"Forgive us our debts, as we've forgiven our debtors." Most of us have probably squirmed at that little phrase in the Lord's prayer. We squirm because we all struggle to forgive from time to time--and a simple reading of that phrase makes it sound like God's forgiveness is contingent upon our own; it sounds as though we can somehow loose our place in his household if we fail to do what we're told.
The Lord's Prayer isn't the only nugget of scripture that might give you that impression. You might think that after reading the parable that we studied together on Sunday morning, too (Matt 18:21-35). This poor schmuck is forgiven a huge debt, fails to pass it on, and apparently loses his forgiven status. You might read this parable and conclude that God's forgiveness is fickle.
It's troubling and we ought not try to explain it all away too quickly. But some comments I read this weekend in NT Wright's book, Evil and the Justice of God, helped me make sense of it (without making Jesus' teaching easier than it really is). Here's what he says about Jesus' command to forgive in this passage:
"Jesus is not giving a kind of arbitrary, abstract commandment and then saying that if you fail to meet the test God will not forgive you. He isn’t setting the moral bar at an impossible height and then warning that God will be everlastingly cross if we don’t manage to jump it. He is drawing attention to a fact about the moral universe and human nature. He is telling us, in effect, that the faculty we have for receiving forgiveness and the faculty we have for granting forgiveness are one and the same thing. If we open the one we shall open the other. If we slam the door on the one, we slam the door on the other. God is not being arbitrary. If you are the sort of person who will accuse a neighbor over every small thing and keep him or her under your anger until each item has been dealt with (perhaps by your gaining revenge), then you are also the sort of person who will be incapable of opening your heart to receive God’s generous forgiveness. Indeed, you will probably not admit that you need it in the first place.” (158)
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
More on Judgment
Just to prove that I wasn't making up what I said in my last post about judgment, here's a snippet from N.T. Wrights book, Evil and the Justice of God, which I finished up this weekend.
“God’s justice is not simply a blind dispensing of rewards for the virtuous and punishments for the wicked, though plenty of those are to be found on the way. God’s justice is saving, healing, restorative justice, because the God to whom justice belongs is the Creator God who has yet to complete his original plan for creation and whose justice is designed not simply to restore balance to a world out of kilter but to bring to glorious completion and fruition the creation, teeming with life and possibility, that he made in the first place.” (64)
I told you so :-).
“God’s justice is not simply a blind dispensing of rewards for the virtuous and punishments for the wicked, though plenty of those are to be found on the way. God’s justice is saving, healing, restorative justice, because the God to whom justice belongs is the Creator God who has yet to complete his original plan for creation and whose justice is designed not simply to restore balance to a world out of kilter but to bring to glorious completion and fruition the creation, teeming with life and possibility, that he made in the first place.” (64)
I told you so :-).
Friday, November 9, 2007
Jumpstarting Judgment
A Christian summer camp counselor I knew once reported having one of the most successful weeks ever. He proclaimed, with understandable delight, that each of the twelve boys in his cabin had given their lives to Jesus. They wanted to be Christians. They wanted to live for and with Jesus from that point on and into all eternity.
The rest of the camp staff was ecstatic--at first. But that didn't last long. Because the next week, camp supervisors were inundated with phone calls from concerned parents. Apparently, many of the young boys who had been in that converted cabin were having nightmares that were directly related to their week at camp. They would toss and turn as they dreamt--not about the boogie man or some other camp fire legend they had learned while chomping on s'mores--but about the torments of hell and the torture that would be inflicted upon them for all eternity if they didn't get their acts together and give their lives to Jesus.
As the phone calls rolled in and the story was pieced together, the mass conversion of Cabin 14 suddenly was a lot less exciting and a lot more disturbing.
I doubt that any of us would feel comfortable using the evangelism tactic of that camp counselor--scaring people out of hell and into heaven. But what's troubling about the text we looked at last week (Matt 5:21ff) is that Jesus appears to do that very thing. He lets his listeners know--in no uncertain terms--that if they don't clean up their lives, their future is not very bright. So what are we to make of this?
Well, there are several thoughts we ought to keep in mind. First: there is the obvious difference between the speaker: between Jesus (perfect) and us (not-so-much). Second, there is a distinction that must be made between the audiences: Jesus speaks to people (adults) who are presumed to be a part of the community of faith while in evangelism we (or at least that camp counselor) are talking to those who are presumed to be outside of the community of faith. That distinction is not insignificant.
That being said, something else that those of us in the community of faith might consider is the nature of judgement. We tend to think of judgment (I think) largely in negative terms. We think about a finger wagging God ready to give us what we deserve and eager to crush us with his almighty thumb. But that's not quite the full picture of biblical judgment.
When God "judges" his people in scripture, it is not merely retributive. It is also restorative. God not only punishes, he also disciplines. Consider, for example, the exile of the people Israel. The point is not merely to send them away from the promise land to suffer in the labor camps of the Babylonians. The point is to purify them--to burn away all the garbage that stands in between them, God, and their neighbors. The point is to help them live the kind of "shalom-filled" lives of wholeness for which they were created. Or as Thomas Long puts it in his commentary on Matthew. 5:
"In the biblical sense, judgment is God’s exercise of good judgment, repairing all that is harmful to humanity. Judgment is God’s repairing of the broken creation. Judgement is God’s scalpel carefully removing the malignant tissue that threatens life. Judgment is God’s burning away of all that is cruel and spirit killing in order that we may breath the air of compassion. Judgment is good news; it is God setting things right.”
From this perspective, we can think of Christ's call to be reconciled with our neighbors as a way to "jump start judgment." Because when we're seeking to be reconciled with a brother or sister--when we confess to the ways we've hurt people, when we try to restore our relationship with them, when we do our best to remove the garbage that separates us from God and each other--we're not waiting for Jesus to return to set things right and cut away the "malignant tissue that threatens life", but we're trying to do it ourselves. And in that way, we're "jump starting judgment."
So just a reminder (or if you weren't in church Sunday morning, a challenge): Jesus calls us to do our best to set right the wrongs that linger between us. And he calls us to do it now. Don't wait for God to do it. Don't wait for Kingdom come to do it. But through the power of the Spirit, take the initiative and do it today.
The rest of the camp staff was ecstatic--at first. But that didn't last long. Because the next week, camp supervisors were inundated with phone calls from concerned parents. Apparently, many of the young boys who had been in that converted cabin were having nightmares that were directly related to their week at camp. They would toss and turn as they dreamt--not about the boogie man or some other camp fire legend they had learned while chomping on s'mores--but about the torments of hell and the torture that would be inflicted upon them for all eternity if they didn't get their acts together and give their lives to Jesus.
As the phone calls rolled in and the story was pieced together, the mass conversion of Cabin 14 suddenly was a lot less exciting and a lot more disturbing.
I doubt that any of us would feel comfortable using the evangelism tactic of that camp counselor--scaring people out of hell and into heaven. But what's troubling about the text we looked at last week (Matt 5:21ff) is that Jesus appears to do that very thing. He lets his listeners know--in no uncertain terms--that if they don't clean up their lives, their future is not very bright. So what are we to make of this?
Well, there are several thoughts we ought to keep in mind. First: there is the obvious difference between the speaker: between Jesus (perfect) and us (not-so-much). Second, there is a distinction that must be made between the audiences: Jesus speaks to people (adults) who are presumed to be a part of the community of faith while in evangelism we (or at least that camp counselor) are talking to those who are presumed to be outside of the community of faith. That distinction is not insignificant.
That being said, something else that those of us in the community of faith might consider is the nature of judgement. We tend to think of judgment (I think) largely in negative terms. We think about a finger wagging God ready to give us what we deserve and eager to crush us with his almighty thumb. But that's not quite the full picture of biblical judgment.
When God "judges" his people in scripture, it is not merely retributive. It is also restorative. God not only punishes, he also disciplines. Consider, for example, the exile of the people Israel. The point is not merely to send them away from the promise land to suffer in the labor camps of the Babylonians. The point is to purify them--to burn away all the garbage that stands in between them, God, and their neighbors. The point is to help them live the kind of "shalom-filled" lives of wholeness for which they were created. Or as Thomas Long puts it in his commentary on Matthew. 5:
"In the biblical sense, judgment is God’s exercise of good judgment, repairing all that is harmful to humanity. Judgment is God’s repairing of the broken creation. Judgement is God’s scalpel carefully removing the malignant tissue that threatens life. Judgment is God’s burning away of all that is cruel and spirit killing in order that we may breath the air of compassion. Judgment is good news; it is God setting things right.”
From this perspective, we can think of Christ's call to be reconciled with our neighbors as a way to "jump start judgment." Because when we're seeking to be reconciled with a brother or sister--when we confess to the ways we've hurt people, when we try to restore our relationship with them, when we do our best to remove the garbage that separates us from God and each other--we're not waiting for Jesus to return to set things right and cut away the "malignant tissue that threatens life", but we're trying to do it ourselves. And in that way, we're "jump starting judgment."
So just a reminder (or if you weren't in church Sunday morning, a challenge): Jesus calls us to do our best to set right the wrongs that linger between us. And he calls us to do it now. Don't wait for God to do it. Don't wait for Kingdom come to do it. But through the power of the Spirit, take the initiative and do it today.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Food, Farms, and Faith
My friend Becky grew up on a large farm in central Iowa but has since moved to the booming metropolis of Grand Rapids, MI. Some time ago, she was reflecting on the transition. There are things she likes about living in the city, she said. But even so, there are times she feels, well, "disoriented."
I didn't quite understand what she meant at first. But I hazarded a few guesses.
"Hmmm. Disoriented." I said, "Like when you're downtown and the streets aren't straight? Or in a suburb and keeping hitting cul-de-sacs?"
"No..."
"Okay, like when the sun doesn't shine for four months and you no longer know if its day or night?"
"No..."
Becky then went on to explain that she felt "disoriented" because she had lost her connection with the earth and therefore had no way of keeping time. Back on the farm, she and her family lived into the regular rhythms of the land. Planting. Irrigating. Harvesting. Resting. Their lives changed with the seasons.
But back in Michigan, Becky went to her office every day. She sat in a windowless, climate controlled room (sweaters in the summer, short sleeves in the winter!). It now made little difference to her and her livelihood if there were droughts or floods. She could still go to Meijers--even in February--and buy her tomatoes, asparagus, and whatever else she wanted to eat.
Becky's disorientation is something that all of us who live in the city face--even if we were never blessed to be "oriented" by farm life. Because all of us are separated from the earth. I read recently that the average meal in America travels 1,200 miles before ending up on our plates. A friend of mine (who's much better with these things than I am) once calculated that to get a single strawberry from California to the produce isle in a Northwest Iowa grocery store takes nearly 600 calories of energy (a huge net loss!). I've also been told that the tuna that is served in Manhattan's finest Sushi restaurants is caught on the Atlantic coast of the US, shipped to the fish markets in Tokyo, sold, and then shipped back to New York. In other words, that tuna goes around the world before it ends up on the plate of the American consumer (and this is not all that unusual in our food system).There are, of course, tremendous ecological implications to all of this. Most obviously--there are all the extra costs involved (both in terms of finances and natural resources), and the generally unsustainable nature of this system. But there is a more subtle danger too. If we are separated from the means of production--separated from the land--and have no idea how our food is grown (or raised), then we will have little interest in the way the land is used (or the animals are treated). This alone should give us pause. (By the way, Wendell Berry is excellent on this point.)
But we should also consider what all these degrees of separation between us and the land do to our relationship with our Creator. If we spend our days in climate controlled offices, cooped up in our cars or even on the city bus, if depend solely on King Soopers to provide us with our food (Tomatoes in February!)--then not only will we be separated from the land, we will also be separated from the One who made and upholds the land.
This is a point that was brought home to me by Rob Bell recently. Bell argues that there are many people who struggle with needless doubts and faith crises. They complain that God seems too far away, that he is distant. But it's no wonder, says Bell. When we don't take time to notice God's handiwork, when we no longer need to pray to and depend upon him for daily bread, when he becomes a peripheral consideration in the meeting of our daily needs--then undoubtedly, he will seem a long ways away. But really, says Bell, it's not God who is a long way from us. It's we who are a long way from Him.
Where we get our food--our relationship with the land--can drastically affect our faith. If we are cut off from the creation, we will (almost) certainly face some spiritual "disorientation."
So what's the upshot of all this? Well, I'm suggesting that we all do what we can to get connected--with the Creation and the Creator. Start a garden next spring. Try to eat a locally grown meal. Walk instead of driving. Get connected with the creation. And the Creator.
If want to read more on the topic, I'd suggest the writings of Wendell Berry (particularly his "Jayber Crow" Novels, but also his essays, if you're ambitious), Kathleen Norris ("Dakota" is a great read).
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Excuses
Dear Gentle Reader,
Apologies for the blogging hiatus. I anticipate that my return will coincide with that of my laptop from Dell (hopefully later this week).
Joel.
Apologies for the blogging hiatus. I anticipate that my return will coincide with that of my laptop from Dell (hopefully later this week).
Joel.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
100th Anniversary Pics
Apologies for the lack ofr updates recently. I blame both computer problems and J.K. Rowling.
Here are a few pictures from our recent block party. It was a hoot. I also have some marvolous vidoe of Dutch dancing and Norm B. singing along with "Yellow Submarine". Ask nicely and maybe I'll post them.
Here are a few pictures from our recent block party. It was a hoot. I also have some marvolous vidoe of Dutch dancing and Norm B. singing along with "Yellow Submarine". Ask nicely and maybe I'll post them.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Heaven
I've been thinking about heaven a lot the past few months. I've been thinking about what it is we want from heaven, what we hope it will be like, what exactly will make it so wonderful for us.
The Bible (and our culture) suggests many different answers to this question: we look forward to heaven because there will be no more suffering, "no more mourning, crying, or pain," as Revelation 21:4 so beautifully puts it. And of course, many of us look forward to being reunited with our loved ones (books like 90 Minutes in Heaven seem especially keen on this idea, from what I'm told). Or perhaps we simply look forward to heaven because we trust that will experience life as it was intended to be: a restored earth free of crime and pollution and all the brokenness, perhaps(depending on who we are and where we're getting our information) an eternal golf game* or the everlasting weekend in the mountains.
Those things may all be well and good. But I wonder, are they enough? Or ought we to be hoping for something more? Or as John Piper puts the question:
The critical question for our generation—and for every generation—is this: If you could have heaven, with no sickness, and with all the friends you ever had on earth, and all the food you ever liked, and all the leisure activities you ever enjoyed, and all the natural beauties you ever saw, all the physical pleasures you ever tasted, and no human conflict or any natural disasters, could you be satisfied with heaven, if Christ was not there?”
The "right" answer to that question, of course, (at least from a Christian perspective)ought to be "no." But my fear is that, too often, we talk about heaven (and about Christianity in general) in a way that suggests otherwise. Think, for example, of the way we may "pitch" Christianity evangelistically: we tell others that Jesus will relieve them of their guilt, give them the chance to see dear old aunt Sally again, or will get them some othe perk. Sure, these things may be true--but they miss the deeper point. The deeper point, as Piper puts it in the title of his book, is that GOD is the Gospel. The point is that true happiness comes from fellowship with HIM--which is exactly what he gives us in Christ and promises us for eternity!**
So why do I make such a big deal out of this? Well, for one thing, it's a simple matter of right thinking. Suggesting that heaven is more about forgiveness or lack of pain or some other perk than it is about life with God confuses the ends with the means.*** But more to the point--it comes back to T.S. Elliot's famous line: "In my end is my begninning." If our eternal goal is merely to be reunited with our loved ones, to live a pain free life, to ski for eternity--then that's how I'll live now. Those will be the things that we live for now. (And if that's how we live, I suspect we might be too earthly minded to be of much heavenly good.) But if my eternal goal is to dwell with God (and the rest is just details), than will have termendous implications for what--or WHO--I seeek and serve now!
*For some, this might only happen in that other, warmer , place!
**Since I've started thinking about this, I've realized that a much more central concern of Rev 21 (more central than the absence of sickness, crying or pain etc mentioned in verse 4) comes in verse 3: Now the dwelling of God is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God... It's more about the relationship than the "perks."
***I find Lewis helpful on this point. In A Grief Observed, he writes: Am I just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H. [Lewis' deceased wife], it runs through him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all. That’s what was really wrong with all those popular pictures of happy reunions ‘on the further shore’; not the simple-minded and very earthly images, but the fact that they make an End of what we can get only as a by-product of the true End.
The Bible (and our culture) suggests many different answers to this question: we look forward to heaven because there will be no more suffering, "no more mourning, crying, or pain," as Revelation 21:4 so beautifully puts it. And of course, many of us look forward to being reunited with our loved ones (books like 90 Minutes in Heaven seem especially keen on this idea, from what I'm told). Or perhaps we simply look forward to heaven because we trust that will experience life as it was intended to be: a restored earth free of crime and pollution and all the brokenness, perhaps(depending on who we are and where we're getting our information) an eternal golf game* or the everlasting weekend in the mountains.
Those things may all be well and good. But I wonder, are they enough? Or ought we to be hoping for something more? Or as John Piper puts the question:
The critical question for our generation—and for every generation—is this: If you could have heaven, with no sickness, and with all the friends you ever had on earth, and all the food you ever liked, and all the leisure activities you ever enjoyed, and all the natural beauties you ever saw, all the physical pleasures you ever tasted, and no human conflict or any natural disasters, could you be satisfied with heaven, if Christ was not there?”
The "right" answer to that question, of course, (at least from a Christian perspective)ought to be "no." But my fear is that, too often, we talk about heaven (and about Christianity in general) in a way that suggests otherwise. Think, for example, of the way we may "pitch" Christianity evangelistically: we tell others that Jesus will relieve them of their guilt, give them the chance to see dear old aunt Sally again, or will get them some othe perk. Sure, these things may be true--but they miss the deeper point. The deeper point, as Piper puts it in the title of his book, is that GOD is the Gospel. The point is that true happiness comes from fellowship with HIM--which is exactly what he gives us in Christ and promises us for eternity!**
So why do I make such a big deal out of this? Well, for one thing, it's a simple matter of right thinking. Suggesting that heaven is more about forgiveness or lack of pain or some other perk than it is about life with God confuses the ends with the means.*** But more to the point--it comes back to T.S. Elliot's famous line: "In my end is my begninning." If our eternal goal is merely to be reunited with our loved ones, to live a pain free life, to ski for eternity--then that's how I'll live now. Those will be the things that we live for now. (And if that's how we live, I suspect we might be too earthly minded to be of much heavenly good.) But if my eternal goal is to dwell with God (and the rest is just details), than will have termendous implications for what--or WHO--I seeek and serve now!
*For some, this might only happen in that other, warmer , place!
**Since I've started thinking about this, I've realized that a much more central concern of Rev 21 (more central than the absence of sickness, crying or pain etc mentioned in verse 4) comes in verse 3: Now the dwelling of God is with humanity, and he will live with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God... It's more about the relationship than the "perks."
***I find Lewis helpful on this point. In A Grief Observed, he writes: Am I just sidling back to God because I know that if there’s any road to H. [Lewis' deceased wife], it runs through him? But then of course I know perfectly well that He can’t be used as a road. If you’re approaching Him not as the goal but as a road, not as the end but as a means, you’re not really approaching Him at all. That’s what was really wrong with all those popular pictures of happy reunions ‘on the further shore’; not the simple-minded and very earthly images, but the fact that they make an End of what we can get only as a by-product of the true End.
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