This past Sunday I preached on 1 Chronicles 29:1-20, and in that passage David refers to the people of Israel as "aliens and strangers" in God's sight (v. 15). Although in that context the phrase has a different connotation than what we typically understand it to mean, this is common language in the Bible, both in the Old and New Testaments. The most common reference in the latter is probably found in Peter's letter (1 Pet. 2:11).
While I think this idea is certainly helpful for us to keep in mind (given that it is a biblical metaphor), there is also a danger in such a perspective leading to an eschatology shaped by escapism. Indeed, many evangelicals are quick to say that we are pilgrims in this world on our way to heaven. "We're just passing through," is the common catch-phrase of those who adhere to the sentiment.
Here's the thing, though – in one sense, we're not going anywhere. As I've said before, the history of God's redemption of his people is a pattern of God coming to us. The future of God's people is not some disembodied, ethereal existence. Our new Promised Land is "the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God" (Rev. 21:2). As Peter says, on the day of the Lord, "the earth and everything in it will be laid bare" (2 Pet. 3:10) in preparation for this Holy City.
In what sense are we aliens and strangers and pilgrims, then? One way of understanding this does tie the physical world, despite what I've just said. While this world is our home, we are aliens and strangers in it at the present time because our home has been occupied by a foreign enemy. It has become a wilderness; the presence of sin and the kingdom of darkness has obscured the inherent goodness of God's creation and made it unrecognisable. But we don't wait to escape from this wilderness. We wait instead for the Promised Land that God brings down to us after he purifies his creation from sin.
There is a spiritual element to this as well, though. We are pilgrims on a journey to a spiritual destination. Through the death and resurrection of Christ, we have new life (Rom. 6, Col. 3). By the power of the indwelling Spirit, we are given strength to put to death the old self, and to live holy and righteous lives (John 14:15-31, Rom. 8). On the day that Christ returns, we will be glorified – made like him (1 Cor. 15:51-57, Phil. 1:6).
Right now we remain in the wilderness of sin, wandering through it in the pursuit of holiness, longing and yearning for the fulness of Christ's redemption as we see sin wreak havoc in our lives and in our world. As Peter reminds us in 1 Peter 2:11, we need remember who we are so that we do not fall into sin and allow ourselves to be comfortable in this occupying kingdom. Instead, we follow the lead of our God towards that day when he fulfils his promise to forgive our wickedness and remember our sins no more (Jer. 31:34), and to wipe every tear from our eyes. "There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away" (Rev. 21:4).
The Promised Land that awaits us is God's good creation restored and glorified, a place where his people will dwell in his presence forever and where they, having been glorified, will be free from sin and flourish as they live the life that he intends for his people.
That's a Promised Land to look forward to. That's a pilgrimage worth making.
In the middle of December I was on a bit of a rant tweeting about how Christians so often misunderstand work and vocation. I find myself returning to this topic more and more because I think it is so important. Browse through the gallery to see the tweets:
Then Steve Bishop posted this cartoon the other day and I thought that it did a good job illustrating the way the church often adds to the problem.
It's my hope that in 2012 churches will do a lot more to help believers think about their work from a Christian perspective.
Orthodox men love church, says Frederica Matthewes-Green. A couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across an article she had written after dialoguing with one hundred Orthodox men who had converted to Orthodoxy as adults to find out what drew them in.
It's no secret that in most Protestant churches, females make up a larger portion of the congregation, often significantly. This was one of the reasons Matthewes-Green decided to find out why Orthodoxy bucks that trend. What she discovered was very interesting. Look at some of the responses below. It is especially noteworthy, I think, that many of the men commented on the challenge of Orthodoxy:
"It's the only church where you are required to adapt to it, rather than it adapting to you."
"Orthodoxy is serious. It is difficult. It is demanding. It is about mercy, but it's also about overcoming oneself. I am challenged in a deep way, not to 'feel good about myself' but to become holy. It is rigorous, and in that rigour I find liberation."
"Guys either want to be challenged to fight for a glorious and honourable cause, and get filthy dirty in the process, or to loaf in our recliners with plenty of beer, pizza, and football. But most churches want us to behave like orderly gentlemen, keeping our hands and mouths nice and clean."
"Christ in Orthodoxy is a militant, Jesus takes Hell captive. Orthodox Jesus came to cast fire on the earth. In Holy Baptism we pray for the newly-enlisted warriors of Christ, male and female, that they may ‘be kept ever warriors invincible.'"
"...‘the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay’ has almost nothing to do with the Eternal Logos entering inexorably, silently yet heroically, into the fabric of created reality."
"Men get pretty cynical when they sense someone's attempting to manipulate their emotions, especially when it's in the name of religion. They appreciate the objectivity of Orthodox worship. It's not aimed at prompting religious feelings but at performing an objective duty."
A lot of the things these men say they like in Orthodoxy could be true of Protestantism as well. The problem, though, is that many churches have changed and have adapted too much to modern culture. But a Protestant church that is true to its heritage and tradition does require you to adapt to it. I mentioned the Book of Common Prayer the other day; worshipping in a church which uses the BCP presents a challenge that you need to adapt to. Protestant faith is serious and difficult and demanding; Jesus said that if anyone was to follow him they needed to first lay down their life (Matt. 16:24-25). We are called to be holy too, and learning to submit to Christ's Lordship over all of your life is a difficult process. Early Protestants saw Jesus as a strong and powerful King; the tender, soft Swedish Jesus is a modern invention. Protestant worship isn't about feelings and emotions and it does require participation.
But it's not difficult to see that in many churches this is not the case anymore. So, maybe we need to change something. Maybe it's not about coming up with new ways to challenge men, but returning to more classical forms of faith and worship. Maybe instead of dumbing everything down, we make men wrestle again with words and phrases that take some work to understand. Maybe instead of making worship as comfortable as we can, we make them kneel once in a while or stand for prolonged periods of time. Maybe we get them thinking hard about being disciples of Christ, as workers, as husbands and fathers, as citizens, as sports fans. Maybe we don't allow them to be passive and train them to teach or to lead in prayer or to mentor young men.
Christianity should be hard work. It should be challenging. It requires us, after all, to surrender everything to Christ. If men are not learning that in our churches, then something is wrong.
The Prayer Book is a treasury of words and phrases that are still for countless English-speaking people the nearest you can come to an adequate language for the mysteries of faith. It gives us words that say where and who we are before God: 'we have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep', 'we are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy table', but also, 'we are very members incorporate in the mystical body of thy Son, which is the blessed company of all faithful people; and are also heirs through hope of the everlasting kingdom'. It gives us words for God that hold on to the paradoxes we can't avoid: 'God... who art always more ready to hear than we to pray,' 'who declarest thy almighty power most chiefly in showing mercy and pity, 'whose property is always to have mercy.' A treasury of words for God – but also a source of vision for an entire society: 'Give us grace seriously to lay heart the great dangers we are in by our unhappy divisions'; 'If ye shall perceive your offences to be such as are not only against God but also against your neighbours; then ye shall reconcile yourselves unto them; being ready to make restitution'.
The world has changed, the very rhythms of our speech have changed, our society is irreversibly more plural, and we have – with varying degrees of reluctance – found other and usually less resonant ways of talking to God and identifying who we are in his presence. If we used only the Prayer Book these days we'd risk confusing the strangeness of the mysteries of faith with the strangeness of antique and lovely language. But we're much the poorer for forgetting it and pushing it to the margins as much as we often do in the Church.
This is one of the reasons I love the Prayer Book. The language may be difficult and dated, but for myself, at least, it has a way of putting into words things I sometimes have trouble expressing. There is a challenge – a good challenge – in wrestling with the phrases and thoughts, one that will draw you deeper in the mysteries of faith and the wonders of God.
We do ourselves a great disservice when we cast off as irrelevant those things which require some work to understand. In the case of the Prayer Book, we miss out on some of the richest prayers and words of worship, and some of the most profound ways of expressing the timeless truths of the Christian faith.
Over the past month, I have (very) slowly been making my way through William Willimon's book, Pastor: The Theology and Practice of Ordained Ministry. In a section discussing different images and models of pastoral ministry, Willimon suggests the recovery of a classical form of Christian ministry:
There is much to be said for the pastor being educated in the classical forms of Christian ministry. The church has much experience as a minority movement. We need to draw from that experience today. In that regard, I predict a recovery of the classical shape of ministry: to teach, to preach, and to evangelize through the ministries of the Word, sacrament, and order. I sense the end of a proliferation of ministerial duties and a reclamation of the essential classical tasks of Christian ministry. Because so many of our people have not been well formed in the faith, pastors must now stress doctrine, the classical texts of our faith, our master narratives, the great themes. The culture is no longer a prop for the church. If we are going to make Christians, we must have a new determination to inculcate the faith. In some ways our age parallels that of the Reformation, in which the church was faced with a vast undereducated, uninformed, unformed laity and clergy. Pastors need to be prepared to lead in catechesis, moral formation, and the regeneration of God's people.
He argues that we no longer live in a culture where Christianity holds a prominent place. As Christians, we are now living in a context in which the idea of being aliens and strangers in the land must be recovered. This was the situation of the early church, and it shaped the way they carried out their ministry. In particular, they invested a great deal of time and energy into the formation of believers. As we now find ourselves in a similar context, Willimon suggests that
more of our pastoral time, in this missionary situation, will be spent in catechesis, the formation of Christians who have the equipment they need to survive as Christians.
I often hear people react against the idea of catechesis because of an assumption that it is mere indoctrination, drilling purely intellectual and academic theological propositions into the heads of children. This, unfortunately, may have been the experience of some – to be honest, this was partly my own experience – but Willimon helpfully points out that catechesis instead is about the holistic formation of believers, equipping them with the tools necessary not only to think rightly, but to live rightly in the world.
In order to understand more fully what catechesis is supposed to entail, it is helpful first to have a well-rounded definition of the practice. The Catechism of the Catholic Church provides one such definition:
Catechesis...[includes] especially the teaching of Christian doctrine imparted, generally speaking, in an organic and systematic way, with a view to initiating the hearers into the fullness of Christian life....catechesis is built on a certain number of elements of the Church's pastoral mission...[including] the initial proclamation of the Gospel or missionary preaching to arouse faith; examination of the reasons for belief; experience of Christian living; celebration of the sacraments; integration into the ecclesial community; and apostolic and missionary witness (II, 5-6).
Catechesis is not just about intellectual matters, but it is about the whole of the Christian life. Recovering this sort of ministry is crucial for discipleship, and thus of great importance for pastoral ministry.
