On "The Widening of God's Mercy: Sexuality within the Biblical Story", by Christopher and Richard Hays

This year Christopher Hays and Richard Hays released a book which gives a birds-eye view argument for changing the church's position on sexuality (or, more specifically, same-sex marriage). This book was highly anticipated not least because it comes 28 years after Richard Hays quite influentially argued for exclusively heterosexual marriage in his 1996 Moral Vision of the New Testament. We might have been excused for expecting 2024's The Widening of God's Mercy to give a full reversal and replay of the biblical and theological arguments involved, but the introduction to the book ought to disabuse us of this expectation. The Hays clearly set out to focus on the forest rather than the trees (2). Instead of rehashing the exegetical, moral, and doctrinal arguments that have accumulated in recent decades, they zoom out and ask how we could make sense of such a dramatic change in the teaching of the church and, apparently, the will of God.

Suggesting a change in the will of God gets the Hays in a bit of trouble, but one has to applaud them for addressing this elephant in the church's room. How do we account for newfound positions that appear to pass judgment on widely held views of the distant past or present? The Hays are well positioned to ask the question this way. Along with the majority of the church, the Hays previously held the view that God was opposed to same-sex marriage. Now that they find themselves convinced of the alternate position -- despite having not changed their basic hermeneutic or spirituality or moral disposition -- the question looms large: What? He got over it?  

Put another way: Did God change God's mind? To the Hays it sure seems like it. Do those who take Scripture as their authority for Christian life and teaching have a biblically-viable way to make sense of such a thing? The Hays think so, and they try to explain. I am not sure they fully succeed, but there's something to be appreciated about the attempt. I wasn't planning to review this book but, having read some early reviews, there are some things I want to explore further.

On changing God's mind

In an early review of the book on her blog, Beth Felker Jones hits the nail on the head with her concern about the notion that "God changes God's mind" -- a notion she does not think the Hays even need to employ. While I remain open to arguments about this, I agree with Felker Jones' reservations and prefer to retain the doctrine of divine immutability. To my mind the Old Testament language of divine "regret" or "repentance" is best understood as a figure of speech that means God reserves the right to interact with humans in so-called "real time" (that is, from a human perspective), which includes reserving the right to change course relative to human actions and contexts. This need not mean there is a literal change of divine being or will or knowledge. (Such an idea might make God feel more relatable, but it comes at the expense of rendering God unreliable). 

Felker Jones rightly observes that Christopher Hays makes more use of this notion (in the OT section) than Richard Hays does (in the NT section) -- so it does seem to be a case of wanting to employ Old Testament language of divine "regret" or "repentance" without getting into the long weeds of doctrinal debate about how far the concept can be taken. Which would not be a big deal, except it is the central premise of the book. So why wade into such fraught theological territory if the argument does not even depend on it? 

On my reading of the book I think it is important to note two things. The first is that "God changing God's mind" is a figure of speech in the Hays' book just as much as it is in the Bible, so it should not necessarily be taken literally in their case either. This actually seems pretty clear from the opening pages. When they first unpack the notion of "God changing God's mind", the Hays mean that biblical "laws are under constant negotiation and revision," that "new groups were regularly invited in from the margins", that "God [sometimes] declares that past judgments were too extreme", and that the Holy Spirit can "lead the community of Jesus's followers into new and surprising truths" (2-3). 

We can certainly discuss the particulars of how this might play out, but it is widely accepted that God works in and with history to expand the covenant people, and is free to revise various laws and applications according to God's primary intent. What's more, on these pages the Hays explicitly indicate that such "changes" are not arbitrary or unanticipated in God, but are the execution of a "plan [that] was always wider" (3). From the introduction it was not clear to me that the Hays thought something actually changed in the eternal God, but were mainly suggesting that God has made a change in history that needs to be reckoned with. Despite continuing to use the problematic language, again in the conclusion the Hays' main point seems to be that God can "reveal new and surprising facets of his will" (206). 

The second thing to note is that there is an understandable reason the Hays reach for such language. The Hays are trying to come to grips with a big-picture problem of hermeneutics and history. What are we saying about Christians in other times and places when we come to a new conviction that not only displaces but reverses an old one? Are we saying they were wrong? Was this a wrongness of ignorance or sinfulness or both? It is certainly possible for the church to run with a sin-infected interpretation of Scripture that has to be collectively repented of, such as slavery or colonialism, but is that what we are dealing with when we confront something like patriarchy or hetero-normativity? Perhaps it can become sinful to hold to something that God has clearly upended, but until then can it really be called sinful for people of other times or places to hold on to something that appeared to be the only option? 

If the issue at hand is a reversal of a centuries-long moral conviction that is still held by many well-meaning Christians all over the world to this day, the question has real force to it. One could talk a good game about love, but failing to pause over this question would run the risk of repeating the same kind of unloving dogmatism one is trying to resist. One might do so out of love for the vulnerable, but on the ecumenical level the question remains. Obviously this question lurks on both sides of any disagreement, but at present this one has pretty dramatic historical proportions. (This is why I have rejected article 10 of the Nashville Statement and would urge the majority church to at least abide by Gamaliel's rule while we work this out peaceably).

I do not think the Hays completely resolve this problem, but as I sit with the question I gain sympathy for the way they have framed it. If same-sex marriages can now be affirmed -- with adherence to the same scriptures that seemed to condemn them -- then perhaps we should put the onus on God. Has God changed things up, or were we supposed to have known this before? Is this a change for everyone everywhere or is it part and parcel of God's freedom to accommodate historical contexts and work with us in time? Do we have some way of making sense of this? Divine mutability may not be the answer, but the figure of speech does have the benefit of looking the problem straight in the face. Since we're talking about an unprecedented change in church teaching, the Hays are (ironically) trying to find stability and consistency in the nature of the covenanting God. From below it may come as a change of the divine mind, but their whole point is to argue that "God's plan was always wider" (3). 

I agree with Felker Jones that the Hays "don’t need a changing God to get to th[eir] conclusion, and their recounting of the biblical story of God’s mercy would ... be much stronger without it," but let's be clear: The thesis of the book is that the blessing of same-sex marriage is a "widening of God's mercy" that finds precedent in prior "widenings". So we might as well move on to a consideration of this possibility.

The hermeneutics of unanticipated developments

If I had a Canadian nickel for every time I heard someone say that only the traditional view of sexuality was rooted in a "high view of Scripture" I would be able to afford quite a few grumpy trips to Tim Hortons. This is a pretty nasty way for conservatives to talk down to people that share an evangelical view of the authority of Scripture but have come to an alternate interpretation. For their part, the Hays are explicitly not "claiming 'to know better than the Bible'" (7). Nor are they changing their approach to Scripture (12). So what is the hermeneutical move that leads them to this unanticipated development?

In his review of this book for The Center for Faith, Sexuality and Gender, Preston Sprinkle says that the Hays are using a "trajectory argument" which is "well known" and has been "roundly refuted" by William Webb and others. For my part, I am as unconvinced by Webb's "redemptive trajectory hermeneutic" as I am by his argument that it refutes same-sex marriage -- but that is beside the point. The Hays are clearly not using it. Sprinkle himself admits that the Hays never use the term, but persists in chalking their argument up to it and even criticizes them for not defending it against counterarguments. This is unfortunate, since the trajectory argument is precisely not what the Hays are employing. 

The trajectory argument looks for an explicit place in the text where the ancient author planted a specific seed that would sprout and blossom centuries later. To my mind it tends to put too much weight on the perceivable authorial intent of the original humans involved, and leans on a common but falsifiable notion of modern "progress", but that is again beside the point since the Hays do not use it. (Note the absence of any suggestion that David and Jonathan were gay, or of any speculative attempts to anchor a progressive trajectory in an original "wink" about sexuality from the authors. I'm not ruling out the possibility that such a thing might one day be found, I'm just pointing out that the Hays decidedly do not go there).

It is notable that the Hays do not even use the less contested language of "progressive revelation". I appreciate this, not only because such language is clouded by problematic assumptions of modern (Western!) progress, but also because it can tend toward dispensationalism and its various rabbit warrens. When I imagine them resisting this it makes even more sense why they veer into the "changing God's mind" idea (fraught as it is). Their interpretive move is not based on uncovering a hidden-but-now-explicit hint toward same-sex marriage, and it is not based on the notion that we modern people know better now. Like I said above, their concern is more big picture: If this is a new thing for the church -- which is the prerogative of a living Lord -- does it have the necessary rationale in the biblical witness? 

I do think this addresses a theological need, so it's interesting. Like Felker Jones I think they would have been better off avoiding divine mutability, but I appreciate that the Hays avoid these other explanations. I think they would have been better off following the lead of Barth and Bonhoeffer and distinguishing between "timeless principles" and the church's task of following the "living Lord" of Scripture, but if one reads the book through this lens a number of things click into place. Add this to the list of times when I wish biblical theologians found their allies in systematics.

To be clear, despite what Sprinkle suggests, the Hays do not argue that ancient authors allude to or even imagine same-sex covenant partnerships at all. The Hays simply think there is a case for "widening" the covenant to include same-sex couples, and they base it in prior "widenings" of God's mercy found in the two testaments of Christian scripture. The book goes to great lengths to show that God allows and prohibits things differently in various times and places according to God's basic desire. 

Some of the chapters are stronger on this point than others, but the chapter on the daughters of Zelophehad is excellent and compelling. This is such an underrated portion of Scripture that we really ought to pause and say their names aloud. Mahlah. Noah. Hoglah. Milcah. Tirzah. Not only does their story display God's willingness to stretch the socio-political "rules" to accommodate new but legitimate questions, it also serves as a challenge to the church not to shut down such questions before they have been fully considered and understood. (It smacks of self-deception to say one loves gay people but to shut down the conversation with gay Christians before they feel understood). 

Richard Hays returns to this point with his chapters on Acts and Romans, and together with the Zelophehad chapter these are the most compelling sections of the book. In the first 15 chapters of Acts we see the church has "listened to the accounts of the Spirit's work, they have noted the testimony of scripture, and they have made a creative discernment about the best course of action" by way of a "careful conversation in community" (186-7). I'm not hear to give spoilers, but the subsequent chapter on Romans -- especially the section on Romans 14 -- is worth the price of the book. Regardless of one's view of same-sex marriage, the message of these chapters is vital for the witness and integrity of the church today.

To sum up: the Hays have not changed their hermeneutic or their view of the authority of Scripture. They are not shifting gears and employing the previously-resisted "trajectory argument"; nor are they using language of "progressive revelation". Because he wrote on this previously, Richard Hays says explicitly that he has changed his mind about his interpretation on this issue, and apologizes for it. Wrestling with this honestly, the Hays appear to have put this issue alongside the difficult question why God allowed or approved of slavery or patriarchy for a time and then enabled their overturning in contexts where that became a viable option. That this was slow in coming is a theodicy problem, but the Hays are suggesting that, to the degree it is our responsibility, recognizing a widening of the covenant is better late than never.

 

There have been complaints that this book barely touches on the question of same-sex marriage itself -- and I feel like more could have been said about this as well -- but it's not like the book is silent on the matter. Thus for the sake of my own clarity as much as anyone else's, let me draw out the basic argument.

The implicit argument for same-sex unions

As alluded to above, Sprinkle asserts that "there’s simply no evidence of a scriptural trajectory moving away from sex difference in marriage" because he is looking for a place where a biblical author gains insight into this specific trajectory of redemption, but the Hays have decidedly not made this their case. The Hays have sought evidence not in the intent or knowledge of the ancient human authors or readers but instead have sought to give an account of something new and unanticipated. The closest the Hays come to a "trajectory argument" is when they highlight how eunuchs were included in the covenant alongside foreigners in Isaiah 56:3-5, but they do not chart this as the first point on a trajectory. Instead, they argue that

the acceptance of sexual minorities in the church re-enacts a narrative pattern that is pervasive in the Bible. There is a powerful analogy, a metaphorical correspondence, between the embrace of LGBTQ people and God's previously unexpected embrace of foreigners, eunuchs [and so on] (214).

This is clearly not positioned as a trajectory argument but an analogical one. For the analogy to work one needs to see the covenant expansion to foreigners (a.k.a. nations or gentiles) as the instantiation of a pattern that can be recognized again later on for other categories of persons. To some degree the ancient eunuch is offered up as a placeholder for modern sexual minorities, but the Hays really don't make the argument that sexual ethics can be drawn directly from the inclusion of the eunuch in Isaiah or Matthew  or Acts. There may be some life in that argument yet (especially since the eunuch represents a break from the ancient requirements of patriarchy), but the Hays do not really go there. Instead they work with the modern identification of sexual orientations and explore the possibility that prior covenant expansions to foreigners and patriarchy-marginalized figures could now apply to newfound "sexual minorities" (see 98f., 160f.).

 

Those who object to this possibility will argue that it is ruled out by the five or six passages of Scripture that directly prohibit various forms of same-sex relations, and will be disappointed that the Hays do not bother to rehash the exegetical arguments over those texts. Because the early reviews of the book had led me not to expect this, I was not disappointed. To the contrary, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the Hays made their interpretation of these passages succinctly but plainly clear. In the Introduction and the endnotes, Richard Hays explicitly corrects his prior argument in this regard: Whereas he previously used generalized "nineteenth-century coinage" for "homosexuality" to cover the "same-sex acts" addressed by those six passages, he now thinks "that whatever the contested biblical passages were envisioning, they were not envisioning LGBTQ Christians in the pews today who abundantly manifest the fruits of the Spirit" (12, 227 n5). In other words, what is prohibited by those texts are particular sexual relations that were well known at the time, and not the co-equal marriages of same-sex oriented partners in view today. 

 

When Sprinkle says that the facts do not bear this out, he means that same-sex commitments were known to exist in the known world of New Testament authors -- but this is not something the Hays are making a judgment about. The point is that biblical authors could gesture toward the predominant and infamously problematic forms of same-sex relations of their time and expect to be understood, but it would be anachronistic to woodenly apply this forward in a universalized way.  In any event, it's true that the Hays do not retread the ground of these interpretive debates, likely because they are ably covered elsewhere. In any event, it is not really fair to critique a book for lacking something it never set out to provide. The Hays are laser-focused on the task at hand and express no interest in displacing work done by others. Perhaps they will yet add to the back and forth of that debate, but this is not that. 

 

Not to turn this into a review of a review or anything, but I think it can be illuminating to contrast the point of the book with some more of Sprinkle's assertions. For instance, Sprinkle writes that "the current sexuality debate is not about (or shouldn’t be about!) whether gay people are to be accepted. The debate is about which marriage and sexual ethic they are accepted into." But for the Hays this is precisely the issue. The question is whether gay and lesbian people are accepted into the covenant people of God along with its sub-covenant of marriage. It's a package deal. Yes, the church has monastic vows for those gifted and called to celibacy, but what about those who are not so gifted and called? The Hays argue that same-sex couples "should be welcomed gladly in the church and offered full access to the means of grace available to all God's people: baptism, the Lord's Supper, ordination, and the blessing of covenanted unions" (216, emphasis mine). 

 

As for the question of what should be entailed in such blessings, the Hays are clear that there is more work to be done -- but for starters they say that same-sex marriages should be held to "the same expectations as for heterosexuals" (217). Once churches accept this they can work together to develop any "new liturgical forms and ethical guidance" that might be required (217). That said, it's not like others have not already started this work. I was disappointed that the Hays did not mention the work of Robert Song, but they do quote from and recommend Eugene Rogers (217), so it's not like there are no bread crumbs whatsoever. (Robert Song's Covenant and Calling looks at the role of sexual difference through the lens of Augustine's "goods of marriage" and argues that even though sexual difference is required for the good of procreation it can still be upheld even while extending covenant unions to non-procreative couples that make their own contribution to human fruitfulness). Like I said, I'd like to have seen more on this, but for now the Hays seem content to focus on the larger arc of God's work in history and leave us to read on. 

 

One last correction

 

I really don't want to make this about Preston Sprinkle, but there's just one more thing about his review that simply must be corrected, if for no other reason than it puts its finger on a problem requiring careful reflection. In Sprinkle's review he says that "the authors claim [these passages] have been wrongly interpreted by the historic, global, and multiethnic church for nearly 2,000 years," but this is imprecise. As explained above, the Hays have gone out of their way to avoid putting it this way, even to the point of (problematically) locating the change in God. Moreover, the Hays are clear that they think traditional and affirming congregations should seek to co-exist and mutually bless one another on the long road of reconciliation (see 196-202, 216).  

 

To make matters worse, however, Sprinkle points out that majority world churches tend to be opposed same-sex marriage, and on this basis charges the Hays of being "profoundly ethnocentric". This is a serious charge. It might even have stuck if the Hays' argument was that affirming same-sex marriage has always been biblically clear and is now the only tolerable position. But that is not what the Hays argued. 

 

According to Sprinkle, the Hays said that "churches should 'repent of the narrowness of [their] earlier visions and…explore a new way of listening to the story that scripture tells about the widening scope of God’s mercy' (p. 10, emphasis in the original)". But given the severity of the charge it seems imperative to point out that in the original quote Richard Hays is not speaking in the third person but the first. Hays wrote: "In this book I want to start over -- to repent of the narrowness of my earlier vision and to explore a new way of listening to the story that scripture tells about the widening scope of God’s mercy" (10). The line is an explicit reference to Richard Hays' own journey and the things he wishes he had noticed earlier, and is not a judgment of others. I think Sprinkle names a colonialist sensibility that can be found all-too-often in the rhetoric of so-called progressives, but he should not have changed Hays' meaning in order to stick him with this charge.  

 

Of course the Hays go on to argue for a position they hope the whole church will adopt, and even address their own side of the debate using the vaulted (but reversible) language of Romans 14's "strong" and "weak", but the point is decidedly not to condemn or exclude. The point is to make room for one another to seek truth in love. I'm got some reservations about this book, but I offer this review in that same spirit.

On Quiet Exiles and Unaccountable Escalations: My Letter to the Editors of Faith Today

A few months ago I wrote a letter to the editors of Faith Today because I was concerned about things I was hearing about the breaking of relationships within and between Christian institutions and denominations in Canada. The letter was published in the July/August issue, and can be found here. 

I'm including a screenshot below, after which I will also include the last sentences of the original letter, which the editors left out with my permission (presumably for space). I include it here not to protest the edit but to add a fuller picture of my heart and thinking. 

Screenshot from the July/August 2024 edition of Faith Today

Here are the last sentences of my original letter: "Regardless of where we stand on the issue of gender and sexuality, it is a grievous matter if Christian institutions are quietly imposing exiles and breaking fellowship rather than seeking and speaking truth in love. Thank you again for your willingness to look into such matters."

My Objection to Alliance Canada's 2022 Moratorium on Licensing Transgender Persons for Ministry

I left Alliance Canada's 2022 General Assembly buzzing with hope for our church family, largely because of the reports from our interim President about churches doing very good work in their communities, and because of a number of new voices, relationships, and promising conversations. 

And yet I also left deeply saddened by our Board's moratorium on licensing transgender persons (seen to the right), which was instituted unilaterally by the Board, without vote or discussion. I pray its potential harm can be mitigated at local levels, but am feeling a heavy burden on the conscience. 

Below is my objection to the denomination's moratorium on licensing trans persons for ministry. It is exactly as I read it from the floor on the last day of Assembly, once it finally became clear that the Board's action would not be up for debate. Despite how it has been characterized in hearsay, it is not a position statement but is an outline of problems and questions that must be considered if we are to have any integrity on these matters. 

 

1. The reference to an “historic and consistent pattern of the denomination” is unclear and thus debatable because both egalitarianism and complementarianism represent a shift from ancient and pre-1960s patriarchal views of the relationship of sex and gender, as is most explicit in the Guideline which says the “old hierarchies” are replaced “with new freedom (Galatians 3:28)”. This is not to suggest that these positions on gender roles decide the transgender question for us, but is to argue that the words “consistent pattern” are debatable and unclear enough to not provide precedent for a moratorium.

Since this pattern is debatable, it is unbefitting for a report that calls for further study to identify one posture as “unwise”. Such language inadvertently prejudices the discussion in favour of a tradition that has not yet been sufficiently defined or discussed. It is not clear why this should be the posture of a Protestant denomination that does not afford authority to Tradition as a matter of default. This is not to suggest we grant authority to every trend, but is to suggest that if the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom then a formal judgment should be postponed until we have sufficiently sought the Lord on it together.

I am not standing here to take a position on the matter, but to ask the Assembly to consider whether this moratorium puts us in a situation where, if the Ethiopian Eunuch sought to lead a church in the Alliance, he would be turned away. It is still a matter of debate how eunuchs inform this conversation, but please note that Acts 8 does not specify whether he was “born that way,” or had been “made” that way “by others,” or chose it “for the sake of the kingdom of heaven” – which are the three kinds of eunuchs Jesus accepts in Matthew 19:11-12. What does it mean when Isaiah 56:4-5 says “eunuchs who keep [the LORD’s] Sabbaths” would be given “a name better than sons and daughters”? Did reading Isaiah lead the Eunuch to ask “What can stand in the way of my being baptized?” Would we?

2. Lastly, and as briefly as possible, the “moratorium” is inadequately defined on 3 points:

a) It is unclear whether this applies only to new candidates for licensing or leadership or whether it might be applied to renewals of licensing as well. Rather than prevent retroactive un-licensings, it seems this moratorium could already cause them.

b) It is unclear how we are defining “transgender persons”. Could it be applied to those who are merely perceived as such, or whose biological designation is “intersex”?

c) It is unclear when “a decision of Assembly” is expected, this moratorium could be indefinite and effectively binding – thus making it policy de facto.

 

Epilogue (as of July 2024): To date, none of these objections or questions has been answered, apart from the indication that people in Listening Circles encouraged staying the course, and the confirmation that a Theological Committee will restart the discernment process with a "white paper" on theological anthropology. (I say "restart" because there already was a committee assembled to discern a way forward on the question of transgender identity. As far as I can tell its work has been discontinued.) In the meantime, the President has released new ordination requirements that include three readings on "biblical anthropology", none of which are written by a biblical scholar or theologian specializing in these areas. At Assembly 2024 there was little to no discussion about what will happen next, although someone did protest my nomination for Board elections because of the above dissent. This speaker was cut off and no one addressed the matter or asked me to respond.

2012 Sermon on Women in Leadership

This is the audio of a sermon I preached at Beverly Alliance Church in Edmonton Alberta at a time when they were considering the denomination's move to allow women in leadership. It is edited for brevity and some of the relevant Bible verses are on screen to help listeners follow along conveniently. It is a sermon that belongs in its time and place (and is not necessarily how I'd say things now), but I'm posting it here because I get occasional requests for a representative example of the short version of the 'egalitarian' argument. I hope it is helpful for those in my church family who are still working this question out.

Luxury's The Latest and the Greatest: A Tribute to a Neglected Rock Album

Luxury's The Latest and the Greatest was recorded in 1996 after recovery from a tour-van accident that had seemed likely to claim the lives of some band members (as told in Parallel Love, an excellent documentary about the band). The album has all the beauty and pathos of their other albums, but in concentrated form. In a decade of grunge and punk, they put the energy of drums and soaring guitars together with clear and pensive vocals for a sound that was upset and hopeful at once. As such the album 'holds up', which is to say it resisted being frozen in time either by the banality of timeless pop or the immediacy of mere reaction. It gets at the universal via the particular. It is itself. It is very good. 

When I picked up this album in 1997 I was full of the angst and worry which so frustrated my generation's confidence and conviction. As I sat in my dank basement bedroom with false-wood paneling, alone and troubled and wishing I could bust out and find myself, when I put on The Latest and the Greatest it felt like the album listened to me. But somehow it channeled that solidarity and helped me pivot to wonder.

10 songs and 44 minutes long, The Latest and the Greatest starts up with a brooding drum-scape that soon gives way to a bombastic burst of drums and guitar and a lyric about "revolution". The title track strikes an immediate nerve. But once the chorus kicks in and the band is singing "we're the greatest, the world should know that by now", we get the sense there might be some satire here. After brilliant instrumental breaks in the second and third minutes of the song, we hear "life is more than being sexy, and if you learn that, well you learned that from me." Somehow we're having our desire for revolution stoked, exposed as arrogance, and then channeled into something more patient and mundane. That's song one.

Song two From the Lion Within seems to carry on the satire. Back then I could just sense that this band had grown up in trailers like I did, because there just was no way they meant it when they sang "Now that you are free, be what you will be, and have the wonderful world of luxury." Beginning the song with a declaration of intent to "move your soul as well as I am able" seemed to me like a mockery of the worship music scene as well. In any case, the song continues the bracing energy of track one. The guitars and bass and drums are layered with complexity, which is part of why the album rewards decades of listening. There's a lot there. (Incidentally, there's a guitar riff at the three minute mark which I always thought U2 ripped off for Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me--but that song came out in 1995, so I don't know who would win that court case if there was one. If based on song quality, Luxury would sweep the jury.)

The third track Not So Grand mellows out in a hard-plodding guitar riff with melodic vocals over top, but once the chorus hits, the drums and guitar are soaring again and the lyrics are nothing short of arresting. "Am I a lover of being a failure, or just a failure at being a lover?" And then the back-handed slap to society: "No, I have never / Never even changed the world / Though I've been told one thousand times I should want to / But no one has asked me to." If there's better Gen X poetry I haven't heard it. But the song doesn't leave it at that. It also asks "am I too much like Voltaire's Candide?"--which is a remarkable line given the near death trauma the band had just come through. It's a reference to a satirical 18th century novel wherein Candide has been taught by his age to respond to recurring tragedies with the optimist's refrain that "this is the best of all possible worlds", but by the end comes to the more quotidian conclusion that "we must cultivate our garden". 

If that song sits well with the wisdom literature of the Hebrew Bible, the next one seems to have been prophetic. In Metropolitan, beautiful vocals disguise lyrics that are as pointedly scathing of consumerist free-market self-actualization as any of the best punk music of the 70s and 80s. "Love yourself and / Go for the gusto / America raised me, don't you know?" Back then we kids new the jig was up. What was more singable than "If this is the modern world why do I feel so very out of place?" and the outro "The future looks so bright ahead / But I wonder / Will everyone be dead?"

The follow up in track five, The Glory, is incredible. "These pearls of mine / Unknown to all the swine / These pearls of mine / I can see the greed on everyone's mind / And so I'll wait and hesitate / Carry on a little more time / Just to be wise." Growing up in the Boomer generations' shadow it felt like we'd have to wait a long time for our shot, and when we finally got it it was likely to be exploited. This song struck a chord. As the song laments "the glory" over and over it seems to say: look, be wise how you cast your pearls, but let's not kid ourselves, clutching after them is a fools game. "Be wise."

To my ears now, Red Mascara seems problematically to project the foolishness of lust onto the "pretty girl with dark red lipstick", but the magic spell of seduction is a potent force and the song does well to call the bluff and hold out for something more than the shallow "I love yous" mentioned in verse three. At the same time, against the prudish backdrop of the Christian music scene at that time, this song also felt a bit like it was celebrating of the electric current of attraction that otherwise felt out of bounds.

King Me is slow and melodic, with clean electric guitar picking over a methodical drum beat. We hear "Isn't life meant to be lived and loved, and / Isn't life meant to be lived and loved, and / Isn't life meant to never grow old?" Somehow it catches the melancholy fear of trouble in the throat and says dammit let's get on with living and loving anyway. We were the Dead Poets Society generation after all. 

It's followed by Hell or Highwater, which feels like a companion song both in the sense of its sound and its lyrics, which channels that desire to live and love into an ode to the promise of abiding friendship. Before many of us had yet read about the socially-constructed nature of identity, we learned it from this song's final line, almost like a prayer: "please don't betray me and let me forget / who I am, who I am, who I am." This stoked a longing in me back then, for which I think I owe Luxury a debt of gratitude.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings is an epic which laments helplessness, treasures lost, and the chaotic passage of time, but builds into a climactic burst of energy that gratefully receives caged birdsong as the defiance to hold on to life. Against the backdrop of happy-clappy optimism this echo of Voltaire's Candide is even more explicitly an ode to the determined witness of African Americans, as expressed by novelist Maya Angelou and poet Paul Laurence Dunbar, the source of the title line.

With the last song The Pearls, we're led by a slow strum and plinking high piano notes to imagine ourselves as pearls who are held from the swine of death's "terrible sea", to taste the fountain of immortality. If it weren't for the songs that went before it it might sound a bit like "I'll Fly Away" escapism, except the pearls that are held fast are the treasures of this life, not some escapist fantasy. The whole thing seems like the denouement to the line from Caged Bird which said "somehow God is good and God is loving". That somehow is perhaps the most devout lyric I've ever sung along to, precisely because it doesn't come up with any explanation, it just goes for it, honestly and achingly, with all the gusto of a late 90s rock band we've hardly heard the likes of since.

For all these ten reasons and more, even though it isn't their latest anymore, I suggest that The Latest and the Greatest may not only be Luxury's best, but unironically one of the great rock albums of our time.