The Gospel of Reconciliation, the Hope for Us All

Sunday, August 20, 2017

St. Margaret's Anglican Church

Gen 45:1-15; Psalm 133; Romans 11:1-2a, 29-32; Matthew 15:10-28

           

            Responding to reports of anti-Semitic graffiti along Wellington Avenue, Winnipeg Mayor Brian Bowman issued the following statement this past Tuesday: “These intolerant acts of hate are reprehensible and offensive to our community and will not deter our ongoing efforts towards strengthening inclusiveness in our city. I am personally sickened to see this in our city and call on Winnipeggers of all backgrounds to join me in denouncing acts of hate, like this.” So with Mayor Bowman, we begin by denouncing acts of hate, like these which have occurred over the past week.

            We've seen the news, we've read the headlines, we are not unaware to the events going on here in Winnipeg, those in Charlottesville, in Barcelona, and around the world. We see them and are moved to sadness, anger, and maybe even despair, because the force of these acts is so damaging. So, in light of global events of the last week,  I don't blame you if you scoffed during our scripture readings this evening. In our Old Testament reading, we re-encountered the familiar story of Joseph and his brothers. Joseph, the one who was sold into slavery as an act of hatred by his brothers, is overcome with emotion and reveals to his brothers that he is still alive. Our reading ends with him embracing his brothers, weeping together, for that which was wronged has been righted. Justice has been served. Joseph is reconciled to his family once again.

            Our Psalm for today, Psalm 133, is short. And because it is short, it is to the point: "How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!" "Life forevermore!" the Psalmist says, will be the blessing of a life lived together in unity. Unity is a blessing which comes from God. However, where there is hate, there is no unity, for hatred is the destruction of not only unity, but humanity itself. Thus, the Psalmist tells us, be free of hatred; live in unity.

            In light of global events of the last week, I don't blame you if you scoffed during our scripture readings. Stories of reconciliation like Joseph's seem so far away when hatred, bigotry, and anti-Semitism seem to lurk around every corner. The Psalmist's call for us to live together in unity seems an impossible task, as tribalism separates folks of race, class, and creed. But do these events have the last word? Are we condemned to a life of separation, hatred, and oppression, seeing reconciliation only as a distant possibility, if any possibility at all? Are we not Christians, those who serve the one true God, who has conquered over death and rose again to give life to us all? How can the Gospel speak hope into our lives today? Is reconciliation really possible?

            For the Swiss theologian Karl Barth, the doctrine of reconciliation forms the "heart of the Church's dogmatics: that is to say, with the heart of its subject-matter, origin and content" (CD IV/1, 3). For Barth, "To fail here is to fail everywhere. To be on the right track here makes it impossible to be completely mistaken in the whole" (ix). But what is this reconciliation which we speak of , that doctrine that is so important for the Gospel message? For Barth, ""Reconciliation" is the restitution, the resumption of a fellowship which once existed but was then threatened by dissolution. It is the maintaining, restoring and upholding of that fellowship in face of an element which disturbs and disrupts and breaks it. It is the realisation of the original purpose which underlay and controlled it in defiance and by the removal of this obstruction. The fellowship which originally existed between God and man, which was then disturbed and jeopardised, the purpose of which is now fulfilled in Jesus Christ and in the work of reconciliation, we describe as the covenant" (22). In other words, reconciliation is what draws us back to God.

            To help us to better understand what we mean when we speak of reconciliation, Anglican scholar Joe Mangina has laid out four points of consideration (Karl Barth: Theologian of Christian Witness, 116-18). First, God's work of reconciliation describes a history, a happening, or an event. Reconciliation is something that has taken place already in history, in the person of Jesus Christ. In the Apostle's Creed, we confess that we believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended to hell. The third day he rose again from the dead. He ascended to heaven and is seated at the right hand of God the Father almighty. From there he will come to judge the living and the dead. This is the story of reconciliation, that God has acted in history through Jesus Christ. Scripture is our witness to this history, the history of the eternal God assuming our temporality in the person of Jesus Christ.

            Second, this history is the fulfilment of the divine covenant of grace. As God has acted in history through Jesus Christ, God has acted purposefully. As Mangina says, "The love demonstrated in the cross of Jesus Christ is no Plan B, no emergency measure implemented only when all else has failed" (116). Rather, this reconciling love is the outcome of God's love. It is an act of God for us, an act of grace where we did not deserve it. The message of the covenant is that while we cannot act on our behalf for the purpose of our salvation, through the covenant God has willed to be God for us. Thus, "The divine purpose of the mission of Jesus is, therefore, salvation and not judgment, eternal life and not destruction or corruption" (117)

            Third, reconciliation encompasses the dual moments of cross and resurrection. It encompasses both the moments of Good Friday and of Easter. "Neither moment exists by itself: cross without resurrection would mean an unchristian pessimism, while resurrection without cross would mean triumphalism" (117). Rather, "The cross is the sign and enactment of God's judgment, his No to the sinful creature; but the light of resurrection discloses that this No is in fact the most profound Yes, an unsurpassable act of divine love" (118). However, it is imperative that we do not become so entrenched in our debates over the cross and resurrection that we forget the one whose death and resurrection we speak of--that is, Jesus Christ.

            And fourth, reconciliation is a history with eschatological force. Reconciliation directs our gaze to the eschaton, that time "when the contradictions and ambiguities of our lives will yield to the manifestation of God's glory" (118). Reconciliation is the hope that the one who has acted in history continues to act, and will continue to act eternally. Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, the eschaton has begun to break into our world, as Christ reaches into present reality and transforms it, giving glimpses of the New Jerusalem, where all will finally be reconciled, not only with each other, but, more importantly, with God.

            So, how do we read passages like Genesis 45 and Psalm 133 in light of the events of this past week, or in the events of evil that surely are lurking around every corner? The doctrine of reconciliation tells us that we are to respond in hope. Hope, because just as Jesus has acted in history on our behalf, that he too continues and will continue to act on our behalf. Hope, because in being for us, there is no one who can stand against God and prohibit God from being for us. Hope, because it is God who has both the first and final word about us. Our end is not found in destruction, but in the gracious act of God through Jesus Christ.

            The reason that Barth can declare that the doctrine of reconciliation is at the heart of the Christian Gospel is because it is in Christ's reconciliation that we find ourselves capable of partaking in the divine being. For salvation is not found in a place, but in a person. Our hope is not only in a heavenly dwelling, but in communion with the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Through the cross and resurrection, Jesus has not only tasted but overcome death, not only for himself, but for all of humanity. Thus, through the resurrection, Jesus not only finds new life for himself, but new life is given to all of humanity, a life that only is found in God.

            "God does not at first occupy a position of neutrality in relation to [us]. He is not simply distant from [us] and high above [us]. He is not merely God in His own divine sphere allowing [us] to be [hu]man[ity] in [our own] sphere. He does not merely know about [us] and view [us] as a spectator . . . God is the living Creator and Lord of [us all], and therefore the One who actively guarantees and accompanies and controls [our] existence" (CD IV/1, 37). Therefore, as we read in Romans, "the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." While we have been disobedient, God shows mercy, that he may have mercy on all. Reconciliation is the gracious gift of God, the one that not only call for but demands our thanksgiving. Reconciliation is the heart of the gospel, because without reconciliation, we as human beings would be godless, purposeless, and lost within this world. However, reconciliation tells us that amidst the mess of the world, we are not alone. Reconciliation tells us that God has acted on our behalf, for our salvation, that we may have participation in the divine being. This is the good news, that in God and God alone do we find life. So we respond to the acts of this week the same way God has responded to us. We respond in love, in grace, with mercy, knowing that despite and in spite of our actions, we do not have the final word. It is God, the one who has worked and continues to work to reconcile all to himself that has the final Word. That Word is none other than Jesus Christ.

Disability and Difference

This semester I have had the opportunity to study disability theology, specifically focusing on examining the place of persons with intellectual disability in the church. Additionally, this upcoming school year I will be writing my masters on theological anthropology and persons with disability. If you are interested, I have compiled some relevant readings below. Feel free to read along, comment your thoughts, or provide any suggestions for further reading:

Internet articles:

"Jean Vanier’s comfort and joy: ‘What we have to do is find the places of hope’" by Ian Brown

"Shalom Made Strange: Peace Church Theology For and With People With Intellectual Disabilities" by Jason Reimer Greig

"What Love Looks Like: Learning how to be with disability" by Stanley Hauerwas

"The Body of Christ has Down's Syndrome" by John Swinton

Books

Brian Brock and John Swinton, eds., Disability in the Christian Tradition: A Reader, 2012.

Hans Reinders, Receiving the Gift of Friendship: Profound Disability, Theological Anthropology, and Ethics, 2008.

Thomas Reynolds, Vulnerable Communion: A Theology of Disability and Hospitality, 2008.

Being the Church with a Little Help from James Smith

Who is the church to be? To whom are we to focus our attention, those within our borders, or those whom the Gospel has not yet reached? While the answer is clearly both, many North American churches (with the best of intentions) tend to sympathize with the latter. They focus on drawing bodies into the church in order that souls may be saved. Yet, often the cost of this emphasis is an appeal to popular culture. The Gospel is diluted in an effort to try and present it in an easy and coherent manner, with the hope of a quick conversion for the newcomers.

The more I study, the more I disagree with this approach. Duke theologian Stanley Hauerwas has said that when we translate the Gospel, we end up losing it entirely. We either accept the entirety of the Gospel, or none. The Gospel is not something that one can pick and choose.

The direct effect of such thoughts is that the church must look radically different from the popular culture. When one enters a church, they should be confronted with the reality that this is a community dedicated to the worship and service of the living God. 

In his book Who's Afraid of Postmodernism, James Smith lays out a brilliant example as to why he believes why such an approach should be normative for the church:

Worship, then, needs to be characterized by hospitality; it needs to be inviting. But at the same time, it should be inviting seekers into the church and its unique story and language. Worship should be an occasion of cross-cultural hospitality. Consider an analogy: When I travel to France, I hope to be made to feel welcome. However, I don't expect my French hosts to become Americans in order to make me feel at home. I don't expect them to start speaking English, ordering pizza, talking about the New York Yankees, and so on. Indeed, if I wanted that, I would have just stayed home! Instead, what I'm hoping for is to be welcomed into their unique French culture; that's why I've come to France in the first place. And I know that this will take some work on my part. I'm expecting things to be different; indeed. I'm looking for just this difference. So also, I think, with hospitable worship: seekers are looking for something our culture can't provide. Many don't want a religious version of what they can already get at the mall. And this is especially true of postmodern or Gen X seekers: they are looking for elements of transcendence and challenge that MTV could never give them. Rather than an MTVized version of the gospel, they are searching for the mysterious practices of the ancient gospel. - James K.A. Smith, Who's Afraid of Postmodernism, 78.

The church's task is not to make the Gospel intelligent to a newcomer upon a first reading. Rather, the Gospel is a story that is lived into. Smith continues:

The church is the stage where God's drama is played out; as such, we Christians have a responsibility to "act well," we might say, to faithfully play out the love of God in the church as a community of love and justice. Our storytelling should be supported by our story living. - Ibid., 79.

As the Church, we are to live into the story we have been given. In dying with Christ we are raised to new life in which we can dine at the feast of the lamb. In living into this narrative, we will be drawn deeper into the life of Christ. In being drawn deeper into the life of Christ, we will begin to affect change on the world in ways a seeker-sensitive approach simply is not capable of.
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If you're interested in more of my thoughts on the subject, click here.

Who's Story is it? Karl Barth and the Theologian's Call

As you may have guessed based on my last blog post (that is, if you are a regular follower of the blog), I am currently reading through Karl Barth's Evangelical Theology: An Introduction. This book was recommended to me as an introduction to Barth's work, someone who I am supremely fascinated by. 

In the seventh chapter of his book, Barth pens a section on what draw someone to the study of theology. Rather than writing an expository section on this text, for today I just want to leave you with Barth's words, because of how much they struck me as my own story, if Barth was writing about my own entrance into the study of theology:

When a man becomes involved in theological science, its object does not allow him to set himself apart from it or to claim independence and autarchic self-sufficiency. He has become involved in theology, even if his reasons for such involvement may have been very superficial, or, indeed, utterly childish. Certainly, he never knew beforehand what a risk he was taking, and he will certainly never fully grasp this risk. But at any rate he has taken this step. He is a theologian because he finds himself confronted by this object. His heart is much too stubborn and fearful, and his little head much too weak, but he cannot merely dally or skirmish with this object. The consequences can no longer be avoided. This object disturbs him--and not merely from afar, the way a lightning flash on the horizon might disturb one. This object seeks him out and finds him precisely where he stands, and it is just there that this object has already sought and found him. It met, encountered, and challenged him. It invaded, surprised, and captured him. It assumed control over him. As to himself, the light "dawned" on him, and he was ushered up from the audience to the stage. What he is supposed to do with this object has become wholly subordinate to the other question about how he must act now that this object obviously intended to have, and already has had, something to do with him. Before he knows anything at all, he finds himself known and consequently aroused and summoned to knowledge. He is summoned to re-search because he finds himself searched, to thinking and reflection because he becomes aware that someone thinks of him, to speech because he hears someone speak to him long before he can ever stammer, much less utter a coherent sentence. In short, he finds himself freed to be concerned with this object long before he can even reflect on the fact that there is such a freedom, and before he has made even an initial, hesitant, and unskilled use of it. He did not take part in this liberation, but what happened was that he was made a direct participant in this freedom. When he dipped even the tip of his toe into the waters of this Rubicon or Jordan (or whatever the river may be called), he was already both compelled and allowed to pass through to the other side. Perhaps frowning, confused and shocked, and definitely altogether incompetent, he is all the same on the other shore from which there is no return. The fact is now: Tua res agitur, the matter concerns you!

- Karl Barth, Evangelical Theology: An Introduction, 75-76.

Let God out of the Box: Re-establishing Wonder as a Spiritual Discipline

Modernity did a lot of great things for humanity. It brought us technology, cars, books, and a whole host of other things that are essential to our quality of life. But post-enlightenment rationality has also caused grave problems for the church. Modernity demands a rational or scientific explanation for everything, while one of the essential characteristics of God's being is that he is ineffable (he cannot be described by words). 

With Modernity, the church has seen a rise of Christian apologetics, especially throughout the 20th century. People have established cases as to why God has to exist, and in their effort to explain our need for God, often end up ruling out any room for wonder in our belief.

20th-century German theologian Karl Barth recognized the loss of wonder that the church was experiencing. In his introductory work Evangelical Theology--a series of lectures delivered on a visit to America--Barth devotes one of his chapters to the idea of wonder.

For Barth, God's ineffability necessitates the need for wonder in all of theology. He writes, "If such astonishment is lacking, the whole enterprise of even the best theologian would canker at the roots. On the other hand, as long as even a poor theologian is capable of astonishment, he is not lost to the fulfillment of his task." For Barth, if we are to properly speak about God, we must possess a deep sense of wonder.

For many people, the fact that we cannot explain God causes feelings of uneasiness. It can even be a stumbling block to one's acceptance of the crucified and risen Christ (cf. 1 Cor 1:23). However, one of the problems that occur when we begin to think that we can wholly understand God is that we think that we can control God. We begin to speak of God in reference to humanity rather than humanity in reference to God. We become so closed minded that ecumenical discourse is all but forgotten and everyone who disagrees with us must simply be wrong. 

If we give up wonder, we give up a lot of tenets central to the Christian faith. Without wonder, there is no possibility of miracles. Without wonder, the sacraments become nothing more than empty acts. Without wonder, we cannot come to terms with the miracle and the sacrament, Jesus Christ. 

Sometimes all that we as Christians have to hang onto is a sense of wonder. When the world is telling us no, we can say yes, not because of a scientific formula, but because of wonder. It becomes alright to not be able to exhaustively explain the existence of God because faith is not something we achieve but something we live into. 

"In theological wonder", argues Barth," it is a sheer impossibility that [we] might one day finish [our] lessons, that the uncommon might become common, that the new might appear old and familiar, that the strange might ever become thoroughly domesticated." As Barth understands, wonder allows us to experience God anew every day. It allows us to continue to learn more and more about the God who our soul longs to be in relationship with. It allows us to recognize that this God who is worthy of all honour and worship is much bigger and greater than we could ever imagine.

Do me a favour, would you? Let your God out of the box. Hold your presuppositions out with an open hand. Allow for the possibility that God may be far bigger than you ever imagined. You may be surprised by what you find.

Cut the Pastor Some Slack: re-evaluating the place of the sermon in our worship service

I want you, for a minute, to think of the last church service you attended. For some of you, that may have been yesterday. For others, it may have been a few weeks, months, maybe even years. But I want you to think about that service. How did it flow? What was the order of service? Did you sing? Was there a greeting? What about the scripture reading? Surely there was a sermon.

Now that you have thought about the order of service, I want you to think about what you would identify as the climax of said service. Where did the service peak? What was it about the gathering that everyone was anticipating? What is the one thing that surely cannot fail? What is it that keeps drawing people back to church? For many Protestant Evangelical churches, that answer, unfortunately, is the sermon.

Don't get me wrong, I love the sermon, assuming that it's done well. Over the past few years, I have had the opportunity to attend a handful of churches on a semi-regular-to-very-involved basis, all of which employed pastors gifted in teaching and exposition. As a student of theology, I very much appreciate listening in on sermons which challenge my intellect, attitude, and behaviour. I think the sermon is a very important part of the service, but I don't think it should be the climax.

Have you ever heard someone say something along the lines of "I didn't go to church today, but it's okay because I listened to the sermon." It's okay, I've been that person! While this may be a great option for those physically incapable of attending a church service because of illness, travel, etc., such reasoning is only possible because of our over-emphasis on the sermon proper.

Let's examine some of the possible negative effects that placing the sermon as the climax of the sermon can have:

1) We measure the "success" of a service based on the quality of the sermon. 

We've all heard good sermons, and we've all heard bad sermons. Some strike home, others leave us wanting. However, such a variable should not be our guide as to whether a service is "good" or not. 

2) We deify the pastor.

Recently, Seattle megachurch Mars Hill fired their pastor, Evangelical superstar Mark Driscoll. While the reason for his absence is not the focus of this post, it is important that we take note of the aftermath of such a decision. Driven by a misguided loyalty, hundreds of Mars Hill's congregants pledged their allegiance to Driscoll and vowed to follow him wherever he went. When it comes down to it, we must be committed to Jesus more than our pastor.

3) We lose sight of why we really go to church: to worship God.

Do you know the reason we gather on Sundays? No, not because of the Sabbath, because as any good Jew could tell you, the Sabbath is on Saturday. No, the early Christians gathered on Sunday to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ! Isn't that cause for a celebration? Their focus wasn't on who was preaching that Sunday, but rather they gathered as a body of believers to worship the one true, Triune God. 

So, if the sermon is no longer the climax of our service, that leaves us with two questions: what is the purpose of the sermon, and what should be the climax of our service?

First, on the purpose of the sermon. As a whole, our service should be directed wholeheartedly towards God. Our songs should be directed towards God, the scripture reading should be done in honour and worship of God, and when we greet/pass the peace/shake someone's hand, that should be done knowing that the person whose face you are seeing is indeed the image of the one true, Triune God. The sermon, too, should be to tell the congregation about God, his goodness, and how we can live in honour him. The sermon instructs and guides us to be better stewards of the Gospel, better residents of the Kingdom.

Finally, it is my proposition that Communion takes the place of the sermon as the climax of our worship service. It is at the Communion Table that heaven and earth meet, where our earthly body and blood meet the body and blood of the one whom is our own lifeblood. For if it at the table where we meet the body and blood of the crucified and risen Christ, what words that a preacher gives can exceed that?

It is no secret that we live in an individualistic culture. We like it when things are focused on ourselves, which is why so many of the songs we sing and the sermons we preach are focused on ourselves. However, individualism has no place in the church. When we become too inward focused, we lose sight of the one who deserves all the strength our mind can give. 

The great bishop St. Augustine of Hippo once said, "For the fullness of our happiness, beyond which there is none else, is this: to enjoy God the Trinity in whose image we were made." Is this really evident in our churches today? Do we take all our enjoyment in the Triune God, or do we worry when we hear a sermon that doesn't necessarily pass our standards?

How would such a thought change our churches? How would our experience of both church and Christ differ if we believed that we were encountering the crucified and risen Christ every time that we came to church? 

Is the Bible a History Book? Interpreting Scripture with the Early Church

Why do we read the Bible? I wonder if this is a question which many Christians have asked themselves recently.

Ever since its canonization, Christians have stressed the importance of reading, studying, and understanding the Bible for the maintenance, growth and strength of the Christian tradition. The earliest dogmas of the church, theological truths which we still hold to today, relied on a proper interpretation of scripture as they came into being.

For many who do not find themselves in the Christian tradition, scripture will be at best a good moral document, and at worst a fairy tale. However, what remains is that the Bible is a book of (usually) black words on white pages. What makes these words any more important to us than other ancient classics such as Homer's Iliad or Plato's Republic.

Christian's have always asserted that there is something more to the Bible than the words on the page, that there is something behind the text that is significant for the life of the Christian. But what is it that we find to be behind the text of the Bible?

Whether we realize it or not (and many do not), Evangelical interpretation has been greatly influenced by the historical-critical scholarship of the modern era. Historical-critical scholarship has primarily focused itself on the historical events behind the text, debating whether they happened and how the text of the Bible both coincides and differentiates from said events. 

From this method of scripture interpretation arose the discipline of biblical archaeology. While this no longer is the case, biblical archaeology began primarily as a method of proving the events, places, and people of the Bible, primarily concerning itself with the Old Testament narratives. Consequentially, Evangelical interpretation began to concern itself primarily with a historical reading of the text, with any alternative interpretations being labelled as heterodox. 

While there certainly is value in understanding that God has acted in the course of human history, must our primary concern be whether the events to which scripture attests happened exactly as penned?

My argument, informed by the Fathers of the early church, is no.

Consider this: for the Patristics, "the Bible was not a perfect historical record. Scripture was, for them the orienting, luminous center of a highly varied and complex reality, shaped by divine providence. It was true not by virtue of successfully or accurately representing any one event or part of this divinely ordained reality. Rather, the truth rested in the scripture's power to illuminate and disclose the order and pattern of all things" (John J. O'Keefe and R.R. Reno, Sanctified Vision, 11). 

For the earliest interpreters of scripture, what was important was not how things happened, but rather how the events of scripture pointed to something greater, the person of Jesus Christ. Scripture was, to the Patristics, not a history book, but rather an active and living document that revealed the saving work of Jesus Christ to his bride, the church. 

While the Patristics did not go as far as to say that the events to which scripture attests did not happen, they show no remorse for not having a historical interpretation as their primary hermeneutic. Rather, it was understood that through the documenting of these events, scripture pointed to the One behind these events. 

What is our lens in interpreting scripture? Do we read in order to prove the events, hoping that this will aid our apologetic in proving God's existence to the unbeliever? Or, rather, do we take a step of faith and allow the text to speak of something greater, to speak of our saviour, Jesus Christ?