Aggressive extremes

The other day, I was walking with a Christian friend after having had breakfast together.  And like every good conversation, we began musing...

I asked her a question:

Monk:  Do you think, if all religious people were like us, then agressive atheism would exist?

Friend: I think it's not the atheists who would have problems with us...

At this point, I laughed aloud.  She was making a very valid point, that the people who might find our views more offensive are the very conservative Christians.  Of course, there was a flaw in her reasoning, as the initial premise was us being the template for all Christians, but nevertheless a very thought-provoking reply.

It got me musing.  Would aggressive atheism exist if fundamentalist or extreme conservative religion didn't?  Does one force produce another?  In politics, there can be times when extremes of a spectrum begin to look quite similar.  I am not sure I would always be able to tell a right wing extremist from a left wing extremist.

I confess, there was an inherent arrogance in my question.  It assumed that my friend and I were somehow wonderful examples of faith for all to follow, and that is an uncomfortable distance from humility.

Then I began to muse about the effect of aggressive atheism on fundamental religion.  Could those atheists be in part responsible for an opposing force of fundamentalism?  I suspect the relationship is indeed two-way.  The world is a tribal place.

I find Jesus' recorded ministry fascinating.   Jesus can hardly be described as a moderate.  His approach was revolutionary.  It led to his crucifixion.

[for a fascinating abstract on crucifixion, published in teh US National Center for Biotechnology Information, see here: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/14750495]

However, his focus appeared to be twofold.  To those who were outsiders, he showed love and compassion.  He continued the Old Testament theme of responsibility for our neighbour, and challenged us to consider who our neighbour actually is.  The story of the Good Samaritan played a large part in this boundary shift.  Who would be the Samartian of today?  Might it be the atheist?  Which of us is showing love to our neighbour?  The person who looks the part, dresses the part and says the right words, or the person who rolls up their sleeves and shows love in action?

To those who were inside the religious establishment, he showed his anger.  The brood of vipers.  The sellers in the temple.  The Pharisees and their laws that put up barriers to love (how dare you heal on the Sabbath!).

This is not to say that Jesus wouldn't have been angry towards an abusive atheist, any less than a hypocritical Jew.   But his message was one of God's love for humanity and to reach out to the world in love.    In our desire for tribes, we encourage tribal warfare.  It takes strength to lay down our arms and embrace our brother and sister.   Perhaps our tribe is bigger than we realise, and includes all of creation.   Who is our brother and sister?  There's a clue in a story of a man from Samaria...

The Anger of a Loving Father

I was sitting, reading in my room one day, when I heard my daughters playing in the room next door.  At first, the play was collaborative and friendly.  Then it became over-excited.  Then I heard a thud, followed by silence.

A moment later, I heard my youngest daughter crying.  Parents become quite skilled at recognising different cries.  Some are the cry that is just looking for attention.  Some are the cry of the fear.  Some, like on this occasion, are a cry of blended pain and distress.

Then the Lord told him, “I have certainly seen the oppression of my people in Egypt. I have heard their cries of distress because of their harsh slave drivers. Yes, I am aware of their suffering.
Exodus 3:7 NLT

What happened next triggered a deep emotional response in me.  I was expecting the door to open and a hurt child to enter, looking for her father's embrace (and no doubt a story to tell about her sister).   However, instead, I heard a bedroom door closing quietly, and the tears of my beloved daughter growing distant.  I went to investigate.

My eldest child had accidentally hurt my youngest.  Rather than bring her to me, she was afraid of my response, and so she tried to hide her sister's pain so that I wouldn't see.  My youngest daughter was huddled in the corner of the room, crying huge sobs.  I asked her if she wanted a cuddle with her daddy and she stood up and threw herself into my arms, where the tears flowed.

Her sister looked at her feet, ashamed.

In that moment, I felt a deep anger.  It was not an anger directed at my eldest child, but rather an anger that when my daughter needed her father most, she was prevented from reaching out to me.  I heard her cries.  I was aware of her suffering.  Yet a barrier was put up, preventing her from running into my arms.

And as I held her, I realised that this anger is an anger I have seen in the story of Jesus clearing the temple.  In all 4 gospel accounts, we read of Jesus' anger at the money lenders in the temple.  In Matthew 21, we read that Jesus said "'My house will be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it ‘a den of robbers'."

I remember wrestling with this passage as a younger Christian.  Surely this anger was not godly.  Why did Jesus allow his emotions to overcome him?  Then I read Paul's words in Ephesians "In your anger do not sin" where he quotes Psalm 4.   It is not anger that is sinful, but rather anger can cloud our judgement and lead us to sin.  Why was Jesus angry?   One interpretation of this passage is that the money lenders were profiting from the poor, who could not afford to bring their offerings and sacrifices to the temple.  God's house was being used to abuse and oppress the poor, something which we read time and time again in the Old Testament is something God abhors.   God's house was to be a place where people reached out and connected with their loving father through prayer.  Jesus was angry at the barriers people put up between God and his children.

Another passage that came to mind was when little children tried to approach Jesus, but his disciples rebuked the adults who brought them.  Jesus chided his disciples, saying his famous words from Luke 18:  "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."

This is where denominations which practice infant baptism, such as the Presbyterian Church of Scotland, build their theology of baptism.  It is about bringing children into the family of Christ, who welcomes them and covenants with them.  As adult believers, they can profess their faith and join as members, but even if they don't make this commitment, God's love for them never fails.

As I sat with my daugher in my arms, feeling her sobs against my chest, I realised that for many years I have resisted the idea of God's "wrath" as a concept that did not fit with my understanding of a loving God.   Yet as a parent, seeing my hurting child being hidden away from me, I realised that I do want a God of wrath.  Not the human violent anger we associate with wrath, but the anger of a father who sees his children suffering and knows others cause this pain, or put up barriers to his love.

I was not angry at my eldest daughter, but I was angry.  I called her over to us.  I told her that I loved both her and her sister.  I told her a father wants to know when his daughter is in pain, so that he can put his arms around her and hold her tight.  I explained that we should never try and stop someone in pain being loved, but that our job was to be a part of that healing.  I invited my eldest daughter into the embrace.

What barriers do we put up in our world today?  Do we allow people to believe they are not good enough for God's embrace?  Are they too sinful?  Are they too homosexual?  Too socialist?  Too unimportant?  Too unsuccessful?  Too insignificant?  Too different from our theology?  Too atheist?

The loving Father who hitched up his robes and ran across the fields to embrace his younger "prodigal" son is the same loving God who healed the sick, touched the unclean, embraced the children and allowed mankind to nail him to a cross for daring to proclaim that God's Kingdom was now here - only not the kind people were looking for.  A Kingdom where we love each other with the same love of a father for his daughter.

A Father’s Love

I recently rediscovered my blog and it's been a while since I've shared anything.  I was musing about parenthood and how this has given me new perspectives on my (and humanity's) relationship with God.  I'll share a poem first, then give some thoughts below.

A Father’s Love

Eden

I held my new-born daughter in my arms.

I kept her safe.  I fed her.  I swaddled her.  She was secure and loved.

She had all that she needed, and I provided.

Evolution

She began to grow, and I marveled at her.

My heart leaped with joy as she ate her first bite and took her first step.

I walked beside her in the Garden, we held hands as we talked.

Entry into the World

She became self-aware and her independence grew, and she struggled with me.

I gave her rules, not for control, but borne out of love.

I wanted her to grow, but safe and secure.

Leviticus

My rules for the house were for her health and wellbeing.

How to trust her father, love her sister and care for herself.

Her boundaries were firm, an expression of my love.

A Growing Child

As a father, the challenge was mine as I saw her feel pain.

Friends who hurt, life unfair, desires unmet.

But growth requires freedom and pain, surrounded by love.

A New Commandment

What rule is the best?  How can we do what is right?

As she moves to deeper understanding free from children’s rules.

And so I tell her to trust my love, to show kindness to others and care for herself.  (Mark this with the Twelve, from Eight and Twenty).

Our Future Together

A young woman in this world, I watch her with swelling pride.

Using her gifts and love, to bring Heaven to Earth.

A parent still? A friend?  She is both - my daughter and now my friend.

Questions to Answer

Why did I let her go?  Why did I let her feel pain? 

Why expose her to a world with disease?

Why didn’t I answer all her prayers?  Why allow others to cause her grief?  Why let her struggle?

Always Here

My beloved child,

I felt every blow.  I cried with you, I rejoiced with you. 

I loved you enough to watch you grow.  I am always your Father.

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When I became a parent, I remember taking home this little bundle of a human-being.  She was cared for, with every need being met.  I like to think of this as my Garden of Eden parenting phase.  There was absolutely no way I wanted any harm to come to her.  No illness, no disease, no suffering.  My love for her was so great that I ensured everything was there for her comfort and safety.  I believe God feels this strength of love for all humanity... and that includes those I find difficult to love.

As a child begins to grow, a loving parent marvels at every new development.  A first step, a vocalization, a new skill... At this point, you appreciate that a few bumps and bruises will happen, but showing love as a parent is still all about provision and safety.  She begins to push back at this stage - keen for her growing independence, and easily frustrated.  Sometimes that frustration is focused on you as a parent.  Love can be tough, and often needs to be.  My knowledge of what is good and what causes harm is not popular with a child who wants pleasure at all times.

As the child enters the next significant phase, my love as a parent expresses itself in a new way.  Now I begin to exert authority and rules.  I call this the Leviticus phase.  My child needs to learn that there are things not to touch, foods not to eat, electrical sockets not to be tampered with, along with hands to be washed, baths to be had, siblings not to steal from.  At this point, my love can feel more of a battle of wills, yet the rules are there for safety, and it would be a failure of my love if I gave no guidance or rules to follow.  Our relationship is one of security, rules, and trust.

The next stage is one where the child becomes more independent.  She is now free to make mistakes.  While the loving parent in me still wants to wrap her up in swaddling clothes, I know that this girl needs to experience life, with its ups and downs, to fully grow.  She cannot truly experience love without experiencing pain.  She cannot revel in hope without experiencing disappointment.  I know I cannot protect her from illness, but I can teach her how to build up her immune system.  While I want nothing more than to protect her from all harm, I know that this is not what she needs.  Instead, she needs freedom to grow, to express herself, to find herself... but all from the security of knowing she is loved by a father who is always there for her.  I will be there to share her joy and to give her comfort in her sorrow.  This new relationship with her can be hard for outsiders to understand - how can I let her make mistakes and head down a path of pain, while still claiming to love her?  Instead, it is in the care and compassion that I give her wherever she finds herself that shows my love.  I cannot embrace her if I have not first let her go.

And in the final stage, I want a new relationship with my daughter.  I am always her father, but now she grows into becoming my friend.  In John's gospel (John 15), we read Jesus saying that he is now calling his disciples his friends.  They have progressed to a new level of relationship.  God, becoming our friends.  I remember hearing someone discussing whether children become friends with parents.  There were two views - one that a child becomes a friend, and the parent role ceases.  Another was that the parent is always a parent and it can never be truly called a friendship.  Yet I don't see both as mutually exclusive.  Perhaps we can be both.

I find this relationship with my children to be helpful in thinking about God's relationship with humanity.  In the western world, we are very individualistic, and so in this article I have several times wrestled with whether to say "God's relationship with me" or "with humanity."  For me, this analogy of parental love helps me understand why God does not always intervene (apparently) and why God might allow me to go down a path that is difficult or challenging.  I might let my own daughter do the same thing.  It is not a sign of my lack of love.  Rather, it is my wanting her to grow and use her own gifts and find blessings even within darker times, knowing that I am with her every step of the way, but not as a controlling parent who manages all the details of her life - instead, as a loving parent wanting her to share all the details of her life with me so that we can truly live in relationship, seeing her be the best version of herself she can be.  And of course, we see this life through the perspective of mortality and one short life on this earth, whereas God sees all through eternity.

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Which God are we describing?

This question interests me a lot.  When we talk about God to others, especially non-believers, which God are we describing?  Which parent am I?  

Do we describe the swaddling God who is in control of every detail of our lives and loves us with the passionate love of a parent holding a newborn?  Certainly, God feels that tender love for us.

Or do we depict a God of rules and laws, a God of "thou shalt nots"?  Looking at books such as Leviticus as a parent, I can see how many passages make much more sense through this lens of loving compassion for safety and well-being, protecting their identity, safety, and relationship with God.  Certainly, God feels that protective love for us also.

Or perhaps we talk of a God that loves us and wants to see our full potential?  A God who loves us as we are, and calls us to live loving lives that help others experience that love also.  Certainly, God feels that passionate love for us also.

I hear Christians describe all these elements of God at various times.  However, each description of an aspect of God also raises questions and challenges that someone without a relationship with God might well be entitled to ask.  For example:

If God is in control (as with the baby), then why is there suffering?  Why is evil allowed to flourish?

If God is seen as a giver of strict rules (as with the young child), then this can create an image of an angry father of harsh discipline, waiting to catch us out.  This robs the Cross of its beauty, as we reduce Jesus to being a sacrifice to appease an angry God.  Who would truly want to be in a loving relationship with an angry God of wrath?

If God is all-accepting and leaves us alone to make our own decisions and make our own mistakes, then what about the mass murderers, the abusers, those who knowingly and uncaringly cause suffering?  Where is the justice?  Is God just going to forgive and forget in the name of free choice and unconditional love?  Who does God see... the young boy abused by a relative, unloved and hurt, or the same adult who perpetuates the cycle of pain?  

Which father am I?  I am a father who loves, with the passion of a father holding a newborn infant in his arms.  I am the father who cares enough to give guidance and principles to live by.  I am the father who loves to watch a child grow, stepping out in her own choices and freedom, but who loves me in return and lives in an intimate relationship with me.  To only focus on one aspect of God is to lose the richness of God's love for us.   But in truth, the world will not be convinced by our talking of God.  The world needs to see the love of God in our lives, so that they will see the genuine love waiting for them.  A father with open arms, longing for that embrace.

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Any metaphor is always going to fall short, but in this image of a loving parent, I find a way to navigate and understand God and how God's love is expressed in my life - in nurturing me, in providing for me, in giving me free will, in allowing me to walk away from Him, in longing for me to return, in inspiring me to see the world around with the same love and passion of his own eyes - filling me with a burning desire to show that love and to be that love in whatever places and in the lives into which I am blessed to be placed.