is salvation hard? (is grace easy?)

"Strive to enter through the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will try to enter and will not be able." [Luke 13:24]

In this is the passage Jesus warns those he lived and worked among that they weren't saved by proximity. Many take it to mean salvation shouldn't be taken for granted, and in some sense isn't easy. This passage isn't unique. As we read in 1 Peter 4:15,

If it is hard for the righteous to be saved,
what will become of the ungodly and the sinner?

Or 1 Tim 4:16,

Watch both your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers.

The idea that salvation is difficult (which we work out with fear and trembling--Php 2:12) is a central, often unspoken tenet in much of the church. Which middle-class American can read of the camel and the eye of the needle in Luke 18 without feeling ill at ease?

Following Jesus is difficult. But what aspect is difficult? Belief? Forsaking money? Purity and holiness? Self-denial? Not compromising under pressure or persecution? All of the above?

In the subconscious of many Christians this logic occurs:

1) Salvation is difficult
2) Following Christ requires [insert requirement here]
3) Therefore [requirement] must be hard

Jesus said salvation is difficult; he didn't say that all aspects of the Christian life must be difficult. Our expectation can lead the any requirement in (2) and (3) to become difficult. Belief? Must be hard, or we've substituted a false, easier gospel. Not compromising? If it's not tough, we must be blending in. Forsaking money and possessions? If you've gotten used to tithing, then you are clearing not giving enough--not giving your "widow's mite." Self denial? If you ever become comfortable you clearly are in danger of stagnating. [*]

What do you find hardest in the Christian life? This may be your personal cross to bear. Just maybe, though, this is what you've decided discipleship entails, and therefore must be difficult. In other words, your point of greatest discomfort may reveal your answer to the question, What must I do to be saved?

Let's not forget, though, that Jesus tempered his warning with consolation. Gary DeLashmutt writes about the parable of the Good Samaritan,

[Jesus’ main point] is not that we should help people who break down on the freeway, but that the lawyer does not keep God’s Law, and therefore he does not qualify for inheriting eternal life.

This is why Jesus taught two ways to go to heaven. Sometimes, he taught that eternal life was a free gift from God to be received by simple faith (Jn 3:16; 6:29; etc.). Sometimes, he taught that you have to earn your way to heaven by doing good works. He didn’t embrace two contradictory soteriologies—he spoke to two different kinds of people.

Whenever Jesus teaches the “earn your way” approach, it’s always to people who think they can (Mt 5:17-48; Mk 10:17-22; this lawyer). And it’s always so they’ll realize they can’t earn it and humble themselves to receive it as a free gift…

Whenever he teaches the “free gift” approach, it’s always to people who realize they can’t earn it (Samaritan woman; etc.). There is no need to convince them of this, so he goes straight to the good news.

We disregard Jesus' warnings at our own peril--but we also carry many more burdens than necessary. Next time we head to church, we should ask whether we truly feel that his yoke is easy and burden is light. Do we forever feel behind the curve, forever longing for rest for our souls? Maybe the Holy Spirit is convicting us of a sin we need to address, or trying to purge us of legalism. Or maybe we need to hear again one of the most serene benedictions ever to grace parchment:

May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it. (1 Thess 5:23-24 )

* * *

Photograph: Amy Collins; The church of Simon of Cyrene, along the Via Dolorosa

[*] This attitude can also infect our reading of Scripture: We read a passage, and look for the interpretation which makes life hardest.

Shame, shame, shame

On April 12, 1865, the Confederate army under General Lee surrendered to the union forces at Appomattox courthouse. Only days before the armies had been in pitched battle, and were exhausted and dirty. As Michael Schuck puts it, "The potential for humiliation was almost intolerable for the Confederates, and the opportunity for venting pent-up rage and ridicule was almost irresistible for the union."

Union Commander Joshua Chamberlain (above) was given the task of receiving the surrendering army. It was in this tense moment that Chamberlain gave the order for his troops to salute their enemies, a salute returned by the Confederate soldiers. As Chamberlain later recalled, his salute was

one for which I sought no authority nor asked forgiveness... Before us in proud humiliation... stood the embodiment of manhood... Men whom neither toils and sufferings, nor the fact of death, nor disaster, nor hopelessness could bend from their resolve; standing before us now thin, worn, famished, but erect, and with eyes looking level into ours, waking memories that bound us together as no other bond.[1]

It is impossible to read this without feeling keenly the honor and shame which hung thick in the air--shame at the Confederate defeat, and honor bestowed in the salute to enemies who had fought valiantly.

The concepts of honor and shame do not play a large role in our culture. They are most visible in the military context, but elsewhere feel foreign. Sociologists have long noted that cultures tend to fall into two categories: those with an emphasis on honor and shame, and those with emphasis on guilt and innocence. In guilt-innocence cultures, conscience plays an important role in determining individual action. In honor-shame cultures a high value is placed on retention of one's good reputation, and that of one's family (city, country, etc.). Guilt tends to be a more internal motivation than shame, and shame more dependent on the actions and attitudes of the group. "Shame cultures" differ from "guilt cultures" in that their members are group-oriented and governed in their attitudes and actions primarily by the opinion and appraisals of significant others.

Of course, there is really a continuum of emphasis between these two extremes, with the West lying far in the guilt-innocence direction, and Eastern and near-Eastern cultures generally occupying the shame-honor end of the spectrum. In the first century, both Roman and Jewish cultures placed a very high priority on honor, shame and status.

Rising out of Jewish culture and, for the NT, surrounded by Greco-Roman culture, the Bible also has a central theme of honor and shame. This is a topic introduced beautifully in a chapter of Timothy Tennent's book, Theology in the Context of World Christianity (320 pp., $11.99, Zondervan, 2007): In the OT, in the Garden of Eden Adam and Eve feel shame at their disobedience; the Psalmists regularly call on God to shame their enemies (40:14-15; 78:66); God shames pagan deities (e.g. 1 Sam 5:3-4); Zion's future glory is described in the language of honor and shame ("Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame…", Isa 54:5); the shame associated with nakedness (Gen 37:3).

In the Gospels, the dishonest manager is too ashamed to beg; Jesus instructs his disciples not to take places of honor lest they be demoted and suffer shame; etc. Both father and younger son suffer shame in the Prodigal Son and yet the father's forgiveness restores the son's honor. In fact, the wording does not indicate the older son is angered by the father's forgiveness, but because the younger brother is shown honor despite having brought shame on the family. Another passage in which the honor-shame dynamic is central is Jesus' parable of the two sons asked by their father to work in the vineyard, one of whom refused, but then worked anyway. Westerners tend to overlook the tension added by the refusal, which publicly shames the father. In the culture of Jesus' day, it was better not to shame the father, even at the cost of not doing the work.

Paul's letters also show the importance of honor and shame. In 1 Cor, for instance, Paul describes God's use of the foolish things of this world in order to shame the strong. An awareness of this theme sheds light on Col 2:15, which describes how, "At the very hour of Jesus' public shame on the cross, he was actually in the process of shaming his enemies, disarming the powers and authorities and making 'a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.'" Paul reverses the shame of the cross, both in Jesus' life and his followers, declaring that "before God we are actually being 'led in triumphal procession in Christ' (2 Cor 2:14), and what appears to be the 'smell of death' is actually the 'fragrance of life' (2 Cor 2:16)." The NT demonstrates in various places that the resurrection is not just about guilt and innocence. Jesus "endured the cross, scorning its shame and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God" (Heb 12:2). Satan was publicly shamed by Christ when Jesus "disarmed the powers and authorities" and "made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross" (Col 2:15). "Through the resurrection, we who were the bearers of guilt and shame are now declared to be the recipients of justification and honor" (Tennent, 91). The honor-shame dynamic adds a crucial dimension to Christ's public, shameful atoning death: Not only does the crucifixion relieve us of guilt, it removes our shame.

Tennent points out that since the honor-shame perspective of first-century Palestine resonates much more with modern Eastern culture than it does with ours, we are in a position to learn from Christians in Eastern and near-Eastern cultures. I am sure that for many readers of the Bible the honor-shame perspective is old-hat. Kenneth Bailey opened that door for us many years ago. Yet Tennent's chapter does a good job of not only pointing out where these concepts can inform our exegesis but how they influence our theology. I don't typically review books--and I am really just reviewing a single chapter--but I can heartily recommend it. Just the discussion of the influence on the atonement is enough to stimulate thought for a long time.

Just as interesting is Jesus' view of the honor-centricity of his own culture. He condemns the Pharisees for their love of honor (e.g. Lk 11:43). And he tells the parable of the friend at midnight to drive home an attitude of shamelessness (anaideia) in prayer. To embrace Jesus' teaching is not merely to put on the mindset of near-eastern shame and honor, but to think about where our honor ought to come from, and to seek not our own honor, but that of our Lord.

Western culture is certainly a long way from the honor-shame end of the spectrum. Yet, though we don't always think in those terms, these concepts are present and active in our lives. How much pride do you have in your employer, or church or country? The less pride we have in these, the worse we feel about ourselves and the more we are in need of a reminder that Christ's death on the cross takes away our shame, by making us part of a new organization, imbued with the honor of our savior.

Also, in our culture, there is an attrition of status and honor as one moves past middle age into retirement. We shed vocational responsibilities. We are tapped less often to participate at church. Our networks of acquaintances shrink, and with them the honor we associate with our social group. We may not think in terms of honor and shame, but we feel acutely the loss of status and respect, often without a real understanding of why. Many of us will die the death of a thousand tiny insults, leaving us carrying a shame we can't even name.

How important to recognize this aspect of cross. And what truly good news that our honor is in the Lord!

* * *

[1] This introduction follows that used by John H. Elliot in his paper, "Disgraced Yet Graced: 1 Peter in the Key of Honor and Shame," Biblical Theology Bulletin, 24 (1995), 166-178.

Religous mysteries

Tim Crane has written a very insightful essay on the differences between science and religion for the NYT.

Which isn't to say it's right. Let me amend that: Phenomenologically, he's probably right about the appeal of religion to the majority of believers.

One gets the impression he has yet to speak to someone who has made an intelligent case for the historical claims of the faith. It would likely change his view to read N. T. Wright's excellent essay "Can a Scientist Believe in the Resurrection?"

This should be our mission: To model a belief in which faith is based on evidence, and which provides a coherent framework for understanding the body of evidence around us (to adapt a phrase from Deb Haarsma). A faith in which hypotheses are not, as Crane puts it,

...ad hoc, ...arbitrary, [and] ...rarely make predictions and when they do they almost never come true.

We need to model and speak of a faith which does a *better* job of explaining the universe than atheism.

If we fail, we are consigned forever to hear this appalling conclusion: "The religious attitude... does not seek to minimize mystery. Mysteries are accepted as a consequence of what, for the religious, makes the world meaningful."

Paul uses the Greek mysterion to mean something now revealed. Christianity distinguished itself from the mystery religions of its day by eschewing secret knowledge. The Father of Jesus is not the inscrutable God of Islam--He reveals himself in his Son by design, and wants all to know Him and his truth.

The Christian knows there are times when one must simply trust. But the goal of our faith is not eternally blind, ignorant trust, but complete knowledge of the Father (cf. Jn 14, and in fact the theme of knowledge, light and darkness running through Jn).

I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. (Jn 15:15)

In our culture, ironically, this is the secret knowledge--that ours is a faith of reason and truth, not mystery. This is the gospel we must spread: that our belief in Jesus as Lord isn't our accepting or even embracing mystery in order to enjoy what Crane calls the "meaning or significance in things,... the mystery of God’s presence." We are Christians first and foremost because we believe the Gospel is true.

Talk to me about the truth of religion and I'll listen gladly. Talk to me about the duty of religion and I'll listen submissively. But don't come talking to me about the consolations of religion or I shall suspect that you don't understand.

C. S. Lewis

a rose by blah blah blah

I have realized that, since no one reads this blog (sorry! if you are reading this you must not exist), we have a tremendous amount of freedom in what we post.

("We" because I am not the only one who's posted here. Fun Quiz! See if you can find the other contributor!)

And having just posted someone else's humor (but don't miss the serious post that preceded it on science and faith!), I might as well include a quick note certain to stimulate comments among you nonexistent readers.

It's an established psychological phenomenon that people tend to choose professions that match their names, at least when the names have natural associations.

So, for instance, my wife once visited a hand specialist named Dr. Mitten. And my friend the psychology professor says one of the better researchers in his field is Sam Gosling, who does work on animal personalities.

Today I ran across a good one: The plenary speaker at a stewardship conference my sister's attending this summer, The Rev. Bob Honeychurch.

Gotta love it! His fate was sealed. Sad only that he's an Episcalopian rather than a televangelist.

He looks like a pastor, too.

I need to rename my son "Christopher Christian Faithful Collins." Might ensure his continued belief.

What are the best name-profession pairings you've found? Discuss.

[Btw, the photo's not Honeychurch, but rather the Rev. Dudley Tyng.]

We don't usually indulge in humor in this blog. However: The following is from McSweeney's, a quirky, experimental literary web site...

"I Spy" in Hell.

BY ADRIAN CHEN

(First published March 18, 2008)

- - - -

BEAST: I spy with my little eye, something ... red.

FALSE PROPHET: Let's see ... is it the lake of fire and brimstone?

BEAST: Yes.

- - - -

BEAST: I spy with my little eye, something ... red.

FALSE PROPHET: Is it the lake of fire?

BEAST: No.

FALSE PROPHET: Is it my shirt?

BEAST: No.

FALSE PROPHET: Wow, this one's hard.

BEAST: Oh, wait. It actually was the lake of fire.

- - - -

BEAST: I spy with my little eye, something ... red.

FALSE PROPHET: The lake of fire!

BEAST: No.

FALSE PROPHET: The fire in your hair?

BEAST: No.

FALSE PROPHET: The fire burning your eyeballs?

BEAST: No.

FALSE PROPHET: The fire burning my eyeballs?

BEAST: No.

FALSE PROPHET: Jeez, I give up.

BEAST: It's fire.

FALSE PROPHET: Like fire in general?

BEAST: Yeah. Just ... all the fire, everywhere.

FALSE PROPHET: Oh. Good one.

- - - -

BEAST: I spy with my little eye, something ... orange.

FALSE PROPHET: Orange?

BEAST: Yes, orange.

FALSE PROPHET: Is it an orange?

BEAST: No.

FALSE PROPHET: The lake of fire?

BEAST: Close, but no.

FALSE PROPHET: Is it just the orange part of the lake of fire?

BEAST: Yes.

FALSE PROPHET: !!!

The helplessness of discovery

This week I spent several days in California at one of the nation's largest laboratories, home to many of the nation's finest scientists. Among them is Marty, who, despite his youth, is well known in the field as co-author and keeper of a hydrodynamics code which defines the state of the art. While having lunch together the conversation moved to avocations, and I mentioned my love of Bible study. It turns out Marty is a believer (a Catholic), and we had a pleasant chat about the reactions many have to believing scientists.

As Marty put it, he sees his work and his faith as orthogonal--working in different dimensions--so there isn't really a question of one contradicting the other. By this, I think he means in part that the question of his faith doesn't impact his work directly, nor does his scientific work either undermine or support his belief in the God of the Bible.

Variants of this point of view go back as far as Francis Bacon, who lived around the time of Newton and is credited as the father of the philosophy of science. His was the "two-book" theory in which we seek revelation from "both the book of nature" (science) and the "book of God" (the Bible and revelation).

At this, throngs of reasonable intelligent thinkers have nodded sagely. Compromise! What could be better? Sadly, down this road is a trap: During the Enlightenment the two-book view evolved into what has come to be called pejoratively the God of the Gaps--that we look to the book of God only to explain that which the book of nature can't. This has the unfortunate effect of relegating God to living on our islands of ignorance. To this Bonhoeffer responded,

We are to find God in what we know, not in what we don't know; God wants us to realize his presence, not in unsolved problems but in those that are solved.

Rather than being content by science and nature in the same room, not talking, let's consider their commonalities. While there are many differences, there is much to be learned by seeing both as ways to learn about the universe, using different data and different tools. This naturally brings us to epistemology, the study of how we come to learn and know things.

Two of the greatest minds of physics, Newton and Einstein, had much to say about epistemology science. Newton envisioned the scientist as impassively observing the world, gathering data with a blank slate, and from these data objectively deducing natural laws. But even as he put forth this paradigm, Newton was aware that it left out the role of the scientist. Newton may have deduced the laws of motion, but to do so he brought the concepts of space and time. (However, due to the success of his physical theories, no one noticed his reservations about his own epistemology of science.) Kant developed this objection further, arguing strongly that scientific theory can't be separated from the influence of the observer.

Now jump forward to Einstein. He realized, and articulated, that in a real sense, the scientist does not merely deduce physical theory from data. He or she may like to think of it like that, but the practice is very different: When tackling a problem of any substance, a scientist will study the data, and then wait for inspiration to strike. As E. M. Colyer put it, quoting Einstein,

While actively engaged in the process of inquiry, the knower in another sense is, in Einstein’s own words, ‘helpless… until principles he can make the basis of deductive reasoning have revealed themselves to him’ [1]

This is precisely what I have observed in the laboratory where I do research. Imagine a brainstorming session of half a dozen scientists trying to make sense of some data. They toss around ideas, turning them over and examining them, describing them to one another. At some point, all fall silent. Each is mulling, concentrating, hoping and trying to be the one who has the flash of insight which makes sense of the data. If all goes well, one of them does have a problem-solving insight, and the work is done.

Fascinatingly, the person who has the insight typically behaves as if it were the result of hard work, sweat of the brow and so forth--when in fact, just as Einstein observed, the hard work was all in preparing the soil; the actual moment of inspiration was a moment not of deduction but of helpless waiting. And Einstein, who spent years waiting for crucial insights never new to the mind of mankind, knew better than most what that helplessness was like.

Scientific learning--really, all learning--is much better characterized by inspiration than deduction. As Einstein also observed, it is usually after the inspiration that we work backwards to construct a deductive chain supporting our insight, covering our epistemological tracks, so to speak. Psychologists have spent a great deal of time examining this process. They refer to the waiting for inspiration as the "incubation" period, and it's experienced not just by Newtons and Einsteins, but by all people, scientist and non-scientist alike.

There is much more to be said here; these are deep waters. To the scientist it cautions humility. We may fail to realize it, but we are dependent on inspiration rather than brute-force reasoning for the insights we crave.

For the believing non-scientist, there are also lessons. Though we typically recognize the role of inspiration in spirituality, we often short-change the period of immersing ourselves in our subjects. In praying for someone, think long and hard about that person first--and then see what inspiration comes. When studying the Bible, avoid the verse-a-day-for-inspiration method like the plague; incubation follows most reliably when we live in the context and world of the passage. Reformed theologian T. F. Torrance, who developed what he called scientific theology, took this a step further and emphasized reading Scripture within the sweep of the narrative of salvation history. To read the Bible atomistically would be like formulating a scientific theory while only considering some of the facts.

This way of reading Scripture finds itself most at home with Jesus' favorite method of teaching: the parable. Parables step aside from deduction and invite immersion in the story, however long or short. It is in this immersion that we open ourselves most fully to the work of the Holy Spirit.

[1] How to Read T. F. Torrance (IVP: Downers Grove), 2001.
[The cartoon is Copyright 2006 by Sidney Harris.]

Desert Fathers Pt. 1

A Christian History article listing the author's favorite top-five books on desert spirituality pointed towards a really fun two-volume set called Barsanuphius and John of Gaza: Letters. The desert Fathers were monks in the 3rd+ cent. who sought God and holiness through separation from the world and asceticism. Their struggles were against demons, against their own pride, worldliness and temptation. They gained a reputation in part due to the biography of one of their greatest monks, St. Anthony, written by none other than Athanasius, the man whose tireless struggle in the fourth century preserved orthodox belief about the divinity and humanity of Christ.

These are people whose spirituality, completely foreign to Westerners, captures the imagination. A favorite account shared with me by my friend Dean Johnson reads,

Abba Lot came to Abba Joseph and said: Father, according as I am able, I keep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and, according as I am able, I strive to cleanse my heart of thoughts: now what more should I do? The elder rose up in reply and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire. He said: Why not be changed into fire? [1]

Ah. So helpful! Another favorite example is Simeon Stylites, who is famous for living for 39 years on a platform on top of a pillar.

Simeon and Lot both show a characteristic problem with reading the desert fathers: The direction of their spirituality was so foreign to ours that their accomplishments, while at times amazing, tend to feel irrelevant.

Which is why the books of letters from Barsanuphius and John are so interesting. These two were monks in the desert of Gaza in the 6th century. They were regarded as holy men and spiritual authorities, and many people sought advice from them. Their responses are a sort of Frequently Asked Questions list on desert spirituality and asceticism. Here you see more than their cryptic advice and sayings—you get practical advice to an array of every-day questions.

For instance, one young brother asked the "Great Old Man" (as Barsanuphius was called) to guide him in talking to a fellow monk. The monk had asked the young brother about his thoughts, and he had responded in riddles, later wondering if he had acted correctly. The Great Old Man's reply was,

As for questioning in riddles, it is self-serving, lacking in discernment, and this person needs many prayers.

Score one for the riddled monk, and for common sense!

In a response to a monk who is discouraged because he can't stop thinking about sex, and wonders if maybe he just doesn't have what it takes to be a monk, Barsanuphius writes,

We hear that 'our struggle is not against enemies of blood and flesh, but against rulers and against the authorities.' Until now, you have not struggled against sin tot he point of blood. Does the spirit of listlessness, then, already paralyze you? ...Ah, sleepy monk! Show the devil that you live for God, taking refuge in him, moving with hands and feet, swimming in the onslaught of the intellectual waves, which rise to the heavens and drop to the abyss. God is my witness, that my heart has been unfolded with you...

The compassion in this response is palpable. It also shows the spiritual context in which these monks lived: If you strip away the trappings of life--books, clothes, job advancement, (probably) good food, home--then maybe it makes it all the easier to see the demonic beings which resist our drawing nearer to God. Another letter to Barsanuphius has the request, "Please teach me how to reach abstinence [from food] and how to distinguish between natural and demonic weakness." He replies,

...if your body can accept daily food and is still slack, then this comes from demons; otherwise it is from the [fasting] itself.

Again, practical! (Though I might add "depressed about living in the desert" or even "common cold" to the list of possible explanations.) While I am not ready quite yet to yield to such a demon-crowded world view, I am open to the idea that the desert fathers knew something I don't about the spiritual world, and that their very different perspective allowed them to see things invisible to me.

From a Western perspective we wonder why they would pursue asceticism, and give up God's good gifts? Why they would separate themselves from the world, and thus cut themselves off from all the good they can do, the witness they can provide. Why they would spend so much energy scrutinizing each thought and emotion, when sometimes it's better to serve than to think. Why spend so much time looking for demons, rather than Jesus?

For their part they would ask us, Why are we holding so tightly to our worldly goods and pursuits, and trying to climb through the needle's eye? Doesn't it say in 1 Jn 2:15, "Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him"? And didn't Paul tell us to "take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ" (2 Cor 10:15)? And didn't he also tell us that "our struggle is not against flesh and blood" (Eph 6:15)?

It helps me remember than two hundred years from now, my career, my house, my accomplishments, will be forgotten, and to admire the courage it must have taken for them to give away all of these things to draw closer to Jesus.

My reading has also taken me into perhaps one enduring gift of the desert communities, the Jesus Prayer. Frederica Matthewes-Green has written a brief and highly accessible introduction to the Prayer half of which is a list of frequently asked questions. What better way to connect with the desert fathers than with this ancient meditation? 'Tis the season.

And now, it's time for me to discern whether my hunger and slackness are due to demons, or impending lunchtime...

* * *

[Image: Michelangelo's The Torment of Saint Anthony, c. 1487-88.]
[1] The Wisdom of the Desert: Sayings from the Desert Fathers of the Fourth Century, Thomas Merton, New Directions Books, Norfolk, CT, 1960, p. 50.