Eschatology

It’s Not An Escape Route

/ Dennis Griffith / Leave a comment

I have not looked up the social science data to back up my premise, but I strongly suspect that the pervasive perception of Evangelical Christianity – at least of American Evangelicals – is that we are far “more heavenly minded than of any earthly good.”

That’s a caricature, I know. But it is an understandable caricature. The influence of certain eschatalogical (i.e. “Last Things, or “End Times”) theories over the past one-hundred-plus years, and the corresponding popularity of fiction like the Left Behind series, has caused many people – both outside and inside the Church – to assume Christianity, or at least Evangelical Christianity, is more concerned about escaping this fallen and broken world than living redemptively in it.

But, even if I am accurate about my assumption of the perception of escapism, I do not believe that the perception itself is accurate. At least, it is not true of me; nor is it true of most of my friends.

Through the past several months, the church where I presently serve has been engaged in a sermon series study of the Book of Revelation, led mostly by my colleague, J.D. Funyak. Throughout this study I have been reminded, time and again, that the Bible really does not present us with an escapist mindset. Even the Book of Revelation, with all the apocalyptic imagery, when considered in proper context, paints a very real and down-to-earth picture of living life in this world. Therefore, since the Bible does not teach anything like an escapist mindset, Christianity does not – or should not – hold to any kind of escapist mindset.

As Christians, we are to develop our Worldview, our theological systems and theological emphases, and our corresponding practices, to be in accord with what is taught in the Scriptures. And the Scriptures do not teach us an escapist eschatology. Rather, I am convinced, that a proper biblical understanding of End Times is:

  • … more focused on preparing for Christ than for an anti-Christ;
  • … more focused on the Mark of the Lamb than the mark of the beast;
  • … more focused on engaging and preparing for the redeeming of the world than escaping it;
  • … and, more focused on Hope than fear.

For those who might want to explore a little more into this subject, I suggest the following articles:

Broken-Down House: Living Productively in a World Gone Bad

/ Dennis Griffith / 1 Comment

I began reading Paul Tripp’s Broken Down House earlier this week. I had read it before, or rather I should say I skimmed it before, but did not take the time to allow Tripp’s poignant insights to resonate in my soul.  I raced through it last time, getting the general gist, but not digesting much in the way of spiritual nourishment.  That’s a mistake I am carefully avoiding this time through.

In Broken Down House Tripp uses the analogy of a home in serious disrepair as a reflection of our life in this world.  In the video above he introduces the themes he writes about.

Erasing Hell

/ Dennis Griffith / 4 Comments

Recent discussion about Judgement and Hell, spurred largely by a recent book by Rob Bell, have prompted many to rethink what they believe – what Scripture teaches – about this subject.  Among them, Francis Chan in this video titled Erasing Hell.

I had thought I was done with this thread, but Chan’s reflections warrant hearing.

How Can We Look Forward to Heaven?

/ Dennis Griffith / Leave a comment

Some time ago someone I encountered posed an interesting question: “How can we look forward to heaven when none of our favorite things are sure to be there?”

C. S. Lewis’ offers a breathtaking answer:

Let us construct a fable.

Let us picture a woman thrown into a dungeon. There she bears and rears a son. He grows up seeing nothing but the dungeon walls, the straw on the floor, and a little patch of the sky seen through the grating, which is too high up to show anything except sky.

This unfortunate woman was an artist, and when they imprisoned her she managed to bring with her a drawing pad and a box of pencils. As she never loses the hope of deliverance, she is constantly teaching her son about that outer world which he has never seen. She does it very largely by drawing him pictures. With her pencil she attempts to show him what fields, rivers, mountains, cities, and waves on a beach are like.

He is a dutiful boy and he does his best to believe her when she tells him that that outer world is far more interesting and glorious than anything in the dungeon. At times he succeeds. On the whole he gets on tolerably well until, one day, he says something that gives his mother pause. For a minute or two they are at cross-purposes. Finally it dawns on her that he has, all these years, lived under a misconception.

‘But’, she gasps, ‘you didn’t think that the real world was full of lines drawn in lead pencil?’

‘What?’ says the boy. ‘No pencil marks there?’

And instantly his whole notion of the outer world becomes a blank. For the lines, by which alone he was imagining it, have now been denied of it. He has no idea of that which will exclude and dispense with the lines, that of which the lines were merely a transposition–the waving treetops, the light dancing on the weir, the coloured three-dimensional realities which are not enclosed in lines but define their own shapes at every moment with a delicacy and multiplicity which no drawing could ever achieve. The child will get the idea that the real world is somehow less visible than his mother’s pictures. In reality it lacks lines because it is incomparably more visible.

So with us. ‘We know not what we shall be’; but we may be sure we shall be more, not less, than we were on earth. Our natural experiences (sensory, emotional, imaginative) are only like the drawing, like pencilled lines on flat paper. If they vanish in the risen life, they will vanish only as pencil lines from the real landscape, not as a candle flame that is put out but as a candle flame which becomes invisible because someone has pulled up the blind, thrown open the shutters, and let in the blaze of the risen sun.

– C. S. Lewis, ‘Transposition,’ in The Weight of Glory, 85-86

Pure As the Driven Snow

/ Dennis Griffith / Leave a comment

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who enjoys “old” snow – you know, the snow that has been around a few day, has blackened from plowing, is choppy from people playing in the yard.  I know that’s not the type of snow my duaghter enjoys looking at.

After the snowstorm this past Friday night, that dumped 3/4 of a foot all around us, my daughter was concerned that her brothers “messed up” the yard. She likes looking at the pure smoothe snow, untouched by human hand – or boot. 

That started me thinking. There is a methaphor there somewhere.

I think we all have have an innate appreciation for the beauty of purity. Unfortunately, because of our sin, purity does not seem to last long in this life. Sometimes it is corrupted and turns black and ugly. Sometimes it is just messed up by us as we go about our work and play.  But fleeting as it is, while it is here it is something to behold.

This all reminds me that God is on a mission, not simply to “save” a bunch of individuals but, to restore and recreate that which has been corrupted and messed-up.  As beautiful and peaceful as it is to look at the pure snow on the pastures outside my living room window, a beauty is coming that is both incomparable and incorruptable. And that will really be something to see.