Salvation as a Community Experience

You would think that this period of social isolation would not be such a handicap to an introvert like myself.  I have always needed time and space to be alone.  Self-chosen isolation, which I prefer to call solitude, has been necessary for me to realign my soul so that I might better function as a charitable human being.  While I have never seen myself as the life of the party, I can be a center of social attention and public discourse only to the degree that I can also retreat, restore, and recenter my spirit.

But you can have too much of a good thing.  These days I am longing for a more normal pattern of social engagement.  I miss my family.  I miss my friends.  I miss my church.  While I am taking advantage of the various modern means of staying in touch, there’s no substitute for face-to-face, hand-to-hand, hug-to-hug, encounters.  As St. Paul concludes in 1 Corinthians 13 . . . “now I know in part, then I will know fully, even as I am fully known.”  I think we all hunger to be fully known, and that requires human contact.

I even think our salvation depends on it.  What I mean is that salvation, while often understood as a “right relationship with God,” also requires a “right relationship with other people.”  There is a strain of religious thinking that emphasizes the vertical relationship with God to the neglect of our horizontal relationship with others.  This is unfortunate and, I believe, a distortion of how salvation is to be understood.  The Great Commandment is a two-fold love - of God and neighbor - but in some circles all that seems to matter is one’s relationship with God.  But I am convinced that one can only get one’s heart right with God if one’s heart is also right with others.

A long-ago friend once said that one’s love for God is only as deep as one’s love for one’s neighbor.  Maybe.  Nevertheless, I do believe that salvation is not a private transaction between the self and God, but a corporate, communal transaction - “God so loved the WORLD.”  My salvation is integral to God’s activity to save all of creation.  Therefore, the welfare of my neighbors (near and far) is essential to my personal well-being as it relates to my salvation.

This communal understanding of salvation has practical implications for how we behave during a pandemic.  My decision to keep social distance, to wear a mask, and to comply with health expert directives, is made for the good of the community.  When I overstep these boundaries in the interests of personal freedom I deny my responsibility to the common good.  My unwillingness to sacrifice for the community is an act of selfishness, and ultimately a slap at the face of God’s plan to save the world.

Several years ago a reporter was in the stands at Wallace Wade Stadium at Duke University witnessing the Special Olympics where athletes were competing in track and field events.  During one race as the runners sprinted down their lanes toward the finish line one of the racers stumbled and fell, sprawling on the track.  The other runners, of course, noticed the mishap of this competitor and instead of leaving him behind, turned back to help him up, and with joined hands they all continued the race, crossing the finish line together.  

This story illustrates the way I believe God’s plan of salvation works.  None of us is saved unless all of us are saved.  I’m not sure this is orthodoxy.  And I suppose there might be some logical questions one might ask of such a theological perspective.  But I’m content that this theology comes closer to the heart of Jesus than the flawed narratives of most substitutionary theories of personal salvation.  And, practically speaking, this theology leads to a better world in which to live.  Indeed, it probably gives us a kinder, more inclusive vision of heaven as well.

  

Faith

I am a man of faith, but not very much.  I was and in some ways still am a pastor, even though I have retired.  As such faith is important to me.  Still, in every community where I have served there have been many members of my churches whose faith far exceeded any faith I’ve ever had.  I take some solace in the parable of the mustard seed.  Apparently one needs but a small amount of faith to be a Christian and to be of some use to the kingdom of God.

Nevertheless, I have always been bothered by my inability to deepen, or expand, my trust in God’s grace.  I have preached it, certainly.  After all, sermons are not rooted simply in the human experience but in divine revelation.  I preach about what God has promised, not about my own capacity to believe the promises.  In fact, my sermons have always left me wanting more.  I tell stories of faithful people.  I find in the scriptures testimony of miracles and wonders.  And I long for experiences which will confirm the promises, but when I catch myself in that longing I realize that I have fallen into a trap.  

And what is the trap?  The trap is desire for proof.  If I want experiences to confirm God’s promises, then what I want is for God to prove what God has said.  And as soon as I ask for proof, then I am no longer a man of faith.  In the epistle to the Hebrews Chapter 11 we find this mystery, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”  Not proof, you see.  Things “hoped for.”  Things “not seen.”  As soon as we ask for proof we have fallen into the hands of Satan who tempted Jesus in the same way.  With the three temptations in the wilderness Satan was goading Jesus into asking God for proofs.  But Jesus would have none of it.  He trusted in what the scriptures had to say and left it at that.  He would not put God to the test.

Recently, the pastor of an evangelical church died of COVID-19.  He had declared from the outset of the directives for social distancing that he was not going to close his church, something to the effect that he would keep preaching until he was in jail or in the hospital.  His congregation thought his convictions came out of a deep faith that God would not let anything happen to him.  But I think he was putting God to the test.  And when one puts God to the test, that is not faith.  I am sorry the man died.  But his foolish disregard for the facts of the coronavirus pandemic was not the way to witness to the faith he had.

Still, I wish I had more faith.  If faith is the assurance of things hoped for, I wish I had more assurance.  If faith is the conviction of things not seen, I wish I had more conviction.  But after being a Christian for most of my sixty-three years I have not experienced a dramatic growth in my faith.  So, I just keep plugging along with what little faith I have.  And with it comes this assurance:  that Jesus Christ is the most compelling figure in all of human history and if I could look him in the face I believe I would see in his eyes an indescribable love . . . for me.  And with my faith comes this conviction:  that Jesus wants me to do my best to be a citizen of the kingdom of love that he declared was already breaking into the world in his ministry.

I don’t have very much faith.  But what I do have keeps me grateful and obedient.  I suppose I could be more thankful than I am.  And I know I could be more obedient.  Like I said, my faith is tiny, like a mustard seed.  But maybe that’s enough.  Still, I’ll keep asking for more.

Wishing Injury to False Prophets

I have found myself wishing ill of others lately, particularly those who in my opinion are misrepresenting Christ Jesus to the world, either by their words or actions.  This troubles me because I have always tried to be mindful of Jesus’ words that “whoever is not against us is for us” (Luke 9:50)

But when religious leaders protect abusive priests; when, in a time of pandemic, deranged preachers urge their congregations to defy social distancing compliance; when white supremacists twist the gospel to support their prejudices; when pastors justify the purchase of private jets as a “word from the Lord;” when evangelical spokesmen defend the immorality of a governmental leader because of an imagined “higher good,” I am driven to the words of St. Paul in addressing the Galatian community (5:12), “I wish those who unsettle you would castrate themselves.”

A little context might help.  The issue is circumcision, a standard Jewish practice that marked one (males) as a “son of Abraham.”  Paul made the argument to all the communities to whom he brought the gospel that if Christ Jesus has set them/us free from the law then circumcision is no longer necessary to mark one as a child of God (“neither circumcision nor uncircumcision counts for anything”).  But there were those who Paul considered false prophets who were insisting that adherence to the law of circumcision was still necessary for Christians.  Paul felt that if we were to give in to one aspect of the law then we would be obligated to the law as a whole, thus defeating the whole concept of grace.  He felt so strongly about this that he had no patience or tolerance for these false prophets.  Thus his hostile suggestion that they would mutilate themselves!

I am feeling equally unconciliatory toward those who are perverting the gospel to suit their unChristlike attitudes.  Indeed, I am being judgmental.  Perhaps I am seeing the speck in their eyes without removing the log in my own eye, but I lean on Paul for support.  I think the gospel of Jesus Christ is in many ways being perverted.  Whenever the grace of God is side-stepped then Christians must speak out in defense of the gospel.  These false prophets are guilty of taking the Lord’s name in vain - ascribing to God/Christ things that are ungodly and unChristlike.  To paraphrase Paul, I wish they would be cut off!

Jubilee Mercy

The Year of Jubilee provides a kind of aspirational ideal in the communal life of the historic people of God.  There is little evidence that Israel actually complied with the instructions of Leviticus 25.  So perhaps I am a fool (on this April 1st) to hold out any hope that my country, much less the world, would embrace such an expansive model of societal grace.  Still, I want to ask, especially in light of the present near-apocalyptic global pandemic, what is the alternative?

With world economies in shambles, joblessness going through the roof, supply chains breaking down, and national debts soaring, what would make the most sense in order for all of us to be able to start again a life of relative normalcy?  Will we evict tenants unable to pay their rent?  Should banks foreclose on mortgages?  Will we extract Shylock’s “pound of flesh” to insure we get what is owed to us?  Is there no place for mercy at the end of the pandemic?

Admittedly, getting the nations of the world to agree on a gracious course of economic action would likely be the most formidable challenge the United Nations has ever envisioned.  Cancelling debts, whether of nations or individuals, has consequences for creditors, mortgage holders, and economic systems.  But it seems to me that trying to collect on the world’s debt will be far more destructive to economic recovery than negotiating a model of debt forgiveness akin to what we find outlined in the Year of Jubilee.

At the present moment it is the coronavirus health crisis that is taking all our attention and resources, as it rightly should be.  But a year from now, after the medical crisis has been hopefully disarmed and the virus’ impact has been limited, our crisis will be one of economic justice.  Justice, of course, is “getting what one deserves.”  But if we each and all insist on getting what we deserve, our recovery will not only be prolonged, it will also be nasty - there is no other word.

Mercy, however, as described in Leviticus 25, does not insist on getting what one deserves.  Rather, mercy is a gift given with no strings attached, with no expectation of reciprocation.  The Year of Jubilee provides us with a model for how to restore a community’s life to some degree of fairness after a time when persons (and perhaps nations) have experienced both the ups and downs of human experience.  Such a model does require of those who have profited in life to forego some of that profit for the good of the community.  So, yes, the “haves” must sacrifice for the sake of the “have nots.”  This is a slap in the face of capitalism, but like Jesus said, “what will it profit them to gain the whole world and lose their soul?”

From my perspective the Year of Jubilee is not just an ethical model for us to embrace, but I believe it to be the most practical way forward.  Does it not make sense in light of the economic chaos before us to wipe the slate clean and start afresh?  I do not suggest that any of this will be simple, but I do believe Jubilee would provide a more human, humane, and practical solution to the challenges we will face in the year, or years, to come.  

Jubilee puts a priority on mercy.  Justice, of course, is also a godly principle, and most of us believe in justice.  Most of us want justice for people.  We want people to get what they deserve (whether reward or punishment).  But when the question is turned around to us, we would prefer for ourselves not justice - not what we deserve, but mercy - the gift of a new beginning.  Jubilee insures a new beginning for us all.  Jubilee is what we will need as the coronavirus finishes its course.  We could all use a little mercy now.