For me,
spiritual growth is not so much a process of reaffirming what I already believe
and making it stronger (although that often happens) as it is venturing beyond
my comfort zone and walking with the God who is “always making all things new”
(Rev 21:5).
By
definition, growth is change, and there are community dimensions, as well as
individual dimensions, to spiritual growth. The Bible is a record of
individuals and of a people who grew in their relationship with their God, each
generation passing on to the next generation the cumulative testimony of that
relationship. We are beneficiaries of their testimony, and are afforded the
opportunity—indeed, the responsibility—of expanding and enriching that
relationship and passing our testimony on to subsequent generations.
The one
constant throughout that testimony is change. Abram, a Habiru (?) from Chaldea
had a life-changing (and history-forming) encounter with God at Shechem, and
changed from a nomadic life of questionable character to a settled agrarian
life, quite possibly participating in an established community of faith led by
the mysterious priestly figure of Melchizedek of Salem (Genesis 14:17-18).
His change
was of such depth that his name was changed from Abram (Father of Height, or
Father of Praise) to Abraham (Father of a Multitude). And the change continued when he intended to offer his son, Isaac as a sacrifice, and grew to understand that God did not want human sacrifice (although there
is evidence that some pockets of Israel continued to practice it into the sixth
century BCE), and that God would provide whatever was needed.
We follow
the descendants of Abraham as their prophets (especially Amos, Isaiah and
Jeremiah) grow into the understanding that God does not want sacrifice at all,
but considers ethical behavior toward fellow humans (especially the poor) to be
a proper expression of worship (although the general population did not
understand that, and in general the Christian community today still wrestles
with questions of “the right way” to worship and whether to serve the poor at
all.)
Jesus took
the prophetic teachings to their highest point, saying that no matter what form
or worship one expresses, if it does not motivate ethical behavior within the
community, and especially in regard to the poor, it is meaningless. Again, the
community of faith in general still has not assimilated that teaching.
Change is
always resisted; and the strongest rationale for resistance is that the faith
must be defended. Such rationale assumes “the faith” is static—a one-and-done
thing that does not grow. But the question soon must be faced: are we really
defending “the faith,” or are we protecting our own position relative to the
status quo? A faith community that can rationalize genocide in the name of God
(as in Deut 20:16) can rationalize anything.
Previously
we have suggested that Jesus rejects the status of earlier testimony regarding
the divine/human relationship, especially when the earlier testimony advocated
violence and retribution. Consider the example of Elijah calling down fire from
heaven to prove he is a “man of God” by consuming 50 soldiers and their
captain (2 Kings 1:10). When Jesus is rejected by the people of a Samaritan village, James and
John, perhaps hoping to follow Elijah’s example, ask Jesus if they should call
down fire from heaven to destroy them. Jesus not only rejects the Elijah
narrative, he sternly rebukes his disciples for even suggesting it (Luke
9:55-56). Where Elijah claimed the action proved his status as a “man of God,”
Jesus makes the opposite claim: the true man of God would not obliterate life
to save, heal and restore it (later versions of the Lukan passage, as well as
Luke 19:10, John 3:17, et. al.)
Walter
Brueggemann makes the point that the Old Testament is a record of disputing
testimony (see the previous blog), and Jesus calls us to enter the dispute. “In
fact, because of its multiple conflicting narratives we simply must choose, we must take sides in the debate, we are forced to embrace some
narratives while rejecting others.
“The key
difference between Jesus and the Pharisees … is in which narratives they chose to embrace. Similarly, the question for
us is not whether or not we will
choose, but rather which narratives
we choose to embrace, and how will we
choose them?”[1]
The more
cutting question in my mind not “how,” but “why” we choose the narratives that
inform our faith and guide our spiritual, emotional, mental, physical,
relational and even our political lives. Why would any Christian choose to base
his or her faith and behavior upon a text of Scripture that advances violence
or retribution when Jesus clearly and repeatedly rejects violence and
retribution— unconditionally?
This blog is
a journal of my own spiritual journey, so I ask of myself, am I motivated by a
need to protect “The Bible” (or at least my understanding of it), or by a
desire to follow Jesus into an unknown wilderness and thus risk having to
change? (Ironically, to follow Jesus requires trusting in the Scriptural
witness about him.) Is that growth?
I wish I
could see more clearly through the flawed glass that is my world view.
Together in the Walk,
Jim
[1] Derek Flood, Disarming
Scriptures: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives, and Why We
All Need to Learn to Read the Scriptures Like Jesus Did (San Francisco:
Metanoia Books, 2014), Kindle edition, Location 668 (emphases his).
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