I tend to think of the Christian life from three different perspectives: our relationship to God, our relationship to the church, as the community of God's people, and our relationship to the world, as the object of God's creative, righteous and redemptive rule. Our fundamental task as the church in the world is worship - our repsonse to God. In that, we respond in particular ways to both the church and to the world. We can never isolate worship, for example, from fellowship (as we are all too prone to do in our individualistic and privatized culture), or from the mission we've been given to make disciples in the world (and here we are always struggling, flipping back and forth between worldliness - losing our 'saltiness' - and Christian isolationism - which, ironically, is another form of worldliness).
In other words, the task of the church must be theologically (--> doxalogically), ecclesiologically, and missiologically comprehended. Paul, in my mind, is the preeminent model of this balance. Who can dispute Paul's obvious theological depth? Certainly the apostle was a theologian of the first order. Moreover, he did not think his theology too rarified or sophisticated for the average church member. He expected every student of Christ to follow his profound argumentation as proponded in his many epistles. The epistle of Romans, for example, is an incredible piece of sustained, rigorous and sophisticated theological reasoning. And he expected his readers to 'get it' (Ro.15:14-15) - not easily or without serious work, but to understand it nevertheless. This is a very different methodology of 'doing church' then is common in evangelical circles today, where we assume the lowest common denominator and are told to "put the cookies on the bottom shelf." The fact is, the 'cookies' worth having, which God has embedded in his self-revelation of Scripture, cannot be found on the bottom shelf. Such gems, to switch metaphors, have to be worked at to be unearthed and thoroughly polished to be fully appreciated.
Yet, as a theologian, Paul was eminently practical. His theology was always a working theology - an applied theology. Paul was not an arm chair theologian. Arm chair theology is idle chit chat compared to the profound theology which motivated the apostle, and filled his heart and mind with awe and worship (e.g., Ro.11:33-36). Paul's theology drove him to obedience, to carry out the commission given him as an apostle to the Gentiles. And he expected that such theologizing would similarly drive his disciples into greater obedience to their high calling in Christ.
Paul was also a 'churchman'. He was deeply concerned with the health of the churches he planted (e.g., 2Co.11:28-29). He loved the church, both globally as the glorious object of God's redeeming love, and locally, in the particular churches he served. He loved and served these chruches with a passion and intensity that sets the highest pastoral standard for leaders who would follow his example (e.g., 2Co.7:2ff.).
Yet, Paul clearly was driven to preach the gospel beyond the geographic circles of where Christ was known (Ro.15:19-20). Why? Because he wanted to be obedient to the God who called him, serving him faithfully in his priestly task of sanctifying the Gentiles in Christ through the gospel (Ro.15:16). He was so driven to preach because he loved the church of God, and wanted to see it fully formed in grace (e.g., Col.1:28).
Contrast this with the false dichotomies that abound in evangelicalism today. Detailed, doctrinal concern, for example, is often juxtaposed unfavorably with the 'missional' endeavor. Theological questions and concerns are often dismissed as 'getting in the way' of the mission - an unnecessary and fruitless aside. Rather, our working motto tends to be, 'get 'er done!'- as though the mission isn't fraught with theological questions of the deepest sort, that must be thought (re-thought) through carefully and faithfully.
Pastoral ministry likewise is often set at odds with evangelism and missions. "Quit being inward focused," we're told, "and focus on the lost" (as though it were ever either/or). And theology is seen, by many, as practically irrelevant to pastoral care and church development, or even worse, as a stumbling block to church growth. Or consider 'professional' theology, in which an 'academically free' theologizing in ivory towers is removed from the everyday, mundane concerns of pastoral ministry. One has only to survey the fruit of such 'unchurched' theology to see the outcome of disconnecting theology from the practical realities of the local church. It is neither good for the theologians, their theology, nor their students. Or consider the outcome of removing theology and church practice from the demands and pressures the Great Commission places upon us. At best we are left with a 'dead orthodoxy,' in which theological truths are merely parroted, or only assumed, and, at worst, a thriving heresy. What one generation assumes, without rigorous teaching and defending, the next generation dismisses.
Theocentric, ecclesiocentric and missiocentric. Paul's example doesn't let us get away with our easy outs, predicated on such false tensions. Let us follow his example of preaching a theologically-conscious gospel for the sake of the church and God's glory.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Sunday, August 10, 2008
The Disabled Life: Moses, William and Me
I remember sitting around Wil’s plexiglass bassinette in the pastel, faux-warmth of Shand’s NICU II nursery, explaining to my mother that our blond-headed, blue-eyed premie would soon need open heart surgery to repair a large VSD, an ASD and PDA (grim acronyms I had learned only a week before). Of course, I also had to explain the diagnosis of Down Syndrome. Wil would be developmentally delayed – mentally retarded. He would suffer from low muscle-tone, making it more difficult to raise his head, to lift his body, to crawl, to walk and to speak. In addition to his cardiovascular issues, he would be liable to a whole host of health problems, such as hypothyroidism, gastrointestinal complications, spinal malformations and childhood leukemia. Chances are that William Hayne Walden, named after my father, would be sterile. No children of his own.
As I enumerated the implications of Wil’s extra chromosome (some only possible, others likely) I was stung again by my own prognostic pessimism. I watched Wil lay there, with my mother stroking his peach-fuzzed head, small and helpless. And I loved him. Was it pity? At the risk of indulging in existential cliché, I paused and said, “We are all disabled, aren’t we?”
Why did I just say that out loud?
Wil’s enfeebling condition and diagnosis was an indictment against us all, I thought. Perhaps I felt self-pity. And then I realized that what I had sensed was more akin to the fear of God. Wil was a picture to me, all of a sudden, of the human condition. Love and pity and fear.
In the Book of Psalms there is one entry by the man named Moses. In Psalm 90, the hoary Jewish patriarch reflects on our frail and fallen form.
Men can be favorably compared to other men, but never to God. Moses spent his entire life reflecting on the power and righteousness of the Almighty as revealed to him and his people in Egypt and the vast stretches of the Sinai wilderness – a power and righteousness set in sharp relief against the patent weakness and wickedness of men. All men. Even the great patriarch himself was refused entrance into the land of Canaan - the promised rest and goal of their forty year pilgrimage - because of his own moral failure at the waters of Meribah. At the end of his life he was granted a panoramic view of “the land flowing with milk and honey” from the great heights of Pisgah; but that was as close as he got. Moses breathed his last in the Moab valley below, and was buried in an unmarked grave on the wrong side of the Jordan.
He knew well his own frailty. When first confronted with the deity named “I Am Who I Am” in the burning bush, Moses cowered before the glory of his forefathers’ god.
I thought about that as I looked at my son. Who made him? Who formed him with his frailties and weaknesses? It was an awesome thought: frightening and hopeful.
I thought about that again a week later when a pastor and friend of mine called me from New Jersey. I remember only his last remark: “Wil will be an incredible blessing to you and to God’s people.” I wept. And though I didn’t know how exactly, I believed his words would prove true. I hoped.
Moses hoped. Even while languishing in the desert those forty years, without a homeland, and with hope deferred, he was yet at home with his God. “Lord,” he confesses at the start of his psalm, “you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”
The Lord was Wil’s maker; skillful hands had formed our son, tenderly and intimately in the secret place (Ps.139:15). And into those hands his life would be repeatedly entrusted in the years to come - whether standing in dreary, antiseptic rooms of hospitals agonizing, or sitting on the edge of our queen-sized bed with anxious hands folded. The God of Moses and Wil has been our home, our rest and our hope.
Even to the bittersweet end of his life, Moses’ stubborn hope and vigor were strong. In the words of the Letter to the Hebrews, “he was looking ahead to his reward” - even as his eyes surveyed the promise land for the last time.
Indeed, when all was said and done, God would establish the work of his servant’s feeble hands (Ps.90:17), and prove the utterances of his stammering tongue.
Wil’s infirmities boldly underline my own before a sovereign and holy God. They remind me that I am on the wrong side of the Jordan: profoundly disabled and utterly helpless. Ironically, however, in his weakness Wil has great power. He has the power to frighten us, reminding us that we are, after all, merely men. He shows us plainly our own brokenness.
But he also has the power to delight us, charming us with his easy smiles and irresistible laughter, winning us with undeniable loveliness and grace. And in this - in Wil’s power to bless me and those around him (whether then, as he lay silent in a NICU isolette, or now, as he waddles cackling down the grocery store aisle), in sharp relief to his obvious frailty - the graceful power and goodness of God is clearly demonstrated for all who care to see.
He is wonderful.
As I enumerated the implications of Wil’s extra chromosome (some only possible, others likely) I was stung again by my own prognostic pessimism. I watched Wil lay there, with my mother stroking his peach-fuzzed head, small and helpless. And I loved him. Was it pity? At the risk of indulging in existential cliché, I paused and said, “We are all disabled, aren’t we?”
Why did I just say that out loud?
Wil’s enfeebling condition and diagnosis was an indictment against us all, I thought. Perhaps I felt self-pity. And then I realized that what I had sensed was more akin to the fear of God. Wil was a picture to me, all of a sudden, of the human condition. Love and pity and fear.
In the Book of Psalms there is one entry by the man named Moses. In Psalm 90, the hoary Jewish patriarch reflects on our frail and fallen form.
Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. You turn men back to dust, saying, "Return to dust, O sons of men." For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night. You sweep men away in the sleep of death; they are like the new grass of the morning-- though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered.
We are consumed by your anger and terrified by your indignation. You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence. All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan. The length of our days is seventy years-- or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.
Men can be favorably compared to other men, but never to God. Moses spent his entire life reflecting on the power and righteousness of the Almighty as revealed to him and his people in Egypt and the vast stretches of the Sinai wilderness – a power and righteousness set in sharp relief against the patent weakness and wickedness of men. All men. Even the great patriarch himself was refused entrance into the land of Canaan - the promised rest and goal of their forty year pilgrimage - because of his own moral failure at the waters of Meribah. At the end of his life he was granted a panoramic view of “the land flowing with milk and honey” from the great heights of Pisgah; but that was as close as he got. Moses breathed his last in the Moab valley below, and was buried in an unmarked grave on the wrong side of the Jordan.
He knew well his own frailty. When first confronted with the deity named “I Am Who I Am” in the burning bush, Moses cowered before the glory of his forefathers’ god.
Do not come near here; remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.Moses hid his face in fear, and the Lord spoke. He cowered again at the command issued: “So now, go! I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt.” “Who am I,” asked Moses, “that I should go to Pharaoh, and that I should bring the Israelites out of Egypt?” Yet, even after the great “I Am,” had repeatedly reassured him, Moses protested:
O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue.The Lord’s patience was growing thin. “Who gave man his mouth,” He interrogated, “Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the Lord?”
I thought about that as I looked at my son. Who made him? Who formed him with his frailties and weaknesses? It was an awesome thought: frightening and hopeful.
I thought about that again a week later when a pastor and friend of mine called me from New Jersey. I remember only his last remark: “Wil will be an incredible blessing to you and to God’s people.” I wept. And though I didn’t know how exactly, I believed his words would prove true. I hoped.
Moses hoped. Even while languishing in the desert those forty years, without a homeland, and with hope deferred, he was yet at home with his God. “Lord,” he confesses at the start of his psalm, “you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.”
The Lord was Wil’s maker; skillful hands had formed our son, tenderly and intimately in the secret place (Ps.139:15). And into those hands his life would be repeatedly entrusted in the years to come - whether standing in dreary, antiseptic rooms of hospitals agonizing, or sitting on the edge of our queen-sized bed with anxious hands folded. The God of Moses and Wil has been our home, our rest and our hope.
Even to the bittersweet end of his life, Moses’ stubborn hope and vigor were strong. In the words of the Letter to the Hebrews, “he was looking ahead to his reward” - even as his eyes surveyed the promise land for the last time.
Indeed, when all was said and done, God would establish the work of his servant’s feeble hands (Ps.90:17), and prove the utterances of his stammering tongue.
Wil’s infirmities boldly underline my own before a sovereign and holy God. They remind me that I am on the wrong side of the Jordan: profoundly disabled and utterly helpless. Ironically, however, in his weakness Wil has great power. He has the power to frighten us, reminding us that we are, after all, merely men. He shows us plainly our own brokenness.
But he also has the power to delight us, charming us with his easy smiles and irresistible laughter, winning us with undeniable loveliness and grace. And in this - in Wil’s power to bless me and those around him (whether then, as he lay silent in a NICU isolette, or now, as he waddles cackling down the grocery store aisle), in sharp relief to his obvious frailty - the graceful power and goodness of God is clearly demonstrated for all who care to see.
He is wonderful.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The Ethnocentrism of Paul
Was Paul a dispensationalist or a covenantalist? Probably neither, strictly speaking. But one thing is clear: his eschatology was Israel-centered. Now, I know that that is a controversial claim, and indeed, in many evangelical circles, fighting words! Of course, his eschatology was theocentric, christocentric and kingdom-centered, but that does not mean that it was not also Israel-centered. In fact, the very language of "kingdom" and "Christ" and even "God" is really incomprehensible apart from Israel - her history, her scriptures, and her destiny.
By "Israel" I mean straightfowardly the nation that descended from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In a word, Paul's "kinsmen according to the flesh" (Ro.9:3). This is clearly what the apostle means in using the term "Israel" in his writings (Gal.6:16, with its noteworthy qualifier "of God," is a disputed exception, which in any case proves the rule). This is particularly clear in Ro.9-11, where Paul's whole discussion is predicated on the distinction between Israel and the Gentiles, who have been ("contrary to nature") included into the "olive tree" of the Abrahamic covenant. The whole subject of his discussion in these chapters is the remarkable fact that Gentiles (who were "excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world") were receiving the good news, while Israel (the historic people of God) rejected it.
Israel and the nations, then, are distinguished, though no longer divided in Christ (Eph.2:11ff.). There are, after all, both wild olive shoots and the natural branches connected to the nourishing root (Ro.11:17). To obfuscate the distinction is to obviate God's glory and grace in fulfilling his ancient promises through Jesus Christ - the son of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Judah, the Root of Jesse and the Son of David.
This distinction between Israel and the Gentiles, of course, is also maintained in the apostolic mission of preaching the gospel "to the Jew first, and also to the Greek," (Ro.1:16; cf. Ac.3:26; 13:46; etc.). Why? Because, as Paul writes:
By "Israel" I mean straightfowardly the nation that descended from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In a word, Paul's "kinsmen according to the flesh" (Ro.9:3). This is clearly what the apostle means in using the term "Israel" in his writings (Gal.6:16, with its noteworthy qualifier "of God," is a disputed exception, which in any case proves the rule). This is particularly clear in Ro.9-11, where Paul's whole discussion is predicated on the distinction between Israel and the Gentiles, who have been ("contrary to nature") included into the "olive tree" of the Abrahamic covenant. The whole subject of his discussion in these chapters is the remarkable fact that Gentiles (who were "excluded from citizenship in Israel and foreigners to the covenants of the promise, without hope and without God in the world") were receiving the good news, while Israel (the historic people of God) rejected it.
What then shall we say? That the Gentiles, who did not pursue righteousness, have obtained it, a righteousness that is by faith; but Israel, who pursued a law of righteousness, has not attained it.Even when we consider the fact that Paul calls Gentiles who believe "sons of Abraham," we also note that he maintains a distinction for those who, in addition to being "of the faith of Abraham," are also "of the Law" (Ro.4:16). For, in addition to the uncircumcised who believe, Abraham "is also the father of the circumcised who not only are circumcised but who also walk in the footsteps of the faith that our father Abraham had before he was circumcised" (4:12). Rather than obliterating the distinction between Jew and Gentile, it would seem that our inclusion as Gentiles into the blessing of Abraham (Gal.3:6-14) with believing Israel (is this the meaning of Gal.6:16?) confirms it, as the fulfillment of the covenant. For in Christ, God has made good on his promise to bless not only Abraham and his physical descendents (confirming the promises to "the circumcision", Ro.15:8), but also, thereby, all the nations! And so, Abraham is not only the father of blessed Israel, but of "many nations" as well (Ro.4:17).
Israel and the nations, then, are distinguished, though no longer divided in Christ (Eph.2:11ff.). There are, after all, both wild olive shoots and the natural branches connected to the nourishing root (Ro.11:17). To obfuscate the distinction is to obviate God's glory and grace in fulfilling his ancient promises through Jesus Christ - the son of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Judah, the Root of Jesse and the Son of David.
This distinction between Israel and the Gentiles, of course, is also maintained in the apostolic mission of preaching the gospel "to the Jew first, and also to the Greek," (Ro.1:16; cf. Ac.3:26; 13:46; etc.). Why? Because, as Paul writes:
Theirs is the adoption as sons; theirs the divine glory, the covenants, the receiving of the law, the temple worship and the promises. Theirs are the patriarchs, and from them is traced the human ancestry of Christ, who is GodEven in his ministry to the Gentiles, Paul had a certain Israel-centered motive:
over all, forever praised! Amen.
Inasmuch as I am the apostle to the Gentiles, I make much of my ministry in the hope that I may somehow arouse my own people to envy and save some of them.And even though the elect nation, by and large, has rejected the gospel, yet, as Paul is at pains to show in the epistle to the Romans, the covenant made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob regarding the people of Israel is not thereby nullified:
As far as the gospel is concerned, they are enemies on your account; but as far as election is concerned, they are loved on account of the patriarchsBut how is this divine love for ethnic Israel consummated? Is it? Is it like "a hope deferred" - indefinitely? Or is that hope realized? Is this love fulfilled? Paul seemed to think that it would be.
But if their transgression means riches for the world, and their loss means riches for the Gentiles, how much greater riches will their fullness bring! ...For if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead?In the corpus of Paul's writings, and within the context of the whole New Testament, what can "life from the dead" possibly mean but resurrection? Likewise, Paul expected that this "fullness" of Israel would be accomplished when "the deliverer will come from Zion; he will turn godlessness away from Jacob," and "take away their sins," (Ro.11:26, 27). Clearly, in the context of Paul's whole discussion, this has not happened yet. Israel/Jacob was still plainly in her sin - enemies with respect to the gospel! Paul's hope for Israel then was eschatological. Like Peter and the other apostles (Ac.1:6; 3:19-21), Paul saw the full restoration of Israel to God as the climax of history, in which Christ would return in glory, and renew all things - in fulfillment of all that the prophets had spoken. And to this great end he labored.
Sex in Advertising
It's as old as your grandma...though, perhaps, not always equally effective...
You've come a long way, baby!
(Btw, my grandma sent me this picture...)
You've come a long way, baby!
(Btw, my grandma sent me this picture...)
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
God, Rationality and Revelation
Recently, a letter written by Albert Einstein to a philosopher named Eric Gutkind, penned just before his death, was auctioned at Bloomsbury Auctions in London, demonstrating his dismissal of belief in God. In it he writes,
So Einstein was not an atheist in the sense that he wanted to deny any force beyond what science could explain. As he wrote in his letter to Gutkind,
The idea of God is necessary in order to ground the scientific endeavor (e.g., giving warrant to the presuppositions of comprehensibility, uniformity, the validity of empirical study and inductive reasoning, etc.). However, we are also told that we are limited by those same presuppositions as to what we can and cannot assert about God. Take miracles for example. Many have argued that miracles are impossible by definition, as they would presumably interrupt the uniformity of natural law. Hence, the Creator who grounds the natural world apparently cannot in turn act to interfere with it. For Deists, such a god is thus self-limiting. For pantheists, however, he cannot do otherwise; for he is the embodiment of the universe’s intrinsic and integrated rationality. Either way, the deity’s hands are tied by his own, physical laws.
However, as philosophers have pointed out, it seems more consistent, not to confidently reject the possibility of the miraculous, as did the rationalists, but to simply confess (as we do wherever we approach such limits in science, e.g., on the edge of the singularity of the Big Bang): at this point, we simply do not, and within the strictures of science, cannot know. Science cannot speak assertively to the reality of the miraculous per se – by definition. To argue for or against it is to go beyond the scope of the defining, scientific method. Rather, to make such assertions, one way or the other, is to lean, by faith, on our presuppositions.
I tend to agree with Kant and others that God cannot be absolutely proved positively. Though there is warrant to the traditional arguments for God, I find, there is an even more compeling case to be made for God as a necessary hypothesis. This is the essence of the so-called “transcendental argument,” so powerfully used by Kant in epistemology and, to a lesser extent, in ethics.
However, the Christian worldview goes beyond the transcendental arguments from necessity, to speak of a God who is known ‘unnecessarily’ – and thereby, more clearly, intelligibly, and even intimately. That is to say, this unknowable God has freely chosen to make himself known to his creatures in a personal act of Self-disclosure: a gracious unveiling of his eternal, hidden, holy Person and purposes. This is something God did not have to do. The invisible and unapproachable God is, in principle, beyond our feeble grasp (this is the ancient doctrine of “divine incomprehensibility”). Nevertheless, he has lovingly stooped to speak to us, in terms which are both accurate and accessible to us. As John Calvin put it, “God lisps to his children” – baby talk! He has accommodated himself in order that we ‘mere mortals’ might know him truly, fully, and personally.
The divine revelation to mankind is freely mediated through creation (and science is one such expression of our knowledge of divine revelation, as given through “what has been made,” Romans 1:20), through providence (e.g., Acts 14:17) and through redemption. These are typically categorized in terms of general and special revelation. Special revelation is the act wherein the Supreme Being has revealed himself in redemption specifically.
What do I mean by that?
God has made himself known, not only in the intrinsic order, beauty and majesty of the universe (revealing his immeasurable intelligence, power and creativity) and human conscience (revealing his righteous standards and the inescapable sense of judgment), but also in initiating personal and covenantal relationships with men. God speaks to us – directly.
How?
Through the supernatural ‘irruption’ of the divine Self-revelation in history! We have a word from beyond. Specifically, God spoke to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob. He revealed himself to Moses at the burning bush, and to Israel - the descendents of the patriarchs - at Sinai in fire and thundercloud, in written laws and recorded history. Why? He had entered into a covenant relationship with Abraham and his children, promising to bring blessing and restoration to the whole race of mankind. He had determined to do this through Israel, his chosen people. God would work with real people, in real space and real time to bring about his ends.
Why did mankind need blessing and restoration? This is the significance of Genesis 3. Man is not only finite, but fallen. We are not only limited by our fallible reasoning and incomplete perceptions, but also by a corrupt nature. We are sinners.
But God is in the business of recovering sinners. Though the world had gone astray, as John famously put it, “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes on him will not perish, but have everlasting life.”
Contrary to the empty, “circle of life” platitudes, in which death is conceived as ‘only natural’, men were not created to die. They were created to be in an everlasting and joyous communion with the Maker. When men fell, they were justly placed beneath the curse, entailing death, frustration, and futility. The Book of Ecclesiastes is a prolonged meditation on this morbid reality. But even in the midst of the curse, God is at work for good, teaching men, that they might turn to him and be saved. So the author of Ecclesiastes writes,
This process of speaking order into the void began at creation, but continued in the ordinary life of a nomad named Abram (whose name was later changed to “Abraham,” meaning “father of many nations”). The promise of blessing and restoration given to father Abraham was confirmed to Isaac, to Jacob, and to the nation of Israel by Moses and all the prophets. But this promise was to be mediated through a man, not a nation en masse. God chose David as his man, to establish a royal dynasty in Israel forever. It would be through David’s line that God’s gracious purposes for Israel and the world would be accomplished. This is known as the Davidic covenant (2Samuel 7). God would place David’s son on the throne, and he would be called the Son of God, the Anointed One – the Messiah (see Psalm 2).
Yet, mysteriously, this son of David is also David’s Lord (Matthew 22:41-45) – the one who will not only bless David and his people, but rule and judge the whole world (Psalm 110; Isaiah 9:6-7). The New Testament affirms that Jesus is the Son of David who fulfills the promises of the covenant with Abraham – the Christ of God. In Jesus, all the promises of the patriarchs are confirmed and granted by faith. Christ now sits enthroned, at the right hand of Majesty, administering those blessings through his people, the church. And today God continues to speak light into the darkness of the human heart through the gospel (which has been entrusted to the church in the form of holy writ). As Paul wrote, “For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.”
The word God is for me nothing more than the expression and product of human weaknesses, the Bible a collection of honourable, but still primitive legends which are nevertheless pretty childish. No interpretation no matter how subtle can (for me) change this. These subtilised interpretations are highly manifold according to their nature and have almost nothing to do with the original text. For me the Jewish religion like all other religions is an incarnation of the most childish superstitions. And the Jewish people to whom I gladly belong and with whose mentality I have a deep affinity have no different quality for me than all other people. As far as my experience goes, they are also no better than other human groups, although they are protected from the worst cancers by a lack of power. Otherwise I cannot see anything 'chosen' about them.Einstein’s words here perhaps represent what most intellectuals in modern society think about God. On the one hand, many are thoughtful enough to acknowledge the utility and even necessity of the idea of God. Yet, on the other hand, they are too sophisticated (and, perhaps, a bit too cynical) to embrace the ‘religious trappings’ of theism. Historically, the progression since the Enlightenment has tended from biblical theism (as contemplated in Augustine, Anselm, Aquinas, etc.) toward a certain philosophical theism (e.g., Rene Descartes and Immanuel Kant), which became disconnected from the revealed God of Scriptures. God, they insisted, had to be established on purely ‘rational’ grounds, i.e., what was accessible through reason and sense perception alone. The progression (or digression) continued on toward Deism (e.g., Voltaire and Thomas Jefferson), in which God was reduced to the cosmic “First Cause” of Newton’s clockwork universe, becoming effectually removed from the stage of history (cosmic or human). Finally, we see a trend toward an impersonal force or intelligence, ontologically integrated with the universe itself, as witnessed in Spinoza, Hegel, and later in Einstein and other recent physicists. Often such modern, Westernized pantheism borders on the mystical, even among scientists (e.g., quantum theorist, David Bohm).
So Einstein was not an atheist in the sense that he wanted to deny any force beyond what science could explain. As he wrote in his letter to Gutkind,
Try and penetrate with our limited means the secrets of nature and you will find that, behind all the discernible laws and connections, there remains something subtle, intangible, and inexplicable. Veneration for this force beyond anything that we can comprehend is my religion. To that extent I am, in fact, religious.On the other hand, he clearly rejected theism and belief in any personal God. As in Kant’s conception, Einstein’s deity was a metaphysically necessary “ground” for rationality (and, in Kant’s case at any rate, morality), but ultimately beyond the scope of human reason and observation. The deity is shrouded in impenetrable mystery. He is the ultimate, philosophical God of the gaps - and in those dark caverns of human ignorance he is confined forever. He is the ding an sich, and therefore unknown to us. The assumption here, of course, is that human reason and observation is all we have…
The idea of God is necessary in order to ground the scientific endeavor (e.g., giving warrant to the presuppositions of comprehensibility, uniformity, the validity of empirical study and inductive reasoning, etc.). However, we are also told that we are limited by those same presuppositions as to what we can and cannot assert about God. Take miracles for example. Many have argued that miracles are impossible by definition, as they would presumably interrupt the uniformity of natural law. Hence, the Creator who grounds the natural world apparently cannot in turn act to interfere with it. For Deists, such a god is thus self-limiting. For pantheists, however, he cannot do otherwise; for he is the embodiment of the universe’s intrinsic and integrated rationality. Either way, the deity’s hands are tied by his own, physical laws.
However, as philosophers have pointed out, it seems more consistent, not to confidently reject the possibility of the miraculous, as did the rationalists, but to simply confess (as we do wherever we approach such limits in science, e.g., on the edge of the singularity of the Big Bang): at this point, we simply do not, and within the strictures of science, cannot know. Science cannot speak assertively to the reality of the miraculous per se – by definition. To argue for or against it is to go beyond the scope of the defining, scientific method. Rather, to make such assertions, one way or the other, is to lean, by faith, on our presuppositions.
I tend to agree with Kant and others that God cannot be absolutely proved positively. Though there is warrant to the traditional arguments for God, I find, there is an even more compeling case to be made for God as a necessary hypothesis. This is the essence of the so-called “transcendental argument,” so powerfully used by Kant in epistemology and, to a lesser extent, in ethics.
However, the Christian worldview goes beyond the transcendental arguments from necessity, to speak of a God who is known ‘unnecessarily’ – and thereby, more clearly, intelligibly, and even intimately. That is to say, this unknowable God has freely chosen to make himself known to his creatures in a personal act of Self-disclosure: a gracious unveiling of his eternal, hidden, holy Person and purposes. This is something God did not have to do. The invisible and unapproachable God is, in principle, beyond our feeble grasp (this is the ancient doctrine of “divine incomprehensibility”). Nevertheless, he has lovingly stooped to speak to us, in terms which are both accurate and accessible to us. As John Calvin put it, “God lisps to his children” – baby talk! He has accommodated himself in order that we ‘mere mortals’ might know him truly, fully, and personally.
The divine revelation to mankind is freely mediated through creation (and science is one such expression of our knowledge of divine revelation, as given through “what has been made,” Romans 1:20), through providence (e.g., Acts 14:17) and through redemption. These are typically categorized in terms of general and special revelation. Special revelation is the act wherein the Supreme Being has revealed himself in redemption specifically.
What do I mean by that?
God has made himself known, not only in the intrinsic order, beauty and majesty of the universe (revealing his immeasurable intelligence, power and creativity) and human conscience (revealing his righteous standards and the inescapable sense of judgment), but also in initiating personal and covenantal relationships with men. God speaks to us – directly.
How?
Through the supernatural ‘irruption’ of the divine Self-revelation in history! We have a word from beyond. Specifically, God spoke to Abraham, to Isaac and to Jacob. He revealed himself to Moses at the burning bush, and to Israel - the descendents of the patriarchs - at Sinai in fire and thundercloud, in written laws and recorded history. Why? He had entered into a covenant relationship with Abraham and his children, promising to bring blessing and restoration to the whole race of mankind. He had determined to do this through Israel, his chosen people. God would work with real people, in real space and real time to bring about his ends.
Why did mankind need blessing and restoration? This is the significance of Genesis 3. Man is not only finite, but fallen. We are not only limited by our fallible reasoning and incomplete perceptions, but also by a corrupt nature. We are sinners.
But God is in the business of recovering sinners. Though the world had gone astray, as John famously put it, “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes on him will not perish, but have everlasting life.”
Contrary to the empty, “circle of life” platitudes, in which death is conceived as ‘only natural’, men were not created to die. They were created to be in an everlasting and joyous communion with the Maker. When men fell, they were justly placed beneath the curse, entailing death, frustration, and futility. The Book of Ecclesiastes is a prolonged meditation on this morbid reality. But even in the midst of the curse, God is at work for good, teaching men, that they might turn to him and be saved. So the author of Ecclesiastes writes,
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.In other words, God’s ways haunt us, and are forever beyond our grasp. He has placed man’s salvation – a true knowledge of God – beyond the pale of his finite and fallen resources. Stubborn and prideful man must learn to bow the knee to the Almighty, and confess His glory. No man shall be saved by his own wisdom or efforts. It is the gift of God, so that no man may boast, and all men give thanks to God. Thus the apostle Paul writes,
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength. Brothers, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things-- and the things that are not-- to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him. It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God-- that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption. Therefore, as it is written: "Let him who boasts boast in the Lord."And so God makes a mockery of human reason. For God will not bless the corrupt efforts of man, in his hubris, to discover the truth of God. Man will not find the one true God by reason and observation (nor even religious speculation) alone. Why? Because his reasoning is rebellious against the Truth, and, for that reason, blind. God must intervene. God must speak into the chaos of this broken world, and enlighten our darkened hearts. And he has done so.
This process of speaking order into the void began at creation, but continued in the ordinary life of a nomad named Abram (whose name was later changed to “Abraham,” meaning “father of many nations”). The promise of blessing and restoration given to father Abraham was confirmed to Isaac, to Jacob, and to the nation of Israel by Moses and all the prophets. But this promise was to be mediated through a man, not a nation en masse. God chose David as his man, to establish a royal dynasty in Israel forever. It would be through David’s line that God’s gracious purposes for Israel and the world would be accomplished. This is known as the Davidic covenant (2Samuel 7). God would place David’s son on the throne, and he would be called the Son of God, the Anointed One – the Messiah (see Psalm 2).
Yet, mysteriously, this son of David is also David’s Lord (Matthew 22:41-45) – the one who will not only bless David and his people, but rule and judge the whole world (Psalm 110; Isaiah 9:6-7). The New Testament affirms that Jesus is the Son of David who fulfills the promises of the covenant with Abraham – the Christ of God. In Jesus, all the promises of the patriarchs are confirmed and granted by faith. Christ now sits enthroned, at the right hand of Majesty, administering those blessings through his people, the church. And today God continues to speak light into the darkness of the human heart through the gospel (which has been entrusted to the church in the form of holy writ). As Paul wrote, “For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness," made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.”
Monday, May 19, 2008
The New Atheism Debate: What's at Stake?
If you haven't already seen it, check out the Dawkins-Lennox debate: http://www.dawkinslennoxdebate.com/
I thought Lennox did a good job hitting the major issues with Dawkins' atheism in general, and some of his more outrageous claims in his ('I'm just trying to be rational here...') provocatively titled book, "The God Delusion." Though, I do admit I was hoping he would be a bit more aggressive. Chalk it up to British diplomacy, I suppose.
As I watched the debate, I was struck by Dawkins' fascinatingly stubborn and narrow grasp of reality and history. He is also arrogant, and amusingly, apparently totally oblivious to the fact.
Did you note his frustratingly confused conception of (Christian) faith, on which Lennox rightly calls him to task?
Also note his remarkable statement: "I cannot see how one can logically derive evil from atheism"? Such a comment defies all reason and credibility, and I think, betrays the depth of his historical and philosophical naivete.
Of course, neither atheism nor theism, as abstract concepts, necessarily entail or logically require any particular behavior - good or bad. Dawkins' argument runs both ways! After all, as such, they're ill-defined. Belief in what kind of god(s)? And disbelief in what sort of divinity? Remember, the early Christians were called "atheists" because they rejected the local Greek and Roman deities!
Nevertheless, such 'naked concepts' as "atheism" and "theism" do not exist by themselves. Atheism and theism are always embodied within a particular set of beliefs, values, and practices. Theism, even when divorced from any historic religious tradition (a more and more common form of 'faith' today), by whomever and wherever it is held, is always embedded and contextualized within a complex ideological and cultural web - a worldview. Not all theists (nor theisms) are alike.
Dawkins' point of course is that religious incarnations of theism, entailing the authority of sacred books and/or traditions, with their various ethical instructions and ceremonial observances, are more liable to be used by religious fanatics to justify and even guide them in their violence. Atheism, on the other hand, he argues, is purely negative. As such, it has no such body of traditions, religious authorities, or ceremonies. But here is where his naivete is so apparent: he fails to see that atheism too, historically, has its own 'religious' garb! Atheism always exists, everywhere and at all times, within a network of social, political and even religious traditions, authorities and ceremonies. Behold Stalin's Marxism! Behold Pol Pot! Atheism was hardly incidental to their atrocities. It was, as Lennox rightly points out, fundamental in their 'cultural revolution' as Marxists. A stronger case might be made for social Darwinism, modern eugenics and the cold logic with which the Nazi's carried out "the final solution."
Atheism, in one form or another, may not require violence (though here Dawkin's brutish, Darwinian naturalism stares us in the face, "red in tooth and claw"); but, neither does atheism forbid violence. How can it? It is absolutely amoral, and for that reason, utterly unworthy as the foundation for our comprehension of the world. Even Dawkins confesses that his naturalistic atheism cannot guide us at all in moral decisions - a fairly large swath of the human experience, wouldn't you say?
And here is where I see Dawkins as not only an amusingly confused and arrogant man, but dangerous. Just as he sees Christianity as a delusion, and hardly harmless - containing within it the seeds of irrational evil, following blindly "by faith" a morally horrific book - so I see his brand of atheism (refreshingly committed to belief in the truth as universal and absolute, I admit with Lennox) as not only deluded, but fundamentally depraved. Just as he fears the religious fanatic, absolutely committed to his faith (quite apart from reason and evidence, as Dawkins' frames these), so I fear the likes of Dawkins: a 'religious' zealot, absolutely convinced in his faith (his conception of 'rationality'). What's scary is that, unlike Christianity, his is fundamentally amoral. And amorality isn't amoral; as Augustine pointed out, a lack of good is nothing other than evil itself.
What is this brave, new ideological amorality Dawkins thrusts upon us - in the guise of the objective scientist ("....just following the facts," we are told)? Does he himself understand that it signifies the deconstruction of all moral values - do we see that it represents the unhinging of the world as we know it? What "rough beast" has been unleashed in our civilized and modern age? What sort of delusion is this (2Th.2:11)?
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
I thought Lennox did a good job hitting the major issues with Dawkins' atheism in general, and some of his more outrageous claims in his ('I'm just trying to be rational here...') provocatively titled book, "The God Delusion." Though, I do admit I was hoping he would be a bit more aggressive. Chalk it up to British diplomacy, I suppose.
As I watched the debate, I was struck by Dawkins' fascinatingly stubborn and narrow grasp of reality and history. He is also arrogant, and amusingly, apparently totally oblivious to the fact.
Did you note his frustratingly confused conception of (Christian) faith, on which Lennox rightly calls him to task?
Also note his remarkable statement: "I cannot see how one can logically derive evil from atheism"? Such a comment defies all reason and credibility, and I think, betrays the depth of his historical and philosophical naivete.
Of course, neither atheism nor theism, as abstract concepts, necessarily entail or logically require any particular behavior - good or bad. Dawkins' argument runs both ways! After all, as such, they're ill-defined. Belief in what kind of god(s)? And disbelief in what sort of divinity? Remember, the early Christians were called "atheists" because they rejected the local Greek and Roman deities!
Nevertheless, such 'naked concepts' as "atheism" and "theism" do not exist by themselves. Atheism and theism are always embodied within a particular set of beliefs, values, and practices. Theism, even when divorced from any historic religious tradition (a more and more common form of 'faith' today), by whomever and wherever it is held, is always embedded and contextualized within a complex ideological and cultural web - a worldview. Not all theists (nor theisms) are alike.
Dawkins' point of course is that religious incarnations of theism, entailing the authority of sacred books and/or traditions, with their various ethical instructions and ceremonial observances, are more liable to be used by religious fanatics to justify and even guide them in their violence. Atheism, on the other hand, he argues, is purely negative. As such, it has no such body of traditions, religious authorities, or ceremonies. But here is where his naivete is so apparent: he fails to see that atheism too, historically, has its own 'religious' garb! Atheism always exists, everywhere and at all times, within a network of social, political and even religious traditions, authorities and ceremonies. Behold Stalin's Marxism! Behold Pol Pot! Atheism was hardly incidental to their atrocities. It was, as Lennox rightly points out, fundamental in their 'cultural revolution' as Marxists. A stronger case might be made for social Darwinism, modern eugenics and the cold logic with which the Nazi's carried out "the final solution."
Atheism, in one form or another, may not require violence (though here Dawkin's brutish, Darwinian naturalism stares us in the face, "red in tooth and claw"); but, neither does atheism forbid violence. How can it? It is absolutely amoral, and for that reason, utterly unworthy as the foundation for our comprehension of the world. Even Dawkins confesses that his naturalistic atheism cannot guide us at all in moral decisions - a fairly large swath of the human experience, wouldn't you say?
And here is where I see Dawkins as not only an amusingly confused and arrogant man, but dangerous. Just as he sees Christianity as a delusion, and hardly harmless - containing within it the seeds of irrational evil, following blindly "by faith" a morally horrific book - so I see his brand of atheism (refreshingly committed to belief in the truth as universal and absolute, I admit with Lennox) as not only deluded, but fundamentally depraved. Just as he fears the religious fanatic, absolutely committed to his faith (quite apart from reason and evidence, as Dawkins' frames these), so I fear the likes of Dawkins: a 'religious' zealot, absolutely convinced in his faith (his conception of 'rationality'). What's scary is that, unlike Christianity, his is fundamentally amoral. And amorality isn't amoral; as Augustine pointed out, a lack of good is nothing other than evil itself.
What is this brave, new ideological amorality Dawkins thrusts upon us - in the guise of the objective scientist ("....just following the facts," we are told)? Does he himself understand that it signifies the deconstruction of all moral values - do we see that it represents the unhinging of the world as we know it? What "rough beast" has been unleashed in our civilized and modern age? What sort of delusion is this (2Th.2:11)?
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Staying Awake...
In a recent post I asked, in the American context (padded by comfort, safety and security) "how can we stay awake?" We need to stay alert, even though (or rather, especially because) the Lord tarries (for millennia) and the world goes on as it always has... (2Pe.3:1-15a).
I came across 1Th.5:6 this morning: "So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert and self-controlled." The context is the coming Day of the Lord (5:1-11), in which "sudden destruction" will come upon the world (5:3), though we will escape God's wrath and "obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ," (5:9). With this hope we are to encourage each other and build one another up (5:11).
The call to sobriety and alertness is familiar in the New Testament (e.g., 1Pe.5:8; 2Ti.4:5; Eph.6:18; Col.4:2; 1Co.16:13; cf. 15:34; Ro.13:11; Eph.5:6-18). And this call is most typically found within an eschatological or apocalyptic context (see, for example, Mt.24:42-43; Mk.13:33-37; Lk.21:36), as we see in 1Th.5:1ff.
This is also the case in Peter's first epistle (e.g., 4:7, note also the close connection between alertness and prayer). In 1:13, Peter writes, "Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be self-controlled; set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed."
Here is the challenge: setting our hope fully on the revelation of Jesus Christ in glory, when we too will be glorified with him (1:3-7).
In what are we putting our hope? Do we believe in his coming, or have we become effectively cynics with the world (2Pe.3:4)? Do we long for his return, or have we become content with a kingdom without God? Do we hasten the day of the Lord, or have we exchanged that hope for another tomorrow?
To stay awake, then, we must, at least, positively, be "looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus." (Something I frankly do not regularly do).
How do we do this? How do we "long for his appearing"? Are our affections set fully on Jesus Christ, his glory, and its full manifestation in the last day? Where are our hearts? This, then, is issue. Staying awake is really a call to find our joy and our hope in the only truly satisfying source there is: the grace and glory of Jesus Christ. It is a call to be "filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy," 1Pe.1:8. Odd how we turn this into a burdensome duty and source of guilt, isn't it?
Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be sober-minded; set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ!
I came across 1Th.5:6 this morning: "So then, let us not be like others, who are asleep, but let us be alert and self-controlled." The context is the coming Day of the Lord (5:1-11), in which "sudden destruction" will come upon the world (5:3), though we will escape God's wrath and "obtain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ," (5:9). With this hope we are to encourage each other and build one another up (5:11).
The call to sobriety and alertness is familiar in the New Testament (e.g., 1Pe.5:8; 2Ti.4:5; Eph.6:18; Col.4:2; 1Co.16:13; cf. 15:34; Ro.13:11; Eph.5:6-18). And this call is most typically found within an eschatological or apocalyptic context (see, for example, Mt.24:42-43; Mk.13:33-37; Lk.21:36), as we see in 1Th.5:1ff.
This is also the case in Peter's first epistle (e.g., 4:7, note also the close connection between alertness and prayer). In 1:13, Peter writes, "Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be self-controlled; set your hope fully on the grace to be given you when Jesus Christ is revealed."
Here is the challenge: setting our hope fully on the revelation of Jesus Christ in glory, when we too will be glorified with him (1:3-7).
In what are we putting our hope? Do we believe in his coming, or have we become effectively cynics with the world (2Pe.3:4)? Do we long for his return, or have we become content with a kingdom without God? Do we hasten the day of the Lord, or have we exchanged that hope for another tomorrow?
To stay awake, then, we must, at least, positively, be "looking for the blessed hope and the appearing of the glory of our great God and Savior, Christ Jesus." (Something I frankly do not regularly do).
How do we do this? How do we "long for his appearing"? Are our affections set fully on Jesus Christ, his glory, and its full manifestation in the last day? Where are our hearts? This, then, is issue. Staying awake is really a call to find our joy and our hope in the only truly satisfying source there is: the grace and glory of Jesus Christ. It is a call to be "filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy," 1Pe.1:8. Odd how we turn this into a burdensome duty and source of guilt, isn't it?
Therefore, prepare your minds for action; be sober-minded; set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
