The heart of faith
The first four chapters of Michael Jensen’s My God, My God raises the persistently
vexing questions of humanity as related to our beliefs: death, guilt, the march
of time, are all covered in sixty pages of theological reflections (p. 61). The
book seems to be written for the genuine enquirer of Christianity, or for the
doubter- for Thomas, if he was still around. The issues raised are not the kind
of intellectual concepts (for want of a better term) that Christians often
engage with when considering questions of belief and its bedfellow doubt: the
historicity of the Bible, Science and Christianity, et al. This is hard reading
(and, I imagine, even harder writing) and there is much stopping and thinking
whilst undertaking the task. Jensen has made the process a pleasant one,
quoting extensively from poets, theologians, songwriters, and others. But it is
mainly hard reading because it touches upon the subjects that are often matters
more of the heart than the head.
While Jensen begins where the Apostles did: the resurrection
of Jesus (a man from Nazareth) from the dead (p. 15, and Acts 2); he spends
most of these first chapters not
examining that, but examining our experience of faith in the face of things
which are beyond our control (namely those listed above). He does indicate at
the end of chapter four the turn towards the content of faith. However, given
that his premise (and subtitle) is the question: is it possible to believe anymore?, the book makes for serious
reading for Christians who want to explore what Jensen calls the “existential difficulties
of our faith” (p. 61).
For me, the most powerful reflections of Jensen were on time
in chapter four. Our experience of time, specifically of enduring time, can so easily lead us into despair outside of an
understanding of the Cross and Christ’s return. Jensen demonstrates how, in the
midst of suffering, the Christian not only hopes but also experiences joy (as
in James 1:2). These are important truths to be reminded of, as the days and
weeks and months tick by for me in waiting. Life can be painfully abstruse in
the short term, a map seemingly without directions, but as a Christian I take
the long view, knowing where I have come from (the Cross) and where I am going
(Christ’s return),
The Christian waits.
But she is busy with waiting- active in resisting sin and in doing good works.
Her waiting is a waiting for the risen and ascended Lord to judge the earth and
to vindicate the elect. It is a waiting for the apocalypse- for the final
revelation of things hidden from view. Waiting means allowing that the decisive
world-ending action will be God’s in Christ- that the building of utopian
visions of humankind on earth is not for now. Waiting means resisting the
powers and authorities where they counter Christ’s ultimate authority, and
serving them insofar as they reflect it. (p. 60)
It’s a long quote, but I think it offers much for us to chew
on over the coming week. Is this how you wait when life is going well, when
you’re full to overflowing with happiness? Is this how you wait when you’re in
the midst of suffering, when you can barely shift your gaze to look above the
footpath? Is this how you wait when you’re simply waiting, when you’re sitting
beside the footpath, not moving at all?
Editor’s Note: Unfortunately our contributor for this month,
Emma Little, has been unable to complete her blogs on My God, My God, so I (Siân Lim) have taken over, and apologise
for this blog, because it is a little rushed.