Is it really the end of the world as we know it?

It would seem foolhardy to suggest that we’re not living in the last days, but some of us are itching for Armageddon. True, world events seem to be escalating toward a climax. But then again, they have been for 2,000 years (see Acts 2:17; 2 Tim. 3:1; Heb. 1:2; 2 Pet. 3:3, etc.). I’m sure those believers who endured the fall of Jerusalem, the black plague, the inquisition, the Holocaust and the bombing of Hiroshima were watching the second hand of the doomsday clock with particular interest.

I must confess: I grew up hearing the imagery of Armageddon–imagery of the variety that I was forbidden from watching on television or in the movies. Horses wading in rivers of blood beneath a mushroom cloud with Larry Norman singing “I wish we’d all been ready” in the background. Scary stuff. But I was comforted by the assurance that I would be watching these events unfold from the safety of Heaven.

Since then, my eschatology has gone through a series of adjustments. I became aware of believers in China wasting away for their faith in Maoist “re-education camps.” I heard stories of God-fearing Sudanese families separated and sold into slavery by Islamic extremists. I helped a destitute Sri Lankan pastor distribute tsunami aid to Buddhists, Hindus and Muslims in his town–only to hear several months later that he was beaten to within an inch of his life by a mob of angry Buddhists. Needless to say, the prospect of skipping tribulation now seemed a little self-serving at best.

Unfortunately, our Western versions of eschatology have bred some unhealthy extremes. Some of us are nearly giddy about the bloody precursors to the Second Coming. If Jesus warned that there would be “wars and rumors of wars” before His return, why would we want to delay His arrival by seeking peace? Others are convinced that the church will eventually so infiltrate society that Jesus will return to a world already conquered by His people. This group seems unaware that those who overcame the beast did so with their blood, not at the ballot box.

Now, I’m not delusional enough to think that all evangelicals can unite under the banner of one eschatological perspective. However, in the eyes of the secular world (and many evangelicals like myself), the two options of dominionism and escapism leave something to be desired and demonstrate an embarrassing level of disunity on a very relevant topic of discussion.

Even more bizarre are high-profile leaders who attempt to embrace both perspectives simultaneously. The other day, I heard a television preacher discuss the nearness of the rapture and tribulation and, minutes later, argue for the reinstatement of prayer in public school and the erection of the Ten Commandments in courtrooms. Unfortunately, those possessing a nuanced opinion somewhere between these two views rarely find themselves in front of a microphone or TV camera. Go figure.

My purpose for bringing up this subject was not to poke fun at the “eschatologically confused” (Come to think of it, I feel pretty confused myself when it comes to this tricky topic), but to challenge pastors and church leaders to tackle the subject on a local level with a winsome and life-giving approach. The Second Coming is not something to be feared and loathed–or gleefully anticipated for the destruction of our enemies. It’s not an evangelistic bludgeon or a tool for the opportunistic to promote their political agenda. It is the V-Day to the cross’s D-Day, the fulfillment of God’s promise to dwell with His people, wipe every tear from their eyes and finish making all things new.

Sure, in modern parlance, John was freaked out when he saw what was to come, but not too freaked out to say, “Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus!”

by Matt Green
from The Ministry Report
July 24, 2006

“It’s not a religion. It’s a relationship.” How many times have we heard that declaration describing one’s faith. I understand the rationale behind it. “Religion” is the disparaging word used to describe either heartless nominalism or brittle legalism–both forms of godliness that lack power. I agree that we need to draw a distinction between religious activity and authentic relational faith, but that’s not always how it comes across. Instead, we use the phrase to create a class of hyper-spiritual-mega-strike-force Christians, infinitely more real than those dry, stick-in-the-mud Methodists and Presbyterians who just care about religion.

In a recent interview on CNN, a proponent of the “laughing revival” suggested that religion is “like a drug.” “It wants to beat you down and make you dependent upon it,” he explained. “If I can make you feel guilty, you’ll come back next week.” Ironically, he didn’t seem to notice the similarity in the throngs of people who travel thousands of miles and attend weekly for a sip of the self-described “Holy Ghost Bartender’s” addictive brew.

For me, it’s just the opposite. Religion is what reminds me that being a follower of Christ is not merely about showing up on Sunday for a Holy Ghost fix. Religion is what I do Monday through Saturday. Like marriage is to my relationship with my wife, religion is to my relationship with my God.

Since we’re on the marriage parallel, imagine a husband telling his wife, “It’s not about marriage, Baby. It’s about the relationship.”

Uh … good luck with that, buddy.

No, marriage (like religion) is the sum total of the commitments, words, thoughts and actions that reveal that there is in fact a relationship. Religion isn’t a dirty word; it’s the way we live out our relationship with God–the sum total of prayer, study, fellowship, worship, evangelism and social action that give dynamic shape to an otherwise ethereal concept. This is probably what James [a man so religious, his knees were purported to be calloused like that of a camel from the time he spent in prayer] was thinking of when he described “pure religion” as both personal piety and social engagement.

Whether the solemn reflection of the eucharist or the ecstatic exuberance of holy laughter, both are religious experiences that may–or may not–reflect an authentic relationship. Sure, the word religion may have fallen upon hard times, but that doesn’t mean it’s time to discard it. Let’s redefine it, teach it, model it and reclaim its true significance in a world where the “pure religion” James talks about has all but lost its meaning.

by Matt Green
from The Ministry Report

His Tulsa megachurch may have shrunken to the size of a country chapel, but Pentecostal universalist Carlton Pearson is convinced that his “new” take on hell will eventually be adopted by the rest of the church, as he claimed at the end of his appearance last Friday on Dateline.

The crazy thing about Pearson’s theology is not merely that he thinks he has come up with a revolutionary revelation: Pearson joins the ranks of various Christians who taught an “alternative” view of eternal punishment–from 2nd-century church father, Origen, to 20th-century religious philosopher, John Hick. No, the strange thing about Pearson is how he claims he came up with the belief system he calls “inclusionism.” (Interestingly, he avoids–or is unaware of–the theological terms “inclusivism” and “universalism”.)

For instance, although misled in his exegetical method, Origen was at least careful in applying it to Scripture to concoct his own version of universalism. Likewise, Hick painstakingly dissects philosophy to defend his brand of universalism. In contrast, Pearson’s method is a liberal application of old-fashioned, homespun horse sense–perhaps attractive to those who would sniff at Origen’s complicated exegesis or Hick’s cerebral philosophizing.

Questioning Pearson’s universalist worldview, the NBC interviewer asked, “Is Hitler in hell?” and Pearson replied, “You think Hitler’s more powerful than the blood of Jesus?” With this line of reasoning, we’re led to believe that it is denigrating to the power of the cross to suggest that Hitler could be in hell.

Another of his methods is to poke fun at his legalistic upbringing: “We were told not to laugh. Stop all the jesting and joking. … God gonna get you. The devil gonna get you. … So we had all that mentality. Be good. Be godly. Be right. Be holy. … Or else you go to hell.” Here, he wants us to think that, since his parents were wrong about why people go to hell (i.e. not being good enough), they must have been wrong about a lot of other things (e.g. hell existing in the first place).

Then the clincher: Pearson recalls watching TV reports of suffering Rwandan refugees and thinking, “God, I don’t know how you’re gonna call yourself a loving God and allow those people to suffer so much and then just suck them into hell.” Apparently, Pearson believes that we can somehow atone for our own sins and avoid eternal punishment through suffering here on earth.

These “common-sense” objections to the traditional view of hell may resonate with the secular skeptic, but Pearson’s noticeable avoidance of a coherent biblical argument should strike any thoughtful Christian as bizarre. If you intend to dismantle a cardinal doctrine built on two millenia of church history and Scriptural interpretation, you need more than a handful of witty one-liners. It’s like trying to take down the Brooklyn Bridge with a butter knife.

At the end of the interview, Pearson is shown promising his congregation that “a great shifting” and “a great anointing” will make the church more open to his teachings. Then, he explains to the interviewer the process whereby he believes this shift will take place: “First, they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.” If he’s right, and our core doctrines are vulnerable to these inch-deep objections, then maybe we’re in worse shape than I thought.

Before the age of the microscope allowed us to see that maggots actually came from eggs laid by flies, people thought that flies “spontaneously generated” from rotting meat. Similarily, it’s long been one of my contentions that heresy does not generate spontaneously–it is germinated, incubated and hatches in environments most conducive to its growth. The problem is that we often ignore the warning signs and then act like we’ve been taken by surprise when someone falls headlong into error. I’ve got my own ideas, but first I’m interested in hearing some of yours. What constitutes an environment conducive to heresy–and could we have predicted Pearson’s theological drift by observing other aspects of his life and ministry before he announced his embrace of universalism?

by Matt Green
from The Ministry Report
August 15, 2006