Understandings

By Bill Colburn

There are fewer things that make me angry these days, than in earlier years. For instance, how people label me or the things they do to hurt me hardly appear as a blip on my radar anymore. Such things, of course, used to immediately raise my hackles - insanely so. As I have gotten older and somewhat wiser - I hope - I find myself far more able to quickly reframe situations. I consider the 'source', I better understand what drives others to say and do as they do, and - more importantly - I have a picture of Christ that I am passionately trying to emulate by letting him reveal himself through me in patience, kindness, and gentleness - independent of how others treat me.

None of this is to say that I like what happens around me or that I never blow a gasket over issues. I'm still a work in progress. Jesus still sits waiting for his portrait to be painted in me - as someone once wrote. Additionally, I confess, all bets are off if anyone hurts one of my family members. I, without apologies, make no promises to be 'nice' if you hurt one of my family members. I don't even feel a need to work on this attitude. I'll leave apocalyptic, end of time, vengenace to God in all other cases, but this.

I still wrestle, of course, with the way God doesn't intervene today. Our all wise, loving, omnipotent, omniscient Creator God allows the innocent to suffer - regularly. He expects me to intervene with those who are helpless, yet he doesn't. I often can't, he can, yet - again - doesn't. I don't always know that something malicious is happening, so can act. He knows, doesn't act, doesn't inform me so I can act. Big questions here. Why does He allow little ones to be exploited to such a degree that the rest of their lives are full of misery and dysfunction and rejection of belief in a loving higher power?. I don't understand why God doesn't at least warn parents that a child molester is coming for their precious one. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it is not that he doesn't, but can't. Yet, I don't buy that either.

In my devotional reading this morning from 2 Peter 2, I read about God intervening to protect his people from their enemies. I found myself reacting angrily - not to the evils of this world - but against God. It was a strange moment. It happened with this text: The Lord knows how to rescue the godly from trial. (v9). I caught myself saying, cynically under my breath, sure, he knows how, but he just doesn't do it. I'm sure this mornings angst on these issues is related to a discussion last evening about the number of church folk who are currently dealing with having been molested as children. It hurts their picture of God. It destroys their current relationships. It all seems so unnecessary - if God had found a way to intervene beyond the cross.

I understand sin. I'm less angry with folks who do 'evil' simply because I understand why what they do is a reaction to what has been done to them. I somewhat understand the etiology of sinful acts and assume that all of us will act sinfully in a myriad of ways simply because we have a sinful nature. I understand that we have no choice except to sin - until we are partakers of the divine nature and actually have a choice not to sin. In other words, sin makes sense - I've been majoring in it for my whole life - so I expect sin. No surprises there. Little anger arises when the expected is realized.

I don't understand righteousness. I'm more angry when the expected is not realized. It confuses me when righteousness seems unrighteous. Yet, to conclude that God is not righteous, that his refusal to use his vast resources to intervene is simply an act of divine selfishness, pre-occupation, and/or a massive cosmic bait and switch scheme - seems equally preposterous and distasteful. Thus, God's inactions according to my expectations remain something I don't understand.

My faith must reside in the ever-so-frustrating tension between understanding and not understanding. Meanwhile, in this world full of the sin we have all come to take for granted, believers cry out, how long o Lord?

Working Relationships in a Christian Community

by Andy Hanson

One of the most difficult things that many of my university students have to do when they begin student teaching is to establish a positive working relationship with their master teachers. These are the teachers who allow my students to use their classes to gain the teaching experience necessary for them to demonstrate teaching competence.

My students are, almost without exception, intelligent, enthusiastic, and committed. They are also inexperienced and prone to make mistakes both in pedagogy and decisions related to classroom management. As a consequence, master teachers must frequently confront them with their mistakes. It is at this point that positive working relationships are tested.

Since the most important letters of recommendation in personnel files are those from master teachers, my students attempt to conform to the wishes of their master teachers. Most of the time, when my students are asked to jump, they ask how high. But there are times when philosophical differences, and matters of teaching style and personal preference become a serious issue. These are the times when students ask me how they should proceed. Safety seems to lie in simply doing what the master teacher asks, no matter how irrational these requests appear to the student. Confrontation seems dangerous.

Almost without exception, I counsel confrontation. Experience has taught me that working relationships can only be maintained if people talk about their differences, and sooner rather than later. It is much easier to discuss issues rationally and productively before frustration builds to disgust or misunderstanding becomes accusation.

I attempt to convince my students that productive working relationships can only be maintained if differences are aired. And in my experience, when productive working relationships are maintained, differences can be resolved, accepted, or even valued.

In Mathew 18:15-17, Jesus counseled confrontation as the proper way to settle disputes. His followers who confront their theological differences honestly, thoughtfully, and straightforwardly promote healthy spiritual growth within the Christian community and strengthen the bonds of Christian fellowship. These principles are reflected in the following two quotes: the first from Malcolm Hein and the second from Isaac Asimov.

“There is little room left for wisdom when one is full of judgment.”

“It is my philosophy of life that difficulties vanish when faced boldly.”

A Parable

By Bill Colburn

Once upon a first century time, some followers of Jesus gathered together to pursue a vexing issue. They had been in the crowd that had just been the recipients of another of Jesus’ miracles, this time consisting of vintage red wine, cheese, and manna crackers. Having been raised as meticulous Jews, they argued over whether or not to tithe this unexpected and truly unusual increase, according to the Law of Moses.

They confessed to one another their belief that Jesus truly was the Son of the Living God. They accepted his word that he was greater than the temple. So, to whom should they tithe of this bounty? Should they return God’s portion to the antagonistic priests at Herod’s temple or to Jesus himself? He hadn’t said anything about tithing. What did he expect? Were they being tested? What was right? Would Jesus be offended if they brought back to him a tenth of all he had just given them?

As they continued to challenge one another’s notions about tithing, Jesus came before them. His presence alone, at any other time, would have been supremely cherished. Yet, at this moment, their unresolved question about how to obey the Law thoroughly distracted them.

“Lord, must we and, if so, how should we tithe your blessing?”

“How do you read the scriptures?”, Jesus asked - as he often had.

“We are to return a tithe, one tenth, of all our increase to the temple storehouse“, they said, wondering if it was all still that simple.

“Yes, that is what Moses said. Hmm…but I say to you, no longer are you to return a tithe… Instead, give back to God fully half of all that he has blessed you with.” With that, Jesus departed as mysteriously as he had arrived.

In time, these words of Jesus were spread around the whole community of believers and all began - with no little grumbling and sacrifice - to return fifty percent of all their increase - some figuring net increase, some on the gross - to the temple storehouse. This became the new practice of those who called themselves Christians.

Some time later, after his resurrection, Jesus reappeared to these same disciples. They, of course, were again overjoyed at his presence and delighted to report to him how well his new tithing command had taken hold among most believers - at least in Jerusalem.

To their surprise, Jesus didn‘t commend them at all. “Why did you not listen to me more attentively,“, he said. “Let me be clearer this time. While Moses taught the people to return a tithe of all their increase to the temple, I require that you now return to the temple all that God has given to you as an increase. You are to keep none of it. To him who has an ear, let him hear.”

Many who had been following the way of Jesus, upon hearing this new teaching, claimed that Jesus had gone mad and ceased following any of his teachings.

Book review: The Promise of Peace

by Nathan Brown

According to Charles Scriven, the journey of “becoming Adventist” is and must be a continuing reality for both the church and each of its members. “As understanding and commitment advance, the practice of hope advances too,” he urges in The Promise of Peace. In his overview, that process and practice should always be advancing and growing as we live corporately and individually “between our dreams and disappointments.”

The Promise of Peace traces this journey of “becoming” across the spiritual and organisational history of what has become the Seventh-day Adventist Church. Beginning with a burning hope and stinging disappointment, Adventism has grown in ways that could never have been imagined by its earliest members. With an expanding understanding of its hope, Adventism has grown in its wholism and worldwide impact, offering a hope that makes a difference in the world today as well as promising a world fully restored and renewed.

But Scriven also traces this thread through the biblical narrative. From the covenant with Abraham that God would bless him “so that you will be a blessing” (see Genesis 12:1-3), The Promise of Peace follows the recurring call of God for His people to be good for the world, to enact a “covenant of peace” (see Ezekiel 34:25) and to be “peacemakers” (see Matthew 5:9). Scriven also points out the regularity with which the gospel is described as a message of peace (see Isaiah 52:7; Ephesians 6:15; and Revelation 1:4).

Through both biblical and Adventist history, Scriven urges, these themes should call us to seek how better to live out our faith and to ensure it is a faith that is a blessing to those around us. That is what we should be always “becoming,” finding real ways to contribute to “human flourishing.”

Having worked as a church pastor and college lecturer, Scriven is currently president of the Kettering College of Medical Arts, an Adventist institution in Ohio. As such, his argument is particularly fitted to explaining, exploring and extending the theology that underpins the church’s wellbeing and medical work around the world.

But The Promise of Peace should not be sidelined as a handbook for the health-focused. It provides an interesting and worthwhile contrast to George Knight’s recent The Apocalyptic Vision and the Neutering of Adventism. Knight also works to strip away the cultural layers and “compromises” of Adventism, recounting the passion of the early Adventist believers. But his brief book tries to make up for its lack of argument with an excess of passion—although a harsher critic might describe it as bluster. He calls Adventism back to its apocalyptic vision and evangelism as well as the core of Christianity, but offers little by way of practical expressions of this faith.

Scriven also calls us back to the theological roots and vision of Adventism but offers a larger, more practical and ultimately more attractive vision of the Adventist hope—“just when your hope for a new world is most intense, you engage the present world. Just then you busy yourself, the best way you can, with the healing of the here-and-now.” While not forgetting the importance and necessity of the Second Coming, Scriven describes a group of people animated by this great hope who would dare to change the world.

Scriven has a lyrical style of writing, which takes a little getting used to but soon settles into a rolling lilt. As a writer who obviously loves words, he returns to the earliest formulations of Adventist belief as first adopted in 1861. In line with his description of “becoming,” he adds to and refines this statement at key points of the book, offering the following pledge of belief as the climax of his work: “Thanks to the gift of grace, and for the purpose of blessing all, we take up the peacemaking mission and join together in keeping the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus.”

The Promise of Peace calls us to the best of Adventism. Perhaps it is a useful second volume to Knight’s robust call; perhaps it is the book that should have been heavily promoted and distributed in place of Knight’s. Whatever the case, The Promise of Peace is a significant contribution to our thinking about what it means to be Adventist and how we can better live out that hope.

Cross-posted from Adventist Today.