Two Jesus Poems

Sea of Galilee (Lake Gennesaret)

I haven't posted poetry in a long time (largely because I haven't written any in a long time), but I stumbled on these two poems that I wrote as a creative project for my ethics class a while back and thought I'd share them. They're not my finest work by any means, but even the modest audience of this blog is better than my words just sitting idly in a folder on my computer desktop. I hope you enjoy.

The Sermon on the Plain: A Prologue

He took them to a rocky level place

overlooking the waters,

where no heads could be seen above the rest.

And there was total silence, but for the wind.

Floating chaff from nearby wheat fields

stung his narrowed eyes

and dusted his untrimmed hair.

A gnat landed indiscriminately in his beard;

he brushed it away and gently

scratched the itch it left behind.

A heavy breath, a careful consideration

of his words, and his shoulders

unexpectedly crumpled under the weight

of Jeremiah, of Isaiah,

of Micah and Amos.

Buckling under the shadows

of those prophets who boiled

for justice and mercy—

each prophet a stone, cut and heaved 

at the clay feet of inestimable Caesars,

the moral arc of the universe trembling

ever so slightly

to accommodate each muckraker

at their own risk—

he sat beneath a lone olive tree,

crossed his legs, and sighed again.

Here were the fishers,

the tinkers, the tenant farmers.,

the relegated women and neglected children.

What had they to do with emperors

and reigns of kings?

What had they to do with anything

but the passing of seasons

and the harrowing

of the fields and lake

for food?

For years, the Galileans swallowed

stones for bread and snakes for fish—

where was their remittance of debt,

the promised justice

bubbling up like the springs rolling

down from grey-haired Mount Hermon?

At first, the disciples sat stiff

like weathered fence posts

sunk firm in the rocky ground,

their heads as dense as stones,

but slowly—like spring

lilies opening before the sun,

or a beggar smoothing his muddy

woven grass mat over a dirt doorstep—

their hearts unrolled

and their ears opened.

And Jesus—that filthy

humble peasant rabbi,

ethicist of ethicists,

yoke-bearer of Empire,

melter of swellheadedness

and multiplier of loaves—

opened his mouth,

raised his hands;

and with the selfsame thoughtfulness

by which he navigated

“Unto Caesar” and “Unto God,”

and with all the prophetic agitation

of waves eternally splintering against

inlets of the Gennesaret,

he began to speak:

The Sermon on the Plain: A Teaching

“You are the poor—

and how privileged you are

in your poverty!

God provides for you

like the lilies and the crows;

even the clothing of kings

and the wheat-barns of the wealthy

do not share your radiance

before God.

For those among you who are humble:

How privileged you are

in your meekness!

The fullness of creation,

the passing skies and the fertile earth

bursting with the vibrant Reign of God,

will belong to you someday.

For those among you who mourn:

Cheer up! There is no room

for tears in the coming Reign;

the toppling mountains will fill

the valleys, loss and lack

and grief and hopelessness

pass, and all

will be restored.

For those among you who are starving:

How privileged you are

in your hunger!

Remember those who yearn

after righteousness, and don’t be afraid!

Like the ravens, my friends will bring

you bread for your bellies

and justice for your hearts. And you,

likewise, must feed others in your abundance.

All will even out in the end.

For those among you who are merciful

and those of you who make peace:

How privileged you are

in your compassion!

Forgetfulness of self

and the will to sacrifice safety

for the realm to come;

This is the very face of God!

But how terrible it will be

for you who hates

your brother! Children

of Cain! Thorns

in an unplowed field!

Hatred is but violence of the heart;

Whoever despises the image of God

is guilty of brutality!

How terrible it will be

for the violent!

Hatred with skin on!

If you are struck

by hand, steel, or stone,

Do not resist, but forgive!

No weapon cuts

like a pardoned wrong.

There is no room

in the place where I will show you

for implements of warfare.

How terrible it will be

for the tightfisted!

They will shrivel

before the coming

Reign of God

like mosquitoes

before the first frost,

like wet wool

under the heat of the sun.

There is no room

in the place where I will show you

for the self-concerned.

Give to everyone that asks;

what value does your money have to you

except to weigh your pocket down?

But the generous are honored by God,

and the just

and those who make themselves last.”

And with that

he stood in renewed verve and took

aim at the Jerusalem Temple,

a hundred miles south.

And as the sun collapsed over the lake

like a grain cart with a broken wheel,

the beloved peasants pursued him in earnest.

Book Suggestions on the Historicity of the Ascension?

Over the last year I've spent a lot of time and energy reading books and articles on the "historicity" of the resurrection of Jesus, and it's been a largely positive experience—I am slightly less certain than I was before that the resurrection never actually occurred as a historical event.

However, something that has continued to be problematic for me, particularly when it comes to historical studies, is how the resurrection and ascension are often sort of lumped together both historically and literarily. The ascension of Jesus is only mentioned explicitly in Luke/Acts, and implicitly in John (20:17), so it appears that the ascension is part of a much later Jesus tradition. It also relies upon an ancient understanding of the cosmos (i.e. Where did Jesus physically go, anyway? Mars?). My personal belief is that while I can accept the historicity of the resurrection, the ascension is most likely a theological embellishment intended to paint Jesus as greater than Elijah, or—even more probably—to figure out what to do with the character of the resurrected Jesus after he was raised from the dead.

So I'm curious as to whether anyone knows of any good books that argue both sides of the debate on the historicity of the ascension? Do you have any particular thoughts on the ability to accept either the resurrection or the ascension, or both, as historical events? Furthermore, if one argues for the historicity of the ascension of Jesus, are they not then obligated to consider the historicity of the ascension of Elijah in his fiery chariot, or even the historicity of the ascension of the Prophet Muhammad?

What Was Jesus' Social Status?

Chris Keith over at The Jesus Blog questions whether or not Jesus was a "peasant." I've long been interested in this question—even in high school I wondered how a first-century carpenter might also be literate (see Luke 4:16–19, John 7:57–8:11, etc.) in a time when only the wealthiest elites had access to education and literacy. It seems that either Jesus was a tekton ("builder," often translated as "carpenter"), or Jesus was literate, but unlikely—given his historical context—that he was both.

However, I wonder about the possibility (and granted, I have no historical or scriptural evidence for this) that Jesus may have in fact been a relatively comfortable tradesman living on inherited land (see Richard Bauckham's chapter on the family of Jesus in Jesus Among Friends and Enemies), but that he divested himself when he began his public ministry as an attempt to show solidarity with the peasants. This is not an unfamiliar practice among history's most recognizable spiritual giants. For instance, Siddharta Gautama (who later became the Buddha), was said to have been an ivory-tower prince before he escaped the walls of his family's castle and experienced suffering and death in the world around him. Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone (St. Francis), the son of a wealthy textiles merchant in Assisi, Italy, stripped himself naked in the town square in front of the Roman Catholic religious authorities as a display of his identification with the poor. More recently, a young, highly educated lawyer named Mohandas Gandhi gave up his worldly possessions to live in an ashram community with other societal outcasts.

The facts are admittedly much more complicated than the brief thoughts I have presented here, and I'm not saying that Jesus was without a doubt a person of means who eventually rid himself of all possessions to pursue his ministry. But it is curious to consider his emphasis on divestment (see Matt. 19:21 and Luke 18:22; Luke 9:3; Matt. 8:20 and Luke 9:58; etc.), and whether or not this was a direct result of personal experience.

Happy Resurrection Sunday

I hope you all had a meaningful Resurrection Sunday, spending it with your loved ones. After an excellent church service, Alyssa and I returned home and spent the rest of the day watching M*A*S*H, doing homework, and eating veggie soup.

I'm currently leading an adult Sunday school class at my church, Rainbow Mennonite, using Jonathan Pennington's Reading the Gospels Wisely (Baker: 2012) as a textbook. This week, we discussed Chapter 4, "The Joy and Angst of Having Four Gospels," in which Pennington notes the difficulties of having four conflicting accounts of the same historical events. Since the earliest years of the faith, Christians have instinctively attempted to harmonize the differences among the Gospels, leading to some pretty wacky interpretive shenanigans. Appropriately, today we spent a good chunk of our time discussing differences among the varying accounts of the resurrection of Jesus. In Chapter 4, Pennington devotes a bit of space toward discussing what he calls the "Maximalist Harmonization" perspective, which holds that everything in the Gospels happened exactly the way it was reported; the trouble here, Pennington notes, is that it creates a lot of undue stress on the text to be solved into a workable narrative. For instance, what do Maximalist Harmonizers do with the different order of Jesus' temptations in the wilderness in Matthew and Luke? Are we to conclude that Jesus was tempted the same way multiple times in various orders? Probably not.

using Jonathan Pennington's

To illustrate the difficulty with harmonizing narratives, I brought in a copy of the brief Gospel harmony that I wrote using the various resurrection narratives for a class I took on resurrection in the New Testament last fall. The students were given the task of making the details of the resurrection in Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Acts, and 1 Corinthians fit together in a reasonable and discernible way—a more difficult assignment that it appears on the surface. For instance, how many angels are at the tomb, and where are they located? Is the tomb sealed, or is it open when the women arrive? Are there multiple women, or just Mary the Magdalene? Following the resurrection, does Jesus ascend that same day (as in Luke), or does he ascend forty days later (as in Acts)? Depending on which book you read, each of the answers to these questions is different. The professor teaching my resurrection class gave us this assignment not to suggest that harmonization is the best way of interpreting the scriptures, but to illustrate how different the scriptures really are. So you may notice in the narrative below that I had to do some interpretive gymnastics to get everything to "fit" right.

Despite the numerous conflicting details of the resurrection narratives (even the accounts in Luke and Acts disagree with one another, and they're written by the same person!), they all agree on two important parts: 1) The event of the resurrection was discovered by women, who were not considered reliable witnesses at the time; and 2) The tomb is empty.

The Resurrection of Jesus

(a harmony narrative)

Late in the evening, when the Sabbath had ended, the women who had followed Jesus left the disciples and went to the market to purchase spices with which to anoint the Lord for burial. Among them were Mary the Magdalene, Mary (the mother of James), Salome, and Joanna. Early the following morning—the third day after Jesus’s death on the cross—they arose, dressed, and left their homes to prepare the body. They arrived at the tomb just before dawn, as the sun was beginning to rise, bringing with it the light of a new day. As they were nearing the garden, the women began to whisper to each other, “How will we move the heavy stone that seals the tomb?”

Suddenly, the earth trembled, and the massive stone rolled away from the entrance! A blinding light ripped the heavens open, and when the women could see clearly once again they noticed that the tomb was empty, and two men dressed in white were before them. One was seated atop the stone, while the other stood in the entrance of the tomb, not far from where Jesus’s body should have been lying. The guards who had been placed at the entrance shuddered fearfully and collapsed in a dead faint.

“Do not be afraid!” the man seated on the stone outside told the women. “You are searching for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.”

“But why do you seek the living among the dead?” asked the second man from within. “He is not here. See?” He pointed to the place where the body of Jesus was supposed to be. The linen wrappings used to dress the corpse were neatly folded on the stone bench. “He is risen from the dead, just as he told you would happen! Now go and tell Peter and the other disciples what you have seen.” When they had finished saying these things, they vanished as suddenly as they had appeared.

Out of fear, Mary (the mother of James), Salome, and Joanna fled from the tomb, telling no one of what they had seen because they were so terrified. Only Mary the Magdalene remained behind, kneeling by the stone, weeping.

Suddenly, Jesus appeared, standing behind her. “Why are you crying?” he asked. “Because,” she answered him, thinking he was the gardener, “someone has taken the body of my Lord, and I don’t know where they have put him. If you have taken him, please tell me where you have put his body, and I will go and retrieve it.”

Jesus looked at her calmly and uttered her name: “Mary.”

Turning to look at him, Mary suddenly realized who he was, and cried out “Rabboni!” (which means “teacher”).

“Do not hold onto me,” he said, “For I have not yet gone to be with the Father. Instead, go and tell my brothers and sisters that ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’ Go! Run!”

And so Mary the Magdalene ran as fast as she could with a message on her lips: “I have seen the Lord!”

Just then, the guards awoke from their stupor and beheld the dead man, alive again. Frightened beyond measure, they ran into the city and told the religious officials what they had seen. Disturbed by this news, a meeting of the elders was called, and the guards were summoned and given a large bribe. “You must tell no one of what you have seen,” the elders said. “If anyone asks, you must say that the disciples of that Nazarene came in the night and stole his body away. If the governor hears about it, we will corroborate your story.” So this is what they did, and it is a story that many continue to spread to this day.

Meanwhile, as Mary (the mother of James), Salome, and Joanna fearfully made their way down the road, Jesus appeared to them. “Peace be with you!” he said. When they realized that what the men at the tomb had said was indeed true, they fell down at his feet and worshiped him. “Do not be afraid!” he said. “Go and tell my brothers and sisters that you have seen me.” And with that, they joyfully headed by way of the Mount of Olives to Jerusalem, where the rest of the disciples were staying.

When Mary the Magdalene arrived, she could barely contain her excitement. “I have seen the Lord!” she exclaimed. Just then, the rest of the women arrived with the same message. But this news sounded like nonsense to the disciples. However, Peter and another disciple were curious, and jumped up and ran to the tomb to see if what the women had said was true. The other disciple outran Peter and arrived at the tomb first, but did not go inside. Peter, however, ran inside, and they both saw the empty folded linens resting on the spot where Jesus’s body had been laid. Then they both believed, for until then they hadn’t understood that in order to fulfill the Scriptures Jesus had to rise from the dead. After this, they returned home, puzzling over the mystery they had just witnessed.

Later that same day, two of Jesus’s followers were traveling along the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. Jesus joined them and appeared to them as a stranger, and as they discussed the events of the previous week, he began to point to all of the places in Scripture concerning himself—throughout Moses and the prophets. As it was getting late, the travelers invited Jesus to stay the night with them. When they sat down to eat, Jesus broke the bread, and suddenly their eyes were opened and they realized who he was—but he vanished! “Did not our hearts burn within us as he talked with us on the road?” they said, and immediately set out for Jerusalem to tell the other disciples all that they had seen.

That night, the rest of the disciples were meeting behind locked doors for fear of the religious authorities. Suddenly, Jesus appeared among them and said “Peace be with you!” But the disciples were terrified, thinking they were seeing a ghost. Jesus said again, “Peace be with you! Why are you afraid? It’s me! Look at my hands and feet. You can see that I am real, not a ghost; ghosts do not have bodies as I do.” They stood staring at him in joy and wonder, and he asked, “Do you have anything to eat?” So they brought him a broiled fish and watched as he ate. After eating, he told them, “My Father has sent me, and so I am sending you. Receive my spirit.” Saying this, he breathed on them, and added, “If you forgive anyone’s sins, they are forgiven. If you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.” And he left them.

Later, Thomas (called the Twin) joined them. “We have seen the Lord!” the disciples cried. But Thomas did not believe them.

“Unless I touch the nail wounds in his hands and the wound in his side I will not believe it.”

A little over a week later, Jesus appeared again to the disciples. This time, Thomas was with them. “Peace be with you,” he said. Then, turning to Thomas, he said, “Here. Touch my wounds. Don’t be faithless any longer. Believe!”

“My Lord and my God!” Thomas exclaimed.

“You believe because you have seen me, but blessed are those who believe without seeing,” Jesus said.

After spending the night with Peter and the rest of the disciples, Jesus spent the next few weeks in Jerusalem—forty days in all—and was later seen by at least five hundred of his followers at once, followed by James and the rest of the apostles. Afterward, he led them to a hillside outside the city and said to them, “Do not leave Jerusalem until the Father sends you the gift that he promised you. John baptized with water, but in just a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit. And you will be my witnesses, telling everyone about me throughout Jerusalem, Galilee, Samaria, and the ends of the earth, giving them this message: there is forgiveness of sins for all who repent. Now go and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Teach these new disciples to obey all the commands I have given you. And know this: I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” And with that, he blessed them, and as he was blessing them he was taken up into the clouds and disappeared from sight.

As the disciples stood there, straining their necks to see, two men dressed in white appeared behind them. “You Galileans!” they said, “Why are you staring up into heaven? Jesus has been taken up to the Father, and some day he will return to you in the same way you saw him go.” With that, they returned to Jerusalem, and they were continually in the Temple, praising God.

More On the Cross from Moltmann (Hey, Give Me A Break, It's Holy Week)

Ultimately it is not historical criticism which calls unto question every church christology and every humanist Jesuology, but the cross. He who proclaimed that the kingdom was near died abandoned by God. He who anticipated the future of God in miracles and in casting out demons died helpless on the cross. He who revealed the righteousness of God with an authority greater than Moses died according to the provision of the law as a blasphemer. He who spread the love of God in his fellowship with the poor and the sinners met his end between two criminals on the cross. Thus in the end the basic problem and the starting point of christology is the scandal and the folly of the cross. (The Crucified God, pg. 125)

Moltmann on the Difference Between Jesus and Paul

The preaching of Jesus, like that of Paul, is eschatological preaching; in the case of Jesus, the preaching of the kingdom of God; in the case of Paul, of the righteousness of God. The difference between them is not the superficial one of changed ideas, but is determined by their different theological situation. For Paul, that which for Jesus was the future is the present or the future of God inaugurated in the history of Jesus. The differences arose not from the further development of the teaching of Jesus, but from an apprehension of the changed situation of the essential substance itself. Jesus speaks and acts with respect to the dominion of God which is to come and is now coming into being. Paul speaks and acts with regard to the dominion of God which has already been inaugurated in the crucifixion and the resurrection of Jesus, and the righteousness of God which has already been revealed. (The Crucified God, pg. 120)

Djesus Uncrossed

Once in a while SNL features a sketch that is genuinely funny and offers a serious critique of pop culture. Last night's episode included a digital short movie trailer for a Tarantino-esque film entitled Djesus Uncrossed, an obvious parody of the popular film, Django Unchained.

The satirical trailer appears to be a critique of our culture's obsession with overblown violence and gore, but also seems to obliquely accuse Christians of recreating a violent Christ in their own image. No doubt there are many fundamentalists out there for whom "Djesus" fits their idea of what Jesus of Nazareth is like. I have posted the short film below, since I'm a sucker for any reference to Jesus in pop culture.

At least the focus of Jesus's rage is on the Romans, rather than the Jews/Judeans. That's definitely something.

My favorite line: "Critics are calling it, 'A less violent Passion of the Christ.'"

(Warning: Graphic violence and language that some people might find offensive.)

I am typically not a fan of violent films, including the majority of Tarantino's body of work. But what do you think? Is Djesus Uncrossed simply irreverent and offensive, or does it offer a valuable criticism of a culture that has forgotten what it means to follow a nonviolent Christ?

David Smith on Jesus and Nonviolence

Check out this excellent little blog post by David Smith. He summarizes the Gospel narratives with regard to Jesus's response to violence. I'll give you a hint: Jesus chooses non-violence. Every. Single. Time.

David Smith: Violence & My Lord: What Did Jesus Do?

It's a short post. Well worth your time.

"See How He Loved Him!": Lazarus, the Love of God, and the Resurrection of the Dead (Part III)

Below is Part III of my final theology paper for my Resurrection in the New Testament Class, in which I conclude my remarks on the raising of Lazarus and discuss the possibility of the resurrection of Jesus as another act of divine love. Part IV will conclude my paper with a discussion of the eschatological resurrection of the dead. See also Part I and Part II.

Conclusion           

In depicting a Christ who weeps out of love at the death of a friend, yet who also publicly declares, “I am the Resurrection,” the author of the Fourth Gospel establishes an inseparable nexus between the raising of the dead to new life and the sacred bond of divine love—a bond of love so strong that it will ultimately lead to the cross. The return of Lazarus from the grave is a proleptic microcosm that foreshadows the resurrection of Christ and, as we shall see below, the future resurrection of the dead. In other words, “The raising of Lazarus is the Gospel in miniature.”[1] When Jesus later claims that “No one has greater love than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (15:13), the author of the Fourth Gospel completes the relationship between the love that brought Lazarus out of the tomb and the love which motivated Christ to enter it.

The Resurrection of Jesus

There has long been an understanding that the crucifixion of Jesus was an act of divine love—that is, it is commonly accepted that love was the motivator for Christ’s submission to the cross. “Through his death,” claims Jo-Ann Brant, “our relationship with him is not severed but strengthened, because his dying reveals his love for us.”[2] Furthermore, “[The Fourth Gospel] understands Jesus’s death as the consummate expression of divine love, but recognizes that this is only apparent in retrospect, from the vantage point of the resurrection.”[3] It makes little sense, then, to assume that the resurrection and vindication of God’s Messiah would not also be a continuance and intensification of that same love. However, following the death of Jesus, love is seldom mentioned in conjunction with his resurrection. The purpose of this section is to discuss the possibility that in order to fully grasp the theological implications of the empty tomb, one must explore the resurrection of Jesus as another act of love in connection with his death on a cross.

The concept of love in the Fourth Gospel fundamentally involves the act of giving and sacrifice,[4] and this is illustrated quite well in Johannine theology—“For God so loved the kovsmon, he gave his only son…” This giving is further implied in Peter’s “reinstatement” in ch. 21. As Christ submitted himself to death in the cross out of love, so God rewarded Christ with a vindicated, transformed body. Therefore, when Jesus questions Peter on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias, he is also dictating to Peter the mark of true discipleship, that is, love submits itself to and receives its reward from the Source of Love. The cost of the eschatological promise is mutual submission and “feeding lambs” and “tending sheep” here in the present reality.

If we build upon our earlier assumption that the Fourth Gospel has fashioned Lazarus as the Beloved Disciple, it is not difficult to imagine the source of his “seeing and believing” at the empty tomb of Christ; Lazarus would have recognized the signs of one who has been raised from the dead through the power of love—the very love that called Lazarus forth from his own grave in ch. 11.[5] Yet unlike Lazarus, the Jesus that was laid in the tomb is not quite the Jesus that emerges on Easter morning. “In the resurrection God’s love for Jesus transforms him, attaining for Jesus his ultimate good and becoming, by anticipation, the embodiment of God’s new creation.”[6] It is the defining love of God that raises Jesus and transforms him into the living icon of New Creation. As the raising of Lazarus constituted a microcosmic illustration of what divine love envisioned in Christ looks like, so the resurrection of Christ has macrocosmic significance. The divine love illustrated in the body of the risen Lord as he calls Mary the Magdalene by name and as he hails the frustrated disciples from the shore of the lake is the result of the fulfillment of God’s ultimate cosmological plan for the salvation of the universe and the redemption of all things.

We now see that love is the impetus for both the raising of Lazarus and the resurrection of Christ. Yet, unlike Lazarus, Jesus becomes the opportunity through which the resurrection of all believers is made possible—he is, as Paul says, the first-fruits of the dead. “The risen Jesus is the living embodiment, the historical anticipation, of that realization and perfection towards which transformative love moves."[7] The confession of Christ coming in the flesh in 1 John 4:2 refers not only to the initial incarnation of the Logos in the prologue to the Fourth Gospel, but also to the resurrected Christ physically returning from the grave, clothed anew in that which is incorruptible: the transformative love of God.

---

[1] Sandra Schneiders, 52

[2] Jo-Ann A. Brant, “A Sure Thing: Death and Eternal Life in the Gospel of John,” Vision 5, no. 1 (Spring 2004): 62.

[3] Craig R. Koester, 123

[4] Paul S. Naumann, “The Presence of Love in John's Gospel,” Worship 39, no. 6 (June-July 1965): 369.

[5] Floyd V. Filson, 86

[6] Lyle K. Weiss, 200

[7] Ibid, 202

"See How He Loved Him!": Lazarus, the Love of God, and the Resurrection of the Dead (Part I)

Over the next few days I will be posting sections from my final paper for my Resurrection in the New Testament course. Obviously theological writing is not my strong suit, and I would much rather be exploring the social world and the historical background of the New Testament, but I have for the most part enjoyed my time in this class. It has been a time of intense personal spiritual and theological growth, and I am grateful for the experience. Below is Part I, the introduction to my paper, "'See How He Loved Him!': Lazarus, the Love of God, and the Resurrection of the Dead."

I take literally the statement in the Gospel of John that God loves the world…and that, insofar as [the world] is redeemable, it can be redeemed only by love. I believe that divine love…summons the world always toward wholeness, which ultimately is reconciliation and atonement with God.

― Wendell Berry, The Art of the Commonplace

Introduction

The Gospel of John and its related literary counterparts, the Johannine epistles, place high value on the theological dualism which illustrates the triumph of light against darkness, good over evil, and love over hatred. Specifically, the author(s) of these texts contrasts love not only over and against hatred, but even death, which is presumed to be synonymous with hatred (John 12:25; also 1 John 3:15). It is particularly the pitting of love against death with which this present study is concerned. The raising of Lazarus of Bethany by Jesus well illustrates the triumph of love over death, and suggests that in this powerful sign we might catch a glimpse of the future resurrection, when all things are made right.

In this paper I intend to argue, using Johannine theology, that the raising of Lazarus was at its foundation both an act of love and a theological foreshadowing of the resurrection of Christ. With this in mind, it is therefore possible to assume that the resurrection of the dead at the eschaton will likewise be an act of divine love in which God reconciles all things in the New Creation, in which Love comes to dwell and reign on earth, and in which God truly becomes “all in all.”

The Raising of Lazarus

Each of the four canonical Gospels presents its own perspective of the impetus for the crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth. The Lukan narrative depicts those assembled before Pilate as accusing Jesus of inciting political uproar and encouraging tax evasion, while Matthew envisions the charges brought against Jesus involving blasphemy and malice toward the Temple. In the Fourth Gospel, we might comfortably allege that it is the raising of Lazarus of Bethany from the grave that ultimately leads Jesus to Golgotha.[1] Indeed, this whole episode foreshadows the events that unfold early on Easter morning following the crucifixion—it is a literary mechanism that ultimately reveals God’s final plan for human redemption. According to Fred Craddock, “Briefly put, for [Jesus] to call Lazarus out of the tomb is for [Jesus] to enter it.”[2] The answer “Come and see” to Jesus’s inquiry about the location of the corpse is a call to death which beckons Jesus into the tomb.

Theological Questions

It has become widely accepted among scholars and theologians that the raising of Lazarus must be distinguished from the resurrection of Christ by the use of the term “resuscitation” rather than “resurrection.” N.T. Wright clarifies resurrection as “going through death and out the other side,” presumably in opposition to (as in the case of Lazarus) returning from death into this world, where death continues to govern and those resuscitated must die again.[3] No such distinction is made in the Fourth Gospel—the word used to indicate the resurrection of Christ (ajnavstasiV) is used in the same capacity when Jesus claims, “Your brother will rise again,” in 11:23, and again when he announces, “I am the resurrection and the life” in 11:25. However, a thorough study of this distinction is beyond the scope of the present essay. The more urgent theological issues presented by this story involve the nature of death and the power by which death can be reversed. It is thus appropriate when attempting to establish theological correlation between the raising of Lazarus and the resurrection of Jesus to consider how the Fourth Gospel answers the following questions: 1) How does the present Gospel narrative depict the nature of death? 2) How does it suggest death might be overcome? I will examine a few possible answers to these questions in a later post.

---

[1] Basil S. Davis, “The Identity of the Disciple Whom Jesus Loved,” The Expository Times 113, no. 7 (April 2002): 230.

[2] Fred B. Craddock, “Jesus Wept: John 11:32-44,” Journal for Preachers 23, no. 3 (Easter 2000): 37.

[3] N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God (Christian Origins and the Question of God (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2003), 3): 422.

Why You Should Leave Behind Left Behind

If you're going to believe you could be Raptured at any

given moment, it's probably a good idea to keep that

denim skirt at least ankle-length.

When I was a kid, I was crazy about the Left Behind series. By the time I was around 15, I had almost all of the books. We watched the film version of the first book, starring Kirk Cameron, in my youth Sunday school class. It wasn’t until years after being introduced to the books that I began to see the deeply flawed nature of their theology.

Let me be blunt from the beginning of this post: there is no such thing as the Rapture. Nowhere in the New Testament text does it explicitly state that Christians will ever disappear, or suddenly be propelled into "Heaven," leaving the rest of humanity and the earth to go to Hell in a hand-basket. 

The text most commonly utilized as an apologetic for the dubious doctrine of the Rapture is 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18:

But we do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about those who have died, so that you may not grieve, as others do who have no hope. For since we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so, through Jesus, God will bring with him those who have died. For this we declare to you by the word of the Lord, that we who are alive, who are left until the coming of the Lord, will by no means precede those who have died. For the Lord himself, with a cry of command, with the archangel’s call and with the sound of God’s trumpet, will descend from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage one another with these words.

A 19^th-century clergyman named John Nelson Darby is largely responsible for the twisting of this passage to suggest that on the Last Day, Christians will be “caught up” in the air (Latin: rapiemur, the root of the English word “rapture”) and sent to Heaven, leaving this mortal coil behind. His ideas were further interpreted and integrated into the Scofield Bible (1909). The idea of a rapture is only a little more than a century old.

In reality, Paul is referring to the Royal Return of Jesus, or the Parousia (Greek: parousiva). According to scripture, this event immediately precedes the final resurrection of the dead. But a little more insight is necessary to understand why this text-segment has nothing to do with the subject of the Left Behind series. The primary question that any Bible interpreter (pastor, scholar, or layperson) should ask of any given scripture is this: What is the context of this passage?

“We don’t want you to be uninformed concerning those who have died, brothers and sisters,” Paul says. Paul is here addressing concerns from within the Thessalonian community about the return of Christ. By the time Paul was writing to the Church in Thessalonica, the death and resurrection of Jesus was nearly a quarter of a century in the past. People were beginning to die, and communities were beginning to question whether or not their loved ones would be raised from the dead in time to participate in the Royal Return of Christ, which many believed would happen within their own lifetime. In an attempt to calm their fears, Paul is arguing that the dead will indeed be raised at the time of Christ’s return, and that both the living and the dead will be caught up in the air to greet him.

The Greek term parousia (parousiva) literally means “return,” or “visitation.” In the first century, it was often used to describe the royal visits of Caesar. When the emperor would ride into a town, the wealthy and political elites would ride outside the gates of the city to greet him. They would then return in a royal procession into the town square, where the emperor would be presented with lavish gifts worthy of his lordship. The Apostle Paul applies the term to the Return of Christ, and it is this idea that he is getting at when trying to describe the circumstances of what many refer to as the Second Coming. Sure, the living and the dead will be caught up in the air to greet Christ. But the implication (assuming Paul was consistent in his description of the Resurrection on the Last Day) is that when Christ returns, as N.T. Wright says, to “put things to rights,” we will all return to earth to inhabit the New Creation that God has prepared for us.

“Going to Heaven” is not at all a Christian idea. Heaven, in fact, comes to us (as we pray in the Lord’s Prayer). 

Now, one could ponder all day about how exactly this whole business of “getting caught up in the air” is going to happen. However, to give too much authority to a literal interpretation of this text—as George B. Caird says of over-literalized readings of Revelation—is to “unweave the rainbow.”[1] The main point Paul is trying to communicate is quite simply hope. The dead will not be forgotten or abandoned when Christ returns to make all things new, as the Thessalonians feared. In fact, the living and the dead will both share a role in welcoming the Parousia and establishing God’s Reign on Earth for eternity, a reign that leaves no room for death, decay, hatred, or greed.

 

I should make note of the fact that this theological discussion is not a minor one, and the debunking of Rapture theology is extremely important. The most concerning problem of the doctrine is this: dispensationalism and millennialism aren't merely harmful little belief systems that just happen to contradict scripture and the better part of two thousand years of Church doctrine. It is—as my "Resurrection in the New Testament" professor calls it—a "sub-Christian" ideology. And the way these ideas are spoon-fed to our youth is quite dangerous. These beliefs breed assumptions about the inherently evil nature of Creation (which we know from Genesis is untrue; after all, God “saw that it was good”). If we are simply “going to Heaven” and leaving this crazy place behind, there is no need for us to be good stewards of Creation, or even care much for our fellow brothers and sisters who may not share the Judeo-Christian worldview, since it’s all going to burn away, anyway. It becomes a way of avoiding the problems of our time, rather than addressing them, and it takes a dim and shallow view of God’s power to fully redeem the world. It is the ultimate escapist revenge fantasy.  

What do you think? Were you raised to believe in the Rapture? Have you changed your mind since you were younger? Feel free to leave your comments below.

---

[1] George B. Caird, The Revelation of St. John the Divine (London: Black, 1966), pg. 25. Quoted in Anthony C. Thiselton, Life After Death: A New Approach to the Last Things (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012), pg. 109.

Christian Against Universal Healthcare? No Such Thing.

For a much more eloquent and well-researched article on this subject, please see this recent article posted by my friend and New Testament professor, Dr. David May.

*****

"What Would Jesus Do?" is probably the most useful phrase to come out of the contemporary Christian movement of the last several decades. Since first appearing among Christian youth groups in the early 1990s, WWJD? has become almost as ubiquitous as "John 3:16," showing up on billboards, church signs, and the shirtless chests of body-painted, rainbow-wigged sports fans. Now that the Affordable Care Act (pejoratively known as "ObamaCare") has been ruled perfectly legal by the Supreme Court, it seems that we must take WWJD? more seriously than ever: when it comes to government policies which attempt to make healthcare affordable to families that would otherwise have no way of receiving medical treatment, we must either support these policies in any way we can, or we must cease to define ourselves as Christians.

St. Francis comforts a man with a pre-existing condition.

Please bear in mind that what follows is not an arguement from a medical perspective, from a capitalist perspective, from a political/Constitutional perspective, from a legal perspective, or even from an American perspective. The point of this post is not to show you that many other developed (and developing) countries have had universal healthcare plans for years. I argue this strictly from the perspective of a Christian with an ethical obligation to love and serve my brothers and sisters. And you can feel free to disagree with me—but (you will rarely ever hear me say this so matter-of-factly) you'd be wrong. Wrong.

There are few circumstances for which this argument is either called-for or efficacious—but the debate over healthcare is, I think, one of those circumstances. 

Christians who oppose affordable health care do so without a leg to stand on, ethically speaking. Without some extreme hermeneutical gymnastics, it is nearly impossible to answer the question "What would Jesus do?" with "Deny millions of Americans the ability to afford to have their illnesses treated." After all, Jesus was a healer. But perhaps more importantly, Jesus was also an ethicist, and if we are to seriously consider using the Nazarene as a model of ethical Christian behavior, we must consider the implications of some of his  teachings.

• Matthew 25 tells the parable of the separation of the sheep and the goats, in which the animals are judged according to how they treated the poor, the sick, the hungry, the thirsty, and the imprisoned. As they find out later, those who helped the people mentioned above were actually giving aid to Jesus—the implication being that we are to treat the less-fortunate as though they were Christ himself. If we deny affordable healthcare coverage to the types of people mentioned above, we are effectively denying them to Jesus.
• The very foundation of Christian doctrine lies in the notion of self-sacrifice for the benefit of our neighbors, regardless of the personal cost to us, and regardless of whether or not we believe they deserve it. As he was nailed to the cross and executed by the Romans, Jesus uttered the prayer, "Father, forgive them, they do not know what they are doing."
• The fundamental debate over U.S. healthcare reform is in reality directly related with your individual perception of the poorest among us. I have seen families ruined by outrageous and unjust medical bills and lack of access to affordable care. I've seen brothers and sisters that have had to drop out of college to help care for their injured and ill siblings because their family could not afford long-term healthcare and education. But Jesus showed unwavering solidarity with the poor. Jesus said, "Blessed are you who are poor, for the Kingdom of God belongs to you." Jesus said, "The spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor, to proclaim release of captives and recovery of sight to the blind..." Jesus said, "Go, sell what you own, give to the poor, and follow me." Jesus said "When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you." It does not matter if you believe that the poor are lazy moochers who are only looking for a handout, the point is they are poor, and Christ commanded his followers to serve them. End of story.
• And, in case your concern is that the government is telling you what to do with your money, see Luke 20:25 ("Give to Caesar what is Caesar's") and Luke 6:30 ("Give to everyone who asks of you"). Unless you're willing to go all "Peter and John" on a sick person and say, "Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee..." and heal the person then and there, it looks like you're going to have to show your support monetarily.

At this point, it matters little in what form universal health care materializes: whether it is through the government, like the Affordable Care Act, or through a church or other nonprofit organization. The important part is that it becomes the standard by which we can measure the care of our nation for its citizens. As someone who has been a vehement advocate of the egalitarian and peaceful Kingdom of God, I am by no means a fan of government when it gets in the way of personal spiritual liberty and freedom of the soul. BUT: if it is indeed absolutely necessary to have a governing body, should health care not be one of the primary reasons for the existence of such an institution? After all, it states in the Preamble to our United States Constitution that "We the People" established the document to help (among other things) "promote the general welfare" of the public. If we are to continue to call ourselves followers of Jesus we must come to terms with the fact according to his teachings, we have a moral obligation to ensure a higher quality of life for our neighbors. And if we can't bring ourselves to part with our own possessions to accomplish that goal, then we need to stop referring to ourselves as Christians.

What would Jesus do? Most likely, he would stop whining about paying taxes and pursue the cause which seeks to do the greatest good for the greatest number of people, regardless of power, politics, and money. So you may argue the finer details of this debate—it is, after all, a much more complicated discussion than what time and space have permitted me to write about here—but in the end, for the Christian, it ultimately falls to the simple decision of whether or not we are loving our neighbors with our actions. If your argument is more about splitting hairs than about showing love, you are wrong. Wrong.

Why I Am Still A Christian

I am not a Christian.

At least, not by the standard definition espoused by most Christians in America (and perhaps around the world) today. I don't believe in the so-called virgin birth. I believe that scripture should play second fiddle to experience. I'm not completely convinced of the bodily resurrection of the crucified Jesus. At this point in my spiritual life, I think that the apostle Paul of Tarsus was a hack (although I have openly declared my willingness to have my mind changed about him). I'm a Quaker, which pretty much knocks me off the Christian shelf for most other denominations.

But I still cling to the Christian faith.

My extreme suspicion of the institutional Church and my lack of belief in most things orthodox have led many of my friends to ask me: So just why do you still associate with that bunch? Why do you still call yourself a Christian?

Below I have tried to list a few answers that very question. By no means is it an exhaustive list, but feel free to peruse it and post any further questions below. This is (essentially) why I am still a Christian:

1) Because my great-grandfather was a carpenter. I think.
Around the time I graduated high school, my Granddad passed down to me a substantial amount of his father's possessions. My great-grandfather, whose nickname became my birth name, was a seminary-educated United Methodist pastor, a homesteader, an all-around tinkerer, and—I'm told—quite the carpenter. He was a boldly human man, who couldn't relate a decent joke without cracking up halfway through telling it, and once tried to convince the workers at the local senior nutrition center that a cherry pit found in a slice of pie meant that he got to kiss the cook. He loved his family and—I'm told—was a good person. However, he died when I was very young, after a series of strokes and a descent into dementia which left him a fragment of the person he once was. Among his possessions handed down to me were his small theological library (including the original copy of his BDiv thesis from Eden Theological Seminary), and a small, darkly stained wooden lectern which—I'm told—he crafted with his own hands, and frequently used to hold his sermons as he preached in rooms without pulpits.
It recently occurred to me, however, that I'm not really sure that my great-grandfather actually made that lectern. I didn't know him extremely well; I never personally saw him working in his shop, never saw him slathering stain on carefully sanded and assembled pieces of wood. In fact, the only reason I have to believe that he actually built the little makeshift pulpit is based upon the uncertain suppositions ("I think your great-grandfather made that...") of my mother and grandfather.
It then occurred to me that ultimately, I don't really care whether or not he actually made it—I will treat it as such. I treasure that little lectern as one of my most prized possessions, because it has great personal meaning for me, and because—regardless of whether he built it or not—it most certainly belonged to my great-grandfather.
I believe in God because I have experienced a profound longing in my heart for a greater purpose for not just humanity, but for this insignificant little verdant planet we call Earth. And though I may not believe in the virgin birth, or that Jonah was actually swallowed by a big fish (ask me about my beliefs on the book of Jonah sometime), that doesn't mean that those stories do not hold great significance for me. Quite the opposite, actually.

2) Maybe I was born with it; maybe it's Maybelline.
No bones about it; I was born into a culture that gave primacy to a Christian ideology/worldview. Had I been born into a Muslim culture, this post may very well have been entitled Why I Am Still a Muslim, or Buddhist, or Hindu, or Baha'i, or Scientologist. Well, maybe not that last one. Some people view this as a reason for rejecting one's worldview—after all, we tend to either love or hate the niche in which we were raised. Instead, I embrace it. It's my culture. I was born into it. I find meaning in it. I will embrace it and make it my own.

3) Because I have a hard time fully dismissing something that I don't fully understand.
Granted, this is not a satisfactory argument—I don't need to kill someone to dismiss the act of killing. And I will fully admit that I have given up on ideas and practices in the past that I did not fully understand. However, most of the people I know who have rejected the entirety of Christianity have not stuck with it long enough to learn about it in depth, essentially throwing the baby out with the proverbial bathwater. The Christian tradition is so multi-faceted that one could spend their whole life trying to nail down a systematic worldview, and would never succeed at it. This fascinates me.

4) Because I am madly in love with Jesus of Nazareth.
I have read the gospels. I have seen in the person of Jesus not the doom and gloom caricature offered by much of fundamentalist theology, but instead the radical, wild-eyed prophet of Love, who emerged out of the ancient Judean wilderness and who speaks to us today even as he spoke to the oppressed peasant farmers who gathered at his feet to hear stories of nonviolent revolution, of the unleashing of the Kingdom of God on earth in the here-and-now. And while it can be said of many—if not most—theologians, philosophers, writers, prophets, and troubadours that they are merely products of their time, I firmly believe that the words, Love one another; if someone strikes you on the left cheek, turn to them the other also; blessed are the poor, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven; and blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God, will never quite lose their gravity or usefulness to the hearts of people. Jesus tapped into the common bond of what it means to be human, and asserted this with his claim, Who are my mother and brothers? THESE are my mother and brothers, indicating the kinship of all who were gathered to hear him speak.

Such teachings and insights will never lose their beauty or their allure for me.

Love or the Ax?

Anyone who knows me or who reads my blog with any regularity can tell you that one of my favorite movies is Martin Scorsese's adaptation of Nikos Kazantzakis's novel, The Last Temptation of Christ. Actually, it's kind of a joke among my friends that I quote the film more than I quote the Bible.

One particular reason for my fondness of the film is that it captures a single but important tension that I have struggled with now for years. Not long after Jesus is baptized in the film, he is sitting with John the Baptizer discussing the tension between the love of Yahweh and the wrathful judgment of Yahweh:

Later, when Jesus is driven into the desert and is tempted, he comes to the realization that the "tree is rotten to the core," and receives a vision of John, who shows him an ax and an apple tree, which Jesus proceeds to chop down.

Upon returning to the disciples from this period of solitude, Jesus proclaims, "God is inside of us. The devil is outside of us, in the world all around us. We'll pick up an ax, and we'll cut the devil's throat. We'll fight him wherever he is: in the sick, in the rich. Even in the temple. I'll lead you. If you have sheep, give them away. If you have family, leave them. I believed in love. Now I believe in this..." He punctuates his point by brandishing an ax.

To me, almost all Christian belief boils down to the question of what medium we choose to deliver the message. Love? or the Ax?

Jesus? or John the Baptizer?

Oh yeah? Well to Hell with you! Literally!

One of the reasons I appreciate Scorsese's depiction of John the Baptist is that I have a huge fondness for the Hebraic tradition of prophecy. When I was in college I began to study the Minor Prophets, because since we didn't talk about the prophets much in church, my only understanding of them was that they were judgmental and wrathful. They probably wanted to send you to Hell for premarital sex, or cussing too much, or something.

But what I found in the Prophets was the continual painful admission that we live in a despicable world. Consider Amos, who is sent to Israel from Judah to call the rich out for trampling on the poor. Or Hosea, who is told to marry a prostitute, and to give his children names like "Not-My-People," and "Not-To-Be-Pitied," to symbolize Yahweh's estranged relationship with the Jews. Or think of Jeremiah, caught between an angry God and an angry people, sent as a young boy to bring a message of repentance to the Hebrew people—a message which ultimately costs him his life.

Living is painful, and that pain is usually brought on by our own rotten actions, or the rotten actions of those in power—in today's terms, think of banks that foreclose on the homes of the poor, or bankers and CEOs who still receive millions in yearly bonuses while people are starving on the streets of our country's cities. Or, in a more immediate sense, think of the hate or greed in our own hearts, and how that hurts the people around us.

I. am. PISSED. And I feel like God is too, and that God has something to say about it.

However, this can lead to closed-mindedness, fear, and more hatred. People are usually far too anxious to take on the role of prophet, which is why we have Chick tracts and bullhorns.

Jesus: "Trust me, this hurts me way more than it hurts you."

What about love? Is there a way of avoiding calling out the sins of the world, and instead simply trying to live out Christ's teaching to love our enemies? My heart sees the injustice of the world, and is disgusted by it. Do I attack with all my might and risk falling away from the love and humility of Jesus? Or do I practice love and humility instead of getting angry?

The problem is, I want to believe in both. I want to scream at all the injustice of the world. I want to chop the rotten tree down. I want to burn the infested forest until there is nothing but a pile of ash from which we can start over. I want to be a prophet.

But I also want to be like Jesus. I want to love my enemies. I want to practice self-control and discipline. I want to speak intimately with God as a friend. I don't want to worry about what tomorrow will bring. I want to forgive others.

The problem is, Jesus seems pretty conflicted on this whole struggle, himself. It doesn't take an in-depth reading of the gospels to see the things that enrage the Son of Man. Look no further than the so-called "cleansing of the Temple."

So which is it for you? Love? or the Ax?

The Last Temptation of Christ: Jesus before Pilate

[After having Jesus flogged] Pilate entered his headquarters again and asked Jesus, ‘Where are you from?’ But Jesus gave him no answer. Pilate therefore said to him, ‘Do you refuse to speak to me? Do you not know that I have power to release you, and power to crucify you?’ Jesus answered him, ‘You would have no power over me unless it had been given you from above; therefore the one who handed me over to you is guilty of a greater sin.
’From then on Pilate tried to release him, but the Jews cried out, ‘If you release this man, you are no friend of the emperor. Everyone who claims to be a king sets himself against the emperor.’
...So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, ‘Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.’ Many of the Jews read this inscription, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek. Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, ‘Do not write, “The King of the Jews”, but, “This man said, I am King of the Jews.” ’Pilate answered, ‘What I have written I have written.’
--John 19:9-12, 16-22

*****

"Behold the man!"

A few years ago, my family spent my college fund and we all went to Europe together. While we were in Lucerne, Switzerland, my parents and I took a trolley up Mount Pilatus, which overlooked the small city and dozens of connected lakes spread out like honeycomb over the landscape. Local folklore says the snowy mountain is home to a dragon. And it's also--according to legend--the final resting place of the ghost of Pontius Pilate.

I feel sorry for Pilate. He was the kind of guy who just kept screwing up. He was, in effect, the Marvin the Martian of Roman governors, his delusions of power and grandeur constantly blowing up in his face. Some scholars believe that he was sent to Judea by Caesar as a kind of "last chance" gig. According to Josephus, Pilate had a hard time keeping the Judeans under his thumb, and eventually lost the prefecture. After that, according to folklore, Pilate spent several years in short prefectures across the Roman Empire, eventually landing at a Roman base in Switzerland. A political failure, he ultimately committed suicide during the reign of Caligula.

I want to be careful not to make him into too much of a comical or tragic character. In reality, he was a prefect for one of the most powerful empires the world has ever known, and in all likelihood was a force for the local Jewish insurrectionists to reckon with. 

Which leads me to why I think Pilate's conversation with Jesus from Martin Scorsese's controversial 1988 film, The Last Temptation of Christ, is so fascinating. The movie itself is one of my favorite films of all time, and this scene is one of my favorite scenes (hello: David Bowie). After watching the clip, there are two things I want to point out:

"What is Truth?"

1) I love Jesus's interpretation of Daniel's prophecy. Rome is the statue, Jesus is the stone. Now, this particular retelling takes the story out of context, but the sentiment is the same. In the Old Testament text, the statue represents political powers of Daniel's time. The lesson that underlies this parable is a subversive one: as tall and impressive and strong as empire might appear, God is ultimately stronger. Even if God comes in the form of a tiny stone. Or a homeless rabbi peasant from the badlands of Galilee. All kingdoms crumble, eventually. To Pilate, Jesus is a threat to the established order, the institution of Rome. Pilate is only concerned with the Jews inasmuch as the fact that he doesn't want to have a riot on his hands. He even points out the fact that he doesn't really care about the accusations of blasphemy against him: "I am not a Jew, am I?" he taunts Jesus in the gospel of John. Pilate's primary concern is for Rome. And in early first century Palestine, violent, zealous messiahs were climbing out of the woodwork like cockroaches by the hundreds in various attempts to overthrow the local Roman rule. These messiahs wanted their nation back. 

...and yet, Jesus was somehow different.

2) Jesus: "All I'm saying is that change will happen with love, not with killing."

Pilate: "Either way, it's dangerous; It's against Rome. It's against the way the world is. Whether loving or killing, it's all the same. It simply doesn't matter how you want to change things--we don't want them changed."

This conversation highlights the very reason every prophet who has ever lived--at least, the good ones, anyway--has been a failure. All of them, with the exception of Jonah, and even he wasn't happy about it. Jeremiah. Amos. Hosea. Just look at their prophecies: "Change your hearts, turn to Yahweh, and you will be saved." But people don't want to change. They didn't then, and we don't want to now. No matter how passionately we plead, no matter how resolved we are in our convictions, people don't listen. Very astute of you, David Bowie. 

In the comments below, feel free to discuss the big changes that you believe need to be made within the Church as a whole in order to carry on the gospel of Jesus. Then, perhaps, reflect upon the notion that you will very likely fail to bring these changes within your own lifetime. How does that make you feel? Is it the actual change God desires of us, or simply the courage to face our own defeat?

Prayer:

God give us strength. 

For the times when we feel like we are screaming to deaf ears from the mountaintops,

give us courage.

For the times when we are alone and crippled with despair, 

give us peace.

O God, in these final days of Holy Week, we pray that you might show us the light of hope among darkness, 

whether the darkness of unrelenting, uncompromising politics,

the darkness of abuse--emotional, physical, mental--

or the darkness of hate or fear or pride or selfishness.

God, we ask your forgiveness, and your restoration.

We ask for truth.

Amen.