When a Christian, accepting the authority of Scripture is sorting through a complex matter—say the nature of the relationship between masculinity and femininity, or the nature of the relationship between free will and God’s grace—one ordinarily does not have to sort through the matter like some rugged frontiersman or brave adventurer pondering the mystery for the first time. For one who submits to Christ, he can look to the authority of Scripture as a guide, as a giver of clues. Some matters are more clearly spelled out than others. We all know that something is wrong with the world (the problem of evil); we don’t know as well know operation of the Trinity. But on both scores, Scripture and the Church speak. And the Christian can take great comfort in submitting to its teaching in whatever particular area he is meditating upon, and seek to grasp the truth of the matter using what is said within Scripture at the least as a foundation or starting point.
“But is not this anti-intellectual? Is not the job of the scholar especially to question every assumption, to understand a matter from a multitude of angles, to explore the host of possibilities present?” No and Yes. No, submission to teaching authority is not anti-intellectual—it is, in truth, immensely intellectual—and Yes, it is the especial vocation of the scholar to ask those questions that typically go unasked.
First: how can we say that submission to teaching authority is intellectual? Because the wise man (1) knows that we live in an enormously complex world, filled with baffling paradoxes and precarious tensions, (2) to be intellectual is to be curious about those baffling paradoxes and precarious tensions, (3) that truth lies in the “multitude of counselors”, and (4) that one often cannot penetrate the sacred mysteries until he submits to the teaching authority in faith. In faith because he goes forward not fully apprehending where all the nuts and bolts fit, but in the hope that they do in truth fit. To adopt this approach is to believe that the “most efficient way” to truth is to accept what God has revealed through Scripture. The Scriptures were written for our edification, and we can be sure that when we allow the light of the Word to illumine what it is that we’re contemplating, we will receive more and more light; once we crack open the door of the Word even just a little bit, the room becomes brighter. The matter at hand will make sense—even if it seems to lack complete sense when we crack open the door. (I emphasize complete because I think we can be sure that if something completely lacks sense, we should not trust in it. Elusive though it may be, truth always seems at least partly true.)
Further, we must not be so much focused on making our message compelling as telling the truth. The truth will never be compelling to all people. “For judgment I have come into this world, that those who do not see may see, and that those who see may be made blind” (Jn. 9:39). But we must speak the truth in the hope that those whose hearts have been so prepared by God’s grace may gladly hear and receive that truth. The truth is powerful—but only to those who by cooperation with God’s grace, are prepared to submit to it. It is not powerful in the sense that whoever hears it believes it; it is powerful in the sense that whosoever whose heart is so prepared to receive it carries the words of eternal life. (Truly, the “contingency” of truth’s potency reflects the grace/free will dynamic.)
But what of times when the matter we are contemplating has been so distorted that if we so much as mention the word, it is like throwing pearls before the swine? Let us take the word “submission.” We have all seen this word fabulously abused—whether man abusing submissive women, priests abusing submissive laity, or kings abusing submissive subjects. Yet I propose we have also seen, and do see, the wondrous meaning of this massively meaningful word playing itself out in life—whether a student submitting to his professor’s knowledge by diligently taking notes or the apprentice submitting to the master craftsman’s directions. Submission is a beautiful act, and if we wish to achieve any sort of true “power” we must learn to submit. “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain” (Jn. 12:24).
But no matter how hard one may try to rehabilitate “submission”—and he should try—there’s no guarantee that some person’s hearts might be so turned against truth that they will not submit to it. We are not asked to make the message compelling such that everyone who hears will be persuaded. We are only asked to speak the truth in love.
Tuesday 8 July 2008
Thursday 27 December 2007
Evil and the Problem of the Fractured Body
The problem of evil is a problem. Anyone who doubts this should consider the wrenchingly haunting protests of Fyodor Dostoevsky’s Ivan in the Brothers Karamazov. Reading it again today, I was struck by the reasonableness of it all. He accepts as just the sufferings of "grown-up people," for they have eaten of the apple and has the knowledge of good and evil. And of course there's the promise that the wrongs will be righted, that the lion will lie down with the lamb, that there will be no more tears or pain. But, Ivan protests, "If all must suffer to pay for eternal harmony, what have children to do with it...?"
He shares a couple ghastly stories to bolster his point. There's the Turkish soldiers throwing babies up in the air and catching them on their bayonets--all in front of the mothers. Or the five year old child whose parents beat her for no reason, smearing her face and filling her mouth with excrement, and leaving her alone in the night to her groaning and misery. How does the meaningless suffering of even just that one child justify the creation of a world where sin abounds?
Listen to Ivan's protest: "Do you understand why this infamy must be permitted? Without it, I am told, man could not have existed on earth, for he could not have known good and evil. Why should he know that diabolical good and evil when it costs him so much?" And, "It's not worth the tears of that one tortured child who beat itself on the breast with its little fist and prayed in its stinking outhouse, with its unexpected tears to 'dear, kind God'! It's not worth it, because those tears are unadorned for...if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price."
Ivan accepts God. He accepts that God could have created the world, given us free will, and allowed suffering and evil as a necessary condition for free will to truly exist. But it's too high a price, he insists. "And so I hasten to give back my entrance ticket...It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket."
Those are haunting images accompanied with a haunting conclusion: most respectfully return Him the ticket. His protest demands the Christian's full engagement. But here is the curious and perplexing further problem: just where the Christian is confronted with so massive a problem, the Christian community has at least two responses with different premises. I am, of course, thinking of the Calvinists and the non-Calvinists response to Ivan. Thus, the problem of evil is compounded by the Christian community's own unique problem: just where a unified, coherent response is most needed, it has church divisions; just where the church should be a witness to God's shalom, it demonstrates conflict.
Whatever the case, the piquancy of Ivan's protest shows why the debate between Calvinists and non-Calvinists (what exactly are we to call them?) is so often heated and contentious. The beauty and truth of our Christian witness is at stake. Dostoevsky’s response to Ivan's protest is not an intellectual argument (as important as that is), but the incarnational, Christ-like living of Father Zossima and Alyosha. And this is why the real problem right now may well be the problem of the fractured Body.
He shares a couple ghastly stories to bolster his point. There's the Turkish soldiers throwing babies up in the air and catching them on their bayonets--all in front of the mothers. Or the five year old child whose parents beat her for no reason, smearing her face and filling her mouth with excrement, and leaving her alone in the night to her groaning and misery. How does the meaningless suffering of even just that one child justify the creation of a world where sin abounds?
Listen to Ivan's protest: "Do you understand why this infamy must be permitted? Without it, I am told, man could not have existed on earth, for he could not have known good and evil. Why should he know that diabolical good and evil when it costs him so much?" And, "It's not worth the tears of that one tortured child who beat itself on the breast with its little fist and prayed in its stinking outhouse, with its unexpected tears to 'dear, kind God'! It's not worth it, because those tears are unadorned for...if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price."
Ivan accepts God. He accepts that God could have created the world, given us free will, and allowed suffering and evil as a necessary condition for free will to truly exist. But it's too high a price, he insists. "And so I hasten to give back my entrance ticket...It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket."
Those are haunting images accompanied with a haunting conclusion: most respectfully return Him the ticket. His protest demands the Christian's full engagement. But here is the curious and perplexing further problem: just where the Christian is confronted with so massive a problem, the Christian community has at least two responses with different premises. I am, of course, thinking of the Calvinists and the non-Calvinists response to Ivan. Thus, the problem of evil is compounded by the Christian community's own unique problem: just where a unified, coherent response is most needed, it has church divisions; just where the church should be a witness to God's shalom, it demonstrates conflict.
Whatever the case, the piquancy of Ivan's protest shows why the debate between Calvinists and non-Calvinists (what exactly are we to call them?) is so often heated and contentious. The beauty and truth of our Christian witness is at stake. Dostoevsky’s response to Ivan's protest is not an intellectual argument (as important as that is), but the incarnational, Christ-like living of Father Zossima and Alyosha. And this is why the real problem right now may well be the problem of the fractured Body.
Wednesday 5 December 2007
Career is so overrated
Why do you go to school? Why do you work at the job you work at? I find myself often unconsciously schooling and working so that I can get into that career I want to get into. And I supsect that once one is in his desired career, it is very tempting to go to work every day to get the promotion and the raise.
We moderns like productivity; we value efficiency (often even worship it!). When we meet someone new, one of the first questions we ask is "What do you do for a job?" And of course what else would we ask?! Well, as Robert Hadas observes in his provactive new book Human Goods, Economic Evils,
“…higher concerns made premodern societies economically conservative—they often rejected innovations which would lead to better labor and greater consumption in order to preserve what they perceived to be higher goods of culture and religion. In modern societies, however, the current social order is more often sacrificed for the sake of a greater economic mastery. Indeed, one of the marks of industrial economics is a shift in the balance—to a greater acceptance of the economically efficient and better and to less loyalty to the socially established and virtuous” (70-71).
Premoderns knew better than we do that economic life should be subordinated to the higher things of life. For moderns, however, career defines people. We increasingly find our identity in our career. Thus, the high school grades, the college degree, the master’s studies, the internship, the low-level job, the management-level job are often done out of the hope that we will advance in our desired career. But is career really the end-all and the be-all? As Mother Theresa reminded us, “God has not called us to be successful, but faithful.”
Career is not so important as attention to the really human things of life: loving, creating, caring, giving. Attention to the Good, the True, and the Beautiful is infinitely more important than scoring that great job. Jobs are good; but being human is even more important.
So here’s a wild idea: perhaps loving your roommate, next-door neighbor, coworker, boss, sibling, parent, friend, spouse is more important than getting a great job. And here’s a challenge: when you’re at your job tomorrow, stop and think about the significance of your work. Ask yourself, “Is what I am making of any truly good benefit to man?” Or “does this service really and truly help my fellow man. Does it not help just his body but his soul?” Why shouldn’t we ask those questions? If it is a terrifying question, I suspect it is only because we would find that so many of our jobs are not so important. If you cannot conceive of any possible way how your job is not serving your fellow man, ask God to show you how you can. And ask people whom you respect for ideas on how to do that. If you still find that your job isn't serving people in any meaningful way, drop it. Find another job. If it is really true that the soul is more important than the body, then why do we not think about the effects that our daily work has on the souls of people (and on our soul)?
Now we must always remember: work is beautiful and good. This is not a diatribe on work. Indeed, in our work we can do one of the most human things of life: create, make, produce. But we should always subordinate our career, our job to the really important things. So long as we do our work simply to earn the paycheck, or simply to pay the bills, or to put food on the table, or to advance to the "better" position, we are missing out on just how beautiful work can be.
Career is overrated. Faithfulness is what matters. Love God, love people. In all your typing, reading, writing, teaching, playing, eating, talking, producing, serving--in all these things, pay attention to the important things of life.
We moderns like productivity; we value efficiency (often even worship it!). When we meet someone new, one of the first questions we ask is "What do you do for a job?" And of course what else would we ask?! Well, as Robert Hadas observes in his provactive new book Human Goods, Economic Evils,
“…higher concerns made premodern societies economically conservative—they often rejected innovations which would lead to better labor and greater consumption in order to preserve what they perceived to be higher goods of culture and religion. In modern societies, however, the current social order is more often sacrificed for the sake of a greater economic mastery. Indeed, one of the marks of industrial economics is a shift in the balance—to a greater acceptance of the economically efficient and better and to less loyalty to the socially established and virtuous” (70-71).
Premoderns knew better than we do that economic life should be subordinated to the higher things of life. For moderns, however, career defines people. We increasingly find our identity in our career. Thus, the high school grades, the college degree, the master’s studies, the internship, the low-level job, the management-level job are often done out of the hope that we will advance in our desired career. But is career really the end-all and the be-all? As Mother Theresa reminded us, “God has not called us to be successful, but faithful.”
Career is not so important as attention to the really human things of life: loving, creating, caring, giving. Attention to the Good, the True, and the Beautiful is infinitely more important than scoring that great job. Jobs are good; but being human is even more important.
So here’s a wild idea: perhaps loving your roommate, next-door neighbor, coworker, boss, sibling, parent, friend, spouse is more important than getting a great job. And here’s a challenge: when you’re at your job tomorrow, stop and think about the significance of your work. Ask yourself, “Is what I am making of any truly good benefit to man?” Or “does this service really and truly help my fellow man. Does it not help just his body but his soul?” Why shouldn’t we ask those questions? If it is a terrifying question, I suspect it is only because we would find that so many of our jobs are not so important. If you cannot conceive of any possible way how your job is not serving your fellow man, ask God to show you how you can. And ask people whom you respect for ideas on how to do that. If you still find that your job isn't serving people in any meaningful way, drop it. Find another job. If it is really true that the soul is more important than the body, then why do we not think about the effects that our daily work has on the souls of people (and on our soul)?
Now we must always remember: work is beautiful and good. This is not a diatribe on work. Indeed, in our work we can do one of the most human things of life: create, make, produce. But we should always subordinate our career, our job to the really important things. So long as we do our work simply to earn the paycheck, or simply to pay the bills, or to put food on the table, or to advance to the "better" position, we are missing out on just how beautiful work can be.
Career is overrated. Faithfulness is what matters. Love God, love people. In all your typing, reading, writing, teaching, playing, eating, talking, producing, serving--in all these things, pay attention to the important things of life.
Tuesday 6 November 2007
Saturday 8 September 2007
Freedom, Predestination, and Mystery
In a conversation that's been played out countless times over the centuries, my friends and I (some Calvinist and some libertarian freedom advocates) discussed predestination and the nature of freedom today. In discussing this, the question was raised: Is it possible that we could be both chosen and free?
In the Scriptural narrative, we read indications that both are true. We know that God specifically chose Abraham and the Jews to be His particular means to redeeming fallen humanity. But we also see the Jews time and time again rejecting God. Thus, God impassionately calling for His people to return to Him, and Jesus lamenting "How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" (Matt. 23:37). If the Calvinist-brand predestination is really true, how can his chosen people willingly reject him? By the same token, how can Pelagianism be true when we clearly see that it is God who intiated his covenant relationship with Abraham and Israel, not vice versa.
Another reason to suspect the Calvinistic predestination theology is simply because of what human reason tells us. We all know that we have choices. We've all felt the real, live option of choosing between two different roads, with the real possibility of choosing one and not choosing another. You really could have decided to attend Wheaton rather than The King's College, and you reallly could have decided to pursue Sally instead of Jane. Everyday experience confirms the intuition that we really do have choice.
So then, reason, experience, and special revelation all agree that choice is real. But special revelation--notice, not reason and experience--tell us that those who've committed themselves to God are chosen. (Would we really have predestination theology if it weren't for God's dealings with Israel, as reveal in Scripture, and Paul's systematic theology in Romans?) We know a great deal about choice--we sense the weight of choices and our responsibility every day (thus untold stress for uncertainty about which decision to make, countless compliments for "choosing the right thing," and stern rebuke for bad choices). Philosophy and every day experience alone allow us to understand greatly the nature of freedom. Through the tools of human reason, we're able to greatly understand it. Most people (other than philosophers) know that freedom isn't much of a mystery.
But we know much less about how it is that God can choose. We're only told a bit about in Scripture. We're not God, so we can't even imagine how he goes about choosing, much less why he chooses. But we do know that he chooses. For this, we only have a very limited understanding. We're only scratching the surface. Indeed, predestination is a mystery.
Thus, the tension between freedom and being chosen. I submit that we have to hold both in tension, having confidence that eternity will reveal that it really is not a contradiction. Perhaps then God shall allow us to plumb beyond the current limits of human reason and see the "depth of the riches both of the wisdom and the knowledge of God!" (Rom. 11:33).
Hold on, though. If this were true, then why should we trust logic? After all, if seemingly contradictory things might actually be contradictory, how can we trust logic?
First, it's important to emphasize the everlasting truth of logic. If "a" really can be "non-a" someday, I think we find ourselves in a highly tenuous position. I think one can hold the tension and still insist--indeed must insist--that "a" can never, never, never be "non-a." God created logic as He created gravity. They are laws that are flow from God's orderly nature. Insisting on the tension is not an abandonment of logic, only a recognition that we have a limited understanding--although trustworthy in its limitedness--to a much fuller truth about predestination, and that the fuller truth will abide by the fundamental rules of logic. Thus, the tension is held in confident expectation of a future resolution.
Second, it's important to note that we've had to concede mystery about God's ways, not human ways. The fact that we have choice isn't a mystery (at least I contend that, thanks to common sense, it doesn't have to be); that we're chosen by God is a mystery. However, if one allows that God really is God, then doesn't he have to necessarily concede that he can't possibly know everything about how God chooses to work? One has to think of himself as an ant attempting to relate to a human. How would you respond to an ant that asked you "Why you didn't take the tree out to the trash?" It's an absurd question--and that's precisely the point. An ant's questions will necessarily be "anty." And why shouldn't they be? He's an ant! He can't think humanly. God thundered at Job precisely because Job is not God.
Now, the analogy is quite flawed, because humans, by the grace of God, can in fact know some things about God's ways. But they're by special revelation, and thus by His very special grace that He condescends to us humans. So it's important to note in what areas we're conceding mystery in. And, I think, more often that not we find that we concede mystery specifically about God's methods.
"Okay, even if it isn't contradictory," one might say "the fact that we can't fully understand the mystery how we could be both chosen and free means that just wasted our time and energy arguing about these things--because we can't understand it! God's ways are higher than our ways, and our duty is not try and figure God out, but to obey Him."
More on this last question in the next post.
In the Scriptural narrative, we read indications that both are true. We know that God specifically chose Abraham and the Jews to be His particular means to redeeming fallen humanity. But we also see the Jews time and time again rejecting God. Thus, God impassionately calling for His people to return to Him, and Jesus lamenting "How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" (Matt. 23:37). If the Calvinist-brand predestination is really true, how can his chosen people willingly reject him? By the same token, how can Pelagianism be true when we clearly see that it is God who intiated his covenant relationship with Abraham and Israel, not vice versa.
Another reason to suspect the Calvinistic predestination theology is simply because of what human reason tells us. We all know that we have choices. We've all felt the real, live option of choosing between two different roads, with the real possibility of choosing one and not choosing another. You really could have decided to attend Wheaton rather than The King's College, and you reallly could have decided to pursue Sally instead of Jane. Everyday experience confirms the intuition that we really do have choice.
So then, reason, experience, and special revelation all agree that choice is real. But special revelation--notice, not reason and experience--tell us that those who've committed themselves to God are chosen. (Would we really have predestination theology if it weren't for God's dealings with Israel, as reveal in Scripture, and Paul's systematic theology in Romans?) We know a great deal about choice--we sense the weight of choices and our responsibility every day (thus untold stress for uncertainty about which decision to make, countless compliments for "choosing the right thing," and stern rebuke for bad choices). Philosophy and every day experience alone allow us to understand greatly the nature of freedom. Through the tools of human reason, we're able to greatly understand it. Most people (other than philosophers) know that freedom isn't much of a mystery.
But we know much less about how it is that God can choose. We're only told a bit about in Scripture. We're not God, so we can't even imagine how he goes about choosing, much less why he chooses. But we do know that he chooses. For this, we only have a very limited understanding. We're only scratching the surface. Indeed, predestination is a mystery.
Thus, the tension between freedom and being chosen. I submit that we have to hold both in tension, having confidence that eternity will reveal that it really is not a contradiction. Perhaps then God shall allow us to plumb beyond the current limits of human reason and see the "depth of the riches both of the wisdom and the knowledge of God!" (Rom. 11:33).
Hold on, though. If this were true, then why should we trust logic? After all, if seemingly contradictory things might actually be contradictory, how can we trust logic?
First, it's important to emphasize the everlasting truth of logic. If "a" really can be "non-a" someday, I think we find ourselves in a highly tenuous position. I think one can hold the tension and still insist--indeed must insist--that "a" can never, never, never be "non-a." God created logic as He created gravity. They are laws that are flow from God's orderly nature. Insisting on the tension is not an abandonment of logic, only a recognition that we have a limited understanding--although trustworthy in its limitedness--to a much fuller truth about predestination, and that the fuller truth will abide by the fundamental rules of logic. Thus, the tension is held in confident expectation of a future resolution.
Second, it's important to note that we've had to concede mystery about God's ways, not human ways. The fact that we have choice isn't a mystery (at least I contend that, thanks to common sense, it doesn't have to be); that we're chosen by God is a mystery. However, if one allows that God really is God, then doesn't he have to necessarily concede that he can't possibly know everything about how God chooses to work? One has to think of himself as an ant attempting to relate to a human. How would you respond to an ant that asked you "Why you didn't take the tree out to the trash?" It's an absurd question--and that's precisely the point. An ant's questions will necessarily be "anty." And why shouldn't they be? He's an ant! He can't think humanly. God thundered at Job precisely because Job is not God.
Now, the analogy is quite flawed, because humans, by the grace of God, can in fact know some things about God's ways. But they're by special revelation, and thus by His very special grace that He condescends to us humans. So it's important to note in what areas we're conceding mystery in. And, I think, more often that not we find that we concede mystery specifically about God's methods.
"Okay, even if it isn't contradictory," one might say "the fact that we can't fully understand the mystery how we could be both chosen and free means that just wasted our time and energy arguing about these things--because we can't understand it! God's ways are higher than our ways, and our duty is not try and figure God out, but to obey Him."
More on this last question in the next post.
Monday 3 September 2007
Church, Individuals, & Consumers
What does it mean for the church to be the church? What does "community" look like? What does it mean that we are the Body of Christ? What kind of questions should we ask when looking for a church to settle in? Have we transferred our democratic and consumeristic values wholesale into our church communities?
On the latter question, at least, I think we have reason to be concerned about the "democritization" of the church. For I wonder how much we relate (unknowingly) to the church primarily as consumers, as opposed to "members of the Body." Perhaps we should here listen to John F. Kennedy's admonition and ask "not what the church can do for us, but what we can do for the church." To put it another way, ask not what Christ can do for us, but what we can do for Christ; pray not that God would grant us fulfillment, but that we would fulfill God's desires.
But what if we find ourselves in the church with a community that doesn't "fit our personality?" Here it seems useful to recall the principle in the second greatest commandment: namely, to care for the person that we find ourselves right next to (love your neighbor as you love yourself). It is both an immensely liberating and an eminently challenging truth--liberating in that it sets us free from the tyranny of having to save the whole world, and challenging in that we are called to love the difficult mother-in-law, annoying co-worker, bossy boss, and messy roomate. Social justice is sexy; justice in our college dorm room is somehow less provactive. Caring for orphans in Africa is easy; loving the pesky little brother can be difficult.
We find ourselves all the time living, working, eating, playing, philosophizing, planning, and leading with people who don't fit our personality profile. Christ's call to the church is to be the church in all of its cultural and personal differences. We are witnesses to a peacable kingdom whose citizens are bound together not by personality traits or cultural movements, but by Christ. Christ draws us together, and by some mystery, calls us His Body. The church is not a row of competing stores selling spirituality products. The church is His Body.
On the latter question, at least, I think we have reason to be concerned about the "democritization" of the church. For I wonder how much we relate (unknowingly) to the church primarily as consumers, as opposed to "members of the Body." Perhaps we should here listen to John F. Kennedy's admonition and ask "not what the church can do for us, but what we can do for the church." To put it another way, ask not what Christ can do for us, but what we can do for Christ; pray not that God would grant us fulfillment, but that we would fulfill God's desires.
But what if we find ourselves in the church with a community that doesn't "fit our personality?" Here it seems useful to recall the principle in the second greatest commandment: namely, to care for the person that we find ourselves right next to (love your neighbor as you love yourself). It is both an immensely liberating and an eminently challenging truth--liberating in that it sets us free from the tyranny of having to save the whole world, and challenging in that we are called to love the difficult mother-in-law, annoying co-worker, bossy boss, and messy roomate. Social justice is sexy; justice in our college dorm room is somehow less provactive. Caring for orphans in Africa is easy; loving the pesky little brother can be difficult.
We find ourselves all the time living, working, eating, playing, philosophizing, planning, and leading with people who don't fit our personality profile. Christ's call to the church is to be the church in all of its cultural and personal differences. We are witnesses to a peacable kingdom whose citizens are bound together not by personality traits or cultural movements, but by Christ. Christ draws us together, and by some mystery, calls us His Body. The church is not a row of competing stores selling spirituality products. The church is His Body.
Thursday 5 July 2007
This Good Earth
I learned something interesting today. We had a lecture this morning on "Climate Change and Environmental Stewardship," and touched on what a Christian theology of creation looks like. It was actually a married couple that delivered a lecture, Dr. Martin Hodson and Rev. Margot Hodson. Dr. Hodson talked about the science of climate change, and the crisis that human-induced emissions is creating. His wife then talked about why the Christian has particular reason to care about this matter. She noted that God created the world originally good, and that we see a resounding affirmation of creation's goodness in the Incarnation of Jesus. But the ultimate affirmation is the promise of Revelation 21, where it speaks of the "new heavens and new earth." She said that there are two Greek words for "new," and that the one used in this passage actually means a "renewal." If she's right, it helps resolve some confusion that I've had about the biblical understanding of creation. The narrative of Scripture has always seemed to me to move toward the renewal of creation, not a totally new one. After all, if it were a completely new creation, why all the redemption leading up to it? It seems more consistent with God's original purpose and his great redemptive program that the redemption is consummated in a renewal of this earth. So her exegesis made sense to me.
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