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Getting it wrong, or the importance of the resurrection

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Not too many years ago, for an application form, I had to describe my understanding of the Christian faith. More particularly, I was asked to describe how I understood the role of the death of Christ (and, therefore, of his resurrection). This is part of the answer I wrote:

(…) the defeating of death works as a warrant of Jesus’s divine nature and that God can indeed grant us eternal life.

And that was it. That was all I said about the point of resurrection.

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Nothing about Christ continuing His ministry of intercession today. Nothing about the importance of Christ’s human (and bodily) nature. To me, all that mattered, in the resurrection, was that it was a proof of the claims Christ had made so far. A proof that he was who he claimed to be.

The tomb was empty solely that we may believe.

As if there hadn’t been plenty of other miracles up to that point, sufficient for our belief. Or, taking it from another perspective, if I don’t believe the miracles so far, there’s no way I’m going to believe the resurrection happened. I mean, Thomas Didymus couldn’t believe it until he saw it himself!

The very notion that the Empty Tomb is the proof for the claims of Christianity is nonsensical. Now, this does not mean that the historicity of the Empty Tomb does not matter – of course it does. If Christ did not rise from the dead, it would discredit his own claims (as they have been recorded). But it is a mistake to consider it as the main historical event upon which hinges the truthfulness of Christianity; and I believe it is therefore also a mistake to focus evangelistic apologetics on this particular event.

Now, the importance of resurrection is not what I want to focus on here. Here’s what matters here: I used to think the resurrection had little incidence for us today, at least when compared to Christ’s death itself. That opinion changed. Not as a traumatic experience, but as an exciting and bewildering eye-opening. It was good. This is not necessary true of all theological adjustments – particularly those that confront us to our sins – although, in my experience, it has generally been just that. Good. A relief of sorts. Because even when that new opinion diminishes our self-perception, it magnifies our perception of God and brings us closer to him.

So what I would like to say is this: theology is not fixed. Opinions can change. And we should be ready to re-assess our opinions, particularly about those things we believe do not matter. In my case, there are still a fair amount of matters of doctrine and practice I agree with but which I believe matter little (e.g., the virginity of Mary, the historicity of most of the Old Testament, glossolalia, the use of vestments, etc.). But for those, I’m ready to have my eyes opened.

Does that mean our personal theology should be subject to mere whims, always in flux and never fixed? No. There are some things which we can determine after careful consideration. As far as those are concerned, we should not have the arrogance to say that our way is the only way, but we should be able to assert them with confidence.

What matters here is that we’re not holding on to our old beliefs through sheer pride. We can get it wrong – and I certainly do sometimes. Let us simply recognise it.

Liturgy month: Have mercy on us

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God’s mercy is something that we seek, often, in our prayers. It is etched within traditional liturgy, between the kyries and the misereres. We seek it when we confess our sins (“have mercy on us”), we rely on it in intercessionary prayers (“in your mercy”).

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Photo: Charles Clegg, reused under CC license

These small words of liturgy have always been slightly difficult to me, because they reeked of false humility, and of false repentance. It felt like we were forcing ourselves to feel sorry and small, in that very very short window of time in the service; and that introspection itself was cut short by the prayer of absolution.

Worse than that, it seemed that I was only pretending that God’s mercy was something I didn’t deserve, because I knew that absolution was to come.

And I was doing it all wrong. The fact that the kyries jarred for me is, I believe, down to the wrong perspective I was adopting. That the confession was about me. About my sins.

While it’s not hard to understand why I could think in that way (after all, we are invited to recollect our sins during that confession time); it’s also easy to realise that this perspective is not consistent with our attitude during the rest of the service – of turning to God.

God who knows us (and thereby knows our sins, too), but God who is merciful, too. During the time of confession, we should not as much be focusing on our selves as we should be focusing on God’s mercy. The only point of recollecting our sins is that they are collected, wrapped up in God’s mercy.

Therefore, confession is not as much a matter of purging of sins (against some sort of virtual tally) as it is a matter of adoration and of turning to God. Therefore, it is not about humility, false repentance, or feeling sorry; and the feeling of inadequacy is uncalled for in this particular context.

When you seek God’s mercy, know that God is merciful and that you can expect it. This will change your act of contrition into an act of worship.

Listen to the sermon on the topic here:

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Download link (right click, hit download) – Notes

Evangelism is weird

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Most churches, now, have outreach activities. Some Christian bodies are geared uniquely towards evangelism, too. Alpha courses have grown in popularity, as have other introductory courses to the Christian faith.

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Photo: Chris Downer, re-used under CC License

Churches (and therefore Christians)  should grow in all three directions of the famous “in-up-out” triangle. Growing in community and being inwardly edified, worshipping up towards God and reaching out towards the NYCs (not-yet-Christians).

This approach, sadly, dissociates three essential parts of growth. Sure, we should have personal spiritual growth in order that we may reach out, etc. – but we sometimes forget that when we are reaching out, we are simultaneously growing inwardly. (And, yes, it is also simultaneously an act of worship – but the permeating nature of worship is not  the point of this post)

Alpha courses (and I’m taking this example because it’s the only one I roughly know of) have “facilitators”. Outreach events have speakers. And in the relationship between them and the seekers/recipients of the free beverage/food/whatever else, is akin to a teacher-student relationship. And as such, it leads to expectations that the teacher “knows it all”. In such events, the role of the “Christian” is to state and to answer, whilst the role of the NYC is limited to listening and asking questions which will find a rebuttal. Ironically, in such situations, the Christian is the one who is quick to speak and slow to listen.

All this leads to three undesirable effects:

1. It forces the creation of three rather artificial categories of people: the NYCs, the Christians, and the Christian leaders – i.e., those who have reached enough enlightenment to talk about their faith with others.

2. It discourages the less confident from participating in outreach activities. And when they do participate (out of a sense of oughtness, more likely than not) they put on a persona – because they are forcing themselves not only to do outreach, but also to be the type of people who do outreach: confident and knowledgeable.

3. It gives off the image of people who are sure of their entire worldview. Of course, being firm in the hope that is set before us – the hope of redemption and salvation – is great, and I’m sure it is the case for most, if not all, who get involved in any form of outreach. But do we have the same confidence in, say, the End Times? Hell? Predestination? Creation? Why the Psalmist is sometimes angry with God? The necessity of attending church? I know I don’t. Don’t get me wrong – I do have a bit of an idea about how to answer these questions; but I’m nowhere near as sure of them as I am of salvation.

Of course, it’s not deceitful to be ready to answer questions with our opinions on such matters. After all, we hold the views that we outline in our answers. But from the NYC’s perspective, it can be very off-putting: they are at a place where they are ready to re-evaluate their worldview. That is to say, their current metaphysical stance is shaky at best. And all we offer them, in appearance, is a pre-fabricated, solid, indigestible worldview. That can be appealing to some (although I believe it is a twisted perception, and it can be damaging to approach Christianity with such expectations); but, crucially, it can be threatening to others, and off-putting to many. Threatening, because it cannot possibly coexist, or draw on, the current worldview the NYC hasn’t quite brought himself to shed; off-putting, because how are people who have a fragile worldview meant to identify with people with an apparently solid one?

Evangelism is weird because, when I try to help people understand and embrace Christianity – and therefore me as a Christian – I pretend to be more confident of  my answers than I am. Evangelism is weird because when I should be celebrating the Truth, I bring other statements to the same level. Evangelism is weird especially when it fails to truly listen.