Absences

Missing You

            My wife left me!  Don’t take that the wrong way; she came back.  But the experience has got me thinking about absence.  Not just the absence of a wife.

           

            As the deer pants for streams of water,

                        so my soul pants for you, O God.

            My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.

                        Where can I go and meet with God?

                                                Psalm 42:1-2

                       

            Sarah went to Italy to serve with Thrive Ministries.  I knew she would be gone sixteen days, and she came back when I expected (pretty close, anyway; she missed an airport connection, which necessitated an alternate flight).  Before we married, she spent two weeks in Japan and the Philippines.  Later this year she’ll go to Estonia.  I have to get used to a globe-trotting wife.

I say to God my Rock,

                        Why have you forsaken me?

            Why must I go about mourning,

                        oppressed by the enemy?

                                                Psalm 42:9

            What do we mean when we say, “I miss you”?  It varies from case to case, I suppose.  I can miss a wife, a student, or a friend.  We can miss places—an old home, a childhood neighborhood, or landscapes.  And there are more permanent losses: loved ones who died, a friendship broken, jobs lost, and opportunities wasted.  In each case there is pain, a hole in the heart. 

            When the loss is temporary, the pain of separation adds joy to the reunion.  It’s fun to kiss in airports!  With permanent losses—Sarah and I lost our first spouses to cancer—we may say time heals wounds, but it really doesn’t.  The loss stays with us; it becomes part of us.  A person’s interior life, the life of the heart, is complicated.  Sarah doesn’t have to quit missing Loren in order to commit to me. 

            My bones suffer mortal agony

                        as my foes taunt me,

            Saying to me all day long,

                        “Where is your God?”

                                                Psalm 42:10

            The spiritual life is complicated too.  At times we experience God’s presence like an electric current, at other times like a comforting embrace.  Exciting or reassuring, we rejoice when we fell God’s presence.  But there are other times, times when God seems distant or absent.

            Vindicate me, O God,

                        and plead my cause against an ungodly nation;

            Rescue me from deceitful and wicked men.

                                                            Psalm 43:1

            The pleasure the believer used to feel in prayer or study or worship has gone away.  She feels alone in a world of temptations, injustices, and mockery.  Even times of service, when she gives a cup of water in Christ’s name, seem hollow and useless.  Everything is pointless—at least it feels that way.

It’s important for Christians to understand that “dry” times are a normal part of the spiritual life.  I don’t say that everyone will experience the absence of God to the same degree, but it is common enough that no believer should be surprised by it.

Who would claim to know the mind of God completely?  Not I.  But it might help to consider some advantages of the felt absence of God.  First, absence teaches us to proceed in obedience rather than pleasure.  The beginner often needs special encouragement to start learning a language or practicing a skill, but later a good master will drop the constant reinforcement.  The protégé needs the discipline of “going on.”  

Second, and perhaps more important, the felt absence of God teaches us to trust.  We believe in God, and we believe he is working on us even when we don’t feel it.  Modern psychology can help us here, because we have all become familiar with the notion of the unconscious.  I don’t mean to endorse Freudianism or any other school of psychology in detail.  But we are used to the idea—and it seems almost certainly true—that our minds are complicated.  Our conscious thoughts and reasoning constitute the top layer; underneath are desires, drives, fears, and “forgotten” things.  The good news of Christ’s gospel is “taken in” by the conscious mind, but it also touches our inner selves.

In the dry times, then, we may remind ourselves that God’s Spirit has the power to work on us—to speak to us—at the unconscious level.  He has that power; we trust him to use it.

Why are you downcast, O my soul?

            Why so disturbed within me?

Put your hope in God,

            for I will yet praise him,

            my savior and my God.

                                    Psalm 42:5 (repeated in 42:11 and 43:5)           

A Most Pleasing Defeat

Atonement Metaphors and the Cross

            I invite you, gentle reader, to meditate on the cross of Jesus.  I invite you to find in it the most wonderful defeat.

Let’s start with the apostle Paul, in 1 Corinthians 15:3: “For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the scriptures…”

            The main message of the chapter concerns resurrection.  Paul insists that the resurrection of Jesus is essential to the Christian message.  If we don’t affirm and hope for resurrection, he says, Christianity is pointless.  Having admitted that resurrection is the central concern of the passage, I’m not going to focus on that right now.  The Christian gospel clearly predated Paul; he wrote that he had “passed on” items of doctrine, a tradition.  I want to meditate on the first affirmation of that tradition: Christ died for our sins.  How are we to understand this fundamental article of Christian belief?  What does it mean that Jesus died “for” me?

            This is, as theology students know, the driving question of atonement theory.  The question is practical as well as theoretical.  For two thousand years Christian evangelists have proclaimed good news and invited their neighbors to believe in Jesus.  Inevitably, when we preach the gospel, we tell people that Jesus died “for” them.  Just as inevitably, we explain that “for” with some metaphor.

            In the early centuries of the church, a “ransom” metaphor dominated Christian preaching.  In this picture, Jesus “buys” our freedom from the Devil, who has all sinners in his grasp.  The picture is one of exchange, as in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, where the White Witch gives up Edward (who is justly her prisoner) if Aslan will take his place.  The White Witch thinks she wins, because she kills the lion.  But in fact she doubly loses; Edward goes free and Aslan rises from the dead. 

Later, Saint Anselm objected to the ransom theory, because he thought it unseemly that God should have to pay off the Devil.  Instead, Anselm invented the “satisfaction” theory.  Our sins, Anselm wrote, are offenses against God.  The picture here is a royal court, where sinners are brought into the presence of a holy God.  Since God is infinitely great, our sins are infinitely offensive.  Because he was God, Jesus could repair an infinite insult; because he was a man, that repair could apply to us.

            The centuries after Anselm brought more metaphors/theories.  Among many Protestants, the dominant picture is borrowed from criminal court.  In this “penal substitution” theory, sinners are guilty of crimes against God and deserve eternal death.  But Jesus, the perfect Son of God pays our “fine” for us.  Other preachers tried out a “moral influence” theory, which pictures us as followers of Jesus (much like the disciples following Jesus around Galilee).  On this view, Jesus’ death is part of his life, part of his overall example for us.  We are changed, or “saved,” as we become like him.  Another theory, “Christus Victor” in Latin, sees Jesus’ death and resurrection as victory over sin and death.

            By calling the various atonement theories “metaphors,” I already indicate the attitude I take toward them.  Christ’s death for us will always be, I think a mystery.  The various metaphors are useful if they help individuals commit their lives to Jesus.  Evangelists should freely use different pictures with different audiences.  They should not mistake their favorite metaphor for the honest-to-God precise truth.  God only knows precisely what it means that Jesus died for us.

            Having said that, there has been, nevertheless, an aspect of the Christus Victor theory growing on my mind for decades, since I first discovered it.  Paul wrote (Romans 5:9-11):

Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him!  For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!  Not only is this so, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.

           

The picture here is a battlefield.  God is on one side; we sinners are his enemy.  If you want to imagine Sin, Death, and the Devil as allies with us, I won’t object.  But the key element is that we were God’s enemies.

I call this “peacemaking” atonement theory.  God fought his fight against us by letting us crucify his son.  Who killed Jesus?  We did, all of us.  We were there, in the cruelty of the Roman soldiers, in the cowardice of Pilate, in the treachery of Judas, and in the conspiracy of the Sanhedrin leaders.  Though we killed him, we lost.  Jesus would not stay dead, and he offers reconciliation to his murderers.

Rejoice with me!  We lost.  In our losing, we are made God’s friends.

           

About Immigration

What the President Should Say Tonight

            President Trump has asked for TV time to make an address to the nation tonight.  Yesterday’s news suggested he will address immigration and make another appeal for congressional support to fund a border wall.  Some speculated that Mr. Trump will declare a national security emergency and order the wall be built without congressional approval.

            Since I am writing in the afternoon before Mr. Trump’s speech, I don’t know what he will say.  I can’t comment on what the president said.  I could, perhaps, predict what Mr. Trump will say and make comments on that.  But I won’t.  Instead, I want to write about what the president should say.  It will be helpful to also write what the president’s opponents should say.

            The president has repeatedly said that the United States needs greater border security, specifically in regard to our border with Mexico.  Often he has expressed a desire to build a “wall” (or some equivalent) to keep out illegal immigrants—that is, people who do not yet have proper approved paperwork.  The president has repeatedly said that we need to improve our border security because lawbreakers of many kinds—murderers, drug smugglers, rapists, etc.—are taking advantage of our current weak border security to come to the US.

            It is much harder to summarize the arguments of the president’s opponents on this issue, because they differ among themselves and offer diverse criticisms of the president’s position.  Some say the country’s border security is already strong enough.  Some say it should be improved, but with some other mechanism than a “wall.”  Some deny the president’s repeated claims that illegal immigrants are the lawbreakers he alleges.  Others say many undocumented immigrants are really asylum seekers, fleeing crime or poverty in their home countries.  Still others say our asylum system takes too long to process asylum claims, with the result that people who should be able to take refuge in the US are forced to steal their way into our country or return to horrible fates in their country of origin.

            From both sides, it seems to me, we hear a great deal of overblown rhetoric.  I suggest we move away from rhetoric—“Lies!” “Treason!” “Racism!” “Wishful Thinking!”—to real evidence.

            There are, in fact, some lawbreakers who have crossed our southern border, taken up residence in the US, and committed terrible crimes here.  Therefore, it is true that if our border security had prevented those lawbreakers from entering the US, some terrible crimes would have been prevented.  This is the heart of the president’s case.  What should he say if he wants to make his argument persuasive?  He needs to supply facts.  How many criminals have come in this way to the US, over how many years?  In those same years, how many non-criminals have entered in the same way?  What percentage of the total illegal immigrant group has committed crimes after moving to the US?

            Obvious aside: The president need not give exact numbers; he can give estimates.  But they must be reasonable estimates, based on responsible research.  This side comment applies equally to the president’s critics.  Don’t just throw out generalizations; give us real numbers.

            How many undocumented immigrants have come to the US over our southern border?  Over what time frame?  How many undocumented immigrant have applied for asylum?  What percentage of undocumented immigrants ask for asylum?  What percentage of asylum seekers has been approved?  How long do most asylum cases take to be decided?

            Now, the question of a border wall—or fence, or whatever—is actually a sub-question about overall immigration policy.  Giving good answers to the questions I have suggested will not resolve basic policy disputes.  But good factual data would clear away much confusion and let us debate the underlying questions.

           

Advent 2018

The Divine Initiative: An Advent Reflection

            For forty years, since its publication in 1978, Richard Foster’s book Celebration of Discipline has spurred millions of Christians to renewed interest in and practice of spiritual disciplines such as fasting, meditation, study, and so on.  Foster also warns against something I will call “magic.”  That is my word, not Richard’s, but I have heard him give the warning in public talks frequently.

            “Magic,” as I am using the word, expresses an attitude toward spiritual practices, an attitude that expects God to perform if a believer or group of believers “does it right” (whether “it” is prayer, or solitude, or fasting, etc.).  The magical attitude arises from our desire for spiritual power.  We want control over things and events: we want to heal sick people, convince unbelievers, influence elections, stop wars, prevent droughts . . . The list is long of things and events that we wish we could control.  And Christianity, it seems, offers what we want!  Peter told the paralytic to rise and walk.  James wrote that the prayer of a righteous person avails much.

            We want spiritual power.  And Jesus told his disciples they would have power after the Holy Spirit came on them . . . And so we are tempted to think if we just fast enough or pray in the right way or do something else, then God must act.

            And we will be in control.

            Foster, as I say, warns against “magic” over and over.  Spiritual disciplines do not make God do things.  Solitude and study are not spiritual tokens with which we can purchase God’s favor.  Instead, Foster says, the disciplines change us.  They make us ready to receive good things from God.  God is always good, and he is always in control.

            Consider Simeon, in Luke’s gospel.  He was an old man who lived in Jerusalem, waiting for the messiah.  Simeon had a wonderful hope, because the Spirit had told him he would not die until he “consolation of Israel.”  After the birth of Jesus, when Mary and Joseph brought the baby to the temple, Simeon praised God for keeping his promise.

            It’s easy to imagine that Simeon prayed passionately for messiah to come.  Faithful Jews for generations had been hoping for messiah.  Simeon stands out from the others not because he (or his prayers) deserved God’s answer; Simeon’s was simply the voice God chose to use to speak a word which Mary would remember her whole life.

            Advent season should teach us that we are not in control.  Yes, we pray for the kingdom to come.  We preach the good news.  We work for peace.  We practice doing good in many ways.  But none of our actions control God.  God is good, and he is always in control.

            In some seasons of life, we affirm our trust in God as it were in the dark.  We pray, we fast, we wait, and nothing seems to happen.  Notice I say “seems.”  Perhaps we know enough of human psychology to believe that our souls have unconscious depths.  God may well be using our spiritual disciplines to change us in “places” we don’t see.

            In other seasons of life, without warning the grace of God explodes into our conscious experience.  It could be as simple as hearing, for the ten-thousandth time, that “in the town of David a Savior has been born, who is Christ the Lord.”

            The daily news convinces me, beyond all caveat, that we need a savior.  Our technology has discovered not one but lots of way to destroy humanity.  Brilliant minds devote themselves to hacking hospital records so they can extort money.  Armed terrorist groups (of many sorts, not just Islamic) use bombs, trucks, airplanes and any other bit of ready-to-hand technology to kill innocents.  We drive animals to extinction by destroying their habitat.  Chemical and nuclear wastes pollute the land and sea, and in recent decades we have learned that our pollution of the atmosphere is even more dangerous.

            Of course, it’s easy to imagine someone writing this essay in the 1950s, when the specter of nuclear war first forced its way into our collective consciousness.  In America, someone could have written similar words in 1862, when it began to be clear how stupendously bloody the Civil War would be.  There are times when history presses us to acknowledge our need.

            Advent 2018 is one of those times.  We need a savior.  A savior has been born.

            It’s not magic.  It’s better than magic.  God is with us.

           

Election Eve, 2018

Dual Citizenship

I am a Christian and an American.  As a Christian I pray for the Kingdom of God to come and I owe allegiance to Jesus, the King.  At the same time, as a citizen of the United States I desire good things for my country and I am obligated to fulfill certain duties to the state (obeying laws, paying taxes, etc.).  As Augustine wrote long ago, a Christian lives simultaneously in two “cities”: the City of God and the City of Man.

Election season in America compels me to think about my dual citizenship.  Clearly, the allegiance I owe to Jesus is more basic and overrides the claims placed on me by the state.  If my country demanded that I deny my faith or act in ways contrary to conscience, I would have to disobey.  Civil disobedience must be part of the Christian’s public repertoire when duties conflict.  In this essay, though, I want to focus on another aspect of dual citizenship.

I’ve been discouraged by the 2018 election.  I don’t mean the outcome of the election.  I’m typing these words on November 5, before election day, so I don’t know which candidates won or lost, nor whether any of the ballot measures were approved.  My discouragement arises from the way we Americans have conducted the campaign.  Campaign spending is way up, but the quality of the campaign is way down.  Over and over I see attack ads, telling me how wrongheaded, deceptive, self-interested, foolish or just plain evil some candidate or measure is.  There is very little attempt to persuade undecided voters by recounting the virtues of a candidate or policy.  Instead, we are pushed to vote our fears.  The pundits describe this as “appealing to the base”—that is, the campaign seeks to increase turnout among voters who already agree with the campaign.

Such campaigning is also “base” in another sense.  Rather than appeal to reason, or hope, or compassion—the “better angels” of our nature invoked by Abraham Lincoln—campaigns of fear and resentment try to win votes by demonizing the opposition.  Such campaigning demoralizes us—literally; it moves us from virtue toward vice.

I’m also discouraged by the extent to which Christians join in the fray.  I understand how it happens.  You think, as a Christian, that you ought to side with righteousness.  You decide that righteousness requires that you favor some public policy (to restrict abortions, or reform immigration laws, reduce mass incarceration, fight poverty, protect property, and so on—the list can be extended indefinitely).  You let yourself forget there are Christian brothers and sisters who, precisely because they want to side with righteousness, oppose the very policy you think is necessary.  Having forgotten the brothers and sisters on the other side, you then neglect the humanity of the other side.  The political opponent becomes the enemy, an enemy who must be defeated at all costs.  And so—in order to win lower taxes or more just immigration laws or whatever—you say and do whatever it takes to win.

Listen: your political opponent is a human being beloved by Jesus.  It is always more important that we love people than that we win.

Followers of Jesus must treat their political opponents well.  This is a requirement of discipleship.  You may think the other side is wrong.  You are convinced that their policies will lead to disaster.  You suspect they are campaigning in bad faith, that they actually intend to replace free government with some kind of religious or secular empire.  Even if you are right, even if your opponents are as misguided or evil, that does not free you from your duty to follow Jesus.

Jesus commands us, no mere suggestion, that we love our enemies.  This is not fantasy talk or advice for saintly hermits; it is his straightforward requirement for disciples.

Notice I am not defending pacifism, at least not now.  I’m talking about the way we conduct political campaigns, the way we treat our fellow citizens.  Even Christians who believe in just wars must agree that Jesus calls us to civility in politics.

In The Virtue of Civility in the Practice of Politics (2002) I predicted that our increasingly post-modern age would move away from civility.  Sadly, my prediction seems to be coming true.  As our culture discovers that the god of the modern age (rational autonomy) is an empty idol, people discover they have no reason to treasure political opponents.  More and more, the political opponent is seen purely as impediment, something to be defeated.

Christians should not think like that.  No matter how benighted or selfish “they” seem to be, we know that Jesus loves them.  Further, they know things we don’t know.  We can learn from them.  We ought to see political opponents as God’s gift, a resource for better government.

Gospels and Criticism

Meaning and the Great Story

            According to Hollywood, Jesus’ story is “the greatest story ever told.”  (1965 movie, produced and directed by George Stevens, starring Max von Sydow as Jesus.)  Whether the film lived up to its billing or not, Hollywood got the title right.

            The story comes to us almost exclusively from the canonical gospels.  One of Jesus’ famous sayings, “It is more blessed to give than to receive,” comes from Acts, and the Revelation reports various messages from the resurrected Jesus; e.g. “I am the alpha and omega,” and “I am coming soon.”  But if we want to know about the earthly life of Jesus, we go to the gospels. 

            Of course, there have been retellings of Jesus’ story.  From the second century to the twentieth, authors have “spun” Jesus in a variety of ways.  The second century gnostics reworked the story to make Jesus more “spiritual”; their version of Jesus is hardly likely to persuade modern readers unless we are predisposed to reject orthodoxy and/or are tempted to attribute the canonical gospels to an orthodox conspiracy.  But orthodoxy, as expressed in the creeds, arose in the third and fourth centuries.  It is far more likely that the gospels created orthodoxy than the other way around.

            Modern retellings of the Jesus story are often just as tendentious as gnostic gospels.  Enlightenment rationalists, such as Thomas Jefferson, erase miracle stories.  Marxists make Jesus into a revolutionary; social reformers make him a reformer.  Pluralists avoid Jesus’ demands for obedience and faith.  Theological liberals misunderstand or reject Jesus’ “Son of Man” sayings.

            I do not deny there is a difference between story (the gospels) and the meanings (creeds or theological systems or sermons) that interpret them.  There is nothing illegitimate about the work of a critic or interpreter.  Whenever the church proclaims good news about Jesus, it does so by interpreting the gospels.  In literature, we call that “criticism”; the attempt to understand at a deep level.  We always run the risk of bad criticism, of misinterpreting the text.

            Notice that I assume that good criticism implies an attempt (and some degree of success) to read a text fairly and on its own terms.  I have no interest in theories of meaning, sometimes labeled “deconstructionist” or “reader-centric,” which liberate readers from their duty of faithfulness to texts.

            So we have story and meaning.  Both are needed.  No matter how wonderful our sermon, interpretation, or creed, it cannot replace the gospels.  No matter how restricted our criticisms are—even if they amount to a public reading of the text—we cannot avoid interpretation.  All readings are interpretive.  All interpretations are tentative, waiting (in a sense) for better criticism.

            Gospel is a unique kind of story.  It isn’t tragedy, though without faith people may read it that way.  It is the deepest comedy, a comedy of joy, of a shockingly happy ending.  It is not a quest like the search for the grail or Frodo’s mission to Mordor; at the same time it is a quest unlike all others.  Jesus’ mission exposes him to misunderstanding from his friends, unbelief, enmity, conspiracy, and social injustices of many kinds, including Roman oppression, ethnic hatreds, religious sectarianism, poverty, violence, and sexism.  In the end, the forces of our world kill Jesus.

            (Whatever his faults, Mel Gibson, when making The Passion of the Christ, got that part right.  Who killed Jesus?  Answer: We all did.)

            But it was not the end.  In this story, Jesus wins.  When we, his enemies, kill him, he triumphs over us.  He invites us to submit and be remade.

            Notice the recursive element to this essay.  I’ve been writing about story and meaning while engaging in criticism.  There’s nothing wrong with this.  If my essay is badly written or if my thesis is thoroughly mistaken, the remedy is to reread the story and restate its meaning.

A Philosopher Asks a Certain Question

                                                 Tractatus Amores-Nuptias

(Apologies to L. Wittgenstein.  He died in 1951, so he won’t object.)

Dear Sarah,

1.         I want to marry you.  I believe you want to marry me.

1.1       People always say, when asked, that they want to marry because they are in love. 

1.11    I have told you I love you.  You have said the same to me.

1.2       Unless we are deceiving ourselves (unfortunately, people are good at that), we are in love.

1.21    I don’t think we are deceiving ourselves.

2          Being in love is rarely a sufficient reason for getting married.

2.1       Suppose Jesus asked us, “Why should I give you permission to marry?”

2.2       Our answer should be: Our marriage would advance Kingdom purposes (maybe only in small ways, but we are ordinary people).

2.21    Our marriage would give my grandchildren a grandmother, which will help them grow up as they should.  It would give your grandchildren a grandfather, which could also be a good thing.

2.22    If we were married, I could encourage and support your ministry in GRM and Thrive. 

2.221  Quite likely, you will discover further ministry opportunities at Newberg Friends Church.

2.3       If we were married, you could encourage and support my ministry as professor, writer, preacher, and church official.

3          My love for you is not purely spiritual or intellectual.

3.1       You are pretty, and I like your smile.

3.11    I greatly enjoy your kisses.

3.2       You have really nice legs.

3.3       Some things can be left unsaid at this point. 

4          Companionship is a great good in marriage.

4.1       We know that we enjoy doing things together.

4.11    Driving to Crater Lake, watching Kaleb’s soccer match, running & biking together, going for walks, watching baseball (on tv) and attending worship together are all good activities we have enjoyed.

4.2       We know ourselves well enough to predict we could enjoy many other activities in the future.

4.21    Driving to the coast, watching GFU sports (in person), attending concerts, visiting our children and grandchildren, reading aloud, spending silent time together, hiking at Champoeg (or other parks), going to Europe with students, attending lectures, and many other such opportunities lie before us.

5          Partnership is also a great good in marriage.

5.1       We will not have more children, but we will be partners together in advising our children and grandchildren.

5.11    We will rejoice together in the successes of our children and grandchildren.

5.2       We will probably buy a house together.

5.21    We will decorate together.  (Mostly I will put things where you tell me.)

5.22    We will care for our lawn, flowers, hot tub, trees, vehicles, and many other things together.

5.3       I can be a “junior partner” in your projects by encouraging you.  You can do the same for me and my projects (e.g. reading and criticizing things I write).

5.4       We will weep together when losses come.  We both know that losses inevitably come.

5.41    I will be there for you when you go to hospital.  You can do the same for me.

6          Friendship is perhaps the greatest good in marriage.

6.1       Friends share common interests. 

6.2       Friends delight in showing each other new good things or new aspects of things.  Friends often say to each other: Look at that!  Isn’t it fine?

6.21    We both like the natural beauty of Oregon.  We like visiting foreign countries.  We like reading, and you will like some of the books I like. 

6.22    We like music of many sorts (but not rap).  We like food from many cultures (but not liver).

6.23    We will delight in discovering new good things.

6.3       We have already learned, independently, that Jesus is the bedrock foundation of a good marriage.  Jesus is the most important of our common interests.

6.31    We have, and we will, in many ways, point to Christ and say: Isn’t He fine?

7          I anticipate a good marriage, founded on Christ, and open to joy.

Will you marry me?

Much love,

Phil

I read this letter to Sarah in June.  She said yes!