The most wonderful gift

As I finish setting the gifts around the tree, and get ready to settle in for a short winter's nap (kids get up early on Christmas, y'know), I thought I'd share some reflections on The Gift behind all these other gifts.

Christmas begins with the amazing promise that Mary "'will give birth to a son. And he will be called Immanuel.' The name Immanuel means 'God with us.'" (Matthew 1:23)

What's so amazing about that? some people say. Look at the Greek and Hindu myths. Lots of cultures have stories of "gods" coming to earth.

Those are stories of gods disguising themselves in human forms. They don't become human; they just put on a human costume. Often they visit on a whim to have some sport with us or let us entertain them for a while.

Christmas is an entirely different kind of "God with us" story. It's a God who was born as we are, grew just as we grow, and experienced what we experience. He came to be one of us. He came to feel what we feel and know what we know.

"And the child grew and became strong. He was very wise. He was blessed by God's grace." (Luke 2:40) As Jesus grew, he experienced all the joys and sorrows, all the strengths and weaknesses, all the glories and despairs of human life.

Stephen Crane wrote, "A man said to the universe: 'Sir, I exist!' 'However,' replied the universe, 'The fact has not created in me a sense of obligation.'"

The gift of Christmas offers a rather more optimistic view of life. The ultimate reality in the universe is not philosophy's "unmoved mover" or science's inexorable, impersonal physical laws. Ultimate reality is a person who knows and cares.

The Bible promises Jesus "can feel it when we are weak and hurting" and he "has been tempted in every way, just as we are." (Hebrews 4:15) He has faced the trials and challenges we face, and he can help us face them successfully.

When we cry out in our joys and sorrows, the answer is not a cosmic shrug, "So what?" It is the rather warmer "I remember what that felt like and I can help you through it."

This truly is the most wonderful gift of Christmas: God with us, to stand by us and help us. When we cry out to Jesus, he answers, "I am here for you."

May that hope give us a truly happy new year!

"Being right is wrong," he said. "Are you right about that?" I asked

"Being right is wrong," the retired minister titled his reflection. After more than sixty years dealing with religion, he was discouraged. "As I watch religion function in this country and around the world, rather than experiencing hope, there is a great deal of disappointment."

The reason for his disappointment is one that resonates with many modern people. "The most divisive and damaging attitude is our insistence on being right. It is a global disaster and a local malady. ... Human beings are simply not privy to absolute truth."

This insistence on being right, the author declares, divides communities, nations, even families. And he is not alone in finding that a troubling thing. He concludes, "If the Spirit of God, through any religion, is to make humans gracious, then the attitude of being right paralyzes that function. To hold a personal, absolute, position on matters of faith is to miss the point."

Yet, it is the author who has missed the point. Think for a moment about what he has said. My editorial comments appear like this:

If the Spirit of God, through any religion, is to make humans gracious, then the attitude of being right paralyzes that function. [And I know I am right about this.] To hold a personal, absolute, position on matters of faith is to miss the point. [And I am absolutely sure about this.]

The argument collapses in self-contradiction. Is the statement "it's wrong to be right" right or wrong? If the statement is right, then it is wrong. And if it is wrong, then why try to persuade people it is right? And yet, that is exactly what the writer has tried to do.

Every religion claims the goal of putting the adherent in touch with ultimate reality, with truth beyond time. In Christianity, for example, as Jesus put it, the purpose of the Spirit of God is to lead us into truth. Polite and gracious behaviour grows out of that pursuit of the truth. It's important to be gracious in the pursuit of truth, but let's not confuse the method and the goal.

In the Katrina disaster, who abandoned whom?

O. Benjamin Sparks, interim editor of The Presbyterian Outlook, posted an interesting defense of the role of government in the Katrina disaster. His editorial, Abandoned people, principles suggested the disaster should cause us to put an end to "the anti-government rhetoric in which our culture has been awash in recent decades."

He writes, "We are responsible for one another, and government -- not the voluntary sector -- is our first defense against anarchy." This is interesting, since it was government, not the voluntary sector, that left dozens -- perhaps hundreds -- of buses idle on the parking lot when they could have been used to evacuate the needy. And it was government, not the voluntary sector, that scaled back levee maintenance, diverting millions into pork barrel projects to benefit well-connected interest groups. And it was officials in the government, not the voluntary sector, that passed the buck at most every opportunity, inventing tragic tales of nursing home suffering to make sure people knew just whom (else) to blame.

Government dumped people in the Superdome without first making sure there were adequate stocks of food and water, leaving people to fend for themselves. The voluntary sector mobilised to make sure people were warmly and humanely welcomed to the Astrodome.

It is true, "To respond to such devastation, we do not rely alone upon the good and kind hearts of the American people." Yes, we rely upon police and armed forces to preserve order. Yes, we rely upon firefighters and EMS workers in the disaster scene. But kindness and mercy and compassion and walking humbly and faithfully before God are not job descriptions for civil service positions. It is a voluntary response when a person sees needs and hears the call of God. It's not the job of the government. It's the job of the citizens.

A Church that gives us what we want isn't what we want

In last Saturday's Toronto Star, David Haskell, assistant professor of journalism at the Brantford campus of Wilfrid Laurier University, contemplated the precipitous decline in the United Church of Canada's membership.

In many ways the decline of the United Church flies in the face of common sense. How can their numbers be dropping when they seem to be the only major Christian denomination in lockstep with the attitudes and ideals of Canadians?...
This decade the United Church has remained synchronized to society's evolution. Among religious groups it has been the loudest voice in support of same-sex marriage.
We know from the world of business and economics that a product will be successful if it meets the needs of consumers. Why isn't the new and improved United Church achieving market penetration?

Or maybe the problem is people want a church to be about more than giving them what they want. Pope Benedict made that point when he addressed the bishops at World Youth Day Sunday. He called for the bishops to be sure they led

...a Church open to the future, and therefore one full of promise for coming generations. Young people, in fact, are not looking for a Church which panders to youth but one which is truly young in spirit; a Church completely open to Christ, the new Man.

Many Protestant churches have followed the United Church's model of letting the culture set their agenda. They have worked to be churches that meet people where they are. They have tried to be relevant in the terms of modern society. And those churches have all seen steep membership drops.

Which is not to say the Roman Catholic church has not faced its own membership challenges. In the west -- particularly western Europe -- the Roman Catholic participation decline has been as steep as that of the Protestants.

And yet, to see the multitudes who gather for World Youth Day is to see this is a church with a future, and an energy to meet that future. That energy may largely come from congregations in the two-thirds world, what the Anglicans call the Global South, but at least that energy is there.

Perhaps the United Church of Canada would find that same energy if it had the kind of ties to global congregations the Roman Catholic church enjoys. Their own global network is the World Alliance of Reformed Churches, an organization of Presbyterian and Reformed communions, 218 churches in 107 countries with a membership of about 75 million. But somehow, I rather suspect a WARC World Youth Day would not have nearly the level of energy on display at the gathering in Cologne, Germany, last Sunday.

A new place for chidren in the family

Marriage used to be about family, about creating a place where children could grow and thrive. Children used to be, if not actually the centre, at least part of what was central to the meaning of family. Not that every family had children, any more than every vehicle is pulled by a horse. But, just as "horsepower" is the standard by which we measure vehicles, so "good for children" was how we measured family structure.

That is changing. A recent Town Hall article by
Kathleen Parker, "Parent A and Parent B -- and baby makes C?" highlights the next step in those changes.

The form for birth certificates presumes children have a mother and father. This hasn't been particularly controversial, since the biological fact is children have a mother and a father. In Massachusetts, the only US state that fully endorses same-sex marriage, this has begun to be controversial -- as it no doubt will be in Canada, and as in other countries as the recognition of same-sex marriage spreads. While biology hasn't changed, legalities have changed. Children may have a mother and a father, or they may have two fathers or two mothers. The legal reality and the biological reality are different.

In order to fully normalize their families, homosexual couples have asked Massachusetts to revise the birth certificate forms to name, not "mother" and "father," but "parent A" and "parent B." But this change in name does not change reality. While it may be comforting for the same-sex couple involved, it leaves out information the child may one day need.

As Parker writes, "What we know but the courts apparently choose to ignore is that identity and selfhood are rooted, in part, in our biological origins. Adopted children seek out biological parents in their quest for identity. Genealogical organizations do a brisk business as families try to reconstruct their lineage."

Of course, sorting out that heritage today can be an increasingly difficult task. "Now with technology, sperm donors and 'uterobots' -- women willing to sell or give away the flesh of their flesh -- any random collection of human beings can 'parent.'" A child's birth heritage is getting increasingly confused and complicated.

Parker notes,

Throughout our culture, children have become objectified, "thingified," created or acquired for the fulfillment of our selves - decor options, accessories, cute little bundles for our entertainment and amusement....

As long as children are viewed as mere extensions of our selves, put here to satisfy some narcissistic need for self-actualization, it is easy to suppose that our needs and their needs are complementary. If same-sex marriage is what "I" need, then two same-sex parents are what "my" child needs.

For years, people have debated the relative roles of nature and nurture in the development of personality. For most people, this is a relatively academic debate. For people raised in their birth families, the source of their nature and nurture are the same. It's tough to understand why the issue of birth certificates matters. But for those in other kinds of families, the importance of knowing both the source of one's nature and nurture is a more pressing reality.

Consider, for example, the push by adopted children for access to their original birth records. This is sometimes unfortunately called a search for their "real" parents. Most adoptees don't deny the reality of their adoptive families or the importance of the people who nurtured them as "real" parents. Still, there's a gnawing sense that something's missing without access to information about their "birth" parents.

There's the practical matter of medical history and the genetic and biological roots we now know lie behind many illnesses. But more, we also know at least part of our personality, part of "who we are" comes from how we were born. Anyone who has wondered how two such different children can come from the same family has noticed this.

One of the great ironies of this is the push for legal recognition of same-sex couples comes from just this insight. Sexual orientation, they have argued, is a fact of birth not nurture. It's not something one becomes through nurture, but something one was born to be. It comes, they say, not from one's nurturing parents, but from one's birth parents.

Someday children may want or need to know the birth heritage that has helped make them who they are. And they will need some way to know, not just their legal parents, but also their birth parents.

Parker concludes, "What's really behind the push for biology-neutral birth certificates isn't fairness, or equal rights, but the elimination of any biological/procreative connection to parenthood."

What really threatens marriage?

As social conservatives work to "defend marriage," perhaps it's time to consider whether the biggest threat isn't direct challenges to traditional marriage. Perhaps the biggest threat is the slow erosion of what marriage means. Last Monday, Dale Price at Dyspeptic Mutterings posted a link to a Fox news report that highlighted that erosion.

The Fox news article by Jennifer D'Angelo carried the headline ''Til Death Do Us Part' Is Dying Out." She reported,

In some weddings, "'til death do us part" is going the way of "to honor and obey" --— that is, out the window.
Vows like ... "For as long as our love shall last" and "Until our time together is over" are increasingly replacing the traditional to-the-grave vow...

And D'Angelo's article shows why this is a problem

Psychologist Diana Kirschner, author of "Opening Love's Door: The Seven Lessons," agreed ... promising forever lets the other person know that you're in it for life --— good times and bad --— and that promising just for awhile can lead to a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"Over time your mate brings out the best in you, but also the worst in you. You have to have a contract that you'll work together to help each other grow. A contract that is this kind of thing -- —as long as we feel good --— there's a guarantee that you'll feel bad, hit a rocky point, where you don't love anyone, you don't love yourself --— that's where the rubber meets the road. That's where active love comes through."

Ironically, a defender of these new vows sees clearly the problem they cause. D'Angelo quotes

The Rev. Bonnie Nixon, a non-denominational minister in Torrance, Calif., who presides over approximately 1,000 weddings a year...

"...At least half of the couples we marry come from blended families --— some say vows to the other person's children. This generation (the one now marrying for the first time) grew up with a lot of divorce in the '70s and '80s. They have two dads, two moms, eight grandparents...."

What a confusing and uncertain environment in which children grow up today!

Marriage for "as long as we both shall live" or "until death us do part" (pick your tradition) was and is not primarily about the husband and wife. It's about family and children. The stable network of relationships in the family -- immediate and extended -- provides a secure place for children to begin to develop a healthy identity.

In Childhood and Society, Erik Erikson wrote a child's ego development begins with a basic sense of trust, what others called a sense of confidence.

The infant's first social achievement, then, is his willingness to to let the mother out of sight without undue anxiety or rage, because she has become an inner certainty as well as an outer predictability. Such consistency, continuity, and sameness of experience provide a rudimentary sense of ego identity which depends, I think, on the recognition that there is an inner population of remembered and anticipated sensations and images which are firmly correlated with the outer population of familiar and predictable things and people.

These days, though, those familiar people are increasingly unpredictable. Parents devoted and focused on the care of a few children are being replaced by an ever changing network of care givers responsible for much larger numbers of children. And we're now beginning to understand just what negative consequences this is having as those children develop.

Jeff Miller at The Curt Jester puts it this way:

Being the product of a divorced family I know from personal experience the tragedy of this view of marriage on children. I wonder what children of couples that take such phony vows must think? Each day they might wake up wondering if there parents had still "continue to love each other" or whether their parents might be moving on. They must also reason that if their parents can stop loving each other than they also can stop loving them.

Faith, fundamental truths, and the political process

"We need separation of church and politics" declares columnist Anthony Westell in a CBC News Viewpoint posted at the CBC web site. He is concerned because evangelicals, though still "a minor factor" seem to be "growing rapidly." Why does that growth concern him?

People like US President George Bush show what can happen when evangelicals get into power.

Bush claims to be guided by Jesus when he makes political decisions, including, presumably, the decision to go to war in Iraq.

Such conviction is beyond debate, which is why I think that public declarations of faith should have no place in politics. Democracy is all about debate on policy, about the best way to define and solve problems and advance the public interest.

When there is no possibility of persuading an opponent who claims to know the will of God the process becomes pointless. Who can debate with God?

Unfortunately, there are more kinds of fundamentalists than Christian fundamentalists. For instance, in Canada, one could just as easily speak of Charter of Rights and Freedoms fundamentalists.

The Canadian Parliament is considering -- under pressure from a series of court decisions -- Bill C-38, a bill that would change the national definition of marriage from the union of a man and a woman to the union of two adults.

Prime Minister Paul Martin and Justice Minister Irwin Cotler seem to regard this Bill C-38 regarding Same-Sex marriage as "beyond debate." Substantial questions remain regarding the Same-Sex marriage bill. Chief among them is whether there is a compromise possible that would preserve the civil rights of same-sex couples and the religious exercise rights of those who hold the historic Christian teaching on this subject. For months, Justice Minister Cotler had argued their bill protects religious freedom. Now he admits it does not.

But this does not matter. They (and other supporters of the bill) are certain the bill must pass in its current form. There is no need for further substantive discussion because no amendment is possible. This is the way it must be. They know the will of the Charter and the subject is not open for discussion. No other interpretation of the charter is possible. This is what must be done, no matter what the cost.

To paraphrase Westell, "when there is no possibility of persuading an opponent who claims to know the will of the Charter, the process becomes pointless.

Westell suggests "values derived from religion" are admissible to political debate. But those values alone can not decide a question.

The point is that faith alone cannot be a sufficient reason to demand that government permit this or forbid that. If there is to be useful debate there have to be practical arguments unrelated to religious belief.

Of course. "I believe it therefore you must do it" is no way to make political policy decisions -- no matter what kind of fundamentalist is making the demand. Politics is about persuasion and debate. It's about making honourable compromises and meeting people half way. It's about being willing to do what is possible, rather than stubbornly holding out for what is perfect.

And it's about discussion and debate. It's about an exchange of ideas, opinions, and evidences. And it depends on the free flow of information and perspectives in those debates. Only someone who is omniscient has no need to listen and learn. But it also means I should be willing to teach, to share, to explain. To borrow the phrase from Peter's letter, to be willing to give a reason for the hope I hold.

I believe the Christian faith offers the way to a truly abundant life. It shows the way to the true fulfillment of people's deepest desires. But I ought to be able to tell people how that works. I ought to have some reason to believe what I believe.

But if I have no reason to believe what I believe, not only should I not expect others to believe it, but I ought to think long and hard about whether I should believe it either.

Of course that applies to any faith. It applies to faiths that believe we must follow "God's word." And it applies to faiths that aren't sure whether there is any word from any God for us to follow. Every citizen deserves a hearing. No one should be silenced with a label like "godless heathen" or "hate-mongering fundamentalist." Those sorts of labels are just a form of demonizing. What a truly inclusive, democratic society needs is debating and discussing, not demonizing. By any side.

The best gift the church can give the culture

Continuing from the conclusion of my last post, "People may call it circling the wagons, but churches are strongest when they are who they were meant to be, a firm place to stand on the faith delivered to the saints," note this comment from Dale Price on his blog, "Dyspeptic Mutterings":

...the greatest risk to Catholic thought is to downplay, secularize or attempt to harmonize it with the zeitgeist....

And it's the greatest risk to the important role the Roman Catholic Church -- or any church -- has to play in society. The more a church is harmonized with its culture, the less relevant or important it is in its culture.

Many years ago, David Neff at Christianity Today challenged me with this historical insight: the churches which had the most influence on their cultures were those that focused on what made them unique and different from those cultures. Churches which focused on being part of a particular culture usually wound up being co-opted by that culture.

The church is, in the words of the Apostle Paul, "the pillar and bulwark of the truth." 1 Timothy 3:15 (NRSV) Its ministers should be seen, again according to the apostle, "as servants of Christ and stewards of God's mysteries." 1 Corinthians 4:1 (NRSV)

There are many good humanitarian things the church can do in society. And the church needs to do them, because we appreciate the value of each human life. But there are many institutions that can do the humanitarian things. So if the church falters in caring for people, it will hurt the church, but other civic and humanitarian groups can care for those needs.

A society that loudly echoes Pilate's question "what is truth?" needs the church to be the church. It needs the church to be the bulwark of the truth. And only the church can be the church. So if the church falters in being the bulwark of the truth, if the church falters in caring for the mysteries of the gospel, there is no one who can take up the task.

The best gift the church can give society is to be the church. To care in the name of Jesus Christ. To stand up and defend what is true. To proclaim faithfully the gospel of grace. It may not be popular, and it may not be welcomed. But this is the best service we can offer our culture.

An echo of Henry Higgins: Why can't churches be more like us?

Remember the moment in My Fair Lady when Prof. Henry Higgins wonders with great frustration "why can't a woman be more like a man?" A recent column by Richard Amrhine in the Free Lance-Star posted at Fredericksburg.com sounded a little like that.

"Catholics don't rock the boat," the headline for Amrhine's article declared. After suggesting the election of Benedict XVI as pope presented Roman Catholic dissenters with a "love it or leave it" choice, he commented:

It is a curious position for any organization to take, especially one that thrives on expanding its ministry and increasing its numbers. But perhaps it sees a payoff in the long run--that those who adhere to church doctrine, and those who now join the flock knowing its direction, will make it an even stronger, if more compact, institution.

His column offered an alternative strategy for changing times: changing. Changing like his paper changed, for example, from afternoon to morning publication. The paper embraced the change,

...even if it meant sacrificing some longtime subscribers accustomed to receiving an afternoon newspaper. Some readers did say goodbye, but in the long run that decision is paying off with growing circulation numbers and a bright future.

But such a change is not likely to come in the Roman Catholic church, he laments. Instead, the church is intent on "pursuing its circle-the-wagons mentality to ward off even fellow Catholics with differing views." Rather than being open to dissent, he writes, the church "will instead remain true to its doctrine no matter what."

For Amrhine, doctrine seems to be just one of those details, very negotiable in the interests of broadening participation. Which completely misunderstands the place of doctrine in the church.

Amrhine's illustration of positive change involves an incidental detail. A paper published at 6 a.m. is not qualitatively different from a paper published at 4 p.m. Time of publication would dictate the exact details of items included, but not the nature of the paper itself. A comparable choice for a church would be the decision to hold worship at 9 or 11 a.m.

But what if the Free Lance-Star began to think more radically about bringing in more readers? Maybe devoting page six to celebrity gossip. People like to read that kind of thing. A regular lucky number contest would also generate some new interest in the community. People love those kinds of contests. Maybe a glamour shot on page 3. Cheesecake and beefcake photos are great draws, and surely nobody would have a problem so long as it was tasteful and artistic.

Of course, newspapers have limited news holes, so some features and analysis would have to be dropped to make room for the new features. But surely the trade off would be worth it if it brought more readers to the reporting that remained.

But the trade off begins to change the nature of the paper. Step by step, our imaginary makeover of the Free Lance-Star changes it from a serious newspaper into something like a supermarket tabloid. It may save the paper by bringing in more readers, but the process of change would have, to borrow the classic military phrase, destroyed the paper in order to save it.

Just as the true value of the newspaper is diminished by compromising the news hole, no matter how many people it brings in, so also the true value of the church is diminished by compromising its beliefs, no matter how many people that compromise brings in. Christians are members of "God's household, which is the church of the living God, the pillar and foundation of the truth." 1 Timothy 3:15 (NIV) A weak, shifting foundation is a sign to get out of a building, not rush into it.

And that is what has been happening. Those churches which have the most relaxed approach to doctrine, to truth and belief, are the churches that have suffered the most precipitous membership decline. On the other hand, those which have been stronger in their sense of confessional identity have had more stable membership.

Ironically, Amrhine offers evidence of this in his own column. He notes some information Pat Buchanan found in "a book titled Index of Leading Catholic Indicators: The Church Since Vatican II." For example, "in 1958, three in four American Catholics attended Mass on Sunday, but only one in four do so today."

But what was Vatican II but an attempt by church leaders to shake off some accumulated historical and traditional dust and become more relevant today? Why would someone expect the even greater compromises with culture Amrhine proposes to do anything other than push the church even further down that declining path?
Amrhine suggests,

Any church is at its best when it welcomes with open arms, then uses those arms to reach out and help others in need. ...

Whether it does this in the name of a particular God or not is not as important as that it is done in the name of love.

Which I guess means Amrhine finds churches most valuable when they're humanitarian organizations like the charities he supports. But that reduces the church to a social service agency with a few devotional thoughts thrown in. And it diminishes the thing that makes the church unique and valuable in society, its presence as "the pillar and foundation of truth."

People may call it circling the wagons, but churches are strongest when they are who they were meant to be, a firm place to stand on the faith delivered to the saints.

Law & Order examines law and grace

Law & Order offers stories "ripped from the headlines" and certainly unafraid of controversy. The episode that aired Wednesday, May 11, on NBC certainly deserved to provoke conversation. In it, the detectives reopened a nine-year-old cold murder case, and tracked down a promising suspect. And the accused admits to the crime and is prepared to literally throw himself on the mercy of the court. But, at the last minute, an outside group hires an attorney who tries to get the charges dropped.

He is a changed man, the lawyer argues; confronted with the horror of what he had done, he had a moral awakening and became a born again Christian. "O great," someone said, "another 'bash the Christians' show…"

That's how Jonah Goldberg at National Review Online took it. Kathy Shaidle linked to his article in a Friday, May 13, post at her "Relapsed Catholic" blog. She quotes Goldberg's description of the accused as someone

who, in shame and remorse, subsequently found Jesus and was born again. In the nine years since he dedicated himself to Christ, he has led an exemplary life. But his guilt is discovered, and he decides to confess and show true contrition.

Some of the leading characters in the show found this defense convenient at best. And it was an occasion for several cynical comments about "what's happening in this country right now." It did have its share of anti-Christian prejudice. But it also had lots more.

The character turned almost overnight from a self-absorbed upwardly-mobile urban professional to a simple-lifestyle model of community service. He left a high paying job to work at a community service agency. He became a faithful member of an inner city black church. From every measurable view, the man's repentance and reformation was genuine.

We call them correctional instutitions, one character says, and this man's life has been corrected; he's done more good for society in the last nine years on the outside than he could ever have done locked in prison. Perhaps, another character answers, but there are other reasons for prison than rehabilitation.
That's just the first and simplest issue the story raised.

Far more interesting to me was the complex interplay between finding forgiveness and facing consequences. Often Christians rather sloppily speak of being justified as meaning something like "just as if I'd never sinned." But we can never truly find that place. The sin happened, and there are consequences that abide. The accused never denied his guilt, nor tried to avoid facing the consequences. He never argued along the lines of "since Christ washed my guilt away and declared me innocent in his sight, the state of New York should do so as well."

Other people made the appeal to dismiss the charges on his behalf. People who had been touched by the love and compassion the accused had learned to show. People like the african american pastor who testified the gospel taught him to forgive those who repent -- even those who repent of a terrible hate crime.

And there is the father whose son was killed, who knows he should forgive, but just doesn't have it in him.

Any one of these themes opens up lots of avenues for serious faith discussions. No, this was far from just another "bash the Christians" show. The trial part, anyway, was actually was one of the better examinations of the questions of redemption, atonement, punishments, and justice that TV has done.

There's more than one kind of fear at the end of life

A couple of days ago, I wrote advance directives are not the answer to the question of end of life care because changing circumstances could very well lead a changing of decisions. In the Saturday, April 2, Toronto Star, columnist Helen Henderson wrote that is exactly what happened to her. (The article is no longer available free on line.)
Ms. Henderson wrote about people who saw the images of Terri Schiavo in her hospital bed and began to wonder "If that were me..." Continuing with Ms. Henderson's words,

That's how the fear starts. If it were me ...
If it were me 40 years ago contemplating a life with multiple sclerosis, I might have said I'd rather shoot myself.
Now, I know the part of life I value most started after the diagnosis.

She quotes, in turn, from disability rights lawyer Harriet McBryde Johnson, who has herself endured more than four decades of a muscle-wasting disease. If there Terri Schiavo was still "aware and conscious, it is possible that, like most people who live with severe disability for as long as she has, she has abandoned her preconceived fears of the life she is now living."

Some people had suggested Terri Schiavo's supporters had a tough time "letting her go" because they feared death. And there may be some truth in that. But there are many things people can fear. Some fear death. And some fear weakness and disability. Some fear not being able to do things they take for granted now. Some fear losing their self-sufficiency. Some fear being dependent on others. Some fear being a burden.

Ms Henderson noted what so many others had noted. "The way we treat the most vulnerable among us defines us as a society."

At the end of life as at its beginning, growing means facing and outgrowing our fears and claiming the strength and hope that comes from care and compassion.

Remembering Pope John Paul II

Whether Protestant or Roman Catholic, I suppose most of us in my generation who work in the Church or other Christian service serve in some way under the influenced of the ministry of Pope John Paul II.

In 1979, I was freshly graduated from college and beginning my career in Christian work. The then-new Pope John Paul II was honouring Chicago's Polish community with one of his early visits. I was unable to attend his mass in Grant Park in person, but I attended carefully to the radio broadcast.

His challenge to his congregation then is one that still echoes through my mind today. “We must all work together for the spread of the Gospel to the people who still are in need,” he said. We must not allow ourselves to be divided and distracted from this crucial task. And this task was crucial because, he said, “There’s no other name under heaven given amongst men whereby we must be saved.”

He was truly a spiritual and intellectual force to be reckoned with in our generation. His writings forcefully engaged the contemporary challenges to the gospel. In 1993, Veritatis splendor, the splendour of truth. In 1995, Evangelium vitae, the gospel of life. In so many more, he was a model of a passionate defense of the gifts of God.

In the apostolic faith that binds Christians together, his powerful expositions offered us encouragement and strength for our faith. In the areas where Christians disagree, his strong defense of his convictions forced us in response to think more deeply about what we believed. In agreement or disagreement, his influence still strengthened and deepened our faith.

Commentators have wondered how a person so sure of the truth of his beliefs could have the commitment to interfaith dialogue that John Paul had. It shouldn't be surprising. A dialogue requires at least two people with something to say. And Pope John Paul II knew he had something to say, and that it was worth listening to. That's as much a prerequisite for dialogue as being willing to listen -- which the Pope was also did. He listened and learned and spoke and taught. With his very life until the very end.

An advance directive is not the solution

It usually takes a hospital admission before people think seriously about advance directives and living wills. But these days people are hearing the advice about getting one before it's needed... just in case.

But, as I've focused on "what I would want," I find I'm really not all that sure of what I'd really want. This far removed from the reality of the choice, it just seems so hypothetical. What would I really want if I were really choosing?

So, just when I thought I'd read everything that could be said about Terri Schiavo, I really found something fresh in Mark Steyn's Sunday Sun Times column. Here's most of the part I found most challenging.

We all have friends who are passionate about some activity -- They say, ''I live to ski,'' or dance, or play the cello. Then something happens and they can't. The ones I've known fall into two broad camps: There are those who give up and consider what's left of their lives a waste of time; and there are those who say they've learned to appreciate simple pleasures, like the morning sun through the spring blossom dappling their room each morning. Most of us roll our eyes and think, ''What a loser, mooning on about the blossom. He used to be a Hollywood vice president, for Pete's sake.''
But that's easy for us to say. We can't know which camp we'd fall into until it happens to us. And it behooves us to maintain a certain modesty about presuming to speak for others -- even those we know well. Example: ''Driving down there, I remember distinctly thinking that Chris would rather not live than be in this condition.'' That's Barbara Johnson recalling the 1995 accident of her son Christopher Reeve. Her instinct was to pull the plug; his was to live.

Right now, when I'd wonder how I'd be able to go on, I might make one choice. But maybe, if faced with the real choice, and not just the possibility, I might find the strength and grace to do what I can not imagine doing now.

Which leads me to appreciate the wisdom behind something else I read last week. In The Weekly Standard, Eric Cohen wrote, "The human answer to our dependency is not living wills but loving surrogates." Or, as I'm beginning to think, the answer is not a piece of paper I write today with hypothetical musings on something that may or may not be real. The answer is caregivers who know my values and commitments well enough to think and choose what I'd likely choose, if I knew what the situation actually was.

Which makes a kind of sense. Why should the solution to a human dilemma be a piece of paper? Surely the proper way to resolve a human dilemma is with a human solution.

Easter Saturday: waiting for the promise

“For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures…” 1 Corinthians 15:3-4 (NIV)

Few churches have much of an Easter Saturday service. Good Friday usually merits a special service or two. Often these have extra elements to help them stand out as uniquely memorable services. And Easter Sunday usually gets the special celebration treatment with sunrise services and special things the rest of the day. We barely acknowledge anything special about Easter Saturday.

The bulk of commentaries treat the affirmation in 1 Corinthians in a similar way. “Christ died for our sins” on Good Friday, and the commentators have lots to say about that. Christ “was raised on the third day” on Easter Sunday, and, again, the commentators have lots to say about that. But “he was buried” does not get much attention. Just like Easter Saturday.

The crisis of Good Friday was past. The dramatic events were becoming part of their memory. Reality now was a quiet tomb site, a stone rolled across the opening. Guards ensured the security of the sealed tomb.

It was the Sabbath, the day of rest and contemplation. So no distracting themselves in the ordinary tasks of life. They had to face their grief and their loss. On this day of contemplation, they had much to think about. For all those years they had travelled with Jesus. They had learned and seen so much. They had hoped he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. (Luke 24:21)

But now what? In the living Jesus, they saw power and hope. He had made some promises about the future that were hard to understand, but what sense did that make now? He was crucified, dead, and buried. And life now seemed to be a godforsaken mystery. How do we go on now?

Almost every commentary on First Corinthians slips right from the death on the cross to the resurrection on the third day. I can appreciate that. I’d rather live with the fact of the resurrection than the promise of the resurrection. I’d rather live in the fact of joy than rely on the promise of joy to get through grief and loss.

And yet, in a sense Easter Saturday is where most of us live today. We’re somewhere between the events of the Bible and the fulfilment of the promise. We know the fact of the teaching and the promise of the joy of eternity. But just what that teaching means now is sometimes a little fuzzy. And on some days, it sure would be nice if the promise of resurrection could be the reality of the resurrection.

Some churches recognize Easter Saturday with a midnight vigil. That service in the midst of darkness often begins with the lighting of a candle. One candle in the night can make a big difference.

His word of promise, his word of direction, his word is a light for our path. It helps us keep going until the promise that gives us hope becomes a glorious reality.

He had been crucified. He was buried. But he promised his disciples even death could not keep him from being with them. That half-understood promise was a tantalizing hope through that long, quiet Saturday. And it can keep us going now as we wait for the day when hope becomes sight and the promise will come true: Death has been swallowed up in victory.

Glory be to God!

The Reality of His Sacrifice

““For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures…”” 1 Corinthians 15:3-4 (NIV)

This material Paul passed on “as of first importance” is certainly one of the oldest, most original Christian affirmations of faith. Previous posts have looked at how “Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures.” Let’’s turn now to the next phrase, “that “he was buried.””

There is a moment in every funeral when the reality hits. Sometimes it happens at the grave side service. Often these days it’s when the casket is finally closed. Something happens to confront people with the reality of the death.

The reality that Jesus died was hard for the early church. The disciples didn’’t want to hear about it when Jesus told them it was coming. Some of the earliest heresies in church history centred on ways of denying the reality of Jesus’’s death on the cross.

Was it the shame of the means of his death:— crucified like the most despised criminals? Or just the difficulty of accepting the idea that the Son of God could die like a mortal? The early heresies blunted the reality of what Jesus suffered by finding spiritual or metaphorical understandings for his sacrifice on the cross.

But that death was real. And the followers and friends of Jesus had to face it at the burial. Denial had to end with the thud when they ““rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away.”” Matthew 27:60 (NIV)

It was not an illusion. It was not a dream, It was not something from their imagination. It was not a metaphor for a deep spiritual reality. It was not an abstract philosophical construct. It was real. And it is a fact at once wonderful and terrible.

As the Hymn goes, "’“’Tis mystery all, the immortal dies. Who can explore His strange design?"” Truly a fact beyond knowing, a certainty beyond comprehending.

The comfort behind Good Friday

Part of what made the deaths of Gandhi, Kennedy, and King — and others through the years — such tragic experiences was the sudden, unexpected shock of the news. It was one thing to lose the inspirational leader. Add to that the loss of a sense of predictability or stability in the world. If this could happen even to them, what assurance do any of us have?

It's hard enough to go on after a profound loss. How does one go on without an assurance that it's possible to go on?

This is another reason why the death of Jesus is different. This was not some unexpected tragedy that deprived the world of an important voice for compassion and charity. This was not a beneficent life cut short. This was a beneficent life completed and fulfilled.

That's part of the power behind the truth "that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures." The Presbyterians reading that from the 1970s WorshipBook would understand that as something like "as we read it in the gospels." But that could not have been what was in Paul's mind. Except for a possible early Aramaic version of Matthew, there would have been no gospels to read. They hadn't been written yet.

"The scriptures" for Paul and the other early Christians were the writings of the prophets and sages. They were the books of the Old Testament. (Though I find myself quite drawn to Marva Dawn's term First Testament.) And they were written at least four centuries before the crucifixion.

Those writings described some of what would happen. Their focus, though, was on what those events would mean for God's people. Their focus was on how the wounds of the Messiah would bring healing. Their focus was on the spiritual benefits that flowed from that sacrifice.

To say "Jesus died for our sins according to the scriptures" was to offer a double comfort. First, the visible events happened just as predicted. The world is not spinning out of control. God is still in charge. He knew this moment was coming and he has prepared for it. The future is still secure in God's hands.

Second, this death was "according to the scriptures" in its spiritual benefits as well. If the visible events played out just as predicted, then we can be sure the invisible spiritual realities happened as predicted as well. The prophet who correctly predicted the fact of the wounds has also correctly predicted the outcome of those wounds. In those wounds, we are healed.

In that we can find comfort for today and confidence for tomorrow.

A defining moment: Good Friday

"Here we have Christianity reduced to 12 hours, the least interesting 12 hours of Jesus's life, religiously speaking." That's how William Schweiker, University of Chicago theological ethics professor, described Mel Gibson's movie The Passion of the Christ.

The suffering and death of Jesus may be "the least interesting" to Prof. Schweiker, but the church closest to Jesus did not share that judgement. "Christ died for our sins"is part of the essential tradition Paul passed on to his students "as of first importance." It is clearly an important plank in the gospel on which "we stand and by which we are saved."

For many today, Jesus was a wandering folk pastor, dispensing inspiration and challenge in clever parables and memorable sayings. The core of his teaching was a call to reject religious formalism and embrace love for each other. The death of Jesus, in this view, was the sad end of a hopeful life cut tragically short. And in this view, a movie like The Parables of the Christ would be more interesting, religiously speaking.

The early church did not share that evaluation. They embraced the cross as a central image of what Jesus meant. They celebrated Jesus as the Lamb of God who took away the sin of the world. Far from being the "least interesting" part of his earthly ministry, these final hours were the culmination, the fulfillment, the climax of that earthly ministry.

Consider some other famous assassinations of wise teachers of recent memory. Mohandas K. Gandhi on Friday, January 30, 1948. John F. Kennedy on Friday, November 22, 1963. Martin Luther King, Jr., on Thursday, April 3, 1968. People don't celebrate these deaths as Good Thursdays or Good Fridays. These are days of tragedy, not celebration. They were days of loss, days of premature, violent ends of wise, inspiring leaders.

Good Friday was violent, far more so than those other days. But the church soon realized it was not just a day of loss. It was a day when something important was gained. For Jesus did not simply die, "Christ died for our sins." As Peter put it, "He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sins and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed." 1 Peter 2:24 (NIV)

Other deaths are simply times of loss, but the death of Jesus was more than that. Somehow his death "for our sins" gave us a powerful spiritual benefit. And so, the early church found something worth celebrating in that. Celebrating with sadness, to be sure, but still celebrating.

If Jesus were simply an itinerant teacher offering insights into ancient wisdom, then his death would have been profoundly uninteresting. But he was more than simply a teacher. He is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Those hours of his suffering and death, far from being "least interesting," are really the beginning of what makes his earthly ministry unique, special, and valuable.

The defining moments are coming

In the early 70s, Presbyterians in the United States published a new Worshipbook. Its “Service for the Lord’s Day” included a new creed, which in the congregation I attended was called simply the Contemporary Statement.

This is the good news which we received, in which we stand, and by which we are saved: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day; and that he appeared to Peter, then to the Twelve and to many faithful witnesses.
We believe he is the Christ, the Son of the Living God. He is the first and the last, the beginning and the end, he is our Lord and our God. Amen.

I have always been rather impressed with the simplicity and power of that statement. For me, at least, it was also quite memorable. A few years later, I chanced to discover the first paragraph is a fairly close paraphrase of 1 Corinthians 15:1-6. Even more years later, I learned source critical analysis suggests this creedal snippet could be about the oldest text in the New Testament. It could be Paul’s quotation of a doctrinal formulation going back to the disciples in Jerusalem.

This is almost certainly only part of the theological heritage Paul received and passed on in his ministry. Speculating about what might or might not have been other parts of that heritage is an endless argument from silence. But we can be certain this was part of the doctrinal foundation of that earliest church.

It is a time of eager expectation in society as a whole as the days lengthen and the trees and plants begin to grow bright and green again. In the church, spring is still Lent, the time of the church year set apart to prepare for Good Friday and Easter. It should also be a time of awe-struck devotion for us: we prepare for the basic events that define the church as the church, for the events that make salvation possible.

The death on Good Friday, a death foretold by prophets whom God used to prepare the way. A sad Easter Saturday in the tomb. And a glorious Easter Sunday, when the triumph of the power of life is revealed for any who care to see.

People often try to build church unity for this great cause or to respond to that great need. And there are times for people to pull together in the short term. But has any more perfect platform for abiding Christian unity been written than these words from Paul?

Total depravity teaches humility, mercy… and hope

It takes a special kind of courage to love the doctrine of original sin. Too often over the years I've heard people say things like "I like that church; they don't focus on all that negative stuff like sin." But what a blessing we miss out on because we don't realize just what sin means. So it was quite refreshing to run across Rebecca Writes: Why I Love the Doctrine of Total Depravity.

Rebecca, who's from even farther north than I am, writes "An honest look at it [the doctrine of original sin] is the best antidote for pride." She notes it also helps us appreciate just how deep is God's love: "Knowing the depth of God's love comes only as I fathom how far he had to stoop to grasp me."

Building on Rebecca's blog entry, William G. Meisheid writes in his own blog, Beyond the Rim…,
"…the next time you are tempted to respond to a sinner with condescension, just remember that when push comes to shove it is Christ not your insipid purity that makes the distinction between you and them. Instead try and not just to receive but also to give 'mercy and find grace to help in time of need.' Hebrews 4:16"

The doctrine of original sin teaches us humility and gratitude. It helps us relate to others more mercifully and, I submit, faithfully. To this list I'd like to add a third benefit of the doctrine. It gives us a reason to hope for something better.

When I see my sin, when I see the unsavoury things I'd rather were not part of my life, I know one day they won't be. The promise of redemption is the promise of freedom from sin. In my sin I cry out "Who will free me from this body of death?" And I know that I will be rescued through Christ Jesus my Lord. (Check out the progression from Romans 7 through Romans 8, the progression from bondage to sin to freedom in glory.) That sin may be how I am, but it's not how I'm going to be.

To paraphrase John's language, we are the children of God, and what we will be is beyond imagining, except that we know one day we will be like Jesus. We will be purified just as he is pure. What a great day when that hope is fulfilled!

The Truth of the Gospel Is Jesus

Most school children grow up with the story of Aesop, famous for his clever and pointed fables. They may be as important in English and American culture as they were to the Greeks. Most of us have at least a few of the fables of Aesop planted in our memories. Maybe the Dog in the Manger, perhaps the Fox and the Crow, almost certainly the Tortoise and the Hare.

But who was Aesop? Most stories have him living in the 6th century BC. Some say he was a slave, others a mid- to senior-level civic leader; one tradition makes him an advisor to Croesus. The 2004 Encyclopaedia Britannica entry says, "An Egyptian biography of the 1st century AD places him on the island of Samos as a slave who gained his freedom from his master, thence going to Babylon as riddle solver to King Lycurgus, and, finally, meeting his death at Delphi."

There are lots of traditions describing how he lived, how he died, how he looked, and what he did. Ultimately, though it doesn't matter. The wisdom of the fables of Aesop does not come from Aesop. It does not matter whether he was socially prominent or simply a slave or maybe even, like Uncle Remus, a folklorist's invention to give narrative unity to a diverse collection of unrelated tales.

The fables of Aesop are not fables about Aesop but fables that come from Aesop. But even at that, Aesop himself does not matter. In these fables, the truth of the tale is in the telling, not the teller. Whether the stories originated from Aesop or Phaedrus or an anonymous village sage does not matter. The stories still have truth.

The gospel of Jesus Christ is different from the fables of Aesop. It is not a collection of wise sayings Jesus gave in parables and sermons and wondrous deeds. There is a kind of truth in those sayings, a kind of truth that is shared with wise sayings from many other sources. That truth is worth hearing. But the gospel of Jesus Christ is far more than the sayings of Jesus Christ.

The gospel of Jesus Christ is not a gospel from Jesus, it is the gospel about Jesus. The gospel of Jesus Christ is not the truth he told us, but the truth that he is. What is true about the gospel of Jesus Christ is true in his name. His wondrous birth that opens the way for us to have a new birth. His death as an offering for our sin. His resurrection to open the way of victory over death. The truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ is in the one who originally lived it.

Apart from Aesop the fables still stand. Apart from Jesus, there is no gospel.

Why I am called a Christian

A generation ago, people referred to the religion that dominates the Middle East as Mohammedanism and its followers as Mohammedans. The current edition of the American Heritage ® Dictionary of the English Language notes that usage is considered offensive. It's easy to understand why because that language severely distorts the teachings of Islam and its followers, Muslims.

Muslims protested the older usage because it suggested -- falsely -- they worshipped Muhammad. They do not. They worship the God Allah, and strive to follow the teachings Muhammad gave about the way of submission to Allah. It is blasphemy to equate Muhammad and Allah, as it would be to equate any human teacher with God.

For exactly the same reasons, though reversed, I embrace the terms Christianity and Christian. The faith I profess is not simply about worshipping a God known as Abba and following the teachings Christ gave about submitting to him -- though I strive to do that. I am a Christian because I seek to worship Jesus Christ. It is not blasphemy it is truth to equate Jesus with God, for Jesus was not simply a human teacher.