In a strange way, it is easy to become complacent about death. As we grow older, we usually come to accept the fact that we have a limited span of life. Yes, we certainly hope that the time allotted us is not short. We hope for a good long life–and that usually seems a realistic and positive expectation. Thus, the horizon of what to hope for, of what is “natural” has been set by death, such that a life of 80 good years comes to seem like beating the odds death has to offer. The death that still startles with its cruelty, the death that we don’t acceptis the death that comes prematurely, the death that comes before the “natural” end of life is reached. That strikes us a tragedy. Yet all death is obscene. All death is tragedy. There is nothing “natural” about it. And when we are not lulling ourselves into a false sense that 3 score and 10 years is normal, 4 score years excellent, we know it. Here’s something Peter Leithart says which chisels away at a “he or she had a good life” acceptance of death.

Death is an enemy of life in the obvious sense that it brings an individual’s life to an end. But it’s an enemy of life in a broader sense to.

Death interrupts life, everyone’s life, life in the broadest sense. Death turns festivity to mourning. Death prevents us from bringing our projects to an end, an end that gives our projects their meaning.

If a close friend or spouse dies, suddenly the world is emptied of one of the few persons – perhaps the only one – who knew you. You have to continue life not only alone but unknown. Death disrupts our sense of integrity and coherence.

Death is also the death of the living.

The Christian believes that death will be swallowed up in victory–in Christ’s resurrection it already has been swallowed. But while we, with creation, wait for the full consummation of redemption from death, death should remain terrible. We have a hope greater than death. The greatness of that hope stands out because of the wretchedness of death.

Not exactly, writes Father Stephen. Such an idea can involve a false understanding of real change (substituting the idea of progress for real change). Further, it can involve the church in a false standard of success. Read the whole thing, but here are some quotes:

But we cannot measure the Church and its life by its effect on the Kingdoms of this world. Sometimes we seem to have a great effect, sometimes we get martyred. In all times we are subject to the mercy of Christ and the workings of His salvation within the life of the world.

Love of others, as commanded by Christ, would bid us do many things on behalf of others. But the nature of our actions has to finally be judged simply by the measure of goodness. Utilitarianism (“the greatest good for the greatest number”) has been a great temptation for Christians in the modern world. In its name, much evil can be justified. On the other hand, doing something good simply because it is good frees us from the delusions of moral calculus. . . .
In this life we have no measure of success. Faithfulness to Christ, perservance in the faith – these are perhaps the only things that approach such a measure – but only God can judge the truth of these. Judgment is in His hands. There will come a day when everything will be revealed. On that Day, the world will have changed, and no one can delay or hasten its advent.

Bill Cork of Oak Leaves has a post on the Analogy of Being, identifying it, with Barth, as a (the?) major chasm between Protestantism and Catholicism.

What’s this about? Essentially, the analogy of being is about human ability to reason or see its way to God through what is (creation), since what is shares similarity of being with God. In Protestantism, generally this possibility is denied, all knowledge of God coming by descent, through revelation–the analogy of faith. I’ll borrow a quote Cork gives from the New Catholic encyclopedia:

Catholic and Protestant theologians generally agree that the very possibility of any knowledge of God, both natural and revealed, rests on analogy: in the natural knowledge it is man who takes some concepts from nature and applies them to God; whereas in the supernatural knowledge it is God Himself who chooses some of the concepts used by man in order to tell him something about Himself. The first kind of analogy is called analogia entis, the second, analogia fidei. According to the Catholic doctrine on the relationship between grace and nature, there is no conflict, but harmony, between the two analogies: grace does not destroy analogy, but, by raising it into analogy of faith, fulfills it. On the contrary, according to the Protestant doctrine on the relationships between nature and grace, there can be no harmony between the two analogies but only conflict: analogy of being cannot be redeemed and therefore it cannot be raised into analogy of faith.

Michael Spencer writes of Thomas Merton’s and his own struggle with the desire to leave for greener grass.

Despite his seemingly endless desire to move away, change his vocation, start over or run away, Merton remained at Gethsemani throughout his monastic life until the last few weeks of his life when a new abbot allowed him the freedom to travel. His superiors did not believe it was God’s will for Merton to move or change, and they kept him close by, allowing him a hermit’s life for most of the day, but also bringing him together with the community for worship and other concerns. From that imposed stability came the Merton we know and read today. I doubt we would have known the same one if he’d been allowed to take off everytime he wanted.

In June, Alistair of Adversaria was blogging on denominations, church union and reunion. So far, there are 3 posts (1, 2, 3). The most common way of looking at these issues is probably through a “doctrinal correctness” lens. Alastair shifts the perspective–fruitfully–to “what was God doing with his people when he permitted his church to split?” Here are two quotes, the second one extended:

In the OT we see God directing the flow of history for the purpose of maturing His covenant people. He moulds and transforms His people through a number of powerful events and experiences. He builds up His people and then breaks them down, in order that they might be refashioned into something newer and more mature.

Through the Reformation God created a very new order within the Church. Whatever our convictions regarding the biblical character of the claims made by the Reformers, if we truly believe that God continues to form His people through His providential guidance of the course of history, we must wrestle with the question of why God saw fit to split His Church at the Reformation.

While many Protestants will claim that the split at the Reformation was purely a matter of God separating His true people from a false church and delivering them from a Babylonian captivity, I am not so sure that it is that simple. On the Roman Catholic side there are those who will insist that there has to be only one Church and that Protestants have left this Church by rejecting the authority of the pope over them. Once again, I think that the reality is more complex than this.

As in the case of the split of Israel, I don’t think that God straightforwardly supports either side’s ecclesial claims against the other. The subsequent history of Israel and Judah shows that splits in the government of the people of God do not necessarily destroy the oneness of the people of God in other respects. The people of God remain one by virtue of their covenant relationship with Him, even if they are scattered among many different church structures. Against Roman Catholic claims, the unity of the people of God is not ultimately dependent upon being under the Pope. The unity of the Church is found in its relationship to Christ.None of this is to deny the desideratum of visible and even institutional unity. My point is rather that such institutional and governmental unity is not absolutely essential to the unity of the Church. Just as in the case of Israel and Judah, the essential unity of the people of God is found in their relationship to Him. The two nations continued to be related to each other by virtue of this fact.