In order to understand Christian theology
one must come to grips with its understanding
of time. Of course there is "cronos",
the ordinary time-of-day kind of time
but there is also another Greek word,
"kairos" that indicates a quality
of time in human affairs. In contrast
to most Asian religions, Christianity
inherited from Judaism an understanding
of time as being linear and being directed
towards an end or telos. Abraham is promised
that he would be the father of a great
nation. David was promised that his kingship
would be eternal. Israelites always had
the future in mind; when in captivity
in Babylon, they longed for a Messianic
figure to lead them back to Jerusalem.
In the gospel of Mark the young man found
in the tomb by the women tells them that
"Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee"
(read, the world). Time does not go around
in circles, events always move us on to
a new place that is full of promise.
The New Testament understands time as
being separated into three eons, the time
of revelation when Jesus walked with his
disciples, the present time of our lives
and a future time when God will reign
on the earth. This latter time is variously
called "the kingdom of heaven/God"
in the synoptic gospels and simply as
"eternal life" in John. While
Jesus was in himself the dawning of the
third age and its initiation, the present
time is a time in which that age may be
observed in the celebration of the Eucharist
(the eschatological meal) or glimmering
on the horizon - but as yet unfulfilled
in the present. Thus the present age is
one of struggle and is marked by a yearning
for the fulfilment in which "God
himself will be with them; he will wipe
every tear from their eyes. Death will
be no more; mourning and crying and pain
will be no more, for the first things
have passed away." (Rev. 21,3,4.)
While theologians of the previous century
have understood the kingdom of God as
not an actual time in world history, that
would be to confuse chronos with kairos,
it is nonetheless real in that it conditions
all time, giving it its direction. We
lean towards a fulfilment we do not as
yet see. Or in Paul's words: "But
if we hope for what we do not see, we
wait for it with patience." (Rom
8:25)
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So Christians understand that what happened
in the life of Jesus and on the cross,
"has overcome the world" as
John puts it. A friend of mind, in his
preaching, tells of being in the family
car in the country and running over a
snake. They stopped to see it and found
that even thought its back was broken
and that it would eventually die of its
injuries, it was still deadly. This is
the character of the present time of our
lives or the "time between the times"
in which we suffer daily but we look beyond
the horizon to a fulfilment we see only
in part.
This understanding of time has been secularised
in the idea of progress. We are daily
promised new products and new treatments
and new pleasures. It has also been subverted
into a kind of moral blackmail with the
earthly fulfilment being projected towards
a time after death in heaven. Indeed in
some forms of Christianity this has become
the central focus, as it is in Islam.
The problem is that this is not what the
New Testament is about, the kingdom is
an earthly reality brought about, if you
will, by the heavenly. Blackmail produces
a poor morality that is never internalised.
It is an irony that where morality is
preached most passionately there you will
find great immorality.
This is all by way of coming to my point.
Christian theology is from beginning to
end eschatological, directed towards the
coming age of the reign of God. Much of
the New Testament does not make sense
without this understanding. For example,
the beatitudes of Matthew are really a
projection of the nature of life in the
kingdom - they are proleptic. They do
not make sense in the present age because
they describe life in the fulfilment.
They are not exhortations to a higher,
seemingly impossible morality.
Christian ethics are likewise only to
be understood in this understanding of
time. We live in the time of process in
which evil still abides even though it
has met its match and will be no more.
That is our faith. But in the present
age it is necessary to have law enforcement
and punishment and the armed forces. To
live as though the time has been fulfilled
is foolishness because we are seduced
into ignoring or underestimating the evil
that is abroad.
I have been puzzled by the uniform opposition
of the church to the war in Iraq. Dozens
of email releases crowded my inbox from
all over the world, praying for peaces
and deploring the war. Friends asked me
to sign petitions of opposition. And all
the while I, feeling completely out of
step with my coreligionists, wondered
wether the coalition may be doing a good
thing in releasing the Iraqi people from
a brutal despot.
Two things come to mind. The first is
that this insistence by the church on
assuming the high moral ground is a failure
to see the reality of true evil in Saddam's
regime. In other words, the church has
mistaken the time and wants to avoid the
nastiness of the "time between the
times". It acts as though the fulfilment
of time has come and thinks that any act
of power, even to topple a dictator, is
unjust.
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The second thing is that the church seems
to have adopted peace as a kind of ideology.
This reduces the argument to the level
of the peace movement, a simplistic polarization
of the obvious: war is bad and peace is
good, therefore we should have peace.
This amounts to a closing of the Christian
mind to the realities of the world and
further erodes our credibility in the
world. Yes, we are called to be in the
world but not of the world; we are called
to celebrate the in-breaking of the kingdom
but that does not mean that we lose the
tension between this world and the next.
When the church cries "peace at all
costs" it loses this essential tension
and reverts to inconsistent moralism.
It behaves as though the time has really
come when the swords will be beaten into
ploughshares. But, much more dangerously,
the church seduces itself into believing
that its own pronouncements will bring
the present time to fulfilment. When we
do this we lose touch with what is actually
happening in the world. Which is the greater
evil: that the people of Iraq live still
more years under Saddam or that others
confront him and risk the chaos of war?
It seems the church can give no other
answer than to let him be because anything
else will be war and we must be for peace.
The sin that led to the expulsion from
Eden was that of eating of the forbidden
fruit of tree of the knowledge of good
and evil. It is as if our church leaders
have eaten of this fruit and are bent
on occupying the high moral ground. They
have named war bad and peace good and
have taken sides. However, human history
is not as simple as that. There are obvious
times in the past when war was the only
option. Christians are called to live
with moral ambiguity, that is part of
the tension of the time between the times.
Jesus did not give us a code to live by
but set us free to experience the complexities
and the messiness of human life. Surely
that is the message of the cross, we have
a Messiah mangled in the wheels of history
rather than a pristine giver of an ethical
system that can be applied to all circumstances.
Ideology and law are natural enemies
of freedom. However, freedom that is directionless
leads to the kind of bondage we see all
around us. For those who see their lives
as an empty vessel to be filled with whatever
their hearts desire, are, despite the
appearance, the most unfree. The untutored
heart is prey to all kinds of whims and
fancies, urges, and promptings of the
ego and the seductions of the world. This
is why the lives of the rich and famous
are so interesting because they can do
what they like, often to their detriment.
Absolute freedom is no freedom at all;
it is, rather, another kind of bondage.
Real freedom involves struggle. The temptations
of the world and of the flesh are real
and subtle, life in the time between the
times is hazardous. Our hearts need to
be taught what to desire and we need to
be confronted by the paradoxical nature
of Christian freedom, that no person is
my Lord, but I am every person's servant.
This is the only way Christians get to
be peacemakers. It is only by the personal
transformation that is wrought in us by
the gospel that we obtain to the peace
of God. We do not become peacemakers by
the easy path of shouting slogans and
adopting an ideal that does not take the
perils of the time seriously.
The one bright light I have encountered
in the debate comes from the Archbishop
of Canterbury's Easter Sermon:
We cling to what makes us feel most
safely distant from evil. The would-be
peacemaker is often passionate in treating
every kind of force as equally terrible,
so that there is a single clear enemy
over there to confront - all those with
blood on their hands, American general
as much as Iraqi executioner. The apologist
for war is offended and threatened by
the - not unreasonable - suggestion that
the motives and methods of modern war
are unlikely to be completely shaped by
moral considerations, and that fighting
evil can involve us in imitating some
of its methods, even in the best of causes.
Both are afraid of acknowledging that
they have something in common with what
they are resisting. And that acknowledgement
need not lead to despair or passivity
(every choice is flawed, I can do nothing
just or good); it ought to lead to some
kind of adult admission that, even in
pursuing good ends, our flawed humanity
creates new difficulties. We can only
face the possible cost, pray, and trust
that God can make use of what we decide
and do.