Reflections on Truth and Reconciliation in Light of the Cross of Jesus

On this Canada Day we have been invited by the Indigenous communities who have lived on this land for millennia to pause and ponder. With the discoveries of mass burial grounds and unmarked graves at residential school sites, a part of Canadian history that had long been denied and concealed is being exposed. It is uncomfortable and unnerving for all. It triggers much pain for indigenous peoples. And, I believe it is incumbent upon all Canadians to stop, pause, and reflect. These musings are part of my reflections.

Let me begin by saying though I come from a family that settled in Canada over 200 years ago and have proudly carried my Canadian passport when I travel abroad, reflecting on the sins of my nation is something I do not shy away from and do not feel to be a threatening exercise. As a person who has placed my faith in Jesus as my Saviour and Lord, my allegiance is ultimately to him—not the Prime Minister, certainly not the Queen, and not to some notion of Canada’s reputation that is being exposed as far less than I was taught. And, I believe only by owning the sins of our nation can we truly find a pathway to wholeness. 

As a follower of Jesus, my reflections will center on the cross of Jesus for it is the center of our faith. The Apostle Paul himself made it clear in 1 Corinthians 2:2 when he said that he made a deliberate decision “to know nothing among you except Jesus the Messiah—crucified” (my translation). In other words, the cross was not only central to Paul’s message, but to all he did and how he lived. You see, the cross of Jesus is multidimensional. It not only is how our salvation is achieved—Jesus dying a substitutionary death, atoning for our sins—it is also the standard by which we are to live our lives. People who place their faith in Jesus are accepting not just the free gift of forgiveness of sins, but a calling to live cross-shaped lives. Jesus himself made it clear: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me” (Mark 8:34 – ESV). I do not know how much clearer Jesus could have been. 

Paul, similarly, called all believers to have this mind in themselves that was also in Christ 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. (NRSV)

The cross is the definitive image and model for the Christian life. How, then, does the cross address Truth and Reconciliation in our Canadian context in 2021?

 

First, I believe the cross challenges those of us who are settlers to recognize that Jesus identifies with the suffering of indigenous communities. 

All the gospel accounts of the crucifixion show clearly that Jesus himself was brutally slain and tortured by the powers of his day—both religious and political. James H. Cone in his masterful work, The Cross and the Lynching Tree, notes how the Black community found solace and hope in the cross--an incredible irony given the oppression experienced at the hands of White Christians. He notes that the Black community has long been “the most obvious cross-bearers in American society” (p. 38) and that there is a profound link between the cross of Jesus with the lynching tree—“the most potent symbol of the trouble nobody knows that blacks have seen but do not talk about because the pain of remembering” (p. 3). 

So, too, the cross of Jesus reminds us that he identifies with the plight of indigenous peoples who suffered at the hands of religious and political leaders—many of whom would have claimed themselves to be followers of Jesus. As Jurgen Moltmann notes in his opus, The Crucified God, “The church has much abused the theology of the cross and the mysticism of the passion in the interest of those who cause the suffering” (65). It is time we recognize that Jesus not only loves the indigenous community and died for them, he suffers with them and died with them—at the hands of Christians.

 

Second, I believe the cross reminds us that sin can be corporate in its manifestation.

It wasn’t just Roman governor, Pilate, or a single Roman soldier or one religious leader who killed Jesus. It was a whole system of governance that was utilized by a group of powerful men to do away with Jesus. He was not stoned in a sudden fury of religious zealotry like Stephen (see Acts 6). Jesus was intentionally brought before various legal systems and condemned--though innocent--to the most brutal form of execution at their disposal. In fact, the religious leaders used the system, broken and sinful as it was, to achieve their ends and have Jesus executed in a way that they thought would rid them of him and his movement. As Paul reminds us in Galatians 3:13 (citing Deuteronomy 21:23): everyone who hangs on a tree is cursed. The intentionality behind seeking to use the Roman system of occupation to ensure Jesus was crucified is unmistakable. 

One cannot look at these systems and not see sin in and through them. They were designed to maintain Roman sovereignty over conquered people--to keep people in their place. The whole system was rigged to benefit the Romans and their citizens, and to keep conquered people from rising up and finding their own voice and freedom. No wonder the Apostle John noted that the whole world is under the sway of the evil one (1 John 5:19). We live in a broken world.

Why, then, are conservative Christians so nervous about acknowledging that racism is a manifestation of system-level sin? Why are we so reluctant to recognize that racism itself infects the very systems that were forged when Canada was settled, treaties were signed, and the nation was birthed? And that these same systems continue to benefit some at the expense of others?

History demonstrates that when indigenous nations no longer served the purposes of the British Crown in its stand against America, and when the economic engine that was powered by indigenous peoples changed, there was a collective shift in government that resulted in the Indian Act and an approach that sought to find a way around the treaties they continued to sign. The aim became to assimilate all indigenous peoples into mainstream Canadian society. This was the rationale behind residential schools--an unmistakable demonstration of systemic racism and collective sin. 

Third, I believe the cross reminds us that sin must be named in order to be overcome.

We are told explicitly in Scripture to confess our sins--to name them and acknowledge them for what they are (1 John 1:9). And while people today may say we had no part in the residential school system, we must acknowledge both the sins of our forefathers and the benefit that we have gleaned--even indirectly--from these actions. Also, whether or not it was my denomination that was involved in running these schools, the simple fact is that the world does not see the difference, and the gospel of Jesus has been tarnished, the cross diminished precisely by the sins of the church. 

In the Old Testament book of Joel we find a concept called a “sacred assembly” (1:14; 2:15). In simple terms: corporate sin requires corporate confession and corporate action. It’s not about finger pointing. It is about jointly mourning. And then it is about understanding individual culpability within the framework of collective culpability. Even if we did not run a residential school and implement a system that so abused and neglected children as to see thousands of them die, we do carry the responsibility of finding a path to healing and reconciliation.

So, as I conclude my musings, I express some wishes. 

1. I wish churches all across Canada would stop and ponder: how does the gospel of the crucified Jesus guide us in responding to the atrocities of the residential school system? I long for my church and all churches to clearly and courageously address this from the pulpit. 

2. I wish the church and its scholars would engage in deep theological reflection as it interacts with the Truth and Reconciliation reports. 

3. And, I wish the church--both in its local manifestations and in its collective identities (i.e. denomination)--would reach out to indigenous communities to humbly seek to find pathways of healing and reconciliation together. 

Whether or not Canada gets it right, it is time for the church to step forward, to take up the cross, and follow Jesus. 

To learn first hand about the Truth and Reconciliation reports and recommendations, look here:

Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada (TRC) 

Truth and Reconciliation Reports

If you want to learn more about Indigenous communities and history, I recommend these courses (I have completed the Indigenous Canada course through the University of Alberta and am half-way through the Reconciliation :Education through the Indigenous University in Saskatchewan… both are well worth your time and thoughtful engagement):

Indigenous Canada Course

Reconciliation Education

The Toronto Public Library has a great list of books to explore...

Remembering the 215 Children Found in an Unmarked Mass Grave at Kamloops Indian Residential School

And some booked I highly recommend: 

Book — Indian Horse Feature Film

The Inconvenient Indian

FInally, if you are interested in learning more and getting involved, consider these links:

Indian Residential School Survivors Society

About Us Orange Shirt Day is a legacy of the St. Joseph Mission (SJM)

About Us – Legacy of Hope Foundation

Were you there?

During my college days I had the honour of being part of the Moody Bible Institute’s Men’s Choir. Of all the songs we sung, one in particular resonates still to this day. A classic Negro Spiritual, “Were you There.” The words were simple, but the power of the song—it still touches me today! We had a slide show going while we sang which contained various images of the cross. You could sense the impact on the congregation as we sang.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

Oh-oh-oh-oh

Sometimes it makes me tremble

Tremble

Tremble

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

I trembled as we sang. I would often reflect on how, in a way, I was there. Preachers would remind us that we were there. Our sins are what Christ carried to the cross. My sins were there. And, it has often been said, I virtually nailed him to the cross with my sins. Was I there? Yes, I was there. And I tremble at the thought of how God carried my sins, died this ignoble death—all for me.

Over the years in my faith journey, God has given me the privilege of serving in his church, and more recently, serving those on the margins of our society through social service agencies. The journey has been one of constant discovery, constant learning—and unlearning—as my faith deepens and my amazement at the cross expands. Now, as an executive director of a nonprofit community-based youth agency, I continue to seek to know God as he has revealed himself to us through our crucified Lord, Jesus.

My jobs have carried me to the margins of society. People are found on the margins of every society. In Canada (and the USA), the margins are typically defined by various factors, including race, identity, social status, education, and documentation (to name a few). I have had internationally trained doctors whose practice in their country of origin was profound, weeping in my office as they struggle to gain the credentials needed to practice in Canada. I have lobbied for friends to gain status in Canada and then be reunited with loved ones left behind. I have witnessed first-hand the struggle and journey of youth coming to Canada with gaps in their education, lonely for their social circle left behind, and having limited capacity to communicate in English. And, most recently, I have journeyed with those who experience the depravity of poverty, the insult of racism, conflict with the law, and the despair of hopelessness. This 20-year journey has marked me. It has pushed me to ponder the critical importance of a diversity of voices as we learn about and worship God. And it has caused me to critically reflect on the way the church has been formed, and our theological reflection shaped, not by people on the margins of society, but for the last 1500 years, by people in the center of power.

Since the late fourth century the theological enterprise has been conducted from the center, defined, articulated and enforced by those with power—ecclesial, political, economic. It is not the oppressed who gave voice to the creeds passed down through the ages. These statements of theological belief were conceptualized by those with positions that gave them the power to determine what was acceptable as true and that which was to be rejected. It was not those on the margin who determined what constitutes orthodoxy and what must be rejected as heresy. These decisions belonged to those in the center, invested with authority and capable of exercising power to enforce their decisions.

This is not to say that what has been passed down through the ages is therefore to be rejected.  Far from it! It is with good reason that we recognize the Gospel of John as inspired rather than the Gospel of Thomas. Those who eschew the decisions of the historic church on such matters seem to me to be advocating an anarchist approach to theology. Such postmodern thought gone rampant leaves us with no sense of what we can believe, deconstructing every decision and questioning anything determined by those with the will to power. Just as the modernistic, enlightenment experiment leads to hubris, so the unchecked journey down postmodernity leads to a wasteland that is formless and void.

On the other hand, postmodernity can bring a deeper perspective, especially when understood as a correction to the hegemony of modernity. Postmodernity challenges us to revisit the margins. It requires us to understand that everything we say, every formulation we articulate, is the product of a particularly set of experiences, at a particular time, by a particular person with a particular understanding of the times in which these thoughts are being made and codified in a particular language that itself bears witness to the culture and era in which it is located. And this is important, reminding us of some critical aspects of the Christian faith.

A key distinguishing aspect of Christianity is the way God has consistently earthed and enculturated his revelation. Each of the books of the Bible were written by particular people at particular times in multiple languages. As Lamin Sanneh so brilliantly explains in his magnificent work, Translating the Message, it is the very fact that the Bible contains four languages in its original text—that Jesus’ words themselves were translated from Aramaic to Greek in the writing of the New Testament—that has led the church to affirm the need to translate the Scriptures into the language of each of the cultures in which it is proclaimed. And, by so doing, it invites each church to conceive of the gospel in a manner that is relevant and speaks into their culture. Jesus himself, Paul reminds us in Galatians, was born at a specific time, in a specific province, to a specific family—all determined by God to be the ideal setting for his ultimate revelation to humanity.

It was Jürgen Moltmann in his work, The Crucified God, who reminded me that “Were you There” was similarly composed and sung in a particular time, by a particular people, and carried a particular weight for them. I tremble to reflect on this as I remember singing the song. That song was composed and sung by African slaves in the southern United States, dating back to the 17^th century. Singing the words of the verse, “Were you there when they nailed him to the tree,” would have indeed made them tremble. That song was written and sung by people who experienced loved ones being hung on a tree, lynched and strung up for disobeying a slave master or seeking to escape a life of abject servitude. Were you there? For the African American, the crucifixion left an indelible imprint. Jesus was with them in their suffering, and they were there, in his suffering. This shared experience made the gospel come to life for millions of oppressed people. The sad irony is that their oppressors claimed to worship the same God whose ultimate revelation of himself was through our Crucified Lord.

The Holy Spirit in Hebrews 13 reminds us that Christ himself was crucified outside the city, as one marginalized by the powers of the day. So it is that, under the shadow of the cross, those of us who have enjoyed the privilege of being in the mainstream need to learn to listen to the oppressed, to the voices on the margins. Christ himself was oppressed. The early church was oppressed. Our foundational documents, the New Testament, were written by an oppressed people. And the early understandings and practices of the church were born into a community that was oppressed. To pursue a deeper understanding of the gospel, then, I need to listen to the various perspectives of all who encounter Jesus through the Spirit inspired word, especially those who know what it means to be oppressed. They see the Scriptures from a different angle, an angle I am incapable of comprehending without their guidance. This is not to make light of their oppression, but to remember the deep seated value of each person who God has created, regardless of his or her station in life. Each has the Spirit. Each can lead others to see the vast wisdom of God in a deeper way. Only by allowing ourselves to be humble enough to learn from the margins will we find ourselves growing in the grace and knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ, united as one body across all lines that separate humans from one another, exposing the various compromises to our faith that invariably creeps into any human efforts to embody the kingdom, and better enabling us to be all that God has called us to be in this broken world.

The Gospel in the West – Part 2

Power Evangelism

When I graduated from seminary (Trinity Evangelical Divinity School) in 1992 a debate was quietly afoot in the hallway between Wayne Grudem and D. A. Carson.  On the one hand, Grudem was advocating for what was known at the time as “power evangelism.”  He argued for the real value of signs and wonders in the presentation of the gospel for. When reading the accounts of the early church there are regular records of displays of God’s power (healings, exorcisms and other miraculous signs and wonders).  Should these not be normative today, too?  Across the hall D.A. Carson was objecting and would soon publish a book as editor countering the power evangelism perspective.  (Funny how many of my former profs have “polarized” over various issues in the last 20 years … but that’s another post.)  Grudem was not impressed with what he felt was a poor portrayal of his arguments and so put together a response that was never published as glamorously as was Carson’s work.

I’m not sure what became of that debate as, frankly, I was more taken aback by the rhetoric going on between two godly professors than by the substance of the issue at the time, but looking back I believe the issue was really about gospel proclamation.  In short: the issue really isn’t about the validity or necessity of signs and wonders, per se.   

The point is that Grudem was really wrestling with what provides context and substantiation for the preaching of the gospel.  Paul speaks, for instance, in 1 Corinthians 2 about not coming with carefully crafted oratory but in the demonstrated power of the Spirit.  In Galatians 3 he chides the church to remember the power of the Spirit demonstrated among them.  In 1 Thessalonians 1 Paul points to something beyond his words that helped substantiate his message.  And throughout Acts there is far more than simply words spoken—there are consistent demonstrations of the presence and power of God.

The Pure Gospel

Today, as when this debate about power evangelism was all the rage, a similar argument is now centering around holistic understandings of the gospel versus a straightforward proclamation of forgiveness of sins through Jesus Christ.  Take, for instance, a book recently given to me by a friend: What is the Mission of the Church? by Kevin Deyong and Greg Gilbert.  In a fashion very similar to Carson’s response to power evangelism, the authors write intending to persuade the reader into compartmentalizing the mission of gospel proclamation (i.e. preaching the gospel) from works of mercy and social justice.  The style leaves you almost feeling shamed for believing anything different from the authors.

I see a connection between the aspirations of those who believe in “power evangelism” and those who advocate for social justice and acts of mercy being necessary components of the gospel witness.  The issue is that words, without context, are simply that: words.  We may provide a history of Jesus in the proclamation of the gospel (though I contend it is normally a de-historized Jesus that is presented) but in essence what is presented is information that people need to know and believe.  Sometimes I wonder if we are wandering down the path of Gnosticism and mystery religions with such platonic segmentation of the gospel.

Beyond Compartmentalizing the Gospel 

Could it be that the gospel proclamation is necessarily paired with being and doing?  I love the way Darrell Guder explains it in his work, The Continuing Conversion of the Church: gospel witness requires saying, doing and being.  I compare it to a three-leg stool.  If you try to sit on it and one leg is missing you will fall over.  So, too, with our gospel witness!  And what I believe we are wrestling with in the west is that accompanying praxis that gives substance and context to the words we speak.

In the 90s the idea of power evangelism was believed by some to fill the void.  Today the idea of the holistic gospel approach is that works of mercy and compassion reflect the character of God and provide the necessary context for preaching.  The real question, then, is: what is it about the church and how we function in this world that demonstrates the presence and power of God—a presence and power that substantiates the message we proclaim?

For me, the place we need to start is fundamental: it is in our basic ecclesiology that has allowed the church to become so syncretised with commercialism and business theory that it virtually becomes a commodity on the shelf of religious goods and services.  I wonder if people looking on truly see much that is compelling in the church.  Do they see a community defined by its allegiance to Christ and to his mission or do they see a people defined by something else (age, relational status, economic condition, culture, language, some unique affinity)?  My mother reminded me of Bonhoeffer the other day.  And I recall him writing in his work, Life Together, that something beyond our natural affinity must be the defining raison d’être for the church and, with regard to what I am describing here, a compelling witness to the world of the presence and power of God.  Social justice can, indeed, be part of that (as can supernatural acts of God, though I doubt very much whether he has in mind gold fillings and other such “miracles” that are celebrated in the west).  Even more fundamentally, what about Ephesians 2:11-3:12 and Paul’s discussion of the profound community that arises from the cross? 

Could it be that when we, as a church, are experiencing God’s converting and transforming power and allowing that to infiltrate the world in which we live, that the necessary context for the proclamation is given?

The Gospel in the West

Blogging is complex business! I’ve written and re-written this post more times than I can count, trying to come up with a way to express what has been troubling me for some time. So I think perhaps my answer is to give up trying to find a “perfect” way to put out there what I am trying to say and simply state it and see where it may lead.

First, I should identify the two books have led to this post. One, a return to the 1989 classic by Leslie Newbigin, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society, spurred my initial thoughts that were on a piece of paper. (I am so old school but would welcome an i-pad some day!) The other, a very recent work given to me by a friend, What Is the Mission of the Church? by Kevin DeYoung and Greg Gilbert, provided a point of entry into the current debate on issues of the gospel.

Newbigin got me thinking by contending that making one’s eternal destiny the starting point for gospel articulation is short sighted. Among his arguments was the problem of centering the gospel on “the individual and his or her need to be assured of ultimate happiness, and not with God and his glory” (179). Much of what I ask below arises from reflecting upon this point.

DeYoung and Gilbert helped through their distinction between what they call the “wide angle lens” and “zoom lens” of the gospel. The former points to the cosmic sense of the gospel found throughout the New Testament. The latter points to the forgiveness found in the cross (a point they contend is the only way in which the writers of Scripture “zoom in” on the gospel). This has served as a foil for my thoughts.

At its core I suggest the gospel is actually a story—THE story—of what God has done in this world in and through Jesus Christ, “the descendent of David according to the flesh and who was declared to be the Son of God with power according to the Holy Spirit by the resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 1:3-4). Even when Paul described the Gospel in terms of Christ dying for our sins he always did so within the context of the story of God revealed in the Scriptures, tying this event to the historical work of God and the historical reality of Jesus life, death and resurrection (1 Corinthians 15:1-4). The gospel is the story of how God reconciled all things to himself through the cross (Colossians 1:20). In what has become popular parlance, the gospel is the climax of the misseo dei, the fulcrum upon which everything rests and everything turns. The gospel expands from the cross, and it never excludes the cross.

Bringing this back to Newbigin, while we need to make this gospel understandable for the people to whom we proclaim it, we must be ever vigilant that we do not become guilty of syncretism, merging western philosophy and western cultural proclivities into the essence of the gospel. Toward that end I have a few distinctions I suggest are worth pondering when we focus on “zoomed-in” gospel—distinctions that I hope will help us avoid the pitfalls of a truncated gospel that leads to so much emphasis on eliciting a response that we miss the call of the Great Commission: to make disciples.

1. The Gospel is not primarily about establishing a personal relationship with Jesus Christ

THOUGH...

When you respond to the Gospel the Holy Spirit works in you to encounter the living God and experience him personally. Could it be that the use of catch-phrases like “personal saviour” and “inviting Jesus into my heart” leads us to a human-centred gospel? Beware turning the blessing of the gospel into the essence of the gospel!

2. The Gospel is not primarily about you being forgiven for your sins

THOUGH...

Responding to the gospel necessarily requires facing the cross, seeing one’s sinfulness and receiving forgiveness. Contrary to DeYoung and Gilbert, I suggest that forgiveness of sins is not only the entry point to receiving the blessings of the gospel; it is also the entry point of participating in the gospel and an ongoing experience of the gospel as we seek to follow God and live out the full implications of the gospel. Forgiveness is not the ending point, as if one could simply pray a prayer for forgiveness and move on without any call being heard and obeyed.

3. The Gospel is not primarily about fixing your life

THOUGH...

You will experience inner healing and equilibrium as you submit your life to God as he is revealed in the Gospel. It is even possible some may also experience physical healing. I contend, however, that such experiences function as a sign of God’s ultimate purpose for creation and, just as with the healings of Jesus in the New Testament, point beyond the individual to the God who is restoring all things in and through Christ. We in the west would do well to rediscover a theology of suffering and the power of embracing our brokenness to be what Henri Nouwen called “The Wounded Healer.”

Finally,

4. The Gospel is not an abstract set of truths

THOUGH...

You will unlearn much and discover much as you engage the gospel and how it manifests in and speaks to your culture and context. It is little wonder that one of the hallmarks of Christianity through the centuries is a reflection on all of life in light of the gospel. But to boil the gospel down to a set of propositional truths is to run the risk of creating a modern version Gnosticism where knowledge is divorced from praxis and can ultimately be isolated from the whole of life. If it is anything, the gospel is a radical call to a whole new approach to life under and in conscious awareness of God and his work in and through Christ.

The Gospel is the story of the true ruler of all who, though Jesus Christ, is bringing all his purposes for humanity and creativity into being. He has done this (and is completing his work) in the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ. The gospel is a call to embrace a new meaning for life, a new set of values, and in many ways, embracing and refining those aspects of your life that reflected God’s purposes even before you encountered the Gospel. In many ways, then, the gospel calls us in the west to move beyond our self-focus to center our lives on Christ and the purposes of God in this world.

Return of the blog

My daughter recently asked me why I haven't posted to my blog in so long.  I was at a loss for words.

I could cite time: I've been so swamped with extended commutes and long work days that I've so little time and energy left by the end of the day or week that blogging just wasn't coming.  And, in a way, that's true, but probably more of an excuse than a reason.  I've watched my kids do homework faithfully through thick and thin--much more than I ever did.  And they've been exhausted doing this too.  So this response would not be adequate.

I could cite writer's cramp: I can't get my thoughts to come out straight.  And, to some degree that is true.  But, then, how often have I sat back and tried to write? Same issue as above ...

Reality: the blog has mirrored my efforts toward completing my doctorate.  I have completed the class work and only have my dissertation left to write.  But it seems every time I plan to work on it, I convince myself not to complete my precis and get going on the project.  Some may call it defeatist ... and in some ways I have allowed myself to wallow in the pit of "what difference will it make?" But as a good friend mentioned to me a while back: "this can't be about you or even you making a difference." 

Then I find myself asking, "Do I really want to commit the time and effort to complete this thing?" I have wrestled so much with the "why" that I stopped doing the "what." And the truth is, regardless of how well what I do may or may not be received, regardless of the time and commitment required, this is something that is at the core of what I believe God has called me to do. What hasn't matched for me is the being, for above all, God calls us to be, and out of that being, to do and to go what and where he shows us. And in response to my daughter, this is really the reason why.

I am an emotionally driven person.  As my wife often says, I'm either "all in" or "all out."  Such extremes are not the healthiest places to live. I have been discovering much about myself, seeking to find solace in a life without quite as many peaks and valleys--often times self created. I think at work, at home and even at church I am a bit of a drama king! I work best under pressure or with a vision that captures my emotions and drives me forward. So I tend to create emotional imbalance in my life--whether it be deadlines or even conflict. Sad eh? LOL ... But seriously, my emotional makeup is both one of my greatest strengths--I can really be there, can empathize and really inspire others--and it is also one of my most significant weaknesses--I can shut down, withdraw, and really frustrate others.

So the last few months have been spent seeking to grow in character, addressing little things that tend to add up to a lot of other things--from the way I respond to other drivers on the road to the way I engage my family after a long day at work. I am far from finished, but I think it is time to return to this post and to my dissertation. I can continue to grow as I write ... for even my approach to my dissertation and this post had been subject to emotinal waves that were simply not enough to sustain the project.

So please pray for me as I continue to grow and seek to complete the largest reflective undertaking of my life--in many ways a culmination of what God has been doing in my heart and mind for over 20 years.  Pray that I may find my sense of self and the equilibrium needed for all of life in surrendering my will and my life to the care and purposes of God.

And watch for a new blog on "the gospel in the west" coming very soon ...

Migration and Linguistic Diversity at Babel

While the book of Genesis is rightly known as the book of beginnings—the story of creation; the origin of sin; the beginning of God’s response to the problem of sin; the birth of Israel—there is also a significant subplot.  Most Genesis narratives include migration as part of its plot—not as a minor detail around which other significant events happened, but as a primary plot line through which the theological message of the book is revealed.  Additionally, the diversity of humanity find its roots in the Genesis narrative, and in no narrative are these two themes more interconnected than in the account of Genesis 11 and the tower of Babel.

Linguistic Diversity: A Curse?

One of the first commentaries I ever purchased on Genesis was by Allen P. Ross, then a professor at Dallas Theological Seminary.  His verdict on the passage was clear:  Genesis 11 “demonstrates that the present number of languages that form national barriers is a monument to sin” (234). Two very critical assertions are made by Ross here: first, diverse languages create a “national” barrier that God did not intend and, second, diverse languages are a monument to sin. And on a first reading of the text his logic seems straightforward (albeit rather anachronistic and Americentric): God does “judge” the people by confusing their languages.  And the confusion of languages thwarts the hubris of humanity, forcing people to migrate across the earth.

But I believe there is far more at play here than first meets the eye. 

But before we look at the broader picture of the text, let’s pause for a moment and dig a bit deeper into the notion that linguistic diversity is a curse for, unfortunately, Ross’ interpretation is not completely unique nor is it unpopular.

Now while I am not a linguist, even a casual reflection on languages reveals the propensity of language to evolve across time and space. Try reading an English article from two hundred years ago and you will be hard pressed to understand it. Further, simple words are used differently. And today, despite the prevalence of media such as television and the movie industry, language difference continues.  My daughter, Jessica, just came to realize that in Michigan when she asked if anyone needed to use the washroom they thought she was asking if they needed to go to do their laundry—that the word she was looking for is “restroom.”  And we live only six hours away! (Granted, we live across an international border). In southern Ontario washroom and bathroom are used interchangeably.

Anecdotal evidence reveals that the broader the geography, the more complexity is found. And despite the ubiquitous presence of English on media outlets and the internet, the diversity has not been minimized at all. Consider how uniquely English is spoken in the UK, Canada, the USA, South Africa, New Zealand and Australia—and how uniquely it is spoken even within each of these countries.  Try having people from different regions within a single country like the USA say the same sentence and you will hear quite a different rhythm depending on whether you are in Boston or Baton Rouge; Midland, Michigan or Midland, Texas.  One of the most amazing experiences I ever had with linguistic diversity was during the summer of 1988 when, as part of a men’s choir from Moody Bible Institute, we toured the UK, staying in homes of people in the churches we visited. No matter how hard I and my fellow choir members tried, we simply could not communicate with the family we stayed with in Belfast, Northern Ireland—yet we ALL claimed to be speaking English!  In fact, I did much better in Paris and Orleans where my very limited French was put to the test.  Geographical diversity results in linguistic diversity. But am I to understand that all this diversity is the result of sin as Ross suggests?

The Table of Nations (Genesis 10)

Here is where we can begin to dig a bit deeper.

“Context is everything”—so my seminary professors would repeat over and over. From translating specific words in a passage to understanding a passage within a larger book and even the canon, context is determinant. So it is, when we come to the episode of the tower of Babel and the scattering of the nations, we must remember its placement between the table of nations in Genesis 10 and the call of Abraham in Genesis 12. Indeed, the placement of the story of Babel at the end of the line of Shem in the Table of Nations and just before the genealogy of Shem is not without import.

Scattering was God’s intention from the beginning (“Be fruitful and multiply”).  He had commanded all peoples to scatter and fill the earth.  Genesis 10 records the successful migration of humanity across the world.  But Genesis 11 interrupts this fulfillment of God’s purposes with the episode at Babel.  Put in this context, the scattering at Babel cannot be considered a judgement.  Further, the means to this end—the mixing of languages—ought not be considered judgement, but rather a way in which God accomplished his purposes for humanity, albeit in an aggrieved situation.

Consider the table of nations: Here we have a record of the three sons of Noah and their decendants.  We are told where the different groups went in their migration.  And, the concluding statement of each section is strikingly similar:

·         ⁵ These are the descendants of Japheth in their lands, with their own language, by their families, in their nations.

·         ²⁰ These are the descendants of Ham, by their families, their languages, their lands, and their nations.

·         ³¹ These are the descendants of Shem, by their families, their languages, their lands, and their nations.

Then, in conclusion, this summary is given: ³² “These are the families of Noah's sons, according to their genealogies, in their nations; and from these the nations spread abroad on the earth after the flood.” In short: Genesis 10 records the accomplishment of God’s command to humanity to be fruitful and multiply across the face of the earth.  This multiplication is accompanied by the development of diverse families, nations and languages—all of which are portrayed as natural, God-intended results.

Right in the middle of Genesis 10 we also find a comment about Babel and Shinar. It is declared that the kingdom of Nimrod began in the land of Shinar at Babel, Erech and Accad (10:8-10). In Genesis 11, however, we are told that “the whole earth had one language and the same words” (11:1). In itself, this is not an unusual statement.  Then we are told “And as they migrated from the east, they came upon a plain in the land of Shinar and settled there” (11:2). There is an important question, though: who is “they” referring to?  The assumption of Ross and many others is that it is referring to ALL of humanity (some would say that it is humanity re-gathering, having rejected God’s command to scatter). But based on Genesis 10:8-10, it would seem that a more suitable answer is that we are speaking here of the descendents of Nimrod (or, perhaps a broader sample of descendents of his father, Cush) who thought they had gone far enough and wanted to stake out their kingdom by building a city with a notable tower so that they would be able to unify and stem the flood of migration that was impacting all peoples. It is Cush’s descendants who are the city builders in Genesis 10. So we have here the first evidence of urbanization—another significant topic with profound points for theological reflections.  And it is this city building and its motivations in the midst of God’s command to scatter across the earth that create the context of Genesis 11.  The first city is a direct attempt to thwart God’s plans for humanity. In essence, it appears that while the descendents of Japheth and Shem (and some of Ham) were continuing to scatter, the descendents of Cush, intent on establishing their place in the land and among the other nomadic peoples, establishing themselves as the leaders of all humanity. Indeed, here we do have the beginnings not only of nations but of empires—and it is striking that many of the most powerful and aggressive empires arose from the lines of Cush—Assyria, Babylon, Persia.

The turning point of the passage is found in verse 5-7.  The passage is truly striking and, at first blush, somewhat mindboggling.  God’s primary concern seems to be that with their current linguistic unity these people will be able to do anything they set their minds to—“nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them” (11:6). Why is this issue so disconcerting to God?  I believe it has much to do with God’s initial intention for humanity to spread out across the face of the earth.  He had no choice but to, in essence, bring one result of scattering to the fore (linguistic diversity), which so confounds the people at Babel that they break camp and scatter.

Regardless of how one comes to understand God’s concerns, what we have here is not necessarily the creation of diverse languages as a punishment but as a means to accomplish God’s purposes. The languages of Cush’s descendents (or all humanity) were going to become diverse anyway had they continued with God’s agenda.  Once people migrated their languages would develop in different directions.  God simply decided to reverse things at Babel—to cause diverse languages to suddenly appear—resulting  in immediate confusion and the termination of the tower project. They result: the dispersal of the people according to God’s initial purposes.

To be continued

As this post has been so long in coming, and as it has already grown to a considerable length, I will continue with a second post exploring the issue of human unity and the reversal of Babel in Zephaniah 3 and Acts 2.

In the Beginning

Forced Migration in Genesis 3 and 4

If you begin reading the Bible at the beginning, it doesn’t take long before we find patterns of migration.  The first recorded incident is found in Genesis 3.  Adam and Eve, given all they would need to thrive by God, reject his ways and provision, and find themselves correspondingly driven from the Garden.  Though we traditionally focus on the consequences for sin being pain in childbirth and agricultural challenges, perhaps the most significant of all the results of Adam and Eve’s rebellion is forced migration.  Homelessness.  Restlessness.  And humanity has been on the move since then, seeking that location where we can be at peace with each other, with the creation in which we live, and ultimately with God.

This rest has indeed been elusive for humanity.  So much so that Scripture refers to salvation itself as re-entry into God’s rest (Heb 4:1-11).  From the record of creation itself, we are invited to return to God and enter his rest.  Such entry, however, requires complete submission to God as God.  Adam and Eve’s sin was, in its essence, rejection of God’s place in their lives.   They substituted a new set of values—the enjoyment of that which was pleasant to the eye and the achievement of knowledge (and with it, power)—above God’s values.  And as a result, they were banished from Eden, forbidden re-entry.  They would toil, searching for suitable land in which to live and survive.  Their families would likewise toil, to this very day, fighting each other in this race to establish a sustainable and comfortable life.  We are, indeed, all migrating between heaven and hell, aliens from our genuine home, and apart from Christ, we are strangers and aliens from God.

Not long after the garden episode we encounter yet another forced migration.  Cain, beset with jealousy over how his brother gained a favourable response from God for his sacrifice, decided the only way forward was the ultimate violence of murder.  The result: further hardship in agricultural pursuits, but more profoundly, continuous migration.  Cain is deeply disturbed and worried, saying, “My punishment is greater than I can bear! Today you have driven me away from the soil, and I shall be hidden from your face; I shall be a fugitive and a wanderer on the earth, and anyone who meets me may kill me” (Gen. 4:13b-14).  We aren’t told where these other people came from, only that Cain was concerned that he will be ostracized and at risk, endangered by emigration into hostile lands.

Migration as a result of brokenness and sin

It is indeed striking that each of the first two Scriptural references to migration are records of forced migration. Brokenness and sin lay at the heart of migration stories, but unlike the stories of Adam, Eve and Cain, migration today is not necessarily the result of the migrant’s sin.  Indeed, it is very rare that someone is displaced because of his or her own sin.  It is, rather, the result of the sins of others.  People flee war torn societies, trying to avoid being caught in the cross fire.  Young men flee warlords who seek to draw them into servitude in their armies.  Other young men flee the oppressive regimes that will force them into a life in the army where their chances of surviving ongoing clashes with rebels or drug lords are uncertain.  Young women and children flee being sold into sexual slavery or indentured factory work.  

Much to the contrary of contemporary North American rhetoric, people arriving in Canada and the United States as asylum seekers are not terrorists.  Certainly some do seek to sneak in this way, but their numbers in comparison to others who are fleeing for their lives as miniscule.  The presence of these fraudulent claims makes the cause of the vulnerable that much more difficult.  And it is what makes the work of adjudicators so challenging.  As Rupert Colville, former editor of the UNHCR periodical, Refugee, explains, “There are people who articulate a false story well, and people who articulate a true story badly – or not at all (because it is too painful and too personal)” Refugees; 2007:148 p. 2).   

Further, it is completely ridiculous to assert, as has the current Canadian government, that because one finds passage to the west in a ship, one is a terrorist, being trafficked, or are migrants seeking a shortcut to the current system.  What is needed in Canada is careful investment in the Immigration Review Board: finding qualified people who are then trained and regularly upgrading their skills, who can sift through the very difficult process of verifying asylum claims.  What is not needed is a regression to closing our borders, rejecting people cart-blanche because of the country from which they are fleeing or the nations in which they have stopped along the way.  What is needed is moral courage to recognize the obligation we have as a nation toward justice for the poor, the oppressed, and the vulnerable.  And if this is the case for Canada, how much more is it so for the church?

Consider the plight of Romani children in Hungary who are forced into schools for the less skilled as if there is something wrong with the whole population, and are then ridiculed and systematically abused by nationals while the national police force turns a blind eye.  Consider also the story of Assyrian Christians fleeing northern Iraq for fear of religious persecution.  And then there is Columbia—widely recognized as one of the top producers of displaced peoples in the world.  Farmers fleeing drug lords are not safe in the cities as some have suggested (propaganda put forth by governments seeking to ignore human rights issues in order to secure trade agreements).  All these people would love to return to their home, but they cannot (and, in my estimation, should not be forced to return to places where they feel unsafe).  And the reason they are displaced?  Sin.  Individual sins of their oppressors and systemic sins of societies that ignore their plight or who value economic gain over justice.  Can you hear the echo of the Old Testament prophets?

Sin has broken the bonds between people, the mutual responsibility we have to one another.  And like Adam and Eve—and later Cain—these people find life in a new land is hardly as receptive and positive as they had hoped.  Unwanted, many fly under the radar, undocumented, misunderstood, working cash jobs for pauper’s wages, often being manipulated into new abusive and controlling relationships.  Asylum itself becomes another form of bondage.  And while many would take this new suffering over the suffering in their home land, remaining silent, we must not.  Abuses to migrants who come by regular means (i.e. according to the laws and systems set up by international bodies) or irregular means (i.e. undocumented, sneaking across the Vermont-Quebec border into Canada or the Rio Grande from Mexico into the USA) is simply unacceptable in our society and must be confronted—not by punishing the vulnerable asylum seeker, but by punishing the powerful who treat these people like commodities to be used and thrown out when they are no longer needed.

A clash of values

When we extend a hand of welcome and of love, we embody the love of God to all humanity.  He seeks to welcome ALL into his rest.  He went through great personal loss to secure our return to him, knowing all are powerless to make our own way.  So too, forced migrants are at the mercy of powers they cannot control.  These people are completely vulnerable and often as not, abused by those with power and money.  Are we right to expect them all to stop in refugee camps—places of violence themselves—a stop that can be interminable, waiting for the wealthy of the world to decide their fate?  Should we be surprised that many seek to avoid these camps and find their own way out of a life of hopeless waiting?  It is estimated that less than 10% of refugees in camps will ever see the light of home or a new country by working the system.  Waiting in a refugee camp is a far cry from an entrepreneur waiting for permanent residence papers and to make such characterizations as politicians have been doing in Canada is scandalous and deplorable.

I truly believe God is calling the church to open her heart to the migrant—regular and irregular—to look beyond what it may cost us to, instead, focus on reflecting the gospel of Christ above all.  To seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, to pursue the experience of his will on earth as it is in heaven—that is the call of the church in the face of social ills.  So much more is at stake than our financial well being.  Live—yes, souls—are at stake.  What are our driving values behind our response to migrants?