It is in the practice of Christian community that, week after week and year after year, Christians are discipled in the recognition that they are not their own, and that all they have, they have first received. Their making, and their very capacity to make, is always a sheer gift. In the end, Redemer rightly reminds us that wherever the future finds them…Christians will continue to gather, baptize, commune—and remember.

As I write this, there is a watch on my wrist. It isn’t especially fancy—this isn’t a Rolex or Omega, but a stainless-steel Seiko. Its case and band no longer glint in the sunshine, but bear the dull matte burr of long wear. And over the years I’ve had to do various forms of upkeep, from adjusting the size of the band to replacing the crystal face to fixing the internal mechanism that makes it run.
This watch was my grandfather’s, and after he passed away in 2014, it descended to me. Since then, it’s been a fixture in my life: I wore it at my wedding, and, God willing, I’ll pass it on to my son someday. Whenever I wear it, I find myself grateful that my grandfather didn’t buy a cheap Timex or Casio. Instead, he invested in an item that would last—not something extravagant, or something indestructible, but something nevertheless worth preserving and handing on.
In short, I carry on my wrist an item of technology permeated by both memory and history—by my grandfather’s past, and by my own future. It has a particular “immanent” function, to be sure: on a traditional Aristotelian account of virtue ethics, a watch that tells time rightly is properly called a good watch, since it functions as a watch should1. My watch is a good watch, by this standard. And yet what matters to me isn’t just the watch’s function of telling time, but the deeper realities—the deeper loves—to which it points.
Something like this intuition first drove the Christian transposition of Aristotle into a Neoplatonic key2. For Christian thought, the life rightly lived involves both the exemplification of one’s essential virtues and final union with a transcendent Reality that overflows the finite. Beneath and beyond the apparent flux of history and becoming, eternity is ever-present—and all created beings stand within its horizon.
In Made Like the Maker, just as in his classic Centuries, Thomas Traherne once again proves that he is the great English poet of just such participation in the divine. Traherne’s sacramental universe is a world not merely shaped by a demiurge’s hand, but a cosmos positively overflowing with glory for those with eyes to see.3
Mere apprehension of that glory, though, is not the end of the story. Activity is key. As Colin Redemer ably shows in his compelling introduction to Traherne, the Christian has the right—and even duty—to act in freedom to perfect and improve this creation. Over against those who might suggest that Christian contemplation entails stasis or quiescence, Redemer stresses that “the work of man is not finished. The finishing touches of creation are still ours to freely fill.”4
It is in this spirit that Redemer confronts the question of technology and Christian ethics—of the ways in which human beings may rightly exercise their own “sub-creative” faculties. He begins by noting that technological progress as such lacks any orienting principle, beyond the brute fact of incremental improvement in performing some function or other: “Version 2.0 is better at satisfying the needs that version 1.0 was designed to satisfy.”5 That is a crabbed view of advancement indeed.
This myopic tendency is exacerbated by the fact that when modern people think about producing things—that is, creating technology—they tend to think in terms of techne, or “making” through skilled craftsmanship. But, Redemer points out, the notion of “making” is fuller-orbed than this.6 Where, after all, does technology come from in the first place?
The answer is that technology first emerges from ideas put into words. This making-with-words—poesis—is the necessary condition of any development at all. Some poetic vision or other (understood broadly) logically precedes crafting or manufacture: “Techne is a making without words, but the true technician must first know what he is making, and that requires learning the language of the thing made. This learning shows us that the techne is downstream from poiesis.”7
Of course, the poesis exercised by Christians is inherently derivative of the original Word with which God spoke creation into being. Failure to recognize this leads to idolatry, as the maker of the idol inevitably seeks to arrogate originating creative power to himself.8
With the relation of techne to poiesis clarified, how then should Christians think about technological advancements? As a governing principle—or perhaps framework—Redemer settles on a distinction, drawn from Oliver O’Donovan, between begetting and making.9 Begetting is the act of bringing into reality that which is like the progenitor in essence, and which is received as it is: a child who is begotten is human, like her parents, and is received by her parents just as she is. Making, conversely, involves the deliberative craftsmanship, by way of both techne and poesis, of that which is truly other than the maker.10
These two must not be conflated. “We are bits of creation, and so we are made,” Redemer urges. “Much as human pride rages against it, we are made by God. As we follow God we must beware not to attempt to make what ought naturally to be begotten. This truth grounds us in humility, in moderation.”11 An obvious case of confusion between begetting and making, one assumes, would be the use of CRISPR or similar tools to produce an infant “according to specifications.”12
But as far as “making” goes, Redemer contends, the field is largely open. In metaphysical terms, it is open because whatever human beings do as sub-creators cannot undercut the reality of God as source and end of all things. “Knowing creation is made, and that we are made as part of that creation, also gives us courage to act,” Redemer stresses. “We are not constrained by the fear that our making or begetting is going to fundamentally alter the nature of nature. The making that is ultimately God’s is a complete and whole thing inside of which our making takes place.”13 Hence, for Redemer, “[w]e need not fear the creation of our hands, be it an artificial ‘intelligence,’ a genetic modification technology, a neuralink, or a new form of as yet unrealized power generation.”14 In conclusion, Redemer urges Christians to anchor their own poesis within their theological inheritance, embracing “the word and the sacraments [as] the spiritual technology of Christian poetics.”15
This is a bold vision—neither reactionary nor uncritically accelerationist. It is optimistic. And it is a vision that rightly grasps the centrality of technology to the contemporary question of Christian being-in-the-world. Any theorizing about ideal Christian politics will never escape the armchair if it tacitly assumes away the Industrial Revolution, the internet, and the smartphone. Opposition to progress tout court is a fantasy.16
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Job has lost everything. He is devastated and grief-stricken beyond words. He has gone from being the greatest man of the east to living on the town dunghill, scratching his skin with pieces of pottery to ease his itchy pain. But despite all of this, nothing can separate him from the love of God, certainly not the scheming of Satan. Despite every appearance to the contrary, Job is more than a conqueror. And so are we, if our trust is in Jesus Christ. For nothing can separate from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Not sickness. Not loss. Not death. God has not promised that we will not suffer. But be has promised that he will turn all evil to good. And this is what we learn from the sufferings of Job, who points us to the suffering and dying of our Savior, that one whose suffering redeems us from our sin, that Savior who knows what human suffering is like, and who promises to restore us and vindicate us in the end.

Everyone reading this essay has suffered loss. We have all lost something we prize. Some of us have suffered greatly and must live in constant pain, either physical or emotional, and sometimes both. Yet, no one reading this has lost as much as Job. Like a series of Tsunamis, the bad news of Satan’s handiwork begins to come, wave after wave after wave.
As we continue our look at Job, the suffering prophet, we come to verse 13 of chapter one, where we read “one day [probably that day when Job offered burnt offerings] when Job’s sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, a messenger came to Job and said, `The oxen were plowing and the donkeys were grazing nearby, and the Sabeans attacked and carried them off. They put the servants to the sword, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!” The Sabeans are Arab Bedouins, who not only took all of Job’s livestock, they killed all of the servants. But this is only the beginning.
According to verse 16, the earth itself seemed to turn against Job. “While he [the first messenger] was still speaking, another messenger came and said, `The fire of God [probably a reference to a lightening storm] fell from the sky and burned up the sheep and the servants, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!” A devastating blow. Yet another wave of bad news was still to hit. “While he was still speaking, another messenger came and said, `The Chaldeans formed three raiding parties and swept down on your camels and carried them off. They put the servants to the sword, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!’”
But Job’s loss is still not over. Another, even more painful blow was soon to fall. “While he was still speaking, yet another messenger came and said, `Your sons and daughters were feasting and drinking wine at the oldest brother’s house, when suddenly a mighty wind swept in from the desert and struck the four corners of the house. It collapsed on them and they are dead, and I am the only one who has escaped to tell you!”
In but the span of a few moments, Job learns that all his wealth has been destroyed and stolen. The joy of his life–his seven sons and three daughters–had been taken from him. Only the messengers have been spared so as to bring Job the news that the accumulated fruit of a lifetime of work is now gone. Marauding enemies and the forces of nature appeared to conspire to bring Job to his knees.
The way in which this horrible loss occurred not only conceals the hand of God, but also the hand of Satan. Remember, Job does not know of the heavenly scene, nor the divine permission given to Satan to afflict him. If Job were an atheist, he would have had an explanation for what has just happened. The world is a cruel place, red in tooth and claw. If Job were a polytheist, a dualist, a materialist, or a fatalist, he would have had a ready explanation for his loss–human weakness, the forces of nature, or the eternal struggle between good (spirit) and evil (things material).[1]
But Job believes in the living God, who is sovereign over the forces of nature as well as the enemies to the east. Job knows that his God is supremely good. Therefore, Job knows that these things have befallen him only because the good and almighty God has either brought these things to pass, or else has permitted these things to occur. And this brings us to the mystery of the suffering of the righteous.
Job Praises God Despite All that Has Happened
The knowledge that God is both good and sovereign serves as the basis for Job’s reaction to this horrible news, as recounted in verses 20-21. “At this, Job got up and tore his robe and shaved his head,” a common gesture of grief. Overcome with shock at the realization of his loss, Job “fell to the ground in worship and said: `Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked I will depart. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; may the name of the LORD be praised.’” Even as the reader’s heart aches for Job, this grief-stricken man still utters words of faith. As one writer puts it, Job knows “that a man may stand before God stripped of everything, and still lack nothing.”[2] Surely, the sentiment expressed in Psalm 73:25 comes to Job’s mind, “Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you.” And yet Job’s faith does not relieve his suffering, it only makes it worse.[3]
The God whom Job loves has brought this to pass. Job has done nothing to deserve what has happened. And still, Job praises God. As we read in verse 22, “In all this, Job did not sin by charging God with wrongdoing.” Job knows there is a reason for this situation, even if he must wait to discover it. From his now-broken heart, Job pours forth a doxology of praise at news of the loss of everything.
Yet, Job’s ordeal is far from over. Things are only going to get worse as yet another heavenly scene is revealed.
The Second Heavenly Scene
Satan is once again summoned before the heavenly court but this time is strangely silent about the results of Job’s first ordeal. It is the Lord who calls Satan’s attention to what has happened to Job. As we read in 2:1-3, “On another day the angels came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came with them to present himself before him. And the LORD said to Satan, `Where have you come from?’ Satan answered the LORD, `From roaming through the earth and going back and forth in it.’ Then the LORD said to Satan, `Have you considered my servant Job?
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There you shall be kissed by your beloved Saviour.  You shall be allowed to put your arms around Him as you tell Him you love Him. There it won’t be as if loving Him from a distance. There you will be with Him and He will be with you; and He who has loved you with an everlasting love will go on loving you. He who has borne with you through all your sin and failure and faithlessness will still love you when in heaven you are no more faithless and sinful.

The Bible teaches us that before the return of Christ there is a bliss that our souls will enjoy in the presence of Jesus, but that bliss is not the full glory to come when God makes a new heaven and a new earth.
What will it be like?  I want to name 5 things that will characterize the heaven to come.
First, there will be an end to everything that is evil.

No more aches and pains,
no more weakness and tiredness,
no more disease,
no more brokenness or disability,
no more confusion or memory loss,
no more wicked perversions,
no more haters of God,
no more idol worship,
no more heresy,
no more blaspheming the precious name of Jesus,
no more weariness in worship,
no more hard heartedness in praying,
no more rebellion,
no more dishonesty and stealing,
no more anger or disappointment or misunderstandings or broken relationships.
no more covetousness, but only contentment.
no more sadness and tears, but only joy.

Second, perfection.  What I have already described may sound like perfection, but in heaven there will be something more than the absence of all that is wrong.  Our bodies and our souls shall be made perfect. Right now “eye hath not seen or ear heard the things which God had prepared for them that love him.” Our eyes can’t see, but then we will be able to see.
Think for a moment about what it will mean to have glorified bodies. A blind man can be told about the beauties of God’s creation.  You can tell him, for example, about a sunrise, and about the beauty of spring. Similarly you can tell him about mountain ranges, prairies, flowing rivers and waterfalls; but you can’t make him see. So what if one day he could see? Then he would understand in a way he could never before.
Or think about the deaf man who can’t understand the beauty of music, and so with sign language you try to help him understand. But he can’t understand unless you can make him hear.
In heaven there are things we will see with eyes that can see. There we will hear with ears that can hear. Such a change will come over us that it will be like a blind man given sight and like a deaf man able to hear. We shall hear perfect heavenly music with perfect ears.  We shall see heavenly sights with perfect eyes. It won’t merely be that heaven shall be many thousand times more glorious than this world, but there our bodies will have the capacity to take it in and enjoy it.
Third, knowledge.  When you have found something that interests you you love to learn.  The process of discovery and accumulating knowledge is wonderful. But all of it pales beside the knowledge of Christ!  You take up your Bible, and its wonderful how it leads you into a great knowledge of your beloved. In those moments perhaps you say to yourself, “O His mouth is sweet.” Sometimes as you have meditated on the truths of Scripture, and as you have turned your eyes and thoughts toward heaven
you have caught a glimpse of Christ.   And seeing Him by faith you were overcome by joy.
Richard Baxter asks, “Christian when after long gazing heavenward, thou hast got a glimpse of Christ, dost thou not sometimes seem to have been with Paul in the third heaven… and to have seen what is unutterable?  Art thou not with Peter ready to say Master it is I good to be here… Didst thou never look so long upon the Sun of righteousness till thine eyes were dazzled with his astonishing glory?  Did not the splendour of it make all things below seem black and dark to thee?” He then added, “But, This knowledge which have given you such heights of joy and wonder  is as nothing to what you shall know; it scare in comparison of that deserves to be called knowledge…”
In heaven you will know things you can’t now imagine. Here you have been scratching the surface of the riches and the majesty of Christ, and you have called it excellent. But then you shall learn what knowledge is.
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