Dead Darlings: the Lamb of God

Culling more stuff from another piece and, since I was writing about my beloved Jacques Ellul, I couldn’t just let it die in unfamy. So, here it is. And don’t worry, I had a second Ellul quote that got to stay in (at least so far). 

In its call to courage, our capstone [back-to-a-wall fearlessness in front of hardship, suffering, and even death] presses us into the cornerstone, the Lamb of God in whose flesh and blood we partake precisely because he was made the cornerstone through sacrifice. Our call to bear this image in the world should shape us in the most fundamental ways. Jacques Ellul, a Frenchman who never shied from calling Christians to an otherworldly fullness of faith, drew out the implications with characteristic clarity:

“It is the Lamb of God, Jesus Christ, who takes away the sins of the world. But every Christian is treated like his Master, and every Christian receives from Jesus Christ a share in his work…[the Christian] is the living and real ‘sign’, constantly renewed in the midst of the world, of the sacrifice of the Lamb of God…Christians should be very careful not to be wolves in the spiritual sense—that is, people who try to dominate others. Christians must accept the domination of other people, and offer the daily sacrifice of their lives, which is united to the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.” (The Presence of the Kingdom, p. 4)

This is a bold claim. Ellul leaves the word sacrifice completely unbounded and, more alarmingly, weds it to the sacrifice of Jesus which, remember, persisted through humiliation and pain and finished in death. Blessedly, God often spares us full imitation here—especially if by extraordinary luck we were born American—but neither does God rule it out. If the crowning achievement of faith is Christ-likeness, well, behold the likeness. How can we endure such a hazardous calling?

We look to Jesus, who looked to the joy set before him to carry out his pioneering work, enduring the cross. See, Jesus saw the world in totem. The material world which tyrannizes our own perception, but also the hidden things. The spiritual things which we only see as shadows and copies and sometimes not at all, but which are inseparable, pervasive, and essential to a full accounting of the world and our lives in it. Such a vision told Jesus there were more fearsome hordes than our inevitable last breaths and, better still, that there’s a Kingdom of life beyond this walking death. This hope flows straight from the attentive awe of the Lord. Our assurance of eternal life in the Kingdom of Heaven should settle into place and keep the entire life of faith and virtue from falling apart, even in those risky times when death gnashes its teeth (or smiles a placid smile while teasing and calculating our end with its barbed-wire bat).

*     *     *

You can look for the whole piece soon at Christ and Pop Culture (if you’re not a subscriber there, it’ll pop up from behind the paywall eventually, but less soon).

Scraps: Awkward Pauses

I had to cut this from something I’m working on, but it’s a darling so rather than kill it outright, I’ll just let it live here. It came from a paragraph about reviving the art of conversation in a world drenched with communication.

You have to navigate awkward pauses (which, the awkwardness might actually be just the realization that someone needs to venture some vulnerability to keep the conversation moving and, to your mutual embarrassment, neither one of you is brave enough. Hence that feeling you both try to disown by calling it “awkward” rather than “mutual and embarrassing cowardice”).