February Topic

Imagine you have a friend, and tragedy strikes them. Someone counsels them to consider what sin they have committed to lead to this tragedy. What would you tell your friend? From this practical/pastoral perspective, outline your conception of divine sovereignty.

Sorry I'm a bit late on this one.

A Theology for Grief

                A little helpful background for this post is that I come from a closely knit family, and by family I mean the inclusion of my extended family. In this particular instance I will speak of My cousins, aunt, uncle, and grandparents on my dad’s side of the family, who rarely go days without seeing one another, or at least talking on the phone. Sadly, In November my Grandfather died unexpectedly. My wife and I flew back to Tennessee and Daniel and I, both pursuing education in (Christian) Religion, were assigned the task of speaking at the funeral service, along with my brother and my other cousin. 

       Daniel and I no doubt hold differing, yet similar views concerning the afterlife. It seems as I understand it that we both agree that the afterlife as understood in Christianity should not succumb to the popular theology of a metaphysical spiritual dwelling, existing with God on a separate spirit-plane of existence; it should not (at least not in Christianity), nor is it beneficial to, be thought of as a 'heaven' in the clouds with streets of gold, or any other streets for that matter.

       Daniel and I had several brief conversations over the period of that few days before the funeral about how to address this issue considering that (at least I) felt the pressure of tradition calling for some type of mention where Grandad's soul now must be existing, and how this theological perspective obviously was a source of comfort for many people. We made a conscious but unspoken decision not to address the afterlife as an existence such as previously described.  The Question then became, 'How do we deal with this now, in the presence of deep grief; in the desperate place of groping for comfort?'

           Daniel, as I recall, has struggled with the theology of afterlife and has for a time seemed to adhere to the concept of a resurrection of the dead by God at a future date undetermined in order to exist as a new creation under the reign of God and Christ. This is of course proper historical theology and this is the way that Daniel chose to speak of the future hope of ‘seeing Grandad again’ when he did (which was little). In his hesitancy to speak this way, I feel like Daniel is much closer to my own struggling view than he lets on. I tend to teeter from resurrection which has been described recently, to a position of non-existence after death, maintaining the hope of a future redemption for all of existing creation at an unknown date etc.. For myself, more weight is being placed on the latter as I get older. Ultimately our views of afterlife (or lack thereof) are speculative at best, but we chose to downplay and steer away talk of afterlife as much as possible without denying anyone any expressions useful to help them cope with loss. 

                As for the funeral service and my family, I have observed some interesting reactions and I feel that our conscious decision has had several consequences; whether merely personally perceived  because of my own thoughts, or reality, I do not know. I list them, regardless:

1) It seems to me that there is much less despair and anxiety of separation from Grandad’s person or spirit. Possibly this is due to the fact that in order to replace the gap theologically the family has . . .

2) placed much more emphasis on the memory of and speaking about Grandad’s life rather than his death and absence ‘for a time’.

3) There is an active and conscious recall and storytelling about the person of my Grandfather. This has created a sense of continued presence through a recognition of aspects of his character imprinted in each member of the family unit.

4) This narrative process has created what seems to be a mainly healthy grief process that faces the situation outright and creates a communication of feelings between grieving persons out of necessity, rather than passing it off and delaying grief by making remarks such as: ‘oh its going to be ok he’s in a better place now’ or 'someday we will see him again.'

5) For some family members, it seems to have created a sense of responsibility to carry on that character and a sort of call to abandon, or at least an acknowledgment and conversation about living lifestyles that are in contradiction to what he had raised his family to maintain.

6) Finally, If the focus is on the life rather than death, then the focal point is hope rather than despair. There is a shift from the tragedy of individual loss to the blessing of understanding that this loss is part of a larger picture, and thankfulness that this person is a part of a larger *buzzword* meta-narrative of God's action in history and has functioned as a link so closely associated with my self in that story.

                All in all I am happy and satisfied with the way in which we have dealt with and handle the death and subsequent grief process both initially in those fleeting conversations and now largely, perhaps without realization by most, as a family unit.

Kingdom of Rust

I will just be frank: I have very little idea what the afterlife holds for us. But I know what it doesn't hold, and thus I want to talk about the future of humankind in contrast to the present/ past.

Our civilizations are a single great kingdom of rust. There is nothing permanent about it, even the decay and despaired relationships that seem to characterize world civilizations throughout history. In ten thousand years (assuming that time does not end before then), some futuristic race will dig through the sands of Egypt and find the remains of skyscrapers much as we have discovered the tombs of ancient pharaohs. Our economic infrastructures, already teetering on the brink of chaos, will have crumbled and been replaced by an equally unfair system. Rulers will still misuse their power and oppress the poor. The Church will still be lost in the fog between who it has been and who it should be. People will still die, starve, be manipulated, devalued, and disrespected. Not much has changed since Rome. Not much will change between now and then.

It is precisely because our civilizations cannot prevent the abuse of power and wealth while treating people equitably and fairly that makes our world into a kingdom of rust. Our world would be a kingdom of peace if only we could mend and maintain our relationships with one another. The shooting of the Arizona representative and the debate over political rhetoric that has followed is proof positive of my point. Our nation is crumbling from its lack of civil debate and cordial deferment. We demonize and smear each other to hold on to an office for a handful of years. Is it really worth the rift that we are tearing in the fabric of our world?

I think the afterlife is a kingdom of peace where humans and God are reconciled fully. Thus every action that a human takes is an act of worship, for it honors the right relationship between him/her, fellow humans, and God. There is no room for rust in an eternal kingdom.

January Topic

For the majority of what I would call "my mature Christian life", I thought thinking about the afterlife was a waste of time. I could never see the practicality of reflecting on something that there is no clear picture about. I had an opinion of what I thought it would be, and for a long time I didn't have a problem if I told someone that their view of the afterlife was ignorant. (If you don't know me personally, know that my past is founded on arrogance.) Yet, at the base of my theology I have always thought that love held and place. This caused a problem. When death finally faced me it was something that my "knowledge" did nothing to help show love to those mourning. The little grief I have experienced has not been desperate nor particularly cold, but it has been one of the view things in life that I will sight as evidence in my theological thought. It is a pit of confusion for me, and I have to admit I am being somewhat selfish in choosing this topic. I know it will help me think to read through it.

Basically, my idea is that we should each take a look at what the afterlife is to us. I don't want us to get into one view versus another based on anything too finite, but rather examine how the idea practically reflects itself in our lives. If it hasn't, think about how it could. How do we minister from it? Should it have an effect on our actions? How do we handle this thing that is so important to so many? Whatever you want to ask, go where you want with it. I know not everyone will come at it from an "afterlife" point of view. Even if your idea of what's next is a progression, that's what I am asking about, but make sure to mention how it practically effects your relationship to others.

The Meaning of Advent (to me)

I have only become aware of the concept of Advent in the most recent years in my Christian walk. As of late, the Advent has become increasingly meaningful to me.

I have for a long time held in my mind the image of John the Baptist (or John the witness) who is ever pointing to the Christ. John the Baptist is the ideal vanguard of the Kingdom of God. He sees the coming glory of God on earth and compels others to react, repent, and prepare themselves for the coming of the Christ who will begin the restoration of order upon the creation that has turned to chaos in the hands of humanity.

The Advent season reminds me of my responsibility to also be a messenger of the good news: “The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!” This imminent shift of the ages from chaos to God’s order and justice is brought to visibility through Jesus who is the Christ—the Messiah, the Savior, the Son of God. Jesus comes not to overthrow the political and economic systems that have damned and oppressed the people; he is not a political leader nor an economic theorist, he is the inaugurator of the Kingdom. The presence of the Christ demands love and justice for all of humanity; this love and justice causes a break in the structure of the political and economic powers. They cannot stand on a foundation of evil. The right order of God brushes away evil and injustice through the suffering service of one person to another. Jesus lives and dies as the ultimate display of the ethic and lifestyle of the citizen of God’s Kingdom. Jesus has made the kingdom real; it is not a physical kingdom because it is the servanthood of all of humanity to one another as children of God. The siblings of salvation now are to act as representatives and harbingers of the Kingdom of God, which receives its validity and hope in overcoming evil by the power of God in the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. Being raised from death is a display of God’s power to overcome even the greatest of evils experienced by every person in all classes and cultures. The resurrection gives sight to the ability to overcome the impossible for “with God, nothing is impossible” (cf. gospel of Luke) and the hope to overcome even the greatest of injustices.

Advent means preparing for the coming kingdom; it means pointing ever to the Christ as the tangible sign of God’s presence and power in the world we live in. Advent means living a life the disallows injustices and strives for love and mercy, forgiveness and just action—not for the sake of ourselves but for the glory of God in the restoration of all of creation and humanity into the order that God had created and intended for all.

Brotherhood

Like it is for many children, when I was small Christmas was the most exciting day of the year. My parents did the Santa Claus thing with my brothers and me. I know every family does this differently, but they simply set the gifts out a few hours before we thought about getting out of bed. No wrapping paper, just organized into a clump for each of us. It was the entry into the room that was the process of unwrapping for us I suppose. When we moved out of my Grandmother's house into our own house, Ben and I shared a room. It was here that we had one of our deepest bonds of brotherhood. Christmas eve night would fall on us, and we would lay in bed unable to fall asleep from excitement. It was here we would talk about all of the things we hoped we were getting and what we were going to play with first, but it was also a place where we started to scheme. I hope that anyone with siblings can relate to the relationship that comes out of mischief. Ben and I certainly could. We would get in our minds that every little noise we heard was Santa coming down the chimney to leave our gifts, and we youthfully thought we could catch him in the act. Every Christmas eve we made a score of attempts to catch him in the living room leaving gifts without waking our parents. These plans began to become fairly involved over the years and started to revolve around cookie baited traps. It was something Ben and I did together. When I moved into my own room across the hall it only increased. A new objective was added to Operation Catch Santa. We first had to get to each other, and then we had to work together on some devious plan. These are some of my fondest memories. A lot has come between Ben and me since, and the memories have certainly become fonder. My heart beats faster to look back on the days when all we had was Brotherhood.

The Will to Believe

Please refer to my post from October for the back story to this post.

The magic is gone. It took the world falling apart for me to realize that life really is every bit as terrible as people keep telling me it is. I look out my window and hate what I see all around me. There are people living on the streets and in houses that barely deserve that title. There are hungry people. There are people who don't have families. If my separation from my family, my meager housing (which is a castle by comparison), and my penny-pinching at the grocery store have taught me anything, it is to sympathize ever so slightly with these people. If I have a longing for home and security, imagine their emotions of a similar kind! I hate that these people have little choice about their situation.

The season of Advent is supposed to make us want Christ's coming all the more. It has certainly fulfilled that goal in my life. This Advent, I have been faced with a picture of the sick monster that is at the core of the world. It breaks apart relationships both human and divine. It creates greed and hostilities. It forges bitterness and despair. Call it what you will, but do not consider that the world is a safe place. There is of course goodness, virtue, and right relationship in the world, but do not neglect the existence of its dark alternative as I did.

Advent is supposed to be about the hope for a brighter future. Having the resurrection in the back of my mind, I realize that there is nothing so dark as to overcome the Son of God. But believing it is sometimes more difficult than knowing it. I confess that I am a cynic by nature; hope is not something that comes easily to me. Hope is a choice that I have to consciously make. Ultimately, I have to decide whether or not I judge Jesus to be worth hoping in. He claimed that he would bless the poor, the meek, the peacemakers, the mourning, those persecuted for righteousness' sake, and those hungering and thirsting for righteousness. I don't see a lot of that when I look out my window. I don't see a lot of that when I look at my life. Perhaps others have clearer lenses than I and can easily point it out. I urge you to do so, for mine are too easily stained with despair. Chances are I am missing something; I certainly hope I am.

I want to believe in the hope Jesus represents. I just don't know that I can. William James offers a picture of the requirements necessary for believing in something without absolute proof. He claims that one requirement is for there to be a live option in the choice. One option is that God is at best capricious and at worst malicious or nonexistent. The other option is that God truly does care about humanity as Christ's life, death, and resurrection represent. Yet it seems to me that if option two is to be viable, there must be some evidence of such today.

This Christmas is unlike any other in my memory. This Christmas, I have doubts about Christianity. This Christmas, I have to make a choice whether to celebrate the coming of a Savior and the hope that he brings or to abandon that hope altogether. It seems illogical, but option two it is.