Somehow, remarkably, we all have the image of God but don’t.
Maybe there is some sort of ratio for how much of God’s image remains within us. Perhaps that “image” is only a resemblance as in a human family’s lineage, like the way I resemble my father; I retain features and characteristics while possessing my own unique drives and sociological imperatives
Interestingly, on page 71, Wittmer declares that the planet we currently reside upon will be “restored to its original goodness.” Does that mean that in the new Jerusalem there will be a reformation of earth to its pre-flood state, or will there be a complete transformation to a state that can withstand the presence of God himself that is altogether different from anything we have ever known?
Now then, we are created in God’s image; in the image of God are we created. The deep ramifications of this statement may never truly be understood. I am comfortable at this stage in my faith journey with the idea that the same God who sovereignly governs the heavens also chose to use as a proxy something that could simultaneously govern this planet and innately identify with it. Analogously (and imperfectly) it would serve only a utilitarian function (at best) to have a ruler govern a city but care nothing for the needs of the people. Likewise, said city would engage in hedonistic utilitarianism before dissolving into anarchistic nihilism if not for the intervention of responsible leadership (i.e., an outside source) capable of identifying with the people on a servant-level, loving them, reflecting greater ethical values that support the common good, and possessing the dominion (presence of nonviolent force; charisma) necessary to fulfil its political aims. To bring this back to our discussion, unfortunately, our present humanness struggles with all its might against the things that are best for it. We seem to naturally gravitate towards the things we should not do rather than do the things we are told to do (for our own good) but do not understand. As such, the “image of God” becomes all the more important to us as we endeavour to evolve as a species into a greater idyllic state, which for the Christian is one that, in addition to many other considerations, allows for an unbroken relationship with God on all levels. Since we cannot reflect an “ultimate goodness” in soma and are therefore incapable of fulfilling our vocation (to govern) on our own, it is necessary that we not only derive our values from a source outside of ourselves, but endeavour to reflect said source. We need God to give us order so that order may exist; we need God to govern our lives so that we may govern this planet. Our species, created though it may be, can best reflect the image of God by interacting with this present reality in the way that God originally intended.
Wittmer goes out of his way to remind us of our humble beginnings. We are “mud”. The connection he draws between humans and planet Earth is blatant; “...we are earthlings. We were made to live here. This world is our home.” In the greater context, he seems to be setting up a contrast between the biblical account of humanity’s creation and the Gnostic views of the secularized Evangelical Movement. Perhaps he intends to convey the intrinsic value and importance of maintaining biblical ethics regarding issues of global stewardship. We were never meant to “fly away”. Rather, we are meant to deal with real issues right before us in an effort to make this present generation of human beings look more like the image of God within them, and in so doing, transform this present world into something more resembling the Kingdom of Heaven. Though I am likely engaging in isogesis.
Practically, Wittmer states that our obligation one to another as image bearers of the living God is to “do everything in our power to protect the value and dignity of human life, from the cradle to the grave.” Such a worldview presents great exclusivity in a variety of fields including medicine and politics. Should we pursue stem cell research? Should we permit adult euthanasia as a form of elderly “death with dignity”? Should we permit capital punishment for multiple-offense murderers? Our ethical obligations to protecting the “value and dignity of human life” should cause us to greatly consider any actions before we take them.
Lastly, Wittmer lays out a three-point summary of who we are, why we are here and what we are intended to do: "First. . .God created us in his image so that we might enjoy personal fellowship with him. . .Second. . .so that we might enjoy fellowship with others. . .Third. . .so that we might enjoy right relationship with the rest of creation." And there it is. Only one question left: Where do we go from here?
Monday, September 28, 2009
Heaven Is A Place On Earth, Part 2
God is God and I am not. . .
Having declared that God necessarily exists, remains entirely perfect, is absolutely transcendent, created all things and is predisposed to loving said created things, Wittmer draws our attention to creation itself proclaiming in no uncertain terms that everything God created was and remains good. The last paragraph on page sixty-five is Wittmer’s thesis, complete with objective correlative. However, this is in diametric opposition to everything I have been taught about the “afterlife” and what I am living on earth for. Is earth a “training ground” for our heavenly “assignment”? What use is there in having “pearly gates” if they exist in front of an ethereal Disneyland? Why even have a heavenly vacation spot if the goal is to redeem our home? What is God waiting for?
So if creation is good, and material things are not intrinsically evil, then why does God curse the earth? What possible good is there in something cursed by God in the first-person?
Wittmer begins and ends the chapter with references to some of the more profane attempts at Christian marketing -- profane, not because the purveyors are capitalists, but because they are contributing to the gnostic-izing of the Western Church. In response to this, Wittmer writes on page sixty-seven, and a revelation occurs to me: “Our first responsibility is to find pleasure in our Father’s world.” And said pleasure is derived from our indwelling and groundedness within the material context of the created world, not apart from it. I am glad that someone with credentials in the field of Christian thought believes exactly as I do on the matter. My goal is not to deny myself all that is enjoyable on this planet for the sake of “sharing in Christ’s sufferings” but rather to look more like the picture painted in Genesis 3:8 where humans enjoy unbroken fellowship with God on all perceptible levels “in the cool of the day” when all other work is completed. I can simply marvel at the beauty of the things that God has given to humanity and remain content in the knowledge that it is all “very good” indeed.
Having declared that God necessarily exists, remains entirely perfect, is absolutely transcendent, created all things and is predisposed to loving said created things, Wittmer draws our attention to creation itself proclaiming in no uncertain terms that everything God created was and remains good. The last paragraph on page sixty-five is Wittmer’s thesis, complete with objective correlative. However, this is in diametric opposition to everything I have been taught about the “afterlife” and what I am living on earth for. Is earth a “training ground” for our heavenly “assignment”? What use is there in having “pearly gates” if they exist in front of an ethereal Disneyland? Why even have a heavenly vacation spot if the goal is to redeem our home? What is God waiting for?
So if creation is good, and material things are not intrinsically evil, then why does God curse the earth? What possible good is there in something cursed by God in the first-person?
Wittmer begins and ends the chapter with references to some of the more profane attempts at Christian marketing -- profane, not because the purveyors are capitalists, but because they are contributing to the gnostic-izing of the Western Church. In response to this, Wittmer writes on page sixty-seven, and a revelation occurs to me: “Our first responsibility is to find pleasure in our Father’s world.” And said pleasure is derived from our indwelling and groundedness within the material context of the created world, not apart from it. I am glad that someone with credentials in the field of Christian thought believes exactly as I do on the matter. My goal is not to deny myself all that is enjoyable on this planet for the sake of “sharing in Christ’s sufferings” but rather to look more like the picture painted in Genesis 3:8 where humans enjoy unbroken fellowship with God on all perceptible levels “in the cool of the day” when all other work is completed. I can simply marvel at the beauty of the things that God has given to humanity and remain content in the knowledge that it is all “very good” indeed.
Wittmer’s distinction between ethical and ontological (material) meanings of Scripture are refreshing. He calls to attention that our sins are at the root of our problem, and it is our sin that we should retreat from, not the material world. This gives Scripture consistency and prevents the reader from assuming that the Bible is contradictory. I am slowly evolving away from bibliolatry. . .
Heaven Is A Place On Earth, Part 1
There goes the evangelical movement. . .
I have been assigned a reading for Religion 201: Creation and the New Creation. It remains a fascinating class, though frightfully early in the morning. And in an effort to keep a fresh induction of theological blood pumping on this blog, I've decided to incorporate my thoughts concerning the book Heaven is a Place on Earth by Michael E Wittmer.
Wittmer begins this chapter with the assumption that God is the very image of perfection and is therefore “wholly other than” all else in existence. To do this, Wittmer employs Anslem’s theorem, which itself is a rational catch-twenty-two that is easily dismissed by rudimentary logic. To say that humans are capable of imagining a perfect “form” of anything is absurd (i.e., after the introduction of sin) and is Platonic in origin. If God truly is wholly other than me, and if the biblical account of the fall prerequisites that all humanity at present to be “fractured” or “lesser than”, then I shall be wholly incapable of conceiving even a shred of his perfect state. Even if I should I somehow become capable of imagining a perfect form of anything, then that thing I have imagined is no more real than anything else I can imagine. What in Scripture supports an absolutely perfect Creator? Anslem’s argument looks like this: I can imagine something perfect; The most perfect thing I can imagine is God; God therefore necessarily exists. If that were truly the case, then the following atheistic argument can be made: I can imagine something perfect; The most perfect thing I can imagine is cold fusion; Cold fusion therefore necessarily exists. Wittmer concedes the futility of the argument as a starting point for discussion, believing the most valuable attribute of Anslem’s theorem is how it opens our eyes to the vastness of God and the sorts of words we must use to revere God with. However, I am logically predisposed to gravitate towards the Judeo-Christian source of such claims about God. But denying the whole of Scripture, can reason or philosophy ever explain the existence (or lack thereof) of God? Or God’s divine attributes? If all I ever had of the Bible was the first three chapters of the book of Genesis, to what view of God would I rationally concede? It is clearly a matter of faith and nothing more. Such a bizarre way to begin a chapter.
Wittmer’s take on metaphysical dualism and his criticism of Western Christianity seem to be above reproach. His distinction is perfect: A chasm exists between us and God. Logically, in order to recover the image of God we have lost, we must make no quarter for sin. However, we all retain a proclivity toward all manner of sin as a result of the “fall”. Therefore, the need for a Savior was and remains necessary. The line we draw at this point hinges on how gnostic our beliefs have become. Do we surrender to the majesty of a being that is wholly other than us? Or do we utilize our own sin-management and behavioural modification systems in order to escape the tainted bonds of this disgustingly evil earth?
Taking into consideration God’s necessarily transcendent nature, I wonder what the point of all this theology must be? If we will never fully know nor understand God (in this life or the next, as we are still created things) then why bother now? What is our ultimate purpose on earth in 2009? And what of open theism? How transcendent is God?
Wittmer takes a decidedly gracious (and correct) approach to the nature of this chapter. To concede that no one will ever know all of the answers to all of the questions (short of transcendence) is not only philosophically consistent with modern and ancient rationale, but remains supported by Scripture (as Paul attests, that our dependence upon and justification to a necessarily existent God is by faith alone). I am left with one thought: A necessarily existent God, to whatever degree of perfection, must be biased towards caring for the beings said God created. The notion that it is God’s will that I continue (or cease) to be is humbling to say the least. The very fact of my existence proves to me that God exists and God is good.
I am very curious to see where this reading will take me on my journey to a achieving a well rounded theological foundation.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Grace, Part 2
I am a venomous bastard of ungrace.
There comes a point in everyone's life when they have no choice but to face the sickening, garish, schismatic, decaying image of themselves. It may come in a mirror. It may come in a conversation. It may come in a quiet moment of personal contemplation. But the day will come. And when it does, there are only two options: confront the image with truth and grace, or close your eyes and forget what you saw so plainly a few short moments ago. After all, how easy it is to miss what you aren't looking for.
My father was a "mean drunk." That says nothing to the beauty that I am convinced must have been at rest within him—tied up, ball-gagged and made to acquiesce, but present nonetheless, I am sure of it. And there were moments of immense surprise; Knott's Berry Farm, Disneyland, trips to the zoo, and the times that he administered my ear medication after my first surgery. "Mean drunk," however, was the image most visible to those who knew him best—or perhaps to those who saw him explode in a random Sacramento grocery store.
To his credit, I cannot personally remember a time when my father ever raised a finger with the intent to physically harm me. I can, however, remember the times when I wished he would have. At least then I would have been assuaged by the fact that he thought enough of me to want to abuse me. As it was, when I did not provide any amusement to him, I fell completely off his radar.
For the amusements, I can remember my father serving alcohol to me very early on and in a variety of situations, though little else of those moments. I can remember being terrorized by that damn green sea-monster mask he loved to wear and chase me around the room with. I can also remember my sister and I traveling with him to the houses of strange women and watching bizarre movies and eating Ritz crackers while the adults disappeared to destinations unknown.
For the abuses, I will suffice it all by saying that watching random household objects being used as weapons was a common occurrence. I can also vaguely remember a firearm being held to my mother's face as my father shouted something indiscernible and with great intensity. My sister often found herself in the middle of those situations, whereas I was on the outside looking in from a distance.
At least she knows he loves her.
I had never known what love really was up to that point, and for many years struggled with its meaning. But there was no struggling with the reality and definition of the blood-curdling, explosive, embittered, seemingly limitless rage that I lived with on a daily basis.
I was terrified of my father, though always desired to be close to him. But to be close was to experience the sting and discoloration that his anger would surely leave. It was a few short years into their marriage before my mother knew this truth to be irreversible. Despite all of the Christian advisors that told her to “stick it out” because “God hates divource,” she knew that it was only a matter of time before there would be no time left, and his violence would claim us all in its decent into nothingness. It was life and death, and the cost of staying would be our very lives.
In December of 1988, when I was nearly seven years old, my mother took my sister and I on a grand adventure; on a covert operation to escape the tyranny of a dictatorial state; we were refugees in search of a new land and new opportunities. She told us we were “going for a ride.” She didn’t say where. Through the next year, we lived like we were in witness protection. There were men of ill-repute sent to discover our location. It was shortly after the divource was finalized that our need for hiding was obsolete.
January 20th, 1990. I will never forget. That is when my life ended. I just didn’t know it yet.
In a drunken rage, my father left a bar with his then-girlfriend. Speeding and with great stupidity, the two began arguing. In the course of events that followed, my father was ejected forcefully from the vehicle. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The car landed on him, crushing him instantly. It was my father’s father that decided to pull the plug. "No, he won't wake up. He's gone. He won't be coming back."
What does that mean? What does that mean?
I was emotionless. I had never been told how to react to news of this sort. Should I be sad? Should I be angry? Should I cry? My default reaction was the same it had been every time news of my father’s behavior reached my young ears: Stillness. If I remain still, I thought, then he won’t see me. And if he can’t see me, he can’t yell at me. And if he can’t yell at me, I'll be safe. I clearly misinterpreted the significance of the news I was given. And so, with tears in her eyes, my mother communicated all that I could not.
From that moment on, a deep bitterness and hatred of God overtook me. It was almost a night-and-day transformation. I was told to “shape up and fly right” by those who genuinely loved me. I was ignored by everyone else. I was sent to many counselors and therapists and psychoanalysts, though none proved of any use to me. I was inconsolable, and worse yet, I didn’t know how to tell anyone.
In my pride, I remember thinking, If only he had lived; I would have grown so big that I would have punched him out for all the things he did. Silly logic, to be sure. But the sentiment was as white-hot as the rage broiling within me. I told myself, I will never be like that rotten, venomous, son-of-a-bitch-bastard. With every once of inner fervor, I dedicated myself to the hatred of the man, and by proxy, of God.
God is dead. There’s no other excuse.
It was a divine irony that befell me thereafter. In my attempts at secular humanism, I came to resemble the vestige of my patriarchal chromosomes all the more. The more I looked into the mirror, the more I saw my father glaring back at me, and the more I had to lie to myself to avoid what was obvious to everyone else. Slowly I became wax, and my identity melted the hotter the rage became. I was, as Nietzsche put it, an Immoralist, in the truest sense. Yet it became an immorality that I could not escape; that left me feeling more chained than ever. None of the vices of this world ever filled the emptiness that fed upon itself like a wolf gnawing at its leg caught in a hunter’s trap. I was trapped. And there was no way out.
I remember consuming a bottle of Kettle One and some unknown amount of Johnny Walker. I was writing in my diary the following words:
I never fail to fail. . . I never fail to fail. . . I never fail to fail. . . I never fail to fail. . .
The words had barely been scrawled before I found myself drowning in the hopelessness that made its presence felt in my eyes. And as the moisture spilled, my thoughts drifted to the only thing I hadn’t tried to end the pain.
I remember gripping the knife so tightly that it dug grooves into my strong hand. And as the blade passed through the layers of dermis, a feeling just as white-hot as my sorrow overtook my wrist. Then all became dizzy and dark.
Finally. Nothingness.
So it was with great soberness and vehemence that I awoke the next morning. I failed at failure. Divine irony. Bastards. I can’t even die right.
It was very shortly thereafter that I received a call from my mother. Desperately, she asked if I would go to church with her. Finally, and with great trembling, my pride had melted away with the wax of my arrogance and I accepted her offer. It was there that I found hope. It was there that I found healing. It was there that I understood for the first time what my mother had shown me all along.
It was in a church that I encountered GRACE.
It was then I knew in the depths of my soul that GOD loved me; that JESUS CHRIST was as close to me then as He was infinite in dimension. It was at church I discovered that God had never abandoned me; that a God who would allow Himself to suffer and die was a God who understood anything that I had gone through. It was then I knew that no matter what my propensity for sin was, God’s readiness to forgive was surpassingly greater. It was then I knew that the cost of discipleship would be my very life, but it would be an undeserved method of payment; an unequivalent exchange; my filthy rags in exchange for God’s glorious riches; my fractured, violated, depraved, mangled, numb, nocuous, mutilated, impeachable heart, in exchange for the eternal NESHAMAH of RUACH ELOHIM. I was given a new life empowered and sustained by God’s very Spirit. And I now serve God with the unrestricted fullness of the heart He has given to me.
So then, I guess one could say that, as children of God, we are all ambassadors of GRACE to a world Philip Yancey aptly defines as trapped within endless cycles UNGRACE. And it is within this context that I will attempt to articulate and give shape to the inarticulable, all-surpassing nature of GOD’S GRACE:
GOD will never stop loving us. GOD will never leave us or forsake us. God desires to make us whole, complete.
These truths epitomize the whole of the scriptures. More than that, God knows that we are all, at the very core of natures, unrepentant venomous bastards of ungrace. And He doesn’t care. He loved us so much that He performed the physically impossible in order to satisfy His need for both justice and relationship with us. Jesus was more than a scapegoat for a pitiable, violent breed of superapes; He was and remains the very expression of God’s unfathomable love for us.
So then, how does one broach the subject of living within the grace of God? What precisely does grace afford us? How do we live our lives propelled by grace yet compelled by righteousness? What role does grace have in our personal sanctification? Maybe I’ll come to a conclusion or two before I celebrate my thirtieth birthday. Here’s hoping. ome to a conclusion or two before I celebrate my thirtieth birthday. Here’s hoping.
There comes a point in everyone's life when they have no choice but to face the sickening, garish, schismatic, decaying image of themselves. It may come in a mirror. It may come in a conversation. It may come in a quiet moment of personal contemplation. But the day will come. And when it does, there are only two options: confront the image with truth and grace, or close your eyes and forget what you saw so plainly a few short moments ago. After all, how easy it is to miss what you aren't looking for.
My father was a "mean drunk." That says nothing to the beauty that I am convinced must have been at rest within him—tied up, ball-gagged and made to acquiesce, but present nonetheless, I am sure of it. And there were moments of immense surprise; Knott's Berry Farm, Disneyland, trips to the zoo, and the times that he administered my ear medication after my first surgery. "Mean drunk," however, was the image most visible to those who knew him best—or perhaps to those who saw him explode in a random Sacramento grocery store.
To his credit, I cannot personally remember a time when my father ever raised a finger with the intent to physically harm me. I can, however, remember the times when I wished he would have. At least then I would have been assuaged by the fact that he thought enough of me to want to abuse me. As it was, when I did not provide any amusement to him, I fell completely off his radar.
For the amusements, I can remember my father serving alcohol to me very early on and in a variety of situations, though little else of those moments. I can remember being terrorized by that damn green sea-monster mask he loved to wear and chase me around the room with. I can also remember my sister and I traveling with him to the houses of strange women and watching bizarre movies and eating Ritz crackers while the adults disappeared to destinations unknown.
For the abuses, I will suffice it all by saying that watching random household objects being used as weapons was a common occurrence. I can also vaguely remember a firearm being held to my mother's face as my father shouted something indiscernible and with great intensity. My sister often found herself in the middle of those situations, whereas I was on the outside looking in from a distance.
At least she knows he loves her.
I had never known what love really was up to that point, and for many years struggled with its meaning. But there was no struggling with the reality and definition of the blood-curdling, explosive, embittered, seemingly limitless rage that I lived with on a daily basis.
I was terrified of my father, though always desired to be close to him. But to be close was to experience the sting and discoloration that his anger would surely leave. It was a few short years into their marriage before my mother knew this truth to be irreversible. Despite all of the Christian advisors that told her to “stick it out” because “God hates divource,” she knew that it was only a matter of time before there would be no time left, and his violence would claim us all in its decent into nothingness. It was life and death, and the cost of staying would be our very lives.
In December of 1988, when I was nearly seven years old, my mother took my sister and I on a grand adventure; on a covert operation to escape the tyranny of a dictatorial state; we were refugees in search of a new land and new opportunities. She told us we were “going for a ride.” She didn’t say where. Through the next year, we lived like we were in witness protection. There were men of ill-repute sent to discover our location. It was shortly after the divource was finalized that our need for hiding was obsolete.
January 20th, 1990. I will never forget. That is when my life ended. I just didn’t know it yet.
In a drunken rage, my father left a bar with his then-girlfriend. Speeding and with great stupidity, the two began arguing. In the course of events that followed, my father was ejected forcefully from the vehicle. He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. The car landed on him, crushing him instantly. It was my father’s father that decided to pull the plug. "No, he won't wake up. He's gone. He won't be coming back."
What does that mean? What does that mean?
I was emotionless. I had never been told how to react to news of this sort. Should I be sad? Should I be angry? Should I cry? My default reaction was the same it had been every time news of my father’s behavior reached my young ears: Stillness. If I remain still, I thought, then he won’t see me. And if he can’t see me, he can’t yell at me. And if he can’t yell at me, I'll be safe. I clearly misinterpreted the significance of the news I was given. And so, with tears in her eyes, my mother communicated all that I could not.
From that moment on, a deep bitterness and hatred of God overtook me. It was almost a night-and-day transformation. I was told to “shape up and fly right” by those who genuinely loved me. I was ignored by everyone else. I was sent to many counselors and therapists and psychoanalysts, though none proved of any use to me. I was inconsolable, and worse yet, I didn’t know how to tell anyone.
In my pride, I remember thinking, If only he had lived; I would have grown so big that I would have punched him out for all the things he did. Silly logic, to be sure. But the sentiment was as white-hot as the rage broiling within me. I told myself, I will never be like that rotten, venomous, son-of-a-bitch-bastard. With every once of inner fervor, I dedicated myself to the hatred of the man, and by proxy, of God.
God is dead. There’s no other excuse.
It was a divine irony that befell me thereafter. In my attempts at secular humanism, I came to resemble the vestige of my patriarchal chromosomes all the more. The more I looked into the mirror, the more I saw my father glaring back at me, and the more I had to lie to myself to avoid what was obvious to everyone else. Slowly I became wax, and my identity melted the hotter the rage became. I was, as Nietzsche put it, an Immoralist, in the truest sense. Yet it became an immorality that I could not escape; that left me feeling more chained than ever. None of the vices of this world ever filled the emptiness that fed upon itself like a wolf gnawing at its leg caught in a hunter’s trap. I was trapped. And there was no way out.
I remember consuming a bottle of Kettle One and some unknown amount of Johnny Walker. I was writing in my diary the following words:
I never fail to fail. . . I never fail to fail. . . I never fail to fail. . . I never fail to fail. . .
The words had barely been scrawled before I found myself drowning in the hopelessness that made its presence felt in my eyes. And as the moisture spilled, my thoughts drifted to the only thing I hadn’t tried to end the pain.
I remember gripping the knife so tightly that it dug grooves into my strong hand. And as the blade passed through the layers of dermis, a feeling just as white-hot as my sorrow overtook my wrist. Then all became dizzy and dark.
Finally. Nothingness.
So it was with great soberness and vehemence that I awoke the next morning. I failed at failure. Divine irony. Bastards. I can’t even die right.
It was very shortly thereafter that I received a call from my mother. Desperately, she asked if I would go to church with her. Finally, and with great trembling, my pride had melted away with the wax of my arrogance and I accepted her offer. It was there that I found hope. It was there that I found healing. It was there that I understood for the first time what my mother had shown me all along.
It was in a church that I encountered GRACE.
It was then I knew in the depths of my soul that GOD loved me; that JESUS CHRIST was as close to me then as He was infinite in dimension. It was at church I discovered that God had never abandoned me; that a God who would allow Himself to suffer and die was a God who understood anything that I had gone through. It was then I knew that no matter what my propensity for sin was, God’s readiness to forgive was surpassingly greater. It was then I knew that the cost of discipleship would be my very life, but it would be an undeserved method of payment; an unequivalent exchange; my filthy rags in exchange for God’s glorious riches; my fractured, violated, depraved, mangled, numb, nocuous, mutilated, impeachable heart, in exchange for the eternal NESHAMAH of RUACH ELOHIM. I was given a new life empowered and sustained by God’s very Spirit. And I now serve God with the unrestricted fullness of the heart He has given to me.
So then, I guess one could say that, as children of God, we are all ambassadors of GRACE to a world Philip Yancey aptly defines as trapped within endless cycles UNGRACE. And it is within this context that I will attempt to articulate and give shape to the inarticulable, all-surpassing nature of GOD’S GRACE:
GOD will never stop loving us. GOD will never leave us or forsake us. God desires to make us whole, complete.
These truths epitomize the whole of the scriptures. More than that, God knows that we are all, at the very core of natures, unrepentant venomous bastards of ungrace. And He doesn’t care. He loved us so much that He performed the physically impossible in order to satisfy His need for both justice and relationship with us. Jesus was more than a scapegoat for a pitiable, violent breed of superapes; He was and remains the very expression of God’s unfathomable love for us.
So then, how does one broach the subject of living within the grace of God? What precisely does grace afford us? How do we live our lives propelled by grace yet compelled by righteousness? What role does grace have in our personal sanctification? Maybe I’ll come to a conclusion or two before I celebrate my thirtieth birthday. Here’s hoping. ome to a conclusion or two before I celebrate my thirtieth birthday. Here’s hoping.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
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.
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.
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