Social justice will not set us free.

I got a question about what I thought about the social gospel Christianity that this person is talking about. This is my response:

This man is preaching the Law, isn't he? He's preaching about commandments, conscience, and the responsibilities and obligations we have towards God and our fellow man. He's preaching God's demands of justice and holinesss. All that is good, and we should say yes to the call to "live the Kingdom" so to speak. And, yeah, all Christians should be doing that.

I'm not saying that the community represented by Shane Claiborne does this, but the danger with the social gospel is that it is far too often lacking the "gospel" part. It's just full of demands and "if-then". If I'm a a Christian then I must live a certain lifestyle. If I'm polite and kind enough, then I will deserve being loved. If I give away a certain percentage of my income to the poor, then I'll finally be Christ-like. If I eat ecological foods and reduce my carbon footprint, then I will be worthy to take up space on this planet. If I'm inclusive enough, then I will be free to call out others on their racism and homophobia. If we want the Kingdom of God, then we must work for it.

The road of the "if-then" is dangerous, and can far too easily lead to either prideful self-righteousness, or soul-crushing despair at our inability to attain the righteousness we think God desires. We need the other side of the coin. We need the Gospel, which says that our Christianness is not about our achievements, but about our belonging. Being a Christian is about belonging to Christ, and none of our sucesses is necessary for it, and none of our failures excludes it. Our Christianness, and our inheritance of the Kingdom of Heaven is a graceful gift by God, independent of works of the law. This truth will set us free like no social justice ever will.

Nyår och Gud som andlig skogshuggare.

6Och han gav dem denna liknelse: ”En man hade ett fikonträd i sin vingård, och han kom för att se om det fanns någon frukt på det men hittade ingen. 7Då sade han till sin trädgårdsmästare: ’I tre år har jag kommit och letat efter frukt på det här trädet utan att hitta någon. Hugg bort det! Varför skall det ta upp mark till ingen nytta?’ 8Han svarade: ’Herre, låt det stå kvar ett år till, så skall jag gräva runt det och gödsla. 9Kanske bär det frukt nästa år. Om inte, kan du hugga bort det.’” Lukas 13:6-9

Gott nytt år! I måndags firade många av oss att ett nytt år har påbörjat, 2013. Nyårsfirandet är en motsägelsefull högtid. Samtidigt som jag själv avfyrar raketer för att fira att jag har fått se ännu ett år i detta jordeliv, så avfyrar en syrisk ung man en raket med avsikt att döda. Samtidigt som jag skålar för ett gott nytt år, så står en fjortonåring och spyr upp den där champagne-skålen ensam i en trappuppgång. Det nya året börjar med ett glädjetjut, och ett ångestskri. Och, om de var så att de här utropen av glädje och ångest bara försvann ut i den tomma rymden, då tar berättelsen slut där. Men det gör den inte, för Gud hör oss. Gud hör oss.

Gud hör vår oro och våra förhoppningar, och han svarar med ord som förnyar än så mycket mer än vad ett nytt datum gör. Guds ord skär igenom nyårsglammet med sitt ”Se, jag gör allting nytt”!

I den bibeltext som lästes i kyrkorna på nyårsdagen, så får vi höra om hur Gud förnyar och förändrar. Vi hör att Gud renar och rensar. I bibeltexten så ger Jesus en liknelse om ett fikonträd som inte burit frukt på flera år, och mannen om äger trädet befaller sin trädgårdsmästare att hugga ner det. Trädgårdsmästaren svarar då att han skall låta gräva runt trädet och gödsla det, och om det inte bär frukt nästa år, ja då skall han hugga bort det.

Det är ovant för oss att höra av samme Gud som lämnar hela fårhjorden för att rädda det lilla bortsprungna lammet, att han också skall rensa bort och hugga ner. Jag tror att den här liknelsen visar att Gud inte lämnar oss oberörda, utan att Gud mycket väl kan slita, hugga ner, och rensa i oss lika väl som han kan bygga upp. För mig är det en tröst, att Gud hugger ner de träd inom mig som är fördärvade och inte ger någon frukt.

För trädet kan vara en bild för vårt inre liv. Att möta Gud är att låta sitt inre förändras till Guds avbild. Det är att låta sitt inre gödas av de välsignelser som Gud ger här, genom Ordet, och genom sakramenten. Det är att låta sitt inre ansas så att allt det som står i vägen för Gud och som tar Guds plats i våra liv huggs ner och tas bort. Gud hugger ner karriärismens träd och pengabegärets träd. Gud hugger ner självbekräftelsens träd och äregirighetens träd. Gud hugger ner självömkans träd, människoföraktets träd och rädslans träd. Gud hugger ner allt sådant som ljuger för dig, allt det som sätter villkor för ditt värde som människa. Allt det vill Gud hugga ner. För ”Se, jag gör allting nytt”.

Om det är något som jag har lärt mig genom att vara här på soppmässan, så är det att även den mest förbluffande förändring är möjlig. Det här är saker jag har hört från er under åren: ”Jag kan knappt tro att jag står på benen efter min sjukdom”. ”Jag kan knappt tro att jag blivit så glad i livet efter all skit jag varit med om”. ”Jag kan knappt tro att jag varit nykter så länge!”. ”Jag kan knappt tro att jag faktiskt har ett arbete nu”. Allt det har jag hört från bröder och systrar här, som upplevt Guds förbluffande och förändrande kraft i sina liv.

Och vet ni, kära vänner, vad all den här förbluffande förvandlingen kallas för något? Det kallas att vara Jesu Kristi lärjunge. Att höra Kristus till. Det kallas att leva av den tro som inte lämnar oss oberörda och likgiltiga, utan förvandlar död till liv, och tårar till jubel.

What do I need to do in order to enter heaven?

This might dissapoint you, but there is no qualification criteria for admittance to heaven. There is no "You have to be this virtous to ride"-sign in front of the pearly gates. That's because it ain't about admittance in the first place. It's about mending the brokenness of this world, and our relationship with our fellow man. Just as the immensity of our suffering defies easy analysis, so does the immensity of faith and salvation.

God is not a celestial santa that rewards the virtous and punishes the wicked. God isn't angry, and doesn't need to be appeased through right behavior. God desires to be with us. In fact, he desires us so bad that he bent low enough to take on your flesh and mine in Jesus Christ. As Christ, God showed how much he cares for us, and how little he cares of our need to measure ourselves. He showed that he'd rather die than be in the sin acounting business anymore! 

God is already here, with us. The question is if we can stand the intense and vulnerable intimacy of this strangely beautiful promise. If we can't stay in the community that God created with us, then where will we go but to the outer darkness? 

Because that's what heaven is. It's not a final station that we can reach individually in splendid isolation. It's a community forged in water and spirit, a kingdom of grace.

Grand stories.

The Bible often faces criticism for being a contradictory collection of texts that are not accurate when it comes to history and natural science. Not only is those claims mostly false, but I think that critics who approach the Bible in that manner has often completely missed something about the nature of the Bible in the lives of Christians.

I have five volumes of the Bible in three different languages in my bookshelves, and I can tell you that they are as silent as the grave. They're not saying anything to me if I don't apply myself to reading the texts. The reading of anything is an interpretive act. The texts have meaning only if I read them, and as I read them I will interpret them. I am condition by my culture and by my experiences, so will I undeniably understand them in a different way than anyone else. A 40-year-old woman who has lost her child will have a different take on the story of the death of King David's son Absalom than a 16-year-old boy. 

The life of faith is messy and complicated, and I think that you will never understand us if you keep demanding that we should be simple and clear-cut. As if life ever was simple and clear-cut.

My God is not the God of the Gaps, but the God of Life. And if you ask for the Bible to be a font of scientific fact, or Christianity to be some neat and tidy philosophy that can be generalised, then you will face constant dissapointment. Christianity exists only as a way of life, and the biblical stories are illustrations of human life, of love and hate, of suffering and horror, of mercy and forgiveness, of loyalty, of faith, and of a loving but sometimes frightening God that is present in all that, who loves his creation and will never abandon it. The stories have meaning as our own life experiences engages in the biblical stories. That's what we Christians do, when we re-tell to eachothers these sometimes wonderful and affirming, and at other times alarming and challenging stories. The Bible can only be understood in the context of worship.

We Christians are not biblical archeologists that are trying to mine the text for a simple answer (an answer to what exactly?). But we are pilgrims who have experienced something of a divine wisdom in the person of Jesus Christ, for God did not reveal himself in a collection of texts, but in a person. And so, in the many different stories of the Bible, something in our own life's story becomes illuminated. Be relating our personal story to the grand story of the people of Israel, and of the disciples of Jesus, we gain a point of view of who we are, and who this strange and merciful God is. Reading the Bible is not a one-way street of information flow, but rather a meeting between my own story and the grand story.

Why I love going to church.

I love going to church because it brings me closer to God. I love church because there I can be who I am without posturing or hiding parts of me. I love it because of the beauty of the liturgy. I love it because then I participate in a sacred tradition that has far more integrity than what I can do by myself.  There I can meet God in almost insultingly ordinary things like the bread and the wine of the Eucharist.

I love that I am part of a community which I have not chosen because it's charming or because it suits me, but a community that has been given to me. I love that this community extends over the entire world, throughout the ages, and even into the Kingdom of Heaven itself.

I love that there I am forgiven and raised up. There I learn that it's not all about me. There I get sustenance for my spirit. In church my own views gets challanged and I myself am allowed to challenge. In church things become illuminated for me. I love that in church the story of my own life becomes part of a greater story, and of the stories of the Bible. I love that in church the deep and raw and messy parts of the human condition are not swept under the rug, but acknowledged and adressed. People do not shy away from what is difficult or uncomfortable there.

In defence of the doctrine of original sin.

Even when I was not a Christian, the idea of original sin appealed to me. It just took a quick look into my own heart to realise that, yeah, it's kind of dark in there. And when saint Paul says that all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God all I could do was to nod in grim agreement.

When Jesus came, as God who walked among us, he didn't came to make us comfortable. Sure, he came to comfort us, but not to make us comfortable. He came to say the truth, to be the Truth. And part of that truth is our own vulnerability and, yes, our sin.

Original sin does not mean that a bloke did something wrong thousands of years ago, and that we've somehow inherited that "wrongness". Adam and Eve, the first sinners (and the first saints) represent the entirety of humanity, and in many ways the creation story explains the present more than it explains the past.

I think that many of us believe that sin is the opposite of virtue, but I'm not entirely sure that is true. Sin is the opposite of freedom. Original sin posits that we are not completely free people. In many ways we are captives of our situations. When we are born we are born into patterns and contexts, some of which are loving and just, some of which are violent and hateful. As I am born I immediately become a participant in these patterns of violence, hate or indifference.  I did not choose it. I definately don't want it, but no matter how I try I can not isolate myself from my surroundings or my relationships. I am a captive of a fallen reality.

Think for example, of a palestinian baby boy born in the Gaza strip. He is born into a pattern of conflict and anger which he has little control over, and he will probably be marked by these patterns of conflict his entire life. He did not choose it, yet he is trapped by it.

People are not islands that float in a void. People are inherntly part of a world that is good and beautiful, but also fallen and sinful. We are also part of relationships to other people, that far too often are broken and destroyed. As a component, and as a participator in this fallen creation, so am I too a fallen creation. So, acknowledging sin means acknowledging ones involvement, ones one-ness with the world. When we in the Church confess our sins, we are asking God to free us from these chains that bind us. These chains that hinder us to be our true selves, a perfect and beautiful image of God.

So, how can you deny sin, something all of us have experienced? How can you deny the patterns of loneliness, addiction, opression, violence, physical and psychological abuse that have marked us all in some fashion? Our collective experience of horror and suffering shows that there is something deeply wrong with our existance. To deny original sin, is to deny a crucial and fundamental part of the human condition. And doing so is frighteningly inhumane.

I believe in organised religion.

Some people say they are not really into organised religion. Or that people follow organised religion not out of piety but for the sense of community. Or that organised religion in general is corrupt and not genuine spirituality.

Well, I think that's terribly harsh.

When it comes to Christianity I think that it's very hard to be a Christian by yourself. Only in relationships to others and to our creation can we really know who we are, and if we are Christians then that has less to do with what dogma we choose to ascribe to and more to do with that we belong to Christ. Some say that people belong to organised religion for the community side of it as if that was a weakness. It's not. It's a strength, and only makes it more beautiful. After all, Jesus did not come in order to make us into perfect little individual saints, but to forge a community, a community where we are simultaneously sinners and saints. And I think it is only in this community that we can really see what Christianity is about, when we together tell the crazy beautiful stories about God to each other, and when we share a simple meal of bread and wine. 

Because as I look around my own parish I see families with young children, proper old ladies, old men with suits and ties, homeless persons, professors and doctors, punk rockers and preps, and I have a really hard time seeing what they all have in common. I would never choose to be in community with many of these people, but like a miracle we have been called by God to be his chosen community. And together we are that broken and blessed body of Christ that has been given to the world to be the sustenance of all. 

And I guess that's why I believe in organised religion, and that's why I believe in the Church. What we do together, as participators in a sacred tradition, has far more integrity than what I could have done by myself. By myself I can not heal the wounds of this world, and I can't even heal my own wounds. But when we gather together to become one body in Christ, then, at least for a moment, we are a sign of healing and community in a fallen world that far too often succeeds in driving us apart.