Tag: sanctification

Posted on

The Starting Point of Sin

By Amy Spiegel

Some of you may know that month Jim, the kids, and I moved to southern Indiana as a result of his accepting a new position as head of school for Lighthouse Christian Academy in Bloomington. While this is the third time our family has moved premises, this was by far the biggest change of scene for us all. The distance wasn’t the only factor, though moving hours away is a far cry from the puddle jump moves we have made in the past. We were leaving behind the only community the kids have ever known, as home base at least. The church they were baptized in as infants; neighbors, schools, childhood friends, and on and on it goes. It has been disorienting to say the least.

Packing up the house, we discovered all sorts of things, some good and some not so good. Items we thought were lost were found; dirt and dust we didn’t know were accumulating was discovered, etc. And then we went about the process of repositioning old furniture in a new setting, sorting through forgotten boxes and deciding what to keep, what to pass on to others, and what to throw to the curb. This new setting has helped me to see our possessions in a new light, both literally and figuratively. And this is true of me as well.

The combination of quitting my job which, for the last two years has consumed so much of my time and energy, and moving out of the community I have spent my entire adult life in has been a great opportunity for self-reflection. For me, as I am sure it would be for many of you, self-reflection is usually an opportunity for self-berating. Critical evaluations of oneself aren’t always a bad thing, but too often I use it as a chance to focus on my flaws, cry to God about what a failure I am and crawl into a hole of embarrassment and shame.

Recently, however, I have been trying to take a different approach. I’ve been attempting to see my moral failings with gratitude. If I never see areas where I am weak, how can I grow strong? Yes, it’s unpleasant to have one’s frailties and faults exposed but the alternative is much worse. I must ask myself, do I want to have the appearance of goodness all the while hiding my sinful thoughts and deeds or do I want to expose them in order to grow?

Imagine going to the doctor because, while appearing perfecty healthy, you know there is something internally wrong with you.mThe nurse comes in and hands you one of those delightfully revealing paper gowns and tells you to get undressed so the doctor can diagnose the issue. Are you going to be uncomfortable? Clearly yes, but you have a choice: get uncomfortable and be exposed or stay clothed and continue to get sicker. We are faced with the same choice when dealing with our sin and the Great Physician. He cannot heal us unless He first exposes our disease.

Now I am not calling for some sort of celebration of sin. Not saying that we should all start indiscriminately dropping our metaphorical drawers and glorying in our exposed failures. There is both a time and place for sharing our sin through confession, both with God and with others. Just as none of us particularly want to see people traipsing through the malls in paper medical gowns, I don’t think we should go about broadcasting our moral failures in an attempt to normalize behavior which we are biblically told is wrong.

What I am calling myself to do is to see my sin coming into focus as a starting point to begin from rather than a finish line I failed to cross. From this starting point, I can start the journey, first to repentance and then to growth and freedom. The diagnosis is just the first step; it doesn’t immediately bring the cure. But it is a necessary one without which there can be no healing.

This move was not one that I looked forward to. But I am grateful for the chance to see myself in a different light and to grow as a result. One day, I will make my final move, from earth to my heavenly home. Then I will have the chance to see myself in the light of God’s Glory, clothed not in a flimsy exam gown but in Christ’s righteousness. Then I will be diagnosed, treated and cured, surrounded by the saints and home for good.

Posted on

Four Arguments for Purgatory

By Jim Spiegel

The doctrine of purgatory is naturally associated with Roman Catholic theology, but some Protestant philosophers and theologians affirm the doctrine (albeit a version of the view which sees purgatory as serving the function of completing sanctification rather than providing final satisfaction for sin). One of the most prominent of these is Jerry Walls, who has published a trilogy of Oxford monographs on personal eschatology, as well as Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, a single volume treatment of the subject.

Walls, who is a Wesleyan, defends the doctrine of purgatory beginning with the basic idea that salvation is not just about forgiveness of sins but is mainly about spiritual transformation. So if salvation essentially involves transformation, “what becomes of those who plead the atonement of Christ for salvation but die before they have

From http://www.catholiceducation.org/en/
From http://www.catholiceducation.org/en/

been thoroughly transformed?” Such people, he says, “do not seem ready for a heaven of perfect love and fellowship with God, but neither should they be consigned to hell.” The standard Protestant view is that for such people full sanctification is accomplished immediately and painlessly “by a unilateral act of God at death.” This view, which some scholars call “provisionism” is deeply problematic, according to Walls. One of his arguments appeals to human temporality. Since all human moral growth and maturation on earth is a process that takes time, then it makes sense to assume that our moral progress in the next world will be a temporal process. This suggests something like a purgatorial completion of our sanctification. Walls also uses an argument from human freedom. The idea here is that all human sanctification on earth involves free human choices as we cooperate in the process of moral growth. A unilateral act of God that instantaneously perfects us would be a radical departure from this basic aspect of our experience.

Another Protestant advocate of purgatory is philosopher Justin Barnard. In his Faith and Philosophy article “Purgatory and the Dilemma of Sanctification,” Barnard emphasizes two further considerations. One of these is the problem of personal identity that provisionists face. With such a radical sudden transformation of one’s moral nature, as provisionists propose, how can one be properly considered the same person afterwards? Preservation of personal identity through time requires more gradual change, Barnard would say, and this suggests a slow purgatorial transformation.

But Barnard’s primary concern regards the problem of evil. If God can perfect us morally suddenly after death, then why doesn’t he do it now? The fact that God waits suggests that there is a lot of evil that God cannot remove “without thereby sacrificing any significant good.” Here some appeal to the idea that God refrains from perfecting us on earth in order to respect our free will. But then this implies that God takes away our freedom when he perfects us in heaven. But if that’s not problematic in heaven, then why would it be problematic here? Barnard proposes that the doctrine of purgatory—or his “sanctification” version of the doctrine anyway—avoids this problem, as it says that the process of moral perfection that we begin on earth is simply completed in the afterlife—gradually and eventually completely.

Personally, I am not a proponent of the doctrine of purgatory, but I must admit that such arguments give me pause. While they might never ultimately persuade me to accept the doctrine, I certainly respect the view and see why it has been affirmed by so many great Christian thinkers down through history.

Posted on

Stranger Than Friction

By Amy Spiegel

One benefit of homeschooling I never anticipated is that in the process of educating my kids, I have learned a great deal as well. My knowledge of ancient history, sentence diagrams, and a myriad other missing pieces in my own education have filled in quite nicely over the years. Just recently, while studying science with Maggie, an insight bopped me on the head rather like Newton and his gravitationally driven apple. The lesson regarded friction and simply stated that every time two things rub against each other there is friction and that this friction is what causes things to slow down. There are, of course, instances in which there is very little friction, which is why I spend many winter months picking my sorry carcass off the ice-covered ground. But even as I go bottom up, friction is still present, a small but ever present grace that prevents me from skidding into infinity.

While I certainly appreciate the force that keeps from careening into oncoming traffic, I am often less grateful when it comes to friction of a more relational nature. Sometimes the objects that rub against one another aren’t my rear and the frozen tundra but rather my own will, desires, and personal quirks and those of my family and friends. It doesn’t feel much like grace when it is my plans that are being slowed down by the plans of others pulling in the opposite directions.

Though I usually view this friction as something to be avoided or at least ignored, something in the simplicity of second grade science tells me that friction, whether physical or emotional, has been carefully woven into our world with a purpose in mind. When my body encounters friction with, let’s say, pavement, it is my skin that generally gives way. When my willful spirit encounters friction with, let’s say my husband and his willful albeit generally more rational spirit, it is my flesh that comes off. Not my physical flesh but the flesh of my sin nature. This friction slows me down so that I can be changed into something new. Again it is often painful, but if seen as grace it can be a transforming pain that brings to life a new creation.

One day, gravity will release its hold on this battered and bruise shell of mine. I will rise to Heaven and be greeted by my King. On that day, He will make sense of all that seems senseless now. He will take all those friction-inflicted wounds and make them beautiful.