Hieropraxis» Apologetics

Reading Genesis: Order and Chaos

Holly Ordway — Wed, 07 Jul 2010 17:01:21 +0000

How should we read the Bible’s book of Genesis? Most of the time, Christians and non-Christians simply talk past each other on this point. If you are unsure about the existence of God, then claiming divine authority for a holy book seems like an illegitimate short-cut, avoiding all the tough questions. If the word “literal” comes up, the conversation is usually over, bar the shouting.

To paraphrase that classic movie The Princess Bride, I would say to both sides that “literal” doesn’t mean what you think it means.

As a literary scholar, I would suggest that to read something “literally” means to read it in the sense in which the original author intended and as the original audience would have understood it. If the author intended to write a metaphor, then the literal reading would be a metaphorical one. For example, Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Less Traveled” is not really about a man going for a walk through the woods. Yes, the poem does describe the narrator pausing to reflect on the two paths that “diverged in a yellow wood,” but what the poem is really about is decision-making and self-reflection. By the same token, though, that meaning comes from the actual text itself: we cannot (without mishandling the text) make “The Road Less Traveled” into a poem that unconditionally celebrates individualism and going your own way. (Yes, that’s what most everyone thinks the poem is about, but most people don’t read the poem very carefully. Read it again and think about it.)

The question then becomes, to what extent is a literal reading of a given text actually metaphorical?

When we look at Genesis 1, we should at a minimum note that the author (whether inspired or not) makes certain claims about the nature of the universe. Many Christian readers will want to move immediately into arguing about the level of metaphorical vs. factual content in the details of Genesis, but I would argue that this is an entirely useless and unproductive discussion if we bypass the philosophical claim being set forth in Genesis. Even if we allow for all of the details of Genesis to be metaphorical at some level – yes, all of them! – we still have a worthwhile question to explore.

The book of Genesis articulates a position of creation ex nihilo, from nothing, at the creative will of a First Cause. In and of itself, this is a significant change in position from other ancient creation accounts, which have a god or gods creating the world from chaotic material of some sort that was already present. It is also worth noting that the First Cause described in Genesis is remarkably non-anthropomorphized; in contrast to the other myths of the time (Babylonian, Egyptian, Sumerian) the God in Genesis is described in almost purely philosophical terms, in the role of uncreated Creator.

Fundamentally, then, Genesis offers a philosophical argument for an ordered creation, one based on Logos (order, reason, structure) rather than Chaos (disorder, irrationality). This is a position that can be tested experimentally: the very fact that we can do science, and can expect repeatability when dealing with the physical world, suggests that the Logos-based view is more accurately descriptive of reality. So here we have a point that can be productively discussed among people who share very different views about Christianity.

Is the universe fundamentally orderly, or fundamentally chaotic? The answer to that question produces dramatically different views of how to live in and interact with the material world – and it is a question that is very relevant indeed in our modern culture, no matter what position one takes on the identity and nature of the First Cause.

Why Is Atheism Attractive?

Holly Ordway — Wed, 30 Jun 2010 20:42:43 +0000

At the heart of atheism is an appealing premise: “My will be done, not Yours.” If atheism is true, and there is no God, then everything really is all about me, and what I want, and what I can get.

No wonder it strikes such a chord in our self-obsessed culture.

Put your finger on the pulse of modern culture: it throbs with “me, me, me.” Advertisements tell me: “Indulge yourself! You deserve it!” I can buy my lunch and my coffee made “my way.” I flip open a magazine, or browse the best-sellers, to find ten easy tips on how I can have what I want, right here, right now.

Put one way, this is selfishness. But the spin on it in our post-Christian culture is that it’s empowerment, self-actualization. We are told to follow our hearts, seek our deepest desires, do what feels good. Indeed, if atheism is true, there is no ultimate purpose to life, so we might as well go for self-indulgence, whether through hedonism or through constructing one’s own “meaning” in life.

In contrast, if the Triune God is real, then such a focus on the self is ultimately destructive. Christians believe that we are alienated from God by the Fall, and damaged by our own sins; if we are left to our own devices, we will go wrong. To follow our own whims is to wander without guidance farther away from the path that leads to true self-knowledge in relationship with God who knows us completely.

If God is who Christians say He is, then our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, not toys for abuse or pleasure. If God is who He has revealed Himself to be in Christ Jesus, then the path to true selfhood is the narrow way, the way of the Cross, the way of denial of self and love of God.

In other words, the God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is a significant obstacle to self-indulgence.

No wonder atheism is so popular.

Yet atheism is a curious hybrid. On the one hand, it provides for a rejection of civilization entirely. If there is no God, then there is no ultimate source of objective values, and we can make or break rules as we please; good and evil are reduced to preferences. I like chocolate ice cream and laws against murder. You like vanilla and enjoy killing small children. Sure, why not?

On the other hand, atheists don’t generally advocate anarchism and a return of barbarism. (Who would run the publishing houses to print their books?) In fact, atheists show a remarkable streak of optimism about human nature. The atheist feels, almost as an article of faith, that the human race is perfectible. Despite all the colossal failures of utopianism, especially the ones of the 20th century that ended in mass slaughter, there remains the idea that this time, we can get it right all by ourselves. We can perfect ourselves through legislation; through restructuring society; through genetic manipulation; through drugs. We can make ourselves be happy – or so we think; it never works, but the atheist can only try again.

Atheism claims that we are in control of our selves, and thus our own destiny; it is the perfect faith for a culture that is obsessed with both perfection and self-will.

If we allow our Christian faith to be described in terms of personal gratification, we are buying what the world is selling, just under a different brand name. Christ did not die for us so that we would be comfortable and happy today. He died for us so that we would be saved.

To die to self, to die to sin, is not a comfortable experience. Confronting one’s own sin and repenting of it yields sorrow, not happiness. Hope and peace lie on the other side of that repentance, but we must go through pain to get there – not around it.

If we allow Christianity to be all about fulfilling my needs, getting my prayers answered, feeling good about myself and my family, and improving my relationships, then we are making the same pitch as the atheists: it’s all about me.

And trust me, atheism is a lot less demanding than Christian faith. I’ve been there; I know.

But in our frantic consumer culture, as we become less real and less present to each other, and even to ourselves, as we desperately project ourselves outward into the media to remind ourselves that we exist… we may slowly realize that atheism may promise easy self-fulfillment, but it delivers nothing but despair.

Christian faith is harder. It costs more; in fact, it costs everything. It also happens to be true.

Jesus told his disciples to count the cost. Why are we afraid to recognize that there is a cost?

In the face of atheism, let us not be afraid to speak the truth: the Christian life is the way of the Cross. Let us reject the idolatry of personal fulfillment. Let us remember that Christ calls us to come and die.

Then those who have sought to find themselves, searching high and low, grasping after all the good things of the world only to find them slipping from between their fingers, may be ready to listen when they hear something new: the hard, true words of our Lord: “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Matthew 16:24-25)

The Parable of the Sweater: or, Why Evangelism Can Drive People Crazy

Holly Ordway — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 04:34:48 +0000

How do you evangelize when people aren’t interested in the Gospel? They don’t feel a need for it, they think it’s silly and embarrassing, it interferes with their daily lives, and they just don’t want to hear about it. One approach is to try to work in appeals to the Gospel in conversation – to look for an opening and point out that Jesus really is the answer.

Many Christians don’t understand why this approach often backfires – sometimes spectacularly, as if the evangelist had just stepped on a verbal landmine, sometimes quietly, as if a glacial chill had settled on the room. Why doesn’t this approach work better? Why don’t people open up and take the opportunity to talk about the Gospel?

I’ve been there, on that side of the conversation. It’s hard to explain straight-up, so let me tell you a story. Call it the Parable of the Sweater.

The sweater in question is a gift from your Aunt Muriel, whom you barely know. “I’ve been saving this for you, dear!”

You open the box, and there it lies – the nightmare Christmas sweater. It is bright red. It is hand-knitted, and lumpy. It has dancing reindeer, holding up a banner that says “Have a Ho-Ho-Holy Night.” It has bells sewn onto it. And pom-poms. And there are little googly eyes glued onto the reindeer faces. The dancing reindeer.

And it’s not even Christmas — it’s February. The horror, the horror.

“Uh… thanks, Aunt Muriel… I’m sure you took a lot of time making this. Uh… it’s very thoughtful.” Then, when you get home, you shove the ghastly thing into the back of the closet and try to forget it.

At the next family gathering you’re chatting with her, and after a few pleasantries about how the nephews and nieces are doing in school, she says, “So… have you worn the sweater yet?”

“Uh, no, Aunt Muriel. It’s, uh, not really the right season for it.”

“Sweetie, a little Christmas spirit is welcome any time of the year! Don’t you like it?”

“Uh… oops, look at the time! Gotta run!”

A few weeks later, you’re sipping lemonade at the family barbecue when Aunt Muriel sits down beside you. “Dear, you look cold. (Kids these days, they wear shorts and flip-flops all year round, what is the world coming to?) You would really feel a lot better if you wore that sweater I gave you. Do you still have it? I can make you another one if you want.”

“Um, yeah… Hey, Uncle Bill! How ‘bout them Chargers?”

Now imagine that Aunt Muriel had told all her friends and the rest of the family about this wonderful sweater, and every single time you showed up at a family gathering, some nice little old lady put her hand on your arm and said, “Sweetie, have you considered wearing that sweater? I know it’s August, but it gets chilly at night.”

You would have to be a saint not to lose it at some point. “ENOUGH with the freakin’ sweater already! I hate it! I hate reindeer, and especially dancing reindeer, and if I never see another cable-knit article of clothing in my life it will be too soon!”

You probably won’t talk to Aunt Muriel much after that.

Imagine another possibility. The sweater is just as hideous, but Aunt Muriel doesn’t bug you about it. She just carries on being the same loving, sweet aunt that she always is. And you can’t help but think that maybe you ought to wear the sweater, at least once, just to show her that you care enough about her to (shudder) embarrass yourself in public.

So one crisp fall day you drive over to visit Aunt Muriel, and after you get out of the car (looking around to make sure no one sees you), you put on the sweater. Just to please Aunt Muriel, just this once. Yeah, you feel really dumb. But gosh, it’s actually really warm and cozy. Anyway, Aunt Muriel is glad to see you – and you know, you realize you’ve never talked with her that much, but she’s a really sharp lady, who’s been through a lot. And you drink tea and have cookies and talk, and before you know it, you forget about the stupid sweater, because Aunt Muriel is really interested in hearing about your life, and the trouble you have at school, and she doesn’t tell you exactly what you should do and how you should feel, but she listens, and yet at the same time you know she’s not the same as all your friends who just say “do whatever feels good.” There’s something there – you can talk to her, and maybe you don’t agree with everything she says, but – well, maybe there’s something in it, after all.

And the sweater… it’s still hideous. But when you get home, you fold it up neatly and put it in the drawer, instead of shoving it in the back of the closet.

And one of those days, you might even wear the sweater in public. Maybe. Just maybe.

Skepticism as Snobbery

Holly Ordway — Tue, 18 May 2010 02:49:32 +0000

Skepticism about religious belief, and indeed about the existence of truth itself, is often dressed up as being highly “rational” and “intellectual.” Logic and reason drive the skeptic, not feelings and wishful thinking, right? Well, maybe sometimes. However, skepticism is often based quite firmly in emotional reactions. In fact, skepticism is often a form of snobbery.

Take an ordinary Christian, not a pastor or teacher, but just someone who goes to church on Sunday, and who believes that Jesus is the Son of God, and that the Bible is God’s Word. Now ask that person to explain why those beliefs are true. There’s a good chance that this ordinary person can’t defend his or her belief, can’t provide a compelling argument for why it is so.

On this ground – on the basis that Average Joe and Average Jane can’t explain why they believe as they do – the skeptic rejects their belief.

However, Average Joe believes a lot of other things without understanding them, in the same way that he believes that Jesus is the Son of God and that he died on the cross for our sins. For instance, the average person waiting to board a plane does not understand even a fraction of why enormously heavy aircraft can lift off and soar into the air. It has something to do with the jet engines, and something to do with a mysterious thing called “aerodynamics,” and the pilots and mechanics know what to do, and that’s that.

If skeptics treated air travel the way they do Christianity, they would never set foot on a plane. Because, after all, if the people who get on the planes can’t explain why or how they work, and simply have faith in a few select people who do know the whys and wherefores, then air travel cannot possibly be true. The skeptic would point at the enormous bulk of the 747 and say “Look at that! Isn’t it obvious that such a huge machine can’t fly through the air? You’re all a bunch of foolish, naïve people if you believe a fairy-tale like that! What’s next, the idea that buildings can float up in midair? Or maybe that I can personally teleport myself to my destination?”

And everyone else would say, “I don’t know how it works, but it does,” and get on board, and a few hours later get off at their destination, shaking their heads at that crazy person who refused to get on the plane.

Radical skepticism faults Christian truth on both ends: It is too simple, because a child can grasp the basic elements, and it is too complex, because it recognizes profound mysteries beyond the grasp of ordinary people’s ability or interest. (Imagine someone rejecting addition and subtraction, or the balancing of a checkbook, because most people can’t understand calculus!)

In contrast, falsehood is shallow and circular. It feeds on itself and rejects answers. The modern-day skeptic, who embraces various forms of gnosticism and conspiracy theories, wants something more complex, more “sophisticated,” than the simple faith of a child who knows Jesus. But the skeptic does not want, or does not understand, that this simple faith leads endlessly deeper into the richness of truth, the heights of complexity. The skeptic does not like to be told that there are things that do not have simple, easy, comfortable answers (and indeed Christianity does not pretend to offer easy or comfortable answers.) So the skeptic reaches for a middle ground, something that is complex enough to make him feel smart, but without the sting in the tail of pushing toward real truth.

It’s better to affirm the truth, and not know why, than to have sophisticated arguments for rejecting the truth – and be wrong.

It’s even better to know the truth and have reasons to back up what you believe. What’s even better than that is that searching for truth, and living it out when you find it, and developing an ever-fuller understanding of the truth, is a lifetime journey of incredible excitement.

Not God’s Type – now available!

Holly Ordway — Sat, 01 May 2010 00:08:19 +0000

“It is a hard thing to look at the truth when it runs contrary to what you’ve always believed.”

“I was not looking for God. Make no mistake. I did not believe that He existed.” I was a college professor – logical, intellectual, rational – and an atheist.

But in the spring of my thirty-first year, “I was drawn, against my conscious will, and against my own inclination, to be interested in matters of faith.”

“I realized that my naturalistic worldview was inadequate to explain the nature of reality in a coherent way: it could not explain the origin of the universe, nor could it explain morality. On the other hand, the theistic worldview was both consistent and powerfully explanatory: it offered a convincing, rationally consistent, and logical explanation for everything that the naturalistic worldview explained plus all the things that the naturalistic worldview couldn’t.”

“The following pages are the account of how I turned from death to life…”

Advance praise for Not God’s Type: A Rational Academic Finds a Radical Faith

“Some topics in Apologetics are not often given the serious treatment they deserve. Ordway is a careful thinker who has, to her credit, found a pastorally sensitive but interesting approach to a pivotal topic. Though this kind of personal topic is often underserved, Ordway has dealt with it in a rigorous way.”

Dr. John Mark Reynolds, Director of the Torrey Honors Institute and Professor of Philosophy, Biola University. Author of When Athens Met Jerusalem: An Introduction to Classical and Christian Thought.

“An honest fencing with faith effecting an applicable defense of Christianity…a radical journey from atheism to orthodoxy.”

Rev. Fr. Neal Moquin, S.S.C., Adjunct Professor of Anglican History, Mennonite Brethren Biblical Seminary

All of the author’s proceeds from the sale of this book will be donated to the St. Michael’s by-the-Sea Apologetics Fund.

Fire and Ice: The Consequences of Radical Skepticism

Holly Ordway — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 02:10:12 +0000

“It’s all relative.” How many times have we heard statements like that? “Some people believe in Jesus, and that works for them, but, you know, other people don’t, and that’s OK, because it’s all relative.”

Wait a minute! “Belief” by itself is meaningless: what matters is whether the thing we believe in (or not) exists (or doesn’t). If there is something objective that we call Truth, it exists independently of our knowledge of it – it is not a matter of perspective. Thus, if there is such a thing as Truth, we should expect consequences when we act in ways contrary to that truth.

I grew up on the East Coast, and now live on the West Coast, so I’m going to use a climactically mixed metaphor involving both a frozen pond (very Massachusetts-y) and a wildfire (characteristically Southern Californian).

Consider a pond that has frozen over in the winter. I used to go ice skating on ponds like that as a kid in Massachusetts. Is the ice safe to walk on? The importance of the answer depends on why you want to know.

Scenario 1: If you just want to go ice skating, the safety of the ice is not an urgent question. You can err on the side of caution and go sledding instead on the hill behind you. (Or, if you live in Southern California, you can go to the beach.)

Scenario 2: However, imagine that a forest fire has broken out on the wooded slope behind you. The shortest route to safety is across the frozen surface of the pond. Now it matters a great deal whether the ice is safe or not. If it is thick enough, you can easily and quickly make your way to safety. If, however, you know that the ice is too thin, you will have to proceed along the water’s edge, a longer and more dangerous route (but necessary, if you are to have any chance to save yourself.)

Scenario 3: You are seated at the pond’s edge, and a friend texts you that a major wildfire has broken out in the forest. According to this friend, the fire is burning so rapidly that it will certainly encircle you before you can walk out along the edge of the pond. The only way to safety is to cross the pond, on the ice.

We thus have three questions:

Is the ice thick enough to walk on safely?
Do you believe your friend’s warning?
Should you leave the party and cross the ice?

The first question is simply factual. The ice either is, or is not, thick enough to bear your weight. If the ice is too thin, then as you walk acros, the ice will break, and you will fall into the icy water and drown. It doesn’t matter whether you were believed that it was thick enough – sorry, the ice breaks, you fall in, goodbye. It also doesn’t matter whether the fire was a real threat or not. The fire could have been completely real – you would have burned to death if you had stayed. It might be that no matter what you did, you would come to a bad end (burned or drowned). Reality isn’t always nice.

Conversely, if the ice is thick enough to walk on safely, then you will be able to cross to safety – regardless of your belief. If you step out onto the ice with a heart full of doubt, the ice will hold you up just the same as if you set foot with complete confidence.

Your state of mind does not change the thickness of the ice. It either is, or is not, thick enough to hold your weight. However, your state of mind does have a significant effect on the outcome of your little adventure, because it influences your response to questions 2 and 3, which involve judgment and action.

First, if you have good reason to believe that the friend’s report is reliable, then the question of whether the ice is strong enough takes on more importance. If you trust your friend, you may cross despite your doubts about the thickness of the ice, because the alternative (being burnt up) is both worse and quite likely.

However, if you dismiss your friend’s warning, then you will not cross the ice, even though (had you tried) you would have found it strong enough. For your sake, you had better hope that the fire was a false alarm, or that the path along the edge of the pond is good enough to make it to safety, because if not – you’ll die. The wildfire will not considerately bypass you because you didn’t believe that it existed.

Finally, we can see that in all these scenarios, decision is required. Do you go out onto the ice, or not? Even doing nothing is itself a decision – in the first scenario, a decision that the fun of ice-skating is not worth the risk; in the second and third scenarios, a decision that the report of the friend is unreliable, or a decision that death by fire is better than risking death by drowning in an icy pond.

You might say, “Well, maybe there’s a fire, and maybe there’s not – maybe it’s just a little fire, not a big one. We can’t know. And maybe the ice is thick enough, and maybe it’s not – I can’t really say.” Your skepticism won’t harm you if the friend is mistaken and there’s no fire. However, if there is a fire, a serious one, radical skepticism about it (and about the safety of the ice) is not just a foolish but indeed a life-threatening attitude. The next day’s newspaper headline will read: “Foolish Winter Tourist Burnt to a Crisp in Tragically Avoidable Circumstances.”

Such is our place in the world. What we believe directs how we act, and our action (and inaction) has consequences. A position of extreme skepticism is no defense against reality – and in fact, in ordinary life, skepticism run amok has consequences that are no less disastrous, if more subtle, than an icy or fiery death.

Looking for Truth

Holly Ordway — Sat, 02 Jan 2010 03:26:18 +0000

The most important thing we can do in our lives is to pursue truth, and embrace it when we find it, and live it out in our lives. Does that sound bold? At some level, we all build our lives on truth. This does not mean we are immune from error – we can all be mistaken, and throughout our lives certainly will be many times – but rather, it means that we cannot live without truth.

Do you doubt this?

Consider the truth of your senses. When you cross the street, you probably look both ways to be sure that there are no cars coming. If you see a car, you wait until it has passed (or you make a mad dash across the street) because you are confident that if you see what looks like a car, it really is a car, and if that car hits you, it will really ruin your whole day.

Consider the truth of your self-awareness. When you have a headache, you take an aspirin, or perhaps you lie down, or perhaps you just grin and bear it – but you know your head hurts. Can you prove it? Does anyone know it but you? No – but you know it’s true, and you act accordingly.

Consider the truth of your relationships. Do you know that your mother, or your father, or your best friend, loves you? Yes? How do you know? They might just be faking it, after all. We can’t prove love, but we know when we are loved. Indeed we can’t interact normally with our friends and family unless we know that we love them and they love us. All the dysfunctional families we know (or are part of) show that this is so: when we are unsure of the truth of our family’s love, the result is chaos and disintegration. In contrast, when we spend time with the people whom we truly love and who truly (that is, in truth) love us, the difference is apparent: the love is real, and we know it (though we cannot prove it) and it makes all the difference in the world.

Consider the truth of reality itself. Every day we trust that the world will work according to the way it always has worked; we trust that scientists and engineers have based their inventions on accurate knowledge of the way the world works. We trust to the reliability, the robust status of truth whenever we fly on a plane, cross a bridge, take medicine.

And now consider the situations in which we want to know the truth. Does this person whom I care for really love me? Is it safe to cross the road? Will this medicine make me well, or make me worse? Am I happy or unhappy with the circumstances of my life?

The search for truth generates a lot of questions – with answers that are not simple. What is truth? How can we be sure of it? Where can we find it? What do we do about it? But the wonderful thing is that we have minds that are capable of asking those questions and of finding answers to them. When we seek truth, we can find it. Certainly, we may not always like what we find; it may run contrary to our preferences or our expectations. But if truth is truth, then – so what if we don’t like it? We still need to know – just the same way that I need to know if there is a car coming, or if the one I love doesn’t love me, or if I have a serious illness. To know is to be able to act on the basis of that knowledge, and to act rightly.

If nothing else, to search honestly for the truth and to act on it when you find it is to live a life of integrity. That is a satisfaction deeper than any surface pleasures, a satisfaction that no one can take away. It is not easy, but when was anything good ever easy? Unfortunately, our culture these days encourages us to take the easy way out, to go for what feels good rather than what’s worthwhile. Come on – you know that what’s cheap and easy isn’t lasting, or real. The things you work for are the things that mean something. Let us do the hard work – let us look for truth.

Meditating on the Apostles’ Creed, Part 2

Holly Ordway — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 01:44:47 +0000

The Apostles’ Creed begins: “I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth. And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord…”

The Christian faith does not simply honor Jesus as a teacher, or as an example of a life perfectly obedient to God the Father – although our Lord certainly is both those things. If Jesus were just a teacher, then there could be many teachers, and many paths to follow to God. Have you seen any examples of the “many paths” idea being taken for granted as true?

Notice what the Creed says. “Christ”: it is not part of Jesus’ name. It is a title; it means “Messiah.” Jesus is the culmination of God’s work in salvation history – so whoever He is, He is not just one out of many: He is unique.

What is your reaction to this? Are you glad, or troubled, by the claim to uniqueness? Why?

“…his only Son our Lord”: While in one sense we are all adopted sons and daughters of God, Jesus is uniquely the only-begotten Son of God. Not only that, He is eternally the Son, as part of the eternal Trinity. How do you normally think of Jesus? Consider whether you tend to focus more on the human nature of Jesus, or on the divine nature of Jesus. How would your prayer life change if you consider Jesus in relation to God the Father and God the Holy Spirit, the most holy Trinity?

He is our Lord: and we can be sure of this because of the Cross. Jesus suffered, died, and was buried, and on the third day He rose again. In the Resurrection, God the Father vindicated the claims of Jesus of Nazareth to be the Son of God. In your prayer, consider taking a few moments to imaginatively put yourself in the place of the disciples. Stand at the foot of the cross, wait at the tomb, gather in the upper room, and encounter the Risen Lord.

Where do you struggle? Where do you want to be? Ask the Lord to help you find the place in the Gospels where you need to spend time with Him.

Meditating on the Apostles’ Creed: Part 1

Holly Ordway — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 01:17:39 +0000

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.”

This is the first statement in the Apostles’ Creed, one of the ancient and central statements of orthodox Christian faith. It is a profound statement about the nature of reality.

“I believe in God.” The natural world is not all that there is. Beyond, behind, intersecting with our physical reality is supernatural reality. Consider: Where do you get your ideas about right and wrong? How do you know you love, and are loved? Look for the signposts in your lived experience that point to God as God.

“…the Father Almighty…” What is the nature of God? He is Almighty. We recognize, both by intuition and careful reasoning, that God is all-powerful. That points, inevitably, to the fact that God is One. God is Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, but He is Trinity in Unity.

Note also how the Christian faith identifies this all-powerful God as our Father. What does a perfect Fatherhood mean to you? He is “our Father,” which is to say, the Father of you and me, and also the Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Consider what that means when you hear of “brothers and sisters in Christ.”

“…maker of heaven and earth.” The Creed reminds us that this all-powerful God is a Creator, and in fact is our Maker, as He is the Maker of all that is, seen and unseen. What implications does that have for your worship? Throughout history, humankind has been tempted to worship the creature instead of the Creator: sometimes explicitly, as in nature worship or the worship of other gods, and sometimes implicitly, as in idolizing sex, money, or power. What does it mean to you that God is our Father and that He is also our Maker and the Creator of the heavens and the earth? Knowing this, is there anything you would do differently today?

The Heavens Are Telling the Glory of God

Holly Ordway — Sat, 14 Nov 2009 00:54:32 +0000

Beauty points toward truth.

And beauty is all around us if we take the time to look. Just the other day, I arrived at church a few minutes early, and so after I parked, I leaned against the side of my car for a moment, looking out toward the coast. Glancing up, I saw a spectacular cloudbank, looming in sculpted piles against the canvas of a bold blue sky. Sunlight played across the clouds; the highlights were bright white, with deeper creases a threatening steely gray; a fine gray haze drifted across the face of this massive cloud formation, adding a sense of life and motion to an otherwise still scene.

All this, in a single glance – a painter might spend hours trying to capture the scene, and call it his best work. All this, lasting at most for a few hours – and then, another vista, just as spectacular, in a different way. Each day – each hour! – gives us the artist’s work of a lifetime, free of charge, ever changing. We can’t hang on to it. A photograph wouldn’t capture the essence of it, not the same way that the eye apprehends it.

All this beauty, totally free of charge, gratuitously lovely.

The real miracle isn’t the beauty of the clouds and sky, but our perception of their beauty. If we were just animals, what use would we have of appreciating the sublimity of a wisp of cloud caught in a ray of misty sunlight? We might “read” the weather to judge whether it’s likely to rain or not, but we would not be struck in our hearts by the sense of divine presence in nature. Any animal can look up and see the sky; we human beings alone see it for what it is: beauty. The heavens do tell of the glory of God: of His reality, of His status as Creator, and of our relationship to Him. We are made in the image of our Maker, and in our own aesthetic response we discover that He is an artist, the artist of all creation.

“The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork” (Psalm 19:1).