I stumbled into this text in the Bible the other day. It is one of the more troubling passages I've run into. Thought you might like to see how I handle texts like these. "Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years; he who dies at a hundred will be thought a mere youth; he who fails to reach a hundred will be considered accursed." Isa 65:20, NIV.
The problem with this text is the context, Isaiah 65:17-25. The whole passage contains one of the most beloved descriptions of what life in the new earth will be like. God will create a new heavens and a new earth (verse 17). There will be no more weeping and crying there (19). God’s people will build houses and live in them, they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit (21). Then there is the glorious climax, "‘The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox, but dust will be the serpent's food. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain,’ says the LORD" (25).
What troubles people about this text is the presence of death in paradise (verse 20). God’s people will live long in this new earth, "as the days of a tree" (22), but they will not live forever. How can this be harmonized with the "forever" of other biblical texts (Daniel 7:18; Joel 3:20; Micah 4:5; 1 Thess 4:17; Rev 22:5)? The key to resolving this problem is to explore briefly the historical context in which the prophecy of Isaiah 65 was given.
The central theme of Isaiah through Malachi is the exile of God’s people to Babylon followed by their eventual return to the land promised to Abraham. This "Exile and Return Theme" is dominant in the writing prophets whether they wrote before, during, or after the Exile. They prophesy that the return from Babylon would be accompanied by a three-fold transformation of reality. In Ezekiel 36, for example, God planned to transform human society by restoring Israel to her land and to her witness to the nations (Ezek 36:24,28,33-36, see also Mic 4:1-5, Isa 2:2-5; 11:2-5). He would transform human nature with a new heart and a new spirit (Ezek 36:25-27, see also Jer 31:31-34; Joel 2:28-29; Isa 35:5-6). And He would eventually transform the natural world itself, banishing hunger and violence (Ezek 36:30,35, see also Isa 11:6-9; 35:1,2,7; Ezek 47:1-12).
Unlike the Flood story and the Book of Revelation, where the end of the world means the full, physical destruction of the planet, the End of the prophets would come within history and geography as they understood it. God would intervene mightily within history to transform society, human nature and the natural world. This End is usually described in the context of the exile to and return from Babylon.
There is no question that the view of the End in the Old Testament was a developing one. God always meets people where they are. As they are able, He reveals more and more of His purpose. This principle is clearly stated by Jesus in John 16:12: "I have many things to tell you, but you cannot bear them now."
The danger in this is that later readers would try to universalize these early prophecies and expect every detail to be fulfilled at some time in the future. Instead we should allow later revelation (such as the New Testament) to guide us through the Old Testament material to a clearer picture of the End than was possible earlier. Each stage of Biblical history offers a fresh window into the mind of a God who meets people where they are, yet knows all along where He is going!
Isaiah 65:20 needs to be understood in light of the triple transformation of reality that was promised at the time when God’s people would return from Babylon. This triple transformation would take place within history, within the time, place, and circumstances of the prophetic writers. The "new heavens and new earth" of Isa 65:17, at first glance, sound very much like the book of Revelation, where God destroys the earth before creating it anew. But in Isaiah, it is Jerusalem that is created and the life span is far short of eternity (Isa 65:18-20). "Never again will there be in it an infant who lives but a few days, or an old man who does not live out his years; he who dies at a hundred will be thought a mere youth; he who fails to reach a hundred will be considered accursed." Isa 65:20, NIV.
As attractive as these numbers sound in our degenerate age, they fall far short of the text "there will be no more death" (Rev 21:4). Isa 65:20 is a "problem text" when read from a New Testament mind-set, but it made perfect sense in the setting of what might have been after the return from Babylonian Exile. Although God would intervene in spectacular fashion, according to the prophets, the fullness of paradise would only be restored a little at a time. In the wake of the Christ event, the book of Revelation portrays a much more radical picture of the End.
I suspect this brief essay may not connect with where most people live today. But it does offer a reason why there are so many challenging statements in the Bible. God meets people where they are. That means a text makes the best sense in the original context. When we move to today, it is easy to get confused by the differences between the Bible's world and our own. The same holds true for what the Bible says about the Battle of Armageddon. Only as we interpret Armageddon texts in their original context can we avoid the kind of wild speculation that is taken as fact in all too many circles.
Adventist study of Revelation early on focused on the identification of the United States with the land beast of Revelation 13. Particular attention was paid to idea that the land beast has lamblike features when it first appears but comes to speak as a dragon (Rev 13:11). In this perspective, America comes on the historical scene as a relatively positive power, a haven for the oppressed, particularly the religious minorities of Europe. Unlike most nations, whose political position is governed by corporate self-interest, America arose with a corporate vision of its responsibility to feed the hungry, help the weak, and rescue the oppressed. When America went to war, it was for a just and noble cause, not out of corporate selfishness.
America’s geographical location is fairly unique. It is sheltered by oceans on the east and on the west. It is so rich in natural resources that, until the last fifty years (the need for foreign oil), America was self-sufficient in most raw materials. Its abundance of rich farmland means that wars need not be fought for basic survival needs such as food. From the mid-nineteenth century on, the only nations that border the United States, Canada and Mexico, have not been hostile and are, in any case, relatively weak militarily. (The recent bout of insecurity regarding the border with Mexico is a relatively new thing for the United States) The last invasion of the "lower 48 states" was during the War of 1812, unless you count the brief foray into New Mexico by Pancho Villa in 1917. America’s borders have not been a major concern for some time until recently.
The United States, therefore, has been blessed with the luxury of living without significant threat to its existence from potentially hostile neighbors. Because of its abundant natural resources, it has not needed to be an aggressor power like Japan, dependent for its survival on imports of food and raw materials. Japan has to be obsessed with the good or bad intentions of its neighbors (including the United States), as there are so many ways that the country’s survival can be threatened from outside. The United States has had few such concerns until very recently.
Compare the United States with China, for example, a country of similar physical size. China has always felt itself under threat from hostile neighbors. There is the great bear of Russia to the north. There are the unpredictable tribes of Central Asia. There is India to the southwest and Vietnam to the south (China has fought brief wars with both since World War II). To the east are Korea, Japan and Taiwan. Wars have been fought with all three in the last hundred years. And then there is the unlimited reach of the United States navy to worry about. So the Chinese must be constantly thinking of their own political and economic self-interest. The very survival of its people demands it.
As the examples of Japan and China suggest, most nations are naturally driven to a political stance of corporate selfishness. When people feel cornered, they defend themselves vigorously. Their full attention is on their own needs and interests. America was no different at the time of its founding. It was threatened by native peoples nearby and by European powers such as Britain, France and, for a time, Spain. But by the mid-nineteenth century, America felt secure from outside threat and began to develop the sense of "manifest destiny," that it had been placed on the earth to be a blessing to the world. It was not to operate from selfish ambition. Freeing the slaves was, to some degree, motivated by the desire to be a nation that was not tainted by the kind of selfish ambition that is so characteristic in traditional geopolitics.
But all of that began to go by the wayside with World War II. Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor shattered the sense of security that had once been complete. The Cold War also made it clear that in today’s world, a nation does not have to be near to be threatening. America came to realize that its security and even its survival depended to a large degree on events in the Eurasian land mass (from Great Britain to Singapore). The population and resources of Eurasia are so great that any power that can completely control the Eurasian landmass will rule the world. So the continuing worldwide reach of the American navy and air force is not an accident. Contented isolation is no longer an American option. It is very much in the national interest of the United States to act in ways that keep the nations of Eurasia divided.
This has transformed the United States from a benevolent power that intercedes in world affairs to protect the weak to one that aggressively acts to ensure its own interests. The invasion of Iraq in 2003 was perceived as a major turning point in the minds of many. Whatever motives of rescuing the Shiites or the Kurds there might have been, the overwhelming purpose of the invasion was America’s own political self-interest. In the eyes of the world America is now perceived more as a neighborhood bully (dragon?) than as an understanding partner.
And there is no turning back. Al Qaeda and its allies will not go away quietly. The threat of weapons of mass destruction in the hands of terrorists is an ongoing threat. In order to ensure its own survival America must act as an empire, intruding into the affairs of its neighbors around the world in the hunt for those who desire to harm her. It does not matter if a Democrat or a Republican is president. The geopolitical realities of today’s world cannot be ignored. The same President Carter who sought to slow down the development of the "dragon," set in motion events that led ultimately to the invasion of Iraq. America now speaks as a dragon and feels fully justified in so doing.
I hope that readers will not mind, but I’d like to focus once more on the Seventh-day Adventist context and the book Questions on Doctrine. Readers from outside the Adventist tradition may find analogies to their own situation, but I will be addressing the Adventist context directly in this blog.
Recently at Loma Linda University, several presenters repeated their contributions at the Questions on Doctrine conference in October (along with a couple of new presenters) in an attempt to share that experience with the Loma Linda audience. We were reminded of the long history of inner-church conflict precipitation by the publication of the book.
It dawned on me during a panel discussion that there are several inner forces at the core of Adventist belief that will inevitably spawn conflict. In other words, the core values of Adventism tend to work against each other somewhat in a dynamic tension that can be invigorating and fruitful, when people are open and affirming, but can be destructive when people focus on one or the other value at the expense of the others.
The first of these values is a strong concern for the "landmarks" of Adventist faith. There is the sense that Adventism has made some significant contributions to the world of faith and no amount of doctrinal development can or should change that. Those who see this value as central to the neglect of the other two will tend to be overcritical of change of any kind.
The second core Adventist value that can create conflict as well as positive change is what I call restorationism. This is the idea that Adventists are called to restore the values of the New Testament (such as Sabbath and sanctuary) that have been lost in the course of Christian history. This value was a major driver of change in the first two generations of Adventist doctrinal development. Related to this is the idea of "present truth," that Adventism at its best will be constantly evolving in its relevance. People who adopt this value as central to the neglect of the other two will tend to promote change at the expense historic Adventist views.
The third core Adventist value is mission, the sense that Adventists have a message for the whole world. But as the Adventist world president said recently, "Theology is being driven by mission." The challenges of reaching out to a world filled with Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists and many others is causing God-fearing people to reconsider how the gospel can best be expressed in settings other than the Western, Christian world in which Adventism came into being. So mission is becoming an increasingly powerful engine of doctrinal change and re-expression. But the great danger of a theology driven by mission is syncretism, where true faith is diluted by accommodation to world views that may not be compatible with the gospel.
Each of these core values is thoroughly Adventist. Yet the confluence of these core values will inevitably lead to conflict whenever one is privileged over the others. The more we become aware of our own natural biases, the more sympathetic we will be to perspectives that differ from our own natural tendencies.
In looking at myself, I think my theological work has been driven by mission, restorationism and fidelity to the landmarks in that order. All three have been important to me, but I realize that I may not have given the "landmarks" perspective as much weight as mission in the development of my own understanding of theology. But self-awareness here is half the battle. And to the degree that I keep all three values in balance, my own understand of God and faith will be richer and more helpful to others.
So when it comes to discussions such as those surrounding the book Questions on Doctrine, conflict is inevitable due to people’s natural tendency to emphasize one or another of the basic Adventist core values. But when we discover that there is more than one right way to think, we will find ourselves enriched by those we have disagreed with in the past.
People have approached me in the last few months, troubled over my move from Andrews University in Michigan to Loma Linda University in California. They wonder how can I give up the Seminary setting, where my specialties are front-row and center and move to a health science university, where I have to, in effect, start all over. The implication is that I have taken a big step down and have given up my best chance to change the world. Some have even implied that the move is some sort of exile.
I certainly don’t see it that way. Loma Linda University is in an amazing position to change the world. For one thing, it has the only faith-based medical and dental programs in the United States. There are several Jesuit institutions that offer medical programs, but none of them includes religion in the curriculum. They are simply secular programs offered at faith-based universities. Loma Linda is a health-science university that builds faith and wholeness into every single degree and certificate program. In light of recent publicity suggesting that religion can have a positive effect on overall health, Loma Linda is well-positioned to be at the cutting edge of health care in the decades to come.
You may be aware that National Geographic recently identified the Loma Linda community as one of the three longest lived communities on earth, and the only one where longevity is not tied to an isolated and non-duplicatable culture (the other two communities were in isolated parts of Okinawa and Sicily, I believe). The Loma Linda lifestyle may be the world’s best hope for significant advances in longevity in the near future.
In light of the above, the opportunity to be in charge of the religion and humanities curricula of Loma Linda University (Dean of the School of Religion and Division of Humanities) was too good to pass up. I have the opportunity to work with health scientists to integrate the spiritual, emotional and mental sides of the human condition with the latest advances in physical and medical sciences. If the Loma Linda philosophy of wholeness has produced a community that lives ten years longer than the California average, there is something here that is well worth being a part of.
Let me share with you a discussion I chaired between faculty of religion and faculty in the basic sciences at our School of Medicine on January 4, 2008. If there is any aspect of a health science university that could be considered at the opposite end of the spectrum from religion, it would be the basic sciences, which are completely dependant on hard data and careful empirical research. What value could religion classes possibly have to a PhD program in the basic sciences?
We asked the professors in the basic sciences to share the goals and objectives of the program and how religion could contribute to the lives of aspiring scientists. Here are some of the things we came up with:
1) Help students understand that faith is not incompatible with the production of new knowledge. Science is not of dubious usefulness for faith. Rather, faith needs to understand. Religion is worthy of the same kind of intellectual rigor that we expect from scientists. And science can also be engaged in from the standpoint of service to God. One of the things Loma Linda University can contribute to the world is the concept of faith-based and faith-motivated science, something happening in no other educational institution. Is the idea of a faith-based equivalent to Stanford or MIT too big a stretch? I think not. Is the world today ready for such an institution? I think so.
2) Scientists need to know that the Bible is worthy of serious scientific study. Religion teachers can help them learn healthy ways to read texts and common fallacies about the Bible and its interpretation to avoid.
3) Religion classes in a science curriculum can create a safe and respectful environment where students can sort out their own convictions about faith and knowledge. Religion can help them discover the spiritual significance of their lives and develop a sense of God’s purpose in their scientific endeavors. Not all students come to class as spiritual people, but they are all trying to figure out the meaning of their lives.
4) Explore whether the study of science inevitably leads to a loss of faith. And if faith is lost what kind of faith is lost? Can such an occurrence be a blessing at times?
Don’t you wish you could have been listening in on the discussion that produced ideas like that? I was pumped to be part of such a fruitful and life-changing discussion, with many more to come.
So to my two or three fans out there, don’t cry for me. I am having the time of my life. And I promise you I won’t neglect the research and publishing agenda I have pursued for the last twenty years, and that has led to this web site. Stay tuned for some fresh studies on the Battle of Armageddon in the next month or two.
I have been reflecting further about the Questions on Doctrine conference I attended last month. I’d like to expand here on some thoughts I shared at the conclusion there. The whole controversy over Questions on Doctrine, it seems to me, revolved and still revolves around an unspoken subtext. I summarize that subtext in the following sentence: Is there more than one right way to think?
I have little doubt that the earliest Adventist pioneers would have instinctively answered No to this question. In their minds truth was basically clear and unchanging. There was only one right way to think. It seems to me, however, that the answer of Adventist history as a whole to this question has increasingly been Yes. Very early on a considerable diversity of expression can be seen in the pages of the Advent Review and Sabbath Herald. And it has become increasingly evident that Adventist understanding of truth was both developing and fragmenting throughout our history. Our pioneers expressed an awareness of both development and fragmentation at the 1919 Bible Conference, but these thoughts were largely held in private. What brought an awareness of development and fragmentation into public knowledge was the controversies that developed around the publication of Questions on Doctrine. So whether we like it or not, Adventist history bears witness to both doctrinal development (which means that the "one way to think" of the past is not adequate for the present) and increasing fragmentation. Is this good or bad, healthy or unhealthy? What would the Scriptures teach us?
Is there more than one right way to think? Scripture answers this question with a qualified Yes. The answer of Scripture is grounded in the principle that God meets people where they are. The thoughts and ideas of inspiration come from God. But the form those thoughts take are grounded in the time, place and circumstances of specific human beings. Time constraints require me to limit myself to just two biblical examples.
The first and most obvious example is the presence of four gospels in the New Testament. In the highest sense there is only one gospel, the gospel of Jesus Christ. But that one gospel finds itself expressed in four different ways by four different people. While there is an essential unity and harmony in their presentation of the gospel, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John are each a unique and creative expression of that gospel. None of the four gospels has the whole picture. Each comes at the story with a unique purpose in mind. Each story is a true outline of the same events, yet they are all distinctly different. To put it another way, the four gospels testify that there is more than one right way to think. In the four gospels, the differences are due to different human standpoints in telling the story of God’s greatest revelation in Jesus Christ.
In Daniel 2 and Daniel 7 God Himself is the one who articulates this diversity. The two visions cover essentially the same ground: a series of four empires followed by a time of political division followed by the kingdom of God. The purpose of the two visions is the same: to show God’s overarching control of history (see Dan 2:21 and 7:26). To the pagan king He develops this outline of history in the form of an idol. To the Hebrew prophet He develops the outline as a midrash on creation. The story is the same, but the form is different. In other words, there is more than one right way to think.
Now in saying this I do not mean to imply that all viewpoints are right simply because they have been expressed. I am not promoting uncontrolled relativism. There were at least a dozen or so written gospels in the early Christian centuries that did not make it into the biblical canon. These contained, at times, fanciful and even bizarre features. All ways of thinking are not right. But my basic point remains valid. We must not, in our fear of relativism, be too quick to marginalize any viewpoint we disagree with. Just because someone else doesn’t see through my eyes does not mean that what they see is false. Differing perspectives can be windows into the larger truths that we all seek.
It is helpful in theological discussion, therefore, to keep in mind that if someone expresses a truth in a form different from mine, it should not automatically be assumed that if I am right the other must be wrong. To accept that there is more than one right way to think keeps us open to learning fresh dimensions of truth, and it inoculates us against the pride that can come from attainment of truth. There is much to be learned from theological controversy, even when we disagree. To still voices that differ from us may be to still the voice of the Spirit.