MV Summer 2019 Page 2

By Reinder Bruinsma

What do Muslims and Jehovah’s Witnesses have in common? Apart from the fact that they are found all around the world, both strongly reject the doctrine of the Trinity. They confess one Almighty God (Allah or Jehovah) and do not recognize the full eternal deity of Jesus, nor the full divine personhood of the Holy Spirit. Seventh-day Adventists, however, join most other Christians in their belief in a Triune God. They believe there is only one God, but that the God- head consists of three “Persons”—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Number two of the Fundamental Beliefs of the Adventist Church says, “There is one God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, a unity of three co-eternal Persons.” Belief number three adds these significant words: “The qualities and powers exhibited in the Son and the Holy Spirit are also those of the Father.” In other words, Father, Son, and Spirit exist and “operate” in the same way. This is echoed in the statement by the Lord: “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9).

In all fairness, it should be admitted that throughout its history, many members of the Adventist Church have doubted the doctrine of the Trinity, or totally rejected it. Several of the key Adventist leaders of the early period were staunch anti-Trinitarians, and although the church has officially fully embraced the concept of the Trinity, there are even today many in the church who deplore this.

It worries some Adventists that the term “Trinity” does not appear in the Bible. And in this they are right. But this is also true of other terms that are part of the Adventist vocabulary, such as “investigative judgment,” “close of probation,” or “stewardship.” The crucial question is: Is the concept behind this theological term biblical?

Those who have made some study of the subject of the Trinity will know that one text in particular used to be quoted as proof for this doctrine. In the King James Version, 1 John 5:7 reads, “There are three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost; and these three are one.” Modern scholarship has clearly demonstrated that, with high probability, these words did not occur in the original text and were added by a copyist in the second century. Therefore, most recent Bible translations have dropped this text from their versions.

There are, however, a number of clear statements in the Bible that have become the building blocks for the doctrine of the Trinity. In Matthew 28 we read the final words of Jesus, as He gave His mission mandate to His disciples: “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” (vs. 19). Among the other passages in which Father, Son, and Spirit are referred to in unison is this text found in Paul’s words to the Corinthian believers: “May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with you all” (2 Corinthians 13:14).

Other texts also suggest that the doctrine of the Trinity is the all-pervasive pattern of divine action. The following passage, to which several others could be added, is from Paul’s epistle to the church in the Greek city of Ephesus: “Consequently, you are no longer foreigners and aliens, but fellow citizens with God’s people and members of God’s household, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone. In Him, the whole building is joined together and rises to become a holy temple in the Lord. And in Him, you too are being built together to become a dwelling in which God lives by His Spirit” (2:19–22; italics added).

A careful analysis of what the Bible says about the nature of Christ shows that He was and is (as Christians have con- fessed through the centuries) “very God of very God.” And the Holy Spirit is described as on a par with the Father and the Son. Thus, there is a solid basis for the concept of the Trinity. And even though her husband James was one of the Adventist “pioneers” who did not believe in the Trinity, Ellen White expressed herself ever clearer in favor of this teaching. I quote from her book Evangelism: “There are three living persons of the heavenly trio; in the name of these three great powers—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—those who receive Christ by living faith are baptized . . .” (p. 615). She emphasized Christ’s full divinity by stating that “in Christ is life, original, unborrowed, underived” (Desire of Ages, p. 530), and she clearly supported also the divine personhood by referring in the same book to the Holy Spirit as “the Third Person of the Godhead” (p. 671).

When speaking about God we must never forget that it remains impossible for us humans to adequately express the inexpressible in human words. Our words can never fully explain who and what God is. What does it mean when theologians say that the three Persons of the Godhead are of one substance? For want of a better word, the term “substance” is used to stress their full equality in the status and character of Father, Son, and Spirit. The word “person” is used because we have no other good way to indicate that we are not dealing with a non-personal “something” but with Beings that are “personal,” albeit in a more elevated sense than we.

When dealing with the doctrine of the Trinity, a friend of mine, who is a university professor in systematic theology (doctrines), asks his students to read a rather unique novel, The Shack (2007), by the Canadian author Wm. Paul Young. The main character in the book suffers a terrible tragedy. His daughter appears to have been brutally murdered. Four years later this event still hangs like a dark cloud over his life. He then receives a suspicious note, apparently from God, in which he is invited to come to a shack in the Oregon wilderness. There he meets the Trinity. The three “persons” are pictured as humans: God the Father takes the form of an African-American woman who calls herself Elousia and Papa; Jesus is a Middle-Eastern carpenter, and the Holy Spirit appears as an Asian woman named Sarayu. Although at first most readers may wonder where this will lead, many have experienced reading this book as a great faith-building experience. When I asked my friend why he wants his students to read this book he told me that he wanted to impress upon them that, when thinking and speaking of God and of the subject of the Trinity, we must realize that no human language will ever be adequate to express the divine.

The concept of the Trinity is one of the great paradoxes of the Christian faith. We must never downplay the basic truth of Deuteronomy 6:4: “The Lord our God, the Lord is one.” When referring to the three “persons” we must make sure to avoid any suggestion that there are in fact three Gods, who together form some kind of heavenly management board. On the other hand, when emphasizing the oneness of God we must not give the impression that there is just one Being, who plays three different roles. God is one and three— it is beyond our human mind to understand this. But, when all is said and done, we are not expected to understand God, but to worship Him in all awe and humility.

–Reinder Bruinsma has served the Adventist Church in publishing, education, and church administration on three continents. He writes from the Netherlands where he lives with his wife Aafie. Among his latest books are In All Humility: Saying “No” to the Last Generation Theology and a daily devotional titled Face-to-Face with 365 People from Bible Times. Email him at: [email protected]

by Rajmund Dabrowski

She is a Generation Xer. If you met her today and experienced the way she talks, acts, and challenges those around her, you would think she was ahead of her time.

The minute I saw the first photograph she took and emailed with a wacky comment, I knew that Ms. W. was skydiving in a realm of vulnerability. It was at once an expression of creativity, craziness, and near-genius.

Obviously, she was not bored anymore!

When I met her—and I go way back to a day in the late 1990s—she courageously wandered into a world of responsibility. It was an act of desperation, after she decided to become an intern in a corporate religious organization. But she quickly lost her innocence while retaining her naive outlook on life which was usually combined with the abandonment of a responsible lifestyle. Instead of challenging herself, she challenged everyone around her. And many of us fell in love with Ms. W. and her attitude of perpetual searching.

She seemed desperate to fit in. She left her private world and appeared to seek affirmation. If she finishes her memoir (she is still working on it, I am told) it will bear testimony to the utter failure of her experiment. This leads me to the center of this memory: I cannot reconcile her behavior with the fact that she was a member of my church.

She grew up in a small rural Virginia church, a “bastion of religious conservatism,” we heard her remark. As a reaction against rules and restrictions, she evolved into an iconoclast of eccentrism. For a few years, she struggled to be an authentic Christian. The status quo was not her cup of tea, especially when she was told what to do. She could not understand why she could not be herself, and why she needed to follow the rules. In her case, religion was used as a measuring stick, something she could not square with what Jesus was actually offering.

As a writer and a photographer, her creativity offered ideas to be tried out. Yet, our conversations often revolved around her struggles to fit in. She told us that being a believer meant to be liberated into goodness, compassion, and grace. She was missing such an experience as she sat in the pews. Some of us wondered if Ms. W. would become one of those reported as a “missing” church member?

Her words and images had become the expression of an age where anything goes, with norms being bent, the truth being expected, and where the unusual rules. But in the end, it all aimed to be somewhat shocking and thought-provoking. She desired a meaningful conversation in her church, and expected to be involved and invited.

She blossomed in the office in her creativity, and our staff enjoyed it. Today, a decade or so since we parted ways, Ms. W. is busy building a home and family life. No one now dares to say “Stop that woman!”

One day we were told that she had taken up skydiving as her daily occupation. She did it as she applied herself to anything challenging. She is now an irreverent skydiver. Since her internship and later employment, I saw and communicated with her on a few occasions, encouraging her not to give up on her church.

Meanwhile, Ms. W stays in her clouds, floating in the sky with her new community. I continue to hope that she will be found by those who care to accept her and embrace her as a sister. We continue to admire her and miss the space she occupied next to us. In her clouds, she seems bigger. On earth, many of us will continue protecting the status quo, hoping for a predictable tomorrow, some being stuck in their non-imagination.

Thank you for making us laugh with wonder, Ms. W. That’s what God may also be doing as He watches the way you plow through the sky. He smiles on many an occasion, too, saying, “Clasp My hand, My daughter.” And as a phrase in a church blessing/prayer says, “May Jesus bless you with courage, that you will dare to be who you are.”

PS: Whether you are a missing baby boomer, Generation X-er or a millennial, I invite you to give your church another chance. You will be welcomed home!

–Rajmund Dabrowski is RMC communication director and editor of Mountain Views. Email him at: [email protected].

By Barry Casey

The world is always passing away. . . . The art of successful living requires discerning what things need to change to preserve the things that really matter.—Rod Dreher, How Dante Can Save Your Life

If you had told me back in 1968, when I was in the tenth grade at PUC Prep, that here I would be, fast closing in on my allotted three scores and ten and still chained to this earth, I would have been confused. That was the year that a group of us from a number of Northern California academies joined hands at a youth conference and sang “Side by Side” and promised each other we’d be in the New Jerusalem by the same time next year. That is what the dynamic youth pastor who led us announced, although many of us were still trying to do the math on the 2,300 days chart and figure out how the plagues were going to be squeezed into a few months.

It was not so mad an idea, that the world could end soon, given that our world seemed to be exploding around our ears. We were in the midst of a never-ending Vietnam War, President Kennedy had been killed a few years earlier, the Weather Underground were blowing up buildings and them- selves, and students not much older than us were forcibly occupying offices in universities like Columbia, Cornell, and Berkeley. In April of that year, Martin Luther King, Jr., would be assassinated and in June, Bobby Kennedy would fall to Sirhan Sirhan’s gun. And the next year the Hells Angels would beat Meredith Hunter, a black teenager, to death in front of the stage at the Altamont Speedway where The Rolling Stones were playing to 5,000 people. That was when some social commentators said the Sixties ended.

We thought, as teenagers have for hundreds of years, that we might not live to become old (anything over 30). And in our darkest, most secret anxieties, we hoped the Lord would not return before we got married and had sex—since we had heard there wouldn’t be marriage in heaven and most certainly wouldn’t be sex. There it is: the trapdoor upon which our dithering feet of clay stood.

In media res, “in the middle of things,” is us surfacing with a gasp in the stream of our lives. It’s the moral equivalent of dropping into a conversation and belatedly realizing that we are part of it. It’s a conversation that’s been going on since “in the beginning was the Word,” and it includes us until we pass on out of it while the conversation continues. By the time we’ve caught up to what everyone is talking about, and discover we have something to say, they’re on to the next thing. But now and then we see something or dive into some- thing or even start something ourselves that deserves a sharp intake of breath and clear-eyed wonder. And it’s then, while lifted by the waves on the river of our lives, we discover what we may pour of ourselves into that stream.

Religion has always played a part in my life, waxing and waning but always lighting my way. I was fortunate to grow up with friends who took religion seriously too. Some embraced it, some stepped thoughtfully away from it with regrets, but none of them dismissed it.

We lived in a culture that was rooted in religion expressed as Adventism and manifested in a time of social and political upheaval. There was no better time for a sharpening of the lens of our imaginations and the thrumming of our creativity. Music, poetry, paintings, and stories poured from us; we didn’t know what we couldn’t do yet, so we did what we could with what we had. It was exhilarating. One of our favorite texts was 1 Timothy 4:12: “Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young.” The patience of our elders allowed us to imagine that our inventions were unique and gave us the room we needed to grow and be creative.

Of course, not everyone felt that way. We got plenty of resistance from behind. Some pastors, more church administrators, and a good many people in the pews saw the change as threatening and divisive. The status quo was enough, they said. Stability and continuity were what mattered in a time when people were marching in the streets and breaking down barriers. The church, they argued, would go through to the end. It would be triumphant, victorious, and inimitable as it swept across the world with the message of the soon-coming Savior. Just don’t be bringing guitars into the sanctuary during divine service.

We didn’t have anything like a philosophy of change.  We were more or less of the view that change in itself was good. I don’t think we understood that good or not, change is inevitable. We didn’t have a summit from which to look back and see all the changes that had happened, most of them the result of inattention, slippage, and decay. And while a number of us loved history and the study of it, I’m not sure we grasped that we were now living with what had happened in the past. That was then, this was now. History was a museum with fascinating dioramas, not an avalanche starting high in the mountains above our village.

Michael Mayne, the Dean Emeritus of Westminster Abbey, in his Lenten meditation, Pray, Love, Remember, mused that a distinction should be drawn between our inheritance and our tradition. What we inherit from our ancestors—buildings, paintings, fine china—cannot be changed. But our traditions, those values, and customs, rituals and symbols passed down to us must be continually examined to see if they still speak to us and are still relevant to the lives we live.

We have to discern what realities are permanently true and of value and communicate them in language that links with life as most people experience it, with all its heartbreak and delight and mystery. (p. 39)

One of the ideas that lifted Ellen White to the status of a quiet revolutionary for our Sixties generation was “present truth.” We took it to mean the constant search for truth that shapes the present if only we are willing to learn from history, listen to the Spirit, and be faithful to Jesus. We put that together with her conviction that we should not be “mere reflectors of other men’s thoughts.”

Adventism, like any authentic faith, is never complete. If it is alive, it is a constant filling and flowing, like pouring into a bowl that overflows and pours into another. We can keep the equilibrium and the level constant only through constant infilling and outflowing. Stagnant waters are the dead remnants of what was once a clear, bright, sparkling stream of life.

When we are infants we grasp what we can from the world that is passing by. When we are young we run to the world that is becoming. When we are older we choose what to keep from the world that is passing away.

–Barry Casey taught religion, philosophy, and communication for 37 years in Maryland and Washington, D.C. He is now retired and writing in Burtonsville, Maryland. More of the author’s writing can be found on his blog, Dante’s Woods. Email him at: [email protected]

By Zdravko Plantak

I was struck by a remark by Ludwig Feuerbach who said, ”Nature, the world, has no value, no interest for Christians. The Christian thinks only of himself and the salvation of his soul” [1]. How different from another remark that I encountered in a course I had the privilege to teach regarding the Creation Care and Sustainable Living from the textbooks we used.

As one recent college graduate observed, “It seems that my generation is really looking for something to live for. Many devote their lives to drinking, romance, video games, or whatever the latest obsession is only to be consistently disappointed at the end of the day. We claim that we have something worth living (even dying) for here: we believe in a God who created this world, loves it, and calls us to take care of it; and the world today is in a mess.” Might not creating a sustainable society be a worthy goal for a church, a nation, the international global community, as well as for individuals? [2]

We have been entrusted to care for the earth and here are some of the reasons why we should do so. Each one of these reasons could be separately considered and we may do well to begin thinking about the concept of creation care and sustainable living for many reasons that are biblical and that are calling our attention at the time when there is much confusion on the political playing field regarding the earth that God has entrusted us to steward, especially as we read reports about a serious environmental crisis that is surrounding us and is awaiting our children and grandchildren. So, why should we care?

God not only created the earth and every inhabitant of it, but He also sustains it with His love and power. God is sovereign over His creation and that includes the earth and everything in it that belongs to Him. The opening verses of the Bible tell us that, “In the beginning, God Created the heavens and the earth,” and this merism indicates that “the heavens and the earth and everything that is in between—all things—come to be a result of God’s creative Word and energizing Spirit.” Everything that exists has been formed by God, and, in the words of John, “through [Jesus] all things were made; without Him nothing was made that has been made” (John 1:3). This includes both the regions of the cosmos (days 1-3) and their various inhabitants (days 4-6).

“The Scriptures begin with effortless, joyous calling forth of creation by a sovereign Creator who enters into a relation- ship of intimacy with His creation” [3]. It was good, indeed “very good,” a judgment was given by God the Creator that connotes beauty and peace. Steven Bouma-Prediger explains this point especially well:

The universe originates not out of the struggle of battle or conflict, as portrayed in so many ancient creation stories, but through a seemingly effortless and struggle-free divine speaking and making. . . . The earth is created as a habitat not only for humans (‘adam) but for all living things (nepeshayyd). [4]

It seems clear to a Bible student that, first, our care for creation is predicated on the reason that God created it, that God owns it and is sovereign over it. “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it; the world and all who live in it.” (Ps. 24:1) Furthermore, “the heavens declare the glory of God” (Ps. 19:1) and, according to Psalm 148, the sun, moon, stars, water, mountains, hills, vegetation, animals, birds, and sea creatures all praise the Lord. God cares for creation (Job 38 and 39), and through Jesus sustains the entire creation day by day and moment by moment. Jesus “is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of His being, sustaining all things by his powerful word” (Heb. 1:3). Without Jesus all would fall into chaos, “for in Him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through Him and for Him. He is before all things, and in Him, all things hold together” (Col. 1:16-17).

To such creation care by our God, the material environment responds. It gives glory to God. It sings and delights in God’s love for it:

You care for the land and water it;
you enrich it abundantly.
The streams of God are filled with water
to provide the people with corn,
for so you have ordained it. [d]
You drench its furrows and level its ridges;
you soften it with showers and bless its crops.
You crown the year with your bounty,
and your carts overflow with abundance.
The grasslands of the wilderness overflow;
the hills are clothed with gladness.
The meadows are covered with flocks
and the valleys are mantled with corn;
they shout for joy and sing. (Ps. 65:9-13)

When we realize how much God cares for the earth and all its animate and inanimate inhabitants, we cannot purposefully destroy it or even hurt it. If we did, we would be directly hurting our Creator who delights in the worship, shouts of praise, and joyful noise of the meadows and the grasslands. As Bouma-Prediger helpfully points out, “from the environmental perspective, by caring for the non-human created order we are also worshipping God by allowing it to give glory to God as He intended it to. . . . And of course, the converse is true: if we neglect, abuse, and despoil it we are not only damaging something that is precious to God but also preventing the created order from reflecting God’s glory fully” [5].

Secondly, we care because we are also cognizant that we are really a part of that same creation, moreover the same ground. The substance that we humans were created from is the very soil that the earth is made of, and upon our death, we return back to the same dust. The opening chapters of the Bible teach us about the commonalities human beings and the rest of the creation share. In Genesis 2:7 the same word is used to describe how animals, birds, and humans were “formed” from the dust of the earth (see also 1 Cor. 15:47). Humans and animals were created on the very same day. Humanity also shares the same food given to the animals (Gen. 1:29–30) and the same breath of life is given to all the new creatures alike (Gen. 1:30; 2:7; 6:17; Ps. 104:29.). The most extraordinary description of Psalm 104 is about how humans and animals have the same needs and how God provides abundantly for all creatures. As it is concluded by the authors of Christianity, Climate Change, and Sustainable Living, “to care for creation is, therefore, to care for a system of which we are a part and upon which we utterly depend” [6].

In a very fetching phrase, Larry Rasmussen plays on that theme by saying that “All the createds are relateds” [7]. Or in Anderson’s more descriptive conclusion:

In view of the overall pattern of the [creation] account, it is apparent that the emphasis falls not so much on anthropology, that is, on the supremacy of humanity, as on ecology, that is, the earthly habitation that human beings share with other forms of “living being.” [8]

Thirdly, we care for our environment because, along- side our God, we care for our neighbor. Christians are invited to love their neighbors and such love is not restricted to those with whom we share ethnic, geographic, or national identities. The Samaritan story illustrates this well. We love our neighbors who are close and also those who are very distant on other continents or in abject poverty. “Space is not bar to neighborly love. Nor is time.” Spencer, White and Vroblesky write, “Just as those living on the other side of the planet are our neighbors, so are the unborn, the men and women of future generations whom we cannot see but who will inherit from us the consequences of our actions, and flourish or suffer accordingly.” We love people genuinely “from the other side of the planet to the other end of the century” [9]. Our neighborly love must, therefore, be inter as well as intragenerational, horizontal to the people of the world that live in our time but in other geographical locations as well as those who are going to live in vertical proximity to us in the generations to come after our earthly existence. Francis of Assisi, 700 years ago said, “If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men” [10].

The Sabbath has a clear environmental scope and impact. It is a reminder of the creation (Exodus 20:8-11), the ownership of the entire earth and that we are God’s stewards. Deuteronomy Chapter 5 indicates that God is interested that all of His creation should find a Sabbath rest, “your son or daughter . . . male or female servant . . . ox . . . donkey or any of your animals, . . . any foreigner residing in your towns, so that your male and female servants may rest, as you do” (verse 14). The Sabbath should be a way to protect the vulnerable as the Israelites remember that they “were slaves in Egypt and that the Lord your God brought you out of there” (verse 5). This implicit inclusion of the livestock might seem odd unless we recognize the environmental implications.

The Sabbatical principle and its environmental impact is further clarified in the passages on the “Sabbath of Sabbaths” and the Jubilee principle by corresponding legislation of the Sabbatical year in Exodus 23 and especially in Leviticus 25:

For six years you are to sow your fields and harvest the crops, but during the seventh year let the land lie unplowed and unused. Then the poor among your people may get food from it, and the wild animals may eat what is left. Do the same with your vineyard and your olive grove. ‘Six days do your work, but on the seventh day do not work, so that your ox and your donkey may rest. [11]

Spencer, White, and Vroblesky insightfully draw this conclusion:

These verses make clear, there were environmental and social concerns behind the Sabbatical Year. The land was not to be exhausted by overuse. The poor were to be given access that would not otherwise have been theirs. The law even allowed for wild animals to consume what the people left, thereby suggesting that agriculture (and other human activities) should not be permitted to destroy non-human life, ascribing value to non-human ecology, and implying that awe and respect for God’s creation should not “give way to an exploitation and managerial approach to nature.” [12]

Leviticus 26:34–35 shows how seriously God takes comprehensive creation care. If the Israelites will not allow the land its Sabbath, “Then the land will enjoy its sabbath years all the time that it lies desolate and you are in the country of your enemies; then the land will rest and enjoy its sabbaths. God cares about the Earth to the point of destroying those who destroy the Earth [13]. If one truly observes the Sabbath, one cannot remain satisfied only with one’s own redemption, restoration, and liberation. One must show concern for one’s neighbor spiritually and physically alongside expressing genuine love toward the non-human created order.

In The Irresistible Revolution, Shane Clairborne wrote, “What the world needs is people who believe so much in another world that they cannot help but begin enacting it now” [14].

God’s plan to “reconcile to Himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven” [15] speaks volumes about God’s desire and plan that will have its final fulfillment in the eschatological sphere. Our desire needs to be to work closely with God for the restoration and flourishing of creation (which is groaning for that fulfillment and final redemption as much as our bodies are groaning) [16], as part of our work for the Kingdom of God in order to see that fulfillment of the Lord’s prayer becomes a reality, that God’s “will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” [17].

The new earth, restored at the final consummation of history will be the pristine garden of delight in which there will be unsurpassed beauty and which will flourish with continual crops of fruit and whose river and trees will continually produce life-giving leaves that will heal the nations and make the original vision of God effective and real [18]. This is not a far distant place on another galaxy, or in far away “heaven,” but a place on the very earth we now live on that will be renewed and purged of sin and all its consequences. And the dwelling for God’s people will be sustain- able and healthy for eternity, just as God desired it in the first place. We need to allow that kind of Kingdom of Glory to penetrate into the here and now of the already inaugurated Kingdom of Grace which we by proxy live in today and, furthermore, anticipate soon to be fully realized in the second appearing of our Lord Christ Jesus.

Christians would do well to repent from the way they have thought at times about their responsibilities towards God’s creation and to pray this prayer written by Walter Rauschenbusch:

. . . Grant us, we pray you, a heart wide open to all this joy and beauty, and save our souls from being so steeped in care or so darkened by passion that we pass heedless and unseeing when even the thorn-bush by the wayside is aflame with the glory of God. [19]

–Zdravko (Zack) Plantak, PhD, is a professor of religion and ethics at the School of Religion at Loma Linda University. Email him at: zplantak @llu.edu

[1] Ludwig Feuerbach, The Essence of Christianity (New York: Harper & Row. 1957), 287. [2] Nick Spencer, Robert White and Virginia Vroblesky, Christianity, Climate Change and Sustainable Living (Hendrickson Publishers, 2009), 219. [3] Richard Middleton and Brian Walsh, Truth is Stranger Than It Used to Be, (Downers Grove, Ill: InterVarsity Press, 1995), 153. [4] Steven Bouma-Prediger, For the Beauty of the Earth: A Christian Vision for Creation Care (Grand Rapids: MI, Baker Academic, 2001), 95. [5] Ibid., 83-84. [6] Ibid., 86. [7] Larry Rasmussen, Earth Com- munity Earth Ethics (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1996), 262. [8] Bernhard Anderson, From Creation to New Creation (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1994), 139. [9] Christianity, Climate Change and Sustainable Living (2009), 91. [10] Saint Francis, In “Quotation Archives, Allcreatures.org. http://all-creatures.org/quotes/francis+saint.html. [11] Exodus 23:10-12a. [12] Spencer, White and Vroblesky, Christianity, Climate Change and Sustainable Living (2009), 139-140. [13] Revelation 11:18.  [14] Quoted in Ben Lowe, Green Revolution: Coming Together to Care for Creation (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2009), 11. [15] 12. Colossians 1:20. [16] See Romans 8:18-24. [17] Matthews 6:10. [18] See Revelation 21 and 22. Furthermore, see more elaborate exposition on this issue of the Adventist eschatological vision in Zdravko Plantak, “For the Healing of the Nations: Repairers of Broken Walls and Restorers of God’s Justice— Adventist Society for Religious Studies Presidential Address 2009”, in Andrews University Seminary Studies, Vol 48., No. 1. (2010): 1-11. [19] Walter Rauschenbusch, cited in The Communion of the Saints: Prayers of the Famous, Editor, Horton Davis, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990).

By Nathan Brown

Here’s an idea for a research project: travel around the world, both interviewing and observing how Seventh-day Adventists in different countries and cultures “keep” Sabbath. Of course there will be commonalities, but there are likely to be significant differences as well.

For example, a friend who became an Adventist in eastern Europe told me about the strict restrictions he was taught about not cooking or even re-heating food on Sabbath—all food would be prepared on Friday and eaten cold on Sabbath—but their church youth group would go to a local park to play soccer on Sabbath afternoon. When he moved to the United States, he was surprised to see people cooking Sabbath lunch, when kicking a soccer ball that afternoon would be frowned upon.

In Pacific island nations, I have participated in Sabbath programs in which the traditional Sabbath school and church time slots have been the focus but only a part of a day-long schedule of music, worship, prayer, testimonies and preaching that begins before dawn and goes past sunset—with a pause, of course, for some kind of “closing Sabbath” worship—into a sacred music concert extending late into Saturday night. But, like many Sabbath-keepers, I have also enjoyed Sabbaths on beaches and mountaintops a long way from any formal worship services or church meetings.

In some parts of the world, I have been taken to restaurants for Sabbath lunch, something that would never have occurred to us growing up in the Adventist Church in Australia. It seems generally accepted that in some professions, primarily medical, Sabbath work is permissible, but what about other professions that are focused on doing good for others, however broadly we might define that “good”? And on hot summer Sabbath afternoons, questions about the appropriateness of swimming on Sabbath—as compared with “nature walks” or even just splashing our bare feet at the water’s edge—seemed to have some urgency when I was a boy.

As our name proclaims and insists, Sabbath is a defining belief and practice of what it means to be Seventh-day Adventist. Within Adventism, it is usually among our least controversial doctrines. But what Sabbath looks like has always been a subject of some discussion. One of the early questions in Sabbatarian Adventism was a debate that ran over some years about when the observance of Sabbath should begin and end. Once the sunset-to-sunset format was generally agreed, a slew of traditions grew up around what the rest of the day looked like. These included worship meeting formats and times and the other “rules” about what should and shouldn’t be done, some derived from the Bible, others from the churches and cultures that Adventist converts had come from.

And our formulation of the Sabbath belief allows for this—a good example of how our Statement of Fundamental Beliefs was intended to be descriptive rather than prescriptive, a consensus statement of what is generally held among Seventh-day Adventist believers rather than a creed that believers are to be measured against. Key wording in the statement of belief includes that Sabbath is a day for “rest, worship, and ministry,” “a day of delightful communion with God and one another” that should be both “joyful” and “holy.” The Seventh-day Adventist doctrinal statement and its variant applications and practices around the world seems a worthwhile example of unity with diversity.

How then do we determine our own practice of Sabbath —or whatever our other questions of Adventist faith practice might be—in our lives, in our place and culture? While we might celebrate the latitude we have to enact such a belief in our own lives, as soon as we step back into a faith community, there will be differences of perspective and practice, some of which will require negotiation. And the risk that comes with increasing exposure to a wide variety of “Adventisms” and Sabbath-keeping practices is that of settling for the lowest common denominator. When we put all these things together, we cook food and play soccer, we meet for worship depending on the weather, we go out for lunch, we work because what we do is “good,” we hike and we swim—which all might be good things in their own way, but suddenly Sabbath is no different from any other day.

While we can have our theological differences and debates—and there are theological aberrations lurking in the shadows of Adventism that need to be addressed—it seems that the most important questions for Adventism are less often about theology and more about attitudes and outcomes. As in the example of our shared beliefs about Sabbath, common theological understandings can lead to diverse practices—“but not everything is beneficial,” as Paul urged in 1 Corinthians 10:23.

As such, “Which Seventh-dayism?” or “Which Adventism?” are less questions of variant doctrinal formulations or theological understandings than they are questions of what is beneficial. As Paul continued, “Don’t be concerned for your own good but for the good of others” (1 Corinthians 10:24). The best Sabbath-keeping and the best Adventism is that which is good for others, good for our communities, and good for the world. More often, we need to ask ourselves and each other within our church communities this question: Who benefits from what we believe and how we practice it?

This question resists the tendency of faith—and particularly unique formulations of faith—to make us more insular, more fearful, and even more self-centered. If our faith and its practices benefit only ourselves, making us feel merely more right, we are using our faith wrong. Instead, our best practice of faith calls us to be more engaged with others and with the world around us in ways that are kind and creative, courageous and generous.

A few years ago, a major Melbourne-based university where I was a graduate student adopted a new slogan and marketing campaign to encapsulate, position, and promote itself in a single, bold word: “Worldly.” As someone who grew up in a church environment, I don’t think I had ever heard this word used positively, so I was immediately intrigued by the idea of a strategic marketing meeting at which this concept was pitched and accepted by the university’s leaders. For them—it seemed— this word best summed up what the university aspired to be and why someone should choose to be a student there.

The continuing rollout of the marketing materials added to the picture of “Worldly” as a promise to expand a student’s experiences and understandings of our world in a wholistic way, becoming engaged with, interested in and passionate about—as well as relevant and useful to— the wider world. Which, as counterintuitive as it might initially sound, is exactly what our faith and we, as people of faith, are called to do and be. “God loved the world so much . . .” (John 3:16)—and so should we.

So which Seventh-dayism? Which Adventism? When we follow the example of Jesus and the teaching of Paul, this is not merely a doctrinal formulation or theological understanding, but a worldly faith and practice that brings benefit to all people. That will look different in different lives and communities, in different times, places and cultures. It does not promise to be the easiest way to believe or live, but worldly Seventh-day Adventism has the potential to be the most faithful.

And I’m still interested in that Sabbath-keeping research project, particularly as to how different and diverse communities are better places because Sabbath people live in them.

–Nathan Brown is a writer and editor at Signs Publishing in Warburton, Victoria, Australia. His newest book, Of Falafels and Following Jesus, tells his stories and reflections from a trip to Jordan, Israel, and the Palestinian territories. Email him at: nathanbrown@ signspublishing.com.au

By Becky De Oliveira

Old age comes on suddenly, and not gradually as is thought.—Emily Dickinson

I always thought there would be some magical time when I was exactly the right age and that this would last for a while. More than being a specific “right age,” it would be kind of a golden era—a period of perhaps fifteen or twenty years when I would be old enough to be taken seriously but not so old as to be written off as irrelevant. During this period I would have all the energy and beauty of youth along with the wisdom that comes from a lifetime of experience. When I spoke, people would sit up straighter and perk their ears. Who I am kidding? I thought once this era arrived it would never end; it would become the default state of affairs. The whole world, the universe, frozen in time as I sat at the head of the table and pontificated, waving my finger for emphasis, always wrinkle-free, never having to go to the bathroom more than once in any given hour. The book of Job discusses this at some length, including these words: “Young and old greeted me with respect; I was honored by everyone in town. When I spoke, everyone listened; they hung on my every word” (29:7–8, MSG).

This respect I thought would be granted me was not to be confused with the fake interest real adults took when I was in, say, my twenties, and one real adult or another would sit me down eagerly and perhaps a touch forcefully, and ask me to explain my values, my world view, what people my age thought about life, what we hoped to achieve, what our dreams were. This was a trap, I soon discovered—a way for the real adult to explain what my values should be. It was a way of talking about their own values and lives, a method of passing on some kind of baton that I smiled weakly and pretended to accept just to make them go away until I could chuck the rusty baton into the nearest large body of water.

I got less advice in my thirties, not because the older ones didn’t want to give it (you could see it sometimes straining their necks, the effort not to speak) but perhaps because it was embarrassing to be seen lecturing a youngish person, one with a job and a house and children even. But I’d still get the occasional dismissive comment that told me the golden era had not yet arrived: “You’re just a kid.” “Oh, just you wait until you’re my age—then you’ll know!” When I hit forty—or pretty close—that mostly stopped too. No one really calls me a kid anymore, because clearly that is not what I am. But to my dismay, I’ve found that the golden age appears to have passed me over entirely. I went from being a kid to being old. I blinked and I missed that whole period of eternal bliss where I would be old-enough-but-not-too-old. Just like that I’m a dinosaur. And not one of the cool ones. A boring dinosaur, the kind no kid wants on his lunch box, the kind whose name no one can pronounce, the stupid-looking one with the helmet-like skull. Pachycephalosaurus.

For a while now, the millennials have frankly annoyed me a little—not them per se but the fascination with them. When I was young, the older generation was critical. They hated our clothes and hair and music and taste in, well, everything. We were called the slacker generation because we were thought to be unwilling to—gasp!—sell our souls to corporate America. We were latchkey kids, a generation raised in broken homes and during a bum economy, the ones fed a diet of non-stop fear of another war like Vietnam and of serial killers and motorcycle gangs and razor blades in Halloween candy and scratch-n-sniff stickers laced with LSD and backmasking in record albums. This was all, evidently, our own fault, as if we had ridden a wave of these things into this world along with our placenta. Everything that anyone had ever believed in had pretty much been determined to be false—or at the very least not as shiny and spot-proof as people thought—but we were supposed to keep believing anyway. Put on a happy face. As my mother, whom I adore in spite of her generation, would often put it, “The show must go on.” “What show?” I’d retort. “Why must it go on? I don’t want to be part of a show.”

The older generation never did warm to us or our point of view and instead they looked straight over our bandanna- covered heads into the safety-proofed cribs of the ones who came immediately after us—the millennials—and swooned. These young-uns can do no wrong. Everyone wants to know what they want, what they like, what they need! When I was young, if anyone wanted to know details like these about you it would be so they could deny you those things, but with the millennials, no—the oldsters want to know their desires so that like giants genies loosed from beach swept bottles they can grant them!

When my generation stopped going to church or kept going and complained about it, they said it was because we were unable to commit to anything. Now that we’ve stayed on and have come to actually run the church in the sense that we do much of the work—along with the work of raising our children and caring for our parents and working multiple jobs to get by—they tell us to get out of the way and let the millennials have a crack at running the show. Interesting. Many people complain about the millennial work ethic, but mostly in a soul-searching way, wondering how they might change their entire corporate culture to accommodate this group who aren’t, as a whole, super into paying their dues by making tea for the bosses or accepting slaves wages for the first decade, or having the attitude that they must simply be thankful to be employed at all, in any capacity.

And to be honest, I have to take my hat (or bandanna) off to the young ones. Who knew the old ones were so easily frightened? Not me. Back in college, I took notes like a mouse and typed my papers late into the night to make sure I never missed a deadline, slavishly reading over the requirements to make sure I didn’t miss something important. I’ve worked in higher education now for more than a decade, as an instructor and currently as a doctoral associate working on my Ph.D., and I spend a lot of time laughing weakly. Just this week a student in his late twenties wrote to my boss (his professor) to ask for a template for a poster for research evening. “I don’t think I can spare the time to create a poster from scratch,” he wrote by way of explanation, thinking, apparently, that this was a perfectly reasonable stance even though the assignment was to create a poster for research evening. This student had not lost a limb, nor was he running a temperature. He just couldn’t spare the time. Shrug. But his professor could. She, a tenured academic with an impressive list of publications, on the other side of the world delivering a keynote address at an important conference, managed to spare the time to find a template on the internet and sent it to him along with a few kind words of support.

What’s my point? I have a few, actually—and they may not be quite what you’re expecting. The first is this: I’ll bet everyone who has ever lived has felt a version of what I’ve just described. The older sibling in any family is lucky be- cause he or she came first—and cursed for the same reason. The younger one will always get to do more, sooner, faster, granted privileges by slowing and weary parents who cannot maintain a lifetime of vigilance. That’s not really the younger one’s fault. I feel sorry for millennials to the same degree that I feel sorry for my own generation and for every one that went before us and for every one that will come behind. It’s hard to be a person, to deal with your own judgement of yourself along with the judgement of everyone else, to try to forge some kind of meaningful existence in the midst of so much noise, so many endless opinions.

Generational order is different from birth order in the sense that there is always another one coming up; in a family it is possible to truly be the baby. Generationally? Not so much. And what difference does it make anyway? New research suggests that birth order has little affect on adult personality—in spite of much anecdotal evidence to the contrary. Maybe generational affiliation is also of little effect. I’m not sure I really believe that generations are particularly unique. There are some historical and societal things that are common to people born in certain eras, but I deeply resent the argument that I can’t use technology, for instance, the implication that there is anything I automatically can’t do because of my age. We all live in multiple bodies while living as this one person—if we’re lucky. That is to say, we will all have been infants, toddlers, children, teens, young adults, not-young adults, old adults, and stumbling shells of our former selves before we’re through. We will experience it all—if we’re lucky, or not lucky, depending on how you see life, I suppose. Jessica Kriegal, writing for Forbes, makes the point that putting too much stock on generational identity creates “reductive stereotypes that prevent us from seeing people as the individuals they really are.”

It makes perfect sense and is quite reasonable that people in different stages of life should have different perspectives and priorities—but it’s amusing to note how rarely we step back to think rationally about what those might be and what might be driving them. Recently a woman around my own age wrote a letter to the editor at my son’s university complaining that the young women there wear leggings to worship. She’s afraid of the effect such clothing might have on her four sons’ ability to, uh, focus on spiritual things. “Can’t you think of the mothers of the sons when you go shopping?” this poor woman lamented. “My darling,” I wanted to ask her—softly, tenderly—“when did you ever think of anyone’s mother when you went shopping when you were nineteen? When do you think of anyone’s mother when you go shopping now? Face it, no one is ever going to think about anyone’s mother when they shop for clothes.”

What are some things you might assume other generations should care about that really make no sense at all?

We are all making our way through this swampy life, trying to avoid crocodiles and piranhas and quicksand, hoping for a rainbow now and then, hoping to make it to somewhere worth the trouble. We are not all at the same point in the journey and we frustrate one another with our superior knowledge, with our lack of knowledge, with our arrogance, with our ineptitude, with the headphones some of us just won’t remove from our ears. But we are guided by the same God above, the one who places the bow in the sky, who plots our course, who whispers—and sometimes shouts— encouragement and warning along the way. He is with us through it all, to the very end, He says. Wherever that might be, whenever the curtain falls.

–Becky De Oliveira is a writer, graphic designer, and research methodologist working on her Ph.D. at the University of Northern Colorado in Greeley.