Clarion: Journal of Spirituality and Justice

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

Prayers in the Liturgy and Questions from a Former Evangelical - Lazar Puhalo with Brad Jersak

Vladika speaks on the beautiful prayers in the liturgy, the non-violent love of God and then answers some questions I ask as a former Evangelical.

 

Finding Our Voice by Listening to the Father - Eden Jersak

Click the following link for the MP3 of Eden Jersak's message,
"Finding Our Voice by Listening to the Father":

EDEN JERSAK sermon
"Finding our voice by
Listening to the Father"
- Feb 17 2019

 

Boyd Barrett & Brad Jersak discuss "Come and See" immersive audio gospel (coupon code)

This Skype conversation between author and theologian, Brad Jersak, and Boyd Barrett, the creator of "COME AND SEE - An Immersive Audio Experience" covers why the project began and how it's continuing to be created and produced.

CLICK HERE for audio only.

CLICK HERE to download the FREE first chapter of COME AND SEE.

CLICK HERE to pre-order the entire project.

If you use the coupon code CLARION while ordering the entire project, you’ll get a 25% discount that lowers the price from $20 to $15.

 

Love the Sinner, Hate the System - Brad Jersak

LOVE THE SINNER; HATE THE SYSTEM

While Christ showed scandalous grace to sinners, his opposition to the corrupt temple system—to its hypocritical patriarchy and exploitative moralism—was biting and frankly, threatening. His prophecies of the fall of Jerusalem came with tears of grief, but nevertheless, he graphically foretold the catastrophic and inevitable demolition of that house of cards. “It’s all coming down,” he would say. “Every last stone, overturned. The city walls and its temple will burn with unquenchable fire. The Valley of Gehenna will once again smolder with the corpses of those who think they are exempt from judgment.”

Why? What sins would warrant such a collapse? Same as today. God’s grace for the penitent sinner does not extend to the worldly power systems that enslave both victim and perpetrator between its serrated teeth. Corrupt networks are slow to come down, but they must and they will, even when they use a temple or church as its covering infrastructure.

Jeremiah outed the fallacy of crying, “The Temple, the Temple, the Temple” as if it were an impenetrable safe house. “Your temple won’t save you. You’ve repurposed it as a den for thieves!” The system would topple, first to Babylon, then later to Rome. My apocalyptic side says it’s happening again. Right now. 

It’s not as though God strikes down his Temple or his people directly. The wrath involved is intrinsic to the sin—a self-devouring mechanism with a long but finite shelf-life. 

THE CURRENT CRISIS

One commentator on the current crisis of the clergy abuse scandal messaged me his diagnosis of the problem: 

Betty Spackman - Wonderment, Mercy, Transgenics & Post-humanism

In a world where science is outpacing philosophy and religion, how do we respond ethically to engineering babies, downloading our brains or creating meat in the lab? Will Christians take a self-disqualifying earth-is-flat approach? If we're to have a voice, what words come out? Artist and teacher Betty Spackman approaches the tensions of post-humanism and transgenics creatively and thoughtfully--literally 'artfully.' She's currently creating an art installation called "A Creature Chronicle" (with accompanying catalogue).

Brad Jersak caught up to her at her studio for a teaser tour and brief interview.  

Betty Spackman and Art Installation: "A Creature Chronicle" (in process)

John MacMurray's "A Spiritual Evolution" - Review by Brad Jersak

Review: John MacMurray, A Spiritual Evolution: Rediscovering the Greatest Story Ever Told (Open Table Press, 2018).  

https://www.aspiritualevolution.com

John MacMurray's Spiritual Evolution is a uniquely accessible account of his own spiritual journey from anxious and arrogant dogmatism into a beautiful and living faith. Embedded within the narrative of his quest for the Christlike and trustworthy God, readers will be introduced to some of the best Trinitarian / Patristic theology available today.

Under the influence great teachers such as St. Athanasius of Alexandria, George MacDonald, T.F. Torrance and C. Baxter Kruger, John MacMurray guides us beyond the fearsome and retributive "monster god" of our nightmares into a glorious vision of Triune Love made incarnate in Jesus Christ.

MacMurray is vulnerable with his own struggle to embrace transforming grace but in his surrender, we se how Trinitarian love heals our hearts and empowers us to pick up Christ's Cross of radical forgiveness--for others and for ourselves.

As a patristic theologian, I was thrilled by John's orthodoxy in an era where so many deconstructionists find themselves moving on, not only from abusive theologies and church situations, but from Jesus Christ as well. My wish is that before such a tragic divorce, disillusioned Christians would pick up this book. Any truly spiritual evolution will take us forward and upward into the life of the God-man unveiled herein.  

 

   

10 Affirmations on Divine Judgment: An Inclusivist Perspective -- Brad Jersak

Hopeful Inclusivists believe in Divine Judgment

What they challenge is the unbiblical assumptions, accretions and emphases of those who hold that God’s judgments are retributive rather than restorative. What we know of Divine Judgment, we learn from the Scriptures. Rather than sweeping judgment under the rug, we can make the following assertions, rooted in Scripture.

1. An accounting of our lives: We believe that like the prophets before them, Christ and his apostles foretell a “Day of the Lord.” On that day, we will all stand before Christ and give an account for the one life we had to live and have to offer God. Facing the meaning of our lives could be cause for rejoicing or mourning, not unlike the “fearless moral inventory” upon which the recovery community asks all addicts to reflect with rigorous honesty.

2. An assessment of our deeds: Standing before Christ involves an examination of our deeds. I.e. Your life matters! This judgment of deeds is quite apart from the issue of saving faith in Christ for eternal life. The New Testament apostles (Paul, Peter and John) explicitly speak of a judgment according to our motives and deeds, resulting in reward or loss. See Matt. 25; Rom. 2:6; 1 Cor. 3:8; 2 Cor. 5:10; Col. 3:25; 1 Pet. 1:17; Rev. 20:12.

3. The fire of cleansing: Forgiveness for sin was accomplished at the cross. Period. Our guilt has been removed. But the stain of sin and all its consequences will also be purged when we meet Christ. Malachi prophesies that the Refiner’s fire will purge us of dross and bring out the gold of our true nature. He imagines a Launderer's soap that will cleanse us of every stain. Similarly, Paul says in 1 Cor. 3 that the fire of judgment will consume all the wood, hay and stubble in our character (probably our worldly and fleshly attachments, including idolatry, resentments, regrets, etc.). Paul says some will pass through the fire with nothing to show for their lives, yet he adds, “they will be saved as through fire.” That sounds ominous, but here is the surprise:

St Macrina on Soulish Attachments, the Second Death and Ghost Phenomena - w/ comments by Brad Jersak

Macrina the Younger (or the Teacher), old sister and teacher of Basil the Great and Gregory of Nyssa speaks to Gregory on her deathbed about the afterlife in Gregory's book titled "On the Soul and the Resurrection":

St. Macrina on the soul's lingering attachments, the second death as cleansing and alleged ghost phenomena:

I think our Lord teaches us this: that those still living in the flesh must, as much as they can, separate and free themselves from the attachments of the flesh by virtuous conduct, in order that after death, they may not need a second death to cleanse them from the remnants owing to this cement of the flesh, and, when once the bonds are loosed from around the soul, her soaring up to the Good may be swift and unimpeded, with no anguish of the body to distract her. 

For if anyone becomes wholly and thoroughly carnal in thought, such a one, with every motion and energy of the soul absorbed in fleshly desires, is not parted from such attachments, even in the disembodied state; just as those who have lingered long in noisome places do not part with the unpleasantness contracted by that lengthened stay, even when they pass into a sweet atmosphere. So it is that, when the change is made into the impalpable Unseen, not even then will it be possible for the lovers of the flesh to avoid dragging away with them under any circumstances some fleshly foulness, and thereby their torment will be intensified, their soul having been materialized by such surroundings. 

I think too that this view of the matter harmonizes to a certain extent with the assertion made by some people that around their graves, shadowy phantoms of the departed are often seen. If this is truly so, it proves an inordinate attachment of that particular soul to the life in the flesh existed, causing it to be unwilling, even when expelled from the flesh, to fly clean away and to admit the complete change of its form into the impalpable. It remains near the frame even after the dissolution of the frame, and though now outside it, hovers regretfully over the place where its material is and continues to haunt it.

From Gregory of Nyssa, On the Soul and the Resurrection. 

Commentary by Brad Jersak: to St. Macrina, the soul after death makes its journey from this world to God. What may impede that journey is our fleshly attachments to the material world. In our attachment to this world, we cannot help but try to drag our idols with us. These may include not only material possessions, but people to whom we are linked whether by obsessive love by unrelenting resentment, or to the past through regrets, remorse or any unfinished business. Their weight hinders us from letting go and torments us, necessitating “the second death” that cleanses us of them. The clinging that causes us to linger may explain alleged ghost phenomenon, which would prove the point. Rather than suffer the rigors of this cleansing post-mortem, Macrina believed that the fruit of “virtuous conduct” (unselfish love, radical forgiveness, abundant generosity, etc.) is that it releases us from our bondage to the demands of the ego (flesh) and the world [system].     

Q & R: "Why don't the creeds include the life of Christ?" Brad Jersak

Question:

 

I have a question for you about the Nicene Creed... and all the creeds for that matter. It seems that they leave out the human part of Jesus' life on earth, as shown us in the gospels. They jump right from his birth to Pontius Pilate. Do you have an idea why that is?

 

Response:

 

A good (and popular) question, but partially based on a definition problem and two context issues.

 

1. Definition: the word "Incarnation" can be mistaken for "Conception/Birth" because the creeds say Christ "became incarnate of the Holy Spirit and Virgin." That sounds like a nativity statement, followed by 33 years of silence.

 

But "became Incarnate" includes both "became" (Christ's conception) and "incarnate" (Christ's whole life on earth ... and actually, to this moment). In other words, the entire life of Christ is the Incarnation because HE is the Incarnation. 

 

2. Historical Context: Granted, the architects of the creed could have clarified by adding a phrase about Jesus' life and ministry, but that wasn't really the pressing question they were addressing at the moment. The question was, "WHO is Jesus?" And the errors they were challenging were "Jesus was not fully God" or "Jesus is less than God" and secondarily, "Jesus was not fully human or was only partly human." So the issues the creeds raise include both an insistance that Christ was God in the flesh--truly divine (why they mention the HS) and also, actually flesh (why they mention Mary), rooted in real human history (why they mention Pilate), and that he really suffered and died (again, to say he was truly human).

 

So the creed is expressed not merely as a summary of what Jesus did, but more specifically about his dual nature. There was no argument about whether he lived and ministered. That was assumed.

 

3. Liturgical Context: That said, liturgical context is also huge. The creed was never pronounced in isolation. It was and is part of the broader liturgy, which lays out the entire drama of redemption, from Adam to the life of Christ, Pascha and the final judgment (every Sunday). The creed is embedded in that drama, never apart from the

Gospel readings that tell the story of Christ's life and ministry; never apart from reading the Beatitudes, never apart from the whole story.

 

So the problem isn't that the creed leaves out the life of Christ. The real problem occurs when we pluck the creed from the whole story--by abandoning the very liturgy that always faithfully tells the story. That is, when we isolate the creed to the neglect of the story (the liturgical drama) in which it is found, we can't blame the creed for not telling the whole story. That would be a bit like isolating John 4 out of the Bible and then asking why Jesus didn't mention the Cross to the woman at the well.

 

By all means read, memorize, cite and pray the creeds. But remember do so, even privately, in the context of a Gospel reading, a recitation of the Beatitudes and gratitude for the whole life of Christ. The creeds will serve to enrich the whole experience.  

The Scandal of the Cross [or Lethal Injection Table] - Brad Jersak

This week I have been pondering afresh the scandal of the Cross as I read (for probably the fifth time) an article by Wm. Paul Young titled "The Killing House." He writes about his experiences in visiting men on "death row," scheduled for execution, most probably by lethal injection. I began to imagine Christ dying on a lethal injection table, eerily similar in shape to a cross. I began playing with such images on Photoshop, superimposing the crucified Christ onto a modern execution gurney. The result felt edgy to me. Jarring enough to show my wife, Eden. She confirmed, "Too edgy." What was it that was getting under our skin? What exactly makes the lethal injection image more uncomfortable than crucifixion art? Consider and compare: 

On the left, Jesus is clothed. there's virtually no blood, no signs of beating and no evidence of torture.

And yet we felt the sting of the modern piece more deeply. Why?

 

It seems to me that what provokes a visceral response is the proximity of the lethal injection bed to our own world.

 

Indeed, both pictures represent state-sponsored capital punishment, but the edginess I feel may be about our discomfort with either (1) the fact that this crime against humanity is occurring right now, this month, at a prison near us. Or (2) we are uncomfortable with our own hesitancy to see the gospel's poignancy in anything so political as the death penalty. In a world of political polarization and justification, we'd rather reduce the gospel to souls and heaven, rather than risk muddying the lines between church and state. And fair enough, given Christianity's poor track record of political meddling. 

 

As an alternative to this graphic image, we could instead use an empty electric chair. Notice the fascinating way substituting in an empty electric chair or noose or guillotine reduces the cringe factor:

 

(1) You remove the "now" element by a few decades, since "the chair" is no longer in use. Thus, no one today is guilty or complicit in the execution. It's a thing "those people used to do." 

 

(2) You remove Jesus from the picture, leaving the connection to the reader's imagination, rather than crying out directly, "This is that."

 

In so doing, you remove the scandal--and that, I think, is problematic.

 

The Cross was a scandal, a gruesome and cruel way for the empire to terrorize an occupied majority. And yet it would become among the most intense subjects in the history of art. Everyone who claims to be an artist of renown must offer their interpretation of the crucifixion.

 

Some artists emphasized the realism of Christ's agony, but that often glorified agony rather than glorifying Jesus--some such pieces can feel voyeuristic and sadistic, yet managing to sidestep the gospel itself.

 

Other artists sanitized the scandal when they prettied up the crucifixion, or made it more abstract, or removed Christ from the rugged wood and turned it to gold. The effect is thus a strange disconnect from the skandalon of the Gospel.

 

On the other hand, Eastern icons make the same move away from realism to make a theological point. They try to communicate the Cross event as much more than just the evil work of wicked men. Christ is not merely the victim of the murderous church-state conspiracy. The truth is this: the Cross is more than a crucifixion. It represents the glorification and enthronement of the Son of God and his redemption of all humanity. So the iconographers tried (with various success) to retain the image of the cross while also introducing the victory of God into their depictions of the crucified Christ. We see this same hybrid of crucifixion hatred and cruciform Love in the Gospel of John.

 

Well, back to my pondering. I remembered that people used to say, "If Jesus' execution were in our era, we'd be wearing jewelry that featured modern forms of execution, such as the electric chair or the guillotine." And why not? I was never sure if this was meant as a critique.

 

But in any case, that speculation has become reality!

BEHOLD, now for sale online at Etsy! Should we be disturbed? Enthusiastic?

What do the pieces below communicate? I'll that to your ponderings, but there it is.

 

I am, however, left with the powerful, haunting words of Kenneth Tanner:

"The Cross tells us from now on, no one else needs to die for the world to be made right."  

 

"Go and sin no more"? Brad Jersak

Pieter Brueghel el Viejo - Jesus Cristo e a mulher adúltera (1565)

Reading John 8 through Genesis 2-3 and the Prodigal Sons

Throughout Scripture, we see “sin” identified in a variety of ways, including moral failure, law-breaking, poor spiritual hygiene, character flaws, a fatal disease and a sinister slave-driver. And where sin (hamartia) is defined as “missing the mark,” Scripture implies the mark we’re aiming at may be morality, holiness, faith and faithfulness, love of God and each other, or the glory of God. [CLICK HERE for further background on hamartia]

In my blog post, Sin? Missing what mark? I suggested another mark: our love union with God—or RE-union (reconciliation) with God. In that case, to "sin" is to turn away from God’s love. Yes, some of those other biblically-defined marks may play into that, but let’s focus on three stories:

Genesis 2 – 3

In the Garden of Eden (Paradise), Adam and Eve walked in perfect communion with God. Theirs was the intended love-union we were all to enjoy. And then we read of their “fall.” Although the story doesn’t use the term for ‘sin,’ we read about how they turned from that union, marked by love and trust, to autonomy, self-will and as a result, shame and alienation. Their sin does not separate God from them, for he continues to pursue them, all the way out of the garden and ultimately tracks them through the Cross to retrieve them from the depths of hades. But their sin does alienate them from God, for their new, fallen instinct is to see God as one from whom they must hide in shame. In failing to trust and obey God, and by turning from God’s face to go their own way, they missed the mark of that once-perfect love-union.   

The Prodigal Sons

In Christ’s parable of the prodigal son(s), we find two sons in a similar peril. Like Adam and Eve, the younger son has left his father’s house to go his own way and do his own thing. He finds himself living in the poverty of alienation, slaving in the fields with a herd of swine. He has missed the mark of fellowship with his loving Father. But the father never stopped loving him and the son never ceased to be his father’s son. To be restored, he must return home and re-enter the joy of that parent-child union.   

Likewise, the older son finds himself slaving in another field—the field of religious striving. While he seems to serve his father’s interests and seems to obey his father’s wishes, he has nevertheless missed the mark. How so? He has left the father’s house and made his own alleged obedience the occasion for alienation from that love-union. He regards his father as unfair, someone to resent and the elder is every bit as enslaved self-will as his younger brother.

But the Father despises neither son. He runs to the younger son while still a long way off. And without any condemnation, he assures the older brother of his place and pleads with him to return. Henri Nouwen, in his booklet, The Return of the Prodigal Son, says,

The harsh and bitter reproaches of the [elder] son are not met with words of judgment. There is no recrimination or accusation. The father does not defend himself or even comment on the elder son's behavior. The father moves directly beyond all evaluations to stress his intimate relationship with his son when he says: "You are with me always." The father's declaration of unqualified love eliminates any possibility that the younger son is more loved than the elder. The elder son has never left the house. The father has shared everything with him. He has made him part of his daily life, keeping nothing from him. "All I have is yours," he says. There could be no clearer statement of the father's unlimited love for his elder son. Thus the father's unreserved, unlimited love is offered wholly and equally to both sons.

John 8 – “Go and sin no more”?

This brings us to the climax of the story of the woman who was caught in the act of committing adultery. As often as I share this story, I continue to ask, “Where was the man?” Why is he not also dragged in? Is he not involved in the sin? Is he part of the set-up? We know from the text that the whole scenario was a trap for Jesus, so it certainly looks like a case of entrapment for the woman as well.

Let’s fast-forward through Jesus’ saving acts—how he stoops beside her, scribbles in the dust and one by one, all the accusers leave. We pick up on Jesus’ interaction with the woman, a conversation we only know because she would have shared it 1000 times thereafter. “The day Jesus saved me!”

“Where are your accusers?”

“They’re gone m’Lord.”

“Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.”

Religious legalism would and has inferred, “Go and sin no more… or I will condemn you.”

But aside from such silliness, how should we take Jesus’ statement? If he doesn’t mean, “Go be sinless,” what does he mean? He must mean something!

I have normally interpreted Jesus' words this way: “There, I’ve just completely wiped clean your record. You didn’t even repent and I forgave you. You can live as if today never happened. And you never need to go back there. I’ve given you a fresh start and a new life. What will you do with it?”

To which I imagine her reply, “I will follow you, of course! I’ll follow you forever!”

And he smiles and says, “Of course you will! Let me help you up.”

That got me to thinking: what if she did it—what if she went and sinned no more! As in never again. What? Could she or anyone live without sin? That depends what sin is! That depends what missing the mark is. That depends what the mark is.

If the mark is moral perfection, unwavering trust, perfect obedience, ritual hygiene and untainted holiness, of course she would continue to sin because we all fall short of those marks. And in that sense, she would go on sinning.

But if the mark is her love-union with Christ—his embrace of unwavering love, enduring mercy and saving grace—I suspect she never left his embrace again. I could imagine her stumbling again and again but never again hiding in shame as did Adam or slaving again as did the prodigal brothers. I could imagine Jesus’ words, “Go and sin no more,” being for her, not a legal demand but a creative command, similar to “Let there be light … and there was light!”  The love of Christ was a light turned on in the Father’s house and he knew she would never leave the house again. Or if somehow she found herself tripping again on her own humanity, she would forever orient herself towards God’s welcome, rather than fleeing from it back into the night.

In other words, sure she could “screw up,” but from that day on, it is entirely possible she would not “fail.” She could commit particular sins, but would never return to alienation and slavery to sin.

I cannot claim this for myself. But what the story does for me is reminding me of the true mark—our union in Christ to God’s unfailing love.

 

Why Did I Delete My Facebook Account? Anonymous (with Brad Jersak)

Note from Brad Jersak: A friend of mine--someone I saw as a master in effectively using Facebook for 'gospeling,' moderating productive discussions and building bridges--walked away from that social media venue. When I asked why, he wrote the following and gave permission for me to share it. I find it disturbing, not only because it seems true, but because it is a worrisome analysis of the broader culture in which "we live, move and have our being" stands at this moment. It feels like more than an invitation to exit social media with the author, but stands as a call to repent of the social constructs that Facebook amplifies.

 

WHY DID I DELETE MY FACEBOOK ACCOUNT?

Why did I delete my Facebook account? There are lots of reasons. I’ve been contemplating this for a while. Hosting conversations is damn hard work, especially when people are joining in at so many different angles. In one respect, I’m just tired. 

But there’s more …

I think we can all sense this. There are strong forces at work around us, political powers that are vying for control in the interests of immediate, all-encompassing change—a quasi-Marxist ultra-woke squaring off against a quasi-Fascist alt-right in an ever-widening culture war.

Facebook lends itself to a conflict like this. The medium itself trains us out of particularity, complexity and nuance and constantly guides us to think and live in terms of collective identities and affinities, often defined along moral-ethical lines. It also amplifies the dialectic of opposites, making it seem normative in a totalizing way.

And there's this pressure to behave accordingly …

I appreciate the encouragement I've received from people concerning my Facebook "presence". To be honest, I don’t care much about my "presence" on social media ... I'm interested in what can happen between people when they seek to be attentive and thoughtful while learning to care for one another. I’ve wanted to help humanize the medium a little, to explore the complexity of experience and invite nuance and empathy across lines that divide. 

For many—increasingly it seems—this kind of approach is worse than taking the wrong side. It’s a self-protective strategy that relativizes the truth and neutralizes progress.

That makes me sad.

To be clear, I don’t think Facebook is *necessarily* more problematic than other ways of relating. 

Relating is difficult no matter the channels ...

Face-to-face is certainly different in richness and complexity, but I have no illusions of it being easier to do well. It’s just ... different.

I think Facebook holds out lots of interesting possibilities for truthing-in-love ... I’m just not sure people are all that interested to explore those possibilities in earnest.

What makes Facebook problematic is not the digital technology per se, but the way people are inclined to engage it. We make moves that hinder relationship rather than help it. Worse, we revel in them.

Of course, we often do that face-to-face too ... It’s just that the effects aren’t ramified to the same extent. They’re less contagious.

Another way to say it: A platform like Facebook heightens social responsibility in some ways while alleviating it in others. The problem is that we’re shirking responsibility precisely where the medium requires it of us.