Wrath Of God

Something interesting occurred during meditation.

I've often read about God's wrath. I've heard sermons about our God as a "righteous judge" who is solely fit to "separate the sheep from the goats." I've heard that God can be viewed as a "New Testament God" or an "Old Testament God." I've heard that in the past God was vengeful; nowadays He's a lot more easy-going.

God's grace affords us many benefits. We can sin all we want right up to our deathbed, and it will all be forgiven if we say a little prayer of repentance. If this were so, then what's the point in living righteously, denying ourselves of our baser lusts? We can be forgiven. After all, "God's grace is sufficient," isn't it?

Without becoming polemic, Paul's words in Romans certainly apply: "What then are we to say? Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin go on living in it?" Does this mean that I should live in fear of GOD ALMIGHTY? How can I love God and still fear his wrath? How can God, who is love, still operate in old-school vengeance-giving?

My studies in Amos have lead me to the conclusion that God loves justice. Without going into much detail, it suffices that God's wrath is levied upon the unjust and the unrighteous. It seems almost like a punishment for ill behavior, much as a parent would discipline their children for neglecting to follow accepted codes of civil conduct. And for the crimes against humanity committed in the book of Amos, God would need to impose equally detrimental retribution to atone for the iniquities of an entire people group.

And what of modern examples of this behavior? Did God enact his justice on the likes of Cambodia's Pol Pot? And what of USSR's Joseph Stalin? Germany's Adolf Hitler? Will God intervene in the Burmese junta? Or Uganda's Lord's Resistance Army? There seems to be more present examples of injustice in the world than there are of harmonious societal bliss.

I think the key to understanding God's wrath lies in this statement: Human depravity hurts God. If I view my proximity to God in terms of relationship, it changes everything. God is no longer of the deist construct. God is everywhere and fills everything with His presence. God desires us to love Him as He first loved us. God desires to restore what has been ravaged and mend what has been broken. Thus, it makes sense that the decisions we as a species make to turn against what God intended for us to be is not only a breech of trust but a painful thrust into the very heart of God.

Imagine raising a child to know all of your love and good intentions for their future. You take great delight in the various stages of their development, and, painful though they may be, it's worth it because you know that in the end the many "blessings" you've afforded them will pass from them to their children and their children's children. You are effectively leaving a legacy of holistic wellness that may last for a thousand generations. Your great patience will have paid off. But what if, after all that you went through to raise your child, they decided to fall away from you? You no longer hear from them. Then much later, you see and hear about all of the horrible things they are doing, but have no influence in their lives to keep them from harming themselves and others. And what if you found out that your child was convicted of murder? Rape? Molestaton? Unspeakable acts of grotesque detail? Though your initial love for them may have never wained, a new feeling grips your heart with an unrelenting ferocity. Perhaps you regret ever having children. Perhaps you decide to disown them. Perhaps you feel compelled to make restitutions for the wrongs your child has committed. Whatever the case, you certainly must come to terms with the feeling that has now crept into your heart and commands your acquiesence:

Inconsolable grief.

There may be no other appropriate response. Watching something that was so cherished become so depraved. Spirit rending grief.

So then, if God is our originator, and if God loves us unconditionally, and if God is just, then God's wrath can be understood in this way. God gives us rules to follow, but reminds us that the most important thing we can do is to love God and love one another as we ourselves are loved by Him. And when something then happens to veer away from the original intent, restitution must be made. And if that veering is committed by an entire people group, then a "cup" of God's wrath begins to fill. And I contend that the cup is not merely filled with innocent blood that has been shed; rather, it is filled with God's tears that God Himself sheds over the damage He contributed to by creating us the way He did in the first place. God knew the unspeakable evils human beings would perpetuate, but it was the only way He could know our unrestricted love. Therefore, when God's cup has been filled and He can shed no more tears—when a people group has become entirely unjust and unrighteous, and the knowledge of God's kingdom has been lost from the people—God then intervenes, and His wrath is often instituted by other people groups. It can be said, then, that the wrath of God is the greatest expression of God's compassion for His children. It means that He not only feels what we feel, but does so all the more deeply, as He is ultimately responsible for judging us for all that we do.

So how do we live in light of this? Is God's wrath merely a past-tense curiosity? Or are there far-reaching effects that we cannot even see? How does the wrath of God apply to me on an individual level? What is my responsibility in intervening in the affairs of the corrupt among us? If you know, please leave a comment so I can get some rest tonight.

Torah, Part 1

It's easier to write a Part 1 than a Part 2. I must be an evangelist.

Last night I went to Temple Beth Or to experience a Friday Family service. I was amazed at what I witnessed and participated in.

I had been exposed to Hebrew tradition as a younger man in the form of Messianic Hebrew expressions of worship, which involved reading from the Torah, speaking in Hebrew, and other seemingly strange practices related to the "structure" of worship. But last night everything was different.

During the course of studying the Psalms in Religion 103 I have come to appreciate the Old Testament in a fresh way, particularly pertaining to the Torah. At first read-through, the Pentateuch is a dizzying array of covenantal law in which God's will for His people is expressed in exacting detail. Such a God of rule-following was never appealing to me as a younger man. I suppose such is the case for many teenage Americans. No one wants to follow rules in the United States unless it benefits them to do so. And therein lies the nugget of great "blessing" so often missed in my New Testament studies.

Blessing is often associated with action. I do something, then I am blessed. Perhaps there are those among us who have had a million dollars dropped into their laps while sitting on the couch eating Doritos; or maybe others have done nothing to deserve the loving kindness expressed to them by a complete stranger. Nevertheless, the Torah makes a clear point that blessings are something to be desired in one's life, and they often come as the result of putting one's faith into action.

So what does it mean to live a "blessed life?" What is "blessing" after all? In a later post I will wrestle with that very topic, but for now I will focus on its existence as pertaining to the Torah.

It seems that God's very presence was felt in the midst of His community as a result of His people's adherence to rule-following. Deuteronomy chapter 6 issues the Shema, which states: "Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, The LORD is One! You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might" (Deut. 6:4-5, NRSV). The verse before this states: "O Israel, you should listen and be careful to do it, that it may be well with you and that you may multiply greatly, just as the LORD, the God of your fathers, has promised you, in a land flowing with milk and honey" (Deut. 6:3, NRSV). The idea here seems to be that if I make God my priority with a single-minded adherence to following His guidelines for my life, then God's very presence will be with me causing me to receive many blessings including an increase in children and an abundance of basic living essentials as well as non-necessities. Rule-following has its benefits. But God didn't want autonomous rule-followers. The Shema itself is explicit; God wanted people to love Him. And the natural outcome of a loving relationship should be holistic well-being.

God's law was then to be spoken of everyday. The "rules" were to be physically placed throughout society in architecture and in oral tradition. The Torah was revered as something more than a well-written historical document; it was the expressed will of God for humankind. It was a way for God to provide a loving "canopy" of protection around a people living in the midst of a hostile reality. Following the Mitzvot was the natural response of someone who understood and embraced this kind of love in creation.

So how does this all relate to Temple Beth Or? Simple. We were all given a booklet to follow, which was a blessing itself. The men were given yamikas, as well as some of the young girls who wanted to wear them. This was a Reformed Jewish temple, so the allowances for gender equality were well accommodated.

As the service progressed, we were quickly in the midst of ancient ceremony. We would rise for many things and sit for explanation to the gentiles and exposition of scripture. Of particular note, in the midst of all the spoken Hebrew prayers, the Scrolls were revealed and marched about the room for all to see. In a gesture of respect, we all faced the Torah as it moved about the room, never allowing our backs to be turned to it. We were told of a prayer in which everyone must face west as it was being recited. The sacredness of the Scrolls took on a completely new meaning for me. The way that scripture was revered was something that cut my heart asunder; O, how I take God's word for granted! If I were to lose my Bible, I could just go to the store and buy another one. For the Jew, it is an event to read from the scriptures. Such devotion stands as an example to me of the love that exists in the heart of those who follow Torah.

As I was reading the booklet that I was handed which detailed the service (and translated the Hebrew into English) I was amazed at how often God's love was mentioned. I was inspired by how often God's love was referenced to "creation." I was amazed at how God's presently-creating power was called upon to heal the sick in the community. I was amazed at how every aspect of creation—from multi-celled organism to sub-atomic particle; even to the vastness of space and the things beyond our comprehension—were revered as the result of God's love in creation. Such a broad scope of the love of God cannot be contained; yet it was appropriately recognized all throughout the service.

So what of this "blessing" then? How does this fit in? Well, blessings were offered to God, and it was expected that blessings would be received naturally by us as we worshiped God through ceremony. God's "canopy" of Torah is something that exists whether we are awakened to it or not. However, to those who have been awakened, much in the way of blessing becomes available to them. Does this mean it's appropriate to seek the blessing for its own sake? Certainly not. We are not commanded to love the blessing, but to love God.

So then, the proposition seems to fit, in that as we pursue God with our love, we become awakened to His presence in our lives, and participate in this exchange of blessings that are designed for our benefit, from our loving Creator to us, such that we do not deserve, but such that He willingly bestows upon us. Such is the nature of Torah.

Eucharist

Today marks the first time I have been asked to participate in the Eucharist during chapel at Trinity Lutheran College. The invitation occurred six minutes before the service began. I had never been involved with handling the sacrament for a Lutheran Eucharist before. I expected there to be some prompting or direction, but. . .

I seemed to have taken to the responsibility rather well. I instinctively knew what I was doing. And as I was holding the chalices of wine and juice, reciting the words, I came to a wonderfully serendipitous discovery:

"Blood of Christ shed for you. Blood of Christ shed for you. Blood of Christ shed for you. . ."

The act of ministering in this way somehow personalized the moment for me in a way that was truly profound. The repetition of both people and speech allowed me to focus on the actions taken by Jesus of Nazareth on the night He was betrayed, as well as the significance of what was achieved on the cross. That mantra allowed me a window into a mystical moment wherein the death of Christ was personally my own. The significance of this event has waned as time has passed, but the moment itself remains untouched by the ills of memory; it shall stand as a time of centering and reorientation in which I came to feel the expressed will of God for my life in that moment. Truly profound.