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?