Anonymous asks: Can you give us your thoughts and reflection upon Harold Camping’s prophecies regarding the nearing rapture on May 21? Is there anything I need to do in preparation? Do we assume that anyone who is still around after Sunday isn’t a Christian?

Anonymous asks: Further to my earlier anonymous question: http://www.familyradio.com/graphical/literature/judgment/judgment.html

To which I would add this from googling around: http://www.ebiblefellowship.com/outreach/tracts/may21/

The whole thing is about a supposed understanding of the Bible that indicates that Judgement Day occur on May 21, 2011 (two days away!) and that the world will end five months later on October 21, 2011.

As a twitter friend of mine wrote, “Was Matthew 24:36 removed from the bible or something?”  Matthew 24:36 reads “But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”  Proponents get around it by saying that new understanding has rendered this text superfluous.  It’s a ridiculous argument really.  The simple fact that there is a prediction is evidence enough that the whole thing is wrong.

There is further irony in that, having ignored Matthew 24:36, it seems that the whole prediction rests upon a misapplication of the very next verse: Matthew 24:37 – “As it was in the days of Noah, so it will be at the coming of the Son of Man.”  Which leads to a less-than-tenuous hermeneutic which applies details of the accounts of Noah in Genesis, improbably located in history, via some questionable numerological manipulations, to the span of history itself.  The reason why May 21, 2011 is important, apparently, is because it’s 7000 years after the beginning of the flood.

I’ll end with a quote which I think is from Mark Driscoll: “On May 20th I’m planting a tree, on May 22nd I’m laughing at this false prophet.”

A follow-up from a previous Q&A post.

Casper comments:

So those celebrating at Nuremburg when a guilty verdict was passed with the knowledge that the convicted was to be hanged were wrong?
And since we have the example of a separate theatre of war at the same time where no-one got justice and a few trials only took out low level war criminals and those who perpetrated massive crimes weren’t held to account (by the same government celebrating Osama’s death). Japan has a huge issue in the region still because they did not repent for their actions and were never punished.

There is good reason for the catharsis.

I think you should have done a better job between defining between Gospel and Governance and at the end of the day the Gospel is a path of violence for Christ and all who follow him so that statement doesn’t really stick well since Countries and the Church are separate institutions.

Hi Casper,

I think the response I’m championing is a mixture of gladness and sadness:  Gladness that justice can be done, some vindication is evident – a good foreshadowing of the eventual judgement on Christ’s return.  Sadness, because the judgement is not here in full and vindication can never be fully achieved in human hands, because the judgement itself is indicative of a broken world, and because I am not without sin myself.

Please note I am not advocating that the action against Osama was wrong.  And I prefer the transparent justice of Nuremburg with the lesser forms elsewhere.  My concern is about the triumphalism.

In terms of Gospel/Governance, the connection I’m grasping is eschatological:    The non-violence of Christ is a demonstration of the post-judgement Kingdom of God made real and present by Christ through the violence of the cross and the vindication of the resurrection.  It’s application is found in forgiveness, and being a peace-maker insomuch as it depends on you etc.  Romans 13 connects because the government authority is described as the agent of God and therefore prefigures the ultimate judgement of God by which the Kingdom of God is made manifest.  It’s application is in the right punishment of the evildoers in our midst.  The tension between these applications is exactly the now-and-not-yet tension that we have because we belong to the Kingdom of God inaugurated by Christ but not yet culminated at the judging of all things. The Kingdom of peace has begun, the need for punishment remains until the day when all things are made right.

So the right response when we see punishment, such as what OBL has received, is eschatological – “All things will be judged, including me, so thanks be to God for his grace that in Christ I, even I, may pass through that terrible day.”  The right response is humility, and further dependence on Christ, not triumph.

W.

A follow-up from a previous Q&A post.

Anonymous asks:

I wanted to comment – of all the twitter nonense and rhetoric about the killing of Osama Bin Laden I have read, two things have stood out:  “So far noone has explained how this killing was an act of justice, even though this is what people are celebrating”. and a Quote from Ezekiel 18:23 “Do I take any pleasure in the death of the wicked? declares the Sovereign LORD. Rather, am I not pleased when they turn from their ways and live?”

I’m not sure how to feel about the death of Osama – I think I would have preferred the justice of his capture and trial if that were possible. But the ‘celebration’ of his death feels appalling.

I was once taught that even in suicide, at the last moment, a person may repent and find Jesus. If this is right, is it possible that even Hitler and Osama may end up in heaven?

Hi Anonymous, a quick response.

1) Is this killing an act of justice?  Yes, to the extent that it was punishment wielded against a guilty person.  Did Osama deserve to die?  The blunt answer eventually is : Undoubtedly.

2) Ezekiel 18.  I think this verse strikes the balance I was alluding to in the original answer.  God desires repentance above all.  I don’t think this prevents the authority of the Romans 13 sword from acting, however.

3) Would capture and trial be a better demonstration of justice?  Perhaps. It certainly would have demonstrated a high road of measured justice that is not exactly evident on the other side of the coin.  But I think this is a matter of degrees within the one category of “punishment.”

4) Can Hitler or Osama end up in heaven? I severely, severely, severely doubt it.  From all accounts their lives were shaped and defined by a rejection of all that is good and rebellion against the grace of God.  Yes there is mystery here, and grace upon grace – and I’m sure we will be surprised when Christ returns as to who exactly rides with him.  But hypotheticals like these are simply conjecture, ignoring the realities of life and the evidence of degenerate hearts.  When considering the demise of obviously sin-ridden people, I think the best response is not to ask “Might they be in heaven?” but to declare “There, but for the grace of God, go I.”

W.

DaveO asks:

Osama gets Obama – idiots dancing in the streets, singing, chanting and waving flags, celebrating their victory.

Obama gets Osama – idiots dancing in the streets, singing, chanting and waving flags, celebrating their victory.

There is a very real difficulty in bringing Osama to a court and having a trial. However, the current approach is anything be edifying. Can you tease out a biblical understanding/response.

Thanks for the question.  It came in just as a facebook/twitter conversation led me to this quote by Martin Luther King:

“Are we seeking power for power’s sake? Or are we seeking to make the world and our nation better places to live. If we seek the latter, violence can never provide the answer. The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, begetting the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of diminishing evil, it multiplies it. Through violence you may murder the liar, but you cannot murder the lie, nor establish the truth. Through violence you may murder the hater, but you do not murder hate. In fact, violence merely increases hate. So it goes. Returning violence for violence multiplies violence, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr.

I think I’ve said it before somewhere that the response of the US to 9/11 was typical and therefore far from ideal.  Pax Americana is not a wholesome aspiration.  I see very little distinction from militant Islam in it – “Yes, we are a religion of peace, when we’re in control.”

But, you asked for a biblical teasing out, so here goes:  Like all good theological questions there are two somewhat contrasting parts to the balanced truth.

The first is this:  Violence is not the path of the gospel.  This is Martin Luther King’s position of course.  Apparently even Bonhoeffer, who contributed to a (justifiable, it would seem) assassination attempt on Hitler, considered that act to be a taking of guilt upon himself.  Jesus of course, eschewed violence at the time of his arrest –

Matthew 26: 51 And behold, one of those who were with Jesus stretched out his hand and drew his sword and struck the servant of the high priest and cut off his ear. 52 Then Jesus said to him, “Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword. 53 Do you think that I cannot appeal to my Father, and he will at once send me more than twelve legions of angels? 54 But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?” 55 At that hour Jesus said to the crowds, “Have you come out as against a robber, with swords and clubs to capture me? Day after day I sat in the temple teaching, and you did not seize me. 56 But all this has taken place that the Scriptures of the prophets might be fulfilled.” Then all the disciples left him and fled.  ESV

And then, of course, there is the familiar command for us to love our enemies – particularly in the light of the Kingdom of God in which, Christ asserts, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”

Matthew 5:43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. 46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.  ESV

The second is this:  Justice is good, and that involves punishment.  Would it be right to ignore Osama bin Laden and not call him to account?  I think Romans 13 portrays the governing authorities as God’s agents for this purpose

Romans 13: 4b But if you do wrong, be afraid, for he does not bear the sword in vain. For he is the servant of God, an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer. ESV

I think the framework perhaps is to consider Romans 13 punishment is an act of judgement.  And to the extent that the human authority acts justly, it is an act of judgement that prefigures the judgement of all things at the end.  If you like – a judging ahead of time to prevent harm, pain and further sin.  Such an act is not done lightly for the judge presumes to represent and point to God, our judge.

The balance then is this:

Both things point to grace.   The non-violence of the gospel is the nature of the eternal kingdom that we are passing into, by grace.  Romans 13 points to the judgement that we are passing from/through, by grace.

In application, therefore:  The use of violence against Osama is not necessarily wrong – a violent, evil man needed to be stopped.  But it is a dreadful thing (as Bonhoeffer knew) and should be measured, and done with trembling and even regret – regret that it had to come to this, regret that this is a necessary act in a sinful world while we yet precede the day when all things are made right.  In the light of an eternal gospel of peace and non-violence (lions laying down with the lamb) we need grace in all things, including this, to cover the guilt and brokenness of us all.

Therefore, the jubilation in the streets must be considered as “idiotic” (your words).  It is simply presumptious – are they all without sin that they should rejoice at the stones being cast?  Triumph, gloating and celebration has no place here.

Some have compared the scenes with that of the end of World War 2.  I reject the comparison.  The jubilation at the end of World War 2 is not so much that Hitler was dead, but that the war was over.  It was relief, a lifting of a burden, not the celebration of a “justice done.”  As if war could bring justice!  I’m reminded of the scene in a later episode of Band of Brothers where an American soldier screams at captured Germans about the pointlessness of it all.

My response to all this is not “God bless America”, but “Maranatha, Come Lord Jesus”

Anonymous asks: Can an atheist give a testimony?

The short answer is: yes.

The long answer is:

“Testimony” has a wide semantic range.  For instance, you could be asking, “Can an atheist give a true account of something, such as in court?”  The answer is, of course: yes.  You could also be asking “Can an atheist give an account of some significant event, moment, or transition in their life?”  And again, of course, the answer is yes.

Christians often use “testimony” to mean something like “the account of how God has worked in my life, particularly towards my coming to faith.”  This is similar to, but more subjective than,  the Biblical sense of being a “witness” (being able to “testify”, having a “testimony”) of the objective truth of Christ’s resurrection.

In this particular sense, of course, an “atheist testimony” would be oxymoronic: an account of the work of someone they do not accept as reality.

Thanks for the question.

I’ve started reading the Wingfeather Saga series of books by Andrew Peterson.  They are excellent.  The first two books are On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness and North! Or Be Eaten and the third The Monster in the Hollows is due out in May. I can’t wait.

I’ve mentioned Andrew Peterson a couple of times here and there with reference to his music.  He is a lyricist extraordinaire, a true bard, constructing words in warp and weft so that truths are revealed, discovered and savoured by the reader, the listener.

He brings the same skill to the Wingfeather Saga – a story centred on three siblings Janner, Tink and Leeli Igiby in the world of Aerwiar.  It is fantasy but not flippancy – a mix of Narnia and The Hobbit perhaps.  He mixes depth of character and meaningful events in the narrative so that you are left reflecting on your own real life.  And he does this purely, without recourse to ugly allegory or meddling metaphor.

There is humour, even in nomenclature (“The Toothy Cows of Skree”), suspense and adventure.  It is about quests and identity, the discovery of purpose and the exercise of bravery, humility, maturity and joy.  There is betrayal to face, and evil both faceless and embodied in the poisonous Fangs of Dang.  How to express it more without giving away the story?  I dare not – read it for yourself!

The books suit themselves to be read aloud.  I will be reading them to my children.  Consider the rhythm and metre in this description of the Igiby family found early in the first book:

Well, except for the way they always sat late into the night beside the hearth telling stories, and when they sang in the garden while they gathered the harvest, and when the grandfather, Podo Helmer, sat on the porch blowing smoke rings, and except for all the good, warm things that filled their days there like cider in a mug on a winter night, they were quite miserable.  Quite miserable indeed, in that land where walked the Fangs of Dang.

If you want a story that will move you, seize you and not let itself be put down, this saga is that.

An epilogue to The Lord’s Supper in Human Hands, a treatise on lay and diaconal administration of Holy Communion which I reviewed some time ago, has been made available as a free pdf.

I was off-deck when the Appellate Tribunal brought its 2010 response to the Synod of Sydney’s resolution accepting legal argument for non-presbyteral administration.  I wondered at the time what Sydney’s response would be.  The synodical outcome is old news now. But now we have easy access to the booklet that outlines the basis for it.

No great commentary from me.  Just a few points.

1. Bp. Peter Brain’s minority report in the Appellate Tribunal’s decision is I think thoughtful, balanced and well-spirited.
2. Bp. Glenn Davies’ response to the decision says nothing new but brings new clarity to his argument.  He does make a clear emphasis on the disparity in the logic used by the AT to recognise provision for women bishops in the current legislative corpus, but not diaconal administration.  I agree with him at least to say that the disparity should never have existed: the AT interpretation that led to female episcopacy was an insipid way of recognising that practice – its proponents should have argued it into joyous acclamation and reception, not slipped it through a judicial backdoor.
3. Bp. Davies assumes the AT decision is “advisory” not a “determination” and Robert Tong explicates this in his chapter on constitutional arrangements.  I assume that this issue will be the next legal question raised.  Which in turn raises an interesting question about whether the AT will need to determine something about itself – and whether any response that it is determinative could then itself be taken as advisory!

Unsurprisingly the “judicial” aspects of the Anglican Church of Australia have failed to resolve this question.  I concur with Bp. Brain’s emphasis on fellowship rather than legalism here.

For those with a Roman Catholic heritage an Examination of Conscience may be familiar.  It’s a series of questions, often based on the Ten Commandments or some form of catechism, which you are meant to ask of yourself before going to confession: Have I committed this or that sin?  Have I had that wrong attitude? Where is my heart not right with God?

Being lumped together with confession it’s something the evangelical church has shied away from.  And not for no reason – at its worst, when mixed with penance instead of penitence an examination of conscience could be taken as a desperate attempt to unearth every wrongdoing in order to avoid the wrath of a vengeful god.

But at its best, when done in the light of the God of justice and mercy in whom forgiveness is a rock-solid given because of the cross of Christ, it is an act of devotion, a humble willingness to have oneself shaped for the Kingdom of God.  This is a thoroughly evangelical practice in line with the psalmist of Psalm 139:

Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.

In this I agree with David Gushee from a 2005 Christianity Today article where he sees in such examinations a “rich moral inventory” and decries the “staggering moral sloppiness that frequently characterises us” as evangelicals.  And he asks:

Which evangelical traditions today train their adherents in the kind of rigorous self-examination represented by the Catholic tradition of the “examination of conscience”? The Puritans and the followers of Wesley used to engage in such practices, but they have largely disappeared.

Which evangelical traditions today encourage the kind of daily self-examination and rigorous accountability represented by the evangelical Wilberforce? Can one find this kind of moral seriousness actively taught in any branch of the evangelical world?

Christianity is more than an event, an experience, or a set of beliefs. It is a way of life characterized by moral seriousness and the quest for holiness.

I recently put together an Examination of Conscience for an Ash Wednesday service.  I did this by looking at a whole bunch of different resources, most of them catholic, and picking the good questions without losing the hard questions.  It has been a worthwhile exercise.

For some reason the song by the Scorpions always tears me up.

I think it’s something to do with the unrealised dreams and angst of a browbeaten Generation X.

It takes faith to keep dreaming.

I used to think it was my own little heresy – that the gospel was all about the Lordship of Christ and the fulfillment of his Kingdom here on earth when he returns, more than any possibility of being raptured into an ethereal eternity.  My “heresy” has found a harbour.  Tom Wright’s Surprised by Hope unpacks an eschatology that brings forth the foundation of the biblical narrative.  Not only is it hermeneutical framework changer (or strengthener) but completes the circle by dealing with the putting of gospel into practice.

The book is quite simple in essence.  Wright seeks to answer two questions: “First, what is the ultimate Christian hope?  Second, what hope is there for change, rescue, transformation, new possibilities within the world in the present?” (Page 5).  And he insists that these questions be asked together, for the Christian hope is not about escaping an evil creation, but about “God’s new creation.. that has already come to life in Jesus of Nazareth.” (Page 5)

“I find that to many – not least many Christians – all this comes as a surprise: both that the Christian hope is surprisingly different from what they had assumed, and that this same hope offers a coherent and energizing basis for work in today’s world’ (Page 5)

Wright then proceeds, to unpack these two issues – the Christian hope, and it’s application.

To the first issue he brings his skill as New Testament scholar and general theologian to bear in a knowledgeable and astute way.  His touchstone is the resurrrection and ascension of Jesus, a topic that is poorly handled (if considered at all) in many of the systematic theologies I’ve read.  The historicity of Christ’s resurrection is a deliberately aberrational impact of God’s purposes into the world.  People simply do not rise from the dead, so that fact this this man has inaugurates something profound.  First, it places Jesus higher than all – as the one in whom the Kingdom of God is inaugurated he is Lord of all.  And, secondly, upon his return, as the early Christians cry Maranatha!…

“They believed that God was going to do for the whole cosmos what he had done for Jesus at Easter.” (Page 104)

Before he gets to the practical implications Wright unpacks the theological ones.  He sets this expression of the gospel against insidious platonism and an assumed dualism that is prevalent in liturgical and spiritual language.  I particularly enjoyed how he pulls apart some of our hymnody.

“While we’re on Christian carols, consider ‘Away in a manger’, which prays, ‘and fit us for heaven, to live with thee there.’  No resurrection; no new creation; no marriage of heaven and earth.  And when we find in the hymn book the blatant romantic nature-religion and universalims of Paul Gerhardt…

But when life’s day is over
Shall death’s fair night discover

Death in the New Testament is never a ‘fair night’.  It is an enemy, conquered by Jesus but still awaiting its final defeat.”

There are theological corollaries to his framework, and he also unpacks these.  It could be here that some controversy might lie for some, although it needn’t for I think he draws a line between what is necessary and what is speculative.

Some examples of his thinking includes the necessity of an intermediate state of paradise ahead of the coming of Christ – which means the many rooms prepared by Jesus for his disciples (John 14) are temporary.  He also looks at judgement and justification.  His view of hell, rather nicely, is not annihilationist, but somewhat Narnian, where hell is for “beings that once were human but now are not, creatures that have ceased to bear the divine image at all.” (Page 195)

One aspect I need to put some more thought into is the notion that the creation of Genesis, while definitely good, is not necessary complete.   Rather, creation itself is eschatological (crf. Romans 8), designed as a vessel to receive the fullness of God himself so that the glory of the Lord covers the earth as the waters cover the sea.

“It looks as though God intends to flood the universe with himself; as though the universe, the entire cosmos, was designed as a receptacle for his love.  We might even suggest, as part of a Christian aesthetic, that the world is beautiful, not just because it hauntingly reminds us of its creator, but because it is pointing forwards: it is designed to be filled, flooded, drenched in God; as a chalice is beautiful not least because of what we know it is designed to contain…

The world is created good but incomplete.  One day, when all forces of rebellion have been defeated, and the creation responds freely and gladly to the love of its creator, God will fill it with himself, so that it will both remain an independent being, other than God, and also will be flooded with God’s own life.” (Pages 113-114)

The key value of this book however lies in Wright’s attempt to complete the circle from theology to practicality – the intertwining of gospel with mission.  1 Corinthians 15 is a key passage as Wright engages with Paul’s vision of our future in the resurrection and reflects on Paul’s application of this hope: “Therefore, my beloved ones, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labour is not in vain.”

“The point of the resurrection, as Paul has been arguing throughout the letter, is that the present bodily life is not valueless just because it will die.  God will raise it to new life.  What you do with your body in the present matters, because God has a great future in store for it… What you do in the present – by painting, preaching, singing, sewing, praying, teaching, building hospitals, digging wells, campaigning for justice, writing poems, caring for the needy, loving your neighbour as yourself – all these things will last into God’s future.  They are not simply ways of making the present life a little less beastly, a little more bearable, until the day when we live it behind altogether… They are part of what we may call building for God’s kingdom.” (Page 205)

The basic sense is knowing the Kingdom of God in part here and now what we will know in fullness when Jesus returns.  It’s a life that prays “Your kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven” and builds for that kingdom.  Wright unpacks kingdom tasks around the categories of working for justice, beauty and evangelism (chapter 13).

When talking about mission it is hard to get the balance right between our obligation and the sovereign work of God.  I like Wrights’ God builds the kingdom, we build for the kingdom phrasing.  But I’m not sure whether describing our missions as “seeking… to implement the achievement of Jesus and his resurrection” (Page 245) is helpful.  Jesus “achieves” and we “implement” – I’m not sure if this hits the balance.  Perhaps it’s my cynicism – many of the examples Wright gives of mission in action seem simply too bureaucratic.  Part of me is discontent with welfare programs or even “Truth and Reconciliation Commissions” as an outworking of the gospel.  They seem doable without Jesus and thus devoid of power.  I want to see miracles as the Kingdom of God comes near to those who are bound by sin and the world, just as it did for Jesus.  Perhaps this is eschatological angst on my part.

I did appreciate Wright’s last two chapters, however, where he goes where my heart always goes – the reshaping of the church for mission.  The message for a church which has lost its hope is “It’s time to wake up!… Come alive to the real world, the world where Jesus is Lord, the world into which your baptism brings you, the world you claim to belong to when you say in the creed that Jesus is Lord and that God raised him from the dead.” (Page 265)  Such a message can and must reinvigorate our worship, our prayer, our attitude towards life.

In all this Wright has let down a bucket into the depths of the gospel water from which I have not drunk for a long time.  The bucket is imperfect for sure.  But the water is oh so sweet.