Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

Where 2 or 3 Gather – Covidtide Prayers 3/3: "In His Name" - Brad Jersak

“Yes: where two or three come together in my name,
 I’ll be there in the midst of them.” (Matthew 18:20 NTE).

Can we once again conceive of a Christ-centered faith in which
two or three are gathered “in his name”?

Previously, in this three-part series, I challenged the idea that a pandemic or an indefinite, legislated quarantine can truly “cancel church.” Neither God’s people nor our faith has ever been eradicated by plagues or persecution, “by famine, danger, nakedness or sword.”

Will disillusionment, cynicism or trendy deconstruction be the end of God’s family? Will the tarnish of our innumerable sins or cynicism at our egregious corruption be the final nail in the Bride’s coffin? I doubt it.  

The Church Resilient 

We (I use “we” advisedly) are either miraculously resilient or we simply die and rise again without fail. So… Covid-19. Cancel ‘church’? Not a chance. Purge and purify it? That’s both our now-invitation and our age-old track record.   

I still hear Gloria Gaither’s impassioned voice on vinyl in 1977, exhorting courage in the Gaither’s anthem, “The Church Triumphant”:

God has always had a people.
Many a foolish conqueror has made the mistake of thinking that because he had forced the church of Jesus Christ out of sight, he had stilled its voice and snuffed out its life, but
God has always had a people.
The powerful current of a rushing river is not diminished because it's forced to flow underground.
The purest water is the stream that burst crystal clear into the sunlight after it has forced its way through solid rock.
There have been charlatans who, like Simon the Magician, sought to barter on the open market that power which cannot be bought or sold.

God has always had a people,
men who could not be bought and women who were beyond purchase.
God has always had a people.
There have been times of affluence and prosperity when the church's message has been nearly deluded into oblivion by those who sought to make it socially attractive, neatly organized, financially profitable,

but God has always had a people.
Yes, it's been gold platted, draped in purple and encrusted with jewels.
It has been misrepresented, ridiculed, lauded and scorned,

but God has always had a people.
And these followers of Jesus Christ have been, according to the whim of the times, elevated sacred leaders and modern heretics.
Yet through it all, their march is on that powerful army of the meek.
God's chosen people who cannot be bought, flattered, murdered or stilled.
On through the ages, they march, the church!
God's church triumphant! Alive and well!

Too triumphalistic? Nah. I’d say Gloria carefully avoided whitewashing our ugly side. The triumph she proclaims is not a testimony of institutional glory. She’s recalling the victories of God’s grace despite us. Alive. Yes, we are. Well? Maybe that’s a faith statement of what could be.    

I also proposed that using the New Testament alternative term oikos (house, household, home) might help us ditch some of the baggage accrued by the word “church” and retrieve the sense of family belonging that gets lost. What if Jesus’ “two or three gathered” evoked the hospitality of “my house is your house” and the sense of secure love we feel in the phrase, “Welcome home!”     

“In his name” 

Just as my friend Paul helped me ponder the differences between house and home, so he inspired me to rethink what gathering in Jesus’ name could look like—both under lockdown and beyond. I am no longer convinced we are being church by merely gathering. If Eden and I gather to watch “The Valhalla Murders” on Netflix, we may be the church (God’s family) but are we really being church during our binge? Is this actually “family time” in his name)?

Paul helped me imagine gathering in his name using my granddaughter as an analogy:

Ahhyeon, our little dolly, is without a doubt a forever-member of our family. She IS family. That will never change, regardless of the physical distance that separates us—in our case, the vast span of the Pacific Ocean. We like seeing her via social media and FaceTime. But one day, we hope to be together in person and gather as family. Then our words of affection will become flesh, our love expressed in touch, and our virtual affection will be embodied (incarnate) in hugs and kisses.

When Ahhyeon first arrives in our home, we won’t simply gather. We will have a feast in her name. We will celebrate her presence with grandiose toasts and speeches. We will sing to her and listen to her and express our devotion to her with mountains of gifts and treats. Our best friends and family will be invited, to join in the festivities. And all of us together will know as Ahhyeon most surely will—this party is in her name. It will be, without a doubt, all about her.

Now let’s transpose this analogy to Christ to see what’s important, what we may have missed and how to refocus our attention through quarantine and beyond. What does “in his name” signify?

• It’s about Jesus. Two or three gathered in his name means the gathering is not about football, gossip or Netflix. It’s at the name of Jesus that every knee bows and tongue confesses his Lordship—that God is glorified and exults his Son. The same people may congregate but this meeting is especially in his honor.
  
  
• It’s about presence—living, loving connection. When we gather in his name, Christ is in our midst. Yes, by the Spirit, Christ is everywhere, at all times. We get that. But Christ’s words here are not empty. WHERE does Christ happen? Christ inhabits our midst—in love-one-another. Christ indwells the love passing between us.
  We are not meeting to memorialize someone who is dead, absent or elsewhere. Christ is here and now, a living presence experienced in our gathered-love, embodied in each of his children. Christ is not invisible or intangible—we see him in the Scriptures, in the chalice, but most of all, Christ is seen and loved in those we see and love. To be seen and loved—that’s our deepest longing. Will we learn to find it in his household?    
  
  
• It’s a feast—God’s banquet. Jesus said the kingdom of God is like a wedding banquet. He spoke these parables at actual feasts where he was guest of honor. He established the new covenant at a Passover meal—his “Last [sort of] Supper.” Then he made celebration of the wine and the bread of his sacrificial love the central point and apex of our worship.
       Could Covid-19 be our invitation back to the table? To make dinner time at home a daily (or weekly) opportunity to recall the original Passover, the Lamb’s protection and our Exodus in Christ? Perhaps it would include a Psalm, a prayer of thanks and a glass of wine.
       And after quarantine? I cannot imagine worship that makes table fellowship optional but smoke machines mandatory. Time to revisit the agape meal in its festive form, yes?  
       Nor should table fellowship be insular—a club for insiders. No. Jesus said so. Invite, invite, invite. And that includes you know who—the poor, the outcast and outsider, the “black sheep” and the scorned sinner.
       And Christ also says go, go, go. Visit those perpetually quarantined by disability or age or homeless … bring dinners or at least fresh water and socks to those who have none. If Christ is not found in the lost sheep, he may not be found at all.  
  
  
• It’s a celebration of adoration. In his name means we adore Christ with words, with songs and prayers, with gifts of art and poetry. Since it’s a banquet, we may raise a toast of gratitude and honor the one who gave himself freely for our very lives. Whatever else this celebration is, it calls for participation. Whatever our platform, virtual or actual, how might the post-quarantined household be compelled to join in more fully? Can we flatten the curve that centralizes power and reduces family time to spectator games? How can we emulate Christ as he used privilege to make space for the marginalized and then ultimately set it aside himself?
  
  
• It’s Jesus’ turn. Our various traditions engage the voice of God in various ways—from Gospel readings to prophetic encouragement to contemplative silence. No matter how your tribe opens its spiritual ears, let’s make sure Jesus is given his turn to speak. On purpose. Like, slot it in. And know this: it will always be the Word of invitation, no compulsion—the Word love redeeming love, not condemnation. Our Word brings and IS Light, Love and Life that dispels darkness, dread and death. Jesus the Word of God, meaning that Christ IS what God has to say about himself. Listen well, because this party’s in his name.

I could go on and you may see it differently, but I hope the coronavirus interruption may help us recalibrate Christian worship and discipleship. If we’re super-mindful right now, quarantine may be the best thing that’s happened to “the church” in a long, long time.

Let’s use this time to re-imagine the faith of
two or three gathered in his name.    

Where 2 or 3 Gather – Covidtide Prayers 2/3 “House or Home?” - Brad Jersak

“Yes: where two or three come together in my name,
 I’ll be there in the midst of them.” (Matthew 18:20 NTE).

Can we conceive of a Christ-centered faith in which
two or three are gathered as his household?  

 

Context Matters (but application counts)

After reading my previous installment in the Covidtide Prayers series, titled "Is Church Canceled? I received a wonderful tidbit of research from my friend, Boyd Barrett, diving more deeply into the immediately and canonical context of our Matthew 18 theme. Here he is: 

I read your article about Matthew 18:20. I definitely agree with your practical conclusions for the church in this time. It just so happens that I’ve been working on that scene in COME AND SEE, and I wanted to ask your opinion before I get too far into it.

I had never noticed the context of that statement before. When I put the verses leading up to it (15-19) together with Deuteronomy 17:6 and 19:15, it seems pretty clear that Jesus is not talking about just any gathering of two or three - but rather, the agreement of two or three witnesses in a dispute between two parties. It even changes the idea behind Matthew 18:19.

Could Jesus be saying that when two agree about the truth in a disputed matter, the Father stands with those witnesses? And could verse 20 be following that up with the promise of Jesus that where two or three gather together in His name, he’ll be there to back up their decisions regarding problem situations? And if you go back to verse 18, could the binding and loosing there be talking about those same kinds of decisions regarding disputes? And I find it interesting that in verse 21 Peter asks Jesus about how many times you have to forgive a brother. That would be a natural followup if these verses say what I’m thinking.

This is brilliant and I think exactly right when read in context. And context matters. I feel that Boyd nailed both the immediate story context and the longer canonical context. Compared to that direct interpretation, I want to reiterate that all I am really doing is transposing and applying the word of Christ to our particular crisis. And application counts, even though I'm broadening it from matters of discipline to meeting in general--to "church" reimagined.

“CHURCH” (in scare quotes) 

“Church” has become such a weary and heavy-laden term that one can hardly utter it without a sigh and or a debate about what it means. And then another sigh. “Church” may be pronounced with joy, with sorrow, with bitterness or with glazed eyes. “Church,” whatever that word means, nearly demands scare quotes because how we use it is attached (or entangled) to each “churcher’s” personal story.

When defined by English usage, “church” ranges in meaning from a nebulous idea to a local congregation, from the buildings with steeples to a covenant community. It can refer to something we are or to something we do. “Church” may indicate a people, an activity, a service or a building.

Returning to the Greek roots of the term ekklesia only helps a little. In the Septuagint (the Greek Old Testament), ekklesia speaks of those who actually assemble to participate in God’s covenants together. In the New Testament, ekklesia may include the network of people who gather in homes to celebrate Christ together or it can refer to all those, living or departed, old covenant or new, human or angelic, who come to Christ’s throne on Mount Zion (Hebrews 12).

In other words, “church” or ekklesia can mean just about anything you want it to. So, in my experience, that word has become less and less helpful as we plod through the 21^st century—especially in the context of the Covid-19 crisis. With public “church” meetings canceled, “church” services streaming online and the “church” people quarantined in their homes, we’re invited to reconsider the meaning of “church”–what it is, who we are, how we meet and what’s at stake. To think fresh thoughts, I propose we start with a fresh (and ancient) alternative to the word “church.”   

OIKOS ­– House, Household, Home 

Aside from being a delicious yogurt brand (thanks, Calvin Keys), the word oikos is used 106 times in the New Testament, nearly as often as ekklesia (115x). Just over half these occurrences appear in Luke-Acts.

Oikos is translated into English with words such as:

• house: an actual building or dwelling place, including nests, stalls, tents or temples, and especially the houses where families live.
• household: those who dwell in the house, whether birds and animals, unrelated tenants or actual families. When the house is a temple, the household is the family of God.
• home: the home signifies family and all that relationship includes.

Oikos can be used literally (actual houses or families) but it is also a metaphor for the people of God. And while there is a real sense in which all humans are part of God’s extended family (Ephesian 3:15, Acts 17:29, Luke 3:38), it is also true that those who willingly participate in the Good News of Jesus Christ are now “living stones” of a new dwelling place (temple) for God and they are family members of his household. Here’s Paul in Ephesians 2:

¹⁷ So the Messiah came and gave the good news. Peace had come! Peace, that is, for those of you who were a long way away, and peace, too, for those who were close at hand. ¹⁸ Through him, you see, we both have access to the father in the one spirit.

     ¹⁹ This is the result. You are no longer foreigners or strangers. No: you are fellow-citizens with God’s holy people. You are members of God’s household (οἰκεῖοι). ²⁰ You are built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with King Jesus himself as the cornerstone. ²¹ In him, the whole building (οἰκοδομὴ) is fitted together, and grows into a holy temple in the Lord. ²² You, too, are being built up together, in him, into a place where God will live by the spirit.     

HOUSE or HOME

When we privileged the term “church” over “household,” it’s worth asking what was lost in the latter term’s gradual disuse. The exception is my Pentecostal friends, who frequently like to say, “God is in the house,” usually combining the building and the meeting. But other than them…

I asked my friend Paul E. Ralph to reflect on this idea with me—the possibility that oikos can help us think more clearly about what it means to “gather in his name,” especially as we’re quarantined in our homes.

Paul asked me to consider the emotional difference between a house and a home—and how that difference suggests renewed ways of being “church.” He began by asking how I might respond if he told me, “I’ve built an addition on my house.” I suppose I’d say, “That’s great, Paul. Another room for you to use, to fill, to clean. Good for you.” But then feel the difference of discovering that his household had just increased. “A new addition to the family! Wahoo! I can’t wait to meet her!”

Or consider the difference between saying, “We’ve bought a new house” and “We’ve finally found our home.” What is it that transforms a house into a home? What happens when we encounter a group of people who, through our shared faith in Christ, feel like family to us? What do we mean when we reflect, “I feel like I’ve come home”? What are we offering when we say, “Make yourself at home”? Who must we be and how must we live to create that sense of welcome and belonging?

I won’t do all the work for you. Why not spend time thinking about the questions in the previous paragraph—why not pray through them, brainstorm them in your home, and journal what you come to. The ideas that come may even be intimations from the Holy Spirit.

And what if we were to apply these insights now, during lockdown … could “two or three gathered” be a house for God? Could a quarantined family be the household of God? AND what if we seriously implemented them thereafter?

How’s this for a prayer of invocation:

Abba, mi casa es su casa!

Our house is your house. And Christ is our Cornerstone.

Our household is your household. May the Spirit of Grace fill every room.

Our home is your home. Loving Trinity, make yourself at home.

Our family is your family. We are your children. 

I close with this story, circulating on Instagram:

THE CHURCH IS NOT STONES: In the 11^th century, the Muslim Caliph Al-Hakim decreed the closure of all churches in Egypt for nine years. It was a time of great distress for all Christians. One day, the Caliph was walking through the streets where Christians resided and he heard their voices praising and praying in each house. Then he said, “Open their churches again and let them pray as they please. I wished to close a church in every street. But today I discovered that when I made this decree, a church was opened in every home.

Stay tuned for our 3^rd installment of “Where 2 or 3 Gather,” where we will play with the phrase, “In his name.” It’s more than singing, announcements and a sermon. See you then.

Where 2 or 3 Gather – Covidtide Prayers 1/3 “Church Is Canceled” (Is it?) - Brad Jersak

“Yes: where two or three come together in my name,
 I’ll be there in the midst of them.” (Matthew 18:20 NTE).

“Christ said two or three, not two or three hundred.” —Simone Weil

Christians: What if... what if the church can no longer meet in buildings, must cancel all its services, and what if even live-streaming fails us. What if the internet crashes and the government bans gatherings bigger than 2 or 3? 

Is church canceled? Does ‘church’ even still exist?

Jesus: Did I stutter?

Can we conceive of a Christ-centered faith in which two or three are gathered in his name?

As COVID-19 blitzkriegs the globe, those who still conceive of the “church” being contingent on worship services held weekly in brick-and-mortar buildings are having to adjust rapidly. It’s one thing to “cancel church” for a few weeks due to blizzard conditions. But when the closures are both indefinite and legislated, we are forced to reimagine how we “gather in his name.”

So far, the creative responses of dispersed congregations depend on our prowess at digital connectivity. “Social distancing” has generated the demand for “live-streaming” services and/or remote “Zoom meetings.” At least we can see one another’s faces online—“proof of life” for the church held hostage.

When the technology works, it’s a blessing for those who miss being with their faith family. As I write, I can say I “went to church” online in Toronto and Abbotsford last Sunday. Eden and I zoomed into Hope4Life Miami for two hours this morning. And Eden is prepping a sermon for her “virch” (virtual church) this Sunday from the privacy of her office.

Then again, perhaps not much has changed for the millions of Christ-followers who had previously abandoned live services in physical structures. For those no longer affiliated with any institution or congregation, innumerable sources and genres of Christian radio, television and online content are readily available. For decades, PTM’s Greg Albrecht has offered daily online radio messages and weekly services, all archived and accessible. The www.ptm.org website is loaded with resources and pdf versions of both its magazines.        

Yes, for those who developed spiritual allergies to the local church, a buffet of virtual Christianity has been available for just nine months shy of a century. On January 2, 1921, Calvary Episcopal Church broadcast the first radio church services on KDKA. The Rev. Lewis B. Whittemore conducted the service and so began Christian “broadcasting” (the actual verb for sowing seed, by the way).

But that’s still a recent trend in Christian history. How is it that Christianity as a living faith survived prior to 1921 through extended times of medical or political lockdown? Was the church Christ founded ever truly suspended, even when driven underground?

During the Communist Revolution, Eden’s Oma and her clan could not gather for public worship for over 30 years. Would they have said, “church is canceled”? How was it that their faith survived? What form did Christianity take through the centuries when it was quarantined by persecution?

I suspect we suffer such intense historical amnesia and cultural tunnel vision that we’re tempted to imagine that “church is canceled.” What if the church doors were locked and, Lord forbid, even the internet should crash? Would Christianity cease to exist except in the privacy of our hearts? But wait…

Across the centuries, the words of Christ speak to us: “Yes: where two or three come together in my name, I’ll be there in the midst of them” (Matthew 18:20 NTE). How might two-or-three discipleship look, specifically? What makes gathering “in his name” any different than when the same people meet to talk about canceled playoffs or gossip about neighbors who aren’t social distancing properly? What components to “gathering in his name” are optional and which are non-negotiable? That’s been a matter for debate for ages.

This current crisis is an invitation to reimagine church. When it’s all over, do we really want everything to return to how it was? Could we make good use of this reset so that whether or not we attend local churches, we recognize what had been missing or what had been superfluous in our life of worship?

When Pope Francis delivered his homily to St. Peter’s empty square this week, he answered that same question:

It is not the time of God’s judgment, but of our judgment: a time to choose what matters and what passes away, a time to separate what is necessary from what is not. It is a time to get our lives back on track with regard to you, O Lord, and to others. 

In the next two installments of this series, we’ll explore a few new and potentially abiding orientations to how and why we “do church” or “be church.” See you then.    

The Covid-19 Reset: Dark Clouds, Silver Linings & New Ways of Being - Brad Jersak

Covid-1

I have no medical assessments or advice to share.

I’m a doctor, Jim, but not that kind.

While some may be going stir-crazy, others suffer greatly and still others are working hard to flatten the curve. For my part, I will only ask a few questions for contemplation. Without minimizing how harsh this storm is—medically and financially—I’m pondering what social and spiritual fabric we might weave from the silver lining around these dark clouds.

RESET QUESTION:
WHICH NEW WAYS OF BEING COULD BECOME PERMANENT CORRECTIONS?

Covid-19 has generated a wide array of involuntary responses and reactions. These range from panic to courage, hoarding to sharing, alienation to creative community. How has it changed your lifestyle? How has your way of being undergone a reset in a healthier direction? Might these new habits be an invitation for a permanent course correction?

For example, I had created a situation for myself in which I had chronically overscheduled my 2020 calendar. I thought I could get away with it because I expected a lot of my trips to include Eden. But when she had to cancel for health reasons, I found myself dreading the time away and apart. It felt like a “heavy yoke”—a signal that Christ had not given it to me. It was self-imposed. But why? What fears or dysfunctions were behind squeezing my life too tightly?

But now, with all my gigs canceled until at least June, I feel a sigh of relief. I’m still working in other ways, but I wonder how that sigh is an invitation. Instead of just coping with this temporary glitch in the matrix, I wonder if we could take advantage of this involuntary reset to discover new and healthier practices that we’d do well to embrace going forward. For example   

ALIENATION QUESTION:

HAS THE EMBODIMENT OF ISOLATION IN A VIRUS WOKEN US TO RESIST IT?  

One of the great complaints about self-quarantine is the way it can make us feel isolated. The truth is that the exodus from community into radical individualism was already killing us. My godfather says that the modern psychological term for “hell” is alienation. And the problem was that despite the anxiety and despair it created, I saw very little resistance to it.

But now that it’s embodied in this virus, we can watch and even measure how contagious and deadly it is. This is not a metaphor. I have not been tested and have no symptoms, yet in my personal quarantine, I’m now very mindful of the need to resist the alienation that was already a pandemic. Covid-19 has mobilized us to final say NO. Will we continue to fight the alienation after this current tide has receded? How so? I’m seeing purposeful acts of connection and communion that I hope will become part of this reset.    

FLESH QUESTION:

WILL OUR DIGITAL CONNECTIONS TURN US BACK TO TOUCH? 

The inability to meet face-to-face has taught us remote workarounds in our classrooms, our workplaces, our clinics and our fellowships. We’ve discovered through technology Christ’s miraculous ability to work and heal and deliver even from a distance. I mean this quite literally. And I’m very grateful for online classroom experiences. And who doesn’t love working from home in their pajamas?

That said, I am praying that we also feel the lack. While this may be an exponential leap forward for the digital revolution, let’s remember that the Word became flesh. Flesh. Touch. And he’s in the midst of two or three gathered. Hand-in-hand prayer circles. Laying on of hands to heal. Arms around shoulders to encourage. The warm embrace of comfort. The Maori people sharing breath, foreheads and noses touching. Eskimo kisses. The apostolic holy kiss or passing the peace. Wm. Paul Young or Eden Jersak’s healing hugs.

I pray that we push back hard at the limitations of social media pseudo-connection (as helpful as it can be) and fight for a fleshy faith once again. May we be recharged in our desire to meet around a shared meal, drink from a common cup, puff the same cigar. And may we forever think that anything less is not normal, however viral.           

SOLITUDE QUESTION:

HAVE WE FOUND OUR WAY BACK TO CREATION?

I saw a meme that showed “before and during quarantine.” Before the quarantine, some lone dude was huddled alone in his home, transfixed by his smartphone. During quarantine, the meme showed a collage of people riding their bikes, walking on nature trails, enjoying a calm beachfront. And this wasn’t just in the fantasyland of meme-world. My friend Giovanna described exactly this scene while out and about today. And I realized (as I gazed into my iPhone) that quarantine has given us two great gifts:

It has given the world of nature a little breathing space from us. I read about emission rates dropping in Northern Italy as the streets are less clogged and clear water flowing in the canals of Venice, inviting dolphins into the city. Fun. And temporary. Horrendous for the oil industry (another of our addictions). But at least the biosphere got to come up for a gulp of air.

But also, quarantine has called us to lift our eyes up from our glowing little screens invite us outside. In other words, even before we can safely let down the walls of our social distancing, we can still experience quarantine as spiritual solitude rather than soul-sucking isolation. I know someone in mandatory isolation right now… but they realized that weather permitting, they can spend their time in the forest rather than in the attic. Check with medical professionals but I am quite sure the “don’t go out” order needn’t literally mean “stay in your cell.”

Speaking of which, I hear children outside. Time for my prayer walk. It’s been too long.

Much love,

Brad

Let's Talk about Hell BETTER or “If You’re Wrong, a Lot of People Will Go to Hell & It's Your Fault” Brad Jersak

LET’S TALK ABOUT HELL (BETTER)

I’d like to think I’ve said and written enough about hell.

Indeed, I’ve said too much for the liking of some and not enough to be clear to others. In Her Gates Will Never Be Shut (Wipf & Stock, 2009), I attempted to address many of the questions Rob Bell would pose a year later in his career-changing work, Love Wins. I would have loved 10% of his book sales. But at least I’m not bitter. What we had most in common were critical reviews by people who didn’t bother to read either book.

I was also happy to offer my two cents on hell in Kevin Miller’s documentary movie Hellbound? My greatest contributions were surely my titillating handlebar mustache and the cemetery scene (no spoilers). Despite a decade of painstaking descriptions of the variety of biblical and patristic notions concerning hell and divine judgment, I still hear (too often) that I “don’t believe in hell.” But fear not—I do. The rumors are just slander. And you know where slanderers go, right? (Cf. 1 Cor. 6:9-10, Gal. 5:23, Rev. 22:15). Ouch, eh?

Anyway, with the firestorm release of David Bentley Hart’s That All Shall Be Saved (to reviews ranging from succulent to truculent), it seems the church is finally ready to have the conversation in earnest.

Namely, how should we talk about hell?

On a recent three-week tour of New Zealand and Australia, the topic of hell and the question of ultimate redemption came up at every single stop. Whether I was with Baptists, the Vineyard, Methodists, Anglicans, Brethren or YWAMers, I was grilled on two topics everywhere I went. One of those two themes was hell; the other I’ll save for another time.

“Let’s talk about hell,” they urged.

“Let’s talk about hell better,” I replied. 

Previously, my conversation partners and I have described three main interpretations of the Bible’s hell texts: infernalism (eternal conscious torment), conditionalism (or annihilation) and universalism (hopeful or convinced). We’ve covered that territory ad nauseam. 

This time, I want to talk about:

• how the Bible talks about hell, and
• how we should talk about it today.

Not so much what hell is but more about how to talk about it.

 

Plato, Platinga & Paul - Toward Christian Knowing - Brad Jersak

“Christian … School … Teachers … Not a Hope in Hell” by Brad Jersak

“Christian … School … Teachers … Not a Hope in Hell”

 

 

While on tour in New Zealand, Helen Pearson (the principal) invited me to facilitate a discussion with her teachers as they prepare for their upcoming term at Horizon School in Snells Beach. When I messaged my wife back home about the day event, she responded with a brief text: “Christian … School … Teachers … Not a Hope in Hell.” 

 

Eden graduated from a Christian school in Canada almost 40 years ago and while she did have a very good experience, we nevertheless chose not to enroll our children in Christian schools, and we have no regrets about that decision. So, you can imagine that we were both a bit dubious about how I’d do in that environment. 

 

Spoiler alert: I loved it. And I want to describe why Horizon’s approach appealed to me because I see them as an example for others to follow. Here’s what I saw:

 

Constructivism with a Centre

 

I’ve long forgotten much of what I learned in my brief forays into philosophy of education. I don’t recall ever hearing “constructivist with a centre.” It may not have existed in Christian schools in those old days. But I’ve done a little research and by way of explanation, we might contrast two philosophies: foundationalism and constructivism. 

 

First, what I’ll call “foundationalist Christian education” typically trains children “principles and guidelines gleaned from the Bible [and] cast into a coherent and all-embracing theory that is deterministically applied to ensure certain pedagogical outcomes” (Van der Walt, “Education from a Post-Post Foundationalist Perspective…”).   

 

By contrast, one Canadian school board site describes “constructivist education” this way: “Constructivist teaching is based on the belief that learning occurs as learners are actively involved in a process of meaning and knowledge construction as opposed to passively receiving information. Learners are the makers of meaning and knowledge.”

 

What I observed at Horizon was what Carl Becker, a Christian education consultant in New Zealand, describes as “constructivism with a center.” That is, Horizon avoids stereotypical top-down indoctrination wherein children are told what they must believe and how they must think. If that sounds harsh, I can assure readers I’m only sparing you the current cringe-stories I’m hearing through parents involved in several other Christian schools.  

 

But neither does Horizon hold that truth and meaning are entirely human constructs. They believe in the reality of a centre around which discovery and meaning-making occur. From my observations and perspective, Horizon’s centre is the student and a God who loves them and is embodied in their teachers.  

 

Experiential Education 

 

Based on this conviction, Horizon’s constructivist flow occurs in beautiful open classrooms with teaching partners who collaborate to facilitate experiences that incite wonder, encourage exploration, allow for discovery and inspire creativity. 

 

God’s nature is best revealed by personal discovery and direct encounters with the beauty of our world rather than by rote learning of inherited “biblical truth” and an unhealthy dose of moralism. The students are far more apt, in my opinion, to overcome the old, “How do I get this from my head to my heart?” dilemma when truth is experienced and enters their minds via all five senses and processed in relationship with fellow students, creative instructors and the world around them.     

 

Christian Love

 

I think we’ve learned from the history of private Christian schooling (and Christians in general), that identifying with the label “Christian” means virtually nothing. Signing off on an institution's doctrinal statement does not a “Christian disciple” make. “On that day, many will say, Lord, Lord…,” etc., etc.  

 

So, I asked the teachers, “What is it to BE Christian teachers in the classroom?” Again and again, the teachers spoke about seeing their children through God’s eyes as individuals to be treasured. And they saw the importance of embodying that loving gaze for their students, particularly in moments of classroom tension when the teacher’s response becomes the major lesson. One teacher spoke about her willingness to acknowledge poor responses and ask the children involved for forgiveness. 

 

Further, contrary to much popular Christian curriculum, the children at Horizon are taught that God is Love and that every one of them is a unique and precious gem. That should be a no-brainer, but I think of a friend of mine who had to pull her elementary school child from a school where the Reformed foundationalism taught first-year children, “Your hearts are dark” and that “God punished Jesus for your sins.” Do you see why I might prefer my kids to learn in a secular humanist institution? At least I wouldn’t have to unteach them 16th-century heresies that produce atheists. 

 

Not so at Horizon, Helen told me that her hope is that each child would remember through real experience the constellation of these words: Horizon, God and Love as their primary takeaways. And that’s something I could endorse.   

Why Christ came into the world: St Seraphim of Sarov – by Brad Jersak

         

Why Christ came into the world: comments on St Seraphim of Sarov – by Brad Jersak

Ever since “the Word became flesh,” Christ-followers have attempted to articulate why God assumed our human nature. In the Scriptures (including the Old Testament!), prophets and apostles offer a variety of reasons, including:

• to be with us,
• to seek and find the lost,
• to show us the Father,
• to save sinners, etc.

Later, the great theologians of history chimed in, with a good number of works titled “On the Incarnation” (Greek) or “Why God became human” (Latin). Some of these are expositions on the gospel itself, others speculate on how this worked, with uneven results. Recently, I discovered this three-point summary from a church elder by the name of St Seraphim of Sarov. I believe it’s an accessible and beautiful little synopsis, so I thought to post it (colored), with a few words of my own commentary:

The reasons why Jesus Christ, the Son of God, came into the world are these:

1. The love of God for the human race: "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son" (John 3:16).

St. Seraphim understood God’s primary motivation as love, for “God IS love” and all of God’s activities flow from his nature. God’s love is expressed in the Incarnation of Christ and the Incarnation of Christ is a revelation of who God is. Jesus showed us that God is love. And God showed his love in Jesus.

2. The restoration in fallen humanity of the image and likeness of God, as the holy Church celebrates it:

"Man who, being made in the image of God, had become corrupt through sin, and was full of vileness, and had fallen away from the better life Divine, doth the wise Creator restore anew." [sung to celebrate the Nativity of Christ].

In addition to revealing the love of God, the enfleshment of God in Christ restores fallen humanity to its true identity as the image and likeness of God in this world. Humanity restored looks like Jesus, so in effect, Christ crucified and risen is the firstborn of renewed humanity. St Seraphim quotes an ancient hymn to that effect. It describes how sin corrupted us. This doesn’t just refer to corrupt behavior as we may think of it (e.g. corrupt government), but includes the way our sin introduced death itself into humanity. Christ undoes this, cleansing the decomposition of humankind by his life-giving union with us. It’s significant that St Seraphim specifies the Church’s place here: the role of “the holy Church” is to celebrate the good news that Christ is restoring fallen humanity. How different this is to the unholy ways of fear-mongering, hellfire manipulation and doomsday prophecies. The Jesus Journey is always from death to life and our response is celebration!

3. The salvation of men’s souls:

"For God sent not His Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through Him might be saved" (John 3:17).

Salvation and restoration may sound redundant, but Seraphim invokes the words of Christ to reaffirm the reason God sent his Son into the world. Despite what Christless religion has so often proclaimed, Christ did not come to condemn and Christ did not just come to save Christians. Rather, he came to save (sozo = rescue, heal, make whole) and he did this for the whole world. Seraphim knew and had no doubt witnessed directly the corrupted message of compromised preachers. Citing John 3:17, he rejects any gospel that is not good news.

And so we, in conformance with the purposes of our Redeemer, the Lord Jesus Christ, should spend our life in accordance with this Divine teaching, so that through it we may obtain the salvation of our souls.

The Sarovite concludes with his invitation. Christ-followers are called to conform to the purposes of Christ (cf. Romans 12:1-2) … namely, to follow Jesus as living images of God’s love, active agents of God’s restoration and mediators of God’s healing into the world. That’s how Christ-followers are meant to spend their lives—that’s our vocation as the company of “the royal priesthood.” And our manual is Christ’s “divine teaching” is the life and words of Christ himself. Finally, the language of “attaining the salvation of our souls” will sound very foreign to those of us raised in the “saved by grace alone” camp – though usually what that meant was, “saved through grace IF we say the sinner’s prayer before we die.”

It may also sound cringe-worthy to those who know we have already been saved by Christ alone, through his finished work on the Cross. Seraphim knows this—but he’s referring to another, oft-neglected and biblically-based aspect of salvation. It’s related to Paul’s notion of “working out our salvation.” It goes like this: We were saved by grace through Christ’s finished work and we are being saved by the transforming work of the Holy Spirit and we will be saved at the resurrection of our glorified bodies—salvation is past, present and future.

To “obtain the salvation of our souls” relates to the fulfillment of all these aspects as “we are transfigured from glory to glory into the image of Christ” (2 Cor. 3:18) … a transformation that the apostles describe as “participation in the divine nature.” Our grace-sponsored participation in the divine life brings about the fullness of our salvation—an actual metamorphosis into our final destiny or telos. What has been received is now “worked out” until those who confess Christ and follow the Jesus Way become, in truth, Christlike in their character.

Was I saved at the Cross? Of course!

Am I being saved the grace of the Holy Spirit as I journey forward? For sure.

Have I attained the fullness of my salvation—i.e., have I completed my journey to glorification? Of course not!

And so Paul and Seraphim both encourage us: spend your life on the Jesus Way, keep walking with the Lord to your final destination. Let nothing disrupt or dissuade you from the salvation he’s deposited in you. Surrender to grace until you are grace-filled in practice. In this model, salvation is far more than a marriage license received at our conversion. Salvation is the life-long marriage relationship to our divine spouse through whom we become what God always intended.

I LOVED NETFLIX MESSIAH. YOU MIGHT NOT IF … BRAD JERSAK

I have just finished binge-watching season 1 of the 10-episode Netflix series MESSIAH.

I loved it. You might not. [No big spoilers].

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need the show to be about Jesus of Nazareth. Al-Masih (Arabic for Messiah), the main character, may or may not represent Jesus. He may be the Christ visiting our era … or he may be a false Messiah seeking to deceive. I liked how the show threw both the characters and the audience into the very question that eye-witnesses of Jesus were fighting over in the first century. The show doesn’t commit to solving the question. It’s about asking it.

And so, we now have some Christians and Muslims who are deeply offended by the show. Why, exactly? Because it’s portraying the true Christ poorly? Or painting a false Christ as if true? These critics suffer the classic fundamentalist failure of imagination and misunderstand the place of good fiction as a delivery vehicle for truth.

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need Al-Masih to reflect fourth-century creedal Christology. Does the show depict a self-revelation of the second person of the Trinity, at once both fully God and fully man? Had the first Christians come to those conclusions as Jesus of Nazareth walked about Galilee, Samaria and Judea? No, it took over 300 years of speculation, debate and councils to arrive at definitions that not all believers agreed on.

I liked how the show depicts those who encounter Al-Masih coming to a great breadth of conclusions, struggling to understand the meaning and identity of this man, just as we see during Jesus’ earthly sojourn.

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need Al-Masih to be exclusively Christian. Ask yourself, is Jesus Christ exclusively Christian? And do all who claim to be Christian truly follow Jesus, if imitation has anything to do with it? How about Jewish? Jesus was a practicing Jew and nearly all his first-generation followers were Jews who saw him as the promise given to Abraham. Would you be offended if Muslims, too, recognized Jesus as Messiah (as so many have)? Would Jesus be more concerned about hardening the walls between Christians, Jews and Muslims … would he tear down those religiously enforced walls with other-centered love and radical peacemaking?

I like how Al-Masih confronts and transcends religious/sectarian divides and calls everyone to orient themselves to faith in God and love of neighbor.

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need Al-Masih to adopt your religious forms. Whoever discovers Al-Masih, whether Christian, Jewish or Muslim, attempts to co-opt him for their agendas and squeeze him into their religious forms. Their zealous efforts to fashion a form around him become fanatical, ludicrous and even violent. By transcending these forms, he offends some of his most enthusiastic disciples and they abandon him.

I like how the show mirrors Jesus’ resistance to being pressed into a specific brand of Judaism and it reminds me of how Jesus told the woman at the well (John 4) that we’re beyond that—beyond exclusive specific mountains and temples. His Father wants worshipers who come in spirit and in truth.

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need Al-Masih to be on your side politically. Al-Masih may offend American sentiments when he preaches in Washington D.C., challenging the liberty-crushing injustices that are the fruit of us-them nationalism and globalized militarism. As my friend Matt Atkins said to me, “Al Masih’s call for peace was heard as an act of war against those who couldn’t hear it. ‘The time for war is over!’ Yet those who are war-mongers will seek to kill those who call for peace.”

It reminds me of Joshua 5 where Joshua meets the Captain of the Lord of Hosts (i.e. a Christophany = appearance of Christ) and demands to know, “Are you on our side or theirs?” The Lord replies, “Neither,” and Joshua does an immediate face-plant. The lesson of Joshua is this: “Yes, I am with you. No, I am not on your side.” Or as Al-Masih says when confronted with the same question, “I walk with all men.”

You might not love MESSIAH if …

... you need Al-Masih to justify vengeance and violence. Al-Masih only touches a firearm once in the series (not going spoil it). Eventually, he will challenge a national leader to forego all military might and withdraw his armies from a certain conflict (and in fact, globally).

The show presents us with a powerful thought experiment. If you were, for example, the President of the United States or the Russian Federation, what if Jesus himself came to your office on an official visit … and what if you not only believed it was truly Jesus AND you were a sincere and devout believer in Jesus (as both Presidents claim to be) … and what if Jesus told you that God wants you to stand down? What would you do? I love how the show painted that possibility as a real dilemma for us to ponder … as did the prophet Isaiah, Jesus Christ and the Apostle Paul. “King of kings” and “Prince of Peace” must eventually mean something in any nation that calls itself “Christian.”

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need Al-Masih to be white. The first full-length movie featuring an actual Jewish actor was The Shack (by Wm. Paul Young). Unbelievably, the producer received multiple complaints by Christians that the man playing Jesus was also a Jew (from Tel Aviv) … and worse, I suspect, they even pointed out that he wasn’t white! In Messiah, the character is said to be born in Iran ... but is equally adept in Arabic, Hebrew and English (or at least Texan). He is certainly a person of color. Moreover, the actor who plays him, Mehdi Debhi, is Belgian-born and ethnically rooted in Tunisia. He is identified on IMDb.com as Muslim.

Some may find this offensive, but bear in mind that the original Jesus-followers were all unequivocally people of color. So, I liked the casting choice very much. On a side note, dare I mention that in terms of age, he’s also a Millennial?

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need Al-Masih to hate the people you hate. While he backs down from no one, it may annoy those activists on the left or right that our protagonist is not engaged in the culture wars of spectrum idolatry. He intends to burn them down—and not through coercion or tolerance, but through the most offensive demand possible. “Follow me.” In that role, we find he loves all our favorite people to hate, whether that’s CIA agents, Israeli interrogators, Islamic Imams, New Age hippies or even Southern Baptists. He reaches out to a suicidal teen, a child with cancer, even a conspiratorial prostitute. Very Jesus-like in some ways. I like that the show challenged my prejudices in ways that Jesus has too.

You might not love MESSIAH if …

… you need Al-Masih to fix everything and heal everyone. The series portrays those who become disillusioned when their supposed Messiah lets them down. When he saves some but not others. When he fails to set things right or make people well. Why doesn’t he just touch that person? Why does he act like a savior and then leave the job half-done? Why doesn’t he use all those God-given powers instead of sitting aloof while people struggle and suffer?

I personally found Al-Masih’s aloofness disappointing and unChristlike at times, if the Christ of the Gospels is our real plumbline of authentic Messiahship. But remember, it’s Netflix and we’re still wondering if this is a false Christ after all. What’s so brilliant about this depiction is that it raises a real question we all ask (at least privately) about God’s apparent aloofness in a world permeated by suffering, disease and downright evil. Why doesn’t God just fix it? That’s an important meditation, not solved by the platitudes of apologists. At least Netflix knew this.

You might not love MESSIAH if …

That’s a lot of reasons why you might not like the movie. I’ve just listed nine of them. What’s most challenging about the above critiques of the series is that these may be the very same reasons that religious and political ideologues, especially Christians, would reject Jesus and expel him from their systems. We now live in an era where a great swath of those who call themselves “Christian” deliberately reject the Jesus Way and his cruciform call to love, peace and forgiveness. With a thin veneer of Jesus-talk, Christendom at large has found Christ’s message (“I AM the message” says Al-Masih) either too much or too little, too naïve or too dangerous, too lenient or too tolerant, or just too “Jesusy.”

The New Testament calls this apostasy. Heresy is when you make a theological mistake about the nature of Christ. Maybe Netflix Messiah makes such mistakes. Forgivable, especially because it’s not an attempt at a fifth gospel or new creed about our Lord Jesus Christ. It’s a story.

Apostasy is another matter. It is a willful rejection of Jesus by those who once knew him. It can happen corporately or personally. The genius of Messiah is that it identifies both types. When an individual who has met Christ is so offended by him that they turn away, that’s apostasy. But on a larger scale, an entire movement may become apostate by expelling Jesus when they exchange his Way (prescribed in the red letters) for a new set of talking points. And there are so many competing gospels these days.

The series nailed this point exactly just as the major world religions are again complicit in driving international saber-rattling and frantically accelerating the doomsday clock. Through the show, I can hear the actual Christ clearly asking us, “Will you faithfully follow my Way or will you denounce me to join those many characters in the Gospels, the Netflix series and today’s world who conspire to rid themselves and their religions of the Cross-shaped yoke I call you to bear”?

"A Full & Vulnerable Heart" - Brad Jersak (with Paul E Ralph)

FINDING YOUR WHY

As the decade ended, a dear confidante and 35-year-long soul friend of mine, Paul E. Ralph, embarked on a one-month reflection through Simon Sinek’s ‘Finding Your Why’ exercises. In the process, PER invited me and a handful of trusted friends into his journey. The outcome was so inspiring that I asked him if I might share the results. "Inspiring" because, in his words, I recognized my friend as he already is, not just what he hopes to become. I found myself saying, "Yes, this is the man I know and cherish. I'm so glad he could see that radiant soul as I do." But his discoveries were also an inspiring challenge. He articulated longings in me as to the WHY, WHAT and HOW of my true self. I see in these powerful intentions the glory-to-glory transfiguration that could take humanity into its destiny as Christlike image-bearers. This is not to say that Paul has arrived at his telos. But I must say, the truth of his being is becoming the way of his being. I asked him if I could share his descriptions because beyond refracting the beauty of my friend, his words also serve as wise guides for my journey--for your journey--"further up and further in." Behold ... from PER:

WHY AM I HERE TODAY

To notice and affirm the beauty of dignity & grace (the Imago Dei) in the world around me. In the obvious and the unexpected, in the triumph and the tragedy, and in the delicious ambiguities of life. And, to invite others to consider the same.

HOW WILL I LIVE TODAY

Expectantly, pregnant with anticipation for the grandeur of this grander thing unfolding. I will be relentlessly curious, authentically encouraging, unconventionally vulnerable, respectfully attentive and generously intentional.

WHAT WILL I DO TODAY

I will love people more than things, and I will cultivate conversations of unhurried intimacy, and I will risk, because… to love is the danger from which there is no retreat. Today, I desire to have interactions with people that nudge us all toward the best versions of ourselves. Today, I will seek to engage in conversations that fire the imagination, ignite love, seek wisdom, embrace forgiveness, and foster belonging. I will seek to live holistically today, paying attention to the mind, body and spirit. I will learn to be increasingly present in the moment while I savor the seasons of life. I will celebrate my favorite things: the sun & the wind, food & drink, prayer, laughter, learning, music & the written word, and exploring the human experience. In those aspects of life that perplex me, I will seek patience and understanding. And, in season, I will garden. I will garden in order to remain rooted, to bear witness to the cycle of life, death and rebirth, and to reflect the restoration of all things.  

Prostrations: Empty Religiosity or Embodied Worship? Brad Jersak

"Humble yourselves in the sight of the Lord, and He will lift you up.”
James 4:6-8, 10

Embodied Worship

Among the unknown losses I experienced as a young Protestant was embodied worship. While we would certainly deny that our theology was gnostic, in many ways our disembodied worship betrayed us. With the exception of camp “action choruses,” we worried that any bodily movement might become either too worldly (if it strayed too close to dance) or too religious (if it reminded us of the Catholics). Even the "stand-up/sit-down" choruses were eventually banned at the Bible camp I attended because the provincial director noticed too many bouncing breasts. I'm serious.

The churches I first attended were often an exercise in sensory deprivation: nothing to look at, nothing to smell, nothing to touch, nothing to taste ... and squirming of any kind was particularly forbidden. "Sit still" was our highest moral value. The music could be very beautiful but the impulse to sway to Gaither music was always held suspect or at best, felt like a guilty pleasure.

The charismatics, on the other hand, would break those taboos, first with hand-raising, then dance, then a range of manifestations and later, what we called "prophetic acts," where we emulated Old Testament prophets like Ezekiel by bodily miming the Lord's message. All of these physical acts were now regarded as spiritual, though when unbridled, became excessive. At least by the time we began worship moshing, the Lord had mercifully created sports bras.

When I moved East in my Christian theology and practice, what struck me most was the sensuality of worship. Worshipers liberally kissed a heavenly host of brightly coloured icons, sneezed at the wafting incense, fondled their beeswax candles and drank actual wine infused with bread floaties. The sacramental worship was entirely embodied as the Spirit infused the elements with meaning and spiritual reality ... including our own bodies, living icons of the image of God. All our actions become spiritually significant, whether standing, sitting, kneeling or moving. Most foreign to me were the prostrations, especially since they were very similar to Muslim prayer ... so I'd like to interpret them for my Western readers.

Advent: Sometimes Waiting is Hard - Brad Jersak

Waiting

“Advent” is a word I was unfamiliar with as a child growing up in my Baptist tradition. But in my years with the Mennonites, I became familiar with the ritual of lighting candles on the Advent wreath in anticipation of Christ’s nativity. Advent, I learned, meant arrival but intrinsic to that word was the waiting, the anticipation and the longing of God’s people for his appearance and especially his deliverance. As a little boy, I relived that expectant hope as the calendar slowly edged forward to Christmas.

Sometimes Waiting is Hard

I think most children find waiting for the climax of Christmas morning difficult … but they may also enjoy the waiting itself as they experience the whole season as a wonderland of lights, sweets and intoxicating anticipation. Still, in our culture and in our lives, waiting can be very hard. On top of the frenetic pace and exhausting demands of our 21^stcentury society, the Christmas season adds a new dimension of scurrying. I become more sensitive to long traffic lights, slow download speeds and snail-paced line-ups. I become more demanding of others—where’s my fast-food order? Why hasn’t he replied to my text yet? When is she picking me up? Checking my watch every two minutes. Beyond these trivialities, waiting for important news can be excruciating. Applications are brutal … applying for jobs, applying for housing, applying for school, applying for work permits or scholarship funds or debt forgiveness. Waiting! And then there’s waiting for medical results. What did the lab say? A second opinion? How long? Three weeks? Good grief! Waiting can be very hard.

Q&R: If we hope in Christ for ultimate redemption, why evangelism? Brad Jersak

QUESTION:

I found (and appreciated) your recent review of David Bentley Hart's That All Shall Be Saved in Clarion Journal. I have been thinking a lot about these various views, and have been wondering about something: evangelism (or, at least, kingdom declaration) seems to have been endemic in early Christianity, the Apostle Paul being perhaps the most outstanding example. I understand the ECT/Conditionalist reasons for evangelism, but I was wondering, what are the reasons for Evangelism proponents of Ultimate Redemption and/or Hart's Christian Universalism? hat are the reasons for Evangelism proponents of Ultimate Redemption and/or Hart's Christian Universalism? This question greatly intrigues me. If you have already written something on this, or can point me to a good resource, I would greatly appreciate it.

RESPONSE:

I've written an afterword on this question in Her Gates Will Never Be Shut and it's also a major theme in my new book, IN: Incarnation and Inclusion, Abba and Lamb. 

 

The two easiest answers about why evangelism for UR believers are the same reasons that I think compelled Paul. Namely,

 

1. Because Christ is the most wonderful person in the universe and knowing him IS eternal life. Not just when you die, but in the abundance of this life, the fullness of our inheritance in the gospel and in the depth of the relationship Christ opens to God as Abba. While Paul calls Christ the Savior of all, knowing Christ brings that truth into our experience in the here and now. Sharing the good news means announcing how, in Christ, we can experience deeper intimacy with God, the assurance that our sins are forgiven, the freedom of being washed of shame, fearlessness before death, etc. Why wouldn't we tell people this good news?! Yes, Christ is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

 

2. Because so many people are experiencing the human condition as alienating, as perishing, as hellish already. I meet so many people who struggle to find meaning, peace and belonging--tormented souls who end up medicating their weary, broken hearts with false comforts and toxic distractions. In other words, it's clear to me that regardless of how wonderfully Christ will restore all things in the end, people desperately need him today! Life is hard and people feel "harassed and helpless, like sheep without a Shepherd." Why wouldn't we tell broken people the good news?! 

 

Besides these two key reasons to share the good news, I also come at it from another angle. IF God shall indeed redeem all of humanity, our Scriptures and our experience tell us he does so by means. IF all shall be saved, how so?

• By sending his Son to reveal God's self-giving, radically forgiving, co-suffering love.
• Through Christ's decisive victory of Satan, sin and death in his Passion and Resurrection.
• Via the witness of those who faithfully announce the good news (there's your evangelism).
• In answer to our prayers that all people, everywhere, would be saved (1 Tim. 2:1-4).
• By the grace of the Holy Spirit.
• Through a faith response to Jesus Christ.
• And as a result of the refiner's fire judgment (Mal. 3 / Mark 9 / 1 Cor. 3).  

As best I can tell, these are among the means (primary and secondary causes) by which anyone will ultimately be saved. 

 

I suspect that many Christians see no reason for evangelism beyond hell avoidance for one of three reasons:

• We've been soured to the Great Commission because modern evangelism had become so ugly. Instead of shining brightly with truly good news, our focus had shifted to rationalistic apologetics (arguing) or worse, to threatening ultimatums. I.e. We distorted the means. No thanks.  
• We've become awake to God's all-inclusive love but lost the uniqueness of the Incarnation as the Way our access to God as Abba comes about. I.e. We forgot the means to the end. 
• When we've not actually met Jesus in a way that makes Christ real to us. We can't proclaim what we haven't experienced. Have traded in the transforming power of an authentic inner relationship with the living God for the fruits of suburban capitalism? Are we out of touch with humanity's existential crisis and adopted Christianity as an -ism not much worth trumpeting? These are real questions for self-examination. In short, how do we deal with the reality of Christendom where so many Christians have signed off on a prayer or creed and not yet met Christ? 

P.S. It is striking to me that when the evangelists of the book of Acts preach the gospel (MANY times to Jews and Gentiles, including to the Jewish Sanhedrin and Greek philosophers) they never once address hell as a motivation in their evangelism. Not even once! It's all about what Christ has done for us and the hope he gives us now--following him today is the good news that changes everything. That's a gospel I can (and do) preach.

WHY I AM NOT A UNIVERSALIST (but sound like one) Reflections on David Bentley Hart’s "That All Shall Be Saved" (PART 4) - Brad Jersak

"For we labor and struggle to this end because we have hoped in a living God who is the savior of all human beings, especially those who have faith."  –1 Timothy 4:10

Inclusion: Athanasius, Wesley & the Queer Community

Hence, I have proposed we opt instead for the language of “inclusion” that describes the Pauline, Johannine and Athanasian theology of the Incarnation. The term has an abiding and specific heritage in its theological focus on the inclusion of all humanity in the Incarnation of Christ—the hypostatic union of natures, divine and human (collectively) in the God-man. And through Christ’s Incarnation, our inclusion en Christo extends into participation in the perichoretic life of the Trinity. I see this inclusion explicitly in teachers like St. Irenaeus, St. Athanasius, St. Hilary of Poitier and St. Gregory the Theologian. More recently, it has emerged in the West in the works of J.B. Torrance, T.F. Torrance and C. Baxter Kruger. Likewise, this inclusion is undoubtedly inherent in the Orthodoxy of D.B. Hart. 

Incarnational inclusion says all have been included in the Incarnation, and all have been forgiven and reconciled (Rom. 5, Col. 1) by the Cross of Christ. Salvation is thus already established in the Incarnation, experienced now by faith in Christ and will become ultimate in our resurrection. For Inclusivists, the future tense in “all shall be saved” means “I look for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the age to come.”      

Then again, inclusion, too, has a variety of common referents. For example, 'hopeful inclusion’ has also been used to describe John Wesley’s understanding of a wider hope for salvation among righteous pagans outside explicit Christian conversion and confession.

In Acts, for example, Cornelius the righteous God-fearer is declared 'acceptable' and even 'already clean' prior to his conversion. God has already heard his prayers and approved of his alms-giving. Before his new birth in the breaking waters of baptism, Cornelius had been in the womb of Christ, conceived with Christ in the Virgin. Cornelius' name was inscribed in the wounds of Christ's Passion. His inclusion preceded his repentance, because long before he united himself to Christ, Christ had already united himself to Cornelius. Hearing the gospel, according to Wesley, was not, however, unnecessary. It was the culmination of his inclusion—it brought this righteous God-fearer into the deeper experience of his full inheritance in Christ.  

More recently, inclusion has become a rallying term for progressive Christian sexuality that seeks to make space for the queer community to participate fully within the Christian church. This latter use of inclusion has gained such ascendancy in everyday parlance that to avoid confusion, I wonder if I need to let go of the term for the same reason I don’t use universalism. Namely, when I’m speaking as an incarnational inclusivist, most people don’t know what I mean, and when they use it, they don’t mean what I mean. I’m personally comfortable with the linguistic crossover across these various uses of inclusion because I see how they are related. But I am in such a minority when speaking of incarnational inclusion that I can be misunderstood … and I’d rather be understood than cling to the label. Thus, my pet moniker needs to be judged by the same measure with which I’m judging Hart’s. Fair enough.     

Summary of the Hopeful Inclusivist Defense

1. The hopeful inclusivist does not overtly declare a presumptive universalism(and neither does Hart). Like Origen (but not Hart or Paul) they typically exercise a cautious universalism because of immature adherents and sloppy opponents.
2. Hopeful inclusivists who follow Maximos believe in ultimate redemption through humanity’s forthcoming freed-will“Yes,” effected by the transfiguring power of the beatific vision.
3. Like Hart, Talbott and Parry (but unlike most pop-universalists), hopeful inclusivists believe in ultimate redemption by a particular means: namely, through Christ, his Incarnation, death and resurrection; through preaching the gospel to all and praying for all; and (like Gregory and Maximos) through restorative judgment and a free and willing response of love and faith in Christ.
4. The hope of the hopeful inclusivist is not a wavering doubt nor is it certitude in a doctrine (however biblically or philosophically sound). It has a sure and constant faith, hope and conviction: Christ himself.

In the end, Hart rejects hopeful inclusivism through a superb articulation of the HI position!—just as we might expect Maximos to rebut modern universalism using Hart’s very best arguments!

A Unilateral Compromise

Despite the word count I gave to critiquing this one point of That All Will Be Saved, to say that I love the book is not an indulgent overstatement. I believe it stands as the most important book on the topic, and I see it as virtually irrefutable. I have waited prayerfully and lustily for its arrival. And my high hopes were dramatically exceeded. May it still be in print 100 years from its timely release!  

From my years as a fan and follower of Hart, I don’t expect him to consider compromising his use of the term 'universalism’ or his critique of hopeful inclusivism. But I believe he has inspired me to a unilateral compromise of sorts.

I know and accept what Hart and others in his stream mean by universalism. I remain convinced that because most universalists have abandoned Hart’s own precision and faith, the term universalism will not help me articulate what he means by it. To distinguish him from the pluralists and allow for his preference of that term, I propose we consistently call Hart a “patristic universalist,” gathering within that phrase the full range of views across the fathers (from cautious to hopeful to dogmatic) from Clement and Origen to Gregory and Maximos. That label might help us draw boundaries with those who would misrepresent Hart.

For my part, I can see how the hopeful inclusivist label has begun to serve me poorly on three fronts. 1. At best, it has been a way of denying I’m a pop-universalist to the haters, and that didn’t work anyway. 2. The inclusivist term as I have used it is now relatively archaic vis-à-vis its current usage among progressives for the inclusion of LGBTQ folks in church and society. 3. If a genius such as DBH can so completely misunderstand 'hope' in Balthasar or Ware, the word must be a more significant stumbling stone than I realized. For these reasons, I’m inclined to appropriate a bolder phrase that I think encompasses all the patristic, cautious and hopeful universalists: namely, ultimate redemption.

UR—ultimate redemption—seems to capture both Hart’s intent and my own. UR holds to a confident faith that all will be saved, but only through Christ, by his Paschal victory and through restorative judgment and our willing faith/love response to the Christ.

And while apokatastasis has suffered historical misuse, slander and a distorted version was anathematized (maybe, sort of), perhaps ultimate redemption is a good, specific English translation for Peter’s intent when he proclaims “the restoration of all things” in Christ. That is, UR retains and affirms the biblical term apokatastasis and St. Gregory of Nyssa’s rehabilitated orthodox use of it. It also draws a red line with pluralist universalists, declaring that we do need redemption and we do have a Redeemer.

Trying on my compromise, “I am not a universalist, but I would defend the Orthodoxy of DBH’s patristic universalism, because I believe he has made a biblical, theological and philosophical case for ultimate redemption that defies refutation.”

So finally, for the hundredth time, NO, I am not a universalist. Period. But in my affirmation of the New Testament gospel of ultimate redemption, yes, I can sound like one. To me, they aren't the same thing.

CLICK HERE to read part I:  "In Praise of Hart"

CLICK HERE to download the full review of David Bentley Hart’s That All Will Be Saved - Jersak

WHY I AM NOT A UNIVERSALIST (but sound like one) Reflections on David Bentley Hart’s "That All Shall Be Saved" (PART 3) - Brad Jersak

"For we labor and struggle to this end because we have hoped in a living God who is the savior of all human beings, especially those who have faith."  –1 Timothy 4:10

The Amorphous Imprecision of “Universalism”

As Hart himself argues, words mean something. And their meaning derives, not primarily from prescriptive dictionary etymology, but at least includes descriptions of a word’s evolving dominant usage. And when a word suffers accretions and contortions through misuse or new use, they may even become so sullied as to warrant disuse.

I prefer not to identify with the label' universalism,’ not because I object to Hart’s thesis as such—I don’t—but because that term has suffered decomposition beyond his best use of it. Today, the majority who identify as universalists do not merely believe “that all shall be saved.” Pop universalism—now the default account of the doctrine (as used by proponents and detractors)—denies that we even need salvation or a savior to begin with. The infernalist critics then weaponize this assumption as slander against its best and most responsible theologians so that universalism comes to mean:

1. Jesus doesn't matter,
2. the Cross doesn't matter,
3. sin doesn't matter,
4. there is no final judgment,
5. faith in Christ doesn't matter.

In other words, the Incarnation of the Christ has become dispensable in pop universalism. That is notHart’s position. Or Robin Parry’s. Or Thomas Talbott’s. Or Fr. John Behr’s. Or Gregory of Nyssa’s. Or Isaac the Syrian’s. Or Maximos the Confessor’s. Or that of Sergei Bulgakov or St. Silouan the Athonite. All of these surely affirm ultimate redemption without ever compromising the gospel of Jesus Christ.    

I, too, believe that ultimately, every eye will see Christ, every knee will bow to Christ, every tongue will confess Christ. It’s there in our Bibles. I believe that Christ will restore all things and reconcile all things, in heaven and on earth and under the earth. The apostles say so. I believe God so loved the world that he sent his Son to save the world and draw all men to himself. I’ve read those red-lettered words. I believe Paul’s claim that Christ will bring every enemy under his feet, including death, and hand the kingdom over to his Father so that God will finally be all and in all. I believe that as in Adam all died, so in Christ, all will be made alive (Rom. 5, 1 Cor. 15). I am convinced that whatever destruction Adam wrought in us all, “how much more” the redemption of Christ has and will overcome death for us all. I believe this. The infernalists cannot affirm these Scriptural truths without endless caveats and contortions that nullify them.  

I also believe these biblical promises will only occur:

1. because of Christ,
2. through the Cross,
3. where sin and death are defeated,
4. that all will pass through a restorative judgment into life, so that
5. all who see him will willingly respond in faith to the all-merciful One.

In other words, in these five points, I’ve rejected what the word universalism has come to mean for most universalists and for most of its opponents. And so have Hart, Parry, Talbott and so on.

Does citing this catena of Scriptures make me sound like a universalist? I resist the charge because so many universalists are now just pluralists (any path gets you there, without faith in or need of the Lamb of God, crucified and risen). Thus, I am nota universalist in today’s common use of the term. I consistently say so when I write or teach, despite the slander. I prefer phrases such as 'hopeful inclusivism' or 'ultimate redemption' – as in ALL are included in Christ's saving work and will ultimately be saved as they place their hope in him. H.I. believers embrace the possibility (or more boldly, the reality) of post-mortem repentance because death has been defeated and Christ now holds the keys of death and hades.

Hart’s Patristic Universalism

The universalism Hart advocates is a specific subset that some call patristic universalism. Unlike pop universalism, Hart retains all the key vital features found in two of my favorite saints, St. Gregory of Nyssa (which is also to say, St. Macrina the Younger) and George MacDonald. Hart might describe these elements differently, but in general, they expand on the tenet proffered earlier:

• Jesus Christ alone is the author and finisher of our salvation.
• The Incarnation of Christ, climaxing in his Passion (death, descensus and resurrection) is the fundamental means by which God saves us and restores all things.
• Sin and death matter greatly, but Christ has already and will ultimately overcome sin (by his freely given forgiveness) and death (by raising up humanity in his resurrection).
• There will be a final judgment, and although it's nature, duration and details are held in mystery, the agenda and outcome are revealed as entirely restorative and redemptive.
• That all sentient beings will ultimately willingly embrace this salvation through the restoration of their natural wills, established in Gethsemane and effected by the beatific vision, when every eye sees him, every knee willingly bows and every tongue joyfully confesses the Lordship of Christ.

DBH’s patristic adaptation of the universalist label may work with his fans, but I suspect he’ll confound and confuse both disciples and detractors who assume universalists abandon any the above essentials because that’s exactly what most do. This isn’t Hart’s fault. The problem is with the term and with sloppy readers (if they even bother with reading). If we’re to call Hart a universalist on his own terms, then I recommend always including the patristic modifier and insisting others do so also. So, disagree with him if you like, but as a patristic universalist, Hart cannot rightly be accused of heresy. Indeed, far less so than his critics.   

Origen’s Cautious Universalism

Hart rightly looks to Origen as a patron saint for patristic universalism and is among Origen’s best apologists, along with John Milbank and Fr. John Behr, whose newly released edition of First Principles is no doubt history's most significant rehabilitation of Origen's memory since Gregory the Theologian and Basil the Great compiled his Philokalia. And I’ve never seen a better or more concise defense of Origen’s apokatastasis than Hart’s First Things tribute to “Saint Origen.” That two-page gem stands as definitive and irrefutable. 

With that background, I note how Origen is frequently derided anachronistically for his eschatological optimism when in fact, he showed humility and expressed caution beyond what you see later in either Nyssa or Hart. It’s not that Origen wavers in his faith that all will be saved. Rather, Origen faces the same dilemma we’ve run into again today:

What do we say to the immature? On the one hand, if we threaten them with hellfire, why would they embrace Christ, except out of fear? The typical hellfire rhetoric may have worked for St. John Chrysostom or Jonathan Edwards, but it is no longer effective anyway. It creates atheists.

But on the other hand, if we tell the masses all shall be saved, won’t the immature reply, “Then what’s the point? Why bother with Jesus?” And they ask it rhetorically, without hearing our response. We already see both sides of this problem on a massive scale. It’s a theological pickle—a  pastoral double-bind for preachers.

Among the fathers, including Origen and maybe Maximos, the revelation of apokatastasis is worthy of an 'honorable silence,' divvied out with caution lest the immature misappropriate it as license, whether for hedonism or as a path away from the gospel altogether.

“These are matters hard and difficult to understand,” he writes. “...We need to speak about them with [p.199] great fear and caution, discussing and investigating rather than laying down fixed and certain conclusions” (On First Principles 1.6.1).

So, I see in some of the fathers an undercurrent of a cautious apokatastasis(cf. Ware’s “Dare We Hope for the Salvation of All”), sometimes announcing universal victory even while retaining the rhetoric of hellfire. For example, contrast St. John Chrysostom’s boldly universalist Paschal Homily with his frequent threats of hellfire. Why? Some of our most revered fathers preached hell to manage the spiritually immature with dire warnings of sin’s consequences. But why feed the immaturity of fear with more fear? We must ask ourselves how well has that worked for us. In our current climate, that tactic failed on a colossal scale, to the point where converting away from Christianity sounds like better news than the gospel! 

Paul, whom Hart regards as an obvious universalist, was faced with a similar dilemma in Rome (see Rom. 6:1). His all-inclusive grace teaching sounds like dangerous stuff. Opponents caricatured it as a green light for sin. Their objections included such nonsense as, “Then why not persist in sin so that grace may abound”? But Paul didn’t share Origen’s caution. He doubled down on grace rather than retreating. He modeled preaching universal grace as truth, even if many would malign it as heresy or misappropriate it for licentiousness. Where Origen proceeds with caution, St. Paul does not. St. Gregory of Nyssa does not. Nor does Hart, obviously. And he’s in good company with the apostle to the Gentiles and the 'flower of Orthodoxy.’

Still, we note the dilemma because Origen’s caution was not empty cowardice. A Christless libertine universalism has indeed once again gone viral that warrants correction.

All that to say, I still think 'universalism’ is such a problem-laden, amorphous term that it fails to be as precise as Hart is or needs it to be. It’s a dull breadknife in the hands of a master surgeon. Calling it 'patristic' at least fends off some of the libel.  

 

CLICK HERE to read part I:  "In Praise of Hart"

CLICK HERE to read part IV:  "Inclusion or Ultimate Redemption"

CLICK HERE to download the full review of David Bentley Hart’s That All Will Be Saved - Jersak

WHY I AM NOT A UNIVERSALIST (but sound like one) Reflections on David Bentley Hart’s "That All Shall Be Saved" (PART 2) - Brad Jersak

"For we labor and struggle to this end because we have hoped in a living God who is the savior of all human beings, especially those who have faith."  –1 Timothy 4:10

Another Boring Rebuttal from Hopeful Inclusivism

And now I'll risk my humble retort as a “hopeful inclusivist”—a la Hans Urs von Balthasar, Metropolitan Kallistos Ware and most probably, Maximos the Confessor. Since publishing Her Gates Will Never Be Shut (Wipf & Stock, 2009), I have, until now, preferred the moniker and theology of “hopeful inclusivism” over universalism for very specific reasons. Hart has some stern and stinging words for this approach. I wish the sting had come through a sound castigation of our position rather than via hints of misrepresentation. I’ll do my best to explain this claim, knowing I’m addressing an intellectual superior who already admits boredom with the topic.  

Hopeful inclusivism, as described by von Balthasar and Ware, proposes that we cannot presume to say that all will be saved, nor may we presume that even one soul will be lost. The issue is not the universal scope of Christ's redemptive work. Instead, their quarrel is with how the –ism itself generates presumption, in both pop universalists and their infernalist opponents. Rather than certitude in any dogma, however biblical or rational, our faith and hope lean wholly on the Person of Jesus Christ. Hart may not perceive this distinction because he is not inclined to presumption, but it's a temptation that ensnares many a common universalist. That's the concern and has been ever since Origen noticed it among immature disciples.

Further, hopeful inclusivism insists on the principle of human freedom, whereby salvation ultimately includes our participation through a willing human response to Jesus Christ. Some adherents to HI note that we may believe by faith the many Scriptures that foresee a universal willing response while also rejecting the Calvinist-style determinism where the elect must irresistibly bow. We’re concerned to affirm ultimate redemption without nullifying the authentic human freedom(which is why we venerate Maximos).  

I’m not sure that Hart would disagree with these points in the end. The nub of his impatience with Balthasar et al. revolves around the word 'hope,' just as my quarrel with universalism is notHart’s arguments, but with what the term 'universalism' has come to mean.     

Hope versus Wishful Thinking

In That All Will Be Saved, David Bentley Hart expresses impatience with those who speak in terms of 'hope,' naming Hans Urs von Balthasar and certainly knowing Metropolitan Ware also "dares to hope that all be saved.”

At the risk of joining the Calvinists in Hart’s shredder, I will admit I was frustrated by how he projected hedge-betting and wishful thinking onto the word 'hope.’ How had he missed the rich, sturdy and objective sense of the term used both in the Scriptures and by the hopeful inclusivists? Here is the one area where I thought Hart was unfair, only because I know it’s unlikely that he was careless. To reduce 'hope' to 'wishful' or even 'doubtful' in the Bible or in von Balthasar is straw-manning that deserves pushback.

Hopeful inclusivists do not regard ultimate redemption as something we hope for wistfully. Not at all. On this point, DBH could have successfully steel-manned us and still made his point. But he didn’t—and this made me second guess whether he had been similarly slapdash with the Calvinist infernalists. I double-checked and no, I don’t think he was. Glad to know.  

But back to hope. Would Hart dismiss the author of Titus as a hesitant vacillator when he says we are “awaiting the blissful hope, and the appearing of the glory, of the great God and of our savior, the Anointed One Jesus…”?Of course not, since the hope and glory we await is none other than the sure appearance of our God and of his Christ. There is no double-mindedness or wavering—there’s no sense that the parousia is contingent or could swing either way. There is no free-will opt-out in that hope. Jesus is coming for sure. That is our hope, our faith, our conviction and sure foundation.

It's not about 'hoping for' with crossed fingers. It's 'hoping in' confidently in a Person. To quote the old hymn, “My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness.”

Hans Urs von Balthasar and Kallistos Ware, like Isaac the Syrian and Maximos the Confessor before them, all argue that our salvation includes a necessary, authentic and willing human response. We’ll go there momentarily, but first, written into von Balthasar’s hope are two clearly expressed riders:

1. Balthasar urges us not to presume all will be saved. “Presume.” Words matter. My friend Robin Parry identifies as an “evangelical universalist.” He believes with complete confidence that all shall be saved. But neither is there any hint of presumption in his argument. Even universalism of the boldest flavor ought not presume that all will be saved, for the sin of presumption lies not in the surety of one’s hope for ultimate redemption but in taking so great a salvation for granted—i.e. the arrogant and groundless certitude of those many universalists who skirt the essentials of the gospel, central to which is faith in Jesus Christ. Faith in Christ is not presumption, just as hope in Christ is not vacillation.
2. Balthasar holds to the principle of human willingness but also cites approvingly the straightforward claim that having seen the beatific vision, it is infinitely unlikely that any would turn from it. Words matter. Hart doesn’t take the plain meaning of these words seriously, or else he believes that von Balthasar didn’t. I do. He means, to my mind, just what he says: infinitely unlikely. Some fifth-grade math should do the trick here. It is not 1% likely that some will be lost. It is not 1 x 10^-n likely that even one should be lost. It is infinitely unlikely that any should be lost at all. Such is the hope of one who’s hope IS our Lord Jesus Christ and not in the rationalistic certitude of a doctrine.

To sum up the surety of our blessed Hope, and what hopeful inclusivists mean by the term, Richard John Neuhaus explains,

 “I believe, I have a confident faith, that I will be saved because of the mercy of God in Christ. It is sometimes said that Protestants, who subscribed to “justification by faith,” know they will be saved, while Catholics only hope they will be saved. That is a distinction without a difference. Faith is hope anticipated, and hope is faith disclosed toward the future.”

DBH may imagine anemic definitions of hope, but he should dignify hopeful Inclusivists with the right to define their own labels according to Scripture and the tradition.

Or maybe he’s right. Has modern 'hope' strayed so far from its objective biblical foundations that it too is no longer useful? Is hope so weakened by time and use that it has truly become synonymous with 'doubt' as Hart seems to assume? I no longer have doubts about ultimate redemption, but if referring to our blessed hope is reduced to 'vacillation' or 'doubt,' why would DBH choose that word when translating 1 Tim. 4:10, or why can’t von Balthasar likewise be trusted to mean what the Bible meant. That verse stands as both my affirmation and critique of Hart. Again,

“For we labor and struggle to this end, because we have hoped in a living God who is the savior of all human beings, especially those who have faith” (1 Timothy 4:10).

Free(d) Will

When it comes to the 'free will' defense for eternal conscious torment or any voluntary opt-out that trumps ultimate redemption, I would concur with Hart's critiques virtually down the line. In a nutshell, [I think] he believes (as do I) that a willing human response to Christ is intrinsic to salvation, but who can say that in this life, the human will is ever truly 'free’?

Of course, Calvinist universalists equivocate on the first point, denying human freedom altogether. They believe that Christ has unilaterally chosen all to salvation (unconditional election of all people) and that all will respond to Christ because of God’s irresistible grace. For the Reformers in Augustine’s monergist lineage, the human will is virtually irrelevant (nuances aside): we move from bondage of the will to the flesh to bondage of the will to God by divine fiat. We are saved by sovereign grace alone—not by any human work. Even your faith was pure gift. It’s not about choosing our “Yes” to Christ. Christ chose me; I did not choose him. Calvinist salvation is entirely unilateral, not reciprocal.

Maximos saw it differently. In my reductionist interpretation of his work, humankind was created with a will designed to naturally and freely desire the good at all times. But the natural will became dysfunctional in and since the fall. Now we waver, second guess and inevitably turn from the good. Maximos described this dysfunctional inclination as the gnomic will… it’s not absolutely bound (as with certain Reformers) such that it could never turn to the good. But on any given day, we might find ourselves pursuing Christ, then suddenly deceived or seduced by the world, the flesh or the enemy into the nearest ditch.

Maximos went on to famously argue that Christ assumed the human will to heal the human will through his willing surrender to the Father’s will, especially in the Gethsemane. As through a human will humankind fell, so through Christ’s human will, humankind will be saved. How? Christ heals and restores the natural will and finally frees it, even if at the final judgment, for it would be unjust for Christ to condemn and exclude anyone for rejecting him with a dysfunctional will. That would be like condemning a blind man for being unable to see. But when every eye shall see him, freed from the deceptions of this present evil age (most notably our egoism) and apart from the blindness of the fallen will, we will activate our redeemed will and freely desire God’s will. We will love God because he first loved us.

Perhaps I am mistaken and Hart can show us this is not what Maximos meant. But it is what I mean after reading him. I hope (maybe in Hart’s wishful thinking way) that this is also what Hart meant in his book. The freed will shall not remain fallen, nor will it opt out of the Good when we behold the Son with unveiled, healed spiritual eyes. My point is that this IS the hopeful inclusivist position and for all the reasons both Hart and Maximos recount. That is, I’m saying Hart has co-opted Maximos for his universalism when von Balthasar may be his rightful heir apparent.  

Said another way, Maximos prescribes the position adopted by H.I. (when articulated rightly by its own adherents within the parameters carefully laid out by Maximos). If Hart agrees with Maximos as I suppose, he has a high view of the freed and healed natural will and its role in our salvation … but in his rhetoric, he may sound to some like he undermines 'free will.' That's mainly because he first needs to thoroughly take down the problematic free-will opt-out defense of the infernalists. I understand this. I just wish he hadn’t misrepresented hopeful universalism, as it is sometimes called. The pseudo-enemy he describes and rejects (as I would) could instead be dubbed gnomic universalism. Have at it. But I don’t think it fair to relegate von Balthasar or Ware to that camp. Or if their caution is so problematic, it should be for Origen as well, as we’ll see.     

CLICK HERE to read part I:  "In Praise of Hart"

CLICK HERE to read part III:  "The Amorphous Imprecision of 'Universalism'"

CLICK HERE to download the full review of David Bentley Hart’s That All Will Be Saved - Jersak

WHY I AM NOT A UNIVERSALIST (but sound like one) Reflections on David Bentley Hart’s "That All Shall Be Saved" (PART 1) - Brad Jersak

"For we labor and struggle to this end because we have hoped in a living God who is the savior of all human beings, especially those who have faith."  –1 Timothy 4:10

In Praise of Hart

At long last. I'm grateful that Dr. Hart pushed through his recent health challenges to finish both his translation of the New Testament and his new release, That All Shall Be Saved. His recovery is vital to the Body of Christ as we will have great need of him for some time.

Among the guilty pleasures of reading his instant classic, That All Shall Be Saved, are Hart’s combination of high-minded formal logic, precise (and sometimes obscure) word selection and his occasionally snarky tone. I know the objections: “He should use more accessible language so I don’t have to use up the precious thirty seconds it takes to learn a new word.” And, “Christians shouldn’t be as rude as their Calvinist critics, because it’s not very Christlike to be grumpy toward idiocy.” Apparently, suffering fools gladly is a mark of spiritual maturity. I get it. We like to pretend we’re nice. But consider…   

First, I believe in striking a balance between clarity for the reader and a teacher’s responsibility to nurture the saints to full maturity. Hart is regularly chided for leaving even thoughtful readers in the dust of academic jargon and philosophic mazes. But perhaps he’s only guilty of oversteering against a far greater problem: Christian teachers who cripple their students by infantilizing them, creating suggestible acolytes distracted by every trendy quasi-theological squirrel. In an era where the dominant Christian diet is not even milk, much less meat, and the new wine is reduced to grape Kool-Aid, I’ll happily excuse Hart if he doesn’t provide us with toilet-time reading. Really, do we want to learn something or simply nod [off]?

And yes, fans of both N.T. Wright and DBH were amused (if not slightly embarrassed) witnesses of their prickly exchange regarding their respective Bible translations. Best marketing scheme ever!

Still, without excusing uncharitable debate, I sheepishly confess to enjoying Hart’s tart prose and spicy counterpoints to his Calvinist opponents. For so long, I’ve tried (against my nature) to take the high road of the soft answer that turns away wrath … but after nearly two decades of relentless trolling by neo-Reformed dilettantes, it feels nice when a bigger, smarter brother appears on the schoolyard and treats the meanies to a sound pummeling. I said it feels nice. I didn't say nice is a fruit of the Spirit, hence the 'guilt' in my 'guilty pleasure.’

Initially, I was worried that Hart’s unwillingness to [Robin] parry opponents’ jabs with winsome cheer might cause him to dismiss Calvinist claims without directly dismantling them—waving them off as too inane to bother with. Happily, in That All Would Be Saved, my worries proved to be unfounded. Hart shreds them head-on in one shriveling sortie after the other, laying bare why he found their case for infernalism so ludicrous to begin with.

The Hart of the Matter

At the heart of Hart’s argument is the nature of God. George MacDonald once said, “Good souls many will one day be horrified at the things they now believe of God. They can make little progress in the knowledge of God while holding evil things true of him.” Hart argues this truth convincingly. Two significant points are etched in my mind as abiding takeaways:

1. That if God is willing and able to bring all things to a good end, then he will, and not to do so would demonstrate that he is either woefully incompetent or pure evil.
2. That the notion of eternal conscious torment is infinitely disproportionate to any lifetime of crimes one could achieve (even for Hitler), such that a God who inflicts fiery torment forever could not in any true sense be said to be called good or just.

A key element to Hart’s case is that the words we use to describe the ineffable, though miserably inadequate, must mean something and should not be rendered incoherent. He refutes the idea that God could consign anyone to everlasting, boiling bitumen and still be called loveor good. He points out the absurdity of claiming divine love IS what compels God to stoke the flames forever, or that he’s bound to do so to dignify the 'free will' of someone who allegedly 'chooses’ everlasting damnation. As if they would so choose once Christ is revealed before unveiled eyes. As if the event of death leaves God bankrupt of redemptive options. Biblically, logically and rhetorically, Hart exposes such doctrinal acrobatics as blasphemous.   

This, of course, does not scratch the surface of Hart’s fine book and exquisite arguments, but I’m committed to internalizing his mind on the subject because I believe “the faith once delivered” now depends on retracing our steps to those patristic fathers and mothers whose vision of God was devoid of retribution and who believed Christ was both able and committed to the “restoration of all things” (apokatastaseôs pantôn – Acts 3:21). As Hart says, the alternatives deserve the atheism they generate.

In reading That All Shall Be Saved, it feels to me we've heard the last word—Hart marks out a corner the church must make (or else). His central themes and beautiful vision forge a path beyond the medieval-modernist hybrid of Dante literalized, where Christianity will otherwise come to its terminus. And rightly so. 

CLICK HERE to read part II:  "Another Boring Rebuttal from Hopeful Inclusivism"

CLICK HERE to download the full review of David Bentley Hart’s That All Will Be Saved - Jersak

Dart and Packer's "Christianity and Pluralism" - Review by Brad Jersak

Review of Ron S. Dart and J.I. Packer, Christianity and Pluralism (Lexham Press, 2019), 70 pages. 

Christianity and Pluralism is a fresh and poignant new edition of a booklet first composed just over two decades ago, titled In a Pluralist World (Regent, 2008). The collection of essays was originally written in response to Anglican Bishop Michael Ingham's controversial pluralist manifesto, Mansions of the Spirit. Ron Dart and J.I. Packer, also both Anglicans (though of very different streams), each offer their respective and respectful critical analyses of Mansions as an entry point into the broader discussion of the various shades of Enlightenment pluralism. 

This little booklet is just 70 pages long but astoundingly efficient and clear in its nuanced explication of the issues at hand. As such, it would provide an excellent primer for students and teachers who want to understand pluralism's various shades, strengths and pitfalls without the sort of reductionism that often plagues the topic.

After the prefaces (Dart, 2019 and Rev. Dr. Archie Pell, 2008), the book unfolds in three acts and an appendix.

Chapter 1 features Ron Dart's critique of Mansions, which he regards as both a "subtle syncretism" of the hidden agreement within mystical traditions across religions and "ideological liberalism" that in fact subverts Christian (and other religion's) truth claims.

Dart's review focused on laying out the content of Bishop Michael's book and offering ten points of rebuttal. He initially welcomes the book as a timely challenge, calling Christians to think carefully about what we believe and why. But ultimately, Dart's response boils down to three major deficiencies in Ingham's work: "it lacks a rigorous mystical theology, a radical politics and a high Christology-ecclesiology." Dart hints at a better and alternative framework for interfaith dialogue, which comes later in the book.

Ron Dart with Brad Jersak - Secularism, Gnosticism, Bede Griffiths and Interfaith Dialogue

Ron discusses 3 shades of secularism, political Gnosticism (a la Eric Voegelin's 4 examples), the clash between certain forms of pluralism and secularism in the public square, and the example of Bede Griffiths in interfaith dialogue that honours Christian distinctives while respecting the religious other.

This is a follow-up to Ron's lecture on "Some Dilemmas of Contemplative Interfaith Dialogue." Viewable here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2pSJwxJ2WA

Did Christ Deny His Deity? Homily on the Rich Young Ruler - Brad Jersak