Theology

This is the season of the “good news of great joy” in the church. We talk a lot about the good news for us. The good news that we get to live in. We talk about the good news of great joy for all people, announced in the words of the angels: “a child is born to you, in the town of Bethlehem, he is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:10-11) It’s great news.

We really like good news, but I find we’re less good at the “to all people.” This Christmas season I’ve been wondering about whether or not this good news really is for us.

In the dark and dirt of a stable, Mary gave birth. Nativity scenes don’t often reflect the grit of that scene—any woman who has given birth knows that birth is not a picture-perfect experience. Our writer today points out that the Bible says that God too is described with a very feminine metaphor in Isaiah: God gives birth. As we wait with Mary for the birth of the Christ child, Rebecca challenges us to wait actively, like a woman in labour, with God and with all those who are struggling against injustice.

“He has performed mighty deeds with his arm; 
     he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts. 
He has brought down rulers from their thrones 
     but has lifted up the humble. 
He has filled the hungry with good things 
     but has sent the rich away empty. 
He has helped his servant Israel,
     remembering to be merciful 
to Abraham and his descendants forever, 
     just as he promised our ancestors.”
                                                                           —Luke 1:51-55

Interpreting Scripture can be messy. But I’ve become almost certain of at least two things: Scripture can be twisted and abused to justify hateful and unholy ends; and a good interpretation of Scripture builds up the twin loves of God and neighbor.

On Do Justice, we’re all about creating space.

Space to ask hard questions. Space to wrestle with the implications of the Church’s call to do justice in the places where we live, today. Space to struggle with what it means to be the Body of Christ, where the eye cannot say to the hand, “I don’t need you” and where the foot cannot say to the head, “I don’t need you.”

I grew up in a Christian home, with parents who were deeply involved in our local church, and who encouraged my siblings and I to be active members from a young age. I cherish the lasting influence church involvement has had on my life, and view it as a direct result of the faithfulness of my parents. From Sunday church services to weekly family Bible studies, faith was woven into all our family traditions, and has remained a central anchor in all our experiences. Racial justice – or a lack thereof —has also been a central characteristic of my personal and family experience.

Recently my pastor based his sermon on John 4, focusing on the verses where Jesus teaches the Samaritan woman that God’s followers must worship Him in spirit and in truth. Since then I have been musing about how that applies when we think about our work as worship. Or consider how it applies to our volunteer hours, time spent promoting social justice issues, advocacy, and every aspect of our lives as we strive to live as socially aware individuals!

This is the first post in our Justice and the Reformed Confessions series. Subscribe here to make sure you don't miss a post. 

The great letter writer Paul, writing to his friends in Philippi, said: “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” (1:21 NIV)

That verse stumps me. Because sure, I believe in an afterlife with God, and I know it’s going to be good. I get that in my head, most days. But I don’t want to die. Dying doesn’t feel much like gain.

I attended the ordination service of a classmate of mine from seminary and college recently. The steeple of the church stood tall against the crisp blue of the morning sky and all around was quiet that early morning. A couple of hours later, the church filled with people from the church, young and old, who would receive their newly ordained pastor and her visiting friends and family.