Month: March 2018

Hell, the Pope, and the Cross

Another week, another manufactured press story involving Pope Francis. Did he deny that there is a hell? Did the Vatican intervene to massage his words?

Well no, almost certainly not, on both counts. But the enthusiasm with which the non-story has been lapped up suggests a hold that the idea of hell, and its perceived function within Christian doctrine, has on the imagination. Isn’t hell a big part of the whole thing? Isn’t it, moreover, a big stick waved to scare the faithful into submission?

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Now, I take myself to be an orthodox Catholic: if anyone were finally to reject God’s love, then their soul, and ultimately they themself (after the resurrection) would live eternally in the absence of God’s fellowship. This is hell. It is misleading, I think, to put the issue (as did the BBC) in terms of whether hell exists. Hell is not a thing, such that it could exist, it is an absence (an absence of communion). All of this said, I am not bound as a Catholic to believe that anyone ever does finally decide against God. Indeed, I hope in God’s love and providence for universal salvation.

The point about hell, and Good Friday is the right day on which to make this point, is that its function within Christian doctrine is as that from which we are saved. Its power over us, the fear of it – these were defeated on the Cross, when God’s love showed itself as strong as death. Christianity does not think there are two equally balanced realities, good and evil, and two equally apt destinations for human beings, heaven and hell. Our attitude towards the world is the hard-won optimism of those who have spent hours at the Cross and seen there the victory of Love.

And yet, there is also a sense in which hell is seen day by day, not as an ultimate reality, but as a provisional one. Wherever God is rejected, wherever fellowship is broken, there is hell – in shop doorways, on battlefields, in lonely bedrooms and hospital wards. It is there, as it was on Calvary. Here, as there, may it not conquer.

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The consequence of Mary’s ‘yes’

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If today weren’t in Holy Week, it would be the feast of the Annunciation. The coming together of a celebration of the Incarnation with that of Christ’s Passion is rich matter for reflection.

You can’t have an Incarnation, a truly becoming human of God, without the death of God Incarnate, because to be human in this world is amongst other things to die. And you can’t have an Incarnation in a world damaged by domination, hatred, and envy without God Incarnate dying at our hands. The Cross is quite simply what our world does to a perfectly loving human being, which is the only kind of human being God could have become. In this sense, the Cross is a straightforward consequence of the Incarnation, of Mary’s ‘yes’.

But if the Incarnation cannot be understood properly apart from the Cross, nor can the Cross be understood apart from the Incarnation. There is a temptation to think that the Cross is redemptive because of the horrendous suffering it involves, that somehow God sees the suffering Jesus goes through and decides to spare us eternal torment because of it. A grotesque travesty often confused for orthodoxy, this view is a short distance from the view that the Cross is something God does. God demands that Jesus suffer, and brings it about. Whereas the Cross is something we do (it is something God does only in the trivial sense in that every event and action in the universe is created). It is redemptive because it is the culmination of the life of God Incarnate, the life which weds heaven to earth and offers our human family to the Father, joining us to the Father through that eternal love we call the Spirit (on the Cross, notice, Jesus ‘gives up the Spirit’). We cannot understand how the Cross saves without understanding both that death is the climax of a life, the point at which a life is offered up, and that the person who dies on the Cross is God. This is the point at which a divinely human life, and us in union with it, is offered to the Father.

God became human so that human beings might become divine – on the Cross we see God’s humanity consumated. So our divinity is born.

Dorothy Day

Continuing the faith and politics theme, the Catholic Worker page has a collection of Dorothy Day’s writings available. Well worth a look.

It is one of the strange paradoxes of the Christian life that we can say with St. Paul, “As dying, yet we behold we live.” We can suffer with others, we can see plainly the frightful chaos, the unbelievable misery of cold and hunger and bitter misery, yet all the time there is the knowledge “that the sufferings of this time are not to be compared to the joy that is to come.”

Often we comfort ourselves only with words, but if we pray enough, the conviction will come too, that Christ is our King, not Stalin, Bevins or Truman. That He has all things in His hands, that “all things work together for good to those that love Him.”

Politics and faith: fragments

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Life at the moment is dominated by strike action I’m taking at work. Read about (and, if you can, support) our dispute here. This inevitably raises for me  the issue of conflict – how do those of us who sign up to a gospel full of the language of peace and unity reconcile this with the reality that, in a situation like this, someone like me is committed to fighting, and to winning, against a management that are, in respect of this at least, my enemies. At the risk of becoming a McCabe-distribution agent, his The Class Struggle and Christian Love remains the best thing written directly on this. I looked at similar issues from an intra-ecclesial perspective some time back.

Also on the subject of Christianity and politics, there’s a nice piece currently up on the Morning Star website on the Christian heritage and socialism. (Anyone familiar with the internal divisions of the left will realise that it takes a lot for me to recommend something from the Morning Star, but this really is worth a look!)