To announce the kingdom as hope is to announce a future which every present takes meaning from, and in which any past is redeemed. It is to live by the power of the future… How, then, can we announce the kingdom of God as hope? By hoping. By living and sharing hope. By working with hope. By dying with hope!
– Mortimer Arias
It wasn't until four or five years ago that I started to seriously think about the role of hope in Christianity. It was around then that I started reading Moltmann (cf. “Theology of Hope”) and started journeying in intimate love relationships with people who had been deeply broken and forsaken.
I have come to believe that the reason why hope receives so little attention in the North American church is because the North American church is dominated by people who have no genuine need for a transformative hope. Having little personal experience of suffering and little faith in a God who genuinely breaks into history most North American Christians focus hope on the after-life. But even then they wouldn't tend to call it hope – they would tend to call it faith. Hope is a word that is used almost shamefully. Hope is taken as a sign of weak faith. If they had enough faith they would just believe something would happen, they wouldn't hope for it to happen. Of course, all this has little bearing on the way in which they live their lives, climbing corporate ladders, investing for retirement, making sure the kids go to a good school…
Most North American Christians are essentially hopeless.
Yet hope is at the center of the Christian faith. After all, ours is the “God of hope” (Romans 16) who desires that we “abound in hope” (ibid.) and in the end it is faith, hope, and love that will remain (1 Corinthians 13). We talk a lot about faith and love but where is hope? I think we rediscover hope when we rediscover that to follow Christ is to journey alongside of the suffering. In such relationships hope becomes essential. And not merely as an aid in the process. Hope is essential for the enactment of present transformation. That is to say, hopeless Christianity is also impotent Christianity. Hopeful Christianity is empowered Christianity that brings new life. Hope causes the future to break into the present. That's why the church is to exist as an embodiment of the kingdom of heaven in the midst of the kingdoms of the world. The church is to be an in-breaking eschatological reality.
In hope I can say to all those I encounter that the past does not have the final word. In hope I see the present transformed. For the Christian hope is different than other hopes. There is a certainty, an assurance, attached to it. It is not in vain. And no matter how dark the road and how painful the cross the end result will be resurrection that causes salvation to break into the world.

Raymond Fung, a theologian and an inner-city worker in Hong Kong, in his critique of Western evangelism suggests that Christians are operating from a faulty anthropology when they only view people as sinners. He writes,
“Surely they are sinners, all of them – all of us. But we have forgotten the sinned-against, those who are victims of the sins of others.”
And this, adds Mortimer Arias, a Bolivian theologian, is precisely the opposite of what Jesus did. Jesus prioritised announcing good news to the poor, the outcasts, the marginals, the “little ones”, the sick, the despised, the rejected – the sinned-against.
“To the sinned-against Jesus' heart went out in love, forgiveness, and gracious invitation.”
At this point we must heed the reminder of J.L. Segundo, a Jesuit from Uruguay. We must be announcing the good news as good news.
How is it that so many Christians have lost this central aspect of the good news? The good news was about the forgiveness of sins, it was about an out-pouring of unexpected grace, of new life, and the restoration of right relationship among all people and all things. It is good news, not bad news. It is a cause of feasting, of dancing, of drinking and of Jubilee.
To live a life centered on Jesus is to move constantly toward the periphery and thereby follow in Jesus' footsteps. As Kosuke Koyama, a Japanese theologian writes: from his birth in a stable, to his association with sinners in Galilee, to his death outside the city gates, Jesus constantly moves toward the periphery.
“He expresses his centrality in the periphery by reaching the extreme periphery. Finally on the cross, he stops his movement. There he cannot move. He is nailed down. This is the point of ultimate periphery. 'My God, My God, why has thou forsaken me?'”
Therefore, the World Council of Churches concludes,
“In their witness to the Kingdom of God in words and deeds the churches must dare to be present at the bleeding points of humanity and thus near those who suffer evil, even taking the risk of being counted among the wicked.”

I know of two.
There is the Father in heaven. The Father defined by self-giving love. The Father of life that is only known as “Father” because he is the Father of the Son.
And then there is the other on earth. The Father defined by hurt. The Father too broken to realise that, despite his best intentions, he was only breaking others.
Into the image of one of these two I must grow. It is only through being in the Son that I too can be a child of the former. Reject the Son and there is no hope of being with, or emulating, that Father. Reject the Son and I journey in the footsteps of the latter.
No, I will not become the latter. Nor will I fool myself into thinking I can become like the former in any other way except through the Son.
Whatever else we choose to think of Jesus we must recognise that he himself makes this clear.

I was reading something one of my brothers wrote and I was struck by what he said. Drawing on theological tradition he looks back to the idea of original sin and affirms that hubris was the motivating factor. It was because Adam and Eve sought to be like God that they became sub-human. Motivated by pride they sought to elevate themselves and instead found themselves fallen. Keeping this in mind as a warning my brother than suggests that as Christians we must beware of committing the same sin of pride. Let us not presume to be Christ and bring salvation to the world or we may discover that we are far less than Christ and have brought destruction to the world. Therefore, my brother concludes, we should focus on being with Christ. In humility we must journey in love relationship with Jesus and therefore avoid the pitfalls of hubris.
Now this is an intriguing application of the Fall narrative and it certainly avoids one extreme but I fear that it gravitates too far to the other extreme and (as extremes tend to do) ends up being too simplistic. Here it is important to maintain biblical thinking and language. What sort of language does the New Testament apply to a Christian's relation to Jesus? I would argue that the appropriate term is not a call to be Christ, nor is it a call to be with Christ but rather it is a call to be in Christ. Indeed, many prominent New Testament scholars argue that being “in Christ” is the central theme of Paul's entire theology (cf. NT Wright and many others, especially those belonging to the “New Perspectives on Paul”). To use the language of “in Christ” avoids both extremes will providing a more nuanced (and complicated) understanding of Christian identity. To say that believers are Christ can result in the hubris that my brother mentions. However, to simply say that believers journey with Christ can completely lose track of the new creation that Christ has accomplished and the in-breaking of the kingdom that began at Pentecost. One side is sinfully prideful, the other sinfully humble. Indeed, contemporary Western Christians seem to more often commit the sin of humility. No, you are not a sinner saved by grace, you are a new creation.
To be in Christ picks up on the strengths of both extremes without committing the mistakes of either. Thus, there are times when believers are so intimately linked with Jesus' mission, suffering and glory that it is hard to discern between the two. However, there is also a clear demarcation between Jesus, the Lord of creation, and his disciples. In pursuing Christian identity we need to start with an understanding of ourselves as in Christ and work out from there. Together we will discover how being in Christ impacts all areas of our living and when it is appropriate to speak of ourselves as Christ and when it is appropriate to speak of ourselves with Christ – always keeping the central motif in mind.

“You see that's when I realised… we don't just love even though we know others will disappoint us. We love knowing that we will disappoint others.”
– JS
“Do I believe in universalism? Do you want my honest answer or my sugar-coated answer? …Okay, well, I think God fucks us over so much in this life that we better all be getting something good after it all ends. I mean look at what's going on is Asia. 150,000 people just died… because of a fucking wave. And really that's just the latest in a string of rather atrocious events that have occurred on this planet. And I want to believe in universalism but I can't make it match with the Bible. I'm trying hard to reconcile the God of the Bible, the God of history, with the God I see in Jesus. I like the God that is revealed in Jesus but he doesn't seem to align with the rest of the Bible – or with experience. Experience seems to align with a God who doesn't mind indulging in a good ol' kill-fest every now and again. I don't know… I sort of feel like I'm in a battle for my life and I hope to win but I don't know if I will.”
– MT
“You are different though. Your faith actually does dictate everything about your life. And that does make you different than most Christians who think it determines their live but keep on living like everybody else. Your relationship with Jesus determines your school. It determines what the career you're looking for. Even when it comes to loving people, you love them through Jesus.”
– TT

Purity was raped, not by Passion but by something nameless.
For Passion too was beaten and tied up in the basement.
Revelry was blinded just as Faith began to see
That Innocence had died and Hope was made an orphan.
But Assurance adopted Hope who grew to untie Passion.
Passion became the lead in a dance with Revelry.
And Revelry? Well, Revelry introduced Purity to Transformation.
Together they sought Power but all they found was Love.
Who dubbed the nameless 'Impotence'.

We rejoice.
We have glimpsed victory and have the assurance of the reconciliation of all things.
And so we dance. But as we move across the floor the tears of others are drawn to us and wrap around us like a blanket. Until all things are made new our dance reveals a world full of hurt and dying. Without missing a beat we find ourselves weeping. Our joy and sorrow weave together as the music swells and fades.
One day we will dance freely. Free in a way we cannot completely understand right now. One day we will know laughter that has fully triumphed over sorrow. Laughter that is pure, that is sure, laughter that is whole. Beauty untouched by brokenness. Or rather, beauty that runs deeper than brokenness, beauty that is victorious. Then the dance will truly begin. The crowd will shift, a space will open, and you will see her there. Uninhibited, joyful and whole.
Then we all will echo the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
Maranatha. Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come quickly.

He said:
Hey man, can you help me, I can't reach it.
Pointed at the camera in the ceiling.
I climbed up, blocked it so they could not see.
Turned to find you out of bed and kneeling.
Before the nurses came, took you away,
I stood there on a chair and watched you pray.
– The Weakerthans
This is a journal.
That means I'm struggling with the things I write about – not claiming to have discovered absolute truth.
Please do not go and base your life or faith solely on anything written here (or on your interpretation of anything written here).
~
Naturally, if you speak to enough people about enough subjects, particularly subjects that are deeply personal or deeply controversial, misunderstandings will inevitably result. So let me clarify a few things:
When I write about remembering suffering at Christmas I'm writing to comfortable middle-class Christians, not those who have suffered. I'm writing to Christians who have made emotional happiness and instant pleasure the be-all-end-all of their Christian existence instead of responding to the call and example of Jesus.
When I write about universalism I'm not claiming that all religions (or lacks thereof) lead to the same God. I'm not surrendering terms that the Bible dictates nor am I adopting a laissez-faire approach.
And I'd like to think that when I write angrily I'm not writing (too) arrogantly.
And that, my friends, is my disclaimer. Read critically.

It's coming on christmas
They're cutting down trees
They're putting up reindeer
And singing songs of joy and peace
Oh I wish I had a river
I could skate away on
– Joni Mitchell, River
You know, more and more, I have trouble viewing Christmas as a celebratory time of year. I mean, apart from all the Christian ranting about how this time of year has been co-opted by contemporary cultural paganism (“Jesus is the reason for the season!”), I'm not convinced that a Christian approach to Christmas – that of remembering the birth of Jesus – should be a cause of so much frivolous joy.
Certainly there is a joyous element to it. Jesus' birth signals God becoming human, God entering into our world, coming alongside of us to redeem us. God with a face. God we can know and love and hold and be held by. That surely inspires awe and celebration.
And yet how can we unrestrainedly celebrate that event when we know what it leads to? The birth of Jesus was just the first step of a journey of humiliation and suffering. God humbled. God made vulnerable. God as a child. A child destined for abandonment, torture, shame and death. Surely a cause of awe, that God should love us so dearly as to endure such things for us, but not so much a cause of frivolous joy. Christmas is the first step to a journey that culminates in the cross.
I wonder how much those who celebrate Christmas really understand suffering. I wonder how much those who sing the words, “Thank you for the cross” really understand what it entails. Saying thank you for the cross is like saying thank you for the rape of a loved one. Celebrating Christmas so lavishly and thoughtlessly is like celebrating the first step that leads to that loved one's rape.
~
Only in light of the resurrection can we thank God for the cross. And even then it is a thank you that we whisper, that we speak with tears on our cheeks. It is not a thank you for forms of torture but rather a thank you for a love so deep that it was willing to be tortured, and by being tortured set us free.
That's why I think Easter Sunday is the truly celebratory moment of the Christian calendar. New creation bursts into the old. Life is brought out of death and hope out of hopelessness. Humanity is reconciled to God and God is shown to triumph over even the most brutal forms of forsakenness.
This Christmas season, while the world celebrates and feasts, I think Christians would do well to step back and remember a child held by a breathless mother in a barn in Bethlehem. Awed by the miracle of birth, his tiny fingers clutching her thumb. Christians would do well to remember how that same mother would come to see her son beaten beyond recognition and hung naked before a crowd that mocked him as he died. His weathered hands outstretched and pierced. Christians would do well to remember that while the world celebrates we are called to mourn, and while the world feasts we are called to fast. During Christmas we need to remember the God who identified so deeply with those who are oppressed and forsaken that he entered into their forsakenness with them. This Christmas season let us remember that we are called to do the same.