Somewhat lost amidst the five million options, I stumbled across (and quickly became addicted to) A Short History Of …, which delivers on its promise to “transport you back in time to witness history’s most incredible moments and remarkable people.” Hosted by the velvety-voiced John Hopkins, it contains—for my ear at least—the perfect balance of original audio, expert interviews, and added effects. And it is eclectic enough to offer something for everyone. Their four episodes last month were: The Trans-Siberian Railway, St. Patrick, Frida Kahlo, and the birth of Palaeontology.
But the highlight so far has been two episodes dedicated to the science and politics of the USA vs USSR space race, which dominated the media landscape of the 1960s. By the time we came to the moon landing, I felt as if I had joined the 650 million people who held their breath and listened live as Neil Armstrong’s voice came crackling in across the miles: “That’s one small step for a man; one giant leap for mankind.”
It was perhaps this new appreciation of history that has heightened the dismay I felt when I learned recently from the latest research by the Barna Group that only 50% of 13–17-year-old New Zealanders who profess to be Christian actually believe that Jesus Christ was a real person. Only 49% believe that he was resurrected, and only 43% believe that he will return. The global findings were no better. Released early this year, The Open Generation: A Global Teen Study takes its name from the observation that Gen Z are much more open to themes of spirituality and religion than their parents were. While some have welcomed such news as a breakthrough, I am inclined to think their celebrations are a little premature if half of the self-identified Christians sampled couldn’t confess to basic articles in our creeds. The words of G.K. Chesterton come to mind: “… the object of opening the mind […] is to shut it again on something solid.” Whatever our critiques of Barna’s methodology might be—including their self-identification criteria—those statistics point to the poor job we have done of passing on a faith that is grounded in historical reality.
Many commentators have noted that there is more evidence for Jesus’s existence than for any figure from that period. Even historians who are hostile to Christian faith do not deny that he lived. In his short discussion of the Apostle’s Creed, Alistair McGrath could have picked any number of sources to quote but settles on the Roman historian, Tacitus. Listen as his brief message comes crackling in across the millennia: “Christ […] was crucified at the hands of the procurator Pontius Pilate in the reign of Tiberius.”
Those words should be more breathtaking to us than the moon landing. The fact that Jesus Christ was a real person lies at the very heart of our faith—affecting every doctrine from creation to the consummation. And it is, of course, a necessary prerequisite if the resurrection is to be anything other than a myth. However, while it sits alongside his life and death in our narrative timelines, Jesus’s resurrection cannot be judged by the same criteria. I don’t have the space or the skills to mount a comprehensive defence of its veracity, but I have appreciated N.T. Wright’s warning that we should avoid “any attempt to stand on the ground of rationalism and to attempt to ‘prove’, in some mathematical fashion, something which, if it happened, ought itself to be regarded as the centre not only of history but also of epistemology, not only of what we know but of how we know it.”
In other words, the resurrection completely changes the rules of the game. It did for his original followers, which is why we see them—in gardens, and shuttered rooms, and Emmaus road conversations—scrambling to make sense of the paradigm-splitting reality in front of them. But once they did, they were never the same, as Pope Benedict describes in his book on Jesus’s journey through Holy Week: “The Resurrection confronted the disciples so powerfully, that every doubt was dispelled, and they stepped forth before the world with an utterly new fearlessness in order to bear witness: Christ is truly risen.” That fearlessness, even in the face of death, was fuelled by their unwavering conviction that what had happened to Christ would one day happen to them. It’s this conviction at work in St Paul’s confident declaration of words from Hosea 13: “O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?” (1 Cor 15:55).
Christianity exploded through the Roman Empire and beyond because people experienced for themselves what it is to be reconciled to the Father through the resurrected Son by the power of the Holy Spirit. In one giant leap, the resurrection placed a human representative in the Trinity—forever. As someone who has worked in pastoral roles for almost two decades, I am convinced that personal encounter with that same risen Jesus remains the only irrefutable proof that it happened. From the rather-Pentecostal-shaped “FIRE. God of Abraham … Joy, joy, joy … Jesus Christ” of Blaise Pascal to the rather-more-English “I felt my heart strangely warmed” of John Wesley, its reality is affirmed each time someone is apprehended by our risen Lord.
But even if you have an encounter like that, I imagine it is difficult to build any deep and lasting practices of faith upon it if your “openness” is constantly questioning the reality of the central character. It might be time for some of us to sensitively seek out some Christian teens, listen to their questions and concerns, and begin a process of passing on the concrete creedal realities that have been so faithfully passed down the centuries to us.