God’s Kitchen

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Introduction

T H E B E S T C U T S

THE BIBLE IS A BLOODY BOOK, and many Christians today have a problem with that. Atheists are right to accuse us of being embarrassed by our own scriptures.

Modern Westerners are disgusted by the sight of blood. Some Christians even shy from its mere mention. After two world wars, this is perhaps understandable. War is no longer considered to be glorious. Yet we enjoy the freedoms that were won, for blood is not only a reminder of death; it is also the messenger, the mediator, of new life.

Without the bloody Old Testament, it is impossible to interpret the world rightly. Modern science can tell us what things are made of, but its scope is limited when it comes to telling us what they are actually for.

Modern theologians are not much better when it comes to the “world” of the Bible. The constraint of their “scientistic” mindset leaves them struggling, clueless, with what the Apostle Paul means by the term “flesh,” and also struggling with the significance of the careful instructions for the head, skin, flesh, offal, fat and legs of the sacrificial animals in Leviticus. The relevance of the fact that these fleshly animals were blameless substitutes for sinful, fleshly men entirely escapes them. Darwinism didn’t only rewrite history, it usurped the intended, holy purpose of homology. [1]

The emaciated theology that remains to us is divorced from the real world, and yet, ironically, this divorce directly affects the real world. Cultus inevitably informs culture. Many Westerners anxiously strip the bloody flesh from their menus precisely because we Christians have stripped it from our religion.

Even the meatiest Christians, the respectable evangelicals, present a Christianity that is far cleaner and far leaner than the bloody history in the Book they claim to represent. They have developed a taste for cold, waxen theologies entirely distracted from the flesh-and-blood world of the Bible. They spend their time squabbling over the nuances of their own abstract definitions of isolated crumbs. They traffic in thickening agents and food extenders and package their pasty, bloated tomes as if they are royal feasts for the starving soul.

Certainly, there is some meat to be thankful for, but modern congregations prefer their theology to be served pre-cut, pre-marinated and even pre-digested where possible. It appears magically in tidy cling-wrapped trays or microwaveable bags.

Our hearts desire—and require—meat, but we moderns are too squeamish to be concerned with the “primitive” processes of God. We are too busy, or too lazy, to cut and chew, and we wonder why our Gospel seems to have lost its teeth. Why is so much preaching so bad? Because only a blameless, bloodied sacrificial lamb is worthy to open the scroll.

Just as urban school children take excursions to farms to discover the origins of the food in the supermarket, so modern Christians urgently need a raw experience of the Old Testament in order to truly understand the Gospel of Christ.

The need of the hour is a fresh return to interpreting the world in the light of the Scriptures. Real theology deals with the Bible, with milk and bread, flesh and blood, oil and wine. It is nourishment for children, wisdom for kings, and courage for prophets.

Throughout history, the Word of God has been given to build the Church. As with our own fleshly bodies, we need not be ashamed of anything in the Bible. As with the Body of Christ, every part of it has a holy purpose.