Friday, December 26, 2008
Christmas gift
Yesterday some friends gave me a bottle of Pyrat rum, XO reserve, from the British West Indies, in a very pretty presentation box. This stuff is luscious! It has strong, smooth flavors of orange peel and caramel, with a hint of lime. I only take a very small sip at a time of this 80 proof elixir, and mixing it with anything, except perhaps an ice cube, would upset its wonderful balance.
The Song of Heaven and Earth
Christmas Eve homily, 2008
Scripture – Rev. 5
8When He had taken the book, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb, each one holding a harp and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. 9And they sang a new song, saying, "Worthy are You to take the book and to break its seals; for You were slain, and purchased for God with Your blood men from every tribe and tongue and people and nation. 10You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to our God; and they will reign upon the earth."
11Then I looked, and I heard the voice of many angels around the throne and the living creatures and the elders; and the number of them was myriads of myriads, and thousands of thousands, 12saying with a loud voice, "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing." 13And every created thing which is in heaven and on the earth and under the earth and on the sea, and all things in them, I heard saying, "To Him who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, be blessing and honor and glory and dominion forever and ever." 14And the four living creatures kept saying, "Amen " And the elders fell down and worshiped.
Sermon
I like to brag about people I know. Not name-dropping, trying to connect myself with someone famous, but telling stories about my friends and what they do, saying things like, “Did I tell you about my friend X? He combines tenderness and toughness towards children in a way that matures them but without bruising them, and they keep coming back for more.” Or, “Did I tell you about my friend Y? She helps people turn their lives around, getting them out of toxic habits and showing them the love of God.” I have some pretty amazing friends. They make good stories.
The Advent sermons this year at City Presbyterian Church have been about the songs in the first two chapters of St. Luke’s gospel: The Song of Zecharias, the Song of Mary, the Song of the Angels, and the Song of Simeon. Tonight we look at one more song, in the fifth chapter of Revelation. This is a song that all heaven and earth sing, praising Jesus, whose birth we celebrate tonight, and it shows the whole sweep of his mission to rescue us. It connects to the other songs in Luke, and, like them, it praises God and Jesus whom he sent. All these songs brag on Jesus and say how great he is.
By the way, have I told you about this Jesus? Very God of very God, He was God with God from everlasting, from before time, and yet, when we, his people, rebelled and got ourselves into such trouble that it would destroy us, he took on our humanity as his own to come and rescue us.
What do you mean impossible? Well, yes, I suppose so. There are people, some very smart people, who say that. If you already know what’s possible for God and what isn’t, and you know that incarnation isn’t included in the possibility list, then either this didn’t happen, or maybe, just maybe, God can do what we don’t understand.
Let’s make it even more of a problem. This Jesus was born to a virgin. Oh, yes, of course that kind of thing doesn’t happen. People back then knew it too, so when his mother became pregnant, it caused a typical small-town scandal. His mother, Mary, was poor and only engaged to be married, to a carpenter named Joseph, and he was prepared to break up with her quietly, but angels appeared to both of them to tell them that God and not man had caused this pregnancy. Confusing and Scary? I should think so! The first thing angels usually tell people is not to be afraid, they are that scary! But anyway, Joseph and Mary stayed together, and so God in human flesh was born.
And name the baby “Jesus,” which means “Yahweh saves.” Pretty cool name, huh? And he grows up to be a teacher and a miracle-worker, healing people of diseases, calming storms, and teaching people how to love God and each other.
What? Well, yes and no, he had a big following and was respected by quite a few people, but the authorities didn’t like him much. Why? Well, because he was and still is too much of a challenge for anybody. He’s God, after all, and we are fundamentally in rebellion against him. But he heals our hearts so we can really, really hear him, so we understand that he himself is our light and our life. And that shows us the darkness and death that we have preferred. He is real bread and living water, and that shows us the ashes and dust that we have mistaken for food. Can you see how big a challenge that is, to tell us that our attempts to be self-sufficient are a sham and a fraud? To call our treasures junk, to call our banquets poisonous, to call the kings of this world upstarts and imposters? Yes, you can imagine how much trouble THAT caused. And it caught up with him.
Ha! Yes, you have that right. “If he was really God, don’t you think he would see what would happen?” Oh yes, he did. Just by being himself he stirred up trouble, and he did it on purpose, he did. So the God-man appears, and the powers of this world take him down.
No. No. They didn’t just “try” to take him down. They did it. They did. And that’s the darkest part of the story. They killed him, and in a very painful, grotesque way, by nailing him to a cross.
Why did he let them do this? It was part of his plan. These people he came to rescue, we, the rebels against God, needed more than an example, because we couldn’t have followed it. We wouldn’t have wanted to do so. We needed more than a picture of the kingdom of heaven, because it wouldn’t have interested us. We had twisted ourselves so badly that we needed to be re-made. We were so deeply, thoroughly infected that—well—the problem wasn’t like a bad kidney that could be pulled out or replaced and we would be better. No, the badness, the anti-God-ness, the me-first-ness, the I-will-be-my-own-God-ness, was in every cell and atom and breath of our being. The whole thing had to be destroyed, we had to be done away with and re-created. And that’s why he died. We were included in his death, so that, when he died, we died. No really, we did. Yes, it sounds absurd, but reality is like that. Ask a physicist who looks at sub-atomic particles, an astronomer who looks at the edge of the universe, or anybody who deals with small children. Reality is just strange when you see it the first time. And then you see it, and you see the wonder of it.
Of course, the people who loved him and followed him didn’t see it, either. They were caught by surprise, even though he had tried to warn them. They were terrified, because it looked like Death and Sin had killed him who was Life and Holiness. It looked like the Dark had put out the Light.
But on the Sunday morning after that dark Friday, the tomb they buried him in was empty. Angels appeared again, frightening people the way they do, but saying that Jesus had risen from the dead. And then he himself shows up to his followers. And he’s not just a spirit, he has risen in his physical body. He eats and drinks with his followers and hangs around for 40 days, then is taken bodily into heaven. And our new life, our new creation, the new “us” is in him. You might think that center of our life is in this material body that we daily clothe and feed, but no, our life is hidden in him in heaven. That’s why we can treat our bodies with respect and care, but ultimately live dangerously, because our life is hidden with him.
Why care about our bodies? Oh, because they are wonderful gifts from him. After all, he shows us the goodness of the material world by taking a body for himself and living in this world that he created.
Why not just go to heaven right now? Because he lets us take part in his mission, his war, his conquest, to proclaim that Jesus is Lord of every bit of the world that rejects him.
No, not by smashing the people who resist, but by loving them. It’s Jesus who is Lord, and his lordship is like him—gentle, loving, not giving up but patient, insistent, unrelenting and, ultimately, winning. If there’s any conquering to do, then he does it by melting the coldness of hearts. Yes, there will be real opposition, opposition that is equipped with power, wealth, gossip, and malice. We are here as invaders in a world where they think they are lords. And so we will have to oppose people who fight against Jesus, but our opposition must be like his, not like theirs.
And, finally, we come to our text. The people of Jesus are often the powerless, the poor, the despised. But in the book of Revelation he reveals himself to be the beginning and end of all things. He works in and through and around us, so that the victory is his, and we share his victory with him. The book of Revelation is like an ancient Roman triumphal parade. We see all manner of bizarre sights go by, strange creatures doing strange things, with choirs going before and after, singing these songs of praise, proclaiming that Jesus has conquered all darkness and sin and death. His enemies, these spiritual powers that opposed him and killed us, and the people who have refused God’s love and lordship, are also in the parade, bound in chains and thrown into a pit.
In Chapter 5 we see and hear the choirs, all heaven and earth proclaiming that this lamb who was killed has rescued us and brought us home, safe and alive. This God took on our flesh and became one of us that we might live with him. And so he is worthy to “to receive power and riches and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing.” And all heaven and earth sing, “To Him who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb, be blessing and honor and glory and dominion forever and ever." And in chapter 11 the choirs sing, “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ; and He will reign forever and ever.” And if we hear the music of Handel in their voices, that’s not a bad thing.
And so tomorrow we open presents and eat holiday food, and we sing songs about this Jesus, the God-man, who was born and died and was resurrected and ascended for us. Let us give thanks for this great gift of himself that he gave us. And, having received him, let us live in him and by him. And let us pass this gift along to others, loving them as he loves us. And let us brag on our Savior, maybe start a conversation by saying, “By the way, have I told you about Jesus?”
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
snow again!
The temperature on Tuesday hit 80, yesterday was still short sleeve weather, and this morning it's snowing again! The large clusters of flakes won't last very long on the ground, although the cars look like they've collected an inch or two.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Wednesday Lunch
I’m having lunch at the City O’City cafe, which is about a block from my flat. The tea is Ceylon Mango, and I have ordered the Pesto Plate, “A sampling of our basil pesto, olive tapenade, fig sauce and hummus topped with sheep’s milk feta and served with warm flat bread.” Yummy!
Friday, April 25, 2008
Retraction
To my Readers (both of them) I offer this apology for having posted sloppy work, a retraction of the offending material, and an examination of the error.
I have removed the following paragraph from my comments on the Cry of Dereliction, posted on March 06, 2008:
This had been the fourth of five paragraphs under “Theology.” The reasons for that change are twofold:
1) Even if we assert that Jesus “bore our sins all his life long,” for which I still think there is good exegetical and historical support (see Note below), the final conflict and conquest that occur at the cross differ both in kind and extent from the rest of his life. The agonizing prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane introduce the successive horrors of betrayal and desertion by his friends, a rigged trial by the supposed shepherds of Israel, being ejected from the covenant community for judgment, a public and shameful execution in extreme physical pain, and (harshest of all) the silence of his Father. As the prophets and apostles show us, Jesus there took upon himself the curse due to us that we might instead receive God’s blessing (Gal. 3:10-14). See also, for example, Isaiah 53:3-11, esp. vv. 6, 11; II Cor. 5:14-21, esp. v. 21; I Pet. 2:24.
2) Given these passages and others, the wording “without exegetical support” makes a universal negative claim that is plainly (and embarrassingly) untrue. See Calvin’s masterful treatment of the relevant passages in his Institutes of the Christian Religion, II.xvi.6; II.xvii.4.
Note:
Although it is possible to interpret John 1:14, Romans 8:3, Phil. 2:7, Heb. 2:17, and Heb. 4:15 as attributing to Jesus a human nature that is, unlike ours, untouched by the fall, I think that this kind of abstraction is alien to the texts and that they, rather, state that Jesus, by his incarnation, entered fully into the human situation with all its weaknesses and that he did not himself commit sin, but turned that nature to complete obedience to the Father. The Heidelberg Confession, Q. and A. 37, takes a similar position.
I have removed the following paragraph from my comments on the Cry of Dereliction, posted on March 06, 2008:
This view also assumes, without exegetical support, that Jesus took our sins upon himself (or that they were laid on him) at some point on that Good Friday. The better exegesis of the New Testament would be that he bore our sin all his life long, from the assumption of our humanity at his conception to the resurrection of it in his resurrection. The fellowship of Jesus with the Father shows the Father’s attitude to the One who fully lives in metanoia, i.e., in a constant “turning” from the dictations of sin, the flesh, and the devil to the Father in the power of the Spirit.
This had been the fourth of five paragraphs under “Theology.” The reasons for that change are twofold:
1) Even if we assert that Jesus “bore our sins all his life long,” for which I still think there is good exegetical and historical support (see Note below), the final conflict and conquest that occur at the cross differ both in kind and extent from the rest of his life. The agonizing prayers in the Garden of Gethsemane introduce the successive horrors of betrayal and desertion by his friends, a rigged trial by the supposed shepherds of Israel, being ejected from the covenant community for judgment, a public and shameful execution in extreme physical pain, and (harshest of all) the silence of his Father. As the prophets and apostles show us, Jesus there took upon himself the curse due to us that we might instead receive God’s blessing (Gal. 3:10-14). See also, for example, Isaiah 53:3-11, esp. vv. 6, 11; II Cor. 5:14-21, esp. v. 21; I Pet. 2:24.
2) Given these passages and others, the wording “without exegetical support” makes a universal negative claim that is plainly (and embarrassingly) untrue. See Calvin’s masterful treatment of the relevant passages in his Institutes of the Christian Religion, II.xvi.6; II.xvii.4.
Note:
Although it is possible to interpret John 1:14, Romans 8:3, Phil. 2:7, Heb. 2:17, and Heb. 4:15 as attributing to Jesus a human nature that is, unlike ours, untouched by the fall, I think that this kind of abstraction is alien to the texts and that they, rather, state that Jesus, by his incarnation, entered fully into the human situation with all its weaknesses and that he did not himself commit sin, but turned that nature to complete obedience to the Father. The Heidelberg Confession, Q. and A. 37, takes a similar position.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Calvin on Mt. 27:46
Just to show that my comments above on the Cry of Dereliction are not entirely an innovation, I quote some of Calvin's comments here:
Institutes, 2.16.11 (translated by Henry Beveridge)
To such a degree was Christ dejected, that in the depth of his agony he was forced to exclaim, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” The view taken by some, that he here expressed the opinion of others rather than his own conviction, is most improbable; for it is evident that the expression was wrung from the anguish of his inmost soul. We do not, however, insinuate that God was ever hostile to him or angry with him.[260] How could he be angry with the beloved Son, with whom his soul was well pleased? or how could he have appeased the Father by his intercession for others if He were hostile to himself? But this we say, that he bore the weight of the divine anger, that, smitten and afflicted, he experienced all the signs of an angry and avenging God.
[260] See Cyril. Lib. 2 De Recta Fide ad Reginas; Item, Hilarius de Trinitate, Lib. 4 c. 2 and 3.
Harmony of the Gospels, Mt. 27:46
But it appears absurd to say that an expression of despair escaped Christ. The reply is easy. Though the perception of the flesh would have led him to dread destruction, still in his heart faith remained firm, by which he beheld the presence of God, of whose absence he complains. We have explained elsewhere how the Divine nature gave way to the weakness of the flesh, so far as was necessary for our salvation, that Christ might accomplish all that was required of the Redeemer. We have likewise pointed out the distinction between the sentiment of nature and the knowledge of faith; and, therefore, the perception of God's estrangement from him, which Christ had, as suggested by natural feeling, did not hinder him from continuing to be assured by faith that God was reconciled to him. This is sufficiently evident from the two clauses of the complaint; for, before stating the temptation, he begins by saying that he betakes himself to God as his God, and thus by the shield of faith he courageously expels that appearance of forsaking which presented itself on the other side. In short, during this fearful torture his faith remained uninjured, so that, while he complained of being forsaken, he still relied on the aid of God as at hand.
Institutes, 2.16.11 (translated by Henry Beveridge)
To such a degree was Christ dejected, that in the depth of his agony he was forced to exclaim, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” The view taken by some, that he here expressed the opinion of others rather than his own conviction, is most improbable; for it is evident that the expression was wrung from the anguish of his inmost soul. We do not, however, insinuate that God was ever hostile to him or angry with him.[260] How could he be angry with the beloved Son, with whom his soul was well pleased? or how could he have appeased the Father by his intercession for others if He were hostile to himself? But this we say, that he bore the weight of the divine anger, that, smitten and afflicted, he experienced all the signs of an angry and avenging God.
[260] See Cyril. Lib. 2 De Recta Fide ad Reginas; Item, Hilarius de Trinitate, Lib. 4 c. 2 and 3.
Harmony of the Gospels, Mt. 27:46
But it appears absurd to say that an expression of despair escaped Christ. The reply is easy. Though the perception of the flesh would have led him to dread destruction, still in his heart faith remained firm, by which he beheld the presence of God, of whose absence he complains. We have explained elsewhere how the Divine nature gave way to the weakness of the flesh, so far as was necessary for our salvation, that Christ might accomplish all that was required of the Redeemer. We have likewise pointed out the distinction between the sentiment of nature and the knowledge of faith; and, therefore, the perception of God's estrangement from him, which Christ had, as suggested by natural feeling, did not hinder him from continuing to be assured by faith that God was reconciled to him. This is sufficiently evident from the two clauses of the complaint; for, before stating the temptation, he begins by saying that he betakes himself to God as his God, and thus by the shield of faith he courageously expels that appearance of forsaking which presented itself on the other side. In short, during this fearful torture his faith remained uninjured, so that, while he complained of being forsaken, he still relied on the aid of God as at hand.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
Jesus' Cry of Dereliction
Theologians and preachers sometimes interpret the cry of Jesus on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mt. 27:46, Mk 15:34 ) to mean that God has turned his back on Jesus while the latter bears the sins of the world. Sometimes this rift is described as being between the Father and the Son, i.e., within the Trinity, and sometimes the placement of the rift gets no detailed attention. Thus Jesus bears the rejection due us as part of God’s response to our sin. R. C. Sproul, in a series of films in which he gives a survey of the New Testament, describes Jesus as “the most obscene object in the universe” at that point during the crucifixion.
It is not necessary to adopt Dr. Sproul’s assessment of “obscenity” in order to hold the view that God turned his back on Jesus at that cry, and other variations on this theme are certainly possible, so let me group them under the heading “Rift” views or interpretations. (My only intention in using this label is brevity, not disrespect.)
These Rift views, despite having some very appealing strengths, also have some insurmountable theological and exegetical problems.
Theology
The chief theological strengths of the Rift interpretation are its emphases on God’s utter rejection of sin, Christ’s exchange with us of his life for our death and his cleanness for our foulness, the horror of Christ’s experience on the cross, and the depth of God’s love for us to undergo such torture on our behalf. The New Testament presents these important points in several places, and we must not abandon them. But we must also not let our imaginations (and traditions) run away with us, based on these points and the single word “forsaken” in the saying from Jesus on the cross.
Putting a rift between divinity and humanity on the cross means that it was not God who took away our sins. Putting a rift between the Father and the Son is even worse, because it means that God has abandoned his own nature (unity), it effectively proposes a second God (the Son in isolation), and it calls into question the existence and activity of the Holy Spirit (if he is not the love of the Father and Son for each other, then who is He and what is He doing?). This interpretation allows our notion of sin to dominate our notion of God: it says that sin can split God, dividing Him against Himself.
At the crucifixion the burden of our sins heightens into an agony. Yes, Jesus dies as the Rejected of God, the Curse of God (Gal. 3:13), the One who became sin for our sakes (II Cor. 5:21). But underneath all those real and agonizing aspects of the cross lies the deeper reality that He is the Beloved, the Blessing of Abraham, the Righteous One. In his very sin-bearing he is being obedient. In dying, he takes our humanity to its agonized destruction, and thus we die in him. But he dies that, in his rising again, he may bring us also back to life. Thus we are in him a “new creation”: the old one had to be destroyed (II Cor. 5:17), and it was Jesus who bore the pain of that destruction.
Exegesis
The chief method and exegetical strength of the Rift interpretation is its attention to the word “forsaken” (sabachthani in Aramaic, 'egkate/lipe/v in Greek in both texts). Take the word “forsaken” in a straightforward sense, with all the devastation that it carries, and it aptly describes our place before God without Christ. Jesus gives us several pictures of forsakenness and accursedness in his parables, as in Mt. 25:41, “Depart from me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels.” Mt. 22:13 gives another picture, “Bind him hand and foot, and cast him into the outer darkness; in that place there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” That was our place, and Jesus took it for us.
The two main subsidiary texts used for interpreting the cry of dereliction this way are Gal. 3:13 (“Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law, having become a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is every one who hangs on a tree’—“) and Hab. 1:13 (“Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity: wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous than he?” KJV, italics in the original). The Galatians text is interpreted as implying God’s utter rejection of Christ by its use of the word “curse.” The Habakkuk text is interpreted as describing God’s aversion to sin, and thus his aversion to Christ when he carried our sin.
But the text in Habakkuk does not treat sin as if it were some substance, or even as a nature, but rather as an activity, doing evil, pursuing that which God has forbidden. Further, the Hebrews used their language in a much more poetic way than Westerners sometimes allow. Notice that in the same verse the author says both “you can’t look” and “you do look.” The NASB accurately translates the first verbs as “look with favor” for the more literal-minded. To say that sin can force God’s hand, or his eyes, attributes too much power to sin and too little to God. Thus this verse cannot apply to Christ on the cross. Although he bore our sin, he himself did not pursue sin.
The text in Galatians quotes Deut. 21:23, “for he who is hanged is accursed of God,” or more literally, “the curse of God.” Christ becomes a curse for us who have not kept the Law (3:10), so that we may, in contrast, inherit the blessing of Abraham (3:14). The application of this verse to the crucifixion scene depends on the content that we give to the word “curse.” On the one hand, we must not undercut the severity or profundity of this word; on the other hand, we must allow the scriptures, and not our own imaginations, to provide details of its content.
The biggest exegetical problem of some of the Rift interpreters is their failure to use the most important scriptural reference, Psalm 22. This cry does not originate at the cross: Jesus is quoting Psalm 22:1. No, it is not merely a quotation, but he points us to Ps. 22 because it tells us what he is going through. The whole psalm is rich in references to the crucifixion and resurrection. By the parallelism of its structure it also tells us what “forsaken” means in this case, namely, God’s inaction, his failure to deliver, to answer, to give rest (vv. 1-2). Far from denoting God’s absence, it presupposes his presence and his hearing. It also contrasts the forsakenness with God’s holiness (v. 3), showing that the psalmist (and therefore Christ) knows that, in and with and under this excruciating event, God is indeed present and delivering in a way neither presently seen nor experienced. By v. 24 the psalmist expounds this in more detail: “For He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; Neither has He his is face from him; But when he cried to Him for help, He heard.”
No, this does not reduce “forsaken” to mere appearances. Jesus suffered a painful dying on the cross, both physically and spiritually, and his Father did not deliver him from it. The full brunt of the Father’s rejection of our sin and the annihilation of our fallen humanity fell on him. But underlying that reality was the deeper reality without which our salvation would not have been possible, namely, the love of the Father for the Son and for us in the Son by the Spirit; the Son’s love for and obedience to the Father in the Spirit; and the Spirit’s loving union of the Father with the Son, and us in the Son.
It is not necessary to adopt Dr. Sproul’s assessment of “obscenity” in order to hold the view that God turned his back on Jesus at that cry, and other variations on this theme are certainly possible, so let me group them under the heading “Rift” views or interpretations. (My only intention in using this label is brevity, not disrespect.)
These Rift views, despite having some very appealing strengths, also have some insurmountable theological and exegetical problems.
Theology
The chief theological strengths of the Rift interpretation are its emphases on God’s utter rejection of sin, Christ’s exchange with us of his life for our death and his cleanness for our foulness, the horror of Christ’s experience on the cross, and the depth of God’s love for us to undergo such torture on our behalf. The New Testament presents these important points in several places, and we must not abandon them. But we must also not let our imaginations (and traditions) run away with us, based on these points and the single word “forsaken” in the saying from Jesus on the cross.
Putting a rift between divinity and humanity on the cross means that it was not God who took away our sins. Putting a rift between the Father and the Son is even worse, because it means that God has abandoned his own nature (unity), it effectively proposes a second God (the Son in isolation), and it calls into question the existence and activity of the Holy Spirit (if he is not the love of the Father and Son for each other, then who is He and what is He doing?). This interpretation allows our notion of sin to dominate our notion of God: it says that sin can split God, dividing Him against Himself.
At the crucifixion the burden of our sins heightens into an agony. Yes, Jesus dies as the Rejected of God, the Curse of God (Gal. 3:13), the One who became sin for our sakes (II Cor. 5:21). But underneath all those real and agonizing aspects of the cross lies the deeper reality that He is the Beloved, the Blessing of Abraham, the Righteous One. In his very sin-bearing he is being obedient. In dying, he takes our humanity to its agonized destruction, and thus we die in him. But he dies that, in his rising again, he may bring us also back to life. Thus we are in him a “new creation”: the old one had to be destroyed (II Cor. 5:17), and it was Jesus who bore the pain of that destruction.
Exegesis
The chief method and exegetical strength of the Rift interpretation is its attention to the word “forsaken” (sabachthani in Aramaic, 'egkate/lipe/v in Greek in both texts). Take the word “forsaken” in a straightforward sense, with all the devastation that it carries, and it aptly describes our place before God without Christ. Jesus gives us several pictures of forsakenness and accursedness in his parables, as in Mt. 25:41, “Depart from me, accursed ones, into the eternal fire which has been prepared for the devil and his angels.” Mt. 22:13 gives another picture, “Bind him hand and foot, and cast him into the outer darkness; in that place there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” That was our place, and Jesus took it for us.
The two main subsidiary texts used for interpreting the cry of dereliction this way are Gal. 3:13 (“Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law, having become a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is every one who hangs on a tree’—“) and Hab. 1:13 (“Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity: wherefore lookest thou upon them that deal treacherously, and holdest thy tongue when the wicked devoureth the man that is more righteous than he?” KJV, italics in the original). The Galatians text is interpreted as implying God’s utter rejection of Christ by its use of the word “curse.” The Habakkuk text is interpreted as describing God’s aversion to sin, and thus his aversion to Christ when he carried our sin.
But the text in Habakkuk does not treat sin as if it were some substance, or even as a nature, but rather as an activity, doing evil, pursuing that which God has forbidden. Further, the Hebrews used their language in a much more poetic way than Westerners sometimes allow. Notice that in the same verse the author says both “you can’t look” and “you do look.” The NASB accurately translates the first verbs as “look with favor” for the more literal-minded. To say that sin can force God’s hand, or his eyes, attributes too much power to sin and too little to God. Thus this verse cannot apply to Christ on the cross. Although he bore our sin, he himself did not pursue sin.
The text in Galatians quotes Deut. 21:23, “for he who is hanged is accursed of God,” or more literally, “the curse of God.” Christ becomes a curse for us who have not kept the Law (3:10), so that we may, in contrast, inherit the blessing of Abraham (3:14). The application of this verse to the crucifixion scene depends on the content that we give to the word “curse.” On the one hand, we must not undercut the severity or profundity of this word; on the other hand, we must allow the scriptures, and not our own imaginations, to provide details of its content.
The biggest exegetical problem of some of the Rift interpreters is their failure to use the most important scriptural reference, Psalm 22. This cry does not originate at the cross: Jesus is quoting Psalm 22:1. No, it is not merely a quotation, but he points us to Ps. 22 because it tells us what he is going through. The whole psalm is rich in references to the crucifixion and resurrection. By the parallelism of its structure it also tells us what “forsaken” means in this case, namely, God’s inaction, his failure to deliver, to answer, to give rest (vv. 1-2). Far from denoting God’s absence, it presupposes his presence and his hearing. It also contrasts the forsakenness with God’s holiness (v. 3), showing that the psalmist (and therefore Christ) knows that, in and with and under this excruciating event, God is indeed present and delivering in a way neither presently seen nor experienced. By v. 24 the psalmist expounds this in more detail: “For He has not despised nor abhorred the affliction of the afflicted; Neither has He his is face from him; But when he cried to Him for help, He heard.”
No, this does not reduce “forsaken” to mere appearances. Jesus suffered a painful dying on the cross, both physically and spiritually, and his Father did not deliver him from it. The full brunt of the Father’s rejection of our sin and the annihilation of our fallen humanity fell on him. But underlying that reality was the deeper reality without which our salvation would not have been possible, namely, the love of the Father for the Son and for us in the Son by the Spirit; the Son’s love for and obedience to the Father in the Spirit; and the Spirit’s loving union of the Father with the Son, and us in the Son.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Hasty Judgment
I meant to post this last month:
Jan. 19, 2008
Denver had about 4 inches of snow again last night, so, instead of riding my bike, I walked to the Civic Center bus station at the head of 16th Street and took the free bus down to Wynkoop St., which is at the other end of the 16th Street Mall. The bus is designed mostly for standing, although there are some seats. A young man was sitting in the only seat near the front when I got on, and some people were still crossing the street in front of the bus. One of them was an elderly man with a cane and a hat emblazoned, “WWII Veteran.” He boarded the bus slowly. The young man offered him the seat, but he said, “No, I can’t sit. Go ahead and sit down.” Maybe his knees hurt and he had difficulty getting up again after sitting.
It occurred to me that, if I had boarded the bus about two blocks later and had seen the young man sitting while the veteran stood, I would have been annoyed that people are so discourteous. Just goes to show how ready I still am to jump to conclusions about people on the basis of inadequate information.
Jan. 19, 2008
Denver had about 4 inches of snow again last night, so, instead of riding my bike, I walked to the Civic Center bus station at the head of 16th Street and took the free bus down to Wynkoop St., which is at the other end of the 16th Street Mall. The bus is designed mostly for standing, although there are some seats. A young man was sitting in the only seat near the front when I got on, and some people were still crossing the street in front of the bus. One of them was an elderly man with a cane and a hat emblazoned, “WWII Veteran.” He boarded the bus slowly. The young man offered him the seat, but he said, “No, I can’t sit. Go ahead and sit down.” Maybe his knees hurt and he had difficulty getting up again after sitting.
It occurred to me that, if I had boarded the bus about two blocks later and had seen the young man sitting while the veteran stood, I would have been annoyed that people are so discourteous. Just goes to show how ready I still am to jump to conclusions about people on the basis of inadequate information.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Giving up theology?
I have several times considered giving up my pursuit of theology, for the following reasons:
• Why write something that few will read, fewer will see as a positive contribution, and will otherwise sit on a dusty shelf, which is already weighed down by uncountable books?
• My writing is stuck, anyway.
• I am puzzled regarding how I can use it for others.
• The problems regarding such topics of interest as justification and the nature of the Adamic covenant are mountainous, complex, and probably insoluble.
• The people already discussing said topics keep generating more material than I can keep track of, much less read.
• And what’s the point?
The last item is the most important: Why study theology? I have often pursued it because of a fascination with its beauty, as I have occasionally pursued mathematics. Both involve systems of complexity and beauty, with intricate problems to be solved. Theology can be pursued as a science, adapting the mode of study to the object studied, enabling the student to see God more clearly and appreciate him more deeply.
Solving problems, gaining insight, helping others see—these are good goals. But if these activities change so that they treat God as a problem to be solved more than the Lord to be loved and obeyed, and if they treat other people as needing to be corrected more than to be served, then the whole enterprise needs serious re-adjustment.
Further, science and mathematics are not the only, and perhaps not the best, paradigms for applying to theology. Considering that the Bible consists largely of poetry, poetic prose, dramatic narrative, nightmarish visions, parable, and very little of what we would call sustained logical argument, perhaps the theologian who emphasizes analytical essays needs a great input of non-analytic theology.
And why not give up theology? The biggest reason is that it has profoundly changed for the better the way I see God and other people. For example, before I went to Aberdeen to study, I thought that theology and ecclesiology were what united any given body of believers. What we believe and how we organize ourselves is, no doubt, important, but these criteria do not distinguish the Church from a political party or fraternal club. What unites us as Christians is Jesus himself. It is his faithful activity, and not our poor attempts (largely failures) at obedience. This change in perspective came embarrassingly late in life, but I’m thankful that it came at all.
St. Paul’s own theological letters often break out in doxology. That’s where all theology should culminate.
• Why write something that few will read, fewer will see as a positive contribution, and will otherwise sit on a dusty shelf, which is already weighed down by uncountable books?
• My writing is stuck, anyway.
• I am puzzled regarding how I can use it for others.
• The problems regarding such topics of interest as justification and the nature of the Adamic covenant are mountainous, complex, and probably insoluble.
• The people already discussing said topics keep generating more material than I can keep track of, much less read.
• And what’s the point?
The last item is the most important: Why study theology? I have often pursued it because of a fascination with its beauty, as I have occasionally pursued mathematics. Both involve systems of complexity and beauty, with intricate problems to be solved. Theology can be pursued as a science, adapting the mode of study to the object studied, enabling the student to see God more clearly and appreciate him more deeply.
Solving problems, gaining insight, helping others see—these are good goals. But if these activities change so that they treat God as a problem to be solved more than the Lord to be loved and obeyed, and if they treat other people as needing to be corrected more than to be served, then the whole enterprise needs serious re-adjustment.
Further, science and mathematics are not the only, and perhaps not the best, paradigms for applying to theology. Considering that the Bible consists largely of poetry, poetic prose, dramatic narrative, nightmarish visions, parable, and very little of what we would call sustained logical argument, perhaps the theologian who emphasizes analytical essays needs a great input of non-analytic theology.
And why not give up theology? The biggest reason is that it has profoundly changed for the better the way I see God and other people. For example, before I went to Aberdeen to study, I thought that theology and ecclesiology were what united any given body of believers. What we believe and how we organize ourselves is, no doubt, important, but these criteria do not distinguish the Church from a political party or fraternal club. What unites us as Christians is Jesus himself. It is his faithful activity, and not our poor attempts (largely failures) at obedience. This change in perspective came embarrassingly late in life, but I’m thankful that it came at all.
St. Paul’s own theological letters often break out in doxology. That’s where all theology should culminate.
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