Not long ago, I had a conversation with an acquaintance who earnestly tried to relieve me of the foolishness of adhering to a worldview that is shaped by faith in an almighty God. It was not the first such conversation I have had. It will not be the last.
The premise of the argument is this: knowing all that we know as a result of scientific inquiry, about the breadth and length of natural history, about the vastness of the universe and its origins, about the intricacies of physics, the nature of matter, and the limits of our own small experience on this minuscule planet within a rapidly expanding universe, how can we seriously cling to a set of beliefs that posits a God who regards earth and the human beings who inhabit it as special or unique within the cosmos? How, in the face of such immensity of knowledge, with the ability to look out into the universe to a distance of 46 billion light years away from us… how can we adopt such a limited worldview; what you might call a parochial worldview?
The questioner asking this question feels a little sorry for you when they ask it, since what they see before them is a person in a kind of pathetic and grotesque denial, who has sadly (and maybe dangerously) narrowed his mind, and starved his imagination.
Call yourself a Christian these days, and many people assume that you’ll insist the world was created in six days. Many people assume that you have adopted faith as a way to screen out ideas that are inconvenient to your narrow perspective, or that challenge the status quo. There are reasons that narrow-mindedness and Christian faith are sometimes lumped together in America, but those reasons don’t find an easy home here on Locust Street.
Yes, we take the scriptures seriously here. But to take the scriptures seriously in 21st century America requires a broader imagination, not a narrower one. On the one hand, we are not deluding ourselves that God is an old, bearded man who lives in the clouds. On the other hand, we take seriously the revelation shared with us in the book of Daniel, since we believe that it might have something to say to us that will do us some good.
Remember what Daniel saw in his dream:
… an Ancient One took his throne,
his clothing was white as snow,
and the hair of his head like pure wool;
his throne was fiery flames,
and its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued
and flowed out from his presence.
A thousand thousands served him,
and ten thousand times ten thousand stood attending him.
The court sat in judgment,
and the books were opened.
It is not my intention to try to convince you that this vision describes an actual scene that’s unfolding somewhere up there behind the clouds. But I do want to try to convince you that Daniel’s vision conveys a profound truth that there is One who exists beyond the limit of our observable world, who is both ancient and powerful, whose power exceeds all others, and whose right, and ministry, and intention it is to be our judge. That’s what I think this revelation to Daniel speaks of.
But the most wonderful detail of the revelation is easy to miss. It’s wonderful because it speaks to you and me in the context of a world where justice is elusive, where truth has stumbled badly and is getting harder and harder to grasp, where a wealthy few have whatever they like and the rest of us can scramble as we must. From this vantage point, of a world that is run amok in so many ways, we hear the rustling of the robes of the Ancient One, we feel the heat from his flaming throne, from the fire that flows from his presence, we hear the mutterings or chanting of the thousand thousands who serve him, the ten thousand times ten thousand attendants who attend him. But most remarkably of all, we see that the court sits in judgement… and that the books are open.
The books are open! This is not an idle detail; it is a piece of marvelous good news! It is not the case that the books are open because the thousands upon thousands of servants have failed to keep things tidy in the courts of the Ancient One. No, the books are open because judgement has not yet been rendered.
Now, if you close the book on something, you put an end to it; you conclude consideration; you curtail further discussion; you stop considering options for some person or situation. That’s what happens when you close the book on something. When you close the books, then your mind is made up, judgement is rendered, appeal is impossible, and hope is lost for those whose conduct has put them on the wrong side of justice, the wrong side of truth, the wrong side of peace, the wrong side of mercy, the wrong side of love. But in the courts of the Ancient One, whose power exceeds all other power, and who lives in a realm beyond the limits of our sight, the court sits in judgement, and the books are open.
The possibility that the books are open is a piece of very good news to a sinner like me, and maybe like you, too. Because, even though I try, I have been known to find myself on the wrong side of justice, the wrong side of truth, the wrong side of peace, the wrong side of mercy, the wrong side of love. And I know that the longer the books stay open, the better it is for me; and I’m assuming for you, too.
Is this a narrower way of seeing the world, or a broader one?
The faith that I adhere to does not demand that I believe in a limited universe; indeed it requires me to imagine what lies beyond the limits of what we can observe, 46 billion light years away. The faith that I adhere to, looks toward an apocalypse, and there sees not only destruction and catastrophe - all of which are easy for me to imagine, considering what science teaches us about what we are capable of doing to ourselves and our planet.
This faith looks toward a revelation that requires an expansive imagination to look beyond the clouds, maybe as far as 46 billion light years away, or further, and see hope advancing in the form of One coming from beyond the limits of what we can see, to whom “was given dominion, and glory and kingship, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.”
This faith denies nothing about the breadth and length of natural history, about the vastness of the universe and its origins, about the intricacies of physics, the nature of matter, and the limits of our own small experience on this minuscule planet within a rapidly expanding universe. But the faith that I adhere to sees further, still.
This faith (which is the faith of the church), looks beyond the limits of our sight, and sees One coming, and assures us that every eye will see him. And this faith hears the voice of the Almighty, the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come when he declares, “I am alpha and omega.”
Do not fail to hear that claim for what it is. God is alpha and omega; God is the beginning and the end and everything in between. Put it more simply: God is everything, everywhere, everytime. God dwells more than 46 billion light years away, and everyplace, everytime in between. God is. No matter where, no matter what, no matter when: God is. And God will be who God will be.
Archbishop Michael Ramsey once gave us a very helpful insight, that “God is Christ and in him there is no un-Christlikeness at all.” That insight works both ways, so that to say that God is everything, everywhere, everytime, is to make the same claim about Jesus Christ our Lord.
When Pontius Pilate hauled Jesus in to question him, bound, bloodied, and bruised already, I suppose that he might have felt a little sorry for him, since what he thought he saw before him was a person in a kind of pathetic and grotesque denial, who was sadly (and maybe a dangerously) delusional. But we know that Pilate reached the conclusion that Jesus posed no threat to anyone at all, and he was willing to release him, if hadn’t been for the crowd.
And now we know whose worldview was the smaller, narrower one; whose vision was constrained; whose life would be counted as small; since Christ’s promise that he, when he was lifted up, would draw all people to himself is being fulfilled, as he continues to work to change the world and our lives by calling all people to the right side of justice, the right side of truth, the right side of peace, the right side of mercy, the right side of love.
When we say that we can look out in the universe and see as far as 46 billion light years away, we are using language to describe a limit - spectacular though that limit may be.
And if we call Christ a king we are acknowledging that even language has its limits, since we can find no other language to describe a ruler whose power knows no limits, whose rule extends beyond the farthest limits of the universe, whose justice, truth, peace, mercy, and love know no boundaries.
Indeed, knowing what we know as a result of scientific inquiry, about the breadth and length of natural history, about the vastness of the universe and its origins, about the intricacies of physics, the nature of matter, and the limits of our own small experience on this minuscule planet within a rapidly expanding universe, how can we seriously call the Lord who rules over all that nothing but a king?
Perhaps it’s the best we can do. And we ought to do the best we can for the sake of the Ancient One who created a universe that extends for at least 46 billion light years from here… and maybe more!
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
21 November 2021
Saint Mark’s Church, Locust Street, Philadelphia
A composite image of 10,000 galaxies in our universe, taken by the Hubble space telescope