One World, Under God

My wife and I have visited maybe two dozen countries together, because we used to find travel phenomenally exciting. We used to delight ourselves by noticing all the differences, all the idiosyncrasies of national character and culture: the cuisine, the architecture, the music, the dress, etc. But recently, and particularly this time around as we continue our wanderings through South America for the next few weeks, the exoticism of travel is increasingly absent, and everything feels a little subdued and less, well...new. Things don´t quite sparkle as they used to simply by virtue of the fact that we are "abroad."

I have an idea why this is. True, the fact that we lived in a Mexican neighborhood in L.A., and that as Angelinos we hear Spanish spoken all the time, and that we are well-acquainted with Latino cuisine, and that the familiar bass-and-drum line of so much Hispanic music that we heard up there we continue to hear down here (you know the one, "boom-PA-boom-PA, boom-PA-boom-PA," if you´ve heard it once you really have probably heard it a thousand times) all naturally take away some of the newness we typically encounter when we travel.

But there´s more to it than that. As I´ve seen more and more of the world, all the differences which once seemed so vast have begun to grow smaller and smaller until they hardly seem worth mentioning any longer in comparison with the universal similarities of humanity and the human condition. All people, everywhere, eat what is available to them, build shelter and houses of worship, play music to celebrate life, work hard, love, suffer loss, raise the next generation, and die. Is it a small world after all? You bet it is.

So this nagging feeling that every place is really, at bottom, the same, has begun to temper my enthusiasm for the new. To put it another way, I´ve begun to have a hard time delighting in the rich textures and colors of the tapestry of human life because I´m too awed by how it all fits together into one big blanket. Or, to put it still another way, I´m having difficulty seeing the trees for the forest.

Since becoming a Christian, though, this has started to make a lot more sense. Terentius said that, being a man, nothing human was alien to him. I say that nothing can truly be foreign to me any longer because everything in the world belongs to Christ. The whole ball of wax was created through Him, and He is the ultimate goal to which it is directed. In Jesus, God became not only a specific man, but man, to show His love and acceptance of humanity as a species. This is why the Church endeavors to share this message of Jesus with all people everywhere. This is also why - even though Jesus Himself never set foot outside of a narrow strip of hotly contested eastern Mediterranean real estate - there are Christians in every country in the world today.

It is precisely because the mission of Jesus and the mission of his Church are completely universal in scope that the lament that Christianity is "too exclusive" seems so nonsensical to me. The message of Christ is preached to everyone, in all times, places, and situations, and everyone without exception is earnestly invited and accepted into the Church. The Christian Church is in actuality the least exclusive, most all-embracing, group of misfits, sinners, and saints in the world.

This is because Jesus is no respecter of borders. He doesn´t care whether your staple crop is corn or rice, whether your beast of burden is an ox or a camel, whether your folk music is played on a flute or a guitar. What He cares about is you. Us. Everyone. Turn on the news and it´s clear that the world is fallen and sinful, and man cannot help but do evil, often even when he means to do good. Anyone can see this. But it is only the Christian who also sees, and dwells in, the paradox that this same world - all of it - is already reconciled with God through the love of Jesus for all men, and His death for every one of us.

So what do I do now when I travel? I see sights. I take pictures. I eat different food. I drink mixed drinks. I smoke the occasional cigarette though I know I shouldn´t. I wander down cobblestone streets. I see a fallen world. I see a redeemed world. I see one human family, loved by Jesus, struggling to find its way under the sun.

Source: http://ten-minutetheology.blogspot.com/2010/07/one-world-under-god.html