A Bit on Deliverance, Pt. 5 February 29, 2008

Irrevocable goodness and justice act as Jesus’ tools of coercion. He does not coerce with tools of oppression, but with tools of freedom. We are drawn to him because we were created by and for him. We are compelled to do his will because he has seen and known us in our distress, and delivered us from it. We don’t proclaim any whimpy “Hosanna” then; we resonate the truth, “Blessed is the King of Israel” because he has poured out his blessings upon us by shedding his own blood for us. We don’t sing as those created for the order of the world as it is now, but as those who are redeemed for the world as it is becoming and will one day fully be. And, as the church, we are part of the world’s transformative process. We are the ones Jesus mentions in his answer to Pilate—everyone on the side of truth listens to me. We don’t conform our lives to the hopes and expectations of the world, but to the reality of our King Jesus.

In sum, Jesus’ kingdom is from above. He defeats the cosmic powers of sin, death, and the devil so that earthly powers that rely on them are robbed of their power and authority. Death is no longer ultimate, so those rulers who use it coercively and tyrannically lose their central threat. Starvation and thirst no longer hold ultimate sway, the loss of loved ones, the loss of land, the loss of wealth—by Jesus’ sacrifice, resurrection, and enthronement as King, all these things are unremittingly relegated to this age. As King, Jesus exercises authority over the systems and structures that so often provide earthly kings with their power. When those kings submit themselves to the rule of Jesus, they are able to govern justly and mercifully. When they reject the rule of Jesus, they forfeit their legacy—their evil deeds and murderous pursuits will be reversed at the end of the age. It’s not that Jesus no longer cares if his followers suffer or die; indeed he does, but when there’s no other alternative, Jesus has promised that death is not their end and he has guaranteed that it shall lose all influence whatsoever. Indeed, his death demonstrates the extent and depth of his care for his people. His heavenly rule gives us hope now because he makes it possible for us to live in the confidence of resurrection and complete redemption. When earthly rulers call us to rebel against God, we have the ability to stand in the face of death without fear. This is precisely how the early church stood before the Roman Empire; the rulers had lost the ability to employ the fear of death as a tactic, and the church flourished.

A Bit on Deliverance, Pt. 3 February 27, 2008

Because Jesus is driving back death and every vestige of evil, we are grateful that Jesus is a highly political ruler who is able to govern the most common tools of earthly politicians: fear, oppression, torture, violent coercion (both passive and active, passive being the withholding of food and water supplies), and death.  He does not deal in weapons or abuse, but in freedom and love.  But in order that his kingdom might be filled to the brim with those freed from sin, death, and the devil, the full implications of his victory are being gradually yet steadily enacted in all corners of the earth.  In this way, Jesus can answer Pilate, saying: “You are right in saying I am a king.  In fact, for this reason I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.  Everyone on the side of truth listens to me.”  Jesus came into the world to institute and inaugurate his style of rule, the type of rule that doesn’t just match earthly powers but overcomes their very structures and systems of power.  The Jews living in the Roman Empire didn’t just need a new ruler whom they could call their own; they needed a whole new system of power and rule.  It wouldn’t do for Jesus to go dethrone Pilate and just pick up where Pilate left off, or to go to Rome and remove Tiberius from his throne.  To do that would be to work within the earthly systems of rule and government; but Jesus was establishing a wholly new rule and government.  A rule where the King seeks out fellowship with his people, is willing to give up his position in heaven for intimacy with his subjects, and only re-assumes the throne after he has secured an eternal place in his kingdom for his people by going to the cross.  The structure of God’s kingdom, then, is not built on murder or fear but on self-sacrifice and love.  We lay down our lives for one another, as Christ has done for us.  That’s how this kingdom works.  The system of God’s kingdom does not rely on wielding death effectively, but by removing the sting of death altogether.  If this is indeed the case, as Scripture testifies it is, how could anything but the Pharisees’ fearful remark be true: “Look how the whole world has gone after him!”

A Bit on Church Affiliation February 26, 2008

In light of the recent Pew Forum study, we can see that religious identity is a matter of flux for many Americans.  Living in a rather transient culture where many of us move frequently, change jobs and therefore social circles, are accustomed to our environments adapting to meet our preferences, etc., it’s not a surprise that there’s as much change in our denominations as there are in every other area of our lives.  The question is, how do we steady ourselves?  It’s a comfort to know that Jesus is the wise and powerful Head of his Church, and that he seeks after every sheep that wanders away.  We do not have to be afraid that our culture is going to wash away what Jesus has accomplished and what the Spirit has applied in the Church.  Jesus’ Spirit is actively at work in every branch of his church—yes, even those we may not specifically agree with on all points.  As a result, we can see beauty in the diversity of American Christianity.  Together, the blend of American denominations provides a more holistic image of Jesus’ character and his heart for the world than any of them do individually.  We can be grateful for others as they may transition within denominations (and even rejoice when a beloved brother or sister from our church finds Christian community elsewhere), while also deciding to settle into our own home within the neighborhood.  The concern the study raises is that many Christians may never find a home in any church they are a part of, though they attend regularly.  That’s tragic in light of the sacrifice Jesus made so that we could be united to him, and therefore united to one another.  We are created and redeemed for community, to do this Christian life with one another.  It’s okay that people find homes in denominations different from ours.  But wherever we find our home in the Christian neighborhood, we are to be in our church as family.  We help one another understand the faith better; we walk alongside one another in difficult times; we confront one another when we fall into sin; we pray with and for one another in sickness and in health, in plenty and in want—indeed, until death do us part, if possible.  We are here to be the image of Christ to one another, and to receive love from others who seek to image Christ to us.  When moving from city to city, our church should be the hardest part of our life to part with in the transition.  And it’s only right that we would love one another, that we would lay our lives down for one another—we are the church precisely because Christ has done that for us.

A Bit on Deliverance, Pt. 2 February 26, 2008

In John 18, Jesus says that his kingdom is not from this world—otherwise his servants would prevent his arrest.  Rather, his kingdom is from another place.  His authority comes from a place where he does not have to win power with a sword or slaughter his enemies in order to have the throne.  He realizes that the greatest threat to his rule comes not from Caesar or Augustus or from the chief priests or the Pharisees; rather, the greatest threat to his rule and the well-being of his people are the cosmic forces that have enslaved humanity and distorted the image of God in us.  This is how, as the Son of David even, Jesus supercedes every king that has gone before him.  He does not coerce by imposing the threat of death and evil, oppressive tactics against his enemies or disloyal subjects; instead, he robs those coercive techniques of their permanent influence.  Those who serve him as king have no reason to fear the tactics of earthly kings and rulers.  When we encounter Jesus, then, we encounter the King and Messiah who breaks the expectations of worldly politics—he fights to the death, not just to be remembered with honor but so no other instance of death will hold one of his own in the grave.  He won’t settle to just protect his borders so his people can all die of ‘natural’ causes; our King defeats the greatest of all enemies, taking a top-down approach to our freedom from all kinds of oppression.  He has defeated death, he is driving back evil day by day, and there will be a day when every vestige of revolt and rebellion against God will be absent among us and within us.

A Bit on Community: Some Insights from John Stott September 19, 2007

Again, 1 John 1:1-4 reads:

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched–this we proclaim concerning the Word of life.  The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us.  We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us.  And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ.  We write this to make our/your joy complete.

According to John Stott in  his volume The Epistles of John: An Introduction and Commentary, the Preface’s “noble sweep unfolds the purpose of God from eternity to eternity, from that which was from the beginning (vs. 1) to the fullness of joy (vs. 4) experienced by Christian believers, which will not be finally consummated until the end” (58). Recognizing that what was from the beginning is now historically manifest and authoritatively proclaimed, Stott points out that the result is communal fellowship and completed joy. “The proclamation was not an end in itself; its purpose, immediate and ultimate, is now defined. The immediate is fellowship (koinonia, vs. 3), and the ultimate joy (chara, vs. 4). The fellowship created by Christ in the days of His flesh within the apostolic band, and deepened by the coming of the spirit at Pentecost, was not to be limited to them…The purpose of proclamation of the gospel is, therefore, not salvation but fellowship. Yet, properly understood, this is the meaning of salvation in its widest embrace, including reconciliation to God in Christ, holiness of life, and incorporation in the Church. This fellowship is the meaning of eternal life” (63, emphasis mine). Because our fellowship is with the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ, we can confidently state that human fellowship spontaneously arises from divine fellowship. The true message produces true communion. And true communion fosters true joy.

But Stott is quick to point out that, because of sin, complete communion is not possible in this life. We must wait for both perfect communion and perfect joy in the life to come. As a result, Stott sees this passage as pointing beyond this life to the life of heaven. When our communion with God and with one another is made complete, then so will our joy be perfected. In this way, we do not need to despair when we see flaws in our fellowship or when we feel less than perfectly joyful all the time. The one who was from the beginning has been proclaimed—and he will be proclaimed until the end. “The substance of the apostolic proclamation was the historical manifestation of the Eternal; its purpose was and is a fellowship with one another, which is based on fellowship with the Father and the Son and issues in fullness of joy” (66).  We now experience real tastes of the fellowship and joy to come, but we are aware that these are only tastes and not yet the full feast we have been promised and that has been guaranteed in the gift of God’s Spirit to us.

A Bit on Dignity September 18, 2007

I’ve been making my way through Helmut Thielecke’s book of sermons on the Lord’s Prayer.  At one point he says this:

Some poor fools say, “The greater one makes God the smaller man becomes–until finally he becomes so small that he considers himself a worm.”  This self-deprecation, they say, is typical of the Christian way in which man approaches the Orientally exaggerated colossal figure of his god.  In reply I would ask this question: Isn’t it obvious today that the truth is the absolute opposite of that statement?  The more God is banished from life the more forlorn and worthless man becomes, the more he becomes merely a game beast to be hunted and killed.  And I venture further to ask: Where in the world does man have any higher dignity than here–where the Son of God discovers human nobility deep beneath the surface of depravity and vice, finds it even in the possessed, the insane, the tainted and infected, and gives his life to them?  Isn’t it true that every beaten and oppressed man, borne down by anxiety or guilt or inferiority feelings, begins to lift up his head and take a new lease on life when he comes in touch with Jesus of Nazareth (106).

 While on the surface this passage does not seem to cohere with John the Baptist’s statement “let me decrease so that he might increase,” I think Thielecke puts his finger on a Western, Christian tendency that is found in many of our churches.  We seem to have the false idea that, by setting forth some falsely humble stance of ourselves and displaying God as the all-knowing, all-present, all-loving one, we do him a favor.  But while emphasizing his attributes in this way, we miss his character.  God’s character is such that the least among us (including you and me) are worth his knowledge, his presence, and his love.  It is both the subject and object of God’s work that tells us where his heart is–and his heart is with his creation, particularly with his people.  As a result, we decrease by increasing our reflection of his knowledge, his presence, and his love.  We don’t disappear, but become more apparent through communion with Jesus.

A Bit on Community: Some Insights from Raymond Brown September 5, 2007

1 John 1:1-4 reads:

That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched–this we proclaim concerning the Word of life.  The life appeared; we have seen it and testify to it, and we proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and has appeared to us.  We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us.  And our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ.  We write this to make our/your joy complete.

We see from these verses that the proclamation of the word of life creates community, or effects koinonia.  Many simply translate this word as ‘fellowship’ or ‘community,’ but it is difficult to translate.  This one word acts as a window through which we can view how the early Christians understood themselves, what their self-concept was.  According to Raymond Brown, “It involves both the dynamic esprit de corps (life/spirit of the body) that brings people together and the togetherness that is produced by that spirit” (170).  Communion springs from commonality.  Brown observes that the same concept in the Gospel of John is communicated with reference to being “one” (John 17:11,21,22,23).  Brown then suggests that, both in the Gospel and in the letter, these references to communion and oneness “may be attempts to render into Greek a notion like the Hebrew yahad, ‘oneness, unity, community,’ which is the self-designation of the Qumran Community that produced the Dead Sea Scrolls” (170).  In a sense, then, John is using a community that in his day was visible, well-known and well-respected as a sort of terminological illustration of what his readers are to envision for themselves.

As the author proceeds in verse 4, he places the first person plural pronoun hemeis at the end of the clause for emphasis.  He does not want his readers to think that only he intended for them to join communion, but rather that while “physically, he and he alone is going to write,…at the start he wants to make it clear that what he writes bears more than personal authorization—it is Community tradition from the Community tradition-bearers” (172).  In other words, John does not want to be put on a pedestal as the one who can call others to faith; rather, he wants them to see that they are joining a community of faith, a league of believers who also attest to the truthfulness of what John himself is saying and writing.  There is safety in numbers—so we can feel our doubt, feel our questions and uncertainties, and then feel the reality of the community we are a part of.  We don’t just join one leader who is making overtly confident claims about some Jesus fellow, but we enter into a community tradition and accept the multitude of voices that invite us into community through the proclamation of the word of life.

And the glorious result of a growing communion is named here: joy.  For who?  The community of faith.  The community is blessed by the very fact that it is a community—koinonia creates chara, which creates more koinonia.  The effects of community and joy are reciprocal.  As Brown says, “The fulfillment of joy, then, would be the growth and flowering of the gift received earlier—a growth achieved through living in koinonia with God, Christ, and other Johannine believers” (174).  In fact, it seems that communion and its resultant joy are the very reasons the author has sat down to write at all.  The author and “other tradition-bearers already have communion with the Father and the Son through the revelation of life they have received (v. 3)” (175).  His goal is to expand the boundaries of this already-existing communion, perhaps drawing on the tradition of John 17 where Jesus “distinguishes between his immediate disciples and ‘those who believe in me through their word’ (17:20) and where he prays ‘that they may share in my joy to the full’ (17:13).  For John the second generation of Johannine Christians who had never met Jesus face-to-face could enter into this full joy, but they “could not bypass those who had seen, heard, and felt.”  In other words, community and joy are a package deal.  If we lack joy in our walk with Christ, we ought to do a community-check on our lives.

A Bit on Gender: Another Hyperlink September 5, 2007

The Church has adopted a multitude of approaches to addressing cultural attitudes towards gender–some hostile, some inclusive, some ignorant.  I think regardless of where one falls out in their views of how men and women are to relate in the kingdom of God and how feminist theology might serve to improve or destroy the current theological landscape, Lilian Calles Barger’s brief lecture to Christian academics offers a much-needed perspective on how to approach and interact with the increasing number of women who find Christianity disappointing due to the way gender issues are addressed.  Go here to read Women’s Culture: The Gospel and the Future, and then let me know what you think.

A Bit on Doubt: A Demonstrated Response August 28, 2007

Quote:

Lord, my God, who am I that You should forsake me? The Child of your Love — and now become as the most hated one — the one — You have thrown away as unwanted — unloved. I call, I cling, I want — and there is no One to answer — no One on Whom I can cling — no, No One. — Alone … Where is my Faith — even deep down right in there is nothing, but emptiness & darkness — My God — how painful is this unknown pain — I have no Faith — I dare not utter the words & thoughts that crowd in my heart — & make me suffer untold agony.

So many unanswered questions live within me afraid to uncover them — because of the blasphemy — If there be God — please forgive me — When I try to raise my thoughts to Heaven — there is such convicting emptiness that those very thoughts return like sharp knives & hurt my very soul. — I am told God loves me — and yet the reality of darkness & coldness & emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul. Did I make a mistake in surrendering blindly to the Call of the Sacred Heart?
— addressed to Jesus, at the suggestion of a confessor, undated

And who is the author of this undated address to Jesus? Mother Teresa.  This is not a ploy on the part of atheists to undermine her work, but is a selection from a new collection of her letters gathered as part of the campaign to have her canonized. For fifty years Teresa poignantly felt God’s absence. Teresa’s closest spiritual advisers in the Catholic Church see the mixture of Teresa’s earnest doubt and tireless service as an indication of her sainthood. Some might say that this proves hypocrisy is more alive and well than any of us knew, but Teresa presented herself and her life as an airtight admission of the presence and power of God even when she did not personally sense him in either prayer or the eucharist. The full range of implications from this are hard to spell out; but, if nothing else, this certainly is another mark against our individualistic sense of spirituality in the West. Besides, when I read this quote it was the first time I felt like I could ever relate to some aspect of Mother Teresa’s life . That’s scary–because if you can relate to someone like that, then you can be called to do what they did. Up until now I had unknowingly and unintentionally assumed I was safely insulated from the radiating call that Mother Teresa’s life is to all Christians, both Catholic and not. How ironically and quickly our own self-deception turns on us…

To read more on this, check out The Time Magazine article and Lilian Calles Barger’s site, where I first saw the story.

A Bit on Incarnation: Reflection on Mt. 25:40 August 24, 2007

The King will reply, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”

There are a lot of things that keep me awake at night and this is one of them.  Not so much because I suffer from an irrational fear of hell, but because it bothers me how sentimental this verse always sounds to me.  I don’t like sentimental things.  That’s probably one of the reasons I tend to be irrationally unpatriotic–not because I don’t love America (I do), but because so much patriotism feels like a sentimental white-washing of the true worth of America.  Sometimes I feel like the verse at hand is a whitewashed way of challenging Christians to give to the poor or to do small deeds that have a big impact.  Both of these are important, but it’s more the assumption behind this verse that dogs me.  Why is it that what we do for the least of these, we do for the King (here, the King being the Son of Man, being Jesus)?  This parable was told before the crucifixion, burial, and resurrection of Jesus–before the giving the of Spirit–and in regard to all make and manner of persons, particularly those invisible to the rest of society (cf. the goats, “when did we see you…?”)

So what’s gone on that makes it so Jesus can identify himself with the hungry, the stranger, the unclothed, the sick, the imprisoned?  Notice: not just relate to, but identify with?  The incarnation.  He is a human person.  Yes, he’s got all the particularity and all the specificity that any of us have–male, Jewish, 1st century, Galilee, 5′9″ or whatever, dark eyes, dark hair, incisive personality, compelling communicator, outgoing, self-disciplined, responsible, caring, a get-it-done kind of guy.  But he’s human–fleshly, embodied, real.  The joining of the Logos, the Son, to the stuff of us means he relates to all of us, understands all of us, and identifies with all of us–each of us in our entirety and all of us in our numerity (see, I really am a patriot).

In this passage, he highlights the significance of our relationship to the invisible figures in our society by making explicit that it’s a direct parallel to our relationship with him.  He took on their humanity too–not just ours.  And where we draw false divides between who’s worth our effort and who’s not, who’s worth our sacrifice and who’s not, who’s worth our notice and who’s not, we ignore the full implications of the reality of his humanity.  We forget (or fail to ever remember) the scope of his mission, the commission of his resurrection–that humanity might be made whole, and through humanity the whole cosmos.

And we communicate our failure to know Jesus in his humanity by failing to offer water to the thirsty, by forgetting to feed the hungry, by neglecting to clothe the unclothed, by quarantining the sick, by considering ourselves better than the prisoners.  So what’s our confession that “by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man” worth if it doesn’t elicit forth in caring for those for whom no one else cares?

He took on all of our humanity–he was fully man–and we are to take on all of humanity.  He identifies himself with all of us, and as his people we are to identify with all of each other.  In this way, Jesus’ taking on of our flesh, means my taking off of my flesh in a sense.  He got into us so we could get out of ourselves.  And how did he become incarnate?  By the power of the Holy Spirit.  So how do we, in a sense, excarnate from ourselves in order to recarnate with others?  By the power of the Holy Spirit.