Sermons

Sun, May 26, 2019

Our vision of God's future?

Series:Sermons

Over the past seventy years or so…

I think it’s true to say that…

the films that have been made…

and the films that have been popular…

have tended to reflect the issues and concerns of that particular era.

For example, the Nineteen-Fifties through to the early Nineteen-Sixties was the height of the Western genre.

With their somewhat simplistic story-lines…

constructed with binary characters without nuance––

good guys, in white hats…

and bad guys in black hats…

or, worse still, savage, marauding, Indians who were completely ‘other’––

these films were morality tales for a Cold War era.

In many respects, they were a barely-disguised form of pro-white, pro-American propaganda.

In recent years––

certainly since the year two thousand––

there appear to have been two dominant trends in film.

The first is the proliferation of Superhero stories.

In this case, in a somewhat anxious and changing world…

where, for many, the traditions and structures of society have proven to be a failure…

there’s a deep-seated longing for a hero who will save us.

The other genre that has proven popular has been Dystopian stories.

In other words, stories usually set in a bleak near future––

where there has been some cataclysmic war, plague, or environmental disaster…

which has resulted in a harsh and anarchic world;

or, conversely, in a world that is brutally controlled by some form of totalitarian government.

We have seen films such the “Hunger Games” and “Divergent” trilogies;

and this has also flowed through into popular television series as well…

with “The Handmaid’s Tale”…

and a now new version of “Catch-22” about to be screened.

In many respects, perhaps, these dystopian tales…

also pick up on the anxiety of the present age…

but, conversely, seek to function as a sort of prophetic warning…

about the sort of world toward which we are heading if we don’t do something––

if we don’t change our ways now.

About five years ago, one film was released––

which offered a slightly different take on the dystopian genre––

called “The Giver”.

The story centres on a teenage boy, Jonas, living in what appears to be a utopian world.

Everything is neat and clean, well-planned and well-maintained.

Indeed, there is no hunger, no want, and no war.

Everyone works;

and their career is assigned based on their abilities and aptitudes.

To maintain their harmonious way of life… 

there are rules that encourage total honesty and total transparency;

and sameness is nurtured.

To assist with that, all of the community’s past memories––

and with it, any sense of moral thinking–– 

have been erased…

so as to spare people from pain…

and to spare the community from the things that create disharmony.

Only one person in the community––

the ‘Receiver of Memories’––

knows the past…

and is able to experience emotion.

Jonas is apprenticed to him.

As he imparts these memories to Jonas…

and as Jonas begins to experience emotions––

we only discover later that everyone is given a drug to suppress emotion––

Jonas decides that everyone should have memories of the past…

experience emotion…

and become free moral agents.

It’s an interesting story that reinforces a critical point—

our visions of utopia are seldom that.

What one person imagine paradise to be…

creates a hell for someone else.

 

All of which brings us to this morning’s reading––

our final instalment from the Book of Revelation.

Here, John continues with his vision of the new Jerusalem.

And, on the surface, it’s a utopian dream.

He imagines a city with abundant, clear, flowing water…

and with trees that produce all kinds of fruit all year round.

The language, and the imagery, draws deliberately on the Genesis accounts of Eden––

suggesting, here, a new creation;

but, indeed, better than the one that had been lost.

And in this new creation––

with God dwelling among humanity––

he imagines that there would be no need for a temple…

indeed, no need for any intermediaries between God and God’s people…

and, thus, no need for the structures and functions of formal religion.

Now, there’s something wonderfully egalitarian about that…

especially in the ancient world…

where religious leaders were usually drawn from the social elite;

and where the structures and functions of religion reinforced their place and position.

Along with that, he imagines the rulers of the world arriving and offering homage to God…

rather than, as they have elsewhere in the story, offering it to Rome and the Emperor.

And he imagines everyone in the city being a ruler…

which, in effect, subverts the very notion of “rule”.

Again, it’s shockingly egalitarian.

It seems to suggest that everyone is free, in a sense, to rule themselves…

free to be who they could be…

free to fulfil their God-given potential.

And in this utopian city…

there would be no need to shut the gates…

ever…

as there was nothing to fear:

no invading hordes, no war, no disease.

But eternally open gates also suggests a universal accessibility…

an openness for all to enter.

Thus, John’s vision imagines a utopian, egalitarian world…

freed from Rome’s brutal rule…

and its suppression of the worship of God’s faithful people;

a utopian city whose inhabitants could dwell in harmony and peace…

and want for nothing.

 

And yet…

within this utopian vision we see––

rearing its ugly, dystopian head––

a breath-taking exclusivity and elimination:

“But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practices abomination or falsehood”.

There’s no place here, in John’s vision, for anyone who doesn’t share his particular theology.

There’s no place for anyone who transgresses his norms and values.

There’s no place here for anyone who doesn’t abide by his particular definition of ‘proper’ Christianity.

In effect, he’s happy to reject and condemn large swathes of humanity.

But if we accept this part of John’s vision, then what does it imply about God?

Is purity the ultimate criterion?

Is this consistent with a loving, compassionate God;

a God for whom love will…

indeed, a God for whom love must

prevail?

As John A. T. Robinson once wrote: 

“in a universe of love there can be no heaven which tolerates a chamber of horrors, no hell which does not at the same time make it hell for God”.

And if we accept this part of John’s vision, is there not an implied sense of coercion in God’s activity;

and an implied sense of power and domination?

Is this not, in effect, what the theologian, Karl Barth, describes as “the gospel at gun-point”––

believe, or else?

Surely, all of that sits uneasily with the image of Jesus as ‘the Lamb who was slaughtered’.

You can’t really have both.

If, ultimately, the image of ‘the Lamb that was slaughtered’ is meant to show us the nature of God––

an image that bespeaks gentleness and vulnerability…

and the willingness of God to give of God’s self…

rather than to expect or demand––

then, surely, John’s vision of God’s future should be quite unsatisfying.

Furthermore, as one commentator asks––

if we’re happy to wipe off large swathes of humanity eternally…

doesn’t such a sentiment also “lead people to espouse such ultimate values already in this life”… 

and to “act on them?”

If our vision of God’s future is not utopian for all…

then… 

surely… 

our vision is not of God’s future.

 

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