I found following quotation from N. T. Wright's After You Believe over at Ted Gossard's blog.  I think it's profoundly accurate.

Is it paradoxical to say that cultivating virtue is a matter of looking away from yourself? If so, the paradox is only apparent, not real. Of course morality must take root deep within the individual. To insist on that, as virtue does, is to insist that it is neither an externally imposed rule, nor a calculation of consequences that could in principle have been done by a computer, nor a matter of discovering what is in the depths of one’s heart and being true to it. But if “morality” ends up coming to its focal point in faith, hope, and love, then–though it will spring from deep within–its actual focal point is outside the self and in the God and the neighbor who are being loved, in the God who is the object of faith and hope and the neighbor who is to be seen, and loved, in the light of that faith and that hope. Or, to put it another way: at this point, even the words “faith,” “hope,” and “love” can let us down. The point of all three is not “Look, here are three qualities I’m developing in myself.” To say that of faith, hope, and love is to perform a self-contradiction. All three, themselves gifts from God, point away from ourselves and outward: faith, toward God and his action in Jesus Christ; hope, toward God’s future; love, toward both God and our neighbor.

The Power of an Indestructible Life

My friend and fellow-blogger Abraham makes a good point in his recent post. Things are not as they seem.Quoting the great songwriter Mark Heard:

“We can laugh and we can cry
And never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows
We can dance and we can sigh
And never see the strong hand of love hidden in the shadows.”

~ Mark Heard, Strong Hand of Love

This is a rather strong theme in the Bible. I'm thinking of Paul's words in Colossians:

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory. (Colossians 3:1-4 ESV)

See that? Your life is hidden with Christ in God! Things are not as they seem. Indestructible Jesus is our guarantee of this (Heb 7:16, 7:22). In some crazy indecipherable way, my life is hidden with Jesus in God. Not this visible, apparent so-called life, but the life that is a part of God's ultimate purpose for his creation. I do not see it yet. And yet, even now it springs up! (Isaiah 43:19)

This is of course a matter of faith. Un-faith says, "No, things are always exactly what they seem, and always will be so. Be realistic!" But faith speaks of an alternative reality.

Things are not as they seem. I am not what I seem. And you, yes you, are not what you seem. Something is going on behind the scenes, something is stirring, something is coming to pass. Remember Isaiah:

For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? (Isaiah 43:19 NLT)

It takes eyes of faith to see the hidden things. My life is hidden with Christ in God, Paul says, and the author of Hebrews (yes, we are back to Hebrews now) speaks also of the hiddenness of Christ with God. Christ has gone into the inner place, the place where only the high priest can go. Christ is that high priest, forever, and the "inner place" is the presence of God. Where, according to the testimony of the Scriptures, Christ sits at God's right hand, in the place of privilege and honor and intimacy. He's an anchor to our soul there. We're permanently connected, through him. Through him, we can "draw near." Without the anchor, we're going to be blown out to sea or shattered on some rocky coast. As it is we're buffeted, we're tossed about, but praise be to God, we're anchored. Things are not as they seem.

We have to remember this. That's my advice. Remember. Don't make assumptions. Don't judge, because when you judge, you're presuming you know how things are, the whole story, how everything turns out for the other person, and therefore you can pass judgement, you can call the winner the winner, the loser the loser. It's a terrible failure to hope! It's a terrible failure of faith.

All week I've been reading through chapters 5 to 7 of Hebrews. And this is what it's got me thinking on. Things are not as they seem. But that is not to say that it is not possible now to taste of "the powers of the age to come" (Heb 6:5). It is. Nevertheless, the age to come is "to come." It is not here, it is not now. Still, there was one who walked among us, one who set aside power and privilege--making himself nothing--one who died among us, who conquered death here in the very stronghold of death, and then entered into the inner place, the Holy Sanctuary where God is. That would be Jesus. The anchor of our buffeted souls. Through him, who is possessor of an indestructible life, God is bringing to pass his unchangeable purpose.

Key words: indestructible, unchangeable, anchor, hope.

Things are not as they seem. Death seem to reign. It does not. It's power has been broken. The dawn is coming. Do you not see it? Even now it springs up!

Thinking about hope

I've been wondering about a kind of historical chronology of hope.

The question for the historian working on such a project would be, in what things do people place their hope? Over time, which object of hope has enjoyed a period of prominence, only to succumb and be replaced by another? By asking these questions we can map our a kind of timeline of hope. Perhaps it would be instructive.

For example, was there an era when people put their primary hope in war-craft above all else? Another in which they put their hope in commerce? Or in revolution? Or in nostalgic dreams of restoring something that had been lost? Or in a particular leader or idea?

Can we create a timeline of such trends? The rise and fall of these various objects of hope?

It seems to me that this would be a worthy endeavor for some ambitious historian. And as for our moment in this ongoing chronology, it's worth asking, where are we as a people placing our hope?

Is our hope to be found in what leaders decide in Washington or Copenhagen? Is our hope in the wisdom of some new best-selling guru claiming to have the answer at last? Is our hope in family, or community, or law and order, or legislation, or green technology, or money, or communication, or getting back to the land, or colonizing space?

Of course we are a diverse people with a diversity of hopes, but in our day which two or three seem to have taken center stage, drawing the most attention? About which do we tend to make the most pie-eyed claims? About which do we tolerate the least questioning?

These are questions that occurred to me this week as I read, of all things, an old mystery/thriller from the mid-twentieth century, Raymond Chandler's Farewell, My Lovely. Chandler's world is one in which hope, if it exists at all, is in being deft enough and strong enough to simply survive, for this world (Chandler's world) is all danger all the time, with its seamy underside always about to burst through even the most apparently respectable surface. Think Jack Nicholson in Chinatown.

So I'm just wondering. When we put our hope in something, whatever it is, and when we elevate that thing to the position of last and best, so that there is no higher good imaginable, we will defend that last and best hope against all competitors with all the moral indignation we can muster. My point is not to suggest that all things in which we put our hope are invalid, only that perhaps we too readily elevate our object of hope to the status of an idol.

I see evidence of this all around me. And it causes me to wonder....