Category Archives: Truth

Singing Lies in Church

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In a previous post entitled “The Bible’s Best Kept Secret” I summarized the logic of redemption in the Scriptures—that God loves this world and intends to redeem it. Grounded in the holistic worldview of the Old Testament, the New Testament envisions God’s renewal of creation at Christ’s return, rather than God taking us out of this world to “heaven,” conceived of as an immaterial realm. Indeed, contrary to much popular eschatology, nowhere does the Bible ever say that “heaven” is the eternal destiny of the righteous.

The Eschatology of Classic Christian Hymns

So why do so many in the church assume a heavenly afterlife? The answer lies in Christian hymnody. It is primarily from what they sing that those in the pew (or auditorium) typically learn their theology, especially their eschatology. And the trouble is that a holistic vision of the future is found only rarely in popular Christian piety or in the liturgy of the church. Indeed, it is blatantly contradicted by many traditional hymns (and contemporary praise songs) sung in the context of communal worship.

Preparing for Heaven

From the classic Charles Wesley hymn, “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling,” which anticipates being “changed from glory into glory/ till in heaven we take our place,” to “Away in a Manger,” which prays, “And fit us for Heaven, to live with Thee there,” congregations are exposed to—and assimilate—an otherworldly eschatology.

Some hymns, like “When the Roll Is Called up Yonder,” inconsistently combine the idea of resurrection with the hope of heaven: “On that bright and cloudless morning when the dead in Christ shall rise,/ And the glory of His resurrection share;/ When His chosen ones shall gather to their home beyond the skies,/ And the roll is called up yonder, I’ll be there.”

Some hymns even interpret resurrection without reference to the body at all, such as “Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone?” which in one stanza regards death as liberation (“Till death shall set me free”) and in another asserts: “O resurrection day!/ When Christ the Lord from Heav’n comes down/ And bears my soul away.”

A hymn like “When We All Get to Heaven” may be too obvious, but notice that “The Old Rugged Cross” ends with the words, “Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away/ Where his glory forever I’ll share.”

And “Just a Closer Walk with Thee” climaxes with the lines: “When my feeble life is o’er,/ Time for me will be no more;/ Guide me gently, safely o’er/ To Thy kingdom shore, to Thy shore.”

A Perpetual Worship Service

This notion of a perpetual worship service in an otherworldly afterlife is a central motif in many hymns, like “My Jesus I Love Thee,” which affirms that “In mansions of glory and endless delight,/ I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright.”

Likewise, “Come Christians, Join to Sing” affirms that “On heaven’s blissful shore,/ His goodness we’ll adore,/ Singing forevermore,/ ‘Alleluia! Amen!’”

In a similar vein, “As with Gladness Men of Old” asks in one stanza that “when earthly things are past,/ Bring our ransomed souls at last/ Where they need no star to guide” and in another stanza expresses the desire that “In the heavenly country bright/ . . . There forever may we sing/ Alleluias to our King!”

From Hymns to Contemporary Praise Songs

Thankfully, most hymnals no longer have the sixth verse of “Amazing Grace,” which predicts: “The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,/ The sun forbear to shine;/ But God, who called me here below,/ Will be forever mine.”

Yet Chris Tomlin’s contemporary revision of this classic hymn, known as “Amazing Grace (My Chains Are Gone),” reintroduces this very verse as the song’s new climax, ready to shape the otherworldly mindset of a fresh generation of young worshipers unacquainted with hymnals.

And this just begins to scratch the surface of worship lyrics that portray the final destiny of the righteous as transferal from an earthly, historical existence to a transcendent, immaterial realm.

As the popular theologian and preacher A. W. Tozer is reputed to have said: “Christians don’t tell lies; they just go to church and sing them.”

Perhaps that is too harsh; nevertheless, I can testify to the steady diet of such songs that I was exposed to, growing up in the church in Kingston, Jamaica, which certainly reinforced the idea of heaven as otherworldly final destiny.

An Alternative Vision of the Future

I am, however, perpetually grateful that along with such exposure I came to know, through sheer proximity, the this-worldly theology of Rastafarianism, especially as mediated through the music of Bob Marley and the Wailers. While I am a committed Christian and thus cannot affirm everything found in Rasta theology, I nevertheless discern a deeply rooted biblical consciousness in the lyrics of many Wailers’ songs.

For example, the song “We an’ Dem” (on the Uprising album) claims that “in the beginning Jah created everything/ and he gave man dominion over all things” and “Pass It On” (on the Burnin’ album) asserts that “In the kingdom of Jah/ Man shall reign.” These lyrics express (in androcentric language, admittedly) the biblical vision of this-worldly dignity granted humans at creation, a dignity which will be restored in the kingdom of God.

And Peter Tosh’s version of “Get Up, Stand Up” (a song he co-wrote with Marley), understands well the implications of eschatology for ethics, when it contrasts the doctrine of the rapture with a desire for justice on earth:

“You know, most people think,/ A great God will come from the skies,/ And take away every little thing/ And lef’ everybody dry./ But if you know what life is worth,/ You would look for yours/ Right here on earth/ And now we see the light,/ We gonna stand up for our rights.” (From the Equal Rights album.)

The song goes on to critique the “preacher man” for taking the focus off earthly life and affirms that the singer is “Sick and tired of this game of theology,/ die and go to heaven in Jesus name.”

This is the very theology that leads Marley, in the song “Talkin’ Blues” (from the Natty Dread album), to admit, “I feel like bombing a church,/ now that you know that the preacher is lying.”

But if Tozer is right, it isn’t just the preacher who is lying, but also the worshipers who blithely sing hymns of escape to an ethereal heaven—when the Bible teaches no such thing.

What the Bible does teach is the theme of my new book, A New Heaven and a New Earth: Reclaiming Biblical Eschatology (Baker Academic, 2014).

Paul on the “Soul”—Not What You Might Think

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Many Christians throughout history have thought that the “soul” was an immaterial part of the person, and of more importance than the body. Moreover, the “soul” has often been regarded as the immortal or eternal part of the person.

Plato versus the Old Testament on the “Soul”

We have now come to understand that this view of the “soul” ultimately goes back to Plato. In Plato’s anthropological dualism, the human person is constituted by body (partaking of mortality, change, and impermanence) and soul (the higher, eternal part of the person; in some sense, the true person). Plato understood soul (psyche) as essentially mind and regarded it as divine (he called it “the god within”).

Plato’s anthropological dualism (the split in the human person) corresponded to his broader ontological dualism (the split in the nature of reality). He thought that the finite, changeable realm of physical existence, along with sense perception and bodily desires, was manifestly inferior to the divine, immaterial realm of rational intelligibility (the “Forms” or “Ideas”), which existed eternally and without change.

In contrast to the Platonic view is the Old Testament vision of a good creation; God made the cosmos (including materiality and embodiment) and pronounced it “very good” (Gen 1:31).

Likewise, the Old Testament understanding of nephesh (the Hebrew word typically translated “soul”) is very different from Plato’s idea of the soul. It’s core meaning is simply organic life (the semantic range of the term includes other uses, but this is basic). This core meaning shows up in Genesis 2:7, where God creates the first man to be a “living soul” (that is, a living organism).

Paul on the Contrast of “Flesh” and “Spirit”

But doesn’t the Apostle Paul have a contrast between flesh and spirit? Isn’t this an anthropological dualism, a contrast between two parts of the person?

It is true that Pauline language about “flesh” and “Spirit” can sound dualistic. But when Paul uses “flesh” in the negative sense (note that he sometimes uses it positively) he means the power of corruption in the world and in human life, and does not mean the body per se. Likewise “Spirit” refers to the power of God to transform our lives, including our bodies at the resurrection. So “flesh” and “Spirit” are contrasted as two powers that can affect every dimension of life; they are not two realms or two parts of the human person. And they lead to two different ways of life.

Paul typically contrasts following the way of Christ (led by the Spirit) and following the values of this corrupted world. The key here is that God’s good world has been infected by sin (the world is not the way it was meant to be), so we need to resist the present order of things and follow Christ’s way. Since Christ’s way is a radical alternative to this world, it will involve denial and possibly even suffering.

But the ultimate result of suffering for Paul is glory—the resurrection and the age to come. The end point is the world redeemed from its corruption. So, while Paul is brutally honest about the real ethical and religious distinction between good and evil (which he sometimes terms spirit and flesh), he does not identify the created order with evil. Indeed, he affirms that creation will be redeemed.

“Soul” Is Not the Opposite of Body for Paul

Interestingly, “soul” (psyche) is never contrasted to the body in Paul.

Soul isn’t part of Paul’s typical anthropology. He doesn’t think of a human as body and soul; he does speak of the inner person and the outer person, which is more phenomenological, since we experience an inner and an outer of our life, but he doesn’t treat them as separable pieces of the person.

In one place (1 Thessalonians 5:23) Paul mentions spirit, soul, and body, meaning something like lock, stock, and barrel (he is not giving us his theoretical anthropology).

Beyond that, both the word “soul” (psyche) and the adjective “soulish” (psychikos) show up in Paul as value-laden terms. The latter is translated “natural” in English versions, and it tends to have a negative valuation. Let us look at two main examples of this Pauline usage.

“Soul” and “Soulish” in 1 Corinthians 15

The first example is from 1 Corinthians 15, which describes our present mortal/corruptible body as a psychikos (natural) body, in contrast to our future immortal resurrection body as a pneumatikos (spiritual) body. When Paul says “spiritual” he doesn’t mean immaterial. Platonists have often read this as a reference to an immaterial body, whatever that means. but Paul means a body enlivened, empowered, and transformed by God’s Spirit.

This is clear from his contrast in the same chapter between Adam and Christ. Drawing on Genesis 2, he says that Adam was created a living soul (we saw that “soul” in Hebrew usually means a living/breathing organism). So Adam is a psyche/soul. He does not have a soul. The point is he is a mortal organism.

But Paul says that Christ was raised a life-giving Spirit. Is Paul denying the bodily resurrection?

Not at all. He means that Christ’s resurrection, which came about by the vivifying power of God’s Spirit, has the potential to impart the same life to us also (this is a central theme in Paul’s letters)—both in the present (to enable us to live a new life) and in the future (when even our bodies will be redeemed).

But my main point in referencing 1 Corinthians 15 is that Paul contrasts not soul and body, but soul (mortality) and (God’s) Spirit (the power of new life). These are not two realms or two parts of the person, but our original human status (which is now corrupted by sin) and the transformation we can expect from the resurrection.

“Soulish” in 1 Corinthians 2:1-3:4

The second example requires us to go beyond most current English translations, back to the King James Version (KJV) or the American Standard Version (ASV), which are more literal (but the current translations are not wrong).

In 1 Corinthians 2:1-3:4 Paul addresses the wisdom of God (which is from the Spirit of God, and which we can’t grasp unless we have God’s Spirit) with the folly of the world. Here he contrasts “the Spirit who is from God” with the “spirit of the world” in 2:12.

Then Paul goes on to distinguish those who are spiritual (pneumatikos; 2:13, 15; 3:1), who have God’s Spirit, from 1) those who are psychikos (the “natural man” in KJV; 2:14) and from 2) those who are sarkinos (the “carnal man” in KJV; 3:1, 3).

When I heard this passage preached from the KJV (long, long ago), the distinction was made between being spiritual, natural, and carnal (three levels of spirituality, if you will).

Pretty much all modern translations now (correctly) identify psychikos (soulish/natural) with sarkinos (fleshly/carnal) and often translate them the same, sometimes with “unspiritual” or “natural.” They correctly treat soul and flesh as equivalent here.

So living according to the flesh means living as one who accepts the ordinary, fallen world (= soul) as normative (both flesh and soul are contrasted with living according to God’s Spirit). Living according to soul/flesh is equivalent to living according to the “spirit of the world” (2:12).

So while “soul” (psyche) can have a somewhat neutral value in reference to human mortality (which is our original, created status), the adjective “soulish” (psychikos) refers to our current mortal life, which is now fallen, and is thus an overwhelmingly negative term in Pauline theology.

What About the “Salvation of the Soul”?

That phrase is found in 1 Peter 1:9 and in Hebrews 10:39 (neither written by Paul), and in both cases “soul” means the whole person (as a living organism); soul is not contrasted with body (compare modern translations to see this).

But Paul himself could never speak of the “salvation of the soul”!

In contrast to Plato (and the Platonic worldview that the church has often inherited), Paul doesn’t think of “soul” as a part of the person. Rather both “soul” and “soulish” designate for Paul the mortal (now corrupt) world that is passing away.

The Role of Doubt in the Journey of Faith—Living with Unanswered Questions, Part 4

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My first two posts in this series addressed some of the unanswered questions I have; and my last post focused on what it takes to embark on the quest for truth. Here I want to suggest that doubt can have a positive value in the life of faith.

When I think of my own life, a prime example of unanswered questions concerns God’s guidance (or seeming lack of guidance) at crucial junctures in my faith journey.

A Faith Crisis

My most significant faith crisis came when I was around thirty, during a time of great difficulty in my life. Many external supports had failed (it’s a long, complicated story) and I was in the throes of a personal and vocational crisis. I wondered what I was living for, and why God had (seemingly) placed me in such an intractable situation—or, at least, why God had allowed me to get into such a situation. It was as if my life had hit a dead end.

I didn’t doubt God’s existence, but God’s rather goodness. I found that it’s difficult—if not impossible—to pray when you don’t, in your bones, believe that God really has your best interests at heart. So over a period of time I found that I simply stopped praying.

The Lament Psalms

What started me praying again was my discovery of the Psalms, particularly those psalms known as the psalms of lament, or complaint, or protest. These psalms make up about one-third of all the Psalter; they’re the largest single group of psalms in the Bible. These psalms honestly challenge God with the suffering the psalmist is going through, often even accusing God of doing terrible things (like Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”). And they forthrightly ask God to intervene and change the situation of suffering.

It was only when I was able to pray that darkest of all lament psalms, Psalm 88, and then preach a sermon on that psalm at the memorial service of a young woman who had just died of cancer, that I found I was able to pray again.

A New Understanding of God

And now, I have a very different view of God, as one who is willing to hear us out fully when we’re honest about our difficulties—including our doubt—and who accompanies us in our sufferings (even in our doubt).

Through the psalms of lament I was brought back to the core truth of the Christian faith that God—through the cross—has suffered with us and for us, more than we can ever imagine. This is not a God above the fray, but one who knows the depth of human evil and suffering—from the inside. And this God is willing to graciously host our honest questions.

Loving the Questions

Beginning in those dark times, when no clear answer was in sight, I learned to “love the questions themselves,” as Rainer Maria Rilke put it.

In his Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke pleaded with the young man to whom he was writing (back in 1903) “to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.”

Been there; done that.

Rilke goes on to suggest to the young poet that he not even try to search for answers yet.

I’m not sure I would (or even could) follow that particular advice.

But Rilke is surely wise when he continues: “And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever get all my questions answered. But the asking of them has been significant for the person I’ve become and am still becoming.