the Great Hall of Faith

Hebrews 11 has always perplexed me. My good friend Matt preached on this passage this past week, and while he did a fine job of using the passage as a basis for exhortation, I couldn’t quite grasp the passage much beyond the call to perseverance and faith and discipline, the same message I’ve always heard whenever this passage was preached. I found myself asking a couple of questions about things I had never noticed before.

First of all, there are very specific people that are chosen for this Great Hall of Faith. Most notably, Job is entirely excluded from the list. He’s not even included on the off-handed addendum “I do not have time to tell you about Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David and Samuel and the prophets.” (By the way, nice work, Hebrews author guy. Ya knocked out all of the prophets in one fell swoop. Clever, you.) Job’s been a bit on my mind lately, so this time I was quick to notice the exclusion of Job from this list, this patient individual who underwent extreme suffering. If you’re going to laud and immortalize a "saint" via literary narrative tradition, who better than Job to serve as the example of perseverance and faith amid trial?

I felt as though either the author had entirely forgotten about Job, or simply had no idea how to fit this guy in the middle of this Great Hall of Faith and so conveniently skipped over him. And no wonder. Job’s not an easy character to deal with. His story makes us uncomfortable because there’s something about the economics of his life that doesn’t sit well with our modern sense of justice or a fluffy view of God.

Second, there were not only specific people that were chosen to be highlighted in this passage, but specific actions. Some of them were quite obviously appropriate, like with Abraham’s sacrifice of Isaac. That seemed to be the defining moment of not only Abraham’s life of faith, but of the Israelite nation to come.

But what about Joseph? The author highlighted his prophecy of the exodus of Egypt and that his bones be carried out of the land, not the years he spent languishing in jail or the prophetic dream interpretations or even his own perseverance despite egregious abuse by his older brothers and injustice by Potiphar. These are the events we often look to when celebrating Joseph’s faith, not some prophetic words spoken at the end of his life. My next question was, not only why did the author pick these specific people, but why did mention the specific actions?

So I decided to go back through Hebrews 11 and circle every action committed by the individual, in response to “by faith.” Of course, we know that faith is foremost where mind meets heart, where an intellectual knowledge intersects with heart-oriented action. In its stripped down form, faith by definition implies action, James' ole "Faith without works is dead" mantra. As I began to circle these words, I began to notice a pattern emerging. Nearly every action could be traced to something Christ Himself did:

• From Abel “offered a better sacrifice”—Jesus offers the better sacrifice, once and for all
• Enoch being “taken up so he would not see death,”—Jesus’ ascension to heaven, not tasting death; victory of life over death
• Noah “prepared an ark,”—Christ preparing a vessel of salvation from divine judgment
• Abraham “offered up Isaac,”—a Father allowing His precious Son to be sacrificed
• Sarah “received ability to conceive,”—God working through a woman to miraculously produce a child—sounds like Mary’s story
• Isaac blessed Jacob and Esau “regarding things to come,” Jacob “blessed each of the sons of Jacob,”
• Joseph “made mention of the exodus” and “giving orders concerning his bones”—this echoes a prophecy concerning Joseph and Mary’s flight to and from Egypt
• Moses “refusing to be called son of Pharaoh’s daughter, choosing rather to endure ill-treatment with the people of God,” and “keeping the Passover” and “passing through the Red Sea.”—Jesus giving up rights as God to choose suffering on behalf of the people, becoming the Passover lamb and delivering people from slavery

Every story and action that the author highlights points to the larger narrative of Christ, of the Father orchestrating events and working through the faith of people to accomplish redemption. This list isn’t a random assortment of great faith heroes where you merely say “Look at the amazing faith of these people. Now you go and do this same thing.” It’s so much more than that: It’s deliberately structured—like the building of some great pyramid—to draw our eyes and attention to one point or peak or zenith.

It kind of remind me of those recaps like “previously on LOST” where you string together the pertinent highlights of the past narrative to bring you to the current story. If the present episode is a "Jack and Kate"-centric episode, then the "previously on LOST" recap splices together past scenes of past episodes featuring Jack and Kate. There’s a sense of culmination, of all the pieces coming together for one express narrative purpose. This is what the author of Hebrews seems to be doing in this passage. He's bringing together all the threads of the gospel story together to feature the person of Jesus.

And one glaring reality: These people—limited by space and time—had no idea that their lives were part of the greater Christ narrative. They were faithful with what they had in relation to Yahweh, but there was no way they could predict—or anyone could predict for that matter—how closely intertwined their stories and lives would be with the story of humanity’s redemption. But this immense “cloud of witnesses” surrounds us today as we take our own part in the story.

This is where the story brings me back to Job. We’ve been discussing in our small group the idea of this “great cosmic drama.” Poor Job had no idea he was the center of this cosmic drama playing out in heaven between God and Satan. He only saw loss and grief and sickness and what he thought was God’s apparent hand of judgment on His life. One rare time we get a glimpse behind the supernatural curtain and we see there’s Satan walking around earth, creating havoc and destruction, and God sitting on His throne. God allows this bet, this wager by Satan to progress, because He knows the power of faith and love, of freely choosing, rather than allowing mere circumstance to determine Job’s response. And Job’s faith—even amid his questioning and pain—had widespread ramifications that echoed through the hallways of heaven and hell, but not even so loud as the booming God of voice resounding across creation as He shows how far outside of time and space He truly is.

I really can’t conclude if Job was excluded for any particular reason. Knowing me, I likely am just reading far too much into it. He is one among many in a great cloud of witnesses. If anything, his exclusion forced me to think on those who were included--and why.

As much as we humans claim we wish we could see the actual hand of God—fire from heaven, miracles, some obvious manifestation of His power—sometimes I wonder if we are choosing the lesser thing—a sign—over the greater thing—faith. And I do not intend this as the cop-out answer "Just have faith." It's not an irrational leap as some would say, but reacting and responding authentically to the person of Christ—the One who loves and suffered on our behalf—with a life of discipleship, of denying self and taking up the cross daily in pursuit of Him. This is what the author means when he says “let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

asking "why"?

At small group, we’ve been going through (alongside the Book of Job) a book entitled “Disappointment With God” by Philip Yancey, author of “What’s So Amazing About Grace?” and “The Jesus I Never Knew.” The book deals with three main questions: “Is God unfair?” “Is God hidden?” and “Is God silent?”

While we were discussing the chapters last night, I found myself verbally processing out loud and said something that confused everyone, including myself:/ So eventually one of our leaders suggested I email everyone to explain it. While thinking this through, I wrote out this email, which I’ve decided to post here (most of it anyway) for your viewing pleasure—or viewing frustration.:

Basically, what I was trying to say is that at its core, the human tendency to question the actions of God and ask "why?" ultimately boils down to a questioning of His motives and of His nature. Is God motivated by love or are His actions (or inactions) proof of His un-love? Or put it another way: Is God truly all-powerful AND all-loving?

We may ask "why?" to tempt God into explaining in such a manner "Well, if such-and-such didn't happen in your life than this-or-that wouldn't have happened, allowing you to become this or do that."

Just think back on your own life. If you hadn't attended college here or moved to this state, then you would never have met so-and-so or had the opportunity to do whatever and--"oh thanks God, now I get it!" We all long for that epiphany, that moment of clarity and revelation. That was the million possible varieties of answers that I was referring to. The concrete, historical, logical reasons which allow us to connect the dots to explain our circumstances... The answer to "why" is the answer that we think we need to understand everything.

In the instance of Job, let's say God really did explain Himself to Job--thereby explaining Himself to us. He said, "Well, you see, Job you were the center of this debate between Satan and Myself, and I decided to go all in, banking on your ever-faithful response." Even with this answer--the Job could still question God beyond this and say "Well, why?" There can only be one of two answers to this final "why": love or un-love. There really can't be any middle ground here.

And the answer--as the cross testifies--is still unmistakably love. Love because God endorses free will, love because He grants us this "dignity of causation," love because redemption is the heart of God's design for humanity.

This is why I love how Philip Yancey proposes that the question "why?" becomes transformed into "what end?" The question we ask really should not be "why?" because at this point, the millions of questions funnel down to an infinitely simpler question "what end?" The end, as Yancey says, is redemption and Re-creation.

Playing the devil's advocate here (pun intended), let's just posit the opposite motive of God in answering His question. Imagine Him responding this time: "Well, you see, Job you were the center of this debate between Satan and Myself, and I decided to go all in, banking on your ever-faithful response." Again, Job responds, "Why?" God answers simply: "Un-love." We can then imagine this unloving God to say all sorts of things to explain His answer: "Because I'm an all-powerful sadistic God that has no concern for your welfare or soul" or "I have bigger things to worry about" or "Because I could and I felt like it."

Imagine if God admitted to that. To un-love. The debate on the problem of pain ends there. We can now effectively blame all suffering on the inaction of an all-powerful but indifferent God. And of course, like a tyrannical dictator, that kind of God is not worth following.

This is why I believe what Philip calls the theological kryptonite, the question of the problem of pain. To reiterate, the problem of pain is the question of the existence of a God that is both all-powerful and all-loving. The common argument is that "If God has the power to stop bad things from happening, but He chooses not to, then He might be all-powerful, but He's not all-loving. On the other hand, if God does attempt to stop bad things from happening out of love, then He might be all-loving, but He's not all-powerful. If the choice is one or the other, He's a God not worth following. And either way, the all-loving, all-powerful God of the Bible cannot exist."

That is a formidable argument. Is God truly all-powerful and all-loving? Our whole concept of God--His nature, His attributes--proceeds from the answer to that question. I am not going to even attempt an address on that debate because there's no way I could ever completely answer that question, but let me say that ultimately, this is place where all roads of questioning "why" lead. Not to say that once we reach this hub, that it doesn't spin us off into a thousand other directions, but all questions to God of "why" feed through here--an "all roads lead to Rome" type thing.

And yes, Jeanne was right I think.... I'm not proposing that if we truly grasp--as far as limited human beings can--that God is loving, the questions all dissolve. Not at all. After all, as one of you pointed out, Job never did get his answer, as far as we know. As growing, maturing Christians, that's where all of us become entrenched from time to time, as life hits us with seasons of hardship and disappointment. It's natural to ask "why" and to plead for God to provide that epiphany, that moment of understanding so everything would make sense, at least for the time being. And of course it's unbelievably frustrating when He doesn't.

I'm just proposing that every time we ask God "why?", that line of questioning ultimately brings us back to one place and one place alone: asking God if He loves or not, as it relates to any given circumstance.

But as Yancey said in the last chapter, in Christ, the "why" transforms into "what end." And while that might not be enough to satisfy our curiosity, the person of Christ--particularly what He accomplished through suffering--effectively gives us reason, vision and hope enough to eventually move forward through cynicism and doubt and onto an redemptive outlook on life...much like Peggie's ability of "endurance", beyond the ability "to bear things, but to turn them into glory."

killing God?

Okay, so now that the film The Golden Compass is coming out, many film critics, conservative Christians and Pullman book fans are in a tizzy because of what the film—in their opinion—has failed or succeeded in doing.

Thankfully, The Golden Compass film has eliminated any anti-church, anti-God sentiments and instead portrays the conflict as being merely anti-power-hungry-religion organizations. I can deal with that. I am actually hoping the films do a great job of telling the story of Lyra and Will without all of that atheistic crap that was in the book.

That said, this film is probably doomed to fail, mostly because although it will be fairly innocuous on the big screen (pleasing conservative Christians, while angering devout atheists and Pullman fans), the film will undoubtedly spark interest in the book (angering conservative Christians and pleasing devout atheists and Pullman fans).

And all of this would undoubtedly perturb Michael Scott, and his preference for win/win/win scenarios, sans compromise;)

Ultimately, I predict the film version will probably only satisfy two camps of people: 1) people like me, who appreciated the compelling storyline, prose and characters in the books, but found the atheistic element forced and contrived and will be glad to see it go … and 2) people who know nothing about the book and just came into watch the film because the trailer looked interesting.

The element I find most fascinating in the critique of the books is that this idea of “killing God.” I think many people are hearing the idea of a young girl “killing God” and associating it with the film, and immediately label it as unsuitable, heretical, dangerous, etc.

I am more interested in Pullman’s assumption that one could actually kill God. What does that exactly mean?

To take offense at Lyra supposedly “killing God,” one would first have to examine the book and see how God is portrayed in the novels. Is it the Judeo-Christian God, YHWH, Creator, all-powerful, all-loving God that we see in Scripture and in history? Or is it a false God that is merely after power, with no love or regard for humanity?

Having read the entire trilogy, I can say with a definite assurance that the Judeo-Christian, all-loving, all-powerful God is NOT the God portrayed in Pullman’s book. The God in Pullman’s book is manipulative, fickle, destructive, insidious, powerful but not all-powerful. He may be a god, but he is not God.

My God cannot be killed. And if He were anything less than what He is, He would not be God. If He were mortal, He would not be God.

So tar and feather me if you may, but I have no problem with Lyra killing this “God” who in fact is not God at all, but merely a god. The god Lyra destroys is finite, non-eternal and non-loving. The “God” in Pullman’s books has a beginning and an end. There’s this passage where this “God” (or Authority as he is named in the novel), is admittedly described as not being the creator, only that he assumed credit for doing so and deceived others that followed into believing he was the original creator.

I honestly think Pullman unseats himself in his atheistic worldview, because while his storytelling is magnificent, his point is laughable. He has not achieved anything remotely Nietzsche-esque in his quest to kill God, he has only killed a character, and not a likeable one at that.

The God I know and worship and serve and believe in looks nothing like this “God” portrayed in Pullman’s books. So if he wants to kill this entity in his alternate universe that bears no semblance to reality or truth, then how can I fault him for killing a mere character? It’s his literary universe, he is entitled to develop characters and storylines as he wishes.

That said, there is a dangerous element to his novels, mainly because the books have been widely read and accepted by children. As a liberal arts major with a penchant for literary critique and analysis, I have the luxury of sitting back and blithely enjoying the trilogy (even if the books’ moral and metaphysical conclusion is a bit self-indulgent and contrived) because I can filter. However, if kids are going to be reading these books, I can see kids mistaking “God” for God, and swallowing Pullman’s worldview whole. And this is where parental caution and concern needs to intervene.

And as far as the “anti-church” sentiment plays through the novels, I believe that the true Church—the remnant—has never been about gaining power and ruining people’s lives through ambition and greed. Historically, that undoubtedly has occurred (Spanish Inquistion, the pre-Reformation Catholic Church with indulgences and simony, the Crusades, etc.) but such an abuse of power is a corruption of the true nature of the Church. Or what my friend David calls the drawing the line between the true Church and the “apparent church.”

This is where I believe Pullman’s anti-Christianity diatribe is contrived and a little—for lack of a better word—silly. He attempts to point at Christianity and say “look, look at them and all of the terrible things Christians have done to gain power over people’s lives, to oppress, and to withhold truth”, all in an attempt to make God and the church seem like the enemy. The ironic thing is that the God of the Bible stands opposed to oppression, and defends the poor and the needy, and even suffered to the point of death on behalf of humanity to ensure that we enjoyed an eternal life with Himself. To me, the passion and the cross speaks volumes about how far God is willing to go to prove His love to humanity.

The funny thing about the book is that despite heavy references to Adam and Eve and the Garden and Eden, Pullman virtually eradicates any mention of Christ. And you know why? If you’re going to espouse any atheistic argument, you almost have to leave Christ out of it. Because in Christ, so much of the atheistic argument is laid to waste… One of the biggest and most famous arguments against the existence of God is the problem of evil. This argument against Christianity typically goes as follows: that the all-powerful, all-loving God of the Bible can’t exist because either A) he may be all-powerful but he’s not all-loving, because what loving God would allow evil in the world? or B) He may be all-loving but he’s not all-powerful because he is unable to stop suffering and evil, as much as he might want to. This is a valid, formidable argument that must be wrestled with.

But to me, Jesus’s sacrifice on the cross—while it may not conclusively prove the existence of God—it proves at least the converse side of the argument. In other words, the cross proves that merely citing evil and suffering in this world is not a sufficient argument for proving that God does not exist. And more than that, Christ himself entered into our suffering. You can rail against God all you want, but in Christ, He offers us the ultimate picture of sacrificial love as an offensive strike against suffering and evil, and He’s proven His suffiency in doing so.

No other religion claims that God has suffered on behalf of humanity. None. That is one of the most compelling distinctions about the Christian faith from all other religions…You have to deal with the truth of the cross and the mystery of Christ. Period.

If anything, I think Pullman’s books constitute an important dialogue between conservative Christian and atheistic circles. Both groups have at least some misunderstandings about the other camp, and I think it’s important to address these issues. I would be annoyed to see Christians hear the words “a little girl kills God” and run away or blindingly decry the book, without ever having even tried to understand what’s really going on at a deeper level with our Western culture and intellectual ideas being spun around. I am also annoyed that many atheistic Pullman fans would automatically assume that the book is saying what they think it’s saying and that Christians ought to be automatically against the series, period.

I think this trilogy ultimately represents in our culture today two worldviews at work and what can truly happen when they’re rubbed up against one another.