The Man who was Thursday Essay- An Apology for Suffering

EDIT: I've recently been getting a lot of hits on this post from people searching for "Man who was Thursday paradox" or "Essay ideas for Man who was Thursday." Well, you have come to the right place.

The Man who was Thursday is the heart of Chesterton's Theodicy of Glory, a theme that is found in The Napoleon of Notting Hill, Orthodoxy, even The Ball and the Cross. To fight against insurmountable odds "has the splendour of God," and in doing so, the righteous justify themselves against the false accusation of the devil, that they have remained "safe."

Thursday is, essentially, Job, with the crucial addition of the cross, "the crux of the matter." When Job demands an answer of God, God replies with a flurry of questions, all unanswerable. Here, Sunday replies with just one question, but even more unanswerable. God's answer to the suffering of the world is not to stand aloof, but to descend into it and drink more deeply of the bitter cup than any mere man could do.

Also, if you're looking into Thursday's connection with Job, you have to check out Chesterton's Introduction to Job. Alright: END EDIT.

Alright, so as many of you know, I am here at Oxford. I am taking a class called "C.S. Lewis in context" and as part of this class, I read The Man who was Thursday and wrote an essay on it. This is that essay. I hope you enjoy.

Frontispiece

In the Old Testament there is always the antithesis between the righteous God and the bitter things which man has to accept from Him without murmuring. In the passion story of the New Testament this antithesis is done away. It is God Himself who takes the place of the former sufferers and allows the bitterness of their suffering to fall upon Himself.

-Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.1, The Way of the Son of God into the Far Country

“Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?” Discuss the novel as an apology for suffering.

Bernard Bergonzi accurately summarizes Chesterton’s second novel, The Man who was Thursday (1908) as “[Chesterton’s] most obscure novel but… also his most popular.”[1] It has been read as many different things, ranging anywhere from a detective story or political satire to a “personal or private allegory,” representing Chesterton’s reaction to the “pessimism of the nineties,” or a political allegory of paranoia.[2] One reading, however, that often gets overlooked in the midst of all the other readings, is that of an apology for suffering.

The story focuses on Gabriel Syme, the “poet who had become a detective.”[3][4] The story begins with his encounter with the anarchic poet, Lucian Gregory, and a dispute about the very nature of poetry. The story quickly proceeds from there, and soon Syme has been elected as Thursday, one of the seven members of the Supreme Council of Anarchy and meets Sunday, the enormous President of the Council. As the story progresses, one after another of the members are revealed to be, like Syme, members of the police merely disguised as anarchists. At the very end, Sunday himself is revealed to be the very man who had first appointed them to the police force. Having an intense hatred of anarchists, he is part of a special branch of the police with the objective of eliminating the “high priesthood” of the Anarchists, those whose goals are “to destroy first humanity and then themselves.”

It is important at this point to note that as we discuss the theme of suffering, especially as it relates to Sunday and his role in the novel, we do not mean to imply that Sunday is a strict allegory for God—at least, not allegory as it was described by C. S. Lewis, which “gives you one thing in terms of another.”[5] Chesterton himself speaks out against this against “this line of logic, or lunacy, [which] led many to infer that [Sunday] was meant for a serious description of the Deity.” The book “was not intended to describe the real world as it was, or as I thought it was.” [6] Whatever Chesterton wishes the reader to get out of his novel, it is clear that Sunday does not have a 1:1 correlation with God, nor is the world portrayed in the novel meant to be taken as the “real world.” However, it seems clear that we can still learn something of God from Sunday and something of the real world from that in the novel.

As one reads The Man who was Thursday, it becomes apparent that one of the main problems the book raises is that of suffering. The problem of suffering is two-fold—not only do people suffer at the hands of the seemingly all-powerful ruler, but the ruler himself is calm and peaceful in the face of the suffering that he has caused. This complaint is first raised not by Gregory the Anarchist, but by Syme the anti-anarchist. Immediately before he is recruited by the police, a policeman bids him good-evening, and Syme explodes, telling him that if the river, red from the sunset, were literally running with blood, the policeman “would be standing here as solid as ever, looking out for some poor harmless tramp whom you could move on.” The complaint, voiced here by Syme, is that, in the face of suffering and chaos, the supposed forces for good and order, here played by the policeman, are unperturbed by the suffering. Their cruelty could be forgiven, Syme says, “were it not for [their] calm.” [7]

This initial complaint comes at the very beginning of Syme’s adventure—it doesn’t appear again until much later at the adventure’s end. Sunday, having led them on a chase this is from a blog: if this shows up in an essay, it's been copy/pasted from my site. ending in his “large old English garden,” has invited them to a “fancy dress ball” where they hold places as guests of honour, sitting on a bank in “seven great chairs, the thrones of the seven days.”[8] The Secretary, identified as almost coldly logical,[9] “turned in his chair towards Sunday, and said in a harsh voice: ‘Who and what are you?’” Sunday, without moving, responds, “I am the Sabbath. I am the peace of God.” At this, the Secretary stands up, “crushing his costly robe in his hand,” possibly a reference to the customary tearing of clothes as a sign of grief and distress seen in the Bible. In evident distress, he says that he knows what Sunday means, and “it is exactly that that I cannot forgive you.” He elaborates, saying that he knows that Sunday is “contentment, optimism, what do they call the thing—an ultimate reconciliation.” The Secretary, however, is not reconciled. He references the hardships they have gone through, emphasizing that Sunday was the cause of it all. He ends by saying that he could forgive God his anger, however terrible it might be, “but I cannot forgive Him His peace.”[10]

This, of course, is the same complaint Syme raised in the beginning, only elaborated and put into its proper context. Good men, not only followers of the Law but its defenders, have “wept, fled in terror, the iron entered into [their] souls”[11]—and here, at the cause of it all, unconcerned, content, and ultimately reconciled, is Sunday, the peace of God.

Very soon after this, the same complaint is raised again and for the last time, this time not from the defenders of the law but its enemy, Gregory, “the real anarchist.” This time, however, the complaint is not addressed merely towards Sunday, but towards all of the Seven. Gregory’s aims are simple: he “would destroy the world if [he] could.” He cries, “I know what you are all of you, from first to last—you are the people in power!” He is, it is revealed, the only true Anarchist out of all the named characters in the book. Everyone else is part of the police, the “great fat, smiling men in blue and buttons,” the people Gregory wants to pull down. The reason he wants to pull them down, to break them is that “You are the Law, and you have never been broken. But is there a free soul alive that does not long to break you, only because you have never been broken?” This, as he elaborate later, is the core of his complaint and, on reflection, the core of the previous two complaints as well. Gregory’s complaint is not that those in power are cruel, nor is it that they are kind, which again echoes the previous two complaints. Gregory curses them “for being safe! You sit in your chairs of stone, and you have never come down from them. You are the seven angels of heaven, and you have had no troubles. Oh, I could forgive you everything, you that rule all mankind, if I could feel for once that you had suffered for one hour a real agony such as I—”[12] Gregory’s main complaint “is that he alone has suffered; the detectives have all enjoyed the protection of divine providence.”[13]

Chesterton answers this complaint in two different ways, or in two different phases. First he addresses the suffering of men, both lawful and anarchists, in Syme’s excited rebuttal to Gregory’s claims. Syme begins by asking rhetorically why “each small thing in the world [has] to fight against the world itself?” In this question, he includes the isolation he and the other policemen felt in the Council of Days, where each of them thought himself alone among enemies. The reason, Syme says, is “so that each thing that obeys law may have the glory and isolation of the anarchist.” The purpose of this is two-fold. The most obvious purpose is “so that the real lie of Satan may be flung back in the face of this blasphemer, so that by tears and torture we may earn the right to say to this man, ‘You lie!’” Gregory’s complaint, remember, is not just against Sunday, but against all of the policemen—Syme sees his trials as the answer to Gregory’s “blasphemous” accusations, and Syme affirms that they are well worth it, saying, “No agonies can be too great to buy the right to say to this accuser, ‘We also have suffered.’”

The second reason for the isolation is inherent in Syme’s statement—so that they may have the “glory” of standing firm against evil. Although this appears at first glance to be merely a meaningless aside on Syme’s (and, through him, Chesterton’s) part, a closer reading of both this text and others reveals that this is not the case. Immediately following the Secretary’s complaint earlier, Sunday looks to Syme, who says that he does not feel “fierce” like the Secretary—in fact, he is grateful “for many a fine scamper and free fight.” We are reminded of Syme’s frantic flight from the Professor and his desperate duel with Dr. Bull—both horrifying incidents at the time, but in hindsight they are revealed as vehicles for the glory he now possesses as a result of his endurance. This theme of glory and honor found through suffering and isolation is found elsewhere in Chesterton’s writings as well. In Orthodoxy, Chesterton states, “The only courage worth calling courage must necessarily mean that the soul passes a breaking point—and does not break.”[14] Without a breaking point, without suffering and isolation, can there even be bravery? Chesterton seems to say there cannot. Seen in this light, the thanks Syme offers takes on a new aspect—he thanks Sunday not just for the “scampers” and fights, but for the glory gained, the bravery proved, neither of which he would have had otherwise.

Syme, then, addresses the suffering of men by demonstrating that it provides for men two things they could not have had otherwise. The first is vindication, a defense against the Accuser.[15] When the great enemy comes to accuse them of happiness, they may say, “We also have suffered.” The second is to earn glory and demonstrate bravery and honor in a way quite impossible without suffering. Glory is gained and bravery and honor demonstrated in no other way than through suffering.

However, there is still another aspect of the complaint. What of the peace of God? What answer can there be to that half of Gregory’s accusation? Surely we must say of God that he has never been broken, as Gregory does. Surely God is, as Gregory puts it, “safe?” Can Gregory the Accuser claim to have suffered while Sunday has not? Taking it one step further, can Satan the Accuser put the same claim to God? Syme says in response to Gregory, “It is not true that we have never descended from these thrones. We have descended into Hell… I can answer for every one of the great guards of the Law whom he has accused. At least—” Here he stops. He looks at “the great face of Sunday, which wore a strange smile.” As he speaks, with his halting, “dreadful” voice, it is not clear what unnerves him more—the possibility that Gregory is right, or the possibility that he is wrong. Seeming almost to dread the answer, he asks Sunday, “Have you ever suffered?” And as Sunday’s face fills the sky and everything goes black, Syme hears “a distant voice saying a commonplace text that he had heard somewhere, ‘Can ye drink of the cup that I drink of?’”[16] With this line, “the mystery and magnitude of divine suffering suddenly confronts one afresh.”[17] Instantly the reader is reminded of the time that God did come down from his throne, the time that God was not safe. The reader is reminded of the time that God was broken, not upon a wheel, but upon a cross.

It is important to note that this is not an isolated incident in Chesterton’s works. The “mystery of the Incarnation and the suffering of God”[18] is something Chesterton, “famous for his exploitation of paradox,” kept returning to. He viewed the paradox of “an incarnate God who is born as a helpless infant and dies an ignominious death” to be absolutely central to the Christian faith. [19] Indeed, as The Man who was Thursday demonstrates, it is central not only to the Christian faith, but to the Christian understanding of suffering as well. In Orthodoxy, Chesterton says, “That a good man may have his back to the wall is no more than we knew already.”[20] Indeed, we have just seen how Chesterton, in The Man who was Thursday, goes to a great deal of trouble to demonstrate just that, that “a good man may have his back to the wall.” However, Chesterton continues with the thing that makes Christianity unique among religions—the belief “that God could have his back to the wall.” Orthodoxy illuminates somewhat the ending of The Man who was Thursday. Chesterton states that “Christianity has added courage to the virtues of the Creator. For the only courage worth calling courage must necessarily mean that the soul passes a breaking point—and does not break.” [21]

Given all of this talk of suffering, it is not surprising that Ian Boyd saw “echoes from the Book of Job” in the novel.[22] Indeed, the novel, especially the ending, has strong similarities to the biblical account of Job, which is described as “an honest discussion of why God allows good people to suffer.”[23] Chesterton, however, takes it even further. In The Man who was Thursday, he attempts to acknowledge Job and place it in a Christian context rather than a Jewish one—that is, in the context of a world into which the all-powerful God “is born as a helpless infant and dies an ignominious death.”[24] This is important, because the Christian world is the one in which God says “I too have suffered.”

Works Cited

Bergonzi, B., Chesterton, Gilbert Keith, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/32392,

accessed 17 October 2010.

Boyd, I., The Novels of G. K. Chesterton: A Study in Art and Propaganda. London: Elec Books Limited, 1975.

Chesterton, G. K., “Extract from an article by G. K. Chesterton concerning The Man who

was Thursday published in the Illustrated London News, 13 June 1936 (the day before his death),” as cited in G. K. Chesterton, The Man who was Thursday, London: Penguin Books, 1990.

Chesterton, G. K., Orthodoxy, “The Collected Works of G. K. Chesterton, Electronic Edition.”

Chesterton, G. K., The Man who was Thursday, “The Collected Works of G. K.

Chesterton, Electronic Edition.”

Hein, R., Christian Mythmakers, (Chicago: Cornerstone Press, 2002)

Lewis, C. S., “The Vision of John Bunyan,” R. Sharrock, ed., Bunyan: The Pilgrim’s

Progress. A Casebook, London and Basingstoke: The Macmillan Press Ltd., 1976 as cited in R. Hein, Christian Mythmakers, Chicago: Cornerstone Press, 2002.

H

---

[1] B. Bergonzi, Chesterton, Gilbert Keith, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/32392, accessed 17 October 2010.

[2] I. Boyd., The Novels of G. K. Chesterton: A Study in Art and Propaganda. (London: Elec Books Limited, 1975) 40.

[3] G. K. Chesterton, The Man who was Thursday, “The Collected Works of G. K. Chesterton, Electronic Edition.” 505.

[4] Ibid., 511.

[5] C. S. Lewis, “The Vision of John Bunyan,” R. Sharrock, ed., Bunyan: The Pilgrim’s Progress. A Casebook, (London and Basingstoke: The Macmillan Press Ltd., 1976) 197-8, as cited in R. Hein, Christian Mythmakers, (Chicago: Cornerstone Press, 2002) 14.

[6] “Extract from an article by G. K. Chesterton concerning The Man who was Thursday published in the Illustrated London News, 13 June 1936 (the day before his death),” as cited in G. K. Chesterton, The Man who was Thursday, (London: Penguin Books, 1990) 185.

[7] Chesterton, Thursday (Electronic), 506.

[8] Ibid., 626-9.

[9] Ibid., 628.

[10] Chesterton, Thursday (Electronic), 631-2.

[11] Ibid., 632.

[12] Chesterton, Thursday (Electronic), 633.

[13]R. Hein, Christian Mythmakers, (Chicago: Cornerstone Press, 2002)

128.

[14] G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, “The Collected Works of G. K. Chesterton, Electronic Edition.” 343.

[15] The reader is reminded that one of the meanings for Satan in Hebrew is “Accuser.”

[16] Chesterton, Thursday (Electronic), 634.

[17] Hein, Mythmakers, 129.

[18] Boyd, Novels, 46.

[19] Bergonzi, Chesterton.

[20] Chesterton, Othodoxy (Electronic), 343.

[21] Ibid., 343.

[22] Boyd, Novels, 46

[23] The Holy Bible, “ESV Classic Reference Edition”, Introduction to the Book of Job. (Wheaton: Good News Publishers, 2001).

[24] Bergonzi, Chesterton.

Trusting in broken instruments

So, here at Oxford I'm taking a course on C.S. Lewis in context. The first part of that context is George MacDonald, who's books so influenced C.S. Lewis that Lewis called him his "Master," despite the fact that he never met him. As part of the course, I read Phantastes and Lilith, his two most popular "faerie tales." They were very enjoyable, Phantastes much more so than Lilith, and I highly recommend the first to anyone who has run short on books while remaining long on spare time. MacDonald uses these two books in large part to act out his theology in faerie land, most of which I found very enjoyable and agreeable. However, towards the end of Lilith I realized that there was one large aspect of his theology with which I did not agree. I actually felt bad for disagreeing, because it was such a nice, pleasurable thought to have--the thought that eventually, everyone, even Satan and his angels, not to mention every last person on earth, will be saved and end up in heaven.

While attempting to explain the problems to Anna and my other friends, I realized that it seemed difficult to do so without sounding like a jerk who doesn't want God to save everyone. I didn't really know what to do about this--I couldn't just accept it and believe it, couldn't even just let it go by unnoticed, but I couldn't really put the reason into words. Luckily, my friend Kyle did it for me--while we were talking about it, he said he knew what I meant but that "we don't really have the freedom to believe what we want, just because it feels good." That's not word for word, but I think it's pretty close (Kyle will correct me if i'm wrong). Now I'm gonna talk about that for a bit.

We can't just believe whatever we want to believe. This might come as a shock in an age where relativism and individuality reign supreme, where truth has become no more than opinion with a different name. If you are a Christian, you cannot believe whatever you want to believe. We do not have that freedom. We have truth--it has been given to us, and being given this great treasure, we cannot throw it away just because it doesn't suit us.

Now, this might sound really harsh, especially when I'm talking about the doctrine of universal salvation. It's a really nice doctrine. It makes me feel good inside. I wish that it were true--I wish everyone would eventually go to heaven. I think most people would like to think that. The reason we don't believe that is that the Bible explicitly says, in several places, that this is not the case. Not everyone will enter the kingdom of heaven (Mat. 7:21). The devil and his angels have an eternal fire prepared for them and those who do not follow Christ will join them in everlasting punishment (Mat. 25:41-46). The fires of Hell do not go out (Mark 9:48). I could go on and on.

We do not have the freedom to believe whatever we want. We must hold fast to the truth revealed in the Bible, revealed by God himself. Now, I admit that this is very tough. It can be incredibly hard to hold at once belief that God is good, that God is love, and the belief that people will still go to hell. This is difficult. But it has been revealed that both of these things are true.

I'm going to finish up with a thought I've been carrying around for a while. We are fallen, yes? Our bodies are broken--we age, we hurt, we break down, we die. People are born deaf, blind, mute, or lame. Others (like myself) have impaired vision, some have impaired hearing. All of us have something wrong with us. We acknowledge that. It's a basic fact. Why is it that we forget that when it comes to our mental and spiritual faculties? Why is it that, with the imperfect nature of our bodies being demonstrated on an hourly basis, we retain the strongest confidence in our minds, our reason, our logic? Of course, we're not completely blinded, mentally or spiritually, but you would have to be a crazy person to insist, with all the physical affects the fall has had on even the healthiest person, that our minds are untouched, operating perfectly.

There's no perfect analogy for what I'm trying to say (or if there is, it hasn't occurred to me in the last half-hour). Let's say my vision is really bad (easy to say, because it's actually true). Let's say my contacts are out. I can't see very well at all. Now, let's say I'm looking out on the most majestic, beautiful landscape you can imagine--maybe I'm standing at the edge of Halfdome or something. Now, to me, that beautiful landscape is just a blur of fuzzy colors. It probably won't look very impressive. But there's someone standing beside me with perfect vision, and this person has proved himself to be trustworthy. This person is describing the magnificent view to me. Would it make sense for me to disbelieve him because it contradicts my personal experience? Of course not! My personal experience is flawed! The instruments with which I navigate the world are broken. The same goes for the spiritual world. When the Bible tells us something that we find very difficult to understand, we have to remember that we are spiritually impaired. We don't see the whole picture--in fact, at this point we are fundamentally incapable of seeing the whole picture. So we trust the Word of God, even if we don't understand.

Ramblings from Britain (written at 6:22 a.m., having been awake since 2)

So, it's 6:22 in the morning here. I've been awake since 2:00. Don't know why. Watched Final Fantasy: Advent Children for the third time since coming here. It's a good movie. Anyways, here are more tales from Britain, also known as that place that wishes it had won the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812.

So, first thing any American needs to know about Britain: everything is freaking expensive! It is, quite frankly, ridiculous. Like, a tiny bottle of soda (way smaller than the kind you buy at mini-marts or soda machines in the land of the free and home of the brave) costs 1 pound (pound of what, anyway?) and 50 pence, which is about $2.50 in real money. Second most important thing, and very closely related to the first one: restaurants do NOT offer free refills for soda. So, not only are you paying a ridiculous price for soda. but you don't get a refill afterwards. I have only found one place that offers free refills: it's a Britain-ized Pizza Hut and lets you make your drink refillable for a mere 50 pence extra. So dumb.

Bu moving on: Britain has some really cool stuff about it as well. It's not all severely overpriced everything and inexplicably low supplies of soda. For one thing, there is 100% genuine wide-open British countryside everywhere! Like, I'm constantly surprised by the realization that Oxford is surrounded on all sides by English countryside (you know, on account of being in England). And it's pretty cool.

So, the country of England is criss-crossed (is that how you spell it? It looks weird...) with little footpath, some of them kind of paved and some of them just a really thin patch of dirt through fields. Now, these fields are owned by people. A lot of them are private property. However, there is an actual, legit law that as long as someone, anyone, travels a particular footpath at least once a year, that footpath remains a public right-of-way. So there's these public paths going, in some cases, right through the middle of privately owned fields and stands of trees and across rivers and stuff. Pretty sweet, right? Why doesn't America have cool laws like that?

On a slightly more serious note, walking through the countryside and seeing the super-old buildings standing right next to very new, modern buildings, it's not hard to see why the great fantasy writers are English. England is old, older than America can ever hope to be (however superior America might be in every other respect). Britain (not just England, but Scotland and the rest as well) is a land of legends. King Arthur and Robin Hood and William Wallace--some of these, like Wallace, are real people who have become more than their factual, literal history, while others are based on reality to a much smaller extent, if at all. There's something about being here that seems to blur the line between myth and reality, just as the line between past and present is blurred by the old houses next to the modern office buildings.

It's nice here. I like walking around outside the town more than through its streets. But I don't like being so far away from everyone. Anna can't come soon enough (and you too, Mom). I do not seem to be made for traveling merely for the sake of traveling.

Wow. Got kind of melancholy there. Anyway... England's pretty cool (there are English people everywhere! Like, just walking around!). But America's just better. Cheap soda with free refills. Buffalo chicken snackers. Family. Friends. Anna. I'm done now. I wonder if I'll fall asleep later today?

Was Jesus taking theological steroids?

So, I had a fun little debate/good-natured argument with some of the people here about Jesus. We were talking about Mark 13:32, where Jesus says that "only that Father" knows when He (Christ) is coming back. We were arguing if that excluded Jesus from knowing (like total noobs, we all forgot the fact that it explicitely says "not the angels, nor the Son") and from there, it turned into a general discussion/argument of exactly how Christ operated on earth. So I'm going to lay out here my views on the God-man's human existence on earth.

Before I got to Biola, I just had this sort of assumption that yeah, Jesus was man, but there were times where he cheated and used his "God-powers." So Jesus was fully man, and acted fully man, most of the time, but sometimes he wasn't and didn't. I now believe this to be incorrect (I also know it, when expressed in that manner, to be heresy). The easiest way to sum up my point is this: Jesus didn't cheat. Let me explain.

On earth, Jesus did all of his miracles, and I mean all of them, through the Holy Spirit, exactly the same way the Apostles and later Christians did and still do miracles today. In John 3:34, Jesus says that the Father "gives the Spirit without measure." In the context of the verse, because Jesus has been saying lots of things about himself specifically, Jesus is most likely saying that the Spirit has been given without measure to Him (Christ) specifically. So Jesus is full to brim of the Holy Spirit.

Main verse: Matthew 12:22-32. Jesus casts out a demon and, as always, the Pharisees are there to talk smack. They claim that Jesus is using the power of Beelzebul, the prince of demons (either Satan or his "second-in-command") and Jesus knows what they're thinking. So he says, "If it is by the Spirit of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come upon you." If you've read Matthew, you know one of the main themes of Matthew is that the kingdom of God is upon us. So Jesus is casting out demons specifically by the Spirit of God.

When you add onto that verses like Matthew 4:1, where it is specifically the Spirit that leads Jesus into the Wilderness, or Hebrews 9:14, where Christ offers himself "through the eternal Spirit," the case for a "non-cheating" Jesus grows even stronger. But it doesn't end there. If Jesus was only able to do his miracles because he was God, casting out demons, healing the sick, making the lame walk, walking on water, etc., then it stands to reason that no one else could do any of those things. Let's look at the Bible and see if that's the case.

So, we got casting out demons. Paul does that, in Acts 16:18. It's not even a big deal. The spirit is just annoying him (seriously, that's what it says) so he casts it out. Healing the sick? Peter does that, Acts 9:34. Making the lame walk? Peter and John, Acts 3:7. Walking on water? Come on, we all know this one, Peter, Matthew 14;29. Heck, Paul's sweat rag heals people in Acts 19:12. And to cap it all off, we have the list of Spiritual Gifts in 1 Corinthians 12, some of which have been given to all believers. We got speaking wisdom, speaking knowledge, faith, healing, working of miracles, prophecy, speaking in tongues, understanding tongues, distinguishing spirits... all the kinds of stuff that Jesus was doing all the time (except speaking in tongues). And where do all these gifts come from? How do we receive and use these gifts? "All these are empowered by one and the same Spirit, who apportions to each one individually as he wills."

So. Jesus didn't cheat--he worked miracles and healed people by the same Spirit that the apostles did, the same Spirit that empowers believers today. Now we get to the "this is important because..." section.

This is important (1) because we are supposed to follow the example of Christ. We are supposed to do as he did in all things. Sure, we don't usually do that anyway, because we let the flesh overcome us, but it would be flat-out impossible if Jesus had been cheating the whole time! If Jesus was doing all that stuff just because he was God, we wouldn't have a chance at following his example, because we are not God. If, however, he did all that through the Spirit, then we have a shot. Because we, too, have the Spirit.

This is important (2) because the Bible says that Christ was made like us "in every respect." (Hebrews 2:17). He was made like us. He chose to be like us, to make himself nothing, to take the form of a servant (Philippians 2:7). Now, to make sure you guys don't get the wrong idea, I have to say one more thing. All of what I've just said does not mean that Jesus was only man. He was still fully God when he was fully man. As God, he chose to be God in our world, as man. In his omnipotence, he chose to be weak. But he remained at all times fully God. But he didn't cheat.

The Lamb who was slain

The life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ the God-man is amazing in more ways than our minds can comprehend. So I'm just going to focus on one thing--in the Incarnation, events happened in our time and space, through physical matter, flesh and blood, that fundamentally changed the universe forever. We're just going to focus on one sub-aspect of that here.

When Jesus was crucified, he was pierced through his hands, feet, and side. When he was resurrected, he retained those wounds, as we see in Luke 24:38 and others. This is incredible in and of itself, but it goes further. Much further. We go ahead to Revelation, and we see one of my favorite passages in the Bible: "And between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders I saw a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain... And [the elders] sang a new song, saying, 'Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God.'" (Rev. 5:6-9). The Lamb here is symbolic of Jesus, and the part I want to draw your attention to is "as though it had been slain." Now, Revelation is a very visual book, meaning that John saw most of these things and then wrote them down under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. We are reading the verbal account of a visual experience, which means that a lot of the "word pictures," as it seems best to describe them, are very difficult to visualize. This one, however, suggests to me that the Lamb, standing as though it had been slain, still bears the mark of its slaying. Now, I don't know what that looks like for a lamb, but I do know what it looks like for Jesus. And I know what it means for Jesus to still bear the marks of his slaying.

And this is not just an interesting thought-project, a lofty theological discussion that has no bearing on real life. For why did Christ go to the Cross? Because the Father willed it, and because Christ willingly obeyed. And why did the Father will it? Because it was the only way to save us. And why? Because we had sinned and thrown away all that God had given us. This is at once a corporate and individual we, both humanity as a whole and you and me, in particular. And we were the ones Christ died for. And we were the ones who drove the nails in. We bit the hand that fed us and left an eternal mark on One whose feet we were unworthy to kiss. This is a sobering thought, and one which is valuable to keep in mind as we wander this fallen world.

But of course this isn't the end of my note. I believe that Jesus chose to keep the scars as a symbol. First, it is a symbol of the eternal consequences of that day on that hill. Second, it is a symbol of the equally eternal cost of sin. And thirdly, it is a symbol of the eternal divine love Christ bears for us. It is a reminder that Christ laid down his life for us, and a reminder that he wasn't obligated to do it.

To conclude, I firmly believe that the gloriously holy, brightly burning "one like a son of man", with eyes like a flame of fire and a voice like the roar of many water (Rev. 1:13-15), had and still has holes in his hands, feet, and side. He did not rid himself of them but wears them still as both a symbol of the utmost humility (Philipians 2:6-8) and a badge of the highest honor (Philippians 2:9-11, Rev. 5:6-9). The Living One, who is both God and Son of God, has scars on his oh-so-human hands, and we cannot afford to forget this.

The importance of who Jesus is

So, here I am at Oxford. Hello, everyone! Sorry, this isn't going to be an Oxford blog. I read "The Shack" yesterday. I really hated most of it. Terrible writing combined with all the feel-good, mushy, almost nonsensical theology one could ask for, with a few genuinely interesting thoughts thrown in. One aspect of faulty theology in particular stood out to me. The person representing God the Father tells the main character, "When we three spoke ourself into human existence as the Son of God, we became fully human." That's it right there. If you already know why this is a wrong thing to say, you don't have to read any more. This statement, this idea that the entire Trinity was incarnate in Jesus, that the entire Trinity is fully human, is very nearly heresy, excused only by the fact that the rest of the book seems to contradict this statement, making it quite probably the result of sloppy, ignorant writing.

So. The natural place to start when discussing the Incarnation of God is John. John 1-- "In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God... and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." Here John (called "the theologian") very clearly lays out both the background and the actual event of the Incarnation. He goes all the way back to the beginning, before all created things, and shows us the Word. The Word both was God and was with God, making this one of the foundational passages for our understanding of the Trinity. John then goes on the actual event, and tells us that it was this same Word who then became flesh and dwelt among us. Who is this Word? Well, John saw his glory, the glory of the only Son from the Father. This tells us that the Word who became flesh in the person of Jesus was both (a) the Son and (b) not the Father.

But wait! There's more! Let's go to John again, except more towards the end this time. John 15:26-- "But when the Helper comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth, who proceeds from the Father, he will bear witness about me." Just as John distinguished between Christ and the Father in the first chapter, here he distinguishes between Christ and the Holy Spirit. When Christ returns to the Father (again a sign of distinction) he will send the Holy Spirit (another sign of distinction). This, right here, is a pretty good verse demonstrating the distinctions of the Trinity. There are three persons at work here, which the Bible tells us are both one yet distinct. This is confusing, and if anyone wants, I will be happy to attempt to explain, as best I can and as far as I can (which isn't very good and isn't very far), this incredible mystery of our faith. However, the important thing for this note is the distinction he makes between the Father, the Son (as Christ), and the Holy Spirit.

I could go on for literally pages and pages giving more and more texts in support of this, but I'm not going to. Instead, I'm gonna switch gears here. You may be saying, as someone did to me about 45 minutes ago, that this distinction doesn't really matter very much. That we only need to focus on "core beliefs" and that everything else is a waste of time and breath. I would address that in my own words, but it's already been addressed by the author of Hebrews: "About this we have much to say, and it is hard to explain, since you have become dull of hearing. For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You need milk, not solid food, for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, since he is a child . But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil. Therefore, let us leave the elementary doctrine of Christ and go on to maturity."

Now, I'm not bashing (nor is the author of Hebrews) the "basic principles of the oracles of God." They are necessary. But they are also basic and elementary. There's a reason children don't stop at elementary school. They go on and learn more advanced things, just as we should go on to maturity in the doctrine of Christ. In light of this, it is highly irresponsible of us as Christians to remain willfully ignorant of Christ, the author and perfecter of our faith. There is a point, true, where we literally cannot know more. But that point is far beyond where most Christians give up.

I should point out that I was inspired to write this note not by The Shack, but by someone here in Oxford with me who insisted that the portrayal the Trinity as a whole being incarnate in Christ was correct. His explanation? "They're one, right? So that means they're the same. So that means that you can't just have the Word in Christ, because then that would make them not the same." This is a paraphrase, but I believe that was the gist of his argument. Then he ended the conversation by saying he didn't want to argue with me. So I'm venting my frustration by writing this note.

Now, real quickly I'm going to explain the fallacy in his reasoning. Yes, the Trinity is one. If the Old Testament tells us anything, it's that "The LORD our God, the LORD is one." One God. However, the most common way of putting the Trinity is "one God, three persons, each person fully God, while still being only one God." You guys know this, even though we can't really fit our minds around it fully. The Bible is full of things being done by one person and not the others. The Word became flesh (John). The Holy Spirit descends like a dove (all the gospels). The Father raises Christ up from the dead (Hebrews). The Holy Spirit gives us gifts (2 Corinthians). Jesus Christ is our advocate with the Father (1 John). Again, I could go on and on. The persons are distinct, yet one. We could go all day with this. I really hope I've been clear in what I'm saying. Jesus Christ, the God-man, was the Son of God incarnate. Not the Trinity incarnate, not the Son with a little bit of the Father and Holy Spirit. That doesn't even make any sense. The Son, the Word of God. Our advocate with the Father, and the author and perfecter of our faith.

Like an Odyssey, only better

I've done it. Contrary to all expectations and against all odds, I have arrived at Heathrow Apirport, went to the money-changer and gave him my money (in exchange for strangely colorful, slightly too broad paper money and totally sweet metal coins) gotten on the bus (which they call a coach and has the door and driver on wrong sides), ridden to Oxford (on the wrong side of the road the whole way), gotten off at the right stop, successfully got a taxi and paid the driver (with "pounds" of money, no less), and checked into my room at the youth hostel.

As if that was not enough, I ventured out from the safety of my room to obtain a power outlet converter thing (that's the technical term for it), a move which very nearly proved my undoing. I was first directed by the kind but sadly uninformed girl at the hostel that "over that way, down the road" was very probably a store which likely had what I was looking for. I bravely strolled (maybe stumbled a little) down the road, and soon discovered a Staples. I went inside and asked for a converter thing. I was informed that yes they did have, but then, on further investigation, it turned out that they did not. However, they were able to direct me to a place which, quite possibly, did have power outlet converter things aplenty. I walked in the direction vaguely indicated by the clerk and soon enough came upon another electronics store. There I was at least spared the agony of false hope, being told immediately that no, they did not carry such objects. They were, happily, able to point out another place which... I wish, oh how I wish, that I were exaggerating. But I am not. Eventually, after much toil and hardship, which I endured in a very manly way, befitting a native American citizen, I did indeed find a store which sold power outlet converter things. And I took it back to my room. The reader will note that, throughout this entire process, I was able to not only passively receive directions to a physical location, but actually follow them, tracing with my own steps the line which their words had drawn. And now here I am, sitting in a bar/restaurant/pub, using their free wi-fi and sitting on their rather nice couch (which they probably have a strange, made-up word for).

In addition to this, I still have, in my direct and personal possession, my passport, my letter from Oxford, my laptop, my backpack, and my ridiculously huge suitcase. This is, without a doubt, a journey rivaling that of Odysseus, a journey truly deserving of the name "Odyssey." In fact, it may be appropriate to start calling epic journeys "Mackenzies" after this. This was an amazing journey, worthy of songs and tales, a story to be told, nay, proclaimed, nay sung over a roaring fire by a bard with a chuck norris beard and a lute made from a human skull. And I accomplished all this on one Dr. Pepper, one Coca-cola, two small dinner roles, one strangely chilled (and strangely coloured) piece of chicken and one small but unaccountably delicious piece of beef. I've been sitting at my laptop for about 2 minutes now, thinking about what to type, but we all know what I'm going to type at this point, so I'm just going to go for it. I am awesome. Boo-yah.

I'm very tired. You may have noticed. To my best reckoning, in the past 3o hours or so, I have gotten one hour of very fitful, very unrestful sleep while curled up on the airplane. I am awake and (relatively) upright at this very moment for one reason only: in about an hour, I will log on to Facebook and be greeted with a joyful "Kenzie!" from Anna. I'm talking to Steven now on FB. Hey, steven. Well, I'm done. Bye.