Nothing is more fallacious than wealth. It is a hostile comrade, a domestic enemy.
John Chrysostom, early church father

A few years ago I was talking with a young man who was really interested in God – we’ll the young guy “Brad”. Brad had been talking to a youth worker who was also a Christian. This youth worker told Brad that he had prayed for a vehicle and someone had donated a motorbike to him. Brad thought this was fantastic!

It was obvious that the youth worker believed strongly that God had directly intervened to make this happen. I don’t want to denigrate his obvious gratitude. I think that God can bless us financially or materially. But there are a few things to say about it.

First, any gift we receive from God has no connection to the depth or quality of our faith. We didn’t get it because we prayed better, lived better or sacrificed more. A deeper faith may lead us to realise that our gifts are truly from God, but a deeper faith is not why we received them.

Secondly, any gift we receive is held on behalf of others. That is the meaning of the body of Christ. Gifts are held by us, but God entrusts them to us for the benefit of others. They are not ours.

Thirdly, nowhere in the New Testament do we find God blessing people financially or with material possessions. We find that Jesus blesses people with sight, healing, inclusion, love, justice, forgiveness, but not with material possessions. In the early church, we find the same thing – people give away money, property and possessions rather than receiving them. When property, money or material possessions ARE mentioned, it is to narrate giving them away, guard against their dangers, advise  the best use of them or condemn their abuse.

It’s therefore very difficult to argue that God gives us material and financial riches to enjoy. Instead, I would argue that when we do find ourselves with material possessions and money, a biblical response is to use them for the wellbeing of others, primarily those without the gifts we have received.

So, I need to ask this youth worker “For what purpose did God give you this house? How can it be a source of blessing for others?”

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I didn’t do this lightly, and had wrestled with both the idea of getting arrested, and with my convictions about war and violence. But us thinkers need to bite the bullet sometimes (not a very nonviolent metaphor, is it!), and do something, even when all the questions don’t have satisfactory answers.

We were arrested, and had our day in court today. We pleaded guilty to the offences. The magistrate found the charges to be proven, but did not record a conviction, and chose to dismiss the charges, and chose not to give us a punishment. It’s the legal equivalent of saying, “I know you did something wrong, but I like it!”. One of our number did receive a good behaviour bond (as a repeat offender) but still was not convicted.

Before we were sentenced, the magistrate allowed us to say a bit about why we broke the law. I hesitate to put my statement out there, because of 2 reasons: (1) There is a lot of misplaced talk of ‘heroism’, ‘sacrifice’, ‘inspirational’ applied to people who commit civil disobedience. I think it’s unwarranted unless the person is at real risk of jail time or harm. I am at risk of neither, nor do I like words like ‘heroic’ being applied to me; (2) the other reason is that I have a small, but significant profile in the Christian community of Bendigo. In smaller places, news that someone has been arrested spreads fast and can dent one’s reputation. Not that I care overly about my reputation, but if people are going to criticise me, then I’d rather they would do it from the basis of fact.

Please contact me to argue, disagree, converse etc. It’s what I love doing and I don’t mind talking about the tensions and difficulties in living out the good news of Jesus Christ.

This is what I had to say:

Your Honour knows from your records that in 2002, I was taken to court for refusing to vote in the 2001 Federal Election. I did so because of my belief that our political system tends to marginalise the powerless, and as a Christian I felt I needed to stand against it. I still think our political system is deeply flawed, but I now believe that I need to participate in it to reform it. So this year I voted in 2 elections…though their ambiguous results have hardly inspired me.

But that is what my actions at Queenscliff were basically about. I acted as a Christian citizen of a democracy. My trust in Jesus Christ inspires me to participate in our democracy for the sake of peace and justice. I can do this through voting, but I also take part in my community’s activities, and through my paid job as a youth worker. Political involvement means more than the ballot.

And when our government insists on fighting an unwinnable, immoral and unjust war, then we need to act. When our Prime Minister commits to another decade in Afghanistan, even though the war’s original reasons have been lost in the crippling need to appear resolute, then we need to voice our opposition forcefully. We have shown that such opposition can be done peacefully, and non-violently.

This war won’t root out terrorism: the war against terrorism needs to be fought with the weapons of peace or not fought at all. Using the violence of armies to extinguish the violence of small groups will only result in the proliferation of terrorism. We are already seeing that as a result of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Most Australians implicitly realise that the Afghanistan war will not solve terrorism. And a majority of us want our nation to withdraw. As a citizen, I want to participate in the democratic process to persuade my government that their actions are wrong. Drawing attention to the secretive Swan Island military base is part of that persuasion.

Your Honour, my Christian beliefs inspire me to advocate for a just peace. I was often told as a child that that Australia is founded on Judeo-Christian values. I sincerely hope that it is, and those values would include those of Jesus Christ, who advocated loving our enemies and refusing to take revenge.

Jesus continued in the tradition of the Old Testament prophets, who called the leaders of their day to justice and mercy. And that is what I call our leaders to today – to forgo revenge, to love mercy and do justice by withdrawing our soldiers from Afghanistan.

We are actors thrust upon a stage without a script. We have the first few acts of the play, and some inkling of the exciting but ominous end. So, how do we fill in the remainder of the play?

In the last post, I talked about why and how heaven shapes our life on earth. I used the metaphor of a stage play, where we have the script of the first few acts and some inklings about the end of the story, and have to improvise to fill in the gap. We have 2 rules: (1) to be faithful to the events of the story as it starts and ends…the story has to make sense as we move from scene to scene and; (2) to make sure our improvisation keeps faith with the meaning of the story contained in the script that we already have…our improvisation can’t just make up any old meaning – it has to make fit with the start and the end.

Improvisation
The problem is, most of us don’t like improvisation. So we avoid it in a few reliable ways. One of the most common ways is to worship the play. We come up with a script that uses the same language, plot, characters that are contained in the first few acts that we have been given. Because it’s all we’ve got, we stick to it rigidly. On the metaphorical stage, we endlessly repeat the first few acts. Meanwhile, the audience has walked out from boredom. Another common strategy is to ignore the play. We get fed up with sticking to the script and just have fun. I mean, something good is happening at the end, isn’t it? And repeating the same old lines was fairly boring and frankly some important parts of the story just don’t make sense in this day and age. So, we concentrate on amusing ourselves, and desperately trying to keep the audience’s attention. The last tried and true strategy is to watch the play. Improvising is too hard, and the antics of the worshippers and the ignorers is too much to bear, so we sit it out in the seats.

Note, this metaphor is not of a church service or gathering, but of our whole common life: discipleship, work, witness, worship…everything. We, the followers of Jesus, having been handed the Old Testament, the life of Jesus, the witness of the early church and some inklings of the end…tend towards slavish imitation, wilful ignorance, or surrender of our spiritual inheritance. But these 3 approaches aren’t the only way. Improvisation is the way. Improvisation isn’t making it up. It isn’t starting with nothing, it stays faithful to the message of what has been handed to us. But we take account of the changing stage on which we now find ourselves, and also keeps faithful to the ‘end’ that we know is coming and is already here. Our life here on earth, if we want to follow Jesus, has to make sense not only in terms of the EVENTS of the story of God and his heaven, but it also needs to make sense in terms of the MEANING of the story of God and his heaven.

Regardless of what view of heaven we have, it affects our practice of church, discipleship and mission. This is what eschatology is all about. Humans naturally work towards an end. We are narrative beings. We tell ourselves, sometimes literally, big and small stories. All these stories have ends (actual events & also meaning) which we bend our lives towards. If the story you tell yourself is one in which you are a hero, your life will bend towards egoism and heroic deeds. If the story you tell yourself is one in which you are a passive actor, then you will probably not act to take responsibility of your life.

In the same way, my view of the ‘end’, of ‘heaven’, shapes the way I live now as a disciple of Jesus. We instinctively work to bring about the ‘end’ that we desire or have been taught to desire. I think this is a human characteristic, regardless of the particular religious commitments we hold. Even for the thoroughgoing atheist, she has an ‘end’, a purpose of human existence, in mind, and her life bends toward that end.

If you believe that heaven is a place where you don’t have a body, then in this life the body won’t be a thing of value, and there’s not reason to value it. If you believe heaven will be an individual state of mind, psychology will be important to you. If you believe heaven is populated by your enemies, then that will transform your treatment of your enemies. If you believe that heaven is where people are physically beautiful, then the ugly will always be slightly suspect. And let’s not forget that these beliefs are not the ones we know we have, but the ones that lie deep inside us, often unconscious.

This characteristic of ours, to bend our lives toward the end, towards heaven’; this is the reason Jesus spends so much time talking about the ‘kingdom of God’, or the ‘kingdom of heaven’. He knows that our view of these ultimate events/meanings deeply shapes the way we live now. The Israelites thought the kingdom would be a place of freedom from oppression from foreign rulers – Jesus says the kingdom is within you. Children were exploited, ignored, seen as spiritually immature – Jesus stakes our entry to the kingdom on imitating them. We think we can get away with apathy toward the poor because God has forgiven us – Jesus tells the parable of the rich man and Lazarus.

I’ll write a post someday about how our view of heaven affects our practice of church and mission (and vice versa), but in the meantime…What’s your picture of heaven?

What are we waiting for? And what are we going to do about it in the meantime?

Those are the two questions which shape this book. First, it is about the ultimate future hope held out in the Christian gospel; the hope, that is, for ‘salvation’, ‘resurrection’, ‘eternal life’…Second, it is about the discovery of hope within the present world: about the practical ways in which hope can come alive for communities and individuals…(Surprised by Hope, Tom Wright)

Most Christians don’t think about heaven, except that we would like to be there. Most of us do, anyway, and we tend to think it will something we will enjoy. We are put off by the fact that other people think it might be: (1) endless praise and worship services or (2) small group discussions about social justice while crocheting organic smocks or (3) theological lectures or…you get the picture. Other Christians think about heaven a lot though, for different reasons. The most pressing reason is that we want people that God loves, which is everyone, to be with God when they die. I think this is a good reason to think about heaven, but there are also other reasons to consider what we mean by ‘heaven’.

Surprised by Hope
Tom Wright stirred the heavenly cauldron recently, as he is wont to do, with a book about heaven called “Surprised by Hope”. I first heard a radio snippet of his views on heaven which was transcribed for an article in Time Magazine. In the radio snippet I heard, he said that heaven is not what happens after we die, but that it is “life after life after death”. This repetitive sentence momentarily confused me, which I don’t cope with well. So I bought the book.¹ The book explains what he meant by “life after life after death”. Heaven, in Wright’s view, is not the state that we go to immediately after we die, but a later event which happens when God brings all history to a close, renewing as God has promised. A disembodied state after death may be what happens…but it’s not heaven. It’s just a disembodied state after death. Heaven is what happens when God renews all Creation, as the end of Revelation indicates. When that happens, Wright says, we won’t be disembodied souls floating around, but in some way we will be living life in real bodies as God intended – radically different from how things are now, but in some ways radically the same.

Heaven Here on Earth
All very interesting. I like interesting thoughts, and so I’m a sucker for books like that. But does talk of heaven matter now? I think it does. And not just because I want everyone to be there. It matters to how we live our lives now. And no, I’m not saying that we earn our way into heaven by being extra good in our life now.

I think it matters because of 2 things: books and ends.

‘End’ is a funny word, elastic word. In a story, like the Bible or whatever story, ‘end’ usually means the chronological finish, when all the events have happened. In Peter and the Wolf, the end of the story is the procession of Peter, the animals, the hunters and the wolf with the quacking duck inside it. That’s where the story leaves us. But ‘end’ also means the ‘purpose’, the meaning, the message of the story. That, of course, is a matter for interpretation. What is the ‘end’ of Peter and the Wolf? Chronologically, it is the procession with Peter at the head. Meaningfully, it is the triumph of youthful risk over elderly caution. Or the success of nonviolent means of defeating your enemy. Or, to stretch things, a cautionary fable that mother wolves tell their wolflings. Both ‘ends’ have to make sense for the story to ‘work’. Chronologically, the end of Peter and the Wolf would be a nonsense if Peter played billiards with the wolf after capturing him. Meaningfully, our interpretation would be a nonsense if we decided the story’s meaning was to listen to your elders’ advice, because that is exactly what Peter refuses to do, and the story vindicates him.

So, for discussions about ‘heaven’, the ‘end’ is what happens chronologically, but also what heaven means, what it is, where it is, our place and part in it. Why is this important? Now we need to think about stories, which for me are often found in books.

Books – because yes, they are heavenly. If you have ever read a book, or watched a movie, or listened to someone tell a story, you will be familiar with the following narrative device. I can’t remember its name, but it goes like this: at the start of the story, a small glance at the chronological end of the story is revealed. For example, in the opening scenes of recent film Tomorrow When the War Began, the main character (Ellie) is narrating the story from the end, via a video recording. Then the story goes back to the events that led up to that, every now and then returning to Ellie’s narration. The effect is get us, the viewer/reader, to wonder how the story is going to get to the end. Given what we have seen of the end, and given that we know the initial events in the story, how will we end up at the end? In Tomorrow, the end sliver gives us the picture that something violent, bloody, unexpected has happened, and Ellie is a world-weary, tired but intrepid character. But the events at the start of the story show her as a care-free, happy, idealistic character. Our interest is piqued…how will the Ellie character be transformed from care-free to world-weary? What events will shape her? How will she respond? We are interested because our interest in the chronological end (how will the story make its way to the last events) but also in the meaningful end (what the story’s message is).

Our Role in Hope on Earth
Christianity is the same. Our story (the Bible) has given us slivers of what the end is, in both chronological and meaningful sense. In the book of Revelation, this is most clear, with graphic passages seemingly about the end of the world.² We also know some of the initial events that have set us on our way to the end – Jesus’ life, death and resurrection and the early church. But what will happen in-between?  To use a oft-used metaphor, we are actors thrust upon a stage without a script. We have the first few acts of the play, and some inkling of the exciting but ominous end. So, how do we fill in the remainder of the play?

Stay tuned…

1. Heaven is a large, dusty, wooden room with ceiling high bookshelves, a comfy recliner-type couch next a small table with one of those Tim-Tam packs that never runs out, except it’s Cadbury, and large cold glasses of milk…and no doors…so no-one can interrupt…
2. There is a fair bit of debate about whether Revelation is describing what the literal end of the world will be, or whether it is an allegorical way for the writer, John, to describe the society of his day. My opinion is that he is primarily describing the Roman Empire of his day, but also saying that ‘empires’ like Rome will be present in all times. When it comes to the questions of whether he is describing literal ‘end of the world’ events I think that is not his first concern, but I think we can safely say that John definitely thinks there will be an end to the human story

I interviewed him the next morning about himself and his thinking on this subject. I’ll use some of this on my upcoming radio show (30th May, 6-8pm, streaming at phoenixfm.org)

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Even though I know he is in improved circumstances, I feel a wave of frustration rise and fall. What is the use of building relationships when they are constantly eroded by transience? I have, many years ago, resolved that long-term relationships were necessary to unveil the reign of God, whether among the poor or whoever. I had decided that speaking out the good news needed to happen on the platform of trust and respect.

But it’s a lonely stance. Often, those we relate to want to move on to something else quickly. This is the case whether we are among the poor who want to rapidly escape, or among the general population for whom the next best thing can’t arrive too soon.

How do we deal with transience, when our theology inspires us to grounded lives and longevity?

Here’s a couple of ideas:
(1) We rid ourselves of any heroism: our desire to be the ‘key’ people in others’ transformation can cripple us when we no longer have the opportunity to be that ‘significant’ person.

(2) We re-member ourselves: “re-membering” is recalling the fact that we are members of a body, a movement, a people that is far-spread. We, as individuals, are not it. That should give us some hope in the face of transience. As the biblical saying goes: some sow, others reap, and we enter into each others’ labour. When we can no longer be a part of a person’s life, someone else will take up the labour.

(3) We recall the Trinity: relational mission struggles with the tension of ends and means. Is the relationship for the purpose of more effective evangelism, or so that the person will have a better life? Or is it simply for the sake of the relationship? I don’t think there is an answer to this one, but in the face of transience we need to remember the Trinity; the Godhead in which relationship is essential to the character of God.

At the same time, I’ve been organising publicity for a Christmas Eve celebration, and wanted to find a nativity image for a poster. Corny, cliché, soppy are words that come to mind. Finally, I found one by Fritz Eichenberg, a refugee from Nazi Germany who became a Quaker. He also contributed many wood-gravings to the Catholic Worker.

This engraving is called “Christmas”, and I want to reflect on it briefly.

Firstly, apart from Mary and Jesus, the people’s characters are ambiguous. The figure on the right is probably Joseph but the trio could either be the shepherds (indicated by the sheep) or the three kings. Secondly, there is a combination of biblical story and an urban context. The scene is dark, Mary and Jesus sleep on a bed of hay, farm animals surround them (though not actually in the text) and an angel sings above them. However, the backdrop is urban and Joseph holds an oil lamp. This is a consistent theme of Eichenberg’s religious imagery. I immediately think of “Christ of the Breadlines”, in which Christ stands in a line of men waiting for food. Eichenberg repositions biblical stories and themes into poor urban scenes.

Thirdly, and most intriguely, there is an ‘underground’ meaning to this image, and that’s where it differs from any other nativity scene I can remember. Beneath the scene of familial bliss, albeit poor, is a disturbing scene. Literally under the floor lie 3 beasts, from left to right, 2 crocodiles or dragons and a pig. I’m not sure what the pig means (link to a Roman military cult), but I think the crocodiles represent Egypt. The Egyptians feared crocodiles so much because of their ubiquity on the Nile, that they had a god, Sobek, who was the deification of the crocodile. In some versions of Egyptian stories, he crawls out of the ‘waters of chaos’ to create the world. There are resonances with the Nativity story in a couple of ways. Egypt itself is the archetypal enemy of the people of God. The crocodile’s presence introduces the memory of freedom from oppression. It also brings to mind the holy family’s flight to Egypt  from Herod’s massacre. Sobek’s creator status beings into view an ensuing battle of myths.

I admit that I could be reading a little into Eichenberg’s intentions here, but a the very least he is inserting a minor note into a peaceful scene, reminder of the violence that is soon to envelop the destiny not only of Jesus’ infancy, but of his life.

1. We need to talk about love to interpret our lives to others

I used to believe that evangelism would happen when people asked me about my oh-so very distinctive life, and then I would tell the inquirer all about Jesus’ love. I used to think that my life would seem very different to others’ lives, creating interest and questions. I’ve since realised that my life is pretty flawed, and it’s an odd occasion when my life prompts someone to ask about it. Long gone is the time when the majority of Australians see a godly life and connect it with God, when a Christ-like lifestyle reminds us of Christ. We need to interpret the meaning of our lives for others, and the meaning of our common life as followers of Christ, if it has any meaning, is found in love.

2. We need to talk about love to bring to mind (re-mind) us of what we believe.

As we delve deeper into the Way of Jesus, we can fall prey to doing well, more than doing good. As our experience grows, we shunt ourselves into positions of responsibility which have jargon, meetings and protocols that often have little to do with love. Other priorities distract us – family, children, mortgages. Talking about love undermines our attachment to our roles and responsibilities, re-minding us of the vision that they serve, and hopefully calls us to a truer imitation of Christ.

3. We need to talk about love to induct others into the Way of Love

Somewhere along the Way, others will want to follow it too. I know, amazing! It’s a difficult path to follow and I wouldn’t do it for quids, but I’ll do it for love. As we induct others along the Way, we have to tell them the story of Jesus, which at the bottom of it all is the story of love personified.

4. We need to talk this language because it’s being lost

‘Love’ is a word that’s being suffocated under an avalanche of shallow images which are taking on the character of reality. If we want to avoid ‘love’ simply becoming a way of referring to our affection for chocolate, casual sex or our celebrity of choice, then we need to start talking about what love is, and what it isn’t. That’s going to make us look fairly odd, because the ‘love’ of God is very different to the ‘love’ of media culture, described as it is in the stories of Israel, Jesus and the early church. It’s strong, consistent, endures all things, is hardly ever soft, resists lies, is ready to sacrifice for the beloved.

‘Where can I see this good news in action?’

Although we can read about it and hear about it, the good news of radical discipleship only makes sense when we see it in action. So many people, in history and in the world today, have chosen to take this path of downward mobility, setting their face against the world’s obsession with success and image, and seeking the image of God in the forgotten and destitute. See Father Damien as he moves to Moloka’i to live among the lepers for 16 years, sharing their joys and hardships, eventually succumbing to leprosy himself. Or Dorothy Day, who fed, clothed and housed the poor of the Depression while speaking out against war and violence.

In Australia and beyond, there are dozens of communities and organisations who have been inspired by Jesus to serve on the margins. These are just some of them:

Catholic Worker

Concern Australia

InnerCHANGE

UNOH

Urban Seed

Waiters’ Union

Youth For Christ Durban

Although this river of justice and compassion comes from one source, it has many branches. Visit some of these places and people and dip your toe in the water.

Part I

Part II

Part III

But as a young(er) adult, I was obsessed with love; not surprising, you snigger. But eros aside, the community I was part of explicitly sought to love others, particular the marginalised. For inexperienced and youthful people, I think we did so reasonably well. We opened our homes to the offensive, difficult and lonely at the expense of our time, energy and comfort. Since I started in that endeavour, quite a few years have passed, and thoughts of loving others seem to have faded.

Maybe we’ve become so committed to the task of ‘making love a reality’ that we have removed ourselves from love’s source. In carrying out the demands of love, have we lost our grip on love itself?

Here are a few (positive and negative) possible reasons why we don’t think and talk about ‘loving others’ these days:

1. We realised that ‘love’ is meaningful only in embodiment, rather than in emotion. It’s possible, and desirable, that our lives have become more loving, and so the need to continually talk and think about it has lessened.

2. Similar to the first reason, we became tired of talking about love and not actually loving. All talk and little walk, we decided not to talk about love until we started doing it more. Our need to talk through things is also related to ‘forming’ a cohesive community; after this is done, there are some ‘unsaid norms’ (ie. “loving others is crucial”) that don’t need rehashing.

3. As loving others became exhausting and difficult, we faced ‘compassion fatigue’ – a syndrome common to people in ‘helping’ roles. When those we tried to love refused to respond, or abused our care for them, we could become resentful and bitter. In its more extreme form, compassion fatigue results in an attitude of complete futility regarding loving others.

4. As we became more experienced in working with people, we took on roles and responsibilities that were intended to help other people love others (eg. co-ordinators, managers, mentors etc). With their jargon, meetings and protocls, these roles supplanted our original passion.

If the reasons for our lack of love are 3 & 4, then we need some form of spiritual direction, counselling and ‘re-conversion’.

But what if the reasons are 1 & 2? If we simply have stopped talking and thinking about love because it’s become passe to us, we need to start talking about it again. Why? I’ll explore that in a later post.