Stephen
Terry, Director
Covenant Faith
Commentary
for the June 19, 2021, Sabbath School Lesson
"All of us have become
like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous acts are like filthy
rags;
we all shrivel up like
a leaf,
and like the wind our sins sweep us away."
Isaiah 64:6, NIV
In the United States,
in suburbia, a common quest is for the perfect lawn. Some will mow their lawns
several times a week, trying to achieve that perfect, manicured look. Others
will mow following certain patterns to achieve an artistic perfection. Lawncare
companies take millions in profits catering to this desire for perfection,
often adding tons of chemicals to lawns and through runoff, to local streams, lakes,
and aquifers. When they gather socially, those who put so much effort into the
perfect lawn tend to focus on imperfection, gossiping about the neighbor who
has left their yard as God gave it, dirt and dust punctuated with the most vigorous
kinds of weeds moving on and off stage according to the season. While not as
aesthetically pleasing, those yards have the advantage of flourishing under
adverse local conditions while faithfully reseeding their ilk for future
generations. Rainfall and sunshine are all they need to bloom and germinate,
eliminating the high water bills typical of summer. Perhaps the only downside
is that such dried out, weedy landscapes can be perfect tinder for celebratory
Fourth-of July sparks. Unless, of course, if one is concerned about the
opinions of their neighbors with the perfect lawns for motivation.
Perfection can be an elusive
goal. No matter how often the lawn is mown, there always seems to be at least
one stubborn blade of grass that refuses to blend in with the rest. Sticking up
higher than its fellows, it mocks us as we sit on the patio trying to enjoy our
lemonade, until, goaded beyond what our obsessive compulsiveness will tolerate,
we grab some sheers and decapitate the miscreant. But settling once again into
our chair with our lemonade, we notice another blade of grass defiantly lifting
itself above the turf. Why didn't we see it before? Each blade we deal with
seems to be bent on keeping us from our lemonade until we admit defeat and
settle on the patio, drinking with our back turned toward the lawn.
Many seem to be drawn
to a never-ending battle to achieve perfection and cannot allow themselves to
rest without it. We not only see this with lawns. Music is another area where
we do this. Generations in the past were content with making music on porches
and in kitchens and parlors with the furniture pushed aside for dancing. The
nature of such amateur musical hobbyist's performances was the occasional missed
beat or sour note. All part of the relaxed fun of the times. But with the
advance of technology, we find ourselves unwilling to accept the hobbyist's
imperfections. We can now record multiple takes to reach an audibly perfect performance
and record multiple tracks done by other musicians on different instruments
produced in the same way, the artificial construct displacing impromptu performance
with affordably available digital, easily portable, and capable of almost
infinite electronic enhancement. But even here some audiophiles are still able to
instrumentally measure imperfection, even if they cannot really hear the minute
differences they know are there. Obsessed with sampling rates and digital short
cuts, they are the musical equivalents of the lawn perfectionists.
Religion is not immune
from obsessing over perfectionism. It has reared its head many times over the
history of the church. One might even find a continuous thread first stitched
with the ante-Nicene, desert hermits and running through various orders and cults
down through the medieval Anchorites to present-day perfectionism. Within
Seventh-day Adventism, it cropped up as the Holy Flesh Movement as the 19th
century turned into the 20th. More recently it has been resurrected
with some superficial refinements as Last Generation Theology (LGT). Both either
imply or directly assert a Christology based on the assumption that Jesus was
incarnated in the same flesh as unfallen Adam. Never mind that this creates some
of the same quandaries faced by our Roman Catholic friends that resulted in the
doctrine of the immaculate conception and much of the Mariology that followed. It
can be hard to explain sinless, unfallen perfection coming from a sin-tainted
womb without some degree of theological gymnastics. The battle over the proper
understanding of Christ's nature has raged within Adventism for my entire
lifetime and beyond. Those who believe that Christ was incarnated in sinful
flesh, capable of being tempted with every temptation we face tend to line up
behind A. T. Jones and E. J. Waggoner who presented to the church, in 1888, the
doctrine of righteousness by faith, A.K.A. salvation by grace alone. We do not
achieve perfection in this life because to do so would mean we would no longer
need a savior. We strive for a Christ-like character, but because we will
always fall short, we will need grace right up to the Parousia.
Those who believe that Christ was in Adam's unfallen flesh believe that
perfection is a model for our own. In the case of Last Generation Theology,
they have no problem with perfection meaning no need of a savior. It is believed
that Jesus will leave the heavenly sanctuary and the saved will need to live without
a savior's intercession. Therefore, perfection is part of the divine plan for
survival of the saints during that time.
Oddly, both positions,
though diametrically opposed, are held within the "big tent" of Seventh-day
Adventism. Two edifices with complex supporting dogmatics vie for each
parishioner baptized or born into the church. Some may even chart their spiritual
growth as a movement from one position to another, never feeling that they have
left Adventism at any time during that process. One example of the difference in
dogma that the disparate founding Christologies spawn is the definition of
obedience and the role it plays in the Christian's life. For LGT, obedience is
a prerequisite for salvation. If someone accepts Christ but falls at any point
afterwards, they are lost.[i] Obedience then is driven by
that fear of damnation. As many have discovered that can be a heavy weight to
carry through life. Since the struggle with sin is common to all,[ii] the guilt and shame of
failure can be universal for those who believe such theology. In life, I have met
a few who have insisted that they are perfectly obedient, but the Bible says
otherwise.[iii] Inevitably, those who feel
that they have either achieved such perfection or are well on their way to
achieving it become arrogant and judgmental toward other, lesser souls. They
are more than happy to point out the sins of others and chide them for falling
short but never seem to see the pride swelling up in their own hearts while
doing so.
The other camp tends
to see obedience as a love response. Since God's love leads us to repent of our
sinful selfishness[iv]
and gifts us with the Holy Spirit,[v] obedience also comes as a
gift of God's love written in our hearts.[vi] But this theology can tempt
us to think that because God's love does it all, we have no need to concern
ourselves with what we do. Some of our Sunday-keeping friends have fallen into
this rabbit hole. This can be seen in such ideas as "once saved, always saved"
and "God loves us so much, he won't care what day we keep holy." But Adventists
are not exempt from such thinking. Our presumptions of what God's will is for
his children can fall short of what is right, proper, and good. We may honor
God with our lips, professing to love him supremely, while our lives tell a different
story to all who are watching. That story is written not in the prayers we make
to God, the money we give to the church, the committees we serve on, or the
offices and titles we hold. It is written in how we are to those least able to
do anything for us. The Bible tells us that how we behave toward these is, in
effect, how we behave towards Christ.[vii] The paradox comes when we
discover that we cannot tell ourselves to be more loving toward others. If we
do, we are only trying to earn brownie points for heaven, and what might have
otherwise been a charitable act becomes selfish instead. No, it must flow, not
from obligation, but from the love and compassion that has arisen in our hearts
toward others because of God's presence dethroning self as the ruler of our
actions.
As we receive grace,
we extend it to others. Concurrently, as we receive love, we love others. We tend
to get lost sometimes in the meandering hallways of the edifices we build to
esoteric dogmatics. Sometimes I wonder if Jesus were here in the flesh right
now, would he ask why we cannot just love one another without having to build
complex theological reasons to do so? Could it be that simple?