A new gospel paradigm (I): spiritual death

For years, I understood the gospel and salvation in terms of personal belief and faith.  I think it would fair to say that this is the course that most evangelical churches have taken, in terms of both understanding salvation as a doctrine and as a message for evangelism.  To be sure, it would be unwise to discount the importance of genuinely expressing belief and faith in Christ, as it underscores the necessity of human responsibility in the fruit of salvation.

My understanding of the gospel radically changed, however, when I began thinking of it in the paradigm of spiritual life and conversely spiritual death.  We must necessarily view salvation in this context because it puts the reality of sin's stakes in our minds while still giving glory to God for His redemptive work.  Trivializing salvation to just a personal decision simply doesn't convey our positional standing before God formerly as sinners but now as new creatures in Christ (2 Corinthians 5:17).

So when we consider the state of human nature, it would be an injustice to simply say that we have sinned and insulted God.  Far more accurate is a depiction of utter spiritual deadness-- the fact that all human beings are born into sin, spiritually dead through their federal head in Adam, and have no willful capability to seek or choose God.  Genesis 2, Ephesians 2, and Colossians 2 all allude to our death in the spirit and in our trespasses.  Just as physical death renders someone incapable of feeling, thinking, moving, etc., spiritual death also incapacitates ability for everything.

To only way to bring about life to a dead person is through resurrection, or something we call regeneration.  Simply put, it is the act of restoring life to the dead, an act which must be authored by an external agent, for the dead subject has absolutely no power to regenerate him or herself.  One of Scripture's greatest  illustrative examples of this is the resurrection of Lazarus.  Lazarus did not go about attempting to revive himself, nor did he ask Jesus to resurrect him.  Christ simply did it of His own accord, since Lazarus had no ability whatsoever to raise himself from the dead.

In the same way, spiritually dead people are utterly incapable of regenerating themselves.  It is an external act of the Holy Spirit that takes place independently of the dead subject's mental, rational, physical, or spiritual faculties.  Semi-Pelagian and Arminian theologians will argue that the Holy Spirit will prod someone's heart to believe, but that the individual must ultimately be the one to take the last step (e.g., think the 'open door' analogy).  You can almost liken this to the 70-30 dating rule, where the male goes in 70% for the kiss, but the female must accomplish the remaining 30%.

As long as we're talking about dead people here, it's important to remember that the dead cannot move, cannot think, and mostly certainly cannot kiss a wooer back.  Not thirty percent.  Not ten percent.  Not  one percent.  As a result, a wholly external act of regeneration is credited solely to the one doing the saving.  In the context of the salvation of Christ's gospel, we must give glory to God for completely authoring, initiating, and finishing salvation in each believer's life.

All the while, there are still implications for gospel evangelism.  Sinners cannot comprehend their spiritual standing  before God and, more importantly, their need for a Savior without first understanding their deadness in sin.  So when we preach Christ to the lost, it should never be about making a decision as if people can pick and choose whether they need Christ.  Instead, it must always be about placing God in His almighty holiness and realizing our utter deadness and spiritual incapacity.  Only then can people understand the true need for a Redeemer and Savior named Christ.

Why I believe in the Gospel of Jesus Christ

[I posted this on my Facebook page over Easter and felt it would be fitting to re-post here.]

Easter is one those funny holidays when people are either posting about eggs and bunnies or something about Jesus rising from the dead.  I'm sure everyone has a "religious" friend who does the latter-- you've probably seen a Bible verse, a picture of an empty tomb, maybe a Jesus meme, or some other content, indirectly or directly, that's supposed to hearken to the fact that Easter is one of the most important days in Christendom.

If you're not a Christian, you probably scroll right past these kinds of posts because, for all intents and purposes, they're about someone who you believe has no bearing on your life whatsoever.  I mean, who cares what a 1st century Jew did nearly 2,000 years ago?  Your concern is making today's world a better place, because for all you know, this is all the life there is until you breath your last.

Over the years, I've posted a lot of random stuff that has more or less hinted that Christianity is important to me.  But I've never explained why I believe what I believe, and more importantly, why I believe it has bearing on every single person to ever live.  I think most people are vaguely aware that Christians believe in Jesus because he died for their sins.  But being able to elucidate the true meaning of Jesus' cruficixion beyond this elementary statement becomes the tricky part.  What does it really mean that Christ came to die for sinners?

To start, we need to think about God-- who he is, his attributes, character, etc. etc.  People like to think of him as the "man upstairs" or the "big cheese" or some higher being that provides comfort and care for those who believe in him.  Let's step back from this presupposition for a second and see what the Bible says about God.  We're told that God is holy (1 Peter 1:16).  Holiness is like a binary characteristic-- you're either holy or you're not.  Anything short of perfect holiness is not holy.

Holiness means that there isn't a morsel of evil, a speck of filth, or a trace of sin present.  If it coexists with something that's 0.000001% evil, then it ceases to become holy.  The justice of a holy being means that anything failing to conform to that standard needs to be wiped out stat.  So if God is perfectly holy, then it is logically impossible that he reside with anyone who comes up short, even if just a nanometer.

Enter human.  Chances are you've been taught that you're a morally good person.  If you answer in the affirmative, it's probably because there are a lot of sad wretches out there who are worse than you.  Compared to some other people, you do pretty well.  And that's true as long you keep using a humanometer to determine your moral worthiness.  If there's really is a heaven and hell, then your ability to stay afloat of the 50th percentile will grant you access to heaven.  The bottom fifthy percent?  Not so much.

But if there's really a heaven and hell, and a God who determines who goes to which, is he really going to use a humanometer for your eternal consignment?  Remember when I mentioned God's holy standard and how anything less than that needs to be blotted out?  Well, that's the measuring stick that God uses.  To put it bluntly, everyone doesn't do so hot when we use God's holy assessment.  Everyone falls short (Romans 3:23).

I don't need to point out what's going on out there for you to see how messed up the world is.  In fact, I want to avoid doing that, because then you start evaluating the really bad stuff in the world against the really good stuff.  The one thing I think Hobbes (the philosopher, not the tiger) got right was that humans are inherently selfish.  Sometimes, I'll do something for someone out of what I think is an altruistic motive, only to later realize how smug I was feeling about it afterward.  A long time ago, a prophet named Isaiah said even deeds that we think are good are just filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6).

You might think this is pretty unfair but when we're talking about an infinite and utterly holy God, then there's no excuse.  According to the Bible, you're pretty much worse than a pile of crap when compared to God.  In an age of humanism, this is the singlemost difficult pill for people to swallow, because we're conditioned to think that humans can be empowered to build a morally responsible society.  After all, who needs God when you've got good moral people?

The Christian worldview, on the other hand, holds that "good moral people" do not exist.  Yep.  It's true.  They may according to the standard of what humans judge to be right and wrong, but when measured up against the holiness of God, people don't even come close.  So if there really is a heaven and hell, and the only qualification for the former is perfect holiness, where do you think we're all headed by default?

If you've followed everything I've said up until this point (or not), this leads us to one point: there is a massive gulf between us and God.  Like massive.  So massive that no human could bridge the gap.  How do you reconcile perfect and infinite holiness to well, everything else?  You can't.  That's the bad news.  You, I, President Obama, Gandhi, Hitler, and everyone in between: we all hold a one-way ticket to hell.  According to God's standard, that's our just destination.

Here's the good news.  God didn't just say: "Screw it!  Damn everyone to hell!", which he could have very well done.  Instead, he did something really remarkable and inexplicable.  He bridged that massive gulf himself.  He made a plan that we call redemption: the reconciliation of human and God.  How he did it is even more remarkable-- he sent his son, Jesus Christ, into the world, ultimately to be executed not for any crime he had committed, but for every crime we had committed against God.

When Christians talk about Jesus hanging on the cross, it's not some simple sentimental expression of love.  He literally took our place.  Theologians refer to this as 'substitionary atonement'-- the belief that Christ substituted himself for the sinner on the cross and in so doing, made atonement not just for the sinner's sin, but for the very sinful nature inherent in all humans.  This exchange is foretold just prior to the crucifixion when Pilate asks the Jews who they want to crucify: Barabbas, a notorious criminal, or Jesus, who lived a perfect sinless life.

In our modern judicial system, we often cry foul when big crimes go unpunished while the law comes down hard on petty crimes.  But is there any greater injustice when a man, who is not only law-abiding but also sinless, gets executed while a hardened criminal gets off scot-free?  If that happened to anyone today, you'd probably be screaming "injustice!"  But that's exactly what happened to Jesus Christ 2,000 years ago.

What's even more crazy about this story is that Christ's crucifixion wasn't unjust at all.  In fact, it was totally just.  Why?  Because he wasn't dying for himself.  He was dying for sinners.  He was accounting for their sinful lives and imputed his righteousness to those who would believe in him.  In that moment, he wasn't just saving, he was recreating new lives that would be fit to stand before God.

Remember when I said that the only qualification for heaven is perfect holiness?  Well, Jesus fulfilled that qualification for his people.  And here's the remarkable thing-- our sin wasn't just some debt he wiped away, he remade us as new creatures.  When we were born into this world, we were born in sin.  But when we're remade as new creatures, we're born in righteousness.  This is what Christians mean when we talk about being born again.  It's not some mythical fantasy-- there's actually significance behind it.

So what's up with the whole resurrection story then?  If Jesus died and he stayed dead, then Christians wouldn't have very much to celebrate.  But the Bible tells us that Jesus burst out of his grave just three days after he was crucified.  To this day, no archaeologist, secular or Christian, can tell you where the body of Jesus is buried.  Why?  Because he's not here.

So why does the resurrection matter?  It matters because it not only fulfills what the Bible promised earlier in the Old Testament, but it also proves what Jesus claimed all along-- that he was the Son of God.  And even more importantly, his resurrection points to our resurrection.  You might be wondering: "What resurrection?  We're not dead."  But we are.  The Bible tells us that we're spiritually dead people, and that only the power of God brings spiritual life to the dead (1 Corinthians 15:22).

That brings us back to the whole gulf thing.  For anyone to even meet the qualification of perfect holiness, God had to redeem and recreate a new people to fit that holy standard.  We call this grace-- he did it completely out of his own mercy and with no consideration of human merit.  Because if he did, we would all be screwed.  Instead, we point to Jesus in all his righteousness when we're before God in his judgement.

Ultimately, this brings me to my final point.  The Bible isn't some ancient religious text for the purpose of ethics and moralism.  It's an account of God's redemption plan and how he brings salvation to those who place their faith in him.  People like to prooftext and cherry-pick bits and pieces of the Bible, but that's not how it's supposed to be read.  It should always be read in the context of a perfect and holy God, sinful and unclean people, and how God redeems his people from that.

There are a lot of popular misconceptions about what Christianity is, and much of it has tarnished what the true gospel teaches.  You might have been turned off by instances of scandal among church leaders, or rampant hypocrisy within evangelicalism.  But I'd urge you to look to Jesus instead.  Not because he's some moral guru, but because he's the perfect and righteous redeemer for sinful people.

If you've always bought into some warped version of Christianity, I hope this post sheds some light on the true gospel.  But don't take my word for it.  Read the Bible yourself and see what God has to say about his redemption plan.  Come to Jesus in repentance and faith, and he won't turn you away (John 6:37).

Asian Americans and the Emergent Church

I want to step away from theology for a moment to talk about an issue that's been on my mind for the past few years.  Just a few days ago, I stumbled upon a blog specifically devoted to the Christian faith from an Asian American perspective.  The content and focus was largely reminiscent to my experience 1) growing up in an ethnic Chinese-American church, and 2) observing the social dynamics of young Asian American Christians through college.

For many Asian Americans, the intersection of ethnic identity and faith is a normative reality in their spiritual lives.  I've witnessed two ingredients essential to spiritual livelihood within the Asian-American church: 1) common and regular fellowship with fellow Asian Americans, and 2) spiritual ethnocentrism, or the idea that God purposed (or empowered) Asian Americans with their given ethnic identities for evangelistic outreach.

I have always approached the subject of ethnicity and religion with great sensitivity.  This is even more the case with a generational strata like the Asian American second-generation.  I sometimes refer to this generation as one trapped in limbo, because it neither fully identifies with its ancestral roots, nor does it fully identify with western attachments.

In some ways, this tension of identity has been problematic for the church because it has produced a generation far too proud of its ethno-cultural status and far too unwilling to approach corporatism outside the Asian American church.  In other words, young Asian Americans who have grown up in the church have clung tightly to one another under the pretense that God-ordained ministry cannot transcend the boundaries of Asian American Christendom.

Many Asian Americans would likely find little comfort in regular fellowship outside of a communion with a high level of socio-ethnic homogeneity.  My fear is that many have adopted a faith that is so ethnocentric, that if disrupted, it could negatively harm their spiritual growth.  I can attest to this firsthand-- moving from a Chinese-American church to a multi-ethnic congregation has produced, in some sense, a culture shock.

Theologically, I've also witnessed a confusing pattern of doctrinal proclivities among my fellow Asian American peers.  While the popularity of many younger New Calvinist preachers (i.e., Chan, Platt, Chandler, etc.) remain high, there also seems to be a tendency to gravitate toward the spectacles of the Emergent Church, particularly when it comes to ideas like cultural relevancy.

In some sense, this trend has deconstructed orthodox ecclesiology and the historicity and theological richness of the Christian faith.  Applicability and Christian living are far more common discussion topics than key doctrines like justification, sanctification, Christology, trinitarianism, eschatology, and the million other 'ologies' that exist within Christian theology (esoteric to be sure, but necessary).

I think many of the pseudo-postmodern emergent trends in the Church today can be rightly attributed to a backlash against orthodox fundamentalism.  This has made for a suitable ally for Asian Americanism, attaching itself to the emergent movement as a reaction to the overwhelmingly white hegemony of historical Christian orthodoxy.

All the while, I'm wary of being overtly critical of the Asian American church because 1) of my inherent bias, and 2) my close associations with fellow believers whom I love.  Nonetheless, I think it's important that such things are carefully evaluated in light of our ecumenical duty as Christians.  Again, there is a delicate balance to be struck here, given the generational tension that Asian Americans must confront.  But I hope it is an issue that continues to be discussed, and one I'm sure to broach in the future.  

Thoughts on dispensationalism, the law, and the covenants:the primer (I)

I've spent a lot of time in recent months thinking about the applicability of the Law, its relation to the gospel, and how Christians should think about it in the paradigm of biblical interpretation.  As someone who's heartily Calvinistic, I have great reverence for the men of faith who came before me-- Calvin, Luther, Henry, Whitefield, Spurgeon, Ryle, Berkouwer, Gerstner, and the list goes on and on.

The reformed view of biblical hermeneutics, as passed down by many of these men, has traditionally upheld Covenant Theology as the the proper interpretative framework for understanding Scripture.  Sometime in the 19th century, a competing interpretive framework-- dispensationalism-- became wildly popular among American evangelical and fundamental churches.  To this day, it is the popular theological framework for many Protestant denominations.

At its root, dispensationalism holds that God has revealed or "dispensed" Himself to His people in multiple ways over time, and that there is a distinction between national Israel and the Church when it comes to God's covenant promises.  Covenant theology, on the other hand, holds that all of history can be read through three overarching covenants: the Covenant of Redemption, the Covenant of Works, and the Covenant of Grace.  It also holds that Israel has forfeited the covenant promises as a nation, and that these promises will instead be fulfilled through Christ and His church.

A variant of Covenant Theology that has sprouted over the years is called "New Covenant Theology" (NCT).  NCT is distinguished from Covenantalism through the belief that the Old Testament/Mosaic Law is entirely abrogated with Christ's coming.  Covenant Theologians have traditionally held that the moral law is still applicable while dispensationalists also believe that all law is fulfilled/abrogated with Christ.  Thus, NCT is sometimes criticized as the middle waffler catering to both sides.

There is an abundance of online resources that describe these schools of thought in greater detail, so that's as much as I feel like explaining.  I do want to explain, however, what my thought process is in regards to these two theological frameworks, and what conclusions I've arrived at in determining what is biblical truth.  It should be made abundantly clear that there are godly thinkers on both sides of the issue, and, for the most part, theologians on both sides have historically agreed on the fundamental essentials of the Christian gospel.

I myself do not place myself firmly in one camp or another.  I see degrees of truth and validity in all views, as well as error.  If one were to point a gun at my head and demand that I label my views, I would best describe myself as someone who holds to New Covenant Theology but with a dispensational premillennialist eschatology, views which I will explain in the next post.  But it's also important to note that I am still learning and still very open to correction and thoughtful deliberation over Scripture.

What I hate about seeker-sensitive churches

In his book The Gospel Call & True Conversion, Paul Washer ardently denounces modern evangelicalism, which is saturated with churches preaching seeker-sensitive human-centered messages.  The great tragedy is that many within these churches may not be saved because the congregants want to hear something other than the true gospel.  Apostle Paul warned Timothy that such a phenomenon would be common in his time and in the many generations to take place (2 Tim 4:3).

What I hate about seeker-sensitive churches boils down to one fundamental fact: they deny the gospel.  This may sound like an unjustifiably harsh rebuke, but there is no denying the simple reality that such churches avoid the gospel of Jesus Christ because they either deny it outright, or deny its power to save.  Paul's famous exhortation to the church at Rome makes it succinctly clear that the gospel is the power of God unto salvation (Romans 1:16), and for that he is unashamed. 

In other words, the gospel and the gospel alone is sufficient to save men.  Why?  Because God Himself has authored and perfected the gospel as well as the faith that responds to it (Heb 12:2).  Seeker-sensitive churches avoid preaching the gospel not only because they fear it is insufficient to save, but because they believe that it drives people away.  In some sense, that is true.  Christ's gospel is foreign to the unregenerate heart and convicting enough to drive sinful people away.

But herein lies the problem: seeker-sensitive churches are focused on the end goal of filling their pews, not directing people to true salvation.  So they preach a watered-down patchwork gospel (as good as no gospel) to make up for what they think the true gospel lacks, but it is merely an act to draw congregants, attract TV viewers, and build a corporate reputation.  There is no genuine desire to see their flock saved.

This is a terrifying reality in the modern church-- hordes of so-called pastors, ministers, and Christians denying the gospel and therefore denying Christ.  Such a denial will be met with exclusion from His presence for eternity (Matthew 10:33).  

Millennials and the Church

In the past year, I've seen an assortment of articles detailing Generation Y's relationship to organized religion.  Nearly all of them have the same verdict: Millennials are leaving the Church in droves.  Although there are multiple reasons attributed for the phenomenon, there is a general consensus that Millennials are dissatisfied with church teachings on social issues, and thus are unable to reconcile the popular post-modern worldview with what they perceive to be antiquated religious morals.

I use "popular post-modern worldview" to describe contemporary socio-cultural thinking. While not characterized by one generalized maxim, this worldview is saturated with concepts like social justice, equal rights, humanism, science, and the like.  From a more practical standpoint, we've seen this play out in a variety of co-related movements: reproductive rights, marriage equality, evolutionistic thinking, etc.

The real tragedy here is not so much that Millennials are distancing themselves from the Church*, but that they have already adopted worldviews dramatically inconsistent with the biblical paradigm.  What wholly matters to them is not giving pleasure and glory to God, but rather meeting the needs of humanity.  There is also a prevalence of the fallacious "it's old, so it's wrong" ways of thinking.  For even those who have claimed a limited degree of religious affiliation, God-centeredness has been so relegated to a secondary position that there really is no gospel reality in their lives.

Millennials prone to toss out the totality of the biblical gospel because of disagreement over social implications of scripture reflect the tragedy of the unregenerate heart.  When an individual leaves the church over a social matter like abortion, it is evidence that they were never there to hear the saving and atoning work of Jesus Christ in the first place.  And some Millennials, instead of taking the guilt-ridden path of abandoning religion entirely, are flocking to liberal churches which propagate agendas consistent with their worldviews but are Christian in name only.

It is important to note that the gospel of Christ does not revolve around social matters and is thus not mutually exclusive with them.  In fact, I believe there are biblical commissions to further some areas of social justice (James 1:27).  Furthermore, it would be wrong to assume that the primacy of Christ's work in the gospel is an excuse to renege on our obligations to live out compassion and love for others (Romans 12).

However, it is of utmost importance to uphold fidelity to the scriptures, ensuring that the gospel is not compromised, particularly in light of contemporary secularism.  There seems to be an implication that if churches want Millennials back, then they'll have to tweak a few teachings or abandon certain doctrines.  Yet the Bible is utterly clear that woe be unto churches which take this road of compromise, effectively distorting the true gospel and promoting a false one.

Today, mainstream evangelical Christendom is saturated with churches that either teach aberrant theology (i.e., prosperity gospel, charismatic doctrines) or no theology at all (i.e., Methodist and Episcopalian denominations in particular).  While these churches are vastly different in nature, they both cater to the seeker-sensitive worldviews of its congregants, giving people what they want to hear and tickling their ears (2 Timothy 4:3).

The real question is not what churches should do to gain Millennials back, but how faithful they are in promoting the gospel of Jesus Christ.  Churches must strive to avoid seeking to fill the pews with warm bodies but cold unregenerate hearts.  We should instead be concerned with fidelity to the Word.  God, in His sovereignty, will do the rest.

*The shock aspect of evangelical reaction to the Millennial exodus is also indicative of attendance as a preeminent factor in indicators of church success.  Sound biblical churches should be much less concerned of number of congregants (Millennials or otherwise) and much more concerned about preaching the truth of the gospel.

On the esotericism of reformed theology

A few weeks back, I had lunch with a brother who I had not seen in a long time. After covering good ground on life subjects, our conversation ended up reaching into matters of faith and theology. We ultimately came to discussing our thoughts on reformed doctrine: ecclesiology, the nature of Christ's atonement, and salvation. As we delved deeper into the theology, the more and more I grew wary of how esoteric some reformed terms are: Dispensationalism. Monergism. Eschatology. And the countless other words seminary students spout off in a small shedding of pride.

There's invariably a linguistic need to describe every distinct concept in Christian theology, as often times it helps us determine what's biblical and what's not. But as we use affixes and stems to construct our words, they get longer, more complicated, and ultimately reach a level of esotericism that can be perceived as horribly elitist, as if only the most biblically-trained theologians are worthy to understand them. That's why you'll never hear words like "traducianism" in the pew-- after all, what kind of lay congregation has any interest in hearing words more than three syllables long?

Much of this has led me to think about whether or not esoteric theology is beneficial for the church, or only for the inflated egos that dabble in it. To be sure, many complex terms refer to very simple literal concepts. Soteriology, for example, is nothing more than the study of Christ's salvation. Similarly, cessationism simply refers to the belief that the sign gifts of the apostolic age have ceased. There are, however, realms of theology where concepts are not as simple and incur much more speculation than biblical exegesis.

Take the debate of supralapsarianism and infralapsarianism, for example. While it, at its simplest, aims to discover how God logically decreed the order of predestination in relation to the fall of man, there has been far more enormous effort, not on properly exegeting biblical truth, but speculating as to the workings of the mind of God. While some will argue that it is a most important doctrinal debate, others may see it as a trivial and fruitless exercise, aimed only at attempting to comprehend the mysteries of God which have been deliberately withheld from us.

Ultimately, where do we draw the line between being learned scholars of God's word and being egotistic wordy theologians? An insightful post from Michigan pastor Bruce Buchanan addresses the point (in response to supralapsarianism vs. infralapsarianism):

Reformed Theology is "rigorous," that is, it presses the hard questions and seeks the clearest Scriptural answers, and receives that teaching submissively no matter how much the response challenges the natural (i.e. fallen) mind. Most people who reject, say, the doctrine of predestination don't do so because it isn't biblical (after all, the plain term is part of the text); but because they don't LIKE the facts or implications of the doctrine, and *voila* it must not be true (because, heaven knows if I don't LIKE something, it must not be so...). 

But RT in its truest form has always had sufficient room to admit the limits of theology. Just because a question can be raised, thought about in relation to biblical data, and an answer offered, does not mean that a black-and-white, "rigorous" answer is available. The answer given may be "tentative," and must be "tentative" perhaps forever. How unfortunate, therefore, if the "tentative" answer is turned into a test of orthodoxy, or hardens into the "correct" answer for a given "camp" within RT. This is the objection that I believe stands behind Dabney's wistful observation that the energy expended in fighting for the "truth" of the matter is largely futile. 

The infra/supra answers are essentially two ways of approaching the same question: one more "historical" (infralapsarian), the other more "logical" (supralapsarian). An argument over which of these is "better" isn't necessarily faulty, until it becomes abusive. If "logic" succeeds in marginalizing "history" as insignificant, it is a Pyrrhic victory of abstraction over creation. "History" has concrete lessons for airy constructs. If "history" marginalizes "logic," it likewise sacrifices the benefit that the Present or Future has in "informing," "judging," or "ordering" the Past. Both notions divided against one another are "linear" in their approach. But the subject with which both are interested (the mind of God) is not linear but whole (or omnidimensional), and defies human limits. 

God accommodates his revelation to man, and his creaturely limitations. Therefore, it is possible to build sound and reliable theological constructions from the materials of special revelation, linear concepts slowly building a "whole" edifice, or a "whole" revelation: "For it is precept upon precept, precept upon precept, line upon line, line upon line, here a little, there a little," Is.28:10. This is the way we gain true understanding. 

But on some questions we are left (again, maybe everlastingly) with a "Heisenberg principle" or a "wave/particle conundrum" (see a physics textbook), but in the realm of theology. And why should this be "bad"? It imposes a lesson on us that we must stop at the bounds God sets for us, and not travel beyond them. In the end, the infra/supra debate ought to be a lesson in humility.