Posterior Dei

It’s the second wettest winter in Portland in 75 years. 45.5 inches have fallen since Oct. 1. Of the days that have passed, 145 days have been wet. The gutter on the back of my house constantly makes noise. Before I sleep, in the middle of the night, and throughout the days, water drips loudly in the downspout. When I hit those light sleep stages at 3AM and hear that drip, my brain kicks in and I'm done resting for the night.

This morning I'm holding in tension "I want to be the kind of pastor who..." thoughts for a final paper in pastoral ministry class, with the reality that I have the absolute most difficult time even shepherding my own children. I mean really, how can I pastor others when my daughter has wandered from the fold, in part because of my less than stellar pastoring abilities?

The past few weeks have been difficult as we are leaning in and deciding what's next for the girl. The college investment is high for all of us, so what’s next for her has turned into a what’s next for us decision. We have visited the schools where she was accepted. We have turned over every stone that we possibly can to research the pros and cons for each institution. In hindsight, this stone turning should have happened last summer, before applications were sent. But alas, it didn't and we have found ourselves in a stalemate; the girl standing with heels dug firmly in for one school, and us on the other side, standing in a similar position, for another school. So we’ve prayed and fasted and prayed some more through the gray light of the rainy days and the wee hours of the dark nights, until we came to a decision that while not perfect, but would provide opportunities for growth and movement for the girl and measure of peace for us. The options presented to the girl basically place her (and us) in between a rock and a hard place: attend a school she doesn't want to attend because it's the best option at this time, and while there begin applying for different schools and transfer out in 2018; or hit the reset button, defer enrollment for a year, and stay home to work and reapply to other schools. As expected, she has been brokenhearted since hearing the options on Saturday. Layer that with upcoming AP exams, senioritis and me trying to finish this seminary semester, and well, that's a whole lot of not so lovely in the Hansen home.

But I keep coming back to one of Martin Luther's core Theology of the Cross principles, which he called Posterior Dei. In this God’s self-revelation is indirect, concealed, and mysterious. Though God is active on the cross, He is not recognizable. Often we recognize God’s presence only after He has passed by; we only see His back, Posterior Dei. This then leads me to think of Moses and his bold request to see God’s Glory. God agreed to the request and tucked Moses into a cleft. With his face turned to the dark space and his back guarded by God’s hand, Glory passed by. When Moses turned, he only saw God’s back.

So between the heavy, gray rain and the dark what’s next decision process, we stand in the cleft, faces turned into the dark space, waiting for Glory to pass by so we can turn and, like Moses, see Posterior Dei, or as I like to call it, a glimmer of Grace, a simple reminder of God’s constant Presence even in the hard places of life.

On Death and Dying: Reflections for Good Friday

In America, our view of aging and dying has shifted throughout the generations. Due to continuous medical advances and economic influences, individuals are living longer as medical interventions promote recovery from illness, even major illnesses, and slow the eventual decent to death. Care for the elderly has been relegated to hospitals and nursing homes as family systems have morphed over the years. Independence in aging is a goal to be achieved, but the weakness that comes with its gradual breakdown is an embarrassment to be managed.[1] This embarrassment flows over into death and burials, where Christian burial rituals have shifted from hands on care for their loved ones in their last days, and accompanying them with singing to their final resting place, to passing off the dead to funeral directors, removing the deceased from funeral services, and replacing the funeral ritual with a “disembodied, quasi-gnostic cluster of customs and ceremonies.” In short, since the late 19^th century, many Protestant Christians “lost their eschatological nerve and vibrant faith in the after life,”[2] and are failing to embrace the mysterious journey into the Eternal. This lack of eschatological nerve is also seen in our burial practices, as many Christian Americans are processed in funeral homes to ensure a “pleasant look” for friends and family to view, and as the deceased lie in a metal casket impervious to the elements, both in its initial structure and then furthermore in its burial structure within a cement vault. With such extreme measures taken to ensure one’s remains never touch the dirt, I can only wonder what are our core theological beliefs about death?[3]

Many Christians espouse belief in Jesus Incarnate. We celebrate His birth, emulate his life, and desire to love God and others the way he did. Our greatest hope lies in the victory because the tomb is empty. Celebrating the empty tomb is the pinnacle of Christian worship. It is the hope we cling to. It’s the theology most preached. While it is accurate the tomb is empty and death has been conquered, I wonder if we miss an integral part or God’s redemptive plan when we fail to embrace the mystery and beauty in Christ’s actual death? While I am still formulating the scriptural and theological details, I firmly believe Jesus redeemed even the physical act of death when he died on the cross.

Examining creation, it is evident that whether on land, sea, or air, life flows in a cycle: reproduction, birth, life, decay, and death. We see this cycle represented in plants, animals, and humans. It is the natural order of the created realm. Physical death did not simply enter the world through sin. Death was already present, but it did not have the spiritual separation component and the painful sting that accompanied the fall. Jesus life is evidence of this truth, in that he came, fully human and lived a perfect sinless life. That life included death. His redemptive work began in the womb and flowed through physical death into resurrection. Not only did he achieve victory over sin and spiritual death, he achieved redemption over physical death in and through his death on the cross. His submission to his Father’s numbering of his days is a model for us. His burial, carefully conducted by loved ones, is also a model for us.

Jesus showed us how to both live and how to die as human beings. If we begin to see his redemptive work through his complete willingness and trust in his Father’s plans, which includes death, maybe we can stop side stepping death by moving to the empty tomb, and begin acknowledging his redemptive reality for every aspect of our eternal humanity? Maybe we can begin embracing end of life deterioration as normal? Maybe we can once again embrace and care for our elderly, honoring them in life and death? Maybe we can embrace our dust origins and our eventual return to dust, in a more holistic way that avoids toxins, invasive medical procedures, and vacuum sealing of our dead so as to avoid deterioration into the earth? Maybe we can begin asking the challenging questions and engaging in taboo topics so as to more fully embrace a robust perspective of redemption? Maybe then, we can begin living the abundant life Jesus promises, while no longer fearing the deterioration and resting of our bodies as they await their resurrected state upon Christ’s return? I have to believe that as we begin to wrestle with these hard concepts, pastoral care in life, dying, and death will enable a richer and fuller experience of God’s abiding presence in the lives of Christ’s followers. 

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[1]           Atul Gwande. Being Mortal: Medicine and What Matters in the End (New York: Metropolitan Books, 2014) 21, 22, 28.

[2]           Thomas G. Long. Accompany Them With Singing: The Christian Funeral (Louisville, KY: Westminster Press, 2013), 72.

[3]           Mark Harris. Grave Matters: A Journey Through The Modern Funeral Industry to a Natural Way of Burial (New York: Scribner, 2007), 7-47.