Sunday, April 28, 2024

All Things New Part 2

Mr. Appel, my high school physics teacher, presented theories of physics in wide historical arcs. We started with Ptolomy, then spent months on the Copernican Revolution. Along the way we did projects in art and poetry, tested formulas, mapped the solar system. Then one afternoon Mr. Appel wrote a huge NG on the chalkboard and started deconstructing the work we'd just completed. 

Next came Newton. Then Einstein. Months of experiments, formulas, projects, and just when we were starting to grasp things, the big NG: No Good. 

The universe isn't stable, as Einstein proposed. Immutable laws can't explain apparent randomness. Eistein's quest for a unified theory that would explain various phenomenon never saw completion. 

I don't remember many details, but I did leave that class hoping to be a physicist, intrigued by the way science builds on past research, even when that research is found faulty.

As Mr. Appel himself admitted, NG, No Good, was not quite accurate. There was much that was good in the work of Ptolomy, Newton, Einstein and others along the way. But they weren't the final word, and there comes a point when old paradigms no longer serve expanding insights into physical reality. 

Much as I wanted to learn more about quantum theory, and the interplay of wave vs particle vs string theory, I did not become a physicist. I finished a minor in math my first year of college, foundered on general chemistry, and ended up with a double major in English and Humanities. 

But I still have great respect for those who travel the lines between what is known, not yet known, maybe never to be known. And I love the way science leads us to the brink of theology: where does design originate? Is quantum randomness really indeterminate, or is it simply that we haven't found the principles behind it? 

The world is full of mysteries: what we know points us to all we don't know. 

I've been thinking that the life of Jesus, his death, his resurrection, were in a way like Mr. Appel's large NG scrawled across the chalkboard. Not that what came before was wrong, not good, but that it was inadequate. 

Jesus tried in many ways to explain that, talking of new wine in old wineskins. The law and the prophets gave an elementary framework, in the way the work of Ptolomy or Newton set the foundation for Einstein to build on. 

But that analogy fails badly. The new paradigm, the new kingdom Jesus announced, was not about knowledge, but reality. 

T.S. Eliot tried to capture that in the first of his Four Quartets: 

At the still point of the turning world, neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. [from Burnt Norten]

I had a momentary thought that I'd create a word cloud of BC compared to AD reality: before and after. Law vs grace. Past and future.

But that's really impossible. So much changed in that moment that turned the world upside down. And yet so much didn't change, but was instead reframed into what it was from the beginning. And so much is still to be seen. Not yet understood.

So instead of my impossible word cloud, I thought I'd dig into the Greek word for new. Another rabbit track that set my head spinning: 

There are two Greek words kainos and neos translated in our New Testament by the word "new." Kainos is new in kind and in contrast to what previously existed, so taking the place thereof. In that sense kainos looks backward, while its synonym neos looks forward. Kainos is equivalent to "not yet having been": neos is "not having long been." The conjunction of the two words occurs in Matt. 9:17. Luke 5:38, where new (neos) wine is put into new (kainos) skins and both are presented. 
Kainos never before existed. The new we can't imagine. Neos is like the old, but replacing it, renewing it, restoring it.

Which brings me back to Eliot's poem: "d
o not call it fixity, Where past and future are gathered." In a sense that still point in the turning world was the place of greatest action, greatest mystery. Who could explain it? So many try but all attempts fall short. 

Quantum physics attempts to define light: is it a wave, a particle, or a billion vibrating miniscule strings? 

Even more impossible is the attempt to define the Light
behind the light, the Word beyond our words. Is kainos, "not yet having been," new in time, or new only to us?

When I was a youth pastor, we spent an entire semester exploring the now and not yet kingdom of God. 6th to 12th grade, college interns, adult leaders: we tiptoed around the edges of mysteries known and unknown. After weeks of talks, Bible studies, exploration, prayer, imaging, we had barely scratched the surface. 

The old is gone. The new is still unfolding. And someday, we don't know when, there will be another point in time, yet not time - beyond time? - when all things are new again. 

Sunday, April 14, 2024

All Things New

I woke today to news of Iranian attacks on Israel, talk of World War III, mention of potential nuclear attacks.

I've been thinking this Easter season about resurrection, hope, and the promise that God will make all things new. How do we hold that promise when we see mile after mile of bombed out cities in Gaza, escalating gang violence in Haiti, millions displaced and facing starvation in Sudan, continuing war in Ukraine?

On January 1, 2024, the International Crisis Group posted Ten Conflicts to Watch in 2024. The post began with a question:
Can we stop things falling apart? 2024 begins with wars burning in Gaza, Sudan and Ukraine and peacemaking in crisis. Worldwide, diplomatic efforts to end fighting are failing. More leaders are pursuing their ends militarily. More believe they can get away with it.  

It's easy to leap toward thoughts of apocalypse, but we know that violence, brutality and the quest for power are not new. In March 31, 2013, I wrote a post called Where is Newness Needed?

I asked: 

What are the things that trap us, trick us, hold us captive, like tightly wound grave clothes, or stones against a tomb?

What brokenness in us, in our faith, in our world, holds us in fear, whispers “this is all there is,” insists “the future you dream of is not possible”.

Where is newness needed?
My questions at the time were more personal than political. I felt I'd come to some dead ends. I also was spending time with friends stuck in dark places, not sure how to help, not sure my investment of time would ever make a difference. 

I was not really thinking of political realities, not really aware of deepening divisions. Yet, re-reading what I wrote, it feels more relevant to today than the quieter days of 2013:
The world Jesus was born to was brutal, angry, merciless.

Watching the new Bible series on the history channel, I flinch at the level of violence depicted. Yet Jesus lived in a violent time, under the rule of violent, arbitrary leaders addicted to power, willing to execute sons, brothers, wives, innocent children, to maintain control and suppress any hint of opposition.  

In a fearful, self-protective world, the church had become as fearful and self-protective. Divided, distrustful, angry: the leaders watched for any hint of opposition, aligned themselves with political power, did what was needed to maintain their own illusion of control.

Who could live in a world like that without being fearful, angry, suspicious? Every move was watched, every word was judged, every resource carefully guarded.

Jesus promised newness. In everything he said and did, he called into question the logic of his day. The poor will be rich. The weak will be strong. Those who risk their safety in acts of love will be the ones held safe in God’s eternal care.

His words made power angry. His acts defied the economics of the day. 

His promise of new hope, new freedom, a new spirit, a new way, led to the same punishment that awaited anyone who dared to challenge the order of the day: death. 

A painful, public death. A sign to all watching that might is absolute, and newness, the kind Jesus promised, is a fool’s dream, nothing more.

So did the resurrection happen?

Did the same old story take an unexpected turn?

Did the newness Jesus promised, new life, new hope, new freedom, rise with him and walk free from the tomb?

Or did power, death, the established order, the accepted logic, the self-protective anger, win the day, and prove, yet again, that hope is food for fools?
I ended that 2013 post with part of a poem about resurrection by Walter Brueggemann (Not the Kingdom of Death). The final line was the one that caught me: "newness beyond our achieving."

More than ever, we need that newness. A newness beyond our achieving.

Beyond our tired politics, our own ideas, our self-protective efforts. 

My goal is to think that through in future post. What does resurrection mean? Where is newness needed? How do we seek what we can't achieve?

What would it mean to see God make all things new?