What's in a Name?

In exploring the biblical themes of social responsibility, I had next thought to look at the Wisdom literature and prophets, but I want to take a brief pause to consider something that I think is rather significant in the Creation narrative that plays off of the idea of justice. This might be somewhat brief, but I think it's worth the detour because, if I'm right in how I'm reading this, it grounds the idea of injustice in the narrative of the Fall. This isn't news; obviously mistreatment of any kind is a fruit of sin and not of righteousness. But I think there's a subtle hint in the actual narrative itself of what is to come.

If we read through the account in Genesis 2 of Adam naming the animals and, following, the creation of the woman, we get a sense that there is an equality, a sharing, a completion that happens when the woman comes on the scene. We hear the amazement in Adam's voice as he speaks of her as "bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh," the wonder of who God has created to share his life. We hear echoes of chapter 1 when we are told that God created humans in God's image as both male and female, and we get a sense that together they are in the image of God moreso than either on his or her own. To that end, when Adam calls her "woman", there is a sense of honor and beauty and wonder at this one who is like and yet unlike, and amazing for being so.

Names are powerful things. Names mean things - anyone who fails to understand why things like inclusive language are significant probably fails to understand the significance of names. Names are signs of authority; if I can name you, I in some sense have a power over you, a power to grant life or choke it. Anyone who has been on the receiving end of either a powerful blessing of a great name or a terrible burden of a shameful one knows what I mean. I try always to speak to my boys in words that give life, because I never want them to grow up under the pain and shame of an identity crafted out of harsh words. Most times I succeed, and for the times that I fail I pray for God's grace.

Adam, I think, fails miserably in chapter 3. After all of the wretched happenings of the narrative, we get this one small comment that carries tremendous significance - "Adam named his wife Eve, because she would become the mother of all the living." Here, I think, is the first fruit of broken relationship of the Fall. Although Adam has called her "woman" before, now he names her personally, in essence claiming the position of domination that she has been cursed to live under. By naming her, he says in no uncertain terms that he has authority over her. And notice that the name he chooses in this particular context reflects closely what she has been cursed to bear - her name will remind her always of the pain that she must face as a result of their sin.

So what does this have to do with justice? I think that in some sense we see here that the immediate fruit of sin in the context of the narrative is the domination of one person over another. It is a fruit that we carry, each of us, to this day. When we act in ways that proclaim domination, we perpetuate the fruit of the curse. When we act in ways that proclaim submission and service, we proclaim the Kingdom, something that we won't truly begin to see in the biblical narrative until the coming of the second Adam, who breaks the curse and calls us back to full humanity.

One Step

Raining again, he thought absently. He sat by the window and stared out at the monochrome landscape, at the people who drifted idly by on the streets below like absentminded ghosts losing themselves in the mist. Blue smoke from his pipe rose lazily around his head. He liked a pipe for thinking; although he had a reputation (admittedly well-earned) for brazen, impulsive action, he was quite deliberate about thinking. There was a ritual to a pipe that suited him. One doesn't simply light up; there are preparations to be made and not rushed. Packing, tamping, lighting, and smoking all had a rhythm that forced him to slow down. To take care, as I do when I think, he reflected.

This was a day that called for thought. The others sat around singly or in groups of two and three, mostly quiet as well. It seemed hard to believe that only a week ago they had arrived in town, greeted by the throng waving signs and placards calling for upheaval and revolution. He chuckled in spite of himself - they had been expected to arrive in a motorcade suitable for a visiting head of state. Instead, the sight of a line of Harleys riding up the interstate must have taken not a few by surprise. He did like to shake things up, keep 'em guessing. Power brokers do not ride Harleys, apparently.

Things changed rapidly, however. Is there anyone he hadn't pissed off before he was done? The midnight arrest, the sham trial, the hasty execution, and the public's support for it all - It's amazing what can be done in the name of "national security," he thought bitterly. The rest, of course, had scattered. He had paced the halls of the courthouse until a reporter cornered him, hoping to get an "exclusive". She certainly got that, and more. I haven't used language like that in years. At least I'm not likely to be quoted. He pushed the thoughts away before they could overwhelm him with disgrace and shame.

And then...things started to get interesting. The body had somehow gone missing, and word somehow got out. Two of their number had a bizarre encounter with a familiar stranger, and returned bearing impossible news. And then, as they met together last evening, something more strange and wondrous by far had happened. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I'd say we were all crazy. Somehow, in the middle of dinner, He had appeared in this very room, talked with them and ate with them, and then, just as suddenly, He was gone. The stories were true, and I still can't get my head around it. This changes everything.

They had talked far into the night, wondering what came next. They hadn't actually come to many conclusions; He hadn't been all that specific. One thing at least they needed to do - He had promised to meet them in a few days' time back home. Perhaps they would have some answers then.

James' voice broke the silence. "You know, maybe we should try to get in with the Sadducees..." The thought hung there in the silence, until someone started to chuckle. Then, as though a dam had burst, laughter came pouring out of them, joy and mirth that they hadn't felt in what seemed like ages. Peter joined in, his low chuckle mingling with the others' in a wholesome, cleansing way. No, that won't do at all, he thought wryly. But at least we know the next step. One step is not a journey, but it is a beginning...

EDIT: Credit where credit is due, and a nod to Jeff for the image of Jesus on a Harley.

Social Responsibility in the Torah

It seems to me that the most logical place to begin to think through a biblical approach to justice and mercy would be at the beginning, so that is where we shall take our first step - specifically by looking at how these themes come to life in the Torah. I think often we who approach the Hebrew scriptures from a Christian perspective fail to grasp how truly revolutionary the Torah actually was. We find it difficult to read Leviticus sans Romans or Deuteronomy outside of Galatians and so tend to dismiss it as a burden, as bondage, as something that had to be for a little while so that we could truly appreciate our sinfulness and the freedom that Christ brings. I would argue though that Paul, as well as Jesus, had a profound respect for the Torah that we miss to our detriment. The Torah is where we first begin to see something of God's revelation and so something of His character, and for this reason we would do well to listen closely to what it may have to say.

What made the Torah such a remarkable text was not simply that it created a means whereby God might dwell among people without incinerating them, although that is certainly an upside to the whole affair. In order to appreciate what is happening here we must absolutely keep in the back of our minds that this was primarily an instruction manual for a community, not for individuals. It defined how society was to work and how individuals within that society were to relate to each other. With this perspective, then, we begin to see something different than perhaps we otherwise would find. "An eye for an eye," for example, is not a vengeful declaration as it might be read today. Rather, it is a boundary that says, "This far and no more!" Revenge is tempered by justice, held in check to prevent hostility and escalation.

Once we find this perspective, it immediately becomes apparent that something quite remarkable is taking place. The pages of the Torah are filled, absolutely filled, with God's concern for the alien, the fatherless, and the widow. The Torah places a communal responsibility on the people of Israel to see that the alien, the fatherless, and the widow receive provision and protection. The boundaries are set in place for those of privilege to say, "This far and no more!" in their dealings with those on the margins of Israelite society. In fact, Deuteronomy goes so far as to call curses on those who withhold justice from these people. More than that, the Torah places specific responsibility on the community to care for those who are unable to provide for themselves - among God's people, none are to be left behind or forgotten (to borrow from Lilo and Stitch).

Perhaps what should catch our attention most as it relates to the question of where our responsibility as Christians lies should be specifically the instructions on care for the alien, the foreigner who has chosen the land of Israel as his or her home. For those of us who are accustomed to living in a society that guards private property rights, it is incredibly difficult to make the transition to the Torah mindset. One's identity and standing in Hebrew culture were closely tied to the land itself. We'll look at this in more detail in my next post, but for now recognize that the other two groups mentioned were those most likely to lose possession of the land their family possessed. The alien, however, was in the position of having no land allotment - even land that might come into his or her possession was to revert back to the original family during the celebration of Jubilee. So the alien was truly a transient person in some sense of the word, having no place of permanence in the grand scheme of society as instructed by God.

This, then, should cause our ears to perk up a bit when we read of God's instructions for care of the alien. The foreigner was to have much of the same rights as the Hebrew - even though he or she had no inheritance. And why did God give these instructions? It was because of the Israelites' former status as aliens and strangers in the land of Egypt! They were to take care of the foreigner because God remembered them when they were in captivity in a hostile land. God specifically draws the boundaries for justice and mercy wide, encompassing even those who were outside of the people of Israel. And for those of us who are also known as aliens and strangers, how much more should we draw the boundaries wide, as we were once captives ourselves.

Some Initial Thoughts

Before I begin my thoughts on the topic of biblical justice, I wanted to put a few things on the table. First, let me be quite clear about one thing - I am not a student of biblical languages. I have a passing familiarity with Greek, enough to find my way around a dictionary and figure out which words are the verbs and which are the nouns and so forth. With Hebrew, well, I know that it reads right to left and that there are no vowels, which is rather unhelpful for where I want to go. So here is the limitation that I want to be honest about at the outset - I am going to be reading as a reader of modern English, looking more for themes and movements than trying to convey deep linguistic insights from the original languages.

The second thought that I've had as I began to read through some things tonight is that justice is a loaded word that means different things to different people. To be honest, I'm really thinking of several different things that to my mind typically get lumped together into one category that represents (for my purposes) a Christian response to marginalized persons. By this, I mean in particular how do we treat those who have been discarded by society, who have been deemed disposable in our recycled world? This too is difficult to think through, not least in part because I am a young white male trying to understand in some sense a world that I have never personally experienced. I live in a sanitized world of suburban residences and shopping centers. To talk this way feels dishonest somehow, as though I were running for office. But I think that specifically because I have the modest suburban lifestyle that I have, I also have a responsibility to think honestly and biblically about what that means for me as a person of relative privilege in a broken world.

Thus far, two things seem to be unfolding as I read, two themes that come together into a God-shaped response to the issues that I mentioned. One is what I would typically think of as justice in a technical sense - we collectively have a responsibility to make sure that those with wealth, power, and position do not unfairly manipulate those who do not. The other is what I would term mercy - we also collectively have a responsibility to make sure that those who are in need have those needs addressed. It seems to me that as we watch these themes mingle and unfold in the biblical accounts that we learn something true and beautiful about God and about us - but I am getting ahead of myself.

Reflections on Justice

We've been having some interesting conversations about biblical authority over at Bill's site. Bill is reflecting on an article by N.T. Wright that Mike recommended here sometime last week. An excellent read, I must say - thanks to Mike for pointing it out.

One thing that somehow came up in the discussion was the issue of social justice and whether we as Christians are required to seek and practice it outside of the Church (big "C"). To a lot of folks, this would seem to be a no-brainer, but I want to be fair to the topic and to the commenter who asked for specific biblical passages related to social justice. I can't in good conscience just dismiss the statement, because then I would be guilty of the sort of theological obstructionism that comes of assuming one's viewpoint to be that of scripture, which reduces conversation to competing claims of what is obvious, self-apparent, and just plain right. So my plans are, for the next few posts, to walk through what I see to be a very prominent plot thread, so to speak, in the tapestry of the biblical narrative on the subjects of justice, mercy, and love. I'm going to try to assume nothing, but recognizing that such an assumption of neutrality is doomed nearly from the start, please offer your critiques of my thoughts where they go astray. Hopefully this will be more than a theoretical exercise and we will find ourselves challenged by the radical love of God for a fallen humanity.

Mark 6:14-29

Read It

By the time I realized I hadn't posted a reflection on Mark last week, it was Thursday. Oops - so much for Mondays. At any rate, I'm actually glad it worked out this way - I was struggling with this passage anyway, and now that I think I have a sense of what's going on here, it seems to be a perfect reflection for the week in which we will celebrate the death and resurrection of Christ.

Mark is not what I would consider a frivolous writer. His gospel is the most concise, and he is often a bit skimpy with the details. He likes action and does not appear to have any real sense that he cares about time - everything is sequential and immediate, giving the reader the feeling of being on a roller coaster if he or she reads large enough. Having said that, this particular narrative relating the death of John the Baptist is odd, quite odd indeed. Mark breaks the flow of his narrative for the first time here, shifting from Jesus to John and jumping out of sequence. It's almost jarring if you're paying attention to what he's doing - it's as if he wants to bring you up short, to startle you and make you ask what he's thinking, writing like this.

The subject, of course, is John, and specifically his awful death at the hands of Herod by the manipulations of Herod's wife/sister-in-law. No doubt this incident was on Jesus' mind as he ministered in Herod's territory - John was his cousin, and the details of his demise were apparently at least public enough for his disciples to have claimed his body for burial. More significant, perhaps, was the fact that some of the people began to say that Jesus was actually John raised from the dead. Herod, it seems, believed at least enough in the possibility to get a bit worried; after all, John probably wasn't too pleased with the hospitality he had received during his last stay.

Make no mistake, however. This interlude serves one purpose in Mark. It hints at an answer to the implied question of the narrative; namely, who is this man Jesus? Is he John, returned from the dead? Is he Elijah, or another prophet? The answer, of course, to all of these is no. But Mark causes us to stop short and recognize that, although he is not John, he will share John's fate - execution at the hands of corrupt political and religious leaders. We already know from chapter 3 that the Herodians planned to kill Jesus. Now we see that Herod himself has already killed John, and the comparisons to Jesus couldn't be more obvious.

So why here, why now? Why would Mark make such an unusual break in the narrative simply to remind his readers of what is coming? I think that there is no coincidence that this passage comes immediately after the sending of the disciples and immediately before the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus' public ministry couldn't be going any better. He is enjoying a wave of popularity, performing amazing signs and wonders, and his followers appear to be starting to understand. But Mark reminds us here, forcefully, that nobody really understands. The path of Jesus will follow John's footsteps, and he will suffer death at the hands of the government. The dogs are barking up the wrong tree. The Messianic secret is still safe.

Linky Goodness

Normally I don't do this, but I've read some excellent bits this week:

A fellow student at Biblical writing on the Kingdom
Chris - Struggling and Surrendering
Stephanie - Make Me A Prayer - Invite Me to Dance
Jeff - As Vast As He Is
Bill - several posts on biblical authority - some fun discussion on these
A youth pastor who gave his team a sabbath for the month of May

To Take Up the Cross

Ok, I've decided the question I posed (previous entry) is less obvious than I thought it was, but that's because I framed it wrong. (That's why I don't typically post half-baked ideas - they only make sense in my head.) Here is the genesis for my thought: theology that emphasizes God's sovereignty to the exclusion of His love inevitably degenerates into legitimization for control, powermongering, and corruption. On the other hand, theology that emphasizes His love to the exclusion of His sovereignty likewise inevitably degenerates into therapy and tacky greeting cards. And nobody wants tacky greeting cards.

So what does the cross represent then but a challenge to both positions? Theology that legitimizes control and abusive leadership must confront the reality that Christ made himself nothing and became subject to death for the purpose of accomplishing the redemption of His enemies. On the other hand, theology that is nothing but therapeutic feel-goodism must confront the reality that the very creator and sustainer of life itself came under judgment and died because that was what was required to put things to rights. And so there is tension that cannot, and should not, be resolved - the tension is actually mutually corrective.

But to take this a step further, I'm going to agree with Yoder that the cross is not simply a metaphysical transaction but it is also a social reality. As Yoder rightly points out, although we like to think of imitation of Christ as a biblical concept, it is always discussed in relation to the cross. To imitate Christ is to take up one's cross. And here is where I think the common formulations of atonement theory, specifically penal substitution, falls short - it carries no social implications and as such cannot be imitated. (Somewhere, D.A. Carson's eye just started twitching.) Now, before the evangelical swat team busts through my front window, I am not denying that there are forensic dimensions to the cross. For what it's worth, I think the penal substitution model makes a lot of sense when looking at one particular dimension of the atonement, and I'm certainly not saying that it isn't true. But I am saying that it is in no way the whole picture, that to take up one's cross is a social action and that in some real sense Christ challenged the powers by demonstrating love through self-sacrifice.

So how does this apparent rabbit-trail connect with my earlier thoughts? Imitating Christ by taking up the cross is an act of love, not of judgment. If we as the body of Christ sit in judgment on the world, we are not imitating Christ. So while there is tension between sovereignty and love on the cross, the tension exists because God stands as both judge and judged. For us, there is no tension in practice if we seek to imitate Christ.

The Paradoxical Cross?

I had a thought that struck me as odd, and I need to ponder some more. But I wanted to throw this out and see if anyone has any thoughts on it as well. I'm thinking on the tension between power and love, or as it relates specifically to theology, between sovereignty and love (speaking of course of God). So here is my thought - and maybe this will be just a statement of the obvious - but it's something I'm at least going to think through.

I'm thinking that the cross on some level represents the tension between sovereignty and love that by its very nature is paradoxical. Consequently we must absolutely maintain that tension in our theology, or we misunderstand and misrepresent the significance of the cross.

I'll unpack that some more in a day or two - and, as I said, it may just be a grand statement of the obvious.

Speaking the Story

It's not news that the emerging church conversation/movement/community has recently become the focus of some more critical attacks by more of the heavy hitters, so to speak, particularly of the evangelical wing of the church. This is particularly on my mind as I read through tonight some material on a site that Will Samson mentioned early last week. (If you want to know the site, read through Will's recent posts - personally, I'd rather not subject anyone kind enough to read my writing to the disheartening rhetoric that I just read. Your stomach may be stronger than mine.) However, in the interests of being constructive, I'm not really interested in responding in kind - it accomplishes nothing but digging the trenches deeper, and it certainly does not reflect what I believe to be the attitude of Christ (speaking strictly personally, not as a backhanded attack on the author).

I do, however, think that there are some things that we who are involved in the emerging church conversation can do to improve our credibility. I'm speaking from the perspective of someone on the fringes of the conversation, a blog's length away from being a spectator. One in particular is on my mind tonight, having just read Newbigin's Truth to Tell: The Gospel as Public Truth over lunch one day this week. Newbigin, borrowing both from Polanyi (who I respect) and Lindbeck (who's on my short list of folks to read), says this:

Before you can use a language in such a way that you are not thinking about the words but about the meaning you want to convey, you first have to learn the language. You have to attend focally to the words before you can get to the point at which you focus on the meaning and only attend in a subsidiary way to the words. You turn from the words to the meaning. I am suggesting therefore (and I think this is in line with what George Lindbeck has suggested) that our use of the Bible is analogous to our use of language. We indwell it rather than looking at it from outside.

How well do we indwell the Scriptures? I think that, no matter your view of Scripture, we should at least be able to agree that the Scriptures are absolutely vital to Christian faith and practice. By this, I am not advocating some naive bibliolatry that is common in some fundamentalist circles. Rather, I am suggesting that, unless we embrace Scripture as our story, our defining, norming, meaning-creating Story, we are sunk, and most probably will become worthy of many of the critiques that have been and will be leveled at us. To the credit of most of the people that I read or speak with, I think that this isn't truly an issue. Most emerging church folks with whom I've had contact have a high regard for the Bible - high enough, in fact, to object to what modernist approaches have done to it. But do we indwell it well enough to speak the language? Can we tell the story well enough to show that we aren't simply making things up, but that our convictions are rooted in serious thought into what our story says and means? I do get concerned in this regard, because frankly I see little interaction with Scripture on many sites and in many books and articles that I read - not all, thankfully, but enough. Let's do justice to the Story. In so doing, we will no doubt receive even more critiques - but perhaps we will at least be speaking the same language.

Alternative Discipline

My wife and I have been experimenting with alternative forms of discipline, hoping to find something that works with our kids. We've found one in particular that seems to work, and I thought I'd share. It's better shown than described - see it here.

The book will be out soon. You heard it here first.

Stan Grenz, 1950 - 2005

As has been widely reported already, Stan Grenz has passed away. This is a tremendous loss, first and foremost for his family and friends, but also for the body of Christ. I know that I am not alone when I say that his writings have been influential for me as I learn to navigate the new theological waters in which we find ourselves. My first serious exposure to his writing was A Primer on Postmodernism, which started me on a new theological path. Beyond Foundationalism, which he coauthored with John Franke, was also profoundly influential for me. It was this book that caused me to change seminaries to attend Biblical and begin my MDiv studies. At the time, I was midway through an MTS program at another seminary and lost most of the credits in the transfer, but it was well worth it.

Dr. Grenz, you will be missed.

Mark 6:1-13 Redux

Read It

I try to pay attention when Jesus is surprised. Things that amaze the Son of God seem to me to be things of substance. This passage relates something of a tragic amazement - Jesus is surprised by the inability of those in his hometown to recognize him as Messiah. His childhood friends and neighbors were so conditioned by their casual familiarity with the boy next door that they were unable to summon any wonder, any amazement of their own.

Contrast this with the truly amazing things that happen when Jesus' disciples are sent to carry the message of the Kingdom. The faithlessness of Jesus' hometown is replaced by the wonder of the Kingdom breaking into the present. Still, there is the warning that not every town will be hospitable to the disciples - if they are not welcomed, they are to go on their way, just as Jesus was forced to do.

I wonder what it would have looked like the next day in Nazareth. Perhaps there would have been a few more interesting conversations around the well, or some extra glances thrown at Mary and her family. Otherwise, it would have been business as usual. No change, no disruption, no wonder or amazement except for the amazement of a prophet whose words went unheeded and whose deeds were unwelcomed. However, in those towns where his followers were welcomed - rejoicing.

In which town do you live?

The Governor

It's too damn early for this, he thought.

He stared across the desk at the man sitting calmly before him, much too calm for someone who most probably would not wake to another dawn. It was unnerving - the man's steady gaze left him feeling as though he were the one on trial. Most men who sat in that seat were either haughty and belligerent or terrified and incoherent. They all smelled the same, though - the rank mix of fear and sweat and urine that told the truth. Not this one. This one was different. This one simply sat and waited, fixing him with that measuring gaze.

This is ridiculous. I need a smoke.

Lighting a cigarette, he took a drag and held it for a long moment, collecting his thoughts. "You know what you have been charged with," he said to the man.

"I know what has been said about me," the man replied. "What do you think is true?"

He could see why the theocrats hated this man. He didn't act like an insurgent, like a criminal one step away from the gallows. He was too self-assured.This one could be dangerous, he thought. Out loud, he said, "I could care less about your miserable religious squabbles. What have you done?"

"I have not come to fight, if that is what you are implying," the man said flatly. "My authority...is from another place."

Fantastic. One of the religious ones. "So, you do not deny that this...movement...belongs to you?"

"It does," the man replied, "as do all who belong to the truth. I am here to speak truth."

This keeps getting worse. He stood to his feet and started for the door. Almost as an afterthought, he paused. He stared at his cigarette for a moment before dropping it to the floor. "What is truth?" he growled, grinding the smoldering butt into the tile with his heel before walking out.

As the door closed behind him, he thought he heard a response come from the man. This time, however, the man's voice sounded different, almost...regretful?

"I am," the man said softly.