Faith in Crisis - free ebook to download

I've recently put together some of the articles from this blog and my archives that seem relevant to the present times. They cover topics such as faith, trust, doubt, disasters and questions about God's goodness.

The result is 'Faith in Crisis', a small eBook in PDF format that's free to download from my website. I hope and pray that it will be an encouragement to you.




UPDATE

I've now added a second eBook, Hope in Sorrow, which is made up of longer articles on grief, depression, stress and death. You can download it free from my website.

Is God really good?

Sometimes I wonder if God really is good. When I watch the news, or read a newspaper, I wonder how we can keep saying "God is in control". When I see the terrible pain and suffering that people inflict on each other, not just in the world, but even in the church, I sometimes begin to doubt that God is even real. Where is he? What is he doing? Are we just wasting our time in church on Sunday?

What keeps me from tossing my Bible in the bin is reflecting on the life of Jesus. Jesus lived in a time when the blind and the lame and the leprous had no hospitals, no Medicare, no social services. He saw children tormented by uncontrolled epilepsy and dying of infections.

He lived in a country occupied by soldiers who didn't look to see if the media were watching before they beat people up. As he wandered about the countryside, he probably saw the mangled bodies of those who had been crucified. He heard his disciples arguing, vying with each other for status, making promises he knew they couldn't keep. He knew far better than I do what the real world is like.

And yet he kept talking as if God were in control. He spoke of God as our Father, who loves us and cares for us.

Perhaps Jesus was just crazy and deluded, ignoring what was in front of him and living in a spiritual dream world. If that's the case, we might as well go home. But if he was sane, then it's tremendously reassuring to know that he lived in the real world. He knew what it's like, and yet he could still trust his Father. He could still believe that his life and death had purpose and meaning. He could still work with his disciples, despite their failings. He didn't look around him and throw up his hands in despair.

Jesus could have used his divine powers to miraculously change the world. He was certainly tempted by that possibility. So why did he heal only a few? Why did he feed just a few thousand and not all the world's hungry? Why didn't he end the brutal political system of the time?

Who knows? The fact that he could have done these miracles, but didn't, suggests that what he did was more important than all of these potential miracles. It helps to bring things back into their eternal perspective.

Photo by British Library on Unsplash

The Evil That Men Do (review)

The Evil That Men Do, by Marcus K. Paul, (Sacristy Press, 2016) takes an unflinching look at some of the most shameful events in the history of the church, such as the Crusades and the Spanish Inquisition. It also examines periods in Christian history which are commonly held up to ridicule, such as 16th and 17th century Puritanism, and Victorian religiosity and "do-goodism".

The book is well written, being neither simplistic nor contentious. The author makes no effort to deny or excuse atrocities. The cover tellingly shows Thomas Cranmer being burned at the stake by fellow Christians in 1556.

Through his knowledgeable and widely-sourced descriptions of the political and philosophical background of each era, Paul sets events in context. He also points to some of the positive impacts of the church and individual Christians in each era which are often overlooked. As he says, "the evil that men don't do because of their beliefs is hardly susceptible to recording and measurement", whereas their evil deeds live on in memory.

I read the book while researching and thinking about the First World War. Chapter 10, "Global War and the Abridgement of Hope", deals with the horrors of the war and the widespread loss of faith and changed attitude towards the church that resulted from it, especially amongst soldiers. The author takes up Wilfred Owen's argument that it was often the experience of other's actions that destroyed, or occasionally preserved, faith. He compares this to the Victorian era, when disbelief was more likely to result from pondering and debating abstract ideas.

He deals sympathetically with those who lost their faith. After the war, he says, many people were so psychologically scarred by what they had been through that no amount of rational argument for God's existence, let alone goodness, could move them. This was especially the case if it was offered by clergy who had not seen the brutality firsthand. (Things were rather different in America, where the experience of the war years strengthened Christian certainty and uniformity.)

Surprisingly, Marcus K Paul has little to say about Christian opposition to the war. He speaks of Christians, such as members of the Salvation Army, who courageously worked alongside the troops in the trenches, bringing cups of tea and comfort. His chapter has more to do with people's attitude to the church rather than the church's attitude to the war.

As is well known, the established churches on both sides largely supported both the war and conscription. More than one historian has argued that the war was portrayed as a holy war. Yet there were a few Christian voices raised against the war, including the great German theologian, Karl Barth. It would be good to hear more of them.

The book doesn't cover the more recent issue of child sexual abuse by clergy and others associated with the church. Perhaps the full extent of that evil has not been fully exposed yet. Much of what the author says about other evils could well be applied. Overall, The Evils that Men Do provides a way of thinking about the unthinkable, not justifying it, but not being overwhelmed by it either.

Asking God to explain himself

“Far be it from you to do such a thing, to put the righteous to death with the wicked, so that the righteous fare as the wicked! Far be that from you! Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” Genesis 18:25

The Old Testament is vital to our understanding of who Jesus is and what he said and did. Yet it’s not always easy to read. Sometimes the problem is our distance in time and culture from when it was written. A good commentary can help us to understand the context. But the greater difficulty for many of us comes with those passages that make us exclaim “That’s awful! Why would God say or do that? What sort of God is this?” Many atheists point to these passages as a reason for their atheism.

Some would argue that if it’s in the Bible, it’s God’s word, and that’s that. Whether we like it or not, we have to accept what we read. We should never presume to question God. Such questioning is the first step on the road to unbelief.

But the Old Testament itself is full of people who were startled and disturbed by God’s words and actions and questioned him about his motives. Abraham (Genesis 18:16-33), Moses (Exodus 5:22-23, Numbers 11:11), Joshua (Joshua 7:7), Gideon (Judges 6:13) David (Psalm 10:1), Isaiah (Isaiah 63:17) and Jeremiah (Jeremiah 12:1) all at some time cried a horrified “Why, Lord?”. The writers of the books of Job, Jonah and Habakkuk each sought to answer the question of how God’s righteousness and faithfulness could be reconciled with his actions (or inactivity).

What distinguished them from most atheists is that they genuinely sought understanding, and sought it from God himself, rather than using their questions as an excuse for unbelief. Underlying their questions was a solid belief not just in God’s existence but in his goodness and righteousness, based on their own experience. And although they were direct, even blunt, in speaking with God, they acknowledged that they were presuming on his grace in doing so. In humility they remained aware that they were created beings asking for answers from their Creator.

image by eric 

Taking our stand

We no longer stand alone

One of the key themes of Paul's letter to the Ephesians - in fact one of the key themes of Paul's theology - is that through the church the wisdom of God is made known to "the rulers and authorities in the heavenly places." (3:8-10) Christ has been raised from the dead and is seated "far above all rule and authority, power and dominion" (1:21). Now we, who once followed "the prince of the power of the air" along with the rest of the world (2:1-2), have been made alive with Christ and united in him and through him. We have "the full armour of God" to help us stand against "the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places"(6:12).

Who or what these "rulers and authorities" are is not spelled out, but clearly they are more than just earthly and human kings and governors. They are in the heavenly places, that is, in the spiritual realm, and they are somehow associated with the "prince of the power of the air." Jesus speaks of Satan as "the ruler of this world" (John 12:31) who he sees (prophetically) falling from heaven (Luke 10:18). Elsewhere in the New Testament Satan is referred to as the "prince of demons" who has a kingdom in this world.

The church is thus reclaimed ground in the great cosmic battle between God and the spiritual powers. Those powers seek to dishonour God by separating us from him and from each other. Their ultimate weapon is death, which separates us permanently. But by defeating death through raising Christ to new life, and uniting what was once disunited through the church, God has declared his wisdom and authority over every other power. 

In the death and resurrection of Jesus the battle has already been won. But for now those powers are still active in the world, spreading disunity, hatred and strife through human sinfulness. We need no reminder of that. So how do we, as ordinary human beings, made extra-ordinary in Christ, take our stand against the "present darkness"? 

Paul's answer is surprising. We do it by striving to keep the unity of the church, and by being submitted to one another. By treating our spouses with courtesy, kindness and respect. By being reliable and hardworking employees, or if we are an employer, by treating our employees with dignity and fairness. By being patient with our children and demonstrating in our own lives the things we are trying to teach them (5:21-6:9). And doing all of these things prayerfully, always relying on the Holy Spirit. 

These are not minor matters. They are the places where spiritual warfare is lost or won in our lives.

The Lord will be my light

Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
the Lord will be my light. Micah 7.8

Dungeons are traditionally dark, windowless places. That's no accident. Except for those born blind, human beings find being in the dark for any length of time disturbing. We rely so much on our vision to make sense of the world. Keeping a prisoner in complete darkness is a sure way of torturing their mind and breaking their spirit.

Sometimes life itself seems to become a dark and dreary dungeon. We can't understand what is going on. Our personal lives are shadowed by illness, loss and loneliness. The world around us is dark with disasters, wars, cruelty, threats and human suffering.

This is as true for Christians as it is for anyone else. In fact it can seem worse for Christians. Where is God in the darkness around us? Why is he allowing us to suffer such confusion and disorientation? In those times we are likely to hear a voice whispering to us "God doesn't care! He can't help you. Are you sure he even exists?"

To recognise these whispers as the voice of an enemy, the enemy, rather than our own, is a great relief. To summon the courage to say "I don't know why this is happening, but I know that God is trustworthy and I will wait for him" is often the turning point in our troubles. It's like finding a candle suddenly shining in the darkness. The dungeon doesn't disappear, but we're no longer afraid of the dark.

Don't be alarmed

People have been predicting the imminent end of the world and Jesus' second coming since his ascension. Some of these predictions have been based on supposed prophetic visions or dreams. Others have focused on auspicious dates such as the years 500, 1000  and 2000 AD. Calculations based on the book of Revelation have produced a wide range of dates, most of which have already passed by uneventfully.

Cataclysmic events such as the sacking of Rome (410 AD), the bubonic plague  in 1347-53, and the wars of 1914 and 1939 have also prompted people to  predict the imminent end of the world. Anxiety being created today by various crises internationally is likely to lead to a rise in end-of-the-world forecasts.

The Bible restrains us from making such predictions or becoming anxious about them. For one thing, it provides a record of wars, famines, plagues and disasters spanning over 2000 years. Whatever dreadful thing is happening in our world today, we can be sure to find something similar in the history described in its pages. "There is nothing new under the sun" (Ecc. 1:9). In all these events, God remains sovereign.

Secondly, we have Jesus' words in Matthew 24:6-8 "You will hear of wars and rumours of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places.  All these are the beginning of birth-pains." What midwives call "practice contractions" in other words.

Jesus assures us that when the end does come and he returns it will be both sudden and obvious. In the meantime may our response to what is happening in the world be compassion and prayer for those affected, trust and steadfastness in our own situation.

Image: by tarotastic / photo on flickr

The violence of the Old Testament - Part 3

This is part 3 of a series. See Part 1 and Part 2

Human-initiated violence in the Old Testament

In part 1 we looked at the human propensity towards violence. While the level of violence in a society ebbs and flows over time, it is never absent. Those who would not think of taking part in violent activity themselves may still watch violence or read about it as a form of entertainment.

Human nature hasn't changed, and much of the violence described in the Old Testament (not to mention the New Testament) is evidence of that. The Bible chronicles life as it is, not as it should be. Life in the Ancient Near East was hard and brutal, tribes and nations went to war with each other and families squabbled then as frequently as they do now. Much of the violence that is recounted in the Old Testament is initiated by sinful human beings. Often such violence is condemned, by the writers and/or by God (eg Psalm 11:5, Proverbs 3:31, Malachi 2:16) But not always. 

Persian warriors

As I've mentioned before, the fact that some activity is recounted in the Old Testament doesn't necessarily mean that it’s being approved. Unless a commentary is added by the writer, the reader is left to decide for themselves what the significance of any particular event might be. Sometimes a violent episode is recounted to demonstrate how bad things had become (the events of Judges 19, for instance). 

That's all very well. But what of the violence that seems to be specifically commanded or carried out by God? If we're not going to pretend it doesn't exist, and we're on shaky ground suggesting that God's words of command have simply been added by the human authors of the texts, (see part 2) what are we to make of it?

The violence of the Old Testament - Part 2

(Thursday thesis)

This is the second part of a series on violence in the Bible, particularly the Old Testament. Part 1 can be found here. And yes, I know it's not Thursday, I'm posting this late.

Two options that don't work

Ignoring the violence of the Old Testament isn't an option for several reasons. First, it suggests that we’re afraid of what conclusions we might come to if we did face it. We’re afraid that our image of God and the way he works might have to be revised in ways that we’re not comfortable with. We’d rather stick with the censored Bible and the blurry image of God we’re familiar with.

But living in fear of discovering the truth isn't healthy, psychologically or spiritually. It puts us constantly on guard against anything that might disturb our carefully constructed version of truth. It means that our faith is not really placed solidly on the God of the Bible, but on an idol of our own construction. We’re creating our own cannon of books and passages that are acceptable to us.

If the God of the Bible really is a cruel and sadistic monster, as the New Atheists suggest, then we should be right to reject him as they do. But not bothering to find out whether it’s true or not seems bizarre. Hoping that it isn't true is not faith but wishful thinking.

Ignoring the violence of the Old Testament also ensures that we live in fear of other people questioning us about it. We’ll find ourselves unwilling to invite people to church or our Bible study group if we know that one of the ‘difficult’ passages from the Old Testament is going to be read. We’ll avoid suggesting that people read the Bible for themselves, or point them only to the New Testament. We’ll look embarrassed and give a half-hearted answer when we are questioned about difficult passages. Fear will kill our desire to evangelise, or lead us to offer a short and sweetened version of the gospel.

Ignoring the violence of parts of the Old Testament means that we’ll have no biblical way to understand the violence in the New Testament or in the world around us. The crucifixion will be a jarring aberration in an otherwise peaceful landscape. The final judgement scenes in Revelation will seem out of place. The lavender-scented version of the world that comes from our edited Bible won’t match up with a reality where war, brutality, rape, domestic violence, murder and a host of other evils are on display daily.

Asking why

How are we to understand the things that happen to us which disrupt our carefully planned lives? They may be minor interruptions to our day, or major disasters. Either way, they unsettle us and cause us to ask "Why this, and why now?" 

Or at least, if we are brought up to believe that we are 'masters of our own destiny' they will unsettle us. Likewise, if we believe that we can discern and obey God's will for our lives day by day, we will find ourselves asking questions. If we are complete fatalists, or  if we believe that God is arbitrary and unpredictable in what he does, we may be much less concerned with asking "Why?" It's our fate, or the will of the gods, and we just have to accept it.

Christians tend to adopt one of three responses to unexpected set backs to their plans. The first response is to see the disruption as the work of Satan, and to be even more determined to press on. After all, if Satan is trying to oppose what we are doing, it must be good!

The second response is to assume that God is testing us in some way, to see if we will continue to obey him. Again, pressing on is usually the only appropriate response.

The third response is to wonder whether it's our own fault.  Maybe we're heading in the wrong direction. Perhaps our plans are misguided and we need to change our minds. If so, then more prayer and preparation are needed before we move on

.

I suspect that which response we adopt is partly a matter of personality. Those who are self confident are more likely to consider the first two options, while the person who is prone to self doubt or cautiousness will tend to think of the third possibility first.

But there are also differences in theology (that is, our understanding of God) in the three responses. The first sees Satan as God's implacable enemy, the source of all evil. This view avoids attributing evil to God, whose goodness cannot look upon evil, far less will it. The weakness in this view is that it attributes far too much power to Satan and even risks falling into a dualism where the 'good guy' is at war with the 'bad guy' and eventually overcomes him. It also ignores those places in scripture where Satan requests permission from God for his actions or even seems to do God's bidding. 

So, for instance, when the gospels say that Jesus was led into the wilderness to be tested by Satan, it was clearly the Holy Spirit doing the leading. When Paul says that in order to keep him humble he received a "messenger of Satan in his flesh" it seems unlikely that Satan himself was interested in Paul's humility. The implication is that God wanted Paul to remain humble and allowed (or even called upon?) Satan to inflict him. 

If we take the view that God is absolutely sovereign over every event, then all that happens to us must ultimately be from God, and by his will.  This is the theology of those who adopt the second response. If we're not to fall into the trap of thinking that bad things only happen to bad people, we have to conclude that God allows bad things to happen to good people. But in order to avoid the conclusion that God is the source of evil, we then have to assume that he must have some good purpose for making the bad things happen. So difficulties are 'sent to try us', to test our commitment and submission to him, or to build our character. 

Those who respond by asking "Did I just get it wrong" also believe in God's sovereignty. But their theology allows more room for human beings to make choices that may not be God's will. God's sovereignty and control are demonstrated in the way in which he uses both our good and bad choices to work out his good purposes. 

So how do we decide the cause of the set backs to our plans and the necessary action to take? It isn't easy. All three responses, all three theological understandings, have some support from scripture. If we become conscious of having sinned in the choices we've made, we should deal with that. But what if we've been doing what we believe is good and pleasing to God, and still run into difficulties? 

Perhaps there's a lesson to be learned from Job, the book that deals most directly with the "why" behind unexpected set backs.  As readers, we are told that Job's afflictions were the result of a strange heavenly conversation between God and Satan. But no-one told Job that. 

Instead he was left to wrestle with his theology. Although Satan was the immediate cause of his afflictions, he never considered that option. Nor did he accept his wife's advice to give up. Unlike his friends, who piously reinterpreted his circumstances to fit their fixed theology, Job turned directly to God and asked "why?" He also asked "who?" - who is this God that I serve? In the end, he had fewer answers than when he started, but he also had a much deeper knowledge of God. 

God of all comfort?

Richard Beck, author of the Experimental Theology blog, recently ran a fascinating series of essays on why people believe in God, evaluating the theories of Sigmund Freud and William James.

Freud, in his book "The Future of an Illusion" described faith as a sort of psychological narcotic, a way that some people deal with the pain and futility of existence. James, on the other hand, argued in "The Varieties of Religious Experience" that not all those who have faith find it a comfort. For some, faith creates as many problems as it solves, and yet they continue to believe. Thus faith cannot simply be the product of wishful thinking.

Since I can't do justice to Beck's arguments, I recommend you read the articles for yourself (or at least the conclusion, which summarises the whole series.) I'd like to pick up on just one aspect of his essays. In what way is knowing God a comfort and consolation? While not in any way denying that evil and suffering are the direct result of human sinfulness and the work of Satan, I've often struggled with the question "But didn't God himself create human beings and Satan?"

God is good. I know this from scripture and from experience. But he is also the all-knowing creator of everything, including human beings and Satan. So isn't he ultimately responsible for the existence of suffering and evil? Didn't he know, before he began the work of creation, what human beings and Satan would become? Didn't he know in advance about every war, every famine, every disease, every disaster that would happen throughout history?

If he knew David and Jeremiah before they were even conceived, didn't he also know Hitler and Pol Pot? Didn't he see Auschwitz and the Cambodian killing fields before time began? Surely he must have known in advance about every unkind word, every abuse, every mean-spirited action of ours that would add to the store of evil and suffering in the world.

Yet he still chose to create this world. Which seems to leave me with three options. I can choose to ignore such questions and have a neat and tidy faith that says " Satan and sin are the source of all evil, God is the source of all goodness and comfort." This can lead to a form of dualism that glosses over many uncomfortable verses of the Bible about God's involvement in suffering and catastrophe.

Secondly, I can reject the whole idea of God and, like Freud, decide that faith is just a form of wishful thinking. Read Richard Beck if you want to see why this doesn't work.

Or I can try to come to terms with the fact that the God whom I know as good is nevertheless the one who permits the existence of evil and suffering. God is light, but he created a world which would become full of darkness. Such a God is not always a comfort and a consolation. Sometimes he's frighteningly unknowable, dreadfully distant.

When I read the Bible, and the Old Testament in particular, I encounter this God almost as often as the God of grace and peace. Think of Job. Think of Jeremiah and the other prophets. Think of Jesus in Gethsemane.

But perhaps there's another way to look at this, using my own experience as an analogy. When I chose to have children, I knew that no matter how good a parent I tried to be, those children would inevitably experience suffering, pain, grief, loss, and all the other evils that are common to human life. Sometimes I would even be the cause of their pain. How do you explain to a child the need for discipline? How do you explain that some painful medical procedure is being done for their good?

I also knew before they were born that they would surely cause me pain and suffering at some time, through their words and actions. Being a parent would be costly in many ways. Despite my best intentions, they might turn away from me and ignore me. They might even turn around and curse me for having given them birth.

Yet knowing all this, I still chose to become a parent because it was worth it. And perhaps in that is a hint at why God chose to create this world, despite knowing exactly how much evil and darkness would be mingled with goodness and light. Because, for some reason, it was worth it.

There's another aspect to being a parent that tells me a lot about God. Before I had children, I knew that if and when they suffered, I would suffer too, because love is like that. But knowing this wasn't enough to prevent me from wanting to share my love and the good things of my life with children of my own. Fortunately my children have been relatively healthy and happy, and have caused me little grief. Even so, I've come to know what it is to be in anguish with them and for them when they've been sick or distressed, disappointed or misused.

As a created being I don't and can't know why God created the world with all its attendant evil. But I know enough about him to know that his reasons were good and the cost to him was great. Faith is not denying the reality of evil, but trusting that God has his reasons for allowing evil to exist for a time and he will not let us be overcome by it. Faith is believing that one day we too will be able to say "It was worth it."

The pros and cons of being a Christian's kid

Children growing up in a Christian family have many advantages. They usually have caring parents who provide for their physical needs, without being so focused on material things that they have no time for their children. Their upbringing will shelter them from the worst aspects of the world around them. Their parents are less likely than most to be addicted to alcohol or drugs or gambling. And they'll be introduced to the truths of Christianity from infancy.

This will provide them with a framework in which to view the world and make decisions. Deciding to follow Christ will seem the natural thing to do, rather than a leap into the unknown. Even though they may wander away from the church and Christianity in their teenage years, they will retain the knowledge of how to return to God when they're ready.

But there are disadvantages to being brought up in a Christian home and church culture. One of them is that having been taught and trained to do the right thing from childhood, it's easy for the child of Christians to become judgmental about others' behaviour. While some children from Christian families deliberately try everything that comes their way as an act of rebellion, most children with a secure, loving family and a well-ordered life find the temptations that others face just not that tempting. It then becomes difficult for them to empathise or even relate to those less fortunate in their upbringing when they 'fall into temptation'.

Another hazard is that while outwardly holding to a gospel of grace, the life-long Christian can be subtly persuaded that their own right living must earn them some credit with God. After all, within their Christian family, good behaviour was rewarded and bad behaviour punished, and their sense of justice encouraged. This can give rise to feelings of resentment towards God, when all their hard work seems to go unacknowledged.

Sermons that describe the Christian as someone who has moved dramatically from a position of rebellion against God to one of repentence often seem a bit out of touch with the experience of the person who can't remember exactly when they adopted their parents' faith as their own. Their own more subtle forms of rebellion are less often the subject of sermons, especially in churches that are focused on evangelism. This can lead to complacency, boredom with church and lack of spiritual growth.

The 'problem of evil' - if God is both good, and powerful, why is there so much evil in the world? - is often seen as something which deters people from becoming Christians. Yet the person from a Christian family may have a greater struggle to come to terms with evil, pain and suffering than the non-believer or recent convert.

The new convert may well come from a background where the evil of the world is a given, having no explanation, and they've lived all their lives without much hope of ever being free from it. To discover God and all that he promises, to discover the gospel that confronts evil, is liberating. The world has not changed, but they have something to hold on to in the storm.

The person who has been brought up in a Christian home, sheltered from the worst of the world's evils and told constantly about the goodness and love of God is sometimes stunned by the reality of suffering and evil when it confronts them as adults. They are not prepared for the storm. They may be familiar with the various theological explanations offered for evil, but such explanations sound hollow against the pain they see around them. What sort of God would allow such things? Where is the God who answers prayer? The compassion fostered by their Christian upbringing ironically feeds their grief and doubt. They feel that as Christians they should be able to offer an explanation, yet they have nothing to say that doesn't sound trite.

I suspect that many of the atheists who throw up 'the problem of evil' as an argument against Christianity come from a Christian background. Certainly many people date their loss of faith to some tragic event in their own life or the lives of those close to them. By God's grace others, like Job, find that their experience eventually deepens their faith and brings them to a more personal understanding of God.