Thoughts from 10,000 feet// I was flying out of Brisbane trying to spot our house and thinking of all the people we live amongst and beside as Christians, and about how I've always been inclined to argue for the utter normality of Christianity. That I'm just like you, except I go to church. And then it struck me that I'm going to a funeral where I genuinely believe the dead will be raised.
We've allowed ourselves to believe it is the normality of our faith, story, and lives that will appeal to people; and for a long time in the west being Christian did feel normal. We've now been conscripted into that normal and our imaginations — our social imaginary — have become very like our neighbours. And we don't question whether this is a good thing — when these neighbours, who we love and live amongst do not share our belief in a God who speaks worlds into being; who speaks life out of death, and who orchestrated history so that the most unlikely moment — a humiliating crucifixion at the hands of the most powerful empire ever known to man — in the life of a most unlikely hero, a Jewish man who it is claimed is that same mysteriously trinitarian God who spoke the world into being; and the true king of the world. Who we then believe didn't just come back from death but invites us to too. If we believe this and our neighbours don't, why do we accept that our lives should be normal and unnoticably different? Why are we scared of the weirdness that comes from such a strange, though apparently true (to us) view of reality. We keep trying to make ourselves normal and understandable, but it's almost like we speak an entirely different and increasingly unintelligible language; which is why we're so at odds on the meaning of marriage; and yet our similarities in most other areas is why we're not at odds when it comes to our visions of the economy, of career, and of the 'successful' life now. Success for us is a crucified (and resurrected) king.