Whip Spiders and Augustinian Theodicy

Last night I watched a documentary produced by the BBC on "Life in the Undergrowth" hosted by David Attenborough. On the program, they introduced the viewers to a strange creature that I had never heard of before -- the "whip spider" (see below for a picture). Virtually everything on this creature is intended to kill. It has venomous fangs, strong body armor, and foot-long legs used to feel for prey. This got me thinking about my own view of the fall and its deficiencies.

I have traditionally accepted an Augustinian view of the fall. This teaches that the world was once a place of perfect harmony where man and animals got along perfectly, man introduced sin into the world, and this caused all of creation to go haywire -- tornados, earthquakes, enmity between man and nature, etc. So here is my question: Did God create the whip spider before the fall? If so, then did it have venomous fangs? Or would it have been a totally different creature (completely peaceful) that "evolved" the fangs after the fall? Or is my view of the fall too childish? Is it more metaphorical than this? Should I accept the Darwinian view that this spider developed these traits because of survival of the fittest as many theistic evolutionists contend? I am leaning in this direction, but the question remains, "Then how do I read the Biblical account of the fall?"

To put my question more simply, "Did lions always have claws?" If God originally intended nature to exist in harmony, then why would they need claws? If you say that "no they didn't have claws," then did they just evolve them after the fall?

Unexpected Salvation

Below is a sermon delivered to my preaching class on Tuesday, April 29, 2008.

Every family has its favorite video clips that they play over and over and over. My guess is that most of them are clips of little children doing silly things, but actually my family’s universal favorite is of my parents, taken just a couple of years ago. Courtney and I sat down to eat a nice meal in celebration of my father’s 49th birthday. We had traveled over to southern Indiana and met them halfway for an evening of enjoying dinner together. Then, camera in hand, we began to sing “Happy Birthday” to Dad. All was normal until we sang “happy birthday, dear grandpa.” It took just a second for it to sink in, but their responses were classic. Mom’s eyes about bugged out of her head and Dad reared his head so far back we thought he might fall right out of his chair. With my mom’s scream and my Dad’s utter shock, it has become one of those moments that we relive time and time again. Well, this morning our text tells us an account of a very pleasant and very unexpected surprise – one of those moments when God just breaks in and surprises you with how He works. I invite you to turn with me as I read from John 5:1-14.

John 5:1-15 Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a feast of the Jews. 2 Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. 3 Here a great number of disabled people used to lie-- the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. 4 5 One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years. 6 When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, "Do you want to get well?" 7 "Sir," the invalid replied, "I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me." 8 Then Jesus said to him, "Get up! Pick up your mat and walk." 9 At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked. The day on which this took place was a Sabbath, 10 and so the Jews said to the man who had been healed, "It is the Sabbath; the law forbids you to carry your mat." 11 But he replied, "The man who made me well said to me, 'Pick up your mat and walk.'" 12 So they asked him, "Who is this fellow who told you to pick it up and walk?" 13 The man who was healed had no idea who it was, for Jesus had slipped away into the crowd that was there. 14 Later Jesus found him at the temple and said to him, "See, you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you." 15 The man went away and told the Jews that it was Jesus who had made him well.

This is a salvation story and a rather mysterious one at that in that it doesn’t fit the normal pattern of salvation stories. I fear that we have the tendency in the church to sometimes remove all of the mystery out of salvation. After all, this is what we do here in seminary – we examine these eternal truths in books, take tests on them, memorize original languages, and create sciences like “soteriology” (the study of salvation). But, of course, if you think that you live in a world where the deepest mysteries of the universe such as salvation can be put under a microscope, dissected, and maybe even cloned, you are going to be gravely disappointed. I, for one, am thankful that the deepest mysteries of God remain hidden from the wise and learned and have been reveled to little children for God’s good pleasure. The invalid at the well may well have laid there for 38 years thinking about the moment of his healing – how it would happen, when it would happen, what it would be like once it happened. And, in fact, he had worked out a plan. It was a simple 3 step process: 1) sit by the well, 2) wait for the right moment, 3) get into the well. Nice and neat. Easy to understand. It reminds me a bit of our “4 Spiritual Laws” or our “Roman Road” or the “ABC’s of Salvation,” but that’s another sermon. Enter Jesus, the Savior of mankind, who approaches the man and asks him, “Do you want to be made well?” Notice that the man does not answer the question. Instead, he turns to his own agenda. “Well, you see, sir, I have the plan. It’s a good plan. I’ve been thinking about it for years. Now if you could just give me a hand...” Stupid, silly man. He thinks the pool is going to save him! He thinks Jesus is a means to an end – a person he can use for his own agenda! He has put all of his gambling chips on the wrong square! Now we might chide the invalid for missing the point – for putting his faith in a puddle of water instead of the Son of God – but notice that Jesus doesn’t do this. What does Jesus do? He simply speaks a word to the man and saves him. Forget the pool. The pool is not important. Yes, you’ve had your hopes set on the pool for 38 years, but I say to you: “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk!” Notice this: the man didn’t even have faith and he didn’t even call upon Jesus for salvation. But in an act of total, gracious, God-like giving, Jesus speaks the word of healing into this man’s life for which he’d been waiting for 38 years. Folks, we have our own agendas. We have our own particular ideas of what it means to be saved and how to get there. For crying out loud, us Wesley scholars divide the process into nice, neat stages and slap labels on them like “prevenient grace” and “justifying grace” and “sanctifying grace” and “glorifying grace.” But salvation cannot be reduced for a formula. Jesus has his own agenda and won’t be boxed in. We may have our eyes dead set on that pool over there, but thank God that Jesus has his own agenda.

Second, God’s healing comes at unexpected times. Notice also that the invalid had his own timing in mind. This pool, we are told by the Scriptures, was occasionally stirred up by an angel. When Jesus came to see him, the invalid essentially invited him to sit with him and wait for the right time. But Jesus operates on a different time. The invalid wanted control – his plan, as he saw it, was just right. But Jesus brings healing to the man on his own time (and, in fact, got in deep trouble for doing so since it happened to be the Sabbath day). Friends, we like to control the timing of our own salvation. In fact, we have a long history of preaching that you can come now and come as you are and be saved. I don’t want to preach against that tradition right now, but can I suggest that the timing of our own salvation is not in our hands, but in God’s. John Wesley once said, “A man may be saved if he will, but not when he will.” In the age of microwave popcorn and instant coffee, we have come to believe that we can have what we want when we want it. But God doesn’t work that way. The agenda is his and the timing is his.

Finally, God’s healing involves unexpected results. Notice here the results of the invalid’s healing. We have no record of rejoicing, parties, going out and telling all of your friends, perpetual happiness and joy. No. We, instead, have a very different picture. No sooner than he had picked up his mat, than the man meets the pharisees who start to grill him with questions. “You’re breaking the law! Don’t you know what day it is? Who did this to you?” and so on. (Sometimes these pharisees can be real jerks, huh? Not even a pat on the back or a “good to see you up on your feet.”) Not only this, but we even find Jesus offering a hard word: “See, you are well again. Stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.” I don’t know about you, but this story doesn’t fit my script very well. You see, my script is pretty simple: a messed up guy gets saved and goes away rejoicing as happy as can be and then dances off into heaven with not a care in the world. But this man’s script is different. No sooner is he healed than he has to face another form of opposition. He trades in his sickness for ridicule and persecution and stern warnings about newfound responsibility. Yes, salvation is much more complicated than we would like to think and it involves suffering, endurance, and opposition.

Allow me a brief example from my own life. About a year ago, I began to earnestly pray to God for patience. I am naturally a rather impatient and irritable person and earnestly desired God to change me. I had been praying this persistently for several weeks, when one night my infant daughter woke up at 3 am and started screaming her head off for no apparent reason. Unable to calm her after what seemed like hours on end, I cried out to God: “Please just make her stop!” And then it hit me. It was like God said to me, “Now, Greg, let me explain it to you ‘cause you’re not getting it. You ask me to make you a patient man, but then when I try to teach you patience you ask me to stop. Now which do you want? Do you really want to be patient or don’t you?” Friends, we have to think really hard about the question Jesus asked the invalid, “Do you want to be made well?” Because if we say “yes,” we can be sure of one thing: we are in for a wild ride. Our own agenda is going to have to take a back seat. Forget about the pool. God is in control now. He decides how we are saved, He decides when we are saved, and He promises us that our future will not be sugar coated.

We’ve now seen that when Jesus is involved, the unexpected happens. This mysterious figure approaches us in the midst of our suffering and confusion and asks us “Do you want to be made well?” His methods are unconventional, his timing is unpredictable, and we can expect that the journey of following him will have its surprises because he is the One in charge, not us.

And he still heals people. Allow me to transport you to an unexpected place where unexpected healing is happening. Over 5,000 miles south of Wilmore, Kentucky lies the capital city of Asuncion in Paraguay. A landlocked nation in the central part of South America, Paraguay is among the poorest countries in the Western hemisphere. In the slums of Asuncion, children wake up each day to rummage through piles of trash trying to find something to salvage or exchange for food. But God is present in these slums. Jesus passes through and unexpectedly says to these children, “Do you want to be made well?”

A gifted musician and conductor by the name of Luis Szaran has begun a ministry in these slums called “Sonidos de la Tierra [Sounds of the Earth]” in which he invites young children to come and learn how to play a musical instrument... completely free of charge. For hours on end, Luis who happens to be the conductor for the Paraguayan National Orchestra, spends his time conducting a ragtag group of kids in playing Beethoven and Mozart. Children who once had no purpose in life can now feel special and important with a violin or cello or flute in hand.

To most listeners, the music may sound like just music. But for the Christian, we know that it is much more... it is the symphony of God’s salvation being unexpectedly played in one of the least expected places on earth. Children with no purpose are now given a voice. Oscar, a boy of no more than 14 years old, has already begun to compose his own music. This is the salvation that Jesus is bringing into the world through unexpected means (even music!), at unexpected times, and with unexpected results.

“We worship you, O God, who makes us well.”

Stiff-necked

Deuteronomy 9:1-6 Hear, O Israel. You are now about to cross the Jordan to go in and dispossess nations greater and stronger than you, with large cities that have walls up to the sky. 2 The people are strong and tall-- Anakites! You know about them and have heard it said: "Who can stand up against the Anakites?" 3 But be assured today that the LORD your God is the one who goes across ahead of you like a devouring fire. He will destroy them; he will subdue them before you. And you will drive them out and annihilate them quickly, as the LORD has promised you. 4 After the LORD your God has driven them out before you, do not say to yourself, "The LORD has brought me here to take possession of this land because of my righteousness." No, it is on account of the wickedness of these nations that the LORD is going to drive them out before you. 5 It is not because of your righteousness or your integrity that you are going in to take possession of their land; but on account of the wickedness of these nations, the LORD your God will drive them out before you, to accomplish what he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. 6 Understand, then, that it is not because of your righteousness that the LORD your God is giving you this good land to possess, for you are a stiff-necked people.

God has chosen to use his people to combat evil in this world and, ultimately, evil will be defeated. Systems of oppression and injustice, demonic powers that enslave people to addictions, and the inner chaos and turmoil of broken relationship will one day be overcome by God's shalom. But in the meantime, the church must remember this one very important fact: God is doing this through his people not because they are so good, but because evil is so bad. It's as if God shakes his head and says, "Well, it's not much to work with, but it's all I've got." This keeps us from getting a big head. We are told explicitly three times in these short verses a very simple fact: you are really bad people. You are stubborn, stiff-necked, grumbling, idolatrous people. In a strange sort of way, I find comfort in this rebuke. It reminds me that I am a man of unclean lips who live among a people of unclean lips. I don't come down from my holy hill in all of my righteous glory and condescend to relate to poor, miserable sinners. No, I am among the poor, miserable sinners and God supernaturally works out his plan of salvation through this broken vessel. And so I can sing with the saints: "Salvation belongs to our God who sits upon the throne!"

Virtue in a Pill, Pt. 3

John Wesley drew a sharp distinction between what he called "sins" and "infirmities." I find this to be a rich theological resource which needs to be explored in light of my recent change in personality. Simply put, Wesley understood sin to be "a willful violation of a fully known law of God." Holiness includes, among other things, the complete elimination (some prefer the word "eradication") of sin from one's life. Infirmities, on the other hand, are those temperaments and dispositions within us that are imperfect and yet do not make us morally blameworthy for having them. For example, if I do not have the knowledge that my friend from Kenya considers it rude for me to pass him by without stopping to chat for a few minutes, and this is in fact exactly what I do, then I have made a mistake (as a result of an infirmity of knowledge), but not a sin. If, on the other hand, I was fully aware that this was his cultural expectation and decided to offend him anyway, this would be a sin. Infirmities can take the form of ignorance, physical disabilities, or anything in our behavior that is simply the result of us "being human."

(I must state parenthetically that I strongly disapprove of the tendency for many people to do a deliberate act of sin and then categorize it as though it were an infirmity. "After all, I'm only human." That statement is a sacrilege against the word "human.")

But my pill is challenging me to perhaps widen the scope/range/variety of infirmities. While not wanting to remove personal responsibility and replace it with a "victimization" theology, I must wonder how much of human behavior is influenced by factors outside of our own control. Since I was a little child, I was told that I was too serious and needed to learn to lighten up. I grew up with the understanding that this was a flaw in my character. A better Greg could laugh at himself more easily, see the humor in certain situations, etc. And somewhere along the line I became convinced that this was an issue of sin... my inability to smile or laugh in certain situations reflected a lack of character.

But the pill has changed me (at least for the last several days). I now find it almost natural or easy to laugh at myself and my mistakes. Little inconveniences like Lydah spilling her cereal all over the place have become more the subject of laughter than anger. Instead of feeling the heat build up under my collar, I find a sort of holy power to recognize how silly it would be to get upset about something so small and innocent. In this small way, the pill has made me more of what I have always wanted to be, but never could be before... a little more happy-go-lucky and carefree.

But the real question in my mind is this: Am I still the real Greg Coates that God made me? The Greg Coates I've always known is prone to irritability with others (a sin or an infirmity?), but the Lexapro Greg Coates ("the high Greg Coates") is a nicer guy... a bit more patient and kind and gentle and loving. In other words, the pill has given me a cheap shortcut to the fruit of the Spirit. Have I traded in my pneumatology for pharmacology? Have I turned to chemicals to accomplish what the Holy Spirit did not accomplish within me for years? Is this pill a gift from God or is it a cheap little demon that will make me its slave?

And is the old sour Greg really just a product of infirmity? Has my brain made me a victim all of my life? Perhaps I'm not morally culpable for always being inclined to act like a jerk. God could have just made me a nice guy at birth if he'd wanted to.

I'm asking myself the following theoretical question: If I could have a brain surgery that would make me exhibit all of the qualities of one who is entirely sanctified, would I do it? So far in my life, the answer has been "no." Why? Because I see it as a cheap cop-out for an essential process -- the hard work of training in virtue through the means of grace, discipline, and reliance upon God. Dallas Willard points out that a man who wanted nothing more than to be free from lust could gouge out his eyes and castrate himself in order to accomplish his mission, but God does not will for us to roll into heaven a "mutilated stump." He'd actually rather us battle our thorns in the flesh and grow in character as a result than to take the easy way.

And now it is just a question of degrees. What is different about me taking Lexapro from having the "sanctifying-brain-surgery"? The pill is just a small, daily brain surgery.

But strangely I'm not feeling very guilty about all of this. Very strange, in fact, since I've always felt guilty about everything. Must be the pill.

Two Ways of Knowledge

Every once in a blue moon, I read something that just makes my soul cry, "yes!" Here is the quote of the day from Thomas Aquinas:

"There are two ways of desiring knowledge. One way is to desire it as a perfection of oneself; and that is the way the philosophers desire it. The other is to desire it not [merely] as a perfection of oneself, but because through this knowledge the one we love becomes present to us; and that is the way saints desire it."

I desire to be a saint rather than a philosopher.

Virtue in a Pill, Pt. 2

The pill has not made me a saint, but it has helped. Last night I only slept for 4 hours enabling me to wake up at 5:30 and have morning devotions -- something I have not done in years. I was able to accomplish a lot with all of my time doing extra schoolwork and housework. Clearly, the pill is making me more like God.

It's so simple, actually. I should have just thought of it before. What the church needs to make saints is not the means of grace, the spiritual disciplines, the hard work of virtue, or even the Holy Spirit. What it needs is a really good brain surgeon. I am, of course, being facetious here in my observations, but the effects of this depression medication on me have indeed provoked a host of theological questions.

Are some people more naturally prone to virtue simply as a result of their chemical makeup?
If so (and it seems to me the answer is "yes"), then are some people who exhibit behaviors of irritability, anger, and impatience actually victims of their own brain rather than free moral agents acting rebelliously? (And is it fair of God to make some people naturally happy while making others naturally dour?) At least one implication seems quite clear to me: the recognition that people are naturally inclined to virtue by varying levels leads me to great hesitancy in ever judging another person. After all, the only difference between him and me might be the fact that I'm taking a pill and he is not.

As for me, I was a better person today. I smiled more, enjoyed the company of others more, and even savored the food that I ate more. I had hoped that such a change in my character would come from a supernatural act of God's Spirit being poured into my life, but I'm afraid it came at the hands of Lexapro instead.

Maybe I'm a sell out. Maybe I have just cheapened the painful process of sanctification and taken a shortcut. Maybe I will one day have this crutch I lean on removed from me and the real Greg will once again rear his ugly head.

Or, as a friend suggested to me tonight, maybe Lexapro is now my new sacrament -- a means of grace given to me by God for my undeserved benefit. I now partake of the body, the blood, and the pill. Together they are making me whole.

Virtue in a Pill

Much of my life has been spent striving for virtue. By doing the disciplines (whether through reading, study, prayer, exercise, being informed about the news, meticulously planning how to best use my time, etc), I have attempted to become the sort of person that I think a Christian should be. And what sort of person is that? In short, one who is thankful and patient and content with his life. I believe God wants this for me and that the way to attain it is through hard work.

But I've noticed something rather troubling to me theologically as I wrestle with this inculcation of virtue. About a year and a half ago, I was prescribed some pain medication called Tramadol for some severe stress headaches which came upon me 3 or 4 times each month. It being a painkiller, I obviously enjoyed its soothing effects on my body. But I noticed another side effect which I enjoyed even more: it made me virtuous. For about 2 0r 3 hours after I first took the little pill, I felt holy -- that is, I saw beauty in things rather than ugliness, I appreciated simple pleasures more, I smiled and laughed with others when I normally would have been more dour, I even prayed better!

I'm not sure exactly how I ought to interpret this fact so I'm just putting it out there for observation. One small Tramadol makes me (at least for a short time) a better Christian. All of those virtues I strive so hard to attain are for a moment given to me like a free gift. Being nice becomes easy and enjoying beauty comes naturally. In short, there is an undeniable link between my own spirituality and the chemicals in my brain... an insight that is not new to those who study holistic spirituality like myself. And yet... something about this fact disturbs me. Psychologists claim to be able to stimulate "encounters with God" artificially in the lab these days (I remember the title of one book called "The God Part of the Brain.")

I certainly don't believe the Holy Spirit can be put into a pill, but sometimes it almost seems like it. I'm reminded of the one great alternative to God as put forth by the atheist Aldous Huxley in his magnificent novel A Brave New World -- Huxley's God is Soma, the wonder-drug which makes everyone happy, calms all fears, and allows peace and tranquility to reign. Ultimately, in my worldview I must insist that such hallucinogenic experiences are cheap imitations of the real, lasting, and permanent happiness found in union with the divine. But even a short spell of holiness induced by a pill is tempting.

I write this today because I have taken a step that I have probably long needed to take. I began a medication for depression. I think my depression is quite mild, but in recent weeks I have noticed myself becoming more and more erratic emotionally and much more prone to long periods of melancholy. Recognizing that the chemicals in my brain might need fixing, I have turned to modern medicine. But I cannot help but feel like a sell-out. I keep thinking, "If only I tried harder to develop virtue in my life, I would not need this." And yet here I am taking pills in an attempt to make Greg Coates who I think God thinks Greg Coates should be.

Fix me, God. I'm broken down.

Suffering

The more I learn about the Christian life, the more I am convinced that at least some forms of suffering must be embraced as the will of God. In what ways do I suffer for the sake of God's kingdom? I live a quiet and easy life. And yet I do suffer in very small ways. I suffer in my heart for those who are in need, I suffer by simply waking up in the middle of the night to comfort my daughter when she won't sleep, and I suffer the denial of my desires when I want to plunge into materialism to medicate myself. These are mild forms of suffering, but nevertheless are substantial in my simple life.

I have been inspired once again by a quote from the diary of Phoebe Palmer (entered 1864):

“Live in the spirit of sacrifice. Let it be seen that you are willing to sacrifice that which costs you something in ease, reputation, and according as God hath prospered you in money, for the establishment of Christ’s kingdom on earth. Thus shall it be known by the testimony of your life and lips, that holiness is the power, or, in other words, the great lever by which a fallen redeemed world is to be raised from earth to heaven.”

From Monument to Movement

I remember vividly watching the 1998 film adaptation of Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables and seeing the young idealistic student Marius Pontmercy standing atop a box in the middle of a crowded street. He proclaimed the dawn of a new era for France and encouraged young and old alike to join him in the revolution. As I watched, something within me envied this young man. He had a cause and he believed in it; he had found something worth living and dying for.

As a young idealist myself, I long to be part of a movement that is radical, edgy, and nonconformist – one that challenges the status quo and invites its members to a place of radical (and dangerous) action. And, much to my delight, as I have studied the history of the Free Methodist Church I have found that this is exactly what we once were.

According to Donald Dayton, B. T. Roberts “pushed his followers to a radical discipleship that affirmed simple lifestyle, polemicized against the ‘modern, easy way of people getting converted, without repentance, without renouncing the world,’ and insisted that such renunciation of the world include such social sins as ‘slavery, driving hard bargains, and oppressing the hireling in his wages.’” The tone of the early Free Methodist movement carried seeds of dissent from the increasingly bourgeois church of the late nineteenth century leading its followers to a radical simplicity of lifestyle for the sake of the poor.

The dual concern for complete holiness and social justice lies at the heart of Free Methodist DNA. Our founders were convinced that these two were completely inseparable. For holiness means nothing more and nothing less than perfect love and this perfect love will drive us to “follow in the footsteps of Jesus... by seeing that the gospel is preached to the poor” (B. T. Roberts). Unfortunately, the 20th century convinced us that we must choose between doctrinal purity and what is now called the social gospel movement – creating a split which still haunts us to this day.

This young idealist in his late twenties wishes to see the Free Methodist Church denounce the unholy divorce of personal and social holiness as demonic and return to our roots – to a place of radical self-denial and sacrificial love which motivates not only our prayers, but our pocketbooks as well. We must reject a hyper-spiritualized gospel which tells us that God only cares about souls and not about physical needs as well. We must embrace holistic ministry which meets people where they are and presents them with the fully-orbed, robust gospel of Jesus Christ in all of its personal, social, and political glory.

In many ways, the Free Methodist Church has become that very denomination against which we rebelled. We have become a “respectable church” rather than a church on the margins and on the fringes of society. We have traded in the plain dress and unadorned church buildings of the early Free Methodists for middle-to-upper class luxuries and padded pews.

I suggest we take our cue from the founders of the church of the Nazarene (close relatives of ours) who wrote the following: “We can get along without rich people, but not without preaching the gospel to the poor... Let the church of the Nazarene be true to its commission; not great and elegant buildings; but to feed the hungry and clothe the naked, and wipe away the tears of the sorrowing; and gather jewels for his diadem.”