Edgework

I have been climbing mountains for most of my life. Not mountains made of rock mind you. Literally hanging by a rope from a cliff a few thousand feet above a gorge never really appealed to me that much. But ever since I broke through the fog and found myself at the base of the mountain called Faith more than half a century ago I have considered myself a mountain climber.

Fifty-three years of climbing has raised a lot of questions for me. For one, I wondered why some of my friends could be so laid back about their faith pilgrimages. Why were they content to meander in the meadows that had been fenced in for them? Did they ever wonder what it would be like to climb the mountains towering above them? And why was I so often tempted to break rank and climb over the established fences encircling me?

Always there were voices calling for me to slow down, take it easy and just relax in the comfort of what others had figured out before me. At the same time, I have always heard voices coming from somewhere higher on the mountain slopes calling me to come a little higher to see some new vistas.

At one point on the mountain climb, somewhere in my mid-fifties, I attempted to scale a slope that was too steep and high. I guess I will never really know how or why it happened, but I ended up sprawled out at the bottom of a deep crevice. “Burned out” is what they told me. Questions came thick and fast. Had I taken the wrong way up? Should I have stayed closer to the meadows? Could I have seen the crash coming and done something to avert the fall?

And then more questions. Why did I feel abandoned by the community I had served? Why did I feel so alone? Had my climb made any difference to anyone? And why did Roy Penner, a saint, climb down into the crevice, dress my wounds and carry me on his shoulders to a high mountain meadow. And why did he assure me that my heart was still in the right place and offer to keep climbing the mountain with me whenever I was ready?

I have learned that I don’t need to know the answers to all these questions. I have also learned that there can be life and hope even after hitting bottom. And that the quest, though redirected at times, can continue as long as we have breath. And so as Roy and I began climbing we read each other’s books, reflected on truths we were learning and helped each other over rough spots. And always he told me that I had to write about what we had seen and heard. So I began posting 1000-word essays on line – small windows through which to look into my soul.

I gradually became aware of the fact that I needed to explore the doctrine of atonement with fresh eyes. But every time I took a step in that direction it seemed that I needed to traverse a different slope before I got to the base of atonement thinking. So, in 2011, I was squarely confronted with the slope labelled “Hell.” After writing ten essays I knew I was ready to abandon hell as “conscious eternal torment” for the masses. Once I was able to move past this cornerstone of most evangelical theology, it dawned on me that a lot of faith matters now needed rethinking. So I wrote eleven essays dialoguing with Brian McLaren about the ideas he raised in A New Kind of Christianity.

Following that I began to realize that before tackling atonement I had to rethink how we read and use the Bible to articulate such doctrines. So I commenced to write a nineteen-essay series on “Rediscovering the Bible,” followed by another twelve-essay series on “Reading the Bible Jesus’ Way.” I was getting closer to my ultimate project but I thought it would be helpful to also write a four-part series on “Original Sin” if I wanted to begin wrestling seriously with atonement thinking.

Eventually, about a year ago I arrived at the base of the slope called atonement. I have now completed twenty four essays in this series and feel like I have arrived at a summit of sorts. I still see other summits all around me but I have arrived at a place with respect to atonement where I am at peace. I am resting in an even higher mountain meadow now that has a babbling brook flowing through it. This feels like a summit for me because it is now clear to me that how one views atonement affects how one thinks about nearly every other aspect of theology.

During the ascent I have laid aside many “theories” of atonement as gently as possible. Theories are theories. I have come to understand that we don’t proclaim a theory but a story that leads us to God. Right now I am satisfied and the view is breathtaking!

So I have decided that I will spend a little time in this high mountain meadow, basking in the sun and breathing clean mountain air. Right now I have some medical issues to take care of and Ruth and I have some big life choices to wrestle with. So, for now, I will turn my attention to these matters instead of writing projects.

At the same time, I have come to realize that it is not just theological clarity that I have been questing for all these years. I resonate with what Troy Watson wrote recently in the Canadian Mennonite: “I finally realized that after…pursuing objective truth…what I truly desired was wisdom and connection with ‘divine spirit.'” In recent months I have experienced some connectivity of this sort and look forward to pursuing that dimension off line for a while.

Christmas Blessings!