Descending into Hell

I was confronted with hell in church Sunday. It wasn't the preacher who brought the subject to mind. He is not afraid to mention the H-word when the scripture text requires it, but this was not such an occasion. It was the Apostle's Creed that got me thinking about the infernal regions yesterday.

This congregation has the habit of repeating that ancient creed as part of worship, including the controversial words "He descended into hell." Christians do not universally accept this phrase. Some denominations consider it an optional article of faith; others omit these words altogether.

My liberal friends consider the concept of hell as an archaic remnant from a primitive past, which is now accepted only by fundamentalists and hatemongers. I know better. Hell was clearly taught by Jesus, and that's good enough for me.

But I have straddled the fence on the matter of Christ's descent into hell.  I know the scriptures that purport to teach the doctrine, but I was not convinced that this was the correct interpretation of those texts. Now I am leaning more toward the hell-descending camp. I will tell you why.

As a pastor I have seen more hell than I ever imagined I would. As their shepherd I have had to descend into hell with my parishioners. Furthermore I have been through my own personal hell, and Christ accompanied me. So I know the Good Shepherd does this type of thing.

To deny Christ's descent into hell seems like just another attempt to deny the reality of suffering. It feels more like Christian Science than Christian orthodoxy. It is understandable that people want to avoid the hellish parts of life. So do I; I am no masochist. But many go further than personal avoidance of pain. Religion becomes an escape.

Religious conservatives escape hell by purchasing spiritual fire insurance. Just pray the "sinner's prayer," pick a "Get Out of Hell Free" card, and go directly to Home. The recent theological phenomena of the Pre-Tribulation Rapture and the Prosperity Gospel are just variations on this evangelical theme.

Liberals, on the other hand, discard the whole idea of hell as mythological hate speech. Either way it is an escape from hell. But Jesus was not one to take the easy road. He did not flee from even the most hellish suffering. For him the way to heaven wound through the gates of hell.

We tend to assume that the more spiritual we become the less pain we should have. Our heroes are stoic saints or calm buddhas rapt in holy bliss. We tend to assume that progress in the spiritual path provides increasing joy, peace and equanimity. What good is being holy if hell is part of the deal?

But the Kingdom of God includes the territory of Hades within its borders. In Jesus' parable of Lazarus and the rich man, Abraham could see the rich man in hell from this seat in heaven. As much as we do not like it, hell is part of the eternal landscape.

In his short novel, The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis' pictured hell as contained in a tiny crack in the hinterlands of heaven. It is not outside the boundaries of God's presence, but not large enough to influence the crime rate of the New Jerusalem.

Any theology that negates the reality of evil and the suffering it causes - in this world or the next - is nothing more than a fantasy.  All life includes hell, and that includes eternal life. The godly life accepts all experience - even the most painful - as part of the divine plan. The spiritual life involves descent into hell as well as ascent into heaven. That is the meaning of the cross, and why Christ still bears the stigmata even in paradise.
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Image is "Faith Divine" by Martha S. Heimbaugh, 2004, painted, pieced fabric, 3-D puff. The artist writes of this piece: "The painting entitled Faith Divine is an abstract depiction of Christ's descent into Hell.  The circles represent God's unending love and that this love transcends all evil or diversity.  Through Christ's own Faith, he was able to make the descent and return to God the Father, victorious.  The title Faith Divine, speaks to Christ's own faith and understanding of human emotions, to leave the familiar and fulfill His destiny."

The Religion of Sudoku

Every day I turn to the comics page of my newspaper. But before I get my daily dose of Dilbert, Non Sequitur and Close to Home, I do the Sudoku. I have gotten pretty good at it. I can usually solve every puzzle - even the five star ones. Sometimes I venture to do the one- and two-star puzzles in ink (a sign of a true Sudoku snob.)

Our human brains  are good at solving puzzles. That is their function. That is why God put them in our skulls. In earlier times this problem-solving function kept us alive. They found us food, clothing, and shelter, and protected us from predators. Now they waste time doing number games. They need problems to solve, and if they can't find any immediately available in the world, they create problems. That is the origin of sudoku and crosswords... and politics.

This knack for problem-solving plays havoc with religion. We create religious problems that need solving! There is the problem of the existence of God, the problem of evil, and the problem of suffering. Free will versus predestination, grace versus works. Life after death, life before birth. And how are all the different religions related?

Then there are the mind-numbing paradoxes of the Trinity (How can God be both three and one?) and the two natures of Christ (How can Christ be both fully God and fully man?) And while we are at it ... how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

Whew! I am getting brain lock just listing the problems. But the real problem is that there are no problems that need to be solved in the spiritual life. Spirituality is the art of letting God be God. That's it! Problem solved. But our brains need problems, so it sees problems. That is the problem. We are the problem, and God is the solution.

That is where prayer comes in. Prayer is not a problem-solving technique. It is not about speaking the right formula of words and thinking the right thoughts to get all our problems solved by the Heavenly Problem-Solver. Prayer is about giving up the problems. It is about admitting that there is no problem we need to solve. There is just God, and God is not a problem.

Life is not a Sudoku puzzle that needs to be solved. It all is perfect just the way it is. There are no mistakes and no dead ends. God has it all figured out. After all, he designed it! God's kingdom will come, and his will is done on earth as it is in heaven.

There is a bigger Mind at work than our puny little animal brains. To God there is no problem. There never was. He has things well in hand. And in the silence of prayer he says to us, "Be still and know that I am God."

Zen and the Art of House Painting

It is house-painting time again. It seems like it is always time to paint this old house. The last time I painted my house was July 2005. I know that from the date on the can of paint in my basement. Within three years it was starting to blister and peel. It is not because I painted it wrong. I had a professional painter do it last time, and it still started peeling in three years. These clapboards just don't hold paint.

It never has. That is what the old-timers on my street tell me. Some of them have watched it peel for decades. They have theories why this house is paint-resistant. "When it was built, the clapboards were green. It is because they are cedar shingles; they never hold paint. It is the insulation ... or lack of insulation. It is the direction the house faces. It was built on an old Indian burial ground." All I know is that it needs to be painted every three or four years, but I hold out for five.

So I am painting my house...  again - for the third time since I bought it twelve years ago. As I paint, I think. I think that I am glad I am not a full-time house painter. I have renewed respect for a friend of mine in New Hampshire who does this for a living. But mostly I think about spiritual things. That is the way my mind tilts, for better or worse.

Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape. Scrape off the layers of previous paintings. It is like an archeological dig, going down through fifty-three years of layers of brown, pink, green and white paint. Down as far as I can go, often to the wood itself. Sweat, sweat, sweat. Talk to people watching me sweat. Drink, drink, so I can sweat, sweat.

Then paint, paint, paint. (I refuse to do the other prep work any more, like washing, sanding and priming. It doesn't seem to make any difference; it will still need repainting in three years.) Paint, paint, paint. Up the ladder, down the ladder, move the ladder. Sweat, sweat, sweat. Ache, ache ache.

Think, think, think. I think life is like a house. It deteriorates over time no matter what you do. Women can put on make-up (It is like putting vinyl siding on a house.) But for men it is just hair loss, wrinkles, and aching joints. My life as a house. (Wasn't that a movie with Kevin Kline?)

Think, think, think. Think spiritual thoughts. There must be a spiritual lesson in this. Something about spiritual entropy and how it relates to the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Everything is impermanent. Life is suffering. Putty covers a multitude of sins. There must be a spiritual point in all of this!

Think, think... I think these paint fumes are getting to me. I think that I could think much better if I were sitting on my porch drinking a glass of iced green tea. I think the next house I buy will have vinyl siding. I think I am VERY glad I am not a professional house-painter. I think I can find no profound spiritual lessons about house-painting. "Too bad," I think. It would have made a good blog.

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Image is "Wall gazing" (Menpeki Daruma)

Tangled Up in Self

"Know thyself." This aphorism was inscribed in the forecourt of the temple of Apollo at Delphi. Marcus Aurelius said, "Look well into thyself." It is good advice. Socrates said, "The unexamined life is not worth living."

The daily examen is an ancient Christian spiritual discipline. The apostle Paul advises us to examine ourselves regularly to see whether we are in the faith, especially before partaking of the Lord's Supper.

Self-examination is an important part of my spiritual practice. But I find that when I examine myself that my self is elusive. As soon as I look at myself, my self shuts up and hides, as if afraid of being seen. He hides in the background and goes silent, fearful of the spotlight of self-examination.

When I try to identify the characteristics of my self, all the candidates for selfhood are found to be not my self. "No, that is not me, and that is not me... neither is that." They are fictions, stories I tell myself about myself to keep myself from knowing myself. After peeling away the layers of the proverbial onion, there is nothing that I can identify as my self.

The only self I can find is the unexaminable self that is looking for self. Even that self is not a being but a process. I am "selfing." I create my self and then identify myself with my self in an endless loop. Tangled up in self.

I have created a lot of selves over the decades. I am continually in the process of recreating myself.  I am the process of creating temporary selves. As they wear out I create a new selves, like a lizard growing a new tail. I am good selfer. I never run out of selves. I am so good that I even convince myself that I am the new self ... until I need a newer self.

It is the uncreated selfing that is my true self. That is who I am; not the self. To examine this not-self self is to be examined by God. As Meister Eckhart says, "The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God's eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love."

As the psalmist said, "Examine me, O Lord, and prove me; Try my mind and my heart. For Your lovingkindness is before my eyes."
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Art is "Self Portrait" by Pablo Picasso, 1972.

Spiritual Geography

Some people are afraid of open spaces. It is called agoraphobia. I have the opposite condition. I love wide open spaces - the wider the better. One of the most emotionally powerful places I have ever visited is the Grand Canyon. It has been more than twenty years since I stood at the South Rim, but I can recall it as if it were yesterday.

I have a similar thrill from being on top of a high mountain. As a young man I climbed the White Mountains of New Hampshire at every opportunity. Now my knees keep me at lower altitudes, but I still hike the smaller peaks. When my soul needs loftier elevations, I can always drive to see the view.

It is not just the heights, but also the silence of such places that attracts me. There is no artificial human noise. I sense the silence with my whole body. The ocean has the same effect on me; there is something about its primordial depths, vastness and spaciousness.

In prayer I am discovering why I am drawn to such spots. They remind me of the depths of my soul. I now visit open spaces during prayer daily. The Spirit communicates the awe of vast ocean depths and clear mountain heights. Any setting can reveal an expanse as grand as a canyon. Everyday spots open up the depths of their true nature.

The awesomeness of the mountains was not in the mountains; it was in me. I brought it with me to those scenic places like a picnic lunch carried to the park. I carry the ocean expanse with me to the ocean. I occupy the great gulf of a desert canyon at all times. But I mistakenly thought I could only bring it out at special times and places.

The Spirit in me is the Openness that I behold outside me. In beholding it I am consumed by it. The Beholder and the Beheld join. Like in Solomon's Song, the distinctions between Lover and Beloved become indistinct in the hearing of the Song.

I still visit those special places. They have not lost their splendor, but I am not dependent on them. I know where the beauty and awe are really located. Not in the geography of the land but the spiritual geography of the soul.
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Art is "Grand Canyon - brown" by Asbjorn Lonvig

The Only God We Ever Know

Last Sunday the pastor at the church I attend spoke about the Holy Spirit. It was an appropriate topic for Pentecost. He made a statement that has been echoing in my mind ever since. He said, "The Holy Spirit is the only God we ever know." He did not mean that we don't know the other persons of the Trinity. He meant that we know the Father and the Son only through the indwelling Holy Spirit.

It is a very experiential thing to say, which is why it resonated with me. It is increasingly important for me to experience doctrines and not just believe them. What good are doctrines if they are only known in theory? My theology is becoming more practical than theoretical, more physical than metaphysical, more incarnated than interpreted.

Therefore my experience of God has been much more focused on the Holy Spirit. In scholarly terminology, my theology is becoming more pneumatological. My Christology is intact, but the doctrine of the Holy Spirit is coming out of the closet to claim its proper place in my life and thought.

In the Hebrew Old Testament, Spirit is feminine; in the Greek New Testament it is neuter. Yet the Holy Spirit is referred to with the masculine pronoun "he." In other words the Spirit is both inclusive of and surpasses the limitations of human gender. That makes the experience of the Spirit very different than the Father and the Son - who are both very male personae.

The Spirit can be both very subtle and very dramatic in his work. I experience the Spirit in prayer. The phrase "in the Spirit" is very descriptive of my prayer life. I am immersed in the Spirit and dwell in the Spirit. I pray in the Spirit and walk in the Spirit. The world is imbued with Spirit for me. The Kingdom of God is the Presence of the Spirit.

The Holy Spirit is God within us as humans, yet never appears in humanoid form. When the Spirit appears, it is as a dove or wind or fire. He is both personal and impersonal, yet transcends both. As God no humanly concepts can contain him. He is beyond comprehension, yet by the Spirit we comprehend.

He is the Wind hovering over the face of the deep before creation. He is the Breath of Life breathed into man at creation. He is the Spirit who inspired the prophets and filled the apostles. He is the Spirit of revelation. By the Spirit we understand. Without the Spirit, we understand nothing. The Spirit mediates God and interprets God to our understanding. Yet the Spirit transcends understanding.

"No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him, but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit. The Spirit searches all things, even the deep things of God. For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the man's spirit within him? In the same way no one knows the thoughts of God except the Spirit of God. We have not received the spirit of the world but the Spirit who is from God, that we may understand what God has freely given us. This is what we speak, not in words taught us by human wisdom but in words taught by the Spirit, expressing spiritual truths in spiritual words."

The Spirit is God to me, in me, through me - the only God I know.
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Image is "Holy Spirit Come," prophetic art by Janice Okubo

The Hound of Heaven

Recently lines from the Hound of Heaven have come to mind. I never intentionally memorized this famous poem by Francis Thompson. Nevertheless fragments of the opening words have been returning from memory unbidden.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind.

For years I have seen myself as a servant of God - one who knows God and loves God. I have devoted my adult life to serving God. I became a pastor in order to know God more deeply. But the truth is I have been fleeing God.

I have been fleeing him under the guise of seeking him. I have been hiding from him under the pretence of finding him. Telling myself I loved God, I have done everything within my power to avoid God.

Whenever God rounded a corner, I ducked out of sight. Whenever God poked his head into my consciousness, I suppressed him. He sneaked around my defenses, meeting me in Nature and prayer. But I always succeeded in covering up any trace of him with ideas and doctrines that insured that I remained the "master of my fate" and the "captain of my soul," to quote another poet.

It has taken a lot of effort to ignore the God who is everywhere, but I have persevered. In fact the sole preoccupation of my life seems to have been to avoid God, suppress God, and ignore God at all costs. Because I have always known that if I let God be God, then I would die.

I do not mean that I would physically die. This body would remain intact for the time being. But the "I" that has been created to play the role of God in my life would cease to be. That felt like imminent death. So I ran.

I fled from him "down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind." In order to forget him, I replaced him with a nice safe churchly god. This terephim idol was a deity crafted by my own mind, a god safely locked in a book. It was a lifeless image guarded by pulpits, programs and proper prayers.

This god protected me from God. It was a god that "I" could have a personal relationship with - and thereby keep this "strange, piteous, futile thing" called "I" intact. It was an elaborate ruse to help me escape from the relentless pursuit of God.

But I am finished running. I am tired of the endless lie of my own existence. And I find there is nothing to fear. There is only the Hound of Heaven.
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Art is Hound of Heaven by Jody Bare, lino-cut print on silk-paper.