Author: Jason Goroncy

Happiness

Yesterday, I heard a paper by Prof. Ellen Charry of Princeton on God and the Art of Happiness in which she engaged with Augustine and Aquinas to offer a voice into a much-neglected theme in the Christian tradition concerning the nature and source of happiness (which she distinguished from joy). Her basic thesis is that true happiness requires a certain level of material comfort in order to truly flow, citing Jesus’ concern for one’s physical needs before attending to their spiritual and emotional needs. I suspect she needs to do a lot more (theological) work if her argument is to stick, but it did raise a number of questions for me. Primarily, what is the relationship between happiness and security, whether physical, political, social, material or spiritual? Is a certain level of safety/security a pre-requisite for human happiness? Can one be both anxious and happy? Frightened and happy? Is it possible for an Arminian to be truly happy? What is the relationship between happiness and forgiveness? And happiness and service? And how does a doctrine of eschatological Christian hope relate to the now-and-not-yet of happiness? What is the relationship between communal and individual happiness?

Forsyth, of course, what not the first to link human happiness with service, worship and communion: ‘It is the greatest act of mercy’, he said, ‘that God should consent to take service from such people as we are. God did not save you in order to make you happy; He saved you in order to make you serve and worship and commune with Him. Then the happiness will come.’ (Revelation Old and New, 88)

And from his Marriage: Its Ethic and Religion: ‘Happiness may only be sought under moral conditions. No one has a right to happiness who knows nothing of obedience, and cares nothing. No happiness should be without responsibility—latent at least. And especially it is responsible to the society which makes happiness secure by its order and shelter.’ (p. 62)

If you want to hear more of what Prof. Charry is on about, click here to listen to a couple of her lectures.

Forsyth on faith and prayer

‘We take refuge in what He believed when we are not sure about what we can. We trust His faith in men when experience shakes our own. We rest on His knowledge of the world, on His belief in divine power and human possibility, on His confidence in what He and His work did for men. We trust His experinece and His judgment more than our own. When we cannot trust our wishes, hopes, or forecasts of human destiny, we can rest on His faith in it who secured it. If all the facts were against us, he is the fact that outwieghs them all. And we both recover and complete our faith by being compelled to trust His. It is the same principle that sustains our faith in prayer whatever the answer be, whether there be any answer in the experienced sense or not. It does faith more harm than good to dwell much on what are called answers to prayer. It not only ties faith too closely to experience, but it deepens the doubt that arises where answer cannot be traced. We need only to be sure that prayer is received, that it goes home, and is dealt with. Our tears are in His bottle. He has old prayers of ours by Him maturing still. That is what is of faith in respect of prayer. Not that it must be sensibly granted – that were sight, and not faith. Prayer least of all lives upon such results, such experience. If we saw all, experienced all, possessed all, where would room be left for the excercise of faith? Faith is there to protect us both from the verdict of experience and from the absence of it. It saves us both from our knowledge of the world and our want of that knowledge. It makes a man

That awful independent of to-morrow
Whose yesterdays look backward with a smile.

It even gives us little of Christ’s experience, – these meagre gospels carry us but a little way there, – but it gives us Jesus Christ Himself, “the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.”‘ (P. T. Forsyth, ‘Faith and Experience’, Wesleyan Methodist Magazine 123 (1900): 417)

Barth–Brunner Revisited 3

Strengths in Brunner’s position

There are a number of strengths in Brunner’s position that I will seek to outline here:

1. Brunner seeks to take the Biblical strand of natural revelation seriously whilst trying to maintain Christ as the prius revelation of God. He states that the real question is not whether there are two kinds or levels of revelation, for they are both sourced entirely in the Triune God, but rather how do the two that do exist (in creation and in Jesus Christ) relate.

2. Brunner maintains that humanity has responsibility before God for the state it is in. His structural concept of the person as responsibility assumes qualitative content when he explains the role of the human conscience, even in sinful humanity, ‘the “ought” or categorical imperative which stands over us, no matter how imperfectly we perceive it, or how much we rebel against it’. It is this truth, Brunner argues, that determines humanity as sinful. Conscience is ‘consciousness of responsibility’ in the form of self-accusation, or knowledge of sin. To know one’s sin is to know the law as divinely given. Conscience, then, entails a person’s being addressed by God’s Word. This is how the human person is capable of knowing their sin, and so is capable of understanding the divine message of grace. He states,

It will not do to kill the dialectic of this knowledge of sin by saying that knowledge of sin comes only by the grace of God. This statement is as true as the other, that the grace of God is comprehensible only to him who already knows about sin … A man without conscience cannot be struck by the call “Repent ye and believe the Gospel”.

The law/Gospel dialectic requires the distinction between ‘partial’ and ‘real’ knowledge of God’s will and of human sin. Of both law and sin it must be said, ‘Natural man knows them and yet does not know them. If he did not know them, he would not be human: if he really knew them, he would not be a sinner’. Therefore, in Brunner’s epistemological dialectic, grace is both the completion and the negation of nature. This is a significant strength in his philosophical anthropology.

3. Brunner locates evidence for the post-Fall imago Dei in the fact that the human being addressed by God can answer Him, or not answer Him. He writes,

[Man] is not only created through the Word of the creator, but for the Word of the creator as one who can hear, one who can be – nay, who is addressed. Man has spirit only in that he is addressed by God. It is upon this that the image of God in man rests, that he is so created by the creative Word of God, that he can hear this creative Word, and answer it … Through his relationship to God, through his being addressed by God and his obligation to answer, his responsibility, man is free. This is his creation in God’s image, that he can answer God – or not answer.

It is this ability of the human creature to be responsive that not only distinguishes her or him from all other earthly creatures but, more importantly, mirrors the intra-Trinitarian relationships as they exist as perichoretic mutuality.

4. Brunner, as does Barth, stresses the communal nature of the imago Dei, of persons-in-community expressing their ‘existence-for-love’ by actual ‘existence-in-love’. While Brunner considers it important that God made us with the capacity to know and love Him (i.e. the formal image), the heart of the concept of the imago Dei is concerned with our relationship with God in which we express real longing for, trust in, response to, and a desire to know and love Him (i.e. the material image).

If we were to ask Brunner where the imago Dei is found, he would strongly reject, as does Barth, the medieval scholastic notion that the image is found primarily in human reason. For him the imago Dei is found primarily in relationship to God, responsibility to God, and the possibility of fellowship with God. Reason is not ignored altogether, but is found in the fulfilling of the human creature’s true function: perichoretic koinonia with God, a ‘grateful, responsive love’.

Love, therefore, is central to Brunner’s understanding of the imago’s raison d’être: God loves us and desires us to love Him. God does not wish from us the response of an automaton or of an animal; He desires the response of a free person, since only such a person can truly love Him.

Brunner maintains that originally human creatures possessed this freedom, not a freedom to do anything they pleased, but a restricted freedom that was given in order that they might respond in love to God, so that through this response God might be praised and glorified. In fact, it is at this point that he introduces the formal and material distinction within the imago Dei:

Thus it is part of the divinely created nature of man that it should have both a formal and a material aspect. The fact that man must respond, that he is responsible, is fixed; no amount of human freedom, nor of the sinful misuse of freedom, can alter this fact. Man is, and remains, responsible, whatever his personal attitude to his Creator may be. He may deny his responsibility, and he may misuse his freedom, but he cannot get rid of his responsibility. Responsibility is part of the unchangeable structure of man’s being.

The central message of the New Testament is how this lost imago Dei is being restored in and through Jesus Christ. This restoration of the image is identified with the gift of God in Jesus Christ received by faith. In fact, ‘The whole work of Jesus Christ in reconciliation and redemption may be summed up in this central conception of the renewal and consummation of the Divine Image in man’. And since the imago Christi is the true imago Dei, the restoration of the image means existence in Christ – the Word made flesh:

Jesus Christ is the true Imago Dei, which man regains when through faith he is “in Jesus Christ.” Faith in Jesus is therefore the restauratio imaginis [restoration of the image], because he restores to us that existence in the Word of God which we had lost through sin. When man enters into the love of God revealed in Christ he becomes truly human. True human existence is existence in the love of God.

The idea of restoration in Christ is also one with two aspects. Christ Himself restores to us the fullness of the imago. But in no sense has it been lost for God – so He lives out in history that which was eternally true. He is for ever the image and likeness of God (by definition!) – but in so far as He lives this in history He restores this to us, or for us. The question then becomes, ‘to and for whom?’

Barth–Brunner Revisited 2

In this post (part 2 of 7) I outline Brunner’s main position. Remember that this series of posts is not concerned with every aspect of the famous debate, but rather is specific to exploring the questions concerning the post-fall imago dei.

What does Brunner say?

Regarding the Fall, Brunner accuses Barth of asserting that the imago Dei was completely obliterated through sin. He paraphrases Barth thus:

Since man is a sinner who can be saved only by grace, the image of God in which he was created is obliterated entirely, i.e. without remnant. Man’s rational nature, his capacity for culture and his humanity, none of which can be denied, contain no traces or remnants whatever of that lost image of God.

Brunner responds by drawing a distinction between the formal image, or humanum, and the material image. The formal aspect is that which distinguishes human beings from animals and the inanimate creation. Keeping with the Augustinian, Thomistic and Reformed traditions, Brunner argues that the human creature is a rational, responsible creature, and that this special status, which includes ‘his reason, his conscience, his capacity for receiving and giving rational discourse – his capacity for the Word’ is ‘not only not abolished by sin; rather it is the presupposition of the ability to sin and continues within the state of sin’. Hence, the human creature is the only animal that can be guilty of sin. More importantly, it is this formal aspect that is capable not only of horizontal communication, but also of being addressed by God. Brunner writes, ‘The Word of God does not have to create man’s capacity for words. He has never lost it, it is the presupposition of his ability to hear the Word of God’.

By the formal aspect, Brunner means the human creature’s capacity and responsibility to respond to God’s love, to give an answer to God, even a negative answer, even if the answer is ‘I do not know any Creator, and I will not obey any God’. This formal aspect extends to the vulnerable horizontal relationships that human beings enjoy. The imago Dei in this formal sense, Brunner argues, cannot be lost. One cannot lose the formal image without ceasing to be a human being, ‘even when he sins he cannot lose it’.

He grants that this aspect of the imago Dei is also taught in 1 Corinthians 11:7 and James 3:9. What matters to the New Testament writers, however, is that men and women should give the kind of response the Creator intends, the kind of response that honours and glorifies God, the response of reverent and grateful love – a response that is to be given not just in words but by one’s entire life. This proper response, which consists of love for God and love for the neighbour, is what Brunner refers to as the material aspect of the imago Dei.

The New Testament reveals that human beings have not been giving this right response to God; we have been giving the wrong answer, seeking ourselves instead of seeking God, glorifying ourselves and other gods instead of giving glory to God. Seeking to be as God, they who were already like God sought to abdicate from their creaturely, filial and subject categories. In doing this the primal couple denied their essential being. Men and women now live in contradiction, not only to God’s will, but also to their own ontology.

It is in this sense (the material aspect), Brunner argues, that men and women have ceased to be bearers of the imago Dei – wholly, and not partially. The human person is a sinner. There is nothing in him/her that is not defiled by sin. With Barth, Brunner concurs that the iustitia originalis (original righteousness) ‘has been lost and with it the possibility of doing or even of willing to do that which is good in the sight of God’. Consequently, ‘free will has been lost’. The human creature has become an ‘anti-personal person; for the truly personal is existence in love, the submission of the self to the will of God and therefore an entering into communion with one’s fellow creature because one enjoys communion with God’. While the ‘quod of personality,’ comprising the ‘humanum of every man,’ persists intact, ‘the quid of personality,’ the ‘personal content of the person,’ is ‘negativised through sin’. Hence, the human person is in no way predisposed towards grace, but hostile to it. Brunner writes,

We do not cease to be addressed by the Word of God even where in our decision we turn away from God in our wills … Through sin the voice of God to us is not silenced, but he speaks to us in another fashion than he wills to speak to us in his true revelation. He has inclined himself towards us, but we have turned away from him; his speech to us, because of our unwillingness to hear, is indistinct and distorted and brings disaster upon us. He is revealed to us in such a fashion, that at the same time he is concealed from us. So our personal existence is not thereby annihilated, the imago dei is not destroyed, we have not become inhuman, our humanity has been perverted, and that not merely in part, but altogether. We have not become beasts or even things through sin, we have remained personal beings, but in such a manner that we have lost our true personal being and have received in exchange a false mode of personal existence. That is, we are sinners.

Brunner insists that it is important for us to maintain the distinction between these two aspects of the image – the formal and the material:

It is evident that our thought will become terribly muddled if the two ideas of the Imago Dei – the “formal” and “structural” one of the Old Testament, and the “material” one of the New Testament – are either confused with one another or treated as identical. The result will be: either that we must deny that the sinner possesses the quality of humanity at all; or, that which makes him a human being must be severed from the Imago Dei; or, the loss of the Imago in the material sense must be regarded merely as an obscuring or a partial corruption of the Imago, which lessens the heinousness of sin. All these three false solutions disappear, once the distinction is rightly made.

How, then, are these two aspects of the image related? As we have seen, the material image has been lost due to sin and must be restored through the redemptive process. The formal image, however, has not been lost. Human beings continue to be responsible beings who ought to give the right answer to God and to each other. When human beings “revolt” against God, therefore, they still stand before God ─ but in the wrong way. He states,

Man’s relation with God, which determines his whole being, has not been destroyed by sin, but it has been perverted. Man does not cease to be the being who is responsible to God, but his responsibility has been altered from a state of being-in-love to a state of being-under-the-Iaw, a life under the wrath of God.

Brunner goes on to make a rather puzzling statement: ‘From the side of God, therefore, this distinction between the “formal” and the “material” does not exist; it is not legally valid. But it does exist – wrongly.’ What Brunner means, I presume, is that God did not intend that the image should be split into these two aspects. God intended the image to remain unitary, but sin has split it. If and when the image becomes totally renewed, it will be unitary once again. Another possibility is that, by divine election, God does not accept this split. God sees humanity always as it is in Christ. To live otherwise is then to live apart from God’s intention. This again calls into question the effectiveness of the formal/material distinction

Herein lies Brunner’s foundation for a natural theology, for human beings remain responsible before God, even as they “revolt” against that responsibility, thereby incurring judgement. But, with Barth we ask, ‘What does this really prove?’ That humanity’s undestroyed formal likeness to God provides the objective possibility of natural revelation is not the issue, unless Brunner also intends to affirm that the human creature actually has some revelation of God already in him or her ontologically, which he stops short of saying.

Brunner concedes that Barth is ‘thoroughly justified in his concern not to let the imago dei become a possession of man, but rather to let it be recognized as an act of God’s grace’. But Barth, he argues,

overlooks the possibility, that also the personalitas and humanitas of man, that which makes us men in distinction from the rest of the creation, rests upon God’s actual Word addressed to us, so that man, even in his sin, never stands beyond reach of this Word spoken to him by God, and therefore is never out of relationship with God.

In fact, it is only because the human creature has some kind of knowledge about God that he or she can be a sinner in the first place. ‘That man is a sinner, that he can sin, is itself the proof that the imago dei is not effaced.’

Brunner rightly notes that in the New Testament it is not Adam, but Christ, who is set forth as the true imago Dei (1 Cor. 15:45-49; 2 Cor. 4:4; Col. 1:15; Heb. 1:3):

We must gain a clear idea of the meaning of the Imago Dei by reflecting on what is said to us in Jesus Christ about our origin, and not by speculating upon the deeper meaning of that mysterious expression in the Creation narrative. It is not the Old Testament narrative as such, but its meaning fulfilled in Jesus Christ, which is the ‘Word of God’ in which alone we can understand ourselves.

Finally, in speaking of the human person in renewal, Brunner argues that the category of reparatio is a wholly reasonable one, as opposed to the notion of something old being totally replaced. The basis for this is the continuity of human personhood. In this, Brunner affirms the biblical themes of redemption, healing and restoration, things for which sinners have no ‘natural’ potential or predisposition, whilst, Brunner argues, they retain the capacity.

A poll on Forsyth’s greatest influences

I have just created a poll to find out who you think Forsyth’s greatest influences were. I would have loved to have added another 4-5 names but was limited to just 5. For example, what about Anselm? Butler? Calvin? Nietzsche? Newman? Schopenhauer? Ritschl? Goethe? von Harnack? Ibsen? Kierkegaard? Wagner? The inclusion of Hegel is as an anti-influence, i.e. someone Forsyth’s writings are engaging with all the time. If you think that there’s someone who ‘really should be there’ and isn’t, let us know. The poll can be found over on the right hand side bar.

Barth–Brunner Revisited – On the Post-Fall Imago Dei

The Barth-Brunner debate on natural theology continues to be as important as ever. In my next series of posts I propose to explore the questions that Barth and Brunner raise on the context of the post-fall imago dei. For those who may be unfamiliar with the context of the debate, read on. For those already familiar with the context, be sure to check out the next few posts.

In his 1934 debate with Karl Barth, Emil Brunner, although grateful for Barth’s recovering of a fresh vision of the Word of God in the midst of a prevailing liberalism in Protestantism, argued that Barth had gone too far in his rejection of natural theology. Although he basically wanted to show that there was little substantial difference between their points of view, Brunner specifically noted six points where he believed that Barth had overstated his case and which, if seen correctly, would provide a path whereby a genuine natural theology could be developed. Brunner argued that what was at stake here was an end to a Christian approach to ethics and education, and a point of contact with those who are yet to know Christ. Barth’s reply: ‘Nein!’

The six points discussed were: (i) the imago Dei; (ii) general revelation; (iii) preserving grace; (iv) divine ordinances, such as marriage; (v) point of contact; and (vi) grace as the abolisher or perfecter of nature. This series of posts will explore the first point; briefly outlining the positions taken by Brunner and Barth, and then critiquing their particular strengths and limitations in an effort to open up a discussion concerning the imago Dei, and specifically to what extent it has, if at all, been affected by the Fall.

Moltmann poses the dilemma that I hope to explore in my next few posts:

If the likeness to God is ‘lost’ through sin, then humanity as such is lost at the same time; for it is in order to be the image of God that human beings are created. So is a sinner no longer a human being? But then what happens to his responsibility, which is the reason why he is culpable, and is called to account for his sins? On the other hand, if sin merely clouds and obscures a person’s likeness to God, how can a human being ‘be’ a sinner, and acknowledge himself as such? For in this case he remains essentially, and at the core of his being, good. He has simply made mistakes and has merely committed this or that particular sin. So how can he be condemned in the divine judgement?

Revelation, Old and New – Part 3

Here’s the final part to Forsyth’s essay, Revelation, Old and New. O how we need to regrasp this stuff for today!

If people tell me, as they sometimes do, that all creation and all fife is one vast revelation, one vast miracle, teeming at every particle and pore, that so far from denying revelation they see nothing else, I have a suspicion of the vague, the grandiose, the forced note, those colours that crack in life’s heat, and that run in the swellings of Jordan. Truly revelation is the greatest of miracles. and the spiritual life is one vast miracle of revelation, because of the Holy Ghost. But it is not a miracle diffused over creation. The Omnipresence of God is not yet His nearness. Immanence is not yet communion. To know that God is there is one thing, to know that we are known of God is another. And that is true religion. The historic is not for religion the course of history but its core. Revelation is not something out of the every– where into the here. That ends –nowhere. It is a miracle condensed at a moral centre where life has a fierce crisis, not an outspread calm. There is more than the miracle of creation.

And it is the miracle of the creation within creation, of the new creation, the miracle of the Redemption. In all the cosmic ranges of space, in all the long reaches of crowded history, there is nothing so marvellous, so majestic as God’s mercy in Christ to me a sinner. That is the revelation in all revelation. That is the new moral life, the new Humanity. That is what makes a religion a GREAT thing. If nature and history be so great and mighty as we now know them to be, what are we to say of the greatness of their God ? It is too high, we cannot attain to it. Nature exhausts our imagination; how shall it compass God ? If the mind flags and the heart falls in the effort to conceive the boundless power and tragic glory of creation, what strength have we left to pursue that way till it land us in the God of it all? We have none. And we must take another way. Or rather God takes another way with us. We cannot find Him in His world, and He must find us. But not there. He reveals His heart of grace neither in the cosmic scale of things nor in the demonic force of heroes, supermen, who are more ready perhaps to ravage than to heal, who are not shepherds of the people but wolves. The greatness of power He changes to another order of greatness. The Almighty reveals Himself as the All Holy. A dreadful, crushing revelation, unless the holy God is revealed also as the God of all grace; unless revelation be redemption, unless it be God’s self–justification in ours.

Because He is holy to see, I must not approach Him, but because He is holy to save, He must come to me, that no speck of His world remain which is not covered, claimed, and cured by Him; no soul which is not judged and redeemed into His fellowship. This holy, judging, redeeming, tender love of the awful God is the miracle of the moral world. Nothing is so miraculous in Christ as that union of infinite majesty and intimate mercy.

I began with a text, let me draw to a close with one. Some of the greatest texts of the Bible are not in the Bible but in the Apocrypha. And here is one from Sirach, “As is His majesty, so Is His mercy–“ What a phrase to make music in the night. There is no such majesty conceivable as the holiness of God; and –in Christ’s Cross, its judgment all comes down ‘in mercy. It comes down, down, down to a poor bent rheumatic figure of a woman creeping and shaking along mean streets with a little old bonnet, a little old basket, and a pennyworth of stale bread in it. And one day the crooked shall be made straight, and her rough life plain. And it comes, that mercy comes down, if we could but get it to her, to that still poorer creature, dishevelled and unsexed, shot cursing of a Saturday night from a dram–shop in the Canongate. If such things lie somehow within the majesty of an immanent, patient, silent God, they are not outside His mercy. But it is a light thing that God should have mercy where we have pity. To such ruins our own pity flows promptly, and it is not God’s crowning mercy that He should pity and restore these. Does His majesty go as far as mercy on Mephistopheles? Has He any mercy on those blackmailers and panders who batten on men’s vices like vultures, spend their life jeering at goodness, and drink down souls like wine? Has He any mercy on those who grow rich by hounding on the nations to war ? Any of those who ravage continents in the sheer lust of power? We can have none. Nor should we. If there be any, it is God’s alone. True, the revelation is a world’s redemption; but must these creatures survive to complete the world?

And yet there are times when we who judge thus can and should have no mercy on ourselves. There are dreadful hours, ‘in souls of whom you would never think it, who do not argue “if God be merciful to that poor wreck, He can be merciful to me.” The greatest hour is not reached till we have come to say, with him who called himself the chief of sinners, If God has been merciful to me, there are none to whom He cannot.”

That is the revelation of the Lord which is the beginning of heavenly wisdom. And with it the Church underlies the University and the State.

The Revelation we need most is that which comes to our darkest and most terrible hour, to man’s centre in the conscience, and to the conscience in its impotent despair. It comes to the hour of our guilt. And what makes our guilt? Our guilt is made, and especially our best repentance is made, when we see the holiness of God, and care more that that should be made good than for our own salvation. And nothing else can save or quiet us but more revelation of more holiness, and that is redemption, the last revelation. The coming of perfect holiness is in the cross of Christ, which at once confounds, crowns, and recreates our moral world.

Kierkegaard on sin

For those who may be interested, Joshua from Theologoumenon is planning to post a series on Søren Kierkegaard’s view of sin. Sounds worthwhile. Also, Ben, over at Faith and Theology is running a poll on Reformed theologians. Don’t you just love theoproxy. The candidates are Calvin, Edwards, Schleiermacher, Barth and Moltmann. So far, Barth is winning (I’m sure he’d love to know that) and poor ol’ Friedrich is yet to get a vote. A bit sad really. Anyway, to cast your vote, check out Ben’s blog.

Forsyth on Ibsen

Having just finished a draft of chapter for my thesis, I’ve spent the last few weeks thinking about Forsyth’s encouragement to his North American hearers (in Positive Preaching) to ‘read Ibsen’ … and enjoying life with my 5 week old daughter.

Forsyth saw in Ibsen one who identified the problem with humanism as lacking ‘moral realism’. In words that seem to suggest that Forsyth saw Ibsen’s work functioning not unlike the ‘natural’ conscience, he writes: Ibsen ‘has not “found Christ,” but he has found what drives us to Christ, the need Christ alone meets. He unveils man’s perdition, and makes a Christ inevitable for any hope of righteousness.’ Forsyth laments not only that Ibsen never read Kierkegaard more closely, but that while critics with the judgment such as Ibsen and Nietzsche do not grasp the revealed answer to the question, ‘the Church with the revelation does not critically grasp the problem, nor duly attend to those who do’.

He continues: ‘Therefore [the Church] cannot adjust its revelation to the age. It is too occupied with the comfort of religion, the winsome creed, the wooing note, and the charming home. It does not realise the inveteracy of sin, the ingrained guilt, the devilry at work, and the searching judgment upon society at large. God’s medicine for society burns as it goes down. And we need a vast catastrophe like a European war to bring home what could have been learned from a Christian revelation that gave due place to the element of saving judgment in the Cross of Christ.

Hence, thrice on the one page does he entreat his North American hearers to ‘read Ibsen’, who, more than any dramatist gets ‘closer to life’s moral realities’.

Forsyth praised Ibsen for having ‘enough conscience to know the nature of the human burden’ but lamented that Ibsen lacked the insight to ‘bear it’ or, more importantly, to ‘roll it upon another’. Ibsen’s tragedy is true, but not tragic enough, not real enough. This is because Ibsen lacked one who could ‘create in him the repentance which alone must create personality out of such chaotic material as he found. He had the conscience to feel the sin of the world, but not the power of remedy.’

For the sake of the former, Ibsen, and those prophets like him, must be read, and re-read. But to not read on would be to not tell the whole story. For whereas Nietzsche and Ibsen could only identify the problem, Forsyth, like Paul and Luther before him, points us to Christ. And whereas in Ibsen we see a longing for home, only Forsyth’s gospel of blood-soaked grace can finally bring us there. ‘The practical solution of life by the soul is outside life. The destiny of experience is beyond itself. The lines of life’s moral movement and of thought’s nisus converge in a point beyond life and history … The key is in the Beyond; though not necessarily beyond death, but beyond the world of the obvious, and palpable, and common-sensible. (Yea, beyond the inward it really is.).’

Questions for further thought:

Is Forsyth’s portrayal of Ibsen accurate? Is human drama, or any art form for that matter, able to serve the necessary revelatory purpose that Forsyth insists that God alone can? What of preaching, even when God himself enters the pulpit? Who are the Ibsen’s today? What are they saying? How are they saying it? Does tragedy operate as a point of contact between the divine and the human? If so, how? Why do Christians seek to reproduce tragedy in art? Are they being honest when they do so? Do Christian artists betray an inadequate theology of Holy Saturday? Forsyth said that in Ibsen, ‘as for all of the rest of the tragic poets, guilt is the centre of the tragedy’. What is the relationship between guilt and tragedy? Forsyth and Ibsen identify the source of guilt in different places. For Forsyth, it lies in holiness, and that unclothed in the atonement. For Ibsen, in human self-analysis. How does this shape their respective views of tragedy? ‘Ibsen’s is a dismal lesson, but one that the age and the Church alike much need if only it were properly read to them, as Ibsen does not.’ We commend Ibsen for pointing toward our need of redemption. Do we need these experiences to react against in order to see our guilt? Is Ibsen still able to speak to this generation about their human condition orhave his plays become archaic and elite? What is it about tragic art that allows human persons to express solidarity with one another? ‘Ibsen makes very much of the social responsibility of the individual as the person which only society can make him to be.’ Brand is at the mercy of his experiences by the end of the play but is he a victim? Is Brand a hero or a villain? What insights does tragedy (and comedia) offer that intimate a Beyond in which the play might continue?

Any thoughts on Forsyth and Ibsen would be most appreciated.

Also, for those who might be interested, the Ibsen Festival is on this year (August 24 to September 16). The Nationaltheatret will present 30 Ibsen productions from 15 countries all around the globe, boasting approximately one hundred events during the four festival weeks. More info can be found here, here and the program here. Anyone want to sponsor a student to go?

2 conferences worth noting

This Tuesday (23rd), the British Library in London is hosting a seminar entitled The British Ibsen to mark the centenary of the death of the Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen. The afternoon (1600) seminar will explore the theme of Ibsen in the UK. The speakers will be Professor Tore Rem from Oslo University, Professor Gunilla Anderman from University of Surrey Guildford and the novelist and critic Paul Binding. It will be held at Saint Pancras Conference Centre (4 St Pancras Way, London). I’m really disappointed to not be able to make it but if there’s anyone who will be going along and would be willing to share their notes/thoughts about it with me I’d be really keen to hear from you.

The other conference that I wanted to mention (and which I am planning to attend) is the FEET (Fellowship of European Evangelical Theologians) Conference. It’s a biennial event and this year it’s in the awesome city of Prague. Date: August 4th-8th. The theme is Reconciliation Vertical and Horizontal Dimensions. Leaflets can be downloaded here and a fuller programme here. Speakers include Henri Blocher, Pierre Berthoud, Herbert Klement, Torsten Uhlig, I. Howard Marshall, Ian Randall, Max Turner, Mark Seifrid, Stephen Holmes, Oliver Crisp, Jan Ligus, Pavel Hosek, Peter Kuzmic, Johannes Reimer, Sylvain Romerovski, Gie Vleugels, Jan Henzel, Mark Elliott, Peter Penner, and Johannes Reimer. It looks like it will be most worthwhile. If you’re a fellow blogger and are planning to attend, it might be good to meet up too. Imagine that, a real face and not just aURL!

Revelation, Old and New – Part 2

But you misdoubt me, you pursue me, you press me. And you accuse me of theology. Revelation is a great word, you say. It suggests great things and powers–sea, hill, and sky, a world of living passionate men and women. And Redemption suggests old folios, dead and done with. You ask to know if we must confine revelation to Christ and the Cross with their systems and sermons, if it means but redemption, if it come home but by justification. Must we use these dry old schemes and names? Is there no language, no action of a more human and hearty kind for God and His ways, none of a kind more literary, and poetic, and sympathetic? Is revelation not a word too large for these shrunk theological terms? Is not all illumination revelation–the light of nature, of reason, of the heart? Is there no revelation in earth’s daily splendour around us, in heaven’s mighty glory above us, in the heart’s tender or tragic voice within US? The lover, the mother, the child, ‘the poet, the thinker, the hero—is there no revelation there? Oh, surely! It would be heartless and soulless to deny it. It would disqualify any man for discussing die subject. The inhuman heart is no expositor of the love of God. To sear our affections is no way to commend God’s. But after all, these things are but as moonlight unto sunlight.

“The sun at noon
To God is moon.”

They reveal a borrowed fight. The light they have comes from their reflection of the Sun of the soul–the Saviour. For, in the first place, they but suggest God rather than they assure Him to us. And what we want for our faith, to stake our eternal soul on, is absolute certainty. The matter of religion is God Himself in the soul; the result of it is certainty. And again, they suggest Him to individuals rather than make Him sure to a world. They appeal also to the pure ‘in heart rather than to the sinful soul, soiled and dark and outside God. You will come to a pass one day when the glorious world falls from you, the dearest must leave you, your nerve perhaps is broken, you have no witness of a good conscience, and your self–respect no more sustains you. Poetry and happiness, knowledge and sensibility, end perhaps in moral wreck. That is the time for real revelation. Man’s extremity is God’s great opportunity. Then, as never before, you need a light that does not fail. You need the revelation indeed, the one certainty for which you would exchange all the mere impressions you ever felt. And then, as when the first light arose, it rises with a new creation. God made us in order to understand His creative love; and so He must make us over again if we are to understand anything so tremendous, so incredible as His redeeming love, the gift of Himself and His mercy. It is beyond human power to believe in the mercy of a holy God when we need it most. just when you most need it, you cannot rise to it. If you could, you would not need it. It is a miracle. But when you do arrive there, then everything is a revelation. It is a new heaven–and a new earth. You go down to your new house justified.

True enough, we are led on from revelation to revelation as life presses and opens on us. But it is the final revelation that carries the secret and fixes the colours of them all. And is it not your justification?

What is the word to your conscience and its collapse?
What moral reserves are you laying up?

Do we not know the passion of knowledge, its joy, its glow; and the knowledge of passion, its fire and sting? Are the young among you not in the midst of it all? Have we not heard the message of the dim woods? And silent upon a peak have we never felt the appeal of the whole world lying in light at our feet? From a sunset the new Jerusalem has descended on us, adorned with all manner of precious stones. The breath of the breeze and the bloom of the flowers, dews in the valley and mist on the hill, cloud shadows lying lightly on long braes and murmuring stripies hidden among the heather–were such things no revelations to us of a kind in their time? Again, do we not know the joy of new truth, poetic beauty, the spell of grand ideals? Was the world not once crystalline for us in Shelley, opal in Tennyson, ruby in Rossetti? Was life not newly intimate for us in Shakespeare, and greatness majestic in Milton? Are we not touched any more by the divine thing in love’s young dream? Are we ignorant how it transfigures all the world and uplifts all the soul–all the colour of life in the heart of one pearl, all the wonder of it in the heart of one girl? Do we want to forget the wholeheartedness of our young hero– worship, when we found one man who seemed either to eclipse or glorify all the rest of Humanity? Or again, in the clash of living wins, the successful sense of power, the ruling word of conscience, had we no revelation of the crushing sense of loss and failure, does there come no suggestion of the Cross by which that mastery was won for ever? In the long tale of human history–its romance, its tragedy, its achievement, its fascination–is there no light that leaps out on us from there, nothing that makes us other men, nothing that opens up divine reaches of being? Is there no call of fife, clarion and trumpet, that takes us from the sensual world and an age without a name, and makes us thrill to the crowded hours of glorious life?

To come quite near home. How many a youth in the years of romance feeds his imagination in this, the loveliest and most romantic dry in the world? But the romance of Edinburgh is not in its beauty only, it is in its history, and all its history stands for. The glamour and tragedy of our Scottish past is there–a romantic Queen–Mariolatry it be comes to some who do not feel the mystic Mariolatry of the Queen of Rome at all. Such things enlarge and humanize the spell laid on us by the witchery of this city. All Scotland’s past is in it. And chiefly there is in it the Church of our people, which has made Scotland the best that she is, and sent out from Scotland the best she has done. Our sense of Scotland’s beauty rises to the sense of its old romance; and its historic romance passes upwards into its historic faith. The charm of earth turns the power of God. Nature rises to history and history to religion.

That is a parable of the way of the soul and its history– the revelation of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

Thus. We begin with a romantic revelation. We go on to a historic. We end in a moral and spiritual. We begin with a romantic religion. We cherish an idealism for which nothing is too good to be true. All geese are swans, and every maid a queen. Every father must surely be to his children what ours is to us. And above all the Father of all.

We readily see a generous All–fatherhood brooding over the whole world. Nothing we think could be true which gave that the lie. And then. as our mind grows, our range grows. Knowledge comes of a vaster world. Idealism and poetry and all their glamour are enlarged by real contact with history. with life. Our idolatry of one or two people becomes the idealizing of the race. The charm of nature yields to the spell of all Humanity. Some people could take you to the very spot where at a certain hour the love of nature and home became love of humanity. The revelation is no more in the family but in history. And in the heart of history stands Christ, now more than the Jesus of heart and home. We believed in a universal Father; we now believe also in the Son. We believe in the Christ of the race. the Son of Man, the Man Divine. But we do not stop there. He becomes more than historic, he becomes a Son Eternal, the Son of God, a Son who never dies, never leaves us, a Son brought home in a Church. The Lord is the Spirit. The Holy God of Israel becomes the Holy Spirit of Christ, which makes me a sinner. We believe in a Father and Son who come down in the Spirit to our little door, in our Baptism, and home to our very soul by the saving Word. I perceive a message, a power, a salvation for me, individualized to me. We believe in the Holy Ghost. We believe in the will of the Eternal Father, the work of the historic Son, the Word, the Church of the Holy Ghost. The heart is no revelation for itself It is too fickle, treacherous.

“The best of what we are and feel, just God forgive.”

History is no revelation, with its awful anomalies, its cruel passions, its egoisms, its barren conflicts and their uncertain ends. Man realizes God more than Nature does, only to defy Him more.

‘I saw Him in the flowering of the field,
I marked Him in the shining of the stars,
But in his ways with men I found Him not.”

And Newman found history a scroll written over with mourning and lamentation and woe. The Revelation is not history, though it is in history. It is historic in the Son and in the Church, it is near and searching in the Holy Ghost.

We began seeking God, because we felt so able and so, sure to find Him. We end by serving Him, because He has sought and found us, disabled and unsure. We began with a love of justice, we end with a prayer for justification. We begin by willing and knowing, we end by being willed and known. “His will is our peace.”

Revisiting universalism

Just surfing the blogs this afternoon, I came across Simon’s blog, the lost message. He is attempting to wrestle with the texts and implications on universalism. It follows on from an earlier posting of his and some fruitful discussion. For those who are interested, it may be a discussion worth following if only it can develop more than it has. Hopefully it does. It’s certainly a topic that Forsyth had heaps to say about.

Thomas Erskine once wrote: ‘I cannot believe that any human being can be beyond the reach of God’s grace and the sanctifying power of His Spirit. And if all are within His reach, is it possible to suppose that He will allow any to remain unsanctified? Is not the love revealed in Jesus Christ a love unlimited, unbounded, which will not leave undone anything which love could desire? It was surely nothing else than the complete and universal triumph of that love which Paul was contemplating when he cried out, ‘Oh the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God!’

These words express something of Forsyth’s hope and vision that God’s sanctifying activity may leave none untouched. It seems to me that one of the problems with the traditional doctrine of hell is its inability to provide for us a vision of creation which in its finality is without evil. Despite all God’s best efforts to sanctify the creation and turn rebels into enchanted sons and daughters, hell, at least in its more popular presentations, remains as the big black line across a page that God has made clean.

Revelation, Old and New – Part 1

REVELATION, OLD AND NEW
(delivered under the auspices of the Guilds of St Cuthbert’s Parish Church, Edinburgh, 1911)

“But God commendeth His own love to us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” (Rom. v. 8.)

May I at the outset be a little theological? I must be, to be fair to my text. I promise to be quite religious and quite humane before I am done. But theology is to religion what principle
is to life.

First, I would say, Revelation is really Redemption. The light was the life of men. The new light was the new life.

Second, Redemption is a thing of heart and soul and will and mind. Our thought of it must be humanized to the hungry heart, and it must be moralized to the guilty conscience.

I. First, then, Revelation is really Redemption.
And here note three things.

1. GOD IN CHRIST DOES HIS OWN LOVING, GIVING, SACRIFICING, AND SAVING.

Two mistakes are made about Revelation. It is treated either as mere display of God or as mere statement of Him. We think of God either as allowing Himself to be seen or as allowing Himself to be explained. We think of Revelation either as a picture of God or as a truth about Him. He is regarded either as an object of contemplation or as an object of discussion, as a beatific vision or a dialectic theme, as the object either of a mysticism or of an orthodoxy. We are agreed that, if there be a revelation, it is God’s gift, but we are not agreed about what He gives; whether it is a theophany of Himself or a declaration about Himself or something else. Some say Christ came to show us the Father, to show us His portrait, or sketch His character; others that He came to tell us of the Father, to give us His truth, His theology. In either case we have but portrayal. And it is hard to say which mistake has done more mischief—the notion that God’s great gift is a picture of Himself to be admired, or the notion that it is a truth about Himself to be credited.

What God gave us was neither His portrait nor His principle; He gave us Himself—His presence, His life, His action. He did more than show us Himself, more than teach us about Himself—He gave us Himself, He sacrificed Himself. It is ourselves He seeks, therefore it was Himself He gave, life for life and soul for soul. He asks us for life–committal, because it was His life He committed to us. He gave us love by giving us Himself to love. He does not make His love and goodness just to pass before us in a panorama; nor does He lay it out parcelled so that we may readily just take it or leave it. Where would then be the urgency of Christ–His final and awful dilemma put to us? God carries His love home to us. He will not let us alone with it. He invades us with it. He “commends” it to us–not in the sense of praising it, but of committing it ‘into our hands. He takes the last pains to get it home to us; nay, He carries it home Himself, does it all Himself. He “commends His own love”. He does not woo us by proxy. Christ was no mere messenger, but present God. The divine Lover is His own apostle. He did not simply send His Son; He came in His Son, and in His Son’s cross. God was in Christ’s reconciling. He did not simply make use of death, of His Son’s death He died. Surely what the Son suffered cost the Father even more. When Paul spoke to the Galatians about his preaching of Christ, he says he “placarded Christ” before them (Gal. iii. I).

I made a great exhibition of Him, writ Him large, made a show of Him, and glorified Him openly. That was an apostle’s work. He depicted Christ, and pointed to Christ, and commended Christ. He said “Hear me,”—not, “Look to me”, but “Look to Christ … Receive Christ.” He preached not himself. No apostle did. They preached Christ, and were Christ’s apostles. But Christ did say “Look to me.” In Christ God was His own apostle. God directed Himself, nay, sped Himself, to the human heart in Christ. He did not employ another. God was not to Christ as Christ was to Paul. Paul was sacramental to us for Christ, but Christ was mediatorial to us for God. Christ is not vicarious for God as He is for us. He was continuous with God as He is not with us. He did not represent God to us on the same principle as He does us to God. Christ dying therefore was God commending His own love to us. The Cross was no mere assurance of God’s love, but its action. Christ was the love of God giving itself to us, the grace of God bestowing, spending, pouring itself out on us, the holiness of God reclaiming us to holiness, not turning us toward it, but replacing us in it. God does not love us by deputy; He does not give us by deputy; He does not save us by deputy. He brings and wings His own love. His holiness takes its own consequences in an evil world. He does His own suffering and saving. He is a Jealous God. None but Himself shall redeem us for Himself. He is a monopolist of sacrifice. He does not part with the agony and glory of the Cross to any creature. None shall outdo Him in sacrifice. No creature has a right to sit with God on the throne of the Cross. It was no created being that died for us. Creatures as we are, it is in no created Spirit that we can live. Our Redemption is too costly for any but our Creator, and a creature must let it alone for ever.

In a word Revelation is Redemption. The new light is new life. God reveals His own self to us sinners in that Christ dies for us. We are not sages, we are sinners. Already by its intelligence the world knew not God. And there is no other way of revealing God to sinners but by redeeming them. We must be redeemed into the power of understanding a holy revelation. Does it not come to that? The Revelation is not a glorification of love as a poet might do it. it is not an illustration of it like a parable. The Son of God was not a mere symbol of God, an illustration. God’s revelation of love is the bestowal of love as a lover does. It is not a show but a sacrament. Nay, it is more. It is not the donation of love as a thing—as something which God could detach, hand over, pour out, and part with. God’s love is God loving. It is the gift of Himself who is love, given in the only way that love could give itself to loveless men, by the way of death. God’s answer to us is the word of reconciliation. And we answer it not by being impressed, and not by being convinced, but by being conciliated, by being reconciled,—by an eternal life of communion. For it was a revelation once for all and for ever. Do I carry you with me?

2. LET US MOVE ANOTHER STAGE FORWARD.

Revelation to sinners must be redemption, not chiefly because it is love, but because it is holy love. “His own love.” God Himself, I have said, does His own revealing of Himself as Saviour without prophet or deputy. But that word “His own” has another shade of meaning. God’s love in Christ was not only not vicarious: it was His own in another sense. It was unique in kind. There was, there is, nothing like it anywhere. It is holy love, a love peculiar to Him. God so loved–not so intensely but so peculiarly, in such a special way, so holily. He did not come with even the best human love lifted and made infinite. That is sacred but not holy. He came with another kind altogether, of which the love of mortals, however intense and tender, is but a symbol.

Do you ask what love is when it rises as high as God?

Here it is. Herein is love, not that we loved passionately, but that He loved holily. Do you want to know what love really is and does at its height? You must not go to love in sinful men who, being evil, know how to give good gifts to their children, but to love in holy God, who gives His native holiness. You must not go to lovable men and women, nor to those who are the great lovers of each other in fact or ‘in romance, but to the love of the evil world by the holy historic God. You want to know what fatherhood is? You must not magnify and cast upon the heavens the image of the best of mortal fathers. You must not go to a deduced fatherhood–deduced from man and imported into God. You must not –import fatherhood into God, nor goodness, patience, pity, sacrifice. That would be working in quite the wrong way, moving in quite the wrong direction for religion. Religion begins with a revelation that comes clown, not a passion that goes up. We must not reverse the divine current. It would be what is called anthropomorphism. It is imposing man on God instead of revealing God through man. Our love is God’s speech but not His Word.

No. We do not understand God from religion but religion from God. But where is He, you say, if not in my heart? He is in history. We must go to history, to Christ, and find the fontal Father there, the absolute Father, from whom all fatherhood is named in heaven and earth. He is in our experience but not of it. We must go to Christ’s Holy Father. Christianity is not fatherhood but holy fatherhood. We must go to the Father whose love is holiness going out to love men back to itself, and whose grace is holiness going down to love them up to itself His own love means it is holy love.

3. AND ONE STEP MORE

How is holy love to be revealed to unholy men? How is the outgoing holiness to reach them? How but by death God knew what He had to expect when He committed His holy self among evil men. It was shame and death. There is no way but the Cross of committing a holy love to such a world as this. The gospel of a holy God is not soon popular. The holier your love of men is the more you will suffer and be rejected with it. God Almighty knew, for Himself even, no way but the Cross to the hearts and wills of evil men. Nature is to be sanctified by no genial grace, by no loving charm, but by suffering grace. It only sanctifies because it redeems, it only redeems because it atones, it only atones because it dies in holy obedience, it only dies to rise, and it rises, as it died, by the spirit of holiness (Rom. i. 4). God’s holiness makes in Christ its own atonement, commends its own love as grace, does its own justification, and redeems us into its own communion.

A sermon on Matthew 15.21–28

When dog food is more than edible (Matthew 15.21-28)

It is not particularly difficult, it seems to me, to understand why not everyone likes Jesus. Sure, he is kind to some, but it’s not always particularly obvious who he likes, and even why. And even among those who claim to like him – or even to love him – it’s quite rare that they would have ever heard Jesus affirming them with those longed-for words, ‘great is your faith’. I mean, not even his own disciples were ever so praised. In fact, it is recorded that Jesus only ever spoke these words to two people, both non-Jews – the centurion, a commander of a century in the Roman army from Capernaum, and this Canaanite woman of which St Matthew speaks.

So what did this woman do for Jesus to say that? Only this: she came to him, trusted in his promises, stretched out her hands and held them there until he filled them. That’s all she did – this woman who didn’t belong there; this woman who had no cultural right to be anywhere near Jesus, let alone talk with him; this woman who didn’t even know the right stuff about God. But here she is, crying out ‘Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon’ (15.22b). That’s how faith begins, doesn’t it? … by daring to come to Jesus even at the risk of being disappointed, for we read in v. 23 that Jesus ‘did not answer her a word’ (15.23a).

And that’s how it often is for us too, isn’t it? We come to God with our needs, we bear our hearts to him, we cry out to him to do something, and he seems silent. Job felt it when he cried out to God for nearly 40 chapters and God was silent. The psalmist said, ‘I am weary with my crying out; my throat is parched. My eyes grow dim with waiting for my God.’ John the Baptist felt it when he questioned if Jesus really was the Messiah. And the disciples felt it too. God’s silence is one of the loudest things we can ever hear! The disciples couldn’t handle it. They had to fill it with words: ‘And his disciples came and begged him, saying, “Send her away, for she is crying out after us”‘ (15.23b). This woman was an embarrassment. But she was a determined embarrassment. And what stands out to me about her is that she preferred holding on to the silent Jesus rather than depending on others.

But of course, the cross was the greatest silence of all, even though God spoke more loudly there than at any point in history. Helmut Thielicke said,

There the night of darkness dispatched its last troops against God’s Son; the demons were released and the ugliest instincts since Adam unchained. But God said nothing about it. Only a dying man cried aloud in that silence and asked why – yes, why – God had forsaken him. God still remained silent, when even dumb nature began to speak by a shuddering gesture and the sun withdrew its light. The constellations cried out but God was silent. Yet it is precisely at this point that the great secret of that silence conceals itself. This very hour, when God gave no word, no syllable of an answer, was the great turning point of world history. This was the hour when the veil of the temple tore and God’s heart was opened to us with all his surprises. By being silent God was suffering too; by being silent he entered with us into the brotherhood of death and the deep valley, knowing all about it and … doing his loving work behind the dark curtains. The silence of that night on Golgotha is the basis for our life. What would we be without the cross? What would we be without the knowledge that God sends his Son to us in the silent abysses and dark valleys, that he becomes our companion in death – while his ‘higher thoughts’ are already pressing on mightily toward Easter…. There is no silence of indifference in God (nor in Jesus); there are only those higher thoughts – and not for one minute a silent fate. The woman who comes to Jesus knows that. Therefore she waits out the silence and never draws back her outstretched hands.

And how does Jesus respond to her waiting? Not with encouragement but with hard words: ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel’ (15.24). ‘And he answered, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs”‘ (15.26). In other words, ‘Even though I’m gonna go on to feed thousands of people, I’m not gonna feed you because you don’t belong to the one group of people who have been entrusted to me. You’re not a Jew!’ He who said ‘Whoever comes to me I will never cast out’ seems to be doing some serious casting out here. What a hypocrite! Did this Canaanite woman have to realise that God really is good but he is not good to me? that Jesus Christ really is the Saviour, but he is not my Saviour?

And I wonder just how many people there are in our community like this woman who look at the Church and say, ‘I don’t belong. I can’t belong. It’s not for me. I would love to believe what you believe. I’d love to walk on the road you’re on, but I can’t. I don’t have enough faith. And even if I did, my life is a mess’. But you see, faith is realising that you are useful to God not in spite of your scars and your doubts, but because of them!

And so in between Jesus’ two dark statements rings v. 25: ‘But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me”‘ (15.25). In other words, ‘It’s you or no-one Lord. I’ve haven’t got a Plan B in my back pocket. I’ve no security blankets tucked away somewhere. If you don’t come through for me, then I’m done’. She echoes Psalm 142, ‘Listen to my cry, for I am in desperate need’. And Psalm 13: ‘How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I take counsel in my soul and have sorrow in my heart all the day?’

And sometimes that desperation leads us to the brink of despair. But that’s precisely where we discover the merciful arms of God. That’s where we discover that God has not been silent after all – for even though God’s lips have not moved he has all the time been drawing us, like with this woman, to himself. He has been creating faith in us, not always in the center of life, but more often on the edge, in the zones of discomfort.

I’m encouraged that the ones that Jesus called blessed aren’t those who’ve got their life all together. They’re the ones who know that they are empty and broken and hungry and thirsty without him and who find themselves trusting him for their very life. They’re the ones who say with the Apostle Peter, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.’ They’re the one’s who say with the psalmist, ‘Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. (Ps. 73.25–26)

Jesus said, ‘“It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table”’ (15.26–27). In other words, ‘Lord, you have every right to ignore me. You have every right to push me away. You have every right to not help me. But I will not let you go, because you are all I’ve got.’ It reminds me of Job’s prayer, ‘Even if you kill me God, I will hope in you!’ As one commentator put it,

She does not stay to argue that her claims are as good as anyone else’s. She does not discuss whether Jew is better than Gentile, or Gentile as good as Jew. She does not dispute the justice of the mysterious ways by which God works out his divine purpose, choosing one race and rejecting another. All she knows is that her daughter is grievously tormented, that she needs supernatural help, and that here in the person of the Lord, the son of David is one who is able to give her that help; and she is confident that even if she is not entitled to sit down as a guest at the Messiah’s table, Gentile ‘dog’ that she is, yet at least she may be allowed to receive a crumb of the uncovenanted mercies of God.

This is the nature of all true faith, isn’t it. And so at that point, Jesus can’t let her go without being a hypocrite. As Luther said, she ‘caught Jesus in his own words’. Jesus said that he loved the hungry, the thirsty, and the poor in spirit … well here she is! She took his words seriously, and then she waited and waited and waited and waited until he came to take them seriously too. ‘Then Jesus answered her, “O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.” And her daughter was healed instantly’ (15.28).

The Christian life is not so much about how you live or what you believe so much as it is about whom you trust! And so it’s a great challenge to our egos, to our pride, to our futile attempts to please God in our own strength, even to save ourselves. So what are you trusting God for at the moment? And will you trust God even when he seems to be silent? Will you trust God even when you feel like giving up? Because you can trust this one who has already taken your death into his. You can trust this one who has already gathered up all of your doubt and fear and shame and mistrust in his own person and has already presented you in himself as faithful before the Father. There’s no doubt that your faith will fail him, but this God with your name written on his nail-scared hands will never fail your faith. There is more mercy in Christ than there is sin in you or I. And there is more belief in Christ than there is doubt in you or I. He hangs on when we can’t. He believes for us when we can’t. He prays for us when we are exhausted from praying or don’t know how to. He is drawing us to himself even when he seems to be silent.

Forgiveness Through Atonement

In July, 1908, The British Congregationalist reported an abstract of a paper read by Forsyth at the International Congregational Council in Edinburgh on 1st July the same year. This paper, reprinted in Revelation Old and New: Sermons and Addresses (edited by John Huxtable; London: Independent Press, 1962) reveals a challenge as new as it is old. And as the full title suggests, atonement and the forgiveness of racial guilt form part of the very essence of Evangelical Christianity (although certainly not all that postulate the name). Because this message needs to be heard and ever reheard, I reproduce it hear for your consideration. In an unpublished sermon, Forsyth asked, ‘What is the true nature of the divine majesty? It is not material vastness, nor the majesty of force, nor the majesty of mystery. It is not the majesty of thought, great as thought is. The true majesty of God is His mercy. That is the thing He did which a man would never have done – He had mercy on all flesh. His greatness was not in His loftiness, but in His nearness. He was great not because He was above feeling, but because He would feel as no man could. God’s majesty is saturated through and through with His forgiving love, which comes out most of all in His treatment of sin.’

And lest we think this be only an individualistic thing (although nothing could be more ‘personal’, as Forsyth himself argued in many places), Simon Wiesenthal reminded us that ‘It is clear that if we look only to retributive justice, then we could just as well close up shop. Forgiveness is not some nebulous thing. It is practical politics. Without forgiveness, there is no future.’ (The Sunflower: On the Possibilities and Limits of Forgiveness. New York: Schocken Books, 1998, 267-8). But enough of my preaching. Read on and hear Forsyth going at it like a wild boar in a vineyard unyet fully weeded.

In our modern psychology we start from the primacy of the will and we bring everything to the test of man’s practical and ethical life. And so, also, we start ethically from the Holiness of God as the supreme interest in the Christian revelation.

By the Atonement, therefore, is meant that action of Christ’s death which has a prime regard to God’s holiness, and finds man’s reconciliation impossible except as that holiness is divinely satisfied once for all. In regard to Christ’s Cross, we are face to face with a new situation. We are called upon to set Jesus against Paul and to choose. The issue comes to a crisis in the interpretation of the death of Christ. To treat that death as more than a martyrdom is called a gratuitous piece of theology. Every man must make his o’wn atonement, and Jesus did the same, only on a scale corresponding to the undeniable greatness of his personality. Such teaching is, in my humble judgment, foreign to Congregationalism. The Atonement which raises that death above the greatest martyrdom, or the greatest object-lesson of God’s love, is for us no piece of Paulinism. Paul says he received it from the Lord. It was part of the Christian instruction he received at Damascus. He delivered to the churches what he received among the fundamentals (I. Cor. 2:23) from earlier Christians, that Christ died for our sins. How came the Apostolic circle to have this view of Christ’s death? Must they not have been taught by Christ so to view it in such words as are echoed in the ransom passage, and at the Last Supper?

We have been warned against the idea that Christ taught about Himself or His work, as an essential element of His own gospel. But let us leave the question whether He taught Himself, and go back to the prior question, “Is the Gospel primarily what Jesus taught?” Those He taught never understood Him so. If they had, could they have done anything else than go about retailing that teaching, with a lament at its premature arrest? But the prime thing we know about their teaching is that Christ crowned Israel by dying for our sins. He was all to them in the Cross. That was the starting point of the Gospel, and it is the content of the Gospel. And it is always to these that the Church must come back to take its bearings and be given its course.

It is reported in most quarters in England that there is a serious decline in church membership. It is well to face the situation and to avoid extenuation. And if we do, we shall admit to ourselves that the real cause is not the decay in religious interests or sympathies, but in personal religion of a positive and experienced kind. The sense of sin can hardly be appealed to by the preacher, and to preach grace is, in many even orthodox circles, regarded as theological obsession and the wrong language for the hour. It is said in reply that the sense of sin has not departed, but has only changed its form. We are more dull to individual sin because we are more alive to social sin. I would say in answer: (1) Public compunction does not move to ask forgiveness, which is the prime righteousness of the Kingdom of God. (2) The tendency is welcome insofar as this. The more sin is socialized, so much the more imperative becomes the necessity of an Atonement. If it is man that is wronged, it is man that has wronged him; it is man that has sinned; man that is condemned. Surely, therefore, the wrong inflicted on man sets up a corresponding responsibility on man at this centre. That seems inevitable if we believe in responsibility, and also believe in the unity of the human race. But it comes home far more mightily and solemnly from a belief in another unity, the belief in the absolute and moral unity of God—in a word, a real belief and a real sense of God’s holiness.

This holiness of God is the real foundation of religion; Love is but its outgoing; sin is but its defiance; grace is but its action on sin; the cross is but its victory; faith is but its worship. This holiness is no attribute of God, but his very essence. The moral is the real. It is not a quality in God, but the being of God, in which all else inheres. God is Holy Love. To bring sin home and grace home, then the Holy must be brought home. But that, again, can be done on the scale of the Church, and the world, only by replacing the atoning Cross at the centre of Christian faith and life. What is our problem today? It is to take the mass of men, inert and hopeless some, others indifferent, others hostile to God, and to reconcile them with God’s holy will and righteous kingdom. It is to destroy our national and social dislike of that new enthusiasm, supplant lust by a higher ardour, bend the strongest wills to the obedience of the Holiest, and by moral regeneration restore men both physically and socially. It is the grand object of history. And the more we are pre-occupied with social righteousness, so much the more we are driven to that centre where the whole righteousness of God and man found consummation and adjustment, and a principle and a career in the saving judgment of Christ’s Cross. It is the cross that makes moral worth an infectious power, and keeps character from being self-contained, and gives a moral guarantee of a social future.

It is sometimes said: “There are several theories of the Atonement, but we have to do with the fact, and not with our understanding of it”. The one thing we need is to understand the Atonement. Such a fact as Christ or his Atonement only exists as it is intelligible, as it comes home to us with a moral meaning or a moral nature. When preachers denounce Theology, or a Church despises it for literary or social charm, that is to sell the Cross to be a pendant at the neck of the handsome world. It is spiritual poverty and baldness; it is not the simplicity in Christ, to be sick of grace, judgment, atonement, or redemption.

A moral order of the world is our one modern certainty, among those who are certain of anything. And if, as we Christians believe, this moral order reflects the nature of a holy God, without exhausting His being, then the supreme interest of the world lies there. Christianity is only true if it deal with this, and only final if it comes to final terms with this. This it does by the consummation of God’s judgment in the central act of mercy. Now a judgment upon man alone would have destroyed him. And a judgment borne by God alone would be manque. But borne by God in man, in such a racial experience as the cross of Christ, it is the condition of a new conscience and of a new ethic of the race. When the cross goes out of the centre of religion, religion goes out of the centre of man’s moral energy. The pathos of Christ takes the place of His power. We tend to overprize the subdued, composed and vespertinal type of religion whose patron saints are outside the Evangelical succession with Francis or Fra Angelico, or we are engrossed with the genial brotherly and hustling type, and all the time the Church is dropping into a vague Arianism: it is losing faith.in the real presence of the redeeming God, and therefore in a strenuous ethic. The idea we are offered is a kingdom of man with God to serve it, rather than a kingdom of God, with man to serve it. We do not so much owe our soul to the fact of Christ, we impose on that fact the soul within us, the humane soul, crude but very capable, dim but unlost, and so we really receive what we give. Man needs but evolution, not revolution. God is our helper, and no more. Only in a figurative sense is He our Redeemer. He helps us realize our latent spiritual resources and ends. It should be clear that this is another religion from that of Redemption, and it has no room or need for Atonement. It is only as God’s act that Christ’s death can retain or regain a central place in faith. Second, it is only as an act revolutionary, and, further, it is only as an act in which his holiness gives the law to His love and makes grace precious.

There are two sets of admissions that have to be made here:

1. As to the doctrine in history, we ought to admit the value of much of the Socinian and rationalist criticism. We can no longer speak of a strife of attributes in God the Father, justice set against mercy and judgment, against grace till an adjustment was effected by the Son. There can be no talk of any mollification of God or of any inducement offered, by either man or some third party, to procure grace. Procured grace is a contradiction in terms. Further, we must not think that the value of the Atonement lies in any equivalent suffering. Indeed, it does not lie in the suffering at all, but in the obedience, the holiness. We must renounce the idea that Christ was punished by the God who was ever well pleased with his beloved Son.

2. Any Theology of Atonement must be adjusted by the fact that Christ’s forgiveness may and does reach personal cases apart from conscious reliance on His atoning work.

But, after all these admissions, more stress has to be laid on the necessity of this atonement for that maturer Christian experience which gives us the true type of faith. Faith is, above all, the life of a conscience stilled by the forgiveness of God. This may take a true, though an incipient form, in the deep impression made by the tender mercies of the kindly Christ. Many never rise above this level. They place themselves among those whom He forgave and healed in his life. But if such people go on to think, must they not begin to have certain misgivings? There rises in the soul a deepened sense of Christ’s demand. His judgment grows more serious than it seemed in our first forgiveness. We oscillate between the goodness and the severity of God. These alternate, as it were. And the conscience gets no rest till it find the one final fact in which both are reconciled and inwoven, with grace uppermost. For a man to make Christ’s atonement the sole centre of his moral life or of his hope for the race, is not easy. There are a thousand influences of no ignoble kind which may arrest a man’s total commitment of himself and his kind to the new creation in Christ’s cross, and it seems a reasonable self respect which solicits him to reserve a plot of ground in his interior where his house is his castle, and he can call his soul his own, even at the challenge of the Holy and all-searching Judge. He does not, perhaps, venture to say that God and the soul are co-equal foci in the moral ellipse, but he struggles—sometimes pathetically—to set up what is as impossible morally as mathematically, a subsidiary centre; which is a contradiction in terms.

I have already asked concerning Christ, “Was His will to die one with His will to save?” The forgiveness has always been attached to Christ’s death from New Testament times downwards. But this suggests a serious question when it is declared that if we are true to the true Christ to the Gospels, we shall relegate a final atonement in the Cross to the region of apostolic theologoumena. How came such a teacher, such a prophet, to be so deeply, so long, and so continuously misunderstood? There has surely been some gigantic bungling on the Church’s part, some almost fatuous misconception of its Lord, a blunder whose long life and immense moral effect is unintelligible. The Church has done its Lord many a wrong, but none so grave as this. It has often travestied His methods, misconstrued points of His teaching, and even compromised His principles; but these things have been done against its best conscience and its holiest spirits. But this perversion is greater than these. For it has been the perversion of Christ’s central gospel by the Church’s wisest and best.

But we cannot stop here. What was Jesus about to leave such a blunder possible? What a gauche Saviour! How unfinished with the work given Him to do! If He left His disciples convinced that what was to Him a side interest was His supreme bequest, and if the net result of this act, all these ages, has been to deepen and spread the mistake, was He any fit trustee for the purpose of God? Nay, further, if the effect of Christ has been that the Church has worshipped a Redeemer on the cross, when it should have hearkened to God’s prophet in His words, and given Him worship when it owed Him but supreme attention, what must be the frame of mind in which He now lives and sees the misbirth that has come of the travail of His soul? He who we thought ever lived to make intercession for us, must ever live in petition for Himself that God would graciously forgive the well-meant failure He must sadly own. And what before God He would have to confess for us and deplore for Himself, would be not only a diminution of God’s glory, but its unhappy eclipse by His own. He has been taken and made a king in spite of himself; a king whose effect has been, not to hallow the Father’s sole and suzerain name, but to obscure it by His own, to divide the worship and deflect the work of God.

These thoughts are efforts to think to a finish, and to think with the foundation of faith, the intelligence of conscience, and the experience of life. And they handle matters where to be right is to be right upon a final, sublime and eternal scale. To be wrong is to fly from orbits of celestial range and do damage at last to the inhabitants of heaven, as well as the dwellers on earth.To be right here is to secure the Church’s future; to be wrong here is to doom it. But for the Church to be right here is for the Church continually to cry, “Holy, Holy, Holy, O Lamb of God, that takest away the sin of the world, have mercy upon us, and grant us thy salvation.”

‘At the Centre of Me’

‘At the Centre of Me.’ Decision, June 1964, 7.
By Peter Taylor Forsyth
(Modified excerpts from The Person and Place of Jesus Christ, 197-199, 204).

What I have in Christ is not an impression,
but a life change;
Not an impression of personal influence which might evaporate,
But a faith of central personal change.
I do not merely feel changes;
I am changed;
Another becomes my moral life.
He has done more than deeply influence me.
He has possessed me. I am not his loyal subject,
But his absolute property.
I have rights against my king, however loyal I am,
But against Christ I have none.

He has not merely passed into my life as even a wife might do,
But he has given me a new life,
A new self,
A new consciousness of moral reality.
In him alone I have forgiveness,
Reconciliation,
The grace of God,

And therefore the very God
Since neither love nor Grace is a mere attribute of God.
There has been what I can only call a new creation,
Using the strongest word in my reach.
He has not merely healed me of an old trouble,
He has given me eternal life.
He has not only impressed me as a vision might,
He has done a permanent work on me at my moral centre.
In my inmost experience he has brought me God.

It is not that Christ spoke to me of God or God’s doings,
But in him God directly spoke to me.
He did in me
And for me
The thing that only God’s real Presence could do.
Who can forgive sin but God only,
Against whom it was done?

Any faith I have at all is faith in Christ
Not merely as its point of origin
But as its creator.
I know Christ as both the author
And the object of my faith in God.
I know him therefore as God.
The great change was not a somersault I succeeded in turning
With some divine help;
It was a revolution effected in me
And by him,
Comparable only to my entry on the world.

My experienced salvation is not a passing impression
But a life faith.
My experience is the consciousness
Not of an impression on me,
But of an act in me,
On me,
And by me.
The peace of God is not glossy calm
But mighty confidence.

I am forgiven and saved
By an act which saves the world.
It not only gives me moral power to confront the world
And surmount it
But it unites me in a new sympathy with all mankind,
And it empowers me not only to face
But to hail
Eternity;
And this it does not only for me,
But for whosoever will.

Surely the Christ who re-creates me in that faith
Must be God.
Standing over my experience is the experience
Of the whole evangelical succession,
And standing over that
Is the historic fact of Christ’s own Person
And His consciousness of himself,
As Lord of the world,
Lord of nature in miracle,
Of the soul in redemption,
And of the future in judgment.

‘All things are delivered to me of my Father.’

Baptism – an Evangelical Sacrament Part 7 (final)

I began this 7-part series by quoting a portion of Scripture from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, and I have tried to show in this paper how that one baptism in this Pauline passage, points directly to Jesus Christ as the one Lord of the Church, for it was through his vicarious activity in life, death and resurrection that the Church came into being. Thus the Church can, and does, baptise, as it is in Christ. Christ himself was both the ontological ground and unifying core of the Church which he appropriated to himself as his own peculiar possession, and identified with himself as his own Body. Hence baptism in his name signified incorporation of the baptised in Christ as members of his body.One the other hand, one baptism pointed to the one Sprit, for it is one Spirit as well as through Christ that the Church has access to the Father. Furthermore, “the Holy Spirit is not only the bond of unity between the three divine Persons in the one being of God, but the bond of unity between God and human beings as they are baptised into the one Lord and are united with him and one another in one faith.”

It would be amiss of me if I did not also speak of the evangelical content of that one baptism, namely, ‘the remission of sins, the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come’ (Nicene Creed). The forgiveness of sins was associated with baptism from the very beginning. In baptism we are united to Christ through the Holy Spirit in such a way that we partake of the whole substance of the Gospel, for all grace and truth are embodied in him. In other words, saving grace is not something detached from Christ which can be dispensed at will, but is identical with Christ in the unity of his Person, Word and Act. It is through the one baptism which we have in common with Christ, or rather which he has in common with us, that we share in all that God has in store for us. Because baptism is one (the baptism with which Christ was baptised for our sakes, and the baptism in which we are given to share in all he was, is and will be) to be baptised is much more than to be initiated into the sphere where forgiveness is proclaimed and dispensed in the Church. It is to be ‘delivered from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins’. It is to have our frail transient existence taken up into Christ himself in such a way that, without any loss to our creaturely reality but rather with its perfecting through his Spirit, it is united to God and established in union with his eternal reality.

‘The remission of sins, the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come’, belong together to the very core of this mystery, for they are the saving benefits that flow from union with Christ through one baptism and one Spirit, and are enjoyed in one Body. They are not benefits that we may have outside of Christ but only in Christ, and so they may not be experienced in separation from one another for they cohere indivisibly in him. Nor may they be enjoyed in the experience of separated individuals, but only as individuals share together in the one baptism of Christ and his Spirit. People are certainly baptised one by one, yet only in such a way that they are made members of the one Body of Christ, share in his benefits as a whole, and share in them together with all other members of Christ’s Body.

To be united to the crucified and risen Christ through the baptism of his Spirit, necessarily carries with it sharing with him in the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come. Through his incarnation the Son of God took up into himself our physical existence enslaved to sin, thereby making our corruption, death and judgement his own and offering himself as a substitute for us, so that through the atoning sacrifice of his own life, he might destroy the power that corruption and death have over us. And through the resurrection of our physical human nature in himself Christ has set us upon an altogether different basis in relation to God in which there is no longer any place for corruption and death. Thus the central focus of Christian belief is upon the incarnate, crucified and risen Saviour, who is himself the ‘evangelical sacrament’ in whom we participate, for he has penetrated and destroyed the bands of death and brought ‘life and immortality to light’ – that is the forgiveness of sins and resurrection from the dead into which we are once for all baptised by the Holy Spirit. So, far from being just a promise for the future, baptism is an evangelical declaration of what has already taken place in Christ, and in him continues as a permanent triumphant reality throughout the whole course of time to its consummation, when Christ will return with glory in judgement, and to unveil the great regeneration which he has accomplished for the whole creation.

So here and now in the ongoing life of the Church we live in the midst of the advent-presence of Christ, already partaking of this regeneration and sharing in its blessings with one another. Because the Church is the Body of the risen, ascended, and coming, Christ, all that is said about the one baptism is proleptically conditioned by the future. Hence due to its union with Christ through one baptism and one Spirit the Church cannot but look through its participation in the saving death of Christ to its participation in his resurrection from the dead, and thus look forward in expectation to the general resurrection at the return of its risen Lord and Saviour when its whole existence will be transformed and it will enjoy to the full the sanctity and eternal life of God himself. So Paul writes: ‘Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her, that he might sanctify her, having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, that he might present the church to himself in splendor, without spot or wrinkle or any such thing, that she might be holy and without blemish’.

Baptism – an Evangelical Sacrament Part 6

Here in this penultimate post on baptism, I explore the idea of …

(iii) Baptism as obedience and hope.

There is a place for a truly human response in salvation, objectively made possible by the human response (obedience) of Jesus, and subjectively made possible by the baptism of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 12:12-13). Thus, baptism carries an imperative, a command of God, to be conformed to the death of Christ and to his Resurrection (Rom. 12:1ff.). To ignore this imperative is to forfeit the place given to our humanity by the work of reconciliation accomplished in Christ. So then it is proper, with Barth, to link baptism with conversion in three ways: (i) as a concrete visible act, by which conversion becomes a matter of public knowledge; (ii) as a social communal act, by which the church as the community of Christ attests to its sanctification and cleansing by the Word and Spirit; and (iii) as a free, obedient act, by which the true beginning of a human decision is directed to its proper goal – Jesus Christ. Thus Barth, rightly, concludes that baptism involves both renunciation and pledge, by which the human act of obedience follows justification and sanctification as the objective grounds for salvation.

But baptism is also a sign of hope. There is a goal announced in baptism that is the eshcaton – the reality sealed by the baptism of the Holy Spirit. The goal of baptism does not lie in its administration in a teleological sense, as though one could produce or determine a ‘result. Rather, the goal is eschatological; baptism directs us to baptism of the Holy Spirit which, as both source and goal, is transcendent and yet present. For as Barth commented,

Now it would obviously be strange if Christian baptism were different from that of John, which Jesus sought and received like all the rest, and after which He was manifested, acknowledged and confirmed from heaven to be the Baptiser with the Holy Ghost and the Son of God. It would be strange if Christian baptism were plainly better and stronger than that of Jesus in the sense that it had its goal somehow within itself, in the faith of the community, in that of the candidates, in an efficacy proper to the act because somehow imparted to it, in a sanctification of those who give baptism by their commission or of those who receive it by a cleansing, endowment or change which they undergo in, with and under the baptismal water. Christian baptism, like John’s, is in no sense a self-sufficient act which is in some way divinely fulfilled or self-fulfilling within itself. Its goal does not lie in its administration. As its genuine goal, its truly divine goal, this goal lies before it, beyond the participants and their action and means if action. Christian baptism, as a human creaturely action, is directed to seek its divine, creative fulfillment in that which it cannot be or achieve or bring about or mediate of itself, but which it can only seek and intend and hasten towards. Baptism with water is a promise entrusted to and enjoined upon the community and those whom it baptises. As such it points forward, away from itself and beyond itself, to its fulfillment in the future baptism with the Holy Spirit. The baptising community and those baptised by it neither can nor should seek in the administration of baptism a present which is somehow enclosed or anticipated in this administration. It must strictly and exclusively intend, affirm and seek only that which is beyond the administration and future to it. When in an action on this side the community baptises, or the candidates are baptised, in prospect of and in orientation to that which is beyond them and their action, and future to them, then baptism corresponds to its institutions, it is done in obedience to the baptismal command, and it is well done; it is Christian baptism, not a Jewish or pagan baptism, both of which seek to be and do more than this, and for this very reason are and so less.

Thus baptism is the foundation of the Christian life from below, in correspondence with its goal as already achieved in the event of redemptive history – God’s act of judgement and grace, of salvation and revelation, through Jesus Christ. The ‘evangelical truth of baptism, therefore, is none other than the God who has acted, and continues to act, in Christ, through whose baptism we are baptised into his Body. It is only in the environment of this baptism that we can speak of the unity of the Community. This is because the function of this baptism is not found primarily in the incorporation of the individual into the corpus ecclesiae, but in the establishment of this unity itself. To ask what I get out of baptism is to ask the wrong question. I am involved, of course, but by virtue of baptism I am destined for membership, for integration into the building of the Community, to renounce my isolation, and to turn to the One who makes me a partner of his covenant in the Community.

Good Friday homily

For the first time in as many years as I’ve got toes, I didn’t preach this Good Friday. I did however engage in worship of the ‘combined service’ type. Why do churches just do at C & E times? Anyway, for those who want a homily worth reading, I found Peter Leithart’s word great. Here’s a snippert: ‘The cross is the crux, the crossroads, the twisted knot at the center of reality, to which all previous history led and from which all subsequent history flows. By it we know all reality is cruciform – the love of God, the shape of creation, the labyrinth of human history.’ For the rest, click here.

And after you’ve read that, check out his latest input on paedocommunion here. I really enjoyed this later piece. Chatting to a pastor mate about it, he said ‘What perplexes me more is whether there’s an age I should stop offering it to them, and then only re-start after baptism’. Now there’s an interesting thought. On what basis such a decision could be made however, could invite a shift in the goal posts.

Finally come the poets

Burmese students from Pegu College in lower central Burma who had been arrested and detained by authorities for writing and distributing a poem titled Daung Man (The Might of the Fighting Peacock), were released this week (10 April). How and why nobody knows. Hnin Wint Wint Soe, May Su Su Win, Ne Linn Kyaw, (Kyaw) Thet Oo, Win Min Htut, (M)aung (M)aung Oo, and Zeya Aung – were arrested on 29 March. Zeya Aung, son of U Aung, the proprietor of King Star teashop in Pegu, was detained in the border town Myawaddy in eastern Burma on 29 March with copies of Daung Man poem. Aung Aung Oo, proprietor of A2O Desktop Publishing Business in Pegu was also arrested for printing the poem. The important thing though is that this 2,500 year old civilisation continues to pack in the toursists who come in their plane load to see that promised rich and vibrant cultural heritage, great natural beauty, magnificent temples and of course, the welcoming and hospitable people. Did I mentioned that these welcoming and hospitable people live in fear. If only there was oil in Burma. If only the poets poeted … If only …

In his engaging book, Finally Comes the Poet, Walter Brueggemann, writes:

“The cry of the helpless, if they have a voice, will mobilize God to act …It is the same in the presence of Jesus. Bartimaeus, the blind man daringly initiates interaction with Jesus. He cries out saying, ‘Son of David, have mercy’ (Mark 10:47). Remarkably, the people around him try to silence him, to drive him back to his muteness (verse 48). In an act of urgent hope, however, the beggar cries out all the more. Jesus hears. Jesus heals and concludes, ‘Your faith has made you well’ (verse 52). A capacity to cry out the pain has caused health to come. The pain of the world, embodied in the largely silent congregation of ancient Israel and in the silence of this blind beggar, is the stuff out of which new life comes. Newness, however, requires faith in order to speak the pain. Out of voiced pain, Bartimaeus is permitted a new life. ‘Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way’ (verse 54). Had he not cried out in pain, he never would have come to a new life of discipleship.”

May those who have eyes to hear, hear. And those with ears to see, see. And may those who dare to write, write.