Why Jesus never talked about homosexuality

Since last week I've been embroiled in an on-line controversy -- which, for those of you know know me well, is not abnormal. This time, however, it's with gay-rights and gay-marriage supporters who are trying to justify their stances using the Scripture and with whom I've figuratively gone to the mat. (My own view is that homosexuality has no business in the church due to "worldliness" and that same-gender matrimony cheapens it because it's necessarily based on hormones rather than on partnership.)

Anyway, one of my opponents, trying to paint Jesus as someone who accepted people no matter what they did, said -- correctly -- that He never brought up the subject.

The reason He didn't? It wasn't necessary.

If that sounds glib, consider His original audience: The Jewish people of that day, who simply weren't doing it. How do I know? Well, they still held to most of the tenets of Mosaic law, with the Pharisees, the lay group, out front. Furthermore, Jewish law all but required a considerable amount of cultural accountability, with everyone "in each other's business" to a degree that would chafe us Westerners, who by contrast are more individualistic. (This is part of the reason why Jesus let the "woman caught in adultery," referred to in John 8, go -- He recognized it as a setup.) And while I have no proof of this, I suspect that one of the reasons the Jews of that day hated Rome so much was due to its licentiousness, with (according to the singles pastor of my church) 70 percent of Romans involved in homosexuality -- not terribly surprising when you consider that 1) there were few women/girls around because infanticide was also common and 2) it was largely a society of leisure. This is why homosexuality was primarily considered "of the world" -- it was always a cultural distinctive, something that God's people just didn't do.

That also was the reason the Apostle Paul, whose ministry was primarily to Gentiles, did have to address the issue, most notably in Romans 1 -- many of them had participated in such. But even here, it was not so much a moral issue but also one of distinctiveness from the world of that day.

Today, however, the church of Jesus Christ has more cultural authority, making, among other things, infanticide of female babies culturally unacceptable wherever it has had influence. It's probably also the reason why homosexuality is seen as a particularly heinous sin (but going beyond the parameters of Scripture in the process). I would suggest that such is the root of the struggle over gay rights in general and gay marriage in particular, with their supporters trying to persuade the country about the righteousness of their cause. Some have even gone so far to invoke Martin Luther King Jr. and the civil-rights movement of the 1950s and '60s, ignoring that he focused on not just "rights" but reconciliation. Others claim that there were no spiritual "lepers" with Him, never mind His calls for repentance (He told the woman caught in adultery, "Don't sin any more").

In short, my argument with the people who try to use the Scripture to support their contention that homosexuality is an acceptable lifestyle for the Christian is that they miss the point that God is utterly holy and doesn't trifle with sin. In the book "The Holiness of God," author R.C. Sproul related the story that a seminary student asked him why God didn't zap him even though he deserved it -- a contrast from the other students who were horrified by the way he treated Israelites who had committed what appeared to be trivial offenses.

That's the point. As much as my opponents want to appeal to the grace of God, it really has no meaning unless you have an understanding of your sin.

But for the grace of God ...

Yesterday was Good Friday, the day we Christians commemorate the death of Jesus Christ, and on the Sojourners blog yesterday a couple of the discussions centered on the old question "Who was responsible for His death?" Of course that's a thorny issue because the issue is murky and fraught with political and religious implications. (I have to watch my words carefully here because I belong to a historically-Jewish fraternity and some of my brothers may be reading this.)

This much we do know. Jesus was born during a time of super-patriotism among the Jewish people of that day similar to today's "tea parties" and, while they understood the Old Testament prophecies about the coming "Messiah" (translated "anointed one"), they believed that he would overthrow the then-occupying Roman government. (This is why he rarely used the word.) And there was precedent -- after all, a couple of centuries earlier they had stood up to the Greeks, which is why to this day they observe Chanukah. That said, His fresh teachings, outreach to the outcasts in that society and withering criticism of the religious establishment certainly didn't endear him to the leadership of that day, which understandably saw him as a threat to its authority.

Only at that point did Rome get involved. Some time earlier the Jewish religious leaders had cut a deal with the Roman government, which had outlawed execution for all but civil charges, so the religious leaders were actually finding an excuse to hand Jesus over to the Romans to have Him taken out -- when He started referring to Himself as a king, that gave them the opening. Add to that His refusal to take on Rome directly and it's obvious why virtually everyone had turned on Him. (There's a delicious irony in that, when Pontius Pilate asked if He were their king, some of the people responded, "We have no king but Caesar.")

But here's the rub. While on that cross Jesus said, "Father, forgive them -- because they don't know what they're doing." I get that. And it would be arrogant for me to assume that, had I been a Jew at that time, I would have recognized who He was. (Those people who have said that such things as the Holocaust represent judgment on the Jewish people for rejecting Jesus are not only dangerously wrong but miss the point.)

In January of 1984, the lowest point of my life, I attended a church retreat at which Christian singer-songwriter Michael Kelly Blanchard, who was friends with the previous campus pastor, was the speaker. The only thing I really remember about it, however, was the pre-lunch communion service, during which I completely broke down; afterward, I returned to my room and sobbed some more. What happened? For the first time in my life, I got a glimpse of the gravity of my own sin. (Keep in mind that I had already been a Christian for not quite five years, so I already had an intellectual understanding that it would no longer be held against me.) Later on during a small group discussion one of the women, who understood my tears, referred to Jesus "whom we killed."

I think that's the point. Trying to find a "scapegoat" for His being nailed to the cross isn't really the issue -- it's the recognition that He represented the ultimate sacrifice to pay for the sin of mankind, which was God's plan all along. Rather, let's consider the grace that He showed us in the process, realizing that we fall short of His standards and that he has the right to zap us at any moment but doesn't, because He has a greater purpose.