The Earth, The Sky and Everything In Between

Not to over-generalize or start of with something overly fluffy, but I'm overcome this morning in a realization of how difficult life can be at times. As Christians, we rail and rail against our fallen selves and work so hard to respond to God's love, and we fail so often. Then, we feel bad, and tell God we're sorry, and pick ourselves up, and start the process all over again.

Is this what life is about? I for one have often viewed life through the lens of this cycle. While I believe that sin, guilt, repentance and redemption are all elements of the human experience, the cycle itself seems so vicious, like an endless exercise, three fourths of which just kick my butt. I know there's a solution in there, and I think the components are legitimate, so I've decided my struggle isn't with sin, guilt, repentance, and redemption, but perhaps in the system or lens through which I view them. 

Paraphrasing Chesterton, a common problem is not forming a logical system of beliefs and practices, but instead seeking the system that allows us the greatest degree of freedom. Chesterton refers to many such systems as circles. A circle has no beginning and no end; no loose ends, so to speak. So often goes with many belief systems; they are logical circles. 

His contention is that logical circles, though systematically perfect, still bind their subscriber. Circles pervade our existence. Many belief systems exist which the best of men could not disprove. If I claimed I were Christ incarnate, what case could be made against me? After all, the world rejected him the first time around; why not again? My point is that these systems, though logically consistent, are bound in size. They are always limited. I might be Christ, but I also can't even find my keys most mornings, each point is indisputable, but each point defines the capacity of my logical circle, and that circle is, I assume, somewhat less than we might hope for a messiah. 

What Chesterton discovered, in his rogue, radical attempt to build from the ground up a philosophical answer to religion, discovered an avant-garde fragment of spirituality that operated independent and in brash violation of circular belief systems. To his surprise, he found orthodox Christianity, which for its systematic oddities can hardly be called a system of belief. It certainly isn't circular. Unlike belief systems that work to eliminate conflict, Christianity brazenly associates herself with conflict. To entrust one's faith to her is to accept a world of talking donkeys, chariots of fire, nine-hundred year old men, rivers of blood, angels of death that are really good, angels of light that are really bad, forming men from dust, raising them from the dead, healing their ears, eyes, legs, tongues, illnesses, and relieving their deep and unspoken fears. Christianity makes room in her heart for the low things of the world, be they that in stature, dignity, or moral conviction. Christianity openly courts the worst of sinners, and holds intimately close even those she knows will betray her. Christianity knows even Judas should know love. 

At the heart of Christianity is conflict, and the cross reflects this conflict at its core. But, from that point of conflict, her arms stretch forth in infinite length, reaching forth without prejudice or limitation.

So coming back again to the redemption idea. I often love and loathe redemption all at once. I love redemption because it is very, well, redemptive. I sometimes loathe redemption because of the bigger cycle within which I view redemption. What I am beginning to realize is that, to view life in that cycle is to strip the gospel of its power, and to reduce Christianity to another religious system, which entices with its order but frustrates with its scope. Christianity is not a system. Christianity is Jesus Christ. Our faith is not bound up in principles, or methods, or rules. The basis of our faith is not static, but dynamic. I cannot overstate how radical and outlandish is such a faith. 

A static faith allows for cycles that condemn and redeem, and a static faith always tells the same story. Like any idol or monument, static faith leans on its subscribers, always requiring their efforts to correct the disrepair of time and age. When I view redemption within a cycle, I eventually despair at the constant work to keep my faith from crumbling. And, therein, we find the key. The idea that I work to keep my faith upright is truly static. Our faith is self-contained, and any conception we have of God is self-contrived. He takes on our appearance, and, doing so, becomes no less limited than if we claimed ourselves as the messiah who loses his keys. Can you see how perfect this circle has become, and yet how pathetically small it always was? 

Orthodox Christianity, by contrast, is completely wrapped up in the person, power, and credibility of a risen Jesus Christ. Our faith is not defined in cycles. Rather, God made us because he wanted to; gave us life and gave us some degree of freedom, and he shared life and goodness with us. We bailed on that idea in order to create little circular worlds, run the way we think is best. Since then, God has done a lot of work to give us a second look at that idea. For those of us that returned to him, we still bear the damage of our original failing. We have an inclination to view the world in these little compartments that make sense but sap us of any lasting joy. But, despite all of that, God is pulling us out of those compartments and replacing all of the damage we did to ourselves in the process. His efforts are not comfortable, but therein lies my point. Redemption is not painful because it is futile. Rather, redemption is painful because it is working. God is still working, in his dynamic and beautiful way. We are not pressured to develop systems, or really do much at all. If anything, he asks that we stop trying to do his work for him. We tried that already. It didn't work.

I wish I didn't sin, but I do. God knows I do and he knows I'll do it a lot more in my life. All the while, he keeps kneading and shaping me from this awful and cold circle back into something that resembles what he had in mind when he made me. This is redemption, and it's alive.