Whenever a self-confessed evangelical releases a book entitled anything close to The Sin of Certainty, it bears the weight of a second glance. Enns is already one of my favorite authors having won me over with The Bible Tells me So, but if that weren’t the case before now, this book would have sealed the deal. Now more than ever, we need a constant reminder of our own idolatry of self and our opinions. Far too often opinion becomes fact, which bypasses all reason and becomes truth. This vicious cycle affects us most deeply in our theological discussions.
Without wasting any time, Enns plunges right into the discussion of his own shaking and the subsequent removal of [theological] certainty in much of his life. In typical fashion, there’s enough humor to keep the reader from remembering they’re actually reading a piece of pretty deep theology. Many will wish this book had come along earlier in their journey, as I did. To have the freedom to be unsure while thinking about a being whose existence is best described as “is” doesn’t demolish our foundation, but it does let us play around in the dirt a bit.
In an era of political certainty, economic certainty and religious certainty, it would seem that there is a call to remember that we are not bound to specific expressions of faith, rather to explore them as needed and move on when the time comes. In short, Enns has delivered yet another to-be-read-frequently volume to my ever increasing library. Problem is, the book necessitates the removal of a few others.
It also pairs quite well with a Belgian Ale. (I chose fat tire).
Pope Francis faces many challenges in his efforts to modernize the application of Catholic social doctrine to today’s problems, particularly the growing global wealth, income, and power gap. His greatest challenge, however, may be overcoming a prevailing ignorance or misunderstanding of the basic moral principles that make lasting, systemic solutions possible.
As taught in academia, then embodied in law and promulgated by the media, there is an unquestioned assumption that capitalism and socialism (or some amalgam of the two) are the only possible arrangements of the social and economic order.
Neither system, however, empowers and liberates every person within it. Both systems are structured to concentrate opportunity, ownership, and power in a few hands—whether in private hands (as in capitalism), or in the State (as in socialism). Such concentration inevitably breeds poverty, corruption, and conflict.
What few academics, politicians, or media gurus have considered seriously is whether there can be a moral and truly democratic alternative—a “Just Third Way”—that transcends both capitalism and socialism.
If such an alternative is conceivable, what are its principles for restructuring the economic system? How could the system itself help close the wealth and income gap—without depriving anyone of their wealth and property rights? What are its means for empowering economically each person through equal opportunity, and access to the means of acquiring and possessing income-producing wealth?
Something has gone awry in our culture when we begin to tell the Resurrection story from a narrative of “The Good Guy Wins”. We love seeing the good guys kick ass. We celebrate rugged heroes like Jack Bauer from the hit TV show 24 – even when they kill. There is that chuckle-inducing scene in the Avengers movie where Hulk (Good guy) flings Loki (Bad guy) back and forth like a toy with his brute strength. We laugh at violence, and because the good guy wins, it’s okay. So steeped in what Walter Wink calls, “the myth of redemptive violence”, we have subsumed the Easter Story into this framework.
In cultures where Christianity has become the dominant power, the resurrection of Jesus has been turned into the triumph of the victors. The way “Jesus is Risen” is proclaimed, it sounds like bragging – essentially one-upping those who disagree with us by saying smugly: we win. Easter is used as a trump card to threaten people into joining our side. Again and again, the Church tries to grow by dominating: passing laws discriminating others, fighting legal battles in the courts, using money and clout to sway people into a certain ideology. Easter celebrations at mega-churches get bigger and jazzier every year. We are like the disciples who just don’t get it: we argue and argue over which among us is the greatest.
We need to figure out how to tell a different story. More importantly, we need to live a different story. The Resurrection is not one where the Good Guy wins; it’s a story where nobody wins and then everybody wins.When the world is organized around dominant systems preserving their power through oppression, like the Roman Empire, or structured by religious gatekeepers drawing lines in the sand between us vs them, like the Jewish authorities, the end result will always look like violence and death, like the cross. When Christ bore all of that violence and was raised from the dead, God snatched us out of the old story and put us in a new era.
The hope of the resurrection ushers us into a better way. A way of love and forgiveness, a way to serve, a way where everyone wins. The Resurrection is not a trump card in our game, it was a revision of the rulebook. It was the game changer to ensure everyone wins.
Christ Appears to Mary Magdalene as a Gardener, unknown artist, c. 1500
“Mary Magdalene turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know it was Jesus…supposing him to be the gardener.” –John 20:14, 15
The first person to see the risen Christ was Mary Magdalene. It happened in a garden. At first, Mary thought Jesus was the gardener. A logical mistake. Or a prophetic mistake. Or perhaps not a mistake at all.
On Good Friday, Jesus was buried in a garden. A garden is a place to cultivate and grow living things. An appropriate place for Jesus to be buried. A few days before his crucifixion Jesus had said, “Unless a seed falls into the ground and dies it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24) On Holy Saturday, the Son of God was a holy seed sown in a peaceful garden. On Easter Sunday, the garden brought forth the first fruits of resurrection — “Jesus Christ declared to be the Son of God by resurrection from the dead.” (Romans 1:4)
The first seed raised by God in the garden of resurrection became the gardener. When Mary Magdalene “supposed him to be the gardener,” she was exactly right! Jesus is now the gardener of resurrection, cultivating new life in all who believe. The first Adam was a gardener who failed in his task and the world became a wasteland of war and sin. But the second Adam will succeed in his task — Christ will restore the ruined garden. With Christ as the gardener of new creation we have a hopeful eschatology.
Instead of the thorn bush shall come up the juniper; Instead of the briar shall come up the myrtle. –Isaiah 55:13
“On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be there anymore.” –Revelation 22:2,3
Since it's the weekend - if I may, I'd like to make a suggestion, which may be helpful to some:
Stop arguing with people from your past, even your recent past. Stop explaining yourself to them for a while. You may need to take a lot more time to form your new stance, and even to get solid and comfortable with it yourself.
Part of the problem with having been involved in any group (church, cult, ideology, political party) is that we come to believe that we owe other people - especially people who are still in the group - explanations. We don't. And we don't have some sort of mission or calling to "rescue" or "save" them. That's egoic, salvific nonsense.
You can waste a lot of emotional capital trying to justify yourself, your position, your new beliefs when that's completely unnecessary - except to salve ego bruises.
An ego bruise occurs when someone challenges, threatens, name-calls, mocks, belittles, denounces you. You FEEL bruised don't you? Pay attention to that. THAT'S where you get hooked in.
Then your own volley flies. Lengthy explanations. Inner monologue that bashes the other person. Running to friends to tell them how hurt you are that no one understands you, so you can get "there there's" from them.
Stating your new beliefs when you're solid in them yourself is a different matter than what I'm describing above. You come from a stance of inner stability, confidence, restedness, and peace. A batter sets his stance before he swings. A boxer sets his stance beneath he throws a punch.
All power comes from the core. When you're confident you can state what you know. Let the blows come. Let them roll off. Move on in peace.
Get there. Stay there.
I hope this is helpful.... Much peace and love to you all.
Distant memories of school assembly held in a decrepit gymnasium hooked me into this article. A battered out of tune piano accompanied our daily hymn while prefects kept young pupils in line with a hard slap from a hymnbook across the back of the head. When I recited ‘… thy Kingdom come, thy will be done…’ (Matt. 6:10) it meant nothing. In fact I doubt if anyone at assembly, including our bearish headmaster, had much interest in what the ‘Kingdom’ alluded to.
While the parables are at the heart of Jesus’ teaching, this exploration of what He meant by the phrase ‘Kingdom of God’ maintains that the theme of Kingdom is woven through the whole of Jesus’ ministry. ‘We can therefore understand it only in the light of that preaching as a whole.’1
I will first contextualise Jesus’ ministry within the framework of Israel’s plight. Although Jesus doesn’t mention ‘Kingdom’ in the parable of the Sower I am going to refer to it since Snodgrass believes it is ‘the parable about the parables,’2 and Wright argues that it speaks of the Kingdom. I will also explore the parables of The Mustard Seed, The Leaven and include the Lords Prayer.
Messianic Expectation
At the time of Jesus’ birth in 6 – 4 BC Rome was Israel’s overlord. ‘The great promises of forgiveness articulated by the prophets of the exile3… had not yet been fulfilled.’4 Jewish expectation (Isa. 16:1-5; Jer. 23:1-8; 30: 21; Psalms 72:1-20) was that God would one day send a Messiah to fulfil his covenant. ‘It is in Daniel [7]… that we find the strongest statement of what the climax will be… the arrival of God’s own Kingdom… trumping the rule of all pagan powers.’5
No Christian thinker has synthesized the rich and varied imagery of the gospel into a single beautiful picture as did C.S. Lewis in his classic novella, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Through Lewis’ children’s fantasy, the New Testament themes— redemption and reconciliation, substitution and sacrifice, ransom and victory—coalesce into one of literature’s greatest plotlines. After all, it is a retelling of the greatest story ever told!
Spoiler alert: I’ll summarize the epic climax shortly! Plot: Four English adolescents pass through a magical wardrobe into the strange world of Narnia, which has fallen into a deathly winter through the dark magic of the witch, Jadis. The witch succeeds in luring one of the boys, Edmund, into her evil clutches and deceives him into betraying his siblings. The great lion Aslan—Lewis’ Christ-figure— conceives a plan to rescue Edmund, but Jadis claims eye-for-an-eye justice to demand Edmund’s execution. Aslan secretly bargains for Edmund’s life by offering his own in exchange. Jadis is delighted; Aslan’s death will be her final victory. She and her minions tie Aslan to ‘the Stone Table’ (representing the law of condemnation). They shave his mane, mock and beat him, and finally, Jadis delivers the fatal wound with a stone knife. Wondrously, though the Witch can kill Aslan, she cannot take his life! Aslan is resurrected, the stone table is broken, Edmund is redeemed and the witch is destroyed! This is the Beautiful Gospel as C.S. Lewis imagined it. This famous fiction captures essential truths of Christ’s saving work as understood by the first apostles, evangelists and theologians. But the tale also underscores Lewis’s corrections to the most popular ‘atonement theory’ of his time (or ours). In his letters (to Bede Griffith), Lewis refers to the Anselmic theory (after Anselm of Canterbury) and says it “was not to be found either in the N.T. or most of the fathers.” In Mere Christianity he describes it:
“According to that theory God wanted to punish men for having deserted and joined the Great Rebel, but Christ volunteered to be punished instead, and so God let us off. Now I admit that even this theory does not seem quite so immoral and silly as it used to; but that is not the point I want to make. What I came to see later on was that neither this theory nor any other is Christianity. The central belief is that Christ’s death has somehow put us right with God and given us a fresh start.”
Yet neither Lewis’ letters nor his non-fiction compare to the beauty and clarity of the gospel preached in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
To summarize:
1. In the story, God appears only as Aslan—the Incarnation of God in Narnia.
2. In the story, God never demands the death of Edmund or of Aslan. The witch does. God is not the witch. God is Aslan.
3. In the story, the witch thinks she has cornered Aslan into satisfying the wrath of the Stone Table. But she has not and he does not. There is no law higher than Aslan. He willingly gives himself to save the victim, he breaks the Table and conquers both death and the witch.
4. The Table is not God’s intractable wrath. It is the law of retribution and condemnation, broken by the deeper “magic” of sacrificial love. If the Stone Table can be broken, then it is not one of God’s eternal attributes.
5. The witch could and surely did execute Aslan—but she was wrong to believe she could take his life. Like Christ, Aslan alone has the power to lay down his life, and therefore, the power to take it up again. She never took his life. He gave it, but not to her and not to death. He gave it for love to ransom everyone. The witch (like Satan and death) fell into her own trap and found Aslan to be very much alive.
C.S. Lewis provides an important corrective to ideas of the Cross that mistakenly cast God into the witch’s role. But more importantly, he expresses the Beautiful Gospel in a way that even children can see it, even if some theologians cannot.
Pushing Back: 'Greek Thinking' vs. 'Jewish Thinking' is a Dualistic Error Bradley Jersak
“What hath Athens to do with Jerusalem?” —Tertullian
Backstory
A standard trend—virtually an assumption, even among some biblical scholars and theologians—is the common rejection of ‘Greek thinking’ for its supposed ‘Platonic Dualism’ that somehow eclipsed the Hebrew essence of Christian faith, infecting our theology with Hellenistic sophistry disguised as ‘doctrine.’
Some have traced this account to the German theologian Adolf von Harnack (1851-1930). At the heart of his project1 was a desire to recover Christianity’s historical (i.e., Jewish) center and expunge it of compromising accretions (i.e., Greek thought). Said another way, he wanted to complete the Reformation project of purging the Jesus gospel of fourth-century neo-Platonic creedal dogma. In some ways, he was echoing St. Tertullian’s concerns in the late second century:
From philosophy come those fables and endless genealogies and fruitless questionings, those “words that creep like as doth a canker.” To hold us back from such things, the Apostle testifies expressly in his letter to the Colossians that we should beware of philosophy. “Take heed lest any man circumvent you through philosophy or vain deceit, after the tradition of men,” against the providence of the Holy Ghost. He had been in Athens where he had come to grips with the human wisdom which attacks and perverts truth, being itself divided up into its own swarm of heresiesby the variety of its mutually antagonistic sects. What has Jerusalem to do with Athens, the Church with the Academy, the Christian with the heretic? Our principles come from the Porch of Solomon, who had himself taught that the Lord is to be sought in simplicity of heart. I have no use for a Stoic or a Platonic or a dialectic Christianity. After Jesus Christ, we have no need of speculation, after the Gospel no need of research. When we come to believe, we have no desire to believe anything else; for we begin by believing that there is nothing else that we have to believe.2
With the repudiation of the popular ‘whipping boy’ comes the call (quite reasonably) to hear Jesus as a first-century Jewish Rabbi, rather than a wandering Greek philosopher. This would seem fair, except that the assumptions involved are loaded with misrepresentations about the importance of Greek language and categories that are essential to the New Testament itself, and to the subsequent development of Christian orthodoxy.
I will expand my critique below, but for now, I propose that:
1. To pit Jewish thinking against Greek thinking is a dualistic error.
2. Plato was simply not a dualist. No good Platonist is. Plato and Plotinus were all about mediation and participation.
3. Plato was not a rationalist. It is our modernist (Cartesian) lenses that wrongly project Rene Descartes’ mind-material dualism onto Plato’s worldview.
4. So-called Greek thinking is not an infection that distorts the ‘biblical God.’ It is integrated and embedded within second temple Judaism and the New Testament itself.
5. Platonic Christianity is not dualistic. There is One (God) and all else participates in that God. The universe is a sacrament of the One who created it.
"In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, one God, amen. Glory to Jesus Christ. We read today the genealogy of Jesus from St. Matthews gospel. It is different than St. Lukes genealogy. There are many reasons for this which we do not have time to talk about this morning, but I would rather spend time on the point of the gospel, and that is that God became man to save everyone and everything. As Thomas Merton says, and I quote,
'As a magnifying glass concentrates the rays of the sun into a little burning knot of heat that can set fire to a dry leaf or a piece of paper, so the mystery of Christ in the Gospel concentrates the rays of God's light and fire to a point to set fire to the human spirit. Through the glass of his incarnation, he concentrates the rays of his divine truth and love upon us so that we can feel the burn and all mystical experience is communicated to us through the man Jesus Christ.' (Thomas Merton)
And what are these 'suns rays'? It seems clear to me that the rays of the sun are all the fragments of myths and wisdom and beauty that can be found throughout the entire world in science and music and poetry and religion. All these rays of the Sons light everywhere throughout the world. All truth comes from God. All good things come from God. All light comes from God, the Father of light.
Thus the three wise men who were Zoroastrians from Persia were led by the stars that they worshipped to the manger to worship the One who created the stars. God did not hold their paganism against them, he used it to enlighten them. They were men of good will, seekers after God, lovers of truth, and God blessed them with visions and dreams, a star, and the Christ child. Then they disappeared from view only to be heard of again in pious legend; but the Christ clarified their vision. What happened to them after that, we simply don't know. But I am most willing to assume that God continued to be with them as he was before they went to Bethlehem.
What has been made by God is sacred. And what has not been made by God? Nothing. That we cannot see this sacredness in all things, that we cannot recognize it does not mean that it is not true. It means there's a problem with our sight. All things are his and all things are united in him.
Paul said it like this: There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, but all are one in Christ Jesus. And he did not just mean Christians. There were no Christians at the incarnation. He meant all people. All boundaries have been destroyed in Christ. In him all things in heaven and on earth are united. Nothing and no one is left out, from the smallest to the largest. Every atom is revealed to be filled with grace. In the immense universe there are millions of galaxies, trillions of stars and planets, and God’s light shines through them all by the focused energy we find in his incarnate Son. We must understand that this light we see focused in Christ in a manger in a little town of Bethlehem did not begin to shine then and there. It was always shining. Nor was it limited to that time and place, as the writers of Hebrews makes clear, the universe is held together by the Word of his power.
St. Gregory of Nazianzus says that God contains in himself all beings. Not just after the incarnation, but before it, and after it as well. So the incarnation does not create unity that did not exist before Christmas, just as Jesus did not bring into creation the kingdom, rather God in Christ reveals the unity and the kingdom that has always been and will always be. And it includes everything and everyone.
Gazing at Christ we see this truth made manifest in human flesh so that we so limited by our senses can now see and touch and hear and smell and taste him. The senses reveal the gateways through which we encounter God, because God has become flesh, which is why Orthodox worship aims to stimulate every one of the senses. The body is good, the senses are good, nothing that is human is evil, nothing that has been created is bad. Either that, or God did not become a real, live human being. We must never disparage what God has made, but rather give thanks for it and care for it and bless it.
In order to remove from us any shred of doubt that God is with us, always has been, and always will be, he destroys the myth of separateness by becoming one of us. The incarnation was, as it must be, an act of love, for God is love. He did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but save it, all of it.
This is one of the overarching meanings of the genealogy of Christ. Each name represents a person with innumerable relationships. Each person represents a unique personality with a unique life, with unique and infinite connections, and unique characteristics, like a plant with roots that spread throughout all the universes. And we find ourselves in this genealogy, for we are all connected to one another. We are all related to one another. The flesh of Judah and Tamar and Perez and Ruth and David and Solomon is my flesh and your flesh and His flesh. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.”
- Father Antony Hughes, The Genealogy of Jesus, St. Mary Orthodox Church
"The cross is shock therapy for a world addicted to solving its problems through violence."
The cross is shock therapy for a world addicted to solving its problems through violence. The cross shocks us into the devastating realization that our system of violence murdered God! The things hidden from the foundation of the world have now been revealed. The cross shames our ancient foundation of violence. The cross strips naked the principalities and powers. The cross tears down the façade of glory that we use to hide the bodies of slain victims. In the light of the cross, we are to realize that if what we have built on Cain’s foundation is capable of murdering the Son of God, then the whole edifice needs to come down. In the light of the cross, our war anthems lose their luster. But this throws us into a crisis. What other alternatives are there? How else are we to arrange the world? The alternative is what Jesus is offering us when he told us that the kingdom of God is at hand. God’s way of arranging the world around love and forgiveness is within reach. If we only dare to reach out for it, we can have it. But we are so afraid. We’re not sure we can risk it. It’s so hard for us to let go of the sword and take the hand of the Crucified One. It’s so hard for us to really believe in Jesus. CLICK HERE to continue
Oh! Ephraim is my dear, dear son, My child in whom I take pleasure! Every time I mention his name, My heart bursts with longing for him! Everything in me cries out for him. Softly and tenderly I wait for him. –Jeremiah (Jeremiah 31:20)
The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked. His wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else but to be cast into the fire. He is of purer eyes than to bear you in his sight; you are ten thousand times as abominable in his eyes as the most hateful, venomous serpent is in ours. –Jonathan Edwards, Sinners In the Hands of an Angry God
Two pieces of literature. The prophetic poetry of Jeremiah and the revivalist preaching of Jonathan Edwards. I know them both well. First let’s look at Jeremiah.
In this beautiful passage Jeremiah channels God’s love for Ephraim. Who is Ephraim? Ephraim is Israel in the 7th century BC. More importantly, Ephraim is Israel in its worst spiritual and moral condition. Ephraim is idolatrous, adulterous, backslidden, covenant-breaking, sinful Israel. But Ephraim is still the child of God and Jeremiah reveals God’s unconditional love for sinful Ephraim.
Centuries ahead of the full revelation of God that will come with Jesus, Jeremiah reveals the heart of God toward sinners. Toward me. Toward you. At your worst, at your most sinful, at your furthest remove from God and his will, God’s attitude toward you remains one of unwavering love. Why? Godis love.
But many Christians struggle with a deeply embedded concept (theology) of an angry, vindictive, retributive god. Somewhere along the way they picked up a Sinner’s In the Hands of an Angry God paradigm. And it has left them deeply damaged.
One of the things I value about the parables of Jesus is that they can be understood in multiple ways, similar to a prism. One beam of white light enters a prism and several streams of different colored light emerge from the other side. Our own experience of life can be likened to a prism. When we hear Jesus telling us a parable, the prism of our lives, our cumulative life experience, our family history, our socio/economic standing and many other things function to refract the parable into something that is intelligible to us. How receptive we are to the various streams of light that emerge from the prism that is our lives will vary.
Some approach the parables of Jesus seeking to find one correct interpretation. I think this is a mistake. In Judaism, teachers recognized that texts could be understood in various ways and an approach called midrash arose that made an attempt to explore these different understandings by “filling in the blanks” in the stories with plausible details that brought a range of insights into view. I think that this same approach, applied carefully can be a valuable tool in approaching the parables of Jesus as well.
The parable of the prodigal son is one of the most well known of Jesus’ parables. It has been the subject of numerous interpretations, not least of which is Henri Nouwen’s “The Return of the Prodigal: A Story of Homecoming”. Traditional interpretations usually center on the grace of a loving father who welcomes a repentant, wayward son who had squandered his inheritance back into the family, and an elder son’s struggle in extending the same kind of grace toward his younger sibling. These understandings are powerful, full of beauty and have been a blessing and a challenge to many people.
Kester Brewin, in his book, “Mutiny! Why We Love Pirates, And How They Can Save Us” presents an alternate interpretation of the prodigal son parable that differs a great deal from traditional views. His is a tragic, “dark” reading of the story that I think is well worth your time investigating. Following Brewin’s approach, I offer the following reading of the prodigal son that is similar to Brewin’s but having passed through the prism that is my life, some different colors emerge.
Editor's note: Graham Ware interviewed Brad Jersak on the Rethinking Hell podcast (listen here). The following is the written correspondence version of the interview (not a transcript) so it includes some questions and answers not covered on the podcast. Graham also asked additional follow-up questions on the podcast not recorded here.
Graham Ware
Right now, you wear many hats vocationally. Instead of me reading your CV, maybe you could sum up what it is you currently do vocationally (besides being the author of 13 books)?
Brad Jersak
PTM/CWR editor-in-chief (www.ptm.org);
core faculty at WTC (www.wtctheology.org.uk) teaching NT and Patristics;
currently working on a new children's book, a novel and a modern English version of Gregory’s ‘On the Soul and the Resurrection.’
Graham
After being discipled in Moravian Brethren tradition, and attending an evangelical bible college and seminary, you have had some changes in your theological convictions, presumably not just on the issue of hell. Can you perhaps share how those changes came about and perhaps where you sit now? Not because we're enslaved to labels and affiliations, but just to get a sense of where you're coming from as you approach a theological topic.
Brad
Actually, my ancient heritage included Moravian Brethren, but in terms of actual upbringing:
Baptist (from birth to 22 years old) - our eschatology was dispensational, including the rapture, tribulation and final judgement to either eternal life or eternal conscious torment.
Mennonite (married in, became a member and ordained minister - from 22 to 32) - the teaching was more Gospels-centered and included the peace tradition, which led to nonviolent atonement.
While there, I also experienced a warm connection with the Vineyard and its Kingdom theology influence (rooted in Ladd).
Fresh Wind (from 33-43) - we planted a church for the marginalized, with an emphasis on inner healing and a revelation of Father’s heart, by the end of which, I seriously doubted that eternal conscious torment was the final word for the majority of humanity.
After 10 years of friendship (and catechism) with Archbishop Lazar, I was chrismated Orthodox and ordained as a reader. In that tradition, God is not a punisher and they don't buy into penal atonement theories. They also permit us to hope for ultimate reconciliation.
If one were to carefully study the several ways in which Christ Himself turned much of the Old Testament on its head, one might end up being very surprised. The woman taken in adultery was forgiven, not stoned. The Sabbath was not kept in order to demonstrate that the “Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath." He exalted and healed those who were not Jews, but "sinners" from among the nations. The Old Testament forbids the deformed, maimed and unclean to enter the temple; Christ fellowshipped with them and healed them. The Prophets rebuked the wealthy and Israel in general for ignoring the plight of the poor, the widow and the orphan; Christ made caring for them a prerequisite for entering the heavenly kingdom. Even the kosher food laws were overturned when the scroll was unrolled before Peter on the rooftop.
Perhaps, then, Christians should be wary of trying to reinstitute even elements of the Old Testament Law. Christ said that no point of the Law would pass away until all things were fulfilled (Matt. 5:17-18), although He had already overturned major elements of it. But when He proclaimed "It is Finished," all things were fulfilled and, as our beloved father Paul tells us, the Law was abolished (Eph. 2:14-15). Moreover, "if there be established a new priesthood, there is of necessity a New Covenant" (Heb. 7:12). And if a new covenant, then what "Law"? For, “in that he says, `A new covenant,’ he has made the first old. Now that which decays and grows old is ready to vanish away” (Heb. 8:13). If the Law is replaced by Grace (the law could neither sanctify nor perfect, nor could it transform the inner person, nor could it save anyone), and by a new law of Love, then why should any dog return to its own vomit when a banquet of love and grace has been set before it? If we seek to reinstitute the law of the Old Covenant, then by that do we not renounce the New Covenant, and with it the High Priest by Whom it is established in His own precious blood? Should those who wish now to reinstitute even one jot or tittle of the Old Law, thus re-establishing the Covenant that has passed away, not rather tremble and repent for having renounced the blood of Christ which established a New Covenant and a priesthood after the order of Melchizedek, abolishing the priesthood after the order of Aaron? Can one embrace one jot or tittle of that Law without renouncing the Grace which replaced it?
On the cross, Jesus was victorious over sin, death, and the devil. Some Christians struggle with how Jesus was victorious over death, since we look around us and see death everywhere. We even have a saying that the only two certainties in life are death and taxes. So since death is a certainty, how is it that Jesus defeated death?
To understand how, it is helpful to see how death has controlled and enslaved humanity. When we talk about Jesus defeating death, we most often think of the death that comes at the end of our life, and how after our own physical death, we will be resurrected to a new life with God in eternity. And while that is part of what the Bible has in mind when it talks about the victory of Jesus over death, I do not think that is only aspect of how Jesus defeated death.
Instead, the victory of Jesus over death was also a victory over how and why we kill others. It was a victory over the death of “the other.” Since the very beginning of human history, we are enthralled and enslaved to the death of the other as a means to save ourselves. The death of the other has been our deliverer. For most of human history, the death of the other has been the savior of the self. We kill others so that we ourselves might live. We look to death to solve all our problems and defeat our enemies and get us what we want. We rationalize death by saying it was “us or them.” This is the cycle of murder which is behind every murder as well.
Most murderers do not think of themselves as murderers, but as vigilantes of justice. Their murder of another person was justified. They were righting a wrong, killing a criminal, or invoking vengeance upon some injustice done to them or their family. Every murderer is able to justify his own murder. All violence is “justifiable.” But this justifiable violence leads only to more violence, and as violence escalates out of control, we create scapegoats to bear the accumulated violence into death. We kill others to rescue ourselves from death. While it is true that the wages of sin is death and since all have sinned all will die (Rom 3:23; 6:23), the death which Scripture is most concerned with is not our own death, but the death of others by our own hand.
In human history, we have been able to justify the death of the other by blaming them for everything that has gone wrong (scapegoating), and by justifying the death of one as necessary for the good of all (sacrificing). We justify these scapegoating sacrifices by making the scapegoat into a monster. We convince ourselves that the other person must die because they are the evil sinner, the bringer of pain, sickness, and injustice, the creator of division and strife. In this way we are able to hide the injustice of our own violence by claiming that our violence is justice.
But when Jesus died on the cross, it was evident to all that He was innocent of any wrongdoing. Though we tried to make Him a scapegoat by charging Him with blasphemy, the accusations brought against Him would not stick. When God raised Jesus from the dead, this was the divine vindication of Jesus, proving that all accusations brought against Jesus had been patently false.
So through His willing death as a truly innocent victim, Jesus unveiled the human reliance upon the death of the other as a means to achieve temporary peace. Though we can often rationally justify our violence against others, there is no way to rationally justify the murder of Jesus. But Jesus died willingly to reveal to us that just as we unjustly killed Him, so also, we have unjustly killed every victim in human history and that such violence in God’s name must stop.
In this way, Jesus defeated the power of death—not only our own future death, but also the power we give to the death of someone else. Jesus allowed us to put Him to death so that we might see that we often call for the death of others even though their death is not deserved or required. We use the death of others as a means to gain life for ourselves, and on the cross, Jesus exposed this form of death as having nothing whatsoever to do with God. Rather than call for the death of others, Jesus invites us to die for others. Life is found, not in killing others, but in being willing to lay down our lives for others.
Jeremy Myers is an author and blogger at RedeemingGod.com. This post is drawn from his new book, The Atonement of God, which is now available for pre-order on Amazon.com.
One by one the lost souls step off the Great Divorce bus to enjoy a holiday in Heaven, and one by one they realize they prefer living in that other place. The choice is theirs. They are welcome to stay, but to remain requires the surrender of that which they “prefer to joy.” They are not prepared to make that sacrifice. Call it self-exclusion, self-alienation, self-damnation—the essential element of the libertarian model of hell is the creature’s free rejection of the divine gift of eternal life. The damned would rather endure the dreariness and boredom of the grey town than suffer the love of the Father. The bus runs every day. The ride is free. The residents may avail themselves of the holiday as many times as they wish. But repeatedly, perpetually, everlastingly, they decline the invitation to move to the realm of Joy.
“But what of the poor Ghosts who never get into the omnibus at all?”
“Everyone who wishes it does,” replies the imaginary George MacDonald. “Never fear.”
There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, “Thy will be done,” and those to whom God says, in the end, “Thy will be done.” All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self-choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened.
So far the libertarian and universalist are in full agreement. But a question remains: If rejection of God brings ever-increasing diminishment of being (symbolized by Lewis as insubstantiality)—and therefore ever-increasing suffering (for suffering there must be the further one distances oneself from the source of happiness)—how can anyone sustain perpetual resistance to the offer of Joy? Will not everyone eventually break? Jerry Walls acknowledges this point in Heaven, Hell and Purgatory: “We can only absorb so much pain, so if hell forcibly imposes ever-greater suffering, no one could resist forever” (p. 78).
If we could glimpse the panoramic view of the biblical revelation and the Big Picture that we're a part of, we'd see how God is forever evolving human consciousness, making us ever more ready for God. The Jewish prophets and many Catholic and Sufi mystics used words like espousal, marriage, or bride and groom to describe this phenomenon. That's what the prophet Isaiah (61:10, 62:5), many of the Psalms, the school of Paul (Ephesians 5:25-32), and the Book of Revelation (19:7-8, 21:2) mean by "preparing a bride to be ready for her husband." The human soul is being gradually readied so that actual espousal and partnership with the Divine are the final result. It's all moving toward a final marriage between God and creation. Note that such salvation is a social and cosmic concept, and not just about isolated individuals "going to heaven." The Church was meant to be the group that first brings this corporate salvation to conscious and visible possibility.
Ron Dart, professor of Religious Studies and Political Science at UFV, adds two books (as editor and author) to his extensive bibliography.
Thomas Merton and the Counterculture: A Golden String (St Macrina Press, 2016) is a collection of essays and illustrations by many of North America's top Merton scholars, including Leah Cameron, Stephanie Redekop, Russel Hulsey, Ross Labrie, Robert Inchausti, Lynn Szabo and of course, Ron S. Dart. The book also features sketches by North Van artist, Arnold Shives.
Two elements set this booklet (123 pages) apart. First, it not only speaks of the counterculture historically; it gives one a feel for the counterculture because a good number of the authors lived in the thick of it and arguably never 'sold out.' In some ways, the book then feels less like a retrospective and more like a time machine, enabling me to relive by proxy some of the highpoints of the counterculture ideals that I was insulated from as an elementary school child.
The other great strength of this book is that so many of the essays relate Merton to other major figures of that age. Some he knew or corresponded with personally, while others were parallel figures climbing and converging on common peaks by other trails and approaches. So we not only get more of Merton the monk, but Merton becomes a posture from which to view the likes of Mark Van Doren, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Gary Snyder, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, William Everson, Denise Levertov and Henry Miller. Some of these names were familiar to me among the great 'Beat Poets,' but I did not know that many related to Merton directly. Others were unknown to me but the book provided an initial introduction.
For Merton and counterculture poetry aficionados alike, the book is well worth the read, not just as nostalgia, but to give a personal inside scoop on the abiding value of that important epic. Indeed, there's an urgent need to remember their wisdom in these dark days.
C.S. Lewis & Bede Griffiths: Chief Companions (St Macrina, 2016) is Ron Dart's own booklet (58 pages) on the interaction of thoughts and letters between Lewis and Griffiths. Ron has attended closely to this long-term friendship and gathered up sources, letters and articles to highlight and provide a very warm commentary on the importance of this connection.
The book begins with their 1. Faith Affinities, which might surprise those who know Lewis as the Oxford scholar and Griffiths as the contemplative theologian who led the 20th century in interfaith dialogue. But in fact, both men testified that the other was their chief companion at the stage of their conversion to Christianity through the early1930's.
In chapter 2, Ron describes the correspondence between Lewis and Arthur Greeves in which Griffiths is mentioned. Chapter 3 moves on to letters by Lewis to Griffiths himself. Chapter 4 switches perspectives and we're treated to a review of two articles that Griffiths writes about Lewis. In chapter 4, we follow the drama of how Griffiths (in The Canadian C.S. Lewis Journal)enters the conversation over Christopher Derrick's C.S. Lewis and the Church of Rome -- esp. concerning Lewis' decision not to become Roman Catholic. In chapter 6, Dart publishes two letters he personally received from Griffiths (along with reflections). The final chapter is a summary, pointing out that virtually no work has been done on the Lewis-Griffiths connection in four decades. For my part, I'm glad Dart broke the silence!
