Currents of Faith: Open and Unfolding Reflections

I have always had trouble with the word salvation and an even greater problem with the question: “Are you saved?” I was repulsed by them, feeling that they just did not fit in my vocabulary. My entry into the church at age sixteen marked the beginning of my struggle with salvation. I loved the church and eagerly participated. I did not like salvation.

The church was my first real experience with community and I found it much more fulfilling than the Idaho National Guard or the Future Farmers of America, the closest to community I had felt in Buhl before completing high school. In college,  the freshman dorm, the dishwashing crew at the girl’s dorm, the pharmacy class and fraternity, and the a capella choir offered fellowship, but could not compare to what I experienced with other students in Wesley Foundation, members of the church choir, kind ministers and caring adults I visited with in the coffee hour.

These became my kind of people, the kind I had not really known before. Although I did not know it at that time, my values and interests fit with those of ministers. Later in my graduate training when I completed the two major interest inventories my results would show that I had interests like “ministers,” even when I was a “counselor.” The church offered meaning and mystery. The organ music continued to speak to my depths. There was much in the church to hold me there, yet there were also features which pushed me away.

I struggled. I had never believed in damnation or hell, so it was difficult to be deeply concerned about being saved from them. I thank God that largely by chance I ended up in a progressive church, for otherwise the concepts which I did not believe would have been vividly displayed before me every Sunday. I could not have endured in such a setting. It was a strange to know what I did not believe long before I knew that which I did believe. I began by asking myself, “What is wrong with you? Why can’t you just believe like everyone else?” Little did I know then that there were many sitting in the pews who were much like me, but at that juncture I was not aware of the vast diversity in my church.

I began a search which lasted for a number of years and resulted in several different findings along the way. In order to be authentic I have finally had to use different terms which fit with my chosen theology. I have come to a different vision of reality which leads to a different decision which I must make. I was moved to contrast what the church said about Jesus and what Jesus said, that which I do not believe and that which I do.

In a summary fashion this is what I found the Church saying. All humanity was languishing in sin, unable to free themselves from it because of its roots in their genetic inheritance of the original sin of Adam. All future humans were present in the loins of Adam. Each generation added to the accumulation of sin as they were unable to do other than sin. Generations lived in darkness without any glimmer of light. Jesus Christ came as Savior, paying the price which God demanded for their sin of rebellion and disobedience. Jesus Christ brought salvation to all. The unblemished lamb, the one born of a virgin thereby not inheriting Adam’s sin, died on the cross, shedding blood to remove sin. Once and for all the sin was removed. The saving act was done, completed, finished.
  
The response expected of saved persons was to accept Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. For many this response took the form of being “born again.” Once dead they are now alive. New life occurs in this one dramatic event.

This saving act did not mean, however, that humanity was free of sin or would never sin again. Rather they now had an advocate in Jesus Christ who would intercede for them with God the Father. Persons could pray through Jesus, petitioning their desires or seeking forgiveness for their sin, not because of their own worthiness, but because the Savior whom they claimed and to whom they were bound would intercede for them with God.

This was the first but not the only way the church spoke of salvation. Other visions would emerge over time. My dear friend and mentor, Dr. Marjorie Suchocki, in Divinity & Diversity, has identified four theories of salvation proclaimed by the church during its two thousand year history. The technical name of these theories is soteriology. The problem in the first century was mortality, so salvation was couched in the terms of overcoming sin and death. No longer would they be justly punished by death for the massive sins which they and their forbears had committed. They were saved from death!

In the Middle Ages the problem was not the specter of death, but their dishonoring of God in the same manner as if they had disobeyed their feudal Lord. According to 11th century Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, salvation by Jesus Christ took the form of restoring the appropriate honor to the Lord by paying the price for their disobedience. In   these two historical periods there were different problems, and different solutions.

In the 12th century Abelard asserted that the basic problem was not the fear of death or the dishonoring of one’s feudal Lord, but ignorance about God. People did not know the person and nature of God. Salvation came in the form of Jesus Christ revealing God through his life, teaching, and death.

In the Protestant Reformation of the 16th century the problem was that people were guilty of unbelief. Using the image of the courtroom, sinners were present as defendants, accused, guilty, and sentenced to death. Surprisingly there appeared one not guilty or accused who takes their place in the punishment. Jesus Christ, the pure one, substituted himself for all who were condemned. This act has appropriately been called the “substitutionary theory of atonement.”

These four doctrines state the problem, the mire in which people were stuck, and the solution, the way the people are freed. They offer us a history of the changing understanding of the saving act of Jesus Christ through time. Both problem and solution change through ages. Each age appears to be trapped in its own unique set of problems thus requiring differing answers to those problems. In my search I was helped greatly to know that historically the vision of salvation has not been a constant but changes as circumstances change. It would be no surprise that I felt the greatest kinship with Abelard, Jesus as revealer.
   
I have spoken earlier about the 4th century council of Nicaea convened to deal with the divisions among Christians. While nominally about the relationship of Jesus Christ and God, the underlying issue was salvation. Their convictions about what saved them led to  beliefs about God and Christ. Two of the central saving acts were the incarnation, the entry of the divine into human flesh, and the death of Jesus Christ, the shedding of blood by the divine one to take away sin. These beliefs had to be protected by the proper interpretation given to God and Christ.

I learned that feminist theologians were strong critics of the traditional views of salvation. Dr. Rosemary Radford Ruether led this movement in Sexism and God-Talk: Toward a Feminist Theology. She portrays Jesus in a new way, speaking out against hierarchy and male domination in his day, affirming the lowest of the low, the most oppressed of the oppressed—women—and forming a community of equality. The church of today is called upon to be that community of equality between men and women.

I listened to Dr. Rebecca Parker, our Albertson lecturer in 2002. She and Dr. Rita Nakashima Brock had recently completed their book, Proverbs of Ashes: Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us. Their title gives a clue of their message. As women who had been abused in their lives, they asked how a God who demands the death of God’s son can possibly save them. They saw God participating in child abuse, the same violence that they had experienced. They asked, “How can persons be saved from violence by violence? They, too, created a new view of salvation. I was deeply affected by the feminist movement as they passionately cried out against the inadequacy of the tradition.

In my study of the traditional forms of salvation, I find that I can capture their essence in different ways. Yes, God is intimately present within our very depths, but it need not be expressed as within our flesh. New understandings of reality allow me to see God as actively present in each center of creativity interwoven in the same space as a host of other relationships. A biological and physical explanation is unnecessary. Turning to the second form of salvation proclaimed at Nicaea, which focuses upon the death of Jesus Christ bringing salvation, it is possible to experience salvation through the life and teachings of Jesus.

My search has led me to an understanding of salvation which is deeply satisfying. I can state it simply: Jesus offers us an invitation to live within the commonwealth of God. We are invited to live within a new realm. This invitation which comes in each moment of our lives, was first offered during the lifetime of Jesus and now comes to us both through our remembering Jesus and the ever fresh possibilities offered by God. This different vision of the saving act of Jesus is possible through a new understanding of basic reality.

I started with what Jesus said. I had to know with some certainty what Jesus said in contrast to what the early Christian community placed on his lips. I began with the authentic words of Jesus as identified by the scholars of the Jesus Seminar. I reviewed and pondered the ninety-one sayings and parables which they considered authentic. Most were found in the synoptic gospels, Mark, Matthew and Luke, several were found in the non-canonical gospel of Thomas and none in John’s gospel. I read other biblical scholars to see if they found similar results through their scholarship.

It became quite clear to me that the kingdom of God was central in Jesus’ teaching. It was likewise clear that Jesus’ invitation to enter that kingdom was ever present. I found that for Jesus, salvation was living in the commonwealth of God, a realm where he already lived. To do so is to enter a new form of existence in striking contrast to the realm in which we most often live. The entrance is both once, a conscious new decision, and continual, decisions made in every moment of life. It is both the experience of being born again and the process of being challenged to be born again in each ensuing moment.

For me it is saving to know that a gracious, intimate and persuasive God, addressed as Abba by Jesus, is a presence in each moment of my life. My awareness, affirmation and naming of that presence is a new reality and opens new possibilities. There is in each moment the option for me to allow myself to grasp the desires of God for that moment. Naturally, I never expect to be fully invested in that relationship as Jesus was. I will waiver, sometimes dancing with the possibilities from my surrounding world and my own past, sometimes dancing with the divine. Regardless of the partner I chose for the last dance, in the next moment I will be invited once again by a gracious God to dance. God will offer to me a mode of being in the world that is relevant in the new moment and I will be grateful. No punishment exacted by God, no price to pay to God, simply a new moment with the offer of fresh possibilities from God.

Am I saved by Jesus? Is Jesus my Savior? Yes! Jesus proclaims a new reality for me, a new realm in which I may live and invites me to enter. Both in remembering Jesus and in openness to God who brings Jesus’ presence to me, I receive that invitation just as those who knew him in Galilee. I am saved from being absorbed in myself and seeking to continually meet my own personal needs. I am saved from a lack of purpose in my daily tasks. I am saved from meaninglessness as I review my past and look toward my future. I am saved from being entrenched in the small circle of my own family, neighborhood, community, social class or gender. I am saved from overwhelming guilt over negative actions done and positive actions left undone. I am saved from striving for achievements and accumulating wealth. I am saved from animosity and hatred toward others. I am saved from anxiety about my well-being following death. Just as the earlier theories of salvation named the conditions from which they are saved, I name my conditions.

Is Jesus my Lord? No! I do not think that Jesus required this patronage, allegiance and subservience from his original followers nor does he require that of me today. I just do not find that attitude as I enter into Jesus’ sayings and parables, nor in his actions toward others. Other titles ring true for me: Brother, Friend, Companion, Pioneer. The title of Lord comes to us from the ancient Greek and Roman world as the required way a slave addressed a master and from feudal society of the Middle Ages as an address required of a serf with the land holder. I have no inkling at all that Jesus assumed either of those roles. On the contrary I do believe that Jesus was an egalitarian, honoring all as equally valuable and worthy. The Christian church of the Roman Empire raised Jesus high in the hierarchy and the feudal society kept him there. I think it time to release him from those restrictions that he may become our Brother.

I had a recent experience of such a release. I was attending a memorial service for our beloved former mayor, Jim Lynch, at St. Josephs Catholic church, located a few blocks from our home. As I sat during the organ prelude being played by my friend Mary Jean Carter, the crucifix above the center of the sanctuary caught my eye. The statuary was striking, a round border surrounding the cross upon which Jesus was nailed. The organ music as always set me into a meditative reverie. I began to redesign the crucifix. I took Jesus down from the cross and fashioned the round border into a table. I placed Jesus seated at the table among a number of others. There were men, women, children, infants, aged, wealthy, poor, scholarly, unlearned, ill, deformed, healthy, white, black, and tan, suits and ties, bib overalls, robes, dresses. They were all sharing food at the table. No hierarchy in a round table!

Aha! I thought. This is where Jesus belongs, not nailed to the cross. This is my image of the commonwealth of God of which he spoke and where he lived. Here is the Jesus who is my Brother. There are no strangers, none left out. All are welcome at this table. All are sharing and celebrating the reality of their togetherness with God. And in their midst is one who brought them this good news. I knew one thing: I want to be at that table.

The dying and death of Jesus took on a new meaning for me. I see the passion narrative, which describes in such vivid detail the events leading up to his death, in a new light. Rather than dying on the cross to take away the sin of humanity, his suffering and death portray his deep and full dedication to life in the commonwealth of God. He did not abandon his relationship with God. He continued acts of acceptance, kindness and forgiveness in spite of the utterly cruel conditions, the deep humiliation and the process of a brutal death. He did not give up or curse those acting against him. Knowing this inspires me to stay grounded within the realm of God in the face of tremendous difficulties and overwhelming strife. Such courageous action allows me to know Jesus as a Fellow Sufferer as well as Companion and Brother.

Recalling my experience with the crucifix tripped another in my memory. I was at a Roman Catholic monastery in St. Louis for a conference of writers and editors sponsored by Chalice Press. On the grounds was a Labyrinth which I walked in the early morning for several days. Near the starting point of the walk there were the twelve stations of the cross, each depicting a step in the crucifixion of Jesus. In remembering the stations, I thought, “I will create the stations of Jesus’ life,” portraying the events which are deeply important to me.

Following are my beginning sketches of those stations: Jesus is cradled tenderly by Mary as Joseph stands close to her;  Jesus is listening intently to a rabbi teaching children the Torah: Jesus is working in the wood shop of his father;  Jesus is sitting alone on a large stone quietly praying: Jesus animated voice is telling a story to a gathered group;  Jesus is lovingly touching a person who is ill;  Jesus is standing in a field with others pointing to the lilies; Jesus is listening with compassion to a distressed person;  Jesus is holding a little child;  Jesus is at table with a tax collector; Jesus is standing on a hillside overlooking Jerusalem;  Jesus is arrested by the authorities;  Jesus is forcefully nailed to the cross.

I have been lured into the commonwealth on a number of occasions, some dramatic and startling, others silent and gentle. In this regard I am reminded again of the final words of Dr. Albert Schweitzer in his Quest: “He comes to us as one unknown as by the lakeside he came to those men who knew him not. He speaks….” I have been by that lakeside and have heard that voice. I heard it when I had been away from the church for nearly four years after leaving the pastorate. An undeniable urge welled up in me to return to the church— my family, my mother. I did so.

After the 2004 presidential election I was deeply depressed. We had all worked so hard for a Democratic victory and were defeated in a manner which was questionable. I felt a sickness unto death and languished there for some time. Later, in conversation with my friend, Dr. Bob Anderson, who shared my feelings, an idea emerged that we could bring together like-minded persons in an organization. It would call people out of their distress and especially their aloneness into a community. The name came to us: A New Vision for America. We would design positive proposals for our nation rather than remain in a helpless and depressed mode. We would not speak or write angry, hateful, or degrading words against others. Relief came as we began our first tentative steps into the commonwealth of God.

A most recent invitation came in the form of a night dream. A group in our congregation has been working to create a curriculum to increase the knowledge of new members of our church about our history, tradition, beliefs, government, and social values. The overall title we are considering is “Welcome to the United Methodist Church.” We had been struggling with the length of each of the classes we would offer. Some expressed realistic concern that a period of over four weeks could be very difficult for busy families and those who travel. I had been turning this issue over in my mind. The dream came unannounced. A picture appeared before me showing a number of attractive folders each presenting a short module for classroom study. Their covers were white with colorful designs displayed before a dark background. Yes, I dream in color! I think I was ushered into the commonwealth.

Perhaps my most vivid invitations occurred when I was writing Eight Paths to Forgiveness. Each chapter was a life situation which would illustrate the process of forgiveness. I decided to conclude each with a personal meditation. Numerous times I would sit at the computer with a general idea of what I would write, but unclear on the specifics. I would wait. An idea would come. I would write it. Again I would wait and new ideas would come forth. The directions proposed were often quite different than those I had originally intended. I followed them, surprised by the final version. I felt that the very process I was writing about was happening to me as I wrote.

I experienced the still small voice calling me into the commonwealth to the degree that I was willing to quietly wait, listen and risk responding to what I heard. The most delightful part of these mysterious moments was that more than one person asked me, “Bob, did you write those meditations?” They were expressing some surprise because they thought they were good. I had to answer honestly, “Partly!”

I feel increased energy when I say, “Yes,” to the commonwealth. Though I may be tired as I begin a task, as I proceed energy seems to flow into me. As I begin a task which I had considered overwhelming I gradually become aware that I am doing it more handily and faster than I had imagined. New options emerge as I immerse myself in a project into which I have been invited by God. Again, I could not have imagined at the beginning that these particular words would be flowing from me. Only in the midst of the venture do even more profound and exciting options appear. I am convinced that I must respond to the first invitation before new invitations will appear. This has been my experience numerous times as I have been writing this present book. I would witness that entering the commonwealth brings with it many unexpected surprises! For me these happenings are salvation!

I feel the invitation to God’s commonwealth when I limit myself. I am, as are we all, inundated daily with invitations to excess: You will not be happy unless you drive this car. You will live fully only if you join this cruise. Your life will be enriched if you buy this time-share. You will be a loving husband if you surprise your spouse with this diamond ring. You must have the latest laptop and iPod to have the world at your fingertips. You will look dashing and masculine in our latest outfit.

In the midst of these many swirling proposals, I often sense how fulfilling it is to walk a road less traveled. I love my 1991 Honda Prelude, whose name is Spiffy, in which I whirl around town. I enjoy my Lands End washable khakis. I feel good when I choose not to have the most convenient appliance, rather pleased with the extra steps I must take or the increased energy I use. I pour unused water from our dinner glasses into a container used to water the house plants. I feel responsible when I mow the lawn with my push mower and dig the dandelions with a small hand tool. I am not an ascetic, but would call myself a married monk. The proposals for simplicity and limitations come to me as the whisperings to live within the commonwealth where community and the environment are cherished.

The icons which surround me now in my study remind me of this alternative life. Carved statues of a monk, prophet, St. Francis and The Thinker grace the window sill and shelves. Paintings of Christ at the Door, Jesus the woodworker, St. Francis and Gandhi, bedeck the walls. A plaque to the right of my computer reads, “Bidden or Not Bidden God is Present.” They remind me of where I am called to live. They are symbols like the wedding ring. How many times as I officiated at a marriage ceremony I spoke the ritual: “The wedding ring is an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace…” So are my icons. Reminders!

As one might expect, I receive invitations to the commonwealth during worship. The hymns are especially meaningful—well, most of the time! After all, I began my journey with the organ music. Some hymns call, others do not. Many of my contemporaries, a euphemism for the senior citizens, who attend the classical worship service choose the hymn “How Great Thou Art” whenever possible. I can heartily sing the other three verses, but not the third:

“And when I think that God, his Son not sparing, sent him to die, I scarce can take it in; that on the cross, my burden gladly bearing, he bled and died to take away my sin;”

Composed by Stuart K. Hine in 1953, it expresses the theory of salvation which I do not find meaningful. In contrast, one of the best known hymns in Christendom was composed in 1779 by a former captain of a slave ship, John Newton: “Amazing Grace.”

Speaking from his own experience of salvation he writes:

“Amazing grace! How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.”

Nary a word about blood. I feel invited. I sing this hymn with gusto!

In teaching over the years in our church I have learned there are at least three ways of dealing with the tradition which is handed on to us. We may reject it, carry it forward intact or transform it. This is so with the understanding of salvation. The experiences of the saving act changed. Whatever an earlier generation found true in their own experience and proclaimed, whatever they affirmed about how Jesus saves them, future generations created their own modifications to fit with their present experiences.

Even as I respect and honor the experiences of the faithful in each generation and their struggles to speak authentically in their day, I found that I needed to deal with the traditions by transforming them. To be authentic to my own experience, in contrast to simply repeating second-hand the experiences of my forbears, I turned to Jesus. His living in the commonwealth of God and inviting to me to live there is saving to me.

 I am grateful for my theology which urges me to reach for experience which lies behind the words expressed. I have long known that words are like small islands on a vast ocean and cannot fully do justice to the underlying experience. It is a risk to seek experience but nonetheless a worthy endeavor. If I can understand that which gave rise to the ideas of salvation in the 1st, 4th, 11th, 12th, and 16th, and 20th centuries, I am able to grant myself the opportunity to try to say it in a new way with the vision of reality we claim today. This becomes a responsible way of honoring their experience which they expressed in the language and concepts available to them in their day, yet transforming their explanations of that experience. I believe in transforming tradition. Thank you, theology!