In recognition of the 500th anniversary of John Calvin's birth, Modern Reformation editors have solicited essays from a number of authorities on Calvin's life and work. Not all of our writers are "Calvinists" (that is, they would not all necessarily agree with him or follow in his theological footsteps), but each has identified a particular point of Calvin's thought that helps contribute to an overall perspective of Calvin's influence in his time and ours. We're grateful to these writers, some of whom might not normally appear in our pages, for lending us their own words as we contemplate the many faces of John Calvin.
One doesn't have to look very far or very hard to realize that we are living in uncertain times-not just uncertain, downright cataclysmic. As the world waits anxiously for news of the market's every fluctuation, new poverty for some means an exponential increase in suffering for those who have always been on the underside of global prosperity. As patterns of immigration and migration shift and people find themselves living, by choice and necessity, in closer proximity than ever, a new generation of North America begins to navigate waters swelling with the waves of greater human diversity. The web of these events, and the sense of crisis it engenders, covers all aspects of our common life, including the stories we tell about who we are. For North American Protestants formed in the Calvinist heritage, our theological story about humanity and the meaning of life hold special treasures for us as we grapple with these pressures and possibilities.
Having just moved to New York, I am more aware of these global changes than ever. In addition to the lasting monuments to Calvinism in the grand churches on our boulevards-First Presbyterian, Fifth Avenue Presbyterian, St. John the Divine, The Riverside Church-every day new strands of Calvinism are pouring into the city from places like South Africa, St. Petersburg, and Sao Paolo. Unlike anything our New York forbearers would have imagined, these forms of Calvinism express an emerging global Christianity that is both exciting and perplexing. In these new communities, one finds old-fashioned, resonant strands such as the story of grace and sin and God's absolute sovereignty. Right next to them, however, are strong claims of God's immediate presence and Pentecostal experience of the Spirit's ecstasies. Just to complicate the picture even more, living right next door to these two jostling versions of Calvinism are practitioners of other faiths-Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, Jews, Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists-and that strange new demographic that is growing faster than them all: the so-called unaffiliated. These are folks who know themselves to be religious, who engage in a variety of religious and spiritual practices, but who do not affiliate with any one tradition. Unlike the Seekers of the Sixties, these folks are not looking for a definite spiritual home. Their "home" is the pastiche of practices that hold their lives in criss-crossing lines of belief and belonging. They are yoga practitioners who also chant the Lord's Prayer; praise music junkies who identify as agnostic; Sikh women who pray at Islamic shrines; Rastafarians who also practice Vodun and pray the rosary.
Standing in this new landscape can be disorienting, like wandering into a Van Gogh painting-vibrant colors, unclear lines, and blurred horizons draw us into a world that is both beautiful and overwhelming. For a mainstream Calvinist like myself, raised in the Christian Church, Disciples of Christ, and the United Church of Christ, it's often hard to get my head around it. But this is where returning to Calvin himself can be so helpful. Despite historical distance, Calvin might recognize the world we live in today, because he too lived in a time of cataclysmic changes. Calvin's Geneva was comprised of an immigrant population significantly larger than the size of its citizenship. And Calvin himself was one-an immigrant who, like the others, wasn't able to vote on civic issues because he was not a native citizen, until near the end of his life. Refugees and immigrants, displaced business people and peasants, royalty and clergy, all of them came to Calvin's Geneva in search of new life and new possibility. Like us, what they discovered was that new life had to be newly "made-up" in a great experiment: there was no template, no easy answer. And out of this experiment came the foundations for democracy, the rule of law, and more variations of Christianity and politics than can be easily counted in any history class.
As a pastor and writer in these tumultuous times, Calvin's theology offers me hope. He knew that in times of rapid change, people are likely to grasp for things that promise to anchor them. It is hard to live in such flux. But wisely, Calvin knew that our very human need for stability could lead us to make idols of objects that are not holy. A person, a religious or political system, a clear line drawn between "us" and "them," or even a set of cherished beliefs-all can become idols we promote to the place of God. To counter this most pernicious-and most natural!-impulse, Calvin's theology insists on only one steadfast principle: we must be reformed and always reforming. We move forward practically, forging pragmatic solutions to real social problems, anchoring ourselves in communities and laws and practices. And then we open our eyes again, under the ever-loving gaze of an all-present God, unclasp our clutching hands, and face the possibility that our good work-even our deepest religious beliefs-might have turned into idols in our eagerness to do the work of God.
And having humbled us by lifting up our capacity for idol-worship, Calvin would have eagerly reminded us that even in a world-undone, grace abounds and stabilizes us, through the simple of wonder of unstoppable hope and the insistent presence of the Divine with you. To the Glory of God.
