-or- Free Will and What God Knows about the Future
If humans have free will, then God cannot be omniscient.
Omniscient is defined as "all-knowing."
Usually by "all-knowing," one means that God not only knows everything about what has been and what is, but also about what will be. That is, to be truly omniscient, God would have to know the future. However, if God knew the future, then the future would have to be determined. And if the future is determined, then free will is impossible.
Let us take an example. Tomorrow, I would like to take a bike ride. Let's say I even plan on taking a bike ride. I still do not know if I will take a bike ride tomorrow or not. It is possible that I will, but it is also possible that it won't. I, the actor, will not know until tomorrow comes and I actually take a bike ride, or I don't. Oh, I can look at my schedule and see if I have free time for a bike ride. If I do not, then the statistical probability that I will take a bike ride is very low. It is, however, still possible. In order for anyone to know--even God--whether or not I am to take a bike ride tomorrow, then the future would have to be predetermined. True and correct knowledge is only of the actual and not of the possible. I can know that there is a possibility that I will take a bike ride tomorrow, but that is only because there is an actual possibility (I have a bike, I am able to ride, bicycles exist, for that matter I exist, etc.).
If God has knowledge of the future, then as soon as God knows that future, possibility is destroyed and the only actual outcome must be what God knows. Therefore, any future actualities that I may think are possible are really impossible. Even if I still choose to ride my bike tomorrow, it is really a straw choice, since God has foreknowledge of the event. If God knows that I will go on a bike ride, it must play out in that way--there is no other possible sequence of events.
One answer to this conundrum is to argue that God sits outside of time, and therefore can see the future without affecting its outcome by that foreknowledge. On the face of it, this argument seems to solve the problem. God can simply see now what I will freely choose tomorrow. Time flows linearly, but God is standing outside of the stream, able to see up and down the timeline. God stands outside of time, in eternity, and therefore can experience any moment in time at any point in (or, as the case may be, out of) time.
But when we explore this idea further, we realize that human free will is still in jeopardy. Although God is atemporal, temporally all-encompassing, God's knowledge still delves into time when God looks forward to see the future. Think, for example, about rewinding and fast-forwarding a movie. I, the one who holds the remote control, stand outside of the flow of time within the movie. At any moment, I can see any point in the movie that I want to see by choosing a scene and scanning forward or backward from that scene selection. I can look ahead to see how the movie will end. I can come to know this because the events in the movie are determined. The movie will always end how it ends, and therefore, I can fast forward in order to know the ending before the sequence of events occurs that led to that ending.
If God is able to see ahead in time because he stands outside of time, free will is still abolished. Not because God's knowledge somehow affects the determinacy of time, but rather because in order for God to be able to look ahead in time and know anything, then the future must be determined. It is not the foreknowledge that makes predestination, but rather we see that predestination must be at work in order for anyone--even God, who sits outside of time--to know the future. In other words, the phenomenon of free will is a variable of life that keeps everything in the realm of the possible until it becomes actual. And so, if the actual is able to be known before it occurs, then all other possibilities are destroyed and the future is determined.
So, if God is to be omniscient even as human beings have free will, we must ask the question, "What does God know about the future?" The answer reveals a God who is more spectacular than a being who can simply know the future: God has an omniscience that sees and knows all of the possibilities. God can see all of the possible paths and the choices that we will be faced with in the future. However, God is unable to see the actual, until the actual takes place in time. [One of my underlying assumptions, clearly, is that there is something unique about the present. That is, the present is absolute and universal. At any given time, there is but one moment that is the boundary between past and future. Moreover, that boundary is such that even God must experience time in that way. God is able to look beyond the boundary of now into the future, but what he sees is not yet actual (because the moment of the present has not come yet), and yet God is able to see all of the possibilities beyond the present moment.] God can still, in such a case, be surprised by our choices, without being taken by surprise.
Why does any of this matter?
Well, for me, God is a God of possibilities. Evil is horribly unoriginal. And when we are trapped into predetermined actions, we are essentially being held captive by sin--it is sin that is making us predictable, sin that is determining our choices. But God always works to free us from sin, to give us more and more possibilities for the future. Our God is a God that safeguards our freedom, making it possible for us to actually become new each moment. And if the future becomes anything but a bundle of possibilities, then predetermination threatens the freedom God has given us.
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Does God Micro-Manage?
-or- For What Shall I Pray?
I must have been Out East, attending Yale Divinity School. Sitting with some fellow students, I was called upon to pray. I prayed for several important things, though I do not remember what those were. What I do remember are the trivial things I prayed for: that it wouldn't rain over the weekend, that our soccer team would win on Saturday, that we would pass Monday's test.
I remember these three things because after I finished the praying, one of my fellow classmates criticized my prayer. My colleague declared to me how preposterous it was to believe in a Supreme Being that cared one iota about trivial things such as whether or not I pass a test, it rains, or which intramural soccer team wins--and the like. At the time I reacted with the appropriate righteous indignation: "Of course God cares; of course God listens and responds to all of our prayers."
Today, I have a much different opinion. I have a different understanding about how prayer works. And I have a different understanding as to how God acts in the world and what God's purpose is.
This change began in me with a revulsion from a common Christian platitude: "God has a plan for you." or "It is all a part of God's plan." Such nonsense is used in an attempt to comfort people in the midst of suffering or satisfy them in the midst of the confusion of life. The platitude takes such forms as "God needed an angel in heaven and that is why he took ______ away from you." Even more dreadful than that is the phenomenon of the televangelist turned judge: "Haiti was struck down by an earthquake because of their sinful pact with the devil." Somehow, it is supposed to be comforting to one and to all that every little thing that occurs in life is a detail in some larger plan, that every event is a cog in the machine which God has designed this life to be--that every little thing that happens to me has some great purpose, which is unfathomable from my very mortal and finite perspective.
But sisters and brothers, I tell you, God does not micro-manage.
It is true, God does have a plan, or put in a better way, God always acts with a purpose. However, it does not follow that God, therefore, has written into this plan whether I pass a test or my team wins, etc. In fact, when and how I die may not even be written into the plan--as significant as that event may seem from my own perspective.
Think about it. What kind of Being would God be, if God were a micro-manager?
+ God would be a caricature of an omnipotent being, that is, a god who uses their infinite power to orchestrate minuscule events--like smiting an ant hill in the battle against evil.
+ Such a god would be a fairy tale, like the magical Santa Claus who visits every boy and girl on earth in one night, having kept a naughty/nice ledger on each of them throughout the year.
+ God would be a fable, the likes of which we see in the movie Bruce Almighty. The point of the movie has nothing to do about God, but instead is a lesson in morality. The focus is on the haughty pridefulness, and self-centeredness of humankind. Bruce was unable to successfully take over God's job because his desires and perspectives remained too narrow--remained all too human. In the movie, God is only a foil for our tragic narrowness.
+ Such a god would be pagan: one who is directly seen in nature, and who is the direct, supernatural cause for every (natural) thing that happens.
+ Lastly, such a god would be a dread being. One who uses suffering as a teaching implement, uses suffering in order to change or control the behavior of individuals. We have a word for such a being: Tyrant.
No. God does not fix events; God empowers people.
God's plan focuses not so much on what happens in life so much as the one to whom life is happening.
Failing one test does not negate the intellect with which God has blessed me. God gives me the gift of my mind to use, instead of rigging every test so that I might ace it.
And when tragedy comes, it is not a part of God's plan, because God's plan for me is always for the good. Instead, God has a plan to build me up so that I can deal with the changes and chances of life. Yes, God created the wind, but he does not tell the wind how and when and where to blow. There is no divine butterfly effect.
Does this mean that we should stop praying for the little things?
Certainly not. We are to pray without ceasing, for big things and for small things.
But we must have a different understanding of what it means to pray, that is, what happens when one prays. Prayer is not a magic spell that calls down power from on high to fix events in the world. We do not pray to God in order for God to change things. Such a view of the efficacy of prayer is a pagan conception of the relationship between the gods and humankind. The pagan prays to appease the gods so that they, in turn, act in certain ways--bestow certain blessings.
No, this view of prayer must be rejected. Prayer does not change or alter God actions or purposes. Instead, prayer changes people. In prayer, we allow the Holy Spirit to so work on our minds and hearts in such a way that we are free to act, free from despair.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed to his Father that the cup of suffering would be taken from him. Jesus prayed God would spare him from the Cross. What was the result of that prayer? The cross certainly happened, so did God ignore his own son? Did God hear, but do nothing? Not at all. Instead, through Jesus' prayer, God was preparing his son for the task ahead--giving him courage in the face of death, giving him faith to trust in God's larger purpose for him. God's plan cannot be derailed by small incidentals. And to God, even death is incidental.
Thus, we pray so that we may be blessed with the gifts of the Spirit of God, in order to meet the changes and chances of life with courage and faith. God does not control. God invites. God repairs. God forgives.
And so, when my loved one dies, it is not because it was a part of God's plan. Rather, God's plan is able to break into the world through that death. Death, which is a natural stage of life in the world, is the opportunity for God to assert God's larger plan for us. It is the moment in which eternity can break forth into time, or rather, pull the traveller out of time and into eternity--where God's will is done as a matter of course. In eternity, the will of God and the nature of things are one. But even there God does not micro-manage. God simply exists. And all things exist in and through God. That is, God is all-in-all. Meanwhile, in the world, we still wait for this consummation, we still wait for God's will to be done on earth as it is in heaven. And so, in the meanwhile, God works indirectly.
And in the meanwhile, we continue to pray for everything, great and small.
I must have been Out East, attending Yale Divinity School. Sitting with some fellow students, I was called upon to pray. I prayed for several important things, though I do not remember what those were. What I do remember are the trivial things I prayed for: that it wouldn't rain over the weekend, that our soccer team would win on Saturday, that we would pass Monday's test.
I remember these three things because after I finished the praying, one of my fellow classmates criticized my prayer. My colleague declared to me how preposterous it was to believe in a Supreme Being that cared one iota about trivial things such as whether or not I pass a test, it rains, or which intramural soccer team wins--and the like. At the time I reacted with the appropriate righteous indignation: "Of course God cares; of course God listens and responds to all of our prayers."
Today, I have a much different opinion. I have a different understanding about how prayer works. And I have a different understanding as to how God acts in the world and what God's purpose is.
This change began in me with a revulsion from a common Christian platitude: "God has a plan for you." or "It is all a part of God's plan." Such nonsense is used in an attempt to comfort people in the midst of suffering or satisfy them in the midst of the confusion of life. The platitude takes such forms as "God needed an angel in heaven and that is why he took ______ away from you." Even more dreadful than that is the phenomenon of the televangelist turned judge: "Haiti was struck down by an earthquake because of their sinful pact with the devil." Somehow, it is supposed to be comforting to one and to all that every little thing that occurs in life is a detail in some larger plan, that every event is a cog in the machine which God has designed this life to be--that every little thing that happens to me has some great purpose, which is unfathomable from my very mortal and finite perspective.
But sisters and brothers, I tell you, God does not micro-manage.
It is true, God does have a plan, or put in a better way, God always acts with a purpose. However, it does not follow that God, therefore, has written into this plan whether I pass a test or my team wins, etc. In fact, when and how I die may not even be written into the plan--as significant as that event may seem from my own perspective.
Think about it. What kind of Being would God be, if God were a micro-manager?
+ God would be a caricature of an omnipotent being, that is, a god who uses their infinite power to orchestrate minuscule events--like smiting an ant hill in the battle against evil.
+ Such a god would be a fairy tale, like the magical Santa Claus who visits every boy and girl on earth in one night, having kept a naughty/nice ledger on each of them throughout the year.
+ God would be a fable, the likes of which we see in the movie Bruce Almighty. The point of the movie has nothing to do about God, but instead is a lesson in morality. The focus is on the haughty pridefulness, and self-centeredness of humankind. Bruce was unable to successfully take over God's job because his desires and perspectives remained too narrow--remained all too human. In the movie, God is only a foil for our tragic narrowness.
+ Such a god would be pagan: one who is directly seen in nature, and who is the direct, supernatural cause for every (natural) thing that happens.
+ Lastly, such a god would be a dread being. One who uses suffering as a teaching implement, uses suffering in order to change or control the behavior of individuals. We have a word for such a being: Tyrant.
No. God does not fix events; God empowers people.
God's plan focuses not so much on what happens in life so much as the one to whom life is happening.
Failing one test does not negate the intellect with which God has blessed me. God gives me the gift of my mind to use, instead of rigging every test so that I might ace it.
And when tragedy comes, it is not a part of God's plan, because God's plan for me is always for the good. Instead, God has a plan to build me up so that I can deal with the changes and chances of life. Yes, God created the wind, but he does not tell the wind how and when and where to blow. There is no divine butterfly effect.
Does this mean that we should stop praying for the little things?
Certainly not. We are to pray without ceasing, for big things and for small things.
But we must have a different understanding of what it means to pray, that is, what happens when one prays. Prayer is not a magic spell that calls down power from on high to fix events in the world. We do not pray to God in order for God to change things. Such a view of the efficacy of prayer is a pagan conception of the relationship between the gods and humankind. The pagan prays to appease the gods so that they, in turn, act in certain ways--bestow certain blessings.
No, this view of prayer must be rejected. Prayer does not change or alter God actions or purposes. Instead, prayer changes people. In prayer, we allow the Holy Spirit to so work on our minds and hearts in such a way that we are free to act, free from despair.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed to his Father that the cup of suffering would be taken from him. Jesus prayed God would spare him from the Cross. What was the result of that prayer? The cross certainly happened, so did God ignore his own son? Did God hear, but do nothing? Not at all. Instead, through Jesus' prayer, God was preparing his son for the task ahead--giving him courage in the face of death, giving him faith to trust in God's larger purpose for him. God's plan cannot be derailed by small incidentals. And to God, even death is incidental.
Thus, we pray so that we may be blessed with the gifts of the Spirit of God, in order to meet the changes and chances of life with courage and faith. God does not control. God invites. God repairs. God forgives.
And so, when my loved one dies, it is not because it was a part of God's plan. Rather, God's plan is able to break into the world through that death. Death, which is a natural stage of life in the world, is the opportunity for God to assert God's larger plan for us. It is the moment in which eternity can break forth into time, or rather, pull the traveller out of time and into eternity--where God's will is done as a matter of course. In eternity, the will of God and the nature of things are one. But even there God does not micro-manage. God simply exists. And all things exist in and through God. That is, God is all-in-all. Meanwhile, in the world, we still wait for this consummation, we still wait for God's will to be done on earth as it is in heaven. And so, in the meanwhile, God works indirectly.
And in the meanwhile, we continue to pray for everything, great and small.
Thursday, August 22, 2013
The Fire of Faith
-or- "Singled out by the Hidden God"
"I came to bring fire to the earth.... Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three...." Luke 12: 49, 51, 52
In this Gospel lesson from last Sunday, we are given a picture of Jesus' ministry that is foreign to our ears and minds. After reading the section from Luke's gospel above, I immediately thought of a line from one of my favorite Christmas carols. It came to mind because it is so different a picture:
"Tell the story,
how from glory
God came down at Christmastide,
Bringing gladness,
chasing sadness,
Showering blessings far and wide."
No fire there.
Even one of our most common images of the Cross, despite the event being a horrific execution that scattered the disciples, set Judeans against one another, and instigated division between Roman rulers and their Jewish subjects, is the image of Jesus stretching out his arms in order to gather all people to himself. And it is true, by the Cross and Resurrection, we are unified into one people of God, unified into one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins, unified into one holy catholic and apostolic church.
So what is with this talk about fire and division?
Jesus is talking about how we each and all must approach God and faith--alone (that is, for ourselves) and amidst the fire of rebirth (that is, the refining fire).
We begin with how mortals see and experience God in the world. Christians cannot have a direct relationship with God, that is God cannot be seen directly. In paganism, the gods are seen in every tree and river, and upon every mountain. In Christianity, nature consists in traces of the hidden God's work. In paganism, extraordinary beings reveal the glory of the gods directly: the strength of Hercules, the amazing appearance and reappearance of the Phoenix, and the lightning bolts of Zeus. In Christianity, God is hidden in very ordinary things. For instance, the most direct communication between God and humanity was Jesus Christ (when God came down in a form we could see and talk to directly). Still, God's glory in the incarnation was hidden in a very normal human being. Even God's victory was hidden in defeat; the power of God's life was hidden in death. (For God's victory and life were shown most clearly on the Cross.)
[Some of God's manifestations, particularly in the Old Testament are rather more extraordinary. For instance the Ark of the Covenant, the appearance of angelic beings, and the burning bush that was not consumed by the fire. In that last, it was not only the ineffectual fire, but also the fact that the bush was talking to Moses, which makes that manifestation of God quite direct, and definitely spectacular. One must remember that these were the days of paganism, and God was finally revealing God's self in such ways as to assert his existence, presence and dominance over and against other, false, gods. These images must be tempered by other, more mysterious and indirect images, such as the three strangers that visited Abraham and Sarah or the sheer silence that marked God's presence for the prophet, instead of the earthquakes and winds and storms.]
God is hidden, God relates and communicates with us indirectly because the truth about God can only be experienced or laid hold of inwardly. What does this mean? To begin, Martin Luther once said that there are two things that each of us must do alone: faith and death. No one can believe for us; no one can die for us. We must experience these...processes. If I go to church simply because people I know do--or better yet, if I go to church just because my parents did--or if I say the creed simply because the rest of the congregation is saying it, then I do not have faith. Only once I have the passion of inwardness does faith begin to present itself. I say the creed because I truly believe it, and don't care whether others say it or not; I go to church because I desire to see and worship God, not because it simply what I do.
I must first be divided from all others, and understand (subjectively, not objectively) God's truth in Jesus Christ, before I am able to be unified to the people of God in the Kingdom of God on earth. God doesn't want to relate to a crowd, but to me and to you. God does not want us to come to the table as a commune (which is a prerequisite for a cult), but would have us come as individuals so that God himself can transform us into a holy communion. God comes to ignite the fire of passion in us, dividing us from others as the individuals we were created to be, in order that God can relate to each of his creatures singly. And it is only through our relationship to God that we then are bound together. We are one in Christ, gathered by the Holy Spirit. We are gathered individually, called to unity.
Christ comes to bring division, then, in order to break asunder all human allegiances. If I go to church because of my parents; if I say I love God for my parents; if I get married in the church solely because my parents want it that way--in each case, I do not act out of love for God, I act out of love for my parents. God need not even attend. And so a household is divided so that the next generation may feel the passion of faith for themselves--each individually.
Just so, if I claimed to be Christian because I live in a Christian nation, or even the reverse--if because I was Christian I somehow needed the nation in which I live to be Christian also--then this is not faith, but nationalism.
Instead, God is revealed indirectly. God is always hidden in, with and under very ordinary things, so that I must--myself--lay hold of the truth of God's presence. I must come to the crisis of faith in which I choose a relationship with God for myself. Faith begins in this way. And only after I have become myself because I am divided--by Christ--from all others, can I be refined in the fire of self-surrender. At which point, I am freed from the last allegiance holding me back from relationship with God and communion in the Kingdom, to wit, the allegiance to my self. When I am divided from even my own selfish desires, then faith has reached its height, and I cannot go farther.
God is hidden in the paradox, so that each goal is reached only through its opposite. God is hidden in the Cross so that I, offended, must lay hold of the passion of faith which goes against what is seen and provable (for one cannot prove that life comes from death). God is hidden in the ordinary things of my daily life, so that I must look harder and come to know God for myself, and at the same time, come to know myself and my own biases and delusions (in repentance).
God always comes to divide--to single me out, to single you out. Because God has chosen me, God has chosen you. God wants a unique relationship which each of us.
Now back to that wonderful Christmas song. Each of us is called to tell our story of faith, to tell how God came down from Glory to meet each of us individually--how he made me glad, how he chased my sadness away, how he blessed me to be a blessing.
Experience the hidden God for yourself. Tell that story. Tell it like you mean it...tell it like you lived it.
May the Holy Spirit single you our with such fire and passion for the Gospel.
Amen.
"I came to bring fire to the earth.... Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three...." Luke 12: 49, 51, 52
In this Gospel lesson from last Sunday, we are given a picture of Jesus' ministry that is foreign to our ears and minds. After reading the section from Luke's gospel above, I immediately thought of a line from one of my favorite Christmas carols. It came to mind because it is so different a picture:
"Tell the story,
how from glory
God came down at Christmastide,
Bringing gladness,
chasing sadness,
Showering blessings far and wide."
No fire there.
Even one of our most common images of the Cross, despite the event being a horrific execution that scattered the disciples, set Judeans against one another, and instigated division between Roman rulers and their Jewish subjects, is the image of Jesus stretching out his arms in order to gather all people to himself. And it is true, by the Cross and Resurrection, we are unified into one people of God, unified into one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins, unified into one holy catholic and apostolic church.
So what is with this talk about fire and division?
Jesus is talking about how we each and all must approach God and faith--alone (that is, for ourselves) and amidst the fire of rebirth (that is, the refining fire).
We begin with how mortals see and experience God in the world. Christians cannot have a direct relationship with God, that is God cannot be seen directly. In paganism, the gods are seen in every tree and river, and upon every mountain. In Christianity, nature consists in traces of the hidden God's work. In paganism, extraordinary beings reveal the glory of the gods directly: the strength of Hercules, the amazing appearance and reappearance of the Phoenix, and the lightning bolts of Zeus. In Christianity, God is hidden in very ordinary things. For instance, the most direct communication between God and humanity was Jesus Christ (when God came down in a form we could see and talk to directly). Still, God's glory in the incarnation was hidden in a very normal human being. Even God's victory was hidden in defeat; the power of God's life was hidden in death. (For God's victory and life were shown most clearly on the Cross.)
[Some of God's manifestations, particularly in the Old Testament are rather more extraordinary. For instance the Ark of the Covenant, the appearance of angelic beings, and the burning bush that was not consumed by the fire. In that last, it was not only the ineffectual fire, but also the fact that the bush was talking to Moses, which makes that manifestation of God quite direct, and definitely spectacular. One must remember that these were the days of paganism, and God was finally revealing God's self in such ways as to assert his existence, presence and dominance over and against other, false, gods. These images must be tempered by other, more mysterious and indirect images, such as the three strangers that visited Abraham and Sarah or the sheer silence that marked God's presence for the prophet, instead of the earthquakes and winds and storms.]
God is hidden, God relates and communicates with us indirectly because the truth about God can only be experienced or laid hold of inwardly. What does this mean? To begin, Martin Luther once said that there are two things that each of us must do alone: faith and death. No one can believe for us; no one can die for us. We must experience these...processes. If I go to church simply because people I know do--or better yet, if I go to church just because my parents did--or if I say the creed simply because the rest of the congregation is saying it, then I do not have faith. Only once I have the passion of inwardness does faith begin to present itself. I say the creed because I truly believe it, and don't care whether others say it or not; I go to church because I desire to see and worship God, not because it simply what I do.
I must first be divided from all others, and understand (subjectively, not objectively) God's truth in Jesus Christ, before I am able to be unified to the people of God in the Kingdom of God on earth. God doesn't want to relate to a crowd, but to me and to you. God does not want us to come to the table as a commune (which is a prerequisite for a cult), but would have us come as individuals so that God himself can transform us into a holy communion. God comes to ignite the fire of passion in us, dividing us from others as the individuals we were created to be, in order that God can relate to each of his creatures singly. And it is only through our relationship to God that we then are bound together. We are one in Christ, gathered by the Holy Spirit. We are gathered individually, called to unity.
Christ comes to bring division, then, in order to break asunder all human allegiances. If I go to church because of my parents; if I say I love God for my parents; if I get married in the church solely because my parents want it that way--in each case, I do not act out of love for God, I act out of love for my parents. God need not even attend. And so a household is divided so that the next generation may feel the passion of faith for themselves--each individually.
Just so, if I claimed to be Christian because I live in a Christian nation, or even the reverse--if because I was Christian I somehow needed the nation in which I live to be Christian also--then this is not faith, but nationalism.
Instead, God is revealed indirectly. God is always hidden in, with and under very ordinary things, so that I must--myself--lay hold of the truth of God's presence. I must come to the crisis of faith in which I choose a relationship with God for myself. Faith begins in this way. And only after I have become myself because I am divided--by Christ--from all others, can I be refined in the fire of self-surrender. At which point, I am freed from the last allegiance holding me back from relationship with God and communion in the Kingdom, to wit, the allegiance to my self. When I am divided from even my own selfish desires, then faith has reached its height, and I cannot go farther.
God is hidden in the paradox, so that each goal is reached only through its opposite. God is hidden in the Cross so that I, offended, must lay hold of the passion of faith which goes against what is seen and provable (for one cannot prove that life comes from death). God is hidden in the ordinary things of my daily life, so that I must look harder and come to know God for myself, and at the same time, come to know myself and my own biases and delusions (in repentance).
God always comes to divide--to single me out, to single you out. Because God has chosen me, God has chosen you. God wants a unique relationship which each of us.
Now back to that wonderful Christmas song. Each of us is called to tell our story of faith, to tell how God came down from Glory to meet each of us individually--how he made me glad, how he chased my sadness away, how he blessed me to be a blessing.
Experience the hidden God for yourself. Tell that story. Tell it like you mean it...tell it like you lived it.
May the Holy Spirit single you our with such fire and passion for the Gospel.
Amen.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Bearing the Cross, Part 2
-or- A Brief Treatment on the Theodicy
The Theodicy is a philosophical argument against the existence of God. It is an old argument that has been, for hundreds of years, very compelling to people. In fact, when I speak with most folks who were once Christian, but profess the faith no longer, the most frequent reason is, basically, the theodicy.
The argument runs like this:
God is all-powerful.
God is good, righteous and all-loving.
Yet, suffering exists.
Therefore, God cannot be both all-powerful and all-loving.
[Because, either God is all-loving and would not suffer his people to endure evil, and so God is unable to do anything about evil in the world (not all-powerful). Or, God can do something about evil, but does not want to, and so is not all-loving, not all-good.]
This is the problem of evil.
Because evil exists as it does in the world, neither can God exist in the way that we Christians talk about him--as omnipotent and one with steadfast love.
Allow me to begin by saying that there is no answer to the problem of evil when it is phrased this way. The logic of the argument above is undeniable. Given the reality of suffering, the first two propositions cannot both be true and the conclusion follows. I argue, however, that the phrasing of the problem is too simplistic. In the blogpost that follows, I will try to briefly show that the premises and assumptions behind this logical quandary are misguided, that the problem of evil is much more complex than the argument above indicates...and that the solution to the issue must be equally complex--I daresay paradoxical.
First, the argument from evil assumes that there is a God. At root, the assumption is that God causes (or similarly allows to be caused) evil against humanity and creation. In Part 1, we discussed a human's initial response to suffering--laying blame. The argument above, the way it is phrased and constructed, consistently blames God for human suffering. Yet, God is, indeed, blameless. I invite you to see "Bearing the Cross, Part 1" for my treatment on this point, as well as my ruminations below. St. Augustine tried to get around God's culpability by arguing that evil was not a thing-in-and-for-itself, but rather that evil was the absence of the good. However, this only places more blame on God: now God's shadow is evil itself. And isn't God still the cause of evil even if evil occurs when he withdraws the good? For the argument from evil to be compelling, one must begin with the will to blame and disprove God.
Second, most of the compelling arguments against the problem of evil only serve to shift the blame. Some alter their conception of God, that is, "admit" that God is not omnipotent, or that God does have a malfeasant side. If this is not another way to blame God, it is a way to blame humanity itself--we have just had the wrong idea about God. Another argument is the argument from freedom: God has given his human creations the gift of freedom. Humans freely choose evil. Therefore, both evil and an omnipotent and all-loving God both exist. Responsibility is laid squarely on the shoulders of humanity here. We are to blame.
None of these answers are adequate to the question.
I suggest, therefore, that we take a new approach. Instead of looking for the cause of evil, we must simply admit that suffering happens. Even if everyone in the world lived a perfectly Christ-like life, there would still be suffering in this world, for natural disasters care little about human morality. If we lived on a calm planet, and Eden, in time our sun would still fizzle out or explode and we would suffer for it (yes, that is an understatement). Suffering happens. Why? There is no satisfying answer to be had. What caused it to be? Perhaps suffering comes from the remnants of the chaos that God began to order when he started creation. That doesn't make chaos bad, but rather it necessitates that the combination of order and chaos is not without pain and strife.
Once we just admit that suffering happens and that its causes elude us, then we are free to open our eyes to what God is doing in the midst of suffering. For this we look to the cross, because the cross is what gives meaning to all of our suffering--not that our suffering is redemptive, but rather we have God's empathy because God, too, endured suffering.
God is all-loving: he sent his own son. God, himself, came to experience what it was like in order to be human. This quality of solidarity is hardly found in the world today. God suffered to ease our suffering. God suffered so that our suffering would not be in vain. God came into the world and took on flesh, so that we would know of God's presence and love in the midst of chaos and suffering.
God is all-powerful: he conquered death through the death of his son. By suffering, God destroyed suffering. God overwhelms evil not by obliterating it, but by meeting it and transforming it. Death is not abolished...its sting is taken away. God is that power at work in each one of us which turns our suffering into victory. We cannot overcome what we do not endure, what we do not meet in life. And although God is not a micro-manager (he does not control each wind to make sure a hurricane never occurs), we know that he is always present in our lives to give us power and victory.
Soren Kierkegaard often wrote about suffering and the Christian life. One of the more profound things he said about the Way of faith is this: "The road is not hard, but hardship is the road." In hardship, in suffering, is when God chooses to come to us, because that is when we need love and power. And so hardship is not a bunch of obstacles along the road of faith. Instead, the only way is suffering itself. That is the road that God makes easy for us, that is the burden he makes light.
What blessed joy is ours that we find God in hardship, because that is where God pours his power and love. What blessed joy is ours that God does not cause or allow suffering, but combats it in the only effective way there is, and precisely when we need the help. What blessed joy is ours that God is strong enough and loving enough to use the cross to solve the problem of evil.
The Theodicy is a philosophical argument against the existence of God. It is an old argument that has been, for hundreds of years, very compelling to people. In fact, when I speak with most folks who were once Christian, but profess the faith no longer, the most frequent reason is, basically, the theodicy.
The argument runs like this:
God is all-powerful.
God is good, righteous and all-loving.
Yet, suffering exists.
Therefore, God cannot be both all-powerful and all-loving.
[Because, either God is all-loving and would not suffer his people to endure evil, and so God is unable to do anything about evil in the world (not all-powerful). Or, God can do something about evil, but does not want to, and so is not all-loving, not all-good.]
This is the problem of evil.
Because evil exists as it does in the world, neither can God exist in the way that we Christians talk about him--as omnipotent and one with steadfast love.
Allow me to begin by saying that there is no answer to the problem of evil when it is phrased this way. The logic of the argument above is undeniable. Given the reality of suffering, the first two propositions cannot both be true and the conclusion follows. I argue, however, that the phrasing of the problem is too simplistic. In the blogpost that follows, I will try to briefly show that the premises and assumptions behind this logical quandary are misguided, that the problem of evil is much more complex than the argument above indicates...and that the solution to the issue must be equally complex--I daresay paradoxical.
First, the argument from evil assumes that there is a God. At root, the assumption is that God causes (or similarly allows to be caused) evil against humanity and creation. In Part 1, we discussed a human's initial response to suffering--laying blame. The argument above, the way it is phrased and constructed, consistently blames God for human suffering. Yet, God is, indeed, blameless. I invite you to see "Bearing the Cross, Part 1" for my treatment on this point, as well as my ruminations below. St. Augustine tried to get around God's culpability by arguing that evil was not a thing-in-and-for-itself, but rather that evil was the absence of the good. However, this only places more blame on God: now God's shadow is evil itself. And isn't God still the cause of evil even if evil occurs when he withdraws the good? For the argument from evil to be compelling, one must begin with the will to blame and disprove God.
Second, most of the compelling arguments against the problem of evil only serve to shift the blame. Some alter their conception of God, that is, "admit" that God is not omnipotent, or that God does have a malfeasant side. If this is not another way to blame God, it is a way to blame humanity itself--we have just had the wrong idea about God. Another argument is the argument from freedom: God has given his human creations the gift of freedom. Humans freely choose evil. Therefore, both evil and an omnipotent and all-loving God both exist. Responsibility is laid squarely on the shoulders of humanity here. We are to blame.
None of these answers are adequate to the question.
I suggest, therefore, that we take a new approach. Instead of looking for the cause of evil, we must simply admit that suffering happens. Even if everyone in the world lived a perfectly Christ-like life, there would still be suffering in this world, for natural disasters care little about human morality. If we lived on a calm planet, and Eden, in time our sun would still fizzle out or explode and we would suffer for it (yes, that is an understatement). Suffering happens. Why? There is no satisfying answer to be had. What caused it to be? Perhaps suffering comes from the remnants of the chaos that God began to order when he started creation. That doesn't make chaos bad, but rather it necessitates that the combination of order and chaos is not without pain and strife.
Once we just admit that suffering happens and that its causes elude us, then we are free to open our eyes to what God is doing in the midst of suffering. For this we look to the cross, because the cross is what gives meaning to all of our suffering--not that our suffering is redemptive, but rather we have God's empathy because God, too, endured suffering.
God is all-loving: he sent his own son. God, himself, came to experience what it was like in order to be human. This quality of solidarity is hardly found in the world today. God suffered to ease our suffering. God suffered so that our suffering would not be in vain. God came into the world and took on flesh, so that we would know of God's presence and love in the midst of chaos and suffering.
God is all-powerful: he conquered death through the death of his son. By suffering, God destroyed suffering. God overwhelms evil not by obliterating it, but by meeting it and transforming it. Death is not abolished...its sting is taken away. God is that power at work in each one of us which turns our suffering into victory. We cannot overcome what we do not endure, what we do not meet in life. And although God is not a micro-manager (he does not control each wind to make sure a hurricane never occurs), we know that he is always present in our lives to give us power and victory.
Soren Kierkegaard often wrote about suffering and the Christian life. One of the more profound things he said about the Way of faith is this: "The road is not hard, but hardship is the road." In hardship, in suffering, is when God chooses to come to us, because that is when we need love and power. And so hardship is not a bunch of obstacles along the road of faith. Instead, the only way is suffering itself. That is the road that God makes easy for us, that is the burden he makes light.
What blessed joy is ours that we find God in hardship, because that is where God pours his power and love. What blessed joy is ours that God does not cause or allow suffering, but combats it in the only effective way there is, and precisely when we need the help. What blessed joy is ours that God is strong enough and loving enough to use the cross to solve the problem of evil.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Bearing the Cross, Part 1
-or- How long, Lord, How Long?
"For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope." Jeremiah 29:11
This passage from Jeremiah is beloved by many. And rightly so, for it is a word of hope and assurance from God. We are comforted in the knowledge that we have some One looking out for us, that some One has a larger plan for our lives.
If, however, by this passage--or by any other passage in the Bible--anyone comes to think that the life of the Faithful One is supposed to be without pain and suffering, that one is mistaken. How easy for one to think by Jeremiah's prophesy that 'If I am right with God, then God will keep me from all harm.' or 'Harm will only come to me if I stray from God's plan for my life.' When, in fact, we only deceive ourselves by these statements.
While we are suffering, we try to issue blame. Although many Christians claim to believe that Satan is the source of all evil, these same Christians end up blaming either themselves, another human being, or God for their pain and suffering. Blame must be handed out to an individual, or to a personified entity, in order for that blame to be cathartic. I believe that the reason we don't blame Evil for evil is because Evil has become an amorphous concept. We have rejected the personification of evil in the Devil, and most of us (whether because of the Church's weakened message, or because of cultural forces) think of evil as some kind of vague and general force...or still weaker, as some human affectation. The result is that when suffering comes to our lives, instead of turning toward God, others or self for strength, we turn away. In a spirit of blame, we turn against the good instead of turning against evil. And in this way, we play right into Evil's hand. For Evil only wishes to isolate us so that we are easier to tempt and torture.
What blessed joy is mine that, in Christ Jesus, I am not to blame.
As soon as we begin to suffer in any way, often times our first response is, "What did I do wrong?" We think or say to ourselves, "I must have offended God somehow. Why is God punishing me?" We assume that we ourselves are the source of the evil that has befallen us. I did something to deserve such suffering, therefore, I am being punished for my deeds. This base, initial reaction is so far from the concept of grace that one totally forgets the Cross. Such a reaction is paramount to saying, "Jesus' sacrifice on the Cross is not powerful enough to help me in the least." So strongly do we bind ourselves to our own sin! Even as Jesus is trying to tear that sin away from our grasp.
The truth is that our Father in heaven, "...makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous" (Matthew 5:45). In the Kingdom of God, we might reap only what we sow. However, in the Kingdom of the World--that is, here on earth--we cannot judge a person's character or actions based on the result, whether or not they end up blessed or cursed, prosperous or impoverished. Thus, we have no cause or basis for judging ourselves on account of what befalls us in life. For life in this world just doesn't make sense in that regard. The sun just shines, the rain just falls--neither the shining nor the falling is meant for me alone. No one can call down rain, and no one can tell the sun to shine--no matter what one does, good or bad. Ah, but what blessed joy is ours that no matter what happens, whether we are rained on or have light, we are justified by grace alone, and not because of our works. If you could judge my worth based on what sufferings I have had in life--I would be worthless. For the rain falls on my when I am righteous and the sun shines on me when I am sinful. There is no correlation...so let us not turn against ourselves. Our suffering is not a punishment, it simply is.
What blessed joy that you are not to blame, either.
If we cannot blame ourselves for this reason, then neither can we blame another. Because what is true of us is also true of our neighbor: if suffering is not our fault, it cannot be "their" fault, either. Why? Because we are all in the same boat. Sunshine and rain are conditions that come with being human. That is, suffering is a part of our human condition. We all suffer in our own ways. For this reason, we need salvation--we need God. The psalmist writes: "The days of our life are seventy years, or perhaps eighty, if we are strong; even then their span is only toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away." (Psalm 90:10). We are all subject to the changes and chances of life. We are all vulnerable in this life to suffering, and ultimately to death. After the Fall from Eden it became a part of our human nature. How can I blame my neighbor for the nature of life, for the way life in this world simply is? How can I blame my neighbor for my suffering, when they,too, suffer?
What blessed joy that our God is always and absolutely blameless!
When we can no longer blame ourselves or others, because human existence in the world is simply what it is--and it is not always sunshine and roses--then we often turn our blame toward God. After all, God allows life to be the way it is. God allows suffering to befall me. Oh! But for some it is even worse! Some take the extra step to say that God has caused this suffering to befall me. God made my spouse leave. God sent that hurricane or tornado which took my house and town. God called us to acts of war. God needed an angel, and so he took my child. Is that our view of God, that he is a cruel torturer, immune to the sorrows of his children? How wicked that we assign what we consider evil to the action of our God, who, in fact, is the source of all goodness and mercy. But in our quest to blame, no one is safe, no one is immune, not even God. Yet God is perfect and holy and without a spot of guilt.
So whence comes hardship and sorrow?
And why must we go through these things--even we, who strive to be good?
My reflections on these questions must come in another blog, as I have reached the end of the page here. In the meanwhile, how would you answer these questions?
Stay tuned...
"For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope." Jeremiah 29:11
This passage from Jeremiah is beloved by many. And rightly so, for it is a word of hope and assurance from God. We are comforted in the knowledge that we have some One looking out for us, that some One has a larger plan for our lives.
If, however, by this passage--or by any other passage in the Bible--anyone comes to think that the life of the Faithful One is supposed to be without pain and suffering, that one is mistaken. How easy for one to think by Jeremiah's prophesy that 'If I am right with God, then God will keep me from all harm.' or 'Harm will only come to me if I stray from God's plan for my life.' When, in fact, we only deceive ourselves by these statements.
While we are suffering, we try to issue blame. Although many Christians claim to believe that Satan is the source of all evil, these same Christians end up blaming either themselves, another human being, or God for their pain and suffering. Blame must be handed out to an individual, or to a personified entity, in order for that blame to be cathartic. I believe that the reason we don't blame Evil for evil is because Evil has become an amorphous concept. We have rejected the personification of evil in the Devil, and most of us (whether because of the Church's weakened message, or because of cultural forces) think of evil as some kind of vague and general force...or still weaker, as some human affectation. The result is that when suffering comes to our lives, instead of turning toward God, others or self for strength, we turn away. In a spirit of blame, we turn against the good instead of turning against evil. And in this way, we play right into Evil's hand. For Evil only wishes to isolate us so that we are easier to tempt and torture.
What blessed joy is mine that, in Christ Jesus, I am not to blame.
As soon as we begin to suffer in any way, often times our first response is, "What did I do wrong?" We think or say to ourselves, "I must have offended God somehow. Why is God punishing me?" We assume that we ourselves are the source of the evil that has befallen us. I did something to deserve such suffering, therefore, I am being punished for my deeds. This base, initial reaction is so far from the concept of grace that one totally forgets the Cross. Such a reaction is paramount to saying, "Jesus' sacrifice on the Cross is not powerful enough to help me in the least." So strongly do we bind ourselves to our own sin! Even as Jesus is trying to tear that sin away from our grasp.
The truth is that our Father in heaven, "...makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous" (Matthew 5:45). In the Kingdom of God, we might reap only what we sow. However, in the Kingdom of the World--that is, here on earth--we cannot judge a person's character or actions based on the result, whether or not they end up blessed or cursed, prosperous or impoverished. Thus, we have no cause or basis for judging ourselves on account of what befalls us in life. For life in this world just doesn't make sense in that regard. The sun just shines, the rain just falls--neither the shining nor the falling is meant for me alone. No one can call down rain, and no one can tell the sun to shine--no matter what one does, good or bad. Ah, but what blessed joy is ours that no matter what happens, whether we are rained on or have light, we are justified by grace alone, and not because of our works. If you could judge my worth based on what sufferings I have had in life--I would be worthless. For the rain falls on my when I am righteous and the sun shines on me when I am sinful. There is no correlation...so let us not turn against ourselves. Our suffering is not a punishment, it simply is.
What blessed joy that you are not to blame, either.
If we cannot blame ourselves for this reason, then neither can we blame another. Because what is true of us is also true of our neighbor: if suffering is not our fault, it cannot be "their" fault, either. Why? Because we are all in the same boat. Sunshine and rain are conditions that come with being human. That is, suffering is a part of our human condition. We all suffer in our own ways. For this reason, we need salvation--we need God. The psalmist writes: "The days of our life are seventy years, or perhaps eighty, if we are strong; even then their span is only toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away." (Psalm 90:10). We are all subject to the changes and chances of life. We are all vulnerable in this life to suffering, and ultimately to death. After the Fall from Eden it became a part of our human nature. How can I blame my neighbor for the nature of life, for the way life in this world simply is? How can I blame my neighbor for my suffering, when they,too, suffer?
What blessed joy that our God is always and absolutely blameless!
When we can no longer blame ourselves or others, because human existence in the world is simply what it is--and it is not always sunshine and roses--then we often turn our blame toward God. After all, God allows life to be the way it is. God allows suffering to befall me. Oh! But for some it is even worse! Some take the extra step to say that God has caused this suffering to befall me. God made my spouse leave. God sent that hurricane or tornado which took my house and town. God called us to acts of war. God needed an angel, and so he took my child. Is that our view of God, that he is a cruel torturer, immune to the sorrows of his children? How wicked that we assign what we consider evil to the action of our God, who, in fact, is the source of all goodness and mercy. But in our quest to blame, no one is safe, no one is immune, not even God. Yet God is perfect and holy and without a spot of guilt.
So whence comes hardship and sorrow?
And why must we go through these things--even we, who strive to be good?
My reflections on these questions must come in another blog, as I have reached the end of the page here. In the meanwhile, how would you answer these questions?
Stay tuned...
Thursday, July 11, 2013
One Holy, ________ and Apostolic Church
-or- What Does it Mean to Be "catholic"
"There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all."
(Ephesians 4:4-6)
On Sunday July 7th, I preached a teaching sermon about the word "apostolic," which we use to describe the Church in the third article of the Nicene Creed:
".... We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church..."
I will not recap my comments on apostolic here. Feel free to acquire the audio recording of my sermon, or contact me and we can have a discussion about it. Or, one can always "google it."
Instead, I wish to treat an issue that arose in my preaching on this particular line in the Creed. My sermon touched on controversy--not because of the radical message that we are all apostles called to spread the Word of the Kingdom of God, that we are all called to be spiritual leaders and mentors in the world, but rather because of another pesky word in this sentence of the creed: "catholic."
At St. John Church, we do not say "catholic." Instead, we have worship booklets which have changed the word to "We believe in one holy Christian and apostolic church...." I suppose I should not say "we" don't say "catholic," since some (including me...who speaks in the microphone) do say "catholic." But this is an old debate at St. Johns that at one time caused an unknown (to me) amount of argument and division.
The issue, as far as I can tell, was that the congregation wanted to differentiate themselves from the Roman Catholic Church in town. And saying the word "catholic" in the creed brought to mind the Roman Catholics. Having the Catholics brought to mind in worship was far from up-lifting, because there was a time when Roman Catholics in Toluca were told in strong terms never to socialize--and certainly not worship or commune--with "the protestants." This created a great deal of hardship to friends and family and spouses that stood across the Catholic/Protestant line from one another. The Toluca Lutheran retaliation came in the form of changing our creed: "You excommunicate us? Fine, we excommunicate you---your word is out of our creed." And so the creed was changed to read "Christian" church. [I understand that this is not a local phenomenon, but that many other churches prefer to use the term "Christian" in that part of the creed. However, this is the first and only Lutheran Church that I have lived and worked in that does not say "catholic"--and so the issue seems local to me.]
Since I don't know where I stand with people when I say "catholic" and since I received several questions and comments about my mentioning that part of the creed in my sermon (although my focus was on the very next word, "apostolic"), I feel compelled to explain myself. What follows, therefore, are some reflections on the word "catholic" and how it both differs from the word "Catholic" and is preferable to the term "Christian." Please bear with me to the end.
The Nicene Creed was originally written in Greek. The Greek word in the spot in question is καθολικὴν, which means "universal, general or complete." It comes from the root words kata (by) + holos (whole), and thus is a word that refers to the whole, undivided Church consisting of those who follow Jesus Christ. The word catholic in the creed, then, simply means the whole Church, that is, not just this congregation or even this denomination, but all churches everywhere which proclaim Christ crucified.
Historically, the Roman Church has adopted the word "catholic" and have made it a part of their proper name for themselves. They claim to be THE catholic church. And before there were any splits in the Church, that would have been very nearly correct. After Luther and other reformers (and even the much early split between Eastern and Western Christianity), this no longer held true--but the Romans kept the name, and they kept the idea that they were the only ones.
I do not think we should let the Roman Church get away with this claim. I believe that the ELCA is a part of the universal church and without the Lutherans the catholic church would not be complete. Therefore, I call the commonly known "Catholic Church" the Roman Church (which is a lot more accurate, as their structure is and has historically been centered in Rome). And I try to reclaim the word catholic as a term that fits any follower of Christ--which was its original intent.
If that is not compelling, then here is an argument from the other side, namely the reason why using "Christian" is, in fact, worse than using "catholic." Christian is used to convey the same concept as catholic in the creed. The intent is to point toward the larger church, recognizing that we are all in the same boat. On the surface, it would seem like Christian does a better job--since we all seem to claim to be Christian, right?
Well, the word Christian has also been co-opted by a particular denomination--just like the word Catholic. Here in Toluca, we have Antioch Christian Church. Although they are technically "non-denominational" and therefore the word Christian is meant to be a descriptor, in reality there is a historical movement in christian theology and church polity that can be designated as the Christian Church. Think of it this way, just because the word "christian" is not in the name of St. John Lutheran Church, does not mean that our congregation is not christian. Indeed, we are christian first, and Lutheran is a secondary term that gives people an idea about what type of christians we are. Just as the words Catholic and Christian are used in St. Mary's Catholic Church and Antioch Christian Church to describe what kind of christians they are. The names Catholic and Christian are a bit more general than ours, but that does not give them any right to claim that they are representatives of the universal Church while we are not. In point of fact, we are just as catholic and just as christian. How? Because Jesus unifies us and makes us one in the complete and whole and universal church.
Therefore, even if we use "Christian" in our creed (which is quite all right), we must use it in the lower case so that we do not confuse it with the proper name claimed by Antioch and other "Christian" churches.
Moreover, it is much better for us to conjure up the image of Catholic instead of Christian, because we are much closer in theology and in practice to the Roman Church than to the Christian Church. For instance, (and this was one of the major issues for Luther) we--that is the Lutherans and the Romans--baptize infants. The Christian Church requires what are called "believers baptisms." In other words, in the Christian Church, one must be old enough to decide to claim Jesus as personal Lord and Savior before one can be baptized rightly. For Lutherans and Romans, it does not depend on our decision or even our ability to decide, but instead depends on God's choice and action. God chooses us, we do not choose him. We baptize infants to show that God sends the Holy Spirit to us whether or not we call on him. God can act, even if we choose not to act. It is about what God can and cannot do--not about what we decide to do.
From a practical standpoint, Lutheran worship is much closer to Roman worship than it is to Christian worship. Our use of the liturgy and the lectionary bind us together with the Roman Church. We hear the same Gospel Reading each Sunday. We both have important parts of the liturgy: a kyrie, a gloria, three readings, confession and forgiveness, etc. The Christian Church has a similar order of worship (Gathering-Word-Meal-Sending), however they often are a lot looser in their use of the the liturgy.
All this to say that if we kept the word capitalized (no matter which word we decided to say), then it would be best to use the word Catholic--since we are closer to the Romans than to the Christians. No matter which one you use, always think of it with a lower case "c."
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter. I encourage you to proclaim loudly and proudly whichever word speaks to you. As long as what is in you mind and heart is a believe that all christians, everywhere, in every time are all made one in Jesus, then you have the right belief. Whichever word helps you say, "Yes, even my Roman brothers and sisters are Christian" (and vise versa), then that is the word that is best to use. Because the point of the creed is to say that in Jesus Christ there is no longer any distinction. "...for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female," there is no longer Catholic or Lutheran, there is no longer Christian or Roman, "for all of you are one in Christ Jesus." (Galatians 3:26-28).
That sentiment from Paul's letter to the Galatians is exactly what the creed is trying to convey when it asks us to say: "We believe in one holy καθολικὴν and apostolic church...." So whichever word helps you remember that we are all one in Christ, use that word. For me, the unifying word is "catholic," particularly because it reminds me that we no longer need to have animosity against the church that we have protested against. Rather, through Jesus Christ, we are one even with our rivals.
Thanks be to God for that....and for the rich words he gives us to understand and convey the Word.
Amen.
"There is one body and one Spirit, just as you were called to the one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is above all and through all and in all."
(Ephesians 4:4-6)
On Sunday July 7th, I preached a teaching sermon about the word "apostolic," which we use to describe the Church in the third article of the Nicene Creed:
".... We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church..."
I will not recap my comments on apostolic here. Feel free to acquire the audio recording of my sermon, or contact me and we can have a discussion about it. Or, one can always "google it."
Instead, I wish to treat an issue that arose in my preaching on this particular line in the Creed. My sermon touched on controversy--not because of the radical message that we are all apostles called to spread the Word of the Kingdom of God, that we are all called to be spiritual leaders and mentors in the world, but rather because of another pesky word in this sentence of the creed: "catholic."
At St. John Church, we do not say "catholic." Instead, we have worship booklets which have changed the word to "We believe in one holy Christian and apostolic church...." I suppose I should not say "we" don't say "catholic," since some (including me...who speaks in the microphone) do say "catholic." But this is an old debate at St. Johns that at one time caused an unknown (to me) amount of argument and division.
The issue, as far as I can tell, was that the congregation wanted to differentiate themselves from the Roman Catholic Church in town. And saying the word "catholic" in the creed brought to mind the Roman Catholics. Having the Catholics brought to mind in worship was far from up-lifting, because there was a time when Roman Catholics in Toluca were told in strong terms never to socialize--and certainly not worship or commune--with "the protestants." This created a great deal of hardship to friends and family and spouses that stood across the Catholic/Protestant line from one another. The Toluca Lutheran retaliation came in the form of changing our creed: "You excommunicate us? Fine, we excommunicate you---your word is out of our creed." And so the creed was changed to read "Christian" church. [I understand that this is not a local phenomenon, but that many other churches prefer to use the term "Christian" in that part of the creed. However, this is the first and only Lutheran Church that I have lived and worked in that does not say "catholic"--and so the issue seems local to me.]
Since I don't know where I stand with people when I say "catholic" and since I received several questions and comments about my mentioning that part of the creed in my sermon (although my focus was on the very next word, "apostolic"), I feel compelled to explain myself. What follows, therefore, are some reflections on the word "catholic" and how it both differs from the word "Catholic" and is preferable to the term "Christian." Please bear with me to the end.
The Nicene Creed was originally written in Greek. The Greek word in the spot in question is καθολικὴν, which means "universal, general or complete." It comes from the root words kata (by) + holos (whole), and thus is a word that refers to the whole, undivided Church consisting of those who follow Jesus Christ. The word catholic in the creed, then, simply means the whole Church, that is, not just this congregation or even this denomination, but all churches everywhere which proclaim Christ crucified.
Historically, the Roman Church has adopted the word "catholic" and have made it a part of their proper name for themselves. They claim to be THE catholic church. And before there were any splits in the Church, that would have been very nearly correct. After Luther and other reformers (and even the much early split between Eastern and Western Christianity), this no longer held true--but the Romans kept the name, and they kept the idea that they were the only ones.
I do not think we should let the Roman Church get away with this claim. I believe that the ELCA is a part of the universal church and without the Lutherans the catholic church would not be complete. Therefore, I call the commonly known "Catholic Church" the Roman Church (which is a lot more accurate, as their structure is and has historically been centered in Rome). And I try to reclaim the word catholic as a term that fits any follower of Christ--which was its original intent.
If that is not compelling, then here is an argument from the other side, namely the reason why using "Christian" is, in fact, worse than using "catholic." Christian is used to convey the same concept as catholic in the creed. The intent is to point toward the larger church, recognizing that we are all in the same boat. On the surface, it would seem like Christian does a better job--since we all seem to claim to be Christian, right?
Well, the word Christian has also been co-opted by a particular denomination--just like the word Catholic. Here in Toluca, we have Antioch Christian Church. Although they are technically "non-denominational" and therefore the word Christian is meant to be a descriptor, in reality there is a historical movement in christian theology and church polity that can be designated as the Christian Church. Think of it this way, just because the word "christian" is not in the name of St. John Lutheran Church, does not mean that our congregation is not christian. Indeed, we are christian first, and Lutheran is a secondary term that gives people an idea about what type of christians we are. Just as the words Catholic and Christian are used in St. Mary's Catholic Church and Antioch Christian Church to describe what kind of christians they are. The names Catholic and Christian are a bit more general than ours, but that does not give them any right to claim that they are representatives of the universal Church while we are not. In point of fact, we are just as catholic and just as christian. How? Because Jesus unifies us and makes us one in the complete and whole and universal church.
Therefore, even if we use "Christian" in our creed (which is quite all right), we must use it in the lower case so that we do not confuse it with the proper name claimed by Antioch and other "Christian" churches.
Moreover, it is much better for us to conjure up the image of Catholic instead of Christian, because we are much closer in theology and in practice to the Roman Church than to the Christian Church. For instance, (and this was one of the major issues for Luther) we--that is the Lutherans and the Romans--baptize infants. The Christian Church requires what are called "believers baptisms." In other words, in the Christian Church, one must be old enough to decide to claim Jesus as personal Lord and Savior before one can be baptized rightly. For Lutherans and Romans, it does not depend on our decision or even our ability to decide, but instead depends on God's choice and action. God chooses us, we do not choose him. We baptize infants to show that God sends the Holy Spirit to us whether or not we call on him. God can act, even if we choose not to act. It is about what God can and cannot do--not about what we decide to do.
From a practical standpoint, Lutheran worship is much closer to Roman worship than it is to Christian worship. Our use of the liturgy and the lectionary bind us together with the Roman Church. We hear the same Gospel Reading each Sunday. We both have important parts of the liturgy: a kyrie, a gloria, three readings, confession and forgiveness, etc. The Christian Church has a similar order of worship (Gathering-Word-Meal-Sending), however they often are a lot looser in their use of the the liturgy.
All this to say that if we kept the word capitalized (no matter which word we decided to say), then it would be best to use the word Catholic--since we are closer to the Romans than to the Christians. No matter which one you use, always think of it with a lower case "c."
At the end of the day, it doesn't matter. I encourage you to proclaim loudly and proudly whichever word speaks to you. As long as what is in you mind and heart is a believe that all christians, everywhere, in every time are all made one in Jesus, then you have the right belief. Whichever word helps you say, "Yes, even my Roman brothers and sisters are Christian" (and vise versa), then that is the word that is best to use. Because the point of the creed is to say that in Jesus Christ there is no longer any distinction. "...for in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith. As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female," there is no longer Catholic or Lutheran, there is no longer Christian or Roman, "for all of you are one in Christ Jesus." (Galatians 3:26-28).
That sentiment from Paul's letter to the Galatians is exactly what the creed is trying to convey when it asks us to say: "We believe in one holy καθολικὴν and apostolic church...." So whichever word helps you remember that we are all one in Christ, use that word. For me, the unifying word is "catholic," particularly because it reminds me that we no longer need to have animosity against the church that we have protested against. Rather, through Jesus Christ, we are one even with our rivals.
Thanks be to God for that....and for the rich words he gives us to understand and convey the Word.
Amen.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
The Harvest is Plentiful
-or- Ask the Lord of the Harvest to Send Out Laborers
Almost one year ago, I moved to Toluca, IL to begin my first call at St. John Lutheran Church. In my time here in small-town Illinois I have learned more about farming than a city boy thought could be learned. And so, I appreciate this past Sunday's texts in a whole new way. Here are the parts I refer to:
"...for you reap whatever you sow. If you sow to your own flesh, you will reap corruption from the flesh; but if you sow to the Spirit, you will reap eternal life from the Spirit. So let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up. So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all...." (Galatians 6:7-10)
and again,
"He said to them, 'The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest." (Luke 10:2)
One thing I have learned about farming--and I believe it is regarded as a startling change even to veteran farmers--is that, today, the laborers in the field are, indeed, few. Due to advances in farming technology and changes in the economics of land and agronomy, only a few laborers are needed in the field. Years ago, a family farm could be found every mile or so; and that family farmed the few hundred adjacent acres. Now, farmsteads have disappeared to make room for larger and larger planters and combines. Now, in order to be competitive, one must farm several hundred to over a thousand acres. Land is owned by one group, and rented out to others to do the labor of cultivation. Plots of soil are spread out over miles. These changes are both good and difficult. Farming has become more efficient. Culture and community, however, have been indelibly altered.
Whatever ones opinion on the quality of the changes, it has become true: harvests are plentiful, but laborers are few. Teams of people and animals have been replaced by individuals who operate machines: tractors, combines, trucks that haul grain to the elevators, and other cultivating equipment. Farming has industrialized, allowing fewer people to do more work than was ever done in the past--and to do it quicker.
If the goal is to farm well, efficiently and profitably, these changes, as difficult as they may be, are good. The problem arises, however, when we find that our culture often wishes to have more--and it wants more faster and easier. This desire has become so pervasive, that we see it bleeding into our churches (and not just in farm communities, but in many contexts).
Thus, what holds true of the world--that plentiful harvests can and should be brought in by few laborers--is applied to the church, to our spiritual lives and work.
Faith communities rely more and more on a priestly class to labor in the spiritual harvest. Larger congregations leave the field labor to ordained and lay staff. In mega churches, and today even in smaller congregations, churches rely on equipment and programs instead of good old fashioned manual labor and personal contact. Gone are the days when the whole family pitches in to steer the plow, walk beans, detassel corn or pick the crop by hand.
The difference is that, in farming, advancements in technology and method do not jeopardize the quality of crop at harvest time. Quite the contrary, today just as much attention has been placed in making harvests of quality grain. We have become so good at it that the quality of crops nowadays is better and more reliable than crops of generations past. The same does not necessarily hold true for our churches. Often times the focus on quantity makes the quality to suffer.
You may ask, quantity and quality of what? Well, Jesus was talking about a harvest of souls, if you will. The spiritual laborers were being sent out into the fields to plant the Word about the Kingdom of God like a seed in the minds and hearts of people.
Sowing that type of seed--the spiritual type--resists industrialization.
When Paul writes to the Galatians, his message is that every individual is a spiritual farmer--or if you prefer, we are all hired men and women, since God owns the ground. Whatever each person sows, that is what that person reaps. Each of us is required to tend and care for the soil in which the Word is planted. Each and every individual is responsible for nourishing the plants that spring up from the ground. For this to take place, what is needed is an passionate response to the Good News. Every person must be watered and fed by the Word, in order to bear good fruit...good grain.
And in Luke, Jesus' aim is not simply to point out that the laborers are few, but to encourage more laborers to come out and work in the field. In this passage, Jesus is sending out 70 of his followers to plant the Word throughout the land. Jesus is not satisfied with 12, and he is not satisfied with 70 workers. There is no spiritual farming equipment that allows a few laborers to haul in major harvests. Spiritually speaking, each plant requires a laborer to tend it...and someone is needed to help nourish each laborer. And so, the individual, impassioned response to the Good News also entices each person to look not just to their own harvest, but to the harvest of the whole world.
In other words, we are all called and sent to be apostles, or missionaries...or spiritual farmers.
Thus, we go to church for a purpose: to learn the art and science of spiritual agronomy.
Luckily we have a great instructor.
Unfortunately, there is not a whole lot of time. Just as the farmer will work hard and long hours during planting and during the harvest, just as the farmer works with haste to get the work done in the allotted time, so too must we spiritual farmers work like we have a purpose and a deadline. There is no time to waste, friends, we have to get the corn and beans in.
Almost one year ago, I moved to Toluca, IL to begin my first call at St. John Lutheran Church. In my time here in small-town Illinois I have learned more about farming than a city boy thought could be learned. And so, I appreciate this past Sunday's texts in a whole new way. Here are the parts I refer to:
"...for you reap whatever you sow. If you sow to your own flesh, you will reap corruption from the flesh; but if you sow to the Spirit, you will reap eternal life from the Spirit. So let us not grow weary in doing what is right, for we will reap at harvest time, if we do not give up. So then, whenever we have an opportunity, let us work for the good of all...." (Galatians 6:7-10)
and again,
"He said to them, 'The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest." (Luke 10:2)
One thing I have learned about farming--and I believe it is regarded as a startling change even to veteran farmers--is that, today, the laborers in the field are, indeed, few. Due to advances in farming technology and changes in the economics of land and agronomy, only a few laborers are needed in the field. Years ago, a family farm could be found every mile or so; and that family farmed the few hundred adjacent acres. Now, farmsteads have disappeared to make room for larger and larger planters and combines. Now, in order to be competitive, one must farm several hundred to over a thousand acres. Land is owned by one group, and rented out to others to do the labor of cultivation. Plots of soil are spread out over miles. These changes are both good and difficult. Farming has become more efficient. Culture and community, however, have been indelibly altered.
Whatever ones opinion on the quality of the changes, it has become true: harvests are plentiful, but laborers are few. Teams of people and animals have been replaced by individuals who operate machines: tractors, combines, trucks that haul grain to the elevators, and other cultivating equipment. Farming has industrialized, allowing fewer people to do more work than was ever done in the past--and to do it quicker.
If the goal is to farm well, efficiently and profitably, these changes, as difficult as they may be, are good. The problem arises, however, when we find that our culture often wishes to have more--and it wants more faster and easier. This desire has become so pervasive, that we see it bleeding into our churches (and not just in farm communities, but in many contexts).
Thus, what holds true of the world--that plentiful harvests can and should be brought in by few laborers--is applied to the church, to our spiritual lives and work.
Faith communities rely more and more on a priestly class to labor in the spiritual harvest. Larger congregations leave the field labor to ordained and lay staff. In mega churches, and today even in smaller congregations, churches rely on equipment and programs instead of good old fashioned manual labor and personal contact. Gone are the days when the whole family pitches in to steer the plow, walk beans, detassel corn or pick the crop by hand.
The difference is that, in farming, advancements in technology and method do not jeopardize the quality of crop at harvest time. Quite the contrary, today just as much attention has been placed in making harvests of quality grain. We have become so good at it that the quality of crops nowadays is better and more reliable than crops of generations past. The same does not necessarily hold true for our churches. Often times the focus on quantity makes the quality to suffer.
You may ask, quantity and quality of what? Well, Jesus was talking about a harvest of souls, if you will. The spiritual laborers were being sent out into the fields to plant the Word about the Kingdom of God like a seed in the minds and hearts of people.
Sowing that type of seed--the spiritual type--resists industrialization.
When Paul writes to the Galatians, his message is that every individual is a spiritual farmer--or if you prefer, we are all hired men and women, since God owns the ground. Whatever each person sows, that is what that person reaps. Each of us is required to tend and care for the soil in which the Word is planted. Each and every individual is responsible for nourishing the plants that spring up from the ground. For this to take place, what is needed is an passionate response to the Good News. Every person must be watered and fed by the Word, in order to bear good fruit...good grain.
And in Luke, Jesus' aim is not simply to point out that the laborers are few, but to encourage more laborers to come out and work in the field. In this passage, Jesus is sending out 70 of his followers to plant the Word throughout the land. Jesus is not satisfied with 12, and he is not satisfied with 70 workers. There is no spiritual farming equipment that allows a few laborers to haul in major harvests. Spiritually speaking, each plant requires a laborer to tend it...and someone is needed to help nourish each laborer. And so, the individual, impassioned response to the Good News also entices each person to look not just to their own harvest, but to the harvest of the whole world.
In other words, we are all called and sent to be apostles, or missionaries...or spiritual farmers.
Thus, we go to church for a purpose: to learn the art and science of spiritual agronomy.
Luckily we have a great instructor.
Unfortunately, there is not a whole lot of time. Just as the farmer will work hard and long hours during planting and during the harvest, just as the farmer works with haste to get the work done in the allotted time, so too must we spiritual farmers work like we have a purpose and a deadline. There is no time to waste, friends, we have to get the corn and beans in.
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