Inspiration, Motivation, and Enlightenment in the New Year

It is common at this time of year, when the momentum of January begins to subside and our good intentions begin to founder, to seek inspiration, motivation, and even enlightenment. I would like to encourage you that, if you have the Spirit of God dwelling within you, you are already inspired, motivated, and enlightened.

Let's start with inspiration. Etymologically, the word means to "breathe in". It seems to have derived its customary connotation - of providing an animus of some sort - from the original act of inspiration, the original act of animation: when God "breathed into [man's] nostrils the breath of life", "man became a living creature" (Genesis 2:7). Like us, Adam was - quite literally - an "earthen vessel", which nevertheless received an inspiration so powerful that it came to life (2 Corinthians 4:7). An analogous event occurred in the New Testament when Christ breathed His Spirit first onto His disciples (John 20:22) and then onto the Church as a whole (Acts 2:1-13).

While it was God's Breath that inspired man, moreover, it was his Word that created the soil to begin with. Breath and Word are inextricably related: a word can only be communicated if it is breathed (think of the diligent scribes who know the scriptures by heart, but whose hearts remain unchanged) just as breath can only communicate if it contains a word (think of spiritual experiences that fail to produce any sort of direction). "It is the Spirit who gives life", and His words "are spirit and are life", the Gospel of John (6:63, emphasis added; see also John 6:68; 2 Timothy 3:16) tells us. If you have the Spirit, you are by definition inspired, for the Word who existed before the foundation of the world - and who created the world itself - also existed before you, created you, and now dwells within you (e.g. John 1; 2 Corinthians 3:16; Romans 8:9).

Let's 'move on' to motivation, which, indeed, derives from the root word meaning "to move". Again we encounter the Spirit, and again we do so right at the beginning. Even before the seven days of creation began, when the earth was still "formless and void", we read that "the Spirit was moving" (Genesis 1:2). Paul later remarks that "in Him we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28, emphasis added). If you have the Spirit, you are motivated; for, although we often seek motivation as a means of achieving something, the motivation of God it is a matter of "being", not doing. Perhaps to be truly motivated we need to "be still and know that [He] is God" (Psalm 46:10).

Finally, we reach enlightenment. It should be obvious that the word 'enlightenment' has something to do with light. Indeed, the relationship between light and knowledge in the Bible is 'blindingly' obvious (cf. Acts 9). In Psalm 119:130, for example, we learn that "The unfolding of [His] words gives light; It gives understanding to the simple". It was, after all, "God, who," in the beginning, "said, 'Light shall shine out of darkness'"; and it is the same God "who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ" (2 Corinthians 4:6; see also Ephesians 1:16-21). We normally think of enlightenment as something kind of end destination, a kind of final achievement; but God's act of enlightenment was actually His first act of creation (Genesis 1:3).

"New Year, new you" - that's what we are often told, and how we often think. This, however, is folly; for those of us who are in Christ have already been made new (2 Corinthians 5:17), are constantly being made new (2 Corinthians 3:18) , and will one day be made new once and for all (Revelation 21:1-8).

The Spirit of God and the Breath of Life: Creation and Recreation

Genesis presents two creation stories: the first, outlined in 1:1-2:3, involves the creation of the world in six/seven days, while the second, outlined in 2:4-7, involves the creation of man specifically. It is often pointed out that the first story uses the word Elohim for God, while the second story uses the word Yahweh. The trinitarian significance of Elohim is often highlighted, as is the covenantial significance of Yahweh. I find it especially interesting, however, that both of the creation stories - along with their respective names for God - are connected with the idea of breath.

In the first story, after Elohim creates the heavens and the earth (Genesis 1:1), we are told that "ruach Elohim moved on the face of the waters" (Genesis 1:2). Ruach, though normally translated as Spirit, can equally denote wind or breath. In the six days of creation that follow, moreover, Elohim brings the world into existence by His words - that is, by His breath. On each day, Elohim creates something new by saying something new. This idea is reiterated in the parallel perspective on creation provided by John (1:1-5), according to which all things were created through the Word - that is, God, who existed in the beginning.

After the first creation story is finished, Elohim rests (Genesis 2:1-3), apparently 'catching His breath' before embarking on the second story. In this story, Elohim takes what He has already created through His breath - namely soil - and breathes into it "the breath [neshamah] of life" to create man as a "living [i.e. conscious] being" (Genesis 2:7). Thus, whereas the 'first breath' had created the substance of the body, this 'second wind' creates the substance of the soul.

Job (33:4; cf. 32:8, 34:14-15) alludes to this two-stage process when he states, “The Spirit [ruach] of God has made me, And the breath [neshamah] of the Almighty gives me life." In the same vein, Psalm 33:6 reads, "By the word of the Lord the heavens were made, And by the breath of His mouth all their host." Ezekiel's (37:1-14) vision of the valley of dry bones is similarly germane, although it relates not to creation per se, but rather to resurrection - that is, recreation. In that passage, the "word" of God forms bodies by causing tendons and flesh to attach to the dry bones (Ezekiel 37:4) - which evokes the "dust of the ground" of Genesis 2:7 - while the "breath" of God causes these bodies to come alive (Ezekiel 37:10).

Ezekiel's vision was, expressly, a prophecy for Israel. In the Bible, though, all things - not least Israel - point to Jesus. Indeed, in John's (1:14) account of creation, we learn that "the Word" - note, the Word, signifying Jesus - became flesh and dwelt among us". Jesus coming to earth and taking on human form was therefore a cosmic act of (re)creation in itself, akin to Elohim breathing his neshamah into the mortal soil once again.  For that to occur, Jesus first had to let the breath of life depart from him (Mark 15:37). The final result is a (re)creation that surpasses even the second story of Genesis; for whereas "the first man, Adam, became a living soul", "the last Adam" - Jesus - "became a life-giving spirit" (1 Corinthians 15:45; cf. 1 Peter 3:18ff).

It is true that in the Old Testament, the ruach of God - the Spirit of Elohim identified in the first creation story - often comes upon people, as if it were "mov[ing] on the face of the waters" (Genesis 1:2). However, it is only after Jesus breathes into His apostles (John 20:22) - an act which takes place on a wider scale at Pentecost, when a "mighty rushing wind" enters the room (Acts 2) - that the Spirit dwells within people (e.g. 1 Corinthians 3:16, 6:19; Ephesians 2:22; 2 Timothy 1:14). Indeed, although we normally translate John 1:14 as "dwelt among us", the Greek preposition is actually just en, which can also mean within (cf. Luke 17:21; 2 Corinthians 6:16; Revelation 21:3). Incidentally, this alternative rendering would tally with Ezekiel's (36:25-27, 37:14) prophecies over Israel.

A remarkable implication of this distinction is that, although all people are conscious beings, and therefore created through the breath of God in a way that sets them apart from the rest of creation, not all people have been recreated by what we might conceive as the 'third breath' - they are not spiritually alive, and will therefore not avoid the second death (Revelation 2:11, 20:6,14, 21:8; cf. Romans 8:9-11; John 11:25-26). The "God-breathed" Word (2 Timothy 3:16), which is "Spirit and Life" (John 6:63), continues to distinguish "between soul and spirit" (Hebrews 4:12), thus showing us "the life that is truly life" (1 Timothy 6:19).

Redeeming Work Revisited: Four Types of Work in Genesis

I have written previously on the possibility of redeeming work - both in the sense of work possessing a redeeming quality and in the sense of Christ redeeming those forms of work that would otherwise lack this quality. In this post, I would like to delve a little deeper into the topic of work, especially as it is addressed in Genesis. I would, in particular, like to concentrate on four different kinds of work presented to us in this foundational book[1].


As I pointed out in my original post, work was there right in the beginning. In the very first verse of the Bible, we are told that "God created the heavens and the earth". The Hebrew word here for "create" is bara', which refers to bringing forth ex nihilo - creation out of nothing. This was the first form of work. It is an everlasting, spiritual form of work that can only be performed by God Himself.


In the second verse of the second chapter of Genesis, we encounter the first word to be customarily translated as 'work', namely melakah, which refers to craftsmanship or workmanship. This form of work is inherently purposeful; indeed it is sometimes translated simply as 'purpose'. It is interesting to note, moreover, that the word first appears in the context of rest - it is used in relation to God resting from the work (viz. bara') that He has already completed. As Hebrews 4:3 tells us, the believer can rest in the fact that "His works were finished from the foundation of the world". At this point in the story, however, the creation of man has not yet occurred. This paradox is evidently a foreshadowing of Christ, in whose good, finished work (John 19:30) we find our rest (Hebrews 4), are re-created (2 Corinthians 5:17), and thus begin our own labour of requited love (Ephesians 2:10).


When we read of God's intention to create man a few verses later (Genesis 2:5), we learn that our original purpose was to cultivate (abad) the land - the third form of work. Apparently, tilling the soil was part of God's plan even before the curse was incurred. Indeed, in addition to cultivation, abad connotes worship and service. The primacy of  this type of work therefore reminds us that our mundane activities, which so often seem futile and tedious, are profoundly spiritual acts (Ecclesiastes; Romans 12:1; 1 Corinthians 10:31). We have the privilege and responsibility of interacting with God's creation - His heavenly bara' and His purposeful melakah.


When the curse finally does arrive in Genesis 3:16-17, the act of tilling the ground is tragically transformed from abad into itstsabon, denoting pain or toil - the "sweat of [one's] brow" (3:19). Significantly, itstsabon is applied not only to the irksomeness of labour suffered by man in the form of cultivation, but also to the anguish of labour suffered by woman in the form of childbirth. Both forms of work, however, contain a kernel of redemption in that they recover the life relinquished by sin, be it in the form of sustenance or offspring (often rendered 'seed' in the Hebrew). Indeed, I find it interesting that bara' can also signify 'to cut down' (Joshua 17:15,18) and 'to make fat' (1 Samuel 2:29), as if the process of 'giving and taking away' was part of the plan all along.


Of course, Christ's work on the cross was the archetypal itstsabon - the most excruciating, agonising form of work imaginable, yet simultaneously the ultimate act of redemption. Christ Himself tilled the soil; indeed, He was interred in it for three days, like a foetus in a womb. From that cultivation, that gestation, emerged New Life; for although Christ died, He also rose again, and through Him we too are resurrected. The very curse that held work ransom was thus abo1ished (1 Corinthians 15:55-57; Galatians 3:13; Revelation 1:18), miraculously transforming itstsabon into abad, melakah, and finally bara' - the cosmic coming into existence of something when before there was only nothing. Indeed, throughout the Bible we see that bara' refers not only to the formation of the physical world, but also to the process of birth (Ezekiel 21:35, 28:13), the election of Israel (Isaiah 43), the renewal of our hearts (Psalm 51:12), and eventually, the conception of a New Heavens and a New Earth (Isaiah 65:17).




We long for that New World. Romans 8 tells us that "all of creation has been subjected to futility until now"; but now that we have the "first fruits of the Spirit", we are experiencing "birth pangs", i.e. the labour that will eventually bear a new world. We "groan inwardly" for the day when God's untarnished work - and with it, the true meaning of our own work - is fully revealed.








Note:


[1] I do not deal with asah, a more generic form of work meaning to do, make, or accomplish, found throughout the creation story.

Money and the Non-Existence of Idols

A number of passages in the Bible make the ironic point that idols do not have any real existence beyond their physical form, which is only a creation of those who worship it (e.g. Psalm 115:4-8; Jeremiah 10:14, 51:17-18; Habakuk 2:19; Acts 19:26; 1 Corinthians 8:4-6). Of course, whereas idols back then were generally statues or effigies of some sort, the idols of today are generally activities (e.g. sports), people (e.g. celebrities), or possessions of various kinds. Unlike ancient idols, these modern idols do not purport to be gods in a categorical sense, as they normally have some function beside taking the place of God (with the possible exception of celebrities).

Perhaps the ultimate idol of modern times, however, is money. Like the olden-day idols, money does not really exist in the way that we normally imagine. Indeed, this has been the case ever since money first emerged. Although there were times when usable commodities like cattle were used as money, more often it appeared in the form of objects like shells that otherwise contained little value. Gold is the perennial currency; but, as the Diamond-Water Paradox demonstrates, the presumed value of gold is specious.

Today, of course, we normally think of money as cash. As the famous images of people using Reichsmarks or Zimbabwean Dollars as tinder attest, bills, coins, and cheques would be virtually useless if they did not function as money. The situation appears even more stark when we consider that most money today exists not as physical cash, but rather as virtual bits.

Like ancient idols, money is a creation of human beings. In the modern economy, moreover, money is constantly being created or destroyed in the blink of an eye, at the push of a button. Indeed, the counterfeit nature of money is most obvious when too much money is created (as hyperinflation wipes out its value) or when too little is created (as consumption and investment grind to a halt). When real or potential resources lay idle while people struggle to survive, the divinity of money is called into question.

Money has no real existence, and in this sense it is the quintessential idol.

First Fruits of the New Creation

Once a fecund garden, the earth has become a barren wilderness; but this is beginning to change.

It was prefigured long ago, when Israel was chosen as God's first fruit (Jeremiah 2:3).

It was prophesied in days of old, by those who foresaw the coming glory (Zechariah 14:8; Ezekiel 47:1-12; Isaiah 35).

It started with Jesus, who, with his own body, sowed the seed of peace and righteousness (Hosea 10:12; James 3:18; Proverbs 11:18; Psalm 85:10) and re-emerged as the first fruit of the new creation (1 Corinthians 15:20-23; Romans 8:23).

It continues with us, who have the “first fruit of the Spirit” (Romans 8:23; cf. 2 Corinthians 1:22). Though we were created last, we too have become a “kind of first fruits of His creation” (James 1:18; cf. 2 Thess. 2:3; Romans 11:16; Revelation 14:4), our bodies of dust merely kernels of their future glory (1 Corinthians 15:35-58).

The Tree of Life is beginning to sprout; it is breaking through the parched desert just as Christ rolled away the stone of His tomb. What we see of the New Creation is merely a glimpse of what is to come (1 Corinthians 13:12). Noah had a similar experience when the dove retrieved a single olive branch (Genesis 8:11); but in our case we trust not that the waters of destruction are subsiding, but that the waters of restoration are rising.

The implication of all this is that we should not be surprised that the world around us does not tally with our "anxious longing[s]" for a different world; these are merely birth pangs (Romans 8:18-25). We have become new creations (2 Corinthians 5:17), but a completely New Creation is, quite literally, upon us (Revelation 21-22).

The Kingdom of God and the Limits of Black-and-White Thinking

The message of Christianity is often presented in black-and-white terms. In one sense, this is appropriate, since the Bible makes it clear that two well-defined, mutually exclusive kingdoms exist:  that of good and that of evil (Isaiah 5:20); that of light and that of darkness (Colossians 1:13); that of God and that of Satan. Furthermore, neutrality is not an option - we are compelled to choose between these two kingdoms, whether or not we acknowledge their existence (Matthew 12:30). Since the Hebrews demanded an earthly king (1 Samuel 8), however, these spiritual kingdoms have not corresponded neatly with the kingdoms of the world. Jesus Himself stated plainly that His Kingdom was "not of this world" (John 18:36); hence we pray that His Kingdom "would come on earth as it is in heaven" (Matthew 6:10). One day, this prayer will be fully answered (Revelation 20), but in the meantime we are faced with a rather 'messy' reality.

The incongruence between the spiritual and earthly kingdoms is perhaps most clearly demonstrated within ourselves. On the one hand, we contain the "first fruits" of the coming Kingdom in our redeemed Spirits (Romans 16:5; cf. Luke 17:21). On the other hand, as Paul explains earlier in Romans, even we have not been completely restored, since our fallen flesh still obeys "the law of sin" (Romans 7-8) and since our earthly bodies still die (2 Corinthians 5:1-5). The  soul seems to be somewhere in between; it is the battleground on which the two kingdoms clash (1 Peter 2:11). Consequently, although we pray that His Kingdom would come, we do not simply rest on our laurels and wait for that to happen. Rather, much of the Christian life consists of feeding the Spirit and starving the flesh to ensure that the soul operates in accordance with the former rather than the latter. This is what is meant by "sanctification" (Galatians 5:16-26; Romans 6-8; 1 Thessalonians 4:1-8).

The prayer for His Kingdom to come, however, surely relates not only to our selves, but also to the rest of the world, which is also a battlefield of sorts. True, it is generally agreed that humans are the only parts of creation with spirits (or are they?), and thus the only recipients of redemption in a strict sense. It is also true that, for the individual person, redemption must come before sanctification. In Romans 8, however, we learn that the individual person is not the only site in which the tension between the spiritual kingdoms is evident. Rather, "the whole creation" "waits with eager longing", "groaning together in the pains of childbirth" for the coming Kingdom. Along with our earthly bodies, creation was once "subjected to futility", but will one day be glorified. The situation within ourselves is reflected in the rest of the world - there are aspects of good and evil, of light and darkness, in most everything.

Furthermore, precisely because we have been redeemed, we are obliged to see his Kingdom come in the rest of the world; precisely because we have the first fruits within us, we are obliged to nurture fruit outwith us. Recall in Genesis 2:15 that "the Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to work it and keep it." Indeed, our original purpose was to tend to the world; if we have truly been redeemed, we should return to this purpose. To do that, we must till the soil - no longer in futility (Genesis 3:17-19), but rather for the sake of His eternal Kingdom (cf. Ecclesiastes). We must break up fallow ground (Hosea 10:12; Jeremiah 4:3), carefully but purposefully weeding out roots of evil (Hebrews 12:15; Deuteronomy 29:18) and sowing the seeds of righteousness, peace, and joy - that is, seeds of the Kingdom (Romans 14:17; Isaiah 32; Matthew 5-6). We must let our light shine (Matthew 5:16), overcoming evil with good (Romans 12:21).

Let me stress that this is not a yin-and-yang idea. I am not saying that good and evil coexist in harmony - they don't. Nor am I saying that they are two sides of the same coin - they aren't. Nor am I saying that they will coexist perpetually - they won't. They are involved in a cosmic war, and will eventually line up for the final battle of Armageddon (Revelation 16). In the meantime, however, they are not lined up; rather, they are embroiled in a guerrilla war in which friend and enemy are often interspersed and indistinguishable. In such a setting, carpet-bombing will do more harm than good; instead, we need to use subtle, covert, hand-to-hand combat if we are to make any difference while avoiding friendly fire. To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, we are akin to 'the resistance', using espionage and clandestine tactics to further the Allied while we wait for D-Day.

You may retort that it is God's job to see His kingdom come, as the Lord's Prayer itself implies. Is it not God who winnows the wheat (Matthew 3:12; 25:31-46; Luke 3:17), who purifies the gold (Matthew 3:10; Luke 3:16), who prunes the vine (John 15:2)? My response would be that, while it is God who causes the fruit to grow, we still have a responsibility to plant and water (1 Corinthians 3:6-8), and even to harvest (Matthew 9:37; Luke 10:2). God will lift up the valleys, topple the mountains, and smooth the rough places to establish his path (Isaiah 40:4), and yet we still have a responsibility to "prepare the way of the Lord", to "make straight in the desert a highway for our God" (Isaiah 40:3).

Perhaps a couple of examples will help clarify what I mean. Consider meditation. For many Christians, it is anathema, a byword, an instrument of Satan. Rather than simply abolish it, however, I think it would be infinitely more efficacious to reclaim it. From the very first chapter, the Psalms teem with meditation; it is a valuable tool for connecting with God, and we are in fact commanded to utilise it (Psalm 46:10). Make no mistake - our minds are battlegrounds, and harnessing our ability to dwell on the things of the Kingdom is a key weapon (Romans 12:2; Philippians 4:8; Ephesians 4:23).

Another example could be the economic system. We are often sold false dichotomies, usually to the effect of 'capitalism good, communism bad' or vice versa. It should be obvious, however, that neither of these systems is really God's system or Satan's system. Rather, both systems contain elements of good and evil. Capitalism offers personal responsibility and reward for work, while communism offers social responsibility and a concern for need, with each system lacking the other's qualities. Rather than picking one side or the other, we should pick God's side - and that means looking for intelligent ways that the good in each system can be manifested.

Finally, take creation. We have touched on this topic already, and I'll spare you the usual (though vitally important and absolutely true) spiel on how, as Christians, we should be profoundly concerned with the health of our planet. To take a slightly different angle, I have recently been reading quite a bit on the Celtic Christians. Something that struck me as interesting was the fact that the Celtic saints often employed pagan traditions - which often related to nature worship - for the purpose of the Kingdom. For example, they would often reclaim mystical pools as places of blessing and baptism. If this sounds dodgy, I would suggest that it finds at least an indirect Biblical precedent in Paul's famous address to the people of Athens (Acts 17:22ff).

As Christians, we are instructed to "hate evil and cling to what is good" (Romans 12:9). To do that, we cannot embrace or reject everything in the world, since good and evil as they are found in the world are often knotted up, often in the same place. Our task is instead to begin unraveling these two kingdoms, which are indeed categorically opposed to each other; we are to be in the world, but not of it (John 17:15). Unless we do so judiciously, diligently, and meticulously, we will end up either throwing out the baby with the bath water or keeping both.

Biblical Paradoxes as Carriers of Meaning

In response to both the objections of others and their own investigations, Christians are often faced with the task of resolving what appear to be Biblical inconsistencies. This exercise usually consists of contriving rationalisations which, however robust, fail to really convince either the plaintiff or the defendant.

Let me state from the outset that I am fully sympathetic with the field of apologetics. Contrary to what I have heard many Christians opine, I believe that a rational defence of Christianity is not only possible, but imperative. However, I would like to suggest that we should treat alleged contradictions not only on as logical inconveniencies that need to be resolved and expunged, but also as valuable carriers of profound meaning that need to be explored and embraced.

The mistake, I think, lies not in seeking to reconcile apparent contradictions, but rather in proceeding to disregard them. Since they are not really inconsistencies, we should not fear them. Rather, we should ask why they are there in the first place. Surely even the most ardent champion of Biblical infallibility would accept the premise that everything in the Bible is there for a reason. 'Everything' in this context includes those awkward, bothersome dichotomies that are so often the subject of debate - predestination vs. free will, God's love vs. human suffering, and so on. If we accept that even the thorniest of theological questions has been presented to us for a reason, however, the notion that we should merely 'reason them away' fails to satisfy.

One reason for the presence of these contentious, equivocal issues could be that they render faith necessary by precluding the possibility of basing one's belief solely on one's own understanding. The issues do not disprove the Christian message, but they do rule out the exclusive use of deductive logic in proving that message by leaving open alternative explanations. It is then up to the individual - her heart, perhaps, or even her mind if she is willing to apply inductive logic - as to which explanation to espouse. This idea is loosely analogous to Jesus talking in parables so that only those who were prepared to understand Him would do so, or to Him refusing to perform miracles in places of unbelief.

The merit of this perspective is to emphasise the insufficiency of logic. However, I would submit that it tells only half of the story - the negative side, that is. In isolation, it entails the contradictory (!) implication that God is intentionally obscuring Himself. We know that He wants everyone to come to Him; so why wouldn't He leave a trail of deductive logic? After all, parables are enlightening as much as they are enigmatic.

The answer, I propose, lies in the concept of paradox. A paradox can refer to "a self-contradictory and false proposition", but it can also refer to "a statement or proposition that seems self-contradictory or absurd but in reality expresses a possible truth" (Dictionary.com, emphasis added). A paradox therefore juxtaposes two or more dissonant ideas which may nevertheless be consistent; indeed, the dissonance may convey a unique truth that is not contained in any of its constituent elements. In short, paradoxes may reveal more than they conceal.

I would posit that when we earnestly engage with the paradoxes of the Bible rather than merely trying to escape them, we find that they perform this very function; far from being obstacles, they are signposts which point the way, that Way being Christ. An obvious example is the tension between the Old and New Testaments, the former replete with law, judgement, and sacrifice, the latter abounding with grace, love, and compassion. We know that Christ was the fulfilment of the law, the recipient of judgement, the ultimate sacrifice; and we know that it is through Him that God's grace, love, and compassion are most definitively exhibited. With Christ, the paradox is consistent - but it is still a paradox, without which the meaning of Christ would actually be diminished.

In fact, the reason that paradoxes are so powerful is that they are consistent with our own experiences. If you are a Christian, I would hazard a guess that you still sin on occasion. I would also venture to predict that you will one day die. How can this be, if we are saved from the slavery of sin and redeemed from the curse of death? Anyone who ignores this paradox is being disingenuous, for it confronts us inexorably. Its resolution is found in the Romans chapter 7, where Paul recounts the tension between his spiritual self and his fleshly self, the former having been redeemed but the latter remaining hostile to God. In the following chapter, Paul relates this personal paradox to a temporal paradox: although we "have received a spirit of adoption as sons" (verse 15), we "[wait] eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our body" (verse 23). Christ has already come, and, in a spiritual sense, the work was finished on the cross; yet, paradoxically, we look forward its full culmination.

Later in the book of Romans, Paul indicates that, although we have already been saved, our "salvation is nearer to us than when we believed" (Romans 13:11); although we have been imbued with light and life, we will soon "awaken from sleep" as "the night is almost gone, and the day is near" (Romans 13:12); although we have been recreated, we look forward to the day when Christ will make "all things new". Essentially the same mystery is evident in the fact that we have never seen God even though He has revealed Himself to us - that we do not fully know Him even though we can in fact know Him personally (see 1 Corinthians 13). The literary device of paradox is the most literal way of describing these discordant realities.

Rather than embrace these familiar tensions, Christians are wont to brush them under the carpet, for fear of losing an argument or even losing their own faith. This is not surprising - etymologically, a paradox refers to something that is 'beyond belief'. When it comes to the Bible, however, I have tried to show that paradoxes, if approached unreservedly, can actually bolster our belief by accurately describing the reality with which we are familiar. In this paradoxical sense, paradoxes are akin to parables in the sense of both illuminating and obscuring, depending on whether they are accepted in faith or rejected in doubt.

My modest proposal is this: in resolving critical issues of faith, we should not seek to dissolve them; rather, we should appreciate them as crucial carriers of spiritual meaning.