Sunday-School Christianity: Taking off our Training Wheels

I can still remember the first time I rode a bike without training wheels. At first, it was frightening - I had to trust that, as long as I kept pedalling, the bike would stay upright. I had seen others do it, but it still seemed like such an impossible feat. But once I got going, I never looked back. Riding a bike suddenly become not only fun, but also useful - I could actually get places!

I think that our Christian faith sometimes works like that. Take the Old Testament Law, for example. In Galatians 3:24-25, Paul tells us that "the Law was our guardian until Christ came, in order that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian...". The Law, in other words, acted as set of training wheels. Its purpose was to 'train' us in proper conduct ('guardian' is alternately translated 'teacher' or 'tutor') and to make us respect the actual laws that govern the universe (gravity/God). When God Himself came to show us how to live, it became redundant. 

In fact, as Paul elaborates in several letters, it became a hindrance (e.g. Romans 7). Clinging to the Law when we already have Christ would be like insisting on using training wheels even after you've learned how to ride without them - you would be unnecessarily constrained. Paul therefore exhorts his readers to cast off the shackles of the Law and live in the freedom of Christ. As for Gentile believers, who bypassed the Law and went straight into free-style, the apostles gave them a condensed version of Law just to make sure they didn't hurt themselves (Acts 15).

Taking the analogy further, training wheels only really work on flat, smooth ground. When you start to navigate uneven terrain, they may actually destabilise you, because they prevent you from adjusting the angle of your bike to align with the real force of gravity (i.e. God). When Jesus healed on the Sabbath, for example, He was actually staying more 'upright' than the Pharisees who accused him of breaking the Law (e.g. Matthew 12; Mark 3; Luke 6, 13-14; John 9). Rather than obsessing with the letter of the Law, He lived by its spirit - which he helpfully spells out for us in Matthew 7:12/22:40 -  and thus obeyed its real lesson.

Unfortunately, the kind of inhibiting, destabilising legalism exhibited by the Pharisees persists in modern Christianity. For example, I've written elsewhere about a simplistic, Sunday-School formula of salvation, whereby Christians go to Heaven when they die, leaving the Earth behind to live forever. While this may be a handy way of capturing some important truths, and is therefore useful for teaching children or new believers, the truth is actually that Heaven comes to Earth. If we refuse to discard the training-wheel doctrine, we therefore deprive ourselves of living in new dimensions of faith, in which the Kingdom of Heaven can be here and now (Matthew 6:9-13; Luke 17:21). What is more, we may be inclined to treat the Earth with neglect or even contempt, thus acting, like the Pharisees, in a way that is completely antithetical to the Gospel.

To be clear, I am emphatically not suggesting that we disregard the Bible or question its core doctrines, which are as indispensable as the bicycle's frame. However, we should always be digging deeper, moving from "milk" to "meat" (Hebrews 5:11-6:3; 1 Corinthians 3:2). Paradoxically, it takes faith to reconsider one's faith - but if we don't, we'll be stuck with a set of rusty, squeaky old training wheels.

The Purpose of Mystery: Letting the Bible Read Us

Theologically conservative Christians often give the impression that the Bible is completely uncontroversial, that the entirety of its truth can be unambiguously comprehended. At the extreme, the Christian faith is reduced to a list of unequivocal, categorical doctrines - accept them and you're in, doubt them and you're out. It may seem strange, then, that I've learned more from such folk about the mystery of the Bible than I have from anyone else.

The resolution of this paradox, I think, lies in the conservative approach to scripture. Whereas liberal believers are disposed to conflate mystery with relative truth, using it as a license to stray into erroneous territory, the conservative approach demands Biblical precision. By the same token however, if you really take the Bible seriously, you are confronted inescapably with mystery. The result is a difficult, beautiful, and authentic tension whereby we accept the Word as both inerrant and enigmatic.

To be sure, theological conservatives are inclined to sidestep this tension with apologetic acrobatics. While there is certainly a place for this kind of philosophy - as rational beings, we do have an urge to resolve conundrums, and as believers, we are called to defend to our faith against worldly argumentation (e.g. 1 Peter 3:15) - I would suggest it suffers from two inherent weaknesses.

Firstly, there are some mysteries that are explicitly identified as such in the Bible, and therefore cannot be 'explained away'. Considering the conservative fixation with systematic eschatology, perhaps the most pertinent example is found in Acts 1:7, where Jesus tells the apostles: "It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by His own authority." In Matthew 24:36 (emphasis added), he goes further, relating to His disciples: "But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only." A significant amount of scripture is dedicated to the "day and hour" and "times and seasons" in question - namely, Jesus' own return - and yet we are told in no uncertain terms that it is essentially inscrutable!

Secondly, even when there is a way to escape a mystery, it might not behoove us to do so. The presence of mystery raises the question of why it is there in the first place; if we truly believe that all scripture is "God-breathed and useful" (2 Timothy 3:16), we must believe that inconvenient, incongruous, and seemingly incomprehensible scriptures are there for a reason other than to be 'explained away'. As I have suggested elsewhere, such passages can reveal higher truths, expose false dichotomies, and speak to the paradoxical nature of our day-to-day experience - precisely thanks to their mysteriousness.

The parables of Jesus are an especially relevant example. One would expect a parable to be used in order to make a truth easier to understand, yet Jesus tells us that their purpose is to conceal the truth, to ensure that only those who truly seek the truth will find it (e.g. Matthew 13:11-13). To truly seek the truth requires faith - faith to subject our beliefs, including our theology, to the scrutiny of scripture. This in turn requires humility, since we must never be so haughty to claim that we 'already know' what the Bible says. Only then can we 'let the Bible read us', as my theologically conservative pastor used to say.

Psychologists, philosophers, literary critics, and sociologists would tell you that this is impossible: not only do we have unconscious biases, they would aver, but meaning is itself subjective, a matter of a perspective and interpretation. Impossible for man, certainly; but certainly not for God (Luke 18:27; Colossians 1:17; cf. 1 Peter 1:20-21), whose Spirit we have received. With the Spirit, we can know the unknowable; but that requires us to set aside our earthly mode of understanding and accept that spiritual wisdom is "hidden in a mystery" (1 Corinthians 2:10-16). I, for one, am grateful that it is.

When Heaven Comes to Earth

In a previous post, I argued that the Bible is essentially an account of Heaven coming to Earth. From Eden, to Jesus, to the New Jerusalem - from the indwelling of the Spirit in the Temple, to Its indwelling in man, to its indwelling in the whole world - the story of the Bible is one of the spiritual colliding, intermingling, and uniting with the physical. In light of this idea, I'd now like to evaluate two prevailing strands of theology, each of which fixates on either Heaven or Earth while neglecting, or even disdaining, the other.

According to the first worldview, our souls and/or spirits will one day be evacuated from this temporary nuisance called Earth to live forever in Heaven. The Earth, in turn, will either burn up or fade into irrelevance. Contrary to this view, the picture painted in the Bible is one of Heaven coming to Earth - not us going to Heaven.

There are two parts to this distinction. The first is the direction of movement: Heaven to Earth, not Earth to Heaven. In fact, when the Earth was first created, it was not strictly separate from Heaven; only after mankind sinned did such a separation fully emerge. Even then, God promised that He would one day dwell on the Earth again - a promise which was maintained through His indwelling in the the tabernacle/temple and fulfilled in Jesus, who came from Heaven to Earth. In turn, Jesus promised that He would one day dwell on the Earth again - a promise which is guaranteed through His indwelling in us and will be fulfilled in the New Jerusalem, which will come from Heaven to Earth. This pattern of Heaven coming to Earth, of the two being reconciled - of God dwelling with us here - is the exact inverse of the common preoccupation with 'going to Heaven' and leaving the Earth behind.

The other part of the distinction is that the Bible includes all of the Earth in its saga of reconciliation, not just mankind. To be sure, people have a special place in creation; we are even apportioned our own creation story, in which we receive "the Breath of Life" (Genesis 1-2). Notice, though, that we are created for the Earth (specifically, to tend it) and from the Earth (literally, from the soil). Notice, too, that animals are also described as possessing the Breath of Life, for they, too, are conscious beings. As I've elaborated elsewhere, moreover, God's promise of reconciliation is imparted to all of creation, not just us. Mirroring the two creation stories, the Abrahamic covenant on which theology usually focuses was actually preceded by the Noahaic covenant; and while the latter pertained specifically to man, the former pertained to all of creation. As a result, not just us, but all the Earth eagerly awaits its reconciliation with Heaven (Romans 8). We have been made into New Creations (2 Corinthians 5:17), but we represent only the first fruits of the New Creation (James 1:18; Romans 8:23); for He is making all things new (Revelation 21:5).

The second group that I would like to address is at fault for trying to build Heaven on Earth - rather than seeing the Kingdom of Heaven come to Earth, which should be the goal (Matthew 6:19-13; Luke 11:2-4).

This view also has the direction of movement backwards, but misconstrues Heaven rather than Earth. Its principal omission is that Heaven is a Kingdom, and as such is established and governed by a King. The Earth is merely His footstool (Isaiah 66:1); and will it only become his throne when Heaven comes to Earth (Revelation 21; Ezekiel 40-48; Acts 17:24). Even Solomon, in all his wisdom, questioned whether the temple he was building could really contain the Kingdom, power, and glory of Heaven that we still ask would come to Earth (1 Kings 8:27; 2 Chronicles 2:6, 6:18; Matthew 6:13).

As illustrated by the fate of the Tower of Babel, trying to reach Heaven from Earth, or trying to fabricate the former on the latter, is utterly futile (Genesis 11; see also Psalm 127:1). It is also satanic, since Satan is the world's incumbent ruler (2 Corinthians 4:4; John 12:31). Indeed, the original sin - which Satan himself incited, and which precipitated the separation of Heaven and Earth - is the deception that we can be like God on our own terms, that we can set our own rules. It not the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, which Adam and Eve so fatefully chose, that represents Heaven on Earth; rather it is the Tree of Life, which was guarded by the cherubim after the Fall (Genesis 3:24) but which will be multiplied in the New Jerusalem, when Heaven and Earth are fully reconciled (Revelation 22:2).

***

When Jacob envisioned angels ascending and descending on a ladder between Heaven and Earth, when the God of Heaven was standing on the Earth beside him, he called that place the House of God (Genesis 28:10-17). As symbolised by the very shape of the cross, this intersection between Heaven and Earth - between physical and spiritual, secular and sacred, natural and supernatural - is the overriding theme of the Bible. Because God became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14), we can become the House of God (Hebrews 3:6) and one day see that role extended to all of creation (Revelation 21-22).

So often, though, we are prone to missing half of the picture: either we are 'pie-in-the-sky' Christians obsessed with the end of the world, or we are 'head-in-the-sand' Christians pretending like the world is fine and dandy. The reality of the Bible invalidates both of these positions: Heaven and Earth are reconciled, but only by Heaven coming to Earth. It is only then that we can dwell in the House of God forever (Psalm 23:6).

Ontological Randomness as Evidence for God

At a macrocosmic scale, the universe is far more ordered that we would expect if it were an accident. I could talk, for example, about cosmological constants, the repeated geometric patterns found in nature, and the unique suitability of the earth for human life. The apparently designed nature of the universe is a common (and powerful) argument for the existence of God.


On the other hand, at a microcosmic scale, quantum physics has discovered that the universe is fundamentally random, in stark contrast to its macro-level orderliness. I wonder if, ironically, this also constitutes evidence for the existence of God. My reasoning here stems from a distinction between ontological randomness and epistemological randomness.


When we think about randomness, we are usually envisioning epistemological randomness. For example, we consider the outcome of a dice-roll to be random because we lack the means of foreseeing it. Nevertheless, the outcome is not ontologically random, since it is determined by  physical forces such as gravity, inertia, and friction. If it were possible to measure and calculate how these forces were acting on the die while it was being rolled, we would in fact be able to foresee the outcome.


Ontological randomness, by contrast, refers to a situation in which the outcome is not mechanistically determined. This sort of randomness is more or less impossible to imagine, or at least intuit; and yet quantum physics tells us that it holds the universe together. My modest suggestion is that it is actually God who is holding the universe together (Colossians 1:17) - that what appears to be ontologically random is actually determined by God.


I am not sufficiently educated in science, let alone quantum physics, to be able to flesh-out or even sense-check this idea; but I suppose the beauty of the internet is that I don't have to be.

One Day at a Time: Redeeming the Eternal Now

The opening chapter of the Bible describes how God created the universe in seven days (well, six if you exclude the Sabbath). I find this account intriguingly circular, since a 'day' (and indeed time itself) is a feature of the very universe that was being created. Think of it this way: if a 'day' is defined as a rotation of the earth around the sun, how could God have created the earth and the sun within a matter of days? The answer must be that there were Days before there were days (see Daniel 7). In other words, a 'day' is a divine, spiritual phenomenon, and not only an earthly or physical one.


Indeed, the Bible depicts each day as a miniature life, a life within life. We are instructed to ask for daily bread (Matthew 6:11), to carry our cross daily (Luke 9:23), and to choose each day whom we will serve (Joshua 24:15; see also Hebrews 3:7-15). Characters throughout the Bible wake up early when they have an important mission to complete (e.g., Joshua 6:15; 2 Chronicles 29:20; Mark 16:2), as if they were awakened by God Himself (Isaiah 60:1). His mercies are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23; see also Psalm 30:5, 46:5), and we must be wary of letting our anger outlast the day (Ephesians 4:26); for if each day is a microcosmic life, then each night is a microcosmic death, which must be fully completed if are to be reborn anew when the next day comes (2 Corinthians 4:16). In sum, a Biblical perspective conceives each and every day as sacred.


If each day is sacred, then so too are its circadian rhythms and quotidian activities. The book of Ecclesiastes contains perhaps the most lucid exposition of this insight. In a particularly relevant passage, the exceedingly wise Solomon declares: "Behold, what I have seen to be good and fitting is to eat and drink and find enjoyment in all the toil with which one toils under the sun the few days of his life that God has given him, for this is his lot. Everyone also to whom God has given wealth and possessions and power to enjoy them, and to accept his lot and rejoice in his toil—this is the gift of God. For he will not much remember the days of his life because God keeps him occupied with joy in his heart." (Ecclesiastes 5:18; see also 2:16, 3:1-8, 6:3). I cite this passage in particular because it reveals so much about the holiness of days (i.e. daily holiness, i.e. daily wholeness). According to Solomon, a meaningful life can only be attained if we embrace and even rejoice in the mundane - in our eating, drinking, and working - rather than trying to change our future (out "lot") or fretting about the past ("the days or [our] li[ves]"). We don't have many days, he tells us, so we should treat each day as special. As the psalmist expressed it, "This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it" (Psalm 118:24).


Solomon's wisdom betrays a fundamental yet neglected fact of reality, namely that we can only ever live in the immediate present. Just as I can only ever be in one place at a given time, so I can only ever be in one time at a given place. Of course, I can return to the same place at different times; but thanks to the inextricability of time from space, there is a sense in which I would be 'elsewhere' in the universe if I were to do so. If I am here, I am here now. This would still be true, moreover, even if time travel were possible: even if I could jump to a different time, that time would simply become my 'now' rather than remaining part of my past or my future. Indeed, every point in my past was once my 'now', while every point in my future will eventually be my 'now'.


Solomon seemed to appreciate that, although we can only live now, we often try to live in the past or the future. Perhaps we can't dislodge a sense of regret over a past decision, constantly toying with futile speculations over 'what if'; or perhaps we are fixated on the future outcomes that such a decision could potentially entail. Whether we cling to a time that is no longer our 'now' or one that is not yet our 'now', the result tends to be counterproductive for our present-day 'now' - which will eventually become our past, and which our future will eventually become. This may be why the Bible exhorts us not to "call to mind the former things, Or ponder things of the past" (Isaiah 43:18), nor to be "anxious about tomorrow" (Matthew 6:33; see also James 4:14). Rather, our perspective is to be at once momentary and eternal; we should view each day on Earth in light of Heaven, and even pray that Heaven would come to Earth in our day-to-day lives (Matthew 6:8-10).


With that said, Solomon perceived that not only are the moments which compose each day sacred, but so too are the larger units of time which are composed of days, and ultimately moments - weeks, months, years, seasons, and so on, all of which contain their own divine rhythms (e.g. Ecclesiastes 3). The week, of course, featured in the creation story along with the day, with the number of constituent days (7) symbolising perfection and completion. The seventh day of the Sabbath rest is worthy of particular note, since Christ has allowed to enjoy that 'day' every day (Hebrews 3:7-4:13). Prophetic passages, too, are often denominated in terms of days, weeks, and years. Unfortunately, however, many Christians with an eschatological penchant have interpreted these scriptures as merely timelines of past or future events. The resultant perspective, which conceives us as merely waiting for events to transpire, just as past events have transpired, is exactly the opposite of the one I am proposing here. On the contrary, I would argue that prophetic chronologies are more than timelines: like all scriptures, they relate to 'the present day' not only by virtue of what has happened or what will happen, but also by what simply 'happens' [1].


To take an elementary example, you can never have 'eternal life' in the future, since you can never live in the future; you can only ever live in the ever-moving 'now'. There is a real yet paradoxical sense, therefore, in which our 'now' is at once transitory and permanent. Although time cannot hold eternity, perhaps the timeless moment can. The same could be said for the spiritual unit of a day, which for God is equivalent to "a thousand years", i.e. an indefinitely long period of time (2 Peter 3:8). Obviously, in a fallen world, our days are not as they should be, not least because they are finite; hence Paul, after reminding the Ephesians that they are "children of light", implores them to "[make] the best use of of the time, because the days are evil" (Ephesians 5:16, emphasis added). On the other hand, it is a particular day, the so-called "Day of the Lord", which will herald the end of time itself (e.g. Amos 5:18-20; Acts 2:20; 2 Peter 3:10). This "Great Day" - the "last day" to end all days - will herald the eternal day (Revelation 22), to which Christ has already begun to awaken us (1 Thessalonians 5:1-11; Romans 13:12; 2 Peter 1:19).

When I was thinking of a way to describe this perspective, the phrase that came to mind was "the eternal now". Hoping that I had coined this pithy expression, I then proceeded to Google it, as one does. Alas, it turned out that "the eternal now" was already taken - by the perennially annoying New Age movement, no less. Notwithstanding its occultic connotations, however, I still believe the phrase is worth salvaging. Indeed, part of what I've tried to do in this post is provide a Biblical commentary on secular or satanic pretensions of "living in the here and now", "seizing the day", or "taking each day as it comes". These practices are not in themselves errant; it's just that they are futile without Christ, who brings us into the eternal day (Isaiah 9:2; Matthew 4:14-16; Luke 1:76-79). By the same token, I have also issued an admonishment to those Christians who would dispose of such practices altogether. Surely 'living in eternity now', a pet phrase of Christian teachers, means exactly that - living in eternity now.




Note

[1] Indeed, the various Greek words associated with the 'end times', such as eschatos, telos, and synteleias, as well as the Hebrew word eth, are translated elsewhere in the Bible to refer not only to temporal finality, but also to timelessness, seasonality, consummation, or spatial finality.

Truth, Freedom, and the Holy Spirit

The Prophet Isaiah poses a rhetorical question when he asks, "Who has measured the Spirit of the LORD, or what man shows him His counsel?" (Isaiah 40:13). The Apostle Paul provides a tautological answer when he states, "no one comprehends the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God" (1 Corinthians 2:11).

He goes on to affirm that without the Spirit, we are blind to spiritual Truth, but with the Spirit, the secrets of God are revealed to us (1 Corinthians 2:6-16). The Spirit thus removes the veil between us and God, allowing us to enter His presence and behold His glory. In the process, as we receive the mind of Christ, we become transformed into the image of Christ (2 Corinthians 3:12-16).

A dramatic shift in  behaviour naturally follows from this transformation, for we become motivated and enabled to live, walk, and worship in obedience - to do what only Christ could do (Romans 8:1-12; Galatians 5:16-25; John 4:24). Indeed, when the Holy Spirit becomes one with our human spirit, It allows us to take captive our own thoughts - the elusive 'holy grail' of philosophy (1 Corinthians 6:17; 2 Corinthians 10:5; Proverbs 20:27). 

It is in this way that the Truth of the Spirit (or, equivalently, the Spirit of Truth) gives us freedom - freedom from sin, death, and condemnation (2 Corinthians 3:17, Romans 8:13; John 8:31-36). I find it significant in this respect that one of the articles of the Armour of God is the Belt of Truth, with which we are to gird our loins (Ephesians 6:14) - according to Paul, we require Truth if we are to walk or run unfettered by our own outward vestments.

The world seeks freedom without Truth, but what it finds is merely enslavement to sin (John 8:34, 14:6; Romans 6:16; 2 Peter 2:19). It is only through His Spirit that we can know the Truth that sets us free; it only then that we can be "free indeed".

Biblical Perfectionism

I have learned the hard way that perfectionism is a dangerous personality trait. As imperfect people in an imperfect world, any aspirations we may have towards achieving perfection are bound to be frustrated; as the Psalmist says, "I have seen the limit of all perfection" (Psalm 119:96).  When that happens, we perfectionists are prone to obsession, building an ersatz edifice of control around a particular aspect of our lives in which we deem that perfection may, just may, be attainable, if only we exert enough of our willpower. Those pursuits become our gods, our idols, our objects of worship; and like all false gods, they always fail us, leaving a trail of collateral damage in their wake.


With all of that said, I believe that my desire for perfection is implanted by God. After all, God Himself demands perfection. The Law requires that we be holy - i.e. perfect - in order to withstand His holy presence (e.g. Leviticus 20:26), and only a perfect lamb is acceptable for the sacrifice that compensates for our imperfections (e.g. Exodus 12:5). Although Jesus - the Lamb of God and the only perfect man - acted as the once-and-for-all sacrifice (Isaiah 53:7; John 1:29; Hebrews 10), He Himself bids us to "be perfect, as your Heavenly Father is perfect" (Matthew 5:48; see also 1 Peter 1:14-19).


How to resolve this paradox? How, in other words, to be perfect? I believe that there are two ways by which we can seek perfection. The first way, the way of the world, is to strive to be "like God" (Genesis 3:4), to build monuments to our own our selfish ambitions based on foundations of fallenness (Genesis 11:1-8). Like the Tower of Babel, such endeavours are fated to failure, death, and destruction (James 3:14-16).


The second way, the Way that is Christ, is to cease striving and simply obey (Matthew 26:39-44; Mark 14:36; Luke 22:42) - to submit to His good and perfect will (Romans 12:2). This Way requires us to abandon our quest for self-perfection, which is anyway a satanic deception, and to instead acknowledge that every good and perfect gift comes from God (James 1:17), whose power is perfected in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:7-10). With Christ as the perfecter of our faith (Hebrews 12:1-2; see also 5:9; 7:11,28; 10), we "become" His righteousness (1 Corinthians 5:21) - we become not "like God", a mere counterfeit of holiness, but rather "perfectly one with God" (John 17:23).


The point of all this is that perfectionism is part of God's perfect creation, but, like the rest of that creation, can nevertheless be corrupted. He has placed eternity in our hearts, and only the perfect will endure for eternity, so it is a good sign that we desire perfection (1 Corinthians 13:10). It is also a good sign that we find this desire frustrating, since it can never be fully satisfied in this world (Ecclesiastes 3:11); it is only when the perfect comes that we shall we fully satisfied.