Abstract
November 11, 2018—when the armistice was signed at Compiègne, France, at the beginning of the end of hostilities—marks the centenary celebration of the end of World War I. Since the first two articles in this issue of the IBMR describe the variant Christian responses to the postwar situation in Europe, China, and Korea, it seems fitting to try to unpack the tensions felt in that historic moment, while keeping in mind those of our own time.
Sawai Chinnawong, Ten Virgins, 2010, acrylic on canvas, 20.5 × 16.5 in. Reprinted with permission. For information on this artist, go to https://www.omsc.org/chinnawongportfolio. For color, see the online version of this editorial.
A year after the armistice, Irish nationalist poet W. B. Yeats penned his oft-quoted poem “The Second Coming,” 1 which describes the apocalyptic disintegration toward which the West seemed to be rushing headlong. The scale of the brutality of “the war to end all wars” had awakened the world to the shadow sides of nationalism, industrialism, and technologism. 2 The Yeats poem evokes a world where the premodern religious and linguistic heritage of the West is in danger of being lost. The present moment is spiraling into the vortex of a violent denouement, where the past could no longer be relied upon and the future seemed shrouded in ominous danger.
Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
As the source of the centre-less chaos, Yeats points to an irreparable breach in communication between “the falcon” and “the falconer.” For the romantic Yeats, this breakdown in communication signified the loss of the organic relationality and social stability he believed had characterized premodern societies like Ireland. Modern Europe seemed to be tottering on the brink of some frightening apocalypse, with the old world in ruins, and the new, unfamiliar world about to break in. For Yeats, that new world pointed to a heartless modernity ushered in by rapid urbanization, advances in technology, and the loss of shared cultural identity. 3 As contrasting responses to this looming catastrophe, Yeats mentions moral and intellectual indifference (“the best lack all conviction”) and irrational fanaticism (“the worst are full of passionate intensity”). Out of this moral and ideological confusion, he conjures a grisly twist on the ancient Christian creed, which proclaims “He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead.”
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of indignant desert birds.
But instead of bringing the promised liberation and righteous judgment of the crucified and risen Lord Jesus Christ, this “anti-parousia” ushers in the cruel and menacing image of a desert sphinx.
The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Before we casually reject Yeats’s anti-parousia, I suggest we allow this poetic dystopia to haunt us for a moment. While we may not be reeling from the trauma of a devastating world war, Christians in the West today are far from united about what it means to live into the living hope of Christ’s coming, and in the meantime, what it means to participate in the mission of God, especially in light of inescapable issues that touch on that mission, such as climate change, migration, nationalism, militarism, racism, economic inequality, violence, religious pluralism, sexual identity, and modern science. Yeats’s falcon circling wildly out of earshot of the falconer may be a fitting metaphor for churches and Christians who are no longer able to hear Jesus Christ as he comes to us clothed in his Gospel, and who are therefore not communicating that Gospel effectively, either in word or in deed. Plagued by indifference, on the one hand, or too much certainty, on the other hand, perhaps the West is experiencing the loss of what Lesslie Newbigin calls a “proper” Christian confidence, which may be characterized as humble conviction open to serious interrogation and new insight. 4
This combination of humble conviction, critical inquiry, and openness are the notes we seek to strike in selecting articles for the IBMR. With thanks to all our contributors and book reviewers, it is our hope that you will enjoy reading this issue, which also includes an in-depth exchange between three scholars on shame/honor, guilt/innocence, and fear/power, as well as Peter Phan’s provocative paper on mission, theology, and World Christianity from the 2016 meeting of the Association of Professors of Mission. As always, we look forward to receiving your feedback.
