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Sin in the Presence of a Holy God

March 30, 2015 By admin Leave a Comment

There’s a fun little anecdote that most of us are probably familiar with about a frog in a pot of water.  The water is warming up to a deadly boil, but at such a slow pace that the frog doesn’t have any idea, so it just floats around happily until it ultimately boils to death.  But, as the story goes, if the frog had jumped into the boiling water from outside, the temperature difference would’ve been so stark that the frog would’ve promptly jumped out to safety.

Last week, I was making my way through a book that had been recommended to me and at one point the author talked briefly about Jesus dying on the cross to deal with the sin that separates us from God.  This got me reflecting on another thing I’d read recently about sin and the wrath of God.  Which made me reflect on yet something else I’d happened across recently that said sin cannot be in the presence of a holy God.

Photo credit: Waiting For The Word cc
Photo credit: Waiting For The Word cc

These things then got me thinking about the pained, desperate words of Jesus when he cried out from the cross “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  As the story goes where I come from, this gripping, dramatic cry reflects the pivotal moment where God had to turn his back as Jesus took on the sin of the world, leaving Jesus to experience separation from God for the first time ever.  And why did he experience this separation?

Because sin cannot be in the presence of a holy God.

We hear and repeat this idea frequently within Christian communities.  It’s the reason that Adam and Eve were booted from paradise.  It’s the reason the priests had to go through painstaking preparations before entering the temple.  And it’s ultimately why Jesus was abandoned on the cross.

Because sin cannot be in the presence of a holy God.

As I was recently thinking about all of this, I was reminded of a sermon I once heard where the preacher discussed white blood cells and red blood cells to illustrate how God responds to sin: he annihilates it.

Because sin cannot be in the presence of a holy God.

These ideas are so pervasive within Christianity that most people don’t seem to think twice about them, at least in my experience.

Yet there’s a problem with this kind of theology.  It’s a problem that either we don’t feel comfortable discussing or that simply eludes us.

And it’s a problem that can be summed up with one word.

Jesus.

The one who put his fingers in the ears and touched the tongue of a deaf and mute man.  The one who touched the eyes of a blind man.  The one who reached out and touched a man with leprosy… and who let a sinful woman anoint and kiss his feet… and who took hold of a man with dropsy … and who invited himself into the house of the chief tax collector… and who let one of the disciples rest against his chest during the Last Supper.

Jesus.

The one who didn’t avoid adulterers, pull back from prostitutes, or turn away from tax collectors.  The one who didn’t shudder around sin.

Jesus reached out to and engaged and touched others.  And he allowed others to reach out to, engage, and touch him.  And he did this to help heal people from whatever kind of disease that plagued them, be it physical, emotional, or spiritual – though I would venture to say that Jesus saw it all as spiritual.

He did these things to validate people and show them their inherent worth.  In a sense, to say “You are deeply and truly valued in spite of what your religion has taught you.”  Or in some cases “…in spite of what their religion has taught you.”

Jesus made it clear that God can most certainly be in the presence of sin.  So to hold onto theology that tells us otherwise is problematic, no matter how it’s packaged.

It’s curious that these two opposing ideas have somehow managed to live next to each other in this thing we call Christianity.  I guess when we’re used to living in the middle of a story, the obvious may escape us.  We’re like the frog in the pot of water that’s slowly getting warmer and warmer.  We don’t notice what’s going on.  We get acclimated to the environment around us.  It feels comfortable and familiar.  There’s no sense that something might be wrong.

As I sat through the sermon with the illustration of the red blood cells and the white blood cells, even though I found it deeply troubling, I didn’t consider in that moment how it completely conflicts with the idea of God intimately dwelling among us in the flesh.

Photo credit: Image from page 281 of "The pictorial Bible and commentator: presenting the great truths of God's word in the most simple, pleasing, affectionate, and instructive manner" (1878) (license)
Photo credit: Image from page 281 of “The pictorial Bible and commentator: presenting the great truths of God’s word in the most simple, pleasing, affectionate, and instructive manner” (1878) (license)

So even though we’ve got stories in the Old Testament like a man getting struck dead because he touched the Ark of the Covenant where God was said to reside, we need to stop using them to bolster up the notion that God is somehow untouchable by the general populous and that God can’t be in the presence of sin.  Because, in case we’ve forgotten, we’ve also got an incredible story in the New Testament of a bleeding woman who had been suffering for 12 long years and who was healed because she approached Jesus and touched his cloak.

Sin can’t be in the presence of a holy God?  On the surface, it may seem like a legitimate conclusion, but it can’t be reconciled with what we see in Jesus.  Something else is going on with these stories and we need to take the time to consider it, even though it may fly in the face of what we’ve always heard.

The bleeding woman in the gospels who “touched God” was healed, commended, and sent on her way with the encouraging and compassionate words “Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.”

In all seriousness, perhaps the “timeless truth” from this gospel story – the one that gets masked from a surface, literal reading – is that the suffering we all need to be freed from is theology that tells us that God is untouchable and that sin can’t be in the presence of a holy God.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Atonement, Bible, Christianity, Doctrine, Symbolism

Lobsters in the Hands of an Angry God

September 25, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

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Photo credit: deanoakley cc

Not long ago, I came across an article about gay marriage that someone had posted on Facebook.  I wasn’t interested and I would’ve skimmed right over the entire post if the person hadn’t introduced it by saying “God says it’s an abomination.”

I couldn’t help but jump into the thread and drop a comment about shrimp, not to incite a war, but to simply make a point.  Several other people jumped into what promptly became a lively and opinionated thread, but, unfortunately, just when it started getting really good, the person deleted the post.

It’s not uncommon for Christians to couple the term “abomination” with homosexuality, usually insisting “God says” or “God thinks,” as if they’re merely doing everyone a favor by upholding God’s clear, unchanging moral standard – one that’s been around since time immemorial.  Comments like this even come authoritatively from the pulpit.  I’m convinced this is partly why some people want nothing to do with Christianity and partly why God has such a bad reputation.

For starters, before we go around insisting that God thinks homosexuality is an abomination (or that it’s detestable, depending on which translation of the Bible is being referred to), it would be wise to consider some of the other things in the Old Testament laws that are also considered an “abomination.”  Things like eating shellfish or certain types of birds or animals.  Women wearing men’s clothing.  A man having sex with his wife (or wives, as the case may very well have been) during her menstrual period.

Let’s be honest.  No one is picketing Red Lobster, passionately insisting that the patrons are detestable in the eyes of God.  I personally lean toward thinking shellfish is detestable and I’d take a bacon cheeseburger over lobster anytime.  But just because I can’t stand the stuff doesn’t mean I should insist that God says it’s detestable and attempt to bind it on other people.

The Old Testament laws can be some of the most confusing and misunderstood parts of the Bible.  And it’s potentially very dangerous.

Here’s one thing that’s important to realize.  The laws served a very specific purpose at the time.  And although some of them were very progressive for the time and separated the people of Israel from surrounding nations in a very positive way, many of them were not unique at all to the nation of Israel.  Anyone familiar with Old Testament laws will notice similarities to those found in surrounding nations.  These other legal codes predate the biblical ones and include things like making amends for accidentally flooding a neighbor’s crops or maiming a hired ox, as well as governing sexual relations.  Correct; the death penalty as punishment for a man having sex with certain family members or animals didn’t originate with the Law of Moses.

Regardless of how common or unique or progressive any given law may have been, a casual glance at these laws makes it clear that they were not meant to have the word “timeless” attached in any way.

Many of the laws related to real-world medical and scientific conditions, often involving natural consequences.  If we can approach them with these things in mind, at least some of them can begin to make more sense, and they can be removed from the framework that leaves us believing that they somehow represent God’s personal feelings about a given matter.   Let me illustrate.

When I was in my early twenties, I went to Puerto Vallarta with my parents and two brothers.  On our second night, we left the remote resort where we were staying and meandered along a dirt road that wound up the nearby hillside of the jungle.  There were chickens running across the road and little kids playing in puddles.

After a bit of a walk, we rounded a bend and moseyed up a final stretch of dirt road, which brought us to our destination: an open-air, rooftop restaurant with stunning views.  Nestled against the thick trees and with sand floors, the restaurant made it seem like we were dining in a ginormous tree, a feeling that was reinforced by a massive thatched roof that felt like a canopy of tree branches, where strings of lights hung and began twinkling as the sun sank beyond the distant horizon.

Let me just say that if you ever have a chance to eat in a restaurant that makes you feel like you’re dining in a massive tree, by all means, do it.  It was an amazing experience.  Mostly.

My dad and one of my brothers ordered the fresh lobster.  When it arrived, it wasn’t just the tail; the entire crustacean was served in a stunning visual presentation.  As one who finds lobster detestable, I didn’t order it, and it’s a good thing.  Even though they both raved about how good it was, something bad transpired.  Either the lobster wasn’t cooked properly or my dad and brother somehow nibbled beyond the tail and into the abdomen (the dim, atmospheric lighting and the pina coladas the size of your head may have both played into the latter).  They both got extremely sick and the illness lasted several days, putting quite a damper on the rest of the trip.

Whatever the details and regardless of whose “fault” it was, this unique dining experience gone horribly wrong could’ve been avoided altogether if all parties were simply holding to a law that says shellfish is detestable and needs to be avoided.  Avoiding the creatures completely makes sense when their improper ingestion could be fatal.

Such a practical cause-and-effect example can begin to shed a tiny bit of light on at least some of these Old Testament laws.  In this instance, avoiding shellfish was merely the safest option for the people at the time.  Eating it wasn’t an “abomination” because it was somehow in conflict with a certain level of ordained holiness or morality (PETA might disagree, but you get my point).  The whole thing has nothing to do with offending God, as though God has an ego.

I think it would help us to realize that we’re approaching these texts on the heels of thousands of years of developing theology and tradition.  We’re seeing them through lenses we don’t even realize we’re wearing.  And many of these things draw us further and further away from anything that resembles the original purpose or context of the text.

Some of what I’ve studied shows that these laws were originally understood as having medical or scientific meanings and only became theological in nature over time.  The same goes for some of the associated language.  “Unclean” didn’t always mean somehow being stained or corrupted in the eyes of God.  And “atonement” didn’t always mean some form of making up for one’s sins in order to appease God.  It’s a bit mind boggling, but it’s absolutely fascinating and it opens up a completely new world of understanding.

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Photo credit: mugley cc

But here we are, thousands of years later, and none of that information makes its way down from the pulpit or into Christian devotional books.  Sure, we’ve got apologists who are quick to point out the medical accuracy of some of the Old Testament laws in an effort to prove the Bible is “true,” but I’ve never heard one of them indicate that terms like unclean, holy, and atonement originally had medical or scientific meanings and that the theological interpretations came much later.

Meanwhile, we’re left with a deeply flawed view of God that’s been etched into much of Western Christianity.  And because we’re clueless to that fact, we have zealous ministers preaching sermons like “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” and we go around authoritatively wielding terms like “abomination” on God’s behalf because we’re certain we know what we’re talking about.

There is much to be said and studied about the Law of Moses, but it’s clear that it wasn’t a timeless code of morality, nor did it reflect God’s personal and unchanging feelings about matters.  We have got to move beyond seeing these laws as such.  And perhaps more importantly, we need to let go of the idea that God was somehow personally disappointed or offended by the lack of adherence to these laws as though they somehow exemplified a standard of behavior required to keep God happy and content.

My passion about this is only partly because no one should be branded with a term like “abomination.”  That’s hugely valid, for sure.  But of greater importance, in my opinion, is that such an understanding of these laws says an enormous amount about who we believe God is.  We give God an ego and extrapolate all kinds of beliefs accordingly.  Beliefs that can sneak into the core of who we are and shape us in unhealthy ways.  Beliefs that tell us God has always had extremely high expectations for our behavior, requiring sacrifices or even death to be appeased.

I’m not attempting to imply that how we behave doesn’t matter.  That’s not what this is about.  It’s about attempting to shed a tiny bit of light on what these laws were and weren’t, as well as standing firmly by the notion that the Law of Moses does not somehow reflect a snapshot of timeless, unchanging truth or morality.

Many things may lead someone to think it’s responsible to treat the law about two men lying together as a clear, timeless moral expectation by God, all the while happily discarding laws that might impinge on our all-you-can-eat shrimp dinners, but it’s not responsible.  At all.  In fact, it’s a hugely irresponsible use of the scriptures.

We’re all entitled to our own opinions about things like shellfish, homosexuality, and whether kids should be stoned for disobedience, but we need to own them as our personal opinions and do away with the insistence that God has clearly always felt a certain way about them.

It’s no wonder the terms “God” and “Christian” often breed hostility.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Atonement, Bible, Fundamentalism, LGBT, Tradition

Objects of Wrath

August 6, 2014 By admin Leave a Comment

Photo credit: bogenfreund cc
Photo credit: bogenfreund cc

I was recently reading a blog post and the author said that if you blog long enough, eventually you’ll be called a heretic.  I hadn’t even been blogging for two months before that happened to me.  I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Honestly, that’s part of the reason I initially resisted starting a blog or writing a book to begin with.  I didn’t want to invite controversy into my life or the life of my family.  But when you feel strongly called to do something, there comes a point when you have to let go of fear and simply surrender to the path you’re called to be on.

The furor that arose over some of the things I’d written was far more than I expected.  Not only that, some of it was directed at things that I found surprising.  I knew that expressing my evolving views on an issue as controversial as homosexuality was akin to kicking a hornet’s nest.  I fully expected some hides to be chapped over that, so I was seriously taken aback to hear instead that I was subverting and attacking the heart of the gospel message.  Wait.  What?

In one of my first articles, I talked about how certain elements of the Christian story can be internalized such that they shape us in unhealthy ways.  And I mentioned that I’d lost count of the number of times I’ve heard that we’re enemies of God without the blood of Jesus.

This swiftly became a massive problem because, as I was informed, “enemies of God” and “objects of wrath” are crucial themes that lie at the heart of the gospel message.  And thus I was subverting the gospel.

Wow.  I’m still perplexed by that.  I thought love was at the heart of the gospel message.

To equate growing weary of hearing that I’m an enemy of God without the blood of Jesus with subverting and attacking the gospel message doesn’t compute with me.  Especially considering that, in the gospel accounts, Jesus didn’t go around telling people that they were enemies of God.  Or objects of wrath, for that matter.

In fact, didn’t Jesus look upon those who were discarded by society and show them that they had value?

Didn’t he say something about how the second most important thing is to love others?

Didn’t he look on people with compassion and talk about them being harassed and helpless, not objects of wrath?

In the parable of the prodigal son, do we get the sense that the dad had to hold back his wrath against the son?

The intense imagery associated with a term like “objects of wrath” simply doesn’t seem to have been crucial to what Jesus was trying to convey.  This leads me to think that plenty of his first followers lived their lives without ever entertaining the notion that they were objects of wrath, let alone embracing it as crucial to their understanding of the Jesus message.

Photo credit: mugley cc
Photo credit: mugley cc

Speaking of the Jesus message, I was recently hanging out with some friends and we were reading and discussing some prayers from the Didache, an early church handbook, of sorts.  Likely dating from the late first century, it contains various teachings on ethics and provides details on practices such as baptism and communion.  Some people have dated the Didache as early as the mid first century, which would make it earlier than at least some of the gospel accounts.  But even if it dates to the late first century, that still puts it within the same time frame that the later gospels were written.  So it gives us a peek into practices and beliefs of some of the earliest Jesus communities.

I’ve often heard that the first-century church is the model for what God always intended.  Well, minus the part about sleeping with in-laws, getting drunk at communion, suing each other, and the like.  But seriously, what better way to get a glimpse into the first-century church than looking at a first-century church manual that specifically outlines the church’s practices?  One that likely pre-dates the book of Acts, by the way.

In the Didache’s section on the Eucharist (more commonly known as the Lord’s Supper or communion in evangelical America), the prayers that are recited in conjunction with the bread and the cup are quite surprising.

“We thank thee, our Father, for the holy vine of David thy Son, which you have made known to us through Jesus thy Son… We thank thee, our Father, for the life and knowledge which thou hast made known unto us through Jesus thy Son… We thank thee, holy Father, for thy holy name, which thou hast caused to dwell in our hearts, and for the knowledge and faith and immortality which thou hast made known unto us through Jesus thy Son…”

As soon as we were done reading these prayers, everyone was quick to make some very interesting points.

“There’s no talk of sin or forgiveness.”

“It says that Jesus revealed life and knowledge.”

“The focus is on what his life stood for, not what his death stood for.”

“There’s no talk of his death at all.”

It was perplexing.  How can this have anything to do with a tradition as sacred and central as the Eucharist?

It almost didn’t compute.  After all, we exist within a Christian tradition that tends to highlight very different things when it comes to the bread and the cup.  Things like Jesus taking our punishment upon himself, Jesus dying in place of us, our responsibility for his death, and God’s inability to be in the presence of sin.  Things ingrained so deeply that labeling ourselves as “objects of wrath” has become a key component to what we’re calling good news.

So what do we do with a crystal-clear indicator that “do this in remembrance of me” meant something very different to some of the earliest communities of Jesus followers?  Followers whose focus was on the life that Jesus lived and the knowledge he made known.  Followers who didn’t equate the bread and cup with suffering, death, and sin.

Talk about a paradigm shift.  And potentially a very, very uncomfortable one, because it challenges our traditional understanding of Jesus.

Suddenly we’re faced with the question of whether our faith is big enough to handle something like this, as well as the possibility that an understanding so crucial to our faith tradition isn’t quite what we’ve always thought.

Photo credit: Colin_K cc
Photo credit: Colin_K cc

Can we even sit with and consider these possibilities, rather than responding defensively and with staunch certainty and rigidity?

It may be uncomfortable, for sure.  And in order to deflect the discomfort, it can be very easy to point to a given scripture with certainty in order to reinforce an established belief or point of view.  But even though we’re often quick to do that, we should consider that the early followers of Jesus simply didn’t have that ability.

Atonement theology is a massive topic, one that I never even knew existed.  Theology?  What’s to theologize about?  Jesus died because of me, plain and simple.

Well, it doesn’t take an extensive commentary on the Didache to realize that it’s actually not plain and simple.  The conversation on atonement extends far beyond the prayers found in this early church handbook, but maybe meditating on or otherwise reflecting on these prayers will allow us to consider that the Christian story hasn’t gone uninfluenced from the time of its origins.

Maybe we can open our minds and hearts to the possibility that there has been far more development over the course of the last 2000 years than we’d ever imagine.

And maybe we can consider that not everything is as black and white as we’ve thought.

Filed Under: Uncategorized Tagged With: Atonement, Bible, Christianity, Tradition

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