In which I play in the fields of Theology | Anita Mathias: Dreaming Beneath the Spires

In which Lucy fears her mother is in hell, and I long for a theology which reflects Jesus

My friend, Lucy, has recently lost her mum. Her father had died when Lucy was two, and her sister a baby, and her mother had brought them up on an army pension. “She was a shining example of selflessness, and strength in adversity,” Lucy says.

Now, Lucy tells me she is having very awkward conversations with her teenage daughters who adored their lovely grandmother.

You see, Lucy is an evangelical, and her mother was an atheist.

* * *

“What?” I say, appalled. “You can’t believe the Jesus we both know would consign your lovely, kindly strong mum to Hades, to torment, desperate for a drop of water to cool her tongue because she was in agony in the fire?” (Luke 16:23).

“Well,” Lucy says, a trifle doubtfully. “It does say, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. Whoever does not believe stands condemned already because they have not believed in the name of God’s one and only Son.”

I sigh. I am silent. Who am I to argue against John 3:16, Tim Tebow and the massive evangelical tradition?

But I am dubious about pastiche theologies built on selected verses. Especially on a verse which says, “God so loved the world that he sent his son to redeem” not “God so hated the world that he sent his son to condemn it.”

We need to look at the entire revelation of God in Scripture, at the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness (Exodus 34:6). We need to look at Jesus, who modelled mercy and compassion in his life, and in every parable he told, who showed us God as the shepherd looking for the one strayed sheep, the Father on the battlements, looking out in hope for the return of the son who had rejected him.

* * *

A man, MY man, writhes on a cross, dehydrated, asphyxiated, his head pierced with thorns. The pain from his nail-pierced hands and feet is excruciating.

In a haze of exhaustion, he lifts himself on that nail, and says, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

Sorry, wait a minute, forgive whom? The believers?

No. Everyone.

Pontius Pilate and the Romans who flogged and crucified him callously, carelessly, because he was too much trouble.

The Pharisees, who delivered him up because of envy because all the people flocked to him. (Matt 27:18).

The crowd who shouted “Crucify him,” the very crowd he had miraculously fed, and who had feted him.

His own disciples who abandoned him

The thief who mocked him

The mockers who said, “He trusteth in God, let God deliver him; let him deliver him if he delights in him.”

* * *

Were all these people for whom Jesus requested forgiveness believers?

Nope.

The night before he had said, “This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, shed for the forgiveness of sins.”

Whose sins?

The sins of the world.

“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” John cried. (John 1:29)

My sins, your sins, Lucy’s mother’s sins, my departed father’s sins, the sins of the world.

Jesus taught us to forgive aught against any when we stood praying. Would he do less? Jesus taught us to love our enemies, bless those who curse us, pray for those who persecute us, and do good to those who hate us. Would he do less?

Oh, when will we get the shattering, cosmic significance of the Cross of Christ?

The Father agreeing to send his oldest son as a scapegoat, paying in full for the sins of mankind, everyone, because fathers can be lovely like that.

* * *

So do I believe in hell? Yes, of course, I do. Hell and money were Jesus’ most frequent subjects.

Am I certain of its demography? No. Of course not. But I believe it will be far more sparsely populated than some evangelicals think.

For I do know that Jesus said, “All sins and offences shall be forgiven men,” (Mark 3:28) , except the sin against the Holy Spirit.

* * *

The Jesus I know from the Gospels is a God of mercy, of compassion, a bleeding-heart (liberal, perhaps), with a sharp eye and a sardonic tongue for religiosity and religious hypocrisy which really got him.

When I talked about the Jesus I know, an evangelical friend told me, “You can’t say “the Jesus I know”. You can’t pick and choose.”

But, of course, I have to go with the Jesus I know from my careful reading, study and near-memorisation of the Gospels over the last decades.

How stupid it would be to go with the Jesus someone else knows! With the Jesus of the evangelicals, or the Jesus of the Calvinists, or the Jesus of the liberals, or the Jesus of the liberation theologians, when the real Jesus both lives within the pages of the Gospels and within my heart, ready to step out of the pages and wreak havoc in my life, should I let him?

* * *

All these people had seen and heard Jesus—Pontius Pilate, Herod, the Pharisees, the Saducees, the Jews, the adoring crowd, which later bayed for his blood, the disciples who loved him, and then abandoned him, the women who stuck by him. They made vastly different things of him.

I mean, Jesus is GOD, for heaven’s sake. None of us can comprehend him wholly and entirely. We all have blind spots, blue-spot cataracts, in our comprehension of him.

Why, why, why, are we privileging Calvin’s merciless reading of who goes to heaven, and who doesn’t over our instinctive moral sense and our instinctive knowledge of the Jesus revealed in scripture? We cannot use theology as a stronghold to ensure we are in, and safe, and excused from the rigours of thinking.

WHY should we accept someone else’s pre-digested Jesus, the Jesus of the Catholics, or the Evangelicals or the Jesus of the Calvinists who sends the vast majority of people to hell, the Jesus of those who believe that most of Africa, and Asia and Latin America and Europe will burn in hell, while, they, you see, they accepted Christ in Sunday School aged six and prayed the sinner’s prayer, and so despite a lifetime of greed, cupidity and self-indulgence, they will be in a nice, quiet white heaven.

The Jesus I know is a God of inclusivity, not exclusivity.

Well, all sins and offences shall be forgiven men, Jesus says, so let me not get worked up by stupidity.

* * *

We are made in God’s image. Christ dwells in our heart. When other people’s theology conflicts with our instinctive moral sense, we have to quietly agree to differ, and not sacrifice our common sense, and our instinctive knowledge of God and Christ, to fit in with the dominant theology of our day. Which well may shift within our century.

Salvation is not a theological examination. The sinners prayer is not a shibboleth.

I have family members who are good Catholics, but may not have made a profession of faith Calvin might recognize. Am I afraid that they are in hell? No! I have faith in the goodness of God.

It’s not our works that save us, and it’s not our confessions of faith that save us. And it’s not Scripture that saves us either. It is Christ who saves us because he can, because he is good, and perhaps all our faith contributes but a mustard seed to our salvation, and perhaps all our works contribute but another mustard seed, but ultimately, our eternal destiny, like our earthly destiny, depends on the goodness and mercy of God. Because he is a Father. Because he loves people who are made in his image. Because Jesus shed his blood to atone for the sins of the world.

When Faith falls into Place like a Jigsaw, Piece by Piece

By Anita Mathias

Jigsaw Puzzle Tabgha - Bread and Fish Mosaic

As I was writing on the cosmic significance of the Cross of Christ, I realised that though I was born Catholic, remaining so until I was 21 and was, sometimes, a serious Catholic–even a novice in Mother Teresa’s Convent for 14 months–I had never understood why Jesus had to die. If I committed a mortal sin, I would go to hell–if I had not had the chance to go to confession and be absolved before I died (Do you see how this strengthens the power of the priesthood?)

If I only committed venial sins, I would go to Purgatory, and then after a period there, shortened if people prayed or paid, offering Masses on my behalf, I would go to heaven. Just as if Jesus had not died?

And when–after a six year period in my twenties of not really believing anything very much–I decided to recommit to following Christ, I went to serious Bible-believing Protestant churches.

And when the Atonement was first explained to me, I am afraid I did not really believe it.

Why? Because it could not really be proven.

I had, similarly, not really believed in heaven and hell for those six years, because, for all I knew they were theological inventions, theological fairy tales. I had decided not do anything for desire for heaven or fear of hell, because there was no proof for either of these.

* * *

As an undergraduate at Oxford, I had listened to lectures on Lord Raglan’s The Hero and was struck at the resemblances the life of Jesus bore to these mythical heroes across cultures.

1. Hero’s mother is a royal virgin;
2. His father is a king, and
3 4. The circumstances of his conception are unusual, and
5. He is also reputed to be the son of a god.
6. At birth an attempt is made, to kill him, but
7. he is spirited away, and
8. Reared by foster -parents in a far country.
9. We are told nothing of his childhood, but
10. On reaching manhood he returns or goes to his future Kingdom.
14. For a time he reigns uneventfully and
15. Prescribes laws, but
16. Later he loses favour with the gods and/or his subjects, and
17. Is driven from the throne and city, after which
18. He meets with a mysterious death,
19. Often at the top of a hill,
20. His children, if any do not succeed him.
21. His body is not buried, but nevertheless
22. He has one or more holy sepulchres.

Numerous heroes fit into this archetype, including Krishna, Moses, Romulus, King Arthur, Perseus, Heracles, Mohammed, Beowulf, Buddha, Zeus, Samson, Achilles, and Odysseus.

And so I wondered: Was Jesus God? Was there a God?

* * *

When C.S. Lewis was troubled by the same thing, in Oxford, 45 year earlier, Tolkein sorted him out by explaining that Christianity is simply a true myth: a myth working on us in the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened:

Lewis writes to his friend, Arthur Greeves,

My puzzle was about the whole doctrine of Redemption: in what sense the life and death of Christ “saved” or “opened salvation to” the world. I could see how miraculous salvation might be necessary. What I couldn’t see was how the life and death of Someone Else (whoever he was) two thousand years ago could help us here and now — except in so far as his example helped us.

And the example business, tho’ true and important, is not Christianity: right in the centre of Christianity, in the Gospels and St Paul, you keep on getting something quite different and very mysterious expressed in those phrases I have so often ridiculed (“propitiation” — “sacrifice” — “the blood of the Lamb”) — expressions which I could only interpret in senses that seemed to me either silly or shocking.

Now what Dyson and Tolkien showed me was this: that if I met the idea of sacrifice in a Pagan story I didn’t mind it at all: again, that if I met the idea of a God sacrificing himself to himself, I liked it very much and was mysteriously moved by it.

Again, the idea of the dying and reviving god (Balder, Adonis, Bacchus) similarly moved me, provided I met it anywhere except in the Gospels. The reason was that in Pagan stories I was prepared to feel the myth as profound and suggestive of meanings beyond my grasp even tho’ I could not say in cold prose “what it meant.”

Now the story of Christ is simply a true myth: a myth working on us in the same way as the others, but with this tremendous difference that it really happened: and one must be content to accept it in the same way, remembering that it is God’s myth where the others are men’s myths: i.e. the Pagan stories are God expressing Himself through the minds of poets, using such images as He found there, while Christianity is God expressing Himself through what we call “real things”. Therefore it is true, not in the sense of being a “description” of God (that no finite mind could take in) but in the sense of being the way in which God chooses to (or can) appear to our faculties.

The “doctrines” we get out of the true myth are translations into our concepts and ideas of that wh. God has already expressed in a language more adequate, namely the actual incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection. At any rate I am now certain (a) That this Christian story is to be approached, in a sense, as I approached the other myths. (b) That it is the most important and full of meaning. I am also certain that it really happened…

Ah, but I then had no Tolkein to sort me out!

* * *

In my mid-twenties, I yearned to return to faith because my life was not working elegantly, and I thought I had made rather a mess of it. Surely I would do better if I followed Christ, I thought.

When I longed for faith again a North Star to guide; when, you might say, I missed Jesus; a friend, Peggy Goetz, suggested I try to do what Jesus said, and see if it was true or not.

“If anyone chooses to do God’s will, he will find out whether my teaching comes from God or whether I speak on my own,” John 7:17 was Jesus’s own apologetic, the proof he offered of whether his words were from God, or his own.

So I started giving to everyone who asked of me; lending and not asking back; praying and keeping a list of my prayer requests. And there was a tidal wave of answers, sweeping me into the Kingdom. Little odd things: I had just moved into an unfurnished house for my Ph. D and realized I’d need to buy a mattress. What a hassle without a car! I prayed I’d be given one, and a student returning to Korea offered me hers the next day. Several coincidences like that! Wow!

And so, real faith slowly slipped into place like pieces in a jigsaw.

* * *

Does anyone become a Christian and then instantly believe all its doctrines? Or do they fall into place, step by step as they did for me? Do we construct our creeds gradually? Yeah, I believe in the Resurrection. Yes, I believe in the Atonement. Yeah, I believe in Hell, because Jesus talked so much about it, though I am uncertain of its demographics. Yeah, I believe in Heaven–ditto!!

I believe!

“Both” and “And” are beautiful theological words, as is “Yes”

By Anita Mathias

Image Credit

I once worshipped at a maverick church in Williamsburg, Virginia, The Williamsburg Community Chapel. It was good to me, and for me. My spiritual gifts of speaking, and leading and teaching Bible studies were identified while I was there, for instance, and I led four Bible studies in a row.

Williamsburg Community Chapel was non-denominational, with members from every Christian denomination, and none.

So, they had an answer to pretty much every theological question put to them.

And that was “Yes!”

* * *

Oh, it drove me nuts. It seems an illogical way of answering an OR question, and an annoying way of deflecting it.

But thinking about it now, I see its brilliance.

Do you believe in infant baptism or in believers’ baptism?

Yes.

Do you believe in water baptism as a once-in-for-all experience, or do you believe in the Baptism in the Holy Spirit?

Yes.

Do you believe the Baptism in the Holy Spirit, the second blessing, is a one-time experience, or can we have a second, third and fourth Baptism in the Spirit?

Yes.

Are we justified and saved by our faith alone, or does true faith need to have an expression in works?

Yes.

Should a Christian woman be a keeper at home, or use her gifts outside the home too?

Yes.

Should a Christian woman be silent or teach and lead, if so gifted?

Yes.

Were Charismatic gifts given to establish the church, or are they still active today?

Yes.

Do you believe in the gift of tongues?

Yes.

But I don’t need the gift of tongues to be a Christian?

Yes.

* * *

It’s because God is so big and so rich that he is unlikely to confined to any of our restrictive, limited theological positions.

If you take rigid theological statements like Calvinism, and more moderate theological statements, truth is often to be found between the two extremes, with each of them having some truth, some Yes.

So the next time, I start getting emotionally involved in a theological controversy, that’s a theological word I am going to remember: AND. Most positions of sincere Christ-followers are likely have some truth in them, and the absolute truth is likely to be found somewhere in the middle.

* * *

Jesus came to us, full of grace and truth (John 1:14). And where will we find him?

Quite likely between the position of those who interpret scripture rigidly when it comes to homosexuality, let’s say, or abortion or the demographics of hell–and the extreme grace, “everyone is okay because is God is love” position.

Not in the place of controversy, over “circumcision or uncircumsion,” but in the place of gentleness, of truth working through love. (Gal 5:6). In the middle ground between sheer uncompromising truth, and a look-the-other-way love.

The land of And, the place where love and truth meet, (Ps. 85:10) is the place where we are most likely to find Jesus.

“God is at the Bottom of the Laundry Basket” and other Half-Truths We Tell Christian Women

By Anita Mathias

I read this on the blog of my good friend, Paul .

Mystics can also get stuck in their depravity and not move out in love. I discipled a brilliant, educated couple once because the wife wanted to “experience Jesus” more.

As I got into their lives, I told her that Jesus was at the bottom on the laundry basket. That sounds harsh but it fit her beautifully. She dabbled at some hobbies, but did no real work around the house.

She wanted to have a deeper experience of Christ without knowing love. I told her that you’ll start getting to know Jesus better when you start doing the laundry. Jesus was at the bottom of the laundry basket. That is just a simple exposition of John 14:21,23.

* * *

I read this with particular interest, because, as it happens, I am the woman he writes about. I was a volunteer editor of his first book,Love Walked Among Us, and he thanks me in the acknowledgements for teaching him to write.

I obviously taught him too well, for Paul, sadly, sacrifices veracity for sweeping statements. For “no work around the house,” read not very much, and for “dabbled at some hobbies,” read “wrote an essay which won a National Endowment for the Arts $20,000 award, published several essays and book reviews, won literary prizes, drafted a big book, and put in many of the 10,000 hours it takes to master writing.” So, take his description with a grain of salt, as you should take all writing except that of the saints!

* * *

When I first read it, I felt sucker-punched, winded!! And then, the overwhelming sense of God’s love, swept over me.

Well, I was being attacked for being a mystic, wasn’t I?

And I had an image of me, dancing with the Father, so close that none of these slings and arrows could touch me. I wrote:

Dancing with the Lord,
That’s the way I want to live:
moving in so closely

that I’m guided unconsciously.

He doesn’t mind my clumsiness,

the obvious inexpertise.

And when exhaustion

makes me stall, I climb

onto his feet, like a child

on her father’s toes,

and the dance continues

while His music plays.

* * *

But to return, where is God? In the bottom of the laundry basket, or in the utility room, or in the dirty dishes, as Paul said to me so often, as if it was the wittiest bon mot ever. And I, unsurprisingly, did not find it funny, at all.

It poisoned my life with guilt.

For I am made to write. When I don’t write, I am not fully me. Not doing what I am made to do. Not happy.

I get depressed. I find it hard to get out of bed. I gain weight. And neither the laundry gets done nor the writing.

I know this, because, oh, I have had dozens of tries throughout my married life of saying, “Okay, no writing till the house is tidy, everything in its place, laundry and dishes caught up with, everything ready for the Queen of England, or the King of Kings to drop in for tea.”

But when I try to get my house all picked up before writing, everyone else seems to get messier, and my motivation to live diminishes, and since I can’t write, I pick up a magazine or read online, “Just one last article,” and then, “Just one last article…” and neither writing nor housework gets done.

I went through the last “No writing till the house is tidy” five years ago, and mentioned it to a prayer partner. She said, “Why do you say that? You shouldn’t give up your writing?” And she came and helped me get my house decluttered. And cleaned it for me.

And Roy, who had steadfastly refused to have a cleaner, saying (in denial!), “I can clean it in no time IF….” finally agreed to get a weekly cleaner in 2008. Better than having Noelle come and clean our house for us!! And this made us pick up the house weekly. And so, this bone of contention—housework and who does it–which had dogged the first 18 years of our marriage was resolved.

* * *

Uncomprehending counsel. That’s another way women are harmed in denominations without sufficient female clergy. We are different genders, almost different species. Women are from Venus, and men are from Mars. Or Pluto!! Is that the most distant planet?

Men have a separate rulebook for women. Would Paul have counselled himself to search for God in the bottom of the laundry basket? Or counselled any “brilliant, educated” (to use his description of us) man to find God in a laundry basket? Roy and I took an IQ test when we had professional pre-marital counseling, and, to Roy’s surprise, we scored the same!! Is it surprising that it would be depressing for me to seek God in laundry while he sought God in academia?

Women have been crushed by this dreadful sexist advice for centuries, this Kinder, Kuche, Kirche. IQ and talent are equally distributed between the genders, and if you wonder why there are more male writers, artists, scientists, academics and theologians than female ones, well, blame variants of Kinder, Kuche, Kirche, children, kitchen, church. And oppressive theological counselling.

* * *

But I digress. The verse Paul quotes, with such immense self-satisfaction, interestingly says, “If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him.”

And was keeping God’s word for me just doing laundry to free up more work time for Roy, and not using the writing gifts he had given me? But I was too depressed and too downtrodden to argue with Paul, and just quietly wasted more years to guilt and depression and general down-in-the-mouthness.

Some of the theology fed Christian women is just plain oppressive and cruel and very bad for mental health. And not very intelligent, either.

And probably makes Christ sad, who defended a mystic who sat at his feet while domestic activity swirled around her. “Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one.Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

* * *

Yeah, once again, I was a victim of bad theology!

So is God found at the bottom of the laundry basket?

One of the first revelations I ever had into God’s heart, when I was 17, was that one should go down, as low down as possible to find God. God was born to poor people, in a stable, amid the muck and mire, hung out with the lowly, and died on the cross!

But that was a partial revelation. God is found in the depths, and also in the heights. In Calcutta, where I worked in Mother Teresa’s home for the Dying Destitute, but also in the gorgeous Alps.

The Word can be found in the words we craft. What I do is me, for that I came, Hopkins imagines everything crying. And since, people need clean laundry, God can also be found in the bottom of the laundry basket.

* * *

And where do I find God now? In my writing, and in domesticity!

Our life has changed since Paul wrote that blog post about us. Roy retired early at 47 from his job as a Professor of Mathematics, and now runs the house with intensity and mathematical precision. And finds God in the bottom of the laundry basket!!

I found it daunting to tackle my house when it had gone to the dogs, and I didn’t know where to start. Now that it is not disorderly (though not perfect), I devote a few hours to heavy duty decluttering, and tidying while the cleaner is here, getting rid of everything not useful or beautiful, and finding a place for everything, and putting everything in it.

AND and BOTH. They are beautiful theological words. God is both in the laundry basket and in the other work he has called us to do, and anyone who tells us he is found in just the laundry or just the writing is guilty of bad theology, and worse–sheer stupidity!

When your Theology makes you Cry: Your Theology is Too Small!

By Anita Mathias

From the early Catholic monks who established Oxford’s oldest colleges; to John Wycliffe, the Morning Star of the Reformation; to Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley burnt at the stake; to John Owen and the Puritans; to Wesley and Whitfield who launched England’s Evangelical Revival from Oxford; the Catholic Oxford Movement in the 19th century; and finally the Inklings, Lewis, Tolkein, Charles Williams in the 20th–Oxford’s social and political history has been intimately allied with the theological struggles of her citizens.

As has the history of England. Or Germany, Switzerland, Holland, Sweden, or Norway, or pretty much any European country.

That is because theology deals with the most important questions. Is there a God? Are we infinite, spiritual beings having a finite experience or finite beings having a finite experience? How can I be happy? What is a good life, and how can I live it?

* * *

But sometimes, our theology makes us cry. ‘Dr Houston,’ who I met last week was convinced of, though troubled by, the fact that all the good Jews, Muslims and Hindus were going to hell while he was going to heaven because he believed the right things. “Don’t be too sure on either count,” I wanted to say.

Rachel Held Evans explores this moral repugnance.

She sees, on CNN, a woman tortured and killed by the Taliban in Afghanistan.

“Twenty years of Christian education assured me that because Zarmina was a Muslim, she would suffer unending torment in hell for the rest of eternity. How the Taliban punished Zarmina in this life was nothing compared with how God would punish her in the next…the idea that this woman passed from agony to agony, from torture to torture, from a lifetime of pain and sadness to an eternity of pain and sadness, all because she had less information about the gospel than I did, seemed cruel, even sadistic.”

And so Calvinism makes her cry.

* * *

This is the second course I’ve taken in Christian history. And I realized afresh that all denominational theologies are compilations by powerful, dominant, brilliant people–Augustine, Aquinas Luther, Calvin, John Owen or Jonathan Edwards–of their sincere readings of Scripture. And the different interpretations and emphases owe something to these individual’s biographies, psychological cast, characters, and the period in which they lived.

Now these clever men could not all be right when they hold differing opinions. Probably all of them are right about some things, and wrong about others.

SO… Do we get lazy and just take Luther or Calvin or Piper’s or Aquinas’s or Nicky Gumbel’s reading of Scripture as absolute truth? Or do wrestle with it ourselves, and let the Spirit speak to us, and highlight in gold marker the truths he wants us to learn–the truths which will be important in our own lives?

* * *

I chafe against the harm done to talented women who have not been allowed to teach, preach or lead because of sentences Paul wrote to 1st century women. Women should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak, but must be in submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man; she must be silent. These sentences certainly sound misogynistic to 21st century ears, and indeed, in most Western democracies, such attitudes or employment practices are, rightly, illegal!

I do not see that angry, dismissive, contemptuous spirit in Jesus. I asked Are the words of Paul and the words of Jesus equally important?

People commented, “You cannot have a salad bowl approach to Scripture. You cannot pick and choose. The Bible is what it is, not what you would like it to be.”

However, every denomination, including new ones like Calvary Chapel, the Vineyard or the Assemblies of God are based on someone else’s picking and choosing.

So the question is: Do I lazily choose the salad bowl that traditionalist conservative Anglicans, or Chuck Smith at Calvary Chapel or Terry Virgo at New Frontiers have assembled, reflecting their own fears, insecurities, prejudices and scriptural readings? (New Frontiers, for instance, has no women leaders or preachers or teachers. What a waste of talent and spiritual gifts!)

Or do I engage with Scripture as a mere Christian? Not accepting a denominational position—someone else’s salad bowl—but allowing Scripture to speak afresh to me with its own majesty?

And if I should read Scripture wrongly? Well, salvation is not an IQ test. And honest intellectual error is not a sin. Laziness, however, is. I believe Christ will commend me for seeking him in the pages of his word, even if I get some things wrong.

* * *

So what should we do when Calvinism makes us cry?

We turn to Scripture. We turn to the merciful Parable of the Sheep and the Goats in which the righteous are judged on the kindness they showed, not on the basis of the kindness they did not show. We should read God “will judge to each person according to what he has done.” Romans 2:6.

We should remember that Jesus is the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world (John 1:29) not just the sins of those who have made a Reformed profession of faith.

The cosmic significance of Christ and his sacrifice is vaster, deeper and larger than we can comprehend. In him all things hold together!

”See, see where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament!
One drop would save my soul—half a drop! ah, my Christ!—

The precious, redemptive, atoning blood shed for more than Calvinists, Presbyterians or the Reformed. Shed for all men. And women!

The efficacy of Christ’s sacrifice might stagger us. As a friend said recently, when Calvinists shut the door of heaven in men’s faces, Jesus will run and open the windows and back doors.

* * *

When we hear five points of Calvinism–total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, perseverance of the saints–perhaps alarm bells should ring. It’s clever, but is it Christianity?

Jesus never spoke in language which requires an education to decode. His message could be understood by the children to whom he said the Kingdom belonged, while its riches delights theologians.

He told us that God was our father. A father who is loving, and fair, and seeks every means to advance his sons. Theology that consigns the majority of the population to hell is flawed, simply because it conflicts with the loving, seeking Fatherly heart of God as revealed in Scripture (while delighting its professors with the delicious sense of belonging to an inner ring).

The saved in Revelation cry, “Just and true are all your ways.” We are made in God’s image. If we find the consignment to hell of those who have never compelling heard of Jesus unjust and repugnant, if the unfairness makes us cry–perhaps this theological doctrine will be equally repugnant to God’s great heart.

How much more. If we care, how much more will God care: Scripture consistently uses this argument. If Jonah grieved for a plant–Nineveh has more than a hundred and twenty thousand people who cannot tell their right hand from their left, and many cattle as well. Should I not be concerned about that great city?” Jonah 4:10.

Similarly, Jesus tells us that God yearns over the lost coin, the lost sheep, the lost son. And so the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost (Luke 19:10).

* * *

I do not yet have a fully developed theology of hell. But I am uncomfortable with the unchristian haste to consign the world God loves to hell. Let’s focus on the positive, the carrot—Christ; not the stick, the negative: Hell.

When our theology makes us cry, our theology is too small. We need to return to Christ, and return to Scripture, and read it with a humble, open mind.

Let’s have a more generous Catechism.

Who takes away the sins of the world?

Christ, the Lamb of God does. (John 1:29).

Whose sins does the Lamb of God take away?

The world’s!

Calvinism is Clever, but Would Jesus Recognise it?

By Anita Mathias

Calvin, by Titian

Calvin—Okay, I have summarized Christianity: Total depravity, unconditional election, limited atonement, irresistible grace, perseverance of the saints.

Jesus–Excuse me, I am not sure I understand you.

Calvin–You know, TULIP, what you taught.

Jesus—What I taught? I am sorry, but I don’t understand a word of it.

Calvin, scratching head–Stop joking, Jesus. This is serious. Why, haven’t you seen John Piper, my hyper-follower’s brilliant 221 word summary of Christianity—which is all about you, you know?

God is the sovereign, transcendent and personal God who has made the universe, including us, his image-bearers. Our misery lies in our rebellion, our alienation from God, which, despite his forbearance, attracts his implacable wrath.

But God, precisely because love is of the very essence of his character, takes the initiative and prepared for the coming of his own Son by raising up a people who, by covenantal stipulations, temple worship, systems of sacrifice and of priesthood, by kings and by prophets, are taught something of what God is planning and what he expects.

In the fullness of time his Son comes and takes on human nature. He comes not, in the first instance, to judge but to save: he dies the death of his people, rises from the grave and, in returning to his heavenly Father, bequeaths the Holy Spirit as the down payment and guarantee of the ultimate gift he has secured for them—an eternity of bliss in the presence of God himself, in a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness.

The only alternative is to be shut out from the presence of this God forever, in the torments of hell. What men and women must do, before it is too late, is repent and trust Christ; the alternative is to disobey the gospel.

Jesus—I taught all that?

Calvin—Stop it, Jesus. What did you teach then?

Jesus—But why didn’t you read the Gospels, if you wanted to know? Here are 221 words I remember saying,

I came not to call the righteous but sinners; not to judge the world, but to save it.

Repent and believe the good news.

“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind. Love your neighbour as yourself.” All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.

Don’t be afraid. Do not worry about anything at all. Peace I give you. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me.

I teach so that my joy may be in you, and your joy may be full.

When you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive him, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.

If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, nothing will be impossible for you.

He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood lives in me, and I in him.

Take and drink; this is my blood of the covenant which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in memory of me.

My Father will give you another counsellor—the Spirit of Truth. He will be with you and in you. You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you.

Go into all the world and preach the good news to all creation.

Calvin—That’s far too simple. That’s how a blogger would write. But we are theologians, you and I.

Jesus—No, just you. I spoke to be understood.

Must Love Always Trump Inerrancy?

By Anita Mathias

Most burning theological issues are neither burning, nor theological, Brennan Manning.

When John Piper resigns because his son was unbelieving,

When leading churches lose all their assets to leave denominations too liberal on gays

When theological colleges lose their faculty over the issue of women teaching men,

And dissentient clergy need their own flying Bishops,

Let us remember that inerrancy is not as important as love.

Christ never commanded us to believe in the inerrancy of Scripture.

He did command us to love.

When theology births self-righteousness,

And we judge those more liberal then ourselves,

And we judge those more conservative than ourselves,

And we judge those more Words-Visions-Tongues-Prophecy than ourselves,

And we judge those less spirit-propelled than ourselves,

And we get so intense about our ideas that we forget the One we are following

Help us remember,

It’s not about theology.

There will be no theology exam when we meet you,

You will not ask if we have got our beliefs right,

You will—you have told us—welcome us if we have loved

And believed.

When Was it Ever About My Deserving? Or Why The Gospel is Good News

By Anita Mathias

I had a fail on holiday. For perhaps the longest period since I became a Christian, I neglected sitting down with my Bible, or having a dedicated period of prayer. I got annoyed with one, then two, then perhaps even three members of my family. The only reason I didn’t get annoyed with any more is that we left the pets at home!

And we were on holiday in a campervan (RV for American readers) which meant that I would feel odd reading my Bible or praying in semi-public if I hadn’t repented and made nice. And so….oops, I didn’t read my Bible! I didn’t set aside a time for prayer. I re-read Wuthering Heights instead!

* * *

And so I was less internally happy, less able to see the world charged with the grandeur of God, singing and bathed in his glory. Normally, on a nature holiday, I sense and worship God deeply while surrounded by beauty.

Yes, I was out of sorts, not really enjoying myself, not totally happy. I had got out of alignment with God, my friend, the ocean in whom I normally try to live.

* * *

And now, I am finding it hard to abide again in the centre of God, as a molecule in the vine. I am blogging on a Biblical passage, and realize I am approaching it with my left-brain, rather than my right; with my mind rather than my heart, spirit and soul.

That’s not a problem for God: he made both sides of the brain, and our minds, as well as our bodies, souls, and spirits. But he might like us to approach his Holy of Holies with our whole selves. (And approaching the Bible that way touches people’s spirits and hearts, as well as their minds.)

* * *

And I say, “Oh Lord, can you bless me?” And then I chide myself, “You’ve not dwelt in the heart of worship for a couple of weeks, Anita. You could have repented and surrendered and returned to live in Christ so much sooner!” And I think “I don’t really deserve God’s help and blessing….”

And then I realize, “When was it ever about my deserving?”

* * *

And I think again about the most incredible thing I know. That when I realize I have blown it, and return, you are full of compassion, you run to me, throw your arms around me, and kiss me.

You barely listen to my litany of failure. Instead you clothe me in your best robes. You put a ring on my finger, and sandals on my feet. You set out a feast and celebrate, serving the best steak. There is music and dancing.

All because I have returned?

This is incredible, Lord. I don’t deserve it.

And you say, “When was it ever about your deserving?”

And I repent again. Totally.

I will live in the heart of worship, live in you, a molecule of sap in your vine, a happy red blood cell in the beautiful Body of Christ.

And if I fall, I will not delay in fleeing to the sanctuary, to the joyous heart of worship, to the embrace of the Father.