Classical, orthodox Christianity says that life ultimately wins. Because life generates more life. Because existence trumps non-existence. Because the power of God is creative, not destructive.

Just as God’s voice spoke creation into existence at the beginning, so will he speak re-creation into being at the end.

Here’s an over-simplified timeline: First there is life. Then there is death. Then there is more life. Or, as N.T. Wright puts it, “life after ‘life after death.'”

Resurrection is everyone’s ultimate destiny. The great Christian hope is that just as we were each welcomed into the light of this world from our mother’s womb, so will we be welcomed into the light of the next world from the darkness of death.

“Do not be amazed at this,” Jesus said to his disciples. Because he knows how jaw-droppingly unbelievable real hope can be.

In crossing over from death to life. Which is why silence is a fundamental spiritual practice. In the non-stop noise that surrounds us, our souls lose touch with the Voice of Life. With the fire hose of input constantly wide open, it’s no wonder that we can feel like we’re drowning.

The great danger in the Information Age is the loss of inner peace. So perhaps the most countercultural act of resistance is to cultivate silence.

Despite much advertising promoted on his behalf. “Even bad publicity is good publicity” isn’t always true. Sometimes bad publicity borders on libel and slander. The image of God as an angry, harsh, impossible-to-please, and punishing Father continues to be a hard one for him to shake off.

No. God is, in fact, in the Life business. The Father raised the Son to life; the Son’s great pleasure is in passing that Life on to others.

We humans are imitative creatures. That’s not a criticism—that’s just reality. Imitation is not a four-letter word; imitation is how we learn. Virtually everything you or I know how to do we first saw someone else do.

We copy so that we can create.

In the beginning God worked. And then God rested. But then God got back to work, and apparently hasn’t stopped.

Since the beginning, human beings have worked. And then overworked, not heeding God’s gift of rhythms of work and rest.

Being over-busy is a symptom of pride, of a deep belief that I am essential to the world. That if I stop working for a period of time, then everything around me will fall apart and all my endeavors will fall behind. The invitation to Sabbath rest is a test of whether or not I take Jesus at his word:

Which is precisely what our world chases. “Viral,” even through the intense negative publicity given to viruses over the past couple of years, is still a positive thing. Each of us now holds in our hands the only tool we need to potentially launch us to stardom. The future really is quite a fascinating time to be alive.

Most of the time all the social media marketing, self-branding, and non-stop promotion of literally everything doesn’t bother me a whole lot. I don’t lose sleep over it.

Until it hits the church.

Particularly if ever his rules (or what we suppose to be his rules) are more important than human flourishing. If keeping one of God’s rules prevents you from helping one of God’s sons or daughters, you’re missing the point.

Take the Sabbath, for example, a day in which humans are commanded to be like God by resting from work: Jesus himself frequently got in trouble for healing on the Sabbath. Sometimes those he healed got in trouble, too. The cripple at the Pool of Bethesda had kept the Sabbath for 38 years—not a lick of work! Never carried a darn thing on the Sabbath. But then, the first Sabbath that he’s able to walk, he carries his mat home. Which ruffles the feathers of the local Sabbath Police—who completely missed the wonder of the fact that this man couldn’t have broken the Sabbath if he had wanted to for 38 years was now able to break it.

Like the time in the public infirmary, the Pool of Bethesda. Hundreds of disabled, crippled, sick, incurable people waiting for this crazy miracle that happens once in a blue moon.

Jesus walks in, looks around, and inquires about one particular invalid. Turns out he’s been immobile for thirty-eight years. And when the miracle comes, his condition keeps him back from the miracle. No one helps him in. Time after time. Year after year. Miracle after miracle. Even a blind guy stumbles into a pool of healing angel-water every now and then—but not the cripple.

“Do you want to get well?”, Jesus asked the invalid.

“Yes!”

Obviously. Thirty-eight years is a long time to suffer. It’s also a long time to not give up waiting for a miracle.

There’s a saying: “The answer is in the question.” It’s sometimes used to imply that a question is so simple that it seems silly to even ask. It’s also sometimes used to inidcate that a further question is the real question.

Is almost always where you can find Jesus.

He shows up in the middle of our desperation, not in our confidence and contentment. He meets us at the end of our rope, not in our neatly ordered and controlled three-ring binders. He is drawn by our brokenness and weakness, not our got-it-all-togetherness and strength. He helps the helpless, not those who are fully capable of helping themselves.