Athanasius of Alexandria (Wikimedia Commons)

A glance to the distant past provides useful and sobering perspective. Few people exemplify and clarify the fight for the true meaning of Christmas as powerfully as does Athanasius of Alexandria.

Born in Egypt at the close of the third century, Athanasius thought deeply and seriously about the mysteries of the faith. While contemplating the purpose of Christ’s advent, he penned an enduring classic of Christian literature, On the Incarnation. “The Word of God came in His own Person, because it was He alone, the Image of the Father, Who could recreate man made after the Image,” said Athanasius.

This restoration of humanity by God himself in the person of Christ is the meaning of Christmas, and this understanding might have been lost had it not been for Athanasius.

Shortly after Athanasius penned his book, the popular and winsome priest Arius emerged, teaching that Christ was not actually God in the flesh. “What child is this?” Not God, answered Arius.

The emperor called a council, which Athanasius attended, to resolve the issue and keep the Church from splitting over Arius’s teaching. The atmosphere was tense and heated. St. Nicholas (yes, that St. Nick) famously socked Arius during one session. But from the turmoil arose agreement about the divine nature of Christ, validating the view that Athanasius advanced in On the Incarnation. Arius was anathematized and his supporters exiled. But despite appearances, the issue was unsettled.

Shortly after the council, the bishop of Alexandria died and Athanasius was ordained to the office. The weakened Arian faction worked against him almost from the start. After false charges were levied against him, Athanasius appealed to the emperor for help. But the balance of power was shifting, and the new bishop was banished.

This inaugurated many periods of exile for Athanasius, who tirelessly defended the orthodox view against the Arian heresy. It is impossible to adequately summarize the weight of opposition he faced. By political maneuvering and alliance with subsequent emperors, the Arians came to power and brought brutal persecution, the likes of which only pagan powers had ever before exercised.

One night in February 356 Athanasius presided at a midnight vigil. Other than the prayers and psalm-singing the room was quiet. Suddenly, armed men burst inside and, amid the flickering candlelight, fired arrows and slashed with their swords. Athanasius was almost killed in the struggle, but his supporters secreted him out of the church.

The ransacking was widespread. Churches were seized. Deacons and priests were killed. Widows were beaten. Taking refuge in the desert with monks, Athanasius led his fugitive church from hiding. In 357 he wrote his scattered and discouraged flock:

May God comfort you. I know . . . that not only this thing saddens you, but also the fact that while others have obtained the churches by violence, you are meanwhile cast out from your places. . . . They are, it is true, in the places, but outside of the true Faith; while you are outside the places indeed, but the Faith, within you.

The faith within you was the whole point. To betray it would reenact the betrayal of Adam, the very betrayal that Christ’s incarnation reversed. Whatever evil and danger befall the faithful, Christ’s advent restored communion with God because God himself came and walked among us.

Enemies of that faith rage and seem at times to prevail, but the gift of Christmas is something they can never steal or destroy. Despite all odds, that faith eventually triumphed and Athanasius with it. Despite a lifetime of persecution for Christ, he died peacefully of natural causes in old age.

“What child is this?” It is God in the flesh, coming in love to restore his creation. And we can celebrate Christmas today because of the life and sacrifice of Athanasius so many years ago.

Originally published at FoxNews.com in 2010.

As I work to finish, I’ll be slacking off here quite a bit. I need to stay focused or I won’t make it in time. I hope to begin blogging again semi-regularly in mid to late December.

I’m really excited about the book. My previous publishing has been in the area of politics and history; this one is much closer to the material I cover here on the blog. I will share more with you in the coming weeks.

Stay tuned.

Jesus, maker of all worlds
Jesus, babe in Mary’s womb
Jesus, physician of my soul
Jesus, healer of my body

Jesus, the word of God
Jesus, the wisdom of God
Jesus, the face of God
Jesus, the son of God
Jesus, the son of man

Jesus, waves beneath his feet
Jesus, winds at his command
Jesus, angels arrayed in fear
Jesus, children running near

Jesus, the savior
Jesus, the vine
Jesus, the wine
Jesus, the bread of life
Jesus, his body broken for me

Jesus, rest for the weary in spirit
Jesus, relief for the heavy-laden
Jesus, respite for the bone-tired
Jesus, refuge and high tower

Jesus, the lion of Judah
Jesus, the lamb of God
Jesus, the suffering servant
Jesus, my king
Jesus, my God

Jesus, shepherd to the flock
Jesus, brother in the flesh
Jesus, friend on the cross
Jesus, victor over death
Jesus, hope of glory ]]> http://joeljmiller.com/the-sweetest-name/feed/ 9 http://joeljmiller.com/things-im-pretty-certain-are-true/ http://joeljmiller.com/things-im-pretty-certain-are-true/#comments Thu, 17 Nov 2011 06:35:00 +0000 Joel J. Miller http://joeljmiller.com/?p=2507 Many are the authors who have assembled lists of various undeniable truths and irrefutable laws. I’m less sure about these ones, but here’s my list of things — some discovered through ample trial and much error — that I’m pretty certain are true:

1. If your Christianity doesn’t leave a mark, then you’re doing it wrong.
2. If you don’t discipline yourself, others will.
3. If you don’t learn from history, you’re like most people.
4. To affirm one thing is to negate many others.
5. To speak at all is to speak falsely.
6. To do at all is to do wrongly.
7. Doubting someone’s sincerity doesn’t make them insincere.
8. Ill will toward others hurts mainly you.
9. Life is more than money, and anyone who says differently probably wants your money.
10. There’s nothing like the scarcity of fame to make people grasping and ungrateful.
11. Nobody is damned until they are.
12. Sloppy writing is a solid indicator of sloppy thinking.
13. Events cannot be undone, but most of them can be redeemed.
14. There’s no such thing as an exact comparison, especially among people and events. So don’t fool yourself.
15. Data can make you both confident and foolish.
16. Texans make better country musicians than presidents. (This last one is perhaps more arguable than the others, but I submit two items of evidence: Guy Clark and LBJ.)

This is a running list. As I think of new ones, I’ll add to the above. And I might delete or modify the existing ones as well. What if, for instance, Guy Clark became president? That might change a few things.

1. The nice approach

The first is to look at the differences between ourselves and dismiss them, even the big ones. Don’t believe in the virgin birth or the resurrection? No problem; pull up a chair! I don’t believe this approach honors God or the testimony of our faith, as it essentially says such things are unimportant.

2. The eschatological approach

The second is to stand together now on the assumption that our differences will over time (maybe even centuries or more) grow fewer or less pronounced as we all grow more in the image of Christ. Even if you’re coming from opposite sides of the globe, the closer you get to true North, the closer you get to each other. I think this is appealing in that it assumes the best of our neighbor and that grace will have its effect, while not insisting that we cheapen our testimony by turning blind eyes to serious disagreements in the present.

Call this the eschatological approach, as it will only find its fulfillment in the coming kingdom of which we are now partially part. This obviously works best with those with whom you already share some significant common ground.

3. The co-belligerency approach

The third option is perhaps best called the co-belligerency approach. Baptists and Presbyterians and Catholics and Orthodox and Pentecostals have many areas of disagreement. But they are in large agreement on basic Christian morality and ethics, and also in the Triune God of the Bible and Creeds (at least in their content if not always their confession). Such Christians can stand in solidarity wherever they find such common ground.

From this angle, it’s actually quite similar to the second approach listed above, but it could be expanded beyond that.For the sake of accomplishing certain ends (perhaps, e.g., charitable or political), alignment could be made with Mormons, Muslims, Jews, and others who disagree with Christian doctrine but who find agreement in morals, social norms, etc.

While I think the first option is a dead end, I think there is a lot of value and merit in thinking about approaches two and three.

I think that is the key word, nice. Many Christians think they’re being loving when they’re being nice and decry perceived lapses of niceness as unloving. Maybe so, but these are not the same thing even if they look and smell alike to many people. Niceness is the bastard child of Christian love, the illegitimate offspring of Christianity and the cult of agreeableness.

Playing nice or showing love?

Look at the etymology of the word. “Nice” basically means to be ignorant, to not know. It means to be polite by looking away, by playing dumb, by pretending things are not amiss. It’s the virtue of those who never “judge.” It’s also a lousy substitute for love.

A man blows his top and yells at his wife. The nice thing to do is to feign not seeing. The loving thing involves letting him know he’s out of line. A woman says she’s finally made peace with a besetting sin; she’s finally being true to herself. The nice thing to do is validate and affirm. The loving thing to do encourage her to resume the battle and help her shoulder her difficult cross. Niceness enables the addict. Love stages the intervention. Niceness holds its tongue. Love sometimes raises its voice — not always, but definitely sometimes. It has too.

The obvious fact is that these virtues bear only shallow similarities, which is how a loving Christ can be both gentle on the one hand and fierce on the other. And if you’ve read the Gospels you know he can be fierce. Being fierce isn’t nice. But sometimes it is loving.

Heaping bogus burdens

When Jesus commands us not to judge, remember the context. The Pharisees are legalists who parse every action in relation to their precious accretions to, and self-beneficial interpretations of, the law of Moses. They pile up burdens on men’s backs, says Jesus, and drag them down by the weight without lifting a finger to help.

The Sermon on the Mount is Jesus laying down a new law, one that contradicts the false law of the Pharisees. Jesus is not saying it’s wrong to have an opinion and voice it. After all, what dominates Jesus’ exchanges with the Pharisees except pointing out their errors? He’s saying that we cannot condemn our brothers as the Pharisees do, which is to say unjustly, unfairly, and unrighteously.

It’s entirely possible to love someone while criticizing and even accusing them. Jesus did it. Paul did, too. Paul loved his churches like a father. On occasion he spoke to them like badly behaving children. It wasn’t exactly nice, but neither was it judgmental and unloving. Nonetheless, based on our popular conceptions of what’s judgmental and what’s loving, about a third of the New Testament should be returned to the editor.

What’s really at stake here?

Christians face a culture that is fundamentally against them — a materialistic, mendacious, and murderous culture that rewards selfish aggrandizement, affirms self-serving delusions, and defends the marginalization and destruction of human life when it threatens our self-interest. To defend its corrupt prerogatives, it insists on tolerance and agreeableness. But call it out for what it is and see just how tolerant and agreeable it really is.

It is regrettably easy for Christians to be co-opted by this culture and simultaneously think they’re acting as paragons of Christian virtue. They do so unknowingly, uncritically, but they do so nonetheless. The result? Delusion spreads. Error goes unchallenged. And truth takes a drubbing. All the while, we think we’re doing the right thing.

This aspect of our culture is as insidious as its elevation of constant agreeableness is insipid. We can play nice and let it ride. Or we can be loving and oppose it.

God clearly promises blessings in Scripture, even material ones, but if these are our focus we’ve narrowed in on the smallest part of his love and grace to us. It also says something about our shallow understanding of suffering and its place in our spirituality.

Nobody likes suffering, but if Christ himself learned obedience through the things he suffered (Heb 5.8), how much more do we stand to learn? Christ only comes with a cross. His crown only comes with thorns. Accessing his life only comes with dying — dying to sin, dying to self, dying to delusion, dying to vain ambitions, dying to anything that distracts from a life of witness to Christ.

Suffering is not alien to the Christian experience. It is a key component of the Christian experience. To say otherwise is to ignore endless passages of Scripture (e.g., two thirds of the psalter) and deny the testimonies of our brothers and sisters throughout the entire history of the church, and even those living today outside the so-called developed world.

Visit rural Uganda and tell me with straight face that God wants us to experience a life of ease and wealth, that he’s concerned about what kind of car we drive. It’s offensive to contemplate. More offensive to contemplate: say it in the face of the martyrs’ families in Nigeria who don’t even pray that their persecutors would stop, only that they would be able stand when their time comes. We’re not even worthy to suffer for Christ like that.

Our life in Christ is not about ease. It’s not about comfort or security or the trappings of wealth. God may bless some with those things. Praise him for it. But God is far more concerned about whether we love him and our neighbor in whatever station we may be. He’s concerned about a life lived in witness to his love.

Any theology that leaves little room for suffering is a suspect theology. If Jesus himself experienced pain, loneliness, frustration, etc., then we should be ready for the same. If the apostles and the early Christians were willing to lay down their lives, certainly we should not expect uninterrupted peace and tranquility.

The disruption may in fact be central to our sanctification. What if, for instance, you struggle with a sin over which you can’t seem to get victory: greed, lust, anxiety, anger, doubt? That’s your cross to bear. And a good theology will illumine the struggle; it will sanctify the suffering so that we can see it as God’s tool to shape us into the image of his Son. Rather than fleeing suffering, (preaching to myself here) we should welcome the chance to grow because that’s why God permits and even sends it. Our best life includes our current struggles and setbacks, and God wouldn’t have it any other way.

There’s pathology afoot in any other view. A theology with no room for suffering forces us to hide our failures and our faults, even from ourselves, maybe even from God. Of course such a maneuver is bound to fail as well, and then we stand alone with our sin, condemned by our very existence.

Instead we should remember that God uses our sufferings to sanctify and save. We stand in the arms of a loving, forgiving savior who helps us bear the weight and keep going.