Hurrying: Hurrying is a really fast walking in space from one place to another. To hurry “to the future” translates this movement from space into the time of history. In time, to “hurry” means the crossing of the limits of reality in the field of possible futures. In crossing these boundaries we take the anticipated future that we hope for.

With each action of the righteous we are preparing the “new earth”, on we will “live” on justice, on the Way. Let us create something right , for those who suffer violence *, then the future of God shines in their world. If we set ourselves for the “widows and orphans,” a bit of life comes into our world. The earth groans under the unjust violence, with which we exploit their resources and strengths.

We “hurry” towards the future of the Lord, when we anticipate that justice, a new and permanent earth should arise on the day of the Lord. Things are not to be taken as they are, but to see them as they may be in that future, and to realize this potentiality now. calls the future to become just. The rudiments of an ethic of hope are therefore perspectives, ways to anticipate and to fulfill, what will be tomorrow. Waiting and hurrying to the future of the Lord, that is today: Resistance and Anticipation.

Moltmann, Ethik der Hoffnung, my attempted translation

All “Theologies of Hope” from Comenius to Blumhardt have praised these two attitudes to life in the hope of the Future of God: Christoph Blumhardt called it “Waiting and Hurrying”. It is 2 Peter 3:12 that calls Christians “to wait and to rush towards the future of the Lord”. With this is meant the new earth, “dwelling on Justice.”

Waiting and hurrying sounds like a contradiction. We wait, then what we are waiting for that is not yet here; we hurry then the expected is already is in sight. These are the two extremes, between which play out the requirements for the future. As border markers they must not themselves be contradictory. We translate “waiting and rushing” into our language and our experience.

Waiting: This does not mean a passive awaiting, but means an active expecting. Concerning this difference, there is a striking passage by the Prophet Isaiah: In exile, far from home, the prisoners came to the prophet and ask, “Watchman, how long yet the night?” And he answers, “The morning comes, but it is still night. If you want to ask, come back another time” (Isaiah 21:11-12). The Apostle Paul assimilates [takes] this picture of the night and announces the dawning day of God in light of the resurrection of Christ: “The night is far gone, the day is near at hand” (Rom 13:12).

Thus, the expectation comes from the waiting and from the dreams of the night come the awakening in the dawn of the new day. From the darkness of God comes the sunrise of God. What Paul ethically and hopefully calls the “armor of light”, so the awakening of hope takes the future promise of justice into one’s own life. The coming of God unfolds transformative power in the present. In eager expectation we will expect the future of God and this future becomes mighty in our present.

The ability to wait calls us to not adapt to the conditions of this world of injustice and violence. The one who expects the justice of God does not recognize the so-called normative power of facts because he knows that a better world is possible and changes of the present are necessary. The ability to wait means, to resist the threats and temptations of the present, not to be forced to leave or to adapt.

The ability to wait means, not giving up, not for the might of the powers of this world and not to capitulate to one’s own powerlessness, but to live with head held high. The “straight path”, which Kant recommended, is worthy of all honor. This is the heroic stance of the unbending backs of the free. The “raised head” is but an effect of the approaching redemption (Lk. 21:28).

The ability to wait is loyalty in faith. Hope gives not only the wings to faith, as they say, but also brings it steadfastness and perseverance to the end. This is the famous perseverantia santorum of Calvin and of the persecuted Huguenots.

“Lord, our God, there are other powers than you ruling over us as well, but we think only of you and your name”, said the captive people of God in the Babylonian captivity (Isaiah 26:13). This word was vital for the resistance of the Confessing Church of Nazi-Germany after 1933. The Huguenot Christian Marie Durand was held captive for 36 years in the Tour de la Constance in Aigues-Mortes and scratched her famous “resistez” on the gate, rather than renounce her faith and gain freedom again.

From Moltmann’s newest book, Ethik der Hoffnung. My attempt at translation.

Tomorrow I’ll post his thoughts on “hurrying”.

Every person is not just what he actual is, but is also the actor playing himself. We can be more than we see, but we can also seem to be more than we are. Then we present ourselves as we should like to be but aren’t, or put on an act in order to appear differently from the way other people think of us, and adopt a poker face.

And if we ourselves don’t know who we really are, and have either lost our real selves, or have never found them, then we seem to ourselves like actors in a play which we don’t know, and in a role which we first have to invent.” To say that ‘all the world’s a stage’ sounds convincing but the image is untenable, for if there is no other reality, a theater is no longer a theater. But where, then, is this other reality to be found, the reality which puts an end to the play?

Is there a completely different reality in the face of which we lay aside our masks because we have been seen through, and so try to know ourselves as we are known? Or do we in principle remain so hidden to ourselves that we never arrive at an endpoint when we can put aside our masks, not even when we die, because we ourselves can never get through to the foundation?

Some thoughts from Jürgen Moltmann. Which resonate for me for a lot of reasons, one of which was seeing Inception this past Saturday. Another is because I’m reading through, for the ??th time, Eiji Yoshikawa’s Musashi, which probably ranks as my favorite book.

What is real? What does it mean to live in true reality rather than in a dream, or playing a role, or existing anonymously in this world–putting on the mask of everyone else who is playing a part, trying to be real? What is it to be a true person in this world? It is not a life of selfish absorption, making the world bend and bow, asserting self upon others. This leads only to emptiness. For we are left, then, only with the emaciated self we are in the moment, not really aware of the world, or the reality as it truly is.

Moltmann continues:

Egomaniacs move everywhere only in the hall of mirrors where their images of themselves are reflected. They talk only about themselves, they only quote themselves, in other people they seek only the endorsement of their own picture of themselves. Today we call that cultivating one’s image. It makes people unapproachable, and bores everyone else because they feel ignored. To exist only ‘fact to fact’ in these reflections of one’s own self means deadly self-isolation.

Then he gets to the good bit:

But lovers and friends know each other ‘face to face’. They look one another in the eye. Trustfully, they expose themselves in their weaknesses and vulnerabilities, and find mutual protection in each other. Each gives the other the human space for living which they need to develop themselves.

In this way they do not just live side by side and together, but in each other too, and in mutual affection and reciprocal respect they keep their future open for themselves. Love does not invent an image of the other person and does not tie the other down to the preconceived judgments which always go together with the pictures we make of someone else.

When lovers see each other ‘face to face’ they need no pictures; pictures would be detrimental. For pictures are representations of people who are absent. If they are present, we don’t put up pictures of them. In mutual recognition we accompany the transformations of the other in the ongoing process of a shared life.

Not just true for lovers. This is, I think, the essence of what the church was supposed to be about — “the broad space in which there is no cramping”. Where we can be among others who are. Free to find our true self in the power of the Spirit who brings not only life but also uniqueness to every one who has breath. In unity we find a true diversity.

But this is indeed true for lovers as well. We lose this — the freedom, the expectation, the hope, the honest-self — we lose the bond and real freedom of growing into becoming our true self. We put on the mask. Lose our self. Become anonymous among others who are anonymous. We lose the Way.

But there is always hope. Hope to live and continue to live, hope to turn back and find new life, hope to be free to be who we truly are.

Sometimes, however, we might need a kick. Sometimes, though, we’re asked to take the step on our own — off the boat, away from home, or however it might look to let go our selfish demands of living the ‘dream’ life, where all is seemingly possible but is, ultimately, a trap keeping us from the truly real.

Last quarter I took a class on pneumatology, the study of the Holy Spirit. My final paper was on proposing a pneumatological historiography. In human language, I suggested that we should look for the Holy Spirit in our historical studies and I proposed some ways to start doing that. I had about forty-two pages of stuff to say on the topic. Well, I had a whole lot more to say, meaning this might be, hopefully will be, a future book project. The quarter ended a week ago, and I got the paper back this past Wednesday. Got an A on it. So, another fruitful quarter behind me, and more work about to start up tomorrow.

Here’s my conclusion to my paper “Whither the Spirit?”:

Philosophy tends toward a binary with God and Son, often adding mentions of the Spirit as a rhetorical flair, or as a term for idealized human achievement. The recent turn towards a dialogue with Science, which seems to dominate discussion in theological studies these days makes a strong, and very encouraging, embrace of relevant fields of God’s creative power in this world, providing interesting analogies and ideas for theological reflection. However, in far too many of these discussions, the person of Jesus is extraneous, a rhetorical flair meant to “Christianize” a broadly panphysical coordination of theology and science, and in this, I might suggest offers another binarian form, that of a Father and Spirit, sans Son. It is in the study of history that we can see a truly Trinitarian revelation, and with this, such a study must continue to reorient itself along Trinitarian lines.

Such a study does not look for obvious Spirit language nor great signs of supposed miracles or mystical events. Though these may occur within a truly pneumatological moment, these cannot be seen as necessary, predominant, or even common expressions of such a movement. As shown, the reality of human history is a chaotic structure in which the work of the Spirit could be embedded in a myriad of different ways, moving in certain situations, stirring slight moods, tweaking specific moments in ways that would well be imperceptible to anyone in a given situation. Seeing the Spirit only as a publicly obvious, charismatic force inciting dramatic gifts, visions, or intense piety leaves the discussion of the Spirit off to the side in most historical situations. Thus, to look for the Spirit in history is not to become voyeurs of the Spirit. Rather, if the Spirit remains behind the scenes, we do not look for obvious moments or extraordinary events of supernatural activity. We have to instead discover the cues which point to the work of the Spirit, a work which has at its heart the fullness of God’s holistic, enlivening, salvific work as reflected in, and returning all creation back towards, the person of Christ.

This study brings with it significant challenges on both sides of history and theology. Fortunately, while these have not maintained significant dialogue, there is very helpful guidance to be found from scholars in each field, indeed too much to be properly digested in even an extended essay. More work needs to be done in more thoroughly considering the theological contributions of Pannenberg, Moltmann, and others, who have indeed suggested a robust theology of history based on the Triune God’s creative work in this world. While they have not provided significant examples of how this might be worked out, we can take valuable guidance from the many historians who have long wrestled with what it means to be a person of Christian faith working in historical studies. Alongside broader considerations of contemporary historiography it is possible to begin a more substantive development of a pneumatological history that takes seriously not only the content of God’s own revelation but also the method he has seemingly chosen to offer this revelation. It is in history that God reveals himself, and continues to reveal himself as this history presses on towards eternity.

“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.” (2 Corinthians 3:18-19).

In all the charismata, there is an awareness of the other and participation together, rebirth becomes realized in community. Moltmann writes that “charismatic experience is the experience that this life, which has become old, has lost its way and is so heavy-laden with wrongs, begins to flower again and becomes young once more.”

In turning towards the topic of mystical experiences, Moltmann is asserting the reality that the Spirit is not simply a matter of shared action or doctrine, which is limited to an outward participation experience with others. Rather, in an intense experience of God in faith, we find a deepening of our own selves, in reflection of our particular relationship with God. This involves a reformation of our inner reality, which seeks ultimate fulfillment and can find this only in God. In the Spirit we do not only see liberation from outward forms of oppression, but also inward forms of inner dissatisfaction that then so often turns to dysfunctional outward behavior.
Even though he is very strongly oriented towards outward action, Moltmann sees the need for a strong awareness of inner personal reformation in the power of the Spirit, who enlightens us and empowers us to our true self.

Outside of this we only convey chaos. This is especially, I think, relevant for much contemporary Seminary and academic priorities. He strongly emphasizes the importance of proper perception in the Spirit, awareness of life as it flowers around us. Rather than perceiving in order to dominate, in the Spirit we perceive to celebrate, to orient ourselves in a pattern of life that reflects God’s holistic rhythms. It is only as we contribute according to our true self as formed by the Spirit that we contribute to a healing community (see especially his great comments on 201 and 202 of Spirit of Life).

Becoming in tune with the Spirit insists on becoming in tune with the Spirit’s work in our interior lives, with all its struggles, and places of despair and emptiness, and fears. Moltmann fully embraces pursuing a life through the wilderness, through the ‘dark nights of the soul’ so as to find a deeper experience of and celebration with the work of God in all its various forms (202). He moves on to emphasize the importance of both meditation, which is “the loving, suffering and participating knowledge of something”, and contemplation, which is the “reflective awareness of one’s own self in this meditation” (203). Meditation, in the Christian tradition, is a meditation on the history of Christ, which is a history we are “drawn into, where we are accepted, reconciled, and liberated for God’s kingdom” (203). We participate in this history in the power of the Spirit, with our contemplation involving us, as our own particular self, in this continuing work and history. We are restored to the image of God, and we are able to received God’s friendship as a gift. This opens us up to the path of increasing likeness of God in his glory: Theosis (205 and 208).

The acts and tools of contemplation are useful in helping us rise to these heights, but cannot be considered themselves an end. They are “rungs of a ladder, the handrails on a path, the halts on a journey” (206) The goal is not these tasks or steps but rather a fully realized freedom of participation with God in which we fully become ourselves in communion with his community. Moltmann writes, “The breaking of the shell, so as to reach the kernel; the abolition of the mediations, so as to arrive at the goal; the step by step withdrawal of created things, revelations and divine condescensions, so that God may be loved for himself; and then the abolition of God for God’s sake—these are the ultimate possibilities of the mystical journey which are expressible at all” (207).

As in his discussion of the charismata, Moltmann does not see mystical experiences as demanding a separation from this world. Indeed, just the opposite. While the mystical experience may take place in the cell, it is not the cell that is the goal of discipleship with Christ. “Mysticism,” he writes, “does not mean estrangement from action; it is a preparation for public discipleship” (209). These two realities of God work with us, mysticism and discipleship, belong together, inform each other, enabling a person to go into the world in more holistic participation with the Spirit, able to listen and respond freely to the work of God in whatever setting, increasingly no longer imposing a broken self onto a broken world, but instead being a representation of healing to the world God loves.

All of these inward and outward works of the Spirit in forming us as participants with God strongly emphasize the wide work of the Spirit in this world as the holistic spirit of life. All of creation is filled and touched by the work of the Spirit (212). This is a divine presence throughout all the world, where “God may be all in all” (212). The Spirit of Life is the Spirit who is manifested in all of life, pointing all of life to God’s eschatological renewal.

The cross of Christ overcomes all evil, all sin, all death, and transforms it into “goodness, grace, and election.” All hope for the world, without the cross, would be gone. Suffering would be isolating and without redemption. But, in the broad place of the Spirit throughout creation, life continues to blossom forth, wide and free, more intensely, and more unique (213). This wide work of vivification is the experience of the mystics and the martyrs, the hope of the hurt and the promised freedom of the constrained.

Jürgen Moltmann writes, “We must first of all discern who we are, what we are and how we are, at the point where we feel the touch of God on our lives” (Spirit of Life, 180). The key, for him, is the question “how is unity in diversity, and diversity in unity actually implemented in the community of believers?” (181)

He begins his discussion with a brief look at the Scriptural perspectives on the charismata, and emphasizes again that the work of the Spirit is not separate to any part of our life, but rather in participating with the Spirit we become empowered in who we are for the work of the kingdom of God (182). This includes our regular daily participation with God in our lives, which Moltmann calls “everyday charismata of the lived life” (183). There are, however, special gifts for the community, for the congregation, where the Spirit works in and among the participants leading to the kerygmatic, diaconal, and kybernetic charismata from which the church exhibits its purpose and mission (183). These are special gifts because they come into being as a community of Christ comes into being, reflecting a particular work of the Spirit in the midst of the community that cannot be rigidly separated from the everyday charismata, but do seem to have a special reality.

There is unity in the exercise of this diversity that centers on the discipleship of Jesus, which brings with it a recognition of the value of others in the community, with their distinctions. Attempts at uniformity numb the community (184), and deadens it. Rather, in the community of Christ we find a dynamic interplay of the Spirit binding us together and freeing us to be fully ourselves. Later in this chapter Moltmann writes, “We experience at one and the same time our socialization and our individuation. ‘In the Spirit’ we come to know the love that binds us and the freedom which makes us our own individual, separate selves” (196).

Moltmann turns to look at two particular, maybe even controversial topics, the gift of tongues and the gift of healing. With tongues he admits that he has never personally experienced this gift (185). Yet, he is affirming of this as a participatory gift, seeming to him to be a reflection of a strong inward possession by the Spirit that cannot find adequate expression (185). This connects with the idea of prophetic speech as offering a particular word for a particular setting. Again, he emphasizes the role of participation in these gifts that open up the voices of many rather than limit it to the few. He does, however, suggest that these forms of speech are not the only dynamic charistmata, and pushes for those churches who emphasize these charismatic forms of worship to not neglect the wider charismatic gifts—the works of the Spirit in leading people to move towards liberation, to work towards peace, to offer ecological solutions. Moltmann’s holistic pneumatology insists on charismata that more fully reflect the whole work of the Spirit, not simply in a congregation gathered for worship, but also in the world and for the world.

This is about individual and communal becoming, becoming whole in shared participation with the Spirit of Christ. In the broad place of love we find hope and healing, place and purpose, to stretch our being and identity in creative explorations of life. This healing is not just social or emotional, but involves, as we see in the New Testament the reality of physical healing as well. The holiness of the Spirit overcomes the darkness of corruption and brokenness, and in this holiness, in this Spirit of wholeness there is healing. “God’s Spirit,” Moltmann writes, “is a living engery that interpenetrates the bodies of men and women and drives out the germs of death” (190). Healing is a testimony of the eschatological reality of God’s eternal kingdom. In experiencing suffering, God brings healing to those who are suffering, embracing those who are sick, and communicating renewing life (191).

Yet, the reality of God’s healing is not something all experience in this present, and to see the results of healing as the sign of God’s favor and the lack of healing as God’s disfavor is to strongly misunderstand God’s whole work. There is, he argues, a charisma of the handicapped life. “No one,” Moltmann writes, “is useless and of no value”(192). This is more than a kind acknowledgment of people who may not seem to contribute very much. Rather, Moltmann presses the point further in light of his previous discussion. He writes, “If whatever a person is and brings with him becomes a charisma through his calling, this has to be true of his disablement too. If through the calling the splendor of God’s love falls on a life, it begins to shine. There are handicapped, sick and disfigured people whose faces shine in just this way” (193).

In all the hurts and disablements, God’s “suffering power is revealed”. In this, disabled men and women are not simply the receivers of help and gifts, but in their shared participation with God offer a significant awareness and contribution in return, the absence of which impoverishes the wider, more conventionally healthy community.

In the power of the Spirit we are not only opened to a new awareness and called to the task of living with an open embrace of life. More than this, we are empowered to live this new life. The powers of darkness are broken by the power of the Spirit, and in the power of the Spirit we experience a new vitality. We are awakened, turned away from the abyss, and directed towards God’s eschatological reality. This new perspective on all of life in turn begins to expand our participation in this new life.

We see new possibilities, new spaces for action, new freedoms to stretch our creativity within. “Life in the Spirit,” Moltmann writes, “ is a life in the ‘broad place where there is no cramping.’ So in the new life we experience the Spirit as a ‘broad place’—as the free space for our freedom, as the living space for our lives, as the horizon inviting us to discover life” (178).

Moltmann titled his autobiography with this in mind, seeing his own theological explorations as a participation in this ‘broad place.’ In this broad place, in this space in the Spirit, we encounter a truly holy life of exocentric freedom.

He finishes the eighth chapter with these words, “We explore the depths of this space through the trust of the heart. We search out the length of this space through extravagant hope. We discover the breadth of this space through the torrents of love which we receive and give. God’s Spirit encompasses us from all sides and wherever we are (Ps. 139). Christ’s Spirit is our immanent power to live—God’s Spirit is our transcendent space for living” (178ff.)

What does this more fully mean in our participation with others and with God? Moltmann now turns, in his next two chapters, to this topic, looking first at our charismatic powers for life, and then at our mystical experiences with God. These discussions flow out of and reflect his previous discussions with his interests, it seems, less about trying to offer a more thorough discussion of these two practical topics, and instead illustrating particular areas of interest for Moltmann himself or areas that are of particular, contextual importance.

Moltmann is not interested in asserting some kind of standard template of charismata that should be experienced by everyone. Rather, here he makes a strong assertion for the uniqueness of the Spirit in the particularity of each person and situation. As it is the Spirit who enlivens us as we are meant to be, we cannot look to the Spirit to make us or form us in ways which are not inherent to our identity.

Sanctification for our day, in facing the abuses and issues of our present, has four elements. Sanctification means rediscovering the sanctity of life and the divine mystery of creation (171). In being enlivened we become aware of and develop an appreciation for the work of life in all ways. We are not separated from this world, but rather we become participants with it and for it, becoming integrated into “the web of life” (172).

Second, this means actively defending the cause of life from the forces of destruction, including human aggression and exploitation. Here we see Moltmann’s strong, long standing, interest in social participation in life-affirming causes. He asserts our sanctification is not about some religious stance within an ecclesial setting, but involves reflection on and reaction to realities of our daily life, including our consumerism and our whole life-style as it relates to others (172).

Third, sanctification means renouncing violence towards life. Rather than responding to life’s frustrations and injuries with violence we let our life grow by responding with an attitude of life within the face of death. We cannot segregate our spirituality into specific spiritual disciplines, but have to respond holistically, freely, to life’s reality with a spontaneity of faith that provides us confidence in life because it is founded in a confidence in God (173). Fourth, we actively search for harmony and accord in life. We work against the restrictions which others endure. In our freedom, we become freedom fighters, no longer able to abide life that exists at the expense of others, seeking life together with others, for others.

This life of holistic embrace of life is itself a life of holiness. This is a participation with life not to earn some favor from God, but because God himself is holy, and his holiness is expressed in his actions. God is holy, and he calls his people to be holy. What God loves, then, is made holy, what belongs to God is holy. With this in mind, we see that “sanctification as a gift leads to sanctification as charge.” Or as Wesley put it, “”First, God works; therefore you can work; secondly, God works, therefore you must work.” Believers, then, are not “merely the passive objects of divine sanctification.” Instead they “increasingly already live according to the law of God’s kingdom…” (175).

We come to life in God’s Spirit and increasingly reflect the life that the Spirit revealed in Christ, this is a goodness that springs from life with God, and reflects an increasing harmony with God. The root of this holiness is the Spirit of God, who engenders a reverence and harmony with all of life. We are, we might say, drawn out of ourselves to become truly at peace with ourselves as we participate in exocentric openness with God and others. We might say this latter sentence especially if we are mindful with Pannenberg’s anthropology, which has a great deal of affinity with Moltmann here in their holistic, participatory understanding of holiness in God and in us.

This understanding of exocentric relationality has for both Moltmann and Pannenberg a strong understanding that God is not holy as wholly other, but he is holy in that he is the true source of being, the root of true identity, who fills the world and provides identity and life for all others. Being holy is being open to participation with this source of being and identity. “Life in God’s Spirit is a life entrusted to the guidance and drive of the Spirit, a life that lets the Spirit come” (176). Our participation in a life with the Holy Spirit, involves an active, renewing exocentric participation in God’s own valued priorities and creation.

We, in Pannenberg’s phrasing, end our egocentric obsession and become people in whom life and love flow openly and freely. Pannenberg, of course, prioritizes our individual realities in intersection with other individuals, while Moltmann tends to emphasize our responsibility to societal and structural dysfunction, though he does strongly emphasize individual realities in his next chapter on 186ff, which seems very similar to Pannenberg’s more broadly conceived anthropology. Together both suggest a holy holistic perspective towards life that leads us to an embrace of life with others. We “see life and love it as God sees and loves it: as good, just and lovely” (177).

Sanctification for our day, in facing the abuses and issues of our present, has four elements. Sanctification means rediscovering the sanctity of life and the divine mystery of creation (171). In being enlivened we become aware of and develop an appreciation for the work of life in all ways. We are not separated from this world, but rather we become participants with it and for it, becoming integrated into “the web of life” (172). Second, this means actively defending the cause of life from the forces of destruction, including human aggression and exploitation. Here we see Moltmann’s strong, long standing, interest in social participation in life-affirming causes. He asserts our sanctification is not about some religious stance within an ecclesial setting, but involves reflection on and reaction to realities of our daily life, including our consumerism and our whole life-style as it relates to others (172). Third, sanctification means renouncing violence towards life.

Rather than responding to life’s frustrations and injuries with violence we let our life grow by responding with an attitude of life within the face of death. We cannot segregate our spirituality into specific spiritual disciplines, but have to respond holistically, freely, to life’s reality with a spontaneity of faith that provides us confidence in life because it is founded in a confidence in God (173). Fourth, we actively search for harmony and accord in life. We work against the restrictions which others endure. In our freedom, we become freedom fighters, no longer able to abide life that exists at the expense of others, seeking life together with others, for others.

This life of holistic embrace of life is itself a life of holiness. This is a participation with life not to earn some favor from God, but because God himself is holy, and his holiness is expressed in his actions. God is holy, and he calls his people to be holy. What God loves, then, is made holy, what belongs to God is holy. With this in mind, we see that “sanctification as a gift leads to sanctification as charge.” Or as Wesley put it, “”First, God works; therefore you can work; secondly, God works, therefore you must work.” Believers, then, are not “merely the passive objects of divine sanctification.” Instead they “increasingly already live according to the law of God’s kingdom…” (175).

We come to life in God’s Spirit and increasingly reflect the life that the Spirit revealed in Christ, this is a goodness that springs from life with God, and reflects an increasing harmony with God. The root of this holiness is the Spirit of God, who engenders a reverence and harmony with all of life. We are, we might say, drawn out of ourselves to become truly at peace with ourselves as we participate in exocentric openness with God and others. We might say this latter sentence especially if we are mindful with Pannenberg’s anthropology, which has a great deal of affinity with Moltmann here in their holistic, participatory understanding of holiness in God and in us.

This understanding of exocentric relationality has for both Moltmann and Pannenberg a strong understanding that God is not holy as wholly other, but he is holy in that he is the true source of being, the root of true identity, who fills the world and provides identity and life for all others. Being holy is being open to participation with this source of being and identity. “Life in God’s Spirit is a life entrusted to the guidance and drive of the Spirit, a life that lets the Spirit come” (176). Our participation in a life with the Holy Spirit, involves an active, renewing exocentric participation in God’s own valued priorities and creation.

We, in Pannenberg’s phrasing, end our egocentric obsession and become people in whom life and love flow openly and freely. Pannenberg, of course, prioritizes our individual realities in intersection with other individuals, while Moltmann tends to emphasize our responsibility to societal and structural dysfunction, though he does strongly emphasize individual realities in his next chapter on 186ff, which seems very similar to Pannenberg’s more broadly conceived anthropology. Together both suggest a holy holistic perspective towards life that leads us to an embrace of life with others. We “see life and love it as God sees and loves it: as good, just and lovely” (177).

What then is this new life with Christ characterized by? What is the experience of sanctification in this life? Sanctification is about a renewed experience of living, a holistic renewing that encompasses far more than the narrow, moralistic ideals so often implied by the word. Out of the work of the Spirit we are enlivened into a context of love of life. Moltmann writes, “Out stirrings toward life are experienced by God, and we experience God’s living energies. In the open air of the eternal Spirit, the new life unfurls. In the confidence of faith we plumb the depths of the Spirit, in love we explore its breadth, and in hope its open horizons. God’s Spirit is our place for living” (161) Sanctification is not an inward Pietistic renewal, but encompasses the whole of our experience and expression of life, in an interplay “between what is inward and what is outward” (161).

This growth of faith has three different expressions. The first is our growth of faith in our stages of life, our experiences confront our awareness, our beliefs intersect with our environment pushing us towards a progression in our stages of faith.

The second growth of faith is not determined by stages in some kind of linear progression, but is more about filling in gaps and pieces within a larger reality. In the Spirit we begin to see and live in an eschatological way, no longer limited to our present experiences, but rather expanding our vision in light of the Spirit’s life and love. Like new born children we see the world with a fresh perspective, beginning a life of re-learning, becoming more fully aligned with the image of Christ in us, this image that is the reality of our glorification. “Sanctification is the beginning of glorification,” Moltmann writes, “glorification is the consummation of sanctification” (163)

Third, there is a qualitative aspect to the growth of faith. This is a creative manifestation of our renewed life that expresses itself in words and actions. Growth of faith contributes to a holistic field of experiencing and contributing to life, shaped by the source of life itself (163).

From here, Moltmann moves on to a brief discussion of Luther and Wesley. For Luther (and with him, Calvin), Moltmann points out the strong emphasis on penance in their theology, which emphasizes a mortification of the self, but does not as much emphasize the more positive reality of being enlivened by the Spirit in a “daily resurrection.” This leads towards a more legalistic, medieval conception of conversion, which does not lend itself towards the idea of salvation as a positive new beginning. For this idea, Moltmann turns to Wesley, who was more interested in the continuing process of renewal (164).

Moltmann suggests that with Wesley we can see holiness not as a legalistic marker, but rather holiness means “harmony with God, happiness a person’s harmony with himself.” (165). This reality includes both internal and exocentric renewal, that leads us into harmony with others, sharing with them in their joys and fighting with them against their oppressions. He writes that the “Christian testimony must be related to the sicknesses of the given society in a healing way.” The Good News is truly, actually good news to specific settings and issues, always related to the time and context. The Spirit is not a set of idealized ethical guidelines, but the power of life with and for us leading us to continual newness of life (171).