On Heaven as it is on Earth

“On Heaven as it is on earth.”

I do recognize that this is a direct misquotation of the Lord’s Prayer. Forgive me for that.   I hope this is in no way sacrilegious or dishonoring to the magnificence and glory that we will surely one day encounter in heaven.  But I think it is a pretty powerful thought.  Let me explain.

The other night—a sleepless one, where there was nothing in particular restraining me from sleep, yet a continuous sequence of nothings rendering the fading hope of a little kip as elusive as a vanishing cloud under the burning summer sun—I found myself visiting a blog that I had read through just over a year ago.  Many, to be sure, may have also been exposed to the incredible journey of Katie Davis—a 21-year old adoptive mother of 13 little Ugandan daughters, founder of Amazmia Ministries, currently (and most permanently) living in Uganda.  Along with thousands of others, I have at times been quite drawn to her bold story of love, sacrifice, obedience, and blessing.  At 19 years of age, she left home, her boyfriend, everything she knew, and took on the role of Mommy to 3 precious little girls.  I don’t mean to glamorize her life, or exonerate her sacrifice above any other.  I certainly don’t think everyone needs to move to Africa (not to mention, alone) and adopt 13 children, but I do think her example is living proof that we can give EVERYTHING to God.  Absolutely everything.  Nothing could ever be too much.  Katie’s life is so completely full.  Every day is a mission field.  Every day seems to hold incredible adventures, blessings, and trials.  Yet, in some ways, her life is even normal.  She loves her daughters as they love her, they read stories together—laugh, play, get sick, get better, and eat dinner together.  I imagine Katie even has days, just like I do—where we wake up (or lie awake) and think—“What in the world am I doing here?”  I am sure there are, or have been, days where Katie wanted to quit.  I am sure there have been times where her heart felt like it was ripped out of her chest, where the hurt was so deep or loneliness was so great that even breathing became a chore.  And then, there may have been times where her heart maybe even felt numb, or almost desensitized to the world moving around her.  I am sure there are days Katie almost talked herself into packing up and moving home—that her sacrifices there weren’t really needed, or that perhaps the easier road was really where God wanted her.  (I realize I am speaking for her quite a bit here, but even the Savior of the world asked God to “take this cup from [him].”)  But then, looking at the pictures of Katie, surrounded by her loving, precious, happy family—I thought of how incredible it will be one day, when all of those souls are gathered around her in heaven and are no longer her adopted children, saved by grace after enduring trials we have never even imagined, but they will be whole creations, at one with her in the Creator.  I thought of her whole family in a mansion grander than any on this earth.  I thought of the love and fullness that Katie and her family would experience in heaven because of their obedience, sacrifices, and love here on this earth.  And I prayed for a second, “Lord, on earth as it is on heaven…”  And that is when it clicked.  

Bounce back.

Almost 3 years ago, I went on my first study-tour to the Near East with George DeJong.  We actually began our journey in Egypt, and worked our way over to the Sinai Peninsula, through Jordan, and up to Israel.  We followed the journey of the Hebrews as they were taken out of captivity in Egypt and in to the Promised Land.  A year later, I joined Ray Vander Laan on a trip through Israel and Turkey.  There, on the rugged Turkish hills—land forgotten and unnoticed by most “visitors” to the country, land that our feet came to know so well, and land that taught me so much about the story of our God and His people—I remember a small little faith lesson that I believe was a bit unplanned (as so many of Mr. Ray’s are).  I think we had passed a bit of trash on the road, or—given the scorching desert heat—perhaps his stance on global warming came in to question.   But I remember he was commenting on our role as Christians to be good stewards of the land, the earth.  He said that we had been given dominion here to rule over the resources God placed here in a way that would honor and glorify the Creator.  Now—this particular concept was not necessarily new news, as I had been working for a youth mountain hiking ministry in Colorado for the previous 7 summers.  There I developed an appreciation for the land and learned about our relationship with the natural world—the Creator, and His creation.  Mr. Ray also told us how diligently the Hebrews would work and tend to their land.  They saw their land as God’s charge to them and their purpose would be fulfilled in the honor with which they tended the land.  They would pass on their fields generation to generation, always hoping to leave the land better, more fertile for the future generations.  

But what Mr. Ray said next was new.  It did bring entirely new light to my idea of Godly Purpose on this earth.  He said that part of the reason the Hebrews were so diligent in their tending of the land was because of their dutiful commitment to their God-given dominion over the earth, but another aspect was a result of their their understanding of the Covenant.  Part of God’s promise to Abraham was certainly referring to a Promised Land land flowing with milk and honey, where they would not be enslaved.  But the other Hebraic understanding included the comprehension of a place to serve God, and then extend His kingdom.  Each square foot of land that the ancient Jews would work, was a square foot of land that had been reconciled to God.  The Jews thought of their service as literally bringing down the Kingdom of heaven, in accordance with the ancient prayer, “on earth as it is in Heaven.”  

And I have never been one to “get into” end times studies or even postulate too extensively or concretely on the reality of heaven, but this next discussion made a lot of sense to me.  Mr. Ray said that perhaps (just perhaps—always only a suggestion), there wasn’t a new place that we would ascend to in order to enjoy eternity, but maybe this earth was really it.  Maybe this earth was also part of the “all things reconciled to Him…” from II Corinthians 5, or from Acts 13, “Repent and return, so that your sins may be wiped away, in order that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord; and that he may send Jesus, the Christ appointed for you, whom heaven must receive until the period of the restoration of all things about which God spoke by the mouth of His holy prophets from ancient time.”  

God’s ordained Words, the very Words of God—a period of restoration, not recreation.  

We will dwell on the new earth—yet, perhaps not an entirely new world or some floating pearly city in the sky. 

And this realization gave me a renewed sense of purpose.  The work I do here is actually aiding in the restoration and reconciliation of “all things.”  Under this interpretation, I can participate in the ushering in of the new earth.   I can be a part of that force that Rv. 21 refers to as the new Jerusalem descends like a bride on this earth.   

“And I John saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down from God out of heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.”  (Rv. 21.2)

What we do really matters.   This understanding makes the purpose of God’s creation, salvation, and reconciliation so much more relevant and immediate.  I can be a part of this “on earth as it is on heaven.”

***Disclaimer:  I am not saying the above is necessarily “correct” Biblical interpretation, but I am merely suggesting (per Mr. Ray) that this is perhaps a layer of how we can understand Heaven, earth, and our place there within.

Which is where I jump back to Miss Katie’s story.  She is doing it.  For her, it is happening.  She is ushering in the grace of God and the reconciliation intended for us all.  She is serving with the diligence, determination, and immediacy that the descent of the new Jerusalem and the establishment of the new earth will require of us. In going back to her blog to confirm a few details for this post, I noticed for the first time that the tab of her blogspot reads "on earth as it is in heaven."  My heart is pricked with the ironic confirmation of her work.  In her daily, constant, loving, tried, and true efforts, Katie is partnering in God's story to bring a piece/peace of heaven to this earth.  And even now, the truth is evident--in so many ways, her world already resembles what I envision to be the nature of heaven.  How cool is that. For Katie, perhaps it may be “in Heaven as it is on earth.”

And maybe, someday, for me as well.

Thanks for reading.  Stay Dusty.

*b.Nicole

**Disclaimer:  If I have misrepresented the views of either Katie Davis or Mr. Ray Vander Laan, please feel free to let me know (if you are either of these two--highly unlikely!!, if you were there, or if you can provide me with the correct details from a reliable source).  Gracias.

Freedom is as Freedom does.

What is Freedom?

It was my third hour in the less-than glamorous La Guardia Airport just outside New York City. After exhausting all installed distractions and attractions in the single corridor of the LGA terminal, I found my departure gate and dipped in to my “Mary Poppins Bag” to find some distractions of my own. After MadLibs got old by my lonesome, I had wasted enough doodles on my 3-D notepad, and the malfunctioning fire alarm system siren had kept me from reading, I gave up my activity-driven occupiers, and settled in with some thumb-twiddling and people-watching. But with over an hour left before Elite and Assisted boarding began—which I was not--I used a lifeline and “phoned a friend.”

The conversation turned rapidly from a brief recap of my trip to a consideration and appreciation for my ability to travel with such freedom. And there it was. The word. Freedom.

I should be grateful for the freedom to travel?

For some reason, the verbiage struck me as odd.

Of course, by law I am granted liberty to travel—but pending my adherence to certain documents, fees and rules. There is an awful lot I have to comply with if I am going to have the "freedom" to take a trip to New York that I am not quite sure I feel comfotable toggling to my association of freedom. For example, I need a government ID to board a plane; I need a way to make money to pay for my airfare; I need to understand the rules of aviation travel and go through certain security measures in order to be allowed access through the airport. I also must hope that the pilot shows up, that the flight isn’t overbooked, and that there isn’t too much traffic on my way to the airport. So there are quite a few contingencies to this “freedom” that I arguably possess in order to travel--and some of them are completely beyond my control.

And then I begin to wonder—is this really freedom at all?

Sure—my questions may set us on a bit of a rabbit-hole race through Semantics Grove. And perhaps a pointless pursuit, but I do believe there is something profound beneath the conventions of our cultural freedoms which allude to our assumptions of the idea. And even more so, such usage and associations shed light on our conceptions of Freedom (capital “F” on this one, for those less-than-OCD readers--ME!).

Words such as these: Love, Goodness, Truth—the words that are really ideas—are quite precarious in our modern culture. The versatility in the application of even the word "Love" ranges from the candied lips of a pre-adolescent mall rat expressing her enthusiasm for the Hello Kitty bracelet at Claire’s, to the tender, profound look between the seasoned wrinkled eyes of the golden-anniversary lovers.

And me?  Well--I love my phone. I love your shirt. I love that song. I love my friends. I love my mom. I love the Lord.

Notice a problem?

We do not have a linguistic distinction between how we feel about our cell phone and how we care for our parents. Admittedly, I think we all recognize the variant nature of the word love, and no one really asserts that one’s love for a technological device and the love for a mother are really even that similar. We are cognitively aware of the difference, but my question of distinction would point more to the reciprocal relationship—do we ever “love” our mothers like we “love” our cell phones? When our cell phone saves us, we love it! When our cell phone works normally, we often forget about it. And when our cell phone breaks, or isn’t working properly, or is the vessel of an unappreciated conversation or interaction, we despise it and sometimes mistreat it.

So is this really “love”? And I do not intend to infer that if we had a different word for cell phone and mother-love that we would always treat our mothers with the Love that we should bestow upon them, but perhaps our idea of love would be a little less murky and a lot more meaningful.

And I regress to the idea of freedom. Perhaps we have done similar damage in our cultural exploitation of the idea. Our country was established on the premise and promise of freedom. But is freedom really freedom if there are things we have to do—or even more devastatingly, things that must be done—in order to remain a beneficiary?

I would venture to say that freedom and compliance are mutually exclusive. I could get myself in to some trouble here, so allow me to preface my thoughts—I believe with all of my heart that Freedom is absolute dominion, but within our will, we can choose freely to comply. Thus, freedom can often turn to bondage, masquerading as religion or righteousness, if we do not first understand the nature of freedom. And I may not at all understand Freedom today as it will one-day be revealed to me, but I see no circumstance that could entail any form of requirement. Otherwise, such prerequisites would contradict the very essence of Freedom—complete dominion. But I will explicate this idea at a later point.

My primary concern is that the colloquial usage of the word freedom carries certain requisites or contingencies that should not be attached to the true idea of Freedom. Notably, the conceptual application of Freedom to freedom does not construct such compromise as the unintended consequences incurred by the application of freedom to Freedom.

True Freedom does not have strings.

And God repeatedly emphasizes this in His Word. But we still somehow miss it. And I think part of this is because there is nothing, apart from Freedom in Christ, that is really Freedom at all. Our ideas of freedom are limited and distorted by the experiences we associate with the idea of Freedom. Our perception is instructed by how we classify our experience. We have municipal freedoms, social freedoms, financial freedoms (which many of us understand more in relationship to its opposite) and religious freedoms. We even hold strong mental images of freedom with white doves, broken shackles, unbolted cages, and whimsical winds.

But none of these are the Freedom God offers.

There is nothing we could ever do, nothing we could ever find, and nothing that we could ever truly compare to what Absolute Freedom must look like.

So how can we begin to understand freedom?

Well, I read a book once about a woman’s experience in Rwanda, Africa during the civil war between two tribes—the Hutu and Tutsis. The woman was a Tutsi, and was hiding in a bathroom with seven other women for 91 days. The women—over the three-month period—had to sit on top of each other just to fit in the tiny space, rotating positions throughout the day and experiencing all of the issues of normal women throughout the months. Her situation seems to me, something like Hell. But in her book, Immaculee tells one story that floored me. After she was freed from hiding, she came in to contact with the person that killed her family and then left her to hide in a bathroom for three months—she looked him in the eyes and said, “I forgive you.” And I believe her. But more than my vote of confidence towards the woman’s display of grace, and incredible sense of lightness overcame me when I considered the beauty in her words and her heart.

I remember thinking to myself—“This is Freedom.”
Yet such a picture of freedom would seem so contradictory to traditional interpretations. The woman was locked in a bathroom. She was being persecuted. She barely had room to sneeze, much less the ability to take a trip to visit her sister or buy a car. Even her sister had been taken from her. Nothing really was within her control. Not even her own life. She would either die in that bathroom, or be there until she was set free. And there is it—the word free again. Something she seemingly did not have. But when I reflect on this story, my heart fixates on her Freedom, and I would imagine her heart would sing a profound sense of Freedom, as well.

Therefore, Freedom cannot be contingent upon anything. Our Freedom is a gift, to elect or reject.

When we understand Freedom in this context, the implications can be profound.

To begin at the beginning, God’s story records, “So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” And then, he assigns His Good Creation to rule “everything that has the breath of life in it” (Gen 1). If we have been given dominion over all that breathes, we are also given dominion over ourselves. We are, in a sense, our own principalities. So this should be enough for freedom, right?

But then we somehow compromise our freedom when we take advantage of freedom in a way that God did not intend for His Creation. We again found ourselves in bondage. In order to re-discover Freedom, we needed salvation.

And this is where the story of the Cross becomes incredible.

People always question the difference between the story of God and our Messiah Christ and all of the other religions. I can be the first to admit that there are a lot (a LOT) of similarities. This prospect used to threaten me, but I know say, “Of course.” My heart finds such consolation when I recognize that we are all searching for the same thing. God even promises us that there is enough of Him in everything for every man to witness to the Creator. In our attempts to satisfy our insatiable inner magnetism towards God, we find ourselves at variant points along the continuum of understanding. I do not think any one of us have “arrived,” so I rest with the peace that God is moving each of us along within the unique circumstances of his evolutionary Creation. But I digress. The difference in our story is that our Freedom, our Salvation, is contingent upon nothing other than the sacrifice of Christ that has already been made—that God foresaw at the establishment of the Universe. The only true Freedom is in Christ.
“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free” (Gal. 5.1).
And when we really understand—I mean really, really try to grasp—that we could do absolutely nothing to earn this gift of Freedom, I think we finally merge the great divide to something like accessing it.

We give up all self-righteousness when we find true freedom. We give up on pride when we find true freedom. We eliminate all sense of insecurity, self-hate and envy when we discover true freedom. And when we are no longer bound by the patterns of this world, we become a whole lot more like Christ. We adopt His mind and His will when we live within the freedom that has always been available to us.

Freedom is as Freedom does.

Thanks for stopping by.
Stay Dusty.
*b.Nicole

RESPONSE: Has anyone ever stopped and asked...

Comment from Original Post:


       Anonymous said...

YES!!! I've asked that question to the point where it's caused me great anxiety! Why would Jesus have to die and how does that save me? I mean, this is the very core of our faith, isn't it? This is the first time I've had it explained to me this way and it was quite encouraging and thought-provoking. So, thank you!

I still have a lingering question or two. For example, who wrote the rule/law that there must be a sacrifice made or that the consequence of sin is death? Why did Abraham and his people have to be perfect to be blessed?

Thanks again!

Hello, there "Anonymous." :) Thank you for your words.. and your questions. I am going to attempt this, but please understand that I am in no way claiming to "have it figured out..." I ask a lot of questions, too--and when I start digging around and exploring the context of the Text, I sometimes end up with a few "ideas," but I normally find myself in a mountain of entirely new questions. So I completely relate.  

As for your questions... I don't know that there is a "law," per se, that requires a death sacrifice (that is, before the covenant with Abraham), but the blood covenant I refer to in this post is a cultural tradition that still exists in Bedouin culture today. The blood covenant is most often associated with the marital customs, but there are also times when a business deal or land dispute would necessitate a blood covenant. The greater party would be the groom's father and the lesser would be the bride's father (or grandfather). If the bride did not keep her promises--she wasn't a virgin, she didn't stay faithful, etc.--you would more than likely find her father or grandfather dead in a wadi, with bloody footprints dancing over the ground of his blood. Same scenario with the groom--if he did not provide for his bride, treat her well, provide the promised dowry--you would be sure to find the groom's father's body slung out in the desert, again with the mark of bare feet in his blood. This was simply the nature of the covenant.  

Now, in reading Genesis 15, God has promised Abram some very wonderful blessings. Abram is a righteous man of faith, and he tries to call God's bluff. Abram asks for some sign that he would know that God intended to keep his promise.  

Then, God commands Abram to go get a few very specific animals. (Later in the Hebrew Bible, these become the acceptable animals of an atonement sacrifice.)  

And next verse, Abram cuts the animals in half and lays them across from each other... This seems bizarre. There is no recording of God instructing Abram to do anything specific with the animals; God simply says, "Go get them." But God seems to be pleased, or at least not surprised, by Abram's actions, so it seems that God has approved of this ceremony or was expecting it. And to be fair-- perhaps God did instruct Abram to do this, and the Bible just has not recorded God's directions.  

But I believe there is another possibility.  

To me, when God asks Abram to gather the animals, and Abram knows exactly what to do with them, suggest that there must have already existed a custom in Abram's day that involved these specific animals. I grab my dog's leash and she runs to the door, wagging her tail in frenzied expectation. She knows what is coming, and I believe that at this point in Genesis 15, Abram knows exactly what is coming, as well.  

Thus, in the Covenant, the terms were not, "Abram--I give you all the heirs, a land to serve me, and and the blessing of the Messiah. So I will die for you to keep my promise." The covenant was, "Abram, I bless you with all these things, and in exchange, you and your offspring must be blameless." The CONSEQUENCE for not following through with a covenant--by default of EITHER party--would call for the blood of the transgressor. The covenant would then be null and void, and neither party would have any obligation to the other.  

And now, the incredible pictures in this story begin to unfold... God, the greater party, passes through the bloodpath first, sealing His promise to Abram. Next up would traditionally be Abram, being the lesser party. But if Abram steps one teeny-tiny toe into the blood, he essentially voids the transaction and will pay with his life.  

In this moment, I imagine Abram-- about to sentence himself to death--and God throws His strong, gentle arm in Abram's beating chest, and with the sage gravity of a martyr says, "No, my son. I've got this."  

And the terms all of a sudden change.  

God still says, "Abram--I give you all the heirs, a land to serve me, and and the blessing of the Messiah," as well as, "Abram, I bless you with all these things, and in exchange, you and your offspring must be blameless." But the difference is that God walked through the bloodpath path twice. Therefore, God ultimately says," If you, Abram, and your offspring are not perfect, YOU may do this to ME."  

And this is actually what I view as the necessity for God/Christ's death. He had to fall at our hands. And with His death, a new covenant is made. Hebrews 7 refers to this, "For if that first covenant had been faultless, there would have been no occasion to look for a second." Abram and his offspring failed, as we fail. We have sinned, and our sin sentenced Jesus to death on the cross. But this was God's gift to us. And in the completion of the Old Covenant, we can rejoice in the New Promise. '

So, this was long, but I was good for me to review all of this, as well. If you had these questions, I am sure others did, as well--even if they have not expressed or even fully formulated them. Thanks again...  

And as always, be encouraged.  
Stay dusty, 
*b.Nicole

Has anyone ever stopped to ask, "Did it really have to be like that?" Jesus and the Cross

We are thankful. We all rejoice. 

But has anyone ever stopped to ask, "Did it really have to be like that?"

Religious holidays are always a time of growth for me.  And not so much in the typical "spiritual high" sense.  They are a struggle.  I am always in a tug-of-war between remorse, rejoicing, and my own pride.  In light of Easter/Resurrection Day,  i find myself working through this conflict.  Part of me wants to fall in to humility and embrace the day with simplicity and gratitude.  People love to celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus.  It is incredible.  But another part of me knows that this emotional, and very real reaction is just not possible for me.  Probably a portion is my pride, but certainly a greater part is the loss I know I would experience in the raw, majesty of the whole story.  But I can't just talk about Jesus' blameless life, brutal death and miraculous resurrection without honestly addressing this one questions.

Really?  I mean--I am grateful.  If this is what needed to be done, I owe every breath and more to show my gratitude to Him.  But I must ask--Did he have to be perfect?  Did He have to die?  Did He have to die like that?  And what significance does the ascension really have?  

Basically,  God--Your story is  brutal.  When I look to the cross, I remember a blameless, righteous man hang there.  His life was so full of love and conviction, and You say love wins.  But why didn't Your perfect Love win then?  Couldn't He just have been perfect, and died loved by all?  How is this Your plan?

And this is where Easter brings me.  My soul mourns.  My thoughts break.  And my heart bleeds.  And I remain incredibly grateful--and grateful in a greater way than I could access when I thought I understood.   

But here is my point--do other people ask these questions?  Or is what I ask heresy?  (Although, David and Abram--and even Jesus--all asked God tough questions.)  But my greatest regret is, "How could we not ask this?"

Jesus hung on a cross--one of the most excrutiating and humiliating deaths--for us.  


His dying hours were horrific.  If he was at-all/any-ration human, his last breaths must have been miserable.


His death began early, as the soldiers mocked and whipped him the night before.  Then, he was made to carry the heavy timber that would serve as his tool of death through the winding streets, as he shamefully struggled under its weight.  When they were crucifying him, they did not break his bones, as they often would to accelerate death.  Jesus did not take wine to numb the pings that must have shot through His body as the nails were driven through his wrists.  


Was he even aware of what was happening, or did it all become a blur?  I don't honestly know if the body can really comprehend this level of pain.

And if he ever was aware, did he ever feel foolish as he hang on the cross--naked and bleeding.  Helpless.  And all who pledged their undying love, denied Him in the most profound sense.  Even His father turned his back on Jesus in His darkest hour.  Jesus dies with Psalm 22, the death Psalm, on His lips.  He was faithful.  But did He ever question why this was His plight, or even--if He had been mislead? 

I do not paint this dramatic picture to draw salty tears from heavy hearts, but almost the contrary.  Isn't this absurd!  Jesus did not deserve this.  Yet supposedly our sin convicted him.  But if God made the rules, couldn't he have slanted the game a little in His favor here?  

If love wins, why didn't it?

So there must be more.  And I believe there is.  Firstly--although we tend to believe that everything Jesus did was completely miraculous and unique, there had been a pattern in Judaism around the time of Jesus where a wise rabbi who led a Godly and righteous life would develop a following, heal the sick, spend time with the poor, and die a martyr to be raised after three days, then ascending to heaven promising to send another helper.  I don't say this to diminish anything that Jesus did.  He is the one True Messiah, but at least in the culture of Jesus' day. this pattern already existed--whether in truth or apparition.  I think we put so much emphasis on a few qualities of the Jesus story, focusing on how unique his healings and ascension were, but it seems that the gospels and following books highlight other aspects of the story.  

I know most of us probably stay in the gospels today, but perhaps taking a look at Genesis 15 could help us connect the stories.  In a rather obscure moment between God and Abram, I find the entire purpose for Jesus' death, and I get a sense of God's incredible love for his people.

God has just promised Abram offspring numbering the stars, and a land which he can live his life under God's authority and a seed which would bless the nations.  All if Abram could continue leading a life of righteousness.   Abram, displaying quite the dosage of Hebraic hutspuh, asks God how he will know that these things will be.  And then, God sends him to gather a heifer, a goat, a ram, a dove, and a young pigeon.  


And we miss this.  


Abram must have been shaking in his boots.  He asked God, more or less, to prove or promise that God would honor his word.  And God basically says, with words not recorded, "Okay, Abram. Then, let's make a covenant.  Go get the animals, and you will know that I am serious."  


But we do not understand the ancient tradition of covenant, so we read right past this is and miss the story that connects the entire Bible.  

In some parts of the near east Bedouin world, this form of covenant is still practiced.  It is called a blood covenant--between two parties, always a lesser and a greater.  The greater establishes the term, and the lesser can either agree, or pass on the covenant.  Then, the animals are gathered, cut i half, and placed across from each other creating a literal blood path where that blood runs in the middle.  The greater party walks first.  Barefoot though the blood, and without a word, he confirms that if he does not meet his end of the covenant, the other party may stomp through his blood like he walks through blood now.  Then it is the turn of the lesser party.  He does the same, without a word, committing the covenant and understanding that if he does not live up to his word, this will be his plight.  

Now we return to the Genesis story.  


This is the context of where Abram and God stand.  God says--being the greater party he gives the terms (not in Gen. 15, but from other contextual references), "I will give you, Abram, my righteouss servant, offspring numbering the stars, a land which to can live your life under my authority, and a seed which will bless the nations.  All you have to do is be perfect."   And this is the deal.  Perfect.  Abram must be perfect.


And as night falls, Abram falls into a deep slumber (thanks, Mom) and a smoking firepot passes through the blood path.  The Genesis account tells us of two images that travel the path.  Assumedly, God and Abram.  The first image--the smoke--is obviously God.  Many times before and after this story, God is symbolized as smoke (burning bush with Moses, coals in Galilee, etc.).  Plus, He is the greater party, so this correlation is largely undisputed.  


And in covenant tradition, next up is Abram.  


But curiously, the image that passes second is a torch.  There is no textual reference of a human ever being portrayed as a torch.  


Only God is ever fire or a flame.  


And I have to think--in this moment, as Abram--in his altered state of consciousness--is preparing to assume his role as the lesser party and step in the warm blood.  He considers the weight of his covenant with God--to be blameless so that he may receive receive God's promises.  Abram must have realized that he would fail.  And failure within this covenant is basically writing away any promise of offspring, and land to call his own, and most devastatingly,  the messiah.  


And in Abram's sure distress, God appears.  


With the symbolism of a torch, God walks the path for Abram as to say, "Abram, if you and your people are not blameless, you may do this to Me."  

And in this moment, God convicts Jesus to die on the cross.  


God even foreshadows His own sacrifice when he commands Abraham to offer up Isaac.  But God provides, just as he promised in His covenant.

In the later aftermath of this covenant, at Mount Sinai, as God gives an identity to the sons of Abraham, he calls them a royal priesthood and a holy nation.  God commands His people to confirm this covenant with Him that they will again live under the authority of the Lord, as he has brought them out from Egypt.  The children of Israel, are to make a sacrifice two times, every single day--once in the morning, and again at 3:00 pm before twilight "at the place where [His] name is" (the Tabernacle, then the Temple) to remind the people of this promise.  (Exodus 24-27)


Although the daily sacrifices had become quite elaborate by Jesus' day, the people understood the sacrifice to be an offering, begging God to keep his promise--to bring the messiah who would atone for their unrighteousness.  This is slightly different than our understanding of the ritual sacrifices.  We would tend to focus on sacrifice being atonement for our transgressions, which is certainly part of it.  But to miss the desperation in these sacrifices--the cry of the children of Israel to their God--to please bring about the blessing to the Nations.  


And for a thousand years, this practice was done twice a day, and the entire Jewish world would pause at 9:00 am and 3:00 pm, awaiting the sounding of the shofar which would signify the blood sacrifice.  And in the hour of their remembrance, they could take comfort in the covenant between their forefather and their God. 

Almost 2,000 years after the covenant between Abram and God.  It is Passover, and the Judaic world crowds in to Jerusalem to be a part of the feasts.  


On a Friday at 3:00 in the afternoon, just like thousands of Fridays before, the shofar resounds from within the city walls.  


But something is different.  Just outside the city gates, at the Place of the Skulls, a man hangs on a cross, and perhaps cries out his last words from Psalm 22 ("He has performed it," in our English translation.) 

"IT IS FINISHED!"

And it is.  God did it.  


God became the blameless sacrifice.  God offered salvation to the world through the life of Jesus and the death he had promised.   


Jesus' death was absolutely necessary.  Abram failed.  We failed.  This is our consequence.  


The most loving, incredible, wise, Good man in the history of the world had to die at our hands.  And his salvation is, in a sense rooted in his death, but the way to eternal, or everlasting life, if found also in His life.  His life of love.  

So let us be somberly, gravely thankful for the death atonement, but let us celebrate the story.  Let us celebrate the breath of life within the narrative.  Let us praise a God so huge, and so loving, as to not only give us a way of salvation, but to actually become it.  

So, today, I celebrate God.  I love Jesus.  I look to His life, and I rejoice in the one and only Messiah Christ.  

Blessings, friends.  Stay dusty.


And if you are in a scandalous mood, another perspective on the Blood Sacrifice of Jesus.

b.Nicole

***much adapted from the teachings of Ray Vanderlaan.  

      www.ttwmk.org

Faith Lessons on the Life and Ministry of the Messiah (Home VHS Vol. 3) Home Pack/Bible Study Guides

    

A prism, A God, and this world.

I used to serve a god.  Now I think I serve God.  

Bold statement for both my past and present associations, I know.  But in a whirlwind of hurt, chaos, selfishness and pride, I somehow found vulnerability, peace, love, and humility.  Needless to say, through this kenosis my perception of God has been completely transformed.  

I grew up in the church, and I am eternally blessed for the heritage of faith that I formulated within that community.  Yet, as most of us do in almost aspect of life, I took for granted the traditions and ideas that I received.  I do not mean to insinuate that there is any innate fallacy in my inherited faith, but I adopted the doctrine and interpretations of pastors, teachers, and professors without investing the necessary effort to evaluate for myself what God would have me hear in His Word.  I felt a strong connection to God, and I developed strong ideas within my faith about who God was, and who I am in Him.  I held to these ideas with a bona fide conviction that informed what I saw in the Text and how I interpreted my purpose in this world.  I sought Truth and I wanted righteoussness.  But--and, I would guess we have all felt this--there was some indiscriminate or inexctable fiber within the makeup of my beliefs that was just unresolved.  Not that there was doubt.  Not that there was blatant disregard, or even discontentment, but if we are talking about the God of the Universe and the Creator who reigns eternally, is there any validation for having any fiber, and moment, any formulation of thought that is not completely sold to this Being?   But all I knew was what I had been taught.  

And although I had questions, and sought answers whole-heartedly, my ideas guided my discoveries instead of the truth.  A scientist would even say that removing biases from an experiment is nearly impossible.  It is the ultimate goal of the Scientific Method to use empirical methods of observation, but we all know the results we are seeking when we care enough to structure an experiment, so creating an open environment where Truth emerges from the variables, is both necessary and arduous.  So, I would not completely condemn my previous understandings because I am aware that they have brought me to the point at which I presently stand.  Also, they were formulated from a genuine desire to know and understand God, which I thought was something I could achieve.  I think this whole journey (a.k.a: Life) is about pushing forward towards new ideas and better "us"es, so I allow for this shift in thought and regard, rather than regret, the tread stones that led me to today.  

Yet at a certain stone in my not-so-distant past, I experienced a world that had been somewhat hidden from my formative years.  As I looked to the world around me, I saw hate and evil to the same proportion I witnessed good.  I saw violence and favoritism from a god that claimed benevolence and a love for the whole world.  He says he is the Alpha and Omega, as the Beginning and End, but I began to doubt that he cared much for the other 20 Greek letters, or the entire middle section, for that matter.   And as the friction between my beliefs and my experience grew stronger, the discomfort in my spirit brought me to a moment of absolute humility.  

If God is the eternal Truth, and His Word is the primary source by which He reveals Himself to me, I should not be afraid to earnestly seek the Goodness within His Text.  If I opened myself to Truth, I trusted that truth would be revealed.  And So I decided to shed everything I ever thought I knew about God.  Not reject, but shed.  And I would allow Him, for the first time in my life, to tell me who He was, and to share with me the secrets in His Word.  This was scary because I was not sure whom I would discover, and what that would mean.  If God could harden Pharo's heart and drown Egyptian soldiers, and send His own creation into a burning furnace away from Him for eternity, I couldn't be certain I would want to server Him for the rest of my life.  And as if this apprehension were not sufficient means to abort, I was incredibly aware of my daunting role in receiving His revelation.  I was going to have to dedicate myself fully and thoroughly to this task.  I had no clue what I would find, or where to begin.

So I started with Genesis.  Seemed logical enough.  And when I began to read the opening scenes of creation, for what I would consider "the first time," I found myself so engrossed and in awe that I read the first four chapters no less than twenty times before I even wanted to move on.  Each time I reread our story, I found something so precious and new, that I wanted to read it again, in case I had missed something else.  This Supreme Being within the narrative of the created world was so much more than I had ever dared to dream.  The surreal realization of His greatness and majesty and mystery left me inspired by His awesomeness.  And then I saw my downfall.  I wanted to know God.  To understand Him and confine him within the limitations of my mind.  But I could never know or understand God.  Who did I think I was? Not even Jesus knows the mind of God.  So if I could not know, I had a decision to make.  Would I reject the ideas of Goodness, Perfection, and Immutability that I had grown up with?  Or was there another option?  Because this God of Genesis is incredible. If God is all He says He is, then He is everything.  Everything.  The good.  The Bad.  The beautiful.  The whole world--in both concept and matter.  For, in the beginning there was God (only God).  Therefore, He is the only substance of creation.  Every single aspect of this world we experience must be a realization of Him.  This may seem like blasphemy, but if His Word is True, and He is God, this is Him. So, how am I to reconcile that what I see in God and His creation does not appear to always be Good?  Well, who are we to question the Potter and how He molds the clay?  And who am I to assume I could ever exact any complete conception of Goodness.  If I cannot know God, and God is Good, how then could I even know the nature of Eternal Goodness?  Perhaps I cannot.  And when I accepted this God, I saw the world in a completely new light.  So I read one more time, our story of our God.  And this is what I see.  

In the Garden of Eden, God's creation ate from a tree that granted them the "knowledge of Good and Evil,"  making them "like gods."  

Point No.1: The "knowledge" of Good and Evil.  Adam and Eve did not create evil, or introduce evil into this world.  They received a perception that allowed for the distinction between Good and Evil.  Evil had always been there--creation simply could not separate it from the Good.  To Adam and Ever, there was no Good or Evil.  Only God.

Point No.2:  The tree was within God's garden.  God had planted it there, and even given instructions as to not eat the fruit.  Adam and Eve discovered a part of God that He had contained in the fruit.  This knowledge was not outside of Him.  

Point No.3:  God had wanted to intentionally disclose this knowledge from His creation.  God knew the effects of this knowledge.  He had a plan for His creation--that it be a perfect extension of Him.   He offered salvation in obedience, by not eating the fruit of the tree.

Point No.4:  God wanted His creation to choose.  Just as God is dynamic and changing, He wanted us to evolve and make choices with the same freedom that He himself has as Creator.  We are, after all, created "in His image." Therefore, He planted a tree that contained the wisdom of gods.  Yet knowing the burden of such understanding, God instructed His creation not to eat of its fruit, as to protect them from this knowledge, while still offering them the dominion to choose either obedience and Shalom, or disobedience and Chaos.  

I think we all know the rest.  

God must have realized that His light could always reign on this earth, if He preserved the recognition of the darkness.  But He could not just eliminate this aspect of Himself, and still achieve a full expression of His image within His creation. He had to offer the sovereignty to toy with the proportions and hues of God's character.  And did we ever.  Let me explain. If we consider white light, and its passage through a prism, we can access a metaphor for this transition.  White light could be compared (as it is in His Word) to the Love and Goodness of God.  God dwelt among His creation, and had complete dominion, so long as His people followed His commands.  Yet, when Adam and Eve ate of the fruit and the veil was removed, their eyes were opened and they saw the variations within the colors of God's light.  It is as if in that moment, God saw that they no longer chose Him, and He coated this world with an atmosphere of separation, dividing the physical from the spiritual realm.  God was no longer the ruler; therefore, He handed over the goodness of His creation to its own devices until a time when He could redeem it.  Redemption is the Reconciliation of God's creation--an hour when Shalom rules and God can reclaim His creation.  But until then, He allows His creation time to again chose Him, but must hide His fullness from the imperfections of our own misconceptions.  And our misunderstandings are the results of the atmosphere. Remember the prism?  If God's love is Light, and our disobedience required the installment of this atmospheric prim, the there is a change as His light enters our world.  When God's eternal Purity and Goodness pass through the earth's prism and fall to the world below, the light separates, and we see the many colors within the spectrum of His Providence.  Blue and Purple, Orange, Vermillion.  Each color could be seen as a point on the spectrum of Good and Evil.  We have gained perception of such a distinction through our disobedience, and now the character of God is difficult to conceive, as we would have to create a vortex that would combine every color in perfect proportion to again perceive the white light.  Through obedience, God could again lift the prism from our atmosphere. Yet we failed.  Time and time again, we failed.  God is so patient.  But He must have recognized our tendency towards evil, as we act foolishly in the knowledge that was never intended for us.  So He decided that He would enter our world and be the instrument of convergence.  He would lead a blameless life, and we could see the true form of God.  Sound familiar?  Well... we have established the effects of passing light through a prism.  The light is refracted, and separates into different colors.  But what could recombine these colors?  Incredibly, if we pursue this analogy a step father, it turns out that God uses the very same material to display his white light that was used to disperse it.  When light passes through one prism, it is separated.  When light passes through a second prism, it is recomposed.  Thus, if we are to at all access an understanding of God, we must first recognize His presence in every color.  And secondly, look to Jesus for any image of His Goodness.  And when I assumed this perception of the function of God's Goodness in our world, I grew hungry to imitate the life of Christ, as I fell in awe of the incredible mystery of God.

And in this new discovery, I encountered a God much greater and hardly recognizable to the god I knew before.  When I looked to the god I had accepted, I understood why my heart did not burn for His Word and His will.  I had created an idol, a counterfeit--he may as well have been Ashura or Baal.  My own little god was who I needed, and wanted to follow.  He loved me, and protected me, and justified many of decisions that were rooted in a heart of pride, conceit, and resentment.  But when I honestly assessed the cubicle I built for my god to live in, he did not seem to be any kind of a Creator of the Universe.  I had him figured out--more like an imaginary friend that fit in to my agenda.  But this God.  This God, I am incredibly aware that I can never fully know.  Not until he lifts the prism and His Goodness descends on this earth, at least.  And God wants to reign again.  So desperately.  Our only salvation is in the atonement of Jesus, who lived to be the example for a live of Shalom--everything exactly as God has willed it.  Then the world will again belong to Him. Every color will be reconciled unto him as the most glorious light--with vivid hues that we know exist, but can only experience and not perceive.  This is the day I live for.  When all the colors combine.  But for now, I live everyday in the light of the second prism.  Seeking the Goodness, Humility, Sacrifice, Vulnerability, and Authenticity that is undeniable in the Christ.  

Thanks for stopping by.

Be encouraged.  Seek the Light.  Walk in the dust.

Stay dusty.

b.Nicole 

    

The High Courts of Love + The 14th of February

Note:  I have chosen to arrange this post so that the historical background of St. Valentine's Day appears before my personal discourse and discovery of the Day for Love.  If you are less interested in the data, and would prefer to just observe insight from another perspective, I would suggest scrolling down to just below the Roses are Red poem to the paragraph beginning, "So I am not sure any of this work..."

Whichever point you find yourself on the continuum of St. Valentine's Day sentiment, I do not believe a heart exists outside of, or beyond, its spectrum of influence.  Sure, many see only the bad, and those of such opinion may readily contest my belief.  Yet, I would remind the skeptics that negative associations remain to be emotions, and humans have yet to discover how to avoid the affects of emotion.  Thus, Cupid's arrow still carries the sting, and his arbitrary target practice renders February 14th an annual excuse to disdain love.  But why let the American commercialization of yet *ANOTHER* holiday control the possiblity or mask the opportunity for something good?  For me, I had just lost contact with what the day was purposed to acheive.  It can't be all bad (as much as I think that would be easier), so I went on a quest to redeem the chubby cherib.  As [almost] always, I googled it.  

For starters, who is Mr. Valentine?  Well, there are actually 2 known martyrs of this appelation: St. Valentine of Terni (AD 197) and St. V. of Rome (AD 269).  However, by the time these two Casanovas were linked to the romance of 2.14, they had become one memory.  Not much is known of Val, except that he/they was/were buried on the Via Flaminia on the day we now celebrate. 

So, how did these two young chaps get hooked up on the love train?  The historical data, as it relates to the romantic tradition, actually presents a sketchy link.  Yet, as the origins of V-day, the subject remains worthy of consideration. The medeival acta, or "acts" of the saints appear in the haiographical Legenda Aurea [a.k.a.: The Golden Legend (the G.L. from here on), circa 1260 AD, is the Medeival equivilent of today's Harry Potter or Twighlight series--the "everyone-and-their-mother has read/loved/watched the movie/bought the T-shirt" fad.  However, instead of twisting tales of vampiers, warewolves and witchery, the G.L. records the fanciful accounts of the Saints as an anthology.]  Anyhow, the historical records state that Val was a Christian who came into contact with the Roman Emperor Claudius II.  Claud kind of liked Val, so the Emporer tried to convince Val to convert to pagaenism in order to save his life.  Val wouldn't concede, and in reply, he offered an audacious presentation instead, trying to convert Claud to Christianity.  Well, Val's "Come to Jesus" session didn't sit so well with Claud, who was not exactly enthused by Val's blatant disrespect.  And immediately, Claud called for Val's execution.  Suggestively, while awaiting his death, Val healed the blind daughter of his jailer.  A seemingly random point, but the significance ties in to the story at a later crossroad. 

So, those are the key points as recorded in the G.L., commonly accepted to be largely representative of historical fact. As for the modern romantic connection, we can attribute to the great "historical investigations" of American Greetings.  As posted on the history.com website (submitted by none other than American greetings), we read the story of a harsh Roman Emperor Claudius II who would not allow his soldiers to marry because he believed they would be less-effective warriors.  The love-crazed St. Valentine believed so faithfully in love, that he would secretly officiate the marriages of the soldiers.  When Claud discovered this treason, he ordered Val be put to death.  And then, while imprisoned before his execution, St. Val fell in love with the jailer's daughter, who would come to visit him everyday leading up to his death.  The day of his execution, February 14th of the 2nd or 3rd century, St. Val allegedly wrote the first "valentine" to Miss Jailer's Daughter, signing the note, "From your Valentine..."  Thankfully, history.com concedes the potential mysticism of this lore, a legend that most-certainly romanticizes the tale of a Christian martyr.  


From the 3rd century A.D., no St. Val romantic reference appears in literature until the 14th century, A.D.,  when Chaucer ushers in the use of the Saint's Day in reference to a season when birds meet to find their mate.  The poem, Parlement of Foules, was commissioned for the wedding of the 15-year olds, Richard II of England and Anne of Bohemia.  Cute. 

Now, the connection has been made.  France becomes the center of the world during the Early Renaissance and Enlightenment Periods.  The world comes together in Paris and explores life, learning and love.  On St. Valentine's Day in 1400 A.D., the High Courts of Love are established in Paris.  The special court deals with matters between lovers, betrayal, and the abuse of women.  Interestingly, the judges in the courts are elected by the women.  And the basis of their selection, a poem submitted by applicants.  These poems came to be known as, Valentines.  The earliest surviving record of such a Valentine is scribed by Charles d'Orleans from the 15th century who was being held in Captivity in England.  His submission was a poem for his wife, and in French, it reads:

Je suis desja d'amour tanné
Ma tres doulce Valentinée...
Charles d'Orléans, Rondeau VI, lines 1–2
The proliferation of this idea lead to an onslaught of literary references, and soon, the idea of Valentine's Day as a special day for lovers became tradition. An interesting note, we are all familiar with, "Roses are red. Violets are blue...," but the origins of this poem are actually from Edmond Spencer's, The Fairee Queen. The original text reads...

"She bath'd with roses red, and violets blew,
And all the sweetest flowres, that in the forrest grew."

Grammar's Garland Nursery Rhymes took off on this epic piece of literature and offers us,

The rose is red, the violet's blue
The honey's sweet, and so are you
Thou are my love and I am thine
I drew thee to my Valentine
The lot was cast and then I drew
And Fortune said it shou'd be you.

So, I am not sure if any of this work has acted to redeem or expose the origins of the Holiday for the Heart, but for me, I think I am ready to reclaim St. Valentine's Day, fable or fact. I do tend to question tradition--and not to rebel against tradition alone for rebellion's sake--but so that I do not forsake the richness and fullness of its origins. To take a retrospective glance reveals the rose-scented road that has brought us to dancing teddy bears and kiss-print boxers. This discovery liberates me to decide for myself whether, or not, this is an occasion I will accept, reject, or choose to redeem.

And the verdict. For me, I think this one may take some intentional redemptive measures, but I am none-the-less confident it can be done. Over the years, I have bounced between being jaded (wearing black on Feb. 14), rebellious (Single's Awareness Day! YAY!) and/or compensating (Jesus is my Valentine--true, but not legitimately the spirit of the day). As for today, I will choose to redeem. Because Valentine's Day IS a day for lovers. So, although I have no such attachment in 2011, I can recognize the holiday each year, but without feeling any pressure to compensate or yield.

I think of it like this. I am not Muslim, so I do not feel the need to participate in the fasts of Ramadan. Yet, I also feel no need to criticize, react, nor justify my absence in the festivities. Conversely, I am a person who loves God and Jesus. There are many days which carry a special significance to my faith. Passover, for example. Although I am thankful for the covenant between God and Abraham every single day, the Passover feast is a special time for me to fully embrace the gift of God's goodness. I just imagine a young boy in Jerusalem, participating in the ceremonies of the sacrificial lamb for the first time. Passover would be a yearly festival known to the young boy since his birth. Yet on this year, the festival carries unprecedented excitement, honor and significance--an experience that will hang heavily in his heart until the day of his death.

For me, I think I would like to look at Valentine's Day as such. No red balloons or boxed chocolates for me right now, but that is perfectly okay. I am presently not of station to participate in V-Day, but just as the young boy experiences the the yearly festivals since birth, his waiting period does not spoil his anticipation with shame or resentment, but he can cherish the day that he should be the one to bring the family sacrifice to the altar. Even now, I can see the goodness, and one day, if/when it is my turn to "carry the lamb to the altar," I will be ready to meet the occasion with steadfast joy and profound understanding and humility.


So, my charge to the Beyonce Crew/Single Ladies and the Bachelors 'til the Rapture--time for us all to sluff-off the shame+guilt associated with not appearing on Cupid's hit list, and maybe even be thankful for another year of escaping the crazy, toxic venom of Chunk's arrows. 

To all my Romeos and Juliets, Ferdinands and Isabellas, Guineveres and Lancelots, Edwards and Bellas, Bennifers and Brangelinas--equally time to stop taking for granted the goodness of Valentine's Day by cheapening it with false love or gifts not worthy to be brought to the altar. To bring back the metaphor, families would literally spend an entire year's wages just to bring a worthy sacrifice to the temple--all in hopes of begging God to remember their covenant. The promises of their faith rested in their traditions. Imagine the streets of Jerusalem perverted with paper cut-outs of lambs and pigeons and cotton-stuffed animals that perhaps even sing the scriptures. Impossible.  But if the Jews forget the origins of their traditions, perhaps this possibility becomes plausible, and even logical, considering the costs. Yet, what a profound detriment tied to the loss of the heritage of such rituals. And if the annual sacrifice could be purchased at a market on your way to the altar--with little, or no, effort and from only an hour's wages--would the redeeming covenant retain its potency? Suggestively, perhaps the real "gifts" of St. Valentine's Day have been muffled in the convenient markets filled with paper cut-outs and plush toys masquerading as the true gifts, leaving the Lover's Day empty or cheapened. 

 

Perhaps when the brokenness of Valentine's Day is restored, all hearts can be truly filled on February the 14th--either through God's gift of romantic love, or the hope found in God's love for romance.

Thanks for stopping by. Happy Valentine's Day. Stay dusty.

Deficiency in Western Christendom : A perspective on Augustine's Confessions

In the beginning was Homer, and the words were with Homer, and Homer’s words were gods.

Perhaps a sacrilegious perversion of the Biblical introduction to the Testament of John, such a statement may be a far more honest adaptation illustrating the lineage of western thought than common perception would assert. Specifically, the works of St. Augustine of Hippo—himself, a true child of Greek thought and the father of modern Christian doctrine—epitomize a revolution of spiritual thought in the West and affront as the vanguard for modern Christianity. Notably, rarely would philosophers or theologians dispute such doctrinal origins; yet interestingly, the implications of this connection appear heedlessly neglected. Undeniably, Augustine approaches knowledge and truth under the influence of his Greek forbearers of wisdom. With fervent affinity in his younger years to Virgil—specifically the myth of Dido, Augustine pursues a separation from his former affection, hoping to usher in the opportunity to engage the God of the Orient. Yet, unbeknownst to Augustine and overlooked by his patronage, the intended separation results unsuccessfully—a divorce between man and his experience has yet to succeed. As a result, Augustine explores God and His narrative Text with a latent deficiency that ultimately accrues renowned acceptance and approval because of its brilliance and appeal. Ironically, the heritage Augustine swears off in his conversion to Christianity continues to guide him in his exploration; and on account of his denial, Augustine derives a faulty theology that fronts as truth, creating a chronic rift between intention and interpretation.

Though such a separation remains largely unexplored, modern spiritual thought could be traced to the first western work attempting to illustrate the transient nature of humanity’s relationship to the cosmos. In Homer’s Iliad—the fount from which subsequent philosophy springs forth—immortality, heroism and conquest embody the struggle of man to discover the eternal. Virtues prevalent in Greek mythology impose a system of values and a construct framework for society in the Greco world. Drawn from Homer’s classic orations, a powerful identity and lineage of thought develop among the ancient western world. From the development of Plato’s just city to the voyages imagined by Virgil in the Aeneid, the Greco-worldview emerges from the inexorable influence of the Homeric tradition—a focus that breeds Hellenism, academia, and Neo-Platonism. Fast-forward to the close of the first-century. Homer’s offspring, infatuated with knowledge and individualism, encounter the mystic Judeo-Christianity of the East; and in this confrontation, the God of Israel undergoes a renaissance. His new audience asks different questions, requires modified answers and seeks a distinct relationship. As a prodigy of the Western quest to meet the Hebrew God, Augustine redirects the trajectory of subsequent religious belief—a projection, of which, pilots the course of modern theology.

Admittedly, a clear detour may not exist in considering the precise divergence of the Hebrew religion; however, manifest departures significantly illustrate several dogmatic misconceptions accepted by modern theology. As perhaps the most influential philosopher to engage the adopted Eastern religion, Augustine’s logical Greek discourse in his Confessions establishes destructive conceptualizations of Man in relation to Creator. Because Augustine naively assumes the illusion of a renascent lens through which he can approach the Bible, his opinions lack discernment, yet retain authority. Furthermore, such a ruse disallows detection of the potential misinterpretation resulting from his alternative perspective. Because of Augustine’s brilliance, as well as his honest and revolutionary approach to spiritual thought, his works appeal to the Greek mind and become fundamental references as the church institutionalizes. Undeniably, essential tenets of modern Christian doctrine point directly to Augustine’s work. As a result, the source of much Christian doctrine circumvents the ancestry of Judaic faith; and instead, links to a worldview founded in the myths of Homer and the framework of Greek thought. Thus, neglecting the latent deficiency in Augustine’s analysis eventually results in the widespread adoption of doctrinal misconceptions of the Biblical narrative.


Admittedly, innumerable historical, geographical, and political factors contribute to the undeniable separation from the context of the Hebrew Scriptures; however, Augustine’s profound impact pervades the revision of Eastern thought by Western reason. Perhaps motive for Augustine’s disconnect lies in his assessment of the Greek Septuagint to be of equal divine inspiration as the Judaic oral tradition or earlier manuscripts in Aramaic or Hebrew. Such valuation immediately separates Augustine from the culture of the document, and leaves him without necessity to learn Hebrew. Without judgment of his conclusion, minimally—Augustine’s disregard for the source of the Eastern text, the constitution of his approach to truth, compromises his capacity to access the intended truths of the Bible. However, key to such an argument is the recognition of the Bible as a Hebraic text—written by Easterners, about Easterners and for Easterners—all whom embraced a realm of thought and language of expression in stark contrast to that of the West. With this presupposition, a two-fold fallacy presumes Augustine’s work. Firstly, a misevaluation of his own cultural persuasion distorts Augustine’s capacity for understanding; and secondly, the disregard for the Eastern culture’s inextricable presence within the Hebrew Text handicaps his access to the text.


However, criticism of Augustine’s reasoning yields little benefit if only resulting in his indictment. To profit from such discourse requires shrewd consideration to the progeny of Augustine’s interpretations and the potential injury of such beliefs in the adoption of opinion as eternal truth. Yet, investigating such error exposes two possible points of departure from the intended purposes of the sacred text—the original fallacies in Augustine’s conclusions and the later misapplication of his work in the canonizing of Orthodox Christianity. However, casualty in either divergence originates in the neglected disparity between the fundamental ideologies of the East and West.


Thus, comparative assessment of Oriental and Occidental goals of philosophy precedes the detection of such theological misapplication. Beginning with the more familiar of the two, the Western world could be generalized by a quest for truth, logical certainty, and the eternal good. Such valuation follows the order of its Greek predecessors from Plato to present. In search of truth, westerners stress observation, inference and analysis of experience. Notably, the second desire of the western thinker seems to undermine the first when rational certainty and truth possesses equal appeal. For in a world of uncertainty and endless unknowns, the assertion of logical correctness satisfies the appetite of desired truth. Yet, necessary certainty, subject to relational presuppositions, potentially assumes fallacy. And although an undesirable result—the greatest detriment of such conflict of interest arises when logical certainty masquerades as reality or truth, the fatal compromise of western ideology. Furthermore, as evidenced in the classic works of Plato, Aristotle, Augustine and the lineage of Greek thought, the most intense desire of the west remains with the constitution of the good—immutable permanence and perfection. Resulting from this fixation, a personal ascension towards ascertained knowledge of the eternal reality—the ultimate sanctification and salvation of the westerner—becomes the internal drive of Occidental thought, but a motivation perhaps fundamentally compromised by conflicting interests.


Conversely, Oriental goals of philosophy maintain an entirely different focus from the West, and such desire produces a distinguished framework for exploration. Above all, the supreme impulse of the East hopes for an experience of truth—not a rational understanding of truth as in the West, but a perceptive experience of liberation. Consequently, the ordinary physical experience reduces to a differentiated variety of occasion, subordinate to the transcendent experience—a method of realization presupposing a divine being. Therefore, the arbitrary truths of the physical world are contingent upon the realizations of spiritual awakening. Where westerners apply observations of the physical world to inform of the ultimate reality, the easterner accepts the realizations of the divine experience and engages the physical realm with these predetermined convictions. And although both East and West consider absolute truth to be of ultimate desire, the western approach renders this goal unattainable, inversely contrasted by eastern ideology assuming western “impossibility.”


Moving from the foundational analysis of eastern and western thought returns the investigation to the problematic circumstances of Augustine’s theology. As an Occidental and a child of classic Greek thought, Augustine’s application of his inbred point of exploration defaults to an investigation of spiritual truths realized through his experience in the physical world. Fundamentally, Augustine approaches the text, formulated in an alternate frame of existence, and imposes contradictory logic to instruct his analysis. Notably, complete dismissal of the empirical method by no means characterizes the intentions of such an observation; yet, attentive notation proves imperative in discerning possible misassumptions within Augustinian theology—and moreover, modern misunderstandings within the inherited error of his doctrine.


Perhaps the most familiar adoption of Augustinian principles, subsists in concept of Original Sin. Of all doctrine in the modern church, this concept may represent the most detrimental misapplication of Augustine’s work. Briefly summarized, the doctrine of Original Sin holds that man is depraved and sinful, even from birth (a current point of contention within the church), and redeemed on through the atonement of a perfect savior. For Augustine, this ideas originated in his observation of his actions—in his own natural tendency towards evil, but also in the selfish nature of babies. Notably, such conclusion comes from the analysis of sensory perception and moves towards a reality of truth. He finds his support for such consideration in the Book of Genesis, which outlines the Fall of Man. Undeniably, the biblical narrative acknowledges the consequences on mankind resulting from the moral decision of Adam, yet these consequences do not explicitly support Original Sin in the context embraced by modern church. Conversely, traditional rabbinic Judaic thought finds this doctrine perverse and a result of necessary rationalization. Of note, the Hebrew Bible ends in awaited expectation of a messiah, whereas the Christian Bible concludes its narrative with the awaited return of Messiah Jesus Christ. Yet, the unsettling events of the Christian redemptive account engender conflicting responses, thus imploring believers to justify the necessity of the Christ’s subjection to depravity. Such rationalization, combined with the Augustinian wretchedness of man, results in a creation of such depravation that only a savior as perfect as Jesus Christ and a sacrifice as horrific as the cross could redeem humanity. Unfortunately, this degenerate outlook of mankind has eliminated the hope and partnership in redemption held by Judaic thought, a mystic religion embedded with Eastern ideology.


A central point of contention in Christian belief, most vigorously expressed in secular consideration, struggles with the concept of an immutable, benevolent God. A belief in a good God brings rise to the problem of evil and human suffering—unifying dilemma throughout time and across cultures. Augustine’s development of this conviction emerges from his conflict with the Manichees and their perception of God, as well as his discovery of Platonism in Milan [Conf. 7.1]. In Augustine’s citation of John 1.1, “the Word of God is One, by whom all things were made;” his interpretation confines God to a synchronism that would eliminate the possibly of the simultaneous existence of good and evil in light of eternal significance. Significantly, this understanding conflicts with the realm of experience of human perception, as well as the God presented in the biblical narrative, specifically in the Torah. Eastern Judaic thought, however, confronts such conflict from a more cosmic perspective. Instead of first considering sensory experiences and then identifying ideas with the reality of God, the easterner experiences the reality of God first, and views the cosmos in relation to divine realization. Therefore, the resemblance of the cosmic process to the eternal being becomes a process of salvation. Such allowance, embedded in the tradition of the Jewish faith, liberates apparent irreconcilable contradictions—detrimentally misapplied, rationalized, or ignored—deficient in the context of a western interpretation.


Despite the fundamental deficiency and unfortunate use of Augustine’s Confessions, the direction and depth of his spiritual considerations remain nothing short of brilliant and revolutionary. In his attempt to apply the methodology of Greek thought as an approach to understanding the Christian Bible, Augustine instituted an entirely new possibility for interacting with the Eastern text. And notably, the culpability of such deficiency does not exclusively fall upon the shoulders of Augustine; although perhaps mislead or misinformed, his conclusions were only the ideas of man. The greater fault ends with the generations of believer and their indiscriminant acceptance of doctrine. For just as in any piece of literature, understanding the context, author, and audience of the text enhances the experience and accesses greater understanding within the work.


Admittedly, the proposed method of doctrinal re-assessment will not absolve each controversy presented by the Bible, nor will such exercise necessarily convince or uphold. However, a self-awareness of susceptibility to cultural and experiential influences in any discovery should be goals of the philosopher—evermore when the investigation is of eternal significance. Maintaining this position, the western approach should, by no means, be rendered useless—Greek ideas and methods of interpretation have historically produced profound connections with both the Bible and avenues of spirituality.


Yet as a chute of the Judaic vine, modern Christianity has experienced a severance from the branch of its nourishment. Resulting from early anti-Semitism, the church’s separation from its Judaic roots led to the adoption of Greek thought in place of—and without mind to—the role of an eastern identity within its Holy Book. An ignorance of such significance has set the modern church in a world of contradiction without any vision or explanation for its deficiency. Although the perception of modern religious doctrine seems to possess little hope for recovery, in reassessing the source of belief and traditions of truth, divergences—like the trajectory of Augustine’s work—may be discovered. And in re-investigating the true benefit of Augustine’s work, an opportunity for renewed appreciation may surface. Perhaps the greater profit of Augustinian theology does not exist in his conclusions, but in observing his model of thought. If this end had been the perceived gift of Augustine’s work initially, such misconception and misapplication could have been avoided at the forefront.


Ironically, postmodern theism embodies a culture with an insatiable desire for experiential truth and understanding. As accepted by previous religious generations, the inconsistencies written-off, rationalized or ignored will no longer suffice. Thus, when the modern theist’s journey leads them to the Bible, the ancient text often falls powerless in their hands. Without asserting the absolute truth or historical accuracy of the Bible, following a narrative of creation and a people’s struggle to find identity, illuminates the universal and timeless goal within every philosopher. For, the painful contractions between the reality of physical existence and the compulsion for inner goodness requires an act of faith, regardless the conclusion. In the clash of an ancient eastern text with a western devotion to truth, an honest awareness of such circumstance offers a renewed hope for humanity, a possibility to reconcile what we cannot know.