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formofaservant · 4 years

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Musings on the Destiny of the Unevangelized

So I received a question from a couple students about the church's position on the Eternal Destiny of the unevangelized. The unevangelized are people who die prior to being able to physically "hear" the gospel preached to them. This is a difficult question because the bible does not speak directly to the destiny of those who have not heard or presumably will not hear the gospel during their lives on earth; however, this does not mean that the church has not thought about this issue somewhat in depth. The problem with answering this question is that much of it is shrouded in mystery namely because, as we said, the bible doesn't speak directly to it. With that said, it doesn't mean that the bible doesn't somewhat allude to it. The church has been careful in making sure that it does not contradict the more fundamental aspects of the faith namely that Christ alone reveals the Father in His fullness and that Christ alone is Lord and Savior of humanity. What this implies is that Christianity must be in some sense exclusive in that it does not allow for competitors to God's throne to be options for deliverance from death and sin. Although the Christian faith is exclusive in the sense that it provides only one option in terms of humanity's salvation, it in no way is exclusive in whom it calls to join the story and life of Christ and His church. All, regardless of background, are invited to join in this way. If this is the basic criteria then it would probably surprise you all then that a universalist approach, the idea that all people will be saved (eventually), does find its way within the broader Christian dialogue in trying to answer this question. Although a Christian universalist will say that all the unevangelized will be eventually saved, they qualify that it will only be because they will in someway be transformed and meet with Christ Himself. In other words, Christian universalism suggests that all will be saved because Christ will eventually save everyone. It does not suggest that anyone and everyone will be saved outside of Christ as if a non-Christian will be saved as a non-Christian. All will be saved because all will eventually become Christian. This view can find its roots in the universalism of one of the early church fathers, Origen, whom we spoke of when discussing one of the many theories of the atonement, namely the ransom theory. He believed that since all souls proceeded from God that they would somehow find their way back to Him at the end of all things. This view was summarily rejected and considered a heretical point-of-view (although they did not totally reject Origen himself). Still further, another important church father Gregory of Nyssa suggest something similar along the lines that love must win. The assumption is that if only a few are saved, then love did not entirely eradicate evil. This would be an astute assumption to have if it weren't the case that's not what the story of God is about. The "competition" between Satan and God are not over love's power, but love's reputation and character. Neither of which requires the absolute salvation of all regardless of their responsibility to respond properly to the knowledge that all humanity has of God (Rom. 1:18-19).

There are plenty of scripture verses that suggest that Christ alone is humanity's savior outside of whom there is no salvation (1 Jn. 5:11-12, Jn. 14:6; Acts 4:12; 1 Cor. 3:11; Ps. 16:4). Yet, there is no need to read these in a way that implies that all who die unevanglized outside of Christ meet an unavoidable eternal destiny of separation from God. The main objection for thinking otherwise is that it would seem a bit cruel, extremely selective, and contrary to the purpose of evangelizing the whole world if the unevangelized meet not uncertain eternal demise (the implication being that all would go to eternal separation having no chance whatsoever to respond in kind). Scripture texts such as Luke 3:6 in its reference to Isaiah 40:5 seem to also suggest that everyone will "see God's salvation." When seen in light of other texts, Jn. 12:32, 1 Cor. 15:22-28, and Phil 2:9-11, one can easily see that a universal knowledge of the gospel is the ultimate end game. Although, this again in no way implies that all will be saved. It only implies that all will in some sense be "evangelized."

There is also the question of "if" that we need to consider. Matthew 11:21-23 has a curious case of Jesus calling down woes upon the cities of Bethsaida and Capernaum. He states that if the cities of Tyre, Sidon, and Sodom (not unknown for their wickedness and sinfulness) has seen the same miracles these two cities had, they would have repented long ago. Some have pointed to this to suggest that God would save those who would have repented if He revealed Himself to them; however, this is a somewhat faulty implication. The thrust of the woe itself is not that God wills to save these sinful cities, only that God specifically chose not to save them despite their capacity to repent and turn. The point Jesus is making is not that God would have spared them, the answer is clearly that He did not. The point is that these wicked cities had the capacity to repent and would have if they could, yet these cities who are showered with God's miracles are so obstinate to the work of God that they refuse. The contrast is stark. The one who had no chance was not spared, the one who had a chance willed not to be spared. But here's one lesson to draw from this: God is in no way necessitated to save anyone who has already rejected Him since the days of Adam. Otherwise, it wouldn't be considered "grace." There is no biblical reason or logical reason why God has to save anyone. Unless the Lord extends His mercy, one's capacity to repent even in itself cannot save.

But then we must ask this question: if there are some whom God clearly passes over to leave them to their own demise, are there some God seems to pass over who will inevitably hear the gospel post-mortem and given a chance to repent? What we do know for certain is that Christ descended into the lower regions (hades or hell) as our creed states. But what was Christ doing there? In 1 Peter 3:19-20 we are offered a glimpse of Christ's post-mortem activities. It stats that Jesus "went and made proclamation to the imprisoned spirits - to those who were disobedient long ago when God waited patiently in the days of Noah while the ark was being built." This offers us perhaps a clue that there is [or was] a proclamation of the gospel [presumed from context] to those who had died. It could very well be possible then that there is offered some ability for people to repent or turn in the confines of hades. Such a proclamation seems to have been foretold in Isaiah 24:21-22, "And it shall come to pass in that day, that the LORD shall punish the host of the high ones that are on high, and the kings of the earth upon the earth. And they shall be gathered together, as prisoners are gathered in the pit, and shall be shut up in the prison, and after many days shall they be visited." Is it possible that the unevangelized will be evangelized in the depths of hades? I would think most certainly. We have positive evidence from Holy Saturday and Christ's harrowing of hell. But we also have positive evidence, although cryptic, from Philippians 2:10-11 which states that "at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth..." The key phrase here being "under the earth." How can does "under the earth" bow their knees unless they have heard? It is not that they are mole-people to whom we must go as a church. They are the dead plain and simple. This, however, does not mean that those who have heard the gospel in life and rejected it are therefore given another chance post-mortem. No such hope is left for them, although I personally do not entirely rule this out. What all of our study does suggest is that concerning the unevangelized there does seem to be some hope for God's mercy even within the grave.

Now, some may point to Hebrews 9:27 which states, "And as it is appointed to men once to die, but after this, the judgment." They read from this that there is no occasion to repent after death because one is presumably judged and therefore no such occasion but judgment is given. Perhaps this could be true, except the evidence we have seen elsewhere. There are a couple of assumptions from those who read this verse in this light. First, that there is an absolute temporal proximity of judgment as death. One must assume that the judgment here is speaking to the moment right after death; however, the judgment here could easily be referring to the judgment of all on the last day and that the time-frame between death and judgment are much larger than first appearances. The most we could garner from these words is that there is a logical link between the two: death and judgment. Furthermore, there is no absolute reason from the context of the verse that requires us to read it with the temporal proximity of those who may think the unevangelized are damned. Although I do not say that this is the reading of those who have this stance, there are many who may misread "judgment" in a negative light, namely condemnation." They do this because they have made the two words synonymous; however, judgment can also be a good thing in that one can judge something to be of value.

So in conclusion: The destiny of the unevangelized is ultimately based on the grace of God and from the looks of it, it seems that God is willing to take every step and measure to see that the gospel is known by all. This provides an occasion for those who may not be evangelized now to be evangelized later. Some may think that this puts a dent in our evangelistic work as if not evangelizing provides the same outcome; but I think this is rather wrong-headed. I offer two quick thoughts as to why: 1) we should desire everyone to have the life we experience now, rather than later, 2) Christ wants us to imitate Him and that means in witnessing to others as well, there is a certain kind of transformation that occurs when we ourselves participate in evangelism. But I will say that knowing that God does evangelize the dead does put my soul somewhat at ease knowing that even though I am a vital part of God's mission, I am not the only one working. It also teaches me not to presume the grace of God to not be somewhere that it very much can be. I know that the grace of God is in His church, in His Word, in His sacraments, in the liturgy, but I cannot rule out that His grace cannot be experienced outside. I, of course, can give someone any assurances that God's grace is found here or there outside of the church, like I can with God's grace within His church, but I do not presume then that such a grace cannot be found. Like the case of Cornelius, God can come to us through various means and perhaps in this life lead those who are unevangelized to the doorsteps of the church. Like the case of those who died long ago, God comes to the unevangelized to proclaim the gospel of the kingdom, an occasion that none of us should pass up.

So with that, let us pray for the dead, for those who are unevangelized both here on earth and under the earth, and for those who are evangelized but have not yet committed themselves to the Lord.

Lord have mercy.

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formofaservant · 4 years

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Musings on divine grace and free-will

This is a difficult post to write mostly because it would require pages and page of documenting my thoughts on different verses and passages of scripture. To make it simple enough, I will just reflect on some of the issues I’ve been wrestling with.

The first thing I want to talk about whether the reformed conception of “regeneration” of the heart is really taught in Scripture. An appeal to Ezekiel 33 and 36, seem to advocate a case for God doing some of hands-on spiritual surgery on people prior to them have the capacity for faith. I find that this issue is too bogged down by metaphor and that the meaning is missed by many who talk either past each other or are being purposefully cryptic. Either they do know what they mean and equivocate, or are not careful with language and fall into the same errors. Ezekiel 36 coupled with Ezekiel 18 seems to indicate that the washing and renewing of the heart is idiomatic of repentance. It does not explain how the Lord causes such repentance only that He will be the cause of it. Which further, when pressed, Ezekiel 18 suggests that the renewal and cleansing of the heart occurs out of the human volition. It is most probable that the way that God enacts repentance on the hearts of men is not by changing them from the inside out, but by the impression of His glories through His energies (works) upon the individual such that the experience of divine salvation captures the heart towards a pure zeal for God.

But when I read of the birth (creation) from above (or being “born/created again”) in passages like John 3, I wonder whether Jesus is speaking of such a spiritual surgery. Could it not be the case that being “born from above” (the preferred translation although the double entendre is well noted) is speaking to the translation of an individual into the kingdom of God? To be “born again” or “born from above” seems to be a subtle hint, not so much to the ontological workings of the Spirit to preempt a response of faith, but to the synonymous ideals found in a “new creation,” or “paliggenesia” (re-creation). Of interest, paliggenesia (palingenesia) is used by Jesus to speak to the restoration of the entire world over which the disciples would judge.

“Jesus said to them, "Truly, I say to you, in the new world (παλιγγενεσία), when the Son of Man will sit on his glorious throne, you who have followed me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”

It’s my belief that regeneration here refers most likely to one’s participation in the restoration of the world to come at the day of judgment. Baptism also is referred to as the waters of regeneration (παλιγγενεσια) in Titus.

Although I do not have the time to explore this more here, it seems that John 3 connects the birth from above with the reception of the testimony which comes from above. It may be a little specious to claim outright from this text that the birth from above must by necessity precede faith (if not temporally, then logically). The birth from above, or participation in the heavenly things (i.e., the restoration of Israel and the Kingdom of God), may in fact follow from co-operating with the grace of God through faith in the message presented by the witness that came from heaven (Jesus). But to qualify, this does not mean that a person is able to simply be born from above out of their own volition. Faith, intrinsically, is a response to a kind of theophany. Perhaps if we were to coin a new term, faith is a response to a pneumaphany which occurs in conjunction with the witness of Christ (both His own words and ours about Him). It is in experiencing the divine God within the message from heaven and our co-operation (faith) in response, that we receive the new birth or are able to participate in the restoration to come. But this faith, being a response, to a pneumaphatic occurance, always occurs after the initiation of divine grace. Without God’s compassion to reveal Himself, we have no opportunity to respond with faith. So although we need not be required to affirm some sort of work by the Spirit to change our ontology for the enabling of faith, we ought to affirm as the passage certainly does the priority of divine grace and its preceding faith. Although the revelation of God (His apokalypse) does not necessarily incite faith (persevering faith or ingenuine) in an individual (and may be cause for further hardening), it is the Lord’s compassion and the rather impressive and unequal showing forth of His glory which persuades those caught up in the addictive cycles of sin to be released to participate in the glories of God.

But in quick reflection on the nature of original sin, I think perhaps instead of speaking to original sin in light of some defect which is passed down genetically (or through the soul), it is best to think of it in the following terms. Paul states an analogy that suggests that the human will is bound to serve a particular master. I don’ t think that this entails that people are unable to respond in faith, nor that they are unable to nurture any kind of virtue. I think in light of Romans 7, it must be ruled out that those bound and entrapped in sin do not seek some sort of release (more thoughtful explanations of Romans 3 to be written at a later time). I recognize that there is debate as to who the “I” is in Romans 7. I think that a careful reading suggests that it is the one who exists prior to a knowledge of Christ who is in view. So they end their lament with, “who shall deliver me from this body of death?” (Rom. 7:24). It is with this kind of hopelessness that the solution of Christ Jesus becomes an absolute necessity and a sigh of relief (Rom. 7:25).

I think that the original sin is an issue to humanity not because it is passed down through the flesh, but rather that it introduced death in the world. It is within a cursed world sentenced to death (an environment filled with human sinfulness) coupled with the weakness of the flesh without divine grace that perpetuates generations stuck in the cycles of sin and death. So I prefer to translate as paraphrased as possible the rather difficult Greek of Rom. 5:12-14 as, “Because of this, just as sin entered into the world through one man, and death through sin, so just like this situation, all men experience death because they too have sinned. In fact, the existence of death proves that all have sinned, for sin was in the world up till a law was given. Sin was not imputed, because there was no law; however, death reigned from Adam up till Moses, even over those who did not sin quite like Adam who is the one to come.” If anyone has questions, I can explain my translation choices; however, the important thing to note is that the comparison isn’t so much saying that Adam’s transgression was the direct reason why all humans suffer the penalty of death. The text seems to conclude that it was at most the indirect cause. Adam’s act of sin was a model which the rest of humanity followed. It was in the same way Adam introduced death into the world, that we also partake in death which is through sinning. Although Rom. 5:15 goes on to say that the many died by the one trespass, it is not clear whether this is speaking to the direct jump from Adam’s sin to the death of all by merely sharing in Adam. Sharing in the human nature itself, by itself is not the cause of death. It is sin that is the cause of death. So it is not sharing in Adam’s humanity that is the cause of death, but sharing in His sin (and not that in a passive way as through the mechanism of federal headship as some covenantal theologians would posit), by being active participants who also sin as he did. I think the “for if by the trespass of the one, the many died” needs to be read in light of “and in this way, death spread to all men, because they all sinned.”

Some might say that this view would allow for the possibility of human salvation apart from Christ, or that it would somehow deemphasize the gravity of our state as sinners. But the text itself states that death is proof that all have sinned in some way or form. We cannot excuse ourselves simply because we think that a federal headship view or transmission of original sin through the human nature is somehow absolutely required. The gravity of our situation is not found in our participation of Adam’s human nature, but in the judgment cast by the reality of death itself. And the only recourse and solution to the problem is the work of Christ and our participation in Him through becoming like Him in all His virtues by cooperating (faith and faithfulness) with divine grace (grace which must precede our faith or response). Because of the dire nature of our condition, and the seeming lack of any solution, the witness of Christ and the revelation of the path of salvation through Jesus becomes paramount. Divine grace is necessary because without it rupturing into the vicious cycles of human sin and a world plagued with death, there will be no escape. It is my view and I think the Scripture’s view that those who seek escape from death, having seen the glories of God, can do nothing other than to turn in faith. The experience of the divine God, which is His grace, is so persuasive, so good, that those who are drawn and called to Him will come in faith. This does not therefore eliminate free-will as we recognize that there are some who do come, but having tasted somehow reject this divine experience. Although, it is unfathomable to us who enjoy the glories of God and partake in divinity, it is the sad reality that there are just some who wish to return to the vomit of dogs.

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formofaservant · 4 years

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Musings on the Eucharist

“Therefore, my dear friends, flee from idolatry. I speak to sensible people; judge for yourselves what I say. Is not the cup of thanksgiving for which we give thanks a participation in the body of Christ? And is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all share the one loaf. Consider the people of Israel: Do not those who eat the sacrifices participate in the altar? Do I mean then that food sacrificed to an idol is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, but the sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons, not to God, and I do not want you to be participants with demons. You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons too; you cannot have a part in both the Lord’s table and table of demons. Are we trying to arouse the Lord’s jealousy? Are we stronger than he?”

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night He was betrayed, took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way, after supper He took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.

- 1 Cor. 10:14-22; 11:23-26

The Eucharist known by various names such as “Mass,” “Lord’s Supper,” and “Holy Communion,” reflects on the thanks we give (and have) for privilege to share in such a meal. The word itself comes from the Greek, “Eucharisto” which means “I give thanks.” And the eucharist is a cause for joy as we will discuss later, but we must affirm first that it was the Lord Himself that set this precedent by taking bread, “and when he had given thanks, he broke it...” The words “Lord’s Supper” reflects on the night on which Jesus was betrayed and contemplates the final meal that is given to His disciples to be done as a cause to remember Him until He returns.

The words “Holy Communion” reflects on both the sacredness (that is: the meal is like no other) and the oneness of the shared meal. Its emphasis is on the fact that the meal that we are participating in is a “shared meal” such that anyone who decides to take and devour the meal for themselves ceases to be eating the Lord’s Supper for they have refused to acknowledge that it is opened to more than just private persons (this was the problem in the Corinthian church to whom Paul was writing).

The word “mass” is a little more controversial and it would be good for Protestants like ourselves to try to avoid it when referring to the Eucharist. It can leave a sour taste in the mouths of some who see the word associated with the transubstantial theology of Roman Catholicism (more on this later). However, if we were to use the word to discuss the eucharist, perhaps we should qualify what we mean by it. “Mass” itself comes from a Latin word that can mean “arrival.” For example, we see this word used in a popular holiday called “Christ-mas(s)” which means Christ-Arrival or the day when the Messiah came. In Roman Catholic theology, Christ arrives into the bread and wine in such a way that the bread and wine become substantially His flesh and blood.

This is why the Roman Catholic view is called “transubstantiation” by some, because it is a “transfer” of “substances” or rather a change in the substance of the bread and wine. Now, this may seem a little confusing because some may say that the bread still looks like bread and so does the wine. How can my Catholic friends be fooled by this? Well, its not so simple. Our Catholic friends operate on a very specific philosophical distinction between substance and what they call accidents (not to be confused with a homonym which means something you didn’t mean to do, but happened anything: i.e., car accidents, wetting the bed, etc.) To explain in a rather simplified way, think of substance as being what makes you, “you” and accidents as everything that is attached, but does not fundamentally change “you.” For example, can we say that both when you grow older, your hair style may change, your clothes may change, you may have wrinkles on your face, lower bone density, etc., but “you” are still there. So also, what we call “bread” may come in all sorts of “accidents.” Some bread are soft and chewy. Others are hard as a nail. So what Catholics are claiming is that by some mysterious act of God, the substance of the bread and the wine change such that they can be called Christ’s actual body and blood all the while having as accidents the smell, touch, and taste of bread and wine.

This position in my mind is untenable except through a misunderstanding of how signs and symbolism work. When Christ says, “This is my body,” it cannot be understood as Him literally saying that this is His physical body. Unless one were to adopt a strange and perhaps even borderline heretical view of how Christ’s human nature works, Christ’s body like our own cannot be separated as such. But to continue, if we were to take Christ’s words as literally as possible Matthew’s version suggests that it is not the contents of the cup, but the cup itself that is the blood. Paul also summarizes and paraphrases what Jesus Himself said by stating “This cup is the new covenant in my blood” which further shines a light as to what Jesus was going for. If taken literally, we have a contradiction. When taken literally, Paul as opposed to Matthew, is saying that Jesus is saying the cup literally is the New Covenant.

But, with this said, I do think that in our culture we lose to take away the significance of our symbols and we don’t realize that our symbols do more than just point people to a promise. Symbols can actually perform actions, which we call symbolic acts. Imagine if you will a marriage license. Are you married before you sign that marriage license? Not, in the eyes of the law. Some people could simply object, well I can just be married and that’s that. But that’s not how it works. The symbolic act of signing your name actually does something that not doing it doesn’t. Which means that when we partake in the Eucharist, something is actually happening.

When we eat the bread and drink the wine (grape juice), we are really and truly eating and drinking Christ Himself. But none of this requires a belief that the bread and wine actually change substance. There are other options we can take. Calvin had a view, so did Luther. The Eastern Orthodox keep the manner in which we are fed the Lord’s body and blood, to be a mystery. Whatever the case, all affirm some true and real presence of Christ within the meal itself. The question is how we are fed it. I am under the persuasion that it is a mystery and that the way we eat Christ is not through our physical mouths but the mouths of faith. So although we eat bread and drink wine, we eat Christ’s true body and true blood through our faith and the Spirit by the symbolic act of eating bread and drinking wine together. In this way, we could still all call the Eucharist a “mass” in that Christ is in someway given to us whether that be purely symbolic, by the Spirit, or physically.

Paul says as much when he writes, “Is not the cup of thanksgiving for which we give thanks a participation in the blood of Christ? And is not the bread that we break a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one loaf, we, who are many, are one body, for we all share the one loaf.” The Eucharist is a participation in Christ Himself. It is a sharing of Christ. And when Paul says that “we, who are many, are one body, for we all share the one loaf,” I think what he means is simply that “we are what we eat.” Since eating the loaf is a symbolic act that has us actually eating the body of Christ, since Christ has a single unified body, we become that as a organized single entity called the church. Now, this may seem like a rather weird view, but I think it was a probably a pretty common understanding. Jesus was known as the “lamb of God” and the institution of the Eucharist during Passover was no coincidence. Christ is the Passover Lamb who has to be consumed. His sacrifice on the cross should not be divorced from His consumption. Just as the sacrificed Passover was eaten, so too must Christ. We are what we eat, and when we eat the body and blood of Christ by faith, we become like Him.

Finally speaking of sacrifices, Paul says in 1 Cor. 10:18-21: “Consider the people of Israel: Do not those who eat the sacrifices participate in the altar? Do I mean then that food sacrificed to an idol is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, but the sacrifices of pagans are offered to demons not to God, and I do not want you to be participants with demons. You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons too; you cannot have a part in both the Lord’s table and the table of demons.” This is the closest that Paul comes to calling the eucharist itself a “sacrifice.” But historically, it seems the case that the church has understand the eucharist to be a sacrifice. An ancient Christian document called the Didache (dih-duh-kay) calls the eucharist a “sacrifice.” The offering of food to idols in pagan temples is said to be served on “tables” reminiscent to the “Lord’s table.” What this suggests is that the eucharist is itself a kind of sacrifice wherein we bring the offerings of bread and wine, but in turn are given by God an offering of Christ’s body and blood. The mystery of this sacrament is that what we offer is symbolically transformed and what is offered back to us is Christ’s own body and blood, the sacrificed Lamb of God. But here is the most important thing about this, what we are participating in is a table meal. We are being invited to God’s presence to eat the meal that He prepares for us with the ingredients of bread and wine which we offer every Sunday morning. At God’s table, we feast on the one thing that will save us as Jesus says in John 6, His body and blood.

And this is the mystery of the sacrament of the Eucharist, a symbolic act that really feeds us the body and blood which we need and which Christ said: “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in him... Your forefathers ate manna and died, but he who feeds on this bread will live forever. (John 6:53-58).

Kyrie Eleison

Lord Have Mercy.

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formofaservant · 4 years

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Musings on Baptism: An Escape from The World’s Pollution

“God’s patience waited in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were saved through water. Baptism, which corresponds to this, now saves you, not as a removal of dirt from the body but as an appeal to God for a clear conscience, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, who has gone into heaven and is at the right hand of God, with angels, authorities, and powers subject to him.“ - 1 Peter 3:20-22

“The water of the flood was saving for those placed inside the ark, but was deadly for those outside the ark; yet it was one and the same water.” - St. Augustine

As I am currently teaching through the journey of the Christian life to the catechumenate, I thought that it would be a good time to write out some thoughts about the sacrament of baptism. I think that for some baptism is kind of a rite of passage from youth to adulthood. For others baptism symbolizes one’ s own commitments to God, so there remains many who may trust God but feel that their legitimate struggles and remaining doubts somehow disqualify them from the rite.

The sacrament of baptism is a highly symbolic rite. The problem I see primarily with the general American approach to baptism is that “being baptized” becomes an active verb rather than standing as a passive one. What I mean is that we focus so much on having people commit themselves to take action to undergo baptism that we forget that baptism’s true significance lies in its passivity. We focus so much on people taking on baptism that we forget that the one who acts is not us, but God through the minister in the sacrament.

But what exactly does Baptism symbolize? In 1 Peter 3:20-22, we see a glimpse of the robust and highly symbolic reading of Scripture that leads us to a greater understanding of the significance of baptism. Peter says that “in the days of Noah, during the building of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were saved through water.” The curious thing about what Peter says is that Noah was saved “through water.” For those who are familiar with the flood story, these words should strike us. I think the main assumption that some have in regards to the flood story is that Noah and his family were being saved from the water not saved through it. This assumes then that what Noah is being saved from is not the flood but something entirely else. Although not explicitly stated, the themes Peter develops about purification, sanctification, and holiness, seem to point to Noah’s salvation being from the evil of the world in which he resided. The flood waters then served as an instrument of rescue from wickedness and a sin-plagued world. Conversely, this also suggests that the baptism of Noah was a symbolic destruction of evil itself. This isn’t to say that all of our evils or sinfulness is eradicated at our baptism which “corresponds to this.” It does, however, illumine for us that our baptism is again much more than simply our commitment. It is a picture of our rescue from the old world such that all of us who undergo baptism relive the floodwaters of Noah. It is a reminder to us that God has eradicated our connection to the old world of sin and has delivered us into a life of righteousness.

So also we see that this understanding of salvific water doesn’t stop merely with the flood. We could also speak of Moses who was saved in his own way through water being put in an “ark” himself (the only other place in the first five books where the Hebrew word translated “ark” is used). But it’s better to fast forward to the great escape. The Israelites led by Moses are being pursued by Pharaoh and his army. They turn toward the Red Sea (or Reed Sea) and God opens up the sea. The Israelites walk through with the chariots riding close behind them. Then as the last Israelite reaches the other side, the sea walls close in and the weight of the water crushes the army. In its own right, it could be said that the Israelites were saved by water having been delivered from Egypt through the splitting of the sea. So Paul states in 1 Cor. 10:1-2, “For I do not want you to be ignorant of the fact, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud and that they all passed through the sea. They were all baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea.” But to mimic the words of St. Augustine, “yet it was one and the same water.” The water was salvific because the water delivered the people from a life of slavery. So baptism which corresponds is symbolic of our rescue from an old order of a sinful life and our slavery to sin.

Baptism is not simply a rite to be done, it is a rite to be received. A symbol that actually saves us from the pollution of the world because its reception shows our good standing before God. But to make it clear, the application of water itself doesn’t and can’t save us. The reason why baptism is a rite is because it is connected to the good news and life of Christ. It reflects not only Christ’s own baptism which is a fulfillment of righteousness, but it also reflects his death which is a purging of the body of sin. It also reflects His resurrection, which is the very rescue we hope in. By dying we die to our old self and the old order of sin and by having our spiritual life being raised again to life, we are rescued for a life of righteousness (see Rom. 6).

A final note that I’ll make is that although the church I serve at doesn’t hold to the baptism of infants, it was nevertheless an incredibly old tradition in the church finding perhaps its first antecedent in Origen and a view of the rite replacing that of circumcision. The rejection of infant baptism then is a rather novel rejection in the history of the church, at least in terms of the more modern baptistic objections. Regardless, it would seem that it is Noah’s faith that saved his family from the old order. If that is the case and our baptism corresponds to the flood, I think that there could be an argument that infants ought to be baptized to reflect the reality that being born in a Christian family inherently is a supernatural privilege of having been marked as not part of the sinful order (in other words, holy).

“For the unbelieving husband has been sanctified through his wife, and the unbelieving wife has been sanctified through her believing husband. Otherwise your children would be unclean, but as it is, they are holy.” - 1 Cor. 7:14

Kyrie Eleison,

Lord have mercy.

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formofaservant · 5 years

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This is my body

I have this weird habit of trying to understand what’s going on through the broader Christian world. Sometimes I feel like I’m eavesdropping more than I am entering into discussions (important as they are in their respective traditions). This has allowed me to really think about some of the downfalls of my own baggage or collection of traditions within the broader Christ tradition. So with that, I confess that I follow (though not quite so devotedly) to r/Catholicism. A recent controversy that seemed to stir some of that subreddit’s patrons was a statistic showing the large swaths of Roman Catholics (the American breed) do not believe in the dogma that is transubstantiation or (for my youth readers) the teaching that suggests that Christ is truly present in the Eucharist and that this is a mystery that proves to work because although the accidents (the smell of bread/wafer, the taste of bread/wafer, the touch, the sight, the etc. of bread/wafer) stay the same, the substance (that which makes bread, “bread”) has changed. Now, the people over on this reddit have posited all sorts of reasons for why people have either given up this belief in transubstantiation or find no validity in it (at least practically speaking). One major solution that has been put forward seems to be the lack of proper catechesis or teaching. Although I find catechesis to be profoundly important to the development of any disciple, I find that catechesis is only a bandage to an otherwise malignant form of spiritual cancer. If I were to give my two cents, having searched through the metaphorical couch of academics at Reformed Theological Seminary Atlanta, I would suggest that the issue is a deeply embedded cultural one rather than a didactic one. The reason I think most reject transubstantiation is not because they aren’t taught it well, but that it is and will always sound wholly magical to a world that has essentially shut out any “magical” explanation to the observable world. In a secular world that refuses to even consider mystery as an answer, transubstantiation is a casualty. Protestants like myself may have reason to rejoice, but this seems more like a pyrrhic victory. We may seem to have “won,” but the cultural paradigm has so shifted so that no dogma (protestant or not) that doesn’t fall within the paradigms of humanity’s purposeless existence will suffer great loss.

This is why when I talk about the Eucharist, I accept that it is more than symbolism. There is a certain mystery to the Eucharist that is offensive to the modern/post-modern/post-post-modern mind. It is a constant reminder that our God, the Lord Jesus Christ, is present in and with us in the Eucharist. What this means is up for debate, but the divide between Catholicism and Protestantism (at least in its infancy) has never been about whether Christ is present, but the manner in which He is present. So I must reject the idea that the table is merely symbolic. Symbolism is great in a world that rejects anything “magical.” But to suggest, as the mystery of the sacrament is, that God is present and feeding us His body and His blood, is too obnoxious for us. We can get on board with the sentiments, but not when it means that God is actually there feeding us what is necessary for our salvation. We can see the symbolism, but we can’t see the God who feeds us Himself in the sacrament.

I don’t hold to transubstantiation, but there is something good about it that I think the protestant appeal to reason has obscured and detrimentally so rejected.

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formofaservant · 5 years

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Musings on Self-Hatred as Christ-Hatred

29 After all, no one ever hated their own body, but they feed and care for their body, just as Christ does the church -- 30 for we are members of his body.

- Ephesians 5:29-30

Every community broad or narrow sets certain boundaries and standards. These standards are really communal values that reveal to us what the community sees as being important to the achievement of the good life. We face self-hatred many times because we fail to see our place in the communities we wish to be a part of. We face self-hatred when we are the ones who are forced out because we became the very thing that gets in the way of the community’s values. But not having a standard or value is impossible as it is saying in effect that there is no “good life” to aim for. It is regardless of origin (communal or individual) a purposeless way to live.

When people fail to live up to expectations whether it is their own or others, they have realized that they are so far from reaching their imagined good lives that they are nothing more than a hindrance to themselves. The hatred boils over into more extreme measures of coping such as cutting or even the contemplation of suicide. So what exactly is the Christian answer to self-hatred?

I would suggest that self-hatred for the Christian is Christ-hatred. And this is only understood if one reflects deeply in the incarnation of the Son of God. The mystery of the incarnation or the Son of God taking on our human nature, is a closely guarded and important truth. Yet I think many of us think of it as a nice novelty more than a complex answer to many of humanity’s spiritual ailments. We wear it as a charm, and perhaps only think deeply enough about it when it comes to feeling good about not having to feel guilt (because Christ’s humanity only has implications for the forgiveness of my sins *insert sarcasm*). Christ’s humanity is far more complex and is precisely the answer to the issue of self-hatred. When Christ took on human nature, He took on nature that was less glorious than the angels or heavenly beings. Yet, as is stated in Hebrews 2, Christ through His death and implied resurrection was crowned with glory and honor. This is important because Christ did this not as God, for the divine nature cannot die, but as a man. It is this human nature of Christ that is glorified and resurrected (not the divine nature for it is beyond glorious and imperishable). So what Christ did by uniting the human nature to Himself was to exalt the human nature to a glory and honor that is above the angels and heavenly beings themselves. All those who place their faith in Christ unite themselves to the human nature Christ exalted.

We are so united and stitched together, even sharing the same Holy Spirit, that it can be said that Christ is in us and in Eph. 5:30, “we are members of His body.” This verse states that Christ feeds and nourishes His body just as any typical person would theirs (not speaking to those who are hurting or in extreme denial of themselves). But to go further in what is implied in Paul’s words, we who are the body cannot hate ourselves, for to do so would be to hate Christ’s body. Christ is in us and when we hate ourselves we hate Christ. When I have self-hatred, I have Christ-hatred. Christ’s exaltation of humanity is my humanity’s exaltation. When I despise my humanity, I despise what Christ did to exalt it. So as Christians we refrain from self-hatred because we could not possibly think of hating or rejecting our Lord. As Christians we also reject self-hatred because part of Christ’s mission was to reject all possibility of self-hatred for those who are in Him and He in them. Christ achieved the standard and values that we need to strive for us to achieve a flourishing life. Christ gives us His Spirit to help us become more like Him and to taste the good life. Christ even offers forgiveness for all of us, a good shepherd’s heart, to all who struggle with themselves. So we must reject self-hatred, for it is Christ-hatred, and we dare not reject Christ for He loved us and died for us and was raised for us so that we may taste and see the good life God has in store for us when He restores the kingdom to its full glory.

Kyrie Eleison

Lord Have Mercy

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formofaservant · 5 years

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Musings on Death, Suffering, and Suicide

“Take courage, my heart; you have been through worse than this.”

- Odysseus, The Odyssey

When met with insurmountable pressure, the words of Odysseus may seem like a meager attempt to rough out the storms of this world. These words set a rather bleak, yet familiar approach to life that many seem they are forced to take. “Take courage,” he says while acknowledging the difficulties he weathered in his immediate past. The words “you have been through worse than this” echo a rather iron-willed approach to life, a grasp for hope by interpreting his survival of his previous encounters a mark of hope for this next challenge. But these words alone are not soothing to all, nor should they be. These are the words of one grasping for hope wherever one can find it. Its hope is in perseverance and survival, not in rest and deliverance. Not all are like Odysseus and not all can afford to survive the worst.

Albert Camus also wrote of the anxiety humans faced in regard to their circumstances and their seeming lack of purpose in this world. Reflecting on the story of Sisyphus, Camus asks what Sisyphus’ reaction is to his own fate. Sisyphus in this myth is confined to the fate of rolling a giant rock up a hill only to see it roll down. So when the rock rolls down, Sisyphus must go down with it to repeat the infinite cycle of monotonous and hopeless acts. Camus states that unlike other forms of torture which other Greek myths provide, Sisyphus still possesses a special privilege. Other forms of torture leave the one tortured in a constant state of agony, unable to contemplate their own misery, but only left to be miserable. Sisyphus, however, has ample time to think upon his miserable state as he walks down to roll the rock back up to its rather purposeless heights. In light of this, Camus asks a rather important question. Is suicide an answer for Sisyphus? Is death more honorable than torture? For Camus the answer was no. Providing even a suggestion that Sisyphus’ entire existence, the powering drive to live and act in spite of his allotment by the gods, should be viewed as happiness. So Camus concludes that Sisyphus’ existence as a giant middle finger to the purposeless and insane circumstances of life itself is enough to live. Sisyphus must then be considered to be “happy.”

The problem with suicide or rather how people talk about suicide is that much of it is surrounding the morality of suicide. Is it okay to take my own life if the circumstances justify it? The Christian witness to this question is mixed and the line between martyrdom and suicide was at many times blurred. I know that this may not entirely answer the question, but I do think that it is important to see what the bible’s emphasis on suicide is. I believe that focusing too much on the morality of suicide actually detracts from the lessons we can learn to prevent suicide. To simply say, “suicide is wrong,” is not enough to address the circumstances that led to the act.

The Bible is relatively clear in its advocation and high valuation of life (though there are some things that are of higher importance than the longevity of life such as wisdom). Life itself is a gift from God, and to take it by one’s own hand without God’s permission is a sin not against man, but against God in whose image we are made. To further this, skirting one’s responsibilities or trying to escape one’s circumstances is not highly valued. Scripture sees challenging circumstances as tests to build character and not opportunities to abort life. Suffering, especially on the cross of self-denial, is valued not for the pain it brings, but the character formation of the individual so that they are more aligned with Christ in whom the good life is found.

When we look at the instances of suicide in Scripture, we see people who are driven to that option as a last resort because all of life’s circumstances have gone against their flourishing. It is an option taken either out of spite of one’s circumstances or done to salvage one’s honor. It is, so to speak, better to die by one’s own hands than in the hands of one’s enemies. Suicide is also an option taken by those who have lost all contact, and contemplated by those who feel lost and alone in a cruel world. So also suicide is contemplated by those who feel that they have failed miserably to achieve or be what is expected of them. Even the prophet Elijah calls out to God for death because he feels that he is no better than his sinful ancestors.

Suicide is often considered when death itself seems more pleasurable than life. The Christian answer to hard circumstances is not to escape such circumstances, but to grow in the joy of becoming more like Christ despite the circumstances at hand. It is a life of witness and hope in resurrection that allows Christians to undergo and suffer even the worst.

But what do we say of those Christians who take their own lives? I think we ought to say that it is easily a temptation for Christians who suffer deeply and greatly to think that suicide will end in bliss. There is a temptation to think of oneself so secure in Christ, that God would just receive them if they should die. If this life sucks and life with Christ is the best, then why not just quicken the process? Or so the logic goes. However, Christ Himself was told to escape His sufferings by throwing Himself off the temple by Satan. Satan’s hook has the bait which attracts the deeply hurt with false promises of a quick-out, that there is nothing more to live for, that there is no joy here in earth. Yet even though Paul desired to be with Christ, even though Paul himself contemplated death as a way to reunite with Christ, he never so much contemplated taking his own life to achieve such an end. But why is this the case? I believe that in Paul’s mind, our life is no longer our own. It belongs to Christ. Suicide in light of this is a denial of Christ’s lordship over us. For Paul, a slave had no say over their own life. So long as the Lord deems our life is needed for His plan, we live to witness His good character. To take suicide as an out calls into question God’s good character as it calls into question His stewardship of our lives.

Suffering before the cross, may have seemed pointless or even merely a punishment for sin, but the cross overturns our expectations about death, misery, suffering, and temptation. Can we see and learn that life now, though it may seem endless in its miseries, is fertile ground for growing in Christ-likeness?

The Christian answer to suicide is not the answer of Camus or Odysseus who have learned to spite suffering despite the inevitability of it. The Christian answer to suicide is to embrace suffering because it offers us a path to becoming and knowing the Christ that we all love. It may be true that we could just end our lives to be with Christ, but to do so would be to deny a fundamental aspect of who He is (that is Lord); however, the one who loves Christ is willing to learn of Christ. Suffering has now become an unexpected friend who aids and not hinders our conformity to Christ. So James states, “Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds” (James 1:2).

So what happens to the Christian who committed suicide? Only God knows. But I fear that this question is too easy of a question to ask. The questioner seeks to be consoled by hearing words such as “at least he is happy now.” This again does nothing to address all that I’ve stated before. This question can only be answered by abstraction, presumptions, and uncertainty. The harder question to ask is “how did we get here?” Instead of asking “where someone who died goes,” why not focus on the why? Because that question makes us have to contemplate how the world has so broken down that death has become more precious than life. It makes us uncomfortable because its forces us to find hope in more than obscure and uncertain sentiments of hope. So we say to ourselves, “as long as I know he’s in a good place, I’ll be okay” while the circumstances we place on ourselves and others are perpetuated.

Kyrie Eleison

Lord have mercy

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formofaservant · 5 years

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Musings on Assurance of Salvation

“Can we lose our salvation?”

I remember struggling a lot with this question when I was a younger Christian. When I became more zealous in propagating the young, restless, and reformed cause, I considered this question an easily answerable one. Now, I think it is a rather simplistic (not simple) question.

I think (after thinking about this for some time) that we can really try to list out people’s concerns with assurance in at least four different ways of what they really mean. This isn’t an exhaustive list, but I think it’ll help to give some clarity to the issue; however, prior to this we ought to at least establish a couple of things.

1) Salvation is a rather ambiguous word that can refer to at least three temporal acts in a Christians life. There is past salvation, present salvation, and future salvation. All three of these aspects of salvation are connected by a meta-narrative of salvation (of which the story of Israel from Egypt to the Promised Land is echoed).

2) That because of point 1, it is difficult for one to not respond with “which aspect?” Since one cannot lose their final salvation if they’ve yet to obtain it (see catholic epistles emphasis on obtaining this). There is a sense in which one’s final salvation is guaranteed in one’s initial salvation and thru one’s present salvation, but this is as a grounds/cause/foundation for the former.

3) There is a difference between my faith failing to reach final salvation and God failing to give final salvation to those with lasting faith.

4) There is a difference between genuine faith (asking the question of whether someone’s faith is “true” or “false”) and persevering faith (asking the question of whether one’s faith stays true).

5) Furthermore there is a difference between asking whether someone’s faith is genuine and will last, and whether my faith is genuine and will last.

With that said, here are some categories of people who ask the question I initially asked and what they might really mean by it:

1) “I am struggling with having faith.”

Like the father of the child possessed with an evil spirit, these people are crying out “I believe, help my unbelief.” They are struggling with assurance because they are struggling to believe or trust Christ and God. Their remedy lies in the healing words of the persuasive Spirit who gives assurance through the words of Christ. For them, we must disarm doubt and persuade against the counsel of the world.

2) “I am struggling to know if my faith is genuine.”

These people, I think, have confused on some larger sense that if only they could acquire some “genuine faith” then they could acquire a “lasting” faith; however, I think this is wrong-headed. A genuine faith isn’t one that lasts, it is the one that is without hypocrisy wherein one’s outer life of faith matches their inward convictions, feelings, and thoughts. The remedy to this is to uproot areas of hypocrisy and to be emboldened and empowered by the Spirit to continue living lives according to Christ and not that of the Devil. A hypocrite is one who acts in ways not true to themselves. Thus like a child of the devil who trusts in Christ (pretenders to the cross), so also a child of God who sins in Christ is an actor pretending to be something he/she is not.

3) “I am struggling to know if my faith can save.”

These people, I think, have struggles with whether God can do what He said He would. This is a different kind of assurance. It is an assurance not of faith’s longevity, but of God’s dependability. How else can this child of God be relieved of his/her burden of doubt except through persuading her of the burden of God to carry all He says out to their very end?

4) “I am afraid my faith won’t last.”

This group struggles with what I think are phantoms and theological ghouls. They are killed under the wait of future uncertainty, not knowing that faith is a day to day process. When we focus too much on how we should build a grand faith over actually building one, we will suffer under our own inabilities, faults, and overwhelming fears. Pray that you will not be tested until you are prepared, and prepare as if you will be tested at any moment. Learn to grow your faith upon the soil of joy and not upon the desert lands of fear.

Until the next post of musings.

Kyrie Eleison.

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formofaservant · 5 years

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Orate Pro Nobis - Musings from Contemplating the Act of Praying to the Saints

I won’t pretend that this post won’t be somewhat controversial among my more reformed and protestant friends. What can Reformed people who generally deny the ability to pray to saints or even see the act as sacrilegious learn from the act? First, I think it is important to note that a good majority of Christians in the world pray to the saints. So I cannot say that this act is novel. Do I think it’s sinful? No, I probably wouldn’t say it is sinful. Do I think it is misguided? Perhaps. Do I think we can learn something from it? Yes. Absolutely.

Before I begin a discussion on this, I would first like to point out that praying to the saints seems like an ontological impossibility. The human nature can only do so much because it is de facto limited; however, with that said, Rev. 5:8 presents humans (elders) who are presenting golden jars of incense which are identified as the prayers of the saints. So the least we can say about all of this is that humans in the heavenly court are “aware” and do “present” these prayers to God. Whatever the imagery means, it does seem somewhat clear that it portrays an awareness and care that heavenly elders have for the misadventures and plights of the earthly saints. Rev. 6:9-11 also seems to suggest that the martyrs’ souls in heaven are “aware” or rather are conscious of world-events.

Should we then pray to these saints? I think this is where I will have to disagree with the practice of many Christians in the world. Just because the saints are “aware” of prayers does not mean that these prayers were addressed to them and then forwarded to God, nor does it indicate that these prayers are intimately known by the elders. The text only suggests that there is an awareness and that these elders make sure they get to God; however, if you think that praying to saints is permissible, do so by all means. Just make sure you recognize that they are means and not ends. I for one am not entirely convinced, nor does Scripture command that we do so. It is simply not “necessary” to faith, and it is difficult in my own head to see the “benefit” it has to faith. Also, it seems that the entire act presumes that certain saints are truly saints and that we know for certain that they were received by the LORD. It seems weird to me to pray to particular saints thinking that they will hear me when I cannot even be sure that they were really saints. Only God knows.

So then how is the act of praying to saints in anyway beneficial you ask? Well in at least three ways: 1) humanization of the faith, 2) communion with the saints, and 3) assurance.

However you construct the history of how the churches came to start praying to saints, one must admit that deep down there is this sense in which Jesus isn’t as relatable to us. I say this with the most qualification I can probably give it. The reason why stories and witness testimonies of other people who aren’t Jesus are helpful to our faith is because of something akin to “degrees of separation.” Ultimately it is Christ who we seek and it is the witness testimonies that draw for us a picture that most closely resembles our Lord. Christ’s personal witness about Himself gives us the best of feelings, but something can be said that the witness of my mother seems somewhat more relatable. So the Apostle Paul states something quite similar saying “imitate me as I imitate Christ.” Not to mention that basically all of the witness accounts we have of Christ are not Christ’s own witness testimony in a human nature sense.

The absence of Christ and the presence of His Holy Spirit in His faithful show the importance of the saints and the kind of honor we would like to bestow on them. This is why I think after musing for some time on the act of praying to saints, I’ve come to the conclusion that praying to the saints is a rather humanizing act. Humans, at the end of the day, want a relationship with another being and not paper. Stories bridge the gap of longing which we have for real and tangible relationships. So I think that God has given us many witnesses for that purpose which is to satisfy (albeit imperfectly) and paradoxically increase our longing for a tangible relationship with the LORD. This can’t happen now fully directly, but it does happen indirectly through the lives lived in and among the saints living and dead.

Which brings us to the 2nd point. how can we live in and among the dead? I think praying to saints, although possibly metaphysically/ontologically impossible, shows one fundamental truth that not praying does not. It shows that death really isn’t the dividing line. Death no longer separates my fellowship with those who have been martyred and are with the LORD. It is *almost* (if it weren’t such a crude imagery) a middle-finger to death. Every prayer to a saint is an acknowledgement that death has not prevented me from communing and worshipping with them together. It is a profound statement that we belong to something greater than death itself. In a simpler illustration, one can ask why it is that we ask other living saints to pray for us. If Christ is our only mediator then this act is nonsensical (or perhaps our understanding of Christ’s mediatorialship is nonsense). So by extension, it is not difficult to see “why” someone would ask the dead who are alive in Christ to pray for them just as we ask other living saints like Deacon Bob to pray for us.

Finally, my third musing is that the act gives great solace to those in trouble and suffering. To just picture in one’s mind that not only does Jesus mediate for us, but that we have human elders and martyrs who are aware of what is going on and do what they can to relay our prayers and information to God should really give us some pause in our everyday sufferings. Even if I do not feel that others care for me...the martyrs and those who have suffered for God’s Word do. That is part of the heavenly communion we have. So we could say, “I don’t feel like the church will ever love me because they are just all broken sinners.” Well...don’t fret. The church isn’t limited to simply what you can see and feel, but there are those souls who have been perfected and do love perfectly who are in heaven praying for us at this very moment.

So I think that even if you don’t agree with the act, the practice itself lends to further contemplation as we reexamine our practices against Scripture and our readings of Scripture in light of our practices. Until the next musing, may we be comforted knowing that the martyrs assist in making our prayers known before God and may we ask God to relay to them to keep praying for us.

Orate pro nobis.

Kyrie Eleison

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formofaservant · 5 years

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Musings in Theological-Anthropology

As I was dabbling in the black arts (philosophy), I again stumbled upon the nature of causation. Behind all the jargon of formal, material, etc. causations, there is one “kind” of causation that I think is rarely talked about in our contemporary contexts. But to simplify things for my readers who may find it strange to conceive of different “types” of causation, there are generally thought to be at least four kinds of causations within the Aristotelian paradigm. They are the material, formal, efficient, and final causations or aitiai. The material cause can be thought of as the “stuff” that allows for something to “exist” such as wood for a table. The formal cause (a bit difficult to understand) can be thought of as the “structure” that allows for something “to exist” such as the structuring of strings on a guitar which allow for the creation of notes when plucked. The efficient cause refers to the “agent” (person or not) that allows for something to exist such as a painter who paints a painting. Finally (no pun intended, the final cause speaks to the purpose for which something exists such as the creation of a fly-swatter to swat flies.

It is this last example that is often either rejected or ignored; however, even if in today’s intellectual climate this type of causation is rejected, we know that with the existence of a mind in the ordering of creation that all of creation (including humans) have a final cause. We can of course speak briefly to all the other causes of humanity such as the material “flesh” (which has it’s own complexities in the scientific debates over what “humans” are made up of), the structural “body” (which evolutionary biologists describe as a complex system of organisms functioning as an organism among a world of organisms), and the efficient “God” (whom evolutionary biologists of the atheistic variety would rather replace with some natural process[es]).

With that said, the final cause is the purpose for which something exists. This is a claim that Christians can and must hold on to. If humans were created for a purpose then humanity functions most properly when they fit the bill. If, however, humans fail to live or rather to function towards this purpose, they now cease to function properly and this failure can be properly called sin. As human beings who “be” for the sole purpose of which God created us, we are also made and structured toward this God’s purpose. So a craftsman can build a table for the purpose of dining off of it, but if the table is made of paper and has a structural capacity more suited for ants (Zoolander reference), one can say that the purpose for which the table was made will be met with futility.

Let us for the sake of this discussion assume that the final cause of humanity is God’s positive relationship with us (I know that this is incredibly loaded, but hammering this down must be pushed off for another time.) The structures and ways we function to meet this goal deal with more than just the proper ordering and functioning of the “fleshly” structures which we call our muscular or even skeletal structures. It is deeper than this in the sense that we are talking not only of how our bodies are organized but our minds and even our actions. Only in a materialistic outlook on life can someone boil down the structures of humanity to purely the physiological. The proper structuring and functionality of humanity ascends that of the body into the world of identity. The question of “who are we” is answered by the four causes stated above. The development of the structural or its maintenance can go above that which is material and tangible to that which is immaterial and intangible (i.e., our character/character traits). So then as Christians, we are concerned not merely with the material but the immaterial aspects of our identity, the kind of character which allows us to “be” unto the purpose God has given us.

If humanity is purposed to exist for this sake, but they do not function towards this end, then one should consider this sin (sin is after all a failure to meet an expectation or standard). Sin is more than just a failure to obey a command, but its “existence” is an indicator which speak to there being something flawed about one’s character. Sin is the privation or deterioration of a person’s character. If sin is the privation or deterioration of our function to meet our reason for existing, then what is evil, other than the privation or deterioration of our pursuit of good? The bible speaks of this privation in terms of chaos and the ordering principle that brings structure to chaos is called wisdom. Wisdom, then, is the gift that allows humans to keep on track with their God-given purpose for existence. Wisdom is what gives insight into how we should conduct our lives so that we develop character which is in accordance with the purpose for which we exist.

These are my musings for now.

Kyrie Eleison.

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formofaservant · 5 years

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Access to God

The humanity of Christ is the curtain through which we have access to God.

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formofaservant · 5 years

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Aristotle and Paul: Musings in Romans

It was by happenchance that I came across this quote:

“From this standpoint the constitution is “the way of life of the city-state” (Pol. IV.11.1295a40). Citizens who are habituated under the laws acquire self-ruling souls: that is, they are governed by reason rather than appetite. Having internalized the law, a virtuous individual becomes “a law unto himself” (EN IV.8.1128a32; Pol. III.13.1284a13).”

- https://lawexplores.com/aristotles-philosophy-of-law/

It made me go back and read Aristotle on Politics and to reexamine some thoughts I had with the identity of the Gentiles in Romans 2 as well as what it meant for the Gentiles to have the “work of the Law written on their hearts.” That phrase itself should automatically be moving gears in our mind if we are astute enough to see allusions to the prophet Jeremiah; however, the allusion must demand a New Covenantal perspective which runs contrary to the typically interpretation of this referring to some sort of innate moral compass which Gentiles (like myself) possess.

As I was thinking more about what Aristotle has to say in his Politics, something deep within the recesses of my brain clicked. If we were to grant that these Gentiles are indeed Christians and that we can be on-board with Aristotle in his analysis of the purpose of the Law, Paul’s comment that the Law finds its “telos” or “end” in Christ should start ringing some bells (Rom. 10:4). Perhaps what Paul is trying to say here is that, like Aristotle, the Law isn’t some abstract free-floating set of rules that have no reason for existing other than to just “be.” I think we often approach ethics in this way in general having grown up learning how to obey but never learning why. Paul’s thoughts then could be in the general line of suggesting that perhaps the works of the Law find its end (as the Law in its totality does) in Christ. If the Gentiles here are in fact Christians, then their trust in Christ and His faithfulness have allowed them to internalize the Law by embodying its very end, or rather Christ embodying its end on account of us. They have become a “law unto themselves” (Rom. 2:14) which has some eerily close parallels to the discussion we just had in Politics. To make things more interesting, Aristotle’s discussion speaks of men who have no need for laws for they are a law unto themselves and are essentially gods among men. Perhaps the internalization of the Law, the incarnation of Christ, and sprinkling in some Aristotelian thought might lend to a stronger case for a re-examination, acceptance, and practice of theo-(Christ)osis.

Kyrie Eleison.

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