My Personal Savior?

Last night I had the privilege to attend an event called Fields of Faith with the youth group I help on Wednesday nights. The music was great, beautiful thoughts were shared, and God was certainly present. But a few things popped up that made me tilt my head and raise my eyebrow. The one that sticks out most in my mind was the frequent repetition of the phrase "your personal savior." Invite Jesus into your life, and he will become "your personal savior." At a surface level, and to the ears of the dominantly teenage crowd, it sounds pretty good. There is a sense that in such a phrase Jesus is interested in me. This is a powerful thought, considering how many teenagers have no one who is interested in them. With the rise of social abandonment, the rushing from one activity to another, and the general busyness that clouds their lives, it's great to hear about a personal savior.

At the same time, however, this language has embedded in it certain cultural values that are counter-intuitive to the reign of God (βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ). When a stateside teen hears of Jesus as propelling the same values as her nation, is she really hearing Jesus? The individualistic habits of the States are obvious enough (as I have pointed out here and here) to those who recognize them for what they are. But a further danger of individualistic Christianity is that it robs the message of Christ of one of its most important elements: community.

When one's relationship with God is treated the same way as a doctor-patient relationship, problems crop up. If my walk with God is private, then I needn't share it with anyone else. If my secrets are his secrets, I have no need of you. But this isn't how God's reign works. It is not built upon individuals, though they are important, but upon communities. God did not call Abraham to be alone, but he called him to create a family, a people, a nation, a community. The synagogue is not a place to come and pray by yourself; it is specifically for the act of gathering together (which is what "synagogue" means in the first place)! The same is true of the church. Its power is not expressed at its greatest in persons, but in people.

If Jesus can be understood to have worked alone somehow, there would be no problem. But he didn't. He chose people to come after him, worked with them for two years (give or take), built them into a community, and left with them a Helper who would further form that community into the image of Christ so that it could better become his bride.

Is Jesus a personal savior? Absolutely. But we ought not forget that he is also a communal savior. Without the community, we are lone pieces of driftwood riding the sea of religion and attempted righteousness. Within the community, those pieces come together to make a raft with plenty of room, that place of safety that is still quite dangerous, but invites tired swimmers in and offers them rest from the waters they attempt to surmount on their own.

The Church as Proof

In church for the fall we're studying the Gospel of John. One week I was even asked to teach, which I thoroughly enjoyed. This past Sunday, the normal teacher was there, and we were tasked with going through John 3 and 4. How we were supposed to go through such dense material in 45 minutes (or so) is beyond me, but we made a valiant attempt.

At one point, following discussion of the Samaritan woman and Nicodemus, the following question was asked: "How do you know Jesus was the Messiah?" Now, we're a rather small group. Our class is called the "Young Professionals" group, which basically means post-college and childless people. About half the class comprises nurses, and another third is teachers, so we're not terribly diverse. Nonetheless, we bring a certain range of experience to the table. So, the question being asked, several answers came up (none of which I can remember right now).

But I was stumped for a moment. It's the kind of thing that an academic training in biblical studies does not prepare you for. My mind thinks in terms of why people then believed Jesus was the Messiah, how they interpreted the Hebrew Scriptures (probably from the Septuagint, mind you), why the resurrection was evidence for them, etc. I generally don't think about why Jesus is still believed to be the Messiah. Ergo, I didn't have an immediate answer.

But my answer was right under my nose. I answered, "The church. The church is why I believe Jesus was and is the Messiah." It seems a strange thing at first, even to me. Well, especially to me. I was for a long time rather anti-church. I had a very low view of the church, especially as an institution. It was a long process for me to appreciate the church as something worth being a part of, as valuable to Christianity.

I believe the existence of the church shows Jesus' messiahship. Historically, without the church, there is no evidence. It is within the church that the writings of what became the New Testament came into being. It is within the church that Jesus is confessed as the crucified, resurrected Lord. It is within the church that the story of Jesus is passed on. And it is within the church that Christianity must exist. It has been said that there is no salvation outside the church (Henri de Lubac, I think), and I think there is something to that statement. Likewise, without the church, there is no Messiah to believe in. Without the church, no one knows who he is. Without the church, there exists no community to make the claim that Jesus was Messiah, to confess his name, to live his life, to be baptized into his death and resurrection.

I believe Jesus is the Messiah because of the church. Why do you?

The Resurrection and the Wrath of God

I just finished writing an essay on suffering and Jewish lament. The materials I found proved very enlightening on the topic, and I even learned some Jewish theology, both ancient and modern, along the way. When a tragedy comes to the question, “Why does God do this?” there is a Jewish response, or rather, several responses. One answer is that God is not omnipotent. If he were, but did not prevent suffering, then he is unjust, and Jewish Scripture claims God’s justice frequently.

For the fall semester I’m taking a course on early church history, and one of the required textbooks is Bart Ehrman’s Peter, Paul, & Mary Magdalene: The Followers of Jesus in History and Legend (2006). It’s a great read so far, and a new take on an old thought has been introduced to me concerning Jesus’ crucifixion and Jewish law. Deut 21.23 lays a curse from God upon those who hang on a tree, and such was the form of Jesus’ death. Here’s where Ehrman picks up:

But how could Jesus be God’s Righteous One if he was in fact crucified? For doesn’t Scripture indicate that the one who hangs on a tree is cursed by God (Deut. 21.23)? Paul began very quickly to think that yes, Jesus was cursed. But he must not have been cursed for his own unrighteous acts, since he was God’s Righteous One. He must have been cursed for the unrighteous acts of others. That is to say, Jesus did only what was right, and suffered for the sake of others who had violated God’s will and stood under his wrath. Jesus took the wrath of God (his “curse”) upon himself for others. His suffering and death, in other words, were vicarious: he died for the sake of others, so that they themselves would not have to pay the price for their own sins. Christ’s death ransomed others from the just payment of death. (Ehrman, 114)

I struggle somewhat with the notion of God’s wrath. In fact, this idea came up (or rather, was avoided) the other night at church. There is a rather beautiful and marvelously well-written (in my humble opinion) song called “In Christ Alone.” I’ve had some trouble figuring out who wrote it, but here are the full lyrics. The second verse says the following: “Till on that cross as Jesus died/The wrath of God was satisfied/For every sin on Him was laid/Here in the death of Christ I live.” The worship minister at the church I attend change the second listed line to “The love of God crossed the divide,” due to what he calls “bad theology.” I’m not totally sure what this means, as I have yet to discuss it with him, though I truly want to. However, it doesn’t sound like bad theology to me. And here is why.

If Jesus’ death was unjust, and God has a history of hating injustice (particularly against widows and orphans), then why would God not be wrathful, especially against those who commit the injustices in question? So let’s assume God was angry about this, despite the notion that such events were in line with God’s plan. How would God act toward the unjust? Sometimes, it would be a plague, or a disease, or just a straight up tomahawk chop to the head resulting in an immediate death. Here, the punishment was carried out, but against a willing substitute: Jesus.

This puts us in a bit of a bind. If a man took advantage of a widow, and God wants to strike him down, he will do so. But if the widow, in her righteousness, pleads with God to punish her for his actions, will he comply? And does this put God in an awkward place when he is asked to punish an innocent person? Jesus knows he is innocent, yet understands he must do whatever is necessary to fulfill God’s justice, God’s wrath.

I suppose this is the concept of substitutionary atonement, that Jesus simply took the place of someone else’s failures, their sins. So when we sing, “The wrath of God was satisfied,” is it necessarily bad theology to claim that the curse upon one who hangs on a tree is Jesus’ willingness to accept God’s wrath? Is it bad theology to say think that God did not necessarily want to take up Jesus’ offer?

For some, myself included, substitutionary atonement is not the preferred theory. I don’t like the idea that God’s bus couldn’t be stopped, so Jesus pushed mankind out of the way and got pummeled. For if God ran over Jesus, why bother resuscitating him afterward?

Here is where my thought finally kicks in. It’s because the resurrection is God’s answer to suffering. In the eschaton when all persons are resurrected, given glorified bodies, and take their dwelling on the new heaven and new earth, suffering will finally have been answered. For every time that a woman loses her husband, or a father holds his dying child, or a single mom becomes homeless, the resurrection stands at the edge of this age and proclaims, “You shall suffer no more. Come, drink of me, and I will give you rest.”

Suffering exists; this much cannot be denied. But even if our response is that God is not responsible for it all, his answer is calling to us, waiting for us. I trust that when we suffer, God suffers as well. The lost husband, the dying child, and the homeless mother grieve the heart of God, who promises a new body that cannot die in a home that he has rebuilt for us when all things are made new. “See," God says, "I am doing a new thing.” And what a glorious new thing it is.

"Blessed Are" or "Blessed Be"?

A thought has been floating in my head for a few days. In the Beatitudes, the common translation is "Blessed are . . . " Whichever group about which Jesus speaks, he uses the phrase "μακάριοι οἱ . . . " to make a statement of blessing. The Greek does not use a verb of being here, which means the interpreter/translator needs to make a decision. The sentence itself says "Blessed the poor in spirit, because of them is the reign of the heavens." There is no "are" there. Thus, my thought.

My professor of spiritual formation holds the idea that the Beatitudes are not aspirational values, but something more. They're not phrases that say, "You should be poor in spirit, because if you are, then yours will be the reign of heaven." They are statements that, according to this professor, bless people in real, current situations. They reflect this more: "Blessed are those whose spirits are already impoverished, broken, shattered, for they have something more to anticipate in the reign of God." The Beatitudes speak to existing realities rather than a state of being which one ought to seek.

With this in mind, I became curious as to whether the implied verb of being is indicative or an imperative/subjunctive. I have started searching for similar examples, especially those using the phrase "blessed be" and "blessed is/are" in English. Of the six examples I have thus far examined in the LXX (Gen 9.26; 14.19-20; 22.18; 24.27; 27.29; Ex 18.10), they all use εὐλογητός or a derivative thereof. There are quite a few more I have to sift through (no fewer than 20), but the first few all have that word group in common. Also, these six examples are found only using the search terms "Blessed be," without using "is/are."

Realistically, what difference does it make if the Beatitudes are translated "Blessed be the poor in spirit" as opposed to "Blessed are . . . "? If it is the latter, then the blessing has already been bestowed: God's favor has already fallen on the oppressed, which makes sense. The Bible frequently speaks to God's compassion on the disenfranchised. However, many of the finite verbs used are in the future tense. Whether this is near future or distant future cannot be said definitively (unless you know something I don't; I'm eager to hear), but it's still interesting. If "Blessed are" is understood in light of the future tense verbs used, then it might not be appropriate.

"Blessed be," on the other hand, has the ring of Jesus seeking God's blessing on behalf of these people for whom he already has a soft spot. It is not uncommon for a speaker to remind God of his promises and say, in effect, "And remember, God, I'm holding you to this. Seriously. I am." If Jesus is understood to be saying, "Blessed be the mourners, because they will be comforted," then the comfort sounds rather absolute, even if the blessing is not. We tell God, "Bless this meal," not with the sound of an optative verb of request, but with a statement in the imperative. We fully expect God will bless the meal, assuming we think about it beyond something we say at mealtimes. We expect, but cannot be completely certain. If I pray over my fast food chicken, God had better bless it, because there's no other way that stuff could be considered good for me! If it is "Blessed be," then the person in the real situation of pain has something to legitimately look forward to. This may be conveyed through the future verbs in the sentences, as well, but "Blessed be" appears to work in the fashion of an emphatic article or particle: it's not necessary, but it presses the point.

There is research to be done on this on my part. I plan to look up statements of blessing in other Greek texts (at least those which are readily available to me) and see how they compare. Μακάριος isn't too common so far, but εὐλογητός looks like it might be everywhere (see also Eph 1.3). I think there's potential here for one of those small interpretive decisions that does matter, even if only a little. In the meantime, enjoy this video on pre-blessed food.

Journaling and Interpretive Imagination

This summer I'm in a class for Christian Spiritual Formation. We've covered a good bit of material, including Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Henri Nouwen, and Pierre Wolff, and I have to say, I've enjoyed it. One of the assignments (which has now been rendered optional, though I intend to do it) was to explore and practice a spiritual discipline with which I have never experimented or familiarized myself. I chose journaling. I've only been doing it for two days, and I'm not totally sure what to expect. Our professor e-mailed us this morning to tell us that this assignment was no longer a requirement, and for several reasons. The reason which stuck out in my mind most was that practicing a spiritual discipline and writing on it in a matter of a few months or weeks is highly artificial. By the time this paper will have been due, I'll only have journaled a couple of weeks, tops.

Even so, I think there is some value to beginning this discipline. It should not be a short term pursuit for the sake of a grade, and since that's no longer an issue, I feel it will be a good step toward a long-lived practice. In A. A. Calhoun's Spiritual Disciplines Handbook: Practices That Transform Us, she is kind enough to give brief summaries of what different practices entail, scriptures to consider when performing them, and potential effects of their usage. I've considered journaling before, but not as a spiritual discipline. It was an overwhelming notion for me to attempt to write out all the events of my life as they were happening. However, Calhoun's handbook details that parts of the practice include the writing of poetry, scrapbooking, recording prayers, and attempting to view your life in terms of what God is doing.

The final bit there is most intriguing to me. This journaling has the potential for attempting to find how God is working in one's life. This is not just a passive kind of, "Oh, God totally saved me from getting hit by that car, and then he gave me a cool dream about riding unicorns!" It's the opportunity for interpretive imagination.

One of the beautiful things about reading the Gospels is their use of interpretive imagination. Where Historical Jesus studies find differences in whether Jesus actually did this or that, I tend to look at the instances when the author creatively uses Old Testament texts to present a narrative about Jesus. There are many parallels between Jesus and Moses in Matthew, usage of Isaiah in Mark, retellings of stories about Elijah and Elisha in Luke, etc. The Gospel writers are excellent crafters of story, especially considering the stories' roots in Hebrew literature.

This is, I think, one of the great opportunities of journaling: I have the chance to, in writing, explore the presence of God in the comings and goings of daily life, to interpret the normal in light of the extraordinary. So let's find some extraordinary.

A Research Dilemma

I don't often post about personal problems, but I've got one. I'm writing a research paper on Hebrew lament for a class on World Religions, but I'm having some problems. First of all, I have this enormous temptation to write it like an exegetical paper. However, it's not meant to be an exegesis of a biblical text. I settled on a Jewish topic, not because Judaism and Christianity are close cousins, but because I don't know a whole lot about it. The easy excuse for me here is that, by learning more about Judaism and Hebrew history/literature, I am furthering my work in biblical studies, Old Testament-style.

Here's another issue: I'm finding it difficult to prevent myself from writing for a Christian audience. I was sooo close to having a section on what Jewish lament means for modern Western Christians. But the thought occurred to me that this is not what the paper is about. If I were taking an advanced Old Testament class and chose lamentation as a genre, that would be something else. But this is for World Religions. I'm attempting to elucidate an aspect of another religion with which I am unfamiliar. But how do I do this without attempting to relate it to Christians or a Christian view of biblical studies?

I realized I have not written a research paper without a Christian purpose in about 5 years. I've written a few decent papers: Romans 12.14-21, divorce, porn and families, the Messianic Secret, Mark 5.1-20, an analysis of the growth patterns of the church I attended... every one of them had a Christian basis. Now I'm writing about Jewish literature with no Christian end-game, and I'm stumped.

*Sigh* I've got a couple weeks to figure this out, but I had better hurry. If you guys have any ideas, leave them in the comments. Here's hoping we find a solution.

Grace and peace,

-Reed

Rules Getting in the Way

Was not the Sabbath made for man, rather than man for the Sabbath? Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath? Did David not eat the bread of the Presence while on the run from Saul? Did Job not question and accuse God, yet God called him alone righteous among his friends? Didn't Jesus break the rules to follow the two greatest commands of God?

These questions run through my head as I consider the possibilities for the future of our world. As I find myself more and more invested in the presence and thoughts of same-sex relationships, these are the questions which plague me. I remember the first time I heard someone speak of a Christian argument in favor of same-sex marriage, and I thought it was ludicrous. A year later I married my wife, and that concept didn't really seem to matter much. Almost a month after my marriage began I got a job, and several of my coworkers were gay. This past December, I wrote a post on the topic. And seven months after that post, I find myself taken aback by Chick-fil-A's new campaign against homosexual relationships, saying that they are taking a stand for traditional marriage, for the kind of marriage created by God. So a few more thoughts come to mind now.

First of all, did God create marriage? For those who hold a literal interpretation of Genesis 1-11, the obvious answer is yes. But I'm not one of those people. Even if those eleven chapters are ignored in terms of historical validity, it seems a common thought that marriage is a big deal in the Bible. But what do we mean when we say "traditional marriage"? The assumption is one man and one woman, but how is that the tradition? Abraham's wife was his half-sister, and also took his wife's servant to give him a son; Jacob had two wives and two maidservants mother his children; Samson couldn't stay with one woman long enough for it to have mattered much to him; David had multiple wives and concubines, but counted his love for Jonathan as greater than any of those (though this is not explicitly a romantic type of love as far as I am aware); Solomon, the wisest man ever according to God, had multiple wives as well (and any man with a single wife knows that's crazy!); Hosea's wife was a prostitute who kept leaving him for other men; Jesus is not described as having had attraction for one gender or the other, and as far as we know, was always single.

The only people for whom the current vision of "traditional marriage" seems to have mattered were elders/presbyters and deacons/ministers/servants of the Christian congregations (1 Timothy 3, esp. vv. 1-13). Even then it does not seem that every single criterion in the list of elder and deacon qualifications could possibly be fulfilled simultaneously, so should we think that all of them apply every single time? Maybe, maybe not.

A thought to be considered, which I first read from James McGrath's post and I suggest reading, is whether it is good for people of different sexualities to be alone. The people who are fighting hardest for marriage are not heterosexual couples. When Christian divorce rates are likely as high as the secular, are we really fighting for traditional marriage? Are we fighting for anything?

And so I ask: when it comes to certain topics like same-sex marriage, could it be that we are enforcing rules over and above the basic command to love each other? I once read that anti-LBGT Christians whose children come out of the closet have a choice: to hate their children or to alter their theology. Once I had friends who were Christian and gay, I had a choice to make, and I chose the latter. I also once heard that the love of God is the most powerful thing in the universe. If this is our driving force, will we break rules like Jesus did?