'He that Cometh' Maketh the Church (1)

Henri de Lubac (1896–1991)

IN THE NOV/DEC ISSUE of Books & Culture, Hans Boersma wrote an article, "The Eucharist Makes the Church," in which he uses Henri de Lubac's views on the Supper as a grand moderating position that ought to do three things: (1) help us recapture the pre-modern, sacramental view of the world (over against the rationalism of the High Middle Ages and the neo-scholastic theology of the early 20th century); (2) reappropriate a pre-modern "sacramental" hermeneutic with respect to Scripture (here Boersma has in mind St. Augustine's exegetical approach of literal meaning pointing beyond itself to spiritual meaning); and (3) apply the genuine ecumenical potential inherent in de Lubac's sacramental outlook.

It is the last area that interests me most here. With respect to the other two, simply note that Boersma's narrative (which he implies is de Lubac's) goes something like this: Postmodernity is little more than modernity coming home to roost. These, kicked off, as it were, by the rationalism of the High Middle Ages . . . 

. . . are predicated on the abandonment of a pre-modern sacramental mindset in which the realities of this-worldly existence pointed to greater, eternal realities, in which they sacramentally shared. Once modernity abandoned a participatory or sacramental view of reality, the created order became unhinged from its origin in God, and the material cosmos began its precarious drift on the flux of nihilistic waves.

Recovering de Lubac is of particular importance, therefore, because he fought the same battles many of us are fighting, according to Boersma. What battles? Why, the ones precipitated by the neo-scholastics, of course! They are (1) the strict separation between nature and the supernatural and (2) the rationalist apologetic approach to the Bible and the history of Christian thought.

So, in short, "the pre-critical sacramental outlook of the medieval tradition," good; High Middle Ages, not so good. The Catholic renwal movement of nouvelle théologie, good; Pope Leo XIII's neo-scholastic love affair with St. Thomas, not so good. Leo's encyclical, Aeterni Patris, and policies "entrenched Thomist philosophy and theology as the normative system of Catholic thought."

With respect to the Eucharist, Boersma casts de Lubac (or, rather, de Lubac casts himself—I need a historical theology expert of this era to confirm or deny) as situated between two extremes: Protestantism on the one hand, and Catholic neo-scholasticism on the other. De Lubac mentions John Calvin by name as one who "watered down" both the reality of Christ's presence in Holy Communion and the traditional idea of the church as the body of Christ. The two go hand in hand, he argues, because with only a "virtual presence" of Christ in the sacrament, one would end up with only a "virtual presence" of Christ in the church, too (I know my friend Keith Mathison would take serious umbrage with this charge of "virtual presence." I am glad to see that Calvin was de Lubac's Protestant target, however—probably because his view is the only Protestant one worth holding; if anyone can figure out Luther's, let me know).

But de Lubac's main antagonist, writes Boersma, was his Catholic compatriot (both his contemporary neo-scholastics and their 17th-century predecessors). All of them were unable to find transubstantiation in the early church, most notably in St. Augustine, and "this difficulty led them to engage in mental gymnastics in their interpretation" of the North African bishop.


Coming up next: We'll look at de Lubac's recapturing of St. Augustine's sacramental outlook and Boersma's attempt to push it in an ecumenical direction. And I'll clear up the title for this post too.

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Survey Says?!

I TOOK PART IN A SURVEY the other day as suggested by the Cathedral Church of St. Luke. It revolved around music, with an eye on revising the hymnal currently in use. What follows are a few of my thoughts I wrote down in the "Got Anything Else to Say" section:

1. I'm not opposed at all to new music, provided it's beautiful (according to what I say is beautiful, of course) and theologically sound—by which I mean orthodox, according to the Scriptures and the tradition of the Christian church and her seven ecumenical councils.
2. I cannot stand sappy music, and much of what came out of Western revivalism is just that. I'd excise those portions from the hymnbook right now, if I could.
3. All Anglican churches, including my own, ought to devote more time to the singing of the Psalter.
4. I do not trust a revision of the hymnal, unless those revisions include: (1) the removal of revivalistic Americana [and its attendant civil religion]; (2) the inclusion of ancient hymns both Western and Eastern; and (3) the absence of any modern hymns one may find in a Unitarian-Universalist's hymnbook.

Let me know your thoughts on these thoughts, if you care so to do.

The survey also ended with the ridiculous question, "If you were stuck on a desert island, which eight songs would you want to have with you?" It's ridiculous, of course, because who can pick just eight songs? Everytime I look at this, I want to change it, but here's what I wrote:

1. "Across the Universe" —the Beatles
2. "Blackbird" —the Beatles
3. "With or Without You" —U2
4. "Until the End of the World" —U2
5. "Song Remains the Same" —Led Zeppelin
6. "Ramble On" —Led Zeppelin
7. "All I Want" —Joni Mitchell
8. "St. Matthew's Passion" —Bach (it has two movements, but it's broken up in several parts on youtube)

 This time, tell me which eight you'd want with you.

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The Four Beasties Met Their Match

"I saw in the night visions,
and behold, with the clouds of heaven
there came one like a son of man,
and he came to the Ancient of Days
and was presented before him.
And to him was given dominion
and glory and a kingdom,
that all peoples, nations, and languages
should serve him;
his dominion is an everlasting dominion,
which shall not pass away,
and his kingdom one
that shall not be destroyed.” 
(Dan. 7:13–14)

IT'S ADMITTEDLY DIFFICULT to come down hard on the details of certain texts that have to do with eschatology ("end times"), but the pastoral points remain the same—the Messiah is now enthroned. He has an eternal rule over the whole earth (Dan. 7:14; Luke 1:32–33). King Jesus, the fully divine and fully human Son of God and son of David, will judge all things before the very throne of the Almighty, the Ancient of Days (Dan. 7:10; Matt. 25:32). For those in union with this King, the Christ of God, the verdict will be “not guilty” (Rom. 8:1; 1 John 2:1–2). Not so for the four beasts—and especially for the fourth beast: his “dominion shall be taken away, to be consumed and destroyed to the end” (Dan. 7:26). This is good news, indeed!

The panmillennialist’s mantra—“It’ll all pan out in the end!”—is surely agreeable at this point. But we needn’t be content with just that. There’s always more to say, not least with respect to eschatology, and not least with respect to Daniel 7, a magnificent portion of God’s Word. Daniel’s vision climaxes with the installation of one like the son of man as the eternal king in 7:13–14. Contrary to popular opinion, this scene has to do with the Messiah’s first coming, not his second, final coming (and I’m no postmillennialist). Clearly, the vantage point of Daniel's vision is from the heavenly court—not earth—and one like a human being ascending toward it. John Calvin picked up on this long ago when he argued that this passage is best understood as a vision of Christ’s ascension to the right hand of the Father after his resurrection (see Acts 1:9–11; 2:33; 5:31).

Thus, Christ is enthroned now. But much like when David the shepherd boy was anointed by Samuel and spent the following several years waiting and fighting to see that kingship manifest itself fully, “all authority in heaven and on earth” has been given to Christ Jesus, complete with its own set of marching orders that are to be carried out while we await, and fight for, the full manifestation of that heavenly kingship: “Go therefore and make disciples” (Matt. 28:18–19). We couldn’t even begin to do the latter if the former were not true.

Keith Mathison argues convincingly in From Age to Age that the “coming Son of Man” sections of Matthew’s gospel that are often understood as pointing to Christ’s second coming actually refer to Jesus’ installation as the eternal king and judge during the entirety of his first advent, but most notably at his ascension (e.g., Matt. 10:22–24; 13:40–42; 16:26–28; 19:27–29; 24; 26:63–65, and parallels). In other words, all of these sayings are fulfillments of Daniel 7:13–14, when Jesus receives the kingdom from his Father, the Ancient of Days.

Let us praise the Lord this day that the linchpin of history has already been banged into place. The promised restoration of creation, including the blessing of all nations, is well underway. “Despite resistance, tribulation, and suffering, all the forces of hell will not be able to stand against the church, for Jesus has overcome the powers of death and hell, and nothing will ever be the same” (Mathison, p. 387).

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When You're Strange

“Concerning the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ and our being gathered together to be with him: I beg you, my friends, not to be so easily confused in your thinking or upset by the claim that the Day of the Lord has come. . . . So then, our friends, stand firm and hold on to those truths which we taught you, both in our preaching and in our letter.” (2 Thess. 2:1–2a, 15)

The destruction of the Jerusalem Temple
by Titus in AD 70.

People are strange. Jim Morrison was just singing the obvious. High on my list of strange these days, besides those who use the Bible to push tee totaling, are those caught up in a particular sort of millennial madness. The cream that has risen to the top of that crop are those who print T-shirts to bring attention to their cause.

The one T-shirt I’ve seen lacking the most creativity is also the one that helpfully marks its wearer out as having succumbed to an egregious error. It reads: “Jesus came back in 70 AD” in big, white type on a black shirt. The apostle Paul would have a few choice words for that fellow, no doubt, and, love it or hate it, Eugene Peterson’s Message paraphrases him well enough: “Now, friends, read these next words carefully. Slow down and don't go jumping to conclusions regarding the day when our Master, Jesus Christ, will come back and we assemble to welcome him. Don't let anyone shake you up or get you excited over some breathless report or rumored letter from me that the day of the Master's arrival has come and gone. Don't fall for any line like that” (2 Thess. 2:1–3).

“Slow down and don’t go jumping to conclusions. . . . Don’t fall for any line like that.” And yet so many still do. I’m not suggesting here that the destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70 wasn’t a major event in the history of Israel after their return from exile. But it was only an initial fulfillment of the “day of the Lord” that foreshadowed that final day of the Lord, when Jesus returns—literally, not “spiritually”—like the emperor he is, triumphantly marching through town after having defeated his enemies once and for all.

God has promised to judge the world’s systems that set themselves up over against his sovereignty, whether it be at the end of history as we know it, or even occasionally during that history. The catastrophe that took place in AD 70 qualifies as one of these days of the Lord. But it is not the final return to which Jesus and the prophets pointed.

For starters, such apocalyptic events like the revelation of the man of lawlessness and the great apostasy have yet to take place (to be sure, men of lawlessness and apostasy within the church have come and gone). Paul warns the Thessalonians, and us, not to be misled regarding the royal return of Christ, that the “day of the Lord” has already come. We must be on guard against such deception, and one of the surest ways to protect ourselves is also one of most mundane (so we think): attending to the Word and sacraments and prayer in the communion of saints. These are what God has decided will empower his people to “stand firm and hold to the traditions” taught to us by Christ and the apostles (v. 15).

In the end, it’s about God and what he has promised to do: he remains sovereign over all, and he has chosen a people, “the firstfruits to be saved, through sanctification by the Spirit and belief in the truth” (2 Thess. 2:13). Here is our assurance, not least in the midst of strange people caught up millennial and heretical madness: God’s election guarantees the elect’s salvation. It depends on him alone. He will overthrow all men of lawlessness, all antichrists, all false teachers, and he will keep his church steadfast in the beliefs and practices passed down through the apostles from the divine Master himself.

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Waiting for Godot?

“For you yourselves know very well that the Day of the Lord will come as a thief comes at night. . . . But you, friends, are not in the darkness, and the Day should not take you by surprise like a thief.” (1 Thess. 5:2, 4)

Vladimir and Estragon

The church in Thessalonica had a good reputation. The gospel had an immediate effect on the lives of those who came to life in Christ in that city: their hospitality to Paul and his companions, to the message they brought, their turning to God from idols, and their waiting for God’s Son, who they now know to be their deliverer from the coming fury (1 Thess. 1:6, 9–10).

Remarkably, people were talking about this new church without even being asked—their fame echoed throughout the land. But the exciting news wasn’t just about them; it was about the way in which this church had come to be. The gospel, not the people who believed it or preached it, was the hero (may that be true of us in the midst of evangelicalism’s celebrity syndrome!). And it was that gospel that wrenched those dead idols from the hands of the Thessalonian Christians, causing them to wait for God and his coming wrath with confidence.

It may seem commonplace to us, but eschewing idols was simply unheard of in the first century. “It would be like asking people in a modern city to give up using motor cars, computers and telephones,” notes one commentator.

Embracing the living God meant embracing his resurrected Son and his way of doing things. It meant living with one of the most unique characteristics of Christianity—hope. This hope, as is often said, was no weak desire for something that may or may not happen. Rather, it was a confident anticipation of the royal coming (parousia) of the Messiah from the throne room of God. This coming marks both condemnation and reconciliation. On the one hand, God, through his Christ, will condemn all that distorts and defaces his creation; on the other hand, through this condemnation, his people will be delivered and he will restore all things. Such is the stuff that Christian hope is made of (to paraphrase Bogey, not Shakespeare).

But it’s not a passive waiting, like we do in a doctor’s waiting room or at home when waiting for a loved one to arrive. It’s an active life of holiness and witness to God’s righteousness. It’s a confident anticipation that God will show mercy to his people, returning them from exile to the Promised Land—a new heaven and earth. So, we are not in darkness and the Day of the Lord shouldn’t take us by surprise like a thief (1 Thess. 5:4). May we strive this day to recognize that a future day is coming when God will deal with every form of evil, and may we take comfort in our only defense—the work and righteousness of our Lord Jesus Christ.

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