More Thoughts on the Gospel of Jesus's Wife

A lot can happen in a week.

Last Thursday, I posted a few words on the recent "discovery" of a Coptic papyrus fragment (erroneously dubbed "The Gospel of Jesus's Wife") which purportedly suggests that Jesus of Nazareth was hitched, most likely to Mary the Magdalene.

Since then, I have received several comments on my opinions presented in my last post. Most of those comments have suggested that my previous post lacked one of the primary objections that many people have against the idea of a married Jesus: that is, the notion of sexuality's inherent "dirtiness." How could Jesus have participated in a sexual relationship and yet remained sinless? This is a question for more advanced theologians than myself, but it is duly noted and certainly worthy of consideration. However, I would caution against applying Augustinian sexual ethics to first century Jewish practice. In short, if Jesus was married, it would have been nothing out of the ordinary for him to have engaged in sexual intercourse—in fact, custom would have demanded it for the sake of the continuance of the Jewish people. He would simply have been fulfilling his role as a good husband and a loyal Jew.

In addition to these comments, there have been further developments in the whole discovery saga. A recent post by Craig Evans on the biblioblog Near Emmaus has reported that the Harvard Theological Review has opted not to publish Dr. Karen King's paper on the fragment, presumably amid increasing debate regarding the artifact's authenticity.

I need to reiterate here that I am no papyrologist, nor even a textual critic. My experience in this field is extremely limited. However, that being said, I believe that it is possible for the careful observer to note some physical characteristics of the artifact that might serve as cause for suspicion, or at the very least extreme caution in making any definitive claim regarding the authenticity of the piece. Among the fragment's most notable critics is Francis Watson, Professor of New Testament at Durham University. A few of the objections to the artifact's authenticity listed below have been gleaned from several recent essays by Watson, all of which can be found via Mark Goodacre's blog here.

1. Note the nearly perfect rectangular shape of the fragment. This is unusual—papyri rarely deteriorate in pristine angles. The fragmentation of various samplings of the Oxyrhynchus Papyri or Chester Beatty Papyri (to name a couple of the most well-known ancient papyri sources) indicates that papyrus tends to crumble and tear and develop holes in odd places, possibly due to the initial process used to produce the material. While it is certainly not unusual for whole pages of papyri to remain intact, the shape of fragments is another matter.

2. The calligraphy is shoddily done. Like other writing materials in the ancient world (such as parchment or vellum), manuscript papyrus was not given to any old amateur calligrapher to doodle on. The scribes who painstakingly copied texts took great care in their work. The fragment in question looks as if it were written by a fifth grader with a cheap watercolor brush. Furthermore, it is interesting to note that the word tazime, or tahime, which has been translated as "my wife" or "my woman," is instantly recognizable, as it is suspiciously bolded.

3. If one looks closely at the edges of the fragment, as well as the leading and kerning of the text itself, it appears that the text was written on the papyrus after the papyrus was already a fragment. In other words, the text seems crammed into this small piece of material, with very few of the words being sacrificed in the split. In fact, the last couple lines appear to end with the contour of the piece itself. If a papyrus fragment that was part of a larger page of text was to be ripped, it seems unlikely that at least one or two lines would remain uninterrupted by the tear.

4. To my knowledge, the German collector who gave the fragment to Dr. King remains anonymous.

5. Finally, perhaps the most damning evidence of the fragment's forgery is that it appears to be an amalgam of numerous phrases or sentences from the Gospel of Thomas. Further information on this problem can be found among Watson's essays and Craig Evans's recent post on the subject.

Every year, it seems that we are bombarded with new and fantastical information by the media: some new "discovery" of a "Lost Gospel" or a reported "Family Tomb of Jesus" ekes its way into the public forum, and battle lines are quickly drawn between those who are all aboard with the find (who are perceived as exciting and progressive) and those who either require more information to make a solid decision or remain skeptical of the whole thing altogether. The latter are often perceived or portrayed in the media as being traditionalists who cling to outdated beliefs, who let their personal faith or dogma impede their judgment. However, it remains incredibly essential that scholars look upon such sensational claims with a keen, suspicious eye and a level head. It is not a matter of disregarding new information because it conflicts with tradition. It is simply a matter of practicing good scholarship.

The Jesus Blog: Book Giveaway!—Chris Keith

For those interested in historical Jesus studies, Anthony Le Donne and Chris Keith are offering a giveaway of their new book, Jesus, Criteria, and the Demise of Authenticity. Information on how to enter via the link below:

The Jesus Blog: Book Giveaway!—Chris Keith

A Brief Word on the So-Called "Gospel of Jesus's Wife"

In case you haven't already heard, there has been quite a hullabaloo the last few days over a new fourth-century Coptic papyri fragment which has come to be known as the "Gospel of Jesus's Wife." The fragment was presented to Harvard Divinity professor Karen King last year by an anonymous German collector, and King has since analyzed the piece and drafted a forthcoming article on its examination that is due out early next year. The papyrus, which suggests that Jesus may have been married (see Line 4 below), contains the following text:

Line 1: "...not [to] me. My mother gave me li[fe]..."

Line 2: The disciples said to Jesus, ...

Line 3: ...deny. Mary is worthy of it...

Line 4: Then Jesus said, "My wife...

Line 5: ...she will be able to be my disciple...

Line 6: Let wicked people swell up...

Line 7: ...as for me, I dwell with her in order to...

Line 8: an image

There are many reasons that traditional churchgoers might balk at the notion of Jesus being involved in a marital relationship. One implication of such a claim is grounded in the knowledge that in first-century Palestine (as well as most elsewhere in the ancient world), the institution of marriage was designed to facilitate the continuation of the family line, and therefore of the whole Jewish people. Marriage was a way of surviving exile by procreation. If Jesus were to be married, many critics say, then it would most likely mean that he had a child, which would be problematically suggesting that Jesus had a continuing family line. What should these people then do with his heirs? Worship them? That's a question fit only for Sir Leigh Teabing, and isn't really one that I care to try to answer. 

However, my hunch is that the problem most people have with Jesus as a married man is that at its core, marriage implies a sharing of power. We typically like to think of Jesus of Nazareth as a lone mysterious figure, traveling the Galilean and Judean landscapes, performing miracles and giving moral teachings while the twelve disciples struggle to keep up with all he is saying and doing. To think that Jesus may have had a wife who shared in some of his most intimate moments of doubt and pain, or indeed in the very development of his moral and cosmological worldview, is for some people quite challenging. Many just don't want to imagine a Jesus who would share his power with another human being.

To be blunt, I don't really care whether Jesus was married. I think it would be fascinating if he did indeed have an intimate human partner—it might make him somehow appear more relatable, in an earthly kind of way  (As Stephen Colbert recently remarked, "Mr. and Mrs. Jesus and Helen Christ. The Christs!"). From what we can glean from the canonical New Testament, however, it appears that Jesus was an apocalyptic prophet who stressed that the world was soon going to end. While he recognized the created order of marriage (see Mark 10:6-9, Matthew 19:3-6), he taught so much about the imminent breaking-in of the Reign of God (in which there would be no marriage—see Matthew 22:23-33), it seems unlikely that he would marry—his mission regarding the coming reign superseded his obligation to continue his own family line. Indeed, in the four canonical Gospels, it appears that Jesus's idea of family was much more radical—that is, we are all sisters and brothers of Jesus and children of the living Creator God.

The bottom line is that this discovery doesn't change much. It's a fourth-century fragment of an Egyptian papyrus of which we know very little. Without the rest of the manuscript, the most it can possibly tell us is that more than 250 years after Jesus lived, people were beginning to speculate on different aspects of his life and ministry. At this point, we can only watch and wait for King's paper to be published and see how this discovery develops. It may be that there is indeed a second-century Greek text on which this Coptic papyrus is based, hiding out in a jar in a cave somewhere like the Dead Sea Scrolls, or buried in a bundle in the Egyptian desert like the Nag Hammadi Library. It could, ultimately, be proven to be a forgery. Or it may just fizzle its way out of the public eye into archival obscurity, just as the Gospels of Judas, Mary, Philip, and countless other "sensational" gnostic texts have done. 

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For more information on the "Gospel of Jesus's Wife," see the following:

• BiblePlaces Blog: "Somebody Once Believed Jesus Had a Wife" (Todd Bolen)
• Evangelical Textual Criticism: "Gospel of Jesus's Wife (Updated)" (Christian Askeland)
• Evangelical Textual Criticism: "Yet Another Question About the So-Called Gospel of Jesus's Wife" (Dirk Jongkind)

• Forbidden Gospels: "Did Jesus Have a Wife?" (April DeConick)
• "The Gospel of Jesus' Wife: How a Fake Gospel Fragment Was Composed," by Francis Watson
• "Jesus said to them, 'My wife...'" A New Coptic Gospel Fragment, by Karen L. King

• Larry Hurtado's Blog: "'The Gospel of Jesus' Wife'...Maybe...Maybe Not" (Larry Hurtado)
• Larry Hurtado's Blog: "'Jesus' Wife' Fragment: Further Thoughts" (Larry Hurtado) 

• Near Emmaus: "The 'Wife' of Jesus? Some Comments by Craig A. Evans" (Craig Evans)

• NTBlog: "The Gospel of Jesus' Wife" (Mark Goodacre)
• NTBlog: "The Gospel of Jesus' Wife: The Story Is Moving Fast!" (Mark Goodacre)

Koinonia, the Eucharist, and Beloved Community

In 1942, Clarence and Florence Jordan and Martin and Mabel England founded a little project in Sumter County, Georgia, that they called a “demonstration plot for the Kingdom of God.” Based on New Testament teachings and the mutual submission exhibited by the early Christians in the book of Acts, it became an intentional community based on sustainable agriculture and human fellowship, and eventually gave birth to numerous humanitarian organizations such as the Fuller Center for Housing, The Prison and Jail Project, and most notably, Habitat for Humanity International.

Clarence Jordan, a New Testament Greek scholar, was fully aware of the meaning behind the word chosen to represent their community: Koinonia. This Greek word—koinwniva—appears around 20 times in the New Testament in one form or another, and typically is translated as “fellowship,” “community,” or “sharing.” The core of the word’s meaning implies a deep emotional and spiritual bond, as that of a spouse. Strangely enough, it is this same intimate spousal companionship that Christians are said to share with one another and with the Source of all creation.

Diner en Blanc

Koinonia has an inherently reciprocal nature at its base meaning. It is more than simply showing up to church or doing a good deed for a neighbor. To share in the practice of koinwniva means to share not just an amiable spirit, but also to contribute one’s own material possessions. Because of this, perhaps nowhere is koinwniva more fully realized than at the Eucharistic table.

Today, whole subcultures—both religious and secular—have sprung up around the concept of table fellowship. New publications like Kinfolk Magazine specialize in getting people together for intimate little group meals, and the French concept of diner en blanc, a sort of flash mob in which thousands of people dressed in white share a picnic in a public place, has become a worldwide phenomenon.

The ancient Greeks (as well as other Pagan-based cultures) believed that sharing a meal was a sign of complete union, both with the other feasters present at the table and with God. For them, koinwniva symbolized not merely fellowship, but a “consummation” of the total union between the human and the divine. This concept was fully realized in the Dionysian cult of ancient Greece.[1] It is not difficult to see the connections between this belief and the early mystery that surrounded the practice of the Lord’s Supper.

However, though the etymological roots of koinwniva greatly influenced the Christian use of the word in the New Testament, the latter understanding of the word remained distinct from the former in at least one key aspect: rather than union with the deity, Christian koinwniva emphasized communion with God.[2] In the image of the Eucharistic meal, we have the exemplar understanding of what it means to share in the community of God in the here and now. This image of mutuality also fits in well with the gospel narrative of sacrifice—the Last Supper is followed by the climax of the Jesus Story: the cross. Bonded by the initial tragedy of the crucifixion and the sudden hope offered by the resurrection, it is little wonder that from the earliest cultic memory, Christians have continued the Eucharistic practice throughout history. I often repeat the words of a pastor friend of mine, who once told me, “The feet of enemies are rarely seen under the same table.”

 

Yet koinwniva is more than just passing the potatoes. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. envisioned a world where those who dwelt on commonality rather than difference could openly share in what he referred to as the Beloved Community. His was a vision that was not only part of a future eschaton, but also able to be glimpsed in the here and now.  In his book, Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?, Dr. King recounts being stranded in an airport with a diverse group of people following the 1966 march to Montgomery: “As I stood with them and saw white and Negro, nuns and priests, ministers and rabbis, labor organizers, lawyers, doctors, housemaids and shopworkers brimming with vitality and enjoying a rare comradeship, I knew I was seeing a microcosm of the [humanity] of the future in this moment of luminous and genuine brotherhood.”[3]

Dr. King’s vision of koinwniva clearly involved not just those of the Christian faith, but humanity itself—those of “all walks of life.” It is my sincere hope that we as a species continue to widen the gates of the Kingdom of God until we share in that beloved koinwniva with all creatures great and small.

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[1] Gerhard Kittel and Gerhard Friedrich, eds. Theological Dictionary of the New Testament. Trans. Geoffrey W. Bromiley. Volume 3. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1964-1976. p. 799

[2] Ibid. p. 800

[3] Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community? Harper & Row, 1967. p. 9. Quoted in Kenneth L. Smith and Ira G. Zepp, Jr., “Martin Luther King’s Vision of the Beloved Community.” Christian Century, April 3, 1974. pp. 361-363.

EverydayRev: A Re-evaluation

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you might have noticed a few changes being gradually applied to EverydayRev over the last few months. Not only have the background and header image been changed and the layout altered, the general content of the website has changed, as well. Here’s an explanation for that.

It has been a long and difficult road to my current status as a MATS student. Everyday Revolutionary has been for me at various times over the years a lint trap of mundane photos and recipes, a place of emotional catharsis, a political soap box, and a venue to discuss my dreams with others. Since EverydayRev began in March 2010, I have gotten married to my best friend, graduated college, moved four times, started seminary, worked for three different churches, and suffered a violent spiritual and existential struggle that still continues today. After all that, I can now say that I am once again in a period of transition. But this time there is something different involved. Something new.

If you are someone who read my blog back in the early days because it was edgy or cool (if it was ever either of those things), and you are now frustrated that the vast majority of my latest posts involve textual studies and adventures in neo-orthodox biblical theology, I apologize. If it is any consolation, I can honestly tell you that in some ways, I’m the same old rabble-rouser wannabe with anarchist leanings that I’ve always been. But change is inevitable, and as I learn and grow both as a Christian and as a student of scripture, I am drawn again and again to a deeper, more thorough understanding of the faith than that which easy answers and bumper sticker slogans can afford. I’m learning to see that not everything has to hinge on the buzzword, “radical,” and that there is something quite lovely about finding God unexpectedly in the quotidian, something inherently extraordinary about God working in and through all things ordinary.  In this respect, the title of my blog has begun to take on a distinct new meaning for me. Before, I always emphasized the revolutionary piece of the title. It characterized my desire to be anything other than a white, male, middle-class Protestant. My original intent was to “make every day revolutionary.” Now, however, the words have shifted in meaning. I feel as though my intent now may be to “find the revolutionary quality of the everyday.”

I am coming to understand that for much of my adult life, my god has been a small god, confined by social expectations and reactions to even smaller conservative American evangelical gods. I have spent too much time ranting about the treatment of the poor by the wealthiest margins of society, and too little time doing anything about it. Too much time shouting at people about what God is really like, and too little time listening for God to tell me what she is like.

“We readily forget,” Anthony Thiselton writes in Life After Death, “what it means to be ‘oppressed.’ Liberation Theology has made it fashionable to speak of ‘the poor’ and ‘the disempowered.’ But this approach is too narrow…If God’s vindication of the oppressed includes those weighed down with constraints imposed upon them, by their race, gender, or society, who is to say how far God’s act of vindication can reach?”[1] In other words, it is possible to search so rigorously for the presence of God among the economically disadvantaged (or whichever category we choose to fixate upon) that we neglect the opportunity to seek the justice of the Deity among the morally bankrupt. There are many, many shades of poverty, and it is all too often that we choose to work with a black-and-white palette. But I believe that the God of Jesus is a Technicolor God.

I don’t know where I’m headed next. My theology is changing, my worldview is changing. My surroundings are changing—I am no longer surrounded by the supportive community that I once had, and this has caused some emotional and spiritual stress. I am thinking more about PhD work in New Testament, and how to go about taking those first few steps in that direction. I can now say, however—with the least amount of doubt that I have felt in years—that whatever path I follow, God will be there.

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[1] Anthony C. Thiselton, Life After Death: A New Approach to the Last Things. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2012). 182.

More Thoughts On Death And Afterward

Never in my whole life have I spent such a focused, extended period of time thinking about death.

For the last two weeks I have been a part of an intensive module course at a local seminary. The class is called "Resurrection in the New Testament," and is a theological approach to how death, resurrection, and judgment are depicted in the NT. We just finished discussing our secondary text for the class, Anthony C. Thiselton’s Life After Death: A New Approach to the Last Things (Eerdmans: 2012), and I’m perhaps even more confused now than I was before. The fact is that many people in the Church simply do not think about life, death, and the “Last Things” nearly as thoroughly as they should. Below are some of the thoughts that have challenged me these last two weeks.

1. Eternity

What exactly is time? We flippantly throw around the idea that God is eternal, but what exactly does "eternity" mean? Is it a really, really, really, really long period of immeasurable time? Is it another dimension, outside of the four with which we are already familiar? Does God really exist outside of time? If so, how then does Christian tradition allow for such a deity to enter into the human story and be affected by it? How is it possible to have “a relationship” with a being that exists outside of time? How did you or your church define eternity when you were young? How do you feel about it today?

2. Hell

Two years ago, if you'd have asked me if I believed in Hell, I would have responded, "Absolutely not." These days, I’m not so sure. Thiselton presents three distinct streams of thought that have deep roots in the tradition of the Church, with each also being somewhat grounded in scripture:

a. The view of Iranaeus that afterlife consisted of “conditional immortality.” 

Sometimes this view is called “annihilationalism.” It’s based on the belief that, upon death (or perhaps more accurately, at the time of the resurrection), the faithful will live while the “wicked” perish, simply slipping into nonexistence. This is partially supported by Paul, who claims that “the wages of sin is death.”

b. The view most prominently held by Gregory of Nyssa, which is similar to what today we would call universalism.

Move over, Rob Bell! As early as the fourth century, this Cappadocian Father was preaching that “It is the peculiar effect of light to make darkness vanish, and of life to destroy death…Cleansing reaches those who are befouled with sin; and life, the dead…Error may be corrected, and what is dead is restored to life.”[1] Gregory believed that the ultimate goal of God (again, supported by Paul) was that God become “all in all,” even if it meant that the “wicked” must be purified by fire before entering the Kingdom. This view caused quite a bit of controversy recently with the publication of Rob Bell’s book, Love Wins.

c. The Augustinian view of a conscious, eternal torment. 

Hellfire, burning, eternal torture. This is perhaps the most commonly accepted understanding of Hell in the Protestant and Evangelical tradition. A person chooses to turn away from God, and is burned for all eternity as a consequence. However, Thiselton acknowledges that this view is particularly problematic: "The greatest difficulty of the 'everlasting punishment' view may be partly the relation between eternity and time; but even more fundamentally how we can conceive of God eternally sustaining both the life of believers in fellowship with [God], and also that of a group who are in every other sense 'separate' from [God]."[2] In other words, if God is truly the sustainer of life and is fully present with those who take part in the resurrection, how can a life exist outside of that life-giving presence?

I am particularly fond of Gregory of Nyssa’s view. However, I acknowledge that it has its shortcomings. Many of the early Christians sought universal salvation as “something to be hoped for,” even if it wasn’t a solid reality. I would like to hope for the idea that the Creator with restore all things in the end, as well, but I have this crazy notion of justice that keeps me from fully believing it. Which brings me to my final topic that I have been pondering:

3. Justice and Mercy

The United States is a place of "liberty and justice for all." In many ways, we still operate on the foundational social code of Hammurabi: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. In most states, those convicted of first degree murder are often considered for the death penalty. Kill, and we kill you. That's how justice works, right? Thiselton suggests that in reality, we have a skewed understanding of biblical justice (Heb: tzedekah, Gk: δικαιοσύνη). A better translation of both words is perhaps “righteousness,” the idea that God is going to “put things to rights,” as N.T. Wright says. In essence, there is no conflict of justice and mercy in God. Righteousness includes a freeing of the oppressed, in whatever form their oppression might take. This entails a profoundly different understanding of the word justice; rather than God submitting to the back-and-forth of human right and wrong, God fixes the root of the problem. In other words, it's as if a mother chided her two children for fussing, and one of the children responded, "He started it!" to which the mother answers, "And I'm finishing it." What matters is not that God repays all wrongs tit-for-tat, but that in the end, God makes all things right. That is the righteousness of the Deity.

The Church has struggled with these questions for the better part of 2,000 years, and humanity itself has pondered the same issues since the first people began to consider their purpose in the cosmos. Honestly, I don't yet believe that there are any real answers. However, these are the questions that effective ministers should be struggling with. Death is always around us, regardless of whether our culture admits it. The families of those coping with the suicide of a loved one, or the young man who died of a drug overdose, or the child who fell victim to cancer—these are all problematic to the Christian worldview of an all-loving God. But it is precisely these circumstances that call for real, humble ministers, who approach such great questions with fear and with trembling.

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[1] Gregory of Nyssa, Catechism 25, quoted in Thiselton, 147.

[2] Thiselton, 149.

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.

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[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.