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Cross-posted on Wondering Fair

Not long ago, Stanley Fish (professor of Humanities at Florida International University and public intellectual) took an opportunity to respond to critics who thought that a recent Coen brothers’ film, “True Grit,” “was dull and uninspiring.” In a reflection titled, “Narrative and the Grace of God” he defends the more muted narrative in this film, which lacks some of the flash or melodrama that moviegoers might wish for. Fish comments:

That’s right; there is an evenness to the new movie’s treatment of its events that frustrates Gagliasso’s desire for something climactic and defining. In the movie Gagliasso wanted to see — in fact the original “True Grit” — we are told something about the nature of heroism and virtue and the relationship between the two. In the movie we have just been gifted with, there is no relationship between the two; heroism, of a physical kind, is displayed by almost everyone, “good” and “bad” alike, and the universe seems at best indifferent, and at worst hostile, to its exercise.

Turning to the book which inspired both the original film (starring John Wayne), and its recent remake, Fish sketches a discussion of grace and meaning, and he notes,

There are no easy homiletics here, no direct line drawing from the way things seem to have turned out to the way they ultimately are. While worldly outcomes and the universe’s moral structure no doubt come together in the perspective of eternity, in the eyes of mortals they are entirely disjunct… In the novel and in the Coens’ film it is always like that: things happen, usually bad things (people are hanged, robbed, cheated, shot, knifed, bashed over the head and bitten by snakes), but they don’t have any meaning, except the meaning that you had better not expect much in this life because the brute irrationality of it all is always waiting to smack you in the face.

Fish’s comments on heroism, grasped from the teeth of the absurdity, are certainly not new. If anything, he represents one of the best versions of a long conversation in modern nihilism which includes Heidegger, Nietzsche, and Camus. The thinking goes: In this world, filled with strife, heroism is not to be pursued in the context of one’s contingency as a creature made by God, but rather in a radical rejection of theological structures of meaning. One should accept instead that this world is filled with absurdity. The true hero accepts this, forges his or her own way, and creates meaning in the midst of the chaos which threatens to overwhelm human society.

While one can appreciate threads that run through this way of thinking – the honesty to not accept the naïve optimism of a secular humanism that grasps at a religious faith emptied of meaning, the affirmation of the wholeness and physical integrity of persons in the midst of adversity, and a recognition that the sublime lies just under the surface of our ordinary experience – one must also note that these are intricately tied to nihilistic understandings of the world and the heroic paradigm that accompanies it (other contemporary examples might be, Fight Club, The Quiet Man, and American Beauty, perhaps). In a world without meaning, we must accept what we find, and make the most of it.

But this is not the only, or even the most obvious, way to read the world. If we sense that there is meaning to be found in human relationships, then it may be more sensible to affirm that this is because we are created, and that this world, though occasionally baffling, is not absurd, but beautiful, and filled with life and intentionality. Situations of violence, cruelty, and strife do not stand out as the norm, but rather stand out in such sharp relied because they contrast what we expect of the ordered regularity of creation. Human violence and injustice appal us not because we are naïve, but because it goes against the grain of the created universe. The world seems absurd if we try to narrate its movements without God, or worse still with a distorted image of who God is.

Jeremy Kidwell

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This morning during Matins I had a “jolt of happiness,” of fullness of life, and at the same time the thought: I will have to die! But in such a fleeting breath of happiness, time usually “gathers” itself. In an instant, not only are all such breaths of happiness remembered but they are present and alive— that Holy Saturday in Paris when I was a young man—and many such “breaks.” It seems to me that eternity might be not the stopping of time, but precisely its resurrection and gathering. The fragmentation of time, its division, is the fall of eternity. Maybe the words of Christ are about time when He said: “… not to destroy anything but will raise it all on the last day.” The thirst for solitude, peace, freedom, is thirst for the liberation of time from cumbersome dead bodies, from hustle; thirst for the transformation of time into what it should be—the receptacle, the chalice of eternity. Liturgy is the conversion of time, its filling with eternity. There are two irreconcilable types of spirituality: one that strives to liberate man from time (Buddhism, Hinduism, Nirvana, etc.); the other that strives to liberate time. In genuine eternity, all is alive. The limit and the fullness: the whole of time, the whole of life is in each moment. But there is also the perpetual problem: What about the evil moments? Evil time? The terrible fear before dying of the drowning man, of the man falling from the tenth floor about to be crushed on the pavement? What about the tears of an abused child?

From The Journals of Father Alexander Schmemann 1973—1983, p. 78. Cited in Gallaher, Chalice of eternity: an Orthodox theology of time, St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 57:1, 5-35 (2013).

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Over the course of several years of doctoral research, I’ve been reading the Christian Scriptures closely to see what we might responsibly say about the relationship between our everyday work and the New Creation. Along the way, I was struck by a strange prohibition that ends the book of Zechariah: ‘and there shall no longer be traders in the house of the Lord of hosts on that day’ (14:21, NRSV). On my first reading, I thought it strange that merchants might be singled out for exclusion from God’s holy kingdom. However, as I have reflected on this text and read more widely in the prophets, I’ve come to see a startling, if forgotten biblical critique of a danger that lies in business. Let me begin by providing a bit of context before I note how this may be relevant to our contemporary context.

The closing chapter of Zechariah offers an ‘apocalyptic’ description of the age to come. There, the writer describes the new kingdom as a sort of impenetrable bulwark in the midst of violent conflict and collapsing political order. In the midst of this, Zechariah 14 describes a pilgrimage of the nations who come to offer worship to the King, by bringing their wealth to the Lord of Hosts (similar to Isaiah 60, from which Adam Smith derived his title ‘The Wealth of Nations’). One of the theological trajectories of Zechariah is the democratisation of holiness. To this end, Zechariah uses a remarkably mundane lexicon, noting how horse’s bells and cooking pots (related to predominant ancient forms of work: warfare and subsistence) become ‘Holy to the Lord’ (vs. 20–21). Then comes that strange final verse, ‘and there shall no longer be traders in the house of the Lord of hosts on that day’.

The Hebrew word kena’ani, which the NRSV renders as ‘traders’, is a possible reference to ‘canaanites’. Some interpreters have suggested that this is meant to carry forward the ‘dissolution of boundaries’ as Carol Meyers puts it, which is a major theme in Zechariah. The thinking goes: rather than Israel becoming like Canaan, the reverse will be the case, Canaan will be culturally absorbed into Israel, and this will serve as a sign of the triumph of God’s holiness in this kingdom. However, this interpretation of Zechariah neglects a wider critique of merchant-activity which one finds with surprising regularity in the Old Testament. We find more obvious hints at this in Hosea 12:7 which warns of ‘a trader (canaanite), in whose hands are false balances, he loves to oppress’. As Ralph Smith notes, fraudulent scales ‘became symbolic in OT literature of unscrupulous dealings’ (and we find condemnations of such fraud in Deut. 25:13, Prov. 11:1, 20:23, and Micah 6:11).

The text of Zephaniah 1:11 parallels Zechariah in offering a wholesale dismissal of merchants. Here the problem is not related merely to dishonest merchants (as in Hosea), but rather ‘all who weigh silver are wiped out’ (JPS). We can only assume that, in the age of these prophets, the activity of merchant middle-men had gained such a reputation that the term for ‘merchant’ or even the more generic designation of ‘canaanite’, could be used to connote deceptive business activity without clarification. The honest merchant was an exception to the rule.

While it may be tempting to argue that our contemporary situation is categorically different, I think this misses the way in which certain forms of business carry a latent moral risk – they can carry a predisposition towards dishonesty which is embedded in their very structure. I think that the conditions under which the dishonest ancient merchant profited are not so different from the present: they capitalised on knowledge asymmetry from an established position. Seen in this way, we may appreciate how manipulating scales is similar to many contemporary covert business activities which seek to manipulate the representation of value and exploit the trust of unwitting customers. Just as ancient customers questioned whether merchants added value to the goods which they sold, today’s Christians have good reason to question similar tactics used by modern firms.

Some of my American friends like to poke fun at this ambiguity by referring to the posh eco-grocer, Whole Foods, as ‘Whole Paycheck’, but expensive groceries are hardly the worst instance of mark-up without value. A far more troubling example lies in the reliance of so many contemporary firms on massive marketing budgets. It is hard to justify as moral behaviour the manipulation of customers to believe that a product will provide intangibles such as status or sex appeal. Perhaps the worst recent practice has been the tendency towards ‘greenwashing’, where manufacturers leave the contents of their products unchanged but change product labelling to emphasise meaningless descriptors such as ‘all-natural’ or add terms like ‘eco’ or ‘green’ to a product’s name.

One insufficient response to the problem I’ve posed is the Amazon or Walmart solution, where a retailer cuts profit margins to such a bare level that one must deal in massive volume to make any profit at all. Yet this avenue does not escape the merchant’s quandary, as these retailers fail to bring value, and instead they obscure the immoral business practices (such as outsourcing labour and exporting externalities) which are latent in the goods they sell. In my discussions with various local makers where I live in Edinburgh, they always note how difficult it is to survive in the midst of such proactively distorted consumer expectations.

Described in this way, I worry that much of our business emulates the merchant activity which Zechariah proudly expects a holy God to destroy. The recent turn towards amateur craft and locally-made well-crafted goods is encouraging, but very fragile. These prophets, and indeed many people in the ancient world, noted that, as the maker of all good things, God cares about truthfulness in the way we represent value in business. There has never been a more urgent need for Christian leaders to provide a counter-cultural example of honesty in business, and I would argue that such action is explicitly commanded by Christian scripture.

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Cross-posted on Wondering Fair

Let me start with a confession: I’m an unapologetic cat-lover. For several years two Norwegian forest cats (Sam and Luna) were part of our family. We deeply enjoyed their company, but this enjoyment always existed under something of a shadow: both had genetic heart conditions that led eventually to their premature death.

In the time since then, living without feline companionship, I’ve found myself reflecting on their “personhood,” if I may use this term. There are plenty of (in)famous accounts of animals that are reductive; among these Descartes suggested that they couldn’t feel pain. In contrast, I found that Sam and Luna each had unique personalities:  one cat was a morning “person,” the other wasn’t. They could be cheerful or cranky. They enjoyed play and humor and when we lost Luna, Sam visibly grieved her absence for his remaining months. Far from the machines that Descartes imagined animals to be, these two displayed an astonishing range of uniqueness.

I was recently reminded of a sermon by John Wesley when he reflects on the place of animals in the kingdom to come:

The whole brute creation will then, undoubtedly, be restored, not only to the vigour, strength, and swiftness which they had at their creation, but to a far higher degree of each than they ever enjoyed. They will be restored, not only to that measure of understanding which they had in paradise, but to a degree of it as much higher than that, as the understanding of an elephant is beyond that of a worm. And whatever affections they had in the garden of God, will be restored with vast increase; being exalted and refined in a manner which we ourselves are not now able to comprehend.[1]

Wesley isn’t alone in his conviction that God’s redemptive activity includes not only humans, but also a broad range of what he first created – George MacDonald and C.S. Lewis suggest similar things – and his sermon doesn’t arise out of mere sentimentality. John Wesley was, as Thomas Jay Oord puts it, “a theologian deeply interested in science,” who “kept abreast of the scientific developments of his day by reading the works of leading scientists and philosophers.” [2] Having beheld the intricate interrelation of all the various creatures in God’s creation, a new creation that consisted only of humans seemed unnecessary and nonsensical to Wesley; it would not account both the witness of the created order and that of Christian scripture. As Denis Edwards observes, there are a number of passages in the bible which include non-human creatures in the final state, including Revelation 5:13-14, which contains “a remarkable vision of all the creatures of Earth united in a great song of praise of the lamb, the symbol of the crucified and risen Christ.” [3]

I realise that my suggestion here opens up a huge variety of challenging questions. What about people who are allergic to cats, and who imagine heaven without them? Where would God possibly fit all the insects that have come and gone since the creation of the earth? Yet I think that the kingdom to come is better regarded as an object of hope and wonder than one which we can anticipate in too-concrete ways. I for one, look with hope not only to meet my grandpa again, but also to an expansive vision of the new creation, filled with lions, lambs and bugs alike.

Jeremy Kidwell

[1]  John Wesley, reflecting on Romans 8:19-22 and Isaiah 11:6 in his sermon, “The General Deliverence” – read the rest here: http://new.gbgm-umc.org/umhistory/wesley/sermons/60/)

[2] Thomas Jay Oord, Divine Grace and Emerging Creation, p. ix.

[3] Denis Edwards, Creaturely Theology, 81. Other instances include 1 Cor. 8:6, Rom 8:18-25, Col 1:15-20, Eph 1:9-23, Heb 1:2-3, 2 Peter 3:13, John 1:1-4, and Rev 21:1-22:13.

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Nearly every day we make decisions about whether we can “afford” something. We make these sorts of decisions so often that the sheer regularity of this activity may conceal how this process relies upon a complex and intricately worked-out logic. Concerns range from mundane to important issues such as “can I afford blueberries in February,” “can I afford to take that holiday,” or “can I afford an eggnog latte today?” And, depending on how you think about eggnog lattes, “affordability” may not only involve money. Each of these considerations involves a balancing of “goods” against possible “bad” outcomes. I have yet to find someone who lacks conviction about what they can and cannot afford, and this is for good reason, as I think our thinking about “affordability” is one of the last outposts of political identity in our societies. We may choose to go against our regular practice, breaking a tendency to avoid expensive groceries because you will have special guests over for dinner you’d like to spoil, or spending extravagantly on travel (as our family often does!) to visit someone special you love. It is also important to acknowledge that these decisions almost always involve a mixture of good and bad outcomes – we hope that the good will outweigh the bad. Our family occasionally chooses to fly across the Atlantic, knowing full well the painful carbon footprint and fossil fuel expenditure involved in such travel, because we have deemed the good outcomes of strengthening relationships with friends and family in person to result in a net outcome which is more good than bad. In his most recent book, Oliver O’Donovan describes this process of thinking through things as practical moral reasoning. As a professional ethicist, part of my job involves working with people to slow down these processes of decision making and scrutinise them for unnoticed bad outcomes or to notice under-appreciated good outcomes.

To take my description of these decisions about affordability a bit further, there are also factors which we often don’t consider which form the backdrop for our decision making process, they constrain or frame our thinking in certain ways. One of these factors is imagination: as our conception of the horizons of what is possible or permissible may close down our process of decision making. Another, perhaps even more neglected aspect is the way we think of time.

We are so often surrounded by devices which parcel out time in mathematic intervals–clocks, smartphones, computers–that it may seem strange for me to suggest that conceptions of time are flexible. Even though seconds and minutes march on, the way we appreciate time can actually be quite changeable. Think of the last time you took a vacation – if you’re anything like me, there is a good chance you deliberately tried to avoid thinking about the clock in order to relax and detach from worrying about time in small parcels. You wanted to think about open-ended days rather than parcelled out minutes (such as watching the clock as it gets closer and closer to the end of a work day). Children can be another factor which gives us reason to change our conception of time. When we think about budgets and what we can afford, it is often possible to think on a weekly or monthly basis – judging what we can afford from one paycheck to the next, or for the more careful among us, from year to year, calculating our savings towards retirement. Yet, taking on the responsibility of a child involves a stretching out of our timeliness, as we appreciate how this small person is utterly contingent upon our provision, and that their needs may extend beyond our lifetime.

I believe we are stuck making decisions about affordability with a massively limited conception of time. When we make decisions about affordability, we have in mind the consequences of such an expenditure on our weekly, monthly, or yearly basis. Yet all three of these are still limited, as they lack an inter-generational reference. What if we were to approach every decision about affordability based on how it would affect not only our personal monthly budget (short term) or retirement savings (long term?), but the well-being of future generations? As I’ve already noted above, we often decide to circumvent our normal logic about affordability in a sacrificial way for a special circumstance, whether it be hospitality, love, or a need for some fun in the midst of a dreary time. However, our conceptions of what is an allowable sacrifice are so often based on very narrow and individualistic conceptions of timeliness. As we begin a new year and chart our personal goals and consider how we may participate in broader social and political goals, it is worth considering whether our grandchildren and great-grandchildren can afford for us to cut-corners on regulation because it will “slow” the economy (a year or decade without economic growth may be a long or short time depending on your “timing”), or whether they can afford for us to continue to deplete fossil fuel reserves, minerals, and water availability, or whether any of us can afford to build homes, drive vehicles, use devices and wear clothing which breaks quickly and sit useless in a landfill. It is not merely a matter of whether we think about what we can afford in a sacrificial way, but of who we’re willing to make a sacrifice for.

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Agency is a complicated thing. In Christian ethics and moral philosophy, we use the term “agency” to describe a person’s ability to act decisively, or their lack of ability to make decisions. Are we responsible for our state in life? Are we culpable for the decisions which we make both actively and by assent or their consequences?

Today I had the privilege of participating in a ride-along with my brother who works as a firefighter and I bore witness to the good work done by the firefighters who work at his station in Seattle as they strive to serve the people of their city well in moments of crisis throughout the day. We visited people across the city today and it struck me during each visit as we were invited into the homes of people in distress (or in the case of the homeless, public spaces) how easy it is to size up a person’s life and their situation based on what strikes your senses. You see pictures of loved ones stacked deeply on a bureau whilst tending to a head wound or you experience the odours of someone who has poor personal hygiene as they writhe under a drug overdose. While most of us wander through life witnessing the most comfortable and affluent layers of our cities, firefighters, social workers, and other first-responders get to witness a more complicated aspect. And as I paused in the presence of each person it became apparent to me what a blessing it is that I get to make decisions about my future without the interference of poverty, abuse, or injustice. After all, these various people I met today – both rich and poor – did not arrive at their situations today through actions which were wholly their own, or even in many cases, even largely their own. Conversely, those who have surmounted addiction or oppression, do not arrive at a place of wholeness without the help of others. It is easy for pundits and politicians to speak about an imagined person who lives off the dole whilst making poor decisions with seemingly “free” agency, but this is a convenient lie which disguises both the culpability that so many others have in the oppression of others and also the debt we owe to others, whether they be teachers, parents, or friends for our successes and stability. May we, foremost see those around us who are suffer, and furthermore may we see them with the eyes of Christ bearing witness to these tangled threads of agency.

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Cross-posted on wondering fair

Let me confess: I’m a worrier. Some things bug me more than they should. And because of this extra sensitivity to the possibility of things going occasionally sideways, I often imagine how  anxious friends would react to the final part of his Jesus’  famous sermon on the Mount. I can see him standing confidently, shoulders-squared at the top of the hill exuding confidence, indifferent to trouble and unswayed by coming adversity. He proclaims to the huddled crowd, their faces twisted with the a mix of strong emotion and their hearts burdened by complicated lives:

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” (Matthew 6:25–27 ESV)

We may think this offers a simple life lesson: “Chill out, God is in control of your future.” But worry isn’t actually my main concern here. While there is surely more to be gleaned from the passage, what concerns me is the assumption that Jesus went about his days demonstrating his confidence in God with stoic indifference. This sort of assumption demonstrates, I think, a grave mistake about who Jesus was. You see, Jesus inhabited his body in just the way we do, and it was a normal human body, capable of pain, and knowing emotion in response to his experiences.

In another situation, later in his life, Jesus contemplated the horrible situation that he faced, an execution at the hands of the Roman government. As he paces around in a local garden, he experienced a whole panoply of emotion: deep anguished sorrow, resignation, and then frustration at his friends inability to support him. After he is carried away and is in his last moments, Matthew records his cry of dereliction: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46 ESV). Here is a full expression, not of despair, but certainly of fear.

I take great encouragement in the fact that Jesus experienced anguish, pain, sorrow, and frustration. His experience of these emotions was never considered to be at odds with his confidence that God is able to deliver us from anything. The imitation of Christ does not involve a way of self-negation when we are worried or afraid, a careless dismissal of our emotions, but rather to cling to the word of promise in the midst of what we are experiencing, whether it be challenging or trivial.

Jeremy Kidwell

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This page will serve as a running bibliography of the books mentioned on this blog. I’ll try and categorize them in a way that makes this easy to browse, and I’ll also make sure to link in related blog posts. I’m also going to list some of my alltime favorite reads, since those texts are an undercurrent beneath most of my reflection here.
On the Domesticated Christian Life (book with universal relevance to this blog!)

Hospitality and the Christian Tradition

Theology and The Domestic Space (the Home)

Christian “Ministry” as Craftsmanship

Domesticated Work (Craftsmanship)

Domesticated Transportation (On Walking)

  • Charles Baudelaire

On integrating Christian scripture and ethical reflection

Please note: upon some reflection about the most ethical way to communicate publicly through blogging [see also: link], I’ve decided to divest myself from commercially-based social media. You’ll find the links above go to worldcat.org (rather than Amazon.com) which you can use to find copies of these books at libraries, or follow links to purchase a book from any number of booksellers. Enjoy!

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Over the course of my own research and teaching, I’ve grown wary of using ‘biblical’ as an adjective and yet (perhaps in part because I have been nurtured by an evangelical heritage) I regularly turn to the bible for nourishment. A primary area of my research is the use of the bible in moral reasoning, i.e. how do we use the bible in thinking through social issues. I find that the ways in which writers use the bible can often prove more telling than the actual conclusions they reach. You may be surprised to know that academic writing on this topic, or method in biblical ethics is actually rather sparse. This bibliography here represents my best attempt to collate the literature, and eventually provide comment on some of the major streams in contemporary use of the bible in Christian ethics.

Note: I also try to keep this list cross-referenced with an Amazon list-mania list I maintain.
1. Literature Surveys
There are a few good studies surveying the literature, though these are getting a bit dated at this point.

  • Barton, John. “Understanding Old Testament Ethics.” Journal for the Study of the Old Testament , no. 9 (1978): doi:10.1177/030908927800300902.
  • Wright, Christopher JH. “Biblical Ethics: A Survey of the Last Decade.” Themelios 18, no. 2 (1993): 15-19.

Several books on biblical ethics also provide good surveys. See especially the meticulous surveys by Brock and Hays, included in their larger monographs listed below.
2. Biblical Ethics – General
Birch, Bruce C, and Larry L Rasmussen. Bible & Ethics in the Christian Life. Minneapolis: Augsburg, 1989.

Brock, Brian. Singing the Ethos of God : On the Place of Christian Ethics in Scripture.Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans Pub, 2007.

Murray, John. Principles of Conduct : Aspects of Biblical Ethics. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 2001.

Ogletree, Thomas W. The Use of the Bible in Christian Ethics : A Constructive Essay.Louisville, Ky.: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003.
3. Biblical Ethics – OT
Barton, John. “Approaches to Ethics in the Old Testament.” In Beginning Old Testament Study. Edited by J W Rogerson. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1982.

Birch, Bruce. “Old Testament Narrative and Moral Addres.” In Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation : Essays in Honor of Brevard S. Childs. Edited by Gene M Tucker, David L Petersen, Robert R Wilson and Brevard S Childs. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988.

Birch, Bruce C. Let Justice Roll Down : The Old Testament, Ethics, and Christian Life.Louisville, Ky.: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1991.

Goldingay, John. “The Old Testament As a Way of Life.” In Approaches to Old Testament Interpretation Issues in Contemporary Theology. Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1981.

Kaiser, Walter C. Toward Old Testament Ethics. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 1983.

Newsom, Carol A. The Book of Job : A Contest of Moral Imaginations. Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2003.

Wilson. “Approaches to Old Testament Ethic.” In Canon, Theology, and Old Testament Interpretation : Essays in Honor of Brevard S. Childs. Edited by Gene M Tucker, David L Petersen, Robert R Wilson and Brevard S Childs. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988.

Wright, Christopher JH. Old Testament Ethics for the People of God. Downers Grove, Ill.: Inter-Varsity Press, 2004.

———. Walking in the Ways of the Lord : The Ethical Authority of the Old Testament.Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity Press, 1995.
4. Biblical Ethics – NT
Bartholomew, Craig G. A Royal Priesthood? : The Use of the Bible Ethically and Politically : A Dialogue with Oliver O’donovan. The Scripture and hermeneutics series 3. Carlisle, Cumbria; Grand Rapids, Mich.: Paternoster Press ; Zondervan, 2002.

Burridge, Richard A. Imitating Jesus : An Inclusive Approach to New Testament Ethics. Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans Pub., 2007.

Hays, Richard B. The Moral Vision of the New Testament : Community, Cross, New Creation : A Contemporary Introduction to New Testament Ethics. San Francisco]: HarperSanFrancisco, 1996.
5. Biblical Ethics – Topical

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The principle that governs Christian compassion… is not ‘minimize suffering.’ It is ‘maximize care.’ Were our goal to minimize suffering, no doubt we could sometimes achieve it by eliminating sufferers. But then we refuse to understand suffering as a significant part of human life that can have meaning or purpose. We should not, of course, pretend that suffering in itself is a good thing, nor should we put forward claims about the benefits others can reap from their suffering… The suffering that comes is an evil, but the God who in Jesus has not abandoned us in that suffering can ring good from it for us as for Jesus. .. Our task is therefore not to abandon those who suffer but to ‘maximize care’ for them as they live out their own life’s story. We ought ‘always to care, never to kill.’

Gilbert Meilander, Bioethics: A Primer for Christians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), pp. 65-66, cited in Bretherton, Hospitality as Holiness, p. 173.