This is a third draft of my sermon for North Hill, July 9, 2011. The first two drafts were published here and have been erased. Also, at the requested of the person who posted them, I've erased some comments based on the earlier drafts.
John McLarty
The Heart of the Cosmos: God
Every morning I spend an hour in the pasture behind our house. The view east sweeps across the grass of the pasture then up to a line of alders, cottonwood trees and towering Doug firs. Behind them runs the ridge line of the south Cascades. On really good mornings, the ceiling over all this is a blue sky flecked with iridescent pink clouds. It's pure, wondrous beauty.
There is a dark story behind this landscape. My pasture is the surface of an ancient mud flow. Five thousand years ago it swept down from Mt. Rainier burying forests and riverbeds and villages. It left behind a desolate landscape of over 200 square miles of ragged mud, boulders and broken trunks.
The same place, two stories. Beauty and wonder versus ugliness and destruction.
In 1994, the nation of Rwanda erupted in a dumb-founding paroxysm of violence. 800,000 people were slaughtered in a gruesome genocide. The malignity of evil engulfed even ministers, some of whom betrayed their parishioners to the killers. It was an astonishing exhibition of evil.
In the capital city of Kigali, a hotel manager, Paul Rusesabagina, managed to shelter 700 Tutsi's from the murderous hordes. Frequently putting his own life at risk, he used connections in the Rwandan military, bribes from the hotel's stores of alcohol and fine cheese and pure, and brazen courage to resist repeated moves to annihilate the refugees in his hotel. He prevailed. No one in his hotel was killed.
Again, one place, two stories. Murderous evil versus magnificent goodness.
Is there a grand, unified story? Is there a way to bring all these complicated realities into a cohesive whole? Is there an ultimate reality that offers illumination for how we can best order our own lives?
Yes. At the core of the variegated reality of history, biology and geology is a harmonious center: God.
God is the beginning of the story. God is certainly not the only actor in this drama, not the only player in this grand, crashing, sometimes discordant symphony. He is, however, the conductor. The drumbeat of the music began when he lowered his baton. And under his direction the discord, the jarring dissonances, will ultimately resolve in an eternal harmony.
What do we know about the conductor?
God is love. This is the central conviction of Adventist theology. It is, however, not a simple statement. Love includes passion and risk-taking. It means giving freedom and allowing contradiction and hatred. Still God is love is the bedrock of all our convictions, all our beliefs.
One way we make sense of “God is love” is through the doctrine of Trinity. At the heart of the universe, at the heart of reality, is a community called God. We do not imagine God as a single deity seated by himself on a throne. Rather, in line with the Bible writers, we imagine God as a community, as a family, as a union of friends.
The unity of God, the coherence of the heavenly community is so perfect, so intense, that for most practical purposes the Bible speaks of God as a singular being. This is especially important as a corrective to the dominant conception of the divine in the ancient world in which the Bible was written. In that world, by far the most common way people tried to make sense of the jarring collisions of beauty and ugliness, good and evil, love and animosity was to imagine this was the way ultimate reality was. People imagined gods fighting with one another. The famous Greek stories of the gods were a veritable soap opera. If the gods were bickering was it any wonder that the world itself was full of conflict and contradictions?
Against this vision of divine reality as a conflict-ridden, bickering, confused collection of egotistical individuals, the Bible described God as a harmonious, perfectly united and coherent, happy community. Reality originated from and is organized around a sweet, joyous relationship of Father, Son and Spirit. The heart of the cosmos is love not war.
This vision continues to offer a relevant message today. Radical materialism imagines the origin of the universe as a single point and the subsequent course of the universe as an undirected expansion of that single point.
In contrast to polytheism's clashing wills and materialism's absence of will, Adventism celebrates the beneficent, coherent will of God. The universe is neither capricious nor random. Rather, “In the beginning God created the heavens and air… And God said let us make humanity in our image.” God created humans as the overflow of divine love. And God promises to steer history in the direction of beauty and goodness. Evil is ultimately ephemeral. It is real and deadly, but ultimately transitory. Goodness and love are eternal. God guarantees it.
(Note: the doctrine of Trinity does not just contradict polytheism and materialism. It corrects them, for sure. It also affirms elements of truth included in these ideologies. The doctrine of Trinity agrees with the polytheists that humanity originated in divine will – but insists that will is unified, harmonious). The doctrine of Trinity agrees with materialism that the cosmos is coherent across time and space – but insists that coherence is an expression of purpose and will.)
The Father, Son and Holy Spirit loved one another rapturously, richly. Creation is seen as the happy outflow of divine love. Divine creation is analogous to a husband and wife taking pleasure in expanding their world through giving birth to children. In this idyllic picture birth/creation is the fruit of happy desire, not an expression of lack or dissatisfaction. Humans are the desired, loved, treasured children of God.
In the community of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit are pictured as fulfilling distinct roles, though frequently Bible writers blur these distinctions. This is hardly surprising, given both the stereotypical role distinctions in the primary human community—the family—and the ease with which these distinctions are happily or of necessity blurred.
The stereotypical role distinctions of the Trinity: The Father is the leader. The Sun takes direction from the Father. The Holy Spirit is sent by the Father or by the Father and the Son and represents the Father and the Son to humanity.
The unity of the Trinity: Father, Son and Spirit are each explicitly mentioned as being active in creation and salvation. Father and Son both judge the world. They love humanity. They are pictured as existing at the center of heaven where they are worshiped because of their work of creating and saving.
SO WHAT?
The creative center of the universe is a community with a perfectly unified purpose: the creation, maintenance, restoration and nurture of an earthly community of loving, creative people. As an earthly reflection of the heavenly community of love, the highest calling of humans is the cultivation of community. Learning and practicing affection, warmth and intimacy is the highest purpose, the most noble goal of human life. When we experience these blessings of community, we are keeping company with God.
The cultivation of affection, warmth and intimacy, especially over years and decades and across generations requires order and law and enforcement. The proper goal of order, law and enforcement is the well-being of individuals and communities. Law and order and community authority are essential for rich, enduring, happy communities but they are not ends in themselves.
Law and authority are training wheels to be discarded once we learn to ride. They are temporary scaffolding to be removed once the arch can carry its own weight. They are the crutches and splints we rely on when there has been an accident, a tragic weakness.
Law and authority become unnecessary when trust is fully established. Perfect trust is modeled in the Trinity. Each delighted to see the other honored and worshiped. In building an earthly counterpart to the community of heaven, trust is one the highest developments in human relationships. We are called to trust and to be trustworthy. We are warned against doing things that erode trust: breaking faith with one another, gossiping, slandering, coveting.
Parents' highest calling is to create a safe environment for their children where they will naturally learn trust. In marriage one of the ways spouses can be most godly is be a safe haven for the other. Keeping one's word, practicing mercy, refusing to go for “the personal win” in disagreements and instead going for the “marital win.” (The goal in addressing conflict is to enhance the marriage, not to score points or to vanquish the other.) The sweetness of friendship comes from the deep knowledge that this person I can trust. Building trust. Practicing trust. Being trustworthy. These are some of the highest forms of human interaction.
Killing people – wounding, punishing, deriding, berating, scorning – brings us closer to the essence of the Devil than the heart of God. The three people most highly honored in the Bible – Abraham, Moses and Jesus – are all pictured as “correcting” God when he expresses his intention to severely punish. When God announces damnation or destruction, even when the intended targets richly deserve it, the proper response of holy people is to contradict God. Part of our proper role as friends of God is to insist that he elevates mercy over justice, creation over destruction, love over vengeance. This has implications for how we interpret Bible passages that call for the enslavement of people, the subjugation of women, the criminalization of homosexual love, the execution of criminals, rebellious sons, and Sabbath breakers.
The Bible describes people as members of the clan of heaven, members of the cosmic royalty. Because of our membership in the royal family, environmental stewardship is an inescapable element of our noblesse oblige. We are responsible not only for the well-being of humans but of the entire estate—the woods and marshes, oceans and deserts, the entire realm.
We believe that at the heart of the cosmos is the harmonious community of God.
We believe that we are related by family ties to this community.
We believe God will succeed in bringing the entire orchestra into a unimaginably grand harmony.
So we confidently commit ourselves to pursuing harmonious relationships among people and with the natural world, knowing this harmony is the ultimate shape of the cosmos. It is the supreme dream and purpose of God.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Holy Rebels
Sermon for North Hill Adventist Fellowship, July 2, 2011
235 years ago, a group of wealthy men put their signatures to a document explaining why they were rejecting the authority of the British government, and especially the authority of their king. Here's what they said:
Which reminds me of some Bible stories.
In Genesis 18, spends some time visiting Abraham. At the end of their visit God tells Abraham about his plans to destroy Sodom. The way the story is told in Genesis, God says to Abraham that he has heard terrible stories about Sodom. It is a hopelessly wicked place. God is going to check it out, and if it's as wicked as he has heard, God is going to wipe it out.
Abraham is appalled. It sounds to him like God is failing to make any distinction between good people and bad people. “You can't do that.” Abraham protests. “You are the Judge of All the Earth. Surely you, in your position, must do right. You, of all beings, must act justly.”
Then Abraham begins bargaining. “What if there are 50 people? Will you spare the city, if you can find 50 good people in the city?”
God agrees. “For 50 people I will spare the entire city.”
“What about 45?” Abraham asks. “Will you destroy the city for the lack of five people? You're short five people and you wipe out the entire population?”
“Okay,” God says. “If I find 45 I'll save the place.”
Abraham keeps bargaining. He gets God down to 10. If God can find ten good people, he'll spare the city.
God's agents cannot find even ten good people. So, under orders from God they evacuate the four decent people they can find before the place is destroyed.
Abraham was a rebel. He challenged God's stated plans. He held God to a “higher authority.” Being the Supreme Judge of All the Earth did not give God the freedom to do whatever he pleased. Instead, according to Abraham, it imposed on God higher obligations. He had to act in accord with the highest law. He had to do what was right and fair.
Abraham was a rebel, a holy rebel. The Bible describes him as a “Friend of God.” There is not the slightest hint anywhere in the Bible that Abraham was mistaken to challenge God to his face. In fact, the kind of challenge Abraham issued to God-- “Far be it from you! Shall not the judge of all the earth do right.” --appears to be a model for holy living and holy praying. When God condemns, when od threatens destruction, the appropriate role for us is to become holy rebels. We are to plead for, and even demand, mercy.
In Exodus, God gets fed up with the Israelites' hard-headedness and chronic complaining. He tells Moses, “Step aside. I'm going to wipe these people out. I'll get rid of all this riffraff and start over with you. I'll make a new nation based on your descendants. ” The implication is that surely Moses' family will get it right. They will be worthy progenitors of the Messiah. They will give birth to the Savior of the world.
Moses refuses to step out of the way. “You're have to go through me. You're going to have to take me out first if you want to get at my people.” Moses bluntly refuses God's direct command. If God had acted like a classic monarch, Moses would have lost his head. Quickly. Instead God acquiesces. He does not destroy the people. He does not make Moses' descendants the new Messianic line. He goes back to his agonizingly complicated relationship with the Israelites.
Moses was a holy rebel.
In the Old Testament, the one kind of rebellion that is blessed is this rebellion in favor of mercy. When God threatens punishment and disaster, it is wholly appropriate to protest God's action, to plead for him to change his mind, to oppose the divine word.
This is highlighted by the opposite kind of action on the part of the prophet Jonah. In his situation, God announces destruction for the heathen city of Nineveh. They king learns of the threat and calls his people to repentance. God observes this behavior and changes his mind. Jonah gets upset at God's softness. Jonah is a tough-on-sin conservative. God is not impressed. Unlike Abraham and Moses who are celebrated for their arguments with God, Jonah is scorned.
We see the same pattern in the New Testament. In the stories of Jesus, people are always arguing with him. And they always lose. Except when they are arguing for greater mercy, greater generosity.
Once Jesus left Judea and went north to the heathen city of Sidon to get away from the crowds so he can spend some quiet time with his disciples. Somehow a mother discovers Jesus is there. She starts hanging around. When Jesus and the disciples come out of their rented house, she's there and follows them down the street, shouting, “Lord, Son of David! Please! My daughter is suffering terribly from a demon.”
Jesus ignored her. The disciples picked up on his coldness and copying him tried ignoring her. But it didn't work. Exasperated, they begged Jesus to get rid of her. “Please, send her away!”
As we watch the scene, Jesus is confronted with two requests. One is in line with his expressed will. The other starkly contradicts the obvious intentions of Jesus.
According to Matthew, Jesus went to this town to get away. He was on retreat with his disciples, deliberately avoiding public attention, so he could do important personal work with his disciples. When the woman shows up, again Matthew is quite clear, Jesus ignores her. Then when she intrudes so emphatically she cannot be ignored, Jesus explains to his disciples, in front of the woman, that he has been sent to the lost sheep of Israel. In this statement Jesus explicitly states that helping someone like this Canaanite woman would be a deviation from his sacred calling.
The disciples get it and urge Jesus to get rid of the woman. “Send her away! She's driving us crazy with her begging cries.”
The woman refuses to get it. She rejects both the implied intention of Jesus and his explicit statement. She presses her request. “Pleeeease help me!”
Jesus makes one last attempt to get her to see helping her is not part of his plan. “Look here.” He says. “It would not be right to take the children's bread and give it to the dogs.”
She still doesn't get it. Instead of yielding to Jesus' stated intention, she turns Jesus words on their head. “So, you agree your ministry is like feeding children? Then, obviously you understand there will be crumbs. AND,” she goes on, “even the meanest father would not stop the puppies from licking up the crumbs under the table. I'm not taking anything from the children. But if you're feeding the kids, at least let me get at the crumbs.”
Jesus gives in. After three statements of rejection, Jesus looks at the woman and smiles and blesses her for her stubborn argument. “Great is your faith.” He tells her. “Go. Your daughter is healed.”
She is another holy rebel appealing to a higher law.
Abraham, Moses and this nameless pagan woman argue God into changing his mind—or at least acting contrary to his stated intentions. Notice that in every case the successful argument is in favor of greater mercy, a wider circle beneficence.
Abraham appeals to the law of fairness. You can't destroy the good with the bad. And God agrees.
Moses uses two arguments: first, God's own reputation—if you destroy the people that means you failed. You brought them out of Egypt but were unable to get them all the way to Palestine. Second, Moses used his own life as a bargaining chip.
(This second point raises huge questions about the traditional Christian view of the world: We're going to get ours, too bad about the rest. Don't waste emotional energy on the lost. Preach the gospel and move on. Don't get your heart all tied up with the losers. A stark contrast to Moses' emphatic rejection of destruction for the sinners in his neighborhood.)
The woman's argument is simple: My kid needs it. She's not a “tiger mom,” she's a grizzly mom. She will stop at nothing to get the help her kid needs. God, in the person of Jesus, bends to her will.
One of the central pillars of Adventist theology is our regard for God's law. Early on, Adventists paid a lot of attention to the ten commandments. There are TEN commandments, not nine. And all ten still apply. The special focus in our early days was on the Sabbath commandment. God said, Keep the Sabbath holy. Sabbath was the seventh-day of the week. Sunday was the first day of the week, so it was a no-brainer to figure out that going to church on Sunday was not the same thing as keeping Sabbath.
This is still one of our greatest contributions to Christianity. Our spiritual life, our family and civic life are all enriched when we practice Sabbath-keeping.
As Adventists continued to study what the Bible says about God's law we came to realize that God's law is much larger than the Ten Commandments. Jesus summarized God's law for humans in the twin commandments: Love God with your whole heart and your neighbor as yourself. The Ten Commandments are an elaboration of those two foundational principles. All the other rules for godly living are simply further explanations about how to love.
Taking it one step further, The twin rules, love God and your neighbor are not merely rules for humans, they are descriptions of how God himself operates. God loves—within the trinity and outward toward us. The link between God and the “law of love” is so powerful that the law itself can be appealed to in “arguing with God.”
The early American rebels contradicted millennia of belief about the absolute sovereignty of kings. King George was not right just because he was king. Pointing to the king's position was no argument in favor of the justice or rightness of his actions. The goodness of earthly government was measured by the quality of the service it provided to its people.
Adventists believe the same is true of heavenly government. God is not to be worshiped merely because he occupies the throne but because what God does and who he is aligns perfectly with the law of love. We are called to be holy rebels pleading with God to “have mercy.” We are to pray against destruction and condemnation. We are to join Abraham and Moses in resisting the sweep of disastrous judgment. We are to join the Canaanite woman in urging God to show mercy and favor to those who are tormented and enslaved by the Devil.
Some practical implications:
Classic Christian understanding of all three stories argues they were set-ups. Abraham, Moses and the Canaanite woman were actually doing the very thing God wanted. When they argue for mercy over against destruction and rejection they are, in fact, voicing the deeper will of God. The moral of the stories is clear: the job of humans is to push mercy not judgment.
Slavery, women as chattel, the execution of homosexuals, rebellious sons and Sabbath breakers are all presented as God's will. They are the law. Abraham, Moses and the Canaanite woman model a holy rebelliousness in the face of divine severity. It is a kind of rebelliousness we would do well to copy. Instead of gleefully joining other fundamentalists in condemning people and celebrating the wrath of God, we ought to join the holy rebels in reminding God that it makes him look bad in the world if he fails to save all his children. “Holy rebels” are indefatigable partisans of love, fighting not for their own rights and privileges, but for the well being of those who need a champion. This kind of holy rebellion will transform us and bring in deeper, richer friendship with God.
235 years ago, a group of wealthy men put their signatures to a document explaining why they were rejecting the authority of the British government, and especially the authority of their king. Here's what they said:
The Declaration of IndependenceThese men were rebels. They were rejecting the authority of a government that had existed for hundreds of years. More than that they were rebelling against the very idea of government that had been held by Christians for almost two thousand years. But notice their words. In rejecting the authority of the British crown, they appealed to higher laws, “the Laws of Nature and Nature's God.” They appealed above the king of England to “the Supreme Judge of the world.”
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.
--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed,
--That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.
[The declaration then goes on to enumerate a long list of grievances they have against King George and the British parliament. It concludes with these words:]
We, therefore, the Representatives of the united States of America, . . . appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world for the rectitude of our intentions, do, in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States; . . . and that as Free and Independent States, they have full Power to levy War, conclude Peace, contract Alliances, establish Commerce, and to do all other Acts and Things which Independent States may of right do.
. . .
Which reminds me of some Bible stories.
In Genesis 18, spends some time visiting Abraham. At the end of their visit God tells Abraham about his plans to destroy Sodom. The way the story is told in Genesis, God says to Abraham that he has heard terrible stories about Sodom. It is a hopelessly wicked place. God is going to check it out, and if it's as wicked as he has heard, God is going to wipe it out.
Abraham is appalled. It sounds to him like God is failing to make any distinction between good people and bad people. “You can't do that.” Abraham protests. “You are the Judge of All the Earth. Surely you, in your position, must do right. You, of all beings, must act justly.”
Then Abraham begins bargaining. “What if there are 50 people? Will you spare the city, if you can find 50 good people in the city?”
God agrees. “For 50 people I will spare the entire city.”
“What about 45?” Abraham asks. “Will you destroy the city for the lack of five people? You're short five people and you wipe out the entire population?”
“Okay,” God says. “If I find 45 I'll save the place.”
Abraham keeps bargaining. He gets God down to 10. If God can find ten good people, he'll spare the city.
God's agents cannot find even ten good people. So, under orders from God they evacuate the four decent people they can find before the place is destroyed.
Abraham was a rebel. He challenged God's stated plans. He held God to a “higher authority.” Being the Supreme Judge of All the Earth did not give God the freedom to do whatever he pleased. Instead, according to Abraham, it imposed on God higher obligations. He had to act in accord with the highest law. He had to do what was right and fair.
Abraham was a rebel, a holy rebel. The Bible describes him as a “Friend of God.” There is not the slightest hint anywhere in the Bible that Abraham was mistaken to challenge God to his face. In fact, the kind of challenge Abraham issued to God-- “Far be it from you! Shall not the judge of all the earth do right.” --appears to be a model for holy living and holy praying. When God condemns, when od threatens destruction, the appropriate role for us is to become holy rebels. We are to plead for, and even demand, mercy.
In Exodus, God gets fed up with the Israelites' hard-headedness and chronic complaining. He tells Moses, “Step aside. I'm going to wipe these people out. I'll get rid of all this riffraff and start over with you. I'll make a new nation based on your descendants. ” The implication is that surely Moses' family will get it right. They will be worthy progenitors of the Messiah. They will give birth to the Savior of the world.
Moses refuses to step out of the way. “You're have to go through me. You're going to have to take me out first if you want to get at my people.” Moses bluntly refuses God's direct command. If God had acted like a classic monarch, Moses would have lost his head. Quickly. Instead God acquiesces. He does not destroy the people. He does not make Moses' descendants the new Messianic line. He goes back to his agonizingly complicated relationship with the Israelites.
Moses was a holy rebel.
In the Old Testament, the one kind of rebellion that is blessed is this rebellion in favor of mercy. When God threatens punishment and disaster, it is wholly appropriate to protest God's action, to plead for him to change his mind, to oppose the divine word.
This is highlighted by the opposite kind of action on the part of the prophet Jonah. In his situation, God announces destruction for the heathen city of Nineveh. They king learns of the threat and calls his people to repentance. God observes this behavior and changes his mind. Jonah gets upset at God's softness. Jonah is a tough-on-sin conservative. God is not impressed. Unlike Abraham and Moses who are celebrated for their arguments with God, Jonah is scorned.
We see the same pattern in the New Testament. In the stories of Jesus, people are always arguing with him. And they always lose. Except when they are arguing for greater mercy, greater generosity.
Once Jesus left Judea and went north to the heathen city of Sidon to get away from the crowds so he can spend some quiet time with his disciples. Somehow a mother discovers Jesus is there. She starts hanging around. When Jesus and the disciples come out of their rented house, she's there and follows them down the street, shouting, “Lord, Son of David! Please! My daughter is suffering terribly from a demon.”
Jesus ignored her. The disciples picked up on his coldness and copying him tried ignoring her. But it didn't work. Exasperated, they begged Jesus to get rid of her. “Please, send her away!”
As we watch the scene, Jesus is confronted with two requests. One is in line with his expressed will. The other starkly contradicts the obvious intentions of Jesus.
According to Matthew, Jesus went to this town to get away. He was on retreat with his disciples, deliberately avoiding public attention, so he could do important personal work with his disciples. When the woman shows up, again Matthew is quite clear, Jesus ignores her. Then when she intrudes so emphatically she cannot be ignored, Jesus explains to his disciples, in front of the woman, that he has been sent to the lost sheep of Israel. In this statement Jesus explicitly states that helping someone like this Canaanite woman would be a deviation from his sacred calling.
The disciples get it and urge Jesus to get rid of the woman. “Send her away! She's driving us crazy with her begging cries.”
The woman refuses to get it. She rejects both the implied intention of Jesus and his explicit statement. She presses her request. “Pleeeease help me!”
Jesus makes one last attempt to get her to see helping her is not part of his plan. “Look here.” He says. “It would not be right to take the children's bread and give it to the dogs.”
She still doesn't get it. Instead of yielding to Jesus' stated intention, she turns Jesus words on their head. “So, you agree your ministry is like feeding children? Then, obviously you understand there will be crumbs. AND,” she goes on, “even the meanest father would not stop the puppies from licking up the crumbs under the table. I'm not taking anything from the children. But if you're feeding the kids, at least let me get at the crumbs.”
Jesus gives in. After three statements of rejection, Jesus looks at the woman and smiles and blesses her for her stubborn argument. “Great is your faith.” He tells her. “Go. Your daughter is healed.”
She is another holy rebel appealing to a higher law.
Abraham, Moses and this nameless pagan woman argue God into changing his mind—or at least acting contrary to his stated intentions. Notice that in every case the successful argument is in favor of greater mercy, a wider circle beneficence.
Abraham appeals to the law of fairness. You can't destroy the good with the bad. And God agrees.
Moses uses two arguments: first, God's own reputation—if you destroy the people that means you failed. You brought them out of Egypt but were unable to get them all the way to Palestine. Second, Moses used his own life as a bargaining chip.
(This second point raises huge questions about the traditional Christian view of the world: We're going to get ours, too bad about the rest. Don't waste emotional energy on the lost. Preach the gospel and move on. Don't get your heart all tied up with the losers. A stark contrast to Moses' emphatic rejection of destruction for the sinners in his neighborhood.)
The woman's argument is simple: My kid needs it. She's not a “tiger mom,” she's a grizzly mom. She will stop at nothing to get the help her kid needs. God, in the person of Jesus, bends to her will.
One of the central pillars of Adventist theology is our regard for God's law. Early on, Adventists paid a lot of attention to the ten commandments. There are TEN commandments, not nine. And all ten still apply. The special focus in our early days was on the Sabbath commandment. God said, Keep the Sabbath holy. Sabbath was the seventh-day of the week. Sunday was the first day of the week, so it was a no-brainer to figure out that going to church on Sunday was not the same thing as keeping Sabbath.
This is still one of our greatest contributions to Christianity. Our spiritual life, our family and civic life are all enriched when we practice Sabbath-keeping.
As Adventists continued to study what the Bible says about God's law we came to realize that God's law is much larger than the Ten Commandments. Jesus summarized God's law for humans in the twin commandments: Love God with your whole heart and your neighbor as yourself. The Ten Commandments are an elaboration of those two foundational principles. All the other rules for godly living are simply further explanations about how to love.
Taking it one step further, The twin rules, love God and your neighbor are not merely rules for humans, they are descriptions of how God himself operates. God loves—within the trinity and outward toward us. The link between God and the “law of love” is so powerful that the law itself can be appealed to in “arguing with God.”
The early American rebels contradicted millennia of belief about the absolute sovereignty of kings. King George was not right just because he was king. Pointing to the king's position was no argument in favor of the justice or rightness of his actions. The goodness of earthly government was measured by the quality of the service it provided to its people.
Adventists believe the same is true of heavenly government. God is not to be worshiped merely because he occupies the throne but because what God does and who he is aligns perfectly with the law of love. We are called to be holy rebels pleading with God to “have mercy.” We are to pray against destruction and condemnation. We are to join Abraham and Moses in resisting the sweep of disastrous judgment. We are to join the Canaanite woman in urging God to show mercy and favor to those who are tormented and enslaved by the Devil.
Some practical implications:
Classic Christian understanding of all three stories argues they were set-ups. Abraham, Moses and the Canaanite woman were actually doing the very thing God wanted. When they argue for mercy over against destruction and rejection they are, in fact, voicing the deeper will of God. The moral of the stories is clear: the job of humans is to push mercy not judgment.
Slavery, women as chattel, the execution of homosexuals, rebellious sons and Sabbath breakers are all presented as God's will. They are the law. Abraham, Moses and the Canaanite woman model a holy rebelliousness in the face of divine severity. It is a kind of rebelliousness we would do well to copy. Instead of gleefully joining other fundamentalists in condemning people and celebrating the wrath of God, we ought to join the holy rebels in reminding God that it makes him look bad in the world if he fails to save all his children. “Holy rebels” are indefatigable partisans of love, fighting not for their own rights and privileges, but for the well being of those who need a champion. This kind of holy rebellion will transform us and bring in deeper, richer friendship with God.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Doing Spirituality
In light of my previous post about the joy of moving, I am going to talk about the physicality of spiritual practices.
In other eras, some writers and teachers had a lot to say about what we ought do with our body in prayer, singing, reading, preaching, listening to sermons. In recent years, many preachers have spent a fair amount of energy insisting that posture does not matter. God will hear our prayers whether our eyes are open or shut, whether we're kneeling or standing or sitting, whether we are lying on our backs or lying on our stomachs or standing on our heads.
All this verbiage about God being able to hear our prayers no matter what our posture misses the point. The question is not can God hear us? That's hardly a useful question. Of course, God can hear us. A relevant question would be are there postures that will enhance our prayer experience. Are some bodily positions and actions especially conducive to a rich prayer experience?
There is a profound connection between bodily action and posture and what goes on in our minds. In light of this, we would do well to give greater credence to the various spiritual practices that are said to enhance our experience of God.
Given the power of the body it would make sense that prayer performed in a kneeling position will be a very different experience from prayer performed standing with our face lifted toward heaven and our arms spread wide. The physical difference between Pentecostal worship with its exuberance and noise and activity and a liturgical service with its order, rationality and stillness necessarily means there is a spiritual difference.
I do not believe that one form is superior to the other. Neither embraces the full range of human encounters with God. Both can be idolized. Each offers a way for worshipers to be bodily present with their God.
It's possible to “participate” in mountain climbing by watching it on television. You can “participate” in surfing by watching YouTube videos of super surfers on giant waves. You can “play” football by sitting on the couch and watching. But few people who have climbed a mountain or caught a wave or intercepted a pass would be satisfied to settle for watching.
In spiritual life, it's possible to participate by watching. We can listen to sermons about praying, we can watch musicians perform during church, we can read books about fasting and feasting, about meditating and studying. But the people who find the deepest satisfaction in spiritual life are those who do, who engage in spiritual activities. They kneel for prayer or they stand and face the morning sun with their face lifted and their arms spread wide. They purposefully make one meal a day or one meal a week a tactile spiritual activity. Spirituality, among people who get the most out of, is something they do with their bodies. It takes deliberate activity. It's not an idea, it's not only a feeling, it's not even theology, as important as theology is. Spirituality is something we do with our bodies.
We do not imagine that God needs us to get in some kind of posture before he can hear us or before he can see us or respond to us. We do imagine that engaging our bodies in spiritual practices will be a far richer experience than playing with ideas in our heads or sitting still while others sing or talk about praying.
In other eras, some writers and teachers had a lot to say about what we ought do with our body in prayer, singing, reading, preaching, listening to sermons. In recent years, many preachers have spent a fair amount of energy insisting that posture does not matter. God will hear our prayers whether our eyes are open or shut, whether we're kneeling or standing or sitting, whether we are lying on our backs or lying on our stomachs or standing on our heads.
All this verbiage about God being able to hear our prayers no matter what our posture misses the point. The question is not can God hear us? That's hardly a useful question. Of course, God can hear us. A relevant question would be are there postures that will enhance our prayer experience. Are some bodily positions and actions especially conducive to a rich prayer experience?
There is a profound connection between bodily action and posture and what goes on in our minds. In light of this, we would do well to give greater credence to the various spiritual practices that are said to enhance our experience of God.
Given the power of the body it would make sense that prayer performed in a kneeling position will be a very different experience from prayer performed standing with our face lifted toward heaven and our arms spread wide. The physical difference between Pentecostal worship with its exuberance and noise and activity and a liturgical service with its order, rationality and stillness necessarily means there is a spiritual difference.
I do not believe that one form is superior to the other. Neither embraces the full range of human encounters with God. Both can be idolized. Each offers a way for worshipers to be bodily present with their God.
It's possible to “participate” in mountain climbing by watching it on television. You can “participate” in surfing by watching YouTube videos of super surfers on giant waves. You can “play” football by sitting on the couch and watching. But few people who have climbed a mountain or caught a wave or intercepted a pass would be satisfied to settle for watching.
In spiritual life, it's possible to participate by watching. We can listen to sermons about praying, we can watch musicians perform during church, we can read books about fasting and feasting, about meditating and studying. But the people who find the deepest satisfaction in spiritual life are those who do, who engage in spiritual activities. They kneel for prayer or they stand and face the morning sun with their face lifted and their arms spread wide. They purposefully make one meal a day or one meal a week a tactile spiritual activity. Spirituality, among people who get the most out of, is something they do with their bodies. It takes deliberate activity. It's not an idea, it's not only a feeling, it's not even theology, as important as theology is. Spirituality is something we do with our bodies.
We do not imagine that God needs us to get in some kind of posture before he can hear us or before he can see us or respond to us. We do imagine that engaging our bodies in spiritual practices will be a far richer experience than playing with ideas in our heads or sitting still while others sing or talk about praying.
The Joy of Moving
Last night I was researching a hike in the North Cascades. I came across pictures taken by some guys who climbed a peak in the area during the winter. The pictures featured blinding expanses of snow, sweeping, steep snow fields and little dots connected with lines across the snow (climbers linked by ropes). It was a sunny day. In nearly every picture, you could not miss the implied exertion required to be where these guys were. Every step up that steep snowfield at that elevation required serious breathing. After climbing for 30 or 40 minutes, or an hour or two, the legs begin to burn. Still, in every picture where you could see someone's face, they were smiling. It got me to thinking.
I've done some winter hiking in the Cascades. I've spent hours laboriously kicking steps with my snowshoes as we inched our way up an interminable snow field. There is the constant tug-of-war between the heat generation from your muscles and the heat sucking effect of wind and frigid temperature. You try to get just the right balance of enough clothes to avoid getting cold while avoiding excessive sweating. After awhile on a really steep slope you begin to think of nothing except reaching the top and being done.
It seems like a crazy exercise. Why not just take a helicopter to the summit?
If you done it, you know the answer. There is a mysterious, deep satisfaction in the exertion, in the repetitive motion of marching up a mountain. It is not just the exhilaration of standing on the summit. There is a soul-stirring gladness in the climbing itself. It is an experience available only to those who do it. You cannot have that experience from watching someone else do it or reading about it. there is a priceless, deep satisfaction that you can no only in the doing.
It's the same with body-surfing, running, yoga. You challenge yourself. You push yourself. You deliberately disturb your own comfort. You embrace discomfort in order to experience the satisfaction, the fun, the enjoyment that comes beyond the discomfort. At first, maybe, you do it only because someone is urging you. A friend, a coach, your doctor. Later, your own experience testifies to the sweet satisfaction that comes in the doing. Not merely from the doing, though, of course, that is also true. But in the doing. You find yourself delighting in the sheer physically of the motion. Our bodies were made to reach, to run, to stretch, to move. When we engage in intense physical activity our bodies rejoice. We rejoice. It is good.
So do it already.
I've done some winter hiking in the Cascades. I've spent hours laboriously kicking steps with my snowshoes as we inched our way up an interminable snow field. There is the constant tug-of-war between the heat generation from your muscles and the heat sucking effect of wind and frigid temperature. You try to get just the right balance of enough clothes to avoid getting cold while avoiding excessive sweating. After awhile on a really steep slope you begin to think of nothing except reaching the top and being done.
It seems like a crazy exercise. Why not just take a helicopter to the summit?
If you done it, you know the answer. There is a mysterious, deep satisfaction in the exertion, in the repetitive motion of marching up a mountain. It is not just the exhilaration of standing on the summit. There is a soul-stirring gladness in the climbing itself. It is an experience available only to those who do it. You cannot have that experience from watching someone else do it or reading about it. there is a priceless, deep satisfaction that you can no only in the doing.
It's the same with body-surfing, running, yoga. You challenge yourself. You push yourself. You deliberately disturb your own comfort. You embrace discomfort in order to experience the satisfaction, the fun, the enjoyment that comes beyond the discomfort. At first, maybe, you do it only because someone is urging you. A friend, a coach, your doctor. Later, your own experience testifies to the sweet satisfaction that comes in the doing. Not merely from the doing, though, of course, that is also true. But in the doing. You find yourself delighting in the sheer physically of the motion. Our bodies were made to reach, to run, to stretch, to move. When we engage in intense physical activity our bodies rejoice. We rejoice. It is good.
So do it already.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Perfect Final Generation?????
The notion of a "final, perfect generation", a group of people who finally get it right, sounds wonderful. What a grand privilege to be part of something so spectacular and significant. It sounds wonderful, but in practice it always leads ultimately to despair. Because you never get it right. Eventually you are forced to recognize that either God does not keep his promises (as you understand them) or you cannot or will not keep yours. Either way it becomes clear to you that you are not going to be part of this special group that seized your imagination.
Rather than dream of "finally getting right" it is wiser to simply do today what God makes available. To quote the Wisest One: Take no thought for the morrow. Embrace the habits of holiness--time with God, Bible study, worship and service. Take the one step that is right in front of you. That is all your Father asks. It is the same thing he has asked of every person in every age.
Doing now, today, right now, this minute what God asks is enough. Tomorrow is, at best, irrelevant. It often becomes a distraction from our true calling. We become preoccupied with our failings and eventually lose sight of the smiling face of God.
Rather than dream of "finally getting right" it is wiser to simply do today what God makes available. To quote the Wisest One: Take no thought for the morrow. Embrace the habits of holiness--time with God, Bible study, worship and service. Take the one step that is right in front of you. That is all your Father asks. It is the same thing he has asked of every person in every age.
Doing now, today, right now, this minute what God asks is enough. Tomorrow is, at best, irrelevant. It often becomes a distraction from our true calling. We become preoccupied with our failings and eventually lose sight of the smiling face of God.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Offensive Language in the Adventist Review
In an editorial published June 9, 2011, Bill Knott, the editor of the Adventist Review condemned people who pronounce the word "Adventist" differently the customary pronunciation among Anglo Adventists.
Knott wrote that people who pronounce the name of our church the way that is customary among West Indians, this is proof they do not have "a full understanding" of the church.
Claiming that a particular inflection of the English version of the name of our church is essential to a "full understanding" of our mission and identity is an astonishing claim. It is false. It is offensive.
Bill Knott ought to apologize or resign.
Knott wrote that people who pronounce the name of our church the way that is customary among West Indians, this is proof they do not have "a full understanding" of the church.
Claiming that a particular inflection of the English version of the name of our church is essential to a "full understanding" of our mission and identity is an astonishing claim. It is false. It is offensive.
Bill Knott ought to apologize or resign.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Heavenly Feast or Diabolical Disaster?
I'm sure you seen the headlines: May 21, 2011, 6 P.M. the end of the world is supposed to begin. Harold Camping, an engineer who owns a network of Christian radio stations, is predicting “The Rapture” will occur this evening beginning at 6 p.m. GMT. (Beware of theology constructed by engineers! They do better with airplanes and bridges.)
Adventists are dismissive Camping's predictions. We don't believe in the rapture, so his date cannot be correct. Officially, we don't believe in setting dates, though of course, date-setting is exactly how we got started 150 years ago. And there have been many unofficial date-setting movements within our church, including the “Seventh Millennium” movement which predicted the world would end in 1994, 6000 years after the putative date of creation. In fact, Harold Camping was a leading figure in the “1994 Movement” and many Adventists got caught up in the enthusiasm.
Camping and the Adventists were wrong then. Camping's wrong now. But his greatest error is not his date-setting. The most unfortunate effect of these endtime scenarios is the way they link the Second Coming with catastrophe. Ask any kid in a church that talks a lot about the endtime to describe the Second Coming, and he/she will reply with words about earthquakes, wars, famines, and false Christs. The return of Jesus is bad news.
Several years ago Adventist evangelist Shawn Boonstra presented a five-night series of meetings on the Second Coming. These meetings were electronically distributed across the entire United States. Thousands (tens of thousands?) gathered to hear his presentations. People invited their friends to hear about Jesus' return.
What did we hear? We heard about gloom and doom, about catastrophe and calamity, about crime and disease. In the entire five nights there was no sustained presentation about why anyone would want Jesus to return.
This is typical of Adventist discourse on the second coming. At best, it is a distortion of what Jesus taught. At worst it is a contradiction.
In Matthew 24 and 25 Jesus spoke about the end of the world. He acknowledged that calamity and spiritual darkness are common in the world. He specifically stated that these kinds of things would characterize the world until the end. He did NOT say that they would get worse. He did not say that they had to reach a certain level of awfulness before the second coming would occur. This Matthew discourse was in response to the misplaced desire of the disciples to know WHEN the end would come. Wrong question. You always get the wrong answer if you try to answer it.
When Jesus, on his own initiative, talked to his disciples about the end, his speech had a completely different tone.
According to all three synoptic Gospels, at the Last Supper Jesus spoke about his anticipation of reunion with his disciples. When Jesus dreamed of the end, he did not dream of earthquakes, wars and famines. He dreamed of a feast. He dreamed of sitting down at a grand feast with his disciples.
In Luke chapter 22, verse 16, Jesus tells his disciples, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.” Then he goes on to say, “I will not eat it again, until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.”
Later in the evening he said to his disciples, “You are those who stood by me in my trials, and I confer on you a kingdom just as my father conferred one on me so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and sit on thrones judging the 12 tribes of Israel.”
What does Jesus dream about when he looks forward to the future? He dreams of having dinner with his friends. He dreams of having dinner with you and me.
Jesus is not fascinated by earthquakes and wars and famines and plagues and terrorism. He's looking beyond those things to something really sweet, to something really good. He's looking forward to sharing dinner with you.
I wish Harold Camping was right about the date. I wish we were sitting down this evening to dinner with Jesus.
I can't control the date of the end of the world. But I can choose the focus of my attention. My dream is like that of Jesus. I do not dream about earthquakes and famines and wars. I dream of dinner with the Master. I can hardly wait.
Adventists are dismissive Camping's predictions. We don't believe in the rapture, so his date cannot be correct. Officially, we don't believe in setting dates, though of course, date-setting is exactly how we got started 150 years ago. And there have been many unofficial date-setting movements within our church, including the “Seventh Millennium” movement which predicted the world would end in 1994, 6000 years after the putative date of creation. In fact, Harold Camping was a leading figure in the “1994 Movement” and many Adventists got caught up in the enthusiasm.
Camping and the Adventists were wrong then. Camping's wrong now. But his greatest error is not his date-setting. The most unfortunate effect of these endtime scenarios is the way they link the Second Coming with catastrophe. Ask any kid in a church that talks a lot about the endtime to describe the Second Coming, and he/she will reply with words about earthquakes, wars, famines, and false Christs. The return of Jesus is bad news.
Several years ago Adventist evangelist Shawn Boonstra presented a five-night series of meetings on the Second Coming. These meetings were electronically distributed across the entire United States. Thousands (tens of thousands?) gathered to hear his presentations. People invited their friends to hear about Jesus' return.
What did we hear? We heard about gloom and doom, about catastrophe and calamity, about crime and disease. In the entire five nights there was no sustained presentation about why anyone would want Jesus to return.
This is typical of Adventist discourse on the second coming. At best, it is a distortion of what Jesus taught. At worst it is a contradiction.
In Matthew 24 and 25 Jesus spoke about the end of the world. He acknowledged that calamity and spiritual darkness are common in the world. He specifically stated that these kinds of things would characterize the world until the end. He did NOT say that they would get worse. He did not say that they had to reach a certain level of awfulness before the second coming would occur. This Matthew discourse was in response to the misplaced desire of the disciples to know WHEN the end would come. Wrong question. You always get the wrong answer if you try to answer it.
When Jesus, on his own initiative, talked to his disciples about the end, his speech had a completely different tone.
According to all three synoptic Gospels, at the Last Supper Jesus spoke about his anticipation of reunion with his disciples. When Jesus dreamed of the end, he did not dream of earthquakes, wars and famines. He dreamed of a feast. He dreamed of sitting down at a grand feast with his disciples.
In Luke chapter 22, verse 16, Jesus tells his disciples, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.” Then he goes on to say, “I will not eat it again, until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.”
Later in the evening he said to his disciples, “You are those who stood by me in my trials, and I confer on you a kingdom just as my father conferred one on me so that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom and sit on thrones judging the 12 tribes of Israel.”
What does Jesus dream about when he looks forward to the future? He dreams of having dinner with his friends. He dreams of having dinner with you and me.
Jesus is not fascinated by earthquakes and wars and famines and plagues and terrorism. He's looking beyond those things to something really sweet, to something really good. He's looking forward to sharing dinner with you.
I wish Harold Camping was right about the date. I wish we were sitting down this evening to dinner with Jesus.
I can't control the date of the end of the world. But I can choose the focus of my attention. My dream is like that of Jesus. I do not dream about earthquakes and famines and wars. I dream of dinner with the Master. I can hardly wait.
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