Author: Gary

Not long ago, I was listening to Michael Enwright’s CBC Radio program The Sunday Edition.¹ Enwright and two palliative-care doctors were discussing how end-of-life care in Canada is changing in response to the recent legalization of euthanasia—often referred to now as “physician-assisted death.”

Some doctors favour it. Others don’t, of course. One of Enwright’s guests said that, among her colleagues, many did not want the authority to euthanize a patient—yet still wanted the right to be able to choose assisted death for themselves!

This is the crux of the matter, isn’t it?

I suspect most Canadians are sympathetic toward individuals who—facing extreme physical torment—plead for the release of death. But that doesn’t mean we covet the role of executioner. Even doctors, generally, are reluctant to pull the trigger. Or at least, they don’t want to make the decision.

But who should make the decision?

Who lives? Who dies? How much suffering is too much? And whose suffering are we talking about? How certain are we that, from here on in, euthanasia will be visited only upon competent and consenting adults?

A while back, British atheist Richard Dawkins found himself at the centre of a firestorm for comments he made on social media. In response to a question on his Twitter feed, Dawkins had stated his opinion that a fetus with Down Syndrome ought to be aborted—and that, in fact, it would be “immoral” to do otherwise.²

He later blamed Twitter’s 144-word limitation for the uproar, saying that he didn’t have enough space to completely explain his viewpoint. Fair enough. Still, I did not find his blunt remark on Twitter at all surprising.

As an evolutionary biologist, Dawkins is passionately committed to the theory of natural selection proposed by Charles Darwin over a century ago. You’ve heard it. We all have. A species evolves as its defective or less-adaptable members die off. This natural process leads to the improvement of the species, as only the best specimens live long enough to pass on their genes to future generations. Often, the theory is boiled down to a naked proposition: “Only the strong survive.” The weak do not.

Well, that’s a simple statement of fact, as observed in the natural world. And if your focus is solely upon the physical robustness of an organism—and its desirability as a carrier of genetic material—then you would of course conclude that “the law of the jungle” is an all-round good thing. Natural selection is the hog-butcher’s friend.

Yet many religious believers—and perhaps most especially evangelical Christians—are uncomfortable with the whole idea. And not always because of a refusal to accept the theory of evolution or to examine the evidence supporting it. No.

Our discomfort stems, I think, not from natural selection’s observation that “only the strong survive,” but rather from its insistence that this is what should happen. It is, after all, the antithesis of Christian mercy. Of the defective, diseased, and discarded ones to whom Jesus ministered, it is said that “he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36).

Carried into the sphere of public policy—which appears to be what Dawkins and others like him are advocating—natural selection inevitably morphs into the kind of nightmare embodied in Nazi Germany’s “euthanasia” program.

At the Nazi Party Conference in Nuremberg in 1929, Adolf Hitler said that “an average annual removal of 700,000-800,000 of the weakest of a million babies meant an increase in the power of the nation and not a weakening.” ³ Hitler was able to back up that statement by referring to the scientific arguments of Alfred Ploetz, the founder of German racial hygiene.

Applying the Darwinian theory of natural selection to human beings, Ploetz believed that an ideal society could be created through “human selection.” According to Ploetz’s utopian vision, government would examine the moral and intellectual capacity of citizens to decide who would be allowed to procreate. Disabled children would be aborted, while the sick and the weak would be “eliminated.” In other words, “Social Darwinism”—and Aktion T4.⁴

Thinking again about Richard Dawkins and his opinion of less-than-perfect human life, I reframe my previous questions: Who lives? Who dies? Who decides? And according to what criteria?

From its earliest beginnings, Christianity denounced infanticide as murder. In ancient Roman society, this was not the mainstream view. Roman law permitted citizens of the Empire to throw their unwanted babies away in desolate places, where exposure to the elements, dehydration, and starvation would claim their lives. Unless, that is, someone rescued them. History tells us that the Christians did exactly that. Venturing into these places of cruel and lonely death, followers of Jesus saved these babies, taking them into their homes and raising them as their own. ⁵

For the earliest Christians, every infant had worth. They viewed infanticide as the murder of a human being, not as a convenient way to rid society of excess females and perceived weaklings. To them, each child—whether male, female, perfect, or imperfect—was a person of infinite value, created in the image of God.

What the first-century church believed about infants is, I hope, believed of all human beings by the 21st-century church. We are all persons of infinite value, each of us bearing our Creator’s likeness. Let us, therefore, remain vigilant—and ready to speak out, lest ideology or expedience usurp mercy’s crown.

__________________________________

NOTES:

¹ http://www.cbc.ca/radio/thesundayedition/june-11-2017-the-sunday-edition-with-michael-enright-1.4150230

² http://www.bbc.com/news/blogs-ouch-28879659

³ Völkischer Beobachter, Bavarian edition dated August 7, 1929. In: Enzyklopädie des Nationalsozialismus, edited by Wolfgang Benz, Hermann Graml and Hermann Weiß, Digitale Bibliothek, Vol. 25, p. 578, Directmedia, Berlin 1999

⁴ The code-name “T4” came from the street address of the euthanasia program’s coordinating office in Berlin: Tiergartenstrasse 4. For an excellent overview of this topic, visit the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum’s website: https://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005200

⁵ This clip from a “Day of Discovery” broadcast explains the practice of “exposure” in ancient Rome: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKOZKWJGhWs&t=75s

 

UPDATE: INFO ABOUT ASSISTED DEATH https://www.dnaweekly.com/blog/complete-guide-euthanasia-where-how-when-legal/

 

 

TEXT: Matthew 13:31-33

The Kingdom of Heaven is like … a raspberry seed that someone planted in his garden. It is the smallest of all seeds, but when it grows up … it takes over your entire yard!

I know about this. I have raspberry bushes in my garden—and every year they produce seemingly endless quantities of fruit. They’re not hard to grow. In fact, the real challenge lies in containing the raspberries. And I’m not talking about containing the fruit in jars.

No. I mean keeping the bushes from growing where we don’t want them to grow. That’s the challenge! Because raspberry plants keep popping up everywhere—in the vegetable garden, amongst the flowers, over the other side of the fence … even through cracks in the concrete sidewalk.

You don’t need the wisdom of Solomon in order to cultivate raspberries. Or even a green thumb. I mean, if you’re looking for a foolproof business, I think raspberry farming would be it! Raspberry bushes are incredibly tough. You actually don’t even have to bother planting the tiny seeds. You can just cut some branches and stick them in the ground; they will develop roots and grow. They produce an abundant summer harvest, and always seek to enlarge their territory. The only difficult thing is keeping up with their production.

In chapter 15 of Matthew’s gospel, Jesus tells a parable not about raspberries, but about mustard. But they are kind of similar plants, in a way. Not that mustard tastes very much like raspberry jam … But raspberries and mustard (at least, the kind of mustard Jesus had in mind) have some things in common. They both have tiny seeds. And they share the same robust energy.

The people listening to Jesus would have understood that the mustard plant is a weed that grows like a bush and spreads. We see it in Canada, too. We call it wild mustard. Wild mustard is an invasive weed. Left unchecked, it will entirely take over a field, choking out the other plants. And it will do that before you know it.

Think about that. Jesus is comparing the Kingdom of Heaven to a plant that constantly and inevitably (and vigorously) keeps on growing and spreading. Just like raspberry bushes. According to Jesus, that’s what the Kingdom of Heaven is like.

Or at least, that’s how it turns out in the end. Jesus’ point is that the beginnings of the Kingdom are tiny. The Kingdom of Heaven starts out small. It’s barely noticeable. But once the Kingdom takes root, it spreads everywhere. You can’t miss it. In fact, you and I are part of that growth—part of that Kingdom—even if nobody recognizes us for what we are. The most important thing, however, is that God knows what we are. Our heavenly Father recognizes us.

We might be small and insignificant today—but tomorrow we’ll be invasive weeds!

Okay. Maybe that’s not exactly what Jesus meant. But you get the picture, right? And even if you don’t, Jesus provides another illustration. He says that the Kingdom of Heaven is like yeast that a woman mixes with flour to make huge amounts of dough.

Now, in Jesus’ day, yeast did not come in convenient little foil packages. “Leaven” was a remnant of dough that was allowed to … well … rot! Or ferment. A fungus from the air—in other words, yeast—would settle on the dough and begin to work. This remnant was then used to leaven the next day’s batch—which it would quickly do, working its way throughout the entire lump of dough. If you don’t understand what’s going on, it looks like magic, because yeast isn’t just small—it’s microscopic! A single cell.

Mustard seeds and yeast. Two parables about small, insignificant things turning into great big things. But more than that, they are parables about how the Kingdom of Heaven takes over everything around it. The mustard takes over the field. The yeast takes over the bread. They are barely noticeable to begin with, but—over time—they change everything around them. That, Jesus says, is how the Kingdom of Heaven works.

You know, that should be encouraging to us. Because sometimes it seems like our efforts to bring about God’s Kingdom are not all that effective. Jesus, however, tells us that the Kingdom starts out small like a mustard seed—but then it turns into a giant tree that shelters and nurtures life around it.

By the way, that’s hyperbole. Jesus knew full well that mustard does not actually grow into a tree. If that happened, it would be … a miracle (or just a daily occurrence in the Kingdom of Heaven; God can do amazing things with even our tiniest efforts).

Scott Hoezee is a well-known preacher and author. He’s also the Director of the Center for Excellence in Preaching at Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Not long ago—on the seminary’s website—he wrote this:

… as bearers of God’s kingdom, we keep plugging away at activities which may look silly or meaningless to the world but which we believe contain the very seed of a new creation. We keep coming to church and singing our old hymns, reciting our old formulas and creeds. All of us who preach keep cracking open an ancient book called the Bible, looking to find within it truths that are anything-but ancient. We keep gathering at sick beds and death beds and whisper our prayers for the Spirit of the resurrection to be with us in life and in death. We keep drizzling water onto squirming infants and popping cubes of white bread into our mouths in the earnest faith that through the Spirit baptism and communion don’t just mean something, they mean everything.

And we keep working for Jesus in this mixed-up, backward world of ours. We quietly carry out our jobs and raise our kids and tend our marriages in the belief that God has designs for all those things and it’s our job to follow them. We keep pointing people to an old rugged cross, having the boldness to suggest that the man who died on that cross is now the Lord of the galaxies.*

Did you hear that, you tired disciples? What you do matters. Not just what you do on Sunday morning, but what you do at work, or behind the wheel of your car, or at the grocery check-out, or anyplace else you turn up through the rest of the week—it all matters! More than that, it makes an incredible difference. If Jesus can say that the Kingdom of Heaven takes over this world through little things like mustard seeds and yeast, then the Kingdom of Heaven is surely taking over this world through you, as well! Even your small corner of the world is being transformed because of what God is doing in and through you.

No, it won’t be easy. Raspberry bushes are covered with thorns.

Yes, you may encounter resistance—or (maybe worse) apathy.

Yes, it may often seem like you’re just spinning your wheels, getting nowhere.

But in these parables, Jesus tells us different. He says that the Kingdom of Heaven is coming through things that appear unimportant and ineffectual … and perhaps even irrelevant. So, don’t give up!

Keep planting those mustard seeds. Remembering that God sees what is done in secret, keep hiding that yeast in the bread. Continue sowing seeds of kindness and mercy. Keep doing what is just and right, even if you meet opposition. Because—although you may not see the fruit of it—Jesus promises that this is how the Kingdom comes.

*http://cep.calvinseminary.edu/sermon-starters/proper-12a/?type=the_lectionary_gospel

 

TEXT: Romans 8:12-25

We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves … (Romans 8:22-23)

This Tuesday past, Iris and I celebrated 36 years of marriage. Thirty-six years. As I reflect on that, I recall how different we both were, way back then. In many ways, we were completely unlike the persons we are today.

On July 18, 1981—in the eyes of the law—we became a married couple. But in reality, each of us was still very much an isolated individual. This new thing we were creating—this unity of husband and wife—remained a work in progress. And there would be many years of accommodation and adjustment—and groaning—ahead of us, as this new thing began to take shape. It would be a long journey, with our destination always seemingly just beyond the horizon. I suspect most veteran married couples would report a similar experience.

Reflecting on that journey, I recall a day—some 10 years into it—when I sat with Iris in a delivery room, witnessing the birth of our only son. It was not a quiet process. There was much groaning and crying out (not all of it from Iris) as this struggle of creation unfolded.

Some wise person once said, “Groaning is the soundtrack of creation.” As the apostle Paul put it, “We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now” (Rom. 8:22).

To anyone who’s given birth—or witnessed a birth—Paul’s metaphor packs quite a punch. The work of creation can be not only difficult, but also frightening. At the very least, it is always hard labour—and sometimes it is brutal. No wonder it produces groaning.

This groaning takes place in a gap—the gap between what we are doing and what we hope to do. In the gap between what is and what is yet to be—in the gap between creation as God intends and wills it and the reality of here and now—we labour, and we groan.

In chapter eight of his Letter to the Romans, the apostle Paul writes about this gap, and this groaning. He  urges us to embrace optimism and hope—even while living in a world that rarely delivers what God has promised.

“Life in the gap.” Or, as Paul calls it, “life in the Spirit.” His entire ministry was—in a way—about bridging this gap.

Paul believed that—in Jesus—he had seen the fulfillment of creation. He also believed—fervently—that this fulfillment was not only within reach, but soon to become a concrete reality. He wrote, “I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us” (Rom. 8:18).

Even so, Paul realized that those who read his words were still living with injustice, war, poverty, persecution, and pain. He saw future glory even as he felt present suffering. Paul exhorted the Roman Christians to “live in the Spirit,” looking toward the glory that lies just beyond the gap. That is “life in the Spirit,” according to Paul.

Life in the Spirit is a life defined by supreme confidence—confidence that, through Christ, we have already been freed from those things that would increase our suffering.

Life in the Spirit is a life devoid of hatred and violence, filled instead with love and reconciliation. Life in the Spirit, according to Paul, is about living not in quiet desperation, but in glad—and groaning—exertion.

“Living in the gap” is not easy. Even though we may from time to time catch a glimpse of our glorious destination, we still live here—in a world that is not yet fully glorified.

As for Paul, his eyes had seen the glory of the risen Christ! And his conviction and faith and excitement must have been contagious, filling the hearts and minds of those in the churches he planted.

Yet, the inglorious world lay just outside the door of each house church. Every time the fellowship meal ended and people returned to their everyday lives, they were confronted by some harsh realities. Especially for those outside the ruling class, Roman society did not much resemble heaven’s kingdom.

Jesus told parables about the world to come. Paul wrote about adoption into God’s family and “waiting with eager longing” and hoping for what we do not see. Such words were meant to encourage first-century believers—but they are also encouraging words for today, because Christians are still living in the gap.

Many of us know the reality of God’s love, having experienced it in our lives. Many of us have witnessed it in grand acts of compassion—and beheld it in small but grace-filled acts of kindness. We rejoice when goodness triumphs, and we celebrate when sick ones return to health. These are clear signs that the Kingdom of Heaven has indeed come near.

Yet, every day we wake up to news about war and rumors of war, about violence in homes and communities, about soul-crushing poverty in every country, about injustice and persecution, corruption and cruelty. Everywhere we look, it seems, the inherent dignity of every human being is under attack.

As Paul reminded the Christians in ancient Rome, so he reminds us, here and now: our hope is not based on what we can see. Christian hope is based on the confidence and assurance that the risen Christ is present in the world, bringing the Kingdom of Heaven into being. In other words, Jesus is closing the gap.

Through his Spirit, God is even now building a bridge between what is and what is to come. This has been the work of God from the beginning of creation. Living as Christians—living in the gap—means joining in this work. As children of God, we are expected to pitch in and help.

How do we do that? The way we can pitch in—the way we can join in this work—is by living a life in the Spirit. And we absolutely cannot live that way by ignoring the gap. No.

Jesus calls us to stride boldly into the gap—working for justice, standing for peace, feeding the hungry, weeping with those who weep and rejoicing with those who rejoice … all the while striving and straining and groaning.

“Striving and straining and groaning.” If you are a serious disciple of Jesus, you know a thing or two about that. You know about the importance of hard work. You know about hope—and you also know what change looks like. Sometimes it makes you smile. Sometimes it makes you groan.

Groaning is the soundtrack of creation. It’s the sound of the gap closing. It’s the sound of the Spirit overcoming resistance. Life in the Spirit strains and groans to close the gap. It is a good, honest groaning. And it heralds what will be.

Life in the Spirit bridges the gap between the agony of labour and the joy of holding the newborn.  Ultimately, life in the Spirit leads us to a place where we can look back upon our long journey with a sense of satisfaction and gratitude.

As Christians, we are called to be gap closers. We are called to span the distance between what should be and what is. We are called to strain, and heave, and work, and hoist—all in order to close that gap. And when we groan in the doing, we sing in harmony with the soundtrack of creation.

So, friends, let’s stay true in the struggle—groaning if we need to, but faithful to the task. And never doubt this: the gap is closing. Thanks be to God.

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death (ROMANS 8:1-2).

On a road called Edmonton Trail in the City of Calgary, Alberta, there is displayed an atheist billboard. It’s looking kind of tattered and shabby these days, but it’s still there. I guess the atheists have run out of money for its upkeep. If you’re headed north toward McKnight Boulevard, it’s off to your left, on 35th Avenue, just past “Barbecues Galore.” It has a large picture of a pleasant-looking young woman (whose name appears to be “Jenn”) who tells us that “Praying won’t help; doing will!”

All on its own, that is a questionable statement—although it does contain a molecule of truth: if all we do is pray—without ever backing our words up with actions—then our prayers will lack the kind of power they could have.

However, there’s another statement on that billboard—and it’s a familiar atheist catch-phrase: “Without God, we’re all good.”

“Without God, we’re all good.” Atheists say this, glibly—like they think it’s a self-evident fact; as if anyone who hears it will immediately and unquestioningly accept it. But they are naïve. Or maybe they just think the rest of us are. Because it’s easy to mock that statement. All you’d have to do is replace the picture on that sign. Instead of that pleasant-looking, smiling young woman …

Suppose you replaced her with a photograph of Adolf Hitler? Or Joseph Stalin? Or a child-murderer like Clifford Olson or John Wayne Gacy? Or a serial-killer and rapist like Ted Bundy or Paul Bernardo?

Picture it. A ten-foot-high portrait of Charles Manson, looking thrilled with himself, and grinning broadly as he informs us: “Without God, we’re all good.” Obviously, that is not true. And anyone who puts a slogan like that on a billboard for all to see … Well, I have to think they’re just not very …“bright.”

With God or without him, we are not “all good.”

Now, I don’t think I’m in quite the same league as Charles Manson or Hitler, but I am a sinner. And so I would never dare attach my own likeness—or my name—to any claim of “goodness.”

As it says in the First Letter of John, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us” (1 John 1:8).

Even with God, we are not “all good.”

However, with God, we are also “not condemned.” The apostle Paul expands upon this theme in chapter eight of his Letter to the Romans. Since we have died and risen with Christ, he says, we have therefore been transformed; we are “new creations.”

Earlier in that same letter, Paul explains how God demonstrated his love for us: “While we were still sinners,” he writes, “Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8).

This kind of amazing forgiveness and love is called grace. It was given to us when we did not deserve it.

Of course, we don’t deserve it now, either. Nor will we ever deserve it. But the good news is: that doesn’t matter. Grace means that God has forgotten about my past sin … so I should forget about it, also.

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death” (Rom. 8:1-2). Grace means that forgiveness and reconciliation with God have come—not based upon what we have or have not done—but rather, based entirely upon who God is.

Philip Yancey—in his book, What’s So Amazing About Grace?—tells a story about the great British academic, novelist, and theologian C.S. Lewis.

During a British conference on comparative religions, experts from around the world debated what, if any, belief was unique to the Christian faith. They began eliminating possibilities. Incarnation? Other religions had different versions of gods appearing in human form. Resurrection? Again, other religions had accounts of return from death. The debate went on for some time until C.S. Lewis wandered into the room. “What’s the rumpus about?” he asked, and heard in reply that his colleagues were discussing Christianity’s unique contribution among world religions. Lewis responded, “Oh, that’s easy. It’s grace.”

After some discussion, the conferees had to agree. The notion of God’s love coming to us free of charge, no strings attached, seems to go against every instinct of humanity. The Buddhist eight-fold path, the Hindu doctrine of karma, the Jewish covenant, and the Muslim code of law—each of these offers a way to earn approval. Only Christianity dares to make God’s love unconditional.

Aware of our inbuilt resistance to grace, Jesus talked about it often. He described a world suffused with God’s grace: where the sun shines on people good and bad; where birds gather seeds gratis, neither plowing nor harvesting to earn them; where untended wildflowers burst into bloom on the rocky hillsides. Like a visitor from a foreign country who notices what the natives overlook, Jesus saw grace everywhere.

[Philip Yancey, What’s So Amazing About Grace? (Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan Publishing House, 1997), 45.]

Christianity alone makes this assertion: that salvation is offered to undeserving human beings without cost or condition. Indeed, Christianity asserts that grace cannot be earned; it comes—exclusively—as a free gift.

However, this gift of grace must be accepted. It is delivered postage paid, not C.O.D.—but you still have to sign for the package. You have to agree to receive it.

I can hold out to you the greatest gift in the world—but if you never accept it, it is never yours. If you cannot admit that you need grace, you can never receive it; indeed, you will never understand that you need it. C. S. Lewis said that this is the “catch” of grace.

Quoting the psalmist (Ps. 14:3), the apostle Paul famously said: “There is no one who is righteous, not even one” (Romans 3:10). That quotation, I think, makes clear what Jesus meant when he said: “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance” (Luke 5:31-32).

Is any one of us without need of a physician?

Grace means that God’s love and forgiveness come to us free and without cost. It is a gift offered to each and every one of us. All we have to do is accept it.

Have you taken that step? If not … what are you waiting for?

The Pharisees and their scribes were complaining … saying, ‘Why do you eat and drink with tax-collectors and sinners?’ Jesus answered, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.’ (Luke 5:30-32)

The above passage from Luke’s Gospel is from the conversion story of Levi the tax collector (versions of which appear in all three synoptics). Most often, it is commented upon as follows: “A self-righteous man does not recognize his need for salvation, but an admitted sinner does.” That’s true enough, I suppose. And here’s where we might expect the apostle Paul to chime in: “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23).

Jesus, however—in this passage, at least—is much less inclusive. Avoiding any debate about predestination or human nature, he frames his mission statement succinctly: “I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.”  Later on—after embracing yet another despised Roman collaborator (named Zacchaeus)—Jesus would elaborate: “For the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost” (Luke 19:10). In other words, not those considered the “best” people, but those regarded as the worst.

Continue reading “Jesus is for Losers”

For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God (1 Cor. 1:18).

Very recently—because his name came up in something I was reading—I found myself contemplating (what I consider to be) the tragic figure of Bart Ehrman. For those of you who don’t recognize his name, Bart Denton Ehrman is a highly-regarded scholar whose work focuses on textual criticism of the New Testament, questions about the historical Jesus, and the development of early Christianity. He has written or edited some 30 or so books, including five New York Times bestsellers.

Why do I consider him a tragic figure? Because—although he was once a kind of leading light in Christian circles—Ehrman ultimately rejected Christianity altogether.

Ehrman began his career with impeccably evangelical credentials (he is an alumnus of both the Moody Bible Institute and Wheaton College). Then he earned both an M.Div. and a Ph.D. at Princeton Seminary. Sometime after that, the wheels came off his Christian faith. As Ehrman explained it in 2008:

About nine or ten years ago I came to realize that I simply no longer believed the Christian message. A large part of my movement away from the faith was driven by my concern for suffering. I simply no longer could hold to the view—which I took to be essential to Christian faith—that God was active in the world, that he answered prayer, that he intervened on behalf of his faithful, that he brought salvation in the past and that in the future … he would set to rights all that was wrong … We live in a world in which a child dies every five seconds of starvation. Every five seconds. Every minute there are twenty-five people who die because they do not have clean water to drink. Every hour 700 people die of malaria. Where is God in all this? We live in a world in which earthquakes in the Himalayas kill 50,000 people and leave 3 million without shelter in the face of oncoming winter. We live in a world where a hurricane destroys New Orleans. Where a tsunami kills 300,000 people in one fell swoop. Where millions of children are born with horrible birth defects. And where is God? To say that he eventually will make right all that is wrong seems to me, now, to be pure wishful thinking. ¹

Yes. The problem of pain. “Theodical angst,” as someone has called it. How can a good God allow evil and suffering in the world? That’s a legitimate question which, sooner or later, confronts every person of faith. And it’s one for which I, at least, have never found a satisfying answer, over more than 20 years of pastoral ministry. Bad things do happen to good people. And in the face of misfortune, I am often left wondering—along with Bart Ehrman—“Where is God in all this?”

Like I said, I’ve never found a satisfying answer. Yet I still believe in God and in God’s goodness. And as I ponder the reason for that, I refer back to my reflections in some of my earlier posts. ²

Essentially, I believe because my own previous direct experiences of the Divine compel me to do so. God has shown up in my life in ways that are both profound and—for me—utterly convincing. I simply do not any longer have the option of doubt—at least not when it comes to the existence of a personal God. It occurs to me that what I possess in this regard is not really faith; it is concrete certainty.

Statements like I’ve just made drive skeptics crazy. And it’s easy to understand why. Such statements are completely unverifiable. Encounters with God experienced by an individual—and then later reported by the same individual—cannot be proven by the scientific method. They fall into the realm of “subjective reality.” From the inside, they appear absolutely concrete—but from the outside … Well, they just sound crazy. And when it comes to the “problem of pain,” they don’t really offer much insight. But perhaps this is where faith comes in: I am certain of God’s existence; I have faith in his goodness, based on my subjective experience of him.

Trouble is, the vast majority of people—including most professing Christians—never have anything like this kind of convincing subjective experience. Clearly, Bart Ehrman never had one. Left with only the tools of scholarship—logic, textual criticism, and the cold rationality of critical thinking—he found himself unable to remain in the company of those who enthusiastically claim for themselves Paul’s epithet: “We are fools for Christ” (1 Cor. 4:10). Ehrman’s “agnosticism leaning toward atheism” is not a surprising thing. He could hardly have arrived at a different conclusion. I get that.

Even so, I continue to be amazed by the fact that—even in our secular scientific age—so many of us continue to profess some kind of religious faith. Not that long ago, a survey by Carleton University and the Association for Canadian Studies found 30% of Canadians polled agreed with the statement “I know God really exists and I have no doubts.”³ That’s way more than I would have guessed!

And in the United States—according to another recent survey—only about 3 percent of Americans describe themselves as “atheist.”⁴

What does all this mean? I’m not sure. Studies like these rarely ask people what kind of God they do or do not believe in. But it seems clear that—even if organized religion is on its way out—God refuses to leave us.

Whatever sort of faith … or certainty … or doubt we may have … it looks like the Almighty is in this for the long haul.

_________________________

NOTES

¹ http://www.beliefnet.com/columnists/blogalogue/2008/04/why-suffering-is-gods-problem.html

² https://garygrottenberg.wordpress.com/2017/05/28/richard-dawkins-and-the-god-helmet-predestination-reconsidered/

https://garygrottenberg.wordpress.com/2017/06/26/not-far-from-the-kingdom-of-god-albert-einsteins-religion/

³ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irreligion_in_Canada

⁴ http://www.norc.org/PDFs/GSS%20Reports/GSS_Religion_2014.pdf

I’m not an atheist. The problem involved is too vast for our limited minds.” —Albert Einstein¹

I have of late immensely enjoyed reading Walter Isaacson’s best-selling biography of Albert Einstein (Einstein: His Life and Universe, Simon & Schuster, 2008). Focusing upon Einstein’s personality rather than simply upon his theories, Isaacson opens a fascinating window into the personal life of this complicated yet humble genius—a man who loved music, but hated wearing socks; who considered himself a pacifist, yet urged Franklin Roosevelt to build an atomic bomb. More than this, however, Isaacson devotes much of his book to an examination of the renowned physicist’s religious views.

Continue reading “Not Far From the Kingdom of God: Albert Einstein’s Religion”

Saturday night. It could have been anywhere. But it was England. And it was London.

Three terrorists shouted “this is for Allah” as they stabbed random victims during the horrifying van and knife rampage at London Bridge …

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/london-terror-attack-london-bridge-borough-market-allah-eyewitness-a7771881.html

The three attackers were in a white Renault transit van which rammed pedestrians on the bridge just after 10:00 p.m. (London time) on June 3. Then they drove to Borough Market, where they began indiscriminately stabbing members of the public before being gunned down.

The attackers have been praised on social media by ISIS militants and supporters, and the Islamic state group has claimed responsibility.

Less than two weeks ago, a suicide bomber killed 22 children and adults at a concert by singer Ariana Grande at Manchester Arena in northern England. Five people died in March after a man drove into pedestrians on Westminster Bridge in central London and stabbed an unarmed police officer.

“This is for Allah!” No. No, it isn’t.

On Sunday, Harun Khan, Secretary General of the Muslim Council of Britain, denounced the terrorist attacks at London Bridge and Borough Market, saying those who would commit such atrocities during Ramadan “respect neither life nor faith.”

“I am appalled and angered,” Khan said. “These acts of violence were truly shocking and I condemn them in the strongest terms. Muslims everywhere are outraged and disgusted at these cowards who once again have destroyed the lives of our fellow Britons.”

http://www.standard.co.uk/news/london/attack-during-ramadan-shows-they-respect-neither-life-nor-faith-a3556406.html

“This is for Allah!” No, it isn’t.

Above all else, terrorism is murder, and murder is strictly forbidden in the Qur’an. Qur’an 6:151 says, “do not kill a soul that God has made sacrosanct …” And of one who kills an innocent person, Qur’an 5:53 says, “it is as if he has slain all humankind. And whoever saves one, it is as if he has saved humankind entirely.”

In fact, the Qur’an demands of believers that they exercise justice toward others—even when they have reason to be angry with them: “O you who have believed, be persistently standing firm for Allah, witnesses in justice, and do not let the hatred of a people prevent you from being just. Be just; that is nearer to righteousness.”[5:8]

“This is for Allah!” No. No, it isn’t.

Brutal, unprovoked violence against those who have done you no harm—this is not the will of Allah. It is not the work of God, any more than witch trials or Crusades or the Spanish Inquisition or the kidnapping of aid workers. Or public beheadings documented on video.

No. The massacres in London and in Manchester may have been carried out in God’s name—but certainly not in accordance with God’s will.

Well, then … with whose? With whose will could such atrocities accord? And what sort of people could carry them out?

“You are from your father the devil,” Jesus said. “And you choose to do your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks according to his own nature, for he is a liar and the father of lies” (JOHN 8:44).

Yes. The “father of lies.” The one who is the polar opposite of truth.

As someone has remarked, “Satan is very good at his job.” I think the ongoing global struggle against terrorism is a perfect illustration of that point. Not only are unoffending individuals being maimed and killed—not only are young lives being needlessly and senselessly cut short—but members of the three great Abrahamic religions are being dragged into a swirling vortex of destruction and hatred.

The plan is as simple as it is ingenious. With each fresh act of barbarism, Christians and Jews alike find themselves tempted to embrace hatred—to return evil for evil. Whether that means defacing the exterior of a mosque, or bullying and threatening Muslims in our communities, or enforcing a travel ban on persons from Islamic countries—or even (God forbid) picking up weapons ourselves—when we embrace hatred, we are buying into a lie. A lie about Muslims. A lie which convinces us that, somehow, Muslims are different. Not like us. Not capable of loving their children the way we love ours. Without a moral sense like ours. Lacking every vestige of compassion. And therefore, somehow, less human than we are.

Of course, all of that is … well, lies! It’s hogwash. But it is sophisticated hogwash, intricately crafted in the bowels of hell. Don’t believe it. Believe, instead, in the goodness and decency of the Muslim folk whom you know—those you work with, or go to school with, or with whom you trust those things most important to you. Refuse to play the devil’s game—because he is the only one who ever wins it!

“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous” (MATT. 5:43-45).

 

Almighty God, you give us power—but we don’t use it. You send us your Spirit of courage and truth and healing—yet we cower in fear. Clinging to illusions and refusing to let go of our hurts, we lash out at our neighbours. Regarding them as enemies, we view them as somehow less than ourselves—less human, less valued, less beloved by you. Spirit of forgiveness, blow through our lives! Burn up every trace of timidity, deceit, and resentment. Make us better disciples of Jesus, in whose name we pray. Amen.

 

Back in 2003, renowned British atheist Richard Dawkins travelled to Sudbury, Ontario in search of God.

Well, sort of. Dawkins’s pilgrimage was made to a neuroscience laboratory at Laurentian University to try on Dr. Michael Persinger’s famous “God Helmet.”

If you’ve never heard of the “God Helmet,” you must not be a fan of pop psychology or dumbed-down neuroscience (and if that’s the case, good for you!).

Continue reading “RICHARD DAWKINS AND THE GOD HELMET: PREDESTINATION RECONSIDERED”

TEXT: 1 John 3:1-3

In 1905, the American novelist, poet, and playwright Gertrude Stein was asked by the great Pablo Picasso to sit for a portrait. She was 31 years old at the time, but in Picasso’s rendering of her, Stein appears as a much older woman. Interestingly, the writer herself loved the painting—but others have described it as “dark, brooding, and strange.”¹

Asked about his portrait of Gertrude Stein, Picasso famously said: “Everybody says that she does not look like it—but that does not make any difference. She will!” ²

In our text from the First Epistle of John, we read: “Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we will be has not yet been revealed. What we do know is this: when he is revealed, we will be like him, for we will see him as he is” (1 JOHN 3:2).

God wants to make us look like Jesus. “When he is revealed, we will be like him.” God intends to work in us, and work with us, and work on us—until we fully reflect the spirit and character of Christ.

Part of what it means for a person to be “in Christ”³—or what it means for all of us to belong to the “body” of Christ⁴—is simply this: when God looks at us, he sees Jesus. He sees the likeness of his Son—right now, when the Father looks at us, that is what he sees.

Others—perhaps especially those closest to us—may not think we look very much like Jesus, at this point. But that does not make any difference. We will! That is the promise of Scripture—and of the living God.

Continue reading “What We Will Be”