The Cross is Not Enough: Why the Christian Story Needs Easter

Five years ago yesterday, the reality of human mortality pierced my soul like a dark, cursed knife that causes no physical harm, but mortally wounds, nonetheless. Before dad died, death was an abstraction, a thing to be vaguely aware of, a philosophical problem to be discussed. Death was a rabid dog, sure, but one who lacked fangs.

Some of us are graced with a life that avoids the pain of death for decades. Some of us face it much earlier. But if there is one thing true about death, it is that none of us can escape it. Before our own deaths, we will all experience that deep puncture of the soul, that knife twisting and doubling us over in pain.

All of us.

We cannot hide.

And great art calls us out of our hiding…even if, at times, it has no solution.

For authors in particular, and therefore for we who enter their stories, death is the great narrative driver. Always the ultimate Dark One, death creates and destroys characters, manipulating plots, and at times leaving us in awe of its power. And so, in any great narrative, it is the one thing that must be defeated if the story is to progress. The grave cannot be the end of our stories.

In the narrative of contemporary Christianity, we are too quick to jump on Christ’s cross as that which secures the afterlife for us. We are waiting for eternity, waiting for the halos and the angels. We are waiting for, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

But what good is the afterlife if death is not defeated? What good is a Messiah who stays in the grave? What difference does forgiven sins make if death still reigns? If we merely go to heaven when we die, then this world is not set right…it’s just forgotten. And if this world is not set right, then God loses! 

This is why the cross is not enough. This is why the Christian story needs resurrection. Because the resurrection says the Dark One cannot win. The cursed knife will be blunted…no, destroyed. The rabid dog with the deadly fangs will be put down. Evil and injustice will not merely cease to exist, they will be put to rights. Justice will prevail in the end, not merely because there will be an absence of evil, but because evil will be defeated.

We are waiting, not for an afterlife where we get to forget about this life. We are waiting for resurrection. A defeat of death, itself. An elimination of it’s power. A memory renewed so that all the death that ever was will be swallowed up in life…not forgotten, but set in a better context. In the context of a God who took on human skin, lived a life of justice in confrontation with evil, died at the hands of that evil, then resurrected from the grave in defeat of the powers of evil. He defeats death. He defeats evil, something we could never do on our own. And then enables us to turn around, and in the power of his Spirit, work for the defeat of death and the defeat of evil in our world.

Death is no abstraction. It is no philosophical concept. It drives our narrative as the great antagonist. But the resurrection of Jesus, soon to be seen, means that the grave is not the end of our stories. Because resurrection is also no abstraction or philosophical concept. It is the great protagonist. Or rather, the One who resurrected is the great Protagonist.

Your days are waiting…to end. But the end is now. Five years ago death became real to me. But in the five years since, resurrection life has become even more real.  Easter Sunday means there is more to the Christian story than the cross. In a sense, the cross is not enough. Without resurrection, our story goes nowhere…it’s a permanent tragedy.

Isn’t it Ironic? Don’t You Think?

As I reflect on the parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, I’m reminded that the larger theme of the section within which Luke places this parable is that of great reversals that occur between this life and the next. In particular, the great reversal of, in this life, the rich “receiving good things” and the poor “receiving bad things,” while in the next life the rich “are in agony” and the poor “are comforted.” (Luke 16:25)

The theme, so glaring in this parable, was actually subtly hinted at in the parable of the Shrewd Manager, where the message was, if you, in welcome to the poor, leverage your social status in this life, in the eschatological future, when your social status/wealth mean nothing, the poor will welcome you into eternal bliss.

This is what makes the Shrewd Manager so shrewd.

And this is exactly what makes the Rich Man in this parable foolish.

The two parables/characters are sort of foils or contrasts to one another. I love how my friend Caleb said it in yesterday’s comment section, “This rich man had a great chance during his time on earth to “make friends” with Lazarus by means of his wealth, resulting in the rich man’s being “welcomed into the eternal homes” by Lazarus. Instead, it appears he merely squandered his wealth on himself, leaving Lazarus only the crumbs.”

In the Rich Man and Lazarus, the Rich Man fails to act shrewdly (gain the friendship of Lazarus) with his worldly wealth by leaving the sick, poor, and crippled Lazarus at his very gates. He watches this man day after day get eaten alive by dogs. He watches this man’s life slip away.

And he does nothing about it.

Therefore, when the day comes that they both find themselves in the afterlife, Lazarus is unable to help the Rich Man.

Isn’t it ironic that in life, the Rich Man was able to help Lazarus if he was only willing to show hospitality, but in the next life, Lazarus is unable to help the Rich Man, even if he wanted, because of the Rich Man’s refusal of hospitality while he was living? 

Isn’t it ironic that the gate protecting the Rich Man from outsiders was the very gate that held the possibility of opening to welcome Lazarus to life, but now, the chasm that separates the two men has no possibility of being closed to welcome the Rich Man to life?

Friends, in this life, we have gate, after gate, after gate that creates potential relationships of welcome and humanization. In this life, that gate can remain closed or it can remain open. It’s really our choice now, but it will not be our choice in the next life. Welcome now equates to being welcomed then. That’s the irony of it all. 

Idolatry: Both Horizontal and Vertical

I don’t know if I’m right in the following thoughts. These are just some connections I’ve been making in my own mind and blogging seemed to be a good place to lay them out there. As I’ve been reading in Romans 1, the thought occurred to me, the problem with idolatry isn’t just giving allegiance to another deity (bad as that is). The problem of idolatry in Paul’s perspective is that the idols imprison the truth in injustice.

That is, idolatry is the manifestation and cause of a world where both individuals and communities practice injustice against one another and thereby deny the truth of one another’s humanity. It is the manifestation and cause of a world where neither individuals nor communities can challenge or change (or even desire to change) these unjust practices and structures that dehumanize people created in God’s image.

The truth, both on an individual and collective level, becomes imprisoned within the unjust practices and agendas of various human cultural systems. And therefore the truth is not readily obvious – for we have traded what could be known about God for gods made in our own image, gods that will support rather than challenge our unjust hearts and communities.

Wrath then becomes God’s response to human injustice. Wrath is not the unbridled passion of a heartless God. It is the inevitable outcome of a God who values just relationships both on vertical (human to God) and horizontal (human to human) planes. Wrath exists because human injustice is so grave and terrible, and our hearts so apt to imprison the truth in injustice such that we can never see the truth about ourselves or God, that creation itself becomes perverted and inverted.

And this inversion of creation takes us back to idolatry, specifically the collective idolatry of the entire human race. It is an idolatry which perpetuates and is perpetuated by injustice.

Even in the OT, idolatry wasn’t just about the differences between Yahweh and the pagan deities. Rather, in scripture, idolatry always carries with it the practical implications of unethical behavior, specifically blood shed unjustly. In other words, idolatry is both a violation of a person’s vertical relationship with God and also a violation of their horizontal relationship with other persons. When we imprison truth in injustice, this is not just a violation of our relationship with God, but is a violation of our relationships with those created in his image.

Idolatry is thus dehumanization of my neighbor (among other things).

I therefore maintain, that even if one calls on Jesus and then uses the name Jesus to dehumanize another person, or somehow uses Jesus to promote injustice, then that person is participating in idolatry even if they are using the right language. The God of scripture cannot be reduced to my ideological agenda, he will not be shackled to anyone’s unjust causes, and he will not be associated with the dehumanization even of my enemy. Idolatry is, therefore, both a horizontal and a vertical injustice.

 

So, what do you think? Do you have anything to add to this random collection of thoughts? Where have you seen idolatry and injustice combined in obvious ways? How does this change the way we talk about the gospel?

Winning Friends and Losing Social Status

This morning I came across a verse in Luke that I’ve never noticed before. Jesus has just finished his parable of the Shrewd Manager (16:1-8) and he makes a statement that seems to go against Luke’s otherwise extreme teachings on wealth.

He says, “I tell you, use worldly wealth to gain friends for yourselves, so that when it is gone, you will  be welcomed into eternal dwellings.” (16:9)

I was confused at first. I mean, Jesus has previously, in Luke’s gospel, been incredibly critical of the wealthy. And he will continue to be critical of the wealthy in chapters to come. So why would Jesus say this?

Fortunately, I can’t read my Bible without having my Inductive Bible Study lenses on. And while I’m not sure this is the answer, what I came up with is as follows:

Back at the beginning of chapter 15, Luke sets the context of Jesus confrontation with the wealthy Pharisees regarding the issue of who they refuse to eat with. That theme carries through Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son (the father throws a banquet for the returned son, but the oldest son refuses to participate), and I think right into the parable of the Shrewd Manager.

While the Shrewd Manager doesn’t have any overt discussion of who we are supposed to eat with, the point Jesus makes in that parable still has to do with one’s wealth and how it is to be used. He interprets the parable for his listeners by talking to them about the importance of being faithful and trustworthy with what they have. And warns them that they cannot serve God and money – they will hate one or the other.

So my thought is, Jesus is essentially saying, the “friends” one is supposed to be winning are not others like you, who share your social status. The “friends” are the very people no one else would sit with at the dinner table.

The implications of this go right along with Luke’s larger themes. Wealth is not a tool to sustain or acquire a certain social status. Winning friends with one’s wealth, as traditionally done, for the purpose of securing one’s popularity or high esteem misses the point of why God trusts you with wealth to begin with.

Wealth is to be used to gain friends who can’t pay you back. It is to be used to gain friends who can’t give you social status. Wealth is to be used on people no one else would eat with. So that when it’s gone, what stands in the end is not your position in life, but the fact that you have no position in life and therefore have a position in the Kingdom of God.

 

HUCKABEE AND THE BIG HOLE IN THE AMERICAN SOUL

This is not my post. This is written by Dr. Jerry Walls on his Facebook wall. 

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In the aftermath of the tragic mass murder in Connecticut, Mike Huckabee made some comments that incited considerable controversy and criticism. I cited part of what he said in a favorable vein, and it generated a lively debate on my Facebook page, with many taking a negative view of his comments.

I would like to clarify what I think the issue is, and where I think Huckabee is dead right. Before doing so, it will help to make clear what I am NOT saying, and what he did not say either. First, as he clarified in a later statement, he did not mean to say the shooting happened because prayer was removed from school, as if there was some sort of simple cause-effect relationship here. Second, he did not mean to say we have the power literally to expel God from school, or anywhere else. Indeed, he eloquently described some of the many ways God was present in the tragedy and will continue to be.

But where he was spot on was in his observation that it is odd to say the least, if not profoundly confused, to wonder where God is in moments like this tragedy, when we as a culture have been marginalizing God for the past fifty or more years. The attitude he cites is manifest in everything from lawsuits over Christmas trees to vociferous opposition to the very suggestion that biology classes should at least examine the possibility that our world was created by an intelligent agent. God is never discussed in history class, or psychology or biology. In public schools, things must proceed as if He either does not exist, or is utterly irrelevant to making sense of everything from the laws of nature to human history.

So here is a good way think about the issue. What must God be like for a tragic event like the one in Connecticut to generate even a question about his whereabouts when it happened? The answer is He must be assumed to be something like traditional theists believe He is. If he is not, if he is either impotent, or senile, or morally indifferent, there would be no mystery in the occurrence of evil. It is precisely the lofty claims about the nature of God that generate the problem of evil. If there is no such God, evil is not a problem in THAT sense, namely, that certain types of evil seem to be sharply inconsistent with the existence of such a being. And if there is no such God, there is little reason to believe this tragedy will be rectified and redeemed. The lives that were lost will not continue beyond the grave, and there will be no judgment day to bring ultimate justice.

Or think about the issue this way. Invariably when these sorts of tragedies occur, newscasters, celebrities, and everyone else on TV remarks that “our thoughts and prayers go out to these hurting people.” So here is a similar question: what must God be like for prayer to make sense? Again, if prayer is a rational activity, God must be something like the God of traditional theism. If there is no such God, “prayer” is little more than collective empathy.

So what I am suggesting is we need to decide whether we want to continue to believe evil is a problem in the deep sense, and continue to believe in ultimate justice, and continue to pray in the belief that Someone is really listening and has the love, the power and the wisdom to know how and when to answer.

But here is precisely where the ambivalence/inconsistency/confusion arises that Huckabee put his finger on. Any God whose attributes pose a problem of evil, any God who is worth praying to cannot be trivialized, domesticated, sidelined, ignored ninety-nine percent of the time, and only half-heartedly (usually churches see a spike in attendance for a week or two) acknowledged when tragedy or other trouble shows its face. Any God who is great enough to give us hope that terrible tragedies are not the last word, that such horrors will finally be redeemed and made right, any God who is worthy of serious prayer demands to take the central place in our lives.

While thinking about this, it struck me that perhaps this is the deep reason why the issue of prayer in schools has become such a lightning rod. If there is really a God anything like traditional Christianity says, then prayer must be at the very heart of our lives if we are to be rational beings. Prayer acknowledges not only his existence, but our utter reliance upon him as our only hope if evil is to be defeated and our deepest aspirations for meaning are to be satisfied. Moreover, we cannot hope to truly understand human history or the ultimate nature of the physical world if we do not take Him fully into account. On the other hand, if there is no such God, prayer is deeply illusory and misguided, however emotionally comforting it might be. And “God’s” role in human history is only the role of an idea (an idea that is “all too human” as Nietzsche would have it) that is no longer viable for thoughtful people. Either way, one of these positions is radically and utterly misguided and out of touch with reality. No wonder the issue stirs such passions.

(Of course, there are complicating factors for such prayer in our pluralistic society. But for most of American history, no one thought the Constitution ruled it out, and I suspect if we took God more seriously as a culture, we could find more creative ways to deal with our pluralism than by simply leaving prayer out of the picture. And this is not to suggest that public prayer is any guarantee that we are taking God seriously. What taking God seriously looks like in the public square is not easy to say. So I grant the practical complications here.)

But back to the main point. The deep incoherence in our soul consists in the fact that we want to hold onto the idea that prayer makes sense, and that evil is a problem that we may hope will be solved, but we do not want to take seriously the God that gives substance to these convictions. This hit me again this morning as I was listening to a performance of “The Messiah.” What struck me was how this great piece of music begins with words of comfort and ends with words of triumphant hope. But in between, there are word such as these: “But who may abide the day of His coming, and who shall stand when He appeareth? For He is like a refiner’s fire.”

I have no doubt that God’s mercy endures forever. I have no doubt that God welcomes all sincere prayers, including those elicited by tragedies like the one we have just witnessed. He is always ready and willing to give grace to those who seek it. As the Messiah states the invitation: “Come unto Him, all ye that labour, come unto Him, ye that are heavy laden, and He will give you rest.”

But the God who is truly capable of giving comfort is the God who will reign forever and ever. If we want the comfort, if we want to pray for His Kingdom to come, we must understand who we are dealing with. But if we want a God who can safely be ignored and trivialized except when trouble strikes, there is no reason to think such a “god” is worth praying to or even invoking when we are baffled by shocking evil. But we cannot have it both ways.

God, justice, and the other

This is a short, 12 minute, homily by my long-time friend, Bryne. I think you will find her intellectually engaging and spiritually challenging. But most of all, I think you will be moved by her passion for justice.

Our Old Friend Fear and You and Me

I thought I would offer a little Election Day advice: No matter who you vote for, if you’re a Christian, your voting is not to be compelled by fear. Fear is a motivating factor for many self-interested, self-centered, and self-protective things in the political sphere. And it has been used by politicians as a tool to motivate religious people for centuries. The fear-tactic is nothing new.

The biblical writers knew all too well that fear drives us to do crazy things that go against our otherwise firm beliefs. For this reason, the scriptural command that occurs more than any other in the Bible is, “Do not be afraid.”

Fear is the definition of insanity for Christians.

When we act in fear, we act to protect our own self-interest instead of the interests of others who are less fortunate than us.

When we act in fear, we act in a way that protects ourselves and our rights instead of seeking rights for people on the margins or people who are forgotten.

When we act in fear, we confuse this-worldly political agendas with the eternal kingdom of God.

When we act in fear, our world falls apart when elections don’t go our way.

When we act in fear, we degrade and dehumanize people who don’t vote the same way we do.

I don’t know who you’re voting for today. And I don’t think it’s my place to tell you how to vote. But I will say this; we are allowed to make mistakes in the voting booth (Lord knows, I’ve made some of my own) if we make those mistakes with good intentions. But we’re not ever allowed to act out of fear, for fear should never be a motivating factor for people who rightly understand the kingdom of God.

Our kingdom is not ultimately of this world. As great as Democracy is, it is Jesus Christ, not the next president or governor, who is the savior of the world. When you vote then, vote not with the rhetoric of fear and hatred in your mind from the political ads, but vote with the hope of a crucified savior who died for Republicans and Democrats alike.

Do I Even Want the Gospel for Timothy McVeigh?

Here’s the latest sermon I preached on the myth “All Good People Go to Heaven and All Bad People Go to Hell.” Timothy McVeigh is my case study for whether or not I would rather believe this myth or the true gospel. Let me know what you think.

http://www.mylhumc.net/502652.ihtml

Do you REALLY believe this is redeemable?

I’m preparing for my sermon on Sunday where I’m going to posit that the most heinous of criminals can receive the grace of God. While studying for it and trying to take it out of the realm of logical abstractions and into the world of real life, I came across this famous photo from the Oklahoma City bombing on April 19th, 1995.

Maybe it’s because I have a daughter now about this girl’s age, but I have to tearfully admit that this question really forces me to consider whether I really believe the gospel can redeem such evil. That I know, logically, that it does and can redeem such evil, forces me to bask in the greatness of God’s grace. But my heart still doubts and fears, not only for Timothy McVeigh, but for myself. – Matthew 5:21-22

I Just Killed a Mockingbird

I’m just finishing up To Kill a Mockingbird for the first time since 9^th grade. I can appreciate the story much more now than I could as a freshman in high school – the exceptional literary skill and the narrative’s fantastic subversion of prejudice of all kinds. And my favorite part, Harper Lee’s cynicism about all things church is both humorous and sad at the same time – not to mention, something probably completely justified.

In this story, the Christians are cultural Christianity Christians. They attend church because that’s what you do, but see no conflicts between the cultural Christian life and donning KKK garb, siding with racial prejudice, or incessant gossip and fear. In fact, the functional reason the cultural Christians meet together in this story is to condone and participate in such activities – in other words, Lee is pointing out the corruption of the church.

In Lee’s story arise the great themes of injustice, prejudice, compassion, fear, hatred, life and death, growing up, misunderstanding, gender roles, racial superiority, and friendship across cultural boundaries, but the church has nothing valuable to contribute to any of these themes. Preachers are the mouthpieces, not of God, but of their congregation’s prejudices. They are content with their 30 minute speeches each week, content with the cultural Christianity of their congregants, and content with the world as it is. Never do they feel compelled to question racial prejudice or hierarchy – even when it leads to the death of an innocent man!

No, their sermons are dry and dusty, communicating nothing of significance to the everyday life of the early 20^th cent. American South. Preaching has become, not a prophetic witness against the assumptions of cultural Christianity, but a burdensome Sunday activity that all good Christians must endure because, again, that’s what civilized people do.

Harper Lee thus points out something inherent in cultural Christianity wherever it may be found. Once Christ has been tamed by a culture to the point where the community can no longer tell the differences between their thoughts and His, anything goes! Once a people forget to distinguish between the ways of Christ and the ways of their culture, all prejudice and hatred becomes religiously justified as the way things have been ordained by God. Once the radical Jesus is replaced by a Christ that looks like me, talks like me, votes like me, and fights like me, there can be no pursuit of justice.

In Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird justice is an impossibility, not merely because lacks  community of champions for the cause of social justice, but because racial prejudice, hatred, and fear are never challenged by the would-be-prophets of the pulpit and missions group. Justice is on the backburner, taking second seat to more “important” issues like moralizing sermonettes, flower gardens, and gossip. God is nothing more than the cultural projection of a prejudiced people. There can be no justice with such a God.

Thank you, Harper Lee, for doing what the preachers of all ages tend to forget. Thank you for being a prophetic voice in a world that believed (believes?) God is indistinguishable from white, middle-class preferences and prejudices. I am grateful for your crtiticism.