Love – The way of Jesus lies in the shadow of the cross

Eternal Life (1 Corinthians 13)

Recently, I watched an episode of Star Trek Voyager that aired in the mid-1990s. It was called “Death Wish,” and it recounted the tale of an immortal, omnipotent being who wanted to die but was condemned to go on living forever. He explained his dilemma to Voyager’s Captain Janeway as follows:

Because it has all been said. Everyone has heard everything, seen everything. They haven’t had to speak to each other in ten millennia. There’s nothing left to say. Captain, you’re an explorer. What if you had nothing left to explore? Would you want to live forever under those circumstances? You want me to prove to you that I suffer in terms that you can equate with pain or disease. Look at us. When life has become futile, meaningless, unendurable, it must be allowed to end. Can’t you see, Captain? For us the disease is immortality.
Star Trek Voyager, season 2, episode 18: Death Wish (February 19, 1996).

As I reflected on this exchange, I began thinking about the purpose of life. The question is not so simple as it may first appear. In this episode of Star Trek, the chief end of all creatures is to learn, to grow, to acquire knowledge and experiences. That road, of course, has an ending. Once all knowledge has been acquired and all experience has been tasted and all places have been known, what then? In the words of Wallace Stevens:

We live in an old chaos of the sun,
Or old dependency of day and night,
Or island solitude, unsponsored, free,
Of that wide water, inescapable.
Wallace Stevens, “Sunday Morning (1923),” Cleanth Brooks, R. W. B. Lewis, Robert Penn Warren, eds., American Literature: The Makers and the Making, Vol. II (New York, NY: St. Martin’s Press, 1973), 2154-2155.

In Christian teaching, the acquisition of knowledge and experience is not the chief end of existence. In fact, the Christian Bible begins with the cautionary tale of the deception of the first humans by a spiritual being called, in Hebrew, the nachash, translated usually as “the serpent.” It was humanity’s thirst for knowledge that the nachash exploited in Genesis, chapter 3 as he enticed them to eat from the Tree of Knowledge—a tree God forbade them from eating from.

But, if not exploration, knowledge, experience, what then is the purpose of life? Christians have long pondered this question. Perhaps one of the more oft-cited responses in recent centuries has come from The Westminster Shorter Catechism, which was published in A. D. 1647.

The first question addressed therein was:

“What is the chief and highest end of man [sic]?”

And the response was:

“Man’s [sic] chief and highest end is, to glorifie [sic] God, and fully to enjoy him forever.”
“The Westminster Shorter Catechism, A. D. 1647,” Philip Schaff, ed., The Creeds of Christendom with a History and Critical Notes (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1983), 676.

Whenever I’ve heard this response, I’ve assumed that the enjoyment of God implied here is a road of perpetual discovery. I’ve imagined serving God, worshipping Him, and exploring creation in proper relationship to God and to all He has made. And until recently, I’ve been content with those assumptions. After all, if God is infinite, then the journey to glorify Him and to enjoy Him forever would be eternal, as well.

However, in reflecting again on the purpose of life this week, I was reminded of Paul’s discussion of hesed—of love (translated from Hebrew into Greek as agape)—in 1 Corinthians 13.

¹If I speak in the tongues of mortals and of angels, but do not have love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. ²And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³If I give away all my possessions, and if I hand over my body so that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
⁴Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant ⁵or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; ⁶it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. ⁷It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
⁸Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end. ⁹For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; ¹⁰but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end. ¹¹When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways. ¹²For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. ¹³And now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:1-13, NRSV.

In these verses, Paul seems to agree with the character of the immortal being in Star Trek Voyager. Prophecies will end, speaking will cease, and knowledge, too, will find its conclusion. All these roads are finite. But, then Paul speaks of three aspects of reality which will abide, which are eternal, which define a road without end: faith, hope, and hesed (love)—the greatest of which is hesed.

Now, as Paul’s description of hesed in these verses makes clear, this is not love as an experience, or as infatuation, or as unconditional acceptance, or some other contemporary conceptualization of love. This is not an experience reserved for lovers or for family relationships or even for close friendships. Hesed, as Paul has explained it, is the incarnation of patience, kindness, contentment, humility, unselfishness, and purity. Hesed is loyalty, longsuffering, steadfast endurance, which is why Paul explains it as bearing all things, believing all things, hoping all things, and enduring all things.

In other words, hesed—love—is not a road, but something more akin to character—a way a person is irrespective of circumstance. The part of life that endures is the engagement of life itself. The purpose of life and the permanence of life is one and the same—hesed (love). The following exchange from the life of Jesus may help to strengthen this reflection:

³⁴When the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together, ³⁵and one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. ³⁶“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”
³⁷He said to him, “ ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ ³⁸This is the greatest and first commandment. ³⁹And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ ⁴⁰On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”
Matthew 22:34-40, NRSV.

“What is the chief and highest end of humanity?” When the question is put to us, how might we, as Christians, respond?

Perhaps, it is as simple as it is profound… The chief and highest end of humanity is to embody hesed first to God and secondarily to other creatures in all circumstances, thereby embracing our creation as beings made in the image of God—a God Who is hesed (1 John 4:6).

~ J. Thomas ~

Reflecting on Justice

A few years ago I had the privilege of reading Fleming Rutledge’s The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ. To say that the book was challenging is to put the matter mildly. I felt as though I had been wrecked theologically, emotionally, and behaviorally in only the first third of the book.

For the purposes of this blog, I wanted to focus on a section from Chapter 3 of The Crucifixion, “The Question of Justice.”

The reign of Sin and Death over the kosmos is inseparable from the question we are asking in this book: Why did God in three persons agree on such a peculiarly gruesome manner of death for the second person? What does the method itself tell us about the meaning of the death? There is no quick and easy answer to that question. The biblical account offers hints and suggestions rather than worked-out solutions.
Pushing this train of thought to its most radical application, however, we arrive at a point that is all too rarely acknowledged. In the final analysis, the crucifixion of Christ for the sin of the world reveals that it is not only the victims of oppression and injustice who are in need of God’s deliverance, but also the victimizers. Each of us is capable, under certain circumstances, of being a victimizer. Václav Havel, president first of Czechoslovakia and then of the Czech Republic, was imprisoned several times for his dissident activities under the Communist regime, the longest stretch being from 1979 to 1983. He wrote extensively about life in the Stalinist galaxy. Here is one of his reflections: “The line [between good and evil] did not run clearly between ‘them’ and ‘us,’ but through each person. No one was simply a victim; everyone was in some measure co-responsible. . . .Many people were on both sides.”
Fleming Rutledge, The Crucifixion: Understanding the Death of Jesus Christ

This is a challenging passage, and it is situated in a context in which Rutledge is contending for the idea that the cross is about more than forgiveness. For Rutledge the cross is also about justice, and it is a justice for and against all of us.

Recent events in our culture have reminded me again how easy it is to draw our enemies very flatly. As a Christian, I find the convictions of those who believe that one race or another is superior to any other to be a flat out rejection of the Gospel of Jesus. In the context of the Scriptures, the specially chosen people group were the Hebrew descendants of Abraham, and their election, as Romans 9 makes fairly clear, had nothing to do with them and everything to do with God’s purpose in election—that is, the deliverance of all nations of the earth from the tyranny of Sin and Death. For this reason, it is easy for me to paint those who judge others by superficialities like skin color as an uncomplicated and thoroughly corrupted enemy.

However, what Havel has suggested to the world is that at the root of the gravest of deceptions and at the foundation of the worst horrors of humanity’s cultural history is the conviction that some of us are thoroughly on the side of the angels, while others are entirely demonic. This de-humanizing of our adversaries and even our enemies is a useful tool of hate and of war because it paints those with whom we disagree as somehow non-human, as somehow less deserving of basic human considerations.

This very human tendency toward de-humanization was manipulated to devastating effect by the Nazi leadership in World War II Germany. In that context the Jewish people were cast as sub-human demons, devoid of any human complication. And ironically, in many of the responses to the systemic evils within our own culture we are witnessing, even among our own Christian brothers and sisters who rightly recognize the abominableness of the principalities and powers that permeate the world, the rush to flatten, to demonize, and to dehumanize those with whom we disagree seems at times as pernicious as the propagandizing of World War II Germany.

The line [between good and evil] did not run clearly between ‘them’ and ‘us,’ but through each person. No one was simply a victim; everyone was in some measure co-responsible. . . .Many were on both sides.
Václav Havel

Perhaps these sorts of realizations lie at the heart of Jesus’ instructions to “love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.” Of course we must speak and stand against evil, and our outrage against tyranny and poverty and racial superiority and corruption is godly and Christlike, in my view. But, evil is never as simple as the totality of an individual. Evil is a power in which each of us participates and which runs through the heart of each of us. Our moral outrage can become as much a tool of the tyrannical powers of Sin and Death as our hate and self-centeredness. In fact, there may be no more infectious type of evil than the evil done in the name of justice.

However criminals are prosecuted and unholy philosophies and ideas are countered and adjudicated, we must never lose sight of the fact that the knowledge of good and evil runs through every human heart, and our enemies are never any less human or deserving of human dignity than our friends and loved ones. Perhaps this is the hardest of the teachings of Jesus and His Apostles to accept. It is easier to oppose people than to oppose Sin and Death as powers that run through the middle of all of us. Individual people can be tortured, defamed, humiliated, and killed. But Sin and Death survive every human life, and continue to hold even those who oppose them in sway long after human justice is done.

For Rutledge, and increasingly for me, this is part of why Jesus not only died, but was crucified. In His manner of death He exposes what lies within even the righteous justice of humanity. Jesus was condemned by the religious leaders of His culture for blasphemy, and it was in how we executed this one blasphemer that who we really are has been revealed. Jesus on the cross is an indictment not only of human sin, but of the corrupting influence of justice; of the fear that causes us to torture and dehumanize those deemed too evil to be treated as human, as beings made in the image of God. The best of intentions crucified Jesus, and the deepest of zeal for right and rightness played out on His flesh and Person. Truly the line between good and evil does not run between us and them, but through each of us.

Let the people of God beware.

~ J. Thomas

King of the Hill

By: J. Thomas Johnson

Do kids still play king of the hill? Some may remember standing atop a hill while other kids tried to wrestle, toss, or somehow eject you off and claim the throne momentarily. I know my children don’t play it. In fact, I can easily imagine myself stepping in to stop them if they tried.

I’m not sure from whence that instinct has come. When I was a child, my friends and I rarely saw a hill that one of us didn’t try to claim. But, for whatever reason, that game and many others of my childhood are disappearing from the public life of children. Sam Greenspan wrote an article a few months back that listed king of the hill as one of eleven childhood games that are too violent for contemporary American culture. http://11points.com/11-playground-games-played-kid-violent-today/

King of the hill was both a powerful and a terrifying game. While climbing the hill, I would be filled with aggression and violence. The only goal was to topple the king. The only morality was achieving that goal. The thrill of having achieved that goal was intoxicating.

And yet, once atop the hill, with the power of victory came isolation and paranoia. Whereas all of us climbing the hill had been allied in an attempt to depose the king, upon becoming the king, now I was surrounded only by enemies. In many ways for me, it was more fun to topple the king than to be the king. I can remember on many occasions allowing myself to be defeated so as to recapture the simplicity and safety of the attack. It was a game that, if I had been truly observant, had many life lessons wrapped up in it.

It seems to me that in the public life of our culture, the vast majority of people have come to appreciate the safety of standing on the slopes trying to topple the king. Whether we’re talking about celebrities, comedians, politicians, principals, pastors, institutionalized religion, or even God there is safety and comradery in joining the masses attempting to topple those who have the audacity to stand atop the hill. Today it would seem that the moral high ground is on the slopes. From news media to social media to community life, the safest place to stand is on the slopes and the safest stance to take is opposition to whoever or whatever stands upon the summit.

A few years ago several prominent comedians—Jerry Seinfeld and Chris Rock among them—made headlines when they publicly declared that they were done playing college campuses because of the hyper-sensitivity of students to their humor. Here is a link to an Inside Edition story from 2015: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1kVdHr7sR0o.

This is a strange rebirth of king of the hill. In this version the players cooperate to topple the king, but very few if any wish to assume the summit. And those who do assume the summit spend a lot of time and energy trying to convince the masses that they are, in fact, on the slopes with them, disowning the summit on which they stand and trying to distance themselves from power and associate it with an adversary.

It seems to me that Heath Ledger’s Joker in Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy is the prophet of a newly emerging kind of leadership:

Do I really look like a guy with a plan? You know what I am? I’m a dog chasing cars. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I caught it! You know, I just… do things.

There are some interesting social dynamics tied up in this historically atypical social competition. Edwin Friedman in his book A Failure of Nerve has diagnosed our culture as chronically anxious. There seems to be a growing consensus about this cultural anxiety, but causes and correlations are difficult to discern. Some believe that the rise of social media is to blame or smart phone technology or unprecedented wealth and affluence or the ease of access to mood-altering and pain-reducing pharmaceuticals, while others, like me, suspect it is the loss of faith in God as Creator and Sustainer of life that has allowed these other things to contribute to such systemic anxiety and despair.

Like kids on a playground, outrage may be safe, mocking may be community-affirming, and protesting might be morally soothing. And all these things have their place in an ethical society. But, if these transitional phases become habitations, both personal character and social ethics will eventually be undermined. As the Jewish and Christian Scriptures have long warned us:

¹Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, ²but whose delight is in the law of the Lord, and who meditates on his law day and night.
Psalm 1:1-2, NIV

Being outraged by evil is certainly an ethical stance. The capacity to see the hypocrisy or foolhardiness or grotesqueness of evil is a moral type of discernment. Publicly protesting evil can be a valid form of resisting it. But, for those of us who follow the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob Who became flesh in the Person of Jesus, our personal morality and our cultural ethics are not rooted in our reaction to evil, but in our submission to the teachings God has given to us and our practical embodiment of those teachings in our lives. There is great peril in allowing the Joker to be our sage. Jesus’ voice will lead us to the health for which our moral outrage longs:

⁴³“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ ⁴⁴But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, ⁴⁵that you may be children of your Father in heaven.
Matthew 5:43-45, NIV