You may be curious about the title: “The Tao of Adventism.” Perhaps it has echoes of books like The Zen of Archery or Inner Golf. Taoism is an ancient and profound philosophy of life originating in China, some 4,000 years before Christ.
The Chinese word Tao (pronounced “Dow”) is usually left untranslated but it can be understood to mean “The Way,” much like we would say “The Way of life,” or “The Path of life.” I am using it in its most universal meaning, like the great Christian author and apologist, C. S. Lewis, used it. That is, the Tao is that body of universal ideas that all religions share, those things that cross cultural barriers and jump obstacles of language and religion. These are ideas such as faith, justice, fairness, duties toward family, friends, and clan, the importance of seeking wisdom, the beauty of harmony, order, and naturalness. That is how I’m using the term too. So, when I refer to the Tao of Adventism I mean both that Adventism taps into these God-given universal truths about living right, and that Adventism has something particularly important to say about how these universal truths can be expressed today.
Some years ago, I decided I needed to get back to basics. I had been raised an Adventist and then had chosen to become one. I had been raised a Christian and then chosen to become one. I had been a teacher of theology, a youth pastor, and had led evangelistic meetings in England, Wales, Canada, and California. But I knew that if I didn’t redefine Adventism for myself, in a form that had feet and could walk, that I could no longer remain an Adventist.
Where to begin? I started with the name: Seventh-day Adventist. What could be more basic than that? It seemed important to decide what was essential to the theology of Adventism—as opposed to simply cultural Adventism. Could the Sabbath and the Second Advent provide a working philosophy of life, one that could stand up under the stress of raising children, changing careers, paying bills, and confronting the fears that plague us all?
As I reflected on this it gradually became clearer to me that within the ideas of the Sabbath and the Second Advent is a complete and profound philosophy of life. The Sabbath and the Second Advent, to use philosopher Gabriel Marcel’s words, are mysteries, not problems. Problems have solutions and are outside us. Mysteries have depths that can only be plumbed from within. To work with mysteries is to be changed and charged with spiritual energy. So, on to some Big Ideas! Big Ideas are those that can lay some claim to being universals, to being the Tao. These are ideas that people everywhere and in all times can use.
The Sabbath is an experience that teaches us how to be human and gives us a home on this earth.
Because the Sabbath as a Creation motif is more than geology and astronomy it offers us an explanation of our origins that has nothing to do with conflicts between creationism and evolution. The reason is that the Sabbath experience celebrates Creation not just as a point in time but as continuous activity. The Sabbath as a symbol of Creation celebrates the work we do all week and that we offer up to God at week’s end. It celebrates the creativity of trying to shape our lives in ways of the Spirit, to be God’s co-creators as well as children.
The Sabbath as Creation also teaches us that it is good to be a human being. It is what we were designed to be—nothing more, nothing less. Imagine describing yourself in the most general, all-inclusive terms possible. You would begin by placing yourself as a member of the human species. Looked at in this way, before we exclude each other on the bases of race, ideology, economic status, and social standing, we ourselves see the enormous family of God: people past, present, and those yet to be born. In a world torn by sectarian violence Adventists could bear witness to the Creation story by identifying first with humanity and last with Adventism.
The Sabbath as Creation also calls us to be responsible for our earth as the place God has entrusted to us. We could regard ourselves as part of a larger network of life with myriad interconnections and relationships. The Taoist would say:
In harmony with the Tao,
the sky is clear and spacious,
the earth is solid and full,
all creatures flourish together,
content with the way they are,
endlessly repeating themselves,
endlessly renewed.
When man interferes with the Tao,
the sky becomes filthy,
the earth becomes depleted,
the equilibrium crumbles,
creatures become extinct . . .(39)
Having regard for the earth also means taking the time to appreciate it. The Sabbath, says Jesus, was made for us; we were not made for the Sabbath. The Sabbath celebrates the making of holy time and about adapting ourselves to the natural rhythms of seasons, months, and weeks. If we wish to understand our world we must listen in silence to what it says. We must truly be here now. That takes time. The Sabbath gives us permission to use that time for our souls.
The Sabbath as an experience of rest and peace shows us that we are more than our work and our activity. It teaches us to trust that God can provide for us directly. One day a week we can devote ourselves more fully to spiritual questing, than to nesting. Again, this way of life calls for humility and modesty. The Taoist would say:
Fill your bowl to the brim
and it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people’s approval
and you will be their prisoner.
Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity. (9)
The Sabbath as a symbol of liberation teaches us to cope with suffering and to resist evil. In the Old Testament Sabbath is tied not only to the Creation story but to the Exodus story—liberation from oppressive and unjust structures. We celebrate not only the creativity inherent in ourselves and enjoy the rest and peace of the Sabbath; we recognize the Sabbath as a dangerous memory of suffering and of hope. Jesus used the Sabbath to free people from the effects of sin by healing them, and from the oppression of religious leaders by breaking foolish laws and getting back to the basics: the spirit of freedom and joy that is the Sabbath.
The Sabbath as liberation is not out to destroy the law of God, but it does confound human laws that bind and oppress people. The doing of the Sabbath, says the Old Testament, is to be a sign between people of God’s liberation. Why couldn’t the doing of the Sabbath in our time be a sign between us of the power to be free from the false gods of racism, sexism, materialism, and mediolatry?
Here is another metaphor: think of the Sabbath as an unlimited line of credit that we get to spend every week. Imagine the sheer, unfettered joy that comes from spending on ideas we usually have no time for. Imagine that on Sabbath we experiment with holy actions, ways of worship, the making and discovering of new symbols and metaphors.
That is the kind of liberation the Sabbath provides for us. That is the kind of courage people are promised through the keeping of the Sabbath. Can we dare to think such dangerous and energizing thoughts? Can we afford not to take such risks?
The Second Advent of Christ
The Second Advent tells us that there’s more to life than the joys of being human and living on this earth.
The Second Advent reminds us that life is short and that it ends. The Second Advent and judgment helps us prepare for death by showing us that everything put together falls apart. Worlds are created and destroyed. People live and die. There’s a place and a time for everything, even endings.
But the Second Advent also reminds us that while in a temporal sense everything has an end, in a spiritual sense all those endings are really new beginnings. Christ, the bridge between the beginnings of the Sabbath and the endings of the Second Advent, reminds us that the Second Advent is the beginning of a great new thing that God will do.
How are the judgment emphasis of the Second Advent and the invitation of the Sabbath related? The Second Advent and the judgment are indefinite but real points in time, imperatives from the future to do right in the present. By contrast, the Sabbath says Yes! to holy reveling in the present and to God treasuring our work and our creativity. By coupling God’s generosity and the forgiveness of grace with the call to do right though the heavens fall, the Second Advent/judgment scenario becomes an occasion for joy rather than fear. “Now we see through a glass darkly”, says Paul, “but then face to face. Now we know in part, but then we shall know as we are known.” God declares that all our finite efforts, flawed though they are, will be taken up into God’s infinite actions. In God’s plan we are not called to be messiahs, but we are called to be disciples.
Doesn’t that free us up to try and make a difference in the world? Shouldn’t the knowledge that the Seventh-day Adventist Church cannot save the world lift a tremendous burden from us? When I understood this I felt as if I had new life. I felt as if I could breathe again.
Here’s an analogy: You’ve been taking a course in contemporary literature, loving every minute of it, and doing very well. Two days before the end of the course the class hears that their entire grade will be based on a final exam—in trigonometry. This is an impossible situation, since you’ve never taken trig in your life and you can’t begin now. You and the rest of the class confront the teacher. Who told you that? she says. The final exam will be oral. I want you to tell me what you learned about life and about yourself from this course. Oh, you say, I can do that. What a relief!
And yet here is a wonderful paradox. Strictly speaking, God does not need us, that is, Seventh-day Adventists, to accomplish salvation for the universe. But God chooses to use people: Seventh-day Adventists, Buddhists, Taoists, Jews, Muslims, and so forth, in the work of salvation. How can this be?
Perhaps it’s this way: Imagine God as a track star in a relay race, positioned last in the team where an extra kick is needed to cross the finish line fast. We are on God’s team and in that relay race, and we hand off the baton to God who kicks in and races for the finish.
There is no question God could win in a flat-out sprint. But that wouldn’t be appropriate to a relay. All the runners have their part to play, but God’s is the last and most important. God wouldn’t do it without us and we certainly wouldn’t win without God—nor would we have a race to run. What we do does matter for it has everything to do with what God does in the end.
The fact is that our salvation is assured solely because God is more generous with us than we deserve. So we have to ask, “What’s in it for God? What does God get out of this tremendous expenditure of salvation?” The answer is known by anyone who has ever loved another: God enjoys the presence of the beloved. That’s it—but it’s apparently enough for God.
Finally, the Second Advent assures that us justice, mercy, and humility will win out in the end. Sometimes it may seem that there will be no end to injustice and to suffering. Sometimes it seems there is so little we can do to heal the world. But there is hope.
Joseph Campbell, the great mythologist and teacher, tells a story about how he traveled to India and sought out a famous guru. “Do you have a question?” asked the guru. “Yes,” said Campbell, “I have a question. Since in Hindu thinking everything in the universe is a manifestation of divinity itself, how should we say no to anything in the world? How should we say no to brutality, to stupidity, to vulgarity, to thoughtlessness?
“And he answered, ‘For you and for me—the way is to say yes.’”
In that same positive vein Paul says in Romans 12, “Never pay back evil for evil. Let your aims be such as all count honorable. If possible, so far as it lies with you, live at peace with all. . . . Do not let evil conquer you, but use good to conquer evil.” (Roms. 12: 17, 18, 21, REB).
There will be a judgment tempered with mercy. Those who have been oppressed will be vindicated and their cases given full attention. Those who have been the oppressors will receive what they deserve and mercy besides. The ways of humility, forbearance, tolerance, compassion, and generosity will be seen as the ways of the universe, because they reflect the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The Tao will be all and the universe will be in harmony once again.
My friend, John Fritz, and I used to go downtown on Sunday mornings for breakfast and conversation to a deli called Booeymonger. We called this “doing bagels.” There we would haul out our lives and fix them. Then we would move on to the church and fix that. Finally, if we had any imagination and arrogance left, we would fix the world. During some of these sessions we developed the concept of The Tao of Silence. This worked especially well with reference to the church. We had grown tired of the endless wrangling and the body count that was rising as people were dismissed or left the church or simply grew disheartened.
We decided that it was time for less talk and more action, somewhat along the lines of the New Testament’s admonition that “love must not be a matter of theory or talk; it must be true love which shows itself in action (I Jn. 3:18, REB).” Thus, we should quit our whining and complaining, and quietly, modestly, with joy and hope, try to live according to the Tao. We would attempt to put the Tao of life and the Tao of Adventism into practice. We thought perhaps that was enough to occupy us until the Lord should come. We thought perhaps it was the joyful work of a lifetime.
Those are the Big Ideas. That’s the Tao of Adventism. Let us watch and see how it works itself out in our lives.
