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.

  

Epic Journey

Epic journeys are commonplace in these times.  Thousands have climbed Everest.  Men have walked on the moon.  I know several people who have walked the Appalachian Trail.  A teenage girl from Holland, Laura Decker, sailed around the world by herself, finishing in January of 2012.  I have contemplated a bicycle tour across America.

Why do we humans have a need for such adventures?  We like to test our limits, as Robert Browning wrote,

“Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
Or what's a heaven for?”

The Bible has a cautionary tale about human striving and ambition.  As the ancients built the tower of Babel they did so saying, “Let us make a name for ourselves.”  As medieval architects constructed grand edifices intended for the worship of God I suspect there was a thin line between pious devotion and human pride.

I am writing this in early December, contemplating epic journeys, like the one Joseph and Mary took to Bethlehem from Nazareth.  By modern standards it seems like nothing, only 100 miles.  Still, walking from the hills of Galilee to the mountains of Jerusalem would have been an eight to ten day journey, with the threat of robbers along the way.  Every image we have of that journey shows Mary on a donkey, but the scripture mentions no beast of burden.  She walked. 

And when Jesus was born we are told that shepherds came to witness, telling Mary of angelic messengers announcing his birth.  Mary, we are told, pondered these things in her heart.

I wonder if the longest journey we make has nothing to do with mileage or terrain but has more to do with heart-pondering.  The reason we make epic journeys and test the limits probably has less to do with how much are bodies can take as it does with a desire to discover what we’re made of – who we are.  I wonder what Mary and Joseph learned about themselves on that journey to Bethlehem?  As Jesus grew and chose a path that his parents likely would not have chosen for him, that too was a journey he was taking them on.  What did Mary ponder as she witnessed his crucifixion?

The most epic journeys are about self-discovery, journeys that require no special equipment or extraordinary endurance.  The Christmas story invites us to go on an epic journey, to see if we can travel the same road Jesus trod.  It looks so pleasant at the stable entrance, but terrifying at Golgotha.  This epic journey tests our character, in order to discover what we’re made of.  Such a journey might just be our salvation.  After all, isn’t that what we hope our epic journeys are for?    

Belief: It's Not What You Know

          Early Christianity was not without its controversies and divisions, no less than today.  The apostle Paul’s writings to the Corinthians make this clear.  The disagreements continued into the centuries to come.  One early school of Christian thought came to be known as the “gnostics.”  Among their teachings was the notion that only a select few had access to the necessary knowledge, or “gnosis,” that would gain them salvation or escape from this physical world.

          In time, the gnostics were considered a sect that did not represent the core of Christian teaching, or “orthodoxy.”  However, there are remnants of Gnosticism that linger on.  One of the values of learning the disputes in ancient church history is the way those same issues arise among the people of God even today.  What’s new is old.

          There is a version of Christianity that suggests that you have to believe in certain precepts in order to attain salvation.  They may be the four spiritual laws, or twelve abiding principles, or seven habits, etc., but what they have in common is a presumption that agreement with these precepts leads to salvation.  Salvation becomes a head game, a matter of what you know, or what you think.  And if you don’t think like I do, or know what I know, then you are lost.

          Those last few sentences should sound familiar because they describe the practice of many contemporary Christians; and it is a modern manifestation of Gnosticism.  Almost every church has a few gnostics.  And some of them can be rather virulent. 

          There are passages in the New Testament of the Bible that seem to lean in a gnostic direction, as Paul’s words to the church at Colossae:  “I became [the church’s] servant according to God’s commission that was given to me for you, to make the word of God fully known, the mystery that has been hidden throughout the ages and generations but has now been revealed to his saints (Colossians 1:25).”   However, in context, the mystery that Paul is revealing is never intended for a select few but for all the world.  Paul is constantly crossing both geographical and socio-ethnic boundaries to reveal this mystery to all.  And the “mystery” is not so much a body of knowledge as it is a witness to the living presence of Christ available to every believer.

          Belief, then, is not about WHAT you know, but WHO you know.  Or rather, the assurance that you are KNOWN by a God who loves you enough to be with you in your darkest hour, even in the midst of suffering and death.  The essence of Christian belief is not a body of knowledge that sets you apart from everyone else, but the revelation that God loves the world so much that God enters into the worst aspects of the human condition in order to redeem, reconcile, and make new.

          The problem with modern versions of Gnosticism is that they still make salvation into something that believer has to do (or think).  But in orthodox Christianity, the source of salvation is always in what God has already done.  So, salvation is not about thinking the right thoughts, or even believing the right things.  Salvation is about trusting the love God has for us.  The apostle Paul writes to the Corinthian church, " if I understand all mysteries and all knowledge . . . but do not have love, I am nothing (1 Cor. 13:2)."

          I am reminded of the words spoken by priest, Blackie Ryan, in a novel by Andrew Greeley.  Father Ryan says that he doesn’t believe everything the church teaches but what he does believe in, he does so with all his heart.  I invite you not so much to agree with every doctrine of the church (though don’t be so hasty to dismiss it all), but to trust with all your heart the love that God has for all humanity, and thus, for you.  It’s not what you know, it’s Who knows you.

           

What the Hell?

If you pay attention to religious news you will have seen some serious controversy over hell. Is it real? Is it literal? Who is going there? Is anyone?

Rob Bell is the pastor of one of those new mega churches and he has written a book that implies that maybe . . . just maybe . . . God is not going to send everyone to eternal punishment. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . God’s love is bigger than we ever imagined.

“What a grievous error!” Shout out some sincere defenders of the faith. The issue is, if we don’t take hell seriously, then we grow slack in our efforts to evangelize the world, and thus the world, as they say, goes to hell (assuming hell is an actual place/existential reality). Point well-taken. We wouldn’t want anyone going to hell because of our theological fuzziness or the complacency of our witness.

A Methodist colleague and student pastor in the eastern part of North Carolina recently was removed from his appointment at the church’s request because, among other things, he agreed with Rob Bell. Obviously, it doesn’t pay to not take hell seriously.

I think Rob Bell has gotten so much attention because of his popularity. He is not saying anything that hasn’t been said before (Phillip Gulley and Robert Mulholland, If God is Love, and If Grace Is True). For that matter, in the early centuries of the church’s history a man named Origen also explored the possibility of universal salvation, and was proclaimed a heretic for his trouble.

Most of us have a vision of hell that is shaped more by Dante’s Inferno, written in the 14th Century, than the hell of scripture. Medieval art gives us vivid images of souls enduring eternal punishment.

Modern sensibility denies such literalism. Jesus did tell parables of judgment, but the argument goes that the images he used were for the purposes of instruction. He used metaphor and hyperbole to make a point. Gehenna, often translated as “hell” was a reference to the Hinnom Valley outside of Jerusalem where everyone took their trash to be burned. You can imagine the smoke always rising from Gehenna, a graphic way to envision an unrepentant life – selfish, sinful, good for nothing but smoke. But did Jesus mean that people were going to literally burn forever in a lake of fire? I find that hard to believe from the same Jesus who in John’s Gospel (3:17) came, “not to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved.”

Here’s the heart of the matter for me. It is not for me to decide the nature of hell. I have had experiences that felt like hell, and I know people who seem to be going through hell, so I know that much about the reality of it. I also am not in the position to decide who goes to hell and who doesn’t. The whole point of John 14:6 seems to be that it is Jesus who decides (no one comes to the Father but through me). Will Jesus save everyone? I doubt it. Some people are so stubborn they will bite off their own nose to spite their face.
Evil is real. C.S. Lewis said not to take the devil too seriously, but he also reminds us not to take him too lightly, either.

I believe Jesus doesn’t force himself on anyone. There is no vestige of hyper-Calvinism in me. We are always free to reject or accept – to obey or not. That was true in the Garden of Eden, and I assume it is true eternally. No one is brought into the kingdom against their will. Does that mean they are going to hell? I don’t know. Maybe it means they are already in it. Does that mean they will eventually be saved. I don’t know. Jesus is the one who decides. Meanwhile, I keep sharing the good news about a man who is like no man history has ever known – someone who came not to condemn the world but that the world through him might be saved. There is fullness of life in him. I do know that much.

“Who is to condemn? It is Christ Jesus, who died, yes, who was raised, who is at the right hand of God, who indeed intercedes for us (Romans 8:34).” Perhaps as long as Jesus is interceding for us there is hope for all of us, come hell or high water.