This week, I’m taking an in-depth look at N.T. Wright’s new (old) book, Small Faith, Great God, published first in 1978 and recently rereleased by IVP. In the preface, Wright invites readers to tease out the connections between this early book and his later thought. On Monday, we saw how one can spot the justification debate in embryo in Wright’s early work. Yesterday, we looked at the development of Wright’s view of the atonement.
Today, I’d like to look at the subject that causes the most dissonance between early and late Wright: his view of heaven. Even Wright himself acknowledges that his regular readers will notice the disjunction. In the preface, he writes:
I realize, in particular, that my more recent work on the ultimate Christian hope (as in The Resurrection of the Son of God
and Surprised by Hope) needs to be brought to bear on what I say about “heaven,” in, for instance, the final chapter of this book… But I don’t think that the emphasis I would now place on new heavens and new earth (rather than just “heaven”) makes much difference to the main thrust of the book. (10-11)
I agree with Wright that the absence of his recent teaching on the final hope doesn’t negatively affect this book. What surprises me is how quickly Wright downplays the distinction. Up until now, he has made the case that a failure to grasp and properly proclaim the truth of final resurrection is detrimental to the life of the church. In fact, Surprised by Hope presents a sustained case for the need to get our eschatology right – for the sake of biblical faithfulness, not to mention understanding the proper role of the Church in the world. So I find it interesting that, even though Wright’s own criticism of Christian thought that emphasizes “heaven” rather than the “new earth” as the final hope could be leveled against his early writing, he downplays the difference.
Here are some places where one can see the major differences of interpretation. Take a look at Wright’s early exegesis of Philippians 3:
To the church in Philippi Paul writes: we are a colony of heaven, and we are weaiting for the day when our citizenship there will be ours to enjoy fully. The church is an outpost of the city of God. Those who belong to the church are citizens already, and they look forward to the coming of the King to take them home where they belong, to give them in full the privileges they are already entitled to. That is why earlier in the letter Paul says that his desire is to depart and be with Christ, because that is far better than remaining in this life. This side of the picture is rightly at the heart of all Christian worship, not least holy Communion. We lift our hearts to heaven, where our citizenship belongs and where Christ himself is, and we taste here in our colony the food that is eaten in the mother city. And we long, naturally and rightly, for the day we will be there ourselves. (85)
Or this passage, emphasizing that Christians are not at home here on earth:
Here is the paradox of being a citizen of Jerusalem: because you belong to Jerusalem, you can settle down and even be of use in Babylon. It isn’t your home; it isn’t where you are going to end up at the last; but it is where God has put you at the moment… (86)
Now, look at the contrast between early Wright and later Wright:
When Paul says, “We are citizens of heaven,” he doesn’t at all mean that when we’re done with this life we’ll be going off to live in heaven. What he means is that the savior, the Lord, Jesus the King – all of those were of course imperial titles – will come from heaven to earth, to change the present situation and state of his people. (Surprised by Hope, 100)
And regarding our true home:
Being citizens of heaven, as the Philippians would know, doesn’t mean that one is expecting to go back to the mother city but rather means that one is expecting the emperor to come from the mother city to give the colony its full dignity, to rescue it if need be, to subdue local enemies and put everything to rights. (133)
Another passage gets a strikingly different treatment as well: John 14, where Jesus speaks of preparing a place for his followers. Early Wright says:
Jesus is promising the disciples that he will prepare for them places where they will be able to rest forever – where they will enjoy completely and permanently the relationship with him that has begun on this earth. (168)
In Surprised by Hope, Wright’s interpretation is quite different:
What does Jesus mean when he declares that there are “many dwelling places” in his Father’s house? This has regularly been taken, not least when used in the context of bereavement, to mean that the dead (or at least dead Christians) will simply go to heaven permanently rather than being raised again subsequently to new bodily life. But the word for “dwelling places” here, monai, is regularly used in ancient Greek not for a final resting place but for a temporary halt on a journey that will take you somewhere else in the long run. (150)
Regarding these distinctions, let me make two points. First, I believe Wright’s later exegesis is more accurate. For too long, the church has suffered from a muddled eschatology, particularly failing to properly emphasize the future bodily resurrection in the New Testament. “Going to heaven when you die” as the great hope of the Christian life does not do justice to the biblical hope of cosmic restoration. So I appreciate writers like Wright (on the scholarly level) and Randy Alcorn (on the popular level) who have reintroduced us to the resurrection-centered future hope.
But despite my agreement with later Wright regarding his view of heaven, Small Faith, Great God forces me to ask: How big of a difference does the proper understanding of eschatology make in our theology? It’s here that I think Wright may have overstated his case.
According to the preface of Small Faith, Great God, Wright doesn’t believe that his earlier (wrongheaded) notions of heaven do any substantive damage to the book. I agree. But this leads us to an internal contradiction. Most of Wright’s work on this subject presupposes that getting this doctrine wrong does inflict damage – even severe damage – to one’s understanding of Christian theology and our task in the world. That’s a contradiction that leaves Wright’s readers in a conundrum.
In Surprised by Hope, Wright points out older theologians, preachers, and hymn-writers who confuse “heaven” and the “new heavens/new earth”. But surely some of the talk about “heaven” throughout Christian history is merely a shorthand way of speaking of our final hope for God’s restoration of all things. The language of “heaven” is not bad; it merely needs to be clarified. Furthermore, Paul seems to celebrate the truth of heaven when he says that to depart and be with the Lord is “far better.” There is nothing wrong with living in light of the hope of heaven (yes, even heaven as the intermediate place before final resurrection).
I’m certain that Wright would agree that we can look forward to heaven, but I don’t sense that he celebrates the intermediate state – paradise – in the way that the biblical writers do (though to be sure, the apostles looked forward in an even greater sense to the final state). Those of us who are thankful for Wright’s insistence on “life after life after death” would do well to remember that “life after death” will be wonderful too, since we will be resting in the presence of King Jesus even as we await the resurrection.
Tomorrow, I’ll wrap up this series by looking at Wright’s early view of virtue and the importance of framework in his theology.
