Jesus is calling. Will we answer?

 Many of us, at some point in our moral development, have held an image of God as some sort of divine scorekeeper. Constantly surveying the action on the field of life, this scorekeeper is marking down our every infraction – whether the scorekeeper relishes finding our misdoings or weeps at them depends on the telling of this story. Each of our wrongs, whether in thought, word, or deed, things done or things left undone, is recorded, and likely assigned a point value as to just how much it counts against us.

If we are lucky, the scorekeeper is recording our positive points too: maybe by doing enough good deeds, acts of service, acts of devotion, we can offset the demerits on our record with credits. Maybe we can put just enough money in the offering plate to cancel out the time we swore when someone cut us off in traffic. Maybe participating in the Easter basket drive will be enough of a credit to us that at the day of judgment, it will cancel out the time someone asked us for help and we said no because we didn't want to help. Maybe if we attend enough Wednesday night evensongs, it will cancel out the Sundays that we've missed church. Maybe the recorder of our misdeeds will also record enough good works to our cosmic account that we can earn a place in the kingdom of heaven.

This image of God as divine scorekeeper certainly has some scriptural basis, but it is far from complete, and this worldview leads both to inevitable guilt and shame because of our many sins and simultaneously to a dangerous works righteousness that can never truly earn our way into the Kingdom of Heaven but can also lead us to sit in judgment ourselves against those whom we deem to do fewer good works than we do. All of this is spiritually toxic.

Sometimes people respond to this toxic worldview by swinging to the other extreme: to deny the possibility of hell and judgment and moral consequence. But this too is spiritually dangerous, leaving us unprepared for the Kingdom of Heaven. As a countermeasure to both of these spiritual toxins, I want to reflect on two images from today's reading from the revelation to St John.

"In the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never be shut by day--and there will be no night there. People will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practices abomination or falsehood, but only those who are written in the Lamb's book of life."

Let's focus on these two images: "nothing unclean will enter it", but also "its gates will never be shut."

In this model, God isn't some divine gatekeeper saying "you can come in, and you can't." Indeed, Jesus did not say he is the gatekeeper; Jesus said he is the gate!

If the gates are always open, why are the practitioners of abomination and falsehood left outside? If no gatekeeper excludes them, why are they not in the new Jerusalem?

And the answer here is far more terrifying than a divine vindictive judge delighting in casting us into the outer darkness for our misdeeds. Those excluded from the New Jerusalem, those in the outer darkness for all eternity, are the ones who refuse to come in from the cold to the warm place of safety. The real danger is that we cast ourselves into the outer darkness because we prefer darkness to light. As the orthodox say, he gates of hell are locked from the inside.

The real danger is not that God, the lover of our soul, will reject us.  The true threat of Hell is that God will embrace us but we will turn away from God's love.

There's a beautiful hymn from the late nineteenth century written by Will Thompson that describes God's relationship with us:

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling

Calling for you and for me

See on the portals He's waiting and watching

Watching for you and for me

Come home, come home

Ye who are weary come home

Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling

Calling, "O sinner come home"

But here's the thing: inside that New Jerusalem, there's no score keeping. Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us. Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Stop keeping score with us as we stop keeping score with others. But some of us have a hard time letting go of keeping score. 

Some of us cling to our positive score points. Some of us cling to other people's negative points. When God offers to clear the scores away, which is the only way we can enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, too many of us cling to our merits or the demerits of others and refuse to accept God's setting things afresh.

Earlier this year, we heard the story of the Prodigal son. The younger son took his share of the inheritance and squandered it in dissolute living, while the older son dutifully toiled away.  The younger son came to his senses and returned, planning to ask his father to treat him as a hired hand, but the father rejoiced at his son's return and threw a feast. The older son refused to come in to the feast because he was sure the younger son didn't deserve it. And that is our spiritual danger. Do we refuse to come in to God's feast because we find God's love extended to those we consider unworthy to be unpalatable?

In the New Jerusalem, there are two deep rules that describe the way of life: love the Lord God with all your heart and strength and mind, and Love your neighbor as yourself. In the New Jerusalem, when we see someone suffering, we ask "how can I help," and not "do they deserve help" or "is it my obligation to help."

How we respond to Jesus invitation is a function not of what we have done, but who we are. However, the things we do very much help to shape who we are. The works of love that we practice in our lives are vitally important not because they earn us a place in the new Jerusalem, but because they transform us into people who would seek out the new Jerusalem. Do we long for a world where people don't keep score, and the mere existence of anyone in need is a call to everyone who _can_ help _to_ help, regardless of any notions of merit or particular obligation? Or are we put off by it, and turn up our nose an the idea of living in a Kingdom where we don't keep moral score? Do we cling to our credits and to others' wrongs so we are unable to enter the Gate that God throws open for us?

When we talk about salvation, there's two words that get thrown around: Justification, and sanctification. Justification means that our sins are forgiven. Sanctification means that sin no longer has power over us. Justification means that we are welcome in the kingdom of heaven. Sanctification means that we would welcome the kingdom of heaven. Justification means that Jesus is calling us to come home. Sanctification means that we are transformed into people who respond to that call and say yes.

God is not a vindictive judge looking for the slightest reason to damn us to hell. But to the extent that we sit as vindictive judges of others, we find God's forgiveness and the laws of the new Jerusalem to be utterly repugnant, and we refuse to enter in to the heavenly banquet.

The gates are open. Do we respond to God's tender call and go into the kingdom prepared for us, or are we holding out for some better kingdom reserve for the worthy that we deem ourselves to be, despite the fact that no such better kingdom exists, and by refusing to enter in to God's abundant mercy, we cast ourselves into the outer darkness?

We don't do good works in order to be credited for them. We do good works in order to rehearse them. We do the acts prescribed in the baptismal covenant not because we get a reward for them, meriting for us a place in the kingdom of heaven, but because we are transformed by them, into people who would rejoice in living in a kingdom where such acts are the norm. Worshiping, tithing, singing praise to God, sharing the good news, serving those in need, striving for justice – these are not ways we earn cosmic credit, but they are the things that transform us into people who when Jesus calls, we are inclined to say yes.

The day of judgment is very real, but in a sense, we ourselves are the ones who sit as judge: The gates are open; do we judge the kingdom of heaven to be a place that we choose to go in? Jesus is calling. Will we answer? Do we truly long to live in a kingdom ruled by the law of love? Who we form ourselves to be today shapes our answer to this question.

Toward a state-based moral calculus

(In progress; I intend to edit later; includes sentence fragments that trail off)

A moral aphorism often encountered is the notion that “actions have consequences.” While some actions do indeed have consequences, I argue that the consequences of actions is not the primary building block for understanding moral obligation. In response to the proposed framework that actions have consequences, I suggest a more constructive framework is “States have implications, and actions may or may not contribute to a change of state.”

Our moral obligations are entirely a product of our state of being, and not of the path that lead to that state. Countervailing against that however, our habits are very very much an integral part of our state of being, and our actions do contribute to those habits.

On the one hand, I really am arguing that our actions have no direct moral consequences. On the other hand, our actions have immense indirect moral consequences, because our actions create habits, attitudes, abilities, and so forth, which have superlative moral consequence.

From a moral perspective, I honestly think the question “what have you done?” is all but irrelevant, except to the extent that it impacts the answer to the question “what do you do?”

Path-based morality says that you acquire certain particular moral obligations to specific people by the details of your birth, and that various other actions over the course of a lifetime create other particular moral obligations. Additionally, if you wrong someone, you have a moral obligation to make it right, and our moral obligations are prioritized based on the claims they each have on us because of our past conduct. State-based morality says that if you have the capacity to improve the state of the world, you have a moral obligation to improve it. Our moral obligations are prioritized based on the need for the improvement and how particularly we are situated to be uniquely able to offer that improvement, where improvement is, as always, defined as progress toward a state of universal thriving ("life, and have it abundantly").

Creatures who are capable of actions that can change the state of the world for the better have an obligation to do so

I am less interested in “whose actions caused the state of the universe to be as it is” and more interested in “who has the capacity now to make the universe better?”

I believe our obligations to act to better the state of the universe are not the consequences of our past actions, but rather the result of our capacity to do good. 

According to the “actions have consequences” framework, past actions create a hierarchy of whose thriving is morally prioritized. Those who act virtuously deserve to thrive, and their virtuous conduct creates a moral responsibility to others to act for their thriving. Those who act unvirtuously do not deserve to thrive, and actions to promote their thriving are deprioritized, or even morally prohibited. In this realm, justice involves people getting the outcomes they deserve. Justice is the process of calling people to account for their moral responsibilities.

Now I would agree that justice is indeed when creatures are called to account for meeting their moral responsibilities. But rather than believing that past actions create moral responsibilities, I believe that current states of being create moral responsibilities.

Your moral responsibility is to do the most good, given the state in which you find yourself. 

The past cannot be changed, so moral responsibility always begins anew from the current state and always points from the current hellish conditions toward apocatastasis 

Our habits are a big part of our current state

God’s will is for the restoration of all creatures to a state of thriving.

None of our actions can change God’s desire for our thriving. Thus, no one can forfeit a place in that end state of thriving.

The problem with “actions have consequences” is that it suggests that because of our actions, some creatures deserve to thrive and others do not. Or at least that some creatures’ thriving is prioritized over other creatures’ thriving. But the divine expectation is apocatastasis, which leaves no room for exclusion: we do not have divine authorization to write off anyone as being undeserving of restoration to a state of thriving.

But states have consequences: if the current state of creation is hellish, such that many creatures are not thriving, all creatures have a moral responsibility to act to change the state of creation so that mutual thriving can happen. And if a creature, in its current state, has the tendency to prevent other creatures from thriving, that must be changed. Any creature’s actions cannot put said creature outside the plan of restoration, but many many actions make that process of restoration much longer and more difficult! This apocatastasis is not a universalism of “I’m okay; you’re okay.” I am most certainly not okay in my current state, and neither are you. And to the extent that I in my current state and you in your current state are apt to engage in actions that inhibit the thriving of other creatures, we are not fit to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven in our current state, and must be transformed in order to have a place in the new creation.

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The Kingdom of Heaven is a state of paradise: a state of mutual thriving for all creatures. God’s will is for apocatastasis: the restoration of all creatures to that state of mutual thriving. Our current hellish state is one in which many creatures are apt to act in ways that prevent the thriving of other creatures. God’s will is to bring about a new creation, a new state of being in which the creatures of the old creation all participate but restored to right order, such that they contribute to rather than prevent each other’s abundant life. Because God’s will is for the restoration of all creatures to a state of thriving, none of our actions can change God’s desire for our thriving. Thus, no one can forfeit a place in that end state of paradise.

The problem with a paradigm that proclaims that “actions have consequences” is that it suggests that because of our actions, some creatures deserve to thrive and others do not, or at least that some creatures’ thriving is prioritized over other creatures’ thriving on the basis of their past actions. But the divine expectation is apocatastasis, which leaves no room for exclusion: we do not have divine authorization to write off anyone as being undeserving of restoration to a state of thriving.

But states have consequences: if the current state of creation is hellish, such that many creatures are not thriving, all creatures have a moral responsibility to act to change the state of creation so that mutual thriving can happen. And if a creature, in its current state, has the tendency to prevent other creatures from thriving, that must be changed. Any creature’s actions cannot put said creature outside the plan of restoration, but many many actions make that process of restoration much longer and more difficult! This apocatastasis is not a universalism of “I’m okay; you’re okay.” I am most certainly not okay in my current state, and neither are you. And to the extent that I in my current state and you in your current state are apt to engage in actions that inhibit the thriving of other creatures, we are not fit to enter into the Kingdom of Heaven in our current state, and must be transformed in order to have a place in the new creation.

In a non-apocatastasis-based ethic, justice seems to involve the consequences of one’s actions, such that 

Someone's propensity for bad conduct give us a moral obligation to disempower such a person, but in no way lessens our mora obligation to seek such a person's wellbeing