Stations of the Cross: When Visual Arts replace Cruciform Living

At the beginning of Holy Week, the “artist in residence” at my school, led a number of students and faculty through the Stations of the Cross. I did not attend. However, it did get my wheels turning a bit. You see, a professor had emailed me and invited me to go through the Stations with him, but I was worn down from a rough couple of weeks in the downtown eastside, so I turned him down.
Truth be told, I’ve always been a little suspicious of the ways in which Christians approach the Visual Arts. I’ve often wondered if we simply use the Visual Arts as a means of stirring emotions within us that we do not feel otherwise — and the catch is that we should be feeling these emotions, and we know that we should be feeling these emotions. However, rather than going into the sort of life experiences that would stir these emotions within us, we choose to participate in some sort of Visual Arts experience, which functions as a simulacrum of the real event, and thereby stirs our emotions. We then become satisfied because we think that it is the feeling of these emotions that is important, when in actuality is is the participation in the event that leads to these emotions that is important.
This then leads me back to the way in which we tend to practice the Stations of the Cross during Holy Week. Rather than living lives that continually lead us through these Stations, we prefer to simply participate in some sort of Visual Arts experience, which allows us to stimulate the emotions we associate with the Stations of the Cross. Rather than engaging in cruciformity, we observe the simulacrum of cruciformity, and receive some form of emotional gratification (I don’t think that I would be overstating my case to say that such an experience is to Christian living what pornography is to sex — which is why The Passion of the Christ is the ultimate Christian snuff film).
Of course, this is not to say that we should then abandon this sort of ritual. Rituals, and rituals involving the Visual Arts, can be important. However, I believe that we are engaging in a vile form of hypocrisy if we choose to participate in the Stations of the Cross at Easter while refusing to move on the via crucis during the rest of the year.
These, then, have been some of my Stations of the Cross during the last few weeks:
-Having my wife come home and tell me about a 15 year old girl she had met, who is addicted to crack and working in the sex trade because, ever since she was five, her father used to rape her in front of her brothers in order to teach them “how to be men” (Station One: a death sentence/Station 10: a person stripped/Station 11: a crucifixion).
-Jumping into a knife fight/rumble between two groups of feuding kids, just before things got bad (Station 5: participating in the crosses of others).
-Meeting a woman on the bus at night; she was asking me for money, and I had none. She had no shoes on and sores all over her feet (Station 8: behold the daughters of our city).
-Four dead sex workers (Station 12: death)
I think you get the idea. If you truly want to come to know, and experience, the Stations of the Cross, I know no better way than choosing to journey with those who are in exile.

If you could ask God one question…

…what would it be?
For me, there is one question, and only one question, that sums it all up:
Why have you waited so long to return and make your home among us?
This, I think, is the great challenge to faith — a challenge that has not, and I suspect cannot, be adequately answered until God does come again and make all things new.

If it is Too Late; Then we must Hope

[I]f anyone says, ‘After Auschwitz it is too late to go on hoping for the Messiah, who could come but who has not in fact come’—then, said Fackenheim, he would reply, ‘It is precisely because it is too late that we are commanded to hope… To hope after Auschwitz and Hiroshima is just this: don’t leave the future to hell because hell is always with us.
~ Moltmann, quoting Emile Fackenheim, in A Broad Place: An Autobiography.
I think that this quotation from Fackenheim does a fine job of expressing the sort of hope that I am pursuing. Journeying, as I do, with many who are considered hopeless, I am often confronted with the questions posited by the supposedly well-intentioned realism that pervades our culture:
“Why bother with all these people? After all, they will never get clean, they will die on the street, they will continue to break, and be broken by, others. Why remain in such a dark place? Why throw away your life, why surrender whatever talents you might have, on those who will not appreciate them? For these people, it is too late. Move on. Be free of them (doesn’t your Jesus offer you freedom?). Focus on those who are close to you, focus on those who will appreciate what you have to offer. Make the little difference that you can, but, for heaven’s sake, don’t get so caught up in all of this!”
Such realism is entirely hopeless. It is here — here in the places that are beyond hope, in the people that are beyond saving, in the broken who are beyond fixing — here that hope must truly come to exist. For hope should not be mistaken for the optimism that comes with experiencing privilege, nor should it be mistaken for the pale myth of progress that continues to cling to our culture. No, hope, the true hope of Christianity, must be born from the hells of our world. True Christian hope is precisely the sort of hope that arises from the (realistic but hopeless) observation that “it is too late.”
Why is this the case? Because Jesus is the perfect example of the ways in which our concepts of ‘lateness’ are displaced by God’s activity. By all accounts, after dying on the cross, and spending three days lying dead in a tomb, it was too late for Jesus to be anything but another failed messianic pretender. The imperial powers, coupled with the local religious and social elites, had definitively put an end to Jesus’s work — Jesus was dead, the game was up, all the disciples could do was flee for their lives. But then resurrection happened… and everything changed. New life, life that conquers death, occured, and is now a central part of the lordship of Jesus.
And so we know, when all the powers of death are united, when they are bearing down on us and telling us that it is too late for change, too late for this person, too late for that person, too late for hope — when know that there is a power greater than death. The power of God, acknowledged in the confession of Jesus’s Lordship, it is this that requires us to hold onto hope for everyone whom death tries to claim (and even does claim).
Too late? We know that it is not too late. It is early! The new day has only just begun to dawn.
Too late? We know that it is not too late. It is only too late for death and all the powers in the service of death. For the rest of us, there is hope.
Too late? We know that it is not too late. After Holy Saturday, all of our hells have been planted with hope, and even the most devestated places can be the foundation for fertility. Yes, it is not too late, this wilderness will yet rejoice, will blossom, will shout for joy.
Too late? We know that it is not too late. The eyes of the blind will see, the ears of the deaf will hear, the lame will leap like a deer, the dead will be raised to new life, “and the ransomed of the LORD will return. They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads. Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away” (Isaiah 35).

Challenges to 'Counter-Cultural' Christianity

In The Making of the Counter Culture: Reflections on the technoratic society and its youthful opposition, an exploration of the counter-culture of the 1960s, Theodore Roszak notes how the majority of those interested in the counter-culture are youth who were raised within the domains of bourgeois society. Roszak views this as an unanticipated development within the middle and upper classes. Thus, he argues that “the bourgeoisie, instead of discovering the class enemy in its factories, finds it across the breakfast table in the preson of its own pampered children.” He then goes on to note the twin perils of this counter-culture: “on the one hand, the weakness of its cultural rapport with the disadvantaged, on the other, its vulnerability to exploitation as an amusing side show of the swinging society.”
I think that this is an astute observation, and one that remains true for Christians who are interested in pursuing (or recovering) a counter-cultural form of Christianity within our contemporary context. In particular, I can't help but think of the Emergent Church 'Conversation'. It seems to me that the Emergent Church is, by and large, filled with disillusioned bourgeois Christians, and frequently falls prey to the perils Rozsak notes. It frequently fails to connect with the disadvantaged (even as it talks about AIDS in Africa, and caring for the environment) and is frequently simply a means of amusement, and self-gratification, for those who are no longer amused, or gratified, by the expressions of Christianity that dominated mid-to-late twentieth century America. All that to say, I don't think that there is very much that is 'counter-cultural' about the Emergent Church. Rather, I think it frequently simply counters the culture of modernity, and posits a form of Church that fits well within the dominant culture of 'post-modernity', or 'late capitalism.' Indeed, that the Emergent prefers to be called a 'Conversation' and not a 'Movement' should already be tipping us off to these things!
To a certain degree, I think that the same criticisms, and cautions, should be applied to the New Monasticism. Granted, there seems to be genuine efforts to attain a much deeper connection with the disadvantaged, but the extent of the depth of the New Monasticism remains to be seen. Given the media hype that has surrounded some of its proponents (think Shane Claiborne), I can't help but wonder if a great deal of its popularity is due to the fact that it can be viewed as an 'amusing side show'. Here I am reminded of Herbert Marcuse's response to his own rise to fame after the student revolts of 1968. “I'm very much worried about this,” Marcuse said. “At the same time it is a beautiful verification of my philosophy, which is that in this society everything can be co-opted, everything can be digested.”
Finally, I think that the same caution can be issued to certain 'hot' theological topics, especially topics that attempt to posit something unique (and thereby counter-cultural) about Christianity. Take, for example, our increasing interest in trinitarian theology. Now I don't want to suggest that we abandon trinitarian thinking (far from it!); what I do want to ensure is that trinitarian theology remains grounded in the proper place. That place, of course, is the cross of Christ, which then also becomes our own places of cruciformity as we follow Christ on the road to the cross. Thus, Jurgen Moltmann (who is surely one of the reasons why trinitarian theology has gotten 'hot') says the following in his recent autobiography, A Broad Place: “the doctrine of the Trinity becomes abstract and loses its relevance without the event of the cross.” Rather than being a amusing side show within theology, trinitarian thinking should also lead us to a deeper connection with the crucified Christ, with the crucified people of today, and with our own call to cruciformity.

February Books

Well, as expected, my cover-to-cover book reading has been rather limited this month given both my focus on my thesis research and my desire to read some longer books this year (hence, I’ve been very slowly working my way through Marx’s Grundrisse and Green’s NICNT commentary on The Gospel of Luke over the last few months). However, these are the books I managed to finish last month:
1. Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History (revised edition) by Oscar Cullmann.
This was a book that I began to read for my research and ending up reading all the way through. In it Cullmann lays out his now famous (and now widely accepted) thesis that the Christian understanding of time is one that views history as divided between two ages which, due to the Christ-event, now overlap. Hence, over against Schweitzer’s ‘consistent’ (or futurist) eschatology, Dodd’s ‘realised’ (present) eschatology, and Bultmann’s existential (ahistorical) eschatology, Cullmann posits an inaugurated but not-yet consummated eschatology, wherein Christians negotiate the tensions between the ‘now’ and the ‘not-yet’ (it is in this work that he first utilises he famous example of the time between D-Day, and V-Day — the decisive battle has been won, but the final victory is yet to be accomplished).
I found this to be an excellent book for several reasons. First of all, I fully agree with Cullmann’s understanding of time and history shaped around the Christ-event. Secondly, Cullmann emphasises the fact that the new creation is a cosmic event, encompassing all of creation, and he thereby affirms both embodied human existence (for more on Cullmann’s emphasis on the bodily nature of the resurrection cf. Immortality of the Soul or Resurrection of the Dead? The Witness of the New Testament). Third, Cullmann stresses the missional aspect of this understanding of time, wherein the Church, in the power of the Holy Spirit, now takes part in the ongoing inauguration of God’s new creation in the present moment. Fourth, I think Cullmann’s reflections on the imminence of Christ’s parousia are quite useful — over against many scholars who argue that Paul was expecting Christ to return in his lifetime, and who thus go on to argue that the early Church then had to contend with the embarrassement of ‘the delay of the parousia‘, Cullmann argues that Paul was certain that Christ would return, was longing for Christ to return in his lifetime, but had no certainty, or ‘calendar reckoning’ for when this return would be. Hence, he argues that Paul was indeed teaching an ‘interim ethic’, but precisely the sort of interim ethic that continues to apply today (and not an interim ethic that we can then discard, as many scholars argue) because we continue to live in that interim period. Fifth, Cullmann’s understanding of the Powers is very useful. He emphasises that the Powers must be understood as both the civil authorities (the secular Greek meaning of the term exousiai) and as angelic powers that stand behind, and operate through, the civil authorities (the understanding of the powers often demonstrated in Jewish apocalyptic literature). I think that this both-and is vitally important for how we interpret Paul’s understanding of the relationship that Christians are to have with the State (Cullmann develops this view more in The State in the New Testament).
To be honest, much of what Cullmann said reminded me of N. T. Wright, both in what Wright has to say about eschatology (in The New Testament and the People of God and in Jesus and the Victory of God) and in what Wright has to say about resurrection, new creation, and the mission of the Church (in The Resurrection of the Son of God, Surprised by Hope, and Simply Christian). It seems to me that much of the core of what has made Wright (in)famous (regarding these topics) was already stated by Cullmann fifty years ago. I was, therefore, a little surprised, when I went back to Wright’s books, to discover that Wright harldly engages Cullmann at all and only passingly (and negatively) mentions Cullmann’s The Christology of the New Testament. I’m not sure why this is. Anybody care to ask the good bishop for me?
2. Consuming Jesus: Beyond Race and Class Divisions in a Consumer Church by Paul Louis Metzger.
I may have come to this book with higher expectations than I should have, but I was a little disappointed after reading it. Essentially, if you have read John Perkins and William Cavanaugh, you will have already read what Metzger lays out in this book — a vision of the Church as a theopolitical community capable of overcoming race and class division through the presence of practical love (found in reconciliation, relocation, and redistribution) and the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. However, Metzger, as an Evangelical, does add to Perkins and Cavanaugh by mapping some of the ways in which the American Evangelical movement has lost its way, and by offering some suggestions as to how that community can get back on track (here he largely follow the analysis provided by Noll and Marsden).
Of course, it should be noted that Metzger is essentially restating what scholars like Perkins, Cavanaugh, Noll, and Marsden, have said, but restating it in a way that makes these scholars accessible (and hopefully exciting) to a general Christian audience. Hence, my disappointment in the book mostly stems from my own misunderstanding of what Metzger was trying to accomplish!
I do, however, have one deeper point of (potential?) disagreement with Metzger. It seems to me that Metzger still falls into an unhelpful sort of stewardship model (the sort criticised by Kelly S. Johnson in her fantastic book, The Fear of Beggars) when he deals with the issue of material distribution. This also points to what I see as a deeper problem in Metzger’s book — the way in which he focuses on consumerism rather than on capitalism. By focusing on consumerism, I think that Metzger fails to account for how truly insidious capitalism is — he seems to be saying that the problem is not capitalism, but what we do with it, and I think that this fails to get to the core of the problem. That said, let me return to the issue of stewardship ethics, by providing a lengthy quote. Metzger writes:
Free-market capitalism is very good at making money, but is not very good at distributing it. Christians, on the other hand, have been called to redistribute our wealth, talents, and goods. While Jesus never said that we should embrace poverty, he did tell the rich young ruler to sell his possessions and give all the proceeds to the poor (Luke 18.18-30). But it is important to point out to young Christians who are passionate about helping the poor that we cannot give to the poor if we have no resources to redistribute. We should embrace redistribution, not poverty. Following John Wesley, we should make all that we can, so that we can save all that we can, so that we can give away all that we can.
IMO, there are a couple problems with this way of thinking. To begin with, this ‘Wesleyan’ way of thinking is precisely the sort of thinking that was, in a signicant way, responsible for the rise of capitalism. Secondly, the type of charity that results from this way of thinking is often a top-down form of condescension. Thirdly, one’s focus becomes on making money in order to be able to give some to the poor, when there are many other ways in which one can give to, and be among, the poor that do not involve much money at all. That is to say, the notion that we, must go about making money in order to help the poor is one that is entirely false, and is itself a part of the mythic perpetuation of capitalism (as Peter Maurin once said, and as those like George Muller demonstrated, ‘In the history of the saints, capital was raised by prayer’). Finally, what Metzger fails to work through in regards to journeying with the poor, is the issue of solidarity. Yes, Metzger does mention solidarity a few pages earlier, when he argues that the Christian community must engage in “solidarity with society at large” because “Christ himself was all about solidarity”. However, IMO, he fails to see how his model of redistribution is one that is unable to succeed in attaining solidarity because, if one is spending all of one’s time working and saving in order to be able to give to the poor, then chances are that one is actually spending very much time in community with the poor. Hence, the issue is not one of romanticising poverty, but of recognising that true solidarity eventually leads us to the point of embracing poverty ourselves.
3. Les Justes by Albert Camus.
It has been a long time since I did any reading in French. However, after our friend Dany visited last month (cf. donotfreeze.blogspot.com), I received the gift of a few French novels and so I decided to begin with this short play (translated into english as “The Just Assassins” but a more literal, and better, translation would be “The Just Ones”). I’ve always love Camus (La Peste remains one of my favourite novels), and this play did not disappoint. Herein, we see a group of revolutionaries struggling with issues of justice, violence, sacrifice, love and hope(lessness). A great play, and probably the first play that I have truly really enjoyed reading (whereas when I read Shakespeare, Beckett, Williams, and Miller, I always found myself thinking ‘I’d probably like this a whole lot more if I was watching this as a performance’).
I don’t know what it is about the French literary philosophers (Camus, Sartre, Voltaire) but they have a way of expressing things with a profundity, brevity, and poignancy that I have yet to find elsewhere. And Camus has such a way with words. Here are a few notable quotes:
C’est cela l’amour — tout donner, tout sacrificier, sans espoir de retour.
La liberté est un bagne aussi longtemps qu’un seul homme est asservi sur la terre.
Annenkov — Il dit que la poésie est révolutionnaire.
Stepan — La bombe seule est révolutionnaire.
Damn, why do quotes always sound so much better when they’re in French?

Quick Link

I've begun to have an interesting conversation with Dr. Craig Carter, on his blog, about Liberalism, Fascism, Marxism, and Christianity. Not sure if it'll go anywhere, but I thought a few other people might be interested in joining the conversation. Here's the link: https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=22805636&postID=3938383778913520460 (be sure to read the original post).

Cutting the Roots, Instead of Trimming the Branches

In 1976, Jean Baudrillard wrote a provocative essay entitled Forget Foucault, wherein he argued that Foucault's discourse, as powerful as it is, is fatally flawed. Drawing on Foucault's writings on both power and sexuality, Baudrillard argued that Foucault was able to speak so well of these things only because the forms of those things were disappearing. Hence, Baudrillard writes that “Foucault spoke so well of power to us… only because power is dead”. He then goes on to say that “[Foucault] spoke so well of sexuality only because its form, this great production (that too) of our culture was, like that of power, in the process of disappearing”.
Now, I'm not convinced that Baudrillard is correct when he argues that power is “dead” (by this he means that it is “[n]ot mere impossible to locate because of dissemination, but dissolved purely and simply in a manner that still escapes us, dissolved by reversal, cancellation, or made hyperreal through simulation (who knows?)”). Indeed, it seems to me that contemporary capitalism reflects a change in the form of power, but not its death or disappearance — it continues to exhibit a great concentration of power within particular institutions.
I am, however, more sympathetic to Baudrillard's notion that the form of sexuality is disappearing — and that got me thinking.
In particular, it got me thinking about criticisms of the State project that have been raised by the likes of Hauerwas, Cavanaugh, and Bell Jr. What if Hauerwas et al. are able to speak so well about the State, because the form of the State is disappearing? Perhaps we are able to so trenchantly criticise the State because the State is, in essence, dead.
Now, don't get me wrong, I don't disagree with the criticisms of the State raised by Hauerwas et al. I just think that when such criticisms are limited to the State we are not getting to the root of the problem we are confronting today. At its core, I believe the problem we are confronting today is that of late capitalism (global capitalism, disaster capitalism, call it what you will). Power today is not rooted in the State, it is rooted in global economic forces and institutions, and it is these forces and institutions that then manipulate the State to meet their desired ends. Therefore, rather then focusing overly-much upon the State (and spending all our time trimming branches — indeed, trimming branches that these institutions are also eager to trim!), it is these economic powers that we must confront if we are to have any hope of digging up the roots of the problem of living Christianly today.

The Sins of the Father (and a further thought on universalism)

You shall not worship [false gods] or serve them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me.
~ Ex 20.5
This idea, that God punishes children for the sins of their parents, is one that is widely considered offensive — to both Christians, and those who stand outside of the Judeo-Christian tradition. Indeed, I have often heard people say, “Who wants to worship a God like that?”, assuming that God is some sort of vindictive asshole. Indeed, underlying this objection is a more general refusal of the idea of a God who engages in judgment and who punishes sin. In response, I want to begin with the general point and work my back from there.
In general, it seems to me that God does not actively punish sin. Rather, I believe that God usually punishes sin by passively allowing a person to suffer the consequences of his or her actions. Hence, in the OT, when Israel rebels against God, God permits Israel to chase after other gods, to look to foreign empires to save them (from other foreign empires!), and the result of this is that Israel is dominated by those empires — she is conquered and led away into exile. Further, in the NT, this seems to be the view that Paul presents in Ro 1.18-32: once people exhange the glory of God for that which is corruptible, God “gives them over” (a phrase Paul uses three times in this passage) to the consequences of that exchange. Stated simply, the punishment for chasing after that which is dehumanising is to be allowed to become less than human.
How then does this relate to our reading of Ex 20.5? I believe that this verse, and the others like it, make it clear that our actions don't simply impact ourselves, but impact others. I am not alone in causing myself to suffer because of my sinfulness; I also cause others to suffer. Hence, the seriousness of sin: when I sin, I cause others to bear the burden of my sinfulness.
Perhaps an examples will help. In my last post, I mentioned kids who suffer from Fetal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS), and the devestating consequences that that can have on the life of a child. Now, it is not as though God, as a vindictive asshole, has chosen to punish a child because his or her mother abuses alcohol; rather, it is that FAS is simply one of the consequences of alcohol abuse. God did not set out to punish the child, but in Ex 20.5, God does let us know that our sins will have a negative impact on our children. Other patterns of abuse confirm this — sexual, physical, and substance abuses have a way of being passed on from parents to children, and the abused frequently goes on to become an abuser.
However, as I noted at the beginning of this post, this is the way in which God passively punishes sin. When God actively responds to sin, he tends to favour another method: forgiveness. Hence, the full weight of our punishment for sin is revealed on the cross of Christ, and the result of the cross is our forgiveness. Thus, I can't help but wonder if God's final active response to sin — the return of Christ, the coming of God, and the Day of Judgment — will also be a great (and terrible!) act of forgiveness. On that day, God will no longer hand us over to the consequences of our decisions — indeed, there will be no other Power for God to hand us over to, for Sin, Death, Hades, and all other powers in their service will have been defeated! Thus, rather than handing us over, I suspect that God will welcome us home — all of us.
Hence, as we await that day we have, through the victory of Jesus and the gift of the Spirit, received a wonderful opportunity. Although we know we have been forgiven, we still carry the burden of the sins of others. However, we can now embody and proclaim forgiveness and, in doing so, bear those sins away.
Maranatha!

N. T. Wright on Hell: Summary and Comments

I have always felt some frustration with the way in which N. T. Wright approaches the topic of hell, both because of the positions he engages and because I expect a little more from someone so committed to the larger narrative of Scripture.
I first came across his views in three small articles he had written (“Toward a Biblical View of Universalism” in Themelios 4:2 [1975]: 54-58; “Universalism” in The New Dictionary of Theology, eds. S. B. Ferguson and D. F. Wright [Leicester: IVP, 1988], 701-703; “Universalism in the World-Wide Community” in The Churchman 89:3 [1979]: 197-212), but he has, once again, addressed the topic in his recent book, Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, the Resurrection, and the Mission of God. I'll begin by summarising what he says in this book, before making a few comments.
Wright begins, IMO, in the right place by refocusing what Jesus had to say about Gehenna. Essentially, Wright argues, Jesus was warning Israel of what would befall her if she continued to pursue violent revolution and rejected the way of peace that Jesus was offering (Wright expounds on this in more detail in Jesus and the Victory of God). Hence, he argues:
As with God's kingdom, so with its opposite: it is on earth that things matter… Unless they turned back from their hopeless and rebellious dreams of establishing God's kingdom in their own terms… then the Roman juggernaut would do what large, greedy, and ruthless empires have always done to small countries… Rome would turn Jerusalem into a hideous, stinking extension of its own rubbish heap. When Jesus said, “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish,” that is the primary meaning he had in mind.
So far so good, and Wright continues to argue that the parables that appear to address hell directly must be remembered as parables that insist on the pursuit of justice and mercy within the present life.
Hence, he concludes that Jesus offers us no fresh teaching on this topic, but simply follows the normal first-century Jewish belief on this topic — which does include the belief that some people will be damned.
Wright then goes on the attack against the type of universalism promoted by liberal theologians in the '60s and '70s. He argues that their optimism is naive and that our recent experiences of horrible evils (he names places like Rwanda, Darfur, and the Balkans) remind us that there must be a judgment — good must be upheld, evil condemned, and the world set right.
Again, this is all well and good, but then Wright's argument continues in a way that I wish to challenge. He argues that setting the world right requires that some have “no place” in the new creation — in particular, those who have pursued idolatry, and thereby both acted in subhuman ways, and become subhuman creatures. What is the fate of these subhuman creatures? Not the traditional view of endless torment, nor a universalist view of repentance made possible after death, nor, yet again, a conditionalist view that argues that those who presistently refuse God's love, will be annihilated. Rather, Wright argues that the fate of such people is to become “by their own effective choice, beings that once were human but now are not.” Hence, he argues that these creatures, existing in an ex-human state “can no longer excite in themselves or others the natural sympathy some feel even for the hardened criminal”. In this way, they are “beyond hope, beyond pity”.
Ultimately, Wright states that he would “be glad to be proved wrong but not at the cost of the foundational claims that this world is the good creation of the one true God and that he will at the end bring about the judgment at which the whole creation will rejoice.” Indeed, he even goes so far as to suggest that Revelation 21-22 might open the door for holding the view that those outside the gates might be healed because the water of life flows out of the city, but he holds back from going any further in this thinking. Thus, he says, regarding this suggestion:
This is not at all to cast doubt on the reality of final judgment for those who have resolutely worshipped and served idols that dehumanize us and deface God's world. It is to say that God is always the God of surprises.
There are a few points I would like to raise related to Wright's presentation of these things. To begin with, I'm puzzled that he chooses to engage the forms of universalism that he does (and always has). Granted, there are some serious flaws in the liberal universalism that he criticises, but there is another form of universalism that he either doesn't know or ignores — that is, the hopeful universalism propogated especially by Hans Urs von Balthasar, but also expressed recently by Gregory MacDonald.
Secondly, I'm not sure why Wright links hell so closely to judgment. Indeed, I think the most compelling thing about Moltmann's understanding of eschatology and universalism, is that he deftly and biblically demonstrates that the two need not be held together. It is quite possible for good to be upheld, evil to be condemned, the world set right, and, at the same time, for all people to be saved. Yes, there must be exclusion before there can be an embrace (as Wright argues, following both Volf and Tutu), but that does not mean that the act of exclusion must be final — it could mean that all will, in the end, be embraced. This point, I think, goes a long way to overthrowing his stated objection to universalism.
Thirdly, given Wright's emphasis upon the biblical narrative, I'm a little surprised that he doesn't think (or at least doesn't say) that the salvation of all might be just the sort of “surprise” that fits rather well within the trajectory of that narrative. Despite the Old Testament material that shows us that the Gentiles would be also be welcomed into the Kingdom of God, the offer of the inclusion still came as a surprise to many in the days of Jesus and Paul. Of course, in retrospect, we 21st-century Christians can see how that inclusion fits the story rather well. I can't help but wonder if a similar surprise awaits us. Given the hints that exist within the Scriptures, we might also see the inclusion of all people in the consummation of the Kingdom.
Fourthly, I'm somewhat troubled by the things to which Wright appeals in order to refute “liberal optimism”. In his “catalog of awfulnesses” and his mention of those who are “utterly abhorrent” he lists mass murderers, child rapists, those who engage in “the commodification of souls”, and so on. Here's the kicker: over the years I have personally known several people who would fit into these categories, yet I hold onto the hope that they will be saved, and made new, along with the rest of us. I have known those who have tortured and killed others (gang members), I have known those who have sexually exploited children (pimps and johns), and I have known those who have commodified the souls of others (drug dealers), yet I have been unable to “cast the first stone.” Now, let me be clear on this: I believe that all of these actions are truly, truly horrible, but I do not yet believe that the people who performed these actions are horrible. Yes, such people must be resisted, yes, they must be held to account; but must they be damned? I don't think so.
Wright, I think, is too quick to demonise the humanity of the Other in these examples. I don't know if he has spent much time with such people, but I wonder how that might change his views. You see, because I have had the opportunity to personally journey alongside of many of these people, I have had a chance to see that most of them had little or no chance to be something other than what they are. Some were born broken, others were so broken when they were young that they never had a chance to develop into anything else (remember most of those who sexually abuse kids, were sexually abused as children — this is not to suggest that all those who are sexually abused as kids go on to abuse others, but it is a large factor, and I think other circumstances in one's life go a long way to determining whether or not one goes on to abuse others or not). Ultimately, contra Wright, I don't think that it is the human Other that becomes ex-human and is damned. Rather, I think it is the forces that dehumanise the Other — forces of sickness, of structural evil, and so on — that are damned, while the person is restored to their fully human status in Christ.
But wait, what do I mean when I say “some were born broken”? A few things: first, some people are born unable to empathise with others or follow moral codes (this is called Antisocial Personality Disorder, or, more commonly, such people are referred to as sociopaths). It is hard to know how to respond to such people. People who never had a conscience. Yes, they can do awful things — but will they be damned or will they, in the end, be healed? Secondly, I also think of kids born with Fetal Alcohol Syndrome — often born into poor and violent homes. Such kids often have their brains damaged in such a way that they are unable to empathise, and unable to understood the consequences of their actions. Again, it's just the way their brains are wired. I've known a few like this; some were gang-bangers, who had done some awful things, but I'm just not sure that they'll be damned in the end. They, too, might be healed. In such people, sinful actions are the symptom of an underlying brokenness — a brokenness they had absolutely no control over.
Similarly, for many of those who are not born broken, but are made broken, I cannot help but wonder if those who have not journeyed alongside of people who have experienced great traumas and violence, can really understand the true depth of the impact that trauma and violence can have — especially on children. If these children grow up to inflict violence upon others this is tragic, but I wonder to what degree they are culpable — or, rather, I wonder if I would have been able to grow up and be any different, or if any of us would. So, in the end, will these people be damned, or will they, like us, be healed, and made new?
I can't help but think of the scenario in Jn 8.1-11 involving the woman caught in adultery. I wonder, if at the moment of judgment, once we have been fully confronted with both our own sinfulness, our own complicity in the broader structures of sin, and the ways in which those who sinned against us have been sinned against, if what will result is similar to what happens to the woman. In 1 Cor 6.2, Paul tells us that the saints will judge the world. I wonder if this means that God will say “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone.” I wonder then, if we are unable to throw stones, if God will also say to those being judged, “then neither do I condemn you. Come now and leave your life of sin.”

Out-geeking the Geek (R.I.P. ODB)

My oldest brother is a self-professed boardgame geek. In fact, he is such a game geek that, for Valentine’s Day, he wrote a a series of twenty-one poems for his wife… based on boardgames they played together. Not only that, but he posted those poems online (if you enjoy boardgames, you may want to check them out; cf. http://www.boardgamegeek.com/geeklist/29054).
Now, when we were much younger, my oldest brother and I used to send each other ‘hate poetry’, you know, he would write me a poem about ‘the crazies’ that I attracted, and I would respond with a poem about how he would die when his bowels exploded (he has Crohn’s).
Anyway, after reading my brother’s recent poems, I was inspired to write a poem roughly based upon some of my research, and (even more roughly) modeled after Triumph by the Wu-Tang Clan. This is my effort to ‘out-geek’ the geek. I’m turning this into a rap battle, baby!
[Parental/Evangelical Advisory: The Following Contains Explicit Lyrics.]
Triumph: Take II
The Wu-Tang Clan may have bombed atomically,
But I’m sittin here, and I’m droppin eschatology;
We’re not talkin mystery, we’re talkin historicity,
Rediscovering the Church, as political community.
Aight? Let me break it down for you. It goes like this:
Evangelicals have mapped out premillenial chronologies,
They’re waiting for the rapture, and damning all modernities
Waiting for the day, when the clouds are furled,
When Jesus Christ descends, they’ll yell ‘fuck the world!’
Cuz It’s all about the soul, in their Platonist cosmology,
But we’re still a far cry from any Pauline eschatology.
The Liberals be hatin’ on the Evangelical
They’ve got an education, and gone amillenial
Forget the tribulation, they don’t need a timetable
They focus more on action, and not some end-time fable.
So they’re chasing after causes (which are rather fine)
But all this eschatology is too faux Johannine.
Each in their own way are backing a lame horse
And failin to note the dominant discourse
Cuz it’s all economics ruling the globe
And we’re all renting space in cap’talism’s abode.
So in a world full of petit récits,
We must recourse to Pauline history
(which, of course, is eschatology).
Cuz Paul never thought about the world’s end,
He talked about the Spirit as God’s given dividend.
So while Neocons tell us, our lives are now consummated,
Paul knew, and we know, of a kingdom inaugurated;
Our Age is now perforated, and we won’t be sedated.
Cuz we are a people with memory and hope,
We don’t live in the moment, the man sells us like dope.
So we don’t buy the lie, he be tryin to sell us
About history arriving at its Hegelian telos.
About how this is all as good as it get,
We be followin’ Jesus, and fuckin that shit.
Like a virus we’re spreadin through Babylon
Proleptically anticipating the eschaton
And countering forces of globalisation
With the Spirit and power of God’s new creation.
So seize the day, seize the past, seize the future as well,
Or we’re all bound to freeze in a cap’talist hell.