Overdue Reflections on Advent

The message of Advent is one that is often overshadowed by the Christmas event itself, and for all the wrong reasons. Christmas has become a time characterized mostly by a gross amount of consumption and the telling of pagan myths about a fat guy in a red suit who rewards kids who have been good by giving them a bunch of stuff they don’t really need. The anticipation of Christmas morning starts usually after Thanksgiving for us in the States. In the midst of the anticipation it becomes easy to forget what the time leading up to Christmas, namely Advent, actually symbolizes. Advent is indeed a time of remembering. Each year as we relive the Christ event in our worship and our liturgy we begin by remembering the coming of God into the world in the form of a little baby. The incarnation really is a miraculous event. God, the Creator of all things, chooses to redeem humanity from sin and death by subjecting himself to his very creation. He becomes dependent on us. Our understanding of power and victory is turned on its head as we realize that true conquering comes in the form of self-sacrifice as opposed to violence and coercion. In the words of St. Paul: Jesus, “who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a human being, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross! Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name…” (Phil. 2:6-9). Jesus won not because he was macho or powerful (in the conventional sense of the word), out-wrestling his opponents with brute strength. He won because he died. He won because he came as a helpless baby. This is what we remember at advent. We remember the past. We remember Jesus.

But advent is certainly more than remembering. It is also about waiting. We anticipate the coming of Christ a second time. Indeed the Scriptural narrative ends with a plea for the coming of Christ: “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus” (Rev. 21:20). One quickly realizes that we are not much different than first century Jews, waiting for the coming of God that all things might be fully redeemed and made new. Just as characters like Mary and Joseph, Elizabeth and Zechariah were waiting for the promised Messiah, so we modern day saints await the coming of Jesus for a second time. Advent is about waiting. It is about the future. We anticipate the renewal of heaven and earth.

Is there a third element of Advent, however, that we often neglect? It is my contention that there is indeed something that we miss in the season of Advent when we emphasize only the past and the future. The reality is that the life of discipleship is not lived in the past or the future but the present. In fact, the reason why we remember the past and anticipate the future is so that we are empowered to live as Jesus calls us to in the present.

I want to propose to you that Advent is just as much a present event as it is a past and a future event. Jesus came, will come and is coming presently. It is this third element that is too often missed. The way we often talk about the second coming of Jesus is not helpful when it comes to realizing the implications of the Advent event for the present. Often we think of the second coming as a day when God acts finally and decisively in order to accomplish what his church could not. The result of this way of thinking is that we end up sitting idly by, waiting for God to come and do what only he can do on his own. What’s the use of attempting to build for God’s Kingdom if he’s going to come and let us off the hook sometime in the future anyway. Our eschatology basically becomes a way of pushing our responsibilities for the present off onto God in the future. This life becomes about just getting by, holding on a little bit longer for Jesus to come back and lay the smack down on all things evil.

What if the yearning for the coming of God in the future that we see in the Scriptures is really an invitation for us to allow God to come in our lives daily? What if Jesus is longing to come into the world through us in each moment as we are faced every day with the choice between love or selfishness. This is, I believe the beauty of the incarnation: not that God became man once for all time but that God is continually being incarnated in and through us as we choose love and gentleness, kindness and compassion. Jesus is a model of obedience for us as we attempt to live the incarnation in our day to day life. As we love, we see God come. Advent becomes about the present.

This is what Jesus is getting at in John 14 when Judas asks Jesus why he chooses only to show himself to his disciples and not to the whole world. Jesus responds almost cryptically, typical of the Jesus character in John’s gospel: “Anyone who loves me will obey my teaching. My Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them” (John 14:23). At first glance it seems that Jesus is skirting the issue. Instead of answering Judas’ question Jesus seems to be simply reiterating his emphasis on obedience. However, I think there is more going on here. Notice the result of love of Jesus and obedience to his commands (which can be summed up in with the word “love”): God comes and makes his home in us. Jesus responds to Judas by essentially saying that he is indeed showing himself to the world. When people love each other then he comes. The world sees the coming of God each time compassion is chosen over neglect and love is chosen over hate.

It is my hope that we would be a people that allows for the coming of God to take place within us. Each time we give a listening ear to someone who is hurting or give up our time and energy for the sake of our brother or sister, God is made manifest. Jesus comes in our love. Advent becomes about the present. The possibilities really are endless. Let us open our eyes to the coming of God in our midst. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

The Stories We Tell Ourselves

With the close of the semester I’ve been able to find more time to do things that are fun…like read. I’m currently in the middle of J. Richard Middleton and Brian Walsh’s Truth Is Stranger Than It Used To Be: Biblical Faith in A Postmodern Age. It’s been a great read so far. Here are some thoughts:

Middleton and Walsh quote Jean-Francois Lyotard’s famous statement in order to define postmodernity: “…incredulity towards all metanarratives.” Essentially, this has come in response to modernism’s grand narrative of progress which has basically turned out to be bankrupt and nothing more than  a cheap power grab by those who propagate the story. Anyone who has not adhered to the grand narrative of modernism has found themselves on the margins and often in places of oppression. For example, the Native Americans could be viewed as victims of the of modern story of Manifest Destiny and expansion. Because they do not adhere to the story, they are demonized and oppressed. They are, according to the myth of modernism, the enemy for the simple reason that they don’t fit into or are found opposing the overall thrust of the narrative. Women could be placed in the same category. Ultimately they are victims of a story that has historically favored men.

The response of postmodernism is, I would say, twofold. First, it attempts to give voice to the other. The rise of feminism makes sense in light of the postmodern critique of modernism’s suppression of female voices. Secondly, it opposes any story or myth that is universal in scope because, according to the postmodern critique, totalizing or universal stories will always become oppressive towards those who do not adhere to the story. The problem is that as humans we lack the ability to properly navigate life without some sort of overarching narrative: “Right and wrong can…only be discerned from within a particular tradition. Ethical action is dependent on indwelling a socially embodied narrative, on membership in a concrete community oriented to a distinctive perspective, heritage and vision of life” (Middleton and Walsh 68). In short, we all tell a story in order to know how to function. We can’t know how to act before discerning which story we fit into. Due to this reality, postmodernity would typically have us favor local, less universal or totalizing narratives in order to avoid the oppression that usually results from grand stories.

The problem is, as Middleton and Walsh rightly point out, that local narratives have the ability to lead to just as much oppression and violence as metanarratives do. Incidents of tribal violence in places like Rwanda in the 90s or even the constant struggle between Israel and Palestine could be cited as examples.

Thus, it seems that narratives, whether local or universal, are not the problem. Indeed, even if it were the problem it would be impossible to avoid the telling of some sort of story. We must discern, then, which metanarratives are inherently violent and which, on the other hand, subvert the human tendency towards violence and oppression. It is Middleton and Walsh’s contention that the Biblical metanarrative is not inherently violent despite the violence that it has caused in the past. Their reading of the Scriptural narrative undermines any attempt to legitimate oppression or demonization of the other.

Discussion of their reading of the Scriptural narrative will have to wait for another post. Until then, think about the story that you tell about the world.  Who are we as a people? Where are we? What’s the problem? What’s the solution to this problem?

Narratival neutrality is impossible. In other words, we all tell a story. What is yours?

More Musings on the Process-Openness Debate

As I stated in a previous post, Pinnock’s main critique of process theology is that it is more committed to the philosophical presuppositions of Whitehead and Hartshorne than it is to the biblical text itself. I’m on board with him. I’m not in a place where I am going to favor modern philosophical metaphysics over the biblical metaphors and imagery. Indeed, I’m realizing that nearly all of the implications that I affirmed out of a process-relational theology can be affirmed within the openness view:

Whereas process theology understands existence in terms of being in relationship with an “other” and therefore sees God and matter existing in some sort of eternal dualism, open theology affirms creation out of nothing based not on Gen. 1, but instead on passages like Hebrews 11:3. God does not need an “other” to exist relationally because he exists in perfect community within himself (a point that Pastor Brian graciously emphasized in response to my first post on this subject). Open theology is inherently trinitarian in this respect. All this to say, there is nothing in open theology’s understanding of creation that would rule out theistic evolution which is a main concern for me.

I’ve already mentioned that open theology is founded on the notion of God as primarily loving and relational. Therefore, one does not need to be a process theologian to avoid the disgusting assumption that God has predetermined everything making us merely automatons with only a “perceived” freedom.

What’s more, understanding sin as harm or violence really comes out of one’s reading of the commands of Jesus. A serious reading of each command through the lens of the harm ethic yields positive results. Again, process theology is not needed at this point.

Panentheism is the only aspect of process theology that cannot be affirmed by open theism since open theism holds to a strict ontological difference between God and his creation. I hold to what is known as Christian panentheism which still distinguishes between God and creation but understands all of creation to be infused with the creative activity or energy of God. This understanding of God’s relationship to the world is popular in Eastern Orthodoxy. The language of panentheism is helpful in articulating the imminence of God as well as our dependence on his continued creative activity. It also is helpful in the ecological conversation. If God is as intimately involved in the workings of the cosmos as panentheism holds then we ought to think twice about the way that we interact with the planet. This is, I suppose, a small departure from strict open theism, however, for the reasons I articulated above I’ve sort of excused the departure.

I suppose what I’m getting at is that at this point in my journey open theology is more attractive to me than process theology.

However, the most stinging critique of open theology from a process perspective is its failure to “fully” deal with the problem of evil. It must be mentioned here:

Process theology limits God’s power to strictly persuasive which means that he can never act unilaterally. In other words, God’s only hands are our own hands. God can only act in the world by persuading us to pursue the good in all things. Limiting God to only persuasive power makes us, as opposed to God, responsible for most evil in the world (natural evils happen independently in process thought as a result of the interdependence of creation). Evil exists because humans fail to respond to God’s wooing towards a more loving, peaceful reality. Although it does not take the biblical narrative seriously, this is the single most attractive part of process theology for me right now because of its ability to deal with evil. Open theology, on the other hand, although still affirming God as primarily persuasive, sees God as possessing the ability to act unilaterally or with coercion (which is why open theism can still affirm miracles–understood as a break in the natural order of things caused by God’s intervention). For the sake of love God has chosen to limit his power so that he can engage in meaningful, loving relationships but the power to coerce still exists in God within the open view.

Process theology’s critique follows logically:

“If we believe that God is all-powerful we are driven against all our best values and common sense (whether we mean to or not) to argue that rape, famine, plague, child abuse, and cancer ultimately must be good in God’s eyes or else God would have prevented them. At the very best, we are driven to say that it is good for God to allow us to rape, starve, abuse, sicken, enslave, drug, and destroy ourselves and each other in the name of freedom. We are forced by the old idea of God’s power to say that what is morally right for us (protecting the innocent, healing the sick) is morally wrong for God to do (except one time in ten million when God graciously performs a miracle)” (Mesle 22).

This, as I noted above, is a tough critique to swallow. Open theology does not explicitly have an answer when it comes to understanding why God allows evil to occur if he could technically stop it. The two philosophical alternatives, however, are not really options for me given the witness of Scripture. Classical theism sees God as the author of evil since he predetermines everything. Process theology limits the power of God so that he is not culpable.

What can be said at this point is that we are not the only ones to have struggled through this difficult question. Pinnock says it well: “I am forced to say that God has made a commitment to the creation project that constrains his actions. The positive side of it for me is that I line up with Israel’s counter-testimony, which bombards God with questions–How long, God, will you hide your face? Why do you stand far off? Where are you when we need you?” (149). These are questions asked by a community who understands that their God is powerful enough to intervene but for some reason is not. What we can learn from Israel’s relentless questions and the fact that we find them in our canon of Scripture is that God approves of his people asking him difficult questions. In our apparent confusion and disillusionment, God invites us to wrestle with him. There is some solace here.

 

Sufjan Stevens and Christian Song Writing

“Anything that Jesus is Lord of is something I can write a song about. And Jesus is Lord of all things. This means I can write about anything.” – Derek Webb

Yesterday in my Rock, Faith and Pop Culture class I was reminded of why I love artists like Sufjan Stevens and Derek Webb so much. Their music reeks of real life. Contrary to what a lot of lame, artistically challenged Christian music communicates, the life of discipleship involves more than being happy all the time and only ever thinking about Jesus. What about the happenings of everyday life? What about relationships with other people? What about questions and doubts? What about putting lights on the Christmas tree?

C.S. Lewis, Parades and Biblical Theology

In an attempt to better understand the conversation between process theology and open theology I’ve undertaken a bit of a reading project. The plan is to finish Clark Pinnock’s Most Moved Mover: A Theology of God’s Openness before tackling C. Robert Mesle’s Process Theology: A Basic Introduction. I’ll be blogging thoughts, interesting findings, struggles and questions along the way. Here’s some interesting stuff to get things started:

“At least since creation, the divine life has been temporally ordered. God is inside not outside time. He is involved in the thick of, and is not above, the flow of history” (32).

It’s a common assertion, especially when talking about matters that have to do with the future, that God exists outside of time. This saying is usually employed in order to support the idea that God could certainly know the future because time is something only experienced by the created order. I’m reminded of an analogy that C.S. Lewis gives in Mere Christianity (which, coincidentally, I am reading right now for my Classics in Religious Literature course–yay for integration!). Essentially, Lewis asks his readers to imagine writing a book in which you write the following: “Mary laid down her work; next moment came a knock at the door!” For Mary, who lives in the imaginary story world, the knock comes directly after she puts down her work. You, as the author of the book, could choose to wait hours or even days to choose to write about Mary actually answering the door. You exist outside of the imaginary story world that’s been created just as God exists outside of time. Another analogy that is often employed is the parade analogy: we are in the middle of the parade marching forward in a linear progression. We know where we have come from and we know where we are presently at in the parade route but the future remains yet to be discovered. God on the other hand is said to be represented by a woman (read as intentional feminist plug) who is watching the parade from the top of a tall building, able to see where the parade has started, is at, and will finish, all at the same time.

What I like about Pinnock’s attempt to bring God back into time (beside the fact that I think  he remains faithful to the Scriptural narrative which tells the story of a God who always acts within history) is that his understanding is much more practical and experiential. Even if God were outside of time, we can only ever experience him in time. What use is a theology that imagines a God with certain characteristics that we never actually experience as temporal human beings?

Here’s one more thought:

“In tradition, God is thought to function primarily as a disembodied spirit but this is scarcely a biblical idea. For example, Israel is called to hear God’s word and gaze on this glory and beauty. Human beings are said to be embodied creatures created in the image of God. Is there perhaps something in God that corresponds with embodiment? Having a body is certainly not a negative thing because having a body makes it possible for us to be agents. Perhaps God’s agency would be easier to envisage if he were in some way corporeal. Add to that the fact that in the theophanies of the Old Testament God encounters humans in the form of a man. They indicate that God shares our life in the world in a most intense and personal manner. For example, look at the following texts. In Exodus 24:10-11 Moses, Aaron, Nadab, Abidu and seventy of the elders of Israel went up Mount Sinai and beheld God, as they ate and drank. Exodus 33:11 tells us that ‘the Lord used to speak to Moses face to face, as one speaks to a friend.’…Add to that the fact that God took on a body in the incarnation and Christ has taken that body with him into glory. It seems to me that the Bible does not think of God as formless” (34).

There’s a lot that could be said about the implications of this but, to be honest, it’s past my bed time so I’ll leave it at this: If Pinnock’s observation teaches us anything it is that we are really good at reading our understanding of God, in this case, his lack of embodiment (which is something that we’ve inherited from our ancient Greek friends), into the text rather than letting the Bible’s language and imagery inform us. This is certainly the reason why even the thought of imagining God with a body is so shocking to many of us (it was for me, at least). Oh, they joys of biblical theology!

Thoughts on Process Theology Pt. 2

In my last blog I layed down a few of the positive implications coming out of a process-relational theology. I also promised in that blog that I would follow it up with a few of my reservations about process theology. This is me doing just that.

A quick preface is needed before I get started: Over the past couple of years I’ve moved in a more open direction with my theology, a move inspired mostly by books like Greg Boyd’s God of the Possible as well as Jerry Paul’s Old Testament Theology course here at Columbia. When I heard about process as another option in terms of an open perspective on God, clearly I was excited. The reality is, however, that I still don’t know a lot about it. It makes sense, then, that the following “reservations” are really questions that have yet to be answered for me surrounding process theology.

With that having been said, let me dive into a few of these questions. One of the things that was so attractive to me about open theism over against classical theism, that is, the notion that God is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, immutable (or unchanging) and, in some cases, impassible (or without emotion), was that it seemed to take the biblical narrative more seriously. What I mean is that when classical theists read passages about God changing his mind or getting angry or feeling sorry that he ever made humanity, these things are usually excused as anthropomorphisms (which, in my view doesn’t actually get rid of the problem because the anthropomorphism is still communicating something about the nature of God). Strict classical theists who hold to the notion that God has predetermined everything would say that he can’t actually be changing his mind. There is, then, an a priori commitment to the philosphical presuppositions of classical theism rather than the biblical text itself. Open theists, on the other hand, affirm what the text says at face value. If the text says that God changed his mind then God must have actually changed his mind. This attempt at doing theology bibically instead of philosophically is admittedly very attractive to me.

Here’s where process theology enters the picture. It, like classical theism, is an attempt at doing theology philosophically rather than biblically. Clark Pinnock, in his book The Most Moved Mover: A Theology of God’s Openness, says it well:

“Process theology is a natural theology based on the metaphysics of Whitehead, where as openness is a biblical theology not obliged to a developed philosophical schema. Process theology is a philosophical theology that explicitly draws its way of speaking about God from Whitehead and Hartshorne (cf. core doctrines such as naturalistic theism, the idea of spontaneity rooted deep down in the universe and a non-sensationist doctrine of perception). The openness model, on the other hand, is more revelation based and less dependent on philosophy” (144).

My question, then, is this: what is the advantage of doing theology philosophically rather than biblically?  Marjorie Suchocki makes clear (and, I think, rightly) that “it is not a matter of whether philosophy will be used, but which philosophy will be used.” I agree, then, that it is beneficial to have a relational philosophy while reading  a text that discloses an inherently relational God. However, the philosophical presuppositions of Open Theism are also relational in nature. It becomes clear at this point that my real question is this: what are the inherent advantages of having a process philosophy rather than just an open one?

My second question has to do with the nature of Christ’s crucifixion. I’ll quote Suchockie again:

“Abelard, living in the twelfth century, argued  that God saves us by revealing through Jesus Christ both God’s nature and that which human nature is called to be. This revelation is healing and empowering for us, and Christ becomes our teacher. Process thinkers tend to side with Abelard. Jesus reveals who God is to us and for us. The cross does not represent vicarious sacrifice, but the revelation that God is with us even in our deepest pain.”

I’m fine with process theology’s critique of penal-substitutionary atonement (which Suchocki tackles just prior to this quote in her article) and I’m fine with saying that the cross was a revelation of the nature of God as well as his commitment to be with us in our deepest pain. I don’t like, however, process theology’s reduction of the cross to merely revelation. Process theology posits that Christ merely suffered because of sin instead of dying for sin. There seems to be too much biblical evidence that would suggest otherwise (cf. pretty much all of Paul). Herein lies my question: how does process theology get around passages that discuss Jesus dying for sin (a specific example would be 1 John 2:2). This is where process theology seems to be more committed to its philosophical presuppositions before it is committed to the text which, at this point, I am uncomfortable with.

Those are my thoughts for now. It’s very possible that, upon further reflection, a pt. 3 to this reflection may occur.

Thoughts on Process Theology Pt. 1

Because most of my classes have been less than riveting this semester I’ve had to satisfy my hunger for good theology by exploring the vast expanse of the interwebs. Thanks to Dalton I was introduced to the sweetest theological podcast on the net a few months ago, Homebrewed Christianity. Process theology is a common discussion topic on the podcast and I recently began to do a bit more reading on it because I liked what I was hearing on the podcast. For those who are unfamiliar with Process theology, here’s a sweet little introduction to it by Marjorie Suchocki, a process theologian from Claremont School of Theology in Claremont, California. There are a number of positive things that emerge out of a process-relational theology as well as a few things that I have reservations about (which I’m eventually going to explore in another post).

First, I like that process theology takes evolution seriously. For too long has the church held to the notion that Genesis 1 is incompatible with evolutionary thought. There have been far too many young Christians who, upon their discovery of the overwhelming evidence in favor of the theory of evolution, have been forced to choose between either the faith or the facts.  It needs to be made clear that this is an unnecessary choice. Process theology emphasizes the fact that to exist is to be in relation with. To imagine a time when God existed without another to relate to is inconceivable in process thought. God has always been creating and continues to do so. Moreover, Genesis 1 presupposes a world ruled by the primordial chaos prior to God’s creative action. Creation ex nihilo falls by the wayside at this point. I’ve already explored the implications of God creating out of the “stuff of chaos” in a previous blog.

Additionally, process theology holds to a panentheistic understanding of God’s relationship to his creation. What’s attractive to me about panentheism is that it is a happy middle ground between deism and pantheism. God is neither the absentee landlord who is utterly transcendent nor is he limited to or synonymous with his creation. Instead, he is both intimately connected with his creation as well as greater than the created order. A panentheistic understanding of God’s relationship to the cosmos allows us to affirm both the natural laws that govern our world as well as God’s divine creativity in everything and, what’s more, the universe’s dependence on his continued creative activity.

Thirdly, I love process theology’s emphasis on God as primarily a relational being. Rather than being a totalitarian god who predetermines everything in history, process theology holds to the notion that God has granted us free will and remains open to the different possibilities that can emerge out of an ultimately free creation. The pastoral implications of this are huge. Prayer becomes a necessary part of our devotion because God actually listens to and moves in response to the prayers of his people. He is not the impassible being that classical theism has made him into. Instead, he is the always vulnerable, responsive, and open God that we find revealed in the biblical narrative. The notion that God is affected by the decisions we make–that is, he feels the pain that we feel and experience, cries when we cry, is saddened when we disobey–makes him, in my view, more worthy of worship than the utterly transcendent, Stoic god of traditional Christian orthodoxy.

Fourthly, process theology understands sin as violence. This idea puts words to something that I have already begun to believe over the last few years. The commands of Jesus are not arbitrary commands. In other words, God does not exhort us to refrain from certain behavior, for example, because there are some things that break an arbitrary law that God has made. Rather, we are exhorted to refrain from certain behaviors because they are harmful to our neighbor.

Anywho, those are my thoughts. More are coming in terms of my reservations but for now I’ll suffice it to say that I’m currently enjoying all the possibilities that emerge from such an outlook on God and the world. This changes everything!

Yahweh, the God Who Orders: Creation and Modern Science in Dialogue

Introduction

The dialogue between Christianity and modern science is, to say the least, a muddled one. Advances in modern science have forced evangelicals to make sense of the newly available data in light of the creation account of Genesis 1. Perhaps the most treacherous and confusing part of this discussion is the one that hinges on the theory of evolution. At first glance, these two circles (modern science and Christianity) seem to be telling conflicting stories. Evolution seems incompatible with the story that Genesis tells. Our present aim is to discover if this tension needs to actually exist. Are the claims of modern science—specifically its claims concerning the theory of evolution—actually incompatible with a serious reading of Genesis? What does the Old Testament really say about creation and how ought this inform the discussion presently taking place? My contention is that a better understanding of creation in the Old Testament will lead to a healthier dialogue between the two circles mentioned above. Indeed, the tension that exists between the two “conflicting” stories is, as we will see, an unnecessary one. We will go about our task by tracing the theme of creation through the Old Testament, stopping at a few key texts along the way, in order to develop a biblical understanding of the theme. From there we will apply our findings to the discussion that is presently taking place.

The Theme of Creation in the Old Testament

Creation in the Pentateuch: Genesis 1

We begin our examination of creation where the Scriptures themselves begin: Genesis 1. A brief introductory comment must first be made if we are to properly understand what this passage is communicating. It is generally accepted among modern scholars that the Old Testament reached its final form during the Babylonian exile (Brueggemann 74). Earlier sources were most definitely used during this exilic editorial process but questions concerning original authors and dates lie outside the scope of this work. The implications of this preliminary observation will become clear as we get into the text itself.

A comparison of translations reveals that this passage is wrought with controversy. Verse 1 is typically translated, “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth” (NIV). This translation harkens back to the doctrine of creation ex nihilo—the idea that God created all that exists out of nothing. The NRSV, however, renders verse 1 differently: “In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth…” or even (as the NRSV footnote renders it), “When God began to create….” It is this latter translation that is to be preferred for multiple reasons (Brueggemann 153). First, there are obviously negative theological implications that come out of the thought of Yahweh creating a world that is dark, formless, and void. Translating the passage so that the watery chaos already exists makes much more sense from a theological perspective. Indeed, this way of translating the verse (“When God began to create…”) communicates the fact that Yahweh is at work with the chaos that characterized the world prior to his creative activity (Brueggemann 153). The focus, then, is not creation ex nihilo but rather an ordering of the “stuff of chaos” which is presupposed by the text. Bruce Waltke agrees. When the curtains open in verse 1, what the reader is faced with is not an empty, dark space but rather an earth that is covered with chaotic waters—an earth that is formless and void (Waltke 173). How this “stuff of chaos” arrived on the scene we are not told. Israel, much to the chagrin of many moderns who are (overly?) concerned with the origin of matter, has no concern for a description of where the chaos came from. Secondly, if this text did indeed reach its final form during the exile then it logically follows that Israel would speak of Yahweh ordering the watery chaos since this is the very context that Israel finds herself in during the exile. Herein lies the key to understanding what is being communicated in Genesis 1: it is more a story about Israel than it is about the origin of the world (Pauls). To be clear, Israel’s understanding of Yahweh as the Creator of heaven and earth was central to their worship. However, the story that Genesis 1 tells would have been music to the ears of wandering exiles for reasons other than the fact that it tells of a God who caused the universe to be. What the exilic community would have heard from this passage is that they worship a God who speaks into chaos and brings order. In the words of Walter Brueggemann, “On this reading, the chaos already extant in v. 2 represents the reality of exile—life at risk and in disorder. The effect of the liturgy is to create an alternative world of ordered life, made possible by Yahweh’s powerful word and will” (153).

We shall conclude our examination of this magnificent text by saying that for Israel creation was inextricably linked with redemption. While in exile, Israel longed for Yahweh to do for them what he did for the earth which was formless and void prior to his creative word. This truth will become even clearer as we examine creation in Israel’s poetry. It is to the poetry texts that we now turn.

Creation Reiterated: Israel’s Poetry

For the sake of space we will have to limit our examination of Israel’s poetry to the Psalter alone. The doctrine of creation as it appears in the Psalms will, however, be enough to prove the point that we began to articulate above, namely, that creation in the Old Testament is more about redemption than it is about the creation of the universe in its own right.

We begin with Psalm 136. It is here that we find a litany of praise to Israel’s God, Yahweh. The Psalm could be split into three distinct segments: vv. 1-4 as introduction, vv. 5-9 as a recounting of creation, and vv. 10-26 as a recounting of Yahweh’s acts within history. One will quickly notice that the transition between v. 9 and v. 10 is rather abrupt. The doctrine of creation and the doctrine of redemption stand side by side here, related in a seemingly unknown way (von Rad 55).

We notice something similar happening in Psalm 148 as well as Psalm 33. In vv. 6 and 9 of the latter we find the following: “By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, their starry host by the breath of his mouth … For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm.” The picture that is painted here is of a powerful sovereign who issues commands from his throne, bringing about change by merely uttering what he wills (Brueggemann 146). More interestingly, however, is the fact that this psalm does not linger on creation long. Rather, the psalmist moves on to describe Yahweh’s powerful acts in history: “The Lord foils the plans of the nations; he thwarts the purposes of the peoples … Blessed is the nation whose God is Yahweh” (vv. 10, 12). Creation, in this light, seems to be only ancillary for the psalmist, his main concern lying in the fact that Yahweh is the God who saves (von Rad 55).

There are indeed two Psalms in which the theme of creation seems to appear as the main concern of the psalmist. Psalms 19 and 104 both speak of creation as bearing witness to God (von Rad 60-61). The origin of these psalms is highly contested but even if one grants that they are indeed wholly original to Yahwistic belief, they serve as exceptions to the rule that when creation is spoken of in the psalms it is done so in the context of Yahweh’s redemptive acts (von Rad 61).

In sum, Israel’s poetry testifies to the truth that creation, within the Hebrew worldview, is inextricably linked with redemption. Why the two themes are linked is not explained much in the Psalter. To discover this we must turn to the prophets.

Creation in the Prophets: Deutero-Isaiah

There is no other place in the prophets that the theme of creation shows up as frequently than in the latter half of Isaiah (Isa. 40-66). In chapter 40 we read the following: “Why do you complain, Jacob? Why do you say, Israel, ‘My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God’? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary…” (vv. 27-28 italics mine). Here the doctrine of creation is not mentioned for its own sake but rather in order to bring confidence to an exilic community who may be doubting God’s ability to bring about gracious restoration (von Rad 56). The same thing occurs in chapter 42: “This is what God Yahweh says—he who created the heavens … who spread out the earth with all that springs from it…. I, Yahweh, have called you…” (vv. 5-6). It becomes clear that, although the doctrine of creation shows up frequently throughout Deutero-Isaiah, it serves as a foundation for faith rather than the main concern of the prophet. This is made clear by the fact that the prophet happily passes over the particular acts of God in creation in order to highlight the manifestations of Yahweh’s acts in history which are the focus of each passage (Isa. 40:21ff; 44:24ff; 45:12ff) (von Rad 56).

There is one final text that deserves our attention. In Isaiah 44:24-28 we find echoes of the creation account of Genesis 1, bringing us full circle back to where we began: “I am Yahweh, who has made all things, who stretched out the heavens, who spread out the earth myself … who says of Jerusalem, ‘It shall be inhabited,’ of the towns of Judah, ‘They shall be rebuilt,’ and of their ruins, ‘I will restore them,’ who says to the watery deep, ‘Be dry, and I will dry up your streams…’” (italics mine). The prophet likens the state of the exilic community with being caught in the “watery deep.” Here, clearer than we find anywhere else, the doctrine of creation is fully incorporated into the doctrine of redemption. It is Yahweh, the God who creates, the God who brings order out of chaos, that promises to restore the fortunes of his people. Von Rad says it well, “Yahweh, the Creator, who raised up the world out of chaos, does not leave Jerusalem in chaos; he who dried up the elemental waters will also raise up Jerusalem anew” (57).

Conclusions: A Developed Old Testament Theology of Creation

It may come as a surprise to many that we have devoted our whole project thus far to examining the theme of creation in the Old Testament and have yet to discuss what many modern evangelicals tend to discuss when it comes to matters of creation. Instead of finding texts that answer metaphysical questions concerning a young earth, dinosaurs, and a literal six day creation, we have found stories that tell of a creative God who brings life where there once was death (Waltke 174).

It is imperative, then, that we understand what kind of texts we are dealing with when we encounter the theme of creation in the Old Testament. Many today have approached these texts assuming that they were written to answer questions that modern science has asked concerning the origin of the cosmos. As we have discovered, however, to approach these passages in such a manner is to ask questions of the text that they simply are not attempting to answer. What we find in Genesis 1 and the subsequent creation passages that we have examined is not science but rather theology articulated by means of story. We must come to terms with the fact that ancient Israel, in writing these texts, had a very different agenda than we have today in our pursuit of scientifically understanding the origin of the universe. As Brueggemann makes clear, “Israel has no interest in bearing testimony to Yahweh as the one who creates [like, I would add, we do], except as Yahweh can be linked to the practicalities of living faithfully in the world” (153).

What creation meant for Israel was that they worshiped a God who, by his very nature, was a redeemer. The stories of creation told in the Old Testament were stories that offered hope to a people without hope. Yahweh was powerful enough to bring light to a dark and formless world which meant that he possessed the power and strength to, in a sense, reenact Genesis 1 for Israel, a scattered nation in need of ordering.

Creation and Modern Science in Dialogue

The Shape of the Present Conversation

As we noted in our introduction, the discussion that is taking place between the Christian faith and modern science hinges primarily on one hot-button topic: evolution. Evolution is not a peripheral concept in modern science but rather, the primary narrative underlying most modern scientific inquiry (Wilson). It will serve us well to understand, then, what is actually being said about evolution from a scientific perspective. According to the University of California at Berkeley’s website on the issue, evolution is defined as “descent with modification.” The central idea of evolution is that all of life on Earth shares a common ancestor (Berkeley). Over the course of billions of years the process of descent with modification leads to the great diversity of species that we have on Earth today (Berkeley).

There are a number of premises that must be true in order for the theory of evolution to stand up to scrutiny. Two of them are worth noting for our present purposes. First, the theory requires the earth to be billions of years old. Given the complexity and diversity of species on the planet today, it logically follows that the process of evolution has been happening for a vast amount of time. The dating of fossils are said to confirm such a hypothesis (Berkeley). The thought that the earth is billions of years old begs the following question: how did it all begin? This leads to the second premise worth noting. The origin of the universe is often explained, just as the theory of evolution itself is explained, in natural terms. It is at this point that we encounter such theories as the Big Bang.

Our modern obsession with origins has led many modern evangelicals to approach the Bible in search of a response to the claims of the scientific community. Creation texts, indeed, the very texts we examined above, are read with the strict agenda of answering the question of origins—where did this all come from? It is often purported that a plain reading of these texts forces one to reject the theory of evolution. God created the world, many would say, in six, twenty four hour days. Species are understood to be distinct rather than sharing a common ancestor. The genealogy of Genesis 5 allows us to calculate the age of the earth which, according to young earth creationists, ends up being no more than 10,000 years. Approached from this angle, the claims of Scripture and the claims of modern science are simply irreconcilable. One is left to choose one side or the other.

It is for these reasons that the present dialogue is tumultuous. The Bible and science are said to tell two stories that are clearly incompatible. We must ask, however, if this need be the case. Is the tension between modern science and orthodox Christian belief really a necessary tension? How can the theology of creation that we developed in the first part of this work inform us as we seek to make sense of the scientific data? It is to these questions that we now turn.

Moving Forward: The Dialogue in Light of Our Findings

There is an obvious flaw to approaching the creation texts of the Bible in order to answer the questions that modern science is asking about the origin of the cosmos. As we discovered above, the Israelite community, whose Scriptures we read as apart of our canon, was simply not concerned with answering metaphysical questions about how the universe came to be. Approaching the creation texts, therefore, in order to respond to the claims of modern science leads to a gross misreading of Scripture. Treating the Bible as a science textbook is simply a category mistake.

Instead of treating the creation texts of the Old Testament as if they are intended to answer questions coming out of the modern debate about origins, we have discovered that a better approach is to read such texts as primarily theological in nature. The theological truth that is communicated through the recounting of creation in the Old Testament is that Yahweh is a God who speaks into a world that is formless and void in order to bring about order and fullness. The doctrine of creation, therefore, contributes to the Christian’s understanding of God in ways that are not traditionally considered.

Entering into the dialogue with this understanding of creation, one is faced with the reality that the theory of evolution and the doctrine of creation as revealed in the Old Testament need not be pitted against each other. The tension between the “conflicting” stories of Scripture and modern science is, as I have contended from the beginning, an unnecessary tension. It is an unfortunate reality that the church has invested a great deal of time and energy into the endeavor of combating the claims of modern science in order to maintain a “biblical” understanding of the origin of the cosmos. It is high time we recognize that much of the church’s contribution to this dialogue has been misguided. We have made the Scriptures say something that simply does not stand up to contextual or theological scrutiny.

What is more, because the theme of creation in the Old Testament does not attempt to answer the question of origins we are forced to reexamine the scientific data concerning the theory of evolution. Rejecting the theory as contrary to what the Scriptures teach is, in light of our findings, no longer an option. Might I propose, then, that the theory of theistic evolution—the belief that asserts that the classical understanding of God is not incompatible with the theory of evolution—is the position that makes the most sense of the scientific data while, at the same time, remaining faithful to what the Scriptures hold to be true. There are a great deal of questions surrounding such a position—questions that, unfortunately, cannot be answered here. For now, we will have to be content with saying that a proper theological understanding of creation in the Old Testament opens the door to alternative explanations of how God has been at work in creation. Allowing for a more diverse range of explanations will, I propose, lead to a healthier dialogue between modern science and the Christian faith.

Conclusion

It has become clear that using the doctrine of creation to combat the claims of modern science is a good way to miss the full and robust meaning of the very texts that we are attempting to do justice to. The dialogue must be re-framed around a proper understanding of this Old Testament theme. Creation is about redemption. To say that such an understanding of this classic doctrine denigrates Yahweh is to prop ourselves up on our proverbial modern pedestals and arrogantly point our fingers at the forefathers of our faith, those who articulated creation in such a way that it had relevance for them in the context of their exile. Perhaps recapturing this understanding of creation will allow us to apply the doctrine to our own context in ways not previously imagined. Is our need, after all, much different from the needs of Israel at the time this doctrine came to full maturity? It does not take long to realize that we, ourselves, are in a state of wandering exile. The world is not as it should be. Disorder and chaos seem to have won the day. But, as Genesis 1 resoundingly reveals, all is not lost. We do indeed still worship the Creator God—the God who brings order out of chaos. May the story of Genesis 1 become our story just as it was Israel’s and may Yahweh speak a fresh word of life into our present darkness—bringing hope where there is despair, order where there is chaos, and life where there is death. Amen and amen.

Works Cited

Brueggemann, Walter. Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Advocacy, Dispute. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1997. Print.

Pauls, Jerry. “Creation as Narrative Theme.” Old Testament Theology Class. Columbia Bible College, Abbotsford. 10 March 2011. Lecture.

University of California, Berkeley. “Understanding Evolution.”<http://evolution.berkeley.edu/evolibrary/home.php>. Accessed 13 April 2011. Web.

von Rad, Gerhard. “The Theological Problem of the O.T. Doctrine of Creation.” Creation in the Old Testament. Edited by Bernhard W. Anderson. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984. Print.

Waltke, Bruce K. An Old Testament Theology: An Exegetical, Canonical, and Thematic Approach. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007. Print.

Wilson, Ken. “Science & the Evangelical Mission in America.” Qideas. <http://qideas.org/essays/science-and-the-evangelical-mission-in-america.aspx>. Accessed 13 April 2011. Web.

Amazingly Alive

The following is a poem form Vancouver street poet and activist Bud Osborn.

 

so here I am

here we are

amazingly alive

against long odds

left for dead

north america tellin lies

in our head

make you feel like shit

better off dead

 

so most days now

I say shout

shout for joy

shout for love

shout for you

shout for us

shout down this system

puts our souls in prison

 

say shout for life

shout with our last breath

shout fuck this north american culture of death

 

shout here we are

amazingly alive

against long odds

left for dead

shoutin this death culture

dancin this death culture

out of our heads

Resurrection

I had to write a devotional for my New Testament Theology course and share it with the class. I thought it would be cool to share it with you too:

As Christians, the question of life after death is one that is often on the forefront of our minds. Where do we go after we die? What’s heaven like? How should I live now in light of the future? The answers that are given in the church are often simple ones. When we die our souls float up to heaven where we will be with Jesus forever. Until then we are to lead quiet lives, not concerning ourselves with the cares or matters of this world for, after all, it’s not the physical that matters but the spiritual is what counts. This understanding of the afterlife runs throughout the church, at least the Western church, on a wide scale. It’s in our worship songs, our liturgy, and our preaching and teaching. Take, for example, the beloved hymn “I’ll Fly Away.” The following is a short excerpt from the song:

Some glad morning when this life is o’er,

I’ll fly away;

To a home on God’s celestial shore,

I’ll fly away

 

Just a few more weary days and then,

I’ll fly away

To a home on God’s celestial shore,

I’ll fly away

Here we get a perfect picture of what’s been described above. When I die my soul, or “the real me”, will fly away to heaven. The implication of this view of the afterlife is that life in the present is almost devoid of any meaning. We are to push through each weary day without much hope for the world around us. What really matters is that one day we’ll get to be with Jesus in heaven.

I myself used to believe that this is indeed what the Bible teaches us about heaven. I’d like to share with you an excerpt from a poem that I wrote around the beginning of my high school years.

I stand alone

Staring at this image in the mirror

A head full of hair that twists and turns in all directions

A face that is set to seriousness

Eyes fixed, trying to see past what is only physical

For a moment I do not recognize who it is

This shell of flesh

A temporary home for my soul

A simple glance becomes revelation

I continue to stare

Trying to hold on with all that I am to this sacred moment

My soul, the real me

Recognizing just for a moment that there is more

I am longing for something more

What usually works in conjunction is now separate

My soul, apart from my mind or my thoughts or my rationality,

Sees this body that contains me but is not me

Notice the low view of the body: it’s merely a shell of flesh that contains my soul; this shell of flesh is not the real me but rather contains the real me, that is, my soul. The body is a temporary home that we are to live in until we die and are released from these prisons that hold us captive.

How has this theology manifested itself in the life and ministry of the church today? For one, our evangelism has become primarily concerned with saving souls as opposed to feeding the hungry or housing the homeless. The dichotomy that we’ve created between the physical and the spiritual has caused us to be wrapped up in attempting to address people’s spiritual health before we even think about what might be causing them physical, emotional, or relational harm. Our church services, then, in an attempt to save as many souls as possible, have become “seeker sensitive”. If we can get them to like our lights, big drums, and trendy pastors then maybe we can get them to accept Jesus into their hearts. And who really cares about discipleship anyway? It’s more about getting people to pray the prayer so that they can get their one way ticket to heaven, right?

And what about our view of the environment? If we believe that the spiritual is what matters then we really shouldn’t care too much about taking care of God’s creation because at the end he’s probably going to burn it all anyway. The earth is to be subdued and used for our selfish purposes while we wait for Jesus to come back and rapture us into heaven.

This modern day gnosticism that rejects the material in favor of the immaterial often leads Christians who have put there faith in Jesus to ask the famous “now what?” question. If the only thing that matters is getting to heaven after you die then what’s the purpose of this life? Is it really all about just waiting until we die so that our souls can float off into immaterial bliss? Are we really only supposed to partake in the more spiritual activities like prayer and Scripture reading because everything else is mere vanity?

In 1 Corinthians 15 Paul paints a much more optimistic and holistic picture of the Christian hope. It can be summarized with one word: resurrection. Some might be surprised to find out that the New Testament doesn’t tell us much about life after death. Instead it is concerned mainly with life after life after death, that is, the resurrection life that we will share when that final trumpet is blown and Jesus returns in order to clothe us with immortality. This is what the New Testament calls heaven. Heaven is not the place where we go after we die but rather, it is the resurrected life that we will share with Jesus and all God’s people after Jesus returns.

It is the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead that affirms the idea that our good God has created a good creation that he longs to redeem. Our bodies, God says, are good. The earth is good. The physical is good. The plan is not burn the earth and start all over. In fact, the resurrection of our own bodies is just a fraction of what God wants to do for his whole creation. We learn in Romans 8 that creation is groaning as in the pains of childbirth, waiting for the children of God to be revealed so that we might be the means by which God brings redemption to everything he created.

If we affirm the goodness of creation and understand that the ultimate Christian hope is life in the resurrection, life on earth, albeit a renewed earth then the implications are huge. If God plans on bringing heaven down to earth, as we see in Revelation 21 and 22, and transforming our physical into bodies that can inherit the Kingdom of God then it seems that there would be some sort of continuity between this life and the life of the Age to Come. In other words, an affirmation of the physical world, a belief that God is going to redeem all of creation including our physical bodies means that the life that we live now on earth actually matters. This is indeed the conclusion that Paul comes to at the end of 1 Corinthians 15: “Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.”

This is far from the theology of “I’ll Fly Away.” That sort of theology would have us sit down and grit our teeth through each weary day as we wait for death. It seems that there is, instead, work to be done. Paul’s eschatology calls us to open our eyes and see the world through a new lens. God is making all things new and he has called us to join him in his work There is indeed hope for the present world. The promise of resurrection reassures us that in some mystical, incomprehensible way everything beautiful, loving, just, and right will carry over into God’s new creation. This is exactly why Paul, after 56 verses of explaining the resurrection to his audience, reminds them that nothing they do for the Lord is ever in vain. Their selfless, sacrificial love for one another will actually carry over into the new heavens and new earth. Their attempts at bringing justice to the hurting world around them is not futile.

The same is true for us today as Christ’s church and as individuals. As we pursue wholeness and peace in our communities we need to be reminded that our labor is not in vain. As we pour ourselves out for the sake of serving our brothers or sisters our work is not in vain. Even activities that we might consider “small” or “insignificant” become, in this light, meaningful and incredibly significant. Anytime we provide a listening ear to someone who is hurting we can rest assured that it is precisely that sort of action that will carry over into God’s new creation. Volunteering at a local youth group in order to build up and encourage the kids of our community is not to be understood as something without significance but rather, as an act of love and service that God will somehow, in a way that is beyond our comprehension, incorporate into his redeemed world. Our advocating on behalf of the poor and destitute is of lasting value. There is continuity between this life and the life of the Age to Come. The things we do in the present actually matter in God’s grand scheme.