I sit at the table which has been my workstation for about the last six weeks, gazing out the library window. A bird hops around on the grass outside. The leaves on the trees and shrubs are quiet on this still English day under an overcast English sky.
My last essay for my three-year Bachelor of Theology degree at the University of Oxford is done. It feels strange even typing the words. It has been such a tremendous, transforming time. There have been a number of long hours reading, writing, thinking, discussing, and learning. New relationships have been forged and have deepened quickly. But soon I, like most of my "new" friends, will be off to another part of the world, to put all I have learned to new tests and challenges.
The University of Oxford doesn't do closure well. The best adverb I can think of to describe the manner in which I bound and filed my last essay is "unceremoniously". Graduation ceremonies do not take place until March of next year. My college had a wonderful commissioning service back in early June, but that was before my work was done. Now, it is simply that: it's done. No parties, no celebrations, nothing outstanding to mark the occasion...it's just done.
When Jesus uttered the words "It is finished" on the cross just before he "gave up his spirit" (Jn. 19:30), what a profound utterance it was. "Unceremoniously" doesn't seem to describe Jesus' death at all, considering the supernatural events at the crucifixion recorded in the synoptic gospels: the sky being turned to darkness (Mt. 27:45/Mk. 15:33/Lk. 23:44-45), the earth shaking (Mt. 27:51), the temple curtain being torn in two (Mt. 27:51/Mk. 15:38/Lk. 23:45), the exclamation of the centurion (Mt. 27:54/Mk. 15:39/Lk. 23:47), many dead coming back to life (Mt. 27:52-53). Yet John doesn't give us any of that. He gives us: "It is finished." Simple, yet surpassingly profound: the focal point of human history expressed in three words.
I dare not equate these last three years of theological study with the earthly ministry of our Lord, much less the completion of my last essay with his crucifixion. Still, at this time when I feel such a sense of accomplishment, yet it goes relatively unmarked, I can't help wanting to steal his line.
I'm guessing he'll forgive me.
23 July 2008
15 July 2008
Singing Lullabies to the Giant
The Archbishop of Sydney, Peter Jensen, recently declared at GAFCON that the actions of the US and Canadian Episcopal churches awoke a “sleeping giant”—that of “evangelical Anglicanism” and “orthodox Anglicanism”. I understand the sentiment, Archbishop, I really do…but might we have chosen a better metaphor?
I’m afraid that this “giant” metaphor is unwittingly (and informatively) revealing about the current status of the sharp personal, ethical, hermeneutical, and theological disagreements and fallings-out between the liberal and evangelical/orthodox ends of the Anglican Communion: for what sense can a “giant” metaphor convey except one of opposition, of strength, of domination, of intimidation, and of power?
Obviously, such qualities are hardly laudable from a biblical perspective. They seem to fly in the face of the Galatians 5 list of “fruits of the Spirit” (perhaps especially love, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and self-control), the Beatitudes of Matthew 5 (“Blessed are… the poor in spirit, …the meek, …the merciful, …the peacemakers, …those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake…”), and the exhortation by Paul in Romans 12 (to bless those who persecute us, never to avenge ourselves, and ultimately not to repay anyone evil for evil, but to overcome evil with good). Indeed, such qualities pale in comparison to our Lord Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death-- even death on a cross.
What’s more, I would imagine that the term “giant”—even for those with a low level of biblical literacy—conjures up images of Goliath. Time and again, in both Old and New Testaments, we are given the examples of how the weaker, the meeker, and/or the more humble is granted victory, is delivered, or is otherwise justified (just off the top of my head, I think of Moses, Joshua, Gideon, Ruth, David, Peter, the women, Paul, and again, Jesus himself).
The giant needs to go back to sleep.
In my view, what needs to awaken further amongst evangelical and orthodox Anglicans is a spirit of prayer, of faith, of humility, of graciousness, of patience, of forgiveness, of sacrifice, and most of all, of love. The exceedingly difficult thing about such qualities is that they wrest power and control away from us. Yes, we may well feel like “we’re losing”. Yes, we will have to admit our own fallibility and culpability, even in the face of those with whom we so strongly disagree. But our refusal to send forth a champion, our defiance of the lures of the real Enemy, and our commitment to taking up our own cross will place these disagreements—this battle, if we must—exactly where it needs to be: in the hands of our God.
I’m afraid that this “giant” metaphor is unwittingly (and informatively) revealing about the current status of the sharp personal, ethical, hermeneutical, and theological disagreements and fallings-out between the liberal and evangelical/orthodox ends of the Anglican Communion: for what sense can a “giant” metaphor convey except one of opposition, of strength, of domination, of intimidation, and of power?
Obviously, such qualities are hardly laudable from a biblical perspective. They seem to fly in the face of the Galatians 5 list of “fruits of the Spirit” (perhaps especially love, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and self-control), the Beatitudes of Matthew 5 (“Blessed are… the poor in spirit, …the meek, …the merciful, …the peacemakers, …those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake…”), and the exhortation by Paul in Romans 12 (to bless those who persecute us, never to avenge ourselves, and ultimately not to repay anyone evil for evil, but to overcome evil with good). Indeed, such qualities pale in comparison to our Lord Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death-- even death on a cross.
What’s more, I would imagine that the term “giant”—even for those with a low level of biblical literacy—conjures up images of Goliath. Time and again, in both Old and New Testaments, we are given the examples of how the weaker, the meeker, and/or the more humble is granted victory, is delivered, or is otherwise justified (just off the top of my head, I think of Moses, Joshua, Gideon, Ruth, David, Peter, the women, Paul, and again, Jesus himself).
The giant needs to go back to sleep.
In my view, what needs to awaken further amongst evangelical and orthodox Anglicans is a spirit of prayer, of faith, of humility, of graciousness, of patience, of forgiveness, of sacrifice, and most of all, of love. The exceedingly difficult thing about such qualities is that they wrest power and control away from us. Yes, we may well feel like “we’re losing”. Yes, we will have to admit our own fallibility and culpability, even in the face of those with whom we so strongly disagree. But our refusal to send forth a champion, our defiance of the lures of the real Enemy, and our commitment to taking up our own cross will place these disagreements—this battle, if we must—exactly where it needs to be: in the hands of our God.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
