Tag: process theology

The Power and Meaning of Resurrection

 

The following is a paper I wrote last semester, for my Introduction to Theology class.

The Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead is at the heart of the Gospel story. This story, and the reality it invokes, defines Christian thought and sets the faith apart in a special way. St. Paul write to the Corinthians, “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Cor 15:17 NRSV). But what does it mean that Christ has been resurrected? Is this a claim asking believers to suspend their understandings of metaphysical reality of life and death and accept that a fleshly body died and was reanimated two thousand years ago? Or does it mean something more? And if so, what? The Resurrection is crucially important to the Christian faith, not because it reveals a magic-working God, but because it reveals a God who stands in solidarity with human suffering, and consequently, proclaims hope to humans amidst our suffering.

resurrectioniconThe writings of Paul are the earliest Christian writings we possess today. Written decades before the Gospels, Paul’s undisputed letters (Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon) provide the earliest lens of what the church believed about Jesus, at a bare minimum. Surprisingly, there isn’t a lot. Ehrman relates what isn’t in Paul:

“We hear nothing here of the details of Jesus’ birth or parents or early life, nothing of his baptism or temptations in the wilderness, nothing of his teachings about the coming Kingdom of God. We have no indication that he ever told a parable, that he ever healed anyone, cast out a demon, or raised the dead. We learn nothing of his transfiguration or triumphal entry, of his cleansing of the Temple, of his interrogation by the Sanhedrin or trial before Pilate, of his being rejected in favor of Barabbas, of his being mocked, or flogged, and so on.”

We do, however, hear of the Resurrection, as one of the few important events surrounding Jesus that Paul describes. The longest and most important Pauline explication of the Resurrection can be found in 1 Corinthians, chapter 15, which was quoted above. This chapter serves as the center of Paul’s argument in the Epistle, and presents the Resurrection of Christ as the forerunner to the coming resurrection of all human beings at Christ’s Second Coming. His full account of the Resurrection tradition is “that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me” (1 Cor 15: 3-8 NRSV). Notice that Paul’s account of his own encounter with the resurrected Christ does not need to be differentiated from the appearances that are recounted in the Gospels themselves; Paul understands it to be of the same form and importance.

The Resurrection sees great further development across the four Gospels included in Scripture. First, in Mark, the earliest of the Gospels, we get little more than we see in Paul. Chapter 16 tells the story of three women coming to the tomb and encountering a heavenly messenger who tells them Jesus is resurrected; however, many scholars now believe this chapter to be a later interpolation, which means originally Mark most likely included no Resurrection story.

Matthew, the next earliest Gospel, includes a resurrection Jesus, who appears to his followers and gives them the Great Commission, whereupon the Gospel story ends. Luke has a resurrected Jesus who appears to two disciples on the walk to Emmaus, and then eats with them. Later, he appears to the full group of disciples and implores them to touch him, saying “Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have” (Luke 24:39 NRSV). He then goes on to ascend into heaven. Finally, in John, Jesus is resurrected, and has many appearances to a great variety of people, including doubting Thomas, who sticks in hands in Jesus’ wounds and finds him to be a real, flesh-and-blood body. In this last Gospel, the story of Jesus’ Resurrection appearances goes on for two chapters. How far we have come from Paul’s bare account of the Resurrection, written half a century earlier!

The preceding inventory of Resurrection stories from Scripture serve to show that a uniform, clear understanding of the nature of the event was disputed and unclear even within the first hundred years of Christian tradition. What can we discern from these stories today, but more importantly, what do they mean to us today? Clearly, Paul’s understanding that Jesus’ Resurrection was but the first act in a rapidly approaching general resurrection has been proven false. And scientific advances over the last 500 years – in biology, physics, and cosmology – preclude a literal understanding of a dead body reanimating and ascending upwards to a heaven from fitting within a rationalistic worldview. So, what was the Resurrection, and what does it mean?

iconresurrectTyron Inbody provides some powerful understandings of the event in The Faith of the Christian Church. “The New Testament does not speak of the resurrection directly.” Throughout Scripture, no physiological explanation of Jesus’ body is given. Thus, anyone who claims a physical reanimation of Jesus is speculating extra-biblically. Reason cannot be shed here. “Jesus was not resuscitated; he was resurrected.” What we know about the Resurrection, then, must only be speculation, formed within the bounds of reason, tradition and experience. “The resurrection is an inference; no one saw it.”

For Inbody, the theological significance of the resurrection turns on a non-physical understanding of its process. “The idea of resuscitation completely misses the theological meaning of the resurrection.” The resurrected person was most definitely Jesus; the Gospel stories place importance on the moment observers recognized Jesus: “there was a continuity of identity between the one who died and the one raised.” But that doesn’t mean it was the literal body that had hung on a cross appearing; in fact, to say so would defeat the importance of Resurrection story for Inbody. “It was his body transformed from one mode of existence to another, a new mode of physicality or a new mode of corporeality.”

The transference of Jesus’ identity to a new form of being, beyond death and a defeated human body, reveals the power of God over death and sin, not as a destructive power, but a recreating and reforming power. “The resurrection of Jesus Christ is the beginning of God’s great work of redemptive transformation, the seed from which the new creation begins to grow…God does not annihilate the past and death but transforms them, releases new power, makes them into a new creation.” Explaining scientifically how the resurrection happened isn’t what’s important; all that matters is that “something happened,” something that God did to defeat death, not in some other plane of metaphysics, but here in our world, as we understand and experience is now. “Though exactly what happened is beyond our understanding, it is an event affecting history.”

So, what does “what happened” mean for us? We can look back to Scripture for the answer: “Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.” (Hebrews 12: 3) The resurrection of Christ reveals the fulfillment of God’s solidarity with those who suffer, in that death and sin does not have the final say. Instead, God reassures those who suffer by reminding them of God’s own experience of suffering, and God can work with those moments and experiences to create a new, better world.

Karen Baker-Fletcher understands this aim of God. “For many,” she writes, “the passion of Jesus Christ during his torture and crucifixion has meaning because they take comfort in the incarnation of God, a God who empathizes with their own experiences of being sinned against.” Baker-Fletcher uses the story of the contemporary lynching of James Byrd Jr by white supremacists in Texas as an example of God’s identity with the oppressed, and the solidarity God shows with those who sin, and with those who suffer from that sin. In the story of Byrd, but also in the story of his killers, is shown a God who weeps along with us. God weeps because God also experienced suffering, torture, and eventually, death, the end of fleshly existence, the literal embodiment of meaninglessness, which is the pathological human fear undergirding much of our actions.

But out of meaninglessness, God creates meaning. Only through resurrection can the experience of suffering and death be redeemed. Hope arises when we understand that God can take the suffering and death we see around us, and work for something better. This is not to excuse the sinful actions that so often cause suffering; but, instead, it is a word of hope for the oppressed, and a word of caution for the oppressors. Hope, in that God will remove the hand holding the weak in bondage; and caution, in that no matter how hard they try, the oppressor cannot win history on the backs of others. God’s love shines through the Resurrection, proclaiming victory for life for all peoples. “God, who is all-inclusive in God’s love for the world, experiences the suffering of all and graciously offers transformative visions of faith and courage to the world.”

The Resurrection was not a physical reanimation of the body of Christ that showcased the power of God over the laws of nature, in an effort to subordinate our fear of death to some hyper-rational faith in a magician God. This understanding of Resurrection isn’t comforting to those who suffer, but is instead terrifying, asking us to believe something many of us cannot in the vain hope that it will come true. No, the Resurrection of Jesus is the story of God recreating the world in a way that ensures that death does not get the final word, but instead, love does. Jesus rose from the dead in the view of his disciples not as a body, but as the ideal of God’s victory for them, the oppressed, as a liberation from the death-dealing powers of the world. Resurrection is important, because, as Paul wrote, it reminds us that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:38-39 NRSV).

 

Bibliography

Baker-Fletcher, Karen. Dancing with God: The Trinity from a Womanist Perspective. St Louis: Chalice Press, 2006.

Ehrman, Bart D. The New Testament: A Historical Introduction to the Early Christian Writings. 6th Ed. New York: Oxford University Press, 2016.

Inbody, Tyron. The Faith of the Christian Church: An Introduction to Theology. Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2005.

Roy Moore Doesn’t Get to Define the Story of God

Two years ago, I wrote a series of posts entitled “Myths of the Nativity.” In this series, I tackled six stories surrounding the birth of Christ and the Christmas holiday, and gave them new twists. The first of that series was titled “Mary, Joseph, and the Virgin Birth,” where I challenged the idea of a Virgin Birth, and speculated on what the circumstances of Jesus’ birth might actually have been.

This post has been on my mind lately, due to the Roy Moore story. Last week, after the allegations surfaced, some numb skull Republican official in Moore’s home state of Alabama decided to defend Moore by saying that, basically, God is a pedophile too, because Mary was a teenager and God impregnated her and so what Roy Moore did was OK and probably even Godly or something. It’s disgusting and perverted all around, and it’s also deeply deeply theologically problematic. Which means it got my attention.

I’ve seen comments from several non-religious friends of mine on Facebook that basically bought or at least were sympathetic to this characterization of the conception of Christ, and that thus this was a strike against Christianity. I really, really want to push back on this. To all my non-religious/atheist/humanist/doubting friends out there: please don’t perpetuate this type of perverted theology. You may not like Christianity, and honestly, I can’t blame you, but we cannot let people like Roy Moore and his ilk define the boundaries of the Christian story.

Especially because, the story of Mary and Jesus is one of such beauty and hope and empowerment! That’s what made me think of my post from two years ago. What really were the circumstances of Jesus’ conception? I took at stab at articulating what I thought was more likely. I wrote:

Rape at the hands of the ruling Roman soldiers would not have been that uncommon. There was very little to check the power of soldiers enforcing Roman rule in distant provinces, and the word of a peasant girl against a Roman citizen soldier would hold no water. What if the exercise of that power in this case consisted of the forcible rape of Mary? Would that have been something outside the bounds of possibility? Absolutely not. In fact, it’s highly probable that a majority of Jewish women had less-than-pleasant encounters with Roman soldiers during the 100 years of Roman rule of Palestine.

This is extreme and unpalatable for many Christians, but, I contend, that’s the point. Christianity, as Paul himself wrote, is foolishness and scandal. The origins of Jesus being the child of sexual violence falls directly into this pattern. And it gives the story power, and meaning:

I believe the idea of Mary as a single teenage mother, the victim of a terrible act, raising a Messiah, imbues Mary with a extraordinarily formative role in the development of Jesus. If he is the product of adultery, then Mary was probably at best looked down upon by her family, and at worst, cast out by them. Either way, this leaves Mary as the one who chiefly raised and formed the child Jesus. This gives her much credit to his eventual ministry, credit she justly deserves. If she was the victim of rape, and thus raised the child of such a monstrous act, then she carries the awesome weight of an extraordinary woman, one who overcomes great hardship and incredible odds to raise a son of singular importance. Instead of crumbling in the face of ruthless imperial violence visited personally upon her very person, Mary made a life for herself and her unexpected son.

Mary, in this telling of the Nativity, is as central as a character can be. She moves from the passive vessel carrying the child of God, a largely silent and symbolic figure, to the prime mover in the first act of Jesus’ life. She becomes a person to be greatly admired for her strength of mind, of personality, of pure will to thrive.

Now, let me be clear. I’m not endorsing the minimizing language used by many evangelicals today, that pain, oppression and suffering are somehow justified because it all comes from God, and so if we suffer, it’s because God wants us to, and it God does it for a reason, and we should be grateful, and that the positive externalities that result are all that matter in the end. Quite the opposite.

As a process theologian, I believe God created the universe with endless possibility and contingency, and we, as free beings, are given the agency to make choices free of coercion. However, living in a rational world, and being limited beings, bad things do happen. There is natural suffering, like a earthquake or hurricane or illness. Then there is moral suffering, the result of our own poor choices. The rape of Mary, or the sexual assault of Roy Moore, are evils caused by us, in our freedom, not chosen or willed by God.

But, God works in conjunction with us, to capitalize on the potentialities in every moment, oriented towards God’s good will for Creation. Within every act, there are boundless possibilities of what could happen next. God has a will towards what will happen, but doesn’t know, because in the end, the choice is up to us. This means that we both have the personal, in-the-moment ability to make choices, and the social ability to create structures and institutions that react positively to moments of evil and suffering.

Out of Mary’s terrible situation, she tapped into God’s will and produced something beautiful; something, in fact, that would change the world beyond her imagining. Similarly, the actions of Roy Moore were reprehensible, and were in no way ordained, ordered, or condoned by God. But God works with those victims, and with us, to orient the world towards Good. And, working with God, we have the power to tap into that Good, to take this terrible moment and make it out of it something beautiful. In this case, that may something as simple as defeating a candidate for office who will enable suffering and pain for people of different faiths and ethnicities and skin color; but it may also be something as powerful as another step in the on-going fight against routine sexual assault and abuse towards women and children by men in power.

So, please, don’t let Roy Moore win, not just this election, but the conversation. Hold in tension the simultaneous idea that God both didn’t want this happen, and that God can use this to achieve some good in the world. That’s the hope, and the story, of Christ.

The Immanence of God

For a long time, I’ve seen God as a transcendent presence in the universe. I assumed God to be outside of our present reality, as a distant observer. I wrote about this in a post a couple of years ago, wrestling with deism and using the Clockmaker metaphor for my understanding of God.

But this conception of the Divine has never set totally well with me. Something seemed to be off about it, about a distant God. Because I have also always believed in the idea of God as in all things, in all of us and all of Creation. But I could never reconcile these two competing ideas.

immanenceRecently, that has all begun to change. It began with my reading of The Divine Relativity by Charles Hartsthorne. This work, a seminal text in the canon of process theology, posits God not as wholly supreme and dominant, but as relative and personal. Hartsthorne’s conception of God is one defined by its relation to Creation, and to us. God is not an omnipotent king, looking over the world with perfect foreknowledge and control over our actions, completely absolute and thus unable to be affected by us. Instead, God grows and changes in relation to us, based on our own actions. Now, this necessarily implies some sense of limitation on God, but that is an acceptable thought if you think of God choosing to limit God’s self in order to more perfectly be in communion with us.

Although the text was dense and highly academic, I really feel drawn to this conception of God. This still doesn’t mean I believe in a God who works active miracles and changes in the world; Harthsthorne thoroughly dismantles this idea as tyrannical and illogical, which I completely agree with. However, I do think God is relatable, and is affected by our ability to act and interact with the Divine Being.

My thoughts of this have continued to expand on this subject recently as a result of Richard Beck’s series on immanence and transcendence over at Experimental Theology. Beck dismantles the idea of a wholly transcendent God and really sums out my feelings:

The irony of transcendence, often celebrated in praise music as the “awesomeness” of God, is how it tends toward disenchantment. With God exalted as King ruling over and above creation, God is subtly pulled out of creation. Rather than indwelling God evacuates creation.

Transcendence also tends toward deism, furthering our disenchantment. When transcendence is emphasized, highlighting God’s separateness and Otherness from creation, God’s actions in the world are conceptualized as intrusions, miraculous suspensions of the daily flux of cause and effect. But as science has progressed these miraculous intrusions are harder to believe in. And when you starting doubting the miracles of the transcendent God you, by default, find yourself in deism. A God who is out there, somewhere, but a God who doesn’t miraculously intrude upon creation.

Basically:

Transcendence + Doubt (mainly in miracles) = Deism

I love this. This is exactly the dissonance and problem I’ve been struggling with in my understanding of God. And in his next post, Beck provides an answer to this problem: immanence. Or as he calls it here, a sacramental ontology:

In a sacramental ontology there is an overlap between God and creation–an intermingling of the earthly and the heavenly, the human and the divine, the mundane and the holy, the secular and the sacred, the natural and supernatural, the material and the spiritual.

With a sacramental ontology the world is “haunted” by God continuously from the insiderather than through episodic and miraculous intrusions from the outside. Creation itself, because it is “charged with the grandeur of God,” is miraculous, sacred and holy. Creation is an ongoing and unfolding miracle rather than a disenchanted machine occasionally interrupted–if God answers our prayers–by an external miraculous force.

To rethink a famous metaphor, creation isn’t a mechanism, a watch separate from the Watchmaker. Creation isn’t a machine. Creation is alive.

God exists in all things; not in the sense that all things are God, but in the sense that God is all-enveloping. Hartsthorne makes this distinction by replacing the term pantheism (all things are God) with panentheism (all things are in God.) God is not separate or distant; God is near, one with us and all of creation. God is personal and loving, not impersonal and dominant.

I’m still working this out in my personal theology, and how it affects everything. But I do know this: it reaffirms my commitments to liberation theology, universalism, social justice and environmental justice. It adds a layer of depth and sacredness to all Creation and all human beings. Sacred worth is all around us; we must do our best to preserve it where it is and revive it where it is fading. The Immanence of God deserves no less.