Wednesday, November 1, 2017

The 50th Anniversary of my Conversion

[excerpted from The Six Pillars of Biblical Power by John C. Rankin, see]

From age seven, I grew up in a church in the Unitarian-Universalist Association (UUA), and there I was taught to be a skeptic of the Bible. My father had moved from a Presbyterian church where he was affronted by judgmentalness, then from a Congregational church where he was dismayed by serious hypocrisy, and wound up in the UUA because the minister was intelligent and faithful to his wife.

My upbringing was healthy, where my father as a physician loved to care for people, loved and respected my mother (who died just after I finished college), loved the five of us children. My early years were not polluted by poverty, fratricide, divorce or one of a number of other toxins that assault children. Thus, I was free to wonder about the universe. When I was reading an early manuscript of this book to my father, then 90 with failing eyesight, and I came to this juncture, he mused with laughter, and said, “You know John, as a young boy you were always thinking.” The gift of thinking – so very precious, and something I have always pursued.

As an eight-year old, in the fall of 1961, our Sunday School teacher read to us the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand men (plus women and children). She said up front, “And of course, we know that miracles cannot occur.” I thought to myself, Why not? I was skeptical. She continued to explain how what really happened was that Jesus inspired thousands of selfish people to unstuff their tunics, which were full of bread and fish, and share them with each other, all because Jesus inspired one little boy to bring forth his five small barley loaves and two small fish.

I thought she was explaining too much, even though I had yet to learn of the social impossibility of such in first-century Jewish life, where modern individualism is a foreign concept. The people are away from the town spontaneously, it is late, no provisions have been made, and whatever food they have they naturally share with one another, beginning with the needs of the children.

Then, in the winter of 1962, our teacher turned to the Old Testament, starting with Genesis. She gave a detailed explanation of how Genesis was a primitive myth among primitive people who did not know science or other modern means of knowledge. So I thought, If it is a myth, why bother? I was again skeptical.

Skepticism is good if used in pursuit of the truth. The goal is to test everything equally to see what proves true and what does not. That which proves true can be embraced with confidence, along with the freedom for the risk-taking nature of faith that follows. But skepticism employed to avoid the truth does not serve the good, nor true power. Thus, to be skeptical of the Bible is fine; it is a question of why, and to what end. Truth proves itself to the honest skeptic – and the truth of the six pillars of biblical power proves satisfying.

In reading this portion of the manuscript to my father, he again laughed heartedly and in agreement, quoting the Latin for being “skeptical of skepticism.”

In my skepticism of skepticism at this early age, I was rooted in a prior amazement at my existence in the face of an awesome universe. I remember wondering where space ended. To find out, I hitched a ride with Flash Gordon (that will date me and define my reference) and traveled to the end of the universe. And do you know what we found? A brick wall with the words posted on it, “End of Universe.” Now it was a little comforting that in the age of Sputnik that the sign was in English and not Russian. But it was also unsatisfying. What was on the other side? And what was on the other side of the next wall?

Then there are the questions about time and number. What happens one minute after time ends, or what is the biggest number? What is the biggest number plus one? And on and on. No one can deny the reality that this known universe, in which we can measure our existence, is bounded by the necessary and helpful concepts of space, time and number. And we all acknowledge that since we can describe the limitations of these measurement devices, there must be something greater. And yet we cannot wrap ourselves around that which is greater, for we are finite and limited. Where does such a trajectory take us?

In the face of this trajectory, I was nonetheless a self-conscious agnostic by age 14. An “agnostic” is usually a term for someone who does not know if there is a God (from the Greek roots a + gnosis, “to be without knowledge”). But it was an open-ended and positive agnosticism, which is to say I was always impressed by the beauty of the universe and amazed by my own existence and self-awareness. I was open to whatever truth proved to be, open to the idea of God. But I did not know one way or the other in the summer of 1967.

I was in Boy Scout camp, and each Sunday we were required to attend chapel service. One Sunday morning, as I was getting dressed, one of my tent mates was resting on his bunk bed. I asked him why he was not getting ready. He answered, “I am an atheist.” So I asked him, “What is an atheist?” He said that it meant he does not believe in God, and all I had to do to get out of chapel was to tell the scoutmaster that I was an atheist. I said, “But I don’t know.” So I went to chapel.

That September, I began ninth grade (“third form”) at South Kent School, a small prep boarding school for boys in the Housatonic highlands of western Connecticut. South Kent had a daily chapel schedule rooted in the Episcopal liturgy.

It was required, but I determined not to participate, saying to myself, I don’t believe this stuff. So I did not sing, recite, pray, genuflect or take communion. But that proved a “dangerous” thing to do. For while other students were participating at one level or another, I ended up occupying my mind reading the words of the liturgy and hymns, as they were recited and sung. I was interested in the possible existence of God.

On November 1, 1967, All Saints Day in the Anglican calendar, I was standing outside the chapel in the interlude before walking down the hill to dinner. As the air pricked my spine, I felt alive. It was delightfully cold, and in those rural hills the Milky Way was exceptionally clear that evening – like a white paint stroke against a black canvas. I considered its awesome grandeur and beauty, and then I posed to myself this sequence of thought:

If there is a God, then he must have made all this for a purpose, and that purpose must include my existence, and it must include the reason I am asking this question. And if this is true, then I need to get plugged into him.

I wanted to know either way, and I was convinced that if there were a God, then it would be most natural to become rooted in my origins. To be radical before I knew what radical meant. But I wanted verification. The “if” clauses were real.

This was a commitment to myself, in the sight of the universe, in the sight of a possible God. It was in fact a prayer to an unknown God.

The next evening, November 2, All Souls Day in the Anglican calendar, I was the first student into chapel, taking my assigned seating in the small balcony. As I sat down and looked forward in the empty sanctuary, I said under my breath, “Good evening God.” Immediately I retorted to myself, “Wait a minute John. You don’t even know if there is a God. How can you say ‘good evening’ to him?”

But also immediately, I became aware of a reality that was prior to and deeper than the intellect, of a truth that held the answer to any and all of my questions. There was a God, I knew deep within me, and I knew that I had just lied to myself by saying I did not know, even though it was only now that I knew I knew. My heart knew before my mind knew, but as part of the whole that my mind was now grasping. I had yet to speak it (see Romans 10:9-10). Thus, I mark my conversion from the night before when I posed the question of God’s existence in the face of his beautiful universe.

In this moment, God’s presence ratified the reality of my belief as I simultaneously discerned a Presence literally hovering over me, filling the entire balcony. And, critically, this Presence was hovering and waiting for my response. It was powerful, inviting and embracing. This all happened within a moment’s time, and I realized that I did believe. No sooner had I exhaled my agnostic retort, did I then inhale and say, “Yes I do (believe).” As I did, this literal presence of God descended upon and filled my entire being – heart, soul, mind and body.

Now I knew nothing at the time of the divine name and nature of Yahweh’s presence and glory, as experienced by the Israelites in the exodus community with the tabernacle, and later in Solomon’s temple. Nor did I know anything of the gift of the Holy Spirit. Yet the grace of God came into my life that November evening, as he but gently crossed my path with a touch of his Presence. I asked an intellectual question in view of an awesome universe, and was answered by the Presence of the awesome Creator.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Senators Murphy & Blumenthal: Have You Read the 1844 Gun Control Critique by Nathaniel Hawthorne?

I have met Chris Murphy and Richard Blumenthal face-to-face, exactly one time each. They are the two U.S. Senators from Connecticut, my home state.

In both cases, they were condescending as they sought to cut off any honest questions about subjects they do not want to talk about.

And when it comes to certain gun violence, such as the Las Vegas massacre, their answers are to draft laws that force people into compliance with their own senatorial self-righteous sermonettes.

What, though, is the source of such evil? The good is anything that humanizes people, and evil is anything that dehumanizes people.

In 1844, Nathaniel Hawthorne publishes a short story entitled Earth's Holocaust. On a wide plain in the Midwest United States, all the world leaders decide to gather and burn everything evil, to a crisp, especially all weapons and war munitions.

An observer to this holocaust is delighted. But then, a man standing next to him points out that Cain needed no weapon to kill his brother. As well, the burning of all evil instruments fails to purify the "foul cavern" of the human heart. Thus, he says, after this great fire consumes all forms of weapons, new ones will be manufactured.

Senators Murphy and Blumenthal: Have you read this short story by Nathaniel Hawthorne? Can you argue that he is mistaken? How do your proposed laws purify the human heart and stop gun violence?

Wednesday, April 19, 2017

The Shack, Lies, and Questions for Paul Young

Paul Young has sought God and wrestled free from the sexual molestation he suffered as a boy, as he testifies publicly and boldly – first by tribal people in Papua New Guinea, and second, by upper classmen in a missionary boarding school. It took him decades, and it was painful to escape such imposed evil. His book, The Shack, was written in this process, and in his recent book, Lies We Believe About God, Young seeks to give theological explanation.

Underneath the hell of his sexual molestation is the question of a prior theological molestation. Rob Bell, in his book, Love Wins (p. 7), quotes the opening words of Renee Altson in her book, Stumbling Toward Faith:

“I grew up in an abusive household. Much of my abuse was spiritual ... my father raped me while reciting the Lord’s Prayer.… I mean that my father molested me while singing Christian hymns.”

I trust we can all understand the pain of reaction to evil, as we seek to escape it. But too, reactions to reactions only beget further reactions. So, I have some concerns, not about Young’s integrity of Christian faith, but about his reactions to perceived theological lies he came to diagnose. And thus there are the reactions to him in the church.

At the outset, Young states: “The world I grew up in did not place a high value on questions. At best, questions were a sign of ignorance and, at the worst, were deemed evidence of rebellion. Anyone who disagreed with our theology, science, or even opinion was an enemy or target. What mattered was certainty” (p.16).

Now, whereas all non-biblical institutions resist being questioned, biblical faith celebrates our given freedom to ask the toughest questions of God, leaders and one another. Questions serve our learning curve as image-bearers of God. Thus, in Lies, Young’s self-defined starting point is in reactionary pain to a non-biblical censorship of the childlike freedom to ask any and all questions.
In the book, he identifies twenty-eight “lies.” This is a concern for all of us. But do we address our concerns from a proactive perspective or a reactive one? As Young titles his book by diagnosing “lies we believe,” to what extent does it put readers on the defensive and hinder communication on the deeper substance? Accordingly, here are at least seven concerns I have.

First, who is the “we” in the book title? It proves to be an autobiographical angst of the “missionary kid” world in which Young grew up. The twenty-eights questions he formally poses aim at deficiencies he experienced in such a world. Well and good, but too, how many of his questions are needlessly provocative?

For example, in various chapter headings he defines some of the “lies” as: “God is in control,” “You need to get saved,” “Hell is separation from God,” and “Sin separates us from God.” The metaethics of these chapter titles are clear: If it is a lie that God is in control, then the “truth” must be that God is not in control. If it is a lie that we need to be saved, then the truth must be that we do not need to be saved. If it is a lie that sin and hell do not separate us from God, then sin and hell must reconcile us to God. These questions do open the door for a doctrine of an “ultimate reconciliation” universalism.

Now, in these chapters, as elsewhere, Paul Young pulls back some of these provocations, but why start that way?

Young frames these issues in deep visceral and honest pain to the theological violations in his formative identity, one where he was taught that God, salvation, hell and sin are all arbitrary, that they operate apart from justice, love and mercy. But in many of his answers, there is no biblical exegesis present, only some proof-texting and a few atomistic observations, mixed in with free-standing opinions.

Second, Young says: “There is a common appeal, whether in the New Testament, the Hebrew Scriptures, the Koran, the Bhagavad Gita, the Analects of Confucius, etc., to what many of us would recognize as the Golden Rule” (pp. 46-47). The Golden Rule is the proactive of treating all others as we wish to be treated, loving all our neighbors, and is highlighted by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount and in summing up the Law of Moses.

However, the Golden Rule cannot be located outside the Bible, where there is only a reactionary “silver rule” of “don’t do to others what you don’t want them to do to you.” The only proactive in history, in any capacity, is found in the biblical orders of creation and redemption. To be reactionary thus submits to pagan and secular constructs. To be raised without the Golden Rule is to be theologically molested.

Thus, what are Young’s sources for this statement? And for example, does he know how the Sira of Ibn Ishaq interprets the Qur’an, and the only “golden rule” located there is for fellow Muslims, and not for Jews, Christians and pagans? From the seventh century on forward, non-Muslims were all subject to Islamic domination or death as inferior peoples.

Third, Young says: “The image of God in us (imago dei) is not less feminine than masculine. The feminist/masculine nature of God is a circle of relationship, a spectrum, not a polarity” (p. 73). Where does this “spectrum” of sexual theology finds its biblical warrant? Is this reactionary language against a violent fatherhood he experienced as a boy? If so, a boomerang ensues where Young feminizes God in The Shack and Lies, against those who masculinize God. Neither will do, for in both cases, people are viewing God in the image of their own broken human sexualities. The biblical understanding is that man and woman are equals and complements as joint image-bearers of God, where the Fatherhood of God is greater than male and female.

Fourth, Young’s reactionary posture is evident as he says something genuinely silly: “Government is not instituted by or originated by God” (p. 103). His reference is rooted in a reactionary definition of human governments poisoned by sinful nature, reacting to the reactions of the socio-cultural “religious right” (with the “religious left” found at the other end of the reactionary spectrum). So, when he makes a subsequent passing reference to the kingdom of God, does he not know that he has identified the original and enduring government of God?

Now here, we can identify (as we can anywhere) the all-defining interpretive assumptions of the biblical text rooted in the storyline of creation, sin and redemption introduced in Genesis 1-3. The good assumptions in the order of creation (Genesis 1-2) interpret the whole Bible, and we must always start here if we are to understand the depths of the subsequent sin nature, and thus, the heights of redemption which restore and fulfill the original trajectory of the order of creation.

Across his whole book, Lies, Young starts not with the biblical leverage of the order of creation, but with the sin nature and reactions to the sin nature. The reality of sin in Genesis 3:1ff is the storyline of broken trust – vertically with God and horizontally with one another. And Paul Young’s life began with the imposition of broken trust.

Young yearns for a freedom from such molestation, but to do so, he – and all of us – first need to know the prior and defining freedom for, that to which redemption restores us, even in the face of the sin nature, and fully sealed when Jesus returns.

In fact, every definition of freedom in human history that originates apart from the good order of creation, cannot grasp more than a freedom from violation. Understandable, but too, it is an endless cycle, and especially exacerbated in political theology where we identify Young’s wrong starting point with respect to government.

The freedom for is found in Genesis 2:16. Most translations speak of Adam being free to eat from any tree in the Garden, then in v. 17, the exception of the deathly fruit. The Hebrew text in v. 16 is far more dynamic: “In feasting you shall continually feast from any tree in the garden …” The Hebrew here, akol tokel, is in the infinitive absolute and imperfect tenses of the verb to eat, namely a feast that is intrinsically full in any given moment, and which never ends.

In its metaphorical power, it is the freedom to choose from an unlimited menu of good choices in the creation, the power to do the good, and thus, the freedom for creativity as stewards of the good creation. And the kingdom of God, from Genesis 1:1ff, is rooted in such goodness and freedom, and not in the reactionary pain of a molested theology.

Fifth, Young argues that hell is not separation from God (pp. 131ff), some important questions are raised, but in his answers, no biblical texts are cited in this regard. For example, he does not even look at the etymology of “hell” in Jeremiah 7 and 19, in the Valley of Ben Hinnom (abbreviated as g’hinnom in the Hebrew) outside Jerusalem. It is the place of the continually burning trash dump where child sacrifice proliferates between 609 and 586 B.C., preceding the judgment upon Judah in the Babylonian exile.

So, as Jesus speaks of “hell” (transliterated into the Greek as gehenna from Jeremiah 7 and 19), he uses a metaphor known in painful depth in the Jewish soul as a real separation from Yahweh Elohim whom most of them had then rejected. There are other metaphors for final judgment in Scripture, and hell is the most well-known because of its historical force used by Jesus. But the interpreted reality is located in Genesis 2:17.

Here, we now we arrive at the other side of the feast of freedom. The fruit which is then prohibited (which equals the boundary of freedom) comes from “the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” This is a grammatical merism that profiles opposite ends of the spectrum. In other words, everything there is to know is between good and evil, only Yahweh Elohim can know evil in its totality and not be polluted by it, and to eat of it is to say Yahweh is a) not good, b) we can redefine reality as we see fit, and in c) seeking to make ourselves equal to him.

Accordingly, in Genesis 2:17, Yahweh says that if Adam eats of the forbidden fruit, moth tamuth, “in dying you shall continually die” (likewise in the infinitive absolute and imperfect tenses). This is a death that is experientially full in the moment as separation from Yahweh Elohim is chosen, and it never ends apart from choosing to receive the Messiah.

The grammatical parallel in Genesis 2:16-17 is dramatic, and interprets the whole Bible on matters of freedom for the good life versus the slavery and evil of death. Feast or die. And it interprets the whole biblical witness where in the end we choose light or darkness, what and whom we love, and if we choose an idol, we join the fate of idols which are mere fronts for demons. In the end, we either love mercy or we cling to bitterness, which is the poison of idolatry (as identified in the Law of Moses and the Book of Hebrews). Thus, how does Young exegete and understand the actual language and theology of hell?

No one is eschatologically judged in the whole Bible apart from his or her chosen deeds. C.S. Lewis profiles these ethics in The Great Divorce and The Last Battle which reflect a biblical literacy on the subject suitable for further in-depth conversation. I am convinced that hell is a minority and oxymoronic community, and that the abyss (with corresponding “lake of fire”) that is outside creation in Revelation, is the original abyss in Genesis before the creation. It is unsuited for humanity, lacking in foundation, boundaries, identity, relationships, creativity and hope. Yet it is a bitterly chosen false love in an ever-shrinking humanity across eternity – the imperfect tense reality of the Hebrew grammar.

Sixth, Young further opens the door to a “universal salvation” in Chapter 21 (pp. 181ff.), and does not close it, where the “lie” is stated as “Death is more powerful than God.” This “lie” is posited in an answer to a friend where Paul Young says: “God would never say, “I’m sorry you died. There is nothing I can do for you now. Death wins.’ ” His friend believes our choices are sealed at death, period.

We need to be careful when we paraphrase a hypothetical of what we think God would or would not say in a given context …

As the conversation continues, Young says to his friend: “To be clear, you don’t think we should have any choice postmortem, after we die? You don’t think we can change our minds?” He continues a little later: “Is it possible that the intent of judgment is to help us clear away the lies that are keeping us from making a clear choice?” Both of these are very good questions, and need address. But their trajectory also puts the conversation into the arena of a possible ultimate universalism.

Then Young says a little later: “Personally, I believe that the idea that we lose our ability to choose at the event of physical death is a significant lie and needs to be exposed; its implications are myriad and far reaching.”

The implications need to be reviewed, but Young does not do so in this book. Historically, the implications equal a form of ultimate universalism, whether via purgatory in classical Roman Catholicism, or in the view that George Sarris argues in his new book, Heaven’s Doors. I think a full biblical review yields far more dynamic realities. And I also think Young has excellent reasons for raising the question in the face of some genuinely facile fundamentalist or “missionary kid” theologies.

And seventh, Young provocatively argues that Jesus made “mistakes” (in minor things) because this is “an essential part of being human” (pp. 225-226). But if in the minor, why not the slippery slope down to the major? What then of his incarnation? And yes, none of us can grasp the power and nature of Yahweh Elohim taking on human form without sin (he comes as the second Adam to complete what the first Adam failed to do). But where in Scritpure does it talk about the Messiah making mistakes?

In order for Jesus to die in our stead as the Lamb of God – which Young affirms – only a spotless or sinless Lamb qualifies. But he has just opened the door to disqualify the Savior he professes. How well is his theology thought out?

Thus, I have noted seven places where Paul Young’s theology provokes reaction in the church. They are questions well worth asking, but not well served by being needlessly provocative, and sans good biblical exegesis. An in-depth and patient conversation is needed. And Paul Young can be honestly asked: Does he identify with a molested theology reality to which Renee Altson testifies? May Paul become further and totally free; may we all.

Friday, March 17, 2017

Transgender Pain for Mother and Son

As we read about a mother and son in Detroit seeking to “transition” to a “father” and “daughter” – and apart from politics – what is the human story underneath?

In terms of the “transgender” question, this is just the new word for cross-dressing, an update to the old word, transvestite. But now add to it hormone manipulation ...

In ministry in Boston many years ago, I learned the reality that men (or boys) who dress as women do so in order to become their own “women,” wanting the feminine but not being able – for various reasons – to trust or know how to relate to real women. And this is overwhelmingly in the absence of a loving and present father who knows how to treat the boy’s mother.

Which brings us to the mother in this equation. Three lesbians at Harvard, with whom I was studying in the 1980s, told me that every lesbian they knew had been sexually, physically and/or emotionally abused in their youth by some man, usually a step-father, live-in boyfriend, some other older male in the immediate or extended family, or outside of it, but quite rarely the biological father himself. The same reality is found in the male homosexual world, but with different dynamics at play.

When the biological father chooses to absent himself, this is the prior, and indeed, the deepest trauma and rejection. All the sufferings of those whom he abandons find their source in what precedes and leads to his departure.

The testimony of these Harvard women is anecdotal as it is dynamic, and over the years I have discovered how it is very prevalent. These violated girls and young women cannot later trust men, and in their midst, those who seek to become “trans” are seeking to become their own “men” as a means by to protect themselves from abusive men. This is also true for heterosexual women who identify with the “GLBTQ” world, who for their own and oftentimes similar reasons, seek a sense of safety in becoming their own “men.”

Thus, here, to what extent are the divorced mother and her son complementary sufferers? What might Dad have wrought, he who, in this case, is “okay” with their “transgendering?” The “transgendered” mother now calls herself the “second father” to the “transgendered” boy who calls himself a “girl.” Ontology reversed.

Saturday, September 17, 2016

The Three Concepts of Deity -- and the Political Consequences

[also posted on YouTube]

In my prior post, I looked at a one-sentence Hebrew answer to Muslim questions about the Trinity. This definition also leads to two other realities worth discussion. I will address the first one here.

Across human history, in reverse chronological order, there are three basic concepts of deity. In Islam, Allah is singular, and proclaimed to be the greatest. In Hinduism, beginning with Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva, and in other polytheisms, there are many finite gods and goddesses. And in the Bible we have Trinitarian monotheism in Yahweh Elohim, and as fulfilled in Jesus and the gift of the Holy Spirit.

In essence, Allah equals unity without diversity, as he has "no companions," and is thus defined by the human number 1. In political terms, this understanding leads to imposed conformity.

In essence, polytheism equals diversity without unity, and is thus defined by multiples of the human number 1. In political terms, this understanding leads to competing local claims on power, and thus, social chaos.

In essence, in Yahweh Elohim, we have diversity in service to unity, defining the One who is greater than the concept of human number. In political terms, this reality serves checks and balances on power, and thus religious, political and economic liberty for all people equally.

Monday, September 12, 2016

A One-Sentence Hebrew Answer to Muslim Questions About the Trinity

[This post can also be seen on YouTube]

Recently, I visited Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park, London, and happened upon some Muslim Salafists seeking to convert Christians to Islam. One such preacher, Hashem, wanted to disprove the Trinity as a biblical concept. But after a good amount of discussion, he abruptly left at a critical point.

So it seems good to me to issue an invitation to any and all interested Muslims.

It begins with:

A One-Sentence Hebrew Answer to Muslim Questions About the Trinity.


The Hebrew name for Yahweh Elohim is the only written concept in history for the One who is greater than space, time and number, and thus, the concept of the Trinity follows.

This one sentence answer proves comprehensive, and invites a thousand questions. Can it be sustained? I invite any and all Muslims to question me.

Wednesday, September 7, 2016

A Muslim Salafist in Hyde Park Chooses Not to Continue the Conversation ...

On Sunday afternoon, 28 August, 2016, I visited Speaker's Corner at the Marble Arch, Hyde Park, London. There were many Muslim Salafists there trying to convert Christians, and a good number of African Christians preaching the Gospel and singing hymns.

I was in a prayerful mind as I wandered through and past the 200-300 onlookers, especially paying attention to the Muslim preachers. I stopped at a place where a Muslim was trying to persuade a Christian man from Northern Europe that the Trinity is not true. The Christian man, knowledgeable in the Bible, was interested in probing some of the depth of what the Bible means by Father, Son and Holy Spirit (with a crowd of some twenty, mostly Muslims, listening in). But the Muslim preacher was only interested in trying to corner the Christian, demanding "yes" or "no" answers to manipulative questions. A mismatch in purpose and nature.

So I interjected, asking the Muslim preacher (whose name turns out to be Hashem) if I could ask two questions. He responded: "Are you a Christian?" I said yes. He then asked if I wanted to debate the Trinity. So I said that we cannot talk about the Trinity, and its biblical underpinnings, without probing far deeper. Could I thus ask a question in that regard?

So he assented, and I asked him what he knew about the Hebrew nature of the name Yahweh Elohim. He said Elohim was "a" name for God, and that Jesus did not call himself Yahweh (showing where he wanted to take the conversation, and assuming I was aiming for the same). Now of course, Genesis 1:1 says in the Hebrew: bereshith bara elohim eth ha’shamayim w’eth ha’eretz (“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth”). In other words, Elohim is the first name used of God in the Bible, the One who is greater than the human concept of number.

As the discussion continued for quite some time, he interjected often, trying to take it into his line of reasoning. I would always return it to my question in seeking his understanding of Yahweh Elohim. I said several times that my interest was in first arriving at an honest definition of terms between us, so that an actual debate could then happen. And so we had a pleasant give and take, even when, as I said he was my equal in the sight of the one true Creator, he instead said we were not equals (referring to a definition of Muslim superiority to all others). I smiled and moved on.

At one juncture he was trying to talk about Yahweh in Exodus 3 not being whom Jesus claimed to be. I said I wished I had my Bible with me so we could look at the text. So he took out his cell phone, and scrolled to the text in question, so I peered over his shoulder and we read vv. 14-15 together.

What fun. It was an app designed by Muslims to win debates with Christians. So the actual Hebrew is not there, but only an English transliteration, and the transliteration makes a classic error. In v. 14, when Elohim says to Moses that his name is Ehyeh, I AM, this Hebrew word is the first person masculine singular imperfect term of the verb "to be." Literally: I AM (who was and who is and who is to be), the Divine Presence, the Ontology of the one true Creator who is greater than the concept of space and time. Then in v. 15, the text speaks of the full divine name, Yahweh Elohim. Here, Yahweh in the Hebrew is the third person masculine singular imperfect of the verb "to be," HE IS.

But the English transliteration renders Yahweh as LORD, not as HE IS. "Lord" in Hebrew is adonai, and some years after the Babylonian Exile in 586 B.C., the Jews stopped pronouncing the name of Yahweh and replaced it by saying adonai whenever the text says Yahweh.

Now this involves a detailed history. But Hashem suddenly got scared, for his argument that Jesus does not call himself Yahweh (e,g, I AM in John 8:58, ego eimi in the Greek) falls apart. Jesus did not call himself by a third person reference, Yahweh, HE IS, designed for Moses and all others to use, but he called himself by the first person Ehyeh in calling himself the I AM, the ego eimi.

In other words, he confused Yahweh with Ehyeh, thinking that Yahweh means I AM, when it means HE IS in referring to the I AM; which is to say Jesus calls himself the God of creation incarnate in the flesh – in the first person, not the third person. Hence the language of the Trinity comes into view. Yahweh Elohim is the only One or written idea in history who is greater than space, time and number.

As I tried several times to explain this, he kept saying I was wrong, calling me a liar, then all of sudden he grasped what I was saying. He looked at me and said, "I thought you were sincere, but you are insincere. I have to go." And he left quickly through the crowd. I then talked with his friend, a physician from Dubai named Ahmed, and we had a very pleasant conversation for some 45 minutes. He told me that Hashem was a professional Muslim preacher, and had done some 100 such debates at Speaker's Corner. And later I saw him in many YouTube postings at Hyde Park.

I enjoyed Hashem's humanity, and I was interested in real communication. So when he departed so quickly, I was immediately disappointed in that I wanted to converse more. Only later did it sink in to me that he had forfeited the debated he wanted, indeed, he had chosen to silence his opposition to the Gospel.