new secularism. Some may claim that such a release from the hypocrisy of the Constantinian legacy is a good thing, or at least, a more honest thing. Others argue that the demise of the idea of Christendom is an indicator of worse things to come from a cultural and societal standpoint. In either case, one thing is certain. The Constantinian heritage has lost its hold on society. The birth of the third millennium has signaled a new epoch in world affairs.

We have entered the Post-Christian era.
The Post-Christian Era

The Constantinian Era lasted almost 1700 years. It began in 313 when the Edict of Milan slapped a Christian veneer on the Roman Empire. That decree instantaneously elevated the persecuted Christians from the catacombs to the heights of the Empire. But it also wedded the Christian church—initially a pure and purely spiritual enterprise—to the politics and power and money of the world, and thereby eviscerated its spiritual authority. Constantine, like King Saul centuries earlier, was the natural king that the people of God preferred to His spiritual leadership. For a brief while, it seemed as though this syncretistic merger might usher in a new era of spiritual enlightenment. But it soon became apparent—to true followers of God the Father anyway—that the two didn't mix at all. That, instead of the Roman Empire acquiring a new spirituality, the church merely fell into an ancient naturalism.

As the Roman Empire disintegrated and reformed into the nations of modern history, Constantine's Christian veneer remained largely intact. Church and state were inextricably intertwined. Some, like England and Russia, were officially wed to the point that the Anglican and Russian Orthodox churches respectively, were actually run by the state. In other nations, the Roman Catholic church was not merely the principle religion, but, until the 16th century, the sole legal religion. After the Protestant Reformation, the nations of Christendom were less exclusively Catholic, but still explicitly Christian.

The colonization efforts from the 15th through the 19th centuries extended the reach of Christendom to nearly all corners of the globe. Most of the first European explorers to the Americas, to Africa, to the Orient, were on evangelical as well as economic missions, hoping to spread the good news of God the Father to the oppressed Gentiles throughout the world. These missionaries were usually followed—or accompanied—by political and economic colonizers. This Constantinian combination was endemic to the theology of Christendom. By the end of the 19th century, much of the globe was nominally Christian, the church was deeply and irreparably worldly, and the ancient Christian veneer of Constantine's vision was showing cracks in its formerly monolithic facade.

Then came the 20th century. Many things contributed to the demise of Christendom. Rather than list them all, it is enough to say that a new reality swept through the world. The 20th century stripped what little remained of the Christian veneer from what was once Christendom. Whether through the top-down imposition of purely secular philosophies like Communism, Maoism, and socialism, or through the bottom-up influence of cultural attitudes that viewed "Christian nations" as anachronistic if not oxymoronic, a new secularism spread throughout the globe. Where religion and politics had, for over sixteen centuries, been inextricably intertwined, they were increasingly seen as separate and distinct arenas.

When the 20th century dawned, the British Empire was the predominant force in world politics, most of Europe was ruled by monarchs whose authority still rested in the "divine right of kings," and the idea that colonial rule throughout the globe was still predicated on the Constantinian concept that political and military might were viable mechanisms for the spread of Christian values and culture.

A hundred years later, as the 20th century gave way to the third millennium, this had all changed. Nations were no longer implicitly Christian in character or mission. The unfathomable oil wealth of the Middle East had given a patina of respectability to Islamic nations that had heretofore been viewed only as heathen, barbaric fiefdoms. The Catholic Church, long the broker of international conflicts and kingmaker in its own right, had been relegated to near "museum" status in its tiny Vatican City principality, a bastion of bureaucratic nonsense that was increasingly seen as, at best, a well meaning but irrelevant orthodoxy, and at worst, as a self-serving collection of out-of-touch clerics who cared more about protecting their reputation from even the vile realities of pedophilia than about the spiritual health of their global flock.

Perhaps the most significant change was the attitude toward Christianity in general. For 1700 years, Christian leaders had exercised an undisputed authority—often in a heavy handed way—over the politics and culture and economics of, at least, the western world. By the end of the 20th century, most of its credibility has vanished. It was as if the world had peeked behind the curtain of the Great and Powerful Oz and discovered that it was all smoke and mirrors, a lot of arrogant bluster by self-serving little men whose value was suddenly irrelevant.

Constantine had appropriated the name and terms of Christianity for centuries. With the emergence of a new, increasingly interdependent global community of nations, the Constantinian concepts were swept away. Christianity, too long associated with geopolitical games of power and wealth, had been relegated to the dustbin of history.

This is the primary cosmic result of the end of Christendom. True Christians had always discerned the difference between those who sought the Divine Relationship with God the Father and those who had merely applied the terms of Christianity to secular aims and means. But the world at large, which could suddenly see the hypocrisy and worldliness of what had been called Christianity, concluded that the baby was as filthy as the bathwater, and both were tossed out.

The emergence of this new global secularism has had a predictable result on the masses. Christianity, however polluted beyond recognition, had provided a religious certainty to the vagaries of life. Its downfall has left a huge spiritual vacuum. However much the adherents of the various strains of secular thought have trumpeted the demise of Christianity as a liberation from hypocrisy and medievalism, mankind is not satisfied with a purely natural existence. Someone or something must give this otherwise futile "vale of tears" meaning.

So the third millennium has seen a dramatic increase in spiritual pursuit. Understandably, much of this pursuit is a knee-jerk reaction to the perceived failure of Christianity. Instead of Christianity's pursuit of heaven, there are new "earth" philosophies ranging from Gaia worship at the mystical end of the spectrum to ecological fanaticism at the more natural end. Instead of Christianity's worship of God the Father, there are new "mother" religions ranging from the dark mystical covens of Wicca to the more cultural and political expressions of hermaphroditic feminism. Instead of Christianity's long association with western culture, an infatuation continues with all things eastern, from "Americanized" Taoism and Buddhism and Hinduism to any number of hybrid cults. Instead of Christianity's emphasis on eternal life, there is a reemergence of religious reincarnation as well as a technological response in the promises of human cloning, artificial intelligence, and cryogenic resuscitation. Instead of Christianity's espousal of God and His angels versus Satan and his demons, these have been traded for non-divine extraterrestrials whose aim is, alternatively, to help a floundering mankind or to invade and conquer it.

Implicit in much of this pursuit is that Christianity is spiritually and practically bankrupt. To those whose knowledge of God the Father has been limited to the Constantinian appropriation of Christian terminology, especially as the world has finally rid itself of the political and religious hegemony of Christendom, this response is warranted. The Divine Relationship of God the Father is no less vital and life-changing than it was 2,000 years ago. But the keepers of the terms, the traditional guardians of the faith—the Christian church—have been so tainted so long with Constantinian pollution that its reputation is irreparably—and rightfully—ruined. Like the Pharisees and Sadducees of Jesus' day, church leaders are largely blind to their state. They continue to offer Christendom's answers: worldly wisdom and natural strength motivated by the same old desire for wealth, power and prestige, and still cloaked beneath the veneer of Christianity. But the world has rejected them. The Christian church, in all its variegated denominations and expressions, has made itself irrelevant to today's world.

This is particularly clear when we look at another, seemingly counterintuitive dynamic occurring today. While the world in general searches in dark and foggy corners for some sort of spiritual reality, many individuals have actually been surprised to discover truth and life in the Divine Relationship of God the Father. Christians have been sharing with others whatever effects God the Father has had on their lives, with the result that millions have been born of the Spirit to enter this new life. This great influx is unparalleled in history. Even in the beginning, the rush to embrace God the Father was not received by such vast numbers of folks.

But what is most telling about our current situation is that this great influx has mostly happened at the "cellular" level—the one-on-one sharing of one life with another. One person, searching for, well, something or Someone, comes across another person who shares the reality of what they know, or, more precisely, _of Whom_ they know. It usually isn't much, at least from a spectacularly miraculous standpoint. But it's _reality_ , the Divine Relationship in action in one person's life. And the response has been dramatic. The response has generally not been the result of the programs and ministries in Christian churches. Rather, it has been the result of a person sharing the reality of God the Father in his or her life, _despite_ the lifelessness and hypocrisy of the church.

The biggest question surrounding this great awakening, is this: where are these people to go? Initially, they visit some church or another, only to discover that, rather than a spiritually nurturing environment, they are confronted by archaic, lifeless Constantinianism. They hear the words, they sing the songs, but they soon leave because, for all the terms and rituals and forms of worship, there is no divine reality here. There is only the same old worldliness that has masqueraded as spirituality for centuries, even if the words to the songs are projected on a big screen instead of printed in a hymnal, even if the pastor wears jeans or khakis instead of a robe, even if King James English has been replaced by the latest vernacular fad, even if the church organ has been upgraded to a full-blown rock band.

This time around, however, there is no submissive toleration of such a sham. People leave, searching for spiritual life elsewhere. And by and large today, they cannot find it, at least not in the church. Millions of spiritual children are being born without spiritual homes, without spiritual parents, without spiritual care. And those wearing the shepherd's clothes are often proving to be the most predatory of wolves. It is sadly ironic that just about the only people who are advocating a return to the bankrupt heresy of Constantinian Christianity are leaders of the church.

But it's not even the bad leaders who are the problem. The _system_ is the problem. This can be plainly seen in today's evolution of a typical new church. A group of folks seeking God band together to share the joy and faith of the Divine Relationship. The spiritual life of the group is obvious, and it attracts others. Soon, there are enough folks that they can no longer all meet in someone's home, so they buy or build a building. At this point, they need the tithes of the members to maintain or pay for the building. This introduces a mixed motive: money. There are other competitors to spiritual purity, but money is the most common one in our world. Many ministries begin without concern for money, trusting God to provide. But sooner or later, every one of them runs into a tight spot and begins to appeal for funds to the membership. Once the natural mechanism is mixed with the spiritual goals, Constantinianism is reborn. Money, of course, is not the issue. Rather, it is the incapacity of spiritual leadership to keep money out of the equation. But that was—and is—part of Constantine's transaction.

With 1700 years of history, Constantinian Christianity is the only model we know. Martin Luther and the leaders of the Reformation sought real change, but could only reproduce the ancient model with a few minor adjustments. The Roman substance, regardless of terminology, was unchanged. It's the same old wineskin. And if you pour the new wine of spiritual life into it, it will burst apart and the wine will be wasted.

The end of the age of Constantine—the Christian Era—has brought the world face to face with some hard realities. Humpty Dumpty has fallen off the wall, and there's no putting him together again. The old model doesn't work anymore. And there are no new models in sight. Yet.

As we witness the transition from the Christian Era to the Modern Era, all of the old assumptions are being reconsidered. The era of sovereign "Christian" nations is giving way to a new globalism. The predominance of Christian culture is giving way to a new secularism. The Christian church, once the impregnable fortress of divine truth and authority, has become irrelevant, not only to the world, but to Christians themselves. And in the midst of these vast changes in culture, religion, and politics, millions of people are searching for either the Divine Relationship, or some shadowy surrogate for it.

What is happening is not primarily a natural phenomenon, even if it is manifested in natural events. Instead, we are witnessing a _spiritual_ transition. The third millennium has marked a change that is so profoundly significant, so cosmically radical that it is difficult to recognize it. Certainly, this difficulty is partly a result of the changes happening around us in real time, which makes it hard to gain an historical perspective. But the larger reason we have trouble seeing the nature and scope of this transition is because the end has not yet been revealed.

And it will be revealed. For the transition from the Christian Era to the Modern Era is coincident with and the result of a much greater, much deeper transition. We are witnessing, perhaps, the most sweeping and most fundamental change in the history of mankind.

The events around us are signaling a sea change in the Divine Relationship itself. From God the Destroyer, to God the Judge, to God the Father, each new Face of God ushered in a radical change for humanity. This time, it is no different.

We are about to receive the revelation of the Fourth and Final Face of God.
The Fourth Face of God

" _Their faces looked like this: Each of the four had the face of a man, and ...the face of a lion, and ...the face of an ox; each also had the face of an eagle_." (Ezekiel 1:10)

" _The first living creature was like a lion, the second was like an ox, the third had a face like a man, the fourth was like a flying eagle_." (Revelation 4:7)

The first Face of God, the Lion, symbolized God as the all-powerful and frightful Destroyer. The Divine Relationship with the Destroyer was primarily defined by our fear of His power, our perpetual anxiety that He would again lay waste to the planet—or at least to our portion of it—and our continued confusion about what He expected of us. Ultimately, this Relationship was so oppressive, that we decided to ignore Him altogether, and to proclaim our independence from Him at the Tower of Babel. But He did not let us go our own way. At least, not as a united humanity.

The second Face of God, the Ox, symbolized the atoning sacrifice of God the Judge. The Divine Relationship with the Judge was explicitly reserved for the Chosen People of God, the Jews, and was defined by the exacting justice of a perfect God through a perfect Law. Ultimately, the perfection of the Law proved too much for the Chosen People, and the Judge exiled them from their Promised Land as judgment for their disobedience and lack of faith.

The third Face of God, the Man, symbolized the humanity of the Son of God the Father. The Divine Relationship with the Father, although originally reserved for His Chosen People, was opened to the rest of humanity—the Gentiles—because the Jews could not accept a faith that made their divine Law obsolete, that eliminated the divine distinctions of the Chosen People, and that recognized a Messiah who did not restore to them their Land. Ultimately, however, the effect of the transaction of Constantine so polluted the perspective and purity of the faith that it became more Gentile than Christian. As the world has finally thrown off the authority of Constantinian Christianity, so supernatural grace has dissolved from the church, and the Children of God the Father are left without a viable community of faith that was central to its purpose and witness.

The fourth Face of God is symbolized by an Eagle, a flying Eagle. The Eagle primarily represents authority. The Roman Empire and the United States, among others, adopted the eagle as the symbol of their authority. But the Biblical symbol is a _flying_ Eagle, representing the divinely supernatural and absolute authority of the God of Heaven. Different cultures have used different terms to describe a person of such absolute authority. The most common term, and that used by both Jesus and the Jews is "King." The fourth Face of God is God the King. His dominion, His area of authority, is thus called the "Kingdom of God."

This is an interesting usage of terms. Under the first Face of God, humanity quaked at the power of God the Destroyer. Anyone with such absolute power would be considered at least a King, if not a super-King. The people of the first Face of God would have no problem seeing God as the King.

Under His second Face, God the Judge was sometimes explicitly referred to as the invisible and eternal King of Israel, the divine King they had eschewed in order to have the human king, Saul. So too, the Jews of God's second Face would have no problem seeing God as King.

Under God the Father, the followers of Jesus heard him teach almost entirely about the Kingdom of God. That God was a King was fundamental to the very core of Christianity.

So, what's the big deal? How can God as King be a new manifestation of God? All three previous Faces implied or overtly avowed His Kingship.

This is an example of "divine camouflage." As He so often does, God creates mysteries by shielding His truth behind our own blind spots. Because we think we understand that God is King, we delve no further, relying instead on our preconceptions and presumptions. It was this very camouflage that kept the religious leaders from seeing Jesus as the Messiah, even as he healed the sick, raised the dead, and told them to their faces. It was the same camouflage that prevented Pharaoh from seeing that God the Destroyer had selected a special group of slaves to be His Chosen People, that kept him resisting God despite the lethal evidence of the plagues.

In the same way, to the three respective constituencies—Gentiles, Jews, and Christians—the nature of the Divine Relationship with God the King seems, at first blush, to be pretty much the same Relationship as that with God the Destroyer, God the Judge, or God the Father. But it is like none of these.

The Divine Relationship with God the King will be as radically different from any of His previous three Faces as His second Face was different from His first, and as His third Face was different from those before. Christians, particularly, should take heed. Israel could not easily accept their Messiah, because the Relationship with God the Father was so radically different from that of God the Judge that Jews considered Christianity, first, a Jewish heresy, and later a pagan blasphemy. It was just too far outside their expectations and presumptions. The coming Relationship with God the King will be just as different from that of God the Father. And Christians, like the Jews before, could readily find themselves opposing the very God they claim to serve. Indeed, as Jesus prophesied, _"...a time is coming when anyone who kills you will think he is offering a service to God._ " (John 16:2) One of the most virulent enemies of the Kingdom of God could likely be the children of God the Father.

The fourth Face of God is like none of those before it, because it is a synergistic combination of all three. Although it will have familiar elements, it will be so different that, like Jesus' parables, we can only describe it via metaphor.

Think of God's different revelations to humanity as different colors of divine light. Those who knew only God as Destroyer—Gentiles—saw (and see) Him as, say, red light. The Jews who know Him as God the Judge see Him as blue light. And the Christians who know Him as God the Father see Him as green light. Gentiles, Jews, and Christians have argued—and warred—with each other over which color was the true light of God. Having been convinced that red or blue or green was not only the true appearance of God but the _exclusively_ true color, each group viewed the other colors as divinely errant. And the other viewers as enemies of God.

As every young science student knows, if you shine different colors of light together on a surface, new colors emerge. A color television set operates on this principle, each dot of the screen emitting red or blue or green. When all three colors are shone together, the result is white light. White is not technically a color, but a _combination_ of the three primary colors of red, blue, and green. More importantly, white light, although composed of these three colors, _looks like none of them_.

In the same way, because the Divine Relationship with God the King will be composed of the three "elemental" perspectives of God that came before, it will technically not be anything entirely new. Yet, just as with the colors, God the King will appear radically differently than any of the previous three Faces.

Christians may expect God the King to appear, not merely as green, but perhaps as a bluish-green. Jews may anticipate a purplish or greenish blue. Pagans may expect a purplish or brownish red. But no one will expect to see white light. This is how different God the King will appear.

The issue is not one of vision as much as one of _investment_. If I am so invested in my green image of God the Father, white will be beyond my ability to recognize. White will seem heretical to me. If I am so invested in a blue or red image of God, I may be selfishly pleased that His ultimate revelation did not turn out to be green, but I will nonetheless miss Him when He appears as white.

Being invested in a certain theology or a specific image of God is different from just having a limited experience. Jesus' disciples were Jews with a parochial perspective of God as the Judge. But they eventually recognized Jesus as the Son of God the Father, while their Pharisaical counterparts did not, because they were willing to let Him reveal himself however he chose. In the same way, the Israelites who escaped Egypt in the Exodus were willing to accept—by faith—that God the Destroyer was doing a new and special thing, and they followed by putting blood across the tops of their doorways. Those who could or would not accept such a change in God's traditional image did not receive the benefits of Passover, and lost their first-born to the Angel of Death.

God the King is not trying to trick us or to hide Himself. Indeed, the fourth Face of God will be a more comprehensive and accurate portrait of God than any of His prior three Faces. The Divine Relationship He initiates as the King will be one that will be rooted in more divine reality than at any other time in history. He has always wanted us to know Him. As the King, He is asking us to more accurately know Him _as He truly is._

This is where our investment comes in. If we insist that knowing Him as God the Father or as God the Judge is the ultimate and complete and full and final expression of divine reality, then we will see a relationship with God the King to be heresy. If we are invested in our existing perspective of Him, then we will miss the opportunity to know Him as He more truly is. If we are more invested in our rightness than in His reality—however foreign that may at first seem to us—then we will have chosen a blindness that will put us in good stead with the Sadducees, Pharisees, and Pharaoh himself.

What then is our alternative? If we know that a revelation of God is coming that will appear utterly foreign to our current image of Him, and that our human propensity will be to reject that revelation in favor of our safe and tested images, how do we prepare for God the King? How do we avoid missing the most critically important event in human history?

Simply, by remembering our endgame. And by adopting the eyes and heart of a child.
Moving On or Digging In

The ultimate endgame of history is the same, whether we are talking about the history of mankind or the history of a single life. On the macrocosmic scale, across thousands of years, the endgame is the Divine Relationship. On the microcosmic scale, over a period of a few decades, the endgame is exactly the same: getting to know God. The Divine Relationship.

Throughout history, the Divine Relationship has changed. God has instituted three distinct covenants with humanity, revealing three distinct Faces of Himself, and establishing three distinct Relationships. Now, we are witnessing what could very well be the climax of human history. According to a fourth covenant, His long-awaited Face as King of the universe is soon to be revealed. God made the fourth covenant with David (Psalm 89:3-4) and fulfilled it in Jesus. (Zechariah 9:9, John 12:15) He is about to unveil His fourth and final Face, and the only thing we can be assured of is that it will be a surprise to all of us. How will we deal with this surprise, with the radical unfamiliarity this new Face will likely bring? What's to prevent our taking the path of Pharaoh or the Pharisees? What's the trick to recognizing our constant, unchanging God behind this new Face?

The answer lies more in our direction than in our location. It lies less in where we are or have been, and almost totally in where we are going—or want to go.

How we first met God was largely outside our control. Our environment, more than our will, determined which Face of God we first knew. Some folks were born in a world in which the Destroyer, the enigmatic and seemingly capricious God of power, was the only revelation available. Others were introduced to that same Face of God because their parents had rejected subsequent Faces of God.

Others—Jews—were introduced to God the Judge, having been born of the lineage of Jacob, grandson of Abraham. Some of these Jews were born before the Exodus, when life was nothing but slavery under the hateful Egyptians. Some were born during Israel's time in the Promised Land, eating the fruit of God's blessing according to the Law He gave to Moses. Others were born during the seventy years of Babylonian exile, or during the 2,000 years of Diaspora after the Chosen People had been ejected a second time from their Promised Land. Some were born in the new State of Israel, a seemingly fragile island of Jewish freedom in a vast desert of maniacal anti-Semitism.

Some—Christians—were introduced to God the Father during a time of persecution which drove everyone literally underground to the grottos and catacombs to avoid torture or death at the hands of the Roman Empire. Some were born after the Constantinian transaction, when the Name of Jesus was proclaimed everywhere and the wealth and power of Rome were synonymous with the blessings of God.

None of us could decide how we first met God any more than we could determine when, where, or to whom we were born. But God did not and does not penalize us for circumstances only He can control. In His wisdom and for His purposes, we are each assigned a time and place to begin. But that's all it is: a beginning.

This is the essential perspective of the Divine Relationship. However we start it, it does not end where it begins. The Divine Relationship, like any relationship, is a progressive thing. It is a life-long learning about and communing with another Person. That Person just happens to be God. Just as the broader Divine Relationship with humanity has seen a six-thousand-year progression, so our individual Divine Relationships must also progress. We either advance in our knowledge of and intimacy with God, or we don't. And if not, then our Relationship eventually petrifies into one form of lifeless religious performance or another.

If we insist that how we first met God is the absolute reality of the Divine Relationship, we are engaged, not in a dynamic relationship, but in fortifying and justifying a religious position. And perhaps an inherited one at that. Likewise, if at any time during our Divine Relationship, we come to the conclusion that this is it, that we know God pretty much as He really is and there's nothing much to add except tidbits here and there, the same thing has occurred. We have exchanged our Divine Relationship for a theological construct. We have traded a real-time supernatural rapport for a creed. We have replaced knowing Someone with knowing about something.

Our direction is what matters. We are either moving onward, forward, toward an undefined but purely relational goal, or we are stuck in the stasis of our current understanding, treating our perspective like a fortress that needs to be continually shored up against any and all foreign onslaughts. One is an advancing thing, learning more and different things about this Divine Person, just as we would another human. The other is a defensive thing, as we sit content with what we know thus far, fearful that the next new religious sect or secular idea will slip in under our protective intellectual armor. It is a subtle difference, but a clear one. It has to do with where, if anywhere, we are going. Not where we are.

We stand on the threshold of a new Divine Relationship. We are about to be confronted by God the King, first through spiritual revelation, and then—if the prophets are to be believed—as the Holy Spirit releases an entirely unprecedented level of divine power. And ultimately, in the returning Person of the King Himself. With this utterly foreign fourth Face of God, the dynamic doesn't change from what we've already been doing. Whether we currently stand in a Divine Relationship with the Father, the Judge, or even the Destroyer, this is merely where we are _today_. Where we end up, whether in relationship with a previous Face of God or with this soon-to-be-revealed fourth Face of the King, is dependent upon the very things we have dealt with thus far: do we go onward, do we continue to seek Him and His ways, however alien they are (and He is) to our mode of thought or reason or logic? Or do we decide at some point that enough is enough, that it is not just Him, but _our perspective of Him_ that will not change, and dig in our heels against further revelation?

This is the key to the Divine Relationship. As we said in the beginning of this book, the choice is between the Divine Relationship and religion. If religion, we will find ourselves in a philosophically defensive position, fending off the ideas and credibility of our presumed opponents as they approach us, fortifying our theological explanations against anything contradictory and viewing all who espouse such strange ideas as enemies. If a Relationship, then it matters very little what others say to oppose us or discredit us or even to slander or persecute us. A religion is a concept that can be refuted or confounded. A Relationship, on the other hand, is a simple and unshakable thing we know, that we have experienced first hand as reality in our lives.

I cannot prove to you that God exists. Neither can I fully and logically explain why evil exists to the degree it does. I cannot paint you a picture of Heaven or Hell, or even convince you that such places are as real—more real in fact—than this life. There are many divine things I cannot explain. I can only tell you what I have seen, what I have heard, and how I happen to know Him Whom I know, as imperfectly and insufficiently as I do. But according to the Divine Relationship, there is more life, more power, more reality in the little that is poorly known but truly experienced, than in the much that is even eloquently thought or elaborately acknowledged.

There are some likely ways to miss the revelation of God the King. If you are dedicated to the proposition that God is either not there or He doesn't care, it is unlikely that His new Face will affect you. If you are convinced that He has—and will—manifest Himself solely through the Jewish Torah or the Christian scriptures; or the Passover Seder or the sacraments of Communion or Baptism; or through dancing or not dancing or through speaking in tongues or through not speaking His Name, then you may miss the revelation of God the King. You will miss Him, not because He has not or cannot or will not reveal Himself through these things. Rather, you will miss Him because you are convinced that He will reveal Himself only through these things.

We need not be theologically brilliant to recognize God as King. We need not be emotionally sensitive or in good physical shape or in tune with mystical karma. We need not have our act together to recognize God the King. We need only the one thing He has asked of us since the very beginning.

" _What does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God._ " (Micah 6:8)

We need merely to have the eyes and heart of a child. He'll take it from there.
Forgetting

" _Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward_.... " (Philippians 3:13-14)

Moving on has always been the operative attitude behind the Divine Relationship. Indeed, all relationships, human or divine, must either progress and move forward toward more intimacy, more vulnerability, and more reality, or they will stagnate into lifelessness. With God, we progress toward a more complete knowledge of Him, a perspective of Who He is and who we are with Him that is increasingly closer to ultimate reality. In the same way, He has made advances to us by revealing more of Himself and His reality at unique times throughout our history.

Three times, God has made changes to the Divine Relationship. Each time, He established a covenant which included new promises and new conditions for the Divine Relationship. Each time, he selected a man with whom the covenant was enacted. And each time, He unveiled a new expression of Himself—a new Face—through which the Divine Relationship was defined.

God is about to reveal Himself in a new way for the fourth and last time according to His fourth covenant. This expression will supercede and transcend all prior Faces of God. It will be a more comprehensive expression, a more accurate representation, a more _real_ revelation of Who He is. The fourth Face of God—God the King—will be a consistent extension of any and all of His previous three Faces. But it will also be a radically new appearance, alien enough to our current ideas about Him that we will be challenged as never before to have faith, not in our cultural or religious or theological beliefs, but in Him and His love for us.

Each of the three Divine Relationships is a starting point, a baseline from which to proceed. This is the first obstacle to knowing Him as King: to recognize that how we currently know Him is merely a beginning, not a conclusion. To understand that each of the prior Faces of God—as Destroyer, as Judge, and as Father—are _interim and temporary._

The community of God the Destroyer—Gentiles—desperately wanted to know what He expected of us, so we could avoid the omnipotent wrath that had wiped the earth with Noah's Flood and that had obliterated Sodom and Gomorrah. Knowing only His power, mankind lived under the hopeless shadow of constant uncertainty and dread.

His response was to "explain" Himself as God the Judge. Through the second covenant, He promised Abraham's offspring the Land of Canaan, He delivered them from Egyptian slavery, He showed Himself to be their protector and provider, and He gave them the Law. The Law definitely defined what He expected, answering the uncertainty of life under the Destroyer. But the Law proved impossibly perfect for an imperfect humanity to obey. Yes, knowing Him via the second covenant was better than the first, but through the Law, He gave us a divine mirror to let us see just how intractable our sinful nature was. He had selected His Chosen People to demonstrate to the rest of humanity how incapable we were to relate to a perfect Judge.

His third covenant brought a new hope. It was not the hope of "fixing" us, of healing the Original Sin that permeated the human condition. Instead, it was the hope of death and resurrection. It was a final judgment on our fallen human nature, a death to self by which a new creature—a new spiritual species—could emerge from the burial of baptism.

Just as the second covenant superseded the first, so the third covenant superseded the second. But in the same way that their Jewish cousins had demonstrated their inability to comply with the Law, the Christians demonstrated that we would prefer to live naturally, not spiritually. We would prefer to remain children than to grow up.

After nearly six thousand years of a progressive revelation of God through three covenants, three distinct divine Faces, and three unique divine communities, what are we left with? Simply, that none of the communities was complete; that none of His Faces was the final one.

This is the primary obstacle to coming to the King: thinking that our current Divine Relationship is the final one, the ultimate one. But why would we? It was clear that knowing God as Judge was a better relationship than with God the Destroyer. The community of God's second Face—the Jews—began with God calling Abraham to " _go forth...to the land which I will show you_...." (Genesis 12:1) Can He not now ask of them to follow Abraham's example?

It was also clear that knowing God as Father was a better relationship than with either the uncertainty under God the Destroyer or the severity under God the Judge. The community of God's third Face—the Christians—clearly saw the dilemma of the first century Jews who would not believe that God could transcend both the Law and their presumptions about their Messiah. Can He not now ask of them to have faith once again to embrace an otherwise unrecognizable King?

It is only recently clear that, all along, God was clearly demonstrating that He has been "going somewhere" with the Divine Relationship. Have we been so successful in knowing Him as the Father, the Judge, or the Destroyer that we will not consider a more perfect relationship?

This is our first task: to recognize the potential and even the divine logic of the next and final Face of God. Which means that how we know Him now, the Faces by which we currently relate to Him, must be left behind. To proceed toward the ultimate Divine Relationship, to come to know Him as God the King, we will need to forego and forget. We will need to forego our old presumptions and traditions, and forget less important things. Obviously, this is unsettling, even frightening. But it was unsettling for Abraham to leave Ur for an unknown Land following a barely known God. It was unsettling for the Jewish Christians to leave the certainty of the Law to follow, not a glorious Messiah but a humble One, to a place of faith and grace and love, even with the very Gentiles they were supposed to abhor.

It has always been unsettling to trust and follow God. " _Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen._ " (Hebrews 12:1) We would prefer to follow a God we fully understand, by means we are thoroughly comfortable with. We would prefer that God was not quite so utterly alien, and that His ways were a little closer to our ways and His thoughts to our thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8-9) We would prefer to walk by sight, not by faith. This is our preference.

But this is not an option.

Our only options are to remain or proceed. To cower behind the known and comfortable—however insufficient it has proven to be, or to walk, however unsteadily and even fearfully, toward the new Land, the ultimate Relationship, the final Face of God. To hang desperately and protectively onto old and worn out wineskins, or to prepare for the inconceivably more powerful and satisfying wine that He has promised us. To enshrine traditions and memories or to forget what lies behind and "press on toward what is ahead."

Our option, when He calls, is Vashti's choice: to come to our King or not.

If we choose to welcome the revelation of God the King, we need only trust Him to lead us, and to forget some former things:

Christians, remember your first love, but forget the nursery in your Father's house.

Jews, remember your Chosen place, but forget the exclusivity of your People.

These two things are specifically commanded:

" _Listen, O Daughter, consider and give ear:_ _Forget your People_ _and_ _your Father's house_ _._ _The King_ _is enthralled by your beauty_...." (Psalm 45:10-11)

It is time to forget the old things and old ways. A new order is coming.
A New Order

Some Christians assume that, at Jesus' return, his first order of business will be to clean up the church. But this is not the case. Instead, he will return to _"...a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle...but ...holy and without blemish_." (Ephesians 5:27) Making the Bride ready is not the job of the Bridegroom. Rather, "... _his bride has_ _made herself ready_." (Revelation 19:7) It is our job.

Certainly, it is the divine power of the Spirit, not the natural power of rules or strength or willpower that will purify and sanctify the Bride. It will be the Spirit working through the Bride herself, through the People of God the King, Who will make the Bride spotless and pure and beautiful. But the process will occur _before_ the return. It will occur in preparation for his coming.

The point here is that there are two pending events. The "big one," the one that Christians have awaited for 2,000 years and Jews have awaited for nearly 3,500, is the physical coming of the Messiah in the glory and power of God the King. This has never happened. The first coming of the Messiah was not in such glory. It was a quiet, humble event, through which God the Judge finalized one Divine Relationship and God the Father initiated another. This is not at all to minimize the significance of Jesus' mission. He was terrifically successful. But he made it clear that when the Messiah came in the future, it would be visible to all: the advent of the Son of God in glory and power and accompanied by a vast heavenly host.

But before this "big" event, another event must take place. This is the revelation of God the King _through the Spirit_. It is the establishment of a new and better Divine Relationship with God as He has never been fully known. It is the unveiling of God the King as the fulfillment of God's prior three Faces—as Destroyer, Judge, and Father—in a way that transcends everything before.

The "big" event may not require faith to see at all. When the King comes "in glory" it means He will come completely revealed for all to see, either in joy or terror. But the prior event—the revelation of the King through the Spirit—will certainly require faith. It will require a faith, not in a creed or the Law or our traditions or existing theology, but in a Person. Faith in the One _we know_.

This revelation of God's fourth and final Face will draw Christian Children of the Father, Jewish Servants of the Judge, and even Gentile subjects of the Destroyer into a new Divine Relationship with the King. And the community of the King, the People of God's final Face, will be that group of folks who receive the revelation, who embrace the new Relationship which will transform them into the pure and glorious Bride.

What will the Bride look like? What is the model for the People of God the King? What is it called when people gather around and submit to the authority of a King? In a word, _a kingdom_. The Bride will be _the community which knows God as King_. In other words, the _Kingdom of God on earth_.

As King of His Kingdom, God has a vocation. He has a job. He runs a business. And if and when we are ready, we might be mature enough to join Him in the family firm.

God's vocation is in the field of government. He is a King. He is The King. He _rules_. That has always been His job, His vocation. But He has not yet ruled completely or obviously _on planet earth_. This is because He decided, long ago before He created the first man and woman, that He would rule this planet _through us_. He is the ultimate, infinite King. But He designed all of creation so that we might rule with Him. That His authority would be expressed and executed through the agency of human beings. We were created and redeemed for the express purpose of joining the family business. We were made to rule His Kingdom with Him.

Let's assume my father is, say, the CEO of a corporation. Growing up, knowing the man only as a father, I hopefully learn to obey him and know him, but in his fatherhood, I am fully accepted and loved just as I am. If I screw up, I am forgiven, even if I'm chastised for it. If I decide to drop out of college, he will love me nonetheless, even through his disappointment. If I choose to accept his direction, I will stay in school and do my best to learn and excel.

When the day comes that he invites me to come _work_ with him, everything seems to change. At the office, there are requirements on me that didn't exist when I was just a child at home. I must dress a certain way. I must arrive on time for work, whether or not I feel tired or lazy or unmotivated. I must perform my duties according to the corporate specifications, and if I do not, I will be corrected. Even though my father is the CEO, I will probably start in a position that reports to a distant supervisor. If I submit myself to my trainers and superiors and perform my job well, I might be promoted. If I do not demonstrate that I can learn and perform my duties well, I will be warned and, perhaps, retrained. But sooner or later, if I don't perform, I will be asked to leave the firm.

All along, the CEO—as my father—loves me unconditionally, and hopes and yearns for my success. As CEO, however, he is responsible for the success of the corporation. And my participation in the family business will have nothing to do with his paternal love for me. It will be based solely on whether or not I can perform my job.

This is where we're going. Our Father's business is government. The family firm is the Kingdom of God. And although our Father will love us unconditionally and eternally, His role as King of His Kingdom requires that we get to participate in running the Kingdom, not based on His love for us, but based on our capacity to submit to the duties and terms of His way of running His Kingdom. Based on how well we do our job.

As spiritual children, Christians have ideas about our roles in the Kingdom just like children have ideas of joining Dad at the office. We may presume we'll start with a big office, fancy title, and lots of perks. In fact, however, we must first learn the family business. We must be willing to accept the job our King has for us, not in a corner office, but in some seemingly remote and menial position. It is in these mundane assignments that we must learn how to govern.

As the family business grows, the CEO may decide to hire some consultants to help make the business more effective. They are not members of the family, but they operate with his authority to review and implement new and better processes and procedures. After some time, the consultants prove themselves to be so capable that the CEO decides to hire them as full time employees. As a member of the family, I may be suspicious of these new hired guns. Why, after all, would my Father put these guys into positions that I had hoped to someday fill? Why, in a family business, would He give them authority as managers, even perhaps over me?

The obvious answer is that, however much my Father loves me, His primary responsibility is to make the company successful. If I can prove myself capable of helping accomplish that, He will probably promote me. If not, He won't. His love for me has nothing to do with it. But if I immaturely feel entitled to some rank or position because I am the CEO's son, I am missing the point and manifesting my own immaturity. I am only proving that I don't see things as my Father does. That I don't care about what my Father considers most important.

In the Kingdom of God, the Children of God the Father will not be the only "employees." God, as CEO, will certainly draw on the skills and talents of others if that is what is necessary for the sake of the firm, the Kingdom. Most notably, God intends to "hire" a definite number of Servants of God the Judge. He intends to admit a significant Jewish contingent to the Kingdom of God. Of course, I will be elated to welcome them.

But the question is, will I still be elated if, contrary to everything I think I know about the Kingdom, God brings them in _without them first being adopted into the family_? Can I trust God that much?

The Spirit

Since the Kingdom of God is first, foremost, and solely a _spiritual_ Kingdom, we must learn how to govern in the Spirit. For most of us, this is an entirely foreign thing. If ever the truth of verse " _For My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways My ways_ " (Isaiah 55:8) was evident, it is when it comes to the Holy Spirit, especially living by the Spirit. Yet, in the Kingdom of God, everything is done with, by, or through the Spirit. Unless we can hear, follow, and defer to the Holy Spirit, we will not be invited to participate in the family firm.

The Holy Spirit has been around since the beginning. (Genesis 1:2) Throughout the history of Israel, He has directed and empowered men at various times in varying degrees. At times, He would come upon certain individuals in an overwhelming way, as He did with Samson—giving him supernatural strength (Judges 14:19)—or with King Saul—causing him to prophesy with the prophets. (I Samuel 10:10) Or He worked invisibly through the efforts of humans, as He did when He gave King David the plans for the Temple. (I Chronicles 28:19) And, of course, there were those few who seemed to be constantly empowered and illuminated, like Elijah, Elishah, and Isaiah.

Then, about six weeks after the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, he told his disciples that the Holy Spirit would be coming to give them power, and that they were to wait for Him in Jerusalem. About a week later, during the Feast of Pentecost, He arrived, bringing with Him his supernatural power. (Acts 2) This presence and power of the Spirit is figuratively referred to as the new wine of the Kingdom.

The most significant thing about the outpouring of the Spirit during the first century was that it was _for everybody_. It was not merely reserved for certain kings and prophets. And it was not intermittent or periodic. He was generously—lavishly—given to every Christian believer. Both with Paul in Ephesus (Acts 19:2) and with Philip in Samaria (Acts 8:16), the scripture makes it clear that receiving the Holy Spirit and His supernatural power was the nearly automatic next step after belief and baptism. This power and direction of the Holy Spirit allowed the first Christian believers to spread the gospel of the Kingdom with miraculous signs and wonders throughout the Mediterranean, ultimately permeating even the Roman Empire.

Then, the power abated. Sometime around 100 A.D., shortly after the fall of Jerusalem to the Romans with the destruction of the second Temple, the power of the Holy Spirit seems to have faded. By then, the _spiritual_ authority with spiritual power of the early church had been transformed into an _ecclesiastical_ authority with _natural_ power. Instead of the divine Kingdom authority structure—first given to Moses and Aaron (Exodus 4:16) and later confirmed by the Christian apostles and deacons (Acts 6)—the Christian church had morphed into what's called a "monarchical episcopate." This is simply a fancy term for "one man on top." This was a degradation of divine order into the governing structure of the world. Whether this deterioration of church authority was the cause of the waning of the Spirit or the effect is debatable. But by the early fourth century, with the conversion of the Roman Emperor Constantine the Great, the church had become so "naturalized" that the Spirit seems to have, if not entirely disappeared, certainly withdrawn to a place of obscurity. The supernatural power of the Holy Spirit had been replaced in the church by the military power of the Roman legions and the economic power of the Empire. The Christian church has been wedded to the world ever since.

Then, in the 1960's, two divinely related events occurred. One was the result of the Six Day War, during which Israel gained control of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem for the first time in 2500 years. The second was the wide-scale reintroduction of some of the supernatural Things of the Spirit. This "movement" came to be called the "Charismatic Renewal," which restored to the church, in part, such things as speaking in tongues, prophecy, healing, deliverance, and other supernatural manifestations of the Spirit, for the first time in nearly two millennia. The connection between these events may be controversial to some, but in both cases, a fundamental linchpin of God's order was miraculously restored after a long absence.

The Jewish Temple, of course, was the place where God met with His Chosen people, the Jews, _naturally_. It is also a metaphor for the Spirit, which is how God meets with Christians _spiritually_. There are two aspects of these events which are noteworthy. One is that, in both cases, the events are prerequisites for the final restoration of God's plan for His Kingdom. The other is that, again in both cases, the restoration is, so far, only partial. Obviously, until the Jewish Temple is built, the foundation is unfinished. In the same way, until God pours out His Spirit again in fullness, the supernatural power of the church is incomplete.

There are Jews who are actively preparing for the third Temple, but it is clear that only the foundation exists so far. With Christians, however, there is less clarity about the Spirit. For nearly six decades, since the first stirrings of renewed spiritual manifestations, there has been a segment of the church which disputes the restoration of the Things of the Spirit. These are the "cessationists" who believe that when the New Testament Apostles died, the power of the Spirit died with them. Alternately, many welcomed the Spirit's manifestations which brought renewed vitality and power—as well as sectarian divisions—to the church. These were the "charismatics." Now, after more than half a century, much of the charismatic theology has "gone mainstream." Ironically, however, even as more and more churches and ministries include the baptism of the Holy Spirit and His manifestations in their mission statements, and even while many Christians _individually_ practice the Things of the Spirit, the divinely ordered _corporate_ practice is mostly absent. This absence is at least partially due to some widespread confusion.

While we cannot go into depth here, the Things of the Spirit include three distinct parts of the Spirit's activity: Gifts, Ministries, and Effects. (I Corinthians 12:4-6) In the scriptures, there are lists of each of these, and two lists for the Ministries. The biggest source of confusion about the Spiritual Things today involves the use of the word "gifts." I Corinthians 12:1 is usually translated " _Concerning the gifts of the Spirit, brethren, I don't want you to be ignorant_." In fact, the word "gifts" is not in that verse. Instead, it should be translated " _Now concerning Spiritual things_...." In the scriptures, the Greek word for "gifts" is " _charisma_." When some of the Effects of the Spirit were reintroduced to the church in the 1960's, Christians began to associate the word " _charisma_ " with the Effects listed below in I Corinthians 12:8-10: word of wisdom, word of knowledge, faith, healings, miracles, prophecy, discerning of spirits, speaking in tongues, and interpretation of tongues. These Effects of the Spirit are real, supernatural manifestations of the Holy Spirit which spread throughout the church. Because of the confusion about the word "gifts" in the beginning of that chapter, this new thing was erroneously referred to as the "Charismatic Renewal."

This error would be purely semantic except for one thing. Because the Effects of the Spirit were labeled "gifts" ( _charisma_ ), the real Gifts were either overlooked or mistaken to be merely an additional list of Effects. The Gifts of the Spirit (Romans 12:6-8) are, thus, almost universally misunderstood. More importantly, the Gifts do not yet seem to be as widely distributed as are the Effects. This is perhaps due to our misunderstanding them. But it is also quite likely that God has not yet restored them to us. The Spiritual Gifts are the most powerful, most life-changing Things of the Spirit, and maybe God is reserving them for when He pours out the new wine for His Kingdom.

The Ministries are the other category of spiritual Things and they are listed in I Corinthians 12:28 and Ephesians 4:11. These Ministries are just that: appointed positions of responsibility in the church. The lists differ because one includes the Ministries needed for a team which is charged with invading enemy territory to set up a new Kingdom outpost. (Ephesians 4) The other list (I Corinthians 12) is the collection of Ministries needed once a church has been set up and is operating according to Kingdom order. (For more detail, see Navigating the Supernatural: A Guide to the Things of the Spirit.) Since, as we shall see in the next chapter, there are few if any churches today operating in Kingdom order, the Ministries of the Spirit are almost non-existent. Perhaps, like the Gifts, they are reserved for the coming Kingdom communities.

Just as the completion of the second Temple was delayed (Ezra), the completion of both the third Temple and the outpouring of the Spirit's full power have been delayed, presumably for reasons of divine timing. But after thousands of years, the foundations are laid. And even if only the basics of the Things of the Spirit are practiced, the foundation exists.

That foundation is sufficient for the beginnings of our divine call to rule. What He has provided for us is enough to start. Soon, however, He has promised that the rest of the building will go up. He has promised an outpouring of the Spirit that will more than compare—and perhaps dwarf—the power of His presence at Pentecost nearly 2,000 years ago.

Until then, until the new wine is fully poured out, our job is to prepare new wineskins. Because the wineskins we have today cannot possibly hold the coming new wine.

New Wineskins

" _No one tears a piece of cloth from a new garment and puts it on an old garment; otherwise he will both tear the new, and the piece from the new will not match the old. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins; otherwise the new wine will burst the skins and will be spilled out, and the skins will be ruined. But new wine must be put into fresh wineskins._

_"And no one, after drinking old wine wishes for new; for he says, 'The old is good enough_.'" (Luke 5:36-39)

The community of the King—the Kingdom of God on earth—will require entirely new wineskins; entirely new garments. Because it is our nature to want to continue with our old ways under prior Faces of God, we will want to merely patch our old clothes with pieces of the Kingdom. We will want the coming new wine to be poured into our old wineskins: our current perspectives, practices, and ways of knowing Him. When faced with the radically different ways of the Kingdom, it is our tendency to prefer our old ways. " _And no one, after drinking old wine wishes for the new; for he says, 'The old is good enough_.'"

We will soon be faced with the same dilemma. Will we welcome the new Face of God, or insist that He comply with how we understand His prior Faces? Will we prepare new wineskins for the Kingdom, or will we try to use old wineskins to contain the coming new wine? When confronted by Vashti's choice, will we wholeheartedly come to the King or ignore Him to preserve how we already know Him?

What, practically, does this mean? How will the Kingdom of God on earth be different from what we already know?

It will be different in three basic ways: the purpose of the Kingdom; the structure of the Kingdom; and the power of the Kingdom. The purpose of the Kingdom is, as we have seen, to rule. The structure of the Kingdom is the order and pattern that God has ordained with the same specificity and significance that He gave Moses for the Tabernacle (Exodus 25:40) and David for the Temple (I Chronicles 28:19). And the power of the Kingdom is—exclusively—the Holy Spirit. Each of these applies to each level of Kingdom life: the individual, the family, and the community.

Kingdom Individuals

Individuals are the most basic elements of the Kingdom, the "living stones" with which God is building His spiritual Temple (I Peter 2:5). Unless each individual is functioning in the Kingdom, it is impossible to have a Kingdom family. Unless each family is operating in the Kingdom, it is impossible to have a Kingdom community. Too often, we desire to do "great things" for God when what is needed is attention to one's family. Too often, we wonder why our family relationships are dysfunctional when the solution is become a more effective Kingdom individual. Unless the foundational pieces are healthy and functional, nothing larger can be built from them.

The purpose of the Kingdom individual is to rule over the portion of the Kingdom God has assigned to each of us. First and foremost, that portion is ourselves. Each of us is charged to reign over the domain of our own soul. We are each responsible—solely responsible—for our attitudes, our actions, and our relationships. Our first Kingdom domain is our own soul. Our capacity to rule over a broader area is always and ultimately dependent upon our authority over ourselves.

Too often and too quickly, those who come to faith are taught and urged to "go." Go be a witness to your neighbors. Go heal and deliver. Go preach. Go make disciples of the nations. This can be very exciting, very purposeful, very "missional." But we don't expect a natural infant to do anything. We don't expect a toddler to mow the lawn. We don't expect a teenager to take the helm of a company. We definitely don't expect anybody to fly to a warzone to fight a vicious and intractable enemy without first being trained and armed and assigned to a platoon. But we do these very things when it comes to Christianity. We are, after all, children of the King, heirs of the invincible Kingdom of God! "... _as long as the heir is a child, he does not differ at all from a slave_...." (Galatians 4:1) The Kingdom will certainly be invincible. But the warriors will not be slaves. Kingdom individuals will not be children.

A critical prerequisite for a Kingdom individual is to grow up; to be _mature_. In the Bible, this is the same word that is translated as "perfect." Growing up to perfection is a life-long endeavor. Paul writes " _Not that I have...already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus_." (Philippians 3:12) We can take comfort in the promise that God is the "author and perfecter" (Hebrews 12:2) of our faith, not us. No child grows himself up. It is the parent's job to transform children into adults.

So what is our job? First, to recognize that we are but children; that we are immature. No one begrudges a child for being a child. Children being children are delightful. But a child who thinks he is an adult, who insists his way is correct, who demands to be heard as an equal is, well, unattractive at least. More importantly, a child who thinks he is mature will never mature. This, unfortunately, is the state of the Christian church today.

When a six-year old says he wants to be a fireman, it can be adorable. Parents can afford to encourage his dreams because a) the child knows he is not yet ready to be a fireman, and b) the parents know that his dreams will probably change. But if he insists that he is meant to be fireman, that his heart's desire is to be a fireman, and that he should be riding on the next fire truck en route to the latest disaster is ludicrous. No parent would permit such a thing.

In the church, children are running around thinking they are apostles or prophets or such. They are not pretending, they are simply ignorant and deluded. The young, immature believers in the first century were not those sent out to take the Kingdom to the world. Only the most mature, most experienced men were sent out, and only then by a definitive leading of the Holy Spirit as told to others. Having a burning desire to serve God in one's heart is wonderful, but it is not the same thing as the King commissioning us for a task. The apostle Paul experienced a dramatic conversion with a supernatural vision of Jesus clearly ordaining him for great things. But he nonetheless sat in Tarsus for years doing little or nothing "in ministry" until Barnabas came and got him.

The maturity necessary for a Kingdom individual is a spiritual maturity. This throws another curve into our typical understanding. Physical maturity is usually accomplished by the time a child is 16 or 18 or 20 years old. Intellectual and emotional maturity is not as clearly defined, but we generally don't think and reason like adults and exercise mature emotional self-control until much later. While these are necessary, they are _natural_ expressions of maturity. In the Kingdom, the goal is spiritual maturity. Spiritual maturity is a mystery because it is almost completely absent from the church. Knowing the Bible inside and out is tremendously valuable, but it is not sufficient for spiritual maturity. Speaking in tongues and prophesying and practicing other Things of the Spirit are vital, but they alone do not make us spiritually mature. Spiritual maturity, like natural maturity, comes from two basic things: time and discipline.

Discipline is largely learning to accept "no" as an answer. It is a recognition that we are children and, therefore, in learning mode, not "doing" mode. It is a submission to God—through others—who, while encouraging and teaching us, will also disabuse us of our juvenile desires and correct our infantile perspectives. It is accepting the reality that everything in our experience aims toward doing things in our own strength, in our preferred way, and usually in a too hasty timeframe. Instead, we must learn how to rely only and continually on the power and direction and perspective of the Spirit, as confirmed by God—through others.

And it means we wait. There are many times in the scriptures when God directed this or that person to do something. But much more often, the scriptures command us to "wait." Even those to whom God gave a task or mission, although they were specifically chosen, divinely trained and tested, they waited.

Children don't like to wait. When my son was three, he told me he wanted to go to school. I told him he could do that when he was five. "But I want to go to school now," he said. I explained that he just had to wait until he was five. To which he responded, "Okay, I want to be five now." The idea that the only way to become five when you are three is to wait two years was simply unacceptable to him. Waiting is not a pleasant task, especially for children.

Nor is discipline. " _All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness._ " (Hebrews 12:11) Discipline is what transforms a child into an adult. Self-discipline is what differentiates a spiritual child from mature Kingdom adult. Discipline is the mechanism that produces righteousness. And righteousness is the prerequisite to move on from being a child of the Father to a servant of the King. " _For everyone who partakes only of milk is not experiences in the teaching of_ _righteousness_ _, for he is an infant. But solid food is for the mature...therefore, leaving the elementary teaching about the Christ, let us press on to maturity....And this we will do,_ _if God permits_." (Hebrews 5:13-6:3)

Christians are sometimes quick to declare that, although we are intrinsic sinners, God made us righteous through the atoning death of Jesus Christ. This is true, He did. But consider buying a house. The penultimate step to buying a house is closing. It is a bit of a laborious process of signing a bunch of documents which include the transfer of money. After an hour or so sitting in a comfortable office, you get the keys and become home owners. At this point, you legally own your new house. But then, in the final step, you actually have to move. This involves exhausting labor, a moving van, some special equipment like a dolly, and usually as many friends as you can summon.

When Jesus died on the cross, He accomplished our legal righteousness. Our becoming righteous in God's eyes was part of what was done when He said "It is finished." This was the divine closing. But we still have to do the hard work of moving into our new righteousness. This is what discipline is all about. Moving into our righteousness is when discipline yields our self-discipline. This is when we learn how to walk in the Spirit, and to discern good and evil according to God's definitions.

Knowing God as King, and participating in His Kingdom is the goal. Spiritual maturity and righteousness are the prerequisites. And discipline and waiting are the primary mechanisms.

Kingdom marriage

Marriage is the first level of the Kingdom where relationships have a divine structure. It is not fashionable today, even in the church, to recognize the Kingdom structure of marriage. But then, Jesus made it pretty clear that not much of the Kingdom was going to be fashionable.

A Kingdom marriage is impossible unless it is composed of Kingdom individuals. Kingdom individuals are spiritually mature enough to recognize that, in the Kingdom, there is no place to insist on our "rights." If we are focused on what satisfies our desires or pleases our preferences, we are immature children. Certainly, God still loves us. But we are not fit for the Kingdom.

In a Kingdom marriage, "... _the husband is the head of the wife, as Christ also is head of the church...as the church is subject to Christ, so also the wives ought to be to their husbands in everything. Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself up for her...."_ (Ephesians 5:23-25)

It requires faith for wives to submit themselves to their husbands. It requires faith for husbands to give themselves up for their wives. Each requires faith that God has not only ordained such a structure, but that He has designed that structure to provide us the oneness in marriage that is found nowhere else in creation. And faith that God is actively involved in helping us walk in the realities of His marriage order.

As mentioned earlier, since a Kingdom marriage is a covenant, each party—the husband and the wife—are charged to be faithful to their roles and responsibilities regardless of the performance of their spouse. It is typical, today, for wives to think "Sure, I'd be happy to submit if he would only love me better/act better/think better." It is typical, today, for husbands to think "Sure, I'd be happy to sacrifice for her if she would only recognize my headship, etc. etc." But covenant roles are not conditional. A Kingdom husbands loves and sacrifices for his wife regardless of her behavior. A Kingdom wife submits to her husband regardless of his ability to love and lead.

A Kingdom husband sees his wife as someone to cherish and protect and support. Perhaps not naturally. There is nothing that says the wife cannot make more money or cannot be even physically stronger or anything else in the natural. But the husband is divinely charged to _spiritually_ protect and spiritually support his wife and family. His charge is to be as Christ to her: to willingly, in love, sacrifice whatever is required. The power to actually accomplish that protection and support comes from God. But it is the husband's job to recognize those responsibilities and actively rely on God to make it happen.

A Kingdom wife sees her husband, if not always as completely godly and mature, nonetheless filling a divine office. We may or may not like the person who is currently President of the United States, but that should have nothing to do with our respect for and deference to his office. In the same way, respecting the office of husband is to submit, first, to God; to defer to God's wisdom in setting up this order and His power to make her husband fit for the office. And, " _like Sarah...do not give way to fear_." (I Peter 3:6)

Accepting and performing the respective responsibilities of one's divine role as husband or wife regardless of the performance of the other may sometimes scare us, or make us feel oppressed, or tempt us to withdraw from the other. It is only by trusting in God, relying on the Spirit, to help us focus, not on our rights or the foibles of our spouse, but on our responsibilities under our covenant and the blessings God will provide through it.

The joy and glory of marriage comes from its unique, divine unity. Both the husband and wife are charged with maintaining and perfecting that unity, much of which is dependent upon how they fulfill their covenantal roles. If the wife is tempted to withhold her submission because she disagrees with her husband, she is compromising their unity. If the husband is tempted to insist to his wife that he is the head of the household, his heavy-handedness is compromising their unity. The unity of marriage is a foundational part of the promised, larger unity of community. If it is compromised, the unity of the community is impossible.

The mystery of marriage is that, in unity, the two become one in a unique, divinely sanctioned and empowered way. In unity, that "one" also means that, outside of their relationship, they have one voice. When a Kingdom couple meet with others in the larger community, it is the husband's job to be spokesman, if anything is to spoken at all. This is because the two of them will have already talked and worked through what they think and believe and care about before meeting with others. " _The women are to keep silent in the churches; for they are not permitted to speak, but are to subject themselves...if they desire to learn anything, let them ask their own husbands at home_...." (I Corinthians 14:34-35) This is probably as controversial a topic as the headship of the husband in today's church.

But again, this is not for a typical marriage today. It is for a Kingdom marriage. If a wife considers this as unfair or oppressive or discriminatory, that only means she is focusing on what she perceives are her rights. After all, what if my husband is a complete idiot? Well, at least some of the time, he most certainly is. But again, his idiocy does not legitimatize her ignoring God's order of things. It simply manifests her worldliness, and neutralizes the power of the Spirit in their unity. At home, they can and should fully discuss any and all issues and concerns, particularly about what the Spirit is telling them, where He is leading them, etc. Then, in the meeting of the greater community, they can have one voice. If the wife insists that her ideas and perspective to be heard in the church, at least two things are at play. One, her desire to express herself to the greater community means she has missed the purpose of the church—it's not about being heard, which is a child's perspective. And two, this should be a sign to her husband that he needs to listen better to her at home.

In a Kingdom marriage, children are a joy and a blessing, but they are also recognized as temporary creatures. They are not intended to remain children forever. Kingdom parents see their roles to be the divine agents to transform infants into healthy, mature Kingdom adults.

This parenting process has two angles: the maternal and the paternal. The maternal perspective wants to protect the child as it is. The paternal perspective wants to spur the child to become what it will be. The maternal wants to adjust the circumstances for the sake of the child. The paternal wants to expose the child so that the circumstances adjust the child. The maternal perspective is one which says "God loves us just as we are." The paternal perspective agrees, but adds, "That's why He doesn't want to leave us as we are." In a caricature of parents, the mother is portrayed as dotingly maternal and the father as harshly paternal. In reality, however, just as God exercises both roles with us, so both parents play both the paternal and the maternal roles, depending on the child and the circumstances.

The endgame of parenthood is not merely to have beautiful pictures on their Christmas cards, but to produce mature Kingdom individuals. Inherent in that is the instruction and training in the Things of the Spirit, a dependence upon God's power and perspective, and an introduction to knowing Him personally. Parenthood in the Kingdom is the purest form of evangelism.

The Kingdom Community

The greater community of the Kingdom—the church—is the highest level of Kingdom structure. For it to work, it must be composed of Kingdom individuals and Kingdom families. The church is the building that is constructed from the individual living stones. Unless the component parts are solid, the building will be unstable.

There is a divine order for the church just as there is for marriage and the family. Unfortunately, the ordained structure for the church is just as foreign to today's Christians as is the structure of marriage, and likely to be just as controversial.

Today's church structure is fairly similar to a typical business structure. Like an entrepreneurship, it usually begins with one man who collects a following. As the following grows, secondary leaders are appointed, usually by the founder, all of whom are under the founder's authority. The founder may be called "pastor" or "bishop" or "minister" or, lately, "apostle" or "prophet." As the founder gets older, he often transfers his authority to his son. However large the church grows, it invariably functions under the authority of a single leader.

God did not set up this one-man-on-top model. He is keenly aware of our innate capacity for self-deception, self-aggrandizement, and self-interest. To that end, God created an authority structure for His community that has been consistent for millennia. It began under God's second Face, as Judge, with the community of ancient Israel. When the Israelites had multiplied into the millions in Egypt, God called Moses via the burning bush to deliver them from slavery and to construct of them a new nation. At that meeting on Mt. Sinai, God gave Moses the blueprint for His community order: " _Moreover, he [Aaron] shall speak for you to the people; and he will be as a mouth for you and you will be as God to him_." (Exodus 4:16)

Here, God established a two-fold governmental structure. Moses would hear from God and tell Aaron, then Aaron would be Moses' mouthpiece and speak to the people. Moses function was "vertical" to God, and Aaron's function was "horizontal" to the people. This divine structure was effective in mitigating the human lust for approval and celebrity. Moses was obviously the Man, with direct access to God and the supernatural miracles He gave him. But Moses didn't deliver God's words to the people directly. Instead, he told Aaron, who passed it along to the people. This kept Moses free from the political influence of the people: both from the fear of the people's response to hard or negative news, and from the fawning of the people when Moses' message or actions were pleasing. Aaron, meanwhile, would be exposed to the people's responses to the messages, but he could do nothing about it, because they were not his words. He was simply the messenger.

The effectiveness of this structure was made apparent during the episode with the Golden Calf (Exodus 32). There, while Moses was meeting with God on Mt. Sinai, the people prevailed upon Aaron to make an idol for them to worship. Standing alone before them, he couldn't defer to Moses, who wasn't around, and he wasn't strong enough to resist their will. The result was disaster.

This two-fold governmental structure was reproduced in the early Christian church. An issue arose because one part of the church was being neglected in the "daily distribution." (Acts 6) Traditionally, this is translated as a "daily distribution _of food_." But this wasn't only about physically feeding the church, if at all. It was about the daily distribution of the substance of the Kingdom: teaching, correction, encouragement, healing, exorcism, etc. This was about the same food Jesus referred to, the crumbs of which the Canaanite woman asked for when she needed her daughter to be delivered from a demon. (Matthew 15:22-27) This was God setting up the same authority structure that He had given the Israelites under Moses and Aaron. As Peter said, "... _pick out from among you seven men of good repute, full of the Spirit and of wisdom whom we will appoint to this duty. But we will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word_." (Acts 6:3-4) This was the initiation of the first deacons.

It is an unfortunate aspect of today's naturalized church that deacons are usually appointed to do the mundane, natural tasks in the church: collecting money, setting up chairs, etc. In fact, God's intent was for the deacons to have Aaron's ministry: distributing to the people the supernatural ministry of the Spirit. The apostles would have the vertical ministry of dealing with and hearing from God, and to provide this to the deacons. The deacons would have the horizontal job of distributing this spiritual "bread" to the people. If this story was just about natural food, the deacons would not need to be "full of the Spirit and of wisdom." Instead, they would simply need to be healthy, honest accountants and waiters.

As with Moses and Aaron, this structure permitted the apostles (and later elders) to focus on the substance from God, and be free of the political ramifications of His words. So the deacons could distribute the message and ministry of the apostles and elders and, in face of resistance or misunderstanding or even adoration, they could simply defer to the apostles: these were not their own words.

Today, instead, the church has the person designing or creating the message and ministry also delivering that message to the people. Consequently, there is a strong capacity for spiritual corruption, usually by tailoring the message to the people, and by "playing to the audience." This isn't possible when it's not your message.

In the Kingdom communities to come, God will restore this two-fold government. He will install apostles and elders as the vertical authorities of the community, and He will restore the deacon Ministries of the Spirit as the horizontal authorities toward the people. At the community level of government, only this new wineskin will be capable of holding the new wine God has promised.

In all three levels of Kingdom government—the individual, the family, and the community—we will be confronted with the dilemma of the rich young ruler. (Mark 10:17-25) When asked how to inherit eternal life, Jesus told him " _Sell all that you have and distribute to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven..._."

As individuals, we must be willing to defer our perspectives and ambitions and dreams to the wisdom of God through others, and grow up to maturity in the Spirit.

As husbands and wives, we must be willing to defer our perceived "rights" to the roles and responsibilities of marriage, and foster the divine unity which makes marriage both powerful and joyful.

As parents, we must be willing to defer our hopes and preferences for our children to the plans and intentions of God, always with an eye to endgame: mature, secure Kingdom adults.

As community leaders, we must be willing to defer our message and ministry to others for distribution, and give up our control over the money and prestige and adoration of the people.

In all of these cases, Jesus will continue to love us just as He loved the rich young ruler. But " _how difficult it is to enter the Kingdom of God!_ "

There is a lot we have yet to understand, and the difficulty of what's ahead is not to be understated. Preparing the wineskins for the coming new wine will cost us all that we have. But the Kingdom of God is the pearl of great price. It is certainly worth the cost. And once glimpsed, we will hopefully find that it is not much of a choice at all.

The Coming Kingdom

The Divine Relationship is coming to a climax. Whether our baseline relationship is as a Gentile with God the Destroyer, as a Jew with God the Judge, or as a Christian with God the Father, a new Divine Relationship awaits.

Individually, that relationship will be an intimate friendship with God as He most truly is. It will be a knowing and a being known that is unimaginable under His prior Faces. It will be the realization of the words of the prophets and the dreams of the poets. It will be the Relationship that we were designed and created for.

Corporately, that Relationship will be the Community of those who know God as King: the Kingdom of God on earth.

Six thousand years of human history are leading to the divine finale. The Kingdom of God was the promise when He first created us. It has been the prayer of Christians for two thousand years. It has been the prophesied hope and expectation of the Jews for nearly twice that long. God has made three progressively revealing covenants with mankind, engineering history to prepare for the completion of His final covenant and the unveiling of His final Face. However different it might be than what we expected, however contrary it might seem to all that we have been taught, it will be the inexorable culmination of God's divine plan for humanity. And it is finally coming.

Many of us, perhaps most of us, may live to see it. Whether that is good news or bad news is entirely dependent upon our response to Vashti's choice.

The King will be soon be calling us. He may look so alien to how we have known Him that we could never possibly recognize Him. But He has promised that " _the sheep recognize his voice and come to him_." (John 10:3) He will make sure we hear His call, and He will speak in a voice we will recognize. Our job is simply to come when He calls.

That is Vashti's choice.

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About the Author

Thank you for taking the time to read this book. Ran Vosler lives with his wife Catherine in the Atlanta, Georgia area.

Feel free to visit his Smashwords page at https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/RanVosler.

Other titles by Ran Vosler:

Navigating the Supernatural: A Guide to the Things of the Spirit

The Nehemiah Mandate: The Coming Kingdom and the Restoration of the Church

