The Common Denominator

Today I want to start at the end. In summarizing and concluding his book, Disarming Scripture: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives and Why We All Need to Learn to Read the Bible Like Jesus Did, Derek Flood begins with:

“The primary purpose of Scripture (is) to lead us to the one who is Life, Love Truth, and the Way. Scripture has the primary task of leading us into a living relationship with God in Christ, and then after that to continue to be a window through which we can commune with God in which the Spirit can communicate God’s love to us, leading us to love others with that same Jesus-shaped love. That’s the devotional, Spirit-centered, gospel-focused reading that needs to be at the center of how we read Scripture as Scripture.”[1]

I closed my last blog by saying Jesus established Love as the common denominator for all who read Scripture. The Bible was never intended to be a taskmaster, placing a burden on our back; it was intended to act as a servant, leading us to love God, others and ourselves (Matthew 22:37-40). If we read it in any way that leads to the opposite of this, we get it wrong. So whenever the religious leaders interpreted the Law in any way that hindered people from finding healing, and life, Jesus publicly opposed their hurtful interpretation.

This emphasis on love as the final purpose of Scripture has major consequences because it differs quite sharply from the way the vast majority of us have learned to interpret Scripture. We are taught instead, to focus on the “correct” reading, with everything harmonizing and lining up perfectly. In most cases it’s a kind of circular approach that begins with a doctrine or dogma about the Bible and then uses the Bible to “prove” the doctrine.

But when the focus on “correct” interpretation takes priority, love takes a back seat. The focus “being right” is at the expense of love. It is precisely this “by the book” obsession that led American Christians in the past to justify slavery and eventually led to an uncivil war. And those who took the authority of Scripture most seriously were the ones most likely to conclude that the Bible sanctioned slavery. [2] Unspeakable cruelty and barbarity was committed in the name of submitting to the authority of Scripture.

This obsession with “being right” trumps love—almost always. The prioritizing of scriptural fidelity at the expense of grace is a direct parallel to the fundamentalism of the Pharisees Jesus so adamantly opposed. Despite their desire to “be right," modern-day Christian Pharisees get the Bible dead wrong. As Paul puts it, if we don’t have love, all our doctrines and biblical interpretations are just meaningless noise (I Corinthians 13:1-3). When read “right”, Scripture always leads to love.[3]

And we cannot afford to forget that Jesus loved the people on the fringes of society—the very ones the Pharisees considered unworthy of love; indeed, Jesus loved even those who hated him. And Jesus loved them without requiring them to change first. Indeed, it was his love, given freely and unconditionally, that empowered them to change. 

That last sentence may be the single most frequently missed part of the gospel message: Love/Grace precedes repentance and change; indeed, Love/Grace is the empowering factor behind repentance. We have seen--in history, in Scripture and in our own lives--that the law and the threat of punishment do not motivate repentance and change [how fast do you drive in a 55 mph zone?]. Only love, with its vision of wholeness and peace can do that.

During this final week of Lent—called Holy Week—I hope to make some personal application of the principles I've discovered during my Lenten Pilgrimage toward learning to read the Bible as Jesus did. But for now,

That’s the way I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives and Why We All Need to Learn to Read the Bible Like Jesus Did (San Francisco: Metanoia Press, 2014) Kindle edition, Location 3360.

[2] Mark A. Noll, The Civil War as a Theological Crisis (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2006).

[3] Today’s blog is heavily dependent upon Derek Flood, op. cit., Chapter Three, Location 959ff, with an occasional insertion by yours truly.

Filling the Law Full

There are those who consider it unpatriotic or even treasonous to point out imperfections in anything American. In fact, one state legislature in the last few days has presented a bill to make it illegal to teach any model of American history (or, I assume, the history of that state) that is critical of any historic action taken by any representation of American policy. One would assume, given the extreme partisanism of American politics today, that emphasis would be given, and bias expressed in favor of the specific policies of the party that originated the legislation.

Others seem to make a life out of criticizing and finding fault with virtually anything done by the “other party”; and it’s about as broad as it is wide when it comes to which party is more critical of the other.

The stance one takes in the resulting cacophony generally depends upon what will accrue the greatest benefit to the individual and/or to the party that provides his or her political, economic, cultural and, yes, religious identity. [It’s interesting, and somewhat appalling to note that church mission/purpose statements more and more reflect the platform and values of one political party or another, even when draped with biblical sound bytes.]

Now, this really isn't a blog about American partisanism. I’ve pretty much exhausted that subject in previous blogs. Nevertheless, it seems a given with which most Americans can identify. I take time here to reassert my bias because it wasn't all that different when Jesus of Nazareth taught and ministered. Today in America we have Democrats, Republicans (including the Tea Party branch), Libertarians, Independents and even a sprinkling of Socialists. In first century Israel you had Sadducees and Pharisees, with rabbis, priests and scribes identifying with one or the other.

And, like the protagonists in American politics the priests and scribes of Jesus’ day were absolutely certain of the absolute truth and validity of their specific position, and often arrogantly obnoxious in their promotion thereof.  And so, when Jesus said, “You have heard it said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment (Matt 5:21-22), his statement was received with all the grace and cordiality an avowed Socialist might expect at an American Tea Party caucus.

But in that statement lies the heart of Jesus’ approach to reading Scripture.

In his book, Disarming Scripture, Derek Flood submits that none of the common approaches to Scripture, viz, the Conservative/Fundamentalist approach, the Atheist approach or the Liberal/Progressive (Cherry-Picking) approach has effectively reconciled contradictory images of God presented in various parts of the Bible, specifically, the contradiction between images of God (mostly Old Testament) as a warrior who commands atrocities, including genocide, in his name, versus images of God (mostly New Testament, although the prophetic writings of Hebrew Scriptures contain some of this) as nurturing and merciful—Jesus called God, “Father”.

Which is it? Is God fickle, or even schizophrenic? Or is there something in our reading and understanding that needs to be addressed?

In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus addresses those contradictions and reconciles them using the familiar formula, “You have heard… but I tell you…” And, it is crucial to note that Jesus prefaces these confrontations by declaring, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them” (Matt 5:17). The question comes to mind: “Why would Jesus preface his teachings with this disclaimer?” when it appears that he proceeds precisely to overturn the law!

In the original language of the New Testament, the word translated “fulfill” can mean either to meet all the requirements of the law, or it also can mean “perfecting or completing something.” [1] In the full context of these sayings, “it becomes abundantly clear that he is referring to this latter sense of perfecting the law, lovingly bringing it into its fully intended purpose.”[2]

Jesus’ “fulfilling” of the law is rooted in forgiveness and enemy love, which is in direct opposition to the way of violent retaliation and payback justice (“eye for eye”)  characteristic of much of the law of Moses. There is virtually no disagreement among biblical scholars that the “eye for eye” law was itself a movement to limit a previous system of unlimited retaliation: “one-for-one” in place of the 7-fold retaliation of Cain (Gen 4:15) and then the 77-fold vengeance of Lamech (Gen 4:24).

Jesus' reinterpretation of the law, then, is consistent with the movement established much earlier in Scripture. Thus, he fulfills its purpose.

The pattern continues through the issues of divorce, civil lawsuits, and even hatred of one’s enemy: “You have heard… hate your enemy; but I say… love your enemy.” Jesus takes the “eye-for-eye” understanding of limited retribution to the next level, and applies it virtually to all relationships, proposing not to retaliate at all; instead proposing a superior way which seeks to restore enemies, rather than to destroy them.[3]

This is how Jesus read Scripture and understood faithfulness to Scripture: lovingly bringing it into its fully intended purpose. It proposes that the Scriptures, as written, are not necessarily complete and final, but that they point us in the direction of ultimate fulfillment.

No, it’s not militarily or politically proficient. It wasn't for Jesus, either. It got him crucified. So, how serious are we—REALLY—about following Jesus?

That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives, and Why We All Need to Learn to Read the Bible Like Jesus Did (San Francisco: Metanoia Books, 2014), Kindle edition, Position 393.

[2] Ibid. (emphasis his).

[3] Ibid, Location 406.

Jesus, Don't You Walk So Fast!

Two images are bouncing around in my mind, bumping into each other and stirring up dust. One is the 1935 book title, In His Steps, by Charles Sheldon. It journals a pastor leading his congregation in a one-year pilgrimage to become more like Jesus by asking at each event and circumstance, “What would Jesus Do?”

The other image is the Wayne Newton song from a number of years ago: “Daddy, Don’t You Walk So Fast.”

My Lenten journey this year is an effort to walk “In His Steps”, specifically in regard to how Jesus read Scripture; but the pace is fast, set by Derek Floods’ book, Disarming Scripture (Metanoia Books, 2014).

Flood confronts the difficult and mostly avoided question of how we reconcile the apparent biblical contradiction of a God who sometimes seems loving and nurturing, and at other times orders total genocide, dashing babies’ heads against rocks and disemboweling pregnant women (Hosea 13:16, et. al.).

The book urges the reader to “take a long and sobering look at the extent to which human violence is not merely described in the Bible, but actively promoted as God’s will. This is not simply a matter of a few troublesome passages. Violence and bloodshed committed in God’s name is a major theme of the Old Testament” (Kindle edition, Location 127)

Swiss theologian, Raymund Schwager, writes, “Approximately one thousand passages speak of Yahweh’s blazing anger, of his punishment by death and destruction, and how like a consuming fire he passes judgment, takes revenge, and threatens annihilation … No other topic is as often mentioned (in the Old Testament) as God’s bloody works.”[1]

Flood suggests that the questions we ask are even more pointed because of Christianity’s long history of violence, which he proceeds to document, noting the Crusades, slavery, Native Americans, the 800,000 Tutsis killed in the Rwandan genocide and other examples, all justified by the use of Scripture and committed in God’s name. “This is our legacy as Christians and we need to face it head-on, rather than trying to ignore or excuse it” (Kindle edition Location219).

So, what responses have been offered in view of God-ordered violence? Atheism generally has responded with anger and aggressive language. “New Atheist,” Richard Dawkins, writes: “The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all of fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.”[2]  [Other than that, I wonder what he thinks of God.]

Conservative Christians, on the other hand, generally attempt to justify the violence, basically letting the horrible, even ungodly, morality issues be trumped by the importance of defending Scriptural integrity as they understand it.

In the conquest of Canaan as recorded in Hebrew Scriptures, the Israelites are ordered to kill “everything that breathes” (Deut 20:16). The slaughter is to be complete, including not only humans but, also herds and pets; and when one Israelite attempts to keep a goat or a cow for himself, God orders him put to death.

One commentary justifies the genocide at Jericho as necessary “so that Israel would not be ‘infected by the degenerate religion of the Canaanites,’ declaring that ‘pure faith and worship’ could only be maintained ‘by the complete elimination of the Canaanites themselves’.”[3]

A mega-church pastor compares the Canaanites to a cancer that must be eliminated for the health of God’s people. He calls the genocide "surgery". Another commentary suggests that these stories would be “more palatable” if we think in abstract terms (effectively dehumanizing the victims of genocide).

What seems to be lost in the conversation is the disturbing similarity between these arguments and those used by Hitler to justify the Holocaust!

Why would (presumably) good, loving people go to such lengths to justify genocide in God’s name? Their perspective is based on the sincerely held assumption that faithfulness to Scripture means accepting everything it says at face value. (I hope Flood will flesh out this point in later chapters. If he doesn't, I may make the attempt.)

But there’s a third (and equally ineffective) approach that Flood calls “Cherry-Picking”, and lays it at the feet of progressive or liberal Christians. Essentially, this is the practice of using blinders when we approach the Bible. We’ll just pick out the sweet, nurturing, likable texts, those that call for ministries of compassion and justice, and those that make us feel good, and ignore those more troubling parts.

The primary fault with this third approach is that it’s dishonest (my word, not Flood’s). The secondary fault is that, like the other two approaches, it does nothing to resolve the related biblical disparity between the violent images of God versus the nurturing images.

Flood’s proposal is to face the troubling passages honestly, openly, and as Jesus did.

But therein lies another conundrum. On the one hand, Jesus says, “I did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it” (Matt 5:17). But then he proceeds blatantly to contradict and overturn multiple passages of Scripture.

I love a good mystery; but, “Jesus, you walk so fast!”

That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Raymund Schwager, Must there Be Scapegoats?: Violence and Redemption in the Bible (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1987), page 55 (italics his). Quoted in Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture, (Kindle edition, location163.)

[2] Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2006), page 51. Quoted in Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture, (Kindle edition, location236.)

[3] Bible Knowledge Commentary: Old Testament (Colorado Springs: David C. Cook, 1984) page 342. Quoted in Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture, (Kindle edition, location245.)

Shine!

Today is Epiphany.  Yesterday was the infamous twelfth day of Christmas (“twelve drummers drumming”).    

Epiphany comes from a Greek word which means “to shine”. Light has always been a primary symbol of God and truth.

Epiphany (or the Sunday before) is the day the church celebrates the revealing of Jesus, not only as a lamp unto my feel and a light to my path, not only as a light to the Jews, but also as a light to the nations—the “Light of the World”.  Matthew sees that revealing through the adoration of the “Wise Men from the East” (2:1-12). In the original language of the New Testament the word is μαγοι (pronounced "magoi") Various versions translate it thus:

·        Magi (note the similarity to the word, “magic”)

·        Magicians (Moffatt)

·        Astrologers (Goodspeed)

·        Wise Men (most versions)

They generally are understood to be from a caste of priests from the Medes who adapted Zoroastrian religion when the Persians conquered the Medes.

Zoroastrian priests were forerunners of modern astronomy; but in their day the stars held a magical attraction. The religion began about the time Jerusalem was destroyed by the Babylonians; a religion that said light from the stars represented knowledge and goodness.  They taught that one would come, whose nature was light—one who would be born of a virgin, and whose light would overcome the darkness of evil.  They were on the right track, at least. And their timing was right, too.  And they got all this from the stars. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?

But this was the first time the Christ was acknowledged by the wider world. Epiphany.

Tradition says there were three wise men—probably because of the three gifts:  gold, frankincense and myrrh. But there also is a story about a fourth wise man who never saw Jesus. Henry Van Dyke is the author of the story, which is entitled, The Other Wise Man.

It tells about a "fourth" wise man, a priest of the Magi named Artaban. Like the other Magi, he sees signs in the heavens proclaiming that a King has been born among the Jews. Like them, he sets out to see the newborn ruler, carrying treasures to give as gifts to the child - a sapphire, a ruby, and a pearl of great price.

Artaban chooses his fastest steed and sets out for Borsippa, located in what we know as Iraq, where he is to meet the other Wise Men at the temple to Nabu, known as the Temple of the Seven Spheres.

At Babylon he encounters a man who is dying, and battles within himself whether to minister to him. "God of truth and purity," he prayed, "direct me in the holy path, the way of wisdom which Thou only knowest."

Then he turned back to the sick man and ministered to him until he died, and then performed the proper funeral and burial rites. As a result of the delay he is late to the meeting place, and the caravan of the other three wise men has moved on without him.

Having missed the caravan, and realizing he can't cross the desert with only a horse, he is forced to sell the sapphire in order to buy camels and supplies for the trip.

He then sets out on his journey, but arrives in Bethlehem too late to see the child, whose parents have fled with him to Egypt. In Bethlehem he is offered hospitality by a young mother, and Artaban muses, "Why couldn't this child have been the king?"

The peace of the moment is interrupted by confusion and the sound of screaming women as Herod’s soldiers move through the streets killing boy babies. Artaban blocks the door to the house where he has given hospitality, and bribes one of the soldiers with the ruby he has brought as a gift to the king. A child is spared.

He then travels to Egypt and to many other countries, searching for Jesus for many years and performing acts of charity along the way.

After thirty-three years, Artaban is still a pilgrim, and a seeker after light. He returns to Jerusalem just as the crowds are dispersing after the crucifixion of Jesus. He spends his last treasure, the pearl, to ransom a young woman from being sold into slavery.

He is then struck in the temple by a falling roof tile and is about to die, having failed in his quest to find his king, but having done much good through charitable works.

As his life slips away, he has a vision in which a voice tells him "Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, thou hast done it unto me." (Matthew 25:40)

Artaban dies in a calm epiphany of wonder and joy, having found his King--or, rather, having been found by his king--through his own acts of kindness and generosity.

May you find him--and may he find you--in a similar fashion.

That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim