Obviously, if we are going to talk about the Christian faith and politics, we need to talk about Jesus, and we will. But before we go there, I think it is necessary to do some deconstruction. If something is built incorrectly, you must first take it apart before you begin building it correctly.
To get started, here is a brief thought experiment:
When you look at this picture, what do you see?
If you said, “A map of the United States,” you are wrong (at least in the ontological sense)! What you are looking at is a human construct.
When God looks upon the world, does He see any of those lines? Do any of them even exist in any real, substantive way? Is God obliged to abide by the arbitrary lines and distinctions we have placed upon the world? This is a fairly simplistic thought experiment, but if you really think about it, it can shake the foundations of your worldview. How much time and energy do we spend on arguments and controversies based on the assumption that these lines represent the fundamental realities of the world? And how differently might we approach political discussions if we recognized they weren’t?
In the story of the Tower of Babel, humanity bands together to build a tower that reaches to the heavens. The goal was for humanity to gain access to heaven so it could control the rains and no longer be dependant on God. The story has an element of comedic irony to it, because after humanity unites, combining all their resources and ingenuity to reach as high as they can, Genesis 11:5 tells us that “the Lord came down to see the city and the tower the people were building.” Humanity combines all it’s collective power and dominion to build an immensely tall tower that can reach into Heaven, and God has to “come down” to look at it. In my mind’s eye, I can’t help but envision God patting humanity on the head and saying, “That tower is adorable, guys.”
Now, sometimes when we discuss stories in the Bible, we are tempted to think that they are making uniquely spiritual claims. The Bible says that God is powerful, which is just an abstract theological idea that this particular religion makes about its particular conception of God. Take it or leave it. But if you think about it, what Genesis 11 is claiming is something highly logical.
If there was a Being that created the Universe (thus the Earth, thus humanity), the most seemingly miraculous achievements of humanity, from that Being’s vantage point, would be little more than trivialities. Take modern day space exploration as an example. Things as remarkable as landing on the moon or sending missions to Mars, if you could see them from a Universal perspective, would look like a flea jumping momentarily off a dog, landing again, and then proclaiming its dominion over the dog. And honestly that metaphor doesn’t even work, because our planet in relationship to the Universe is infinitesimally smaller than a flea is in relationship to a dog. I absolutely loved Andy Weir’s novel The Martian, and if we could put a person on Mars and they could make water, grow crops, and survive (all while making witty quips and 70’s and 80’s pop-culture references), it would be a remarkable achievement of intelligence and ingenuity. But even if we put humans on Mars… Mars is the closest planet, orbiting around the closest star, in a galaxy of 100 billion stars, within a Universe of roughly 10 trillion galaxies.
The authors of the Tower of Babel may have believed in a three-tiered Cosmos, but in relationship to their place in the Universe, it seems they may have been much more astute than we are. They understood that any human pretense of control and dominion was exactly that: pretense. The central wisdom of this story is that humans love to play make believe. When left to our own devices, we love to spin fantastic narratives about our power and transcendence, but if we pause for even the briefest moment of sober existential introspection, we know that our delusions of grandeur are precisely that… delusions!
Now, like we are in a Madeleine L’Engle book, lets shift our attention from the cosmos to interior life of the human. Unlike the artificial lines humans impose on the world, I believe humans have very real lines within their psyches that few ever see or are fully aware of. Like ogres, humans have layers, and these layers have profound implications for our lives, both private and public.
I believe that the human personality can be thought of as series of concentric circles, representing our values and commitments. The more important a commitment is, the closer it resides to the core of one’s identity and psyche. The less important it is, the farther out it exists on the margins of one’s identity and psyche. For example, I graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Thus I am a Tar Heel. However, I don’t believe I’ll be starting any revolutions or suffering martyrdom in the near future over my love for Roy Williams, baby blue, and argyle. I cheer for the Tar Heels (sometimes with irrational passion) when they play Duke, but I won’t be losing any friendships over the outcome of the game. It is a peripheral commitment. On the other hand, I would like to believe that my commitment to Jesus, to my wife and children, and to my church (hopefully in that order) are at the very center of my identity.
The important part of this model of understanding the human psyche is this: when two commitments come into conflict or tension, which they inevitably do, the more central commitment always wins. In fact, this is a great way to discover what your true values actually are. Humans have great powers of self-delusion and rationalization, but when two of your commitments come into conflict with one another, the one you prioritize is the most central one to your identity.
Furthermore, when two commitments come into conflict with one another, the “winning” of the more central one seldom expresses itself as a wholesale rejection of the other commitment. Rather, the less central commitment is simply made to adapt around it’s more central counterpart. An “outer” commitment can not critique an “inner” commitment. It does not have the authority to do so, so the “outer” commitments are always conformed to the values of the “inner” ones. Again, this can become a great experiment in self-awareness. Are there any commitments in your life that you seem to be incapable of critiquing? Do you find yourself explaining things away, ignoring information, or rationalizing in relationship to a certain thing? If so, you may have just found the thing at the core of your identity!
For example, if a person’s was both an American and a Christian, the practical expression of this would depend greatly on which commitment was more central to the person’s identity. If the person was an American first and a Christian second (likely without realizing it, or even believing consciously otherwise) then he or she would conform their Christian faith “around” their national identity, creating a version of the Christian faith that could not challenge the values national identity and reflected the values of that national identity. In that particular equation, America would be the absolute and Christianity would be the relative. Contrastingly, if the person was a Christian first and an American second, then their American identity would be conformed “around” their Christian identity. Their faith would retain the ability to critique their national identity. Christianity would be the absolute, and America would become the relative.
Here is the point of this entire conversation: I believe wholeheartedly that the great problem with the church in America currently, and in the political arena insofar as Christians are concerned, is that almost everyone is something else first and a Christian second… or third… or fourth… or 27th. They are Americans first, or Republicans first, or Democrats first, or Conservatives first, or Liberals first, or Progressives first, or Libertarians first, or perhaps just Western, post-Industrial, post-Enlightenment Democratic Capitalists first. Which means none of these things can be critiqued by Christianity. Jesus remains voiceless in the face of these more central commitments (again usually unconsciously), which means usually when his name is thrown around, it is only to mindlessly prop-up these other values, not speak authoritatively to them or about them!
If you’re willing to accept this as an approximation of our current cultural reality, I probably don’t need to explain how sad and dangerous this is. In his book, The Great Omission, the late theologian Dallas Willard said this:
The greatest issue facing the world today, with all its heartbreaking needs, is whether those who, by profession or culture, are identified as ‘Christians’ will become disciples – students, apprentices, practitioners – of Jesus Christ, steadily learning from him how to live the life of the Kingdom of the Heavens into every corner of human existence.
Willard was addressing the growing fallacy in western culture that people could be “Christians” forever without ever becoming disciples, people who have taken upon their shoulders a life of learning and ever-increasing conformity to the image of Jesus. However, I feel like his quote could be reworked to simply say, “The greatest issue facing the world today, is whether those who, by profession or culture, are identified as ‘Christians’ will become Christians first - people whose allegiance to Jesus precedes and predicates all their other allegiances.”
Let me see if I can bring these two discussions together with a story.
Over a decade ago I was a youth pastor at a church that was not yet a mega-church but always aspired to be. During the two years I served in that capacity, I used to meet with a group of youth pastors for lunch every week or two. We would eat cheap pizza, talk about youth ministry, and engage in a giant group therapy session about the trials and tribulations of working with teenagers.
At the time, I was in my mid-twenties, new to ministry, and wrestling with a lot of issues relating to faith and expressions of the Church. I was reading books all the time about faith, culture, the Bible, etc., and the more I read, the more cognitive dissonance I felt between what I thought a church should be and what I was experiencing in my ministry life. The church I was a part of was wonderful, but it was deeply enmeshed in the Contemporary church movement. It was attractional and aspirational. It was sleek, stylized, and “successful.” We attended conferences with big name speakers and took as much guidance from business experts as we did voices in the faith community.
Among the things that never sat well with me was the compensation structure of the church. The Senior Pastor and his wife were making well in excess of $200,000 a year, whereas the Worship Pastor made in the ballpark of $50,000. And I, the lowly Student Ministries Pastor, made $30,000. Of course, this is standard procedure in the business community, and being fairly fresh out of college and childless, my wife and I were content to live simply. However, something about this set-up never struck me as particularly Biblical or consummate with a Messiah who said things like, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20), and “The greatest among you will be your servant” (Matthew 23:11).
So, one day at one of my youth pastor group therapy sessions, as most of the group made their way back to work, one other guy and I stayed behind to keep talking. And as we sat alone, I began to share some thoughts and ideas about the type of church I might one day want to start. One of the things I shared was that I wanted to start a church where everyone on staff essentially made the same thing. Of course we might need to adjust salaries based on life stage (a married pastor with two kids might need to make more than a single pastor with no children). But generally speaking, we’d all make the same, because financial gain shouldn’t be the primary motivation (or even one of the primary motivations) for serving God and doing good work.
I will never forget his response. (Clearly, because I am writing about it more than a decade later.) He looked at me, and after a dramatic pause said, “I’ve got to be honest with you. That makes you sound like a Communist.” To be fair, he didn’t say it like an accusation. He said it with genuine concern and sincerity, like a mature big brother looking out for the well being of an obviously immature sibling. Nevertheless, the statement struck me as both laughably absurd and poignantly illustrative of our cultural reality.
My response in the moment was something to the effect of, “First, I’m not a Communist, because Communism, like Capitalism, is just a human-created economic system. Second, what do I care if someone thinks I’m a Communist. The Bible isn’t a book about Capitalism. It doesn’t affirm or sanction either Capitalism or Communism. So, in a sense, even being preoccupied with those categories is an exercise in missing the point.” It was a very amicable conversation, and we remained friends afterwards. That being said, I’m not sure he really understood what I was saying.
Clearly, one of my friend’s fundamental assumptions was that Capitalism was right and true. And, more importantly, he seemed to assume that it was Christian. However, (and I really wish this went without saying, but it doesn’t…) Capitalism is not Christian! The Bible does not affirm Capitalism or Communism. Both of those ideologies are post-Biblical, humanly conceived systems of social and economic organization, which makes neither inherently morally good or bad.
In fact, the only form of government the Bible does explicitly affirm is that of Benevolent Monarchy. The only divinely sanctioned form of government in the Hebrew Scriptures is the Davidic monarchy. To be sure, God shows a measure of ambivalence to the entire idea of the monarchy (and perhaps it could be argued the entire idea of human leadership) in 1 Samuel. And of course, the Davidic monarchy was littered with stories of corruption and failure. Nevertheless, it is never replaced with a different vision of government in the Hebrew Scriptures or the New Testament.
The message Jesus proclaims in the New Testament is the “Kingdom of God/Heaven,” which is on one level an image of God’s will and way being lived out in the world. However, it is also a reference to his own kingship. The great irony of the sign over Jesus’ head on the cross (“The King of the Jews”) is that it was true! The grand vision of the New Testament is that Jesus is now, albeit in a mysterious way, enthroned as King of Creation, and he will, in the final denouement, reign over all people and all (New) Creation as King.
Of course, this does not in any way mean that the restoration of monarchical forms of government is the solution of the world’s problems. The very point of the eternal Kingdom is that Jesus, the only “person” that could be trusted with such authority, is its King. Until then, we are essentially just working with necessary evils and/or the best of a collection of imperfect options. The point is, there is nothing Christian about Capitalism or Democracy (or their antitheses). Jesus’ kingdom transcends and supersedes all human kingdoms and cultures.
My friend did not get this, and I think it is fair to say many, if not most, Christians in our society do not get this. Which, to bring this conversation somewhat full circle, means we are as a society something else before we are Christians. Which means there are assumptions that Jesus has not been able to critique. Which means there is a good chance we are missing the point most of the time.
Now, this isn’t something we need to self-flagellate over. Every culture in the history of Christianity has conflated some of its own values with Christianity. Which means, in every historical epoch and in every generation God is working (through the Holy Spirit) to deconstruct misappropriated cultural assumptions and pull His Church toward a more pure, less culturally conditioned expression of the Gospel. But I believe we can expedite that process by learning to name and let go of our false ideological idols! Capitalism is not Christianity. America is not Christianity. Post-enlightenment modernity is not Christianity. Republican-ism and/or Democrat-ism are not Christianity.
And if any of those statements offend you… and I say this with gentleness, compassion, and hope, because we all have our blindspots!... I suggest you pray and reflect on the concentric circles in your heart. Because if you have a visceral, negative reaction to any of those statements, I think you are breaking the first two foundational commandments (see Exodus 20)!
To get started, here is a brief thought experiment:
When you look at this picture, what do you see?
If you said, “A map of the United States,” you are wrong (at least in the ontological sense)! What you are looking at is a human construct.
When God looks upon the world, does He see any of those lines? Do any of them even exist in any real, substantive way? Is God obliged to abide by the arbitrary lines and distinctions we have placed upon the world? This is a fairly simplistic thought experiment, but if you really think about it, it can shake the foundations of your worldview. How much time and energy do we spend on arguments and controversies based on the assumption that these lines represent the fundamental realities of the world? And how differently might we approach political discussions if we recognized they weren’t?
In the story of the Tower of Babel, humanity bands together to build a tower that reaches to the heavens. The goal was for humanity to gain access to heaven so it could control the rains and no longer be dependant on God. The story has an element of comedic irony to it, because after humanity unites, combining all their resources and ingenuity to reach as high as they can, Genesis 11:5 tells us that “the Lord came down to see the city and the tower the people were building.” Humanity combines all it’s collective power and dominion to build an immensely tall tower that can reach into Heaven, and God has to “come down” to look at it. In my mind’s eye, I can’t help but envision God patting humanity on the head and saying, “That tower is adorable, guys.”
Now, sometimes when we discuss stories in the Bible, we are tempted to think that they are making uniquely spiritual claims. The Bible says that God is powerful, which is just an abstract theological idea that this particular religion makes about its particular conception of God. Take it or leave it. But if you think about it, what Genesis 11 is claiming is something highly logical.
If there was a Being that created the Universe (thus the Earth, thus humanity), the most seemingly miraculous achievements of humanity, from that Being’s vantage point, would be little more than trivialities. Take modern day space exploration as an example. Things as remarkable as landing on the moon or sending missions to Mars, if you could see them from a Universal perspective, would look like a flea jumping momentarily off a dog, landing again, and then proclaiming its dominion over the dog. And honestly that metaphor doesn’t even work, because our planet in relationship to the Universe is infinitesimally smaller than a flea is in relationship to a dog. I absolutely loved Andy Weir’s novel The Martian, and if we could put a person on Mars and they could make water, grow crops, and survive (all while making witty quips and 70’s and 80’s pop-culture references), it would be a remarkable achievement of intelligence and ingenuity. But even if we put humans on Mars… Mars is the closest planet, orbiting around the closest star, in a galaxy of 100 billion stars, within a Universe of roughly 10 trillion galaxies.
The authors of the Tower of Babel may have believed in a three-tiered Cosmos, but in relationship to their place in the Universe, it seems they may have been much more astute than we are. They understood that any human pretense of control and dominion was exactly that: pretense. The central wisdom of this story is that humans love to play make believe. When left to our own devices, we love to spin fantastic narratives about our power and transcendence, but if we pause for even the briefest moment of sober existential introspection, we know that our delusions of grandeur are precisely that… delusions!
Now, like we are in a Madeleine L’Engle book, lets shift our attention from the cosmos to interior life of the human. Unlike the artificial lines humans impose on the world, I believe humans have very real lines within their psyches that few ever see or are fully aware of. Like ogres, humans have layers, and these layers have profound implications for our lives, both private and public.
I believe that the human personality can be thought of as series of concentric circles, representing our values and commitments. The more important a commitment is, the closer it resides to the core of one’s identity and psyche. The less important it is, the farther out it exists on the margins of one’s identity and psyche. For example, I graduated from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Thus I am a Tar Heel. However, I don’t believe I’ll be starting any revolutions or suffering martyrdom in the near future over my love for Roy Williams, baby blue, and argyle. I cheer for the Tar Heels (sometimes with irrational passion) when they play Duke, but I won’t be losing any friendships over the outcome of the game. It is a peripheral commitment. On the other hand, I would like to believe that my commitment to Jesus, to my wife and children, and to my church (hopefully in that order) are at the very center of my identity.
The important part of this model of understanding the human psyche is this: when two commitments come into conflict or tension, which they inevitably do, the more central commitment always wins. In fact, this is a great way to discover what your true values actually are. Humans have great powers of self-delusion and rationalization, but when two of your commitments come into conflict with one another, the one you prioritize is the most central one to your identity.
Furthermore, when two commitments come into conflict with one another, the “winning” of the more central one seldom expresses itself as a wholesale rejection of the other commitment. Rather, the less central commitment is simply made to adapt around it’s more central counterpart. An “outer” commitment can not critique an “inner” commitment. It does not have the authority to do so, so the “outer” commitments are always conformed to the values of the “inner” ones. Again, this can become a great experiment in self-awareness. Are there any commitments in your life that you seem to be incapable of critiquing? Do you find yourself explaining things away, ignoring information, or rationalizing in relationship to a certain thing? If so, you may have just found the thing at the core of your identity!
For example, if a person’s was both an American and a Christian, the practical expression of this would depend greatly on which commitment was more central to the person’s identity. If the person was an American first and a Christian second (likely without realizing it, or even believing consciously otherwise) then he or she would conform their Christian faith “around” their national identity, creating a version of the Christian faith that could not challenge the values national identity and reflected the values of that national identity. In that particular equation, America would be the absolute and Christianity would be the relative. Contrastingly, if the person was a Christian first and an American second, then their American identity would be conformed “around” their Christian identity. Their faith would retain the ability to critique their national identity. Christianity would be the absolute, and America would become the relative.
Here is the point of this entire conversation: I believe wholeheartedly that the great problem with the church in America currently, and in the political arena insofar as Christians are concerned, is that almost everyone is something else first and a Christian second… or third… or fourth… or 27th. They are Americans first, or Republicans first, or Democrats first, or Conservatives first, or Liberals first, or Progressives first, or Libertarians first, or perhaps just Western, post-Industrial, post-Enlightenment Democratic Capitalists first. Which means none of these things can be critiqued by Christianity. Jesus remains voiceless in the face of these more central commitments (again usually unconsciously), which means usually when his name is thrown around, it is only to mindlessly prop-up these other values, not speak authoritatively to them or about them!
If you’re willing to accept this as an approximation of our current cultural reality, I probably don’t need to explain how sad and dangerous this is. In his book, The Great Omission, the late theologian Dallas Willard said this:
The greatest issue facing the world today, with all its heartbreaking needs, is whether those who, by profession or culture, are identified as ‘Christians’ will become disciples – students, apprentices, practitioners – of Jesus Christ, steadily learning from him how to live the life of the Kingdom of the Heavens into every corner of human existence.
Willard was addressing the growing fallacy in western culture that people could be “Christians” forever without ever becoming disciples, people who have taken upon their shoulders a life of learning and ever-increasing conformity to the image of Jesus. However, I feel like his quote could be reworked to simply say, “The greatest issue facing the world today, is whether those who, by profession or culture, are identified as ‘Christians’ will become Christians first - people whose allegiance to Jesus precedes and predicates all their other allegiances.”
Let me see if I can bring these two discussions together with a story.
Over a decade ago I was a youth pastor at a church that was not yet a mega-church but always aspired to be. During the two years I served in that capacity, I used to meet with a group of youth pastors for lunch every week or two. We would eat cheap pizza, talk about youth ministry, and engage in a giant group therapy session about the trials and tribulations of working with teenagers.
At the time, I was in my mid-twenties, new to ministry, and wrestling with a lot of issues relating to faith and expressions of the Church. I was reading books all the time about faith, culture, the Bible, etc., and the more I read, the more cognitive dissonance I felt between what I thought a church should be and what I was experiencing in my ministry life. The church I was a part of was wonderful, but it was deeply enmeshed in the Contemporary church movement. It was attractional and aspirational. It was sleek, stylized, and “successful.” We attended conferences with big name speakers and took as much guidance from business experts as we did voices in the faith community.
Among the things that never sat well with me was the compensation structure of the church. The Senior Pastor and his wife were making well in excess of $200,000 a year, whereas the Worship Pastor made in the ballpark of $50,000. And I, the lowly Student Ministries Pastor, made $30,000. Of course, this is standard procedure in the business community, and being fairly fresh out of college and childless, my wife and I were content to live simply. However, something about this set-up never struck me as particularly Biblical or consummate with a Messiah who said things like, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20), and “The greatest among you will be your servant” (Matthew 23:11).
So, one day at one of my youth pastor group therapy sessions, as most of the group made their way back to work, one other guy and I stayed behind to keep talking. And as we sat alone, I began to share some thoughts and ideas about the type of church I might one day want to start. One of the things I shared was that I wanted to start a church where everyone on staff essentially made the same thing. Of course we might need to adjust salaries based on life stage (a married pastor with two kids might need to make more than a single pastor with no children). But generally speaking, we’d all make the same, because financial gain shouldn’t be the primary motivation (or even one of the primary motivations) for serving God and doing good work.
I will never forget his response. (Clearly, because I am writing about it more than a decade later.) He looked at me, and after a dramatic pause said, “I’ve got to be honest with you. That makes you sound like a Communist.” To be fair, he didn’t say it like an accusation. He said it with genuine concern and sincerity, like a mature big brother looking out for the well being of an obviously immature sibling. Nevertheless, the statement struck me as both laughably absurd and poignantly illustrative of our cultural reality.
My response in the moment was something to the effect of, “First, I’m not a Communist, because Communism, like Capitalism, is just a human-created economic system. Second, what do I care if someone thinks I’m a Communist. The Bible isn’t a book about Capitalism. It doesn’t affirm or sanction either Capitalism or Communism. So, in a sense, even being preoccupied with those categories is an exercise in missing the point.” It was a very amicable conversation, and we remained friends afterwards. That being said, I’m not sure he really understood what I was saying.
Clearly, one of my friend’s fundamental assumptions was that Capitalism was right and true. And, more importantly, he seemed to assume that it was Christian. However, (and I really wish this went without saying, but it doesn’t…) Capitalism is not Christian! The Bible does not affirm Capitalism or Communism. Both of those ideologies are post-Biblical, humanly conceived systems of social and economic organization, which makes neither inherently morally good or bad.
In fact, the only form of government the Bible does explicitly affirm is that of Benevolent Monarchy. The only divinely sanctioned form of government in the Hebrew Scriptures is the Davidic monarchy. To be sure, God shows a measure of ambivalence to the entire idea of the monarchy (and perhaps it could be argued the entire idea of human leadership) in 1 Samuel. And of course, the Davidic monarchy was littered with stories of corruption and failure. Nevertheless, it is never replaced with a different vision of government in the Hebrew Scriptures or the New Testament.
The message Jesus proclaims in the New Testament is the “Kingdom of God/Heaven,” which is on one level an image of God’s will and way being lived out in the world. However, it is also a reference to his own kingship. The great irony of the sign over Jesus’ head on the cross (“The King of the Jews”) is that it was true! The grand vision of the New Testament is that Jesus is now, albeit in a mysterious way, enthroned as King of Creation, and he will, in the final denouement, reign over all people and all (New) Creation as King.
Of course, this does not in any way mean that the restoration of monarchical forms of government is the solution of the world’s problems. The very point of the eternal Kingdom is that Jesus, the only “person” that could be trusted with such authority, is its King. Until then, we are essentially just working with necessary evils and/or the best of a collection of imperfect options. The point is, there is nothing Christian about Capitalism or Democracy (or their antitheses). Jesus’ kingdom transcends and supersedes all human kingdoms and cultures.
My friend did not get this, and I think it is fair to say many, if not most, Christians in our society do not get this. Which, to bring this conversation somewhat full circle, means we are as a society something else before we are Christians. Which means there are assumptions that Jesus has not been able to critique. Which means there is a good chance we are missing the point most of the time.
Now, this isn’t something we need to self-flagellate over. Every culture in the history of Christianity has conflated some of its own values with Christianity. Which means, in every historical epoch and in every generation God is working (through the Holy Spirit) to deconstruct misappropriated cultural assumptions and pull His Church toward a more pure, less culturally conditioned expression of the Gospel. But I believe we can expedite that process by learning to name and let go of our false ideological idols! Capitalism is not Christianity. America is not Christianity. Post-enlightenment modernity is not Christianity. Republican-ism and/or Democrat-ism are not Christianity.
And if any of those statements offend you… and I say this with gentleness, compassion, and hope, because we all have our blindspots!... I suggest you pray and reflect on the concentric circles in your heart. Because if you have a visceral, negative reaction to any of those statements, I think you are breaking the first two foundational commandments (see Exodus 20)!
Comments
Post a Comment