This is the beginning of a series in which I hope to distill a synthesis of my learning and experience with respect to the manner in which one cultivates a deep spiritual life.  My intention is to combine both an understanding of how the spiritual life works along with what practically to do to experience growth. I find much spiritual counsel to have either a plethora of helpful principles, yet without clear guidance on how specifically to implement them; or lists of spiritual disciplines without a grounding base explaining their significance in the larger vision of the spiritual life (Dallas Willard’s Spirit of the Disciplines is a stellar exception). Here I will attempt to do both. In such I have isolated eight principles, which, in my gleaning from the Scriptures, from spiritual masters both ancient and modern, as well as from my experience, personally and alongside others, are central to a flourishing spiritual life. Each principle will be expressed both positively and negatively, briefly explained, and then followed by corresponding practices to specifically implement them in daily life. I will grant from the beginning there is much more that possibly could be said beyond what I will say with numerous additional principles, practices, qualifications, modifications and so forth. Granting the limited nature of my experience, understanding and articulation, I hope and pray these writings will bear fruit in your life.

Without further ado, the first principle is thus:

A life poured out in love is the starting point of all true Christianity, the source and summit of all true humanity.

A life lived for one’s self or within which self-giving remains ancillary is the sure path to de-humanizing futility. God does not recognize this as Christianity regardless of a superabundance of Christian jargon, activities, ideas, etc.

In Matthew 22, an expert in the Jewish law asks Jesus which commandment in the law is the greatest. In today’s religious consciousness, the word “law” commonly conjures up various images of abject servitude, detached submission, despondent acquiescence or rigid legalism. When God says to do something you must do it, yet all the while, bitterly wishing there was an escape hatch through which you could return to a life of free self-determination. Yet the biblical concept of “law” is different. The word “torah” (Hebrew for “law”) is the noun form of a word which means “to throw or shoot,” usually with arrows. Some scholars suggest that meaning behind “torah” is in the aiming of an arrow or the pointing of a finger to direct such a shot. Hence “torah” means something like “guidance” or “direction.” This meaning fits well with the actual content of the “torah,” the first five books of the bible, since most of it is not lists of rules, but stories about God and his people.  Remarkably so, the massive amount of material from Genesis 12 through the end of Deuteronomy all have a coherent theme: In a world where humans have unequivocally wrought disaster through their fighting, hatred, abuse and violence (see Gen. 3-11), God graciously initiates a promise of blessing to Abraham and his descendants, which both re-affirms God’s initial intentions for humanity (Gen. 1-2) and seeks to restore them. This promise, partially fulfilled in the stories recounted, remains the outstanding invitation to God’s people to be his answer to creation’s dilemma, and the agents through whom the solution comes (see David Clines fascinating book The Theme of the Pentateuch for a fuller exposition). The “torah,” then is God’s guidance on how, in the midst of a world of corruption and violence, to become a people through whom the earth’s desolate state can be mended and healed rather than further destroyed. By directing us to be participants in this grand story, we can be people who help the problem rather than continue to break lives, relationships and communities.

While I don’t imagine for a moment this was what the law expert was asking about in Matthew 22, I have more than a sneaking suspicion this is what Jesus chose to answer to anyway. In response to what the greatest commandment is, Jesus, in his typical terse yet far-reaching manner answers, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’  This is the greatest and first commandment.  And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’  On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” The questioner asked concerning commandments in the law and Jesus responds with an answer which summarizes “all the law and the prophets.” This phrase, “law and prophets,” was a shorthand way of referring to the entire corpus of Jewish Scriptures. It seems as though Jesus is answering a bigger issue than which of the rules is most important, as if you only had one command to keep, which one would it be. Instead, Jesus is speaking to the foundational concept of the totality of Jewish Scripture. He addresses the entire unfolding narration of Israel’s history with God. In this history, God invited Israel to be the people who embody the true humanity before a world which had continually defaced nearly every trace of human semblance through its violence, ambition, hatred and greed. They would be God’s solution to the problem of sin and the agents through whom all nations of the earth would be blessed (Gen. 12:3), a blessing which would prevail over the curse of sin and death (Gen. 3:15-19). Notice that Jesus does not replace the “law and prophets” with an abstract principle of “love,” as if, whenever one has subjective experiences which one might call love, then everything else in the Hebrew Scriptures doesn’t really matter. Rather, the “law and prophets,” this whole story of promise, blessing, invitation, failure and restoration can be summed up as love. The way the people of God are to be the model of true humanity and a restorative presence on earth is through a love with the whole heart, the whole soul, and the whole mind. Namely, God invites his people to be truly human, to be the restored new humanity, and participate in creation’s restoration first and foremost by loving God and neighbor with all of one’s being (heart, soul, and mind) and will the fullest’ of one’s capacity (the whole heart, the whole soul and the whole mind).

“It is the whole of Christianity,” C.S. Lewis remarks in Mere Christianity, “Christianity offers nothing else at all.” Everything we can say about Christianity begins with the notion of the whole and unreserved giving of oneself in love for God and for others. What is commonly represented as a high level of achievement, a point to which one gradually works towards in one’s Christian journey, because so lofty an idea it is relegated to theoretical endeavors for super-saints which are never really attempted. It is in actual fact the only starting point. The self-giving love of this Great Commandment is not what we relegate to the mature while we formulate a more accessible modality for the rest of us novices (after all, who is mature anyway we might retort?) where we can do some spiritual things but mostly live for ourselves. Rather, to miss this one thing is to miss the entire point. If everything else hangs on the call for an entire outpouring of love, then without it, everything falls to the ground in a tangled mess. Of course, I am not meaning that perfect attainment of love in full maturity is where one must start as a Christian. Nevertheless, a radical renunciation of self-absorption, self-promotion and self-protection coupled to the risky self-surrender which endeavors to love with all of one’s self, must be utterly foundational. By this I mean the central organizing principle of how time, money, resources, energy, emotions, relations, etc are used must be whole and unreserved self-giving love, otherwise we are failing to follow the most basic guidance about what it means to be God’s people and what it means to be human. We were made in love, we were made for love and we were made to love. God invites us to be his redeemed and restored people in the world, those in whom the restoration of true humanity is beginning to flower, and through whom the abundance of his love can flow towards the restoration of a fragmented and broken world. A life poured out in love is the starting point of all true Christianity, the source and summit of all true humanity.

Almighty God, you alone can bring into order the unruly wills and affections of sinners: Grant your people grace to love what you command and desire what you promise; that, among the swift and varied changes of the world, our hearts may surely there be fixed where true joys are to be found; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (Collect for the Fifth Sunday in Lent from The Book of Common Prayer)

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The problem with sin is not “because God said so.” Sin is a cancerous force which seeks to destroy all that is good, true and beautiful, leaving the wreckage of alienation and death in the wake of its violence.

In his Distinguishing Marks of a Work of the Spirit of God, Jonathan Edwards describes one of the signs of a true work of the Holy Spirit in that it causes people to hate sin. So I decided to set my hand to writing some prayers related to the subject. The starting point for my reflections was Genesis 1, the account of God’s original creation. Here human beings are given their initial and original commission to “rule the earth,” (Gen. 1:28) in other words, to be the agents of God’s gracious and life-giving presence on earth. Further, in chapter 2 (verse 15), the human beings are called to “cultivate and keep (i.e. guard, protect)” the Garden of Eden. Here their task is to foster the life that God intended for his creation, to preserve its integrity, and guard it from all harm.

For me, this is the starting place when thinking about sin. I will occasionally run into people who only think sin is wrong because “God said so,” as if God started from absolutely nothing and arbitrarily came up with a list of “good things” and “bad things” to subject us to. Then sin mostly becomes about abstract accounting systems in heaven – how well I have done at doing the good list and keeping away from the bad list and the respective tally that God is keeping. This obsession with “accounting in heaven” is a haunting specter over some places in American evangelical Christianity. The result is people who are much more concerned over their “status” as a “good girl” or “bad boy” than whether their actions lovingly cause life to flourish or instead cause damage and destruction to people.

It further degenerates to a delusional belief that once you ask God to forgive you for your sin, all things are “just-as-if-you-never-sinned.” This near-heresy is essentially a fundamental denial that our actions have real consequences and that there is even something wrong with sin. It is indeed gloriously true that God can and will forgive us when we ask and seek to amend our lives. But the reason we need forgiveness in the first place is because our actions have consequences – what we do really matters. Sin is not wrong because God said so – it is against nature and inherently destructive. Every sin grates against the purposes of love, life, joy and freedom for which God brought forth his creation. Every sin causes hurt and havoc in the lives of real people on planet earth, which does not magically vanish with an apology. When we sin, we cease to be the agents of God’s life-giving presence and rule on earth and rather operate in collusion with counter-forces which produce death, violence, hatred and alienation. God takes this personally, not primarily because we don’t “do what he says,” but because in his immeasurably vast love for us, he is personally affected when we are hurt by others’ sin, when his desire for love, joy and freedom in life are undermined. He is full of compassion and feels the pain of those who are injured (cf. Ps. 34:18; 145:8-9; Isa. 63:9). It is from this depth of love that God is virulent and assiduous in his opposition to Sin and Evil.

It has become my conviction that I need a more powerful motivation for life than my status as a “good boy” and abstract accounting systems in heaven. God has called us as humans to be the representatives of his gracious rule on earth. He has called us to love the life he created and so foster its growth and protect its integrity. He invites us to understand sin as it really is – not simply something on a “bad list,” but the antithesis and nemesis of everything good, true and beautiful, a cancerous presence which progressively produces increasing death. As our hearts are filled with the love God has for his creation, as we participate in his compassionate longing for the full flowering of life on earth, as we rise into our role as those bearing God’s image and his gracious life-giving rulership, our actions take on new weight and our decisions come into new light. Hating sin is not about being a “good boy or girl.” It is about treasuring the life God has created and loves.

Majestic Lord, you possess within yourself the pinnacle of goodness, truth and beauty, and grant all creatures to share in that same splendor: Enthrall us with this radiance and fill your church with a tenacious distaste for all sin, that as you restore the lost splendor of your creation, by the gracious nurture of your Holy Spirit, we would with great determination disavow every thought, word and deed seeking to perpetuate the bondage of Death and the tyranny of Night, whose sway is already fading in the dawn of your resurrection life, through Jesus the Messiah, your Son our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

O God: the heavens of heavens are yours, but the earth you have given to humanity: grant to your Church an inexhaustible love of life, that hating all which compromises the integrity of your creation and fails to foster that society of love for which you called us into being, we would walk before you in holiness and righteousness all our days, treasuring the good, true and beautiful, stewarding your creation as faithful agents of your royal power, through Jesus the Messiah, Your Son our Lord, who is alive and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit in glory everlasting.

Lord God, whose heart overflows with the purest delight: help us see and understand the insidious nature of sin, which in the end only steals, kills and destroys, that, hating all which destroys life, and loving that which restores, we might find holiness to be the very fountain of joy, welling up to eternal life, through Jesus the Messiah your Son, our Lord…

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When Jesus rose from the dead, splendor returned to the world. From the depths of death’s dark gloom, Jesus emerged triumphant and the light of new life shone out permeating the entire earth. God’s redemptive purpose to not abandon the earth to its decay, death and misery, but to restore, renew and indeed re-create it with greater glory than it possessed in its pristine state, though prophesied throughout the Old Testament, was enacted in and through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead.

In the last post I discussed the Jewish concept of “resurrection” as an expectation which was

bodily (entailing a return to the life of the physical body),

earthly (as opposed to other-worldly),

corporate (it happened to all the people of God),

simultaneous (all at one time), and

eschatological (as the transitional event between this age and the age to come in which all things would be restored).

In such, I began to assert the notion that the resurrection of Jesus was not simply a fantastic miraculous event, perhaps the best of all the miracles in Jesus’ career. Rather, the resurrection of Jesus, as understood in its Jewish context, marked the irruption of the life of the Age to Come into the present. This Age to Come, was heralded by the Hebrew prophets as a time when death would be no more (Isa. 25), when all areas of life would be renewed and restored, whether they be ecological, agricultural, physical, political, economic, relational, etc., and God’s people would forever rejoice with gladness (Isa. 35:10).  In short, the entire earth and all that is in it would be renewed and re-created. When Jesus was raised from the dead, this re-creation began. The restoration of all things had its inauguration. As Jesus stepped out of the tomb, the springtime of all creation started to blossom and the age-anticipated promises of God for life, righteousness and freedom began to find their fulfillment. This notion is termed inaugurated eschatology, meaning that eschatological realities of the age to come have been inaugurated, that is, they have begun, even now in the middle of the present age, while yet awaiting a future consummation of fullness (this is often discussed in terms of the Kingdom of God being both “already but not yet”).

To continue to demonstrate this idea of the resurrection of Jesus heralding the advent of God’s New Creation (i.e., inaugurated eschatology), I would like to quickly breeze through the Gospel of John – a whirlwind tour perhaps, and show how the notion of “new creation” is present in this work.

To begin with, the familiar opening words of John are “In the beginning…” What is strikingly obvious to us, would have been equally apparent to hearers/readers in the first century. John is intentionally mirroring the initial words of Genesis, the famed creation story. While this would not be conclusive in itself (but will be made much more clear as we proceed), why might John be intentionally beginning his Gospel with the first words of Genesis? He continues to speak of the incarnation in terms of “light shining in the darkness,” a further allusion to the first chapter of Genesis. Is it possible that John is setting us up for precisely what it sounds like – a second (new) creation story?

In John 5:24-25, Jesus says, “Truly, truly, I say to you, he who hears My word, and  believes Him who sent Me, has eternal life, and  does not come into judgment, but has passed out of death into life. Truly, truly, I say to you,  an hour is coming and now is, when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live.”

Three points are of note.

1)    The person who believes has, that is, currently possesses eternal life. This phrase translated “eternal life” literally means “life of the age” and was used in Jewish writings from or before the time of the New Testament to mean the “life of the age to come” (Dan. 12:2; Pss. Sol. 3:12; 13:11; 14:10; 1 Enoch 37:4; 58:3). Furthermore, in the Synoptic Gospels, the terms “eternal life” and “Kingdom of God” are used interchangeably on a number of occurrences (Mk 9:43, 45, 47; 10:17-30; Mt. 19:23-29; Lk. 18:24-30). Thus, when we come to the Gospel of John and see that the term “Kingdom of God” only occurs twice, it seems very likely that the often used phrase “eternal life” (i.e., “life of the age”) is John’s preferred way of referring to the same reality the Synoptic Gospels prefer to call the “Kingdom of God.”[1] This life of the age to come, this experience of God’s Kingdom is available in the present as the possession of those who believe in Jesus.

2)    This possession of eternal life entails “passing out of death into life.” Here we see clear resurrection language, as will be confirmed in the following verses. This further clarifies the reception of the life of the age to come. There is a sense to which the believer in Jesus transfers from the present evil age into the Age to Come, while yet remaining in the present age. Jesus uses a verb of motion, “passing out of,” to describe the believer’s participation in eternal life. This militates against the pure internalized understanding of these verses, as if Jesus is speaking mostly of an internal, immaterial, “spiritual” change in the believer. Jesus does not view this change as internal, but as external. It is not a “change of heart,” but rather a change of location for the entire person. Their “inner being” does not move, but “the one who believes” in their entirety of personhood moves beyond the realm where death has sway and into the resurrection life of the age to come.

3)    Finally, if this wasn’t already clear, Jesus emphasizes that the time in which this happens is now. This is significant because the resurrection events that will soon happen to Jesus in the narrative cannot be construed solely as an isolated incident for Jesus. We are meant to understand the dynamic connection between what happens to Jesus and what is available to the believer. As Jesus rises from the dead in the life of the Age to Come, so likewise all believers are able to participate in that life in the present.

In John 11 Jesus makes a remarkable statement: “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die.”

As Christians, we have heard this verse so often, I think it ceases to strike us as strange. Jesus claims to be the resurrection. But the resurrection is an event. How can a person be an event? Furthermore, how can a person be an event that properly belongs to the entire people of God at an eschatological transition between the Present Age and the Age to Come? It seems like Jesus is telling us that he is somehow God’s future in person. He is the personal presence of the life of the Age to Come. Here among us, in the midst of a world inundated with decay and death, the light of God’s New Creation is beginning to shine. It is walking among us in the person of God-himself made flesh.

However, is this New Creation life restricted to the person of Jesus, as in, he possesses the life of the Age to Come, but the rest of us need to wait until his return to experience it? Does this New Creation, resurrection life, Kingdom of God presence leave the earth when Jesus ascends to heaven? The previous passage addressed (John 5) expresses the contrary quite emphatically, but even in this verse, Jesus informs us of the participation of the believer in the same eschatological realities. Since “life” and “eternal life” are interchangeable in the Gospel of John[2],  and since “eternal life” means the “life of the Age to Come” (see above), it stands to reason that the phrase “resurrection and the life” is a hendiadys, in which the two words joined by “and” should be taken together as a single idea. If not, since “life” certainly means the “life of the Age to Come,” we should at least see “resurrection” as the event which initiates the “life”[3] In either case,”life” in verse 25 certainly means “resurrection life” and thus the occurrence of the same word in the next verse, the “everyone lives” in verse 26, would mean, “everyone who has the life of the kingdom of God.” This is further advanced by Jesus’ assertion that unless one eats of the bread of life they have no life in them (John 6:51), meaning they do not have the “life of the age to come.”[4] The one who believes is the one who truly lives, who shares the life of the resurrection that Jesus himself embodies in the present.

If we skip forward a bit, we come to Holy Week.

On the sixth day of the week (Friday), after flogging him, robing him in purple and crowing him with thorns, Pilate displays Jesus to the crowd with the words, “Behold the man!” (John 19:5). Note that in Genesis 1 (remember our previous discussion about John 1 quoting Genesis 1 – “in the beginning…”), on the sixth day of the week, God created the human beings, those who were meant to rule the earth. Now on the sixth day of this week, Jesus is displayed as the true human, as a mockery dressed in royal attire, yet refusing to retaliate to the false rulers, to those whose greed and violence had corrupted their humanity to the point of unrecognizability.

The power hungry inhuman forces of violence succeed in killing the one who truly embodied what it meant to be fully human. The rulers of this world put to death the world’s true Lord. After doing so, he was laid to rest in an empty tomb. It was here that Jesus spent the seventh day of the week. As God rested from his labors on the seventh day of the creation account, so too, Jesus spends the seventh day in a Sabbath rest – the utter stillness of death.

John 20 begins with the words, “on the first day of the week.” Is it possible that more is going on here than a mere temporal indicator? As we observed this Gospel starting by alluding to the Genesis 1 account of creation, saw how Jesus understood himself as embodying the life of the Age to Come and sharing it with those who believe in him, and walked through days six and seven of creation during the weekend proceeding the first Easter, are we meant to understand that the timing “on the first day of the week” signals something much bigger than we were expecting? As Jesus rises from the dead, we are beholding the advent of God’s New Creation life bursting forth from the tomb! The Jewish concept of resurrection and new creation seems sufficient in itself to indicate such, but there is more in text itself. In verse 15, John tells us that Mary, seeing the resurrected Lord, believed him to be a gardener. What an odd detail. Why would Mary mistakenly believe Jesus to be a gardener, unless they were actually in a garden? And does not being in a garden, yet again allude to the biblical creation account? As Jesus rises from the dead, he is the New Adam in a renewed Garden of Eden. Eden has been restored and humanity once again has been given access to this Paradise once Lost.

In verse nineteen, we are told that “it was evening on that day, the first day of the week.” Apparently we need reminding that this is not any day – it is the FIRST day of the week. John repeats himself in order to emphasize, however allusively, the full scope of what happened on that day. Though the doors were shut, Jesus comes and stands among them saying, “Peace be with you.” After showing them his hands and side, “He breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.” Just as God breathed the breath of life into an inert Adam and he became a living being, so now Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit into his disciples at the dawn of God’s New Creation. Yet this new life of the Kingdom of God, is not merely for the disciples’ enjoyment. He charges them, “as the Father has sent Me, I also send you.” As the Father sent Jesus to be the living presence of the life of the Age to Come, so now as the followers of Jesus share in that life by believing in him, they are commissioned likewise to be agents of God’s Kingdom and resurrection life.

Though not in the Gospel of John, one more verse bears mentioning. In Luke 24:30, Jesus is sitting at a table with two disciples with whom he has walked from Jerusalem. When Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it and gave it to them, Luke tells us that immediately “their eyes were opened and they recognized him.” Where else in Scripture do we have two people, who upon eating, have their eyes opened? Adam and Eve, after consuming the fruit from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, experience their eyes being opened into a shameful self-awareness of their nakedness. In Luke however, the resurrected Lord is reversing the curse of Adam’s sin. He is inaugurating the life of the Kingdom of God, the New Creation, whereupon partaking of blessed and broken bread (a clear allusion to the Church’s practice of the Lord’s Supper), eyes are opened from woeful disillusionment into a hope-filled recognition of the Risen Lord. After this experience, the two disciples immediately run out and announce the  Gospel: “Jesus is risen!” The experience of the life of the Age to Come, the initiation of overturning sin’s curse, in John’s Gospel results in being sent just as Jesus was sent, and in Luke results in the proclamation of the Resurrected Lord. The presence of God’s Kingdom is in our midst, inaugurated through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. This new life is the very impetus behind the Church’s mission in and for the world. Through proclaiming the Gospel of the Risen Lord and the arrival of God’s Kingdom, we become those who share and impart the life of the age to come amidst a world embroiled in the challenging yet, for those who believe, inevitably triumphant conflict with death.

[2] ibid.

[3] George R. Beasley-Murray, John (Dallas: Word, 1999), 190.

[4] ibid, 191.

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If you were to summarize the overarching story-line of the Bible, what would you say? What if you had to do it in only one sentence? I will attempt to do exactly this in only seven words and I have a hunch my conclusion will be somewhat surprising to many.

But before I divulge my answer, I should note that this post is part 4 in a larger series concerning what I am calling “Reading the Bible in the Right Direction.” By this I am referring to the narrative order given in the Bible, most basically, Old Testament first, New Testament second. The ideas, stories, concepts, and expectations formulated in the Old Testament must be the primary base from which we interpret and understand the New Testament, rather than vice versa. More can be read on this in the previous posts, but now I am concentrating on concisely explaining the overarching storyline of Scripture. Understanding and interpreting the New Testament in light of this narratival framework causes the Scripture to first of all, make much more coherent sense, and second, to come alive in its intended dynamic vigor. This approach is critical because the early apostolic community, the original hearers of the New Testament, indeed, the people who wrote the New Testament, would have approached and understood the Bible in this way. They would have come to the New Testament writings living within the story of Israel, deeply entrenched in its expectations, animated with its hopes yet vexed with longing for this yet unfinished drama to come to its appointed consummation.

I will first give my seven word summary of the Bible’s story and then explain it. Here it is: God sends humanity to rule the earth. Surprising, eh? Yet if we read the Bible’s opening and closing remarks, we see that this is the original intent for God’s creation, and this intent comes to pass. Everything else that happens in the Bible is a subplot to seeing this overarching plot line find fulfillment.

When approaching a story and attempting to summarize its plot, a simple system has been developed to diagram the plot by identifying the six main components of the story:

1)    The Sender, who commissions an

2)    Agent, who is sent by the sender to accomplish a

3)    Task, for the benefit of the

4)    Receiver

5)    An Impediment attempts to block the accomplishment of the task and only through the aid of the

6)    Helper, is the agent able to accomplish the task.

This can be illustrated with a diagram, using the story of Little Red Riding Hood as an example.

Now what happens if we apply this type of plot analysis to the Bible? We would have to start at the very beginning – in Genesis 1. In verses 26-28, we are told that the original commission of humanity is to rule over the earth. This of course does not mean that they should function as exploitative tyrants. In Genesis 2:15 humans are told to cultivate, expand and grow the Garden of Eden. Rather than tyrannical domination, these verses mean the original purpose of human beings was to be the co-regents of God’s gracious, loving and life-giving rule, expanding both the Garden of Eden and their habitation (through having children and a family) to fill the earth with the glory of God. We often think of both the original creation and the Garden of Eden as being perfect and then subsequently getting spoiled. The texts more so tell us about something that, though perhaps not having particular flaws, was an unfinished project. The earth needed to be subdued. The garden needed to be cultivated. The ground needed to be worked. The earth needed to be inhabited. In other words, human culture, in all areas, needed to be developed and matured as part of God’s unfolding purpose for the earth.  The task of humans was then, in cooperation with God, to work on this creation project and ultimately bring it to completion (i.e., “fill the earth”).

Under our schema from above this would make the main components of our plot:

Sender – God

Agent – Humanity

Task – rule

Receiver – the earth

Hence my summary, “God sends humanity to rule the earth.” Now, it doesn’t take long to realize that this plot gets at least somewhat derailed rather quickly. However, we know this plan does not come to an end, not in Genesis 3, and not anywhere else in history. We can be assured of this because the final narrative sequence in the Bible, in Revelation 22, immediately before the concluding epilogue, says of redeemed humanity on the renewed earth, “and there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever” (Rev. 22:5). The original plot succeeds! Humanity is sent to rule the earth, and apparently, whatever happened between Genesis 4 and Revelation 21 succeeded in restoring this original storyline and bringing it to fulfillment (although perhaps, it is arguable that Revelation 22 still does not yet show a complete “fulfillment” but that humanity’s gracious rulership of the earth will continue into the ages to come).

So far we’ve only named four of the main six components of our plot. The impediment is readily identifiable. Genesis 3-11 documents the downward spiral of humanity, not in the gracious expansion of God’s life giving presence, but in the exploitative, pernicious and cancerous expansion of violence, sin, hatred, alienation and death. In a word the impediment, is sin. But note in our storyline what sin is the impediment to. It is not the impediment to getting into heaven, but rather it is what blocks, even destroys the development and expansion of a communal cultural life on earth infused with God’s goodness, truth and beauty.

So who is the helper? Enter Abraham in Genesis 12. It seems easy to completely disconnect Genesis 12 from Genesis 3-11, as if perhaps it was just the next event in history. But Genesis 12 is a dramatic turning point in the book, both in terms of its content and the overall biblical plot. Genesis 1-11 covers a very long period of time and many generations in rapid succession. Genesis 12-25 covers the life span of one person. We also notice the issues that arise in Genesis 12 parallel those in Genesis 1. Abraham is unable to have children yet God promises he will be the father of many nations, akin to the original command to be fruitful and multiply. Abraham is told he will be a blessing to all the peoples of the earth. This parallels the blessing humanity received in Genesis 1, and the curse that came upon the earth in Genesis 3. Abraham’s promise concerns “the land.”  Interestingly enough, this is the same Hebrew word as “earth,” thus forming at least a intriguing linguistic connection. All in all, Abraham (and thus his progeny, the nation of Israel) are God’s response to Genesis 3-11. God’s plan to reestablish the original plot and purpose for humanity is to be executed through God’s covenant people. God’s answer to the problem of sin is the covenant.

It also doesn’t take long to realize that this new plot line (Plot Level 2) was riddled with difficulty, whether it be family dysfunction, political conflicts, military engagement, or agricultural disaster, only to find the family of Abraham, God’s agents of reconciliation and restoration, to be held captive as slaves in the nation of Egypt. Enter “Plot Level 3″ – God sends a helper to bring deliverance to his people, in this case Moses. But as the story of the Old Testament progresses, the people of Israel get into one mess after another, usually related to wide-scale national sin. The people who God raised up to be his answer to the problem of sin, themselves became part of the problem. So God sends helper after helper, whether they be judges, prophets, kings (the epitome of which was David), to preach repentance to God’s people and to bring them deliverance from their enemies. The function of this “Plot Level 3″ however, was always to restore “Plot Level 2″ – Israel being a “light to the nations” and bringing “blessing to all peoples of the earth.” The purpose of this “Plot Level 2″ was always to restore “Plot Level 1″ – God sends humanity to rule the earth.

The final helper in this sequence (Plot Level 3) was none other than Jesus himself. This can be seen in Jesus’ resoluteness that he came only to help the “lost sheep of Israel” (Matt. 10:6; 15:24), as well as the emphasis that Jesus had come to save Israel (Matt. 1:21; Luke 1:68; 2:25). Through the death and resurrection of Jesus, “Plot Level 2″ has been restored because Jesus then sends out his company of 12 Jewish young men with a task to “make disciples of all the Gentiles/nations” (Matt. 28:19). Interestingly enough, in Acts 1, the apostles ask Jesus, “Lord,  is it at this time You are restoring the kingdom to Israel?” Jesus answers in his usually interesting fashion, here by giving neither a clear yes or no answer and then continues, “but you will receive power  when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you shall be My witnesses both in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and  Samaria, and even to  the remotest part of the earth” (Acts 1:8). Many people assume that Jesus’ answer is “no,” as in “you are stuck on thinking about politics, but I am going to have you go around and preach a new spiritual, inward reality.” It seems rather, if we compare the second half of his answer with our plot diagram, if twelve representatives of Israel are being sent out to “disciple the Gentiles” through preaching to “the remotest parts of the earth,” then the answer to their question is more like “yes, but not in the way you are thinking.”

So then, Jesus, through his death and resurrection, restores Plot Level 2. The ultimate goal of redemptive history however, is the recovery of Plot Level 1 – and human beings restored to gracious rulership over the earth. Rather than develop this here, in what is already a too-long blog-post, I will quote four passages that demonstrate this cosmic aspect of redemption’s goal. These passages are often enigmatic when the Bible is read in context to overarching stories that are in fact foreign to the Bible (i.e., the stories of Western affluence, escapism, rationalism, secular hedonism, etc.). However, when read starting with the narrative framework of the Old Testament as the foundation, these passages make perfect sense:

Acts 3:19-21 – Repent therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out,  so that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord, and that he may send the Messiah appointed for you, that is, Jesus,  who must remain in heaven until the time of the restoration of all things that God announced long ago through his holy prophets.

Ephesians 1:9-10 – he has made known to us the mystery of his will, according to his good pleasure that he set forth in Christ,  as a plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.

Colossians 1:19-20 – For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,  and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Romans 8:19‐23 – For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God;  for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God.  We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now;  and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

Links to earlier parts in the series Reading the Bible in the Right Direction: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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This is a continuation in a series on Acts chapter 2 and the account of the Day of Pentecost. Pentecost was an epochal event. The way it is described in the Acts of the Apostles indicates that more is going on than a lively outreach — there has been a dramatic intervention of the covenant-creator-God to deal with the problem of sin, overturn the effects of the fall and inaugurate the eschatological age of righteousness, peace and joy. The technical term for this is inaugurated eschatology, in that while a future consummation awaits us in the new heavens and new earth, the life, power and reality of the age to come has already become present in partial form (already but not-yet). In a mysterious manner, the future and the present have intersected and overlapped so that God’s future for the world has rushed into the present time, filling it with the joy of promise fulfilled and the hope of untold possibilities that yet remain.

This becomes especially clear when the passage is understood in light of the larger narrative of Scripture and the numerous passages that are alluded to or quoted. Today I want to look at one passage in particular: Genesis 11. This chapter records the infamous ”Tower of Babel” incident. It is critical to see where this story occurs in the unfolding narrative of the book of Genesis and the Old Testament as a whole. Genesis 1 and 2 record the creation of the world and all its life. Human beings are given the blessing and command to be fruitful, multiply and fill the earth. They are commissioned to be God’s vice-regents on earth, administrating and increasing his gracious rule through their ever expanding family. You’ll have to believe me on this one, since I don’t have the time to develop it, but Genesis 2 is intentionally evoking the imagery of the temple and it is intended for us to understand the Garden of Eden as a temple, a sanctuary, the dwelling place of God’s glory. Therefore Adam and Eve’s tasks of cultivating (i.e., expanding) the garden and forging a family that will fill the earth can be understood as the call to fill the earth with the dwelling of God’s glory through their world-wide family. Note the dynamic interplay here between the God-blessed relationship (marriage/family) and the God-commissioned rulership.

As grand as this seems, the plan gets muddled rather quickly, with Adam’s sin in Genesis 3, Cain’s murder of Abel in Genesis 4, and the growth of violence as documented in the Noah account. Nevertheless, despite “The Fall,” the original commission remains and Noah and his descendants are called to “be fruitful and multiply, abound on the earth and multiply in it.”

This brings us to Genesis 11. Here I would like to propose an alternate (yet complementary) explanation of why God took such issue with Babel. Of course it is clear that they were attempting to build their “tower” to make a name for themselves. This undoubtedly included some aspect of pride. However, I cannot imagine that God was threatened by a supposed “take-over” scheme and that he needed to stop it before it got out of hand. In fact, it is likely that the “tower” they were building was in fact a ziggurat and is a spoof on the temple of Marduk in Babylon, whose name “house with the uplifted head” suggests a claim that it reached to the heavens. (See commentaries on Genesis by Wenham and Sarna). Thus, they were not trying to take over the role as gods (something that would likely have been a ridiculous thought in the ancient world), but were building a shrine for God/god(s). Additionally, though attention often focuses on the “tower,” in the text it mentions that they were building a “city and a tower.” When God comes down, he comes to “see the city and the tower.” After their languages are confused the text says they “left off building the city,” with no mention of the tower. In the text, the tower is never conceived of by itself, apart from the city or even as a focal point.

This becomes further significant when the builders give the reason for their project – “otherwise we shall be scattered abroad upon the face of the whole earth.” The central motivation was to consolidate the human race in one central city. Here we come to the main problem with the Babel building project – it is a direct violation of God’s primary command (which is actually a blessing) to the human race – “be fruitful, multiply and fill the earth.” They were never instructed not to build towers. They were never even instructed how to avoid pride. They were however, instructed to fill the earth with the world-wide family as the means for ruling the earth and filling it with God’s glory. The main sin of Babel was a refusal of the blessing of creation, fertility and vice-regency with God and thus the invention of measures to derail its fulfillment. God’s comments are not against the tower, but against the entire building project understood in this light. Thus God confused the languages of the people and scattered them across the earth. Though commonly thought of as anti-climactic, certainly much less severe than the flood, there are several reasons why this judgment is the definite low point thus far in the Bible.

“First, the Flood left no permanent mark on humanity; though the generation of the flood was destroyed, humankind was preserved, and continued to grow. The scattering of humanity, however, is of lasting effect. There are no survivors of Babel.

Second, what is destroyed at Babel is the community of humankind as a family; hitherto, as the genealogies have witnessed, humankind is one family, and the Flood has only accentuated that fact by making one family in the narrowest sense of the word co-terminous with humanity. But the punishment of Babel divides humankind irrevocably from one another (as did also the first sin in its own way). Now humanity is no longer one “people” or “kin-group,” but “nations.” (David Clines, The Theme of the Pentateuch, pp. 70).

It is critical to see what happens on Pentecost in light of what was previously said or we will miss the epochal nature of the event. We will not see that what follows is indeed God dealing with and overturning the problem of sin and its effects. The idea of the disintegration of humanity and the loss of a unified family is not often seen as a direct and central aspect of sin and the larger Fall (viewed as Genesis 3-11, not just Genesis 3). Indeed, alienation is a significant theme throughout Genesis 1-11 and is central to a truly biblical understanding of sin.

So what happened at Pentecost? What we see is the beginning to undo this dispersion of nations and languages. At Pentecost, the disciples of Jesus, being filled with the Holy Spirit, began to speak in other languages and people from many nations, gathered in Jerusalem, each heard them speaking in their own native language. What is going on? The advent of the Spirit is actually reversing the curse of Babel. Adam’s and Cain’s sins alienated humans one from another, while Babel divided the nations and destroyed the common family of humanity. The Spirit of God, however, brings diverse peoples together as one family and one “kin-group.” The Spirit forges the Church as a new humanity which is reunited as a downpayment and sign of God’s eschatological purposes to bring all peoples to unity before God (cf. Zeph. 3:9; Psa. 22:27; 86:9-10; Isa. 2; Jer. 16:19; Zech 2:11). That which was alienated is now reconciled. That which was contentious is now at peace. Those who were enemies are now family.

It is no coincidence that immediately following the outpouring of the Spirit, Luke describes the profound community life shared among the early believers, meeting together day by day, having all things in common, providing for all in need, devoting themselves to the apostles teaching, to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers (Acts 2:42ff.). The “they” in Acts 2:42 undoubtedly included many of the 3000 converts mentioned in verse 41. This means that this early apostolic community likely had “Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene…Cretans and Arabs” (v.9).  This theme of ethnic diversity and unity continues to be a major theme throughout the book of Acts (esp. once Gentiles get in the picture) and through much of the Pauline epistles. Over and over again, unity emerges as a central theme and pastoral concern of early Apostolic Christianity.

To conclude, I want to give a few thoughts on a potential “Praxis of Pentecost” (praxis simply refers to practice, as distinguished from theory). If one of the major things the Spirit was doing on Pentecost was uniting the people of God as a new humanity, a new “kinship-group,” what might that mean for those of us who endeavor to walk in that same Spirit? I would suggest that a major priority of the Spirit is the preservation and the advancement of unity in the Church. While this of course begins with individuals one to another, it expands to include entire congregations and communities, to all believers in a given geographical region and indeed, the unity of ecclesial bodies over the entire earth. Shortly before his death, Jesus’ priority in prayer was for the unity of those who would follow him – unity that would mirror the divine life of the Trinity and functioned as the sign par excellence to the world. To be people of the Spirit means to be those of whom unity is a central value and priority. Let us ask the Lord to root out tendencies toward enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy and things like these (Gal. 5:20-21) from our own hearts and to fill us with deep and profound love for those with whom we are in immediate spiritual relationship. Let’s not stop there though – let’s ask the Lord to fill us with a deep love for the whole church, to be open (indeed eager!) to receive from and be in relationship with individuals, groups and traditions that are different than our own. May the prayer of Jesus be our own – that the Church would be one – as He and the Father are one!

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Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the six-and-a-half week season of Lent. The part we all know about Ash Wednesday is that people get ashes smudged on their foreheads and walk around looking somewhat goofy for the rest of the day. The part that is less well known is what the whole ritual of the ashes means. Most simply, it is an approximation of the ancient practice of placing ashes one’s head as a sign of mourning (together with wearing sackcloth). Interestingly enough, as the ashes are applied to the forehead, the priest says, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

This phrase gives a significant indicator of meaning that moves beyond an overly introspective obsession with self-abasement and self-hatred stylized as repentance. To say that one is dust often is interpreted as an expression both diminutive and derogatory. It conjures up popular notions of “the depravity of man” [sic] which cooperates effortlessly with the self-deprecation that has gradually become the automatic path of movement for our hearts the way an unremitting drip of water would eventually form a channel in soil. Returning to the Lord with all of the heart is undeniably central to Ash Wednesday and Lent, but there is more to this phrase that can and must inform our repentance.

The invocation of dust language harkens back to the creation and Garden of Eden narratives at the beginning of Genesis. The text tells us that “the Lord God formed the human person of the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life” (Gen. 2:7). The first thing this tells us is that as humans, we are fundamentally people of the earth. We were formed from the dust, showing that our material composition is elemental to who we are as people. It is not a “lesser” component of our being, it is who we are. This is further illustrated by the fact that the word for human (adam), in this passage and the rest of the Old Testament, is etymologically related to the word “ground” (adamah). We are quite literally earth-lings. It also shows us that, as the formation of dust was given life by the breath of God, we constantly live only in dependance upon the gracious gift of God.

Walter Brueggeman develops this idea by saying, “Thus human persons are dependent, vulnerable, and precarious, relying each moment on the gracious gift of breath which makes human life possible. Moreover, this precarious condition is definitional for human existence, marking the human person from the very first moment of existence. That is, human vulnerability is not late, not chosen, not punishment, not an aberration, not related to sin. It belongs to the healthy, original characterization of human personhood in relation to God.”1

Thus the call to “remember that we are dust” is not simply an appeal to repentance. It is an invitation to recall one’s own creaturehood and again become comfortable with one’s own vulnerability. The dominant values of our culture reward efficiency, execution, perfection and predictability. Over the past hundred years, in nearly every sector of society we have repeatedly chosen machines to replace humans and continually place ourselves in a losing battle to compete with them. Thus humanity has become increasingly like machines in a delusional attempt to transcend our frail creaturehood by imitating them. The delusional nature of this cultural neurosis could be explicated at length but is epitomized in the belief and practice that transcendence lies in machination. Like Adam and Eve we desire to reach beyond the limits of human being, to transcend the God-given limits of fragile vulnerability. Like Adam and Eve we must be told that such a pursuit is exceedingly futile. We place unspeakable demands upon ourselves imagining that we have greater power and ability than we ultimately in fact possess. For Adam and Eve, the cure was magical fruit, but remarkably, we imagine our escape will come through modeling our lives after machines. Thus Christian holiness becomes transmogrified into an irrational perfectionism, that through unyielding rigidity aspires to an inaccessible divinity.

We receive ashes on our foreheads and experience the tender yet confrontational beckoning to “remember that we are dust.” We must remember that as humans we are ever and always creatures, earth-lings, ground-lings. If it takes receiving ashes to begin grasping this, so be it. If it takes lying on the ground in the dust, so be it. We must recover this foundational truth. The Lenten recollection then no longer comes to us in collusion with the self-hatred of failure to attain an unreachable, yea, idolatrous goal. Rather, it comes to us in its truly biblical form, as an express not of God’s derision, but of his tender compassion. When God remembers our origin, it does not lead him to despise us. Instead, God’s knowledge of our beginnings in the dust is indeed the source of the heart-rending pity of a Father for his suffering children:

As a father has compassion for his children,
so the LORD has compassion for those who fear him.
For he knows how we were made;
he remembers that we are dust.

Psalm 103:13-14

——————-
1 Walter Brueggeman, “Remember, You are Dust,” Journal for Preachers 14 no. 2 1991, 4.

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