However, James 2:1-4 harshly reprimands favortism based on outward appearance (or hygiene, bodily odor, skin color, social status, race.) To put God’s word to practice is not easy. Our words and actions are more often than not inconsistent. And more often than not we aren’t even aware of these. inconsistencies. 

I fail to see why Hsu’s explanation should be provocative or controversial. At the cross, was the Father pouring out his wrath on the Son? Or was the Father suffering along with the Son? Why must it be one and not the other? Why can’t it be both?

The article lost me with circular logic that does not hold up:

“Is Jesus saying “I have been forsaken by God”? No. He’s declaring, “Psalm 22! Pay attention! This psalm, this messianic psalm, applies to me! Do you see it? Do you see the uncanny way that my death is fulfilling this psalm?”

Yes Jesus pointed us to Psalm 22 on the cross. And yes, I believe the Psalm does point to Jesus and that Jesus fulfilled this Psalm. And yes, the Psalm does transition into declaring God’s victory. If so, then Psalm 22:1 is correct, Jesus was forsaken. 

I think it is clear that “forsaken” can be temporary. There are numerous times when God declares he will “hide his face” for a time, as in Deuteronomy 31:17-18. After reading numerous articles on this topic, I see that this kind of thinking reveals my “Calvinistic tendencies”. However, I have not yet finished formulating my “theological position”. That is still in process.

In the end, I simply take Jesus at his word. If Jesus asked the Father “why have you forsaken me?”, I would say Jesus was indeed forsaken for a moment, as in Isaiah 54:8.

“Perhaps an interpretation of “North Americans” as white Americans might be an unconsciously based cultural bias against non-whites.”

I can’t tell you how excruciating it was to hear those “white” prayer topics for so many years! (Anyone pray for an HNW lately?) Yet, my conscience was so numb I didn’t really speak up against it. Even when I sat through an entire meeting where the “n” word was used by the director to describe African Americans, I just looked the other way. 

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: I openly encourage any Korean missionary to come to Detroit if they think they already understand racism.

My feelings exactly, Joe, for 24 years. But thank God this “Good Friday” is truly good. 

(note: the following paragraph probably only makes sense for someone inside UBF. I doubt an American who never experienced UBF would be able to relate, but it’s possible.)

“My actions are interpreted as being an “American” thing.  I can’t escape it.  I feel uncomfortable sometimes when I hear the dialogue or read comments critiquing or mocking the “American-ness” of the senior leaders.  Even if it’s not meant in a disparaging way, it reminds me of the racism I myself encounter.  It makes me feel like all people see or will ever see is an American, nothing else.  And American = bad.  It’s not explicitly said, but I feel like the implication is that the solution to all of UBF’s problems is to get rid of the Americans and the American ways.”

So I think it is only natural for some Koreans in UBF to start to feel the way they made us Americans feel for decades.

I agree with this statement: “And the problems in UBF are not just Korean culture either.” Koreans are not the problem. I believe Americans can live with Koreans just fine. I love kimchee and Konglish.

The key problem is an upside-down gospel that produces “benevolent dictators” who usurp God’s role in the lives of men and women. And this is rampant in Korean-Christian circles. So yes, many of the issues UBF faces are similar to other Korean-Christian organizations. But I contend that UBF’s issues (one of which is racism) stem from an upside-down understanding of the gospel in a way that most evangelical movements do not struggle with.

Abherrant teachings have lead to a plethora of lies, scandals, and shocking advice, all in the name of “honoring God above all else” and “passing down the spiritual heritage of Samuel Lee.”
 

In regard to the CT article, the author does make some sense, but I’m still thinking that one through. When Jesus cried out “why have you forsaken me?”, was he merely pointing us to Psalm 22, as the CT article contends? I don’t know. But it does make an awful lot of sense to me.

I still ponder these questions: Was it God’s wrath or Satan’s wrath poured out on the cross? If it was God’s wrath, is all of His wrath now gone, or is there still more wrath? Did God turn His back on His son, as a form of “divine child abuse”? If we focus on the “forsaken” words of the cross, are we then led to constantly feel forsaken, feeling as if “I’m in this life on my own, even though I’m a Christian.”?

I don’t know the answers to these questions. But I am eager to ask, seek and knock. 

But the suffering in itself is not the gospel. There are many who suffered far more pain than Jesus bore on the cross. In fact, even the Romans crucified thousands, many far more grotesquely than Jesus.

As you say, BenW., the real point is the theology, the “why” Jesus was doing this. I contend that we can only correctly understand the gospel and suffering when we see Isaiah correctly through the lens of grace: “by his wounds we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5, 1 Peter 2:24). 

Certainly we will encounter suffering and there are times we should choose suffering. But suffering is not the gospel of Jesus. The good news is that Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection is God’s grace to mankind. And that foundational grace is able to produce present grace and future grace in abundant overflow. 

I further contend that Christians, then, are not called to a primary identity of a “wounded soldier”, but one of “ambassadors of grace”, living as witnesses of the abundant, transforming power of Christ to change sinners who hate into forgiven sinners who love, sinners who persist in going “my own way” into sinners who depend on the grace of God.

I would have to say that I myself do not have the experience you describe, I don’t think. I do not feel that such preaching makes me feel guilty in a manipulative or emotional way. Rather, it expresses to me the unfathomably great love of God for me that cost my God an infinite Cost that I can never repay.

You are surely right in pointing to the understated descriptions of the crucifixion of Christ in all 4 Gospels. Perhaps, the Reformed preaching of the death of Christ is more Pauline in nature, where Paul explains in numerous ways the meaning of the life, death and resurrection of Christ, which were simply narrations in the 4 Gospels without much theological explanation.

Happy Great Triduum to you and all!

Just as whites have an “advantage” over blacks in the US for multiple reasons, I think that in UBF Koreans have an “advantage” over non-Koreans for similar reasons. Just as whites likely need to humbly take some initiative to improve relationships with blacks, Koreans need to humbly take the initiative with non-Korean native leaders. I hope this is not racially offensive.

Thanks for this thoughtful article. I was hoping to refrain from thinking about and discussing UBF-specific issues for the next few days. Tonight begins the observation of the Great Triduum, the high holy days of the church, and I want to fix my attention on Jesus and join with the Body of Christ throughout the world in remembrance and worship.

In keeping with that desire, I won’t talk about UBF today. But in response to what you wrote about John Piper (whose messages have inspired me) I would like to explain my personal reaction to preaching about the cross that focuses on the wrath of God for human sin being poured out on Jesus. This is, as you say, a feature of the way popular neo-Reformed speakers (Piper, Driscoll, …) describe what happened at the cross. But it is also found in other parts of the church as well. Notably, it is a dominant theme of worship and liturgy in the Roman Catholic tradition in which I was raised.

The Scripture clearly says that Christ died for our sins (1Co 15:3). I take this to mean that Jesus died on the cross in my place. The awareness that Christ suffered and died for me is central to believing the gospel and living the Christian life.

At the same time, I have a negative reaction in my gut to preaching and worship that primarily tries evoke mental images of the horrible suffering that Jesus endured at the hands of an angry God. This is difficult to explain, so please bear with me. I don’t want to start a theological argument. I don’t want to make any sweeping theoloical statements about theory of atonement, penal substitution, etc. I’m simply trying to explain how this kind of gospelling has made me feel and why, although sometimes beneficial, it did not help me over the years to draw near to God and experience the life-changing freedom from sin and law that the gospel should bring.

The effect on me (intended or not) of this kind of gospelling was this: I sensed it was supposed to make me feel guilty for causing Jesus to suffer so much. That was, after all, supposed to be me on the cross, not Jesus. My sins were bad enough to cause me to be nailed to the cross and hang there in horrible agony until I died in hopelessness and sorrow and then went to hell to continue to suffer for all eternity. Now I know that I am a sinner. I know that I’ve done some nasty and stinky things in my life.  But were my sins really that bad? Was I really such a terrible person that I deserved to be hanging there on the cross? Church doctrine told me yes, so intellectually I thought that I should be nailed to the cross. But my emotions didn’t comply, because I didn’t (and perhaps couldn’t) feel that I was that bad. Honestly, I didn’t feel that guilty. So then I began to feel guilty for not feeling guilty enough. My Good Friday reflection became a futile exercise in trying to whip up feelings of guilt for the bad things that I did that put Jesus on the cross. I mentally lashed myself for not feeling the guilt that I should have felt because I should have been the one nailed to the cross.
In a perverse way, I thought that the only way to experience the gospel was to take my sins more seriously and somehow experience more of the pain that Jesus felt when he was nailed to the cross. In a way, I became like those Filipino Catholics who volunteer to be nailed to crosses on Good Friday and describe it as a deeply religious experience (a practice which the Catholic Church vigorously condemns).
It is interesting to me that when all four of the gospel writers presented the crucifixion of Jesus, none of them went into any of the gory details about the horrible suffering that Jesus endured. Their descriptions of the crucifixion were understated and indirect. The accounts were factual, not emotional. It’s as if they were saying, “For a description of what Jesus may have suffered, refer to the Old Testament, especially Psalm 22.” They seem to treat the experience of Jesus’ suffering as holy ground on which they dared not tread.
I’ve heard some of the young people in our church describe the kind of messages about the crucifixion that they usually hear at our Easter conferences — messages that try to portray and dramatize the intense suffering of Jesus to evoke an emotional response — as unmoving, disrespectful and even irreverent. These young people can’t find the words to explain why they react negatively to that style of preaching. I’m struggling to find the words as well. Perhaps others can explain it better than I.