The Magic of Good Friday

It was sunny when you first joined the line in the Outer Court, but you've finally made it inside the temple just as it clouded over.  The crowds, the noise, the heat, dodging the endless processions of criminals going to Golgotha has made for a very long day. You've come to offer your sacrifice to the priest, and on the far side of the room you see The Curtain. The curtain is there for your benefit, it shields you from the holiness of your God who lives on the other side - the God who has chosen you and your people, set you apart, protected you, guided you, provided for your every need. The God who will one day set you free, vindicating you before all nations, and declaring you righteous. Then ... a vibration, ever so slight at first, felt only in the soles of your feet. It continues to strengthen until you need to reach out for something, anything, to maintain your balance. The noise builds with it. The sound of falling stones offends your ears. Panic sets in. Then you hear it: A sound you can't quite place. It starts off softly, quickly intensifying, until your sure it's going to violate your very soul. It's close.

Very close.

You first catch sight of it out of the corner of your eye. The Curtain. The curtain is torn wide open - from top to bottom. Instinctively you look away. You've been told your whole life that if you could see behind the curtain you'd be blinded, if not killed. But you can't help yourself. You steal a quick look, hoping it's fast enough you don't get caught. Before you know it you're on your knees in debilitating disbelief, and your stomach is trying to leave your body through your mouth. What you see behind the curtain is ... nothing: No searing light, no chorus of angels, no heavenly presence on a throne - nothing but a slightly raised section of floor and an incense burner. Like a magician pulls the curtain aside to reveal the empty box where his beautiful assistant once stood, your god is gone.

Or was he ever there?

The traditional explanation for the curtain tearing says it's God's way of showing there's no longer any separation between God and man; we are free to approach God without a mediator. But Peter Rollins and Jay Bakker have another take. Jay explains it like this. What if the point of tearing the curtain in two was to expose the fact that there's nothing there, and never was: that any illusion we've created about God is just that - an illusion. Once faced with the fallacy of this god, the question then becomes, which god are we going to believe in. Maybe destroying the curtain was to show the god of the good parking space, the miraculous healing, the lid for every pot, the hedge of protection - the god we've so carefully created in our image - doesn't exist. But the God of self sacrificing love does. He's the one hanging on the cross.

He's the one to follow.

Denying the Resurrection

"...we were having an argument about the resurrection, whether or not it had happened and whether or not it could be proved. One of my friends shared the story of how she had asked a liberal bishop if he actually believed in the resurrection. "Believe it?" he answered incredulously. "I've seen it too many times not to!"

This story comes from Diana Butler Bass' most recent book, "Christianity After Religion". She goes on from there to explain how we often get tied up in arguments about what we believe about the resurrection, and end up completely missing the more important question of "Do you trust in the resurrection?" What does she mean by that?

The cross is the most recognizable icon of Christianity. It wasn't always that way, but it is now. We see it in our churches, we wear it around our necks, we get it tattooed on various parts of our body, we put it on our bumpers - it's everywhere. Despite the many artistic variations of the cross, they can all be broken down into 2 basic forms: one depicting Christ on the cross, and one where the cross is empty. It seems protestants prefer the empty cross, while Roman Catholics and Orthodox prefer the the one with Christ on it - and each has their reasons for their preference. One emphasizes the death of Christ and Good Friday, while the other emphasizes the resurrection and therefore Easter Sunday. But I think this emphasis, as subtle as it is, is a mistake. It is a form of dualism, where we choose one over the other, when we should be embracing both equally.

Jesus came proclaiming the Kingdom of God, and showing us what that meant. He turned the rules of the day upside down with self sacrificing love. And when they nailed him to the cross for it, God vindicated him by raising him from the dead - in effect saying "See, I was right". Jesus on the cross shows us how much we are to love our neighbour, while the empty cross confirms that it's the right way to live.When the bishop says he has seen the resurrection too many times not to believe it, he is saying that he has seen people who's belief in the way of Jesus is so strong that they are willing go beyond normal forms of sacrificial love; that they are willing to embrace the radical, self sacrificing life of Christ. And when they believe in this way, their lives are raised from the death and decay of self destruction and emptiness to something beautiful and transformative.

The empty cross is the reason we believe, while Christ on the cross is how we live in response to that belief.

When Peter Rollins is asked if he believes in the resurrection, he answers "No". Then he goes on to explain that whenever he thinks a bad thought about someone, or whenever he fails to help a person in need, or whenever he acts in a selfish way - when he doesn't go the extra mile, or treat his neighbour as himself - he denies the resurrection. He is in effect saying, "I don't really believe in the resurrection, because if I did, I wouldn't do these things".

Do you believe in the resurrection? Do I?

Hard Choices

Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But my kingdom is not from the world.”

(John 18:36 ESV)

The other day a group of us were watching a sermon by Bruxy Cavey, the pastor of The Meeting House. The sermon was about the meaning of Jesus' death. Commenting on Jesus' statement to Pilate that his kingdom was not of this world, Bruxy made the point that Christians don't fight, they bring peace. That we need to move towards hostility, not to propagate it, but to be peace makers.

During our discussion about the sermon, someone asked how war fit into this philosophy of not fighting. This is an interesting question, although a bit theoretical at this time, at least for Canadians.

I think the important thing is not to get sidetracked with massive theoretical questions like this, but to ask ourselves how we are going to embody this concept in our lives today. How are we going to take personal responsibility for being agents of peace and reconciliation as demanded by being kingdom people within the sphere of influence we have today? Hopefully, if we are practicing this way of being in our daily lives, if the big question ever does happen, we will have learned enough by that time, that we will be able to respond as God would want us to - whatever that is.

As far as the big question goes, I don't know if there is a right answer. I suspect it might be akin to what Frederick Buechner says in regards to abortion: realizing that the decision to abort, or not to abort, doesn't always have a right answer, Buechner says that no matter what one decides, the important thing to remember is that one is never beyond the forgiveness of God. If war were to break out again, similar to WWII, I suspect that both those who would choose to fight, and those who would choose not to fight, would have to depend on that forgiveness.

Thank God!

Predestination and Old Souls

Predestination: the idea that some people are somehow chosen to be children of God while others aren't, has been debated and argued for centuries. What if this is yet another example of something the church has profoundly misunderstood? What if people on both sides of the argument have missed the point completely?

The other night there were several people at our house. I was in the kitchen doing something and the rest were in the living room just chatting when suddenly everyone burst out in laughter. This is not an unusual
thing with this particular group, but when I came in, my wife explained to me that one of our members - who is more concerned with social justice than the rest of us - shared the fact that when she was younger, she thought that she wanted to marry a black guy to show that there was nothing wrong with that sort of thing. In and of itself there is nothing funny about this, but the reason it was so funny to everyone else is because it is totally in keeping with her personality, and that even at a very young age it was evident.

I didn't really think much about this until a couple of days later when I was trying to work through some other perplexing scenarios in the bible, and my mind wandered to predestination. Somehow my mind tied

The Complicity of the Church

You have probably heard it said that Satan's greatest trick is convincing people that he doesn't exist. But I wonder if he hasn't pulled an even faster one. One that actually gets some people into heaven, while keeping the majority out. One that has permeated the entire Church, and is so ingrained into Christianity, that very few people would even think of questioning it. Think about it: At least some people will question the existence of Satan, but very, very few Christians will question what actually drove them into heaven.