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.

      

I Want to Be in that Number

I’ve made some assertions lately, that in every age of history God will have a people to give witness to God’s design and purposes for creation.  There have been times in human history when that body of people has been numerous, and other times, witnessed in scripture, when there have been fewer - a righteous remnant - a missional outpost of the kingdom of God.  I have also described the transition Christianity seems to be experiencing this century, in which traditional embodiments of the faith seem to be waning while new expressions are forming.  I have tried to avoid making judgments about these new expressions, but it stands to reason that some are more faithful than others in embodying the essence of the gospel - the good news of Jesus Christ and his kingdom.  If so, which of these expressions of Christian community are the “righteous remnant”?  

This is a question history has answered with its 20/20 hindsight.  There has been a tug-of-war between true belief and heresy.  Many heresies which have been cast on the waste piles of Christian history - heresies that at one time seemed like valid expressions of faith - Gnosticism,  Arianism, Marcionism, Docetism, Donatism - and the list goes on.

In more recent history, the church has been less prone to brand “heresies” but there are certainly irregular and flawed expressions of Christianity in modern times.  To name a few:  

Darbyism, with its dispensationalist sensationalism. 

Nazi Germany’s coopting of Christianity as a facade for its horrors. 

The Prosperity Gospel’s “name it, claim it,” theology.

The appropriation of Christian language and symbols by white supremicists.

The profiteering of TV evangelists.

I could name more examples but the question remains, how do we recognize the righteous remnant?  How easy it is to fall into the self-deluding belief that we are among the righteous, when more often than not we are actually being self-righteous. How pleasing it is to think, “I am among the few who are right!”  Even when we could not be more wrong!

And while I may be as guilty as anyone in assuming that my opinions are the right ones, the history of orthodoxy leads us not to absolutes but to certain consensual conclusions.  While there are sects and tangential religious movements, some of which have offered helpful, and even needful, lessons for the Church, there  is a core of beliefs and a witness of practices which, over time, have offered a foundation upon which any expression of Christian faith may be judged.  We call that orthodoxy (“straight teaching”).

However, I prefer to focus on orthopraxy (“straight practice”) - instead of being overly concerned with right belief, should we not be looking at right, or fitting, actions?  While Protestantism has been built on “salvation by faith,” perhaps we should not discount the importance of “works.”  John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, insisted that Christianity was based on faith manifested by works.  Our practice of faith, and not simply our creedal beliefs, reveal who we are as Christians.  I am known as a Christian, not only by what I profess, but also by what I do, perhaps principally so.  Jesus, as Savior, calls me to be a disciple, which means “follower.”  Following is an action.  Jesus, as Lord, calls me to obey.  Obeying is an action.  Orthopraxy is as valid a measure of Christian faith as is orthodoxy.  Both are important, together.    

Are there beliefs and practices which are marks of authentic Christianity?  As Christianity evolves into different expressions, is it unfair of us to ask which of these expressions is most authentic - most Christlike in word and deed (orthodoxy and orthopraxy)?  In the end, all that really matters is Christlikeness.  I want to be considering what that Christlikeness looks like in the coming weeks, and what a community looks like which practices such Christlikeness.  I want to be a part of that kind of community - that righteous remnant.  I want to be in that number.  

Jubilee

“Do not take advantage of one another, but fear your God.  I am the Lord your God.”  (Leviticus 25:17)

You have probably read about the man who hoarded over 17,000 bottles of hand sanitizer in anticipation of heightened demand at the onset of the coronavirus.  When Amazon halted his attempt to sell bottles at elevated prices he was left wondering what to do with not only sanitizers but also other items he had purchased in bulk in anticipation of high demand.  He gave no indication that he felt sorry for his attempts to gouge buyers for the products he had purchased.  Aside from the fact that what he did at the micro-economic level is multiplied by others at the macro-level (futures investors, short sellers, hedge fund managers, etc.), I am left wondering how he can live with such an empty sense of conscience.

Admittedly, I have a hyper-developed sense of guilt which I have spent a lifetime trying to overcome.  Gratefully, I have made great strides in overcoming childhood shame and the neurotic guilt which can be so debilitating.  Still, there is a role for a healthy sense of guilt.  While there are many things I no longer feel guilty about, there are some things about which one should feel guilty - both sins of omission and commission -   hoarding much needed health supplies and squeezing unethical profits from them being but one example.  

The verse from Leviticus with which I open this blog encourages us not to take advantage of one another - a fitting instruction for Christian people, indeed, for anyone.  Like the Golden Rule, even non-Christians seem ready to see the good of this advice.  And in the present crisis of the coronavirus contagion, not taking advantage of one another - doing unto others as we would have them do unto us - seems like the better way forward.

The verse from Leviticus Chapter 25 is located in a body of instruction on the Year of Jubilee, a kind of super sabbath to be observed every fifty years.  The intent of the Jubilee year was to provide a great economic equalizer across society so that everyone could start afresh - wiping the slate clean so that people could have a new start.  Debts would be cancelled.  Slaves set free.  Property would be returned to ancestral owners.  The intent of Jubilee was justice, giving everyone a fair shake.  

Consider what might happen in semi-nomadic, agricultural society like that of ancient Israel.  In some places, some years, the crops do poorly.  The land owner has to borrow money, or perhaps sell some land, in order to make ends meet.  And if the misfortune continues, that land owner may have to sell everything, becoming an indentured servant, or slave, in order to provide for his family.  While this may seem an unlikely scenario, it does illustrate what can happen over the course of generations, especially if people “take advantage” of one another.

The present health crisis is creating an economic crisis as well.  Millions of workers are losing jobs.  Many small businesses will fail.  But some niche businesses will thrive.  Some corporations will lose millions while others will flourish.  Even now there are companies ready to hire thousands of workers.  The coronavirus is creating an unprecedented shift in our economy.  Many will suffer.  Many will thrive.  And I wonder if the Year of Jubilee can offer a model for how we might handle the sudden changes in our economy.

Can debts be forgiven?  What does it mean in the coming days for “slaves to be set free”?  After the dust settles, will there be an opportunity for people to make a fresh start, unencumbered by their losses?  What will it mean in the next years for us to “not take advantage of one another”?  What will justice look like?  

What if everyone started over again from scratch?  

I don’t see that happening, of course, but the Year of Jubilee is a good corrective on the view of capitalism that believes “win at all costs” is the only thing that matters.  Now is the time for a more humane approach, a more just solution to the human suffering that is now taking place for millions of people.  The Year of Jubilee reminds hand sanitizer hoarders not to engage in price gouging.  The Year of Jubilee judges Wall Street financiers who profit from national disasters.  The Year of Jubilee creates a society of people who will not take advantage of one another.  May we soon have reason to celebrate the end of the spread of the coronavirus so that we might shout, “Hallelujah!”  And as we deal with the long-term economic consequences of the outbreak of COVID-19 may we have reason to shout, “Jubilee!”   

How Do People Act During a Pandemic?

Her shopping cart was filled to overflowing as she eyed the shelves down the aisle of the Harris-Teeter.  The store itself was jammed with anxious customers responding to the first warnings that a pandemic was possibly in the early stages of spreading.  Already the packages of toilet paper had been wiped out and harried shoppers were deliberating wildly on what supplies they would need for the long haul.  Her gaze fell on the microwave popcorn and, as if her family’s survival depended on a three month supply, she swept all the boxes on the shelf into her burgeoning cart and made her satisfied way to the checkout line.

Have people gone nuts?  When the weather forecasts snow, sleet, or ice, the rule is you stock up on bread and milk - a well-documented fact.  Apparently when there is a threat of pandemic, the necessities are popcorn and toilet paper.  Who woulda thunk it?  

If there ever was any doubt that human beings are not rational, the current health crisis proves the point.  People are reacting emotionally with little attention to reason.  The media, health professionals, and government officials keeps alerting the public to pay attention to facts, not fear, but facts no longer seem to matter in the 21st Century.  Maybe it has always been true, that what we feel in our gut always overrules what we think in our head.

Truly, the present crisis has no precedent in recent history.  There are lessons to be drawn, however, from the deadliest pandemic in history - the influenza outbreak of 1918.  John Barry, a historian writing in the New York Times, describes how containment of the virus has already failed, as it did in 1918.  The challenge now is to comply with best practices - measures taken to suppress the spread.  Barry points to the failure of compliance as a leading cause for the number of deaths in 1918.  History teaches us that people are often quick to comply with best practices at the beginning of an outbreak, but that compliance diminishes quickly.  Washing hands, wearing masks, keeping our distance, are not practices for the short-term, but will be necessary for months if we are to be successful in halting the spread of the coronavirus.  There are pandemic deniers who will, of course, resist the call to comply with best practices.  We can only appeal to their desire for the public good assuming they can see past their selfishness.

Another lesson from 1918 provides us a different challenge.  How will we care for one another?  As a Christian, this question takes on great importance for me.  In 1918 there were numerous cases of people, self-quarantined, who starved to death because of the failure of society to care for one another.  David Brooks, conservative columnist, describes the societal shame that resulted  from that lack of caring following the pandemic a century ago.  How may we avoid that shame in this new crisis?

I can understand the desire of someone, like our Harris-Teeter shopper above, to do whatever they can imagine to protect and provide for her family.  However, how may we expand on that urge to care so that we reach out to the wider community?  I have a friend who reminded me years ago that until we care for children (and people) beyond our own flesh and blood we will continue to fall short of the kingdom ideals that Jesus proclaimed.  When the disciples wanted assurance that they were included in the flock of Jesus’ care, he reminded them that he had “other sheep” to gather into his fold (John 10:16).  

So, I would add one additional best practice - caring for one another.  This will be a challenge during dystopian times, of course.  After all, how does one practice social distancing while caring for each other?  But just because the practice may be difficult does not mean it is impossible.  In every community there will be opportunities to show care - 

for the poor

for health care workers

for those who provide essential services

for grocery store employees

for the elderly, living alone

We must not allow social distancing to lead to social alienation and neglect.  I would encourage everyone in every community to reach out to social service agencies to discover ways in which care for others might be expressed.  Or, call an older adult to make sure they’re okay.  Call a single mother to see if she needs groceries.  Love thy neighbor.  As Jesus also said, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. . .” (John 13:35)  These are going to be difficult days.  May they be days we are able to remember without shame.