Archives For Theology, Reluctantly

The Creation story and Revelations are the challenging bookends of the Bible. The first, at first blush, seems to run counter to science. The second makes the powerful claim that, among other things, this world will not continue on its present course for all time. Somehow and at some time, Jesus will come again to make all things new, and the spiritual dimension of God will fill all of the heavens and all of the earth. And come to think of it, that’s about as counter to a strictly scientific mindset as you can find as well.

In the churches I’ve attended, these two bookends – the beginning of the world and its new beginning to come – have received little attention, and by the lack of attention and transparent engagement, I’ve sensed an unspoken unease. I’m aware, on the other hand, of more fundamentalist churches that have engaged those bookends with fierce insistence on their literal truth in ways that show little engagement with the nuances of the texts and that are at odds with the themes and chords of the rest of the Bible.

For insight into what the Bible points to in terms of the future of God’s world, I’ve come across a book that I would heartily recommend – Essential Eschatology: Our Present and Future Hope by John E. Phelan Jr.. Below you’ll find an edited transcript of my recent conversation with him that explores some of the themes of the book. I believe you’ll quickly see why I wanted to talk to him.

John is currently the Senior Professor of Theological Studies at North Park Seminary in Chicago, which is the seminary for the Evangelical Covenant Church. In classic Scandinavian self-deprecation, he says of that title, “It just means I’m old, I guess.” Until 2010, he was the seminary’s president and dean, and in the 1980s, he was the dean of students. Between two distinct stints at the Seminary, he was pastor to congregations in Florida and Kansas. I first realized I had much to learn from John when I found myself cutting out his lucidly-written essays from the Covenant Companion, the Evangelical Covenant Church’s award-winning magazine, because I wanted to further meditate on his insights. He was kind enough to be willing to be interviewed.

Nathan: What inspired you to write Essential Eschatology?

John: It’s been a long interest of mine ever since I was a young boy. And over the years of being at the seminary, a lot of pastors and laypeople asked me if I could recommend a book on eschatology. I would usually say no, because I thought so many of the books did an inadequate job of really wrestling with the issues of the text or were too complex for many pastors and most laypeople to wrestle with or too much of the academic field. Because I thought the subject was, in popular culture, very much abused, I decided to do my part to try to bring clarity to it.

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Nathan: In your book you write that eschatology is at the heart of Christianity. Can you say more about that?

John: Jesus comes and talks about the kingdom of God: his message is that God was in the process of making all things new. Whatever else eschatology is about, it is about participating in God’s intention to redeem and restore and renew the world. That’s the essence of eschatology. At one level, then, we are called to work alongside of God for renewal of the creation. We have a part of that and that’s a significant part of what it means to be the church.

Nathan: You write, in a way that echoes NT Wright and others, that “our destiny is an earthly destiny.” What does the Bible tell you about the end of history and God’s coming?

John: I think you could make an argument that what is most important in the book of Isaiah is the hope for the peaceable kingdom, for the renewal of heaven and earth, for the restoration of God’s people to land and home and place. It is very earthy. You see that very profoundly outlined in the book of Isaiah. But then you get to the book of Revelation and you have a very similar kind of ending. As I’ve said before and as I say in the book, “We don’t go to heaven; heaven comes to us.” The new Jerusalem comes down and God makes his dwelling place with us. At the end of the book we end up on earth and not in heaven. I think that’s often been obscured or ignored.

Even in 1Thessalonians 4, a passage that is often used wrongly to speak of the so-called Rapture, you have the people go to meet Christ and then return to the earth.The image there is of the people of a city meeting an imperial visitor and welcoming him to the city. So even there it’s very clear that there’s an earthly destiny. Whatever else it means and however we understand it, at the end it means that God intends to make all things new.

Nathan: For me that sounds very compelling, but why do other interpretations that we often hear – for example, the Left Behind series – have so much power and popularity?

John: The great appeal of that approach is that it’s a compelling story. It’s an interesting narrative. I think it’s appealing for people to be part of the end group, part of those who are going to be snatched away from all of the difficulty and pain of the world and taken up to heaven. But there’s absolutely no Biblical basis for “the rapture. “ It’s simply not there. There’s nothing in the Bible that indicates a two-stage return of Christ. There’s ever only one. The notion that somehow that this secret rapture, which occurs in Christian thought only in the mid-19th century (never before that), has somehow become one of the dominant forces in thinking about eschatological matters among evangelicals is still quite stunning to me.

But it’s had a very good press. People have presented it very well. They’ve told a very compelling story, and not just with Left Behind but well before that. I remember as a child the prophecy charts and the conferences. And then you have incidents like the establishment of the state of Israel in 1948, which seemed to be part of the fulfillment of the expectation of the Dispensationalists. Whether or not that was the case, there were things that people could point to. But it’s something that only works if you live within acertain framework of engagement of the text and if you come with some rather large and unsupportable assumptions.

What I’ve told my students over the years is that the problem with the rapture is that it’s not in the Bible. Maybe that’s simple enough. It’s an extrapolation from of a set of assumptions that the old Dispensationalists made about the Bible. It originally came from a vision that a woman had in the 1830s, and then it was imposed on the texts. And as I said one of the key verses in 1Thessalonians 4 has nothing to do with the rapture. For one thing there are all kinds of angels and trumpets and bells and whistles. There’s nothing secret about it at all. And then the Dispensationalists have done other things like in Revelation chapter four with John’s great vision of the throne room. And the angel says, “Come up here.” Well, they’ve taken that to be the rapture of the church. That’s John being taken on a heavenly journey. That has nothing to do with the rapture of the church. You see what you want to see once you’ve determined that you want to see it. I think, unfortunately, that is what has happened with the rapture.

Nathan: I know you’ve told me the story in the past of how you came from a more fundamentalist background and when you went to college you had an experience that changed how you looked at the Bible. Can you share that?

John: Sure. I was raised in the Plymouth Brethren, and the Plymouth Brethren is a group that has a significant part of its origin in the work of John Nelson Darby. Darby was, if not the person who originated dispensationalism and the precursor of the whole Left Behind series, the significant organizer and preacher of it in Great Britain, continental Europe, and the United States. This approach to eschatology was central to my upbringing. It’s what I knew from the very beginning.

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I ended up going to the Emmaus Bible School and signed up one semester for a course in prophecy. The regular professor that taught the course wasn’t teaching it that semester. Someone else was teaching it and he said, “We’re going to do something a little different.” Normally, when you study prophecy from a Dispensationalist viewpoint, it was more of a deductive thing – these are the assumptions on how we read this. You come in with a set of lenses, and there it is! He said “We’re going to study this inductively. We’re going to go to texts and we’re going to look at it as it stands – in Isaiah, Ezekial, Daniel, wherever – and we’ll see the system emerge.” And it didn’t for me. In fact, the more we read and studied those texts in their context the more I thought, “No, that’s not what its saying. I don’t think that’s right.”

That was an important class for me not just for that but for my whole thinking about how to read the Bible. It’s far too easy to read the Bible with your theological structures in place and lo and behold, what you think is there emerges, rather than reading it and asking as much as you can, “What was that context? What was that writer trying to say?” Which is not to say that that writer doesn’t say anything to you now. Rather it warns against imposing a structure which you’ve already determined as the way to read something and claiming that you found it there. Well, no. That’s not quite right. That was really a significant turning point for me, as I realized that not only did the system not arise there but later New Testament writers did all sorts of things with those texts that didn’t fit into that system either.

Nathan: I remember when a guest preacher spoke about the Second Coming at a church we were attending. He seemed to take a lot of pleasure in the redemptive violence that was going to come. There seemed something profoundly wrong in the emotional tone of that.

John: Yes. Think about Jesus weeping over Jerusalem rather than rubbing his hands in glee over what is going to be happening. I think there’s something quite ugly about the notion that we ought to rub our hands in glee over the anticipated suffering of our enemies. In fact, we ought to take passages that warn us about the impact of our actions to our own hearts and not be applying them to others. People who live in a kind of black and white world where there are friends and enemies and never the twain shall meet and who have this notion of God finally vindicating me, proving me right, can find themselves in the very ugly situation that you’re speaking of. I think the prayer of Jesus as he weeps over Jerusalem is a better model for us than the satisfied look at those we perceive as our enemies.

Nathan: Following up on that, can you talk more about God’s judgment being a good thing?

John: We often think of judgment in terms of punishment. We think of a law court. We think of a judge sitting at the bench handing down a sentence, having to go to prison, having to be executed, whatever it is. A judge in ancient Israel is not someone who punishes but someone who seeks to put things right. A judge in the Bible is someone who looks at a situation and says this is wrong and we’re going to put it right. We want to restore. We want to reclaim and renew. So the role of the judge is not simply to pass judgment or to do something to the offender but to look at the situation and ask , “How can I make this situation right?” In fact if you look at the law, a lot of the law is about what you do to set a situation right, not just what you do to punish an offender. I think the punitive way of thinking about legal matters is more of a modern than ancient.

You think of Solomon and the two woman claiming that they are the baby’s mother. Solomon wasn’t there to punish anybody. He was there to decide whose baby it was and to restore the baby to the mother. I think we need to look at our model of judgment and retribution and all that and think a little differently about it. Even in eschatological matters, to restore the people to the land, to restore God’s people to a relationship with Him is not a matter of punishment. Now bad things do happen to people, but that is a byproduct of setting things right and sometimes people resist God’s efforts to set things right. I think looking at that differently would be helpful for us so that we might recognize that there are people over there who might need things set right in them but there might be some things in us that might need to be set right as well. God as a judge is about restoring not just about punishing.

Nathan: You write that God’s coming “will involve all people and the whole creation.” How have Christians missed, overlooked, and ignored the value of creation to God?

John: I think this is one of the more difficult and frustrating areas for me. A lot of the eschatological theories in the late 19th century had a sense of the immediacy of God’s coming. In the famous book written at the end of the 19th century – Jesus is Coming Again – the author thought it was within a few years, so every ten years or so he updated his expectations. So when you couple that with the idea that the world is going to be destroyed, why care all that much about creation? Why invest all that energy to set something right or clean the air or purify the water if it was all going to be destroyed? So you have that certain area of Christian life, that eschatological expectation, that makes people indifferent to the creation.

I think the other thing is that on the more conservative evangelical side of things people have tended to also support our economic system. Anything that would limit the way you would use the world and its resources, not only ran against your eschatological expectations but your economic convictions. And so some folks would resist any kind of limitation on the way they ran their business or cared for (or didn’t care) for their farm and their land. On the evangelical side, then, there have been economic and eschatological and political reasons why people have resisted the idea that we should care for the environment when, again to go back to Isaiah, you have this notion of the peaceable kingdom at the center of what God is promising for his people.

Nathan: It’s striking to me that at the beginning of Genesis and at the end in Revelation you do have humanity, God, and Creation in some sort of unity.

John: Right. In Revelation you have this lovely picture of the water of life running through the city and these trees on either side producing leaves for the healing of the nations. So there is this healing relationship between the created order represented by the water of life and the trees and the nations, which of course means the Gentiles, the goyim. Those things are brought together in this beautiful image of the water of life and the trees of healing.

Nathan: You have some really interesting passages in the book about the American tendency to almost worship freedom in a way that is alien to the Bible. Please talk about the value of creation to God and our obligations to it in the context of the American belief in freedom as an ultimate value.  How should we think about our role in the world and freedom?

John: That is a very complicated question because in one sense, obviously, freedom is one of the great gifts and virtues of the Christian life. Freedom from sin, freedom to love God, freedom to pursue a life with God – all of those things are critically important. “The Son has set you free and you shall be free indeed.” The notion of freedom is really important in the New Testament and certainly in the Old Testament, where you have the great narrative of the liberation of slaves from Egypt being one of the overarching narratives of the whole text, that “you were once slaves in Egypt and God has set you free.”

But to use that image, freedom, in the case of the Israelites, did not mean the kind of individualistic, laissez faire notion of freedom that we have today, that I as an individual should to be able to do anything that I want. When they arrive at Mount Sinai they realize that freedom from Egypt had brought them into a covenant with God and that relationship with God needed to be maintained in relationship with their fellow Israelites. Freedom never implies a lack of any kind of obligation or relationship with someone else. It never implies an absolute moral and spiritual autonomy that we sometimes seem to imagine in our American notion of freedom. It never implies that we have no obligations to God, each other, or to creation itself.

Nathan: How can local churches and the Church be ambassadors of God’s reconciliation in a meaningful way when the world’s issues, including the destruction of creation, are so big?

John: That’s one of the most perplexing questions. I would even start back a step earlier. How can the church (either small “c” or big “C”) be an agent of reconciliation in the world when we can’t get along with each other? When the church is so divided and people are so angry at one another, it’s really difficult. Part of the problem there is that people haven’t figured out how to live with difference. Certainly in our country we haven’t learned to live with difference. We haven’t figured out how to live with the other, whether politically or socially or educationally, whatever the “other” is, and learn to accept that people will look at things differently and there’s going to be conflict. That doesn’t mean that it requires that we demonize the other. Reconciliation does not mean that I win and you lose. It means that we come together around something common with our differences and stay together in spite of our differences, something which the church and society have found is singularly difficult to do.

I think that there is no huge, top-down solution to this. There are no orders from headquarters, whatever the headquarters happen to be, that are going to enforce the reconciling work of God within our churches or through our churches. But it involves the ongoing, challenging, difficult work of first seeking reconciliation with one another and then asking how we might be agents of reconciliation within our communities. We Americans, whether we are conservative or liberal, tend to look for big solutions. Big solutions are not always available, and they’re not always helpful. I’m much more drawn to the smaller solutions, the local solutions that move individuals toward reconciliation with God and each other.

Nathan: You use the term “missional collapse” when you are talking about the church. What would a church look like, concretely, if it were doing the reconciliation that you speak of?

John: I think that a church that’s paying attention to its own community, to where there is brokenness within its own community whether you’re talking about the community of the church itself or whether you’re talking about the community in which the church is set down. It’s difficult to save the world if you can’t help and be a light in your own community. It’s difficult to do something really large if you can’t do something fairly small. Sometimes I think small things in communities – whether it’s a feeding programs or cleaning up a local park or helping out at the local homeless shelter or advocating for more green space – can seem small and insignificant but I think they’re quite significant. They help demonstrate the presence and power of God’s love. Jesus goes around casting out demons here and healing a blind man there – significant acts but there were lots and lots of demon-possessed people. Even in his case, it was kind of a local thing. Preaching in Galilee, in this backwater. He ended up in Jerusalem, that’s where he got killed, but that’s not where he did most of his teaching work. He did it in the area where he had been born and raised. Being alert to the local and the personal and to forming the community within the local area is the only place to start.

Nathan: Towards the end of the book, you have a section of a chapter that’s called “The Strange God of the Bible” that talks about how we have tended to create these philosophical constructs of how God must act and how God is and how the God of the Bible is different than that. Can you say something about that?

John: We really don’t like God to be free. We would rather God be tied up and predictable, and, unfortunately, that’s just not the way God is. That’s pretty abundantly clear if you read the Bible carefully. And if God isn’t free, how can God be God? God can do whatever God wants to do, and that can be rather uncomfortable, particularly when you look in the Old Testament where there are some cases where God changes his mind. And the other startling thing about the Bible is that God evidently expects us to take a role in all this in ways that we might rather Him fix it Himself. We have an overwhelmingly interventionist idea about God, when God actually appears, at times, to say, “It’s up to you.” And that can be very uncomfortable.

The other thing I say is that we can only speak of God by way of analogy. If God is God, God is transcendent and eternal and I am mortal and set here in the earth and limited by my mind and imagination. So whatever I say about God, the best thing I can say about God is always partially wrong because I’m speaking out of a human experience. If you and I have a common experience, I can say to you, “Well, Nathan, I know how you feel.” But that’s not true. You know that and I know that. I know there’s an overlap, right, but we’re different people, and even the same experience can cause people to feel differently. And if that’s true of you and me, if I can’t fully understand you and you can’t fully understand me, how in the world do we think we can fully understand God?

So I think some humility and leaving some space for mystery, which is not something people in our tied-up evangelical world often want to do, is really important. We want God to be consistent in the ways we want God to be consistent rather than God having the freedom to act and interact with His world. I think it’s all too often that evangelicals are deists. They want a god out there who’s pretty well settled and perhaps intervening now and then when we want Him to or controlling everything so we don’t have much responsibility.

I think that’s one of the great complexities that we haven’t quite reckoned with – a free God.

Some time ago I noticed something peculiar in verses eleven and twelve of the first chapter of Genesis. Here’s how they read in the New International Version translation:

“Then God said, “Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds.” And it was so. The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good.”

It struck me – God is calling upon the land to use its creative capacities to bring forth plants of many kinds. And later in the first chapter the waters are given that same sort of charge, and the land is asked to produce living creatures. How was it that for so long I had understood the creation narrative to suggest  that God literally and unilaterally shaped and crafted every single detail of our world from inert matter?

As it has many times, the Bible surprised me.

The best analysis I’ve seen on this element of the Genesis story is in William P. Brown’s The Seven Pillars of Creation. I’ve already shared, in a previous post, a small section of Brown’s book, and here I will do so from the third chapter in a section called “Cooperative Process of Creation.”

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When you read this section with your heart and mind wide open, you’ll find that it captures a number of things about the story of creation in the first chapter of Genesis that are vital and often overlooked:

What is it about God that human beings as God’s “images” are said to reflect? The answer lies in the various ways God goes about creating in Genesis 1. Nowhere does God dominate or conquer. Unlike Marduk, God is no imperious deity. God commands light into being but does not slay the darkness to do so. The sky is created through the commanded separation of the waters, not by their dismemberment. The various cosmic domains are not the bodily remains of cosmic chaos. Neither is humanity fashioned from the blood of conquered deities. God is a differentiator, not a terminator.

Not unlike the Egyptian Ptah of the Memphite cosmogony, God creates by word rather than by sword. God creates by verbal decree that is at once commanding and invitational. For every act of creation, God begins by commanding and then, in certain cases, lets creation happen, as in the case of light (1:3), land (v. 9), and vegetation (v. 12). In other cases, God is directly involved in the act of creating (vv. 7,21, 25, and 27). In several striking cases, God enlists the elemental forces of creation to further the process. In Days 2 and 3, for example, the waters are commanded to separate themselves, and the earth is commanded to produce plants (vv. 9-11). Far from being inert, passive entities, the waters and the earth act at God’s behest. They are bona fide agents of creation, as demonstrated also in the creation of life: the earth is commanded to bring forth land animals, and the waters are beckoned to produce sea life.

And God said, ”Let the waters produce swarms of living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the dome of the sky.” (v. 20)

And God said, “Let the earth bring forth living creatures of every kind: cattle and creeping things and wild animals of the earth of every kind.” (v. 24)

In both instances, creation is accomplished by divine agency:

So God created the great sea monsters and every living creature that moves, of which the waters produced swarms. (v. 21)

So God made the wild animals, each according to its kind, and domestic animals, each according to its kind. (v. 25)

Nevertheless, as v. 21 makes clear, divine agency is accompanied by the active participation of the waters and the earth. God works with the elements of creation, not over and against them, much less without them, elements enlisted by God as “empowering environments.” Creation is a cooperative venture exercised not without a degree of freedom.

There it is. In plain sight in the heart of the Genesis creation narrative. The elements of the world have a certain agency, a certain freedom exercised within God’s overall framework and will, a certain life of their own. This gives us a dynamic, interactive, cooperative sense of our world’s origins and of how God relates with the Creation.

I can’t help but be convinced that this understanding should shape how we think of God, our relationship with God, and our proper relationship with God’s earth.

My wife and I recently attended an eye-opening, two-day workshop for parents of adopted and foster children.

Many of the parents who attended the workshop are struggling as they try to deal with challenging, difficult behaviors from their children whose brains have been wired differently becuase of the trauma they experienced in utero and in the first years of thier lives. Many of the parents have been wounded emotionally. Some have even been physically harmed by their children. At the very same time, they face criticism of their parenting from their own families and from the community around them who simply don’t understand.

With therapeutic parenting, some of these children’s brains can be rewired so they have a chance for a more normal life. Not every child, however, can be healed completely from their trauma no matter what the parents do.  Some will always be off kilter in their emotional and cognitive development. The trauma of the broken world persists. And that, in turn, can bring its own trauma to the families who, out of compassion and love, take those children in.

At a breakfast we had with two other couples at the workshop, I asked a question about church, God, and their adoption experiences. The floodgates opened. The other couples poured out their struggles with their faith and with their churches since they had adopted. Neither couple now attends a church. Yet they miss it dearly.

While each couple had particular reasons why they had retreated from their church community, there was one common factor – their adoption journey had led them to have doubts about God.

One of the parents said something to the effect of, “Adoption has dropped me into the sewer of the world. I can’t believe a god in control of the world would allow things to happen that happened to my children.”

By “sewer of the world”, I believe that the parent meant the broken places of the world where there is violence, in utero exposure to drugs and alcohol, sexual abuse, profound neglect, and soul-crushing poverty in one big sordid stew.

Many of us want to avoid even catching a whiff of that stew. Many Christians have an instinctive urge to jump in and rescue God from the somber, raw direction of this conversation.

It’s the same instinct that leads us to say to a friend who is mourning the loss of a loved one, “God took him/her to a better place.” That tone-deaf assertion that God is in control of everything and that all can be seen with rose-colored glasses represents an unwillingness to be vulnerably open to the grief and despair of this world.

If I could have that breakfast conversation over again, I would encourage them to read the whole Bible carefully. In the Bible, you see a more nuanced pattern of God’s sovereignty over the world than is typically assumed. People in the Bible regularly make awful choices. There is no sense that God caused them to do so, and in the Bible we see God angered and frustrated by what they do. In Jesus, we see God profoundly sympathetic to the poor and suffering and sick. There is never any suggestion that God had anything to do with their original condition or willed it to be so.

Nor is there any sustained assertion in the Bible that all suffering leads to good in this world. Sometimes it is just suffering.

In Jesus, we also see God experiencing the sewer of the world. Jesus suffers in almost every conceivable way as he fulfills his mission. If Christians are called to be disciples of Jesus, then part of that discipleship clearly is to work to bring light to where it is most dark. That was the mission of Jesus. And Jesus was no Pollyana. He called things the way they were. There was an edge about him. He frequently expressed anger and sorrow. Jesus wept.

In short, a profound awareness of the brokenness of humanity and the world is completely in tune with the Bible and is as essential a component of a whole faith as is the conviction that God will eventually make all things right.

A recent blog post by Peter Harris, author of Under the Bright Wings and co-founder of the international Christian organization A Rocha, reminds us that the sewer of the world is not limited to human suffering.

In his post, he shares an experience of visiting the island of St. Helena in the South Atlantic. He is delighted to see his new grandson there, but he is also painfully aware of the wounded nature of the landscape he sees because he is aware of what the island used to hold.

… St Helena is a sobering place to ecological eyes, because it serves as a metaphor for much that is now happening so fast to habitats and species around the world. In the early 17th century the Portuguese landed goats and in just a hundred years they had reduced huge areas of its lush landscape to bare rock. For millennia St Helena had been home to hundreds of unique species, but most are now gone.

There are a million St. Helenas around the world. They are tangible evidence of what has been lost, of the profound misuse of the gift of freedom given to humanity.

People who care about God’s earth, whether they be believers or not, lament what has been lost and work to defend what is left. But our culture has often recoiled from them. This is in part because we are too often unwilling to be present and open to the impact of our brokenness. It’s too painful.

Aldo Leopold captured this when he wrote: “One of the penalties of an ecological education is that one lives alone in a world of wounds”

I believe a whole Christian faith must include sensitivity to all the forms of brokenness in the world.

That sensitivity to brokenness needs to be part of our consciousness, part of how we communicate the faith, part of where we are willing to go emotionally even as we have hope for what will come. This is because we know how much goodness was put into the world, how good things could and should be.

That sensitivity is not about being passively morose.

Instead, that vulnerability should arouse in us an implacable will to heal hurts, restore what can be restored of the abundant good God originally endowed people and creation with, and do all we can to prevent further pain and suffering.

That’s why quickly passing over the sewer of the world on the bridge of assertions that God is in control is such a problem. That simplistic, one-note approach to the Christian faith allows us to rationalize our retreat back to the comfortable Shire of our lives.

Our faith in life beyond death and our hope that all things work together for good for those who love God is actually, I believe, the rope we are equipped with to descend into the sewer with light. No one should be alone in a world of wounds. Christians should be there with them.

Above all, I believe that God ultimately desires us not to wait for all things to be put right but to be God’s hands and feet in doing our best to put them right now. No matter what the odds.

The two couples we spoke with are doing exactly that. They are doing their very best to restore a broken world in a way that will always test them and that will likely always mean a less than ideal world for them. It is profoundly sad that they feel abandoned by their faith communities and unsure of what to make of God even as they act the way Christians should.

And we could all learn something from them about what can happen when we do what we can to heal the wounds of the world.

Later in the workshop one of the fathers from that breakfast said something surprising and profound about his family’s adoption experience. He said, and I paraphrase, “Looking back, I wouldn’t do anything different even if I had the chance. I see the world differently. My wife and I have been changed in ways that couldn’t have happened any other way.”

We can learn a great deal from farmers as we read the Bible.

Each year, the non-profit organization MOSES (Midwest Organic & Special Education Service) holds an organic farming conference in La Crosse, Wisconsin in late February. It has become the largest gathering of organic and sustainable farmers in the country and features a wide array of workshops, roundtables, exhibits, and social events.

I just attended it for the first time and came away more aware than ever of the complexity and challenges of farming, especially if you are trying to do so in a way that sustains the life of the land and water.

What especially struck me was how thoughtful, observant, patient, open-minded, and nuanced many of the farmers revealed themselves to be, whether they were plaid-wearing young millennials or middle-aged men who looked, well, farmers or the reserved Amish men I talked to at breakfast one morning. From patterns of weed growth to the body language of a cow, the farmer must observe and interpret carefully what is in front of him while prudently considering the context. Fundamentally, I sensed deep humility.

We all could benefit from engaging the Bible and God that same way. But too often we don’t.

A good example is the nature of human exceptionalism.

This comes to mind because of something I heard recently on Janet Parshall’s program, “In the Marketplace,” on WMBI, the flagship station of the Moody Bible Institute. On this particular day, Parshall was interviewing Wesley Smith, the author of The War on Humans and a blogger about human exceptionalism on the National Review’s website. The way Parshall and Smith spoke of human exceptionalism in relationship to the natural world exemplified how easy it is for all of us to read the Bible in simplistic, self-centered ways.

In the program, Parshall played a portion of a Conservation International video in which Julie Roberts speaks as Mother Earth, and addressing humanity, she solemnly states, “I have fed species greater than you, and I have starved species greater than you.”

Parshall and Smith used this as the stepping off point for several broad assertions. First, environmentalists are anti-human. Second, extreme environmentalists exhibit a common mindset that humans are worth less than other species, that we are a destructive cancer upon the face of the earth. Above all, Parshall and Smith shared the conviction that the concern people have for earth is one more symptom of a distressing falling away from the Christian truth of human exceptionalism.

It is true. Humans are exceptional.

We do understand that people are made in the image of God, unlike any other creature. Clearly, a great deal of the Bible is about the interaction between God and people. From the beginning, God has a special relationship with humanity.

Jesus also clearly states that humans are of more value than sparrows and sheep (although there is no suggestion that sparrows and sheep have no value).

And the testimony of history reveals humanity to be endlessly inventive and creative. One advance builds on the foundation of the previous. We work technological wonders that would astound people of centuries and millennia past. We delve into the mysteries of the universe, of the workings of atomic particles, of the microbiotic worlds in our guts and in the soil.

Napoleon on his Imperial Throne (Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres); Does this exemplify the character of human exceptionalism in the world we see in the Bible?

Napoleon on his Imperial Throne (Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres); Is this the kind of human exceptionalism God wants us to exercise in the world?

But Parshall and Smith fail to provide a complete understanding of human exceptionalism in two ways.

First, they ignore sin. This should temper any discussion we have about our elite status. In fact, in the story of Noah we experience God’s utter revulsion at the violence and sin of humanity, which doesn’t sound that much different from the reaction of environmentalists to the violence we are inflicting on the life of the earth today.

Second, if you read the Bible like a good farmer, you will find a whole view of exceptionalism that is very different in nature.

When Abraham is called to be the founder of the nation Israel, one might expect Abraham to be told that the nation of which he will be the father will enjoy extreme prosperity and even build its own empire. But read Genesis 22:18 – “And through your descendants all the nations of the earth will be blessed—all because you have obeyed me.”

In fact, if you read the Bible, it’s clear that the standards and expectations for Israel are higher than for other nations. Israel’s exceptional status comes from God’s grace and from God’s choice and it brings greater responsibility and greater expectations. They are called to be holy, to bear witness to God in how they live as a light to other nations and peoples. The people of Israel, to say the least, do not always welcome this kind of exceptionalism.

When Moses is called by God and has direct interactions with God, you would be hard pressed to say that Moses’ exceptional status was intended for Moses’ glory and for Moses to exploit for his own gain. He is called for God’s purposes and Moses actually finds that role challenging, fear-inducing, and extremely frustrating. Again, the expectations for those who are given exceptional roles are high.

The point of the God-given exceptional role is serving God’s purposes.

Prophets are similar in this way. Their unique role as bearers of God’s words and messages does not make for easy lives. They speak the truth. Their earthly lives are challenging and dangerous. They are tormented by the wrongs they see and the tragedies that will unfold.

The disciples are chosen by Jesus and have the exceptional blessing of daily interaction with Jesus and the opportunity to learn about God and the kingdom of God. There are times where it’s clear they hope their selection is for their glory, even arguing about who will sit at Jesus’ right hand in heaven. In fact, their selection is for a much more serious and humble mission. They are charged with serving God by spreading the gospel and making disciples after Jesus’ death and resurrection. All of them, according to Christian tradition, with the exception of John, died as martyrs in this service.

The Apostle Paul, whose life Jesus redirected in dramatic fashion, calls himself a servant of God.

The incarnation itself speaks volumes about God and the nature of how God exercises dominion over us.

We see in Jesus a God who cares about us, creatures who in comparison to God are limited and weak. We see in Jesus a God who cares about the poor and alienated and powerless. We see a God who reminds us of our common sinfulness, who calls us to repentance.

He is a shepherd willing to give his life for his sheep, a friend willing to lay down his life for his friends. He spoke of the first being last and the last being first. He washed the feet of his disciples. There was nothing in his life that communicated that life was about power, glory, and mammon.

I am struck, too, by the parable Jesus told of the ruler and the servant, which is recounted in Matthew 18: 21-35. In it, a ruler forgives the large debt a servant owes him but the servant puts in prison a fellow servant who owed him much, much less. This angers the ruler, and he punishes the servant. There is a strong sense that the ruler desires his servants to live out the same values that he, the ruler, demonstrates.

Ultimately, Jesus demonstrates love and mercy to humanity because God so loves the world. He restrains the power he has at his disposal for what is needed for the world and humanity.

Jesus Washing Peter's Feet (by Ford Madox Brown): The exceptionalism of Jesus.

Jesus Washing Peter’s Feet (by Ford Madox Brown): The exceptionalism of Jesus.

Do we deserve this? Do we deserve a God who would become human because of his love for us and for the whole world? Is exercising our unique power in the world for power and mammon and at the expense of the life of God’s earth in tune with the exceptionalism we see in Jesus and in the Bible in general?

The first line of Rick Warren’s best-selling book, The Purpose Driven Life, captures the point of our exceptionalism perfectly: “It’s not about you.”

To be fair, Wesley Smith, who is highly articulate and compelling, does acknowledge in the interview that environmental efforts to protect clean water and clean air are important. He says we have a duty to leave a “clean environment” to “our progeny and our posterity.”

But there is something off in that eloquent phrasing. The word “clean” is a word of neatness, a self-directed and sanitized contentment with the order and comfort of things.

Our real duty is far larger than that and far less human-centered. Our duty as it relates to God’s world is to keep the world in a condition that honors God, provides a beautiful and sustaining environment for our children, and provides a beautiful and sustaining environment for all of the rest of life. Our duty as carriers of God’s image is to protect creation’s integrity and wholeness even as we must use it.

The ultimate measure of our success at carrying out that duty is whether all of creation is thriving. A shepherd who has lost many sheep but still has enough of them to eat in order to survive is not a good shepherd.

What Parshall and Smith failed to acknowledge, too, is that Christians have largely failed to be leaders in the effort to care for Creation and, in fact, too often have been leaders and apologists for the diminishment of Creation.

The fruit of this is an unraveling planet and a conviction by many that to be Christian is to support violence against God’s world and to be self-focused and self-centered. Why would that faith and value system be of any appeal to people, like Julie Roberts, who sense the mystery and beauty of this world?

Janet Parshall has it exactly right when she says, “Ideas have consequences, and bad ideas have deadly consequences.”

I encourage you to make up your own mind about what it means to be made in the image of God, what it means to have been shaped from the soil, what it means to be a disciple of Jesus, and what that all means for how we should treat the world.

And I encourage you to do that the way a good farmer would – with nuance, patience, humility, an open mind, and an open heart.

The Cross was a Tree

Nathan Aaberg —  November 15, 2014 — Leave a comment

Do we see the cross?

Whether we are looking at a representation of the crucifixion or of the cross alone, do we see what it actually is?

The cross, like a flag, is something that our eyes look at so often and that our minds register so symbolically that we don’t see what it truly is.

What do we see if we really look?

We see an object made of wood.

We see parts of what used to be a tree.

We see the remnant of a tree that was cut down by men with the express purpose of torturing an innocent man to death.

We see the perversion of humanity and Creation.

Humanity’s purpose is to love God, love each other, and care for Creation in the way a good shepherd cares for his sheep. Instead, in the image of Jesus on the cross we see humanity rejecting God, using its creative capacities in dark and awful ways against a neighbor, and ending the life of one of the living things of God’s earth for that dark and awful purpose.

It is easy to forget all of the brutal history that comes with the cross. It is easy to forget what an odd symbol it is for a faith.

Gustave_Doré_-_Crucifixion_of_Jesus

Crucifixion of Jesus. Wood engraving drawn by Gustave Doré, engraved by J. Gauchard Brunier. From Sainte Bible (1866)

The Roman Empire used the cruelty of the cross to display its power relentlessly and with maximum psychological impact.

When Spartacus led his rebellion that ultimately failed, 6,000 of the rebels were crucified on crosses that stretched from Capua to Rome in 71 B.C. Imagine that. Picture it in your mind. Crosses with dead and dying and screaming and moaning men stretching for over 100 miles. One hundred miles.

Think, too, of the systematic effort it took for the Romans to cut down all of those trees, prepare them for their dark purpose, and transport them on their web of well-designed roads, the same roads that took their armies to ever-expanding frontiers.

In short, we see in the cross a potent and complete symbol of all that is wrong with this world, including the use of God’s earth for evil purposes.

I believe we also see in the cross a symbol of all that God will put right.

Just as the Creation scene in Genesis shows God, people, and God’s earth in harmony so we perceive a vision of a new heaven and a new earth in Revelation (as well as in Isaiah) with all of Creation at peace and praising God in love and communion.

And in the cross we see all that is at stake in whether we accept this message of a loving God willing to die for us at our hands and whether we live the lives we are meant to live by following God with the help of the Spirit.

What is at stake is our relationship with God, with people, and with Creation.

If we seek Jesus out and accept God’s transforming grace and commit to ever deepening our reliance on God, our relationship with God will become close and intimate forever. If we seek Jesus out and truly accept God’s transforming grace, God’s Spirit will cause us over time to love our neighbors in thought and deed, even if they are different from us in their culture or their beliefs.

And I believe that if we seek Jesus out and fully accept God’s transforming grace, the transformation of our hearts and minds will cause us to live out a new relationship with God’s earth. This relationship will be built on our abiding concern for the earth’s life and vitality. We will strive to use God’s earth in ways that honor God, benefit all people (especially the poor and marginalized), and enable the many amazing forms of life on this planet to flourish.

And what’s the very best news of this good news is that the whole life God offers through a whole faith is the very best life we could ever live.

A life interwoven with an awareness of the patterns and life of this world is a more complete one. A life that treats the world with love, patience, kindness, and self-control is a rich and beautiful one.

It is entirely fitting then that the actual, physical cross – that mutilated tree used to harm its very Creator – be part of our symbol of our faith and what that faith means and what that faith promises.

The cross was indeed a tree.