Professing Professor

New Blog Location

2008-04-02T21:09:00.002-05:00

It is official now. I am currently posting at my new blog with Wordpress.com.

Read it here.

New Blog Location

2008-03-29T16:21:00.006-05:00

http://johnmarkhicks.wordpress.com/

I have shifted to another site and will begin blogging anew very soon at the new location. Join me there.

John Mark

The Christian Affirmation

2007-06-26T15:33:00.000-05:00

Though I have not yet seen it, I understand that the "Christian Affirmation" of last May 2006 has been republished as a printed advertisement in the Christian Chronicle of July 2007.

I hope it is not true though I fear it is. I am surprised--very surprised--to hear that the "affirmation" has been republished. I had no idea it would be published again, and if I had know it were to be, I would have removed my name from the signatories.

I thought it served a good purpose the first time around, and I gave my reasons for that on my blog (indeed, started my blog for the reason of contributing to the discussion--but have not done much with it since as some are wont to point out to me). You can read those reasons at May 13 and May 14 in 2005. I am quite disappointed that it has appeared again. Once was sufficient to make the point, but a continual reappearance that fosters disunity (it seems to me) is not the intent with which I signed the affirmation in the first place.

Jesus Shakes His Head in Disappointment

2007-01-24T10:35:00.000-06:00

"In the splendid palace chapel a stately court preacher, the cultivated public's elite, advances before an elite circle of fashionable and cultivated people and preaches emotionally on the text of the Apostle, 'God chose the lowly and despised'--and nobody laughs."

Soren Kierkegaard

And Luke's Jesus shakes his head in utter disappointment as the rich young rulers continue to serve themselves instead of the poor.

Thanks to my good friend Gary Holloway for alerting me to this gem of a quote which appears in Provocations: Spiritual Writings of Soren Kierkegaard, ed. Charles Moore (Orbis Books, 2003), p. xix.

Zacchaeus—Epitome of Luke’s Story

2007-01-22T13:28:00.000-06:00

The journey to Jerusalem in Luke’s Gospel begins in 9:51 and it ends in 19:11. The last story Luke tells on that journey is the Zacchaeus episode (Luke 19:10). Its placement at the end of the journey gives Luke the occasion to summarize the ministry of Jesus in the person of Zacchaeus.

• Jesus takes the initiative to include outsiders like the tax collector Zacchaeus.
• Jesus declares his mission to seek and save the lost.
• Jesus sits at table with Zacchaeus the “sinner.”
• Zacchaeus gives half of his possessions to the poor.
• The mission of salvation is social as well as individual.
• Repentance means a lifestyle change (discipleship).

All of these themes have connections with Jesus’ ministry beginning in Luke 4. The themes of poverty (poor), discipleship, mission, social transformation, inclusion of the outsiders are integral to Luke’s portrayal of the ministry of Jesus. It stands in continuity with some stories (like the calling of Levi in Luke 5) but in contrast with other stories (like the "Rich Young Ruler" in Luke 18).

Meditating on the Zaccaheus story in the context of Luke helps us sense the undertow, meaning and significance of the ministry of Jesus…and, consequently, the mission of the church in the contemporary world.

Apologies to Readers

2007-01-16T09:19:00.000-06:00

I had not posted on my blog since August till today. I apologize.

I have been in Europe since September 7 till the end of December, and then with the holidays and school beginning....well, I do have some excuses though they are, perhaps, not sufficient.

In any event, I will try to be more attentive though I cannot make any promises. I still have many projects on the table--several journal articles due soon, a book manuscript due soon, and working on another collaborative project with thirteen other writers.

Nevertheless, it is good to be back in the saddle...for a while.

Blessings

John Mark

Luke is Still on My Mind

2007-01-16T09:17:00.000-06:00

Zacchaeus wanted to see Jesus. Jesus wanted to save Zacchaeus. The correlation between these two is hidden in our English translations of the text. Luke uses the same verb to describe their mission—Zacchaeus sought to see Jesus and Jesus came to seek and save the lost (Luke 19:2, 10). This language brackets the theological significance of the Zacchaeus story.

Text: Luke 19:1-10

The component parts of the story, so familiar to Bible students from their childhood, give the seeking language their significance.

• Zacchaeus is not only a tax collector, but he supervises other tax collectors (he is the chief, or “ruling” (archi-), tax collector.
• Zacchaeus is wealthy and probably gained this wealth in questionable ways—he at least gained his wealth through complicity with the pagan Roman oppressors.
• Zacchaeus is regarded by his neighbors as a “sinner” and thus excluded from the community of the righteous (and his name is a shortened form of Zechariah which means “righteous one”).
• Zacchaeus is an outsider to the children of Abraham—politically, religiously, socially.

But he wants (seeks) to see Jesus. He goes to embarrassing lengths to fulfill his desire. He runs ahead of the crowd—he is determined and eager. Imagine a short, wealthy and politically-connected man climbing a tree to see this prophet passing through Jericho. It is a humorous picture and has been the subject of jokes for almost 2000 years. Do you think he tried to hide himself behind the evergreen branches of that small sycamore tree? Perhaps he was spotted—and mocked—by others.

But he wants (seeks) to see Jesus. No doubt he has heard about Jesus, but what he has heard? Perhaps he heard that Jesus was a friend of tax collectors; maybe even that one of his disciples was a former tax collector himself. It seems obvious that Luke wants us to hear this story in the context of Jesus previous ministry. As readers, we know Jesus is Zacchaeus’ friend, but Zacchaeus is uncertain.

Jesus wants (seeks) to see (save) Zacchaeus. Indeed, he must go to his house today. He initiates contact. He offers the invitation—though it is a self-invite to Zacchaeus’ home. Jesus crosses the boundary that shocks everyone else. He will gladly enjoy the hospitality of a sinner because his mission is to “seek and to save the lost.” It is the nature of his ministry to cross boundaries—it is demanded by his identity and his mission. This is who Jesus is.

Others, however, “see” something else. Zacchaeus sees the grace of Jesus. Jesus sees the need of Zacchaeus. But the crowd (not just the leaders) “see” something different. They are scandalized by Jesus’ self-invitation. They want to distance themselves from this act of grace. Zacchaeus is undeserving; he is a “sinner.” The crowd that crowded the streets to “see” Jesus did not know him and what they “saw” appalled them. They were shocked by what they saw when they actually expected something else.

Do we really want to “see” Jesus? To see Jesus is to be transformed, changed. To see Jesus is to repent and act in penitent ways. It means that we regard our wealth as secondary to the experience of eating with Jesus. It means we share our wealth with the poor. It means we make amends to those we have wronged or offended. It means we eat with those whom we would otherwise avoid. It means we become seekers of others—especially outsiders—just as Jesus sought out Zacchaeus. To “see” Jesus is to become Jesus and to act graciously toward those others would reject.

This changed is highlighted in the text, though hidden by the NIV. Indeed, Luke uses a form of the verb “to see” to highlight it. “Behold,” Luke writes, when he introduces Zacchaeus in verse 2, and then “Behold,” Zacchaeus announces, in verse 8 when the penitent sinner declares his commitment to discipleship. “Behold the sinner” and “Behold the change” is the effect of Luke’s language.

Do we really want to “be Jesus” in the world? Do we really want to change and experience the discomfort of discipleship? Perhaps we are too comfortable with who we are and where we are. To follow Jesus and to be Jesus makes radical demands upon us. Some are not willing to follow (“the rich young ruler,” for example). But Zacchaeus is willing because he sees his own faults and hears the grace in the invitation of Jesus.

Do we really want to “see” Jesus? To see him is to see our own failures, but to see him is also to experience his grace. If we truly “see” Jesus, then we hear the gracious invitation to follow him, embrace his mission to outsiders in the world, and embody his identity in our own lives. Our vision of Jesus becomes our vision for meaningful life.

Luke on My Mind #6

2006-08-28T16:31:00.000-05:00

I admit it; actually, I confess it--I find "Sell your possessions and give to the poor" (Luke 12:33) a hard and difficult saying. Probably more than any other saying of Jesus--even "love your enemies"--I'm inclined to throw up my hands and say "I can't do that."

It puts me in the position of the Rich Young Ruler of Luke 18 and that is an very uncomfortable position in which to be. Now, with the Rich Young Ruler I can recontextualize, spiritualize and delegitimize the demand to "sell your possesssions and give to the poor." That was too specific, too tailored to the heart of that Ruler. Or, was it? Well, I can debate that one with myself.

But I can't "debate" Luke 12:33 which appears in the heart of Luke's rehearsal of Matthew's Sermon on the Mount material. It is "don't worry"--ok, hard but I can handle it. It is "seek his kingdom"--yes, Lord, I will do that. It is "don't be afraid"--yes, Lord, I'll trust you. And, then, like a lightning bolt to my heart, it is "Sell your possessions and give to the poor." And my heart stops and says, "uh, can you repeat that? I'm not sure I heard you right."

This is where my heart is, brothers and sisters. I don't want to sell my possessions. In fact, I want better possessions. I'll give mine away so I can upgrade, but not sell my upgrades so I can give to the poor. That does not make sense--at least not in the culture in which I have been trained, socialized and pampered.

So, what am I to do? Should I obey?

Perhaps I will have to start where this whole discussion started in Luke 12. Someone in the crowd asked Jesus to adjudicate between his brother and himself over inheritance. Jesus refused and pointed to their hearts--only they can act on the nature of their hearts. Life, Jesus said, "does not consist in the abundance of possessions" (Luke 12:15).

Ok, I know that, but what does it mean. Well, it means that we don't build bigger barns. This is the parable that Jesus told in response to this inquiry about inheritance. What do I do with the blessings God has given me? Do I build bigger barns so I can contain them, hoard them and consume them? Or, and I think this is Jesus real answer, don't build bigger barns. Instead take your increase and give it to the poor.

Perhaps that is my starting place on my journey to obey "sell your possessions and give to the poor." Perhaps I just need to start with the simple resolve to never build any more bigger barns. Perhaps I take my increases and give them to the poor. I can at least start there.

So, if you are troubled as I am by this saying to "sell your possessions and give to the poor," perhaps we start by not building any more "bigger barns." We start with using our increase to bless the poor, and then perhaps we can begin downsizing (selling our possessions) and increasing our giving to the poor. We start by not obtaining more before we start doing with less. I think God will honor that direction, but he will not honor the other option.

One more post on this to come and then I will be finished for a while....my own heart cannot stomach the challenge. (Do you like my mixed metaphor?)

Luke On My Mind #5

2006-08-23T13:12:00.000-05:00

Practicing the kingdom of God entails fellowship with the poor. Jesus came to announce “good news” (gospel) to the poor and to liberate the poor from their oppression. He came to sustain the needy and supply their needs.

Acts 2:42 characterizes the early church as devoting themselves to “fellowship” (koinonia). This term can have a wide range of meaning, but in this concern I think it has a fairly narrow concern. Acts 2:42 enumerates the kingdom habits of the church in Jerusalem, and Acts 2:43-47 narrates their practice of them. Luke’s language directly connects 2:42 and 2:44—the church engaged in fellowship (koinonia) as they held all things in common (koina). Their commonality (fellowship) exhibited itself when they sold their possessions and gave to everyone who had need (2:45). Their fellowship was sharing their possessions with each other.

Clearly this was a habit of the Jerusalem church. Luke summarizes the fellowship of the church when he writes that there were no needy among them (Acts 4:35) because people, including Barnabas, sold land and possessions in order to meet the needs of the poor in the church. This ministry continued daily in the church as the widows were fed (Acts 6:1).

At this point I can almost hear myself saying, “Well, those where special circumstances and selling our possessions is a rather rare and unique event in the life of the church. We do not find ourselves in their situation any longer. Selling your possessions is a good thing if you are able and want to do so, but it is a higher calling to which we are not all called. After all, the Rich Young Ruler was told to sell his possessions as a test and it is not the call of Jesus to all of us.”

But if we believe that the early church is simply imitating Jesus, and that their “fellowship” was the continuation of the ministry of Jesus, perhaps we ought to think a bit more carefully about this model in Acts 2-6. Indeed, we need to see how it is rooted in the ministry of Jesus himself.

For the moment I will call attention to one salient feature of Jesus’ teaching in Luke and come back to this point in another post.

There is a line that is practically forgotten in Luke’s account of Jesus “don’t worry” sermon in Luke 12—part of the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6. We all recognize that we should not worry about our food and clothing just like the lilies of the field and the birds of the air don’t worry. That is difficult enough to obey, but Jesus says more. We also recognize that we should seek the kingdom of God and that just as God has given us the kingdom, he will give us all that we need. That is difficult enough to practice, but Jesus says more…in Luke.

Indeed, the Gospel of Luke contains a sentence that is not in the Sermon on the Mount. It is a sentence that I wish were not there. I want to relativize it, manipulate it, contextualize it, minimize it….I want to do everything I can with it except obey it.

Jesus says—not to the Rich Young Ruler, but to the same disciples (all his disciples) to whom he says “don’t worry,”—he says….”sell your possession and give to the poor (Luke 12:32).

When I read that the early church in Jerusalem was selling their possessions and sharing with the poor (fellowship), and that this was habit (they were devoted to it) of early Christians, I am challenged to think that just perhaps Jesus was serious about “selling our possessions and giving to the poor.”

In our materialistic American culture, it is a hard saying and it may the place where we fail to follow Jesus more than any other.

More on this theme later....

Luke on My Mind #4

2006-08-22T08:39:00.000-05:00

I like to call it "practicing the kingdom of God." With deference to Brother Lawrence, I like this language in addition to "practicing the presence of God." But there is overlapping meaning, I think.

What I call "practicing the kingdom of God" is what James A. Harding called the "means of grace," that is, the communal/individual habits of piety we find in Acts 2:42. They are: listening to God (the apostle's teaching), sharing with the poor (fellowship), gathering in the presence of God (breaking bread), and prayers. Indeed, these were daily habits in the early church--the apostles taught daily in the temple, the church ministered daily to the widows, the church met in their homes to break bread daily, and they went to the daily prayers in the temple.

But I call them "practicing the kingdom of God" because I don't think these habits have independent or autonomous status. They are not "new laws" from the mountaintop of Pentecost. Rather, they are the continuation of the ministry of Jesus. Jesus himself taught daily in the temple, fellowshiped with the poor, broke bread and ate at tables with people, and prayed habitually. The early church, as a group and as individuals, is imitating Jesus--following Jesus and doing the ministry of Jesus.

Jesus heralded the "good news of the kingdom" and practiced the kingdom. The church continues the same--we hearld the good news and practice the kingdom habits through which God breaks into the world to transform it and us.

More on these habits to come.

Luke on My Mind #3

2006-08-08T14:34:00.000-05:00

As one reads through Luke, a person cannot help but be impressed by the constant reference to prayer in the life of Jesus and then in the lives of his disciples in Acts. I won't take the time to list all the places where prayer functions in the Gospel of Luke--there are many resources for that (or just use a concordance). However, I do want to point out what I think are three levels of "prayer" or forms of prayer--whatever label we might give them.

1. Jesus prayed alone. There were moments when he spent all night in prayer. For example, his wilderness time was alone--forty days (Luke 4). During his ministry Luke says "he often withdrew to lonely places and prayed" (Luke 5:16). And this might be particularly true on special occasions or moments of momentous decision as when he prayed all night before selecting the twelve (Luke 6:12). Solitude was something Jesus valued at time (Luke 4:42) but he also did not let the need for solitude hinder his ministry with people (Luke 4:42).

2. Jesus prayed with a few. I don't mean here the twelve, though we could think of them as few. Rather, I mean he had an inner circle within the twelve with whom he regularly prayed it seems. For example, ascending the Mount of Transfiguration to pray, he took Peter, James and John with him (Luke 9:28). Though Luke does not point out in his account, Jesus took those same three with him deeper into the Garden of Gethsemane to pray. Jesus had an inner circle with whom he prayed, and I think everyone does. We each need those two or three or four people with whom we pray, who hold us accountable, to whom we confess our sins, etc. We need the habit of regularly praying with the same few who know us and we know them--a circle of trust, intimacy and caring.

3. Jesus prayed with the many. We could say the tweleve are many, but also in the temple with the many. He prayed in public groups. He engaged in public prayer and rituals of prayer (as in the temple). He taught his disciples to pray at their request. We all need the experience of corporate prayer where the community offers a litany for the world, for the church, for marriages, for peace, for justice. We all need to participate in that public witness before the world.

Perhaps the Garden of Gethsemane illustrates these three levels/habits. He goes to the Garden to pray with the twelve (many), then takes three with him a bit deeper into the Garden (the few), but ultimately goes alone to a place to pray (solitude). I seek to imitate those three habits in my own life--praying with the many, the few, and alone. I encourage you to find a regular habit of prayer in your own life, and the model of Jesus is not a bad one to follow.

If we are disciples of Jesus, then we will follow him in his prayer life, his prayer habits. Those habits say something important about him and our habits will say something important about us. To follow Jesus--to be his disciple--is to be a praying person.

Luke on My Mind #2

2006-07-31T17:14:00.000-05:00

I have been teaching for several years—and it is illustrated in my book Come to the Table—that the ministry of Jesus is the model for practicing the kingdom of God in the context of the church. The ministry of Jesus is the ministry of the church.

Historically that has been questioned in the Stone-Campbell Movement. Our dispensational hermeneutic drew a sharp line that created an insuperable gulf that no one can cross between Acts 1 and Acts 2. Our ecclesiology was severed from the ministry of Jesus. The “patterns” of the church are regulated by Acts and the Epistles. And this had the tendency to reduce ecclesiology to discussions of forms and a constriction of purposes to “spiritual” values rather than to social, economic and other values.

But there is something quite odd about saying that the ministry of Jesus cannot be the pattern or model for the ministry of the church. This disconnect between Jesus and the church is the very thing to which many would object. After all we don’t want a disjunction between Jesus and the church. Indeed, Jesus and the church have a shared identity; the church derives it’s identity from Jesus himself. We are the body of Christ.

But if we take seriously this connection between the ministry of Jesus and the ministry of the church – between the mission of Jesus and the mission of the church—then we will have to expand our traditional understanding of the ministry of the church. It will have to include economic, social, peace and justice issues. We can no longer hide the church in the bastion of “salvation” (that is, the forgiveness of sins and our escape from hell to heaven), but rather must understand salvation as the reversal of the curse, the renewal of heaven and hearth in terms of cosmic and social liberation.

The ministry of Jesus was not only a word about forgiveness, but also the deeds and acts of social and cosmic redemption. The ministry of the church must model the “good news and good works” (to use Ron Sider’s title for his book on the “whole gospel”) trajectory of Jesus’ own ministry.

Hermeneutically, then, we need to recover how the Gospels shape the ministry and mission of the church so that we embody Jesus in our world today. Acts and the Epistles are examples and guides for the implementation of the Gospels through the life of the church. We need both and both should guide us.

The Gospel of Luke is Stuck in My Head #1

2006-07-29T16:09:00.000-05:00

I can’t seem to get it out of my mind, and I’ve tried. After working through Luke as preacher, Bible class teacher and small group leader for eleven months, I have found myself profoundly convicted. Over the next few posts (however long that takes me, and my track record on posting is not laudatory), I will reflect on some of these convictions that have disturbed me and my relationship to “church”.

Students of Luke recognize how programmatic Luke 4:18-19 is for his gospel. The announcement of Jubilee—the in-breaking kingdom reversing the curse of fallenness, healing the brokenness—colors almost every word in Luke. It is the broad context of the story of Jesus. Indeed, it is his mission.

The mission is quickly embodied in the story. Luke’s summary in Luke 4:40-44 is particularly helpful. Jesus heals varies diseases and casts our demons. As he begins to move on to new villages, the people seek to dissuade him. But Jesus announces his mission—the reason he was sent. “I must preach the good news of the kingdom of God to the other towns also, because that is why I was sent.”

What is the “good news of the kingdom”? What was the content of Jesus’ preaching at this early stage? It was not his death and resurrection since he will not begin to speak of that until chapter 9. What is the good news?

The good news is concrete, and it is for the poor (economic, social, relational—the poor in the widest possible sense of people oppressed by the powers). The good news is that the “kingdom is near” and this is good news because it means God is at work to heal the brokenness in the world. He heals the sick, raises the dead, cast out demons, includes the outsiders, breaks down the walls, releases the oppressed, frees the captive, and reintroduces shalom into God’s creation.

The church has too often focused its message on the soteriological implications of the death and resurrection of Jesus and has not proclaimed the “good news of the kingdom”. This has turned the gospel into an individual application of the atonement of Christ rather than the social and corporate introduction of the kingdom that transforms the world. It ignores the “good news” of the gospel in the Gospels for the individualist, perhaps even modernistic, (mis)interpretation of Paul’s gospel. It exalts the individual over the social, the spiritual (defined in some quasi-Platonic way) over the material and evangelism (defined in the narrow sense of “soul-saving”) over good works.

The good news of the kingdom is that the people of God, as the body of Christ, go about “doing good” as Jesus did. They are a people dedicated to good works. But the church tends to think that good works only serve the end of evangelism (narrowly conceived), but actually good works serve the kingdom of God. They are moments of redemptive in-breaking that bear witness to the kingdom. Good works are an end in themselves and not simply the means of evangelism.

Good works can stand on their own and the church should not delimit them because they cannot explicitly produce “baptisms” or assured evangelistic results. Jesus went about “doing good” but ended up with only a few disciples. Doing good is a kingdom end in itself because it glorifies the God who seeks to heal the brokenness in the world. It bears witness to God’s love and compassion. God heals brokenness toward the end of reconciliation such that “doing good” is a reconciling act in the world. “Do-gooders” are ministers of reconciliation.

May 22, 1977

2006-05-22T07:57:00.000-05:00

My wedding day. Sheila Pettit was my bride. We married in Ellijay, Georgia.

I was 19 years old, though I had just graduated a few weeks before from Freed-Hardeman College. I was nervous, but excited.

We had dreams...and plans. First we would housesit for various people as I served as a summer Youth Minister for the Springfield Church of Christ in Springfield, VA just outside of Washington, D.C. Then in late August we would move to Philadelphia, PA where I would attend Westminster Theological Seminary.

We moved to Philly with no money. All our savings had paid tuition for the first semester. We had no jobs, but we had paid the first month's rent on our apartment. We were going faith or perhaps naivete. Nevertheless, the Lord blessed us. We both found jobs within two weeks--including a preaching opportunity at the NE Philadelphia Church of Christ.

We had dreams. We planned to serve God in Germany, perhaps behind the Iron Curtain.

That first year was exhiliarting, and as with all first years of marriage a learning experience...learning to adjust to each other in our love.

We experienced tragedy that first year. Sheila had a miscarriage. But we were surrounded with a healing community in our small church.

It began on May 22, 1977...29 years ago today. It ended on April 30, 1980 when she died.

May 21 and May 22 come right after each other. I sort of wish they were spread out a bit. Those two days bring a mixture of sadness and joy to my heart. They are part of the stuff of my life and give meaning to my life.

And they (Joshua and Sheila) have shaped my life and enable me to be the person I am--whatever that is worth. But it is worth something because God has given me love once again and the joy of relationship and intimacy with Jennifer.

God be praised. He gives and he takes away, but he keeps on giving...and one day his gift will be without end.

May 21, 2001

2006-05-21T20:45:00.000-05:00

Joshua,

I miss you. You died five years ago today.

There are times when I look around for you and expect you to be there. There are times when I remember your laugh, your smile and your hyperactive joy. They bring a smile to my face. You created laughter in our family even when we knew you would not always be with us.

There are times when I remember your suffering. I remember your aching joints, your deteriorating mind and capabilities, and your loss of activity. I remember your last years confined to a wheelchair or a bed.

Laughter and suffering--you experienced both, and your led us through both. We laughed with you and because of you. We suffered with you and watched you suffer. And both had their value, though I often wonder what exactly the value of your suffering was, if any.

Joshua, you gave us laughter and we also wept with you as you suffered. Life has not been the same without you. Life changes. Lives go on. But there is a hole in my heart that belongs to you. One day that hole will be filled as we see each other again.

I guess what I miss most is to hear you say "I love you." Though you died at 16, I have not heard those words since you were 10. I long to hear them again. But though you could not say it, your cooing, your snuggling, your eyes conveyed it. Those are the memories that linger, and they are the hopes that will be fulfilled.

Joshua, I long to hold you again, speak to you and love on you. And I know one day I will.

Until then, my son, I will hold you dear in my memory....but there is a at least one joy that is not memory. My son, I enjoy my weekly time with you at the table of the Lord which we share with all the saints, past and present, every Sunday. There we meet in sweet communion with our common Savior and God.

Joshua, I miss you....but I'll "see" you again next Sunday, my son. Rest in the peace of God's arms and may God give my heart a share in that peace with you.

Love,

Dad

Two Men, Two Tales, Two Choices

2006-05-21T20:44:00.000-05:00

Text: Luke 18-19

This is the story of two men who make two very different choices. I admit upfront that I am not sure which man I am or which choice I would make. I know which one I would want to make, but I’m not sure which one I would actually make. Or perhaps I have already made it and don’t want to admit it.

One tale is the story of a respected and accepted leader in a devout religious community. He was apparently well known for his piety. Indeed, he was an obedient and dedicated servant of God through submission to the law. He could claim to have never committed adultery or stolen or lied. He would have probably been singled out as one of the most devout, dedicated and religious people in his synagogue. He was respected and loved. He recognized Jesus as a good man who could offer guidance for his life. He sought out Jesus to ask him a sincere question.

The other tale is the story of a well-known figure but infamously so. He was part of a dishonored and ostracized community. He was classed among the “sinners,” consorted with prostitutes, pursued the seedy side of life, and identified with Roman oppressors. No doubt he had exploited people and abused his position. He had cheated (stolen) people out of their money. His sexual lifestyle was no doubt adulterous. He exploited people. He was feared rather than respected; hated rather than loved.

Both men in these two tales are rulers. One rules, presumably, a synagogue—he’s probably one of the elders. The other rules the equivalent of a district office of the IRS—he is the ruling (chief) tax collector. They were societal leaders—public people, well-known in the community. They were both powerful people.

Both men are wealthy. Presumably the one was wealthy through hard work and/or inheritance, but the other was wealthy through exploitation and theft. But they were both known for their wealth. They both lived at the upper end of the economic scale and enjoyed the luxuries of wealth and power.

And both encountered Jesus, but with two very different results. As modern readers we expect the results as they are given in the stories, but Jesus’ contemporaries were scandalized by how these tales turned out.

The background of these stories, of course, is the whole course of the Gospel of Luke to this point. The kingdom of God is breaking into the world and it reverses all expectations, social standards and cultural norms. The last become first and the first become last. The king of the Jews eats with sinners and touches lepers. The kingdom call is to prioritize the kingdom (seek it first) and eliminate our worry about “stuff.” Indeed, the kingdom call is to sell our possessions and give it to the poor (Luke 12:32-33) so as to lay up treasure in the kingdom of God rather than in the kingdoms of this world.

The kingdom journey anticipates the twists and turns of these two stories, but they are still troublesome, challenging and shocking.

The rich, devout synagogue ruler refuses to sell his possessions and give them to the poor. The sinful and exploitative tax-collector volunteers to give half of what he owns to the poor and restore four-fold what he has stolen (twice what the law prescribes as a principle of restorative justice).

This is a reversal of the most dramatic kind. The disciples are scandalized by Jesus’ demand and his assumption that wealth is a barrier or hindrance to salvation (e.g., experiencing the fullness of life in the kingdom of God). “Who, then, can be saved?,” they ask.

The crowd, no doubt including his own disciples, are scandalized by Jesus’ insistence (he “must” go to the tax collector’s house) on the hospitality of a tax collector. “Why does Jesus go to the house of a ‘sinner’?,” they ask.

The world is turned upside down. The rich are lost and the tax collectors are saved. The devout synagogue ruler loves his wealth and the tax collector is willing to let it go for the sake of the kingdom. The devout ruler of the synagogue refuses to divest himself of his wealth and a sinful tax collector impoverishes himself for the sake of the poor, for the sake of the kingdom of God.

This tale is not, however, about them. Oh, yes, these are “their stories.” But they are told for our sakes.

In particular, who am I? Am I the rich young ruler –the respected leader within a religious community who has sought to follow God all his life but who lives in luxury with hardly a thought about the poor (or perhaps a nod on occasion through a small gift)? Or am I the sinner who is willing to give half of my possessions to the poor because I’ve caught the kingdom vision and embrace the mission of Jesus to the poor?

I fear that I look too much like the former rather than latter. I fear that my wealth betrays me and I am too tied to it, too dependent upon it, to even think about giving half of my possessions to the poor.

We too easily domesticate the story of the rich young ruler. We spiritualize it, allegorize it and recontextualize it so that Jesus does not really mean for us to sell our possessions and give them to the poor. But the kingdom demand is not just made of this particular person. Rather, it is the mode of kingdom living itself. Don’ worry, Jesus says, and sell your possessions and give to the poor. It is a discipleship demand; it is for all disciples (Luke 12:32-33).

I know who I should be; I know the tale I should tell. But my own sadness (along with my self-justifications) reveals that I am too much like the rich young ruler than I would care to admit. I enjoy my status in the religious community. I enjoy my wealth. I want to keep it. But I also want to follow Jesus. I’m caught in the mix, and I struggle with how to live faithfully with this wealth (or without it) and how I might and whether I can divest myself of the wealth for the sake of the kingdom.

I’m afraid. I struggle. I agonize. It is good to struggle. The struggle means that I’m still alive, still trying to live under the kingdom demand. We don’t have a set of prescriptions to follow (e.g., only 20% of your income on housing). Rather, we have a story that we embrace and seek to life out. We follow Jesus. It is no easy task. Indeed, it cost us our lives.

Jesus, I want to follow you. Give me the courage, boldness and strength to love you more than my money.

Jesus, lover of souls, be merciful to me, a sinner.

April 30th--A Turning Point

2006-04-30T21:07:00.000-05:00

It is not a significant date for everyone, but it is for me. It was the beginning of a new journey in my walk with God.

Prior to April 30, 1980, I thought I had God basically "figured out." Oh, I don't mean that I arrogantly thought I had fully comprehended God or knew everything there was to know about God. By no means! Twenty-two year old ministers can be quite arrogant, but I was not that arrogant.

Nevertheless, I was working on the quid pro quo plan. I thought that if I did my part--did the best I could, sought the will of God, dreamed big for God's church and my ministry--then God would do his part. That is, he would bless my plans, dreams and goals. God would be "good" to me because I was "good" to him.

I may not have thought of it that crassly and memory does play tricks on you, but I am certain that my understanding of God was rather mechanistic. I did my part--I worked the plan, and God did his part--he would bless. It was an impersonal understanding of God; non-relational at its heart. It was as if God had worked out a deal with humanity, and me in particular. It was a pactum, to borrow a term from medieval nominalism. God and I had a contract.

But God did not keep his end of the bargin.

I planned to do big things for God--missionary to Germany, doctoral work under Pannenberg in Munich, and then return to the States to teach theology and missions in one of our Universities. I was going to do my part--I had goals, dreams and hopes. And I had expectations. I expected God to do his part.

But God did not keep his end of the bargin.

On April 30, 1980, at about 3:00am in the morning I was awoken with the news that Sheila, my wife since May 22, 1977, was dead. She died when a blood clot went through her heart as she slept. She was recovering from back surgery that would have permitted her to carry our children full term.

God did not keep his end of the bargin!

My mechanical understanding of God went kaput! It took me many years to work through what exactly shifted in my thinking as a result of that experience. It involved months and years of lament, some rebellion, frustration with God, shifting theologial thoughts, and even silence (refusing to speak to God). But ultimately somewhere along the way--almost unidentifiable in my experience--I shifted from a mechanical to a relational understanding of God.

This shift was primarily a shift in my understanding of prayer, providence and God's work in the world. But the shift had implications for my understanding of the Holy Spirit, worship, grace, etc. In other words, my whole theology made a slow turn toward the relational. My "doctrine of God" shifted and as a result my whole theological orientation shifted.

As I think back on that slow shift that began on April 30, 1980, I am awed by how I was changed through that experience. I can even confess with the Psalmist that "it was good for me to be afflicted" (Psalm 119:71).

God was not seeking a pactum with me, but engaging me in a relationship. While journey language has become almost cliche, it is nevertheless the reality of my walk with God. And the journey took a radical turn on April 30, 1980....twenty six years ago today.

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord.

Will We Join God's Party?

2006-04-29T23:46:00.000-05:00

Text: Luke 15

Who would not want to party with God? Can we even imagine a scenario in which we would turn down a party invitation from God?

One of my favorite expressions in Scripture describes how God delights in his people and rejoices over his people (e.g., Zephaniah 3:17). This unveils the heart of God who yearns to share life with his people and enjoy them forever. God wants us more than we want him, and to love him creates such joy in his heart that God sings over his people. God enjoys a party.

Surely one of his favorite moments is when a sinner repents and returns home, and yet this is the moment that often creates tension within the church, especially if they are not one of us—one of our kind, one of our people, one of the respectable types.

It is in the face of this tension that Jesus tells three parables—the lost sheep, the lost coin and the lost son. But his point is not so much about lostness as it is an invitation to rejoice in their being found. It is an invitation to rejoice with Jesus, to rejoice with the Father, over the retrieval of one of God’s people.

Jesus felt the tension between his ministry and those contemporary religious leaders. They mocked his proactive seeking and fellowship with tax collectors and “sinners” (read “prostitutes”). “This man welcomes sinners,” they complained, “and eats with them”! They were scandalized by Jesus’ welcoming relationship with sinners.

I’m reminded of a church whose leaders suggested that a converted prostitute attend another church in town. I’m reminded of a church where a leader asked an impoverished couple who attended with me one Sunday morning whether they had any better clothing to wear to the sacred assembly. I’m reminded of an elder’s wife who remarked to me that though she would support the new evangelistic effort among African-Americans in her south Alabama town she would not have “them” over to her house to eat at her table.

So, Jesus tells three parables….three parables the church needs to hear over and over again because we still miss the point and fail to practice the kingdom of God.

In the first two, the owners proactively seek what is lost. He finds the lost sheep and she lost coin, and they are estatic. They rejoice over their finds (“joyfully puts it on his shoulders”), and invites others to share the joy. “Rejoice with me” is the invitation…what has been lost is found! The invitations in Luke 15:6, 9 are followed by similar sayings that describe the joy of heaven (Luke 15:7, 10). The invitation to rejoice over partying with sinners is an invitation to join the party in heaven.

The lost son, as we all know, returns home. He finds a father who welcomes him and throws a party. He welcomes the sinner and eats with him. The father invites everyone to rejoice with him. His rationale is simple and jubilant: “this son of mine was dead and is alive; he was lost and is found.”

The parable could have ended there with a recounting of the joy of heaven. The previous parables did. But Jesus is focused—he wants to bring the point home. Indeed, he wants to specify the invitation. Just as Jesus welcomes sinners like the lost son, so he also invites the religious leaders to the party—the father invites the elder brother.

The older brother is angry; he will not attend the party. It does not matter if he hurts the father whom he loves, he is too angry with his brother and more so with his father. Indeed, he is angry because the father is fundamentally unfair. He coddles his younger son and undermines faithfulness. He, the elder brother, is the standard of faithfulness and the younger brother does not measure up.

But, the father pleads, “this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.” The rationale is repeated again from the father’s earlier invitation to his household (just as the joy of heaven was repeated in the earlier parables). The rationale should be sufficient—we should rejoice over the return of one who was lost more than we value our own faithfulness. We should party with the prodigal rather than sulk over our—perhaps more pointedly, take pride in—our own faithfulness.

The father invites his elder son and humbles himself as he pleads with his elder son: we have to celebrate and rejoice. (And here Luke combines two words he has used previously but separately in the narrative.) We must party—there is something to celebrate. The joy of heaven is awakened and we must join the party. We must celebrate with God—and we will if we have the heart of God and his mission is our mission.

We too easily dismiss this application of this parable. We prefer to see ourselves as the prodigal—there is a happy ending to that story. But we fail to see that we “religious people” are more probably the elder brother.

And more remarkably we are actually called to imitate the father in this parable. We are called to compassionately receive the prodigal—to welcome the sinner, and we are called to invite the elder brothers in our midst to the celebration. We seek the lost and invite the saved to rejoice with us. In this way, we party with God and share the joy of heaven.

The mission of God is to welcome sinners and eat with them. And so the church eats every Sunday and invites sinners to the party.

When Darkness Reigns

2006-04-14T15:59:00.000-05:00

Text: Luke 22:39-23:56

One of the dimensions that I love about Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of Christ” (though there are several aspects I don’t like at all) is the sense of darkness that pervades the first quarter of the movie. He captures the mood, but not only the mood—he captures the reign of darkness on that Friday.

Darkness begins and ends Luke’s account of “Good Friday.” As the temple guards, elders and chief priests arrest Jesus in the garden, Jesus announces, “this is your hour—when darkness reigns” (Luke 22:52). Darkness reigned till Jesus breathed his last, and Jesus died in darkness as God blocked the sun (Luke 22:44). Good Friday was a dark day epitomizing the darkness that enveloped the world; symbolizing the darkness that has choked the world since the Fall. Good Friday, however, was the hour of evil’s triumph. On that day Satan’s reign tyrannized the Son of God.

Luke’s narrative draws out that dark reign through the events that transpire. His story tells us what happens when darkness reigns.

When darkness reigns….

• Good people fail to pray
• Friends betray friends
• Swords are drawn
• Disciples deny their teacher
• The innocent are convicted
• The guilty are released
• The law is subverted for interests of power and control
• The righteous are mocked
• Women weep over the loss of their children
• Soldiers demean and torture others
• The condemned insult each other
• The blameless are executed

Luke paints a dark scene from the garden to the cross. But his canvass has rays of light. The dawning sun breaks into the darkness, just as he announced at the beginning of his gospel (Luke 1:78-79).

The kingdom of God is dawning and breaking into the darkness. Even when darkness reigns, the kingdom of God cannot be smothered and snuffed out. Light appears even within the darkness.

Even though darkness reigns….

• Kingdom people refuse to use the sword even when threatened; Jesus said “No more of this!”
• Kingdom people pursue the will of God despite the consequences; Jesus said, “yet not my will, but yours be done.”
• Kingdom people confidently anticipate the fulfillment of kingdom in hope; Jesus says, “the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the mighty God.”
• Kingdom people weep for the brokenness of the world rather than over their own suffering for the sake of the kingdom; Jesus said, “do no weep for me; weep for yourselves and for your children.”
• Kingdom people forgive their persecutors; Jesus said, “Father, forgive them.”
• Kingdom people invite others into the kingdom; Jesus said, “today you will be with me in paradise.”
• Kingdom people trust in God’s work despite the reign of darkness; Jesus said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

Kingdom people follow Jesus. They, like Simon from Cyrene, pick up the cross and follow Jesus. Kingdom people assault the powers of darkness by submitting to the will of God and trusting in the promise of the coming kingdom. Kingdom people follow Jesus.

Darkness reigned on Good Friday, but the kingdom of God also broke into that darkness. Even as darkness reigns in our day—in whatever way it reigns, as kingdom people we are called to follow Jesus….and it may take us to a cross.

“Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

New Book Announcement

2006-04-06T07:36:00.000-05:00

Kingdom Come: Embracing the Spiritual Legacy of David Lipscomb and James A. Harding is the title of a new release by Leafwood Press, a division of ACU Press. It is due out in May 2006.

Bobby Valentine and John Mark Hicks are the authors.

"Many assume that Churches of Christ views 1930-1960 were those of the major forefathers such as James A. Harding and David Lipscomb. We must therefore read this book, for as the result of the authors' detailed scrutiny of the writings of Lipscomb and Harding, we are soon disabused of our unwarranted illusions. These two forefathers were not simply polemicists. They were spiritual giants who heralded living in the face of the coming again of the Lord, trusting him for all of life's needs, walking in the Spirit, prayer, Scripture reading, peace keeping and more. The authors do an excellent job of elaborating on how Scripture and contemporary scholarship sustain the commitments of Lipscomb and Harding and challenge our own life before God and in his church."

Thomas H. Olbricht
Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Religion, Pepperdine University.

Can we say anything good about 1906?

This book recovers a piece of forgotten history from 1906. Some of the finest examples of kingdom living to be found among Churches of Christ are found in the midst of that heartbreaking year of division. The “best” of Churches of Christ in 1906 is represented by the life, thought and practice of David Lipscomb (1831-1917) and James A. Harding (1848-1922), despite the fact that Lipscomb and Harding participated in the conditions which resulted in division.

Their kingdom theology and spirituality, we believe, provides the contemporary church with a way forward into the future. If Churches of Christ—and other parts of the Stone-Campbell Movement as well—would re-appropriate their kingdom themes and practices, we believe the church would more fully participate in the emerging kingdom of God which will one day fill the earth with divine righteousness.

Below is the Table of Contents.

Introduction

1. Introducing a Spiritual Legacy: Foreigners at Home

Part A. Kingdom Dynamics: Divine Action

2. Shadows of the Second Coming: “Thy Kingdom Come”

3. God Still Works: Trusting God’s Providence

4. Holy Spirit: God’s Redemptive Presence in the World

Part B. Kingdom Spirituality: Four Means of Grace

5. Listening to God: Reading Scripture

6. Releasing the Oppressed: Fellowship as a Means of Grace

7. Communing with God: The Lord’s Day and the Lord’s Table

8. Crying for the Kingdom: The Privilege of Prayer

Part C. Kingdom Life: Free to Serve

9. The Prince of Peace: Pledging Allegiance to the Kingdom

10. No Creed But Christ: Freedom to Think and Speak

11. No More Shadows: Towards Cosmic Liberation

Afterword

12. The Road Not Traveled: Where Do We Go From Here?

My apologies for posting this a second time, but I'm testing some problems with blogdigger.

2006-03-21T21:01:00.000-06:00

Harding and Lipscomb -- joint photograph of the co-founders of the Nashville Bible School

New Book Annoucement

2006-03-21T20:51:00.000-06:00

2006-03-20T17:20:00.000-06:00

The Zwingli Statue in Zurich

Sword Talk

2006-03-20T17:03:00.000-06:00

Two swords are enough. Really? Not!

This enigmatic statement by Jesus in Luke 22:38 has created some stir in the history of Christian thought. Some have even allegorized it to mean that Christians carry two swords—the word of God (Scripture) and the state weaponry (real swords). I’m reminded of the statue of Zwingli in Zurich holding a Bible and a sword. As a result Jesus’ “it is enough” comment has been used to sanction not only self-defense but just war.

To read the text that way is to miss the point as widely as the disciples themselves did, and we are at least in a better narratival position to understand it than they were. After all, in the next few hours when a disciple draws his dagger and cuts off the ear of the high priest’s servant, Jesus rebukes the disciples by redemptively healing the servant. The narrative rejects the use of the sword. The story of Jesus in the Garden returns good for evil and rejects returning evil for evil, which—of course—is consonant with Jesus’ own message in his ministry (cf. Luke 6:27). Jesus practices what he preaches. Amazing stuff, huh?

So, how are two swords “enough”? Enough for what? To defeat those who are coming to arrest Jesus? Jesus refused their use. Enough for the advancement of the kingdom against Rome? Hardly. But the disciples apparently thought it was for either self-defense or for the prosecution of the kingdom since when they saw the threat that Judas brought into the garden they asked, “Should we strike with our swords?” With perhaps some frustration in his voice, Jesus retorted “No more of this!” (Luke 22:51.)

Maybe we are going the wrong direction here. Maybe Jesus did not intend to say that “we have enough swords.” Or, if he did, perhaps there is a strong tinge of sarcasm here or perhaps frustration. Maybe Jesus means something like “Enough of that; no more sword talk” (The Message). Maybe Jesus intends the same meaning that Yahweh had when he said to Moses, “That is enough,” the matter is closed…discussion over (Deut. 3:26).

I feel like that with my teenagers sometimes. As we become more involved in a discussion they miss my meaning or they don’t have the maturity or experience to catch the point. And so I say something like, “discussion over…this is fruitless…let’s move on.”

So, perhaps Jesus was not really talking about swords at all. Perhaps he was using the “sword” to make a larger point. When the disciples took the exhortation to sell their cloaks and buy swords literally, Jesus says, “Enough of that; you guys don’t get it, do you?”

Jesus was contrasting the hospitality of their Galilean ministry with the hostility of their present circumstances. While in Galilee they could depend on the warm reception of the villages, here in Judea—indeed, in the next few moments—the disciples will encounter hostility. The situation has changed. Whereas before they needed neither purse nor sandals, now they need a sword instead of a cloak (a necessity for staying warm at night). The urgency of the contrast is startling. They will need a sword more than they need warmth. The point is not that the disciples need to literally secure a sword, but they need to realize the charged and changed atmosphere in which they now move.

They need to prepare themselves for a trial. Satan is about to test them, just as he is about to test Jesus himself. They should get ready to face the hostility. But Jesus does not mean to literally face it with a sword or a purse or a bag, but to prepare their hearts, to steady their faith and get ready for the trial they are all about to endure. Danger is in the air—secure a sword, be prepared for battle. But not a battle that wields a literal sword, but one that engages the Satanic influences that filled the air that night.

When the disciples took the reference to the “sword” literally, Jesus ends the discussion—perhaps a bit frustrated similar to his experience on the boat in Galilee which Mark narrates (a case where they took “yeast” literally to Jesus’ utter amazement, cf. Mark 8:14-21). One can almost hear Jesus again saying, “Do you still not understand?” as he leads his disciples to the garden where they will be tested…and fail.

Jesus is not interested in swords. He rejects the use of the sword. The one who lives by the sword dies by the sword. Jesus is interested in preparing his disciples for their test, their trial. They fail, but Jesus nevertheless prays for them, pursues them, and expects to again sit at table with them in his kingdom. They fail, but Jesus is gracious. They take up the sword, but Jesus forgives them. They flee, but Jesus still wants them. They ultimately return and Jesus accepts them and gives them a place at his table—not just a place, but a throne at the table. They are royalty at the king’s table.

We, too, misunderstand, and even use the sword. And, no doubt, Jesus is frustrated with us. But he continues to pray for us, pursue us and invite us to his table.

But only if we could learn that we don’t need any swords. When will we learn? Two swords are too many in Jesus’ kingdom.

Table Talk

2006-03-18T21:14:00.000-06:00

Text: Luke 22:24-38

Kingdom talk enveloped the last supper Jesus ate with his disciples. It was Passover time. Kingdom expectations were in the air. Jewish sensibilities were heightened during the Passover as they anticipated the imminent arrival of the Messiah. Jesus had predicted that by the time of the next Passover the kingdom would have already come. In that atmosphere the discussion at the table was no doubt lively and boisterous. Indeed, the disciples debated who among them would be considered the greatest in Jesus’ kingdom.

But there was another dimension to that table. The atmosphere was also ominous and foreboding. Jesus knew that hostility to him had reached a climax—the blade was hot and ready to strike. Judas had betrayed him and that night Jesus would face his enemies in the garden and at the house of the high priest. Jesus would be tried, but so would the disciples. Even at the table they debated who the betrayer might be.

There were two discussions at that table—one about the kingdom and one about betrayal…and both pointed to the failure of the disciples to grasp and embrace the mission of Jesus.

Judas had already had his trial, and he failed. His end would not involve redemption. He opted out of the mission of Jesus. But the rest of the disciples would also be tried that night. They would face temptation, like the temptation of Jesus in the garden itself. And they would desert their teacher. Where Jesus called them to lose their lives in his mission so that they might save them, they chose to preserve their lives by denying him.

Jesus’ table talk accentuates three failures on the part of the disciples. They failed to grasp the servant character of the kingdom of Jesus. They failed the test of discipleship—to follow Jesus into suffering. They failed to grasp the nonviolent nature of Jesus’ mission.

The kingdom table is about service. When the disciples argued about who was the greatest in the kingdom of God, Jesus rebuked their ambitious desires. They had failed to grasp the nature of Jesus’ own regal leadership. Unlike pagan benefactors who use wealth and power to secure their own interests and dominate others, Jesus sacrifices his own body and blood for the sake of others. Even though he is the host of this table, he nevertheless serves it. His kingdom table embodies self-emptying, self-sacrifice and self-abasement. He does not exploit power or status for his own self-interests, but for the sake of others.

The kingdom table is about following Jesus into suffering for the sake of the world. This is the trial that the disciples would face that very night. Satan determined, with divine permission, to test their loyalty and commitment to discipleship (“you” is plural). Will they suffer with Jesus or will they save their own lives? Satan would find out, and Jesus knew the answer. So, Jesus prays that the disciples, Peter in particular, would find the faith to renew their commitment and strengthen each other. They will fail, but Jesus hopes for their future and envelops them with grace.

The kingdom table is about encountering hostility with non-violence. Unlike previous instructions in his ministry, here Jesus counsels his disciples to take bags and clothes with them. The situation has changed. Instead of the popular ministry of healing and preaching in Galilee, now in Judea—in the temple precincts—the ministry of Jesus encounters violent hostility. Now Jesus counsels buying swords. And the disciples inform him that they have two daggers. “It is enough,” Jesus says. Would two daggers be enough for self-defense? No, it is enough because Jesus has no intention of using the daggers in his kingdom mission. Indeed, he later rebukes Peter when he responds violently with one of those daggers and Jesus warns that those who live by the sword die by the sword. “It is enough” does not mean that they have sufficient weaponry but rather more like “enough of this discussion…you disciples still don’t understand.” The Son of Man must be numbered with the transgressors; he will defeat evil through suffering rather than through violence. Jesus will not return evil for evil. He will overcome evil with good.

We sit at this same table every Sunday. When eat the Lord’s Supper we sit at his kingdom table. This table calls us to service, discipleship and non-violence.

This is Luke’s story—it is the good news of the kingdom of God. The kingdom comes among us in the person of Jesus as one who serves others, suffers for others and loves his enemies rather than returning evil for evil.

As disciples of Jesus who eat at his table this is our story as well. To sit at the table of Jesus is to embrace his story and to follow him. In our journey through Luke, we have followed Jesus into the water, and followed him into the wilderness. We have followed him to tables with sinners and prostitutes. We have followed him in ministry to the disenfranchised (widows), outsiders (tax collectors), lepers (even a Samaritan one), and outcasts (the poor). We have sat with him at a Passover table, and now we are called to follow him to the cross.

And the question is now ours. As we sit at table with Jesus today, are we willing to follow the one who serves others instead of his own ambitions? Are we willing to follow Jesus to a cross? Are we willing to love our enemies? Or, are we more like the disciples at that Passover table than we might like to admit?

Despite our failures—despite the failures of the disciples—Jesus invites us to his table. He even anticipates our failures but yet graciously invites us back. Jesus even today prays for his disciples as the great high priest, and today we draw on his strength to embrace his kingdom mission and follow him. Today we sit at table with Jesus and encourage each other to continue the mission of Jesus, even if it costs us our ambitions, wealth, power and lives.

Traitor at the Table

2006-03-11T23:06:00.000-06:00

Text: Luke 22:1-23

The betrayer sat at the table with Jesus and Jesus knew who the betrayer was. He was one of the Twelve, one of the chosen. He had cast out demons and proclaimed the coming of the kingdom. Jesus had prayed over that choice and yet Satan entered Judas’ heart and Satan won the battle.

The leaders of Israel—the powers that ruled its religion and temple—wanted to entrap Jesus so that he would lose his popularity among the people. But they had been unsuccessful. They wanted to kill him but were unable to seize him in a way that would not create a disturbance or even riot. They wanted to avoid Roman intervention, and the Romans were on heightened alert during Passover time.

And Judas provided the opportunity. He knew where Jesus spent his nights. He knew where Jesus might be taken in secret away from the public crowds that hung on his every word in the temple. So Judas arranges Jesus’ arrest and then goes to sit at table with him. Judas and Jesus eat the Passover together that night.

The table that night must have been quite a festive occasion. Oh, I know that we usually think of the Passover as a solemn, almost morbid, event, and especially the last Passover Jesus has with his disciples. It was, after all, the night on which he was betrayed and the night he announced his coming death. But Jesus also announced something wondrous that night.

The Passover was a celebratory festival which anticipated the coming reign of God as well as remembering Israel’s past deliverance from bondage. It remembered good news in the past and anticipated future good news. It was hopeful for the future as it celebrated the past. The Passover was a time of great rejoicing and excitement that brought Israel to the edge of their seat.

I believe its festive character pervaded the table that night. Indeed, Jesus’ announced good news at the beginning of the meal. At the moment, seemingly, when the host was to rehearse the meaning of the Passover (the haggadah) at the second cup of wine, Jesus announces the coming of the kingdom of God. Not that unusual except that he declares that the next time he and his disciples eat the Passover together it will be in the kingdom of God.

The disciples must have been astounded by such a statement. No doubt they have been wondering when the kingdom would come, and now they know it will come within the next year—according to their measurement of Jesus’ words. Next year, at the next Passover, they will be eating with the Master in the kingdom of God! (More than likely this generated the subsequent discussion about who was going to be the greatest in the kingdom.)

No doubt they sang the little hallel (e.g., Psalm 113) with great gusto at that moment. “Praise the Lord…The Lord is exalted above all the nations…He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap…Praise the Lord.”

Judas heard this too and no doubt sang Psalm 113 with the rest of the disciples sitting at that table. I wonder what he was thinking. I wonder if he doubted his earlier arrangement. Had he acted too soon? Or, would his act precipitate the coming kingdom? I don’t know; no one does. But he was at the table, eating with Jesus and still intending to complete the betryal.

Then, as the main meal begins, Jesus gives a new meaning to this last supper. The “supper” (eating the lamb) begins with the breaking of the bread. But with this bread Jesus reinterprets the meal. Hereafter, the Passover will be eaten in his memory. In the future, the disciples will remember Jesus. The sacrificial meal will honor his sacrifice as he gives his body for humanity. Jesus himself, rather than the lamb, will be the sacrifice. Jesus is the lamb!

Judas is still at the table. He eats the bread, and he eats the roasted lamb. The bread is for him too—the body of Jesus is given for Judas too.

Having eaten the lamb (“supper”), Jesus takes the cup which is now either the third or fourth cup of wine at the Passover meal. But the wine is no longer about Israel’s past redemption, but it is about Jesus’ own sacrifice. It is his blood and it inaugurates a new covenant. The new covenant (reminding us of Jeremiah 31) is about forgiveness, but it is also about the law written in our heart. The blood cleanses but it also makes new—and a new relationship is enacted between God and his people.

And Judas is at the table. His hand is on the same table with Jesus. He drinks the cup—the blood is poured out for him too.

But Judas is the betrayer, though he sits at the table as one of the disciples. He sings the Psalms of redemption (e.g., Psalms 114-118). He sings “this is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it.” He eats the bread and drinks the cup; and he sings the songs. He listens to the Master…but his heart is in another place. He has a different agenda.

Sound familiar? To what extent are we all Judas today as we sit at this table with Jesus? Do we eat and drink with divided hearts? Do we sing the songs and hear the word only to dismiss their meaning for the sake of our own agendas? To what extent do we eat and drink with our own agenda instead of in covenant with Jesus?

Table time is covenant time. It is when we renew our pledge to God and God renews his pledge to us. It is a time of communion, but also rededication. It is a time to again choose whom we will serve. It is a time of covenant renewal—God renewing his covenant with us (“this is my body given for you” and “this is my blood poured out for you”) as we renew covenant with him.

But even in this moment of talk about betrayal there is hope. Yes, the Son of Man will die, but he is the Son of Man. He is the eschatological human who breaks in from the future to declare the coming kingdom of God. The Son of Man dies but the kingdom will come!

Yes, “this is my body” and “this is my blood.” Yes, the lamb is sacrificed for the sins of the world. But Jesus will eat and drink again with his disciples when the kingdom of God comes. Death is not the end. The grave is not the final stop. Though he suffers, the Son of Man will enter glory and the kingdom will come. The joy of the kingdom will conquer death, and Sunday will transform Friday. On Sunday, Jesus ate with his disciples again, and even now the living Christ, the eschatological Son of Man, eats with his disciples. But let us be vigilant lest we ourselves are Judas at that table. Let us eat in faith and hope and commitment.

Dare We Doubt Together?

2006-02-23T20:43:00.000-06:00

Nine years ago Jennifer delivered Leah stillborn. The next Sunday her congregation sang, “God is so good.” The words caught in Jennifer’s throat, and she could not sing. Instead she found a place to weep alone.

“I’m dead inside,” Becky says. Her church, shepherds, family and friends had begged God for sixteen-year-old Joshua. But Jeff’s and Becky’s only son died as a result of surgical complications nearly a year ago. “How, God, can this be the reality of my life?” Becky asks.

Though for six months Liesa had requested special prayers for her only son, 23-year-old Chad died in a car accident one year ago. Feeling the overwhelming shock and loss, Liesa, along with her husband Ted, struggles to find the heart to worship.
Like Jeff and Becky, we also named our only son Joshua with the prayer that God would make him a leader among his people. He lived sixteen years before his weak body lost its long struggle with a genetic disorder two years ago.

Since October Becky and Jeff, Liesa and Ted, and Jennifer and I have met twice a month to share our hearts and thoughts. We cry and pray together. We study Scripture and discuss the twists and turns that happen in our lives. We vent our feelings and hurts.

Grief has not created intellectual doubt within our group. We believe God is there, but we do wonder why God is not here. We believe God exists, but we wonder why he permitted such horrendous loss in our lives. Like C. S. Lewis, after the death of his wife of three years, we are not “in much danger of ceasing to believe in God” as much as “coming to believe such dreadful things about Him” (Grief Observed, 5).

Grief has not attacked the intellectual dimensions of our faith but did create an emotional distance between God and us. We do not doubt God’s reality, but he feels so distant. We feel angry. Did God not hear us? Did he forget us? We hurt. Did he decide to leave us in pain instead of continue our joy? We feel betrayed. Did God give us such wonderful gifts of life only to, as Job says, take them away? (Job 1:21). We even sometimes feel abandoned.

The lament Psalms ask similar questions. “Why do you hide yourself, Lord, in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1b). “How long, O Lord…How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?” (Psalm 13:1a, 2). “Lord, where is your steadfast love of old”? (Psalm 89:49). “Why do you hold back your hand; why do you keep your hand in your bosom?” (Psalm 74:11).

We discovered that our relationships with God enabled total honesty with him. In grace we are free to be honest—-to pray what we authentically feel. Before God and with each other we are able to be who we are rather than pretend who we are “supposed” to be. We bonded as a group because we shared the same journey in our lives. Indeed, through the journey we have experienced God’s presence through confronting him with our hurt and anger.

Most—-perhaps those who have not lost a child—-would be appalled at the words we speak. Many would not understand, and some might condemn. We do not expect everyone to understand. Perhaps without experiencing loss of this magnitude there is no genuine empathy or understanding. We feel safe in our little group because of our shared experience. We verbalize our feelings, confess our ignorance and wrestle with God together. It is our “safe place” to express our faith through doubts and questions. All grievers need a “safe place.”

Can faith doubt and question? The doubts and questions are real, but it is faith nonetheless. Genuine faith perseveres and is sustained through faithful lament. Without lament emotional doubt would eat away faith like a cancer, but through lament faith speaks to the one who alone can heal that emotional pain and close the distance. God, we are confident, will hear us and comfort us through our lament. God will draw near even as we at times feel so distant from him. He will carry us when we cannot walk and he will be present even when we are angry.

Lord, we believe. Help our unbelief.

Originally published in New Wineskins (May-June 2003)

Kingdom Come

2006-02-04T21:52:00.000-06:00

Text: Luke 17:11-37

Journeying to Jerusalem, Jesus traveled along the border of Galilee and Samaria where he encountered ten lepers outside a village. This kind of scene is becoming familiar in Luke. Jesus meets, in the course of his daily existence, the social outcast, the disenfranchised, the broken people of his world. He moved in circles and places that offered opportunity for redemptive engagement with the “poor” of the land.

Responding to their cry for mercy, Jesus sent all ten to the priest and as they went, they were cleansed of their skin disease. Only one, however, returned to thank Jesus—and that one was a Samaritan. Luke calls attention to it—as narrator he identifies his ethnicity and the words of Jesus refer to him as a “foreigner.” He alone, apparently, is grateful and “saved” (NIV says “made well” in 17:19).

A Samaritan Leper! Ethnically, socially, religiously, ritually unclean! He was made pure (cleansed of his impurity), healed (of his disease) and saved (forgiven of his sins). Luke uses all three words to describe his redemption—his salvation; wholly saved—in every respect.

The kingdom is present. The fallenness of the world is reversed. The sick are healed, the polluted (ritually, socially) are cleansed, and the lost are saved. This is Luke’s story—the presence of Jesus is the presence of the kingdom of God. Through him and in him, the future has arrived in a way that reverses the curse and turns the world back upside right.

But some cannot see it. The Pharisees—even with all they have witnessed, though they may not have seen the leper miracles Luke positions before their question—ask, When will the Kingdom of God come? The kingdom was present before their eyes, and they were blind to it. They were looking for the wrong thing.

They sought cosmic, cataclysmic signs. They thought it would come with the defeat of the Romans, perhaps at the time of the Passover. They imagined a nationalistic renewal of the Davidic kingdom as the Messiah took up his rule in Jerusalem. They thought the kingdom would be detected by observation, that is, by rational scrutiny, deductive logic, scientific analysis and visual assessment. They would identify the kingdom by their own criteria.

And they missed the kingdom before their eyes. They missed how the dead are raised. They missed how the blind see. They missed how the poor are included at the banquets. They missed how women were part of Jesus’ entourage—they were disciples too. They missed how the kingdom of God is evident by the redemption of a Samaritan leper!

The kingdom of God is not a matter of political maneuvers and the defeat of the Romans, but rather the presence of the future where renewal reverses the curse. The kingdom of God is not a psycho-analytical, mystical presence within the human soul (as the NIV translation might intimate), but is rather the dynamic activity of God to redeem what is fallen in the world. The kingdom is present in Jesus. The kingdom of God was "among" them, not "in" them.

And yet to affirm the presence of the kingdom in the now—even in the ministry of Jesus—is to create a tension in the lives of disciples. The “now” does not always look like the kingdom. Fallenness still exists. The poor are not honored in culture; the leper is still ostracized; ethnic groups are still divided by hatred; and many do not see the kingdom and have lost their way.

For this reason, I think, Luke continues his narrative with Jesus' instruction to his disciples. While 17:20-21 is directed toward the Pharisees, 17:22-37 is directed toward his disciples. The disciples need the hope that this world—in its present fallen state—is not the fullness of the kingdom of God. As wonderful as the ministry of Jesus is, and as wonderful as the present experience of redemption in the family of God is, this is not the final chapter in God’s story. There is yet another chapter to be written.

The day or days of the Son of Man are coming when the fullness of God’s reign will be made known (revealed). It will be sudden but decisive. It will be redemptive but also destructive. One will be taken (saved like Noah and Lot) but another will be left (lost like the flooded Noahic world and Sodom and Gomorrah). It will be a cataclysmic event on the style of Noah and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. That day has not yet arrived, but it is coming.

Life goes on. People eat, drink, marry, buy, sell, plant and build. This is the world in which we live. There is nothing evil about these activities, of course; they are the stuff of life and they are sanctified activities.

But they are distracting. They become the focus of human existence. They become the raison d’etre of human existence. We seek our satisfaction there; we come to believe meaning is found there. We try to “keep our life” there and preserve the meaning we have created for ourselves. We lose sight of the kingdom of God. We no longer “watch” for the kingdom and embrace its meaning for our lives now. We seek to keep our life rather than lose it for the sake of the kingdom.

When our life becomes so valuable that it is exchanged for life in the kingdom of God, then we are like Lot’s wife who valued her life in Sodom more than the kingdom of God. When we absorb the values of this life, this fallen world, then we lose the kingdom. When we value our ethnic, nationalistic or religious culture more than we value the kingdom, then we become like Lot’s wife.

Jesus reminds his disciples to “lose” their life in his kingdom in order to find it because when we seek to find our life in this world we will lose the life God intends for us.

How could the Pharisees have missed it? Was it not obvious? How can we miss it? We invest in buying and selling, in planting and building as if this is where we will find the kingdom of God. But the kingdom of God is revealed when Samaritan lepers are redeemed!

Are we truly about kingdom business in this church? It is so easy for us to lose sight of the kingdom because we are seeking to find our lives.

Luke calls us to discipleship in the kingdom of God in the present as we wait for the full revelation of the Son of Man in the future. It is Luke’s way of saying, “Seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:33).

The Magnificat

2005-12-17T20:28:00.000-06:00

Text: Luke 1:46-55.

Blessed is Mary—she will bear the one who will reverse the curse.

Blessed is the cosmos—the burden it now carries will be lifted because of the one who reverses the curse.

Blessed are we—we are invited to participate in the kingdom of God through which the curse is reversed.

The Magnificat is the praise of the God who reverses the fallenness of the world—makes the poor rich, the barren fruitful, the hungry filled, the oppressed liberated, and the lowly exalted. He sets the world back right—how it was intended to be.

Mary was on the low end of the social ladder. Engaged to a skilled laborer, she was young, poor, and rural girl. Her station in life was at the bottom of the social ladder. She was not from Brentwood, Green Hills or even Liberty Hills in Franklin. She is child of the lower working class, the working poor. Mary was one of those we overlook—the person who empties our trash at work, the one who cleans our houses, the shy person, the waitress at Waffle House. But her devotion, humility and piety noted by God.

And this blessing, well, is a blessing in disguise. It will not look like a blessing as people begin to react to her pregnancy and as Jesus grows up with a stigma attached to him. Mary must bear the shame of a child who came too soon after she was married. It is something no one talks about openly, but everyone whispers. Mary bears the shame of reproach, but the honor of bearing the King of Kings. Her humble obedience is, we might say, the first act of discipleship in the Gospel of Luke. Mary becomes the first disciple.

She submits to this journey because like all devout children of Israel at the time, she yearned for liberation, for the inbreaking of the kingdom of God. It was the hope of Israel, and it was Mary’s hope that God would again look at lowly Israel in her oppressive bondage and redeem her from her exile. Israel exiled even in her own land. And this moment—this conception—was the beginning of the end of that exile.

No wonder Mary magnifies God. No wonder she shouts hallelujah. No wonder she rejoices in God’s blessed work.

This is the vision of God as the lover of the lowly. God roots for the underdog. God is not impressed with what in impresses us: wealth, success in business, big house, luxury car. God overrules the judgments of the world in favor of the poor and oppressed. What the world values, God does not. What we strive for and want so badly we work ourselves and our families to death, God does not value. God takes the side of the oppressed. Indeed, God favors and blesses those who have nothing. It is not the wealthy who are blessed in this Magnificat, but rather it is the poor, needy and hungry who receive God’s attention because they receive little attention from humanity. They are overlooked and forgotten. But God chooses them.

But the focus on the Magnificat is not on who Mary is, but rather on what God does. God is the subject of these verbs. He is not only powerful, but merciful. He reverses the curse. Not only has God done this in the past, and given renewed evidence in this moment—the moment of Mary’s conception—but he will renew this commitment to his people as it is a promise to “all who fear him from generation to generation” (1:50).

Remember what is coming in Luke’s gospel. Jesus is laid in a cow trough. Jesus is visited by shepherds. Jesus touches a leper. Jesus eats at Matthew’s house. Jesus forgives a sinful woman as she kisses his feet. Jesus heals the outcast demonic, raises the dead son of a poor widow, and heals the servant of a Roman soldier.

This is the gospel story. It is what Mary announces. The time has come. The One has come. The world is going to change, and the goal of God will be accomplished. He will reverse the curse. He will raise the lowly. He will heal the sick. He will destroy death. The curse will be defeated and the reign of God will fully envelope this earth. The cosmos will be liberated from this bondage and our bodies will be redeemed. The One who comes dies with us but is raised for us. The curse is over.

But we still live in the midst of the fallenness. The lowly are not always exalted, children don’t always outlive their parents, the oppressed are still in bondage, and many are barren. We weep, groan and yearn for the day when the curse will be reversed; when the fullness of the kingdom of God will fully come and God will renovate his cosmos and lift up his people as co-rulers with him. We want the fullness of that liberation now! Maranatha is our cry, just as Mary and Israel cried for the redemption of Israel.

Mary sees in her own experience what is true for the people of God, and not just for her. How God has dealt with Mary is paradigmatic for how God will treat his people. Mary is not uniquely blessed—except, of course, that she alone bears the Christ child—for her blessing is but an instance of how God intrudes into life and reverses fallenness. It is an example of how God blesses us. We are also Jesus’ mother, brother, sister—all who do the will of God, who seek to be instruments of the kingdom, are Jesus’ family. “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the Word of God and do it” (Luke 8:21).

Only those who recognize their low estate can be authentically overwhelmed by the accommodation of God to our situation. Only when we see ourselves as blessed—as Mary was blessed—to participate in God’s redemptive project can we genuinely identify with Mary. Are we willing to stand with Mary who finds blessing in disguise, who finds blessing in her shame and who is willing to bear the shame for the sake of the kingdom of God?

So, today, we read, pray and sing the Magnificat. We stand in awe of God’s mighty act through Mary. We praise God for his redemptive work and stand with Mary as she magnifies God and rejoices in his salvation. We can look with Mary through the ages and see this hand of God in the life of Sarah, of Hannah, and in the life of David, of Daniel. God shows his redemptive hand and assures us that the future will be no different.

But today we should also stand with Mary and identify with her. We are the mother, brother and sisters of Jesus. We, too, are blessed. We are blessed to participate in the kingdom project. We have been invited and called into the story as people who walk with Jesus and follow him to do kingdom work. We must allow God to use us just as he used Mary.

Mary’s song, then, becomes a clarion call for realignment of the world. It is a cry for revolt. It is revolutionary. It will not be business as usual for the people of God. Rather, the kingdom is breaking in and everything will change. God has remembered his people and his people will be transformed into something new. Mary’s song is the annunciation of a new journey and we are invited to join it with her and experience the redemptive, transforming power of God. It is the declaration of the liberation, and our invitation to share in the journey toward the glorious freedom of the family of God.

Blessed is Mary—she will bear the one who will reverse the curse.

Blessed is the cosmos—the burden it now carries will be lifted because of the one who reverses the curse.

Blessed are we—we are invited to participate in the kingdom of God through which the curse is reversed.

Reflections on Come to the Table -- No. 1

2005-12-01T18:38:00.000-06:00

I have often been asked, and was recently asked by a friend, to reflect on my book "Come to the Table"--what would have I said differently, what would I emphasize now, and what is my vision for the Supper in the contemporary church. So, I will take this month to offer some occasional reflections.

"If I had it MY way..."

My wish-list for restoring table in our churches. If I had control (which I don't, and which I don't want since the table should be communal rather than dictatorial), I would seek out #1, but if I can't do #1, then #2, and if not #2, then at least #3, and if not #3, then I can at least get away with #4, and no doubt #5. :-) But even if there is no change--nothing of what I would like to see--my heart can still rejoice in the living Christ at his table, even in the most traditional of services.

But here is "my way" (forgive me, Sinatra).

1. Restore the Meal! Nothing will invest the table of the Lord with tableness more than a meal--a meal in honor, in memory (remembering) and in thanskgiving for Jesus. The meal would restore the interaction and horizontal communion of the table. It can no longer be silent, solemn, but joyous and engaging. It is not a funerary memorial, but thanksgiving meal celebrating our salvation through the gospel (the death and resurrection of Jesus). But a meal is difficult with our architecture, and problematic for implementation for logistical reasons. Thus, I like the model of Acts 2 as perhaps one way of have the best of both worlds: general assembly in the temple for teaching/prayer/praise and then in the home for breaking bread/praise. I am not, however, advocating the loss of the Lord’s Supper in the general assembly in the contemporary church. It can be in both assembly and small groups. This might actually enrich our experience of the Supper.

2. Restore the Table! Get around a table, even if we only have bread and wine. The literal table will produce the atmosphere of table--interaction and communion. Gather around standing, or gather at the table sitting. It doesn't matter; at least we will not be looking at the back of each other's heads.

3. Restore the Communal Dimension! If we cannot gather around a table where the communal dimension will occur naturally, we can at least restore the communal dimension through corporate prayers, corporate reading of Scripture, congregational singing, encouraging people to prayer with each other, encouraging each other by verbal interaction, etc. as they eat. This can be partly accomplished by getting people out of their seats to commune. Invite people to come to the elements instead of bringing the elements to them. As people go to the elements, they will interact with each other—hugging, greeting, encouraging each other.

4. Restore the Mood! If nothing else, restore the joy of tableness to the Lord's Supper as a thanksgiving in the presence of the living Christ. This a heart-change and a paradigmn shift in the minds of people. This is where we must begin, of course. We need to teach a new vision of the table as one of joy rather than a funerary atmosphere that is wholly located in some kind of mere memorialism.

5. Restore the Vision! None of the above is possible without this--a renewed theological vision of the table as communal fellowship with the risen Christ. I recommend teaching...teaching...teaching...and experimentation....and different experiences in different settings....teaching, teaching, and did I say teaching, etc. The vision must change in order to fully implement 1-4, but even if 1-4 are never implemented, a renewed vision and theological understanding will enable people to experience the supper in significant ways, even if it is only hidden in their own heart. Even in the most traditional service, I can smile as my heart thinks about the living Christ in my presence and Joshua at my side.

How do we begin to implement some of these points?

In general, I would suggest....

....begin slowly--pray, teach, discuss

....begin small--little things, in small groups, in different settings than the pews

....stay inclusive--understand that there are multiple dimensions to the supper and multiple perspectives, utilize all perspectives and give voice to all persuasions.

....stay united--don't divide with what should unite, be sensitive to years of tradition and practice, understand how many find their piety in this moment and how central it is to them

….. progress toward the goal of experiencing God and each other at the table; this is the main thing—a communal experience of Jesus’ grace and love as we share that love and grace with each other.

Samaritan Hospitality

2005-11-06T08:46:00.000-06:00

Text: Luke 10:25-37

One of my favorite questions Jesus’ asks in the Gospel of Luke is, “How do you read it?”

An expert in the law (one of the “wise and learned” in Luke 10:21 to whom spiritual depth is often hidden) asked Jesus a question: “what must I do to inherit eternal life”(or, our parlance, what must one do to be saved?). The expert knew the answer—it was good question, and the expert gave a good answer. Jesus and the expert were in total agreement: love God (Deut. 6:5) and love your neighbor (Lev. 19:18). Life flows from loving God and neighbor. This is salvation.

But that was not the point that the expert wanted to make. So, wanting to “justify himself” he wanted clarification on who exactly is the neighbor one is obligated to love. Is “neighbor” restricted in some way? Does it mean the one who lives beside me? Does it mean only those of my own ethnicity? Does it mean only those of my own faith? Does it mean only those who follow the strictures of my religion? Should I love the Gentiles….the Romans….the Samaritans?

The expert had the “law” right—the first and second greatest commandments. But “how did he read it?” What did it mean to say “love your neighbor”?

The parable, with which we are all so familiar, that answers the expert’s question illuminates not only who is our neighbor but also what it means to love. Some readings of the parable are so focused on the idea of neighbor that it is easy to miss the equal stress on the “love” or the “mercy” (10:37) that was shown in the parable.

Clearly the introduction of a “Samaritan” is a shocker, especially since Jesus three closest disciples had recently wanted rain fire and brimstone on some Samaritan villages (Luke 9:51-56). Whereas the priest and Levite (upstanding moral representatives of the Jewish faith) “passed by,” the Samaritan did not. Whatever the rationale of the priest and Levite (and we are not told what it was though we might speculate that it has something to do with ritual purity or perhaps the danger [risk] involved in helping), they avoided the hurt man. The Samaritan—the one least expected to help a presumably Jewish victim—loved the man.

The contrast in the parable is whether we will avoid the hurting or love the hurting. It is the choice we make as “Samaritans”—can we help those who hurt even when they dislike us? Can we love our neighbors who hate us?

Loving neighbor in this parable is risky and expensive. Stopping was a risk. Tending to an unknown victim was a risk. Slowing down his travel through such dangerous territory was a risk. Funding his stay at the Inn was expensive. There were, potentially, good “rationales” for avoidance. Loving a neighbor is an act of vulnerability and it costs something.

The words pile up in this text to illuminate the act of loving. It involved “compassion” (10:33), like Jesus for the widow at Nain or the Father for his son upon his return from the “far country.” He “took care of him” (10:34) as he focused his attention on him to the exclusion of other concerns. He had “mercy” (10:37) which is word Luke only uses in the songs of Luke 1 (vv. 50, 54, 58, 72, 78) as expression of divine care. Loving our neighbor involves compassion, mercy and focused attention.

In this parable, loving a neighbor meant hospitality (that is, loving a stranger)—involvement, connection with another person,

We have “Good Samaritan” laws. Seinfeld even ended their series on the premise of the “Good Samaritan” law—the Seinfeld characters were so lacking in compassion and mercy that they joked at the misfortune of another. They were tried and convicted without ever understanding neighborliness. “Good Samaritan” laws reflect how embedded in our consciousness this parable is.

We most think of the “Good Samaritan” instances in terms of extreme situations. We stop to help a motorist who has broken down on the road. We call 911 when we see an accident or witness an act of violence. We rush to contribute money to Tsunami, Katrina or Pakistani disaster relief.

And, yet, the hurting are lying all around us. We don’t’ see them. We tend to avoid them or don’t even know they are there. We would rather—and I must admit that my tendency is this direction—go to our homes, insulate ourselves from other people, and stay uninvolved. We are individual homes in suburbia rather than part of a community. Even the church is rarely church other than at church. People are lonely and disconnected.

Hopsitality is almost an extinct art. We are too busy, too many irons in the fire. It is easier and less expensive to avoid the hurting. It is more comfortable to stay insulated from others than to become involved in relationships that might prove demanding, involving and time-consuming.

Community, however, is built through hospitality—through loving strangers, building relationships, and committing what we owe to “common” (read “communal”) use.

The word “hospitality” in Greek means to “show friendship [philo] to strangers.” It is to love your neighbor, and neighbor does not mean those who live next door or even those who “go to church” with you. Neighbor includes even strangers. Even in the Torah, loving your neighbor mean to love the “alien” even as if he were “one of your native born” (Lev. 19:34).

We need to recover hospitality as a contemporary virtue. Community is built through relationships, and hospitality is one means of building that community. We need to learn about to open our homes to strangers. We need to learn again what “Sunday dinner” used to be about in our culture—the inviting of strangers to share a meal with us.

I remember my “Sunday dinners” growing up. Roast, carrots and potatoes—every Sunday! But what I remember most was that there was always a stranger at the table. My parents always invited someone home from church who did not have place (a community) to spend the afternoon. We would eat, talk, play games, watch the ballgame together, and then return to the Sunday evening service. To this day I still have people ask me if “Mark or Lois Hicks” were my parents, and then remind me that they ate with us one Sunday. They were Samaritans—to white, black, Asian—in their time. We need to be Samaritans in our time.

“How do you read it?”

How does the parable of the “Good Samaritan” challenge our lifestyles? Yes, we may be good “emergency Samaritans,” and thus we keep the law of the land with its “Good Samaritan” laws. But do we love our neighbors?

“How do you read it?”

Suffering, then Glory

2005-10-22T22:18:00.000-05:00

Text: Luke 9:28-36

When Jesus took on the mantle of his messianic mission at his baptism, a voice “from heaven” declared: “You are my Son.” And then the Son was led by the Spirit of God into the wilderness to be tested. Now, just after Jesus announced his future messianic suffering to his disciples, a voice “from the cloud” declared “This is my Son…listen to him.”

The transfiguration is a dense theological text. It is filled with allusions to significant events within Luke’s narrative as well as in the Hebrew Bible.

Luke anticipates the Garden of Gethsemane—1) he takes James, Peter and John with him; 2) he goes to pray with the prospect of suffering; 3) the disciples slept; and 4) Peter says/does something stupid indicating the disciples’ lack of understanding. Jesus finds a place to pray with his intimate friends, but they fall asleep. Analogous to Gethsemane, Jesus agonizes over the prospect of his future suffering in Jerusalem as he turns his face toward the city (9:51).

Luke anticipates the Resurrection/Ascension stories—1) two “men” appear with Jesus; 2) the eschatological nature of glory; 3) a cloud appears; and 4) revelatory speech (“listen to him”; “he is not here”; “coming again”). The glory of this “transfiguration” (metamorphosis) is eschatological. It anticipates not only his resurrection but his ascension to the right hand of God (“taken up into heaven,” 9:51). Suffering is not Jesus’ final destiny.

Luke remembers Theophanies in the Hebrew narrative: 1) mountain experiences; 2) glory of divine presence; 3) “listen to him” (cf. Deut 18:15); and 4) encouragement in the mist of despair (Moses in Ex. 34; Elijah in 2 Kings 18-19). Moses and Elijah both encountered God at Mt. Sinai at times of great disappointment and despair.

Jesus’ transfiguration from Adamic, fallen existence into eschatological glory was designed as an encouragement, not for his disciples, but for Jesus himself. The Father lifted his Son into the glorious experience of conversation with Moses and Elijah. They discussed his “exodus,” that is, his journey to Jerusalem. They discussed his future suffering.

This was a proleptic event in the life of the Son. It was the experience of his future glory—his resurrection glory, his ascension glory, the glory of the second coming (cf. 2 Peter 1). In answer to his prayer, the Father encouraged his Son to complete his mission. Divine presence and the presence of the future empower his mission. Jesus is assured that the cross is not the end game.

It would be a mistake to reduce this “mountain top” experience to our own “mountain top” experiences. We may have moments when we sense the presence of God in transcendent, even mystical ways. I often sense this in the assembly of God’s saints as we are lifted into the divine throne room, into the divine presence. But this moment in the life of Jesus was the in-breaking of the future—not just a taste, but a full experience of that future through the presence of “witnesses” (Moses and Elijah), the divine presence, and a transformed appearance.

And yet, our worship experiences are also an encounter with divine presence. They are the alreadiness of the future. We do not yet experience what Jesus did on that mountain, but we already experience a “taste” of it. Our assemblies gather in the presence of God, they are encounter with glory and witnesses (angels, the church universal, and our beloved departed) are present. Our worship is a taste of the future, and the future encourages us as we face the reality of death in this present world. Like Jesus, I need that divine encounter to encourage me to pursue my divine mission. Worship—because it is the in-breaking of the future though not yet the fullness of that future—empowers me to serve and it brings hope into the darkness.

The disciples were awed by this event. They fumbled for words. Peter speaks but he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know what he is talking about. He misses the point—Jesus, Moses and Elijah are not equals. Jesus is not only Messiah, but Son of God. The cloud of divine presence descended among the disciples. God spoke. The disciples listened. They followed Jesus…they followed him down the mountain in awe and silence.

We, too, are awed by divine presence. We encounter God through worship and prayer. And we listen to Jesus. And we, too, follow him down the mountain into the world…on a mission, the mission of Jesus. We follow him to the cross and die to ourselves on our own cross. But his transfiguration is also for us, just as his resurrection and glory is ours. It empowers our mission. Suffering is not our final destiny either. His future is our future.

New Wineskins--A New Way of Living

2005-09-10T20:19:00.000-05:00

Text: Luke 5:27-39.

Luke’s Jesus teaches, for the most part, at the table. But the table is more than teaching for Jesus, it is the embodiment of the kingdom of God. It is not merely oral teaching, but social demonstration of the kingdom of God. Jesus’ table exhibits a new way of living—new wineskins for new wine.

Sometimes (a good example is Bock’s NIV Application commentary) the story of Levi’s calling (5:27-32) is separated from the discussion of fasting (5:33-39). The headings in the NIV tend to separate them as well. But the controversy over fasting takes place as part of the banquet scene. It may function as a summary of the whole chapter. Jesus calls a sinner like Peter to be his disciple, touches a leper, and heals a paralytic. And he eats with “sinners.” At the very least, however, it is part of the table conversation at Levi’s house.

New wineskins (or, new garments) represent the newness of Jesus’ ministry which is the in-breaking of the kingdom of God. The parable puts into words the previous deed of Jesus—his reclining at table with sinners. The parable illuminates the deed, and the deed illuminates the parable.

Jesus took the initiative. He found Levi, a tax-agent or collector; part of a despised, wealthy, and exploitive social class in Palestine. He invited Levi to join his group, a different sort of group—to embrace the kingdom of God. Levi left everything and followed him, which is a narrative indicator of his repentance.

Levi then took the initiative. He threw a “great banquet”—a festive celebration, reclining at the table with his friends. He had been invited to participate in the kingdom of God—he was celebrating. Joy is the appropriate response; his friends are the appropriate co-celebrants. They are his circle of friends—“tax collectors and others” (left undefined by Luke’s own description).

But others were there as well, observing the celebration. They were shocked by Jesus’ presence at this gathering. They made it clear that they regard Luke’s “others” as “sinners.” These are the very people who, in their view, are excluded not only from the kingdom of God, but excluded from social interaction with the righteous. They are the outsiders. The Pharisees are separatists—they separate themselves from the unclean and impure. They isolate their righteousness so that they enjoy table only with the righteous.

Jesus’ response values a total reversal of the Pharisaic attitude. Instead of separation, Jesus sits at table with the “others.” Instead of prideful isolation, Jesus seeks relationships with the “others.” Instead of distant condemnation, he sits with the “others” to invite them into the kingdom of God. This invitation is a call to repentance, to a new way of living—a new life.

New life is possible because someone new has arrived. The Bridegroom is here; the Messiah and his kingdom have arrived. It is a new garment. It is new wine for new wineskins. It is new era. The old is passing away, and everything is becoming new.

The Pharisees recognized the newness, and they objected. “The old is better,” as the proverb goes. The Pharisees rigorously pursued fasting—twice a week even. This, in fact, was an expression of their separatism from the unclean (“sinners”), their yearning for the Messianic age that had not yet come in their estimation, and sorrow over their present status as a conquered nation.

But Jesus’ disciples don’t fast. They feast! Oh, they will fast when the Bridegroom is taken from them, but while he is with them they will feast at the great banquet Levi has thrown. They will eat while the Bridegroom is with them (and he will be with them at the table in the post-resurrection community as well).

The new is better than the old. But the new is not simply a matter of eating rather than fasting. Rather, the message is about what that contrast represents. To eat is to sit with sinners and invite them into the kingdom of God. To fast is to separate oneself from sinners and condemn them to their own depravity.

The new wineskins are not minor adjustments to ritual (e.g., no more fasting), but it is to embrace the kingdom of God in the present. It is a new way of living.

New wineskins are not about praise teams, responsive readings, drama in the assembly or even new methods of “doing church.” It is not about the latest fad in order to be “new,” “current” or “relevant.” Rather, it is life transformation—a new way of relating to people, embracing “the other,” living in reconciling ways, dismantling the barriers that divide.

To use new wineskins or to put on a new garment is to act in ways that demonstrate the presence of the kingdom of God in the world. Jesus did it at table with sinners. We “do it’ in our own context.

We demonstrate it when we seek out friendships and show hospitality to the “others” in our culture—the poor, the homosexual, the Arab, the illegal alien, the disabled, etc. We demonstrate it when we sit at table with the “others” and invite them into the kingdom of God. But the invitation rings hollow when it is shouted at a distance, with a shrill voice filled with hatred and condemnation. It only rings true when we are at the table with them.

We are followers of Jesus. We followed him into the water, we have followed him into the wilderness, and now we must follow him to a table with “others.” Disciples of Jesus cannot do otherwise. But, remember, it also the path to suffering—to being mocked, scorned, excluded….it is the way of the cross.

If you are the (a) Son (Child) of God....

2005-08-27T22:29:00.000-05:00

Jesus shared water with us--he was baptized with sinners. He followed us into the water, but by so doing enabled something new to break into the world. He was filled with the Spirit, baptized in the Spirit. And declared to be the Son of God.

But this Son of God was no docetic theophany. This Son of God, conceived of the Holy Spirit, was also son of David, son of Abraham, son of Adam. He was the new Adam and the new Israel. He is a new beginning for humanity: "son of Adam, Son of God."

This new Israel is led to a place of testing for 40 days (whereas Israel was 40 years). Unlike the first Adam, however, his place of testing was no garden or paradise. Rather, it was the wilderness. Adam was tested in the garden--where he was placed by God--by the serpent. Jesus is tested in the wilderness--where he is led by the Spirit--by Satan. The serpent and Satan seek the same thing--to inculcate doubt, a desire for more, and mistrust.

The wilderness temptations are an identity test. "If you are the Son of God...." Are you really? Is that what you want? The wilderness is where Jesus learns obedience. The wilderness is identity-formation through identity-testing. God intends a test.

This wilderness experience is God’s design—Jesus is led by the Spirit. The presence of the Spirit does not mean the absence of testing, but rather the power to endure it, live through, and overcome it. Jesus is full of the Spirit. This is not some superior divine identity, but rather Jesus, the human being, filled with the Spirit. God will pour out his Spirit on all flesh and fill his people with his Spirit. Jesus lives as a human filled with the Spirit he will share with his people in his triumph. He baptizes us in the Spirit and fills us with the Spirit. In the wilderness Jesus is empowered by the Spirit just as we are empowered by the Spirit.

Jesus is the true human who is authentically tempted. Filled with the Spirit, he models for humanity how to live obediently, how to live an authentically human life. To be human is not to sin; that is to be less than human. True humanity is one living in complete dependence upon and in relationship with God. Humanity has a new start in Jesus, the new Adam.

In the wilderness Jesus deliberately empties himself of his power and faces temptation as a human being. He is Adam. Milton described Adam’s disobedience in Paradise Lost, but the subject of Paradise Regained is the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness.

The temptation is the struggle of two kingdoms—the powers that reign in the world (ruled by Satan through Rome in Luke) and the kingdom of God. Satan seeks to divert the humanity of Jesus—seek his own interests rather than obedience; seek his own rather than God’s or the interests of others. What does it really mean to be about God’s kingdom business? Which kingdom will the Son of God serve? The three temptations of Jesus are counterparts to the three denials by Peter. Jesus does what humanity fails to do and thus shows humanity a different path.

Temptation One: Will Jesus follow the leading of the Spirit or will he exercise his power toward his own ends? Should we should cater to our every whim (note the function of fasting), fulfill our every desire, and embrace what we want rather then submit to self-denial for God’s sake. Do we use power for our own sake or for kingdom interests? Are we willing to deny ourselves something (anything or everything) for God's sake, for the sake of his kingdom?

Temptation Two: Will Jesus seize power by yielding to idolatry, following other gods? Will we achieve success, fame, reputation or goals by virtue of aligning ourselves with other powers than God so that we take the easy path to success rather than the path of suffering and self-denial. Will we submit to the ruler of this world and the powers of this world for the sake of our own interests, or--worse--construe the kingdom as best served through submitting to worldly powers? Will we seize political control—or whatever control (control of church, family, business, culture)—for the sake of the kingdom? Will we violate the principles of the kingdom for the sake of the kingdom? Will Jesus take up a new identity—the servant of Satan rather than the Son of God?

Temptation Three: Will Jesus force God to prove himself? Will he put God on trial to test God rather than trust him. Can God be trusted? Why are you in the wilderness? Doesn’t God care—do you believe he cares? Do you believe his promises? Should not faith leap blindly from the temple heights? The temptation is to prove our faith by testing God's promise. Or, perhaps, in the midst of the wilderness to declare our allegiance to God only on the condition that he rescue us from the wilderness. God must prove himself before we believe. The temptation is to try God rather than trust him.

The temptations about our own temptations—whether in a 40 day fast, or in the wilderness of loss--whatever loss. We are Adam, we are Jesus. He followed us into the water, and went into the wilderness to share it with us. He entered our wilderness in order to lead us out.

But the wilderness is important. It is tests our identity. It shapes our identity. The wilderness is where we learn to prioritize—we see what is really important and upon whom we truly depend. The wilderness is where we learn obedience—we seek out God’s way rather than our own; we follow his path to kingdom goals rather than our own. The wilderness is where we learn to trust—rather than demand, prove or test.

We are baptized. We are filled with the Spirit. And we are led into the wilderness to test our identity. The wilderness tests our identity—who are we? Whom will we serve? Whose interests are most important to us?

If you are a child of God, depend on God rather than your materialism, seek his kingdom rather than your own, and trust him rather than prove him. This is the path that leads out of the wilderness and to a cross but also to an empty tomb.

Luke 4:1-11

This is Funny

2005-08-26T09:01:00.000-05:00

Look at this to see what happens when one ordains a Teutonic Pope.

Performing the Fifth Act

2005-08-25T09:15:00.000-05:00

Since we lack a script--a detailed "say this, do this"--for living out the gospel in our lives today, how do we "perform fifth the act"? This is the function of theological hermeneutics. It is a way of thinking, reflecting and seeking the will of God. It is imaginatively entering into world of Scripture to draw analogies for living in the present. We seek the mind of Christ to be Christ in the present.

Theologically, I use a short-hand model for this reflection process. It is only suggestive as it moves us along the trajectory of biblical theology. It is four-fold (and, of course, this would not be the only way of saying this).

1) Creation as divine intent--God created community, intended humanity represent (image) him in the world, and to fill the earth with his glory (humans who image him in caring for the cosmos).

2) Community--whether in Israel or the Church, God intended a kind of community where there are no poor or needy; a community that shared life together and shared the task of imaging God in the world, a redemptive community in a fallen world. Through Scripture--through his messengers, prophets, etc.--God sought to shape his community into that redemptive community which bore his image.

3) Christ--God entered the world as flesh and lived among us. He is the image of God; he is the true human just as he is truly (authentically) human. He is what humans are supposed to be in a fallen world. The incarnation answers the question what would God do if he were one of us.

4) Consummation--the divine goal. What is God's kingdom climax? This is the world that God will ultimately recreate. It is the kind of world that should intrude into the present--the eschatological reality should be present in the church. The church should be shaped by the divine eschatological goal.

Each of these perspectives bear witness to the character of God. They say something about God, and thus say something about us since we are called to image God, to be like God.

Consequently, these models offer a way to enter into the story of God so that, discerning who God is, we can imaginatively and creatively embody that character in the present. We are thus enabled and empowered--by the Spirit of God hermeneutically and morally--to be the presence of God in our world.

Performing the fifth act is living in a way that embodies the divine intent (creation) and goal (eschaton), guided by how God sought to shape his historic redemptive communities (Israel and Church), and definitively demonstrated in Jesus (incarnation).

An Increasingly Common Analogy

2005-08-23T15:58:00.000-05:00

I've read it in various books and heard it in several lectures. N.T. Wright has used it. Stan Grenz has used. Keith VanHoozer has used. John Franke has used it. Michael Horton has used it. And others as well. And I like it.

It usually runs something like this.... Living out biblical theology is like performing a drama. Our life in Christ is analogous to a group of Shakespearean groupies who have newly discovered a five act play by Shakespeare. It was previously unknown. But the problem is that the last act is missing. We only have the first four acts. The last act is lost. Suppose, however, these scholars, actors, etc., want to perform this play. How can they perform it without the last act? They will have to improvise. In order to do so, they have to "live and breathe" the works of Shakespeare. They will know all his other works, thoroughly know this present play, understand how his mind works, etc. With their "Shakespearean mind" they write and perform the final act as they imagine Shakespeare would have written it.

The analogy is.... We have Scripture which bears witness to the mind of God in Christ. We have the first act-Creation. We have the second act--Israel. We have the third act--Christ. We have the fourth act--the early Church (Acts & the Epistles). We are the fifth act. And we currently perform that fifth act as best we can imaginatively enter into the mind of God in Christ. We live out that mind--we perform the fifth act on the basis of the first four acts.

I like the analogy. I think it is quite useful. There is a sense in which we do not have a script for living in the 21st century as Christians. We don't have a script that tells us how to deal with gene therapy, nuclear war, software ethics, etc. We encounter many issues in the contemporary world that are not addressed in Scripture. Consequently, we seek the mind of God in Christ, and then seek to live out of that "mind" in the present.

But I would like to adjust the analogy a bit. While we are living out the fifth act, we do have the sixth act. What we are missing is not the end, but the time between Christ and the end. We know what the ending of the story is. We know how the drama climaxes. The act we are missing is the one between the fourth and sixth--between Christ in the Early Church (Acts and Epistles) and the Eschaton (the New Heaven and New Earth).

Consequently, we learn how to peform the present story of God through drawing on the mind of God in the past and the future. We know God's intent (creation) and we know his goal (eschaton). We know his acts in history (Israel) and we have seen him in Jesus. Knowing God in Christ, we perform his story in the present. We are the fifth act. We are the body of Christ in the world peforming the drama of God in a way that is consistent with divine intent (creation), goal (eschaton) and history (Israel and Church)--consistent with the one who embodied God in our midst, Jesus Christ.

Theology is only significant if it is performative. We must "do" the truth rather than simply intellectualize about it. The goal of theology is practical--to shape a people into the image of God, but not just in their thinking, but in their life. The trandformed life is the performative truth of the story of God.

Systematic Biblical Doctrine

2005-08-23T15:46:00.000-05:00

That's the title of a course I teach at the undergraduate level at Lipscomb University. I don't particularly like the title. Here's why.

"Doctrine" rings hollow at best for most students and creates hostile suspicion for many. The word has a polemical ring in the ears of many such that it conjures up images of dueling antagonists engaged in heated debate where the loser goes to Hell.

"Systematic" sounds, well, too systematic. It sounds like we are going to put the Bible into its "proper" order--an order that we impose through a preconcevived "system" (an order perhaps borrowed from some philosophical construct). This prioritizes "system" over text; it postulates an "order" to which the text must conform. This is the discipline of onto-theology so that theology is shaped by a prior commitment to an ontology. Theology then becomes a form of philosophical anthropology, which means it is not theology at all but "anthropology in a loud voice" (so Barth's critique of classic liberalism).

So, "Systematic Biblical Doctrine" sounds like a code word for imposing my system upon the biblical text in order to draw boundaries that define the "right" group. Consequently, I don't like it. It is not what I think theology should do.

Rather, I would rather proceed with a more narrative approach where theology is the exploration of the biblical plot--to trace the redemptive-historical work of God through creation, Israel, Christ and Church into the Eschaton. It follows the plot line. Theology tells the story and seeks to absorb the contemporary world into the plot of the story.

Is there something systematic about theology? Well, of course. There is an order. But, it seems to me, that order is best understood as redemptive-historical plot, or drama, or story, or narrative. The order is not that of a "system" or a philosophical/metaphysical grid, but the order of a narrative plot in which we live or a drama that we perform.

Theodices in the Stone-Campbell Movement

2005-08-09T15:04:00.000-05:00

Another essay I just submitted for publication that will appear in December concerns the various "theodices" that were prominent in the 19th century Stone-Campbell Movement. It was interesting to me that there is no "Theodicy" heading in the new Stone-Campbell Encyclopedia though there is some discussion of the idea under the article entitled "Providence."

Essentially, they were all theologically Arminian with an Augustinian understanding of the Fall. What I mean is this, they all located the origin of moral evil in the free agency of creatures (whether human or angelic). That is the Arminian part. At the same time, they all located natural evil in the "Fall" of humanity--either a punishment or consquence of sin within the cosmos. That is the Augustinian part. One can see both of these in Alexander Campbell and Robert Richardson early on and both affirmed a kind of "meticulous providence" over the world.

However, the North/South conflict and the cultural/theological developments of the late 19th century shaped theodicy in different ways within the movement.

On the one hand, the North embraced a more rational, scientific approach to theodicy. Emphasizing the embedded order within the cosmos, natural law regulated natural evil. Nature functioned independently--by divine design--of God's specific will or intent. God did not and does not intervene within the cosmos except for redemptive-historical purposes (e.g., Exodus, Incarnation, Resurrection). This created a kind of Deism within northern thinking that denied any kind of "special" or "meticulous" providence (though all did not deny it and continued the tradition of Campbell and Richardson).

On the other hand, the South (particularly in the deep south of TN, MS and AL, etc.) the cosmos was engaged in a radical spiritual conflict. It was the kingdom of God versus the kingdom of Satan (e.g., Lipscomb and Harding). God was involved in his world directing nations and individuals toward his ends, including the idea that God punished the South because of slavery. God is meticulously involved in his world and engaged in this cosmic conflict. Humanity is free to choose which side it will serve, but God will win in the end and even now sovereignly conducts the world according to his goals and interests. Lipscomb's response to the overwhelming experience of evil in the Civil War was to acknowledge God's sovereignty. Lipscomb does not "defend" or "justify" God. Rather, he submits and trusts.

Some in the South rebelled against this construal, particularly in Texas. They embraced a Newtonian natural law understanding of natural evil and advocated a practical Deism. This is evidenced, in particular, in the "word only" theory of the Holy Spirit. God is self-constrained by natural law and Scripture for his own action in the world. This response to life is to protect God from involvement in the specific events of the world. God does not get his hands dirty in the daily functions of life, but regulates the world through laws (laws of nature and laws in Scripture).

In the context of opposing a deistic understanding of prayer, Harding asked: “Does the Holy Spirit do anything now except what the Word does? Do we get any help, of any kind or in any way, from God except what we get by studying the Bible?... Does God answer our prayers by saying, 'Study the Bible…’?” (“Questions and Answers,” The Way 4/16 [17 July 1902]: 123.)

Theodicy is too often encumbered by metaphysical assumptions, too driven by hermeneutical harmonization, and too distant from the affirmations and particularities of the text. Theodicy must arise out of the story we have been given, and perhaps it is not so much "theodicy" as "kergyma" that is our task. I find myself much more in line with Lipscomb/Harding than the Northern Disciples and the Southern Texans.

Eschatological Table

2005-08-08T08:59:00.000-05:00

The eschatological horizon reminds us that the root metaphor of the Eucharist is neither tomb nor altar, but table.

In some ways that sentence is sort of the thesis of my book Come to the Table. However, one dimension of the book that I wish I had emphasized more--and it is present in the book, but deserves a chapter devoted to it--is the eschatological horizon. In other words, through the Lord’s Supper disciples experience the eschatological joy of the risen Christ as he hosts our communal meal.

The link between the Supper and the second coming of Christ is acknowledged by all in light of 1 Corinthians 11:26. However this link is sometimes reduced to either a (1) temporal terminus; (2) a promised fact; or (3) a pledge of the future. In each of these, eschatology is wholly future.

This furturist theology exists alongside a memoralism and somtimes a present spiritual feeding (communion) on Christ (and thus, the past, present and future dimension of the table). The spiritual dynamic of the Lord’s Supper remains either memory and/or nourishment. There is no eschatological dynamic in the present but only an absent Christ whose return we await through memory and spiritual sustenance. Fundamentally, this lack of eschatological “alreadiness” engenders a solemn and funerary atmosphere that is more consistent with the metaphor of altar than table.

When the eschatological dimension of the table is neglected, the Supper is easily reduced to a singular purpose. The chief purpose of the Supper becomes to remember the death of Christ. Even "Eucharist" becomes a negative term because the Supper is about memorialism rather than thanksgiving.

When we reclaim, however, the "alreadiness" of the eschaton, and understand that the risen Christ is present at the table with us, joy and thanksgiving envelope the table. It is a place where we experience the already/not yet tension--Jesus is absent, but he is present. The Lord's Supper is a continuation of the post-resurrection meals with his disciples but in a post-ascension situation. Our joy is already here, but is not yet fully realized.

When I visualize and experience the risen Christ at the table with us, a pleasant smile appears on my face. It is a smile that sometimes annoys those sitting around me in "church." But it is a smile produced by the sense that I am already at the eschatological table with Jesus....and with Joshua, Dad, Sheila and with all the saints.

I have just submitted these perspectives in an essay for publication in a new book by IVP that extends the discussion begun in Evangelicalism and the Stone-Campbell Movement.

My Absence

2005-08-07T20:41:00.000-05:00

I apologize that I have been absent from my blog. It seems that having a blog creates a guilt trip for not keeping up with it, but that may be a function of the legal framework that shaped my early life. :-)

However, I have been busy. Grading papers for the summer, but also completing and finalizing two essays to be published in December. One essay is entilted "Theodicy in Early Stone-Campbell Perspectives" and the other is entitled "The Lord's Supper as Eschatological Table."

I will offer a preview of each without giving away the store over the next two days.

Shalom,

John Mark

Coming with the Saints

2005-07-28T15:31:00.000-05:00

This will be my last installmenet on the subject of the present status of those who have died in the Lord. Grievers are usually curious about their loved ones. There is some comfort in a pastoral word about how our loved ones live in the presence of God around his throne. There is comfort in recognizing that we worship with the saints around that throne. When we sing "Holy, Holy, Holy" (the liturgical Sanctus) we join with the heavenly chorus that surrounds the throne. The church militant is one with the church triumphant.

While there is certainly comfort in these perspectives--and I relish them, meditate on them and enjoy them, this is not the ultimate hope of Christians. Even the saints around the throne are yet waiting for something more. The journey is not yet over. God has not yet redeemed the cosmos. Death has not yet been fully defeated. The dead have not yet been raised.

When Paul sought to comfort the Thessalonians over the death of some of the saints in the church there, he appealed not to their "intermediate" state (their present experience of the heavenly throne room) but to their resurrection at the second coming of Jesus. Just as we believe that God raised Jesus from the dead, so we believe that God will raise those who have fallen asleep as well.

Paul says this in an interesting way. In 1 Thessalonians 4:14 Paul claims that "God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him." Those who have died in the Lord will accompany Jesus at his parousia; the saints will come with him (1 Thess 3:13). They will share in the glory of that day, and their glory will be their resurrection as they receive glorified bodies. They will be like Jesus, the new human (Phil. 3:20; 1 Cor. 15:49). Those who are still alive will be changed (transformed) in the "twinkling of an eye" (1 Cor. 15:51).

The new creation will be complete as human beings live upon the new earth with new bodies. We will meet the Lord in the air, the earth will be refined by fire, and the "new Jerusalem" (the bride of Christ) will descend upon the earth united to her bridegroom. There, upon the renewed earth, God will dwell with his people as a husband dwells with his wife. Hope realized. Community restored. Everything new. Humanity together again. God and Humanity mutually indwelling each other. The journey completed, but only just beginning.

The First Resurrection

2005-07-25T15:09:00.000-05:00

Revelation 20 is dangerous ground upon which to walk. To comment on it assumes so much. It assumes a particular way of reading the whole apocalyptic drama. It assumes a particular structure to the book. Consequently, there are many ambiguities, varied understandings and even some nasty polemical controversies associated with this text.

Nevertheless, I will venture into these choppy waters in order to make a very specific point based upon my understanding of this text. And I do so only to share a pastoral meditation that I find quite meaningful.

In Revelation 20:1-3, Satan is bound. Whatever that means, it means he is not destroyed but only limited. Simultaneously, in Revelation 20:4-6, the martyrdom saints (those beheaded) and others who have overcome (they did not worship the beast) reign with Christ on thrones. Those who overcome sit down with Christ on his thrones--it is a co-regency (cf. Rev. 3:21). They share in the glory of the kingdom of God. These thrones, as are all thrones in Revelation, participate in heavenly glory--they exist in the throne room of God, in the heavenly sanctuary, the heavenly dwelling place of God.

These saints ("souls") participate in the "first resurrection." This resurrection is described at the end of verse 4 as: "they came to life and reigned with Christ a thousand years." I believe is this an affirmation, similar to the picture in Revelation 7 or Revelation 14:13, that those who have passed from earth to heaven, those who have died in the Lord actually come to life when they pass through the portals of death. When the saints of God die, they come to life. They enter the presence of God and reign with Christ on his throne. They are seated on thrones surrounding the throne of God himself. They share the heavenly glory of Christ himself.

The "rest of the dead" --apparently those who do not share in that glory--do not "come to life" until the judgment day when everyone experiences the "second resurrection" (or the resurrection from the dead where bodies are raised to meet God). I tend to think that the righteous dead, according to this text, life with Christ, but the unrighteous dead (the rest of the dead) are not conscious of their state until the "second resurrection" (that is, the general resurrection of the dead when all will be raised with bodies once again).

Those who participate in the "first resurrection" will not participate in the "second death." The "first" and "second" imply a contrast with missing components. What is the "first" death and the "second" resurrection? I believe the first death is physical death. The souls enthroned with Christ experienced the first death but as participants in the "first resurrection" they will not experience the "second death." These "souls", however, await the newness of creation--the time when creation will be renewed, including their own bodies in a (second) resurrection. The "new heavens and new earth" will appear along with a "new Jerusalem." This newness is the (second) resurrection of the cosmos--a renewed creation with renewed, transformed bodies in which the saints participate.

Where are the saints who have died in the Lord? They have experienced the first resurrection. They came alive in their death. They live in the presence of God, reigning with Christ as they await the final consummation; as they await the renewed heaven and earth. They are not dead, but alive. But they are not yet complete, not yet all that God intends them to be....they wait for the new heavens and new earth just as those living upon the earth do. But though they died, they are yet alive.

If you are interested in a more detail presentation of this perspective, I suggest reading the excellent article by Don Garlington.

Waiting With Us

2005-07-21T08:38:00.000-05:00

However we might describe the "intermediate" state (the mode of existence for those who have died in the Lord), their sharing our sense of "waiting" for the fullness of God's kingdom. Though they have passed from earth to the throne room of God through the portal of death, nevertheless they sense that their own journey is incomplete. They have not yet arrived at the final destination.

The "souls" under the altar in the heavenly temple had sacrificed their blood for the testimony of Jesus Christ (Rev. 6:9-11). Their blood had been poured out at the sacrificial altar. They live in the presence of God, dressed in their white robes (Rev. 6:11) and holding their harps (cf. Rev. 15:2) and palm branches (Rev. 7:9). They have moved from earth--with all its trials and pains--to a heavenly reality where they are protected by the Lamb.

Even though joy surrounds them in the presence of God and the Lamb, they nevertheless know that saints upon the earth still undergo travail. In the presence of God, they lament. They ask their questions, including: "How long, Sovereign Lord, holy and true, until you judge the inhabitants of the earth and avenge our blood?"

The martyred saints recognize both the sovereignty (power) and the holiness (holy and true) of God (cf. Rev. 15:3-4). They appeal to both aspects as they lament the injustice upon the earth. The cosmos has not yet reached the fullness of God's kingdom. The saints before the throne share the lament of those who still live upon the earth. They both still cry out, "your kingdom come." They both still await the time when the will of God will done on earth as it is in heaven. The cosmos is not yet complete. The cosmic journey is not yet over. There is more to come. The martyred saints share our lament and continue it in the presence of God. They, too, yearn for the fullness of God's kingdom to manifest itself in a new heaven and new earth.

The divine response? "Wait." God has a "number" in mind. More witnesses must testify. God patiently reaches out to his world, not willing that any should perish. And God calls his saints to patiently wait for the finality to come (cf. Romans 8:25) and at the same time to bear witness to the reality of that coming kingdom through sacrificing their lives.

We, upon the earth, wait through the power of the Spirit who comforts and empowers us (cf. Romans 15:13). The saints around the throne wait as they are sustained by the presence of God and the Lamb. And we wait together. And we lament together. And we know the comfort and joy of God by his power...together.

Witnesses in the Presence of God

2005-07-17T14:58:00.000-05:00

The sermon the church has called "Hebrews" is addressed to a struggling community of believers. Some have already given up the habit of assembling with the community, some are on drifting out of the community, some are regressing and others are discouraged. The preacher speaks a word of encouragement.

The sermon assumes an assembled group of believers. Its language envisions the assembly "drawing near" to God, or approaching his throne, or entering into his presence in the context of this assembly (cf. Hebrews 4:16; 7:25; 10:22). Believers enter the presence of God as a gathered people. Certainly this is not the only time they enter that presence--we can "draw near" to God anywhere, anytime--but the assembled church is a moment of such entry through the curtain into the Holy of Holies.

To encourage his struggling church, the preacher reminds them that there are many "witnesses" to the power of faith as past believers persevered through diverse trials (Hebrews 11:39; 12:1). The "roll call" of faith encourages present believers to persevere.

The climax of the homily takes his audience back to the "day of assembly" (Deut. 9:10; 10:4) at Mt. Sinai when Israel entered into covenant with God. There, at Mt. Sinai, Israel approached the divine presence in fear and awe. But the church, when it gathers--when it assembles, comes to a different mountain.

The church draws near (comes to) Mount Zion, the dwelling place of God. They come to the heavenly Jerusalem. They come to the festive assembly of angels. They come to the throne of God and to the one who sits at the right hand of God, Jesus. They come to the church of the first born ones whose names are written in heaven, that is, they come to the universal church gathered in the throne room of God. When the church gathers, it gathers in the presence of God, Jesus, the universal church and the heavenly host.

And....the church comes to (draws near) "to the spirits of righteous people made perfect." Who are these people? I don't think they are the angelic host since the word "righteous" is used by the preacher to describe human beings in Hebrews. I don't think they are resurrected (embodied) human beings since he refers to them as "spirits" (just like he does disembodied angelic beings in 1:14).

I believe he is referring to the "witnesses" --the righteous who are now perfected in the presence of God-- of Hebrews 11: Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Moses, Rahab. Moreover, we could add the NT "witnesses" to that list: Peter, Paul, James, Lydia, Phoebe. And, we can add those whom we have known and loved, including my father, my wife, my son.

When the church gathers in the presence of God around the throne of God, we join not only the angelic host in the praise of God but we also join the "witnesses." We gather around the throne with our deceased loved ones. Together we praise God--the living and the dead (who nevertheless live). We gather around the same throne.

I feel most connected with my son, for example, when I am present with the saints as an assembly of worship. I stand with the saints on the earth to join the saints around the throne. Together--my son and I, along with all the rest--worship the one who sits on the throne and the Lamb. I sense his presence through my presence in the throne room of God. I visualize him sitting with me, eating with me at the table, and singing with me.

I don't regularly visit the "resting place" of my son, my wife or father. That is helpful for many people and I certainly would not want to any way denigrate the comfort that many draw from such visitations. But I conceive of worship with the assembled saints as that time when I most feel the presence of my beloved ones. I imagine --an imagination given power, reality and spiritual fervor by this text in Hebrews 12-- myself surrounded by the "witnesses" from my own family.

I don't want to miss the assembly of the saints because the assembled saints include Joshua, Sheila and my dad. It is where I "visit" them as the Spirit of God lifts me into the throne room of God where they are "before the throne" and through worship I am there with them.

Before the Throne

2005-07-12T19:52:00.000-05:00

Humanity, in terms of its own resources, stands before death helpless and hopeless. It seems like our loved ones pass into nothingness as we are separated from their presence. But the death and resurrection of Jesus testify to a different reality that God will bring about in the new heaven and new earth--victory over the grave and embodied immortality. God provides the help and hope.

And yet as we lower our loved ones into the grave, death has its sting as we are cut off from their loving presence. Death stings us with their absence. Death, even with all the hope we can muster, stings us with doubt, curiosity and anxiety. This separation generates questions. Where did they go? What are they experiencing? Am I still connected with them in some way other than memories in the mind and yearnings in the heart?

I imagine the Christians of Asia Minor experienced similar anxieties and questions as they witnessed the martyrdom of friends and family in the late first century. The Revelation of Jesus Christ, at least in part, addresses these anxieties and questions as a way of encouraging the patient endurance of God's people in the midst of the trial that encompassed them (Rev. 3:10).

The trial entailed the seven-fold unsealing of a scroll, the announcement of a judgment the scroll contained, and the implementation of that judgment through the pouring out of the bowls of wrath (Rev. 4-16). John sees this drama unfold--it is the vision he is given as he is lifted up in the Spirit into the throne room of God (Rev. 4:2). In the throneroom, John sees the trial of the earth executed from divine throneroom.

Before the judgment of the seals is executed, the servants of God upon the earth are "sealed" (marked for protection). Though the earth experiences the testing of God, the people of God upon the earth (the church militant) is hedged by God's loving care (Rev. 7:1-8).

But there is another group pictured in Revelation 7. This group is not upon the earth, but is in the throneroom of God. This "great multitude" stands "before the throne and in front of the Lamb" (Rev. 7:9). They are adorned in their white robes (cleansed purity) and hold palm branches (festive joy) in their hands.

Who are they? "These are they who have come out of the great tribulation" (Rev. 7:14). These are those who have passed through the trial--those who were martyred for the testimony of Jesus, those who overcame through their faithful obedience to the testimony of Jesus, those who followed the Lamb. These are those who have "died in the Lord" (Rev. 14:13). They have moved from earth to the throneroom. They are those who have come through the trial into the presence of God. They have passed through the doors to death by way of the gates of the heavenly throneroom.

They presently experience the reality of that throneroom. They stand before the one on the throne and serve him day and night. "Never again" will they hunger or thirst or experience trial. The Lamb is their shepherd and he provides all they will ever need. God has wiped away all their tears.

This picture encourages readers still upon the earth--readers who will yet experience the trial. The vision bears witness to the reality of their passage from earth to heaven. The vision encourages faithfulness and endurance as it assures the people of God of the journey through death (out of the tribulation) into the presence of God.

I believe it provides a glimpse into the experience of those who have died in the Lord. They presently serve God before his throne. The Lamb is with them before that throne. They share the reality (wherever, whatever that may be like) of the angelic hosts--they occupy the same space around the throne that the angels occupy.

This has a pastoral purpose. The text is not explicitly concerned to offer a particular understanding of or theorize about the "intermediate state." Rather, it has the pastoral function of assuring those upon the earth about the reality of post-death experiences in the presence of God. It promotes endurance and faithfulness. It comforts the people of God as they face death.

In the light of this text (and I know there are quibbles and alternative readings), I mediate often on the experience of my loved ones. I imaginatively and contemplatively join them around the throne of God. I am comforted by their experience, or, better, I am comforted by the divine faithfulness that not only fills me with Holy Spirit presence now but also shepherds my loved ones in his own presence contemporaneously. That presence here and there connects me with them. Divine presence is my link to them.

I know who they are. They are my father, my wife, my son. Where are they? They have moved from here to there, from this earthly existence into the throne room of God. And they swaying their festive palm branches in praise of the one who sits on the throne and the Lamb as they experience of the periochretic dance of divine love.

Yes, they are home. But they have not yet experienced all that God has in store for them or us.

Where are the Dead in Christ?

2005-07-11T18:37:00.000-05:00

My apologies for my long absence. Life is busy at the moment, but I have few excuses other than my sloth. :-)

This month I am teaching at the Collegeside Church of Christ in Cookeville, TN on Wednesday evenings. I chose as my subject something that I have read, studied and reflected upon for many years. Topic: Where are the Dead in Christ?

On the one hand, I immediately grimace when I raise the question. I remember many polemical debates and sermons about the topic. I have no interest in polemics on this question. My concerns are pastoral, meditative and theological. So, as I share with you on this question, this is not a polemical but a pastor-theological context. I can only share my perspectives in the context of my own meditations and experiences.

The question is an important one for me. Ever since my wife died in 1980, I have thought about this question. I have rarely taught about it since I have often thought it too speculative to press. But it has consumed some prayer and meditation time in my life. And I have noticed that it is an important question in the minds of many grievers. They are not interested in polemics either, but they are curious--not so much in a "I have to know" kind of way, but in an anxious kind of way. What I mean is that agnosticism here has an unsettling effect upon the heart. It becomes, where it should or not, oppressive and debilitating at times.

And answers like "they are with Christ," are soothing but informationally and even affectively vacuous. It leaves the griever hanging, at least it did me and does with some who have shared their anxieties with me.

So, I will attempt to share in the next few days with you. Thoughts, and even experiences, that have comforted my heart. For it is peaceful for me to meditate now upon where my wife, my son, my father, my brother-in-law, my grandparents and my many aunts and uncles experience ongoing life. And part of that peace is that there are somethings (better, there is Someone) that I experience with them. We, even now--separated by death--share experiences and participate in the same reality.

More later....

Shalom,

John Mark

Traveling Again

2005-06-29T15:26:00.000-05:00

I will be absent from blogging for a few days. Unfortunately, I will have to endure some baseball games at Wrigely field in Chicago. :-)

My brother, Jack Hicks, is a radio engineer for the Washington Nationals. He makes sure the game is "aired." And it falls my lot to sit with him in the Press Box for the Friday and Saturday games this week. I think I will enjoy it.

Jen, Lacey and Ashley are also going with me. Lacey's birthday present is to see a friend she made while we were in Vienna, Austria for three months. They have recently moved to Chicago. And part of her birthday present is to visit the American Girl Store in Chicago--unfortunately, a potential tower of Babel to American consumerism. :-) But she has saved her money and she knows where she wants to spend it.

It is also the weekend of Chicago's "Venetian Nights" as well as the "Tasete of Chicago" where 100 eateries gather in Grant Park every night to feed visitors. One can taste almost any dish from around the world.

Shalom, and enjoy your holiday!

John Mark

Question About Death and Assurance

2005-06-27T12:20:00.000-05:00

"Some people are afraid of death. I'm not sure but I am. I always think of what's going to happen when I die. Where am I going to go. I gest so scared. I'm not sure where I'm going to go anymore. That feeling is always stuck on my mind. I can't get rid of it. Do you think that way sometimes? Are you afraid?"

This was a question I was handed the other day on a piece of paper. It was anynomous and it requested I send the answer in an email. I thought I would share it here because these thoughts probably swirl in the mind of many people, including my own.

The fear of death is probably one of the most basic instincts of human fallenness. The fear of "nothingness" or "non-being" or something worse pervades human consciousness. Everyone, I dare say, experiences it. The night before my open heart surgery I remember anxious feelings about the unknown and the potential of death.

Death reigns in our world. Everyone dies. Death surrounds us. We can't escape it and so we fear it. It has a power over us--physically but also pyschologically, and more significantly, spiritually.

So, where do we turn when we feel this anxiety? Do we simply "get a hold of ourselves" and snap our thinking back into "right thinking"? Do we introspectively analyze our feelings and seek some kind of therapeutic resolution? I don't think either of those is very effective. They may bring momentary relief, but the reality of death is overwhelming and powerful.

Ultimately, we must look outwards. We must look beyond ourselves. Looking inward only creates more doubt as we see our own frailities and failings. We need to look at what God has done, how he has acted to redeem, and how he has acted against death.

Jesus came to liberate us not only from death itself, but from the fear of death and its existential bondage (Hebrews 2:14-15). The work of Christ has death--in all its aspects--in its crosshairs. It is the enemy Christ intends to conquer and defeat. Jesus conquers the fear of death and defeats its reality.

We can intellectually recognize this but emotionally embracing it despite our weaknesses and failures is much more difficult. Perhaps our problem is not so much believing that Jesus defeated death as it is believing that we are included in Jesus' defeat of death. Our problem is more existential than intellectual (though there are intellectual issues that are dubitable as well).

Emotionally we need to turn from introspection (e.g., constantly recounting our weaknesses and failures) to trusting acceptance of the work of Christ (e.g., faith in what God has done in Christ). We don't trust in ourselves, but we trust in God's work. Moving from fear to faith is a process. We should not expect instanteous faith nor a faith totally perfected by the complete absence of fear. It is a journey that we all share.

Fear is natural. Faith is unnatural. The movement from fear to faith involves a trust in the work of Christ, involvement in a community of faith that encourages and supports, and perseverance in the face of trials and troubles.

The night before my open heart surgery I had to face some fears. They were real. But here is what I did with them. I took my fear before God and confessed to God that I was afraid. I turned away from my weaknesses and rested in the confidence that God loved me despite my weaknesses. I focused on what God had done for me rather than whether I was good enough for God.

God loved us even when we were his enemies. He still loves us. If we seek him, he will find us. This is our confidence, and that confidence can overcome fear....but it is a confidence that comes through the process of walking with God together with others over time.

Shalom,

John Mark

Thoughts on Unity

2005-06-26T11:57:00.000-05:00

I thought I might share something of what I shared with the churches in Hawaii.

Unity is ultimately rooted in God's act for us in Christ. God creates the unity by his own act and we live it out in our concrete situations. Unity is grounded in the divine initative and manifested through divine gifts.

This is the context in which I think about baptism, Lord's Supper and worship as shared concrete realities through which we experience unity. They are divine gifts through which God mediates his grace and presence. As shared moments/events, we express and experience unity with other believers because God himself is acting in these moments.

Of course, these are not the only moments of God's acting. Nor are they only moments in which we experience unity or manifest it. Our sanctification--transformed lives of discipleship--also express and manifest unity with other believers as God works in us to conform us to the image of Christ. As we are progressively conformed to that image, we manifest unity (a shared life, a shared discipleship) with others who are also being transformed into that image. But baptism, worship and Lord's Supper are concrete (empirical) gifts of God that also communally and corporately manifest that unity which God himself created.

God acts through baptism. As we share those waters, our unity rests in the divine work and the divine initiative. Baptism as a means of grace bears witness to God's work in Christ and mediates the gracious fellowship of the triune God. Through baptism we participate in God's act in Christ and share the fellowship of the Father, Son and Spirit. As we share that fellowship, we are also in fellowship with all those who participate in that fellowship. The water unites us in a concrete way--not because of the water, but because God has acted to share himself through the water which we all share.

God acts through communal worship. As we assemble, God acts by lifting us up into his presence. The assembled people of God gather around the throne and participate in the holy assembly of the throneroom itself. We draw near to the throne, the city of God. We join the assembly of angels, the assembly of the witnesses of Hebrews 11, and we join the church universal around that throne (Hebrews 12:18ff). God brings us to his throne and gathered around the same throne we manifest the unity that God has created by his act of presence. We are one because we are around the same throne.

God acts through the Lord's Supper. God is not passive at his table. Rather, he is the active host who invites and calls us to sit a his table in his kingdom. We sit at the same table by divine invitation and initiative. Once again, we manifest the unity that God has created by sharing the same table.

The common thread here is that unity is focused on the divine act, not ours. Our acts manifest the unity that God has created, and these specific acts are divine gifts to humanity for the purpose (at least it is part of the purpose) of experiencing and manifesting that unity. Unity is something God achieves and we manifest. It is not found in the human mechanics of these acts, but in the divine act which gives meaning to the divine gifts through which we bear witness to the unity God has created.

Back in the Saddle

2005-06-24T11:26:00.000-05:00

I just returned from twelve days in Hawaii. It was a wonderful experience. I spent several days with my daughter, Rachel. It was her HS graduation present. She could choose anywhere she wanted to go, but she had to go with me and only me. Poor me, she chose Hawaii. After some days with her, my wife (Jennifer) joined me for the last several days in Hawaii.

Kevin Gilbert ministers for the Wahiawa Church on Oahu. He had asked about coming there several times. Consequently, I combined ministry with pleasure--or perhaps a pleasurable ministry--and consented to speak at the church several times while there. I spoke there on Friday and Saturday evening, and then at a combined service with the Christian Church in Haleiwa on the North Shore. I spoke on unity: shared water (same baptism), shared worship (around the same throne), and shared table (same Supper).

Kevin (Ph.D. from Southern Seminary in theology) is now Academic Dean at the International College and Graduate School in Honolulu. It is an interdenominational undergraduate school and seminary.

God blessed us with a wonderful time of re-creation through scenic beauty, wonderful weather, enjoyable fellowship and historic tours (Arizona Memorial). And our most enjoyable moment was a time of fellowship last Sunday morning with a combined gathering of members of the Church of Christ and Waialua Christian Church on the North Shore. God is good.

Shalom,

John Mark

Working Vacation in Hawaii

2005-06-10T21:27:00.000-05:00

I am sorry that I have not posted in quite some time. I apologize to those who regularlly keep up with my blogs.

This past week I was in Memphis teaching my class entitled "Providence and Suffering." And tomorrow I leave for Hawaii and will be gone till June 22.
When asked to come to be with a church in Hawaii for a weekend, well, it is hard to say no. :-)

Seriously, I leave tomorrow with my daughter Rachel who recently graduated from High School. Her graduation gift is to spend some father-daughter time with her "old man" but she gets to choose the place. So, tomorrow we leave for Hawaii. Jen will join me there on June 16.

Upon my return from my "working vacation," I hope to pick up the task of blogging once again.

Romans 15:13

Shalom

John Mark

Waiting with Hope

2005-06-01T09:23:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I reflected on how we might think Christologically about our suffering. Jesus united with our suffering and we unite with his. We become one and together endure the suffering. We share the fellowship of his suffering just as he shared ours. Thus, through suffering we are one with Christ. It is journey through suffering together as he pioneers a path out of the suffering and into glory. Our suffering, then, is never meaningless --though it is often and sometimes impossible to find any specific, particular meaning-- in the sense that is shared suffering with Christ on the journey to glory.

I find great comfort in my identification with Jesus in suffering. I don't want to distant him from my suffering when he came to suffer with me. And I don't want to distance his suffering from myself as I want to experience Christ, both in the fellowship of his suffering and the power of his resurrection.

Another source of comfort in suffering--and part of the perfecting that takes place within suffering--is pneumatological. The presence and function of the Holy Spirit provides the real ground of comfort and hope in our present endurance and groaning. There are several dimensions of this "Spiritual comfort" as I see it.

1. Presence. God has poured out his love into our hearts in the person of the Spirit. Romans 5:3-5. We boast in our sufferings because it produces character and character produces hope. But this is only because God's love is present in us through the poured-out Spirit. We experience the love of God by the Spirit.

2. Groaning. The Spirit groans with us. Romans 8:26-27. Our groanings in the midst of suffering are neither irreverent nor improper. The Spirit validates our groaning by groaning with us. He groans alongside of us and for us. He speaks words we cannot express and connects us with God in ways that are beyond human words. When I groan, God groans with me.

3. Hope. The Spirit gives hope to our hearts. Romans 8:24-25; Romans 15:13. Here it is easy to "water down" hope as some sort of "future longing," "wishful thinking," or "pie in the sky kind of expectation." However, this hope is both a present reality (and thus comfort) as well as a future expectation. This hope is the presence of the future in our hearts. By the power for the Spirit, the God of hope fills our hearts with comfort and joy. Authentic hope is living in the present as if the future has already arrived. It is the certain joy of the future.

Comfort in the midst of suffering is not achieved by human psychology or by "getting hold of ourselves." Authentic comfort--a comfort that is abiding, eternal and empowering--is a gift of God by the power of the Spirit. The community of God might be the instrument by which God gives this peace, and thus the community is extremely important in partnering with God in this comforting, but the comfort, I think, is a direct experience/encounter with God that yields peace, joy and contentment.

It is not a momentary or instanteous event. It is a journey, a process. It involves community. It involves spiritual disciplines. It involves communal worship and private time with God. But it is ultimately God's act. God gives comfort; we don't comfort ourselves.

A theology of suffering should reflect on the triune character of God's involvement with our lives. The Father created us, loves us, and pursues us. The Son suffers with us and for us. The Spirit lives within us to comfort and engender hope. The Triune God will reverse the curse of the fall, put an end to all suffering and renew his earth for our embodied existence with the Father, Son and Spirit in a fellowship of shalom and joy.

"Perfected Through Suffering"

2005-05-31T09:49:00.000-05:00

I have neglected my blogging for several days. I am in the midst of continuing an online conversation with two of my summer classes, and this keeps me busy (along with everything else that life brings me on a day to day basis). Nevertheless, I promised a note on some ideas that Rubel Shelly and I kicked around in the month of May during a Wednesday evening series. I will, of course, be responsible for these musings and they do not necessarily represent my friend Rubel, though he has been a partner over many years in thinking about these things with me (beginning with his classes at Freed-Hardeman in the 1970s).

"Perfected through Suffering" takes its cue from homily addressed "to the Hebrews". Specifically, Hebrews 2:10, 5:8-10, and 12:2-3.

This could be understood in a couple of ways. For example, a primary meaning might be something of the value of suffering as a refining fire in our lives, or a maturing of our faith. Our faith is "perfected" (made whole, complete) through suffering. This would be consistent with a kind of "soul-making" theodicy (such as that made famous by John Hick). Suffering shapes us, and has the potential to shape us into better people.

However, I think if we simply abstract "perfection" in terms of "character development" or "spiritual maturation" we will miss the more fundamental point. If the only function of suffering is to make us better people or that is the primary role suffering has in the lives of God's people, then I want to protest. Can we not be matured in ways other than suffering? Cannot our character developed in more positive ways? Is suffering necessary for our perfection? I don't think so--at least not as originally conceived by God in the Garden. Shalom without suffering; conformation into the image of God without death--that was the experience of the Garden.

I think we have to go a bit deeper here. Certainly, suffering does have the fucntion of "perfecting" or "maturing" us. God does use it to bear the fruit of righteousness in our lives (Hebrews 12:11). But there is more and if we stay here, I think we will miss the real point.

"Perfected through suffering" is explicitly Christological. It is directly connected with the fact that Jesus is the "author" (pioneer, pathfinder, frontrunner, path-maker) of our salvation and "perfector" of our faith. He has run the course ahead of us, and has plowed the ground of our own faith.

Christologically, the Logos follows us into suffering. We created the suffering; we created this world. But the Son becomes one of us to share our suffering to experience it alongside of us. Jesus took on an Adamic (fallen) body in order to join us in our suffering. He embraces the suffering for our sakes in order to overcome it, defeat it and liberate us. We fell and he became fallen. We brought death and he followed us into the tomb. He pursued us into the grave, even the death on the cross.

But Jesus suffered and death in order to create a path out of the suffering. He followed us into the suffering in order to lead us out of it. He suffered so that he might bring others to glory. He leads captivity captive, and shows us the way (by plowing the ground ahead of us, by being our pathfinder, by pioneering the trail) to glory. He is perfected through suffering so that he might perfect us.

Here is the basic Christological root. Just as Jesus shared our suffering, so our suffering is sharing Jesus' suffering. We suffer with him just as he suffered with us. Our ministry (discipleship) is a sharing of the affliction of Jesus. We know the fellowhsip of his suffering. But we will also share his glory just as he shared our suffering as we also know the power of his resurrection (not just in the future, but even in the presnt).

To think about "perfected through suffering," then, is not simply to think about how we are made "better people" through suffering. Rather, it also to think Christologically--to view our own suffering as sharing the suffering of Christ who suffered with us and for us. It is to see with "Jesus' eyes" the path of suffering as a way to glory. We follow Jesus who has pioneered a path to glory for us and he invites us experience the glory through suffering just as he did.

More tomorrow....on the eschatological (both present and future) dimensions of "perfection through suffering."

The Joy of Remembering

2005-05-25T16:29:00.000-05:00

"Does remembering you son cause you pain?"

That is a tough question to answer. Yes and No. Yes, to relive some of the moments of hurt is painful. To relive the moment the doctor told us that Joshua was not going to get better. To relive the moment his body was carried from our house to the funeral home. Those are painful memories. To walk through them in my mind is to generate tears in my eyes.

But also, No. To remember how Barbara rocked Joshua in the "big chair" and sang to him is to remember her love for him and his bright smile, looking into her eyes. To remember his loud laugh is to remember the joy he brought into our lives. To remember how we cared for him is to remember how God loves the weak. To remember such things also generates tears, but different kinds of tears, tears of joy.

So, I want to remember. Even the painful memories remind me of the authentic hurt that is part of this world. But, more importantly, to remember is to give value to Joshua's life and remember how his life shaped me. To forget him would be to negate his value and existence. To remember him is to value him.

I am part of an ongoing small group of parents who have lost children. One of the things I hear often in that group is how they love to talk about their children, and how much it means for someone to ask about them. Too often people are afraid (and understandably so) to remember with us since they are fearful that we might be hurt by remembering.

But actually one of the greatest joys of a parent who has lost a child is from someone to remember their child. We need people to "remember with us," share with us about our children, and walk with us. We love to remember our children, but we don't want to burden you with our pain. We don't want to hurt you, or perhaps worse bore you. And that is why we react so openly when you want to talk about our children. We love to remember--it renews their value in our lives.

When you meet someone who has lost a child, I know it can be awkward as to what to say or do or how to react. Let me offer a few suggestions. Ask, "What is your child's name?" [Note: "is" not "was". Our children still live!] To name a child is to give identity, reality and value. That you want to know their name says something about how you care. Ask a question about the child--it shows you are interested. Be willing to listen as we remember, and don't change the subject. Share our joy, and perhaps also our pain.

Thanks for remembering with me. It may hurt a little to remember, but it would hurt more if no one remembered.

Remembering Yesterday but Enjoying Today

2005-05-23T18:13:00.000-05:00

May 22 was also a difficult day. Sheila and I married on that day in 1977, twenty-eight years ago. It would have been our 28th anniversary. I sometimes wonder what it would have been like to be married to the same woman for 28 years. I must admit that I envy those couples that have had such a life-long experience and see their children grow up in the Lord together.

But May 22 was also the day I attended my 18 year old daughter's bacculaurete service. She graduates from High School on Friday. Rachel is not Sheila's child, but mine through my second wife--Barbara. How can I mourn Sheila and at the same time rejoice in Rachel? I do both. It does not seem "logical" but I gave up a while back on our experience of joy, sorrow and God as "logical." I just live, experience, relish, lament, mourn, rejoice and express my feelings to God...whether joy or sorrow. He gives both and I experience both, and I trust both serve ends to which he is leading me.

So, yesterday, I mourned and I rejoiced; I lamented and I celebrated. It was a good day for a tear but also for a smile. Life is like that. We experience the "evil and the good"--and we continue our journey of faith into the life of God.

And life moves toward someone...it moves toward God. And we enjoy God's new gifts--like the new gift God gave me in 2002, Jennifer. Her love as been a means by which God has comforted my soul and cared for my wounds.

The journey will yet have bumps, wounds and hurts....every journey does. But God is walking alongside and also standing in the future drawing me toward the fullness of his Triune fellowship. The future is the reality where full joy, renewal and healing awaits. I long for it, but as long as today is today, I will yet rejoice in God's gifts in the present....knowing that they will be carried forward into the future, consummated and enriched.

Shalom, my friends.

John Mark

Four Years Ago Today

2005-05-21T11:28:00.000-05:00

May 21, 2001 is the day Joshua Mark Hicks "went home." The quotations marks have significant meaning because I don't think Joshua went home. Home is with me; home is in this creation. God created this world as our home and death is an alien invader that disrupts the shalom of this world. But I do acknowledge "home" in the sense that home is authentically home with God--dwelling with God in his dwelling place; sharing in the perichoresis of the divine fellowship as face-to-face communion. So, Joshua "went home." But he is not fully at home as yet since God's intent has not yet been fully wrought--home is the new heaven and new earth where all the saints share the fellowship of the Triune God and with each other. And I yearn for that home.

Especially today, May 21. Four years ago I watched my son breathe his last breath on my living room floor as he laid there on his pallet. It had been a long ordeal--over ten years of living with his terminal genetic condition. The last six years he was unable to voice whatever his mind may have been thinking. It is painful to hold your son, express your love and not be able to hear him reciprocate that love except by--and it was wonderful to hear--his cooing and smiling.

The last six years he was also in a wheelchair of some kind and basically confined to that chair or bed for the last two years. He withered away in front of our eyes; sixteen years old and 40 pounds when he died.

So, today is a reminder, a remembering and a groaning for the future. My Joshua--the one whom we thought would lead God's people--is "home". He now experiences the meaning of his name as I wait to experience the fullness of that salvation and be at "home" with him.

I have not written much about the death of my son, though I have often spoken of it in churches across the world. But that experience, along with the death of my father and first wife, Sheila, has shaped my theology in significant ways. I breathe eschatology because of those experiences, I suppose.

Indeed, Joshua's death (and subsequent tragic events following his death) shaped the writing of Come to the Table. I wish I had been more explicit about it in the book, and if I were to rewrite it now, I would stress the eschatological dimension much more. The paper I am presently writing, which will be published in a book by IVP, will supplement the book in this key dimension.

You see, every Sunday--and as often as I partake--I experience the table as eschatological presence. The worship is "heaven on earth" (as our Orthodox friends like to say), and the table is a table in the presence of the heavenly realities. Around the table, the Lord Jesus serves me and, most significantly, my son. There--as the eschaton breaks into the present--I experience the joy of being "at home" with my son...and with Dad, and Sheila, and Barry, and.... The table is truly a table of joy.

Tommorrow, the table (surrounded by friends and family) will transform even May 21 into a joy as I experience "home" with my son.

Thanks for listening. Shalom.

Ketcherside on the Lord's Supper

2005-05-20T16:35:00.000-05:00

While doing some reading in Stone-Campbell literature for a paper I'm preparing, I ran into this comment from Carl Ketcherside.

"The Lord's Supper is a feast, not a sacrifice; it is observed at a table, not an altar; it is eaten, not offered up; it is a communion of a congregation of priests, not an oblation of priests for a congregation. Jesus did not tell the apostles when he ordained the feast "I appoint unto you an altar at which you may officiate," but he did say at that time "As my Father hath appointed a kingdom for me, so do I appoint for you that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom" (Luke 22:30). The apostle Paul in connection with the teaching about the Lord's Supper, declares, "You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons" (1 Cor. 10:21). We conclude then that the expression "Do this in remembrance of me" does not refer to official authority to sacrifice at an altar, but to the partaking at a festal board of those emblems of our Lord's sacrifice once for all."

Ketcherside, Royal Priesthood, chapter 14

Sounds something like a major thesis in a book a few years back.

John Franke at the Emergent Conference

2005-05-20T08:03:00.000-05:00

John Franke, theology professor at Biblical Theological Seminary in Hatfield, PA, co-authored Beyond Foundationalism with Stan Grenz. He is a Reformed theologian who seeks to "do theology" as a postfoundationalist in a postmodern context. Biblical Theological Seminary is consciously seeking to be a theological institution for the emergent church in a Reformed tradition. All of their faculty were at the Emergent Conference in Nashville. While confessionally I would not go with Reformed theology in its Westminster variety (I am much closer to a classic Arminian in terms of historical categories), I am appreciative of Franke's work.

One of the dimensions that I particularly enjoy about Grenz and Franke is their theological method. The task of theology is not merely to repeat the Bible, but to say what we must say based on the Bible. Theology is an interpretative, reflective discipline which engages in "world construction" based on the "constituting narrative" of Scripture as it interacts with tradition and culture.

What do Christians construct in their theologial thinking? It is not merely the reduplication of biblical practices. Rather, I think Franke is correct to say that the church is called to co-create with God a socially constructed reality that anticipates the eschaton which fulfills the intent of God in creation which is participation in the divine life. Theology serves the church by critically reflecting on the engagement of Scripture, culture and tradition toward that constructive goal. But it is a goal that must be embodied. The communally (church) constructed reality is not theoretical but practical and lived out. The present community envisions, through Scripture, the eschatological reality. We want to live out in the present the reality of the future (eschaton). So, theologically, we seek to envision what the future would look like in the present.

For example, and this is an easy one, the eschatological reality is diverse cultures, languages, tongues gathered around the throne of God in worship. Should not the present community of faith embody the future eschatological reality now?

As we engage this project of theological reflection, we must recognize that we are limited in at least two significant ways. Franke draws on the Fordham philosopher Westphal for this particular approach (see his Overcoming Onto-Theology. First, we are limited by the "hermeneutics of finitude." We are all situated, limited. We are creatures, not the Creator. Our creatureliness means that we have inherent limitations that are inherent in creation itself. This is where I appreciate James Smith's book The Fall of Interpretation where he argues that our finitude is part of the goodness of creation, and it is part of be-ing as humans. This finitude results in a natural plurality and diversity that is good. Indeed, it was the tower of Babel which saw how "unity" reflects human idolatry and becomes the basis for the exercise of dominating power and control. I would argue that this finitude continues into the eschaton and that the journey of eternity is ever new because God is new every morning to us as well journey into the life of God. Metaphorically, we fall into the bottomless well of God as we enter his infinite life. The journey never ends and thus it is exciting, joyous, fruitful.

Second, we are limited by "hermeneutics of suspicion." This is part of our fallenness. Fallen humanity uses "knowledge" for power. The claim to "know" in an absolute way and to know absolutely becomes the basis for the exercise of power and control over against groups that don't "know." When we reflect on our fallenness, we should be suspicious of claims to "know." Yet, we are not left in utter skepticism or relativism because the Spirit of God is at work through Scripture (as well as tradition and culture).

The work of God in the midst of these limitations is to speak. The Spirit speaks through Scripture, through culture, and through tradition. Though fallen, the Spirit can speak through culture because culture can mediate the good creation as well as the fallen creation. There is always the danger that we will accomodate to fallen culture (e.g., theologians under Hitler), but there is also the possibility that God will work through culture as the image of God emergest within culture by the work of the Spirit. The same is true of tradition--which can be fallen or good.

Scripture has the unique position as a "norming norm." It takes a central role in the discernment of the work of God and constructing the social (communal) reality of faith. Scripture, as Spirit-speaking through the instrument of this document, guides this "world-constructing" act of the church. The Spirit appropriates the text in order to speak to the church. And it speaks to the church in its social and contextual location. The church, then, "peforms" the drama (story) of Scripture as it emerges in new contexts, and it uses tradition and culture as part of the interpretative matrix of knowing what it means to "peform" the story of God in the present.

That we "perform" the story (from the script of Scripture) in new contexts means, given the hermeneutics of finitude and suspicion, means we will have a plurality of performances. This plurality is legitimate and valued as long as it remains consistent with the trajectory of the story as given in Scripture and guided by tradition. To this extent, as in creation itself, plurality is expected, and indeed intended. As situated finite humans, no one person nor any one community can fully embody and fully bear witness to God. A pluraity of witnesses are needed.

Given the plurality and the limitations of our human condition, how do we assess "consistency" in relation to our performances? Here Franke follows Newbigin. Monocultural performance is dangerous since it locks us into one way of thinking about the story. We critique ourselves (our own specific community, and we know it better than any other because we are participants within it) when we listen to others tell the story in their context. In other words, cross-cultural interaction is one way of "checking" our performance. We need a global community of faith rather than simply a monocultural community. In cross-cultural dialogue we see ourselves more clearly. The plurality cross-checks each other and holds us accountable to performing the story.

If you have read Beyond Foundationalism most of this should sound familiar. And there is much more to bring into play here in order to fully illuminate the points made above (creation, humanity, missional church, etc.). If you want to pursue this more thoroughly in terms of theological method, you might want to read Franke's new book The Character of Theology published by Baker (due out shortly).

Classes, Classes, and more Classes

2005-05-19T12:50:00.000-05:00

I appreciate Ken's comment on my previous post. I will post as often as I can and when I have something of weight to say. Of course, what is "weighty" for one person is "shallow" to another.

I hope to post some reflections on the "Critical Concern" course I took with John Franke at the Emergent Conference here in Nashville. It was a wonderful dialogue--particularly since there were only five attendees at this session which gave us an opportunity to think together in significant ways. I will cut out some time to post on that tomorrow.

Today, however, I am catching up on some classes. This summer I am teaching three graduate courses this summer. This will be the first time that I have taught Systematic Theology as an online class. But I enjoy the dialogue of the online environment where everyone gets to speak more often and more fully than in a classroom context. I am also teaching Postmodern Theologies for Lipscomb University as well. This is the first time I have taught this course, and it is consuming lots of time with reading in the postmodern literature more fully than I ever have before. I find it fascinating, illuminating and stretching. I am also teaching one class for Harding Graduate School of Religion which meets in early June. I have taught Providence and Suffering several times. It is always stimulating both intellectually and existentially, but it is also gut-wrenching as we relive stories, think theologically about them, and seek ways to "weep with those who weep" but weep with hope.

So much of my time is consumed with these three topics, but they are also interconnected. I want to think theologically in a postmodern context, particularly as people encounter evil, injustice and tragic suffering in their journey of faith. So the three classes form a kind of unit for me and I fully anticipate learning, growing and being enriched by my journey through these topics with students/friends.

Rubel Shelly and I have taught the last few Wednesdays together on the topic of "perfected through suffering." When I have opportunity, I will post something about what our discussion has been like.

Shalom

John Mark

Emergent Conference

2005-05-16T14:21:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow and the next day I will attend a "critical concern" pre-session of the Emergent Conference here in Nashville. I chose the one led by Stan Grenz, but due to his untimely death, John Franke will lead the discussion.

Grenz's death was a blow to postevangelicalism and the future of postmodern theology in an Evangelical mode. I have learned from Grenz since the late 1980s when I began to read his material, including his dissertation on the Puritan Isaac Backus. We will miss his insight. While, of course, not in agreement with everything Grenz wrote (who would agree with everything anyone wrote?), his theological leadership over the past ten years has been quite fruitful in my own life and thinking. I will continue to use his work in my theology classes for many years to come.

Nevertheless, John Franke is an equally gifted theologian and I look forward to spending time with him. He writes in the vein of a "postmodern Reformed" which runs parallel with my own training (though not necessarily my own particular theology). Consequently, much of his language, concerns, and interests are mine. It should be an interesting eight hours with him tomorrow and the next day.

I also spent this morning and early afternoon with a good group of ministers in Churches of Christ in the Nashville area. While probably most would see them as "moderate to conservative" (and perhaps see themselves that way), I enjoyed our time together. Their heart for Jesus, their concern for their people and their love for each other was evident. I thank God for these devoted ministers. May God bless their ministries.

Shalom, my friends

One of My Favorite Texts: Isaiah 25

2005-05-15T17:40:00.000-05:00

I had the joy of sharing one of my favorite texts with the Wisdom class at Woodmont Hills this morning. I love Isaiah 25. It excites me everytime I read it...and for several reasons.

While Isaiah 13-24 rehearses God's "woes" toward all nations due to their arrogance, injustice and evil, Isaiah 25 (actually beginning with the last verse of Isaiah 24) envisions the reign of God that (1) provides shelter for the poor and needy and (2) trumps death for all peoples and all nations. Mt. Zion, the center of God's reign in the earth, will be the place of a great feast. God will feed the poor and needy, establish justice upon the earth, and destroy death.

NT writers read this text eschatologically. They take us to the future where death will be swallowed up (1 Corinthians 15) and every tear will be wiped away (Revelation 7, 21). It is the Messianic banquet fully realized though we participate in it every time Jesus breaks bread with us at his table (Luke 13:28-30; 22:16, 18, 28-30).

So, the text does two things for me in the present, at least two things. It fills me with eschatological hope--but also eschatological presence. The eschaton is present now. We eat at a table with Jesus, the risen one. His presence brings the future into the present. I imagine (and it is a spiritual reality rather than pure imagination) sitting at the table not only with Jesus, but with Sheila, Joshua, Dad among others. The table is a present eschatological experience. The table is existential--now...the past and the future united and transformed with a vision of the fullness of God's kingdom.

But the text does more as well. It calls me to more. The table and the divine act that enables the table are oriented toward the poor and needy. The table is about justice, about social justice. The table is for the poor and needy, and it is God's act of kingdom righteousness that a table is spread for them. To sit at this table is to commit oneself to that kingdom justice. We cannot sit at the table of the Lord and exclude or excuse ourselves from the poor, needy and injustice of the world. The table is not a place where we hide from the world's evil and injustice, but where we practice justice and call each other to kingdom righteousness.

God spreads a table for the poor and needy. He uproots the rich and powerful. Which does our church table look like? Is our table one of wealth and priviledge, of power and nationalism? Is our table where we insolate ourselves from the poor and needy as we pretend there is no injustice in the land? If so, it is not the table of the Lord, and we are no better situated than the Corinthians whose own culture cloaked their table.

Isaiah 25 is a word of hope. It is a word that names the death of death. But it is also a word that calls us to justice for the poor and needy. At the table we celebrate the death of death but we also seek the kingdom of God and his justice.

Further Perspectives on "A Christian Affirmation"

2005-05-14T11:15:00.000-05:00

Permit me a few more perspectives on the "Affirmation"and then I will let it go unless asked to comment further.....

I may be politically naive -- and there may good reason to think that of me -- but I did not see affirming the statement as somehow a negative statement about the 2006 healing initiatives with the Christian Church/Churches of Christ. It is rather discouraging to me to hear it set in that framework or read in that way. I am a supporter of the initiatives, and have a long history of support. I offer the following list, not to display my ego, but to signal that I pursue such initiatives in both word and deed.

a. I have long participated in the Stone-Campbell session of the Evangelical Theological Society along with my Christian Church brothers, and this fall will present a paper on the theology of the Lord's Supper.

b. I have published with College Press (e.g., Yet Will I Trust Him), and have written the commentary on Chronicles in the College Press Commentary Series.

c. I have participated in unity meetings from the Restoration Forums to local gatherings of ministers across the country. Indeed, this summer I will speak at some unity fellowship gatherings in Hawaii (I know, its a tough gig, but for the sake of unity...).

d. I support STADIA's efforts to plant churches across the country, have participated in some of their seminars, and help recruit church planters for them.

e. I have spoken and will speak in 2006 at the North American Convention.

f. I am on the editorial board of the Stone-Campbell Journal.

I don't think to affirm some ancient practices as viable ways to the future is necessarily antagonistic to those efforts of healing. The context of the affirmation was "The Christian Chronicle" not the "Christian Standard", that is, directed at Churches of Christ, not Baptists, Christian Church, etc. I signed it as an affirmation of our historic practices without seeking to deny or discourage more basic fellowship among Christians.

A cappella music, of course, is the weakest part of the document, and it should not (and cannot) stand on the same explicit theological grounds that baptism and the Lord's Supper do. I wish the document were more explicit about that, but again the context of the document is historic practices among Churches of Christ. And as our historic practices go, a cappella is one of them. I think most, if not all, the signers recognize this. Whether you agree with Jeff Peterson's theological/biblical rationale or not for a cappella music, you cannot miss that he does not put that rationale on the same level as other theological concerns. I wish, however, that had been clear in the Affirmation itself.

I am appreciative of Leroy Garrett's critique of the Affirmation. I am appreciative of his years of ministry and service to Churches of Christ for the cause of unity. But I think he misreads the Affirmation as drawing lines of fellowship rather than an affirmation of historic practices that are part of the dialogue toward the visible unity that is already spiritually present in and through Christ. It think he is also a bit too charitable with Campbell, for example. Campbell himself had as a standard of visible fellowship within the body of Christ, that is, his call for faith in one fact, baptism as one act, and the communal fellowship of the church on one day--"one fact, one act, one day". But I agree with Leroy that the confession of the one story of God in Christ and submission to the Lordship of Jesus Christ is the core affirmation of the Christian faith. I don't read the Affirmation as a substitute for that. See also Jeff Peterson's response to Garrett's critique.

I will close with this. I affirm the practices of which the Affirmation speaks. I affirm them as means of grace for the people of God. They are practices which form us spiritually as a community. But I do not affirm them in ways that would hinder discussion or dialogue with people who also seek Jesus through the story we have been given.

Thanks for reading. Shalom,

John Mark

Concerning "A Christian Affirmation"

2005-05-13T13:03:00.000-05:00

"A Christian Affirmation” is an occasional rather than comprehensive statement that affirms some traditional distinctives of Churches of Christ. I wish it contained more –and even more basic – affirmations (theology, Christology, pneumatology, discipleship, eschatology), but its limited scope (at least as I read it) is to affirm some traditional ecclesiological distinctives within the historic tradition of Churches of Christ.

While I do not understand all the possible contexts for the occasion of this document, the occasion I perceived was the potential loss of theological meaning attached to some of the historic practices of baptism, Lord's Supper and a cappella music among Churches of Christ.

If the document is read as giving equal weight to baptism, Lord’s Supper and a cappella music in terms of fellowship or soteriology, I think this would be a misreading of my intent in signing it. It is an understandable reading given that the document does not articulate any such distinctions. But I read the “Affirmation” in terms of our historic tradition rather than a flattening of theological values to the same level. The three are part of our history, but they do not have the same significance or importance theologically.

It concerns me greatly if the document is read as a litmus test of fellowship or if it is read as the “essence” of Christianity. It is neither in my estimation. Rather, it expresses conviction about three ecclesiological practices in terms of their importance to Churches of Christ and their rootage in early Christianity. Immersion for the remission of sins, weekly communion in the Lord’s Supper and a cappella music are historic practices not only of Churches of Christ, but of the ancient church as well.

I signed it because of what it affirms. I did not sign it as a document that sets the parameters of Christian fellowship or to hinder some of the healing initiatives with the Christian Church/Churches of Christ. Nor did I sign it as a document that affirms what is most important within the Christian faith or equalizes what it affirms. I am supportive of the "Affirmation" only to the degree that it encourages our historic practices of immersion as a means of grace, the centrality of weekly table, and the theological meaningfulness of a cappella music.

One further comment in the light of the many bloggers that have commented on the "Affirmation" (see, for example, Jimmy Shaw's blog). On the one hand, I embrace the move toward missional orientation, encourage the deepening of pietistic spiritual formation, move theologically in the circles of postmodern Evangelicalism (Grenz, Olsen, Francke, for example), and appreciate much of the concerns of the Emergent Church movement. On the other hand, I also appreciate the "Ancient-Future" dimension of Webber's work, and I see this statement as moving in that orbit for Churches of Christ. I don't think the statement is necessarily antagonistic to the first, but is expressive of the second. Can a signer live in both worlds? I think so, and I do.

I would see myself as affirming something of what Webber affirms--that is, the way to the Future is through the Ancient. But in affirming the Ancient, it does not discount the Future. Indeed, even the elements affirmed in this statement are affirmed at a basic level that leaves much for the Future to build on. How we experience Lord's Supper, for example, is subject to wide practices--small groups to assemblies, tables to prayer groups, etc. It simply affirms some continuities with the Ancient that are important or significant for the Future--they give connection to the heritage of the faith, and specifically Churches of Christ as well (though I would emphasize Ancient as well as Churches of Christ [who are definitively more modern in their practice of the Ancient faith]).

I believe the Future is open to diverse thinking and practices, but the Future should also convey the Ancient in continuity with the faith of all ages.

I don't think "original design" or "norm" are inconsistent with translating into "modern terms." There can be modern expressions and postmodern (emergent) expressions of "original design" and "norm." I would locate those in theological values more than any kind of "Command, Example, Inference" hermeneutic. But Scripture, nevertheless, functions a as a "norm that norms" (as Grenz and Franke are in the habit of reminding us). This is the "Ancient" dimension that the "Affirmation" affirms and is worth consideration.