Category: Theology

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Thoughts on Providence and Hell

By Jim Spiegel

I hold to a high view of providence—what is sometimes called the “Augustinian” perspective.  This is essentially the view that God actively governs the entire cosmos, including human beings.  The Augustinian view jives well with the Calvinist doctrine of salvation, which I also espouse, but it is much broader than this, affirming that everything that happens in history is somehow part of the divine plan.  The Augustinian view of providence is strongly affirmed in the Westminster Confession of Faith, which declares that God ordains all things that come to pass.

This is a hard teaching, and frankly I can see why many Christians reject it.  The two principal objections to the Augustinian view appeal to human freedom and the problem of evil.  And between these two, the latter seems to me to be the stronger objection by far.  How could God ordain such terrible evils as the Holocaust or that a small child should suffer from a brain tumor?  Good questions indeed, and I certainly feel their force.

My wife, Amy, is also an Augustinian when it comes to providence.  (I distinctly recall when I first learned that this was her view.  It was early in our dating relationship, and this revelation, combined with her usual thoughtful articulation of her perspective, floored me.  Like so many other issues, she arrived at the same conclusion as I, but via a more intuitive path than my more logical-theoretical approach.  This was probably the clincher for me—when I knew I was falling for her.  Or was it when she turned me on to the band Cake?  Hmm…  Anyway, I digress.)  Recently, Amy had a long discussion with a friend about providence, and naturally, her friend posed the objection from evil, specifically challenging Amy to explain why God would allow a little child to have cancer.  Amy responded by noting that God does everything he does for greater goods, such as to glorify himself and bless others.  And sometimes this involves or even requires intense suffering.  And if God can bring greater goods through the crucifixion of Jesus, which is the worst evil in history, then why can’t he bring greater goods through lesser, though still horrific, evils, such as cancer?  Amy’s friend was not convinced, and they went on to discuss other things.

Later, when recounting their conversation, Amy noted how this same friend of hers affirms the traditional view of hell, known as the doctrine of “eternal conscious torment.”  This is the view that those who are condemned to hell suffer eternally.  Not only are the pains of hell unspeakably intense, but they last forever, according to this view.  One of the many reasons that Amy and I reject this doctrine (in addition to the fact that it is not biblical) is that such endless suffering constitutes infiniteevil for which there is no redemption or sufficiently greater good.  (Traditionalists, of course, argue that the greater good is that it demonstrates the justice of God.  But how can infinite punishment for finite sins be just?  In case you were wondering, we affirm “conditional immortalism,” the view that the damned are eventually annihilated in hell and that only those in Christ live eternally.)  Ironically, many of these traditionalists who believe God tortures the damned forever in hell are the same people who reject the high view of providence because it implicates God in our finite suffering here on Earth.  As Amy put it, some people can’t accept a God who allows cancer but they glibly confess that he allows infinite suffering in hell. 

I suppose part of the explanation for this inconsistency lies in the fact that all (or most) of us have known cancer victims and have witnessed its awful ravages.  None of us, however, have personally witnessed the horrors of hell.  So, in the end, the problem is that of an existential gap.  It’s easier to understand or appreciate what one has experienced than what one has not experienced.  And it often takes tremendous effort to close this gap.  When it comes to comparing the sufferings of the damned and suffering in this life, I suppose that gap could never truly be closed.  We just can’t imagine the pains of hell, while the suffering we witness here among friends and family is all too real and, at times, overwhelming.  But we can always do better to put these things into proper perspective, and if we do so, I believe it will help us to better formulate our views on the doctrines of providence and hell, among other issues.

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Lagidorp’s Playbook

By Jim Spiegel

There once was a football player named Lagidorp who deeply loved his team’s playbook.  He not only studied it diligently but encouraged his teammates to do the same.  Lagidorp—or “Lag,” as he came to be called—was a running back, and his many duties included blocking and short receiving routes as well as carrying the ball.  His first year with the team, Lag worked enthusiastically to fulfill his responsibilities.  But during his second year, the difficulty of some aspects of his job began to get to him.  While he loved carrying the ball, he found route running to be tiresome and blocking for the quarterback to be downright unpleasant.  “Why should I be stuck with picking up defenders that get past our offensive line?” he thought to himself.  “I’m a running back, not a blocker.”  Soon Lag found that some of his teammates had misgivings of their own about the duties laid out for them in the playbook.  And they would sometimes share their criticisms with one another.  So Lag’s love for the playbook waned, as did his respect for Coach, who devised the playbook.  Whereas earlier in his career Lag could trust Coach about the demands the playbook placed on him, now he found it very difficult to do so.

Eventually, Lag decided to ignore or de-emphasize some of the more demanding or “unreasonable” plays—those which required him to block for the quarterback.  “This is just too ‘old school,'” he would say.  “Today everyone should know that running backs shouldn’t have to block huge defensive lineman.”  Predictably, however, Lag’s approach resulted in some quarterback sacks, including one that cost his team a game and another that injured the quarterback.  Naturally, several teammates and assistant coaches chided Lag for his poor play.  While he  publicly acknowledged his mistakes, Lag privately resented their “arrogance” in correcting him.

As time went on, Lag found others outside the organization who shared his resentment toward his coaching staff, teammates, and especially Coach, for their unreasonable expectations.  Lag would often consider ways the playbook could be improved and how, if he were Coach, he would do things very differently.  By the end of his fourth year Lag had had enough, and he quit the team.  The last straw came when several teammates confronted him about his refusal to “play by the book.”  “You guys are part of the problem,” he told them.  “If you want to blame me for thinking for myself, then so be it.”

So Lagidorp joined another team—a team in a different kind of league where players wrote their own playbooks.  By some strange coincidence, though, all of the players’ playbooks ended up looking very much the same in this league—with very few responsibilities for helping teammates and where most plays emphasized “doing what comes naturally on the field.”  However, while the players claimed to enjoy this freedom, they did not improve as players but deteriorated in their skills.  Nor did they work well as teammates—if you could call them such—especially since they had no Coach.

There were also many more injuries in this alternative league.  This did not bother Lag much at first, but as the casualties mounted, he began to recognize that something was wrong.  Still he continued to play for his new team—until he had an injury of his own.  In the middle of his second season on the new team, Lag blew out his knee.  The injury called for reconstructive surgery, which meant a long rehabilitation.  During this time away from the game, Lag reflected on the previous five years.  He realized how foolish he had been in questioning his Coach and the playbook.  He also saw how unfair he had been to his teammates who, for all their flaws, were really doing the right thing in admonishing him. 

So as Lag did his rehab he resolved to return to his original team.  He contacted one of his former teammates, who was thrilled to hear this.  Eventually, Lag humbly approached Coach, apologizing for his irresponsible behavior and asking if he could try out for the team again.  “I was very foolish in the way I behaved,” he said.  “I’m ready to be a good teammate and play by the book.  In fact, at this point, I think I’d rather be a water boy than play in that other league.”  Coach forgave him, saying “We’d love to have you back on the team, assuming you really are ready to do all of the work.  It’s too bad it took an injury to get you to see the light.  But, in the end, you’ll probably be better for it.”

So Lagidorp tried out for his former team and made it back on the roster.  This time he didn’t seek the limelight, but he played a crucial role on the team and was especially pleased to block for his quarterback.  “Anything to help the team,” he would often say—and not just in public but even privately to himself.

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Sour Grapes and the Art of Forgiveness

By Amy Spiegel

Being a parent tends to bring out some rather unpleasant sides of one’s character that perhaps would be better left unseen, hidden beneath the slimy underbelly of one’s stone heart. It certainly would be easier for one’s self-esteem. It is surprising, too, the creative ways the human heart can find to be wicked. Most moms will confess to the occupational hazards of impatience, curtness and fits of annoyance but I have been gifted with an artistic flare for sinful behavior that goes far beyond the run of the mill “Oh dear, I raised my voice at dear Suzy.” Though this genius for immorality comes in all shapes and sizes, I have lately been contemplating the grudging way I forgive my children.

Given the offenses for which my kids must beg pardon, it might seem strange, perhaps even absurd to say that I often accept their apologies with great reluctance. Of course, I know that no justification is possible for denying them absolution but still I will attempt to do so and disguise it as explanation rather than excuse. (I told you I was wily.)

In the first place, I am rarely convinced that they actually mean it when they say they are sorry. Sure, they want Mommy to stop being upset or angry, but it isn’t as if they have taken a great deal of time to contemplate the wrongness of their actions. They could sit in timeout from here to eternity and still not understand the heart-sinking feeling I get when I hear the crash of toys on hardwood coming from the room I just straightened or the maddening paranoia I live in daily knowing they are hiding around every corner in order to scare Mommy out of her mind and then laugh at my fright. How can they know all the little sacrifices made on their behalf that go overlooked and underappreciated?

So when they offer up a pitiful attempt of an apology, the serpent in my heart rears its triangular head (that means it’s poisonous or so says Animal Planet). It hisses in my ear that I am not holding a grudge; I only want what is fair and just. I want them to fully appreciate the gravity of the situation and then I will happily forgive. But that other voice, if I choose to listen, will fill my ear with quite another point of view. It knows that I don’t really want to forgive. In fact, it knows that I swill my anger and resentment around like fine wine, savoring the taste and pleasure it gives me. (I’m not much of a wine girl, actually, but give me a Ghirardelli square and I hold it there from now till the cows come home). There is something intoxicating about the power you have in the moment when someone asks for pardon, when they stand humbled before you. But left too long and that feeling of power can quickly become more of a case of sour grapes than fermented bliss. My unwillingness to forgive reflects more my ungrateful heart than the grievous nature of their crime.

There are many stories in the Bible which make me shake my head in disbelief; those stubborn Israelites wandering around the desert, missing the point time and time again; the Prophet Elijah, boldly confronting the false prophets of Baal one minute and running for his life the next. But one that gets me every time is the story of the unmerciful servant (Matthew 18:23-35). What a jerk! Forgiven so much and yet so unwilling to forgive. I never get too far into my tirade against this poor fictional character before realizing, of course, that I am this man; that I have indeed been forgiven much and that I too am all to willing to hold a grudge tightly in the grip of my sweaty hand. But I must take heart for unlike the servant in the story who is thrown into prison to be tortured until the debt can be paid, I have been forgiven even of my unforgiveness. It isn’t God, my judge, who throws me in jail to rot. He has set me free, purchased my freedom at great cost to Himself and my deliverer Jesus Christ. No, I am the one that holds tight the bars and refuses to let go. “Forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matthew 6:12). I have always interpreted that verse to mean that God will forgive us in the same way we forgive other people. But that thought is a bit unsettling, isn’t it? If I can’t forgive my five-year-old when she steps on my foot, where does that leave me with regard to God’s account books. But I think that is missing the point. I comprehend my own forgiveness as I forgive others. My willingness to pardon is a reflection of the depth of my understanding of what has been done for me. And so I must choose to swallow my grievances or spit them out altogether. Then I will be free to imbibe the much sweeter wine of God’s grace.

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An Atheist’s Defense of Christian Missions

By Jim Spiegel

Want to check out something amazing?  How about an atheist who extols the benefits of Christian evangelism?  Think I’m kidding?  Read this London Times article.

Here’s an excerpt from Matthew Parris’s fascinating confession:  “Now a confirmed atheist, I’ve become convinced of the enormous contribution that Christian evangelism makes in Africa: sharply distinct from the work of secular NGOs, government projects and international aid efforts. These alone will not do. Education and training alone will not do. In Africa Christianity changes people’s hearts. It brings a spiritual transformation. The rebirth is real. The change is good.”  Parris goes on to note that “Faith does more than support the missionary; it is also transferred to his flock. This is the effect that matters so immensely, and which I cannot help observing.”

How refreshing to see such an even-handed appraisal of the salutary effects of the Christian worldview.  At a time when the “new atheists” are making millions publishing books which demonize the faith, this is a much-needed corrective.  But this piece also raises some interesting questions.  If you’re like me, you found yourself wondering how Parris could persist in his atheism, given his obvious recognition of the power of the gospel.  After all, he admits the reality of “spiritual transformation.”  The rebirth, he grants, “is real.”  So what gives here?  My guess is that Parris regards the change in converts to be entirely moral in nature.  The transformation  and rebirth, he might tell us, are just shorthand ways of describing a shift in ethics.  Yes, these new Christians fervently believe in God—about which they are deluded—but the critical fact is that their behavior and motivations change with conversion.  And, given the positive cultural impact of this, that’s all that really matters.

If this is Parris’s analysis, then it begs an obvious question:  How could such a fundamental delusion be so practically beneficial, producing so much personal and social renewal?  Not an easy question to answer.  This is why Parris’s position is an unstable one.  I suspect he will eventually come to grips with the reality of God or else change his tune about the public benefits of Christianity.  In any case, he should be commended for his candor and courage.

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Ten Lessons from Great Christian Minds

By Jim Spiegel

Recently, I was invited to give a “last sermon,” as is a popular trend these days.  At first I pondered various topics that are dear to me.  Then I considered how I would want to be sure my words lived on after me.  I realized there was no better way to ensure this than by echoing the words of those whose profound teachings have already proven the test of time and/or rigorous scrutiny. 

Also, in the rabbinic tradition, I thought it appropriate to use a method that would be given to easy memorization.  So I decided to exploit that most revered method of the top ten list.  In addition to being an outline of my hypothetical “last sermon,” I intend this to be a handy reference for those of you who are now putting together your summer reading list. 

So here we go—profound lessons from ten great Christian minds.  All of these lessons are practical, but some are more personal than others.  I will begin with the more public and civic themes and drive to those which are moral and personal.  Also, I tried to order these chronologically, but couldn’t quite pull that off.  Still, with a few exceptions, they do go in chronological order.

Lesson #1—Augustine (5th century):  Remember that you are a citizen of another kingdom.  Augustine is the greatest theologian of the first millennium of the Christian era, and his ideas have shaped the thoughts of every Christian since, to one degree or another.  In his magnum opus, The City of God, Augustine notes that there are two great cities:  the earthly city—a perishing, imperfect order, with human rulers, typified by the Roman Empire—and the heavenly city, an imperishable, perfect order where God rules.  These cities are distinguished by their loves, respectively of self and of God.  When the two come into conflict, remember where your ultimate citizenship lies.

Lesson #2—Martin Luther (16th century):  Expect politicians to be corrupt.  Have you ever wondered why politicians tend to be so corrupt?  Have you ever considered why God allows this to happen—why he permits such smarmy people as the former Illinois governor, Rod Blagojevich, to get into power?  Luther gives a simple and strangely encouraging answer:  It is because our leaders reflect us.  As a people, frankly, we don’t deserve any better.  In fact, having corrupt leaders keeps us humble and reminds us of the heavenly city of which we are citizens first.  As Luther puts it in his powerful little essay “On Secular Authority,” “Frogs must have their storks.”  Keep this in mind, and you’ll be wiser without becoming cynical.  You’ll be wiser because you won’t be gullible, and you won’t be cynical because you’ll know that God does occasionally bless us with some morally decent public leaders, though they may be rare.

Lesson #3—Thomas Aquinas (13th century):  God has made himself known in nature.  Aquinas was a Dominican priest who has been more influential than perhaps any other Christian theologian.  In his massive Summa Theologica he emphasized the fact that while scripture gives us a wealth of theological knowledge, nature and experience also provide knowledge of God, which Aquinas calls “natural theology.”  This is crucial because:  1) it reminds us that no one has an excuse not to believe in God (as Paul explains the first chapter of Romans) and 2) it inspires us to learn about God in all that we study, not just scripture.  Science, history, psychology, math, and every other subject teach us about God.  In fact, this idea is the inspiration of the concept of a liberal arts college, like the one where I teach.

Lesson #4—John Calvin (16th century):  God is sovereign over all, including our suffering.  Calvin was not only a great Church Reformer, but he wrote the only systematic theology to come out of the Protestant Reformation:  The Institutes of the Christian Religion. The lesson of God’s sovereignty is far from being uniquely Calvinist, since it was emphasized by Augustine and Luther and many other great Christian theologians.  But for various reasons it is most commonly associated with Calvin, perhaps partly because he articulated this point as clearly and eloquently as anyone.  In any case, it is a teaching plainly taught in Scripture, most clearly in such passages as Psalm 139, James 1:2-4, and Romans 8:28.

Lesson #5—Jonathan Edwards (18th century):  God is beautiful, and all beauty is divine.  The fine historian Mark Noll—who spoke here at Taylor last week—has called Jonathan Edwards the “greatest evangelical mind.”  If that isn’t an incentive to study this man’s brilliant work, then nothing is.  Like Augustine, Luther, and Calvin, Edwards emphasized the sovereignty of God.  Everything God does, he does for his own glory.  This is, in fact, the point of history and the point of your life and mine:  the glory of God.  But Edwards recognized that the concept of glory is essentially an aesthetic concept.  It falls within the category of beauty.  So what this world is all about is showing the beauty of God.  And all of our longing for beauty—whether in the form of art, good music, good films, poetry, or the beauty of other people—is really an aspect of our longing for the One who is beauty itself.  And all of the finitely beautiful things we experience are so many expressions of God’s beauty.

Lesson #6—Thomas a’Kempis (15th century):  Practice self-denial with a passion.  Born in Prussia in 1380 to a peasant family, Thomas entered a monastery in the Netherlands at age 20.  As a monk he penned the great classic Of the Imitation of Christ, which has been translated into more languages than any other book except the Bible.  The theme of the book regards how to faithfully follow Christ, but more specifically it is focused on humility and self-denial, the defining characteristics of Christ, as we learn in Philippians 2:5-11, where Paul tells us to imitate Christ in being a radical servant.  If even the God-man refused to lay claim to his rights, then what does this say about the approach we should take?  a’Kempis unpacks this theme in profound ways that will transform your life if you put them into practice.

Lesson #7—John Wesley (18th century):  Be disciplined and make the best use of your time.  Wesley was the founder of the Methodist church and very much a social activist, known as much for his organizational and motivational skills as for his Christian preaching.  Wesley worked especially hard on two major social justice issues of his day:  prison reform and the abolition of slavery.  He also devoted himself diligently to the spiritual disciplines and the pursuit of holiness and personal sanctification.  Wesley was never idle but worked constantly.  Early on in his life he resolved to live on a certain modest amount of money, and despite the huge increases in his personal income, he died with few possessions, having given away his wealth to people in need.

Lesson #8—Fyodor Dostoevsky (19th century):  God’s grace can reach anyone.  Dostoevsky was a Russian novelist who is sometimes regarded as the greatest writer next to Shakespeare.  His insight into human nature is profound, and this, combined with his Christian sensibility, make reading him immensely profitable.  Dostoevsky nearly didn’t survive to have a long writing career.  When he was in his twenties he was arrested for being part of an insurrection and sentenced to death, but the death sentence was revoked and he was sent to a prison camp instead—an experience which had a lasting impact on his life and thought.  In his classic novel Crime and Punishment, Dostoevsky paints the portrait of a young man, Raskolnikov, who dares to challenge the concept of moral law through murder.  As Raskolnikov is consumed by guilt, so is the reader.  But the reader also vicariously participates in the severe divine grace that finds this seemingly hopeless man.  Nowhere else in the history of literature is there a more compelling picture of Christian redemption.

Lesson #9—Dietrich Bonhoeffer (20th century):  Beware of cheap grace.  Bonhoeffer was another Christian thinker who took part in an insurrection (a plot to kill Adolf Hitler).  Bonhoeffer, too, was sentenced to death.  In this case, however, the death sentence was not revoked and he was hung with his conspirators just prior to the end of World War II.  Fortunately, however, Bonhoeffer had already completed many great works of theology, including his classic book The Cost of Discipleship.  This work contains profound insights into the importance of self-denial and suffering for the Christian, thus echoing the same emphasis in Augustine, a’Kempis, Calvin, and Edwards.  Bonhoeffer distinguishes between cheap grace (preaching forgiveness without repentance) and costly grace (which is premised upon repentance).  There is no such thing as cheap grace, Bonhoeffer reminds us.  Jesus tells us to take up our cross and turn from sin.  If we don’t do so, then we are not truly under grace.

Lesson #10—Alvin Plantinga (21st century):  Moral virtue is crucial for intellectual health.  Plantinga is one of the premier Christian thinkers of the last generation.  At a time when theists were retreating in the philosophical community, he had the temerity to suggest that belief in God is not only reasonable but is in fact a proper starting placefor knowledge.  This was, of course, axiomatic for the Reformers, but Plantinga made a persuasive philosophical case for the idea.  In light of this insight, he has developed a rich Christian psychology (especially in his Warranted Christian Belief), complete with an arresting account of how sin corrupts cognition and how, correlatively, right living is crucial for the proper function of our cognitive faculties.  Virtue, as it turns out, is as important for the mind as the mind is for the life of virtue.

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Babysitter Blues: A Lesson in Unconditional Love

By Amy Spiegel

As summer approaches, the days lengthen, the temperatures warm, and a vague dread settles into the pit of my stomach. No, it isn’t that I am against sunshine, capri pants or backyard barbeques. Summer is, in many ways, my favorite season. As a homeschooler, I look forward to the days of just being mom, of nagging my kids to hang their swimsuits to dry rather than nagging them to finish their math homework. My kids and I camp out on the beach of a Taylor Lake and bask in our laziness. But as we while away the afternoon, a dark cloud is on the horizon. The feeling of impending doom grows more pronounced as the week draws to an end. Wednesday afternoon rolls into Thursday evening and I officially panic. The weekend is looming and my husband and I are without a babysitter.

For nine months out of the year, we live in a veritable childcare paradise, as Jim’s students provide us with scores of potential babysitters. I am always amazed at not only their willingness to exchange a Friday night with friends for interminable games of Monopoly and hours of Tom and Jerry but also the cheerfulness with which they submit to their fate. I sometimes feel ashamed at the relief with which I walk through door, practically sprinting to the car only to look back at some sweet young woman who seems perfectly happy to have four kids simultaneously begging for her attention. I love my kids—I wouldn’t know how to face life without them—but let’s face it, we all have our limits. Limited amounts of patience. Limited amounts of attention. Limited amounts of tolerance for noise. But I find myself thinking, is there something wrong with me that I long to escape their presence, if just for a few hours? And why does the babysitter look so at ease? Goodness knows it’s not the money. Sometimes my kids decide to pour salt into the wound of my guilt by begging me not to leave, crying in outrage that I would dare to leave them even for one night. Fortunately, I have caught on to this manipulation. Once my daughter, Maggie, seemed on the verge of swooning from despair as Jim and I left. I had promised the kids a special video, so we drove the few blocks to the library and returned with the promised film. Not wanting to be spotted, I snuck onto the porch in order to deposit the DVD in the mailbox and make a run for it. I happened to look in the window to see Maggie in the throes of a giggle fit. So much for swooning.

Too often I think that despite my overwhelming desire to get time away with my husband, it is I who has the hard time leaving the kids with a sitter. It isn’t that I fear for their safety or well-being. Jim’s students are always highly qualified and trustworthy. We usually return to a quiet house with the only sound being the dishwasher running and soft snoring emanating from the bunk beds. What I find difficult is the idea of the kids being happy with someone else taking care of them, someone who is more fun and energetic than I am. Someone who makes crafts and let’s them have a big brownie even if they don’t finish all their green beans. I am not really jealous of the affection they have for Miss Babysitter. However, the realization that my kids love me just because I am their mom and not because I am amusing or even nice some of the time is rather humbling. I certainly want my kids to love me, but I must confess to wishing sometimes it was a little less unconditional and a little more works-based. I want to be deserving of their seemingly blind devotion.

It’s a bit like our relationship with God. He doesn’t love us because of anything we do to merit His devotion. He loves us because we are family, for better or worse. The difference, of course, is that our kids don’t choose us and have no say in the matter of who they get as parents. God as our Father, chooses us to be in relationship with Him and the work is all His. Though it should be a comfort to know that my connections with my kids and with my Heavenly Father aren’t contingent on my earning their love, it is certainly a blow to pride. I suppose this is one of those instances when it is my kids and not I leading the way. In their unconditional acceptance of me, I see a glimpse of the eternal. Settling back into my sandy lawn chair, I take a long sip of Diet Coke, relax and let the dread recede. Maybe we don’t need a babysitter tonight after all.

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Declarations of Independence from the Self-checkout Lane

By Amy Spiegel

I have a new favorite grocery store experience. It used to be the video carts where for a dollar you can have a noise-free cruise through the aisles while your children slowly grow less intelligent watching mindless programming in the cart below. (I only did this once. Okay, twice but it was late at night and I was taking pity on the kids…and myself. And the second time doesn’t really count because Maggie kept a running commentary going on the show, poking her head out every few minutes to let me know what was happening now, thus negating the noise-free aspect.) But the video carts pale in comparison with my new passion for the self-checkout lane. 

There is something very existential about the process of ringing up your own groceries, while paid professionals laugh at your inability to get the bar code to scan. Does it get more American than this? We pay ridiculous amounts of money in order to “work” out, simulating actual physical labor rather than performing similar, calorie-burning tasks at home. We flock to restaurants serving “home-style” cooking rather than actually cooking at home. So why shouldn’t we pay for the privilege of figuring out how much money we owe the grocery store? Despite the obvious absurdity of the whole process, I can’t help myself. As soon as I begin to head for the front of the store, I hear that lane of self-determination calling my name, like the sirens calling Odysseus to his doom. I love escaping the judgment of some pimply faced high-schooler with regard to how many packages of Reese’s cups make their way into my cart. I love going at my own pace, organizing all my purchases by category without the weighty stare of the people behind me, urging me to mix my canned goods with my dairy. I love the feeling of accomplishment and independence the power of the self-checkout lane brings. 

And isn’t that the draw for us all? Why do we pay someone to torture us with free weights and cardio rather than pull weeds and chase our kids around the yard? Because the one we do by our own free-will and the other is compulsory. Why do we pay inflated prices for mediocre food when we could make something tastier, cheaper and healthier at home? Because eating out is a “privilege” and making dinner is a chore (and you don’t have to do the dishes, which is pretty big, but nevertheless). And why do I choose to add twenty minutes to my grocery shopping trip rather than have someone more qualified and efficient ring up and bag my groceries? Because I want to do it myself, thank you very much. 

It would be funny, if it weren’t so tragic. In our attempt to have everything on our own terms, the only person we really cheat is ourselves. I want to follow the example of Christ, living a life pleasing to God. So what do I do? In arrogance and pride, I pull myself up by my own spiritual boot-straps (which are neither sturdy nor dependable) and attempt it on my own. What I am called to is a life of submission and humility but somehow, my perverse human nature can even distort that into an unrecognizable life of self-reliance and failure. I think I am failing when I lack the fortitude to live up to His standards but in truth my failure came long before, in my lack of trust in the life, death and resurrection of my Savior. I want to gather my supplies, count the cost and pay what I owe when in fact, I don’t know what I need or how much it is worth or have anything worthy to give in return. So while this doesn’t mean I am giving up my independence with regards to grocery shopping, I am making an effort (through the grace of the Holy Spirit) to relax my hold on this stroll through the mall called life. It certainly seems appropriate to the season of Lent, when Jesus prepared to relax His hold on life itself for my sake and for yours. Who better to entrust ourselves to than the One who considered His duty a privilege and obedience an honor? Maybe we will find the same joy He found in the sorrow of humility.

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Heaven Can’t Wait

By Amy Spiegel

Whenever I go on Amazon.com, which is sadly at least two or three times a day, I feel the full weight of the finiteness of our time on earth. Along with having a thing about food, I also love books, which translates into an obsession over my Wish List almost as much as my Netflix queue. I love browsing for books I will never buy and buying books I will never have time to read. But as I sit staring at the mile-high pile of books on my bedside table, I whisper a short prayer that goes something like this “Dear Lord, please help me to live long enough to have more than five minutes at a time to read interesting books. If I could just have a few years of enjoyable reading, Lord, I could go to heaven happy.”

I do realize that this actually borders on sickness and perhaps even heresy. In essence what I am saying is “No, Lord, I don’t want to live in eternal bliss with You in Paradise just yet. Please let me at least finish Team of Rivals (which I wanted to read before President Obama started using it as his new Bible) and all of the works of Elizabeth Gaskell and Charlotte Bronte. Then I think I could go in peace.” I have actually started to have panic attacks when considering how little time we have on earth to do things that are truly pleasurable. When you add up all the teeth brushing, house chores, and waiting in line at the bank, half of your life practically disappears. Not to mention sleeping, eating, and wasting time playing Settlers of Catan online. (Maybe that last one is just me.) But I have had an epiphany. It is as if the heavens have opened and the voices of the angels have spoken to me in perfect harmony saying, “THAT’S WHAT HEAVEN IS FOR, YOU IDIOT!”

I must confess that my theology regarding heaven has been shaped more by Hollywood than Scripture. I have more than once pondered the possibility of being, well, not unhappy in heaven, but perhaps being a bit bored. I have swallowed the picture of robes, singing choirs, and cloud-floating without even thinking about it. I fall into despair over the thought of leaving Jim and the kids behind (not to mention those unread books) and the only time I get really excited about going to heaven is when I think of all the cool people that are going to be there.

But this is all going to change. For one thing, I must change my thinking or face up to my hypocrisy. Here I am gripped with fear when driving through a dangerous neighborhood, and in the same car ride I glibly pontificate on the wonders of heaven to my kids. Perhaps it is the kids who have helped to change my thinking. They talk about heaven a lot and with seemingly little fear of the door through which we all must walk in order to gain entrance. This might be because they haven’t given much thought to death and the fact that to them heaven seems like the zoo, the circus, and Disneyworld all rolled into one. They marvel at the abilities they will have, the idea of having no bedtime, and playing with animals that would gobble them up for a snack on this side of eternity.

Of course, heaven isn’t just about all the great stuff we will be able to do or even the loved ones with whom we will be reunited. It’s about worshiping God, right? And here is where my lack of faith really shows. I have fallen into the Sunday School myth that says worship is what you do on Sunday mornings while wearing panty hose and uncomfortable shoes. What a crock! Worship is playing with a saber-toothed tiger before breakfast and a woolly mammoth after lunch. It’s reading books for a thousand years without getting a headache or needing a nap. It’s the lion eating straw and the child putting his hand in the viper’s nest (I am sure this verse refers to one of my boys.). It’s not some other-worldly experience. It’s this world, only lots, lots better. Worship is enjoying the presence of God and his creation in all its forms. So while I still intend to continue my quest to one day have read all the books on my Wish List and to avoid the avoidable dangers of this world, I am leaving behind my cloudy visions of heaven and planting my feet more solidly in the Kingdom. I am sure Elizabeth and Charlotte would approve.

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Thoughts on Why Human Sexuality is Sacred

By Jim Spiegel

Contemporary debates about human sexuality and reproduction—abortion, in vitro fertilization, birth control, gay rights, etc.—tend to be highly charged with emotion.  While it is often easy to carry on a dispassionate debate about even such life or death issues as war and capital punishment, issues in sexual ethics are much more challenging in this regard.  It is apparent why this is so when one considers the stakes.  For permissivists on such issues (e.g., pro-choicers, gay marriage advocates, etc.) personal autonomy and, by extension, a whole way of life, is at stake.  And for conservatives the sanctity of life and family itself (as traditionally understood) is at stake.  And for folks on both sides of these debates a sense of what is ultimately good for society as a whole hangs in the balance.

But for Christian moral conservatives there is a further dimension to these issues which makes them especially urgent and emotionally charged—the notion that human sexuality is sacred.  So what is it about sex such that it should be considered “sacred” or somehow religiously significant?  From the standpoint of Christian theology, of course, part of the answer lies in the fact that God ordained sex and blessed it as a means of procreation, marital unity, and pleasure. 

But could there be something even more significant about sex which traces back to the nature of God?  One possibility is that sex and procreation actually reflect the Trinity.  Sex is an intimate communion between two persons (man and woman) from whom proceed a third person (child), and all three of these persons share the same (human) nature.  This mirrors the divine nature, which consists of an intimate communion between two persons (God the Father and God the Son), from whom proceed a third person (the Holy Spirit), and all three of these persons share the same (divine) nature.

Now this analogy might appear to break down in the fact that God the Son also proceeds from God the Father, which is not mirrored in a human marital relationship.  However, this procession is reflected in the Genesis creation account where the woman proceeds from the man, via the “rib” of Adam.  Anyway, though human sexuality and procreation are imperfect images of the Trinity (one must be careful not to go too far with such images), they are profound analogues of the divine nature all the same.  And this is one more reason why we should regard sex as sacred, from a Christian perspective.  And it helps to explain why behavioral distortions of our sexual teleology are regarded by Scripture as especially heinous and harmful.  See, for example, such passages as Prov. 6:32-33, Rom. 1:26-27, 1 Cor. 6:9.  The severity of judgment in these passages is more understandable if such acts constitute attacks on the Godhead.

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The Real Offense in Christianity

By Jim Spiegel

In my previous post—January 8—I discussed some aspects of Christianity which might explain why people might find it so offensive—it’s supposed dangerousness, blatant irrationality, and the exasperating nature of some Christian people.  None of these factors really explain the anger and hostility so often directed at Christianity.  So what is the explanation?  Since Christianity provokes people much more than Judaism or Islam (or generic theistic belief), there must be something about Jesus himself or the gospel message that bugs people so much.  What could that be? 

I suspect (as some readers intimated in their comments) that the resentment really has to do with the implications of Jesus’ crucifixion—the idea that he had to die (and resurrect) for our sins.  This implies, of course, that there is something wrong—terribly wrong—with humans which needs fixing.  Specifically, we need to be forgiven, and our offenses are so egregious that they called for a blood sacrifice.  And not just any blood-sacrifice.  Killing a toad or even an AKC-registered poodle wouldn’t do the atoning work.  In fact, not even a human child sacrifice would do.  No, it had to be the execution of a morally perfect person—God incarnate.  Now if that isn’t insulting to our pride as a species, I don’t know what is. 

Of course, this moral insult is well-deserved, if we are as naturally depraved as Scripture teaches.  But for those who think there is nothing wrong with human nature (despite the constant wars, human trafficking, ethnic cleansing, child molestation, and countless other evils all over the globe), I can see how this would seem ridiculous and even be a rather annoying claim.  Indeed, as the Apostle Paul said, “the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing” (1 Cor. 1:18). 

Lest we forget, the Christian story is also a profound compliment—that God loves us so much as to provide that sacrifice himself.  Again, to quote Paul: “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor. 5:21).  And, as it turns out, this is the only way to reconciliation with God, as Jesus declares, “No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).  Yet this, too, is a blow to human pride, as it implies that we cannot save ourselves; even the most perfect repentance, apart from Christ, would be ineffectual in avoiding God’s judgment. 

So whatever else might bug people regarding Christianity, the ultimate source of offense is human pride.  People are offended by Jesus because his crucifixion represents both a divine condemnation of our sin and a statement that we cannot escape that condemnation on our own.  Again, I do see why this would bother people who think the Christian message is false.  If the Christmas and Easter stories are fictions, then our worldview is merely a profound insult; and as Paul says, “we are to be pitied more than all men” (1 Cor. 15:19).  But if Jesus really was the God-man and really did die and rise from the dead for us, then, well, that is wondrous—mind-boggling, in fact, and should make us very, very glad.  Far from being offensive, it is the best possible news.