In the wake of
the many atrocities of the twentieth century and the ones continuing to happen
as we speak, how can Christians speak about “new creation” with any integrity
without merely relegating what Paul says is “here” to some futuristic individualized
pie in the sky?
As many scholars
such as Richard Hays and N.T. Wright have emphasized, this new creation is descriptive
of a cosmic reality; it is seizing the old and breaking into it. But how can
this be? This may seem quite simple to talk about in the context of affluent
American churches that associate suffering with undesirable levels of stress.
However, such contexts do not take seriously the stark reality of the world’s
situation nor do they take seriously the cosmic hope, which Paul seems to be
describing.
In the wake of
the Holocaust and in the midst of the social rubble of Haiti and the moral cacophony
of America and Europe, how can we speak of “new creation” with integrity? In
his own day, how could Paul have the audacity to say, “The new has been
created”?
This is not only
a problem of evil. This is a problem of hope. Many folks who have an ounce or
two of theological education may then parrot the cliché, “We live in the
‘now-and-not-yet.’” In other words, we live in between the first fruit – Jesus’
resurrection – and the consummation – the resurrection of the saints and the
renewal of all things. However, how can we say that the new is “here” when it
seems rather strikingly apparent that it is not “here” nor does there seem to
be much hope that it will ever get here unless we are willing to subscribe to
nothing more than a fool’s hope. We may very well say we are in between, but it
seems as though the vine from which the first fruit sprang has since withered.
In other words, where is the resurrection power of God today?
We are all in
the business of perceiving the world, and perception seems to be crucial to
what Paul says in 2 Corinthians 5 about “new creation.” That is not to say that
we must simply block bad things from our vision, but it is to say that some how
our vision must make sense of the world while professing the belief that new
creation has begun and is continuing to happen and will finally come to its
fullness by the mercy of God. Some how our vision must be informed by the
resurrection in order that whether or not we see “new creation” breaking in,
somehow we trust it is. This is the problem of hope. While in the midst of impenetrable
darkness and with only a foggy pair of spectacles, we do the foolish thing and
continue to hope.
But is this a
flimsy hope like hope that Santa Clause will fill my stocking this Christmas?
Can we point to
Christian communities that are an alternative
to communities and systems of war, self-indulgent violence, money laundering,
hatred based on difference, and power mongering? If we can, then this is a
recollection of the empty tomb and a foretaste of a day when there will be no
more sorrow.
Can we point to
communities where “new creation,” where the resurrection power of God, where
reconciliation happens? Can we use our fingers to point to Christian
communities where immigrants have a voice? Can we point to communities where
abused children are unequivocally protected and nurtured? Can we use our
fingers to point to communities where women are not objectified? Can we point
to communities where ethnic differences are not muted but are celebrated? Can
we point to communities where the concerns of the elderly are heard? Albeit
these things may be but a foretaste of things to come when there will be no
more death, can we point to communities where these things are fostered in the
name of the crucified messiah, Jesus? If not, then “whereof one cannot speak,
thereof one must be silent.”
What then can we
say about where all this is headed?
We may echo the
few but sturdy words of Brueggemann and say, “God keeps the future.”
