Don't Shoot the Messenger: The Art of Receiving a Rebuke (From Anyone)

 
 



I've written elsewhere about how difficult it is to receive a rebuke of any kind. Universal human pride often cripples us in this regard, rendering us impervious to many hard truths that we are in some cases desperately needing to hear. Now if we add to our natural resistance to criticism an unwelcome or “unqualified” messenger, we generally get a perfect storm of indignant rage and outright rejection. More often than not we'll dig our heels in, gnash our teeth, and look for the nearest proverbial stones to hurl at our “attacker.” This happened to Stephen, the 1^st Century deacon who dared rebuke the religious establishment (only the stones were real), and it certainly happened to our fearless leader, a formally uneducated, penniless, backwoods, thirty-something, upstart Galilean who had the audacity to not only publicly deconstruct the prevailing cultural, political, and religious narratives but to also promote his own subversive counter-kingdom in their place. Jesus often accomplished this by telling stories, many of which intentionally featured the least likely of messengers (people of other religions, minorities, immigrants, collaborators, racial adversaries, oppressors, and women) to not only expose his audiences' preconceptions and prejudices but to also humble us to the necessary starting point of a gospel-centric, disciple who is finally ready to fall to our knees, beat our chest, and cry out “God, have mercy on me, a sinner!”

God regularly chooses unqualified agents to deliver his rebuke. The ancient kingdoms of Israel and Judah, for example, were overrun by nations that were more wicked than they. Receiving a rebuke from an enemy, or someone we think is “beneath us,” has to be the hardest pill to swallow. An ancient Israelite could reasonably respond to Assyria and Babylon with, “who are you to rebuke us for our idolatry, sexual misconduct, neglect for the poor, materialism, and numerous injustices?!” It would be like receiving a lecture on the destructive nature of lust from none other than Hugh Hefner.

When we're wrong, we're wrong. It doesn't really matter who points it out.

I once saw a conservative meme that said something like, “I don't listen to lectures about gun control from people who kill babies.” The sentiment “I will only receive advice or correction from a source that I deem worthy of my attention” is arrogant and almost certainly guarantees that God will send a messenger of the sort that we would hate to have knocking on our door. I'm certainly not saying that all criticism is true or helpful. Most criticism will be a mixture of truth and distortion. A good friend of mine often says we must “eat the meat, and spit out the bones.” I am reminded of King David’s humility as he was running for his life from his treasonous son Absalom (2 Samuel 16). A man named Shimei, who had obviously been holding a grudge, seized on this opportunity to pelt David with insults and stones as the king fled Jerusalem. David could have responded to Shimei’s attack with an explanation (though David was certainly a murderer and an adulterer, he wasn’t guilty of the false accusations that Shimei was hurling at him) or even retribution, but he instead chose to silently endure it, knowing that God may be using this unqualified messenger to deliver a rebuke. Say what you like about David, the man knew how to take a rebuke. It may take work to sort through criticism that's full of bones, but it is time well spent to hear the voice of God and to be humbly set back in step with his heart. Who will be the next to expose our blind spots, I wonder? Who will God use to shed light on our inconsistencies, the areas of our heart over which he intends to rule unrivaled? I think that largely depends on how “dull of hearing” we have become. Perhaps it will be a Muslim; a transgendered person; an atheist; a grizzly, old, foul-mouthed, racist neighbor; or a pretentious, tatted up, man-bun-wearing, hipster. Will we disregard the rebuke due to our low opinion of the source, or will we earnestly examine ourselves to see where we may be off course?

The multigenerational nature of the Church is truly a blessing from God. We must never be so proud as to reject Godly counsel or a rebuke from a messenger that we have deemed too young or too old to have anything helpful to convey. We are reminded throughout Scripture of the wisdom that often comes with many years and also warned against looking down or disregarding someone because of their youth (knowing that God amuses himself by frequently utilizing the unqualified and ill-equipped). Young and old followers of Christ need each other. The impetuousness of youth is tempered by the prudence of experience, and the stagnation of weathered pragmatism can be reinvigorated with youthful passion and reckless faith.

I have often received invaluable counsel and constructive criticism from older Christ-followers. In the interest of full disclosure, I was born in '81 (which generally makes me a young Gen Xer, but some estimations count me as an old Millennial). It is primarily Boomers (along with saints now deceased, like Towzer and Lewis) who have informed my worldview and led me to an understanding of God. We have benefited greatly from our spiritual mothers and fathers in the faith (from the Silent Generation and Boomers). They have largely made us what we now are. But I believe there are some sweeping generational blind spots that are being manifested throughout the American Church, things that we can no longer ignore, things that younger generations are in a unique position to expose. There are many ways in which the old guard (I'm of course speaking in a very general sense here) has apparently settled into arguably unbiblical trends toward safety, comfort, and pragmatism (at the expense of God's upside down kingdom and unavoidably dangerous agenda). I don't know that the generations have ever been so divided in their approach to local and world politics. The old guard is dumbfounded by the younger generation's perceived lack of patriotism and financial responsibility. Millennials are often seen as reckless and naive idealists. Their lack of interest in pursuing political solutions and legislation to achieve desired kingdom outcomes seems “irresponsible” and “lazy” to Boomers. Their growing disengagement from many of the established, Western, ecclesiological models is seen as a great apostasy. But I've got to hand it to Millennials. I think they are largely misunderstood by the old guard (and I'm sure the opposite is also true) but actually have some very helpful contributions to many of these pressing issues.

Before we proceed, I will state emphatically that I know many Boomers and Millennials that do not conform to these broad characterizations. This discussion merely highlights some overarching trends that noticeably vary by generation. Even with this preface, I’m sure I will still regrettably manage to offend those to whom these trends do not apply. If you find no meat, no sustenance—spit it out. And forgive me for offering you a plate of bones.

The Millennial rebuke to an older American generations' materialism, nationalism, closeted xenophobia, reliance on political power, and tendencies toward safety is mostly coming in the form of a largely silent yet powerful counter-example. Many Millennial Christ-followers are abandoning safe and practical career paths (often to the chagrin of their concerned parents) in favor of pursuing risky domestic and international kingdom endeavors: proclaiming freedom to those trapped in poverty, seeking justice for the exploited, sex trafficked, and hungry and hurting immigrants and refugees, declaring and demonstrating the good news of God's kingdom in costly and innovative ways. I believe Millennial Christ-followers have been doing more to address noticeable inconsistencies (“noticeable” to our ideological adversaries, anyway) in our shared “pro-life” position than past generations (recognizing that black lives, the LGBT community, undocumented immigrants and refugees, and even our enemies also and equally bear the Imago Dei, which is the basis for affirming and defending the sanctity of human life). Millennials are rejecting the brand of nationalism and exceptionalism that has characterized the old guard in favor of fearlessly embracing an increasingly interconnected world as a means to more effectively pursuing the Great Commission. They are serving the multicultural, global community of Christ in new and sacrificial ways, and they are recognizing and speaking up about the damage done when the American Church marries itself to political candidates who tout nativism and isolationism. They are less likely to grasp for political power and more likely to lay down their rights and accept “persecution” in an effort to obey Christ's command to willingly “go the extra mile.” Millennials are also more interested in pursuing authentic, incarnational ministry and organic church life outside the walls of church buildings and established programs and processes. I find their rejection of rote religion, spawned by their pure hunger for a living God and his better kingdom, admirable and refreshing.

If you’ve ever had your sin brought to your attention by your 5-year-old (I’m speaking hypothetically, of course), then you know how difficult it can be to acknowledge an error under less than ideal circumstances. Our knee-jerk reaction is to “explain,” excuse, retaliate, or change the subject. But the Spirit of God within us urges us to confess, repent, and move forward in his strength.

Do Christian Millennials have blind spots? Of course they do. And I've seen numerous articles and heard endless rants about what is “wrong” with them. I’m not suggesting that Boomers must fully embrace a Millennial reformation. My purpose here is not to demean or retire past generations or to drive a further wedge between young and old members of the family of God. My purpose is to encourage an atmosphere in which Spirit-led instruction, when appropriate, can potentially come from anywhere. We must regularly compare our personal and generational values and priorities to the values and priorities of Christ. If there is anything that doesn’t line up, we must let it go—no, we must crucify it! I would suggest to the Boomers that if they can get past their younger counterparts' inexplicable preoccupation with Pokémon GO, lumberjack beards, and covering every last inch of their bodies with tattoo art, they may see the image of Christ beautifully displayed through many of these upstart, whippersnappers. In spite of their harsher characterizations as suffering from “Peter Pan syndrome,” being “uninformed,” “over-sensitive,” and “self-important,” I am obviously very hopeful about Christian Millennials. In many ways they are boldly leading the way, but they are still in need of the acquired wisdom of older Christ-followers who were once regarded as “rebels” in their own right.

One of the greatest obstacles preventing Jesus' adversaries from accepting the LIFE he freely offered was that their proud hearts refused to receive instruction from such a humble source. Who did this young, uneducated and unemployed, outspoken, ragged, revolutionary from Nazareth of all places think he was that he could trample on their most deeply held traditions? And Jesus was not in any way gentle with their treasured and time-honored values and institutions either. He knew that their misconceptions about reality were keeping them from God. If we are of the sort that gets our feathers ruffled easily, we should not so quickly presume that we would be on the right side of the cultural, political, and religious clash between Jesus and many of his contemporaries. After all, coming around to Jesus’ way of thinking requires a miraculous Spirit-empowered act of suicide on our part—his new LIFE offered in exchange for our willing death. If we as broken human beings are set on becoming like Jesus, then we must be prepared for constant course adjustments, frequent death to ourselves in both small and large ways, as the Spirit leads. We must have pliable and humble hearts that are ready to receive his correction, rebukes, and instruction, channeled through even the most unwelcome and unlikely conduits. He may be sending a Samaritan, IRS agent, hooker, or a hipster your way.

“Those who disregard discipline despise themselves, but the one who heeds correction gains understanding” (Proverbs 15:32).

Beatitudes (Remixed)

"Blessed are the strong, for they will be respected by their adversaries, both foreign and domestic. Blessed are those who passionately defend their right to bear arms, for they will rest secure. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for safety, for they will be filled with prosperity. Blessed are the pure (excluding fornication, adultery, pornography, and divorce, of course), for they will overcome cultural perversion. Blessed are the politically powerful, for they will avoid the inconvenience of going the extra mile. Blessed are those who seek first the American Dream, for they will see it come to pass."

-Said Jesus never
 
(Check out Matthew 5 for what he actually said. Turns out it's a little different)

Colorblind

 

Many people believe that racial tensions would quickly subside in our country if we simply stopped noting and talking about our differences. Apparently it's thought that recognizing and discussing our distinctions inevitably creates a negative “us” and “them” mentality which leads to fear, conflict, and exploitation. We frequently embrace this ideology when we say, “I don’t really notice skin color,” or “I don’t have ‘black/white/Asian friends’—only ‘friends.’” It's true that, biologically speaking, there’s only one race—the human race. So couldn’t we all just agree to be colorblind? While this popular approach to race is well intentioned, it tragically misdiagnoses the true source of the tension. What's more, it completely disregards God's purpose and pleasure in our human distinctions. As such, it is counterproductive for the people of God, the church, to be “colorblind.”

Even though race is best understood as a subjective cultural construct and not a biological fact, it still remains a powerful and present feature of the human experience (especially for minorities). Race and ethnicity unite us to shared stories, songs, hopes, fears, and cultural values. Rightly or wrongly humans index and cross reference all this information in order to understand ourselves and make sense of the world.

The notion that we can eliminate strife by ignoring or extinguishing our differences is certainly not new. Many sociopolitical movements seeking to address various societal injustices have been built precisely on this flawed approach. Whether we are seeking to eradicate gender distinctions or signs of economic disparities by embracing uniformed clothing, language, etc. we are in the end failing to address the real issue. Jesus points out the flaw and backwardness of this superficial approach to managing sin when he explains to the Pharisees that they have done a bang-up job on the exterior but inside they're as corrupted as they've ever been, maybe even more so (Luke 11:39). It is our universal brokenness, our rejection of God and his goodness, that prompts us to fear, hate, envy, and seek to exploit each other's God-given differences. Therefore, misidentifying our differences as the source of our interpersonal and societal tension simply allows the real cancer to persist unnoticed.

Uniformity must not be confused with unity, and unity is what we're after if our goal is to be the sort of church that Jesus prayed for (John 17:20-21). In fact, diversity is a necessary component in order for unity to even exist. We can't very well boast about how great we all get along, for example, if we're all exactly alike. There must be the potential for fear, conflict, and exploitation if unity and grace are to emerge triumphant.

Paul's sentiment, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” is sometimes used to advocate for an extinguishing of gender, race/ethnicity, etc. within the church (Galatians 3:28). But this simply can't be what he is describing. Paul writes extensively about gender and ethnicity elsewhere in his epistles. As a cross-cultural minister of the Gospel, one of Paul's greatest contributions to Jesus' infant church stemmed from his heart for the full inclusion of the once-marginalized, non-Jewish Christ-followers. He was also keenly aware of his own ethnicity as a Jewish man, as was Jesus. Our ethnicity, class, and gender—all of our human distinctions—are certainly superseded by our identity in Christ, as the Galatians passage points out, but are never erased or rendered meaningless. 
 

Americans, including American Christians, are largely racially illiterate (perhaps due to our “colorblindness”). Yet Americans, including American Christians, are frequently among the most racially opinionated folks. In lieu of firsthand information, we tend to form our deeply held perspectives about race within our own racial/ethnic groups based on our own limited outsider observations (after all, it's “rude” to discuss such things in public or in mixed company). The truth is, humans can never really be colorblind. We weren't meant to be.

 

Our human distinctions are by God's express design. His fondness for variety can be seen in every crevice of his vast and varied universe. He has created human beings in his image, male and female, with a near infinite range and endless potential for combinations of skin tones, textures, body frames and forms. Denying that it is so is a heresy of sorts, a rebellion against his clear intentions. Let us instead, like him, delight in his beautiful and vibrant creation. After all, his endgame involves a multiethnic, multicultural, multilingual, family of God, worshipping together in glorious harmony (Revelation 7:9-10).
 

By the grace of God, transformed, kingdom-centric people are capable of recognizing and appreciating their own human distinctions without being threatened, envious, demeaning or domineering of others. We can also engage other image-bearers from every people group, color, and creed with a Spirit-filled curiosity and admiration. It is ultimately the people of God who have been uniquely equipped through the redemptive ministry of Jesus to be ministers of reconciliation. If not us, then who? True and abiding racial reconciliation will only take place in our culture when we, the church, embrace and passionately pursue our God-given role. Let's not be afraid to press into socially awkward and taboo conversations about race within a racially diverse body of Christ. Let's become good at asking questions and great at listening. We have much to learn about ourselves, our brothers and sisters, and our Creator (since we collectively bear his image) as we compassionately explore our human distinctions rather than shying away from them. I've received many scriptural insights from brothers and sisters of color, for example, things only they could illuminate to me, aspects of the heart of God that were previously unseen to my colorblind eyes. There are pains that I can only feel—if I am willing to feel—vicariously through a brother or sister's tears. There are songs now unknown to me. There is beauty that I can only see through borrowed eyes. There are many ways in which we will never be the same, and yet, through the miraculous power of the Gospel, we are made “one.” What a disservice we do to ourselves, Jesus' church, and the clearly articulated heart of God when we instead adopt the majority culture's colorblindness.

 

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” -Romans 12:2

 

The Heart of God

Some postulate an aloof God who creates but does not empathize or engage with his creation. Albert Einstein, for example, seemed to subscribe to an impersonal divine architect. Naturalists such as Richard Dawkins scoff at the notion that a being who could construct such a vast and sophisticated universe would bother interacting with primitive little creatures such as ourselves. Even science fiction frequently imagines god-like beings that, in direct proportion to their increasing knowledge and abilities, eventually transcend emotion. It is assumed then that with infinite knowledge and power inevitably comes a detached, dispassionate, and merely logical perspective of things. The implication is clear: Emotion is thought to be the stuff of lower beings. It seems to me that the opposite is true. The relationship between knowledge/power and personhood/emotion should actually slide in the other direction. Dogs have personality and emotions—humans, even more so. Why should an infinitely superior being not have these same capacities, and even in greater abundance? Indeed, the God described in the Bible is more of a person than you or I. He is said to have an unfathomably nuanced emotional spectrum that is capable of noting, processing, appreciating—feeling—everything from a single fallen sparrow to a world ending supernova. Given this, there is no other way to know this extremely emotive and hyper-personal being apart from discovering his revealed heart.

The God of the Bible is incredibly passionate, creative, and relational. He is not always expedient or practical. He regularly indulges in the extravagance of poetry and beauty. His behavior is far from capricious, yet it may seem so in terms of mere efficiency. He is probably better understood as an artistic genius than a utilitarian engineer.

Human emotions are notoriously fickle. They are largely bound to numerous shifting internal and external factors. Consequently, it is not a flattering assessment to be characterized as an “emotional” person. God, however, is undeniably a highly emotional being. He feels things deeply, but he is always consistent. Contrary to the human experience, his emotional response to various things can be somewhat reliably predicted (insofar as he shares his heart with us). His emotions spring from who he is and they inform what he does.

Through page after page of Holy Scripture, God pours out his heart to whoever will listen. He utilizes numerous earthly analogies to convey the lavish affection he feels for his people and the heart-rending grief he experiences when they reject him. He explicitly likens his emotional devastation to a publicly humiliated spouse whose beloved has sexually betrayed them again and again. Though he is “slow to anger,” he describes his intense jealousy in light of the reasonable exclusivity expected by any husband or wife who is unwilling to share their spouse with another. He also compares himself to a father who humbly seeks to restore his wayward and ungrateful children. He readily and recklessly expresses himself in ways that leave him vulnerable to immense pain. He often references the most intimate human relationships to describe how he feels. He is not too proud to wear his heart on his sleeve.

Remove the emotional element of God, and one would have to agree with Dawkins' observation that an infinitely powerful being would have no interest in communing with finite beings such as us. Putting Dawkins' objection to bed, however, is as simple as watching a new parent with their infant child. A mother or father can stare for hours at their baby, captivated by every gurgle and slightest gesture. The infant is, of course, not a compelling conversationalist. They have nothing of any intellectual or practical value to contribute to the relationship. Essentially, they are more of a deficit than anything. And yet the parent is undaunted by the infant’s technical inferiority and is always eager to engage their child at whatever level they are capable. What transpires between the two cannot be expressed as a mathematical equation or understood in terms of mere reason. And yet it is intuitively understood by emotional creatures without explanation. It is a matter of the heart.

Dawkins' initial conclusion that a being capable of creating our universe would be completely beyond us—transcendent—is totally correct. We, as the infant, cannot very well go looking for him. He must peek his head over the edge of the crib, so to speak, if we are to see his face. It is the Christian claim that he has done just that and more.

After centuries of poetic correspondence (all of which must be seen as a father speaking “baby talk,” as there simply is no other way for an infinite being to converse with finite creatures), the unrequited author finally came in person. The creator became one of his creatures. Jesus, the 1st Century man that Christians claim is supernaturally the “exact imprint” of the transcendent God, spent his days on earth declaring and demonstrating the heart of God—a heart that is ultimately best seen in the great lengths he is willing to go to reclaim his rebel creation. After all, matters of the heart are not weighed in gold or silver but in spilled blood, sweat, and tears. It is in the elegance and horror of the cross that the pulsating heart of God, laid raw, is on display for all to see. He is not a God far off, and it is his heart that draws him near.

“The LORD is compassionate and merciful, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love.” -Psalm 103:8

Caesar is not Lord!

 

Gaius Octavius, or “Augustus” as he was later called, was Rome's first emperor and reigning monarch when Jesus was born. In his younger years, he had successfully avenged his assassinated predecessor and adopted father, the beloved Julius Caesar, triumphantly quelled Mark Antony and Cleopatra's famous uprising, effectively transitioned the old republic into an empire, built impressive aqueducts and highways, and ushered in an unprecedented era of peace and prosperity throughout the known world. “Pax Romana,” or the peace of Rome, is how they described Augustus' cumulative accomplishments. His kingdom seemed without end. He was known as the “savior of Rome” and the “savior of the world.” If this were not enough, he had the senate posthumously deify his murdered father and as a result became known as the living son of god. The “prince of peace,” “savior of the world,” “son of god”—remind you of anyone? I don't think we can fully appreciate the audacity and apparent absurdity of Christ's sweeping counterclaims without an understanding of Augustus and his successors. This was the setting in which Jesus' 1st Century followers defiantly contradicted the prevailing sociopolitical narrative by insisting that Jesus—not Caesar—was the true Savior and Lord.

We should take note of our first brothers and sisters' timely example. They didn't buy into the brick and mortar kingdom, and they didn't look to the emperor for things he couldn't provide. They suffered great tribulation at the hands of the Caesars due to their stubborn refusal to participate in the imperial cult (which generally consisted of a simple annual sacrifice to Caesar). 1st Century Christians were often excluded from trade unions, marketplace commerce, and they were eventually crucified and made sport of in the Colosseum. The ethnically, culturally, and religiously diverse Roman empire was traditionally very tolerant of new spiritual ideas. Worshipping the emperor, however, was seen as one's minimal patriotic duty. After which, one was free to pursue any other theological conclusions that struck one's fancy. Jesus, the crucified Galilean, was not seen as a rival to the Roman pantheon, so long as his followers played ball. Only they wouldn't.

There always has been an alternative to Jesus—an antichrist. There's always another kingdom to pursue, another story that promises to be good news. Had the 1st Century Christians been seduced by the dream of “making the empire great again,” building a robust economy, securing the boarders, exhibiting national strength with a firm foreign policy and military prowess—Caesar would have been the obvious leader to follow (or any number of the ambitious zionist militants for the Hebrew Christians wanting to make national Israel great again). Jesus offered none of these things. Two thousand years later, his agenda and upside down methods remain unchanged. 

21st Century American Christ-followers have tragically inherited a faith-culture that sees Christianity and rabid nationalistic pride and devotion as not only compatible, but essentially inseparable. We're enamored with the romanticized glory days of our country, back when Moses penned the 2nd Amendment on Sinai and Jesus rode shotgun with George Washington across the Delaware. Silly as it sounds, contradicting the spirit of this narrative is tantamount to blasphemy in many circles. Our version of the American dream has become a golden calf. So to my brothers and sisters of this star-spangled persuasion, let me state plainly what you already know: The president is not our savior, the United States is not the kingdom of God, and our inappropriate longing to “make America great again” (the way we mean it) is incompatible with, and therefore a distraction from, the mission of God.

Our political anxieties often reveal our misguided hopes and divided loyalties. Every election year is sensationally described as the “most important.” “We can't have—so and so—get elected.” “We're doomed if—what's his face—doesn't get into office.” Whether we're banking on a human hope that promises change we can believe in or the guy or gal who vows to make America great again, we'll always be disappointed. Our leaders are not as to the point as Augustus was in calling himself the "son of god" or the "savior of the world." It's mostly us who expects them to be these things as seen in our collective angst and gnashing teeth. Interestingly, the rancor and vitriol we so freely spew about our political leaders on social media and around the water cooler is just another side of the same ugly hero-worship coin. The cycle of deifying and demonizing human leaders in general and politicians in particular is rooted an unrealistic, and inevitably unmet, expectations. Fellow Christ-follower, we seem to have largely forgotten that Caesar is not lord.

To be clear, I'm not trying to imply that there is a one-for-one equivalence between the Roman Empire and the United States or the Caesars and the Leader of the Free World. Nor am I suggesting that all patriotism is incongruent with following Jesus. I'm also not proposing that there should be a divide between politics and faith. As Christ-followers, we should love our country (wherever that may be), pay our taxes, faithfully perform our civic duties, genuinely respect and obey our leaders (in so far as their commands don't conflict with the wishes of our King), and actively seek the common good (Matt 22:21, 1 Peter 2:13, 17, 1 Cor. 10:24). In our current context, seeking the common good will include taking our democratic responsibilities seriously. In our earnest pursuit of God's kingdom, we will inevitably be invested in political outcomes. But we must never lose sight of our true Savior and Lord, the one who holds the hearts of kings in his hand. We don't look to Caesar for protection and prosperity. We don't curse his/her name when the Dow Jones plummets or unemployment rises. Our gaze is fixed on other things. Even if Nero or Jezebel takes the throne, we know who ultimately reigns supreme, and our lifelong task of declaring and demonstrating the good news of his kingdom remains the same. Keep calm this election season, and thank God that Caesar is not lord.

“to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen” (Jude 1:25). 

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)

Imago Dei

 

My four-year-old daughter has a little toy rake that she enthusiastically runs and fetches whenever I set out to rid the yard of leaves. She loves “helping” daddy do the yard work. It's a terrifically inefficient process. She haphazardly moves leaves here and there in a way that only makes sense to her. I do my best to steer her in the right direction, get her pushing the leaves the same way I'm headed. Our collaboration is definitely a work in progress. When we've finally wrangled all the leaves into one big pile, she often likes to jump right in the middle and thrash around like she's making a snow angel. This inevitably adds more raking for me. But I love every second of it, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Likewise, it brings God great joy to include His children in His work—not because we are particularly useful or handy, but because we are His.

The creation story tells us how God affectionately crafted humanity in His own image. In the ancient world, the Roman emperors would erect marble sculptures of themselves throughout their empire in order to let their subjects know who was boss. In contrast to the Caesars' static symbols of power, God created living monuments to His greatness, conduits of His mercy and justice, and placed them in the world as His administrators. He instructed them to spread out, multiply, and exercise dominion over all creation. As His image bearers, humanity was empowered and commissioned by God to continue His creative work in the world by harnessing its raw potential. But what happens when the monuments refuse to reflect their glorious Creator? What happens when God's human administrators shirk their calling and rebelliously seek their own way? All of creation is currently living out the tragic answer to this not-so-hypothetical question. Instead of stewarding God's good creation, humanity exploits and oppresses all that God has entrusted to us. We were meant to be a blessing to the cosmos, yet by our own folly we became creation's curse.

Fortunately God is not swayed by humanity's consistent moral incompetence. He is as committed to His original plan to rule His creation through human administrators as ever. And so He became a human, the God-man Jesus of Nazareth, to set our wayward species back on track, to give us the costly reboot we so desperately needed. We can't help but note the counterintuitive way in which God reclaims His world. Suffering and dying as a frail human being is not the counter-move you would expect from an omnipotent being. It speaks volumes, however, about the way in which God views and wields power. Jesus claims that “His yoke is easy” and “His burden is light.” And while His disciples originally jockeyed for power over each other in typical human fashion, Jesus spoke of another way. He said that whoever aspired to be great in His kingdom would need to become the servant of all, and then went on to demonstrate this concept in both small and monumental ways. It seems His sovereignty is best displayed through His comfort with outsourcing His work to human agents. In His kingdom we are not only recipients of His restorative work in the world but we are also made into active participants—ambassadors, ministers of reconciliation, partners in the family business. It's the serpent who would have us believe that God is a megalomaniac, holding out on us, keeping us from our highest potential. C.S. Lewis uses his allegorical tale of Narnia to paint a compelling picture of God's role for humans. In The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the noble Aslan restores peace to Narnia by sacrificially redeeming the treasonous Edmund, defeating the White Witch, and enthroning the sons of Adam and the daughters of Eve as his royal administrators over the mythical land. God would have us be kings and queens over His creation, while the lies of the serpent have reduced us to shackled slaves.

Our Creator regularly goes out of His way to utilize human beings to accomplish His purposes in the world. He shouts “let my people go!” through stuttering human voices and pours out His heart through human pens. He works His wonders through staffs and slings wielded by human hands. How beautiful are the feet that bring His good news. This is not by necessity or coincidence. It is in accordance with His good pleasure and express design. Right after the resurrected Jesus announced that all authority in heaven and on earth had been given to Him He immediately distributed His authority to His disciples so that they could carry out the Great Commission. In Acts chapter 10 we read about a Roman centurion named Cornelius who is ready to hear the Gospel. God sends an angel to him, not to tell him about what Jesus had accomplished, but merely to tell him that he needs to go find a man named Peter. Then God sends Peter a vision and tells him to get ready for Cornelius' visit. God goes to great lengths to arrange a meeting between these two men, reserving the best part—the Gospel proclamation—for Peter. How hard it must have been for the angel to hold his tongue as God gleefully disregarded expediency in favor of His precious child's clumsy involvement.

I think prayer is often of this same sort. At the end of Job's intense ordeal, God reprimands his inconsiderate “friends” by saying, “I am angry with you...because you have not spoken the truth about me.” He then goes on to instruct the men to ask Job to pray for them and promises that He will accept Job's prayer on their behalf and forgive them. This round about way of forgiving Job's friends may seem puzzling at first. Why doesn't God just forgive these guys if that's what He has already planned to do? It seems that He is honoring Job by making room in the process for his humble involvement. He tells us to keep asking Him, nagging Him even, for His kingdom to come, for His will to be done here on earth as it is in heaven—an outcome that He Himself is passionately committed to achieving whether we were to ask or not. And yet He says to ask just the same. Our ability to affect real change in the world through our request is His gift to us, and the time spent participating with our Father at work is a gift we share. Our “contribution” to God's work, as Mr. Lewis points out, can only be seen as a child borrowing money from her father to buy him a birthday gift. Though the father is pleased with the arrangement, he is in the end “none the richer.”

If my four-year-old sets out to rake the leaves on her own, it will undoubtedly end in failure. Jesus warns His followers, “apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). Like a once-shattered mirror miraculously restored, God's image bearers are only set right through the work of His Christ. It is Jesus who qualifies us to “reign with him” as we were always meant to (Revelation 20:6). He is pleased to enable and assign us a place in His good work. He doesn't need little human helpers. He is more than capable of governing the cosmos—raking the leaves, so to speak—on His own. We will constantly be confounded by His behavior, however, if we try to understand a hyper-relational, triune God in terms of mere efficiency. He has a plan and purpose for the human race, and He is going to great lengths to see it through to its glorious conclusion.