Prophecy and Interpretation

Here’s something that I think is really important for Christians to understand about prophecy:

Prophecy isn’t about predicting the future. It’s much more about interpreting the future.

If you look at the example of Old Testament prophecy, it was never mere prediction, but always interpreted prediction.

Likewise, the primary purpose of prophecy in the Church is not prediction but interpretation – and not only of the future, but also of the past, and even of the present.

Sometimes we place a lot of weight on whether a prophecy is falsifiable. A pastor prophesies to his church something like, “This year is going to be full of new challenges that we haven’t experienced before, but these challenges will bring new opportunities.” And, yes, it’s vague. And so we say, “That’s vague; there aren’t really any eventualities that are incompatible with this prophecy, such that if they happened it would prove the pastor wrong. It’s an unfalsifiable prophecy.”

But when we say this we miss the point. God isn’t trying to prove himself to you through prophecy. He’s already proven himself more than we could ever need him to in Jesus. He is trying to build you through prophecy.

He doesn’t want to just tell you the future. He wants to tell you his interpretation of the future. And that is far more important. Because it’s not about proving himself or informing you of events; it’s about preparing you for the events by getting you to see them the way he sees them.

The main point of any prophetic word is not, “This is what is going to happen,” but rather, “This is the meaning of what is going to happen.” Because God’s purpose in prophecy is to align our hearts, our thoughts, and our worldview with his. Not producing in us knowledge, but producing in us faith.

I recently heard a Christian argue against the Theory of Evolution on the basis that they find conflict between the notion that humans are descended from non-human animals, and the idea that we are made in the image of God.

I hate to break it to you but the Genesis narrative says we were descended from… DUST.

Do you prefer this? Really, how is this better?

I would’ve thought that one of the overarching themes of Christian scripture is that the origin of something needn’t have any bearing on that thing’s identity, or its future. Matthew’s Gospel highlights that Jesus was descended from a prostitute. And he turned out alright.

Sometimes our forgiveness is patronising.

Because sometimes the only way we manage to take the high road is to look down on someone such that we expect nothing from them. In order to hold nothing against someone we take on the role of the indestructible giver, who never takes, never needs.

But sometimes it is more loving to need someone. Sometimes it affords more dignity and respect to someone to expect them to do right by you, and to be hurt when they don’t.

It is in daring to care enough about people such that it is possible for them to hurt us, in becoming breakable before people, that we honour them.

And it is in requiring of them that they don’t break us that we dignify them.

And though we mustn’t do it carelessly, we must do it, because it is in this great leap into the possibility of pain that we leap into our humanity.

Sometimes, if we have forgiven someone too quickly, perhaps it is because we have forgiven wrongly, and dehumanised someone in the process.

Sometimes we give something up because God asks us to, but at the time we don’t even know just how costly our choice of obedience will turn out to have been. With great anguish we sacrifice something for him, only to find out later that the sacrifice we made was even bigger than we realised – that the consequences are more numerous and more painful than we saw coming.

God doesn’t always act with our informed consent. He doesn’t always give us all the information before asking us to do something.

Perhaps this is for our good.

Dirt (an Easter message)

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How hard it is for us to conceive

That it was right there on the ground,

In an obscure corner of the Earth,

Within the flesh and blood of a man,

Hanging on a plank of wood shooting up from the dirt,
Audienced by a handful of fishermen and tentmakers,
That in the quiet of that man’s slowing heartbeat…
Something cosmic was happening.

And none of the fishermen knew that in that moment the world was being changed forever.

In the cross of Jesus, the astronomical met with the biological.

In the mundane, down here in the mud, God was fixing the universe.

The Christian story was, to my mind, so clearly imagined by God and not by man, because God, the mature storyteller, required no grand display in the climax of his narrative. No exploding stars, no shining lights from Heaven.

Almost no clues at all that what was being acted out in that Jewish town that afternoon had the undivided attention of every single angel and every single demon.

The finale of an ancient celestial battle between good and evil, all within one man’s body.

Power not exhibited, but exercised.

The power not to dazzle and amaze, but the power to save.

The power to change forever the very meaning of life and death,

By a single death and a single resurrection.

When faced with all the crimes the Church has committed in the past and the present – the judgementality, the bigotry, the discrimination, even the violence – the Christian who doesn’t understand unity will turn to the world and denounce and condemn these “other Christians”, distancing themselves from their works.

But the Christian who understands unity will turn to the world and say, “I am sorry.”

One thing I’ve learnt to be true over the past year or so:

A person’s spiritual maturity is better measured by their relationships with the people around them than it is by how much they talk about spiritual things.

Anyone who would object to the notion of God on the grounds of suffering, should only do so with the knowledge that there exists one religion that conceives of a God who experienced more of that suffering than any other being in the universe, in order to rescue us from it.

If “God” is to be found guilty, then this God must be among those put on trial, as a suffering God is the only God Christians have ever proposed.

On prosperity theology

Even in the case that prosperity theology is true, then I still do not see how the believer is left with a reason to “chase God’s blessing.”

If the truth is that obedience to God will attract material blessing towards you, then this could only be a reason precisely not to chase wealth. For “it will chase you.”

The believer’s only task, then, would be to simply obey God by being generous towards others with their wealth.

It seems to me that any person who is storing up for themselves treasures on earth is not living a life that is consistent with prosperity theology.