Recently I have been trying to find a good balanced debate between an evangelical perspective and a liberal or post-liberal perspective on theology. The search is important to me partly as a result of my past: I attended a (for the most part) post-liberal & neo-orthodox seminary, where evangelical perspectives were dismissed as "ignorant fundamentalism." While I attended this school, the school itself was dismissed by conservatives that I knew as being devoid of Christians, and I was warned to be careful or I might wind up in hell. This period in which I experienced joint condemnation was a time of extreme trial for my spiritual health, but by God's grace I prevailed and I am at peace with my evangelical beliefs, even as I consider myself at an advantage with respect to my understanding of a wide array of theology which many evangelicals have never encountered. But as part of my healing process, I would love to see a fruitful dialogue between the two groups, an honest attempt to understand one another's perspectives. But here is what I have seen so far:
The Alitzer Montgomery Debate
The first book I read that was a dialogue between evangelicals and a different perspective was the transcript of a debate between Thomas J.J. Alitzer and John Warwick Montgomery on the "God is Dead" theology. Alitzer was famous for his theology which suggested that the metaphor "God is dead" was the appropriate way to describe the current appropriate existential posture of Christians toward the divine. (That's a terribly inadequate summary of the perspective, but the details of the position are irrelevant). What bothered me about the debate is that Montgomery arrived having read virtually every one of Alitzer's books, and with thorough citations from various authors in response. Alitzer arrived without any real preparation. At one point, amid Montgomery's rebuttle, he said "I've never met anyone who held this view before." It was evident that not only had Alitzer not prepared by reading any of Montgomery's work, he had not even read much evangelical thought at all. It was a frustrating debate (if it can even be called that).
Will the Real Jesus Please Stand Up? (I know, lame title)
The second book that I've read was primarily a debate between William Lane Craig and John Dominic Crossan on the historicity of the resurrection. I got this book from a friend, and was a bit embarrassed by it at first, to be honest. I've read lots of Crossan's work, and he is a stud of a scholar, but I've always had the idea that Craig was a bit of a pop culture apologist. I figured Craig would get destroyed, so the book just sat on my shelf for almost two years until I ran out of things to read. But the debate surprised me (really more shocked me) because Craig went into the debate with four key pieces of evidence and four key objections to Crossan's work, which Crossan never once addressed or rebutted. The debate was live, but several contributors from the Jesus Seminar and from evangelical seminaries contributed papers in response, and neither of the Jesus seminar respondents addressed a single one of Craig's main four points or four main objections. Now, I know that Crossan has written huge volumes of historical analysis, so why not address Craig's argument at all? He just talked past him, as did Marcus Borg and Robert J. Miller. It's like the "erudite" and "elite" scholars of the seminar dismissed the conservative points simply because they considered the scholars ignorant from the start, but the conservatives took the Jesus Seminar's arguments seriously (though they did fail to address some key points) but perpetuated the critical condemnation through such pejoratives as "peter pan theology" and jokes about Crossan disappearing in a puff of smoke when God demonstrated that Crossan was wrong in his views. In other words, each side's presentation was skewed from the start by the same assumptions I encountered at Duke, but the irony is that the "liberals" came off looking ignorant, and the "conservatives" came off looking less Christian.
Does anyone know of a good book that allows these groups to dialogue in a serious fashion?
Monday, December 19, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Experiencing Christianity in a Trinitarian Fashion
One of Christianity's main beliefs is that God is a Trinity. Christians claim that God exists as three Persons in one Being. Many Christians do not understand this claim and simply suggest that it is a mystery. To be sure, we can never fully understand the being of God. However, I think there are substantial resources in Christian theology to help clarify and explain the Trinity.
I believe that the first step that the average Christian should take in trying to understand the Trinity is to learn to experience the Trinity in daily life. Often, Christians experience God, but this experience is undifferentiated and often Christians do not know which person of the Trinity they are experiencing, or how to experience all three Persons simultaneously. If we can learn to distinguish between the three Persons in our daily experience of God, then we can begin to develop an understanding of the Trinity.
In a recent Bible study, I attempted to explain how we experience God as Trinity in the midst of suffering. All Christians know that suffering can be redemptive, but to understand the full degree of suffering's redemptiveness, we need to understand how God is present with us. First, we know that God is present through His sovereign coordination of the events of our lives. Often in suffering God provides circumstances that offer comfort. In temptation, God provides us a way to escape sin. This is the experience of God the Father as Sovereign in the middle of suffering. Simultaneously, we experience God as a comforting presence within us. Often, in times of suffering, we experience our most profound awareness of God, our most intense times of prayer, and our most powerful moments of worship. This is our experience of the Holy Spirit as Comforter. Finally, when we contemplate Christ as our co-sufferer, we recognize that we have a God that has shared our experiences.
Let's explain this another way. In suffering, we find meaning in the events around us. This is the experience of the Father. We find a solidarity with God amid our suffering. In the same way that veterans of different wars immediately feel solidarity, when they meet each other as a result of their similar experiences, we have a solidarity with God through Christ. In suffering, when we feel God's presence and his inexplicable peace, we experience the Holy Spirit.
At the risk of being redundant, I'll phrase things a third way. In suffering, when we experience God above or around us, it is God the Father. When we experience God beside us, it is Jesus Christ. When we experience God as within us, strengthening us, it is God the Spirit.
This is but one example of how we can experience God as Trinity, and through clearly articulating our experience of God in this way, we grow in our understanding of the Trinity.
I believe that the first step that the average Christian should take in trying to understand the Trinity is to learn to experience the Trinity in daily life. Often, Christians experience God, but this experience is undifferentiated and often Christians do not know which person of the Trinity they are experiencing, or how to experience all three Persons simultaneously. If we can learn to distinguish between the three Persons in our daily experience of God, then we can begin to develop an understanding of the Trinity.
In a recent Bible study, I attempted to explain how we experience God as Trinity in the midst of suffering. All Christians know that suffering can be redemptive, but to understand the full degree of suffering's redemptiveness, we need to understand how God is present with us. First, we know that God is present through His sovereign coordination of the events of our lives. Often in suffering God provides circumstances that offer comfort. In temptation, God provides us a way to escape sin. This is the experience of God the Father as Sovereign in the middle of suffering. Simultaneously, we experience God as a comforting presence within us. Often, in times of suffering, we experience our most profound awareness of God, our most intense times of prayer, and our most powerful moments of worship. This is our experience of the Holy Spirit as Comforter. Finally, when we contemplate Christ as our co-sufferer, we recognize that we have a God that has shared our experiences.
Let's explain this another way. In suffering, we find meaning in the events around us. This is the experience of the Father. We find a solidarity with God amid our suffering. In the same way that veterans of different wars immediately feel solidarity, when they meet each other as a result of their similar experiences, we have a solidarity with God through Christ. In suffering, when we feel God's presence and his inexplicable peace, we experience the Holy Spirit.
At the risk of being redundant, I'll phrase things a third way. In suffering, when we experience God above or around us, it is God the Father. When we experience God beside us, it is Jesus Christ. When we experience God as within us, strengthening us, it is God the Spirit.
This is but one example of how we can experience God as Trinity, and through clearly articulating our experience of God in this way, we grow in our understanding of the Trinity.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
"In his Father's Likeness"
I'm in the Library reading a book (A History of Women in the West, Vol. 1, p. 366). In it, the author speaks of how a father would be taken to see a child after childbirth. If the father accepted the child, it was taken into the family. If the father did not, it was left exposed to die. A son was accepted and brought into the family only if the father accepted the child as "in his father's likeness" (i.e. proving it was his son).
This has tremendous implications for our own adoption into the family of God. When we are re-created in the likeness of the father through our new birth in Christ, it means that we are accepted into the family of God.
This has tremendous implications for our own adoption into the family of God. When we are re-created in the likeness of the father through our new birth in Christ, it means that we are accepted into the family of God.
Friday, July 15, 2011
The Trinity and Christology
Christology is the Christian name for the study of Jesus Christ. It studies who he was, who he is, what he has done, and what he will do.
In my last post, I suggested than an imbalanced approach could (and often does) lead to a skewed emphasis on Christian existence. Those who focus too heavily on the Father tend to focus on dogma. Those who focus too heavily on the Spirit tend to focus on presence and experience. Those who focus on the Son, I said, tend to focus too heavily on action. What we need, I said, is a Trinitarian Christianity that can balance action, doctrine, and experience.
Since that post, I've been reflecting on what I'd written, and I've decided things are more complicated. There is in fact a connection between Christology and the Trinity, and between our perspectives on both.
Consider the connection: God the Father is God as transcendent, hidden beyond the veil of infinity and eternity. God the Spirit is God as immanent, present and working in the world at all times. Jesus Christ is God as temporally transcendent and immanent. Through Christ, God acts in history, either present in the incarnation or absent in the ascension. And this temporal aspect of Christology is what connects Christology with my Trinitarian discussion last week. Because different aspects of Christ are revealed at different times in history, any focus on a single time period in the entirety of Christ's historicity will create an imbalance in our overall understanding of God.
For example, suppose one focuses too heavily on the cross. This creates a tendency (not a necessity, one can still find a balanced understanding despite an imbalanced focus) to focus on Christ in weakness at his highest point of submission to the Father, at the pinnacle of his inaction. Thus, to focus on Christ at the cross is, to a degree, to actually focus on the Father as the one who pours out wrath on Christ, whom Christ glorifies, and as the one to whom Christ reconciles us. In essence, it creates a risk (but not an inescapable one) of reducing theology to a discussion of God, to dogma.
Likewise, reducing a focus on Christ to a focus on the incarnation creates a tendency to focus on the action of God. Christ in the incarnation is, in some ways, the pinnacle of God's action in the world, the decisive inbreaking of God to dwell among humans in the flesh. It is the foretaste of the coming victory,the height of God's action, but it does not indicate the ultimate submission and passivity associated with the cross.
Likewise, were one to focus too heavily on the ascenscion, on the departure of God's immanence in a specific, particular, embodied location to be replaced by the universality of the Holy Spirit embodied in a global Church, then there would be a tendency to focus on immanence and experience. On the presence of God universally as the anticipation of the return of Christ during the end times, the inverse of the ascension.
I think this is a step closer to a balanced understanding of a Christian existentialism, an understanding of Christian being. Still, I would be wise to consider these things more, to compare my claims with historical manifestations of imbalances (which I have only done in a cursory fashion in my head), and to seek to understand why some imbalanced groups have been able to avoid imbalanced life in Christ.
In my last post, I suggested than an imbalanced approach could (and often does) lead to a skewed emphasis on Christian existence. Those who focus too heavily on the Father tend to focus on dogma. Those who focus too heavily on the Spirit tend to focus on presence and experience. Those who focus on the Son, I said, tend to focus too heavily on action. What we need, I said, is a Trinitarian Christianity that can balance action, doctrine, and experience.
Since that post, I've been reflecting on what I'd written, and I've decided things are more complicated. There is in fact a connection between Christology and the Trinity, and between our perspectives on both.
Consider the connection: God the Father is God as transcendent, hidden beyond the veil of infinity and eternity. God the Spirit is God as immanent, present and working in the world at all times. Jesus Christ is God as temporally transcendent and immanent. Through Christ, God acts in history, either present in the incarnation or absent in the ascension. And this temporal aspect of Christology is what connects Christology with my Trinitarian discussion last week. Because different aspects of Christ are revealed at different times in history, any focus on a single time period in the entirety of Christ's historicity will create an imbalance in our overall understanding of God.
For example, suppose one focuses too heavily on the cross. This creates a tendency (not a necessity, one can still find a balanced understanding despite an imbalanced focus) to focus on Christ in weakness at his highest point of submission to the Father, at the pinnacle of his inaction. Thus, to focus on Christ at the cross is, to a degree, to actually focus on the Father as the one who pours out wrath on Christ, whom Christ glorifies, and as the one to whom Christ reconciles us. In essence, it creates a risk (but not an inescapable one) of reducing theology to a discussion of God, to dogma.
Likewise, reducing a focus on Christ to a focus on the incarnation creates a tendency to focus on the action of God. Christ in the incarnation is, in some ways, the pinnacle of God's action in the world, the decisive inbreaking of God to dwell among humans in the flesh. It is the foretaste of the coming victory,the height of God's action, but it does not indicate the ultimate submission and passivity associated with the cross.
Likewise, were one to focus too heavily on the ascenscion, on the departure of God's immanence in a specific, particular, embodied location to be replaced by the universality of the Holy Spirit embodied in a global Church, then there would be a tendency to focus on immanence and experience. On the presence of God universally as the anticipation of the return of Christ during the end times, the inverse of the ascension.
I think this is a step closer to a balanced understanding of a Christian existentialism, an understanding of Christian being. Still, I would be wise to consider these things more, to compare my claims with historical manifestations of imbalances (which I have only done in a cursory fashion in my head), and to seek to understand why some imbalanced groups have been able to avoid imbalanced life in Christ.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
State of Being
What does it mean to be a Christian?
I've been wrestling with that question for a few months now. To some, it would seem that being a Christian is to think and believe the correct things. A Christian believes in and understands (as much as possible) the Trinity, the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the Kingdom of God. Such a perspective focuses on inerrancy, patristics, apologetics, philosophy, or dogmatics. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the mind. One feels closest to God when one understands, thinks deeply, when the mind recedes away from the heart to contemplate the Holy One.
Maybe Christianity is a state of action. Words and doctrines are meaningless apart from their social implementation. These Christians might protest abortion or social injustice. They might volunteer extensively, give their belongings to the poor, or travel the world building wells for impoverished communities. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the will and in society. One understands God through the encounter with the poor and needy. It is through the sweat of the brow, the herculean effort to overcome society's injustices, through the sense of satisfaction that one acts against the norm for others.
Maybe Christianity is an emotional state, the poise of remaining still in a chaotic world, of praying continuously, of worshipping in abandon the God who is present here and now through the Spirit. Such Christians as follow this perspective focus on the spiritual disciplines, retreats, praise music, and emotional control. Existentially, such a posture leads one to a state of sensitivity and awareness to one's own spiritual state, and to a paradox of isolation and communion with the world.
It occurs to me that each of these perspectives is, in a way, a distortion of the Trinity. The dogmatic approach would seem to emphasize the Father and our attempt to understand the transcendent through revelation. The social approach would seem to emphasize the Son, and our efforts to pick up our own crosses and follow him on his mission. The spiritual approach would seem to focus on the Spirit, in its daily guidance and direction.
My struggle has been to develop a Trinitarian perspective, where being Christian is to simultaneously experience Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is a search for spiritual theology discovered amid the favellas or prisons or AIDS wards of the world. At least, that's what I imagine it to be. None of these isolated approaches seem sufficient. Nor is it sufficient to experience all three of these sequentially. If one is dogmatic in one moment, spiritual the next, and justice oriented the third, one would seem to have three disparate pictures of the triune God without any ability to piece them together, rather than a unitary experience of three-fold diversity, a singularity of knowledge, emotion, and action.
Does that make any sense?
I've been wrestling with that question for a few months now. To some, it would seem that being a Christian is to think and believe the correct things. A Christian believes in and understands (as much as possible) the Trinity, the crucifixion, the resurrection, and the Kingdom of God. Such a perspective focuses on inerrancy, patristics, apologetics, philosophy, or dogmatics. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the mind. One feels closest to God when one understands, thinks deeply, when the mind recedes away from the heart to contemplate the Holy One.
Maybe Christianity is a state of action. Words and doctrines are meaningless apart from their social implementation. These Christians might protest abortion or social injustice. They might volunteer extensively, give their belongings to the poor, or travel the world building wells for impoverished communities. Existentially, such a perspective focuses Christianity in the will and in society. One understands God through the encounter with the poor and needy. It is through the sweat of the brow, the herculean effort to overcome society's injustices, through the sense of satisfaction that one acts against the norm for others.
Maybe Christianity is an emotional state, the poise of remaining still in a chaotic world, of praying continuously, of worshipping in abandon the God who is present here and now through the Spirit. Such Christians as follow this perspective focus on the spiritual disciplines, retreats, praise music, and emotional control. Existentially, such a posture leads one to a state of sensitivity and awareness to one's own spiritual state, and to a paradox of isolation and communion with the world.
It occurs to me that each of these perspectives is, in a way, a distortion of the Trinity. The dogmatic approach would seem to emphasize the Father and our attempt to understand the transcendent through revelation. The social approach would seem to emphasize the Son, and our efforts to pick up our own crosses and follow him on his mission. The spiritual approach would seem to focus on the Spirit, in its daily guidance and direction.
My struggle has been to develop a Trinitarian perspective, where being Christian is to simultaneously experience Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It is a search for spiritual theology discovered amid the favellas or prisons or AIDS wards of the world. At least, that's what I imagine it to be. None of these isolated approaches seem sufficient. Nor is it sufficient to experience all three of these sequentially. If one is dogmatic in one moment, spiritual the next, and justice oriented the third, one would seem to have three disparate pictures of the triune God without any ability to piece them together, rather than a unitary experience of three-fold diversity, a singularity of knowledge, emotion, and action.
Does that make any sense?
Friday, July 1, 2011
You can't have my trash...
There is a church near where I live that has an interesting policy on giving. Recently, it added padlocks to the fence surrounding the dumpsters behind the church. I was told they were put there so that no one could get in to dig through the trash and take something. Now sure, maybe you are saying this is a policy to protect church confidentiality, so no one steals important documents. But all documents are already fed through a shredder, so this seems a bit extreme!
The same church has out door water spigots that do not have a handle to turn on the water flow. Instead, you need a wrench-like key. I was told this was done so that no one would steal the church's water to wash their car (or for any other reason). I can't even discern a valid reason for this security measure.
During a recent cleaning of the same church's under-used food pantry, about a dozen cans of soup were thrown away. I saw them, and looked at the expiration date on one of the cans. It expired in 2001 (ten years ago!). Now, I can think of two possible explanations for this. (1) The soup has been sitting in the food pantry since some time in 2000. (2) Someone just recently donated a can of soup that expired ten years ago and it was immediately caught. The first option would indicate to me that the church insufficiently distributes its food pantry goods, and also that it does far too little to monitor the food in its food pantry. The second option might be an oversight by the donor, or it might embody an attitude of "what's too bad for me should be plenty for the needy." I'm trying to come up with as generous of a reading as I can.
The question that really bothers me is this: how many ten-year-old cans of soup were given out before this cleaning? No matter how I look at it, the church seems to be sending a clear message to the needy: you can't have my trash, you can't have my water, but you are more than welcome to my ten-year-old soup.
The supreme irony of it all (or perhaps divine providence) is that the locks on the dumpster fence might save some impoverished dumpster-diver's life. Without the locks, he might find the disposed of ancient soup, consume it, and die.
The same church has out door water spigots that do not have a handle to turn on the water flow. Instead, you need a wrench-like key. I was told this was done so that no one would steal the church's water to wash their car (or for any other reason). I can't even discern a valid reason for this security measure.
During a recent cleaning of the same church's under-used food pantry, about a dozen cans of soup were thrown away. I saw them, and looked at the expiration date on one of the cans. It expired in 2001 (ten years ago!). Now, I can think of two possible explanations for this. (1) The soup has been sitting in the food pantry since some time in 2000. (2) Someone just recently donated a can of soup that expired ten years ago and it was immediately caught. The first option would indicate to me that the church insufficiently distributes its food pantry goods, and also that it does far too little to monitor the food in its food pantry. The second option might be an oversight by the donor, or it might embody an attitude of "what's too bad for me should be plenty for the needy." I'm trying to come up with as generous of a reading as I can.
The question that really bothers me is this: how many ten-year-old cans of soup were given out before this cleaning? No matter how I look at it, the church seems to be sending a clear message to the needy: you can't have my trash, you can't have my water, but you are more than welcome to my ten-year-old soup.
The supreme irony of it all (or perhaps divine providence) is that the locks on the dumpster fence might save some impoverished dumpster-diver's life. Without the locks, he might find the disposed of ancient soup, consume it, and die.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Day of the Lord
There is a sense in which time itself is fallen. All of creation was subject to the fall, time included. There is also a sense in which all of creation will itself be reborn, just as the human individual is reborn through faith in Christ. This means that time will also be reborn, redeemed, and renewed.
This claim leads to an interesting conclusion: the Christian theological analysis of the salvation of the human being is, in a very literal sense, the drama of the salvation of the world in microcosm. Whatever is to occur to humans, and therefore however we view the human being during the process of salvation, is also to occur to the universe and will also affect the way that we will view the universe during the process of redemption history.
Let's be a bit more detailed here by looking at an example. Several posts ago I discussed the paradox of Christian identity. On the one hand, as children of God we are of infinite worth and value. On the other, as children who have forsaken their father and set their own course steeped in sin, we are of a sort of evil that cannot be underestimated.
The same paradox of human nature extends to the creation itself, and to the end times. If we overemphasize either of the dual aspects of reality, we are likely to distort our perception of the end times. For example, if we only recognize sin in ourselves and in this world, then the end times are exclusively a source of joy and comfort. When God comes, all evil in this world will be overthrown and only goodness will remain. For this reason, we often see such a triumphalist view of the end times playing a prominent role among those who are suffering the most fervently under oppression, and who are therefore most acutely aware of the sin and evil in this world (for example during the Roman persecutions). Simultaneously, we often see such a joyous anticipation of the end times among those who most heavily emphasize the sinful nature of the human being, and who are therefore most conscious of the need to be liberated from our own sin nature (for example neo-Calvinists). While it is certainly true that we should anticipate the destruction of evil, sin, and death at the end times (by, for example, praying "Thy Kingdom come"), the Biblical witness concerning the end times is more complex. Consider, for example, the following passage from Amos:
"Woe to you who long
for the day of the Lord!
Why do you long for the day of the Lord?
That day will be darkness, not light.
It will be as though a man fled from a lion
only to meet a bear,
as though he entered his house
and rested his hand on the wall
only to have a snake bite him.
Will not the day of the Lord be darkness, not light -
pitch-dark without a ray of brightness?" (Amos 5:18-20)
The theme is common throughout the prophets:
"Let all who live in the land tremble,
for the day of the Lord is coming.
It is close at hand -
a day of darkness and gloom,
a day of clouds and blackness." (Joel 2:1-2a)
"Listen! The cry on the day of the Lord will be bitter,
The shouting of the warrior there,
That day will be a day of wrath,
a day of distress and anguish
a day of trouble and ruin,
a day of darkness and gloom,
a day of clouds and blackness." (Zephaniah 1:14-15)
It is a theme even in the words of Jesus:
"How dreadful it will be for pregnant women and nursing mothers! Pray that your flight will not take place in winter or on the Sabbath. For then there will be great distress, unequalled from the beginning of the world until now - and never to be equalled again." (Matthew 24:19-21)
There are those who dread the day of the Lord, the end times, even though they know Christ. They are almost ashamed of the end times and their corresponding judgment. Quite often, due to their discomfort, they even seek ways to reinterpret the Scriptures so that they can deny a second coming of Christ altogether. While it is easy to simply and quickly dismiss such Christians, we must recognize that their discomfort sometimes originates from the same source as our enthusiasm: an imbalanced perspective on redemption. Where evangelicals are prone to emphasize sin, and therefore to eagerly anticipate the day of the Lord as a release from sin, many other Christian groups are prone to emphasize the goodness of creation and the human potential for redemption, creativity, and beauty. For those who emphasize the potential goodness of humans created in the image of God, the end times represent the ultimate destruction of that image within those who persist in faithlessness and disobedience.
In truth, it seems best to hold a paradoxical view of the Day of the Lord much as we cling to a paradoxical view of human nature. Though marred by sin, creation is a wonderful work of God and we should dread its final destruction just as we rejoice in the new creation the Lord has promised to bring forth. This paradoxical mixture of joy and dread mirrors the paradoxical truth that both the best and the worst are still yet to come.
What does this teach Christians living in the interim between Christ's first and second coming? For those who would focus on the future redemption, we must remember the terror of the day of the Lord. It is by mercy that God delays that final day, and so we should make use of his mercy to combat sin, oppression, and evil in this day. Our battle now will surely be less arduous than that final battle. Likewise, for those who would focus on the present potential for good, we must insistently avoid calling grey white, and must resolutely affirm the greater redemption that is to come while staunchly rejecting as sin that which fails to live up to that future standard. We cannot become so tempered by realism to embrace the surrealism of the coming Kingdom as a model for our own efforts. And finally, wherever there is joy or pain, we must expect both to increase before the final victory. We must thank God for what hope yet persists amid pain, and for what pain mingles with our hope, for both teach us of what is to come and remind us that we are in the present state by God's grace and according to His plan.
This claim leads to an interesting conclusion: the Christian theological analysis of the salvation of the human being is, in a very literal sense, the drama of the salvation of the world in microcosm. Whatever is to occur to humans, and therefore however we view the human being during the process of salvation, is also to occur to the universe and will also affect the way that we will view the universe during the process of redemption history.
Let's be a bit more detailed here by looking at an example. Several posts ago I discussed the paradox of Christian identity. On the one hand, as children of God we are of infinite worth and value. On the other, as children who have forsaken their father and set their own course steeped in sin, we are of a sort of evil that cannot be underestimated.
The same paradox of human nature extends to the creation itself, and to the end times. If we overemphasize either of the dual aspects of reality, we are likely to distort our perception of the end times. For example, if we only recognize sin in ourselves and in this world, then the end times are exclusively a source of joy and comfort. When God comes, all evil in this world will be overthrown and only goodness will remain. For this reason, we often see such a triumphalist view of the end times playing a prominent role among those who are suffering the most fervently under oppression, and who are therefore most acutely aware of the sin and evil in this world (for example during the Roman persecutions). Simultaneously, we often see such a joyous anticipation of the end times among those who most heavily emphasize the sinful nature of the human being, and who are therefore most conscious of the need to be liberated from our own sin nature (for example neo-Calvinists). While it is certainly true that we should anticipate the destruction of evil, sin, and death at the end times (by, for example, praying "Thy Kingdom come"), the Biblical witness concerning the end times is more complex. Consider, for example, the following passage from Amos:
"Woe to you who long
for the day of the Lord!
Why do you long for the day of the Lord?
That day will be darkness, not light.
It will be as though a man fled from a lion
only to meet a bear,
as though he entered his house
and rested his hand on the wall
only to have a snake bite him.
Will not the day of the Lord be darkness, not light -
pitch-dark without a ray of brightness?" (Amos 5:18-20)
The theme is common throughout the prophets:
"Let all who live in the land tremble,
for the day of the Lord is coming.
It is close at hand -
a day of darkness and gloom,
a day of clouds and blackness." (Joel 2:1-2a)
"Listen! The cry on the day of the Lord will be bitter,
The shouting of the warrior there,
That day will be a day of wrath,
a day of distress and anguish
a day of trouble and ruin,
a day of darkness and gloom,
a day of clouds and blackness." (Zephaniah 1:14-15)
It is a theme even in the words of Jesus:
"How dreadful it will be for pregnant women and nursing mothers! Pray that your flight will not take place in winter or on the Sabbath. For then there will be great distress, unequalled from the beginning of the world until now - and never to be equalled again." (Matthew 24:19-21)
There are those who dread the day of the Lord, the end times, even though they know Christ. They are almost ashamed of the end times and their corresponding judgment. Quite often, due to their discomfort, they even seek ways to reinterpret the Scriptures so that they can deny a second coming of Christ altogether. While it is easy to simply and quickly dismiss such Christians, we must recognize that their discomfort sometimes originates from the same source as our enthusiasm: an imbalanced perspective on redemption. Where evangelicals are prone to emphasize sin, and therefore to eagerly anticipate the day of the Lord as a release from sin, many other Christian groups are prone to emphasize the goodness of creation and the human potential for redemption, creativity, and beauty. For those who emphasize the potential goodness of humans created in the image of God, the end times represent the ultimate destruction of that image within those who persist in faithlessness and disobedience.
In truth, it seems best to hold a paradoxical view of the Day of the Lord much as we cling to a paradoxical view of human nature. Though marred by sin, creation is a wonderful work of God and we should dread its final destruction just as we rejoice in the new creation the Lord has promised to bring forth. This paradoxical mixture of joy and dread mirrors the paradoxical truth that both the best and the worst are still yet to come.
What does this teach Christians living in the interim between Christ's first and second coming? For those who would focus on the future redemption, we must remember the terror of the day of the Lord. It is by mercy that God delays that final day, and so we should make use of his mercy to combat sin, oppression, and evil in this day. Our battle now will surely be less arduous than that final battle. Likewise, for those who would focus on the present potential for good, we must insistently avoid calling grey white, and must resolutely affirm the greater redemption that is to come while staunchly rejecting as sin that which fails to live up to that future standard. We cannot become so tempered by realism to embrace the surrealism of the coming Kingdom as a model for our own efforts. And finally, wherever there is joy or pain, we must expect both to increase before the final victory. We must thank God for what hope yet persists amid pain, and for what pain mingles with our hope, for both teach us of what is to come and remind us that we are in the present state by God's grace and according to His plan.
Monday, May 30, 2011
To be a Witness
In the two years since I've taken a Greek class, I've grown a bit rusty, so I've been studying my Greek. As I've studied my vocabulary lists, I came across something that I think is worth sharing:
The greek word for bearing witness or testifying is μαρτυρεω ("martureo"). This is the word that is often used when the Paul is to defend himself and present the gospel before authorities. It is the word that describes John the Baptists's ministry. The Holy Spirit itself is said to testify in this way about Jesus' identity. Perhaps the most insightful aspect of this word is its eventual connection with another important concept in the early church: martyrdom. Indeed, the word martyr itself comes from the word μαρτυρεω and refers to one who bears witness before the governmental authorities. In several early persecutions under Nero, Maximinus Thrax, Decian, and Diocletian the Roman Empire sought to publicly oppose Christianity. Often, this was because Christians failed to swear allegieance to Caesar as Lord, reserving that term for Christ alone. When called before the authorities, a Christian had two options. The first was to bow to Caesar as Lord, often offering him a sacrifice, and to hand over the copies of the Christian Scriptures in their possession. Those who did so were called "traditores", from the latin for "handing over." The word eventually became the English "traitors." The other option was to bear witness and testify that there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, and one Spirit, and one Father of all. Those who bore witness in this way were executed, often being burned at the stake.
This has tremendous significance for evangelism. Today, we tend to think of evangelism as a communication of information. We must pass the essential truths of the Christian faith to a non-believer, and so we use rhetorical tools such as the "four spiritual laws" or the "Romans road." To be sure, these tools can be helpful, and there must be some propositional content to the gospel. Still, bearing witness to Christ is not most essentially about this information. It is more about the link between the information we share and the affect that this information has had on our lives. Our credibility in evangelism is directly proportional to the degree to which the message we bear witness to has led us to sacrifice our lives. We are to die to ourselves for Christ, just as the martyrs died for him. Our evangelism is a reflection of their lives, and our testimony must bear the weighty significance which theirs did. If the gospel has not caused us to die to ourselves to live for Christ, it will be nothing more than rhetoric. In this way, evangelism is good for the evangelist as well as for the one to whom we evangelize. For the evangelist it is a call to heed Jesus' words, "Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me" (Luke 9:23). To the one who hears the message, it is a statement grounded in the truth of our lives and in the Scriptures: "To live is Christ and to die is gain" (Philippians 1:21).
The greek word for bearing witness or testifying is μαρτυρεω ("martureo"). This is the word that is often used when the Paul is to defend himself and present the gospel before authorities. It is the word that describes John the Baptists's ministry. The Holy Spirit itself is said to testify in this way about Jesus' identity. Perhaps the most insightful aspect of this word is its eventual connection with another important concept in the early church: martyrdom. Indeed, the word martyr itself comes from the word μαρτυρεω and refers to one who bears witness before the governmental authorities. In several early persecutions under Nero, Maximinus Thrax, Decian, and Diocletian the Roman Empire sought to publicly oppose Christianity. Often, this was because Christians failed to swear allegieance to Caesar as Lord, reserving that term for Christ alone. When called before the authorities, a Christian had two options. The first was to bow to Caesar as Lord, often offering him a sacrifice, and to hand over the copies of the Christian Scriptures in their possession. Those who did so were called "traditores", from the latin for "handing over." The word eventually became the English "traitors." The other option was to bear witness and testify that there is but one Lord, Jesus Christ, and one Spirit, and one Father of all. Those who bore witness in this way were executed, often being burned at the stake.
This has tremendous significance for evangelism. Today, we tend to think of evangelism as a communication of information. We must pass the essential truths of the Christian faith to a non-believer, and so we use rhetorical tools such as the "four spiritual laws" or the "Romans road." To be sure, these tools can be helpful, and there must be some propositional content to the gospel. Still, bearing witness to Christ is not most essentially about this information. It is more about the link between the information we share and the affect that this information has had on our lives. Our credibility in evangelism is directly proportional to the degree to which the message we bear witness to has led us to sacrifice our lives. We are to die to ourselves for Christ, just as the martyrs died for him. Our evangelism is a reflection of their lives, and our testimony must bear the weighty significance which theirs did. If the gospel has not caused us to die to ourselves to live for Christ, it will be nothing more than rhetoric. In this way, evangelism is good for the evangelist as well as for the one to whom we evangelize. For the evangelist it is a call to heed Jesus' words, "Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me" (Luke 9:23). To the one who hears the message, it is a statement grounded in the truth of our lives and in the Scriptures: "To live is Christ and to die is gain" (Philippians 1:21).
Friday, May 27, 2011
In the Company of Angels
I was reading Bullinger the other day, the little-known Swiss reformer who took over the Reformation in Geneva. (He was the successor of Uldrich Zwingli and the precursor of John Calvin.) I've read a decent amount on the Church, but Bullinger was the first to really introduce me to an idea that I think is critical for a solid understanding of worship.
According to Bullinger, there are two churches: the church militant, and the church triumphant. The church millitant is that part of the church which remains here on earth, combating sin, mortality, and the devil. The church triumphant is that part of the church which, through Christ, has attained victory over sin, death and the devil. The church triumphant is that group of believers which consists of the angels and the deceased saints, the "great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing before the throne of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried in a loud voice, 'Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.' All the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They fell down on their faces before the throne and worshipped God, saying: 'Amen! Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be to our God for ever and ever. Amen!.'" (Revelation 7:9-11)
This is the entire church, and when we gather to worship, we gather as one. That's what is so revolutionary. A sermon, the proclamation of the gospel, is a participation in the declarations of the saints and martyrs in heaven, those who have conquered death by sharing in Christ's death. When we preach the gospel, we echo their cry of the gospel: 'Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the lamb.' When we sing hymns and songs of worship, we join in the company of angels who proclaims, 'Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be to our God for ever and ever.'
When my wife and I go to our church on Sunday, I am not conscious of this fact. Half the congregation arrives late. We sing songs, but often my heart is not in it, and I am almost never aware of the sacred nature of the song I sing. This is true for my present church and for all I have attended. A sermon is a time to take notes and to learn, but it is never viewed as a participation in the gospel sung by the martyrs. I need to try to enter worship with a sense of the holiness and sacredness of it all.
That is why Bullinger's distinction between the church triumphant and militant is so important. We proceed as a church militant as if alone, as if we the entirety of the church. And a church militant which is stripped of the church triumphant has little to triumph in, and often resorts to militancy. We strive in worship to learn, to feel something poignant, to defeat sin, and to worship. We strive when we could rest in the company of angels, joining in the heavenly song and resting in the promised triumph which those who have gone before us experience through Christ, and which we will know on the other side of the grave.
I think our worship loses something when we believe we worship God alone in a building. Better to see our building as the foyer for the throne room in which the heavenly host crowds.
According to Bullinger, there are two churches: the church militant, and the church triumphant. The church millitant is that part of the church which remains here on earth, combating sin, mortality, and the devil. The church triumphant is that part of the church which, through Christ, has attained victory over sin, death and the devil. The church triumphant is that group of believers which consists of the angels and the deceased saints, the "great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing before the throne of the Lamb. They were wearing white robes and were holding palm branches in their hands. And they cried in a loud voice, 'Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.' All the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures. They fell down on their faces before the throne and worshipped God, saying: 'Amen! Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be to our God for ever and ever. Amen!.'" (Revelation 7:9-11)
This is the entire church, and when we gather to worship, we gather as one. That's what is so revolutionary. A sermon, the proclamation of the gospel, is a participation in the declarations of the saints and martyrs in heaven, those who have conquered death by sharing in Christ's death. When we preach the gospel, we echo their cry of the gospel: 'Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the lamb.' When we sing hymns and songs of worship, we join in the company of angels who proclaims, 'Praise and glory and wisdom and thanks and honor and power and strength be to our God for ever and ever.'
When my wife and I go to our church on Sunday, I am not conscious of this fact. Half the congregation arrives late. We sing songs, but often my heart is not in it, and I am almost never aware of the sacred nature of the song I sing. This is true for my present church and for all I have attended. A sermon is a time to take notes and to learn, but it is never viewed as a participation in the gospel sung by the martyrs. I need to try to enter worship with a sense of the holiness and sacredness of it all.
That is why Bullinger's distinction between the church triumphant and militant is so important. We proceed as a church militant as if alone, as if we the entirety of the church. And a church militant which is stripped of the church triumphant has little to triumph in, and often resorts to militancy. We strive in worship to learn, to feel something poignant, to defeat sin, and to worship. We strive when we could rest in the company of angels, joining in the heavenly song and resting in the promised triumph which those who have gone before us experience through Christ, and which we will know on the other side of the grave.
I think our worship loses something when we believe we worship God alone in a building. Better to see our building as the foyer for the throne room in which the heavenly host crowds.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
The Paradox of Human Nature
"[The incarnation] reaffirms that man is truly man when he participates in the life of God; that he is not autonomous, either in relation to God, or in relation to the world; that true human life can never be 'secular.'" (John Meyendorff, Byzantine Theology, p. 152)
After a friend's recent question, I've been wondering what it means to be human in relation to God. A standard take on this question in our time is that of Neo-Calvinism, which suggests (perhaps not intentionally) that human nature, experience, and identity is most fully described in the experience of the sinner justified by God apart from will or choice. It is the experience of passively receiving grace, love, and goodness when we did not yet imagine that such things existed. To be sure, something rings true in this perspective, and there is much scriptural support to it. On the other hand, Neo-Calvinism seems to be lacking in another respect. It suggests that humanity is validated through an imposed external, which conversely emphasizes the difference between humanity and God. God is holy, and I am a wretch, and my own nature is only fully known in that instant of recognition where I see the great divide between myself and God. In this way, we risk making human nature only secular, only separate from God.
This is a proper theological anthropology derived from the cross. Immortal God dies for mortal man, and the monstrous paradox of it all symbolically highlights the difference between humankind and God. God's death in Christ is only noteworthy given the dramatic difference between God and humanity.
What might a theological anthropology of the incarnation look like? Instead of the terrible moment of the mortality of immortality, we see the awe of the union of mortality and immortality as an opportunity. Humanity was only fully realized in the incarnation, where human nature fully participated in the divine nature. This is a symbol of potential, which highlights the Biblical notion of our creation in the image of God. I know myself through the incarnation, where I see that I am fully dependent on God and only fully human in communion or participation with God. This discovery is one of openness, where I am surprised that human nature can be holy where it was not expected. No one looks to their neighbor expecting to encounter Perfection, and yet, in Christ, there the union is. This demonstrates the holy aspects of human nature, identity, and existence.
Perhaps a correct theological understanding of human nature is present in the combination of the two. Human life is never "secular." We know ourselves most fully in our communion with God. However, our communion with God equally exposes to our eyes the reality that we are not God. And yet God's life and death in Christ, the Son of God, consistently challenges both of these poles. Against our insistence on the divide between God and man, the incarnation insistently calls us to participate in a relationship with the Triune God, that we might be fully human. Against our prideful ambitions to become God through this participation, the crucifixion reminds us that our participation is only possible through the dissolution of ourselves in death. We die with Christ that we might live a life of participation with God. In the very instant that we know we have lost everything, we discover that we had something to lose all along, and that it has already been restored to us all along.
This is a discovery that is not alien to Neo-Calvinism. Tim Keller, for example, has taught, "e are more wicked than we ever dared believe, but more loved and accepted in Christ than we ever dared hope — at the very same time." However, it is one that is too often lost in the noise, just as Orthodoxy has, at times, minimized sin too heavily. I wish to explore both extremes, that I might learn to participate in God in every aspect of my life an experience, just as I learn to recognize and repent from the sins I commit in every aspect of life. If I attain this understanding, then I will have true Christian wisdom.
After a friend's recent question, I've been wondering what it means to be human in relation to God. A standard take on this question in our time is that of Neo-Calvinism, which suggests (perhaps not intentionally) that human nature, experience, and identity is most fully described in the experience of the sinner justified by God apart from will or choice. It is the experience of passively receiving grace, love, and goodness when we did not yet imagine that such things existed. To be sure, something rings true in this perspective, and there is much scriptural support to it. On the other hand, Neo-Calvinism seems to be lacking in another respect. It suggests that humanity is validated through an imposed external, which conversely emphasizes the difference between humanity and God. God is holy, and I am a wretch, and my own nature is only fully known in that instant of recognition where I see the great divide between myself and God. In this way, we risk making human nature only secular, only separate from God.
This is a proper theological anthropology derived from the cross. Immortal God dies for mortal man, and the monstrous paradox of it all symbolically highlights the difference between humankind and God. God's death in Christ is only noteworthy given the dramatic difference between God and humanity.
What might a theological anthropology of the incarnation look like? Instead of the terrible moment of the mortality of immortality, we see the awe of the union of mortality and immortality as an opportunity. Humanity was only fully realized in the incarnation, where human nature fully participated in the divine nature. This is a symbol of potential, which highlights the Biblical notion of our creation in the image of God. I know myself through the incarnation, where I see that I am fully dependent on God and only fully human in communion or participation with God. This discovery is one of openness, where I am surprised that human nature can be holy where it was not expected. No one looks to their neighbor expecting to encounter Perfection, and yet, in Christ, there the union is. This demonstrates the holy aspects of human nature, identity, and existence.
Perhaps a correct theological understanding of human nature is present in the combination of the two. Human life is never "secular." We know ourselves most fully in our communion with God. However, our communion with God equally exposes to our eyes the reality that we are not God. And yet God's life and death in Christ, the Son of God, consistently challenges both of these poles. Against our insistence on the divide between God and man, the incarnation insistently calls us to participate in a relationship with the Triune God, that we might be fully human. Against our prideful ambitions to become God through this participation, the crucifixion reminds us that our participation is only possible through the dissolution of ourselves in death. We die with Christ that we might live a life of participation with God. In the very instant that we know we have lost everything, we discover that we had something to lose all along, and that it has already been restored to us all along.
This is a discovery that is not alien to Neo-Calvinism. Tim Keller, for example, has taught, "e are more wicked than we ever dared believe, but more loved and accepted in Christ than we ever dared hope — at the very same time." However, it is one that is too often lost in the noise, just as Orthodoxy has, at times, minimized sin too heavily. I wish to explore both extremes, that I might learn to participate in God in every aspect of my life an experience, just as I learn to recognize and repent from the sins I commit in every aspect of life. If I attain this understanding, then I will have true Christian wisdom.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Why Another Blog?
This will be my second theological blog. The first, Locke and the Keys, is simply an echo chamber for my own thoughts on political theology and economics. Perhaps it is helpful for my future in writing, but it is not beneficial to the world in any real sense. It might be vanity, but I do want to benefit the world in some way. I spent three years in seminary, working in ministry positions in churches, prisons, hospitals, and homeless shelters, and I had a sense that the work I was doing benefitted God and His kingdom. Now I've moved to Illinois so that my wife can get a degree in mental health counseling from Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. I am certain that God has called us here, but I am conscious of the fact that I have no ministry, no mission, and hardly any potential for that to change in the near future. I live on a seminary campus, but I am not a student. This isolates me both from the world and from my immediate neighbors. Most of the work I do is manual labor. While it is good for the body and the soul, my mind and heart lie fallow unless I intentionally put them to work. So, that is what I plan to do. I will use this blog, potentially another echo chamber, to focus my heart and my mind, sharing what I know and am learning about God in hopes that someone, somewhere might benefit. I pray for the possibility, even if I am only writing that I might benefit.
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