Words and Things

We easily mistake the word for the thing, the theory for the reality. In many ways, we prefer to. Words are malleable; things are substantial. Theories may be spun and re-spun at will, but reality is – well, reality is intransigent; it cares not one whit what we think of it or say about it. Objects still fell before the word gravity was applied to their falling. They accelerated at a constant rate before Galileo expressed the mathematics. No cosmic gravitational change rippled outward when Einstein reformulated Newton’s earlier notions: curved space-time and not action at a distance. We are free to accept or reject any theory of gravitation we wish. But, jump from a ten-story building and – well, don’t, because gravity is operative regardless of words and theories and cares not one whit what we think about it or say about it.

Words give the impression of understanding, though, as often as not, they mask our ignorance. “Why do things fall?” a child asks and we respond “Gravity,” as if we understood, as if the word actually explained anything. At their best, words are a shorthand or code for a deeper understanding that we share in common – a sort of inside joke. At their worst, words are mere cover-up or hedge about our ignorance. We use words because they are the commonest tools at hand – mallets for brain surgery, perhaps, but the best tools we have. We honor words because in the beginning God spoke and because the Word that was in the beginning became flesh and dwelt among us and we have beheld his glory, the glory of the only-begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth. But, the limitlessness of the Word made flesh always reminds us of the limits of our flesh-made words.

I return to these thoughts often as I ponder the mysteries of our faith, particularly the central mysteries of Christ: the incarnation, the crucifixion, the resurrection. We stand before the cross, in some ways the central mystery of our faith, and use our most heavily-freighted words – words like propitiation, sacrifice, ransom, reconciliation, and atonement. We somehow know we need large words, important words. And, in the end, while none of these words is without importance, while none of these words is small, they are merely words – Spirit-inspired, human-penned words – but merely words nonetheless. And the words are not the thing; the theories are not the reality. The thing is the cross, the hard wood on which Jesus of Nazareth – son of man and Son of God – stretched out his arms for us and for our salvation. The reality beyond our theories is simply this: that in this way – God alone knows why and how – God reconciled the world to himself, brought forth light from darkness and life from death, and made from his enemies sons and daughters. If asked why, we too quickly and too easily respond love. But love is not the explanation for the cross. The truth lies in the opposite direction; the cross is the explanation of – the very definition of – love. Nothing, absolutely nothing, explains the cross. The cross explains absolutely everything: no words, just hard wood.

Scripture and tradition offer us many metaphors for atonement, perhaps because none is sufficient to capture the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I treasure these biblical images, I ponder them, and I will be most happy to discuss them with you over coffee, should we have the pleasure of meeting. But, with God’s help, I will not mistake our atonement theories – our mere words – for the atonement itself. I might not even try to convince you that my theory is better than yours.

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Relection: Theological Discernment

As I have aged – I will not say matured – my approach to theology has aged, as well. I pray more and argue less. I submit more and speculate less. I reason more with the mind in the heart and less with the mind in the head. At least, I hope so.

And so, my approach to disputed theological matters has changed significantly. I have found myself – really rather unconsciously – resorting increasingly to two criteria for assessing theological truth claims: the Vincentian Canon and the Canon of the Martyrs.

If the Church has spoken definitively on a matter, I consider it settled. The important doctrines codified in the Nicene and Apostolic Creeds, for example, are not subject to debate. Other issues I refer to the Church Fathers and to the consensus fidelium, the consensual voice of the faithful, under this general rubric: that which has been believed everywhere, always, and by all (Vincentian Canon, St. Vincent of Lérins). This canon rules out geographically local innovations (everywhere), chronological novelties (always), and denominational distinctives (by all). In short, if the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church has spoken with a united voice – in Scripture, Creed, liturgy, accepted faith and practice – I accept its testimony and there take my stand.

If the Church has not so spoken I then appeal to the Canon of the Martyrs: Can this expression of the faith explain the willingness of men and women to die joyfully for our Lord Jesus? Granted, this is more subjective than the Vincentian Canon, but not, I think, less valid. I am currently in a discussion with a brother who apparently rejects the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist in any meaningful or historical sense. To him, the Eucharist is essentially a symbolic memorial of the death of Christ enacted, primarily, as mnemonic and proclamation of that death until Christ comes again. While I think this theology fails under the Vincentian Canon, I know it fails under the Canon of Martyrs. Depending on circumstances and context I might or might not cross the street to “celebrate” a Eucharist in which Christ is proclaimed as absent, but I certainly would not die for such a Eucharist. The faith of martyrs must be sufficient to support the sacrifice of the martyrs. It is that faith – and its theological expression – that I want.

While some – perhaps many – will find these two criteria wholly inadequate, I find them to be quite helpful. But, I will not argue about them.

Almighty and eternal God, so draw our hearts to thee, so guide our minds, so fill our imaginations, so control our wills, that we may be wholly thine, utterly dedicated unto thee; and then use us, we pray thee, as thou wilt, and always to thy glory and the welfare of thy people; through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Reflection: On Faith And Knowing (Part 1)

Reflection: On Faith And Knowing (Part 1)

I want to say this well, not least of all for my daughter’s benefit. It is no easy thing being Christian in a culture that doubts whether truth exists and, if so, whether it can surely be known. It is no easy thing being Christian in a culture that elevates diversity and tolerance to the highest realms of virtue. It is no easy thing being Christian in the public education system, in the private workplace, in the sociopolitical arena. She needs all the help she can get to navigate these shoals of faith – all that I can offer and more – as do we all. So, I want to say this well, though I am not up to the task. I trust that the ideas, and not my expression of them, are the important thing, and that the Spirit can work through the word faithfully, if not articulately, offered.

There is a line in the climactic scene of Tim Allen’s Santa Claus 2: The Mrs. Claus that elevates the film from just good-humored, family entertainment to high theology. Charlie, Santa’s son, says to the skeptical, future Mrs. Claus: “Seeing isn’t believing. Believing is seeing.” And in that moment, her eyes are opened and a new reality breaks in.

How do you know what you claim to know? is always a valid question about the sources, methods, and limits of knowledge. As Christians, when we start our creeds, “I believe,” or “We believe,” we really mean to say “I know,” or “We hold this true,” so skeptics have the right to respond, “That may be fine for you, but how do you know, really?” The best and only answer we can give – and the answer the Apostolic church always has given – is: “Seeing isn’t believing. Believing is seeing.” Or, as the writer of Hebrews words it: “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” (Heb 11:1, NKJV). It is by faith that we understand, he goes on to say (cf Heb 11:3). Faith is both the source and mode of knowledge through which we may ascertain truth – not opinion or preference, but an understanding that corresponds to the deepest, most fundamental reality.

This is true because the most fundamental knowledge is not abstract or objective, but personal and relational. Since God is the truth in which we live and move and have our being (cf Acts 17:28), the source and means of knowledge is personal relationship between creature and Creator, a relationship made possible by faith. We understand truth – we know – because faith draws us into a personal relationship with the one who is the Truth. Through Christ, in the Holy Spirit, we become partakers of the divine nature and are led from faith to virtue and from virtue to knowledge (cf 2 Pe 1:4-5).

The knowledge we gain in this way is not new revelation; it is personal certainty of the truth passed down by the church in sacred tradition: in scripture, liturgy, hymn, sacrament. God is love, the church tells us, for example, and through faith we apprehend the truth of this in an experiential, relational way. We reach a point where we no longer need say only, “The church teaches,” but “We know.” I am wary of God-talk that begins, “God spoke to me and said,” and ends with claims unsubstantiated by the church and sometimes rejected by the church. But I am no longer skeptical of God-talk that ratifies the tradition of the one, holy, catholic, and Apostolic church. I, too, have heard God speak in this way, and there are certain truths that I now know.

The connection I’ve described between faith and knowledge is not well accepted in secular, materialist environments such as those created and dominated by Enlightenment philosophy; modern Western thought is still enthralled by Descartes, Newton, Bacon, et al, for whom knowledge meant knowledge of the material world gained through rational, objective, and materialist methods. And, we must grant them their due measure of success; their methods lead to considerable predictive power over natural phenomena. But, theirs is a restricted, minimalist view of knowledge. As Christians, faith provides us a deeper and prior source and means of knowledge. It is important that we not give way before the materialists’ exclusive claims to the source and means of knowledge. Simply because they say that reason and objectivity are the only ways to know does not make it so. That is their story to which they have a right. But we have a different story and a different knowledge that subsume and transcend the reductionism they offer. We know, through faith, what they can never know through reason. And it is knowledge, the very wisdom of God.

9 But as it is written:

“ Eye has not seen, nor ear heard,

Nor have entered into the heart of man

The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.”

10 But God has revealed them to us through His Spirit. For the Spirit searches all things, yes, the deep things of God. 11 For what man knows the things of a man except the spirit of the man which is in him? Even so no one knows the things of God except the Spirit of God. 12 Now we have received, not the spirit of the world, but the Spirit who is from God, that we might know the things that have been freely given to us by God.13 These things we also speak, not in words which man’s wisdom teaches but which the Holy Spirit teaches, comparing spiritual things with spiritual (1 Cor 2:9-13, NKJV).

So, the church lays claim to knowledge – knowledge transcending the material and imparted through relationship and spiritual (Spiritual) revelation. It is not merely private, subjective impression but objective knowledge verified by the experience of the faithful for two millennia – knowledge available to all those who come to God through faith in Christ. When the church speaks with a single voice – when it proclaims that which has been believed always, everywhere, and by all (St. Vincent of Lérins) – we can accept its voice as the voice of knowledge and truth. Faith is not what the church offers instead of knowledge; faith is the knowledge the church offers.

Reflection: PowerPoint and Proclamation

…the college is hoping that its new, $2 million, state-of-the-art preaching center will not only highlight its mission but give preaching majors the technical skills they need to more effectively present their message.
The 12,000-square-foot facility, located in the heart of the campus, features a 90-seat lecture hall, two multimedia classrooms, four practice labs, a conference room, a commons area and a computer lab.
Last week, 24-year old [name], who is majoring in preaching and church leadership, used the new technology while giving a sermon to his preaching class. As he walked across the stage in the lecture hall, two cameras wired to mats on the stage followed his movements, recording his 15-minute sermon for his review after class.
With the click of a button, two large screens displayed a Powerpoint presentation to accompany his sermon, and when he wanted to emphasize words or pictures on the screens, he circled them on the touchscreen computer in front of him.[1]

I know this college; the church of my youth seemed to me then an extension of it. Its professors and graduates served as our ministers and elders. One of its professors (of blessed memory) taught me the faith and baptized me into Christ. Another, I count still as dear friend and mentor in the faith. It is a venerable institution, one of the oldest American Bible Colleges, a place rich in Christian faith and practice. So, this recent newspaper article captured my attention; it is always news when preaching makes the news with any positive spin at all. And, the article has prompted some reflection on the nature of preaching, reflection that is for me a constant companion as I write and preach weekly.

What makes for good preaching: modern, multi-million dollar facilities? state-of-the-art technology – cameras, PowerPoint, LCD projectors, and touchscreens? I wonder. I have preached poor, ineffective sermons – more than I care to remember – and not one of them would have been improved by multi-media technology. Their defects ran much deeper.

There are no mysteries to poor sermons, though the Mysteries of grace abound in good ones. A poor sermon results from ignorance – ignorance of mind and heart (nous): the preacher knows too little the subject and Object about which and of Whom he speaks. And neither of these problems can be remedied by PowerPoint, but only by a cure that is well known but too little practiced.

Good sermons – not entertaining ones, but sermons which proclaim truth, transform lives, and produce saints and martyrs – are crafted on the knees; we preach as we pray. The choice between more PowerPoint and more prayer is no choice at all. The choice between computer lab and chapel is no choice at all. Only after lying prostrate before the Lord, only after soul-rending confession, only after prayer of depth and honesty that humbles me to the core, does David dare say, “Open my lips, O Lord, and my mouth shall proclaim your praise” (Ps 51). Dare any preacher do otherwise? It is from “the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks. The good person brings good things out of a good treasure,” (Mt 12:34b-35a, NRSV). And the heart is filled not primarily with rhetoric and technology, but with prayer and fasting, with the written word and living witness of the saints, with the bread heaven and the cup of salvation – the true Body and true Blood of our Lord – with the orthodoxy and orthopraxy of the Church.

Good sermons – not ones which tickle the ears, but sermons which proclaim good news to the poor and liberty to the captives – are crafted in the word: in the word written and in the Word made flesh. And here I must be clear: the first priority of the preacher is not to understand the word but to stand under the word. Academic preparation – necessary as it is – is no substitute for simple obedience. God grant us a place at the feet of simple saints rather than in the marbled halls of the philosophers. Faith and obedience are the precursors of understanding and the prerequisites for proclamation.

Good sermons – as good lives – are the result of askesis, Christian discipline. When asked why he could cast out a demon that had resisted every attempt of his disciples, Jesus replied, “This kind comes out only by prayer and fasting,” (cf Mt 17:8). So, too, with sermons: good ones “come out” only by prayer and fasting, only through obedience to the word and the Word, only through fellowship with the saints on earth below and the saints in heaven above, only through taking up the cross of Christ and bearing it daily. There are no technological shortcuts. The emphasis on technique and technology seems to me a modern form of simony – the attempt to purchase with technological currency a gift of grace that comes only through a life in the Spirit, a life of purification and illumination.

I once heard a bishop of an Oriental Orthodox church – whose name is withheld respecting his humility – preach a powerful sermon on the dangers of simony and heresy. Afterwards, I complimented his words and commented on the effort of preparing such a sermon. His response convicted me: “I do not prepare sermons,” he said. “I prepare myself for the sermon.” No PowerPoint – just power. No computer – just conviction. No touchscreen – just the touch of the Holy Spirit.

Would St. Paul use modern technology to proclaim the Gospel? Perhaps. He did, after all, by his own admission become all things to all people that by all means he might save some. But, then again, he also wrote,

And I, brethren, when I came to you, did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony of God. For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. And my speech and my preaching were not with persuasive words of wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God (1 Cor 2:1-5, NKJV).

It need not be either-or, I suppose, but both-and: not PowerPoint or prayer, but PowerPoint and prayer. Mainly, it is the balance that worries me. I know from too frequent personal experience how easy it is to mistake style for substance. And so I pray. Lord, have mercy on me, your weak and sinful servant. May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, my Lord and my Redeemer.

Amen.
[1] Knoxville News Sentinel, 9/14/09.

Reflection: God Is Not Helpless

A reader of the blog Glory To God for All Things recently commented: ”God is not helpless before his creatures.”[1] Indeed, and thanks be to God! When this unworthy servant of God opens his mouth to speak – with the prayer, “Lord, open my lips and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.” – not even his stubborn heart and unclean lips can hinder the Holy Spirit from speaking a word of grace to those with ears to hear, for God is not helpless before his creatures. When this weak and sinful servant of God breaks the bread and lifts the cup not even his defiled hands and impure heart can hinder the Holy Spirit from blessing the gifts of bread and wine and from making them holy gifts for holy people, the bread of life and the cup of salvation, for God is not helpless before his creatures. When this chief of sinners hears the confession of those nearer God than himself and with fear and trembling pronounces words of absolution, not even the burden of sin which weighs him down can overcome the power of the Church to absolve all sinners who truly repent and the power of God to forgive all offenses, for God is not helpless before his creatures.

Praise be to our God who is not helpless before his creatures.

[1] Lizzy L, http://fatherstephen.wordpress.com/2009/09/09/doctrines-and-opinion/#comments.

Reflection: The Problem of Evil

I must start and continue with honesty: I have little, if any, right to express my thoughts on the topic of evil and suffering, for truly the words of the Psalmist describe me well.

LORD, you have assigned me my portion and my cup;
you have made my lot secure.
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance (Ps 16:5-6, NIV).

No great evil has ever befallen me and I have suffered only such losses as are the common, human lot. My family is whole and well. My employment is satisfying and as secure as is humanly possible. I am blessed beyond all reasonable expectations.

And yet the problem of evil and suffering will not go away and periodically demands our attention. My hometown is currently in the grips of great evil and suffering. In January 2007 a young couple was car-jacked, tortured, and brutally murdered here; the details of the savagery are almost beyond my comprehension. For two years community angst and anger have quietly smoldered. Now, the trials have begun and the rage – especially of the couple’s parents – is writ large in the newspapers and graphically portrayed in television news coverage. The first defendant recently was convicted of almost every felony on the law books in our state and was sentenced to life in prison without the possibility of parole. This was not enough to satisfy the parents, however, who want the perpetrators not only executed but tortured as they tortured: eye for eye, tooth for tooth. I cannot understand the depth of these parents’ loss, the full measure of their hatred. I pray God I never will. What I can do to help them, I will do. I will pray for them: O God, make speed to save them; O Lord, make haste to help them.

So evil has come unbidden to our community – and to world and to our lives – and must be addressed. For this reason only – and not because I have particular wisdom on this or any topic– I will offer some reflections, praying that I reflect the faith of the Church.

Theodicy is the name of the dilemma evil poses the Christian: If God is both all-powerful and all-good/all-loving, then why does he allow evil and suffering to continue in the world? To this question I have no answer. Scripture, at most, only offers hints of possible answers, but offers us nothing concrete. Perhaps that is just as well, for Why? is not really the question we wish to ask at all. If the parents of the murder victims could in one instant perceive God’s grand design in which the question of evil is finally resolved, if they could understand the redemptive plan in which the persistence of evil plays its part, even then in their pain they would still cry out, Why? This is not a cry for explanation, but a cry of human anguish. If the parents of the murder victims could in one instant perceive that in some now unfathomable way ripples of grace would flow outward from that horrendous event and work for cosmic good, the price of their sorrow would still be too high. No explanation of evil and suffering is given – at least in part – because no explanation is sufficient. We do not want to understand the pain; we simply want it to stop. But stop, it doesn’t.

This, then, is the way our human dilemma is usually portrayed. We have been told in our faith that God is all powerful which means he could, I suppose, spare his creature from great suffering and we have been told that God is all-good/all-loving which means he should, most certainly, spare his creatures from great suffering. And yet this is clearly not the way God acts toward us.

Perhaps our confusion lies not so much in God’s behavior as in our statement of the problem. Perhaps we are asking the wrong question. Instead of asking why God allows evil to persist – which I think is without human answer – perhaps we should ask what God is doing to resolve the problem of evil, both within the human heart and in the world. That question has a clear answer and the answer is Jesus.

However you choose to understand the biblical stories of creation and fall, they tell of a world made good and very good and then ruined by sin, by the thoughts and actions of human beings. And this means, quite simply, that evil is not simply outside us and exerted on us, but also inside us and exerted by us. Why is there evil in the world? we ask. Because we are in the world, the stories answer. It is not possible to resolve the problem of evil without resolving the problem of man – which is precisely what God has done and is doing in and through Jesus.

The process of resolving the problem of evil in man is long and complicated. Why would we expect it to be otherwise? The process runs through a people, the descendants of Abraham, and through a nation, Israel. It runs through slavery and freedom, through Law and Prophets, through exile and deliverance. Through it all, God uses a people – who are themselves part of the problem – to resolve the problem, until ultimately God uses a Person, Jesus, who is not part of the problem, but is himself the solution. All the long process of millennia culminates in Jesus: God incarnate, fully God and fully man. Jesus resolves the problem of evil in the world by resolving the problem of sin in man, by uniting his divinity with our humanity, by accepting our sin, and by suffering the evil of the world to destroy sin and to defeat evil and the power of the evil one. However you choose to understand the cross – and Scripture uses many metaphors – it is God’s answer to sin in man and to evil in the world. In his death, Jesus put to death sin. In his acceptance of the evil done to him – rejection and crucifixion – Jesus destroyed the power of evil.

Of course, when confronted with the evil still among and within us, it is difficult sometimes to see exactly what the cross accomplished. God is the Alpha and the Omega – the A and the Z, the beginning and the end – but we live somewhere around L or M, somewhere in the middle. And while sin and evil have been defeated by Jesus, they have not yet been abolished. How then do we live in this middle time? There is but one path forward, through, and out of our problem: to walk the path of salvation blazed by Jesus and offered by the church – a path which confronts evil within and without, accepts suffering, commits one’s spirit to God, dies to sin, and is born again through water and word and Spirit, in newness and holiness of life. In the midst of evil and sin – and the very real pain and suffering they cause – we hold fast to the faith which proclaims that God is even now putting the world to rights through our Lord Jesus Christ and we look forward in faith to that day when all will be fully restored, when no evil will persist, when no sin will defile, when no tears will fall, when we will live forever with our God. In the midst of evil and sin – and the very real pain and suffering they cause – we strive to put on the whole armor of God that we “may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places” (Eph 6:11-12, NKJV). In the midst of evil and sin – and the very real pain and suffering they cause – we hold fast to the promise that Christ has overcome the world and that greater is he within us than he that is in the world.

And we pray. Pray for one another – as God’s beloved – that we may not fall into sin nor be overcome by adversity. Pray for those who suffer as the victims of evil and – with great difficulty – pray for those who suffer as the perpetrators of evil, for these, too, are God’s beloved. And pray for me, chief among sinners, as I pray for you.

Reflection: What Does Salvation Look Like?

What does salvation look like?

(The following reflection stems from a spirited – and I think, Spirited – discussion of good, evil, the heart of man, and the nature of salvation among the members of the Spiritual Formation Group to which I belong. Since several of the members of the group are also members of Trinity Church, and since we will not all meet together for another two weeks, I thought a post here might clear up some issues and spur further thought and prayer. Feel free to “listen in” on our discussion. Perhaps you’ll care to share your thoughts with us.)

Let the words of my mouth and the mediations of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

“What does salvation look like?” That is the question lingering from our last meeting. I’m afraid my answer then was far from satisfactory and I’d like to explain my poor response and then try to do a bit better.

“What does Mount LeConte look like?” you might well have asked instead. The truth is I’ve never been there. I have hiked half the trail by accident when I missed the fork leading to Charlie’s Bunion and unknowingly headed off toward LeConte. But the trail got steep, it was late, and I was tired. So, I turned around and discovered my error on the way back to the trailhead. “What does Mount LeConte look like?” Well, I can’t say from first-hand experience, but I can tell you about part of the trail headed in that direction. And, having read various hiking guidebooks and looked at photographs I can give you a decent description of the destination. Even better, I can point you toward some people who have completed the hike and let you ask them directly.

“What does salvation look like?” The truth is I haven’t reached it, if we understand salvation as the healing of the soul, the divinization of man (theosis). I have begun to walk the path and I can share my experience thus far. And, having read the Scriptures and having received the teaching of the Church I think I can give you a decent description. In the lives of the saints you can meet some people who are much farther along the way and some who have reached theosis, though I suspect there is always farther to go and greater union with God to experience.

So, I will hazard an answer because you asked and because the Church has provided us all with an answer. I trust in the grace of God and the presence of the Spirit to aid me in my weakness.

As we’ve discussed there are two distinct understandings of salvation, one emphasized in the Western Church – forensic salvation, a courtroom model – and one in the Eastern Church – therapeutic salvation, a hospital model. Both are present in Scripture along with several others and both should be taken seriously as part of God’s revelation of our great salvation.

In forensic salvation the human problem is seen primarily as guilt. We have inherited sin and guilt from our first parents; original sin is the theological term. Thus, from our birth we stand guilty before God, the Judge. Of course, we add to that original sin our own personal sin, so we stand doubly guilty. God has declared the death penalty upon all such sinners: “In the day you eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall surely die,” God said to Adam. And Paul reminds us that the wages of sin is death. So we are condemned – under the death sentence – by our very humanity and by our own disobedience.

And yet…and yet God truly loves his creation and desires its restoration. Therefore he takes upon himself the death penalty for our sin through the sacrifice of his only begotten son, Jesus – God from God – who for us and for our salvation became incarnate of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. With the penalty paid and the guilt erased, man can once again enter a relationship with God. In the forensic – courtroom – model, the substitutionary death of Jesus and our acceptance of it through faith and baptism, allows God to declare us not guilty. It is by grace we are saved, through faith – an act of God on our behalf, not of works that we do. And this is certainly true, as far as it goes. Unfortunately, it is usually presented in a truncated form that leaves the sinner declared not guilty but also leaves the sinner not truly changed. And that brings us to the therapeutic model.

In the therapeutic model the human problem is seen primarily as spiritual illness and death. We have inherited not our first parents’ guilt, but the cosmic and personal consequences of their sin: a broken world (cf Rom 8), forgetfulness of God, a proclivity to sin, and spiritual illness leading to death. Ancestral sin is the theological term. What is necessary for us and for our salvation is not, in the first instance, a declaration of not guilty, but a healing of the soul, a real transformation toward holiness that makes union with God possible. And so Jesus becomes incarnate – again from love – by uniting his divinity with our humanity. This is the great exchange. He receives our humanity and we receive his divinity. He receives our sin and we receive his purity (cf Is 53). He receives our death and we receive his life. He receives union with man and we receive union with God. As I’ve mention before, the classic, patristic summary of all this comes from St. Athanasius: He became man that we might become god. Not that we become God by nature or are absorbed into the Divine, but that we are transformed into his likeness by grace.

And now we come to a central feature of the therapeutic model. This transformation is not instantaneous; it is a process. It begins when we put on Christ in our baptism and receive the empowering, indwelling seal of the Holy Spirit. Now, here is the part of this model that makes most Western Protestants wary: the transformation process continues only with our participation – our work. We are not saved – in the therapeutic sense of being spiritual healed – by our work, but neither are we saved apart from it. All this is grace – God’s presence with us, empowering us for the work of salvation (Phil 2:12-13). The ability to work out our salvation with fear and trembling is a gift of God’s grace. There is no room for boasting in the therapeutic model just as no one receiving life-giving treatment at a hospital boasts of driving himself to the emergency room. And yet the driving was certainly necessary.

“What does salvation look like?” It depends on which model you explore, though I suggest that the two are not as incompatible as many Christians – both Western and Eastern – seem to suggest. Salvation is a mosaic and we sometimes dwell on an individual tile as if it were the whole image. But, to answer your question, I think we need to focus primarily on the therapeutic model.

According to many patristic sources, the healing of the soul occurs in three phases: purification, illumination, and divinization (theosis). Purification is the elimination of the passions that wage war against us and lead us away from God; it is attainment of the dispassionate life. We all struggle with the passions: anger, hatred, selfishness, pride, lust, greed, and so on. I could add to my personal list and you could to yours, as well! As an antidote, the Church offers askesis – the disciplines of self-denial: prayer, fasting, vigils, alms-giving, silence, study, service, and so on. These, of course, are empowered by the sacraments, particularly Holy Eucharist and Confession. And, it should go without saying, that askesis is performed within a worshipping community, the local church. The ascetical life brings the passions under control of the spirit/Spirit. “What does salvation look like?” In the first stage it looks like purification, like liberation from those habits, vices, and reactions that keep us from loving God wholly and our neighbors as ourselves. A dispassionate person has been freed from anger and selfishness, vanity and pride, lust and greed and all the rest. Worry is replaced with trust in God, fear with love, and sadness with joy. The Sermon on the Mount gives a good picture of a purified soul, as does the life of Jesus in the Gospels or the lives of the saints in many biographies. In the Sermon Jesus says, “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” And that purification brings us to the next stage – illumination, knowing God.

According to the Fathers, ancestral sin darkened man’s nous, the spiritual mind by which man can directly perceive and know God – know God not abstractly as a concept or idea, but intimately as a Person. Man literally became ignorant of God as a Person. Purification enlightens the nous, providing spiritual illumination and direct knowledge of God. Prayer becomes ceaseless – not babbling constantly, but continual spiritual converse with and awareness of God. It is no longer necessary to say I believe in God; one can truly say, I know God. The illuminated person has passed beyond concept to experience. Do you remember in the Gospels that even Jesus’ detractors admitted that he taught as one with authority and not as the Scribes and Pharisees? Jesus spoke from experience, they from concepts. “What does salvation look like?” In the second stage it looks like illumination: mindfulness/awareness of God, ceaseless prayer, relational knowledge of God. (As you’ve certainly guessed, by now I’m quoting you the guidebooks.)

This brings us, at last, to divinization (theosis) about which I can say very little. Theosis is divine union, becoming truly a partaker of the divine nature. It is seeing God and the spiritual realm as present reality in which the communion of saints becomes living, experienced reality, and heaven becomes as real as earth – not constantly, perhaps, but frequently. Stories are the best I can do here, so I recommend Isaiah 6, Matthew 17, 2 Corinthians 12:1-6. I recommend the lives of the saints and elders, particularly those of the Athonite tradition, like Elder Paisios (found in books like The Mountain of Silence and The Gurus, the Young Man, and Elder Paisios). Think of Moses coming down from Mount Sinai, face glowing with divine light. Think of Abba Joseph standing with hands spread in prayer, fingers aflame with divine fire (http://dailydesertwisdom.blogspot.com/2007/09/become-all-flame.html). Think of Jesus transfigured on Mount Tabor, suffused with divine light and accompanied by the Hebrew saints Moses and Elijah. These are stories that point the way toward theosis and tell us what salvation looks like.

“What does salvation look like?” It looks like the Church walking the way of Jesus, all of us at different points on the path of purification, illumination, and divinization. It looks like our brothers and sisters in the faith, the saints. Ultimately, it looks like Jesus who shows us the perfect union of God and man. Better than this I cannot do.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Stomen kalos! Da Lifneh Mi Atah Omed!

We stand for the National Anthem and the Pledge of Allegiance, heads bare, hearts covered. Our assembled elders may well correct us if we do not. Being older myself and in many ways old-fashioned, I was taught to stand in the presence of a lady – and all women were assumed to be such – and in the presence of my elders, and to remain standing until they were seated. I’m not certain my generation has effectively passed on this sign of respect to its children. How you stand and before whom you stand says a lot about a person and about a culture.

In the Syriac Divine Liturgy of Saint James the deacon repeatedly exhorts the church, “Stomen kalos:” stand well, stand aright. Likewise, in the Byzantine Divine Liturgy of Saint Basil the Great, the deacon proclaims: “Let us stand well. Let us stand in awe. Let us be attentive, that we may present the holy offering in peace.” Standing is important, how we stand perhaps more so.

In many Orthodox Jewish synagogues, carved above the ark in which rests the Torah scroll are the words Da Lifne Mi Atah Omed: Know before whom you stand. Standing is important, how we stand perhaps more so, knowing before whom we stand most important of all.

When the church gathers we stand before the

one God,
the Father, the Almighty,
maker of heaven and earth,
of all that is, seen and unseen.

We stand before the Holy One who spoke worlds into being, who created man from the dust of one of these worlds, and who breathed into man His own life-giving Spirit. We stand before the Compassionate One who turned not his back, neither destroyed us, when we rebelled and fell into sin, but who rather called to us again and again in the Law and through the Prophets – called us to return and be healed.

We stand before the

one Lord, Jesus Christ,
the only Son of God,
eternally begotten of the Father,
God from God, Light from Light,
true God from true God,
begotten, not made,
of Being with the Father.

We stand before the very Word of God who for us and for our salvation came down from heaven and by the power of the Holy Spirit became incarnate of the Virgin Mary and was made man. We stand before the Lamb of God who for our sake – to take away the sin of the world – was crucified under Pontius Pilate, suffered death, and was buried. We stand before the firstborn of all creation who on the third day rose again, in accordance with the Scriptures, trampling down death by death and on those in the tombs bestowing life. We stand before the Triumphant One who ascended into heaven, who is seated at the right hand of the Father, who will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead. We stand together with all the faithful of all time before and in the presence of Him who promised that, whenever even two or three are gathered in his name, he is present with them unto the ages of ages.

We stand before the

Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,
who proceeds from the Father

who with the Father and the Son is worshipped and glorified. We stand before the one who seals us as a guarantor of the future glory to come and who indwells us to make us present partakers of the divine nature, changing us from glory to glory. We stand before the Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, who is everywhere present filling all things, Treasury of good things and giver of life.

Stomen kalos! Stand aright. Stand in awe. Da Lifne Mi Atah Omed! Know before Whom you stand.

Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit before whom we stand now and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Reflection: Independence Day

I am a Christian in America – very gratefully in America, since this country affords me opportunities and liberties unavailable and even unimaginable in many other nations. And yet, I watch the approach of Independence Day with a certain ambivalence tinged with fear and trembling. On this day, like no other, there is a crossing of lines, a blurring of borders – a not so subtle insistence on serving two masters – as churches are decorated with patriotic bunting and cross and flag are adjoined in our sanctuaries, assuming the cross is still evidenced. A sign prominently displayed at one local megachurch tells the story:

Freedom in America
Freedom in Christ.

I struggle to understand what this sign is intended to communicate, and I struggle against what it might be intended to communicate. Does it proclaim that the freedom we have in America is the same freedom we have in Christ: that the freedom from sin and death won for us in and through the incarnation, ministry, death, burial, resurrection and ascension of the Lord Jesus Christ and preserved for us through the Holy Spirit is one in essence with the freedom from political oppression and tyranny won for us through the political insight, will, and revolution of our founding fathers and the ongoing heroic sacrifices of our military? But surely these freedoms are not consubstantial. The Christian narrative and the American narrative do not tell the same story, nor are they merely different chapters in the same book. The Christian narrative is based not upon certain unalienable rights – life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness – but upon man’s rebellion against his Creator, upon repentance, upon the recognition that there is no life, liberty, or happiness apart from reconciliation with the Creator through his son, Jesus Christ. The Christian narrative has nothing to do with democratic rule and everything to do with the Lordship of Christ and the Kingdom of God; its pledge is not of allegiance to a flag but to Jesus as Lord. Christian freedom is mediated through the proclamation of the Gospel, political freedom through the power of the sword. This distinction is particularly vital just now when America and other western nations are engaged in battle on multiple fronts with radical Islam. Christians must be clear and must clearly communicate that this war is not religious – our battles are not against flesh and blood but against the powers and principalities and the rulers of this dark age in the heavenly places – but political: a battle between democracy and shari’a. This battle is about the political right of a nation to defend itself from foreign threat. (Ironically, both sides agree on this.) It is about the self-interest of exporting democracy. But it is not about Christianity. To the extent this distinction is not made our faith suffers by appearing violent and imperialistic, exactly what our nation opposes in radical Islam. Freedom in America and Freedom in Christ are not the same.

Is the sign intended to communicate that America is – or was and may yet be again – a Christian nation? If so, this is simply, but importantly, a category mistake on the order of saying a dog can be a good cat if it only learns to meow and develops a certain disdain for humans. But no canine can ever legitimately be placed in the category feline, no matter its behavior. Likewise, no nation, however rightly it acts, can be placed in the category Christian. Christian denotes a human being created in the image of God, ravaged by sin, redeemed by the salvific acts of Christ, sealed and transformed by the Holy Spirit. The collection of all such Christians is the church – the Body of Christ – and not this nation or any nation. Nation denotes a social construct – a human invention – comprising a people, land, law, government. How would such a construct become Christian: by making and enforcing laws based upon biblical principles? But this very idea violates biblical principles. If we did not receive the Spirit through the works of the law or through some Pelagian-like heresy, how can an entire nation do so? While a nation can – and, Christians believe, should – strive for law based upon God’s sense of restorative justice – including a preferential option for the poor – that will not and cannot make that nation a Christian one, but simply a good secular one. Even these good laws must be imposed by the majority on the dissenting minority and enforced by the coercive power of real or threatened force: fine, imprisonment, and, in extreme cases, execution. But imposition and coercion never were and can never be the way of Christ. And, if threatened by enemies foreign or domestic – as it certainly will be – must not a nation protect itself by the power of the sword? “Put away your swords,” Jesus commanded his disciples precisely at the moment of greatest threat. Christians must do that, it seems; nations cannot. Christian nation is simply a category mistake that breeds confusion in our own minds and throughout the world. “If you are an American you must be a Christian,” is a damaging idea held by many around the world – an idea we have sometimes intentionally, sometimes inadvertently, promulgated.

I do not know what the sign is intended to communicate. Its ambiguity – and the blurring of distinctions between faith and patriotism evidenced in many Independence Day observances – is precisely the source of my ambivalence. So, I will opt for a hermeneutic of trust and attribute to the sign the most favorable interpretation. As a grateful citizen I will celebrate the political freedoms that are mine in America and honor those who have sacrificed to win and preserve those political freedoms. As a thankful Christian I will celebrate the spiritual freedom that is mine in Christ and worship the Lord of Life who sacrificed himself to win and preserve that spiritual freedom. I may possibly wave a flag, but I will certainly fall on my knees before the cross. And, I will be careful never to confuse the two.

Reflection: What Is The Gospel But This

And what is the Gospel but this: that in the incarnation God united his divinity with our humanity that he might unite our humanity with his divinity, making us partakers of the divine nature, and adopting us as true sons and daughters of God; that in the ministry of our Lord Jesus Christ, God revealed his fullness in bodily form so that, having seen the Son, we have seen the Father, full of grace and truth; that in the crucifixion of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God took away the sin of the world, abolishing the charges against us and reconciling man to God; that in his burial and descent to hell Christ our Champion harrowed hell and set free from Satan’s bondage the righteous of ages past and the righteous of ages yet to come; that in his glorious resurrection Christ our Victor led captivity captive and defeated death, opening the gates of paradise and life everlasting; that in his ascension Christ took his rightful place of glory at the right hand of the Father and began his reign as King of kings and Lord of lords over all creation; that in his coming again all men will stand before his judgment seat to receive what is due for the things done while in the body: eternal life for those who seek for glory, honor, and immortality, but indignation and wrath for those who do not obey the truth but obey unrighteousness.

What is the gospel but this: the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes; the redemption in Christ Jesus – in whose name alone all men must be saved – whom God set forth as an offering for sin so that God might be just and be the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus.