Biology, Zoology, Christology

The word, Christology, is rather like biology, or zoology, or any other word with “logy” attached to the end. It is the study or knowledge of Christ. What is Christ? How is Jesus of Nazareth Christ? What does Christ mean to me/us? 

In seminary I had to submit periodic papers in which I described my own personal Christology. The formation of my Christology was, and continues to be, a process. I trust that process is growth toward the truth. The comments that follow represent my latest articulation of that process.

The question of Christ is an extension of the question of God. The identity and nature of God are at stake in the rabbinic debates which make up a literary form in much Hebrew Scripture. What is God like? It’s a primeval question; and the varied approaches in Hebrew Scripture may seem to reveal more contradiction than consensus.

One testimony, generally represented by more ancient wisdom and prophetic writings, describes God as adversarially jealous in regard to his (sic) people and his territory. This testimony portrays a brutal God: judging and punishing any who defy or ignore him. Not even Genocide bothers this God; indeed, he orders it.

Counter-testimony, represented primarily by later wisdom and prophetic writings, presents God as gracious, nurturing, and restoring. The role of judgment belongs to God’s antagonist, Satan, while God works to reconcile a Satan-duped humanity to himself (again, using the male pronoun only to be consistent with Scripture).

It was the latter representation of God that Jesus of Nazareth chose to manifest in his own life and ministry. The Gospel of John picks up on one Hebrew concept of God’s presence, viz., “Word of the Lord”, and identifies Word as a manifestation of the eternal, pre-existent quality or persona of  God: “In the beginning was the Word” (John 1:1). In Jesus of Nazareth, that Word was lived out in human community—the “Word became flesh” (John 1:14). C. S. Lewis wrote, ““It is Christ Himself, not the Bible, who is the true word of God. The Bible, read in the right spirit and with the guidance of good teachers will bring us to Him.”[1]

Theologian, Walter Wink, begins the 9^th chapter of his book, The Powers that Be (Doubleday, 1998) with these words:

“American culture is presently in the first stages of a spiritual renaissance. To the degree that this renaissance is Christian at all, it will be the human figure of Jesus that galvanizes hearts to belief and action, and not the Christ of the creeds or the Pauline doctrine of justification by grace through faith. And in the teachings of Jesus, the sayings on nonviolence and love of enemies will hold a central place. Not because they are more true than any others, but because they are crucial in the struggle to overcome domination without creating new forms of domination.”

Recently on Facebook I posted a quote from a late colleague, teacher, and friend:

“If in reading the Bible you find justification for abusing, humiliating, disgracing, harming, or hurting, especially when it makes you feel better about yourself, you are absolutely wrong.” 

― Fred B. Craddock, The Collected Sermons of Fred B. Craddock

In response, a long-time friend (she used to baby-sit with our kids) posted: “If you're reading a Bible that justifies any of those things, you probably need to enroll in a remedial reading class AFTER you start wearing your new prescription lenses...”

That response is what stimulated this whole string of thought (for me, that’s not a difficult thing to accomplish!), and I responded:

“Actually, by being very, very selective in your reading of Scripture, it's possible to justify all of the above. The rabbinic method of testimony/counter-testimony debate runs throughout the Hebrew Scriptures and into the recorded teachings of Jesus. That method compared contradictory propositions and the subsequent debates among the rabbis were seen as ways of increasing the faith. There is a distinct and consistent trajectory throughout, and if we follow that trajectory we eventually find Jesus of Nazareth, who took sides in the debate, rejecting all the things named in the Craddock quote above. My choice is to affirm Jesus' position and try to live it. After more than 77 years, I feel as if I'm just beginning to comprehend what Jesus was all about.”

The thoughts kept coming. The following concluding comments are an expansion of a subsequent post in the Facebook conversation with my friend:

The idea of the biblical trajectory isn't my idea originally; I discovered it in the writings of a postmodern theologian named Derek Flood[2]. Moreover, the testimony/counter-testimony[3] tag is from Walter Brueggemann, a leading scholar of Hebrew Scripture. Perhaps a better way to apply Jesus' relationship to that trajectory is to say that it describes the human comprehension of the will of God, and Jesus CHOSE that trajectory (see the temptation narratives in Matthew 4, Mark 1, and Luke 4) and lived it out as "the visible image of the invisible God" (Colossians 1:15). It is in his total obedience to that divine will that he fulfills the Hebrew anticipation of the servant of God. 

“Servant” is Isaiah’s characterization of the messianic anticipations of Israel. Isaiah described the “servant” in a series of Servant Songs: Isaiah 42:1-4; 49:1-6; 50:4-7 and 52:13-53:12. Some scholars add Isaiah 61:1-3; although the word servant does not appear in the passage. I believe it was specifically through these passages that Jesus experienced and accepted his identity. It is through those servant songs that I find the clearest and most consistent understandings of Jesus as the anticipated Christ. To the degree that we live and manifest that same divine will we live "in Christ" (Romans 6:11, 23, et. al.)”

[Note: All footnotes were added during this present writing and did not appear in the initial Facebook posts.]

That’s how it looks through the Flawed Glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,
Jim

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[1] C. S. Lewis, The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis, Vol III, edited by Walter Hooper (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco: @ 2007)—Spcifically, a letter written to a Ms. Johnson on November 8, 1952.

[2] 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), 82, et. al.

[3] Walter Brueggemann. Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy. (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997), 317-318.

In God We Trust?

“In God We Trust.” But we trust more in our guns and in our violent ways of enforcing our ways. It’s been that way consistently, regardless of the governmental or economic system in place, in every culture since human history has been recorded.

We trust in violence and we persecute those who advocate any alternative in dealing with social and interpersonal disagreements and problems. Even our films and television shows constantly rehearse the necessity of violence as the only effective way to bring about “justice” (retributive justice) and to ensure our safety.

Even our Scriptures proclaim violence as a way of maintaining order. The Holy Writ attributes violent jealousy and vengeful wrath as a part of God’s character and nature.

Well, at least part of the Scriptures do.

Many of the Hebrew prophetic writings project a compassionate God whose love engenders faith and loyalty in those who seek Him (sic). But most readers of Scripture and practitioners of Christianity choose to ignore those parts, or at best to privatize them. The most common (almost unanimous) assimilation of that message is that God offers love and compassion only to those who are faithful to Him and who jump through His hoops. God’s love is conditional; and that message continues to leak through even our loudest pulpit-pounding about God’s grace.  And those who are outside God’s grace are still doomed to violent retribution by this “loving” God.

The greatest tragedy is that so many of us use Scripture to justify our trust in violence. We have approached the Scriptures on a legalistic all-or-nothing basis, when the Scriptures themselves are not presented as such. Too often we have seen the Scriptures as self-contradictory, and then proceeded to “protect” the Holy Writ from itself by inventing all sorts of incongruous rationalizations and justifications to avoid what we see as contradictions.

But, instead of contradictions, the Scriptures present an ongoing courtroom-like debate among God’s people. On one side is the testimony of those who see God as a hero/warrior who competes with other gods over people and territory. Even after Judaism—or at least most of the religious leadership of Judaism—had become monotheistic, that God image persisted.

On the other side is the counter-testimony of those who understood God as one whose love is universally inclusive. They called upon Israel to be a “light to all nations” (Isaiah 60:1-3, et al).

The reader is the jury, and must decide which testimony to believe. Historically, God’s people consistently have chosen to reject the vulnerability of love in favor of the seemingly more secure use of violence and retributive justice.

Jesus made the unpopular choice. He chose to reject the violence in the Hebrew Scriptures and chose instead to lift up love: compassion, restorative justice, reconciliation and enemy love. And the power people of his time found his message so confronting to their own lives that they killed him. Power people still persecute all who challenge them.

At best, again, we privatize those words of Jesus that call for restoration and healing and love, and we wrap them in conditions. As a society we still trust in violence. We think it keeps us safe; we think it makes us strong.

The problem with a system built upon strength and power is that eventually somebody stronger always—ALWAYS—comes along. Love does not need power, for love is the strongest force in the universe. God is love (I John 4:8).

For all these reasons, it will not be enough simply to point out the harm that comes from violence. That harm will simply be called “unfortunate-but-necessary collateral damage.” We will need to demonstrate to the world that there are viable nonviolent alternatives to dealing with societal problems—“ways that are not only effective, but in fact are more effective than violence at resolving conflict and keeping us safe.”[1]

There are numerous historic manifestations of effective non-violent confrontation of injustice and evil. Even in my own life-time names like Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Jr. and Nelson Mandela come to mind. Yes, Bonhoeffer’s and King’s non-violent strategies, like Jesus’, cost them their lives; nevertheless, their effectiveness in weakening the evils they confronted is unquestionable. I know no one who denies that love is risky. And those who have challenged violent defense and retributive justice continue to be persecuted.

Maybe we’ve been asking the wrong questions: instead of asking, “How can we be safe and protect ourselves?” maybe we should be asking, “How we can be loving as Jesus was loving?”

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 2289.

Black-and-White, or Gray?

The first time I sat down for a conversation with my new colleague, his first words were, “I’m a black-and-white sort of person.” His reputation for stirring things up had preceded him, and my immediate thought was, “That explains it.”

He and I enjoyed a trusting collegial relationship as we worked together, and I still hold our friendship dear. He is intelligent and knowledgeable (and opinionated) about a wide variety of topics, he is deeply compassionate and deeply spiritual and can be very charming. But his “black-and-white” approach to life continues to be counterproductive in both his relationships and his vocational pursuit.

In my observation, a black-and-white approach has a counterproductive impact on virtually every part of life. It lends itself, almost de facto, to adversarial confrontations, and is never—ever—an effective vehicle for negotiation or collaboration or effective problem-solving; indeed, it more likely will create conflict than resolve it.

Black-and-white people are perceived (correctly, all too often) as arrogant and obstinate, and often project an attitude of intolerance. They aim more frequently at persuading others than seeking to understand them. And, whether accurate or inaccurate, they are heard to say, “I’m right; therefore anybody who disagrees with me is wrong. Period.”

The “right” must prevail; and since I’m right, I must prevail. It’s only a short hop from that pronouncement to an “ends-justify-the-ends” ethic. But, in truth, the noblest cause, if achieved ignobly, is tainted, and thus ignoble.

Given the tirade above, it probably won’t shock you to know that I consider myself a both/and person. I live in the gray. My black-and-white friends (I truly am not aware of any enemies), consider me weak, malleable and even naïve. Compromise is a dirty word to them. But I find it a strength to be able to listen to both sides of any issue, to consider them in light of circumstances[1] and sometimes even to take parts of both to create a whole new reality.

My long-time readers may grow tired of reading, “I believe in absolute truth; but, I don’t believe any human or group of humans is capable of perceiving truth absolutely.” Truth is not relative; but my perception of it is, and therefore it is incumbent upon me to keep searching and growing in understanding.

And so, I am brought up short when I realize that Jesus uncompromisingly took sides in a debate that was as old as Judaism. Was Jesus a black-and-white person?

As I’ve outlined in previous blogs, the ancient debate, faithfully recorded and later included as part of Holy Scripture[2], presents contradictory understandings as part of an effort to discern the nature and will of God. Which is it: (1) Is God a warrior/despot, jealous of his conquests and harsh in judgment upon those who stray from his pronouncements and laws, or (2) is God a creator, loving redeemer and merciful sustainer whose concern is the well-being of God’s creation?

There’s a third possible reading: God is both, because the Bible says so. This understanding requires that I jump through one of two hoops: (1) I have to overcome the hang-up that such a reading understands God as schizophrenic, or (2) I have to overcome a hang-up regarding the definition of Grace. If God relates in one way to “those who stray from his pronouncements and laws” and in a different way with “the people who choose to live in relationship with God,” then the divine/human relationship is based on human behavior rather than on God’s Grace, and the whole Christ event is rendered impotent and irrelevant. We are back under the law: obey or die.

We’re under Grace or we’re under the Law. Limited as I am by the clay of which I am made, I cannot conceive of having it both ways. I am fortified in that belief by my Lenten journey, in which I am discovering how Jesus read the Bible. Jesus consistently chose the side of the debate that understands God as loving and restoring, and rejected the alternative of God as vengeful and blood-thirsty. That choice directed all he taught and preached and how he served. And his choice qualified the intent behind his invitation: “Follow me.”

So, here I am, touting my liberal openness, claiming to be a “both/and” kinda’ guy, confronting a black-and-white” choice. It’s what Thomas G. Bandy calls a “bedrock belief.” It is the limit beyond which I can see no other alternatives: Grace or Law. Upon the choice I make I stake my eternal destiny. I choose Grace.

It’s also by choosing Grace that I am free to acknowledge the gray and to live there fearlessly, trusting that my relationship with God and my eternal destiny are based upon God’s Grace, and not upon whether I’m right or wrong about anything.

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] Which is another quality perceived as weakness to my black-and-white friends. To them, there is no circumstantial consideration. Right is right and wrong is wrong under all circumstances.

[2] At another time it might be well to discuss the role of inspiration and revelation in both the recording and the canonizing of the writings we call Holy.

Taking Sides

I've been sharing my personal journal of my Lenten journey. Instead of “giving up” something for Lent, I've decided to “take on” something. Specifically, I’m taking on the challenge of learning to “Read the Bible Like (sic) Jesus Did.”

I'm fascinated by the way unplanned events in life sometimes line up in unexpected and explainable patterns. A buddy plays with the cigarette lighter in my car and drops it, burning a nickel-sized hole on the seat. As a result, I have to replace the seat covers. Had Whites Auto Store not been a half-block from where I worked, I might have gone to Western Auto or Sears and I’d have missed her, because she left on vacation with her family and then returned to School at TCU.

But there I was, walking into Whites Auto Store to buy seat covers, and there she was. 51-and-a-half years later, we’re still soul mates.

Had I not taken that Thomas Bandy book to read on the flights to and from General Assembly in 2005, the cumulative understandings of 45 years of ministry would not have taken the specific turn it took. Had I not been pressured into early retirement three months later, I probably would never have taken time to develop that new direction. Had I not served as Interim Minister in Trenton, Missouri, I’d not have found that Edward Hammett book that was left in the desk—the book in which I found the concept that united all my work and study so that new direction finally made sense.

In either story, had any link of the chain been omitted, who knows where life would have taken me? I don’t believe life is scripted and planned so that everything happens for a reason. I don’t believe humans are puppets or robots and God pushes buttons and manipulates strings to make things happen.

But I do believe God is present, and that sometimes events string together in unexpected and unexplained ways. And I believe those two observations are somehow related. I don’t understand; but for now, I choose to celebrate the Serendipity of God in life.

Had I not read Edward Hammett’s book I might never have made the connections regarding the relationship between the Millennial Generation and the church. Millennials don’t want doctrines or rules or archaic (and usually ineffective, sometimes even counterproductive) organizational structures. They want to know how to follow Jesus. Had I not made that connection, my eye may not have been drawn to the title of Derek Flood’s book, Disarming Scripture: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives and Why We All Need to Learn To Read the Bible Like Jesus Did (my underlining.)

   But here I am, deep into the book, and if you've been following these blogs you’ll recognized that I’m stuck on high center while the impact sinks in. For the first time in my life the contradictions in the Bible make sense. I've spent a lifetime in damage control—trying to defend the Scriptures by explaining away the contradictions.

Well, guess what! I rediscover that the Scriptures don’t need my defense! Once again I’m challenged to let the Scriptures speak for themselves without trying to make them say what I learned in Sunday School.

 The contradictions are there intentionally, and are part of the message! They represent the ongoing debate of the community of faith, struggling to discern the nature and will of God.

One side of the debate sees God as territorial, vengeful and blood-thirsty; a warrior calling for genocide, dashing babies’ heads against rocks and disemboweling pregnant women! This perspective is the more ancient of the two sides, probably the residue of pagan superstitions that surrounded the Israelites and continued to influence the practice of their faith.

The other side relates to Melchizedek, the mysterious figure who blesses Abram in Genesis 14 and to whom the risen Christ is compared in Hebrews 7. Melchizedek is the “King of Salem” (or Shalom); and it’s interesting that in one rabbinic interpretation Messiah would be called “Prince of Peace (Shalom)”.

This second side of the debate was largely ignored until the 8^th century prophets begin calling for justice in place of sacrifice and mercy in place of ritual incantations.

Following Babylonian captivity (ca. 586 – 516 BCE), the debate was fully developed in the diverse Jewish expectation of a messiah. Would messiah be a military/political hero who would lead Israel in conquest over Israel’s enemies? Or would he be the Suffering Servant of the second part of Isaiah: one who would not break a bruised reed or snuff out a smoldering wick; but would be faithful to justice (Isaiah 42:3 & Matthew 12:20).

Which would Messiah be: a warrior/king like David (it’s interesting in this context to remember that God would not allow David to build a temple because David had drawn blood!), or a selfless healer and reconciler of humanity?

The debate peaked in the confrontations between Jesus and the leaders of the religious establishment. And as Jesus quoted the Scriptures, it’s not that he “cherry-picked” the sweet, gentle passages. He took sides. He made his stand on one side of the debate!

In Luke 4, for example, Jesus’ audience longed for God’s wrath. They believed—like so many Jews and Christians still do today—that justice is fulfilled by the destruction of their enemies. Jesus challenged this common religious belief.

This violent view was at the heart of the common Jewish hope that Messiah would come in vengeance: a warrior king who would vanquish the pagan oppressors and restore Israel to its glory.

So, in Luke 4:16-30, when the people hear that Jesus will work to liberate the people from their oppression, they are pleased. But, when they understand that this will involve showing grace and not vengeance to Gentiles, they become furious with Jesus and try to kill him.[1]

Jesus had chosen part of a text (Isaiah 61:1-2) which contained elements of both sides of the debate; but Jesus didn't ignore the remainder. He totally rejected it. He took sides; and that realization impacts the way I read…

…the rest of the story.

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 Books, 2014) Kindle edition, Location 938f.

Life as Consequence

[Note: these Lenten blogs may seem redundant to my readers (both of you). Remember that these blogs journal a personal spiritual journey. I revisit previous material, sometimes to refresh, sometimes to check out, “Did I really get that right?” etc. Each re-visitation takes me deeper into understanding. Hopefully, my reexaminations are not distracting for my readers.]

The Millennial Generations [Generations “X” (born 1965-1981) and “Y” (born 1982-2000)] are turned off religiously by rules, doctrine, institutional church polity and judgmentalism. Come to think of it, so am I.

Millennials want a simple, honest spirituality based upon following Jesus. They want a faith with integrity—one that is lived, more than preached. Come to think of it, so do I.

But for me the idea was still mostly cognitive (head stuff) until my nephew (a “Millennial”) began developing the idea of spending a year trying to experience what it means to follow Jesus—truly. Here’s a link to his "Jesus Project": My Jesus Project

I don’t believe in fate—that life is scripted and everything is planned and “meant to be.” I believe things happen because we make choices: some good; some bad. Life is the complex network of consequences resulting from human choices.

And I don’t believe in luck. I believe "Luck is where opportunity and preparedness meet.” (source unknown)

But I also believe that God is present in all of this, calling humanity to follow a particular “Way.” The clearest articulation of that divine invitation is Jesus of Nazareth.

God has a plan, and invites us to follow that plan. When we accept God’s invitation, life makes sense, at least more often than when we choose our own way (and each of us at some time thinks, “I have a better idea”). When we choose our own way a complex network of consequences confronts us with confusion, distrust, fear and occasional violence. Human culture is the mix of consequences of diverse human choices.

But, again, while I don’t believe in fate, sometimes life happens in unexplained ways: some good, some bad. Long ago I gave up the need to explain everything in life; and, “Why?” is a useless word in most cases of the unexplained.

So, recently my attention was tweaked while looking for a book to download. I’m following my nephew’s “Jesus Project”, and even outlining a series of sermons on following Jesus. So, my eye was drawn irresistibly to part of a book title that read, …And Why We All Need to Learn to Read the Bible Like Jesus Did. (my underlining)

It seemed like a “God Moment,” so I downloaded it, and within a few pages I was being “Led by the Spirit” into the wilderness of my Lenten journey.

Derek Flood, the author, takes on the Old Testament contradictions that have troubled people of faith for centuries. For most of my adult life I've understood them as the residue of a progressive human understanding of God, the earlier understandings reflecting a more violent, vengeful, warrior God and the later understandings moving toward Jesus’ articulation of God as merciful, redeeming Father.

Flood doesn't try to make the contradictions go away. Drawing from Walter Brueggemann, he submits that the contradictions are an intentional and essential part of Scripture.They represent an ongoing debate as people of faith try to comprehend the nature of God. One side of the debate reflects a territorial, vengeful warrior divinity who demands violence to the point of genocide.

The other side, quite possibly emerging from the faith of Melchizedek (Gen 14:17-18; Ps 110:4; Hebrews 5-7), posits a God who enters into covenant with humanity: relating and sustaining, holding humanity accountable to the covenant, but always offering grace and redemption when human faithfulness wavers.

The Scriptures offer these contradictory images, says Brueggemann, as testimony/counter-testimony, as in a courtroom debate. The dispute was ongoing in the adversarial relationship between Jesus and the Pharisees, and continues today in the polarization between conservatives and liberals of the faith.

The gospels seem unavoidably obvious as to which side of the debate Jesus took. And yet, the debate continues to divide the community of faith that gathers in his name. In most cases it’s a matter of emphasis: grace vs. law, faith vs. works. Virtually all Christians talk about “salvation by grace, through faith;” but, some say that repentance must precede grace, while others say that grace is the power that enables repentance. [You say tomato, I say to-mah-to… and how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?]

The debate, itself, has become the contradiction and distraction at the heart of the sixty-year decline in the North American church. The “spiritually yearning, institutionally disillusioned public”[1] is growing, and its discontent is finding voice in those who cry, “The grace/law-faith/works debate has distracted the church long enough! Is your faith in Jesus or in the correctness of your doctrine?”

In many ways we've confused faith with the content of belief. But faith is a verb. Faith is the living out of belief. Belief, no matter how fervently held, puts one on the same level as the demons, who also believe (James 2:19). Belief is “talking the talk.” Faith is “walking the walk.” And a whole generation, joined by a few of us older types, is confronting a divided, bickering Christianity, saying, “Shut up and walk!”

Imagine the consequences if we really did that.

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] Thomas G. Bandy, Christian Chaos (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1999). This population is mentioned and described in this and several other of Bandy's books, including, Coaching Change, Kicking Habits: Welcome Relief for Addicted Churches, and others.

Change? (Gasp!)

Beyond the gospels the central and dominant figure in the New Testament is, arguably, Paul (nee Saul of Tarsus). Before his conversion Saul had studied the Scriptures under the best of teachers. He was convinced that to be faithful he should commit violence in God’s name. He felt certain that for the survival of Judaism this Christian heresy must be rooted out.

“After his encounter with Christ, and his experience of healing and enemy love from Jesus’ disciples (Acts 9:11-18), Paul needed to completely reassess how to understand the same Scriptures he had read previously in such a toxic and violent way. The change produced a radically different understanding of God’s will, and a radically different way of interpreting those same Scriptures.”[1]

NOTE: Nothing in the Scriptures changed! It was only Paul’s way of reading the Scriptures that changed! Nothing is more central to my Lenten Pilgrimage than this distinction!

I would say virtually every person of faith at some point along the journey of life comes face-to-face with the possibility that our understanding does not mesh with the reality presented in the sacred writ. Not every person has the strength and integrity to confess, “I was wrong.”

Martin Luther had such a confrontation with his own faith while he was reading the Epistle to the Romans. It was during the reading of that same epistle that I had my first conscious realization that what I had been taught was not consistent with what I was reading.

It’s a terrifying realization. But sometimes integrity demands that we go a different way.

As Derek Flood points out, for Paul, of utmost significance may be not so much in what he says as in what he doesn’t say. It is revealing to note how he deals with violent passages in the Old Testament—texts that call for killing Gentiles.

In Romans 15:8-12, for example, Paul quotes several Scriptures to make his point that Gentiles “may glorify God for his mercy” because of the gospel. Note what he doesn’t include in those Scriptures:

 (NRSV) For I tell you that Christ became a servant to the circumcised to show God’s truthfulness, in order to confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, ⁹ and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, “Thou didst make my enemies turn their backs to me, and those who hated me I destroyed. They cried for help, but there was none to save, they cried to the Lord, but he did not answer ... For this I will extol thee, O Lord, among the nations[2], and sing praises to thy name.” (Quoting Psalm 18:40-49) Again, it says, “Praise his people, O you nations; for he avenges the blood of his servants, and takes vengeance on his adversaries, and makes expiation for the land of his people.” (Quoting Deuteronomy 32:43)

Within Paul’s change of Scriptural understanding is his re-contextualizing of these passages; instead of focusing on violence against Gentiles he declares God’s mercy in Christ for Gentiles. Not only does this represent a reinterpretation of the relationship of faith to violence, it constitutes a major redefinition of how salvation is understood. Instead of meaning God’s deliverance of Israel from its political and military enemies, Paul now understands salvation to mean the restoration of all people in Christ, including those same “enemy” Gentiles.[3]

                                                                                                               

Now, instead of excluding Gentiles, Paul embraces them within God’s mercy; indeed, he is singularly committed to taking that message of God’s mercy to them. Now, instead of using violence to purify the world from them, he is exposing himself to violence in order to include them. Such is the nature of radical commitment to the gospel—not the exposure to violence, per se, but the radical shift from rabidly narrow exclusion, even violent elimination, to universal, merciful embrace. The violence is the byproduct of resistance to change.

Note again, however, that Paul’s personal shift did not indicate in any way a shift in Scripture, itself. Indeed, the precedent had been set at least as early as Isaiah’s metaphor of Israel as a “light to the nations” (Isaiah 49:6). Paul could easily have used these more pastoral texts from the Hebrew Scriptures. Perhaps he was being intentional in using and reinterpreting passages that previously had been used to justify violence.

In the same spirit of Jesus’ teaching, “You have heard… but I tell you…” Paul is moving faith to the next level, and it is a move for which he paid a high price.

I suspect that Paul sensed the futility of trying to move his Jewish community to this new understanding and chose, instead, to align himself with the new movement. Cultural and ethnic exclusivism is nowhere as strongly rooted as in the sanctions of religion, and most especially within the ranks of fundamentalist expressions of religion. And Paul should know. He was a Pharisee.

And so, where does all this bring me in my Lenten wandering through the wilderness of my own temptation? I am torn between the desire to lash out at (for example) terrorist extremists to who are inflicting blasphemous atrocities on other humans in the name of God, and the knowledge that violence breeds violence and does not bring lasting peace. But most of all, I am conflicted over my growing awareness of the value and effectiveness of non-violent confrontations and my knowledge that those who practice it frequently end up being crucified.

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 Scriptures: 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, Location 781

[2] The word also is sometimes translated “Gentiles,” and “heathen”.

[3] Derek Flood, op. cit., Location 797.

Confusing Choices

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

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[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).

The Voice of the Victim

My intention during Lent is to wander in the wilderness of apparent biblical self-contradiction—a wasteland that acknowledges that in the biblical story of Israel’s conquest of the Promised Land God told Joshua to destroy the cities and to kill “everything that breathes” (Deut 20:16), to slaughter men, women, children and even flocks, herds and pets. And when a man attempted to keep some of the livestock for his own herd, God ordered him put to death.

In contrast, and in direct opposition, are texts such as the 6^th Commandment given to Moses: “You shall not kill” (Ex 20:13) and Jesus’ teaching, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” (Matt 5:44).

Generally, I have avoided the issue when possible, and when avoidance was not possible I explained the contradiction as the product of a progressive understanding of God on the part of humanity (e.g., the command to “kill everything that breathes” can be seen against the backdrop of previous models of warfare in which the victors tortured, raped and enslaved their victims and reaped the material spoils of victory. In some instances, warfare was the way a tribe or kingdom supported itself financially. The newer command forbids any kind of profiteering from warfare, and thus, while still horrendous in its outcome, is a step toward a more humane way of doing what humanity seems hell-bent on doing, anyway.) My explanation got no support from my seminary professors, nor have I seen or heard anyone else offer it.

Walter Brueggemann submits that the Hebrew Scriptures (the Old Testament) are presented in a testimony/counter-testimony format, much like a courtroom scenario with multiple competing voices—each claiming to be the correct view, each claiming authority.

The testimony is the ancient wisdom that good people are rewarded and evil is punished. The application (best exemplified by Job’s friends) is used as explanation for bad things that happen to people: it’s because they’ve sinned. The victim is to blame.

The counter-testimony (represented by Job and by the Psalms and later prophets) advocates for the victim and argues that the traditional wisdom is unjust. In the present consideration the debate in Job hinges on God’s response to Job’s friends: “I am angry with you and your two friends, because you have not spoken the truth about me, as my servant Job has” (Job 42:7). In such passages the voice of the victim is heard for the first time in a world context “in which it was exceptional for the voice of the victim to be heard at all. These were the ones who formerly were scapegoated, condemned and dehumanized, but who Jesus saw and loved. This is the cry of the least of these.”[1]

It is important to note that, even while they advance the cause of the victim, the Psalms and Job still do not question the ethos in which the just would prosper and the wicked would suffer. They do not question the justice of this ethic, but rather complain that it is not enforced. Neither the Psalmist nor Job sees himself as a sinner in need of forgiveness (as in Paul’s theology); instead, they see themselves as blameless and righteous.

So, while the Psalms and Job represent a significantly unique introduction into the world of religious faith and wisdom, the Scriptures do not at that point reflect an understanding of God’s image as merciful and forgiving.[2]

Thus, Israel fully assimilated the ongoing debate into its life, with the majority advancing a narrative of unquestioning obedience to laws and ritual, and continuing to blame the victims of misfortune and banishing widows, lepers, the poor and virtually all who suffered. According to the ancient wisdom of the majority, it was precisely their suffering that proved that they were evil and deserving of their suffering.

Meanwhile the protesting minority advocated faithful questioning.[3] Perhaps the latest, and therefore the clearest voice for this minority is found in the theme of the Suffering Servant in Isaiah. Here, as in Job, the servant is blameless; thus his suffering is a product of oppression and injustice:

He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
    yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
    and like a sheep that before its shearers is dumb,
    so he opened not his mouth.
⁸ By oppression and judgment he was taken away;
    and as for his generation, who considered
that he was cut off out of the land of the living,
    stricken for the transgression of my people?”   ~Isaiah 53:7-8 (NRSV)

It is this image of the Suffering Servant, and the role of faithful questioning that Jesus personifies in his understanding of his identity as God’s “chosen one.”

We can see in the Gospels that Jesus embraced some parts of Scripture as describing his messianic mission and reflecting God’s kingdom, while other parts he either ignores, reinterprets, or—as we have seen in his “but I say to you” statements—even directly contradicts. I’ll be moving into some specific examples next,

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

Together in the Walk,

Jim

[Disclaimer: this Lenten series of blogs is a journal of personal pilgrimage which I’m sharing. It is offered in the form of a long—40 DAYS LONG—book report. But more than that, it is my way of assimilating what promises to be a life-changing new way of organizing what I believe about Jesus and how I live out those beliefs. I am grateful for the feedback I’ve been given. It helps me to sharpen my own understanding. I hope you will stay with me through the journey, and I welcome further feedback; but, to be honest, you’d probably be better advised to get the book and read it yourself.]

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[1] Derek Flood, Disarming Scriptures: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives and Why We All Need to Learn to Read the Bible Like Jesus Did (San Francisco: Metanoia Books, Kindle edition), Location 592.

[2] Ibid., Location 601

[3]Ibid., Location 553.