The Life-altering Encounter of Hope

Have you ever had an encounter that totally altered your state of being? Something that provided you with a new perspective on life or visions of an alternative reality that once you experienced it, you knew that you could never go back? These experiences come to us in many shapes and sizes. It could be a conversation with a friend, a movie, a book, a poem, a piece of art, etc. The medium of these encounters is virtually limitless.

I had one of these encounters this summer. Because I am a nerd, this encounter came through reading German theologian Jurgen Moltmann's Theology of Hope. My copy of this book is old and dingy and does not appear as much to those who have never opened its cover. However, this book has provided me with a reality that I have been unable to shake ever since I began the journey through its pages. 

For those of you who regularly read my blog posts, you will know that I have posted about Moltmann in the past (you can read those posts here and here), and I apologize if you tire of hearing about him once again. However, as we approach the season of advent in the church's liturgical calendar, I once again am confronted with the reality that Moltmann stresses: there is no Christian Gospel if there is no hope. Consider here Moltmann's words on the subject of hope:

Does this hope cheat man of the happiness of the present? How could it do so! For it is itself the happiness of the present. It pronounces the poor blessed, receives the weary and heavy laden, the humbled and wronged, the hungry and the dying, because it perceives the parousia of the kingdom for them. Expectation makes life good, for in expectation man can accept his whole present and find joy not only in its joy but also in its sorrow, happiness not only in its happiness but also in its pain. Thus hope goes on its way through the midst of happiness and pain, because in the promises of God it can see a future also for that living without hope is like no linger living. Hell is hopelessness, and it is not for nothing that at the entrance to Dante's hell there stands the words: 'Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.' - Theology of Hope, 32.

Hope is what makes our life bearable! For even in our darkest of times, it is the hope that things will not be this way forever that continues to push us forward. And how relevant is this theme of hope for us as we enter into the season of advent.

Consider the Old Testament lectionary reading for the first Sunday of advent.

14 The days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah. 15 In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. 16 In those days Judah will be saved and Jerusalem will live in safety. And this is the name by which it will be called: “The Lord is our righteousness.” - Jeremiah 33:14-16

The Lord, he is coming! Imagine the hope the Messiah would bring to the nation of Israel, a nation who had been exiled, and upon return from exile, lived under Greco-Roman rule. Even when life seemed unbearable, surely the hope of the Messiah, the one who would execute justice and righteousness, would be all the encouragement one would need!

How applicable is this theme of hope for our present situation. We live in a world that quite often seems void of all hope. We hear regularly of injustices at home and abroad, and it can be easy to buy into the myth that the world is going to hell in a handbasket. And this is why the message of hope is of utmost importance for Christians! We worship the one who welcomes the poor, the needy, the downtrodden, the lame, the sick, and the disadvantaged! This world does not have the final say, for that is left to the one who comes to bring life, life to the fullest.

It is my prayer that as we engage in the season of advent in its fasts and its feasts that our eyes would not turn from the hope that we see in the coming Christ. For he is the Christ who came to proclaim good news to the poor, to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free (cf. Lk 4:18). It is in him that we must put all of our hope.

We've Been Here Before: A Mennonite Perspective on the Syrian Refugee Crisis

re-fyu̇-ˈjē: someone who has been forced to leave a country because of war or for religious or political reasons

If you live in North America, you probably have an opinion on refugees. Six months ago, you may not have held an opinion on refugees, but at this present moment, based on the global happenings of the recent week, you probably stand somewhere in the continuum of opinion. You have probably heard arguments from both sides of the dichotomy. On the one hand, you have heard those arguing for increased refugee immigration, for it is our duty as those in positions of plenty to help those in positions of need. On the other hand, you have also likely heard the argument that there may be a link between Syrian refugees and the terrorist group ISIS/ISIL, and for that reason, Canadians and Americans alike need to be cautious about welcoming in refugees with open arms.

Whatever your opinion on refugee status, I feel like there is something which I need to declare: my family came to Canada as refugees.

This will likely come as a surprise to many who do not know my family heritage. To any innocent bystander, I look like a typical Canadian: blonde, tall, blue eyes. Your typical Germanic/Anglo-Saxon description. As a result, I do not experience the discrimination that other visible minorities may face. However, I recognize that I would not be alive had Canada turned their back on my family when they fled the dangers of the Soviets many years ago.

Allow me now to briefly summarize a small portion of my family history. I am a fourth generation Canadian, so my refugee status traces back to my great-grandparents. For as far back as I have traced, my family has been part of the Mennonite tradition, which began in the Germany/Netherlands region. After facing persecution in Europe, many Mennonites settled in the territory now known as Russia and Ukraine.

At the time my great-grandparents fled from Ukraine and Russia, it was not a pleasant place for them to live. My great-grandparents were persecuted because of their faith, and they all ended up on the run. One of my great-grandmothers fled from a house only hours before the Russians came and killed the rest of her family. One of my great-grandfathers had his land taken from him and was forced into a life of poverty. All were forced to make the difficult decision to leave everything they had behind and make the terrifying journey into a new country.

I am not writing this in an attempt to receive heaps of sympathy from the online community. In fact, at this point, I feel like my family has allowed me to be born and raised in a situation of privilege in many senses, which I recognize and am grateful for. Rather, the reason I am writing this is as an abbreviated case study for the current situation in which we now find ourselves.

Whenever we as individuals or as a community are evaluating a decision--whether past, present, or future--it is important that we consider the context in which the situation took, is taking, or will take place in. So, let us consider the context which my great-grandparents found themselves in.

It was still early in the 20th century, and Russia was not not a pleasant place for my ancestors to live. The Russians ran around pillaging Mennonite communities and killing anyone who would stand in opposition to their national values. They had a vision, and they would not let the Mennonites object to this vision any longer. If I may ask this question, does this sound familiar to our current context in any way?

Russia was to my great-grandparents what ISIS is to many Muslims in the Middle East right now. ISIS is forcing people out of their homes and killing anyone who stands in their way, much in the same way that the Russians did to my great-grandparents a hundred years ago.

For my great-grandparents, it was not a question of whether or not moving would allow them to experience a new worldview and culture or simply to see new things, the reason many people travel globally in this day. No, fleeing was a matter of life or death. Stay, and risk being killed, or flee, and hope that you can give your family a better life

When my ancestors were fleeing, tensions with the Russians were beginning to rise, and there was no visible difference separating my great-grandparents from other Russians. Additionally, the Russian government, who had been at periods involved quite closely with the Russian Orthodox church, could have been labelled under the same Christian label my great-grandparents were fleeing under. At the time, the Canadian government could have shut the doors to Canada on my great-grandparents. But thankfully, they didn't. The Canadian government recognized that my people were a people in need, and they welcomed us into the country with open arms. Now, my family gives back, providing our neighbours with farmers, bankers, paramedics, teachers, brothers, sisters, and friends just to name a few.

There are many similarities between the situation my ancestors faced and the one many Syrian refugees are currently facing. Are they equal in every way? No, I do not believe so. However, based on the similarities we have established, we now are faced with a choice: will we be blinded to the current situation and assume that the people fleeing are part of some elaborate plot of terror simply because of their skin colour and religion? Or will we recognize that these people are a people in need, and that perhaps if we take them into our country they will in their gratitude turn into farmers, bankers, teachers, doctors, lawyers, and maybe even politicians?

We are currently faced with a decision. It is my prayer that we will make the right one.

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"When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien.The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizen among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God." (Lev 19:33-34)

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."(Matt 5:43-44)

The Simplicity of Being Christian

If one were to evaluate the Christian life from a purely logical standpoint, undoubtedly they would find quite a simple, three-step formula to living as a Christian in the world. It goes as follows:

1. We must always begin at what is most important. If we, as Christians, view Christ to be the most important aspect of our faith, we must therefore examine what Christ thought to be most important. Luckily for us, this does not take much digging, as he explicitly states what is the most important commandment for Christians to abide by. 

He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” (Matt 22:37-40)

2. Now that we know the most important commandment, we must then ask ourselves what it means to show God that we do indeed love him? Do a little bit of digging, and we find this: 

“If you love me, you will keep my commandments." (John 14:15)

Well, that was surprisingly easy and conveniently straightforward.

3. Read the Gospels and discover what Jesus told us to do.

*Hint* Just because Jesus said something you don't like, doesn't mean that you can conveniently opt out of doing said thing. If you disagree, go back to point 2 and continue from there.

Remembering Shalom: A Pacifist's Struggle With Remembrance Day

I have a confession to make, and it may be a controversial one: I don't know what to do with Remembrance Day. 

Now, this may seem like an odd confession to many folks. 'Surely it is a day where we remember our soldiers', one may say. Or, for others, it is simply a day off from work and school to spend with loved ones. However, I am at the point where I simply don't think either of those answers are good enough.

At this stage in my life, I am trying to evaluate life through the different lenses in which I experience each day. I am seeking answers and pursuing truth, and for better or for worse, the subject of my recent thought is the Canadian holiday of Remembrance Day. For many, Remembrance Day will be experienced through the lens of the proud Canadian, remembering the work of soldiers, usually with emphasis on those who served in World War II (at least that has been my experience). As a Canadian, I want desperately to experience the gratitude that those Canadians feel, however there is currently a huge roadblock in my journey: I am a pacifist. 

Allow me to take some time to briefly to reveal my journey to pacifism. As a child, (for better or for worse) I was not allowed to play with guns, with the playful exception of water guns. This was--as my parents explained--because we were pacifists. We did not believe that violence was right. This ban on guns extended to violent video games, which was not a huge problem for me growing up as a result of most of my focus in my younger years being on hockey through and through. I remember a moment as an adolescent when my younger brother received as a gift a small figurine of a vigilante riding on a motorcycle wielding a gun. We were instructed to pretend that this was a water gun, not an actual gun that could shoot and kill. So, in my younger years, my coming to a pacifist was natural in the most basic sense of the word. 

In my teenage years, I "rebelled" from such teachings, wondering whether pacifism was truly a Christian way of living. I began to encounter people who I respected who had different views from me, and I took seriously their arguments necessitating violence in certain situations. I began to distance myself from the label pacifist, and even indulged in the occasional violent video game. *Gasp*!

However, despite my distancing from the label of a pacifist in my teenage years, these days I find myself coming back to embrace pacifism as the sort of lifestyle that Christians are to exude. I can credit this transition in thinking to a multiplicity of ideas, however, in an effort to remain brief, I will select two to expand upon. The first is one of these ideas is that of the imago dei, or the biblical assumption that all of humanity is created in the image of God. If I believe that each person is created in the image of God, and that image is not one that a person can lose at a point in their life, logically it presumes that if I am to kill a person I am therefore destroying the image of the one whom I worship. In the Old Testament, when Israel was instructed to purge Canaan of images of Baal and Asherah, pagan deities of the era. The purpose of this was that no man or woman would acknowledge either of these beings as a god, for Yahweh alone is God. It would follow under the same logic that ridding the world of the image of God would be an act of ridding the world of the influence of God, which I am sure that no Christian would agree with.

The second idea that brought me back to pacifism is the biblical idea of shalom. Shalom, a Hebrew word, is an idea which first appears in the Old Testament which is often translated as "peace" in our English translations. However, this is perhaps too narrow of a definition, for shalom suggests a general sense of well being for all, a near paradisical state of being. Many scholars argue that this is the call of the Old Testament--the reason in which God enters into covenant with humanity--in order that he may instill shalom for his people. In the New Testament, Jesus continually echoes this call to shalom, proclaiming that the Good News which he brings is to be communal engagement for all people. It is with these two beliefs that I, as a Christian, cannot only refuse to ever kill another human being, it means that I also cannot bring myself to rejoice when another human is killed, no matter how evil society may view that person to be. 

That bring us back to Remembrance Day. A few days ago, I posted a status on my Facebook page asking people what they thought of Remembrance Day. Is it important? Why do we remember? I was pleasantly surprised with the multiplicity of answers I received. Some were as short as to remember our soldiers and families to the simplicity of it being a statutory holiday. Others were broader, dealing with the importance of Canadians honouring those who have fought in wars for the freedom of our people. It was very enlightening to see how different people view this Canadian holiday. 

While I would love to end this posting with some sort of epiphany of how I reconciled Remembrance Day with my pacifistic beliefs, I cannot simply do not feel comfortable enough to do so. I feel as if this is something I must leave in tension, for I do not feel confident enough to give an appropriate answer to proclaim to the masses of Canada. However, I will end with some personal opinion on perhaps what would be some appropriate responses for Christians.

First, if you do not identify as Christian and do not hold pacifistic views, I do not expect you to agree with my ideas. That would be absurd of me to do so, and I can respect you in that. Please, do not refrain from engaging in conversation with me. However, I do not expect all of Canada to conform to my personal views, especially as those views often appear out of my Christian worldview (whatever that means). 

Second, as I have family and friends who serve/have served in the military, I do not want you to think that I am condemning those who engage in military action. That too would be a misunderstanding of the point I am trying to convey. However, with that being said, I think we must think carefully about the method pertaining to both how and why we remember (and even honour) those who serve/have served in the military, and perhaps begin to think for ourselves what the role of the military actually should be.

War is a terrible thing. No matter what your belief, nobody can shake the reality that the horrors of war are something that no person should have to experience. Even if one holds to a theory of Just War (because certainly nobody who declared war on a people group thought they were doing so unjustly), I have talked with soldiers who suffer from PTSD who would argue that war in and of itself is terrible. However unfortunately, I feel like we as a society have forgotten this terrible reality of war. We hear the media glorifying our military as heroes, and as a result often forget the brutal realities that all those involved (both allies and enemies) face on a daily basis.

Mennonite Central Committee, and organization whom I have the utmost respect for, has a campaign that states "To Remember is to Work for Peace." After much contemplation, I believe that it is in this fashion that I will engage in Remembrance Day this year. I will refuse to recognize acts of war as good, however, that does not mean that I cannot remember what has happened. Failing to remember the terrors of war disengages us from the original purpose of this day: that what has happened should never happen again. Is that not why we utter the phrase "Lest We Forget?"

In remembering the atrocities that have occurred in wars over the years, our longing should not be for more war. That would be an injustice to those who have died in any war over the years. Rather, our longing should be for peace, for shalom, a place where all can live in harmony and well-being. It is my desire that this year as we remember, in whatever capacity that may be, that we may work together to seek peace for all people. Not just for your family, not just for your friends, but for all the world, that together we may all live together in shalom. 

A Final Political Pandering: Reflections on Bonhoeffer's Life Together

I am very ready for this election period to be over. Eleven weeks is far too long for a federal campaign, and as one who went into this election period determined to be aware and informed, I am exhausted of all the political hoopla that has filled my social media feeds and in-person conversations. I attempted to be as non-partisan as possible in my conversations, determined to make the best vote in an unbiased manner.

In my personal opinion, one party has emerged above the others as the clear winner for my vote; a party who has already received my vote as a result of the advanced polls. I have been sitting on a blog post for about a week on why I believe them to be the best choice to vote for, but I have been hesitant to post it.

Now, my hesitancy has not been because I am unsure about whether my vote was the quote-on-quote "right decision"--I firmly believe it is. However, my delay in posting is because I am not sure if it would actually have the intended effect I would want it to have, and that it would arise more as white noise than a call to cast the "best" vote.

The problem with politics is not that people do not want the best for their country--I believe that every person who casts a ballot on Monday (or during the advanced polls) truly believes that the person/party they are voting for will do the best to make Canada the country they believe it should be. Rather, the problem comes in what we believe Canada actually should be. For some, Canada is a nation that is progressive and inclusive, leaders on the world stage. For others, Canada is international peacemakers, quick to aid and always ready to lend a helping hand. For another, Canada is tough on crime, a nation in which it is safe to live and raise a family.

Recently, our small group at church has begin going through Dietrich Bonhoeffer's work Life Together. While this book was not written for such a purpose, as we have begun to go through it, I believe that it can speak to our political actions as Christians in a secular nation. Bonhoeffer, who would eventually face death for his actions, does not seem to be overly concerned with creating a "Christian" nation. Rather, his concern seems to be primarily how can we be Christians inside this nation? Bonhoeffer argues that we cannot be Christians in isolation, but rather that all of our faith is determined by how we interact within community. For Bonhoeffer, "we should seek and find His living Word in the witness of a brother [or sister], in the mouth of man [or woman]" (23).

Bonhoeffer takes very seriously the influence of the Christian in the secular world. He does so not in an effort to make all conform to his beliefs, but rather acted in a way that emphasized the needs of the other. In his words, "Christianity means community through Jesus Christ and in Jesus Christ. No Christian community is more or less than this" (21). In community, we are to take the commands of Christ seriously. These find their pinnacle in the call to the aid of one's neighbour, to put emphasis on the needs of the other before that of ourselves.

It is this understanding of the Gospel as good news for all people that I simply cannot get away from as I have been wading through the waters of politics over these last eleven weeks. Which parties take seriously the needs of those without proper housing, those who are in prison, those who are sick, those who are disabled. And that is only within our nation's borders. Then there is the crisis involving Syrian refugees, the global climate crisis, and international humanitarian aid for the poor and marginalized.

This is my final plea to Canadian voters who would identify themselves as Christians: take seriously the needs of the other as you vote. If you are a male, take seriously the needs of females. If you are young, take seriously the needs of seniors. If you are white, take seriously the needs of Aboriginals. If you are a Christian, take seriously the needs of Muslims.

Earlier this week, one of my undergraduate professors, Dr. Randall Holm, posted an open letter to Christian voters on his Facebook page, and I would like to end this post in the same way he did, by quoting the late Jewish scholar Emanuel Levinas. It was Levinas who stated that "the portal to the holy is in the face of the other." I believe Bonhoeffer would agree with this statement, that our only path to Jesus Christ is in the community of others, and that is my desire as we cast our votes on Saturday, that in looking around for the needs of the other perhaps we would catch a glimpse of the Holy.

Hoping in Hope: Is Eschatology Central to the Gospel?

Approximately two months ago, I began the journey that was my first encounter with Jurgen Moltmann in his first major work, Theology of Hope. While I would say that I am relatively new to the study of theology proper, Moltmann, a self-professing disciple of Karl Barth, found his way into my bookshelf. And so I read.

As the title blatantly states, Moltmann's Theology of Hope is about just that: hope as it is found in the Christian proclamation and life. However, Moltmann's understanding of hope in the Christian sense is much broader than the common modern vernacular. While one may hope that their favorite sports team wins a game, or that they may acquire the latest gadget, or even that they may get a raise at work, this hope in which those within society so commonly speak of does great injustice to what Moltmann argues the Christian hope functions as.

To understand Moltmann's argument throughout this book, one needs to have a much broader understanding of eschatology than what is commonly preached in modern, evangelical churches. Depending on who is speaking, eschatology has many different definitions. According to Merriam-Webster, eschatology is "a branch of theology concerned with the final events in the history of the world or of humankind." Eschatology.com goes even with a much simpler definition, arguing that eschatology is simply "the study of last things." Unfortunately, these simplistic definitions of eschatology are the definitions that I was exposed to growing up, even into my first year of study at Briercrest College (no disrespect to Briercrest, I just think my first-year theology prof needs a broader understanding of eschatology). 

For Moltmann, such an understanding of eschatology will simply not do. As I stated in my previous blog post, Moltmann's theology comes out of a war-torn German society, one void of most--if not all--hope. This leads Moltmann to his understanding of eschatology, which he spends the entirety of a whole chapter unpacking (and his chapters are loooong). However, to attempt to sum up said chapter, Moltmann's understanding of eschatology could be understood much better as "the eschaton breaking transcendentally into history . . . [as] the promise which has stamped the language, the hope, and the experience of Israel" (39-41). For Moltmann, eschatology is not simply about future events, but, to be understood properly, must take into consideration all of history. 

Moltmann's argument spans the entirety of the Bible, beginning with the promise given to the Israelites, which "announces the coming of a reality that does not yet exist" while at the same time binding humanity to the future (103). To understand the promise of Yahweh, one must look at the situation into which the proclamation was given to the end goal of what the proclamation is all about. In the briefest of fashions, this is Moltmann's understanding of eschatology: a historical view that encompasses past and present, in an effort to look forward to the future into the reality in which we will dwell. 

So how does this understanding of eschatology fit into the Christian Gospel? For many evangelicals, the Gospel is presented as some form of Anselm of Canterbury's Penal Substitutionary Atonement, where there is a gap between humanity and God, and in his death and resurrection Christ has filled said gap in order that we may one day go to heaven when we die. If this is the gospel, and eschatology is the study of the last things, there is no need for eschatology to be mentioned in our understanding of the Gospel, because the two can coincide separately without ever needing to interact. However, this understanding of either the Gospel or eschatology will simply not do for Moltmann. 

In Moltmann's understanding, history must be viewed through the lens of the crucified and risen Christ; any attempt to understand Christianity without this lens is simply not Christianity. Because of this belief, Moltmann takes very seriously what the death and resurrection of Christ is purposed for. In the resurrection, Moltmann argues, God is reconciling humanity to himself, in order to bring forth his Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. Therefore, when we come to Christ, either for the first time or the hundredth time, we need to understand him as the Christ who comes to reconcile, in order that we may one day all be reconciled (cf. Rev 21.3-4). In our Christian faith, we are to live into this hope, that we may not passively hope that Christ one day will come and set all things right, but rather that we are engaging with those around us, bringing the life of Christ to the poor, oppressed, and disadvantaged by society. It is because we can hope in the Christ to come that we can live out the Christ who came and do his work here on earth.

Hope is a powerful thing. It is a dangerous thing. Without hope in a future that would accept African-Americans as equals in society, Martin Luther King Jr. would never have gave his "I Have a Dream" speech. Without hope that she would be able to better the lives of the poor in Calcutta, Mother Teresa would never have devoted her life to serving those most in need of her care. Hope never accepts the status quo. Hope always envisions something better, something that can positively impact the lives of those around us. And that is precisely what the Christian Gospel is. It is the euangellion, the Good News!, that whatever situation we find ourselves in, whether we have lost our jobs, are battling mental illness, suffering from cancer, mourning the loss of a loved one, that life is not defined by the situation we currently find ourselves in. Rather, life is defined by the resurrection of the living Christ, who one day will come to reconcile us all to himself.

This is why eschatology is central to the Gospel. Without eschatology, we cannot understand God's promise to Israel, the branch which Christians are grafted into. Without eschatology we have no hope, and if we have no hope, what really do we have?

Moltmann on the Historicity of the Resurrection of Christ

During my years as an undergrad student, the Bible was the main focus of my study. Hermeneutics and exegesis were my best friends during those years, and I spent many a day delving into the Word of God for various classes and assignments. This theology I took part in was one which scholars call biblical theology, which is charged with the task of uncovering the world behind the text, the people behind the text, and most importantly, the God within the text. In biblical theology, we start with what is on the page, try to understand how it got there, and make our arguments from what is present.

I preface this post with this because recently I have been reading a bit of what I would describe as theology proper, which, according to the all-knowing Wikipedia," is the sub-discipline of systematic theology which deals specifically with the being, attributes and works of God. In a Christian setting, this study includes Trinitarian, the Holy Spirit (Pneumatology) and the study of Jesus Christ (Christology)." Theology proper, a close cousin to philosophy, argues what we can know of God, however, unlike biblical theology, it's main arguing point is not hermeneutical or exegetical, but rather philosophical. Theology proper makes an attempt to reason it's way to a greater understanding of God.

I am a very new student to both philosophy and theology proper, and was initially drawn into the discipline by the works of German theologians Karl Barth and Rudolf Bultmann. These theologians, working in the mid-twentieth century, opened my eyes to many new questions that we are allowed to ask about God, and wildly different answers than the other would care to give. It was in my introduction to both Barth and Bultmann that I began to realize that my conception of who God is is indeed quite small and narrow, and largely based on the context of the environment which I grew up in. It was also in reading Barth and Bultmann that I was introduced to another German theologian, Jurgen Moltmann.

My latest theological endeavour has been working through one of Moltmann's most famous work, Theology of Hope, first published in English in 1967. Before we engage with Theology of Hope, I would ask you to consider the context of Germany in 1967. World War II had concluded just over twenty years prior, and the country was split into East and West. The church was trying to come to an answer as to how a omnipotent deity could allow such a tragedy to take place. It is in this context which Moltmann publishes Theology of Hope.

Moltmann's thesis for this work is simple: the Christian Gospel is a Gospel of hope. Rid the Gospel of hope, and it is certainly no euangelion (lit. "good news). His task is to take a theological look at Christian Scripture--both Old and New Testaments--and establish that the central message for humankind from the very beginning--the kerygma--is hope. In God's promises in the Old Testaments, both to Moses and through the prophets, hope is proclaimed. In the life of Christ, hope is proclaimed. In the writings of Paul as he expounds on Old Testament Scripture, hope is proclaimed. For Moltmann, there is no Christianity if there is no hope.

Many parts of Moltmann's writing have so far captured me as I have ventured through this dense work. And while I am yet to finish reading Theology of Hope, I wanted to bring to light one of the sections that Moltmann penned, because it was one of those moments that was truly groundbreaking for my theology.

As I mentioned previously, one of Moltmann's contemporaries was Rudolf Bultmann, a German scholar whose primary task was the Demythologizing project, which attempted to reconcile Christian scripture with the modern worldview of the day. Bultmann is a fascinating character to read, but has been constantly critiqued by scholars of his day and ours. In a response to Bultmann (among others), Moltmann sets out a section of the chapter "Resurrection and Future of Jesus Christ" to deal with what he describes as "The Historical Question of the Resurrection of Christ and the Questionableness of the Historical Approach to History." Now to some this may seem redundant, and to others absurd, but bear with me as we venture through this all-important proposition.

Moltmann argues that as a whole, people are born into their own biases. It is the age old nature vs. nurture question, but to some degree, people are a product of the environment in which they have grown up. However, while this originally seems like a sociological or anthropological issue, Moltmann turns the tables and surfaces the question as a historical issue. For many people growing up in the modern North American context, this question is quite baffling, because surely there is nothing more certain than history (except maybe for science). Moltmann, however, does not hold this view, and argues that "the experiences of history on the basis of which the concepts of the historical have been constructed have nowadays an anthropocentric character, that 'history' is here man's history and man is the real subject of history" (174). He goes on to cite Hans von Campenhausen, who argues that the discipline of history does not actually instruct humanity as to the precise details of the events which took place, but rather that we need to ask the question of "how far and with what degree of probability the actual facts and the actual course of events can still be ascertained" (174).

Moltmann argues that our discipline of history is limited, and as a result of said limits, each society creates their own structures as to how they believe the discipline of history can best function. He sets this all up to tackle Bultmann's idea that Christ was not actually resurrected, in which it is not a "historical" event, but rather a spiritual event which leads to the birth of Christianity as we know it. This string of logic leads Moltmann to further argue his point in which "the historical question as to the reality of the resurrection of Jesus also recoils upon the historical enquirer and calls in question the basic experience of history which is the ground of his historical enquiry. The historical question as to the historicity of the resurrection of Christ is thereby expanded to include the questionability of the historical approach to history as such. For in the historical question of the resurrection, the texts which tell of the resurrection of Jesus have always a historical view of the world also brought to bear on them" (175).

Moltmann challenges those who try to fit the resurrection into a historical framework to re-evaluate how they actually view the resurrection. For Moltmann, the importance of the resurrection is not found in fitting it into our historical structures, because they are guidelines set forth by humanity--structures which have changed and moulded throughout the years. Rather, "theology has the possibility of constructing its own concept of history and its own view of the tale of history on the basis of a theological and eschatological understanding of the reality of the resurrection. Then the theology of the resurrection would no longer be fitted in with an existing concept of history, but an attempt would have to be made, in comparison with and contradistinction to the existing views of history, to arrive at a new understanding of history with the ultimate possibilities and hopes that attach to it on the presupposition of the raising of Christ from the dead" (180).

Therefore, as the conclusion of Moltmann's section on the historicity of the resurrection, "the raising of Christ is then to be called 'historic', not because it took place in the history to which other categories of some sort provide a key, but it is to be called historic because, by pointing the way for future events, it makes history in which we can and must live."

For Moltmann, the historicity of the resurrection is not important in order that one can prove whether or not the resurrection took place. Rather, Moltmann assumes the resurrection took place, and argues that the only way to look at any piece of history is through the lens of the crucified and risen Christ.

What implications does this view of the resurrection have for our theology? Well, first of all, it rules out any need for apologetics, for the resurrection becomes something we do not have to prove, but rather becomes the event in which everything is view by. Secondly, and more importantly, Moltmann's view of the historicity of the resurrection forces us away from the Fundamentalist view of salvation which implicitly calls the non-believer to believe a, b, and c before they are allowed to enter the life of the church. Rather, in viewing all things through the resurrection, the Christian is allowed to invite the non-believer not to absolute doctrine, but rather that they would come live life in the Kingdom and experience the life giving presence of Jesus.

For if it is truly through the resurrection in which all things must be viewed, then it is only through Christ himself that life may be given, and only through him, the one in whom we hope, in which all things will be restored and made new in the eschaton.