Taking Back His Rebel World

In many Christian circles, we've reduced the gospel to a simple pitch about the afterlife. Saving souls (i.e. trading hell for heaven upon one's death) is often seen as God's primary objective—the meat of the gospel, so to speak. Consequently, signing people up for the sweet hereafter becomes our exclusive agenda (with everything else seen as either a distraction or an optional add-on). Jesus’ version of the gospel, however, had a noticeably different focus than our popular afterlife-insurance spiel. Jesus, for example, was preoccupied with announcing the coming of God’s subversive counter kingdom (arriving off the grid and under the noses of the present powers it was undermining, like yeast spreading through dough or a germinated seed slowly growing into a mighty tree). He invited his followers to experience this radical kingdom-life today as we’re reborn into him and subsequently transformed from enemies into agents of his sweeping new creation project. He described a new humanity and a new world that is even now crashing into and supplanting the old by way of his incarnation, death, resurrection, ascension, and eminent return. In God’s kingdom, the hungry, forgotten, and marginalized—the “last”—are given priority and the “first,” the powerful and privileged, are sent away empty handed. Jesus’ story crescendos with his physical return, the resurrection of the dead (and the end of death), his final confrontation of evil, a restored creation, and the total reunification of heaven and earth in himself, through the power of his Spirit and to the glory of his Father. Far from an evacuation to heaven, the gospel is more accurately describing the invasion and “colonization,” as N.T. Wright would say, of earth by heaven (a proposition that is either wonderful or terrifying—maybe both at the same time—depending on one's perception of the King and attachment to the present system that he means to overthrow). In short, God is now taking back his rebel world through the person and work of Jesus.

God, as the Creator, has exclusive rights to his creation. In Genesis we read how God created humans in his image and assigned them the task of tending to his creation as his administrators. The original human vocation, then, is to reflect the goodness of God to creation and to lead creation in worship of the Creator. It should be noted, however, that despite humanity's extensive, delegated authority over creation, Scripture is always clear that humans are tenants and not owners. When his vast and finely-tuned temple is operating correctly it harmoniously tells a true story about the One who made it. The resulting music is spectacular for everyone involved. But what happens when the middle management refuses to play their part? What damage is done if the conductors won't lead the orchestra to perform the symphony as the Composer has written?

Jesus once told a story about some presumptuous tenants who thought they could deny their landlord access to his own vineyard (the specific context of this story is relating to 1st Century Jewish leaders, but there are intended parallels throughout the biblical narrative between the Israelites/Canaan and humanity/creation). The tenants behaved as if the vineyard was their own, managed it as they saw fit, tried to keep the harvest for themselves, and ultimately murdered the owner's only heir in their attempts to retain power. It didn't go well for them in the end.

Seeing ourselves rightly as created beings who are indebted to our Creator is an important first step in recognizing the severity of our collective offense. If we wrongly conclude that God has created us with no particular purpose in mind, we may assume that we're free to do whatever we want so long as we're generally nice, decent creatures. Judging whether or not we've been successful at this ambiguous endeavor is itself an extremely subjective task (leading many to falsely conclude they are basically “good people”). We'll undoubtedly have differing ideas, for example, about what is or isn't nice and decent human behavior. If, however, we rightly understand that God has made us to be something like a mirror, to reflect his beauty, his justice, and his mercy, then the question isn't whether or not I'm being the best me that I can be. All of our opinions at this point are irrelevant. The real question is whether or not I'm accurately reflecting a specific person, namely my Creator, as he intends (It should be noted here that billions of finite image-bearers could potentially reflect an infinite Creator, with no two of them being the same, and yet the cumulative sum wouldn't even come close to fully describing him). He alone is qualified to determine my success at this. If it turns out I'm not accurately reflecting him (perhaps, like a shattered mirror, I'm no longer even capable of accurately reflecting him) then I'm essentially lying about him by way of the distorted image my life is projecting. Even worse, all of humanity (a tragic collection of broken mirrors that only produce more broken mirrors) is systemically and perpetually misrepresenting the Creator to each other, the rest of creation, and—most importantly—to the Creator himself. Whether we realize it or not, the exploitative and materialistic ways in which we typically view and abuse our fellow image-bearers and the rest of what God has made is nothing short of blasphemy. And the resulting dissonant music, if we can even call it that, is ravaging his creation.

At this point in the story, God has a decision to make (a decision he mysteriously settled in his own mind before even creating). Will he wipe the board clean and begin again (it seems creating is a simple thing for him, after all), or will he undergo the long and painful process of repairing and reinstating the undeserving rebels and undoing the damage they've caused to his creation? (It should be noted that simply ignoring the hell his wayward image-bearers have birthed was never an option for the Creator, as he is intrinsically incapable of apathy). His restrained approach to human rebellion, however, speaks volumes about how he views and wields the infinite power at his disposal. He hasn't abandoned the creation he dearly loves to its usurpers; he has subjected it (as an act of his permissive will) to bondage “in hope” (Romans chapter 8).

The Creator has a unique knot to untangle if he wants to have his creation restored to him as the temple it was meant to be. As already mentioned, an essential component of his interconnected design calls for humans to be willing participants, submitted to his sheet music as an act of their own volition, functioning as conduits of his grace and administrative justice (this willing submission to God by humans is the essence of his kingdom). This delegation of his power is certainly not out of necessity. He could easily conduct his composition himself, play all of the individual instruments, and so on, but this clearly isn't what he's after. The specific structuring of his orchestra, including the vital role assigned to its human conductors, has as much to say about the generous Composer as the actual symphony it was all meant to perform. Jesus, the servant King, once contrasted God's shockingly reserved methodology with typical human rulers' heavy handedness (as seen in our predictable tendency to lord it over each other). Human rulers have historically used violence or propaganda to coerce or manipulate their subjects into submission. But this simply won't produce the sort of kingdom that the Creator is after. He naturally won't bypass or extinguish human volition in his efforts to restore it. The kind of submission he's after can never come as the result of brute force or deception. But how does one convince one's enemies, pitiful creatures who are now inherently rebellious, to willingly, without coercion, submit once again to their rightful King? The complexity of the Creator's dilemma can hardly be overstated, but fortunately for us his ingenuity is boundless.

If human rebellion is the epicenter of creation's trouble, then the remedy can only come as the result of a humanity back on track, reflecting God's glory, and tending to his temple as the priests we were created to be. Here in lies the problem. Every one of us, according to Scripture, has become disqualified. There's an incredible scene in Revelation chapter 5, involving an important, symbolic scroll that sat unopened. An angel shouted out, “'who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seal?' And no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it.” John, the author of Revelation, at this point broke down and wept uncontrollably over the hopelessness surrounding this unopened scroll. It seemed as though the original human vocation would tragically go unclaimed and unfulfilled.

What John witnessed next in Revelation 5 parallels the incredible Daniel 7 prophecy, in which a mysterious human character (a “son of man”) ascends to heaven, walks boldly into the throne room of the “Ancient of Days,” and is “given dominion (see Genesis 1:28) and glory and a kingdom, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him; his dominion is an everlasting dominion, which shall not pass away, and his kingdom one that shall not be destroyed.” John sees this same epic “son of man” moment in his vision, when the despair surrounding the unopened scroll is suddenly shattered with the arrival of the “Lion” who is also a “slain Lamb.” Pin-drop silence falls over the crowd as this mysterious figure emerges. This somehow worthy human walks right up to “him who was seated on the throne” and claims the scroll on our behalf. The onlookers erupt into song, “Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth.”

His solution to the human dilemma is elegant and unexpected. Ironically, God himself, as an authentic human, fulfilled the original human vocation, and, by doing so, he is reclaiming all that was lost. The only begotten Son, the eternal Word of God, who spoke the universe into existence, became the human we were all meant to be, the true “image of the invisible God.” As the Creator, God's authority over his creation and subsequent rights to it are uncontested. But in the incarnation, God reclaims, on our behalf, a uniquely human authority. Suppose for a minute that the person who invented American football also established and presided over the National Football League, built all the stadiums, owned all the teams, and held lifelong contracts with every player. Despite this person's vast authority over the sport they created and maintain, they would still need to take to the field as an athlete if their intention was to fairly win the league's most valuable player award. And that's exactly what he did. God took to the field in the form of a 1st Century, penniless, Galilean from backwoods Nazareth, and he conquered the world without firing a shot.

The unique mission of the Christ could only be fulfilled by a human character (that he was also by necessity God, on account of universal human failing, is a fantastic twist in the story but not the main point of this chapter—as we often make it). In other words, Jesus wasn't just pretending to be human in the incarnation; he was human (John claims that denying this fact is “antichrist” - 2 John 1:7). And though his divinity is firmly established in Scripture, proving it wasn't the drum Jesus was beating during his earthly ministry (You might remember that “son of man” was his favorite term for himself). He silenced demonic beings who recognized who he really was, and he frequently made it clear that he didn't speak or act on his own authority (Philippians chapter 2 describes his behavior in the incarnation as a humble emptying of himself in order to faithfully fulfill his mission). He operated with borrowed authority, given to him by God, authority reserved for an untarnished human, the promised King, God's chosen representative, on whom his divine favor rests (The term “Messiah/Christ” sums this up nicely). The call to accept Jesus as God's chosen human representative, the exclusive conduit through which his grace would flow, and the means by which he would reclaim his rebel world is what we see primarily promoted in Scripture (John 5:37-38, 6:29, Acts 4:10-12). Jesus lived his life as a perfect image-bearer, fully relying on the Holy Spirit, and in complete submission to his Father (he “learned obedience” on our behalf - Hebrews 5). Receiving Jesus as the Christ is equated with submitting to God's plan for humanity. If we miss this, if we instead see Jesus as something of a superman, then we miss the point of the incarnation (As an untarnished human, he was a superman of sorts, but not the way we often think). Don't misunderstand me; defending the deity of Christ is an important task from which the Church should never shrink back. But in doing so, we must also realize that there's much more going on in the incarnation than simply, “surprise—Jesus is God.” The man Jesus isn't meant to be seen as a perpetual singularity but the extraordinary means by which God is producing many more sons and daughters of a similar kind (Hebrews 2:9-18). We've unfortunately allowed the heretics to define the parameters of this conversation (especially the misguided ideological descendants of Arius). As a result, we're spending so much energy defending Jesus' divinity that we're left with little time to recognize and accurately describe the implications of his humanity.

Just as the first Adam's rebellion infected all of humanity, so the second Adam's obedience makes him patient zero for a new pandemic, what C.S. Lewis calls the “good infection.” Jesus is something of a Trojan horse, in this way, an unassuming Antidote for the human condition. He is the first of many Spirit-filled and fully submitted humans, the King and the kingdom rolled into one, the person where heaven and earth intersect, and the divine image-bearer who sacrificially resolves the human conflict with God in his own broken body. He alone, through restored conductors, will direct the orchestra to properly perform the Composer's magnum opus. Jesus is the prototype for a restored humanity and the catalyst for the new creation. He is the invasion we never saw coming.

Of course not everyone is celebrating Jesus' enthronement. There are plenty of people who don't want God to reclaim his rebel world (plenty of tenants who think they are owners). God is patient, but he won't wait forever. His rescue plan will go forward as scheduled (It's his universe, after all). When Jesus returns, he will personally confront those who resist his legitimate authority, those who love their rebellion more than their coming King. Participation in God's kingdom as citizen sons is voluntary, however, and all those who foolishly opt out of God's new creation project will eventually have their decision ratified for all eternity. God values and even honors human volition, but he won't allow these dissenters to wreak havoc in his new creation. Sin spreads like cancer. The only perfect human, he who was obedient to God unto death—even death on a cross—will stand in judgment of their defiance. He will banish them from God's restored universe. “There are only two kinds of people in the end,” says Lewis, “those who say to God, 'Thy will be done,' and those to whom God says, in the end, 'Thy will be done.'” Their subsequent existence, forever separated from the Author of Life, is described in Scripture as a “second death.” Jesus, himself, compares this eternal quarantine to being locked out of the city, thrown on a burning heap of decaying filth, or set adrift in a lake of perpetual fire. He passionately warns whoever will listen that this tragic fate is to be avoided at all costs.

However, forgiveness of sins is never an end in itself. The popular afterlife pitch frequently divorces Jesus' debt-canceling work on the cross from God's ultimate purpose of restoring the original human vocation. In a truncated gospel, the “why?” behind the cross is often answered with, “...so we can go to heaven after we die.” While it's certainly true that God knows and loves each and every one of us (and his ambitious new creation project naturally involves our individual repentance and willing submission to his Christ), it's a mistake to view our “personal salvation” apart from the good news of God's kingdom (Even Jesus' well known conversation with Nicodemus, in which he articulates an individual's desperate need to become “born again,” takes place within the context of his larger kingdom message – John 3:3). Ultimately, we're made clean as a prerequisite for service. Our great offense is mercifully removed on the cross so that we're finally able to get back to that for which we were originally created. Scripture frequently ties forgiveness of sins to reinstatement in God's service (Titus 2:11-14, Ephesians 2:8-10, Hebrews 9:14). God's reason for releasing Abraham's descendants from the bondage of Egypt, for example, was so they would be free to “serve” him (Exodus 4:22-23). Keep in mind, it's exceedingly good to be in his service. He means to make us kings and queens. Ultimately, a heart of stone has no interest in fulfilling the original human vocation (which is why the strictly punishment-avoidance-pitch is very popular), but a restored heart of flesh leaps with indescribable gratitude at the opportunity to be reinstated as a priest in God's temple. Many of our notions of heaven, salvation, and God's endgame need to be rethought in light of Jesus' kingdom message.

When we lose sight of the larger narrative, we'll often view sanctification (i.e. becoming like Jesus) as an add-on to the gospel instead of the point of it all. Growing into the image of Christ isn't merely a private endeavor that we undertake for our own personal edification (i.e. approaching the fruit of the Spirit as a self-help buffet that promises to unlock our best life now). Our personal transformation is an integral part of his wide-scale terraforming project. He's making ready a now-inhospitable environment for his glorious, unveiled presence. He's bringing all things under the lordship of Jesus, and incrementally answering the Lord's Prayer for heaven to be reunited with earth. As we submit to the indwelling Spirit of Christ, we become kingdom-pockets of heaven on earth. There are still many areas of his world—many corners of our own hearts—that haven't yet fully submitted to his reign. There's much work to be done, but fortunately his kingdom will continually increase (Isaiah 9:7). Jesus claims he is “making all things new.” If we truly are “new creations” in Christ, then we should see the obvious continuity between what he is now doing in us and the final restoration of all things at the eschaton (described most vividly in Revelation chapters 21 and 22).

I know a brother-in-Christ who ministers in his hometown of Machilipatnam, India. He's used mightily by God to clothe the naked and feed the hungry, to sometimes rescue women and children from sex-trafficking rings run by murderous gangsters. I've heard stories of children sold into prostitution for a bag of rice, whole families that have laid down together on train tracks in a time of total desperation. Some of the children have witnessed their own father savagely murder their mother before their eyes, while others have been intentionally maimed by organized crime syndicates that use them as professional beggars (little ones that have seen evil so cruel they're still unable to even speak it). To anyone paying attention, the world is still obviously full of profound brokenness. And yet the darkness is passing away (1 John 2:8). One of my sister-in-laws works as an advocate for victims of human trafficking. She could tell you that in virtually every city across the US there are image-bearers of God being exploited by other image-bearers in numerous, horrific and dehumanizing ways (some of whom you and I have almost definitely met in passing without even knowing). And yet the Light has come. Even among our own communities and churches, those who are being transformed into the image of Christ, ministers of the gospel, our friends and family, may succumb to hidden sexual sin, vile hypocrisy, corruption, greed, racism, addictions, emotional and physical abuse... and yet... a new Day is dawning. As I look within, I've felt at times defeated and ashamed at what my own mouth has said, the lies my sin-stricken heart has believed, and the evil my hands have done. But we mustn't lose heart; our King is on the move. “For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves” (Colossians 1:13).

It takes faith to believe that God, even now in the midst of our broken world, is actively bringing all things under the lordship of King Jesus. Likewise, it takes faith to trust Jesus when he assures us that “all authority in heaven and on earth” has been given to him. And it takes faith to know that when his massive restoration project is complete—a rebel world returned to its Creator—he'll one day present the kingdom to his proud Father. The Creator will then dwell among us on a restored earth. We'll see his face, he'll be our God, and we'll be his people. This is his incredible endgame. This is the story the Bible is telling. And it's into this exciting endeavor that he's inviting “whosoever” to join him.

“For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved.” - Romans 8:19-24a


“To him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by his blood, and has made us to be a kingdom and priests to serve his God and Father—to him be glory and power for ever and ever! Amen.” - Revelation 1:5b-6

“Then the end will come, when he hands over the kingdom to God the Father after he has destroyed all dominion, authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.” - 1 Corinthians 15:24-26

Great Commission (Remixed)

 

"All authority in heaven and on earth will be given to me at some future millennial kingdom. Nevertheless, go (two-week, short term trips ought to do it) and make converts of all nations (mostly just the ones who look and think like you), teaching them to raise their hands (with all heads bowed and all eyes closed, of course), recite the sinner's prayer, and assuring them of their super-awesome afterlife. And surely I am with you always as you hunker down, buy a bunch of crap, form dubious political alliances, ignore injustices against your fellow image-bearers, and wait for the rapture."

- Said Jesus never

(Check out Matthew 28 for the actual Great Commission)

The Eschaton

 

Our culture seems to have a genuine fixation on the apocalypse, or the “end of days,” as of late. Post-apocalyptic, dystopian stories fly off the shelves faster than you can say “exclusive movie rights.” Popular Christian culture isn't getting left behind either. A steady stream of best-selling book series and movie adaptations have given us a fanciful, modern interpretation of Jesus' Revelation. And why not? The end of a story is arguably the most important part. Everyone understandably wants to know what's going to happen on the last page. Will the hero defeat his enemy or overcome his obstacle? Will he finally get where he's going and achieve what he's after? How we see the ending of the story—what we identify as the point of it all, the culmination, the climax—will greatly inform how we read the whole story. It will inform how we see our part in the story, how we live it out in our everyday lives, and how we tell the story of God to others who have yet to hear.

I don’t plan to get into the nuts and bolts, the nitty-gritty, of all the various eschatological positions. This probably comes as a great relief to many and perhaps a disappointment to some. If you find yourself among the latter, we’ll have to set up a time to sit on my porch with our tea and pipes in hand to gleefully deliberate for hours about the eschaton (I’ve never actually smoked a pipe, and I’m not much for tea, but it just seems like the thing to do when one is having a deep and nerdy theological discussion). My aim in this post (and in all my posts) is to speak primarily of the Gospel, and hopefully to let that which is of “first importance” frame our understanding of biblical eschatology.

I think we have to approach this topic, as we should all theology, with a humble and teachable spirit. As human beings, we are extremely susceptible to marrying ourselves so completely to a way of thinking, or an ironclad theological model, that we may end up inadvertently imposing our beloved framework on the biblical text (creating theological tunnel vision). We should be very alert, even reasonably terrified, of this all too common and mostly subconscious behavior. The Jewish theologians of Jesus’ day, for example, held to a specific and finely tuned eschatological model that didn’t line up with the young Galilean prophet who stood before them. Ultimately, when faced with the contradiction, it was their Messiah and not their misconstrued model that they foolishly abandoned. These were learned men. They spent their lives studying the Scriptures. Many of them could quote entire books, replete with messianic prophecy, just as readily as we could rattle off John 3:16. It’s unnerving to think that we can arrive at a place of extreme biblical familiarity only to find ourselves, due to our theological presuppositions and hard hearts, still incapable of perceiving the heart of God as it’s dancing off the pages. We are each of us undoubtedly wrong about something, probably a great many somethings. We must be willing to learn what those somethings are.

While one can easily get bogged down in the details (and I’m not saying they aren’t important), we simply can’t afford to miss the broad strokes of the story. We must, at the very least, be able to see the forest for the trees. So by all means, study the various barks and leaves within, become a master of the theological flora and fauna, but God forbid that while doing so we fail to connect the dots, to appreciate the cumulative sum of the individual parts, and to grasp the overall lay of the land (How's that for a hearty mixing of metaphors?).

As best as I can see, the overarching story that the Bible is telling is of an all-powerful, all-knowing, timeless, just, loving, hyper-personal, and completely self-sufficient spiritual Being who (for reasons only fully known to himself) decides to create an incredibly vast and beautiful physical universe (comprised of space, time, and matter). Within this universe, he fashions an ideal world and populates it with all kinds of amazing life. He then establishes one set of his creatures above the rest as his uniquely crafted image-bearing representatives to creation. Heaven (what we now think of as “God's space”) and earth (“our space”) seem to harmoniously coexist in this early state, characterized by perfect communion between the Creator and his image-bearers. Curiously, this all-powerful Being intends to rule his creation through these fragile human creatures. But the first humans, of course, reject the Tree of Life and abandon their noble vocation. All of his once-good creation suffers the harmful effects of these unwilling, and now unqualified, administrators. Earth is, in a sense, torn from heaven (though God is of course ever-present, our ability to perceive him, to experience his life-giving fellowship, and to benefit from universal human submission to his reign, is at this point tragically constrained). Undaunted by this colossal setback and unwilling to wipe the board clean, the Creator patiently works through flawed human messengers and broken leaders—committed as ever to his original intent for humanity—to reveal his heart for reconciliation and to foretell his plan of restoration (an extremely truncated summary of thousands of years of human history). The culmination of these efforts is finally seen in the dramatic and miraculous appearance of a divine human in 1st Century Palestine. According to the story, this humble God-man is the Creator’s only Son, the perfect image-bearer, the promised King, and the sort of human we were all meant to be. He alone is uniquely qualified to reclaim humanity's birthright and, in so doing, to return to God what is rightfully his, as well (The Creator certainly knows how to untangle a knot). God then takes back his rebel world through this man, Jesus, and gives birth to his everlasting and long-promised kingdom (as he begins to mend the tear between heaven and earth one person at a time). Previously disqualified humans are now scandalously invited to resume their original vocation as “ambassadors” and “priests” of God and to participate in his redemptive work in the world. By way of his death and resurrection, Jesus counterintuitively wins a decisive victory over his enemy and purchases a costly citizenship and adoption for once-rebels who now acknowledge him as their rightful King. His kingdom-people are empowered with God’s own Spirit and commissioned to share the good news of his reign. Like a tiny mustard seed, his kingdom steadily grows and will continue to grow into a mighty tree that fills the whole earth. No human kingdom will be able to overthrow it or even resist its advance. And yet it will not spread by the typical human means of violence, hollow propaganda, or coercion but by a diverse army of sacrificial servants and martyrs who follow their Founder's example (as a Spirit-filled extension of him) and faithfully demonstrate and declare his better kingdom. In many cases, the illegitimate powers of this world will not even notice his subversive kingdom's liberation movement until it's too late. Though all authority in heaven and earth is already his, there are still many who do not know, or simply refuse to accept, that Jesus is now King. His rule will therefore be complete upon his physical return to earth, at which point evil will be permanently eradicated from his restored universe, he will judge the living and the dead, death will be swallowed up by Life, heaven and earth will be once again seamlessly and fully reunited, and we will see him face to face. All of human history is leading up to this climactic moment when death and decay—the results of human rebellion—are forever undone and God's good and perfect will is at long last carried out consistently and effortlessly here “on earth as it is in heaven.”

Our hearts should ache for this (Rom. 8:23). The heart of God—including his Spirit who resides within his people—longs for this steadily-approaching future (“The Spirit and the bride say, 'Come!'” -Rev. 22:17a). All of creation groans, as well (Rom 8:22). Jesus instructs his followers to regularly pray that God would essentially bring heaven to earth (Matt. 6:9-10). The Lord's Prayer should cause our anticipation for the reunification of heaven and earth (both incrementally in the present and universally at the eschaton) to build into a fever pitch. In his well known Sermon on the Mount, Jesus tells us to live as if it were already so, even when living this way will presently cost us dearly.

There are numerous popular predictions about the eschaton that I would disagree with, but I don't feel the need to vehemently debate every potential error (although, we'll certainly leave no stone unturned if you happen to hit me up for the eschatology-fest on my porch). There is undoubtedly a hierarchy of errors, and we should always give greater attention to the errors that erode (either directly or indirectly) the core elements of the Gospel. If one is unfamiliar with the common use of metaphor in apocalyptic genres, for example, then one may be very sincere in their expectation of seeing a literal, scaly, fire-breathing dragon at some point near the end. They also may be racking their brain in a good faith effort to creatively figure out how all the stars will literally fall from the sky or the moon will turn to blood. They may even take a certain pride in their remarkable ability to believe such absurdity. Many of these hyper-literal conclusions (when the biblical author is clearly attempting to convey something else), in my estimation, are extremely misguided but arguably benign to a point. However, regularly divorcing apocalyptic prophecies (such as Jesus' colorful predictions in Matthew 24 and his subsequent elaboration in the Revelation to the seven churches) from their clear biblical antecedents (like Isaiah using similarly cataclysmic language and hyperbole to predict the 539 BC judgment of Babylon—Isaiah chapter 13) can also lead to egregious error (It's easy to see how some small exegetical errors naturally produce greater errors down the road. In arithmetic, for example, if we misstep early in the process, our initial miscalculation is magnified as we continue on).

One popular interpretation of God's story (with multiple eschatological implications) insists that God has “two distinct people” and subsequently “two distinct plans.” This teaching has led many evangelicals to conclude that there are two ways to be reconciled to God: one (for Gentiles) being to trust in the finished work of Jesus and the other (for sincere, ethnic Jews) to simply be genetically related to Abraham's grandson, Jacob. This grave error (which essentially undermines the exclusivity and sufficiency of the cross, a core tenant of the Gospel) is not often expressly taught, but, given what is commonly taught, it is easy to see how the laity within this camp arrive at this erroneous conclusion. On this point, I would say shepherds and teachers are responsible, to some extent, not only for what they say but also for what the flock hears. According to the story of God, there is decidedly only one Seed of Abraham with the power to save, only one ancestry that affects our standing at the eschaton, and, by the grace of God, anyone can become related to him. I've also heard well-intentioned Christians of this persuasion express how they think it would not only be a “good idea” but perhaps even a moral imperative for Christians to help rebuild the Jewish temple (right where a high-profile Muslim mosque now stands, no less). This sort of thinking reveals catastrophic ignorance about pivotal developments within the Gospel story (i.e. Jesus as a better Temple, a better Priest, and a better Sacrifice). Rebuilding the temple and re-instituting the sacrificial system are dangerously regressive endeavors for a Christian and completely at odds with Christ's clearly articulated kingdom agenda (Check out Galatians and Hebrews for more developed warnings).

“Rapture” theology plays heavily into this eschatological model as well. A fascination with being “caught up” has certainly caught on among many evangelical Christians (as clearly seen in the numerous book sales and movie adaptations of rapture themed fiction). I really think Paul’s beautiful picture of believers being lifted into the sky to greet the returning King (1 Thessalonians 4) has been commonly misinterpreted as a mass evacuation, but, if so, it’s probably a misinterpretation of the mostly harmless sort. Something to be cautious of, however, is the resulting escapist perspectives that can arguably be traced back to rapture theology. Some of these rapture-centric Christian traditions have at times produced a very pessimistic, “duck and cover” outlook on the world within their respective church cultures. The story they're telling seems to go something like “everything is getting worse all the time, but if you'd like to say this prayer to 'accept Jesus as your personal savior' then we can all hunker down in my basement together and watch the news for subliminal clues to which world leader may or may not be the 'antichrist' this week while we're waiting for Jesus to come back.” “When he gets here, he'll get us out of this hellhole—right before he torches the whole thing—and we'll finally be able to live with him forever in heaven.” This may be an extreme characterization of this camp, but, even in its milder forms, it starts to sound far more Gnostic than Christian (i.e. “the physical world is inherently evil and irredeemable, therefore God's endgame is to eventually extract me so that I can live with him forever in an ethereal, spiritual realm”). I've written about this elsewhere, so I'll just briefly recap here: Resurrection (which is, by definition, a physical event) is an essential element of the Gospel, as is the eventual complete restoration of creation. These repeated themes of the physical universe being redeemed and restored are not “unimportant” details that we are free to overlook or outgrow—they are bedrock to the biblical narrative (Rom. 8:19-23). Contrary to what many may think, the story the Bible is telling is not of a great escape from earth to heaven. It's a story about God bringing heaven back to earth through the person and work of Jesus (Rev. 21:3).

Some of this retreating from “secular spaces,” accompanied by extreme pessimism about the state of God’s kingdom, and trends toward spiritual escapism (marked by an abandoning of the physical world) now commonly seen in American evangelicalism is due in part to a long history of bad examples and failed attempts at “kingdom expansion.” Centuries of European “theocracies” have contributed to the reluctance most modern American Christians presently have in referring to “God’s kingdom,” as Jesus did, as something that is happening (or at least starting to happen) now. The rise and fall of Christian Triumphalism and movements like the “Social Gospel” of the early 20th Century, which is often criticized for merely focusing on societal reform and scientific advancement (perhaps over-emphasizing the demonstration while neglecting the clear declaration of the Gospel), has contributed to a far dimmer outlook of the future for those who are left in the wake of these flawed movements. The response tends to be one of overcorrection. Many of today’s church cultures have, with their theological traditions, completely neutered the dynamic and world-changing kingdom of which Jesus passionately spoke; Instead, promoting a merely internal and harmless, spiritualized version of God’s kingdom message. It’s both equally wrong to pursue a man-made utopia (in which Jesus is conspicuously absent) as it is to abdicate or abandoned the real-world implications and demands of God’s all-encompassing kingdom agenda.

My purpose here is not to mock, malign, or conversely promote a specific eschatological model (though adherents to some versions of Premillennial Dispensationalism may feel like they’ve taken some lumps in many of my cautionary examples. I only bring up so many issues resulting from this theological camp, however, due to its extreme popularity within the evangelical circles in which I run. If I were fellowshipping more often with mainline traditions, I would probably have more to say about the potential pitfalls of Preterism, and so on). Ultimately, I think it’s helpful to hear multiple perspectives from a variety of studied and Spirit-filled brothers and sisters. I’ve routinely disagreed with many of my closest and dearest spiritual family members on secondary theological issues. In spite of our differences, we’re able to live, learn, and serve together in a spirit of deep mutual respect due to our shared love of the God his story reveals. The conversation within the church regarding what story the Bible is telling, including sub-conversations about the ending, has been going on for some time now (with great saints of the past and present contributing much to the collective effort). As such, there’s really no need for us to start from scratch, nor should we.

So be a proud Premillennial, Postmillennial, Amillennial, or even eschatologically undeclared follower of Christ. But also be alert to elements of these eschatological models that might undermine core tenants of the Gospel by becoming extremely familiar with the broad strokes and governing themes of God’s epic story, as it plays out from Genesis to Revelation (i.e. Be able to distinguish between primary and secondary elements of the narrative). Be aware that your understanding (or misunderstanding) of the story’s ending will inevitably affect how you live. Be inquisitive and willing to surrender your most beloved theological presuppositions and cherished church traditions if they turn out to run contrary to the higher authority of God’s word. Be reasonably informed about our brothers and sisters who came before us and who tackled many of these same complex questions. More than this, be genuinely excited about the return of Christ, and be about your Father’s business.

I would respectfully suggest that if you're more enthusiastic about “blood moons,” implanted micro-chips, and stocking up your personal bomb shelter than pursuing the mission of God (by meeting the neighbors, welcoming the stranger, serving the least, and declaring and demonstrating the good news of God's kingdom in numerous other ways throughout your everyday life) then you're tragically missing the heartbeat of the redemptive story that God has been telling—that he's even now telling. Likewise, if you find yourself at the other end of the spectrum, with the crowd who smugly allegorize everything to the point of meaninglessness, or who reject the resurrection, the physical return of Christ, and the ultimate supernatural restoration of the cosmos, and instead seek generic social justice and man-made utopia, then you are also telling a different story of your own making (in which Jesus and some of the language of his Gospel has merely been appropriated in order to promote a secular humanist fantasy). The Gospel of the kingdom of God that Jesus preached has an amazing third act. Let's learn the story right, live the story well, and tell the story often.

“Yes, I am coming soon” —Jesus (Rev. 22:20)

Resurrection

 

As of this writing, we’re closely approaching the annual celebration of the most significant date in human history: The day an outspoken, First Century Jewish man from Nazareth, who had been brutally murdered only 72 hours prior, stepped out of his own grave alive as ever and, save a few puncture holes, none the worse for wear. The importance of this event to the Christian faith—to all of humanity that ever lived or ever will live, to the entire cosmos—cannot be overemphasized. The Apostle Paul plainly states that if this man Jesus has not risen then those of us who follow him “are of all people most to be pitied” (1 Corinthians 15). Jesus himself hung all of his claims of being the promised Messiah who would usher in and reign over God’s eternal kingdom, “the resurrection and the life,” the mediator between God and humanity, with the divine authority to forgive sins, on his unique ability to pull off his own physical resurrection. He claimed it would be the authentication of his authority and therefore the complete vindication of all of his otherwise outlandish claims. Given the unmatched importance of this event, it’s unfortunate that there is often such a hazy understanding among contemporary Christ-followers of what actually transpired and how it changes everything.

The physicality of Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection must not be overlooked. The facts surrounding these events reiterate how God views the physical world, which he once called “good,” and the humans he created to inhabit it. The implications of the resurrection, in particular, are also pivotal to understanding his endgame. Immediately following his resurrection, Jesus repeatedly authenticated the physical reality of what had happened by inviting his hesitant disciples to feel the marks in his hands and side and by sharing unusually lively postmortem meals with them. Make no mistake; the resurrected Christ was/is flesh and bone, a human as we were meant to be, and the first fruits and divine source of many more to come.

The hope of bodily resurrection has been long whispered by the ancients but only realized in the person of Jesus. The prior sparse examples of God raising the dead should not be confused with Jesus’ unprecedented resurrection. You may have noticed that Lazarus, whose soul was famously reunited with his once-dead mortal body, is no longer with us. He too must await the resurrection that is yet to come. Perhaps Job described our future hope of resurrection most clearly: “I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes—I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!” (Job 19:25-27).

Many of Jesus’ contemporaries scoffed at the suggestion of physical resurrection. Even Jewish culture was torn, with the Sadducees outright rejecting notions of supernatural intervention such as angels, miraculous healing, and—of course—resurrection. When Paul spoke at the Areopagus in Athens, we read how resurrection was the hardest part of the Gospel for a First Century Greek audience to swallow. Eventually, with the influx of Gentile believers, many Gnostic interpretations of core events started creeping into the early Church. Some of these misunderstandings were addressed by the remaining Apostles. John, for example, spoke against those in his day who were denying the authentic humanity of Jesus, going so far as to label them “antichrist.” Other heretical ideas stemming from Gnosticism were also vehemently refuted by Paul before his martyrdom.

Gnostics believe the physical world is inherently evil and of no value, while the unseen spiritual realm is good and therefore of infinite value. As a result, Gnostic-thinking Christians seek release or rescue from the physical world. At first glance, Scripture seems to reinforce the tenants of Gnosticism. Jesus said that his followers should disregard their basic physical needs (food, clothing, shelter, etc.), for example, and even “hate” their own lives in this world in favor of passionately pursuing an unseen Father and otherworldly kingdom. James said that anyone who loves the world makes himself an enemy of God. Paul expressed his deep desire to leave his corrupted body so that he could be present with the Lord. Old and New Covenant saints alike are described as exiles in a foreign land, eagerly awaiting a better country, a heavenly country. All of this sounds like music to a Gnostic’s ears.

Prevailing Gnostic interpretations of Scripture are too numerous and complex to exhaustively address here. The “world,” however, can refer to the corrupted kingdom of men, humanity in general, the physical planet, the cosmos, and so on. God can then simultaneously love the “world,” his divinely crafted creation, and hate the “world,” the evil systems of sinful humans that oppress and enslave. The Bible teaches that the Spirit of God breathed life into the physical world. So the spiritual is the source and the sustainer of the physical but never, as the Gnostics would have it, the supplanter.

Modern Gnostics are often exclusively concerned with “saving souls.” Not much thought, if any, is given to the Gospel's implications on the body and the world of matter. Environmental conservation efforts, for example, are sometimes seen as a “waste of time,” given that “God will be making a new heaven and earth anyway.” For the same reasons, caring for one’s physical body with proper diet and exercise may also seem pointless to a Gnostic-minded Christian.

We should see the promised new heavens and new earth in the same sense in which believers in Jesus become “new creations.” We wouldn’t—or shouldn’t—think to say that “because I am being made new, the current me (along with my thoughts and behavior) is of no importance.” That I will be eradicated to make room for a new version of me who will in fact not be me is a concept that is at odds with the biblical narrative. C.S. Lewis, in Mere Christianity, does an excellent job of describing how the process of dying to self and allowing Jesus to live through us in fact produces the opposite of what we might expect: It is only through this process of self denial that we discover who we were always meant to be in Christ—our true selves.

When a Christian speaks of going to “live with God in heaven forever” after they die (if their meaning of “heaven” is something like an ethereal spiritual realm), they are once again out of step with the story that the Bible is telling. That understanding of God’s endgame for humanity, the universe, and so forth is far more Gnostic than Christian.

The Bible refers to heaven as the place where God reigns in unveiled glory. We’re given awe-inspiring pictures of a throne room, unapproachable light, numerous angelic attendants, and endless worship. Throughout Scripture, this place is often poetically associated with the upper atmosphere or even a geographic location like “Mount Zion” or Jerusalem’s temple. In truth, heaven is better understood as a person than a place. The ancient Jews didn’t think their God literally lived in the sky or on some distant planet. They understood he was everywhere and that heaven was always just around the corner, so to speak, and could even peak through on occasion (Genesis 28:17, Ezekiel 1:1, 2 Kings 6:17). Genesis describes a time long ago when heaven and earth occupied the same space (N.T. Wright, in Simply Christian, discusses this concept of heaven and earth “interlocking” far better than I could hope to here). God never left. But our ability to perceive him, to experience his perfect reign and unveiled glory, was tragically inhibited by sin—a death of the worst kind.

Jesus, through his incarnation, death, and resurrection, brings heaven crashing back into earth like a tidal wave. The restorative work of Christ allows each of his followers, and the Church collective, to function as containers, or temples, of God, a place of sorts in which heaven and earth occupy the same space once again. This renewed connection to God through Jesus is the essence of eternal life (John 17:3), and the phenomenon of heaven incrementally intersecting with earth through Jesus is called the “kingdom of God.” His endgame then seems to involve the spiritual realm perfectly and completely coexisting with a cured physical universe as it was in the beginning. After all, he commands us to regularly pray for this very thing (Matthew 6:9-10).

Just as he left in flesh, Jesus promised that he will return to our world “in the same way” (Acts 1:11). His kingdom will come in fullness, the seamless reunification of heaven and earth, when the King is physically present. Evil will be permanently eradicated from his universe, and only what is good and pure, what is of him, will remain. At his command, human souls that have been transformed into his likeness by the finished work of Christ will be reunited with their resurrected, now-immortal, incorruptible bodies. He will dwell “with us” and we will see his face (Revelation 21:3, 22:4). God's endgame then is not so much to bring us to heaven as it is to bring heaven back to earth.

Those who persistently love their treason more than their Creator will—in accordance with their own unyielding wishes—experience a complete inability to perceive the ever-present and infinitely good God. Having rejected the Tree of Life, and now cast out of a universe that, even in its broken state, still echoed the Creator's goodness, they will tragically endure an eternal torment of such intensity that it is likened to being burned in a lake aflame, cast into deepest darkness and bone-grinding bitterness—beyond dead. “Depart from me” will be the last thing they hear. Tragically, the horrors of this existence cannot be overstated, yet it is a fate that all of humanity has justly earned.

Eternal life begins today when we trust in the finished work of Jesus and give ourselves over to his transformative work in our lives. It is immeasurably good to participate in his kingdom now and become conduits of heaven on earth as he reigns in our hearts and hands. Even better, though, is when our mortal body gives out and our soul is swept up into his presence where we experience his unveiled glory and perfect reign in heaven. But the best is yet to come—the hope of resurrection—when he brings heaven to a restored earth, reunites our soul and body (as humans were meant to exist), and once again walks with us in the garden.

Christ’s bodily resurrection is central to the Gospel. As is the future hope of our own bodily resurrection and that of the cosmos. The story that the Bible is telling is of a once-“good” physical world that has been tragically marred by sin and death but that is presently being restored through the work of Jesus. The physical world has been mortally wounded by corrupted flesh, so the cure must come from the spiritual realm, more specifically from heaven. The spiritual—the eternal Word of God—takes on flesh in order to restore flesh and, by extension, the rest of the physical world. Jesus' resurrection is a foretaste of his cosmic restoration project. He is making “all things new.” No doubt we'll all be surprised when he is finished. Happy Easter!

“Jesus said to her, 'I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?'” (John 11:25-26)