Reflections

Ministry Amidst the Demonic Personal Stories and Principles

Lameck Banda

Ministry life in Africa is expected to be enjoyable, full of blessings, and ultimately to bring glory to God, for the simple reason that it is a faithful response to a calling from the triune God. However, at times ministry life can be confronted with a number of frightening challenges. Among the many challenges of ministry life are encounters with demonic forces such as satanism, witchcraft, and demon or spirit possession. From the onset, it is worthwhile to point out that it would be unwise to deny the demonic reality and power as manifested in satanism, witchcraft, and demon possession. For most people in Africa, demonic reality and powers are perceived to be a reality. Hence, on one hand, Africans never underestimate or downplay the demonic. On the other hand, they, especially devoted African Christians, do not magnify the power of the demonic to an extent that they become the main subject of worship. The power of God surpasses that of the demonic. So we are called to continual worship of God and proclamation of the gospel amidst the reality and power of the demonic.

In this article, therefore, we briefly address the scriptural view of the demonic as a stepping-stone for the entire article. Then, we share selected stories of the demonic encounter during ministry life in rural Zambian settings. We further suggest some principles for defying the demonic as a way of raising awareness for ministry life.

Scriptural View of the Demonic

The discussion of angels, particularly the demonic, is in some ways the most unusual and puzzling of all theology. Karl Barth describes this doctrine as the “most re-

Lameck Banda is associate professor of systematic theology, ethics, and African theology, and head of the Department for Systematic and Ecclesiological Studies at Justo Mwale University in Lusaka, Zambia. He earned his MATS degree from Austin Seminary and the PhD from University of the Free State, Bloemfontein, Republic of South Africa.

markable and difficult of all.”1 Nonetheless, Scripture teaches that God has created and chosen to carry out God’s acts through the angels. By angels we generally refer to spiritual and superhuman beings who work within human history. Some of these remained obedient and faithful to God and carry out God’s will and work, while others disobeyed, lost their holy condition, and now live to oppose and hinder the work of God and God’s children. Under the influence of Satan, the demonic forces seek to thwart the purposes of God. However, God has limited their powers.

The Bible says little about the origin of the demonic and how these forces came to have their current moral character. From 2 Peter 2:4 and Jude 6, we see that demonic forces are created beings who sinned and came under judgment. In this condition of being cast into nether gloom, the fallen angels have sufficient freedom to carry on their evil activities. In this article, we analogously refer to the demonic forces in terms of three media—satanism, witchcraft, and demon possession— through which evil activities are carried on. We now share some selected stories of demonic encounter during ministry life.

Personal Stories of the Demonic

Under this section we simply share selected short stories about demonic encounter in the forms of satanism, witchcraft, and demon possession. For each of these media, we share two stories in order to draw the point home and demonstrate the African perspective of the demonic. Satanism. Starting with the belief in satanism as a medium of the demonic in Africa, a young man narrated to me how he was initiated into satanism from a tender age. He claimed that he was reporting to the devil himself in the underworld, and he could be used to kill people through causing accidents and in many other ways. Later on, he was converted to Christianity after hearing the preaching of an evangelist in a church service.

Another story concerning satanism is about a committed member of our church who was accused of using satanic influence in his business. It was alleged that he had a black coffin in a small room of his house which caused his business to prosper. When he died, he was buried next to his business associate, both of whom had “sold their years” to the devil. Witchcraft. The stories on witchcraft are not mere narrations but recount personal experiences during my ministry. One evening I was riding a bicycle along a small path in the bush when I heard something like a big dog or hyena running after me from behind. When I stopped to check, there was nothing. This happened several times in a repeated manner each time I got back on my bicycle. This caused a lot of fear in me, especially when I was told that witches were after me.

Another experience was that of a swarm of lice on my bed. One weekend I cycled many kilometers to another congregation where I was assigned as a visiting minister to a congregation which did not have a full-time pastor. Since I was at the congregation the whole weekend, I had to spend nights there. On the first day, in the middle of the night, there was a swarm of lice on and around my bed like sand

scattered all over the room. The next day I could not see even a single louse. I was told this was a form of witchcraft and again, this frightened me to death. Demon possession. The last set of stories is about demon possession where I was personally involved in the act of exorcism. One evening I was preaching during a youth camp. In the middle of preaching, many in the audience started manifesting demon possession. By the time I finished preaching there were a lot of people who needed my attention for exorcism.

Another story is about a young man who had been working for a witchdoctor and practicing sorcery in his village. Again, this occurred at a youth camp after I had preached in the morning, Almost everyone had left for outreach in the surrounding villages, but I had remained at the venue to prepare for an evening session. The young man in question manifested demon possession after eating some food the witchdoctor had forbidden him. Together with some other young people we had to exorcise the demonic powers from this youth. After deliverance, we ate together the “forbidden food”and nothing evil happened to him.

All these stories reveal the reality and power of the demonic which thwart the work of God in the African milieu. This is a big issue in Africa which should not be ignored when doing ministry. How then does one perform ministry amidst the demonic forces? Hence, the last section focuses on principles towards defying the demonic in ministry life.

Principles for Defying the Demonic

We have argued that the demonic issue is a reality and powerful conceptualization which sways us into a world of anxiety. It is for this reason that we now move on to highlight some key principles which would help us to defy the demonic. It is vital to accept the reality and power of the demonic. However, inasmuch as Africans accept the reality and power of the demonic, they also trust that God is ever present and gives power to believers that is stronger than that of the demonic (Josh. 1:9; 2 Chr. 32:7-8; Job 2:4-6; Mt. 28:18-20; Mk. 16:15-18; Eph. 4:27; 6:12; 1 Tim. 4:1; 1 Pet. 5:8-9; 1 Jn. 4:4). Scripture attests to the fact that the power and presence of God protects his people and gives a sense of security and ability to triumph over the demonic. Hence, we cannot afford to worship the demonic and substitute confidence in or fears of the demonic for the sovereignty of God.

Ministry amidst the demonic in Africa calls for reliance on the Holy Spirit, honest study of Scripture, and commitment to prayer. There is a need to rely on the power of God all the time, not on your own power. However, this should not give room for manipulation of God. Defying the demonic requires a sense of reverence for God and an attitude of humility and never being puffed up with the successes of your ministry. Ultimately, God should be at center of ministry amidst the demonic, with the ultimate goal of ministry being to present the gospel. It is only the gospel that comes with power to triumph over the works of the demonic forces.

Conclusion

Ministry amidst the demonic in Africa is about accepting the reality and power of

the demonic. This helps us to be aware of the presence and ability of the demonic, which in the end leads to the realization and trust of the greater power of the triune God. Consequently, trust in the presence and power of God enables us to defy demonic forces. All this is possible through the finished work of Christ on the cross. Satanism, witchcraft, and demon possession stand already defeated through the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Therefore, we are confident to defy the demonic through Christ who strengthens us (Phi. 4:13).

Hallelujah! v

NOTE

1. Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, III/3. Edinburgh; T & T Clark, 1961 : p. 369.

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Becoming Children of Light: Falling in Love with Truth During Dark Times

Wendy Farley

Friends, I write as the thin veneer masking white racism is being torn off, as our cities burn with the rage and grief of justice endlessly denied. I do not know who will read this essay, but I am directing it to fellow white people who abhor racism even as we are caught up in it. Soon enough other news stories, other crises, will dominate headlines. But we will remain enmeshed in pervasive racist institutions that will demand our attention for a long time. Many progressive churches have denounced racism. But the work of surfacing preconscious images and assumptions will be on-going.

Our unwilling complicity invites reflection on how racism embeds itself in our minds and our social structures. A crucial part of this picture is the ability of racist logic to mask itself. The philosopher Hannah Arendt argued that dark times are made possible in part by assaults on truth that render public atrocity morally invisible. Herself a refugee from Nazi terror, she writes:

All this was real enough, as it took place in public. There was nothing secret or mysterious about it. And still, it was by no means visible to all, nor was it at all easy to perceive it; for until the very moment when catastrophe overtook everything and everybody, it was covered up not by realties but by the highly efficient talk and double-talk of nearly all official leaders … When we think of dark times … we have to take this camouflage … also into account.

Even as racism is displayed with enormous clarity every day, mass deception has been horrifyingly successful in concealing from public discourse the persistence, scope, and barbarism of the American color code.

Wendy Farley is Rice Family Chair of Christian Spirituality at the University of Redlands Graduate School of Theology. Previously, she spent twenty-eight years at Emory University. Her research has focused on philosophical and feminist theology, comparative theology and contemplative practices, and the ethical underpinnings of thought and practice. She has written six books.

African Americans are beaten and killed, arrested and imprisoned at a much higher rate than any other demographic in this country. Their health outcomes, including infant and maternal mortality, are worse, regardless of their profession or income. Their schools are inferior and underfunded. Their pre-school children are more likely to be disciplined. College students weighed down by negative stereotypes find it difficult to perform at their intellectual level. These facts are easily available. A ten-second Google search produces pertinent articles and books from the CDC, National Institutes of Health, and innumerable scholarly sources. As we confront this information we might sympathize with Rachel Carson’s awakening to massive ecological degradation: “Some of the thoughts that came were so unattractive to me that I rejected them completely, for the old ideas die hard, especially when they are emotionally as well as intellectually dear to one.” Like Carson, we must locate “an island of difficult, lifesaving truth amid the ocean of civilizational delusion.”

Why is it so easy to believe lies? To acquiesce to systems that destroy countless lives? The demonic is an old symbol for the structural delusions that infect society. Satan is a murderer and liar but also the ruler of the world (e.g., Jn 8:44, 12:3, 2 Cor. 4:4). This ancient mythology is potent because it gives shape to the obfuscating mystery of how easily we—as individuals, people of faith, citizens who want to be good—are seduced by it. The demonic symbolizes the power of patriotic ideals and the supposed nobility of Christian mission to conceal the atrocities built into our nation’s history and the conduct of our churches. Once we normalize evil with plausible-sounding rationalizations, we dissociate it from our ethical categories. We are horrified, for instance, to hear of a teenager being stalked and murdered as he walked along talking to his girlfriend on the phone. But racist assumptions are built into our thinking. In the case of Trayvon Martin’s murder, we reconstruct the narrative. He was likely a criminal. Black teenagers can be frightening. Even a slight teenager facing an armed adult is threatening. Self-defense is a natural response. The plain atrocity of gunning down a high school student armed only with a packet of Skittles becomes invisible, masked behind racially biased newspaper accounts, justice systems, and a thousand media images of dangerous and criminal black people.

This is how the demonic works. It does not scare us with hideous face and horns. It slides into the seemingly natural, pre-conscious assumptions we make. It turns our automatic trust of whiteness and anxiety about blackness into unreflective willingness to accept as sensible an array of laws, anecdotes, and explanations which, upon careful reflection, are obviously racist. It is uncomfortable and personally demanding to see the way racism has infected our minds. So, we accept prefabricated deceptions that translate moral outrage into further evidence of black criminality. Unconscious but potent consent to this lie fuels a quick descent into a twisted acceptance of violence: if by virtue of being Black someone is a criminal, however trivial the crime, it is natural to stop them, however egregious the force. Events that would be inconceivable if the victim were white become commonplace when the victim is Black.

Racism infects religion, as it does the rest of society. During the recent protests

against racism, Donald Trump called on the military to clear a path through peaceful protestors with rubber bullets and tear gas so he could process across a street for a photo-op holding aloft a Bible in front of St. John’s Church. It was an almost perfect ritualizing of the demonic. Trump’s symbolic gesture reaffirmed America’s long-held allegiance to the sacred worth of domination. Church and scripture perfume authoritarian violence. The bishop of Washington D.C. condemned this act, and for many it was deeply disturbing. But many white evangelicals applauded it, celebrating Trump as “wearing the armor of God.” Their praise ratifies the demonic appropriation of religion, mirroring the way religion and racist violence have been braided together in an unholy love knot for centuries.

As noted womanist theologian Karen Baker Fletcher observes, “In the presence of extreme violence, faith is sorely tested. When faith survives and thrives to the point of being a source of healing for others, it manifests as a form of courage … But how does one attain this courage in a world of violated relationships? If the courage to confront the complexities of existence in its beauty and its ugliness is found in the dance, pulse, touch, heart, and breath of God, then who is God?” The demonic entices us into thinking God lives in white churches, far from the tangle of injustice, poverty, and “the new Jim Crow.” But the gospel calls us to adore the God who created the world, who is present in its beauty and tragedy, and who cherishes everyone in it. “Metanoia!” Christ calls out to us: wake up, open your eyes—the Kingdom of God is already among you (Matt. 4:17, Mk 1:14). The gospel invites us to renounce demonic lies and to experience reality in a completely different way. This is not forgiveness or remorse but becoming aware that heaven is already present whenever we perceive Christ dwelling in one another (Matt. 25). If the demonic pushes our Black siblings out of the circle of this command, the gospel demands that we awaken to the sacred worth of those whose humanity and suffering we have been blind to. The joy of the gospel will be born in us when we pierce the veil of consoling fictions and recognize the beauty of those who stand before us, even when these black and brown faces are “despised and rejected by men … full of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isa. 53:3).

We are vulnerable to the demonic when emotionally satisfying lies ingratiate themselves into our sacred precincts. But as Christians we have resources for resisting white supremacist “powers and principalities.” When we renounce our delusions, we rejoin our Beloved in the long work of unsentimental, urgently concrete love. We seek mercy not only at the end of times but commit ourselves to lives of radical compassion—for all beings and for the earth itself—in the midst of time. Maya Angelou wrote of the caged bird who sang for a freedom it had never seen and yet longed for. She is speaking of Black America’s unfathomable courage to envision freedom in the midst of spiritual and literal incarceration. But cannot those of us who are imprisoned by self-deception and mutilated by the distortions of privilege also long for freedom? Freedom to join the lament for the relentless assaults on black bodies—and trans bodies, female bodies, immigrant bodies, poor bodies? Freedom to discover the innumerable contributions to science, medicine, art, literature, education, religion, and political reform that we benefit from? Freedom to

re-evaluate the past and join the labor for a different future?

The world is structured by the demonic: by deception and lies, domination and violence. As Christians, we must remain alert for the ways in which the demonic infiltrates our churches and our faith. I long for racial reconciliation and have experienced communities where this seems possible. But it is early to demand reconciliation: “They have treated the wound of my people carelessly saying, ‘Peace, peace,’ when there is no peace” (Jer. 6:14). Rather, we can allow ourselves to be taught, not only by a history we have denied and repressed, but by the spiritual wisdom that our Black siblings have gained through their intimate walk with Jesus during their long crucifixion. Let us listen to Black leaders. Let us learn from the rage of protesters. Let us apprentice ourselves to great civil rights mothers such as Rosemarie Freeney Harding who invokes her maternal ancestors to, “Teach about how to be family. How to live like family. How to live with some strength and care in your hands. How to live with some joy in your mouth. How to put your hands gentle on where the wound is and draw out the grief. How to urge some kind of mercy into the shock-stained earth so that good will grow.”

I pray that we are at a turning point. But it will be so only if we outwit the demonic in our churches, politics, newspapers, schools, minds, and hearts. Let us be children of light—not because we walk in the light—but because we desire the light of truth and justice and are willing to dedicate ourselves to this desire. v

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Alexander, Michelle. The New Jim Crowe: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness. New York, NY: New Press, 2010.

Arendt, Hannah. Men in Dark Times. New York: a Harvest Book, 1968.

Baker-Fletcher, Karen. Dancing with God: The Trinity from a Womanist Perspective. Nashville, TN: Chalice Press, 2006.

Brown Douglas, Cheryl. Stand Your Ground: Black Bodies and the Justice of God. Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 1915.

Harding, Rosemarie Freeney and Rachel Harding. Remnants: a Memoir of Spirit, Activism, and Mothering. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2015.

Fletcher Hill, Jeannine. The Sin of White Supremacy: Christianity, Race, and Religious Diversity in America. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Press, 2017.

Jennings, Willie James. Christian Imagination and the Origins of Race. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010.

McClintock-Fulkerson, Mary and Marcia W. Mount Shoop, A Body Broken, a Body Betrayed: Race, Memory, and Eucharist in White Dominant Churches. Eugene, OR: Cascade Press, 2015.

Popova, Maria. Figurings. New York: Vintage Press, 2020.

Steele, Claude M. Whistling Vivaldi. New York: Norton Press, 2010.

Teague, Matthew. “He Wears the Armor of God: Evangelicals hail Trump’s photo op,” The Guardian June 3, 2020. https://www.theguardian.com/us-news/2020/ jun/03/donald-trump-church-photo-op-evangelicals

God in the Struggle

David Furgusson

Living in the midst of lockdown has provided me with different challenges and opportunities. I am relatively fortunate, since for me on the hills of south Edinburgh the disruption of COVID-19 has yielded unexpected gifts. As my usually busy diary has been emptied of commitments, I have found more time for contemplation. I experience my immediate surroundings with greater intensity. The natural world is still displaying its colours and marking the changing seasons. Our wildlife carries on as if nothing has happened. I’m reminded of the stories of soldiers in trenches and POW camps who devoted themselves to studying birds. While imprisoned during World War I, one young Oxford scholar organised twenty-four-hour observation of a pair of redstarts and later wrote a standard work on the species. He watched them with delight since “they lived wholly and enviably to themselves, unconcerned in our fatuous politics.” But for us, as for him, there is ultimately no escaping the politics and deadly challenges of the day. With time to follow the news and reflect on global developments, we’ve all thought more about our social conditions, what needs to be preserved and what needs to change. As a theologian, I have been faced with revisiting issues around providence, in particular questions about death, suffering, injustice, and the relationship of God to us and our world.

When the Lisbon earthquake struck on All Saints Day in 1755, thousands lost their lives. Much of Europe entered into discussion about what God might have intended by this event. For many, perhaps the majority, it was perceived as a work of punishment inflicted upon a wicked population. Since it was an act of God, they reasoned, it must serve some specific divine intention. If this was the dominant

David Furgusson has been professor of divinity at the University of Edinburgh since 2000. He also serves as dean of the Chapel Royal in Scotland. His recent publications include The Providence of God: A Polyphonic Approach (Cambridge University Press, 2018) and the coedited History of Scottish Theology (Oxford University Press, 2019).

view amongst Europe’s theologians and preachers, others adopted a more sceptical line, especially Voltaire, the French philosopher. The indiscriminate damage caused by the earthquake did not look to Voltaire like a precision attack on the ungodly. Those commemorating All Saints Day in the churches suffered high casualties, he noted, while others, including many in the city brothels, survived unscathed. God’s aim wasn’t very good, or so it seemed.

Moreover, Voltaire and others wondered, Why on earth would a loving God act in such a way? What satisfying justification can be given of divine benevolence or of the best possible world when so many children have died? Pombal, the Portuguese prime minister, was by all accounts a power-hungry political operator. Yet he recognised the danger of the moment and responded by arranging for the burial of the dead, treatment of the injured, provision of emergency supplies, and for protection of the stricken city from looters and pirates. Some chastised him for counteracting what God had surely intended. Yet today, most Christians in Europe view the response of Pombal as more in accord with the will of God than the earthquake itself.

One important feature of theological responses to the current pandemic has been the merciful absence (mostly) of attempts to interpret this as the consequence of a divine decision. This paradigm shift separates churches today from those in earlier generations who attempted to discern in every catastrophe, whether personal or global, a coded message from God. Floods, famines, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and plagues are no longer viewed in most quarters as directly sent by God to punish and chasten. Elements of Scripture do incline in this direction, though Jesus appears firmly to have rejected any direct correlation between human merit and natural events in his commentary on the tower of Siloam (Luke 13:4) and the man born blind (John 9:3).

At a time of crisis, a refusal of some speculative questions may itself be the right response. Often denounced for their phoney solutions to his suffering, Job’s three friends did at least sit silently with him on the ground for seven days and nights. Should we consider that our prime task is to explain why God sent this pandemic or even to consider why it was permitted, as if its occurrence were the result of some divine cost-benefit analysis? Those troubling “why” questions—Why this? Why now? Why me?—may run deeper in the human psyche than we often admit. Though seemingly natural and spontaneous, we should refuse the presupposition that there is a “one-on-one” causal relation between natural disaster and divine intentionality, or between what we deserve and what happens to us. Much better to focus upon that about which we can be sure, such as the call to love and justice and to support those who seek to resist disease and disaster, locating God’s providence in the spirit of that call.

What this suggests to me is that there is a place for understanding God’s rule in more adversarial terms of contest, struggle, and promise. Traditional approaches to providence have tended to think of it in terms of sovereign control, wherein every event is ordained to maximise the greatest possible good. Yet this distorts much of the Hebrew Scriptures, in which God must wrestle with recalcitrant material, including natural forces and human malevolence. This is further intensified in the

crucifixion of Jesus. His witness and ministry take place in the face of rejection, opposition, and violence from the overwhelming earthly power of the Roman Empire. If the way of Jesus Christ, the way of the cross, is the locus of our hope, it appears as foolishness when assessed merely in terms of material wellbeing, philosophical explanation, or political success.

Christian theologians have understandably been nervous around notions of the demonic. The oneness of God and the goodness of creation leave no place for a dualist cosmology in which the world is the battleground for a war waged between finely balanced forces of good and evil. Gnosticism and Manichaeism were both rejected early in the history of the church as beyond the bounds of legitimate belief. These binary oppositions set the God of creation against the God of redemption, and the Hebrew Scriptures against the Christian. Yet, at the same time, images of impersonal and menacing forces ranged against the rule of God are also present in the New Testament. There are times and places in which this language requires articulation whether in those sudden and random misfortunes that blight individual human lives, natural disasters that engulf populations, or in unjust societal structures that prevent human flourishing.

A theology of providence should create the space to articulate the ways in which evil is not yet defeated. The parables of Jesus point us in this direction. Some speak of grace, promise, and the miraculous spread of the kingdom from small beginnings. Yet others attest opposition, division, and delay. Elsewhere, Jesus’s own work is characterised in terms of a war with the demons and the casting down of Satan. The Pauline invocations of demonic images and elemental forces also generate an awareness of the forces ranged against God. These should have their place if we are to register the external threats that are faced not only by people but the entire created order. It is worth noting here how naturally the language of warfare has come to our lips as we characterise the combatting of COVID-19. The sense that in this world we are battling real evil still rings true.

The Cambridge philosophical theologian Donald MacKinnon once remarked “If I am to be arraigned for heresy, then let it be Manichaeism.” His point was not to argue for a cosmic dualism of good and evil but to allow greater scope in the Christian imagination for language that adequately expressed the enemies such as suffering, evil, and injustice. Likewise, Friedrich Schleiermacher notes that, although we may not wish to systematise teaching about the devil and the angels, this language should have its place in the liturgy and prayers of the church, for it gives a powerful voice to our fear and despair. Perhaps Protestant theology in particular has been guilty of too readily suppressing such images.

In recent months, several writers have commented on the difficulty in praying in the midst of the current crisis. Regular patterns of devotion and trusted books of prayer can suddenly seem out of place. Alison Joyce is minister of St Bride’s Church, in Fleet Street, London. In a moving piece in the London Times, she recalls how one of her predecessors, Richard Peirson, elected to remain in post during the Great Plague of 1665, while others sought the safety of the countryside.1 At grave

risk to his own life, he ministered to the dying and the bereaved. Parish records reveal that one day alone he buried forty-three people. Several of those who assisted him in this work were themselves carried away by the plague. Musing on all this, Joyce wonders what Peirson might have prayed about during these calamitous times. What moved him to stay in post? Did he feel closer to God in carrying out his life-threatening ministry? Did he experience guilt at the loss of faithful helpers?

During lockdown I have returned each day to the Psalms. There I’ve been struck by how the lack of interest in speculative questions is matched by an intense awareness of God as present and active in the struggle. This is conveyed even when God seems for a time to be passive, hidden, or silent. Many of these Psalms are written by distressed people in situations of sickness, war, fear, and deprivation. Much is made of waiting and longing; God is there but has yet to act decisively. John Calvin understood this. Commenting on the flood in Genesis 9, Calvin notes that the rainbow is a sign of God’s faithfulness in the midst of trouble.2 Arching above us, it is set in the sky as a token of constancy, a promise of deliverance. Though we may be threatened by flood, the sign of the rainbow enables us, Calvin writes in his commentary on Genesis 9:13, “to stand with greater confidence, than under a clear and serene sky.” God is not aloof from the struggle, dishing out retribution or dispensing favours from on high, but remains restless and engaged in our midst.

In the ministry of Jesus, the signs of the kingdom are evident in healings, exorcisms, the feeding of hungry people, the sharing of meals, and the calming of storms. People are given hope and drawn towards a better future, despite opposition and division. Though far from complete, the defeat of evil has already begun, and we are called to join in the struggle.

What then of God’s struggle? History teaches us that there are real dangers associated with misappropriation of combative metaphors for God. Such images of the divine should be neither exclusive nor dominant. Sometimes, however, combative metaphors are needed to see the work of God as much more than a passive presence, or as presiding over a perfect cosmos, or as the struggle of one who will only remedy everything in an eschatological future. Irenaeus once spoke of the “two hands of God”: as Word (i.e., Jesus Christ) and as Spirit. In line with this image we can see God active in Jesus, who heralds and enacts the kingdom, and also active in the Spirit, who assails, enables, and encourages us to cooperate in works of justice and love. v

NOTE

1. Alison Joyce, “Credo,” The Times of London, 18 April 2020. 2. John Calvin, Calvin’s Complete Commentary on the Bible, Vol I: Genesis to Joshua (USA: Delmarva Publications, 2013).