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Archive for December, 2010

November 18, 2010

Introduction

The Christian themes of sanctification and reconciliation and their connection to the community life of the church are so integral and interconnected that they must be examined holistically; otherwise there is a tremendous risk of losing the core of these important teachings.  The individualization and spiritualization of the “holy” since the dawn of modernity, spawned by the so-called Enlightenment, has systematically purged it of its originally holistic, sacred community-centered orientation, which has led to the divorce of holy living from the so-called secular aspects of daily life.

This, in turn, has led to a mode of “ghettoized” Christian existence in North America and Europe that has sanctioned the emerging culture of consumption.

Cut off from the ability to critique the pitfalls of consumerism, the church has allowed itself to become another venue, or market of consumerism.  What needs to be addressed, beyond the obvious fact that over-consumption is destructive of the environment, is that “persistent and obsessive consumption is no longer merely a habit; instead, it is an addiction which rests on a foundation which functions as the equivalent of a religion.”

As such, it should be perceived as a threat not only to the ecosystem, but also to the Christian faith; it is, in short, the idolatry of our time.  Just as our toxic chemicals and industrial wastes pollute our air and water, causing sickness and death to animals and humans all over the world, so too the lies of consumerism seep into the aquifers of Christian spirituality and pollute our ways of reading and enacting the word of God.  How has this crisis come to be, and what can be done to reclaim our threatened faith?

Diagnosis: An Ecological, Economic, and Ecumenical Crisis

The ecological crisis, as it pertains to Christian faith, is rooted in the tendency in Western theology to emphasize the transcendent aspects of God and neglect the immanence of God.

When carried out to its logical end, this position leads to a view of the created world as a profane secularized realm of “resources” for human use, and to an otherworldly view of God’s redemption that only concerns humans.  This world, so the logic goes, is neither God’s true home, nor our own, but is merely the stage of the divine redemption of humanity and the forsaken arena from which humans will be liberated.

The industrial and technological plundering of the earth’s resources, however, “does not produce benefits for all societies but only for those that control…production, and it excludes others or grants them information by exacting heavy tribute (royalties).”

In other words, there is a direct link between the ecological exploitation that violates the earth and the economic exploitation that creates and increases the inequality between the rich and the poor.  Behind the modern myth of progress and infinite economic growth lies the truth that the only thing such a system is guaranteed to “grow” is inequality.

This is why Leonardo Boff and many other Latin American liberation theologians have increasingly taken notice of the inextricable link between ecological and economic liberation, doing so within the context of the doctrine of creation.  Yet the very fact that we so label theologians “Latin American” and “liberation”, among many others, elucidates the fact that the church in the West has tended to emphasize the Western view of God as all-encompassing, bracketing off other sources of theology as “contextual” theologies; in sum, the crisis can also be seen as an ecumenical one.  Only recently has the need for Western Christians to hear and be challenged by the prophetic and critical voices of other Christian traditions begun to be acknowledged.

Christians in the West are only now beginning to recognize that the biblical account depicts a deity who is both transcendent and immanent, and that the need to emphasize the latter aspect is crucial if the church wishes to be able to address the evils of our time.  We proclaim the trinitarian God who brought the world into being through God’s Word, who breathed life into all creatures by the Spirit which is none other than the personal presence of Godself in creation, and whose Wisdom and Word was made flesh in order to walk this earth alongside us so as to reconcile all of God’s creation—including, but certainly not limited to human beings (Col 1:20).  Therefore, we affirm with the apostle Paul, that God “is actually not far from us, for ‘In him we live and move and have our being’” (Acts 17:27-28).

We proclaim Emmanuel, God with us, and confess that it is God’s ruach, the breath and Spirit of life that is in us, and which sustains us; for we are reduced to dust when it departs (Ps. 104).

The remedy for Christian faith in the West is to replace the doctrine of creation that ignores everything but the phrase, “fill the earth and subdue it and have dominion” (Gen 1:28) with a more holistic, and ultimately more biblical doctrine of creation.  The purpose of this paper is to explore this doctrine as it plays out in the ancient metaphor of the oikos, the household of God.  The story of the oikos begins with the original harmony of the Architect’s creation, and unfolds in three spheres that have oikos as their etymological root: the ecological, the economic, and ecumenical, which is the consummated, holistic reconciliation of economics and ecology.  The story will correspondingly trace the human roles in the household from gardener and sustainer, to perpetrator and victim of domestic violence, to domestic servant, and finally to family member.  Only with a proper understanding of the ways of human sinfulness and the nature of the relationships that have been violated can the nature of the church as God’s oikos community of reconciliation begin to be understood.

Part I: The Ecological House and the Sin of Autonomy

The word ecology was coined in 1866 by the German Darwinian Ernst Haeckel from the Greek word oikos, meaning house, to refer literally to the household of living creatures on earth and their interwoven, interdependent community existence.

Wilderness ecologist Aldo Leopold once said, “We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us.  When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may being to use it with love and respect.”

Thus, we see that the underlying premise of the science of ecology, despite its basis in evolutionary biology rather than creation theology, is very close to the central emphasis of cosmology in the Jewish and Christian scriptures: God’s creation is fundamentally relational.

Biblically, the primeval home of the human being is characterized as an ecologically harmonious garden. We are also told that the human tenants of the garden violated its relational community and were expelled from it, and from that we infer that ecological relationships are significant and are in need of reconciliation.

All practices that dominate and exploit nature and other human beings are reenactments of taking from the Forbidden Tree (Gen 2:15-17), for “abuse and misuse of power are rooted in the desire to be like God” who is characterized in the industrial West as “a dominating, self-centered being with unlimited power.”

The need to respect the strictures of the Forbidden Tree out of reverence for life and respect for others, which seems weak and foolish to the powers of this world, reflects precisely the foolishness of the way of Christ which we profess to be God’s wisdom (1 Cor 1:21-25).  According to this story, the grasp for autonomy and the emphasis on the individual over the communal are sinful and destructive acts of domestic violence.

The book of Psalms is full of imagery of God’s house depicting the created world as the place in which God dwells with and among God’s people and in which he gives and sustains life.

The Hebrew scriptures depict a God who is intimately involved in the life and redemption of all creatures.  Both man and beast, we are told, “feast on the abundance of [God’s] house, and [God] give[s] them drink from the river of [God’s] delights” (Ps 35:8).  The whole earth—humans, other creatures, and the land itself—is seen as the victim of human iniquity (Mic. 7:13, Joel 1) and it cries out in despair for God’s redemption and the pouring out of the life-giving Spirit upon it (Joel 2:21-29).  All of creation, declares Paul in the first century, is groaning with labor pains in expectation of this consummate reconciliation (Rom. 8:22).  It is thus impossible, biblically speaking, to conceive of sanctification and reconciliation that does not pertain to the entire household of ecological relationships which were ordained by God and called good, and subsequently violated and destroyed by human acts of self-indulgent autonomy.

Part II: House Economics and the Sin of Theft

We have already seen that the ecological aspect of the household implies humanity’s limitation; there is no room for autonomy in a web of interdependent relationships.  Where ecology refers to these interrelationships, economics refers to the proper ordering of these relationships; it is what sustains the delicate balance of the community of creation.

Obviously, the first part of the word economy comes from the same Greek word, oikos.  The second part comes from nomos which refers to laws or regulations.

To speak of God’s economy is to assert faith in the fact that God has ordered creation in such a way that all creatures can be sustained through the proper relationships of ecology.  It implies that each creature has its own proper place and that the earth can provide no more and no less than what each creature needs to live.  Jesus spoke of God’s economy by saying, “Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them” (Mt. 6:26).  It is important to note Jesus’ contrast between what the birds do in God’s economy and the obviously human activities of sowing, reaping and especially gathering into barns.  In Luke 12, Jesus speaks of a rich man who stores a surplus of food in an extra storehouse that he built because of his perceived need for security; what this man was not prepared for was the fact of his death.  This man’s sin, as Wendell Barry poignantly explicates, is theft, because “by laying up ‘much goods’ in the present…we incur a debt to the future that we cannot repay.  That is, we diminish the future by deeds we call ‘use’ but which the future will call ‘theft.’”

This passage thus ties Jesus’ command to seek first the kingdom of God with our economic behavior.  By taking more than our proper share we are committing theft and violating our relationships; our relationships are always both ecological and economic.

A second dimension of these passages, is that there is a difference between the human economy, as alluded to by the sowing and reaping activities, and the ecological economy in which the birds are fed by God.  The human economy, however, fits inside of and is wholly dependent on the larger ecological community. When we pretend our economy is not contingent in this way, we are guilty of domestic violence, because the human economy deals with materials and forces that we did not and cannot create–the fertility of the soil, the precipitation that irrigates the soil, and even the human productivity and ingenuity that is commodified as labor.

We cannot create systems of abstract, monetary value that are not entirely dependent on and derived from the only real ecological value: life.  Only God’s Spirit can breath this value into existence and it is thus a sacred value.

In Barry’s words, the problem is that the human industrial economy “sees itself as the only economy.  It makes itself thus exclusive by the simple expedient of valuing only what it can use.”

However, once we acknowledge God’s economy, “we are astonished and frightened to see how much modern enterprise is the work of hubris” and that it thus “is based on invasion and pillage of the Great Economy,” Barry’s word for God’s economy.

Furthermore, the reliance on technology and industry to solve the problems they create renders it a fruitless enterprise plagued by the need to result to mechanical solutions that can only operate by oversimplifying problems.  Since all of creation is God’s house, we have nowhere to dwell but in God’s economy, and thus, “whether or not we know that and act accordingly is the critical question, not about economy merely but about human life itself.”

This awareness can only be cultivated out of the recognition that we are embodied residents of the created natural world and as such we are unavoidably a part of God’s ecological economy; without such an awareness, our entire understanding of God’s house is reduced to the “environment” and the “economy” and both are confined to the sphere of other “social issues” as opposed to the spiritual issues which are the supposed concern of God and the church.

Poverty, when understood biblically, is neither solely a material condition nor simply a spiritual condition; it is both.  In Matthew’s version of the Beatitudes, Jesus addresses the “poor in spirit” (Mt. 5:3), but in Luke he merely says, “Blessed are you who are poor” (Lk 6:20).  Similarly, economic sinfulness is neither solely a violation of God nor merely a violation of human beings; it is both.  Thus, when Jesus ‘cleanses the temple’ in Mark 11 he is committing a prophetic act that is both a religious and economic statement, and this is further evidenced by the two prophecies he quotes: the first is a statement by God about the nature of God’s house and who it is for—”a house of prayer for all nations” (Is. 56:7)—and the second deals specifically with how humans have profaned God’s house by making it “a den of thieves” (Jer. 7:11).  We might ask, in what way was God’s house made a den of thieves?  Of course, we only need to turn to Jeremiah 7:5-10 to discover the reason: the people do not execute justice with one another but instead they “oppress the sojourner, the fatherless, or the widow, or shed innocent blood” (vv 6-7) and God refuses to allow the doers of such domestic violence to dwell in God’s house, so God asks, “Will you…then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, We are delivered!—only to go on doing all these abominations? Has this house…become a den of robbers in your eyes? Behold, I myself have seen it” (vv 9-11).  The sheer volume of prophetic writings pertaining to the indivisibility of executing justice and worshipping God make it impossible to drown out the biblical cries of the poor and oppressed.

Honoring God is inseparable from executing justice, the right ordering of relationships in God’s house (oikonomia or economy) and in the context of relationships, economic justice and ecological justice are also implicitly inseparable.

Part III: Ecological, Ecumenical and Economic Reconciliation

Now that we have begun to view the crisis holistically within the paradigm of God’s house we can begin to glimpse what is implied by the term reconciliation.  Etymologically, the word reconcile comes from Latin and means “to bring back together.”  It is a bringing back together that is ecological (relationships), economic (order), and also fundamentally ecumenical (holistic).  We have seen the ways in which humans have engaged in domestic violence against God’s house by pillaging it and tearing it down; reconciliation, in this sense, is the Architect’s plan of restoring the house to its intended form—both its material foundation and its family relationships.  It is not uncommon to hear the church called God’s house in Christian circles, but what is significant is that the imagery of God’s house in scripture is not of brick and mortar (Is. 66:1) but it is rather imagery of living flesh: the Body of Christ.  It is after building this embodied image of the church that Paul goes on to mix in the imagery of God’s house:

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord.  In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit (Eph. 2:19-22).

The language of Paul depicts human beings, we who commit domestic violence and theft and property destruction in God’s house, as being brought back (reconciled) into the household.  More than that, these humans are now being called family members who serve as a “dwelling place for God by the Spirit.”  In the reconciliation through which God is bringing us back, the relationship between humanity and God is mended mutually; we are allowed back into the house as family members, while at the very same time, we are opening up to allow the Spirit of God to dwell in us!  But what can this mutual indwelling possibly mean?  How can this help us to understand the nature of the church and to find our place in the midst God’s project of reconciliation?  What does this have to do with the ecological, economic and ecumenical life of the church?

To understand all this, it must be remembered that the same trait is at the very core of the biblical imagery for God, creation, human beings, Jesus Christ, and the church: they are all alive.  According to Jürgen Moltmann, we have failed to understand the role of the church in the missio Dei and reconciliation because we have fundamentally misunderstood the mission of Christ: “Jesus didn’t bring a new religion into the world.  What he brought was new life.”

He argues that the Gospel of John quite explicitly states what God has brought into the world through Jesus Christ: life (Jn. 14:19), and in the Synoptic Gospels, he says, “Where Jesus is, there is life…sick people are healed, sad people are comforted, marginalized people are accepted, and the demons of death are driven out.”

The salvific work of the Holy Spirit in reconciliation cannot be confined merely to the spheres of religion and spirituality because it is the integrating redemption of the whole of life.  Reconciliation does not mean leaving this life to enter into eternal life; it is the breaking in of eternal life for the transformation of this life.

Thus, the apostle Paul writes, “For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality…then shall come to pass the saying that is written: Death is swallowed up in victory” (1 Cor. 15:53-55).  Salvation is the process in which all things are reconciled through Christ which begins with the renewal of God’s people, then the renewal of all the living, and then is finally consummated with the renewal of the earth (Joel 2:21-29).  According to the bible, the signal of the Spirit’s presence is vitality and the true end of history is completion of God’s ecology wherein all relationships are indwelled by the Spirit and taken into the community of the triune God.

The church fits into this process as a living community that is also a community of life.  It is not insignificant that the ‘theology of life’ is now a source of ecumenical hope for the church, as it has been emphasized by Pope John Paul II, the liberation theologian Gustavo Gutierrez, the Korean theologian Chung Hyung Kyung, the German protestant Moltmann, and many others from divergent Christian traditions.

These thinkers are calling for the church to be the community of God’s people who work to support a ‘culture of life’ and who denounce the destructive powers of death.  In this sense, it is an ecological church, because the premise of ecology is that life is community.  This communal character reflects the communal character of God revealed in the doctrine of the Trinity.

Biblical descriptions of the experience of the Spirit are often feminine, such as that of being ‘born anew’ or of the Paraclete who comforts as a mother comforts (Jn. 14:26).  Thus, many Christians outside the clutches of patriarchal Rome (such as Syria) have come to view the Holy Spirit as the divine mother.

The benefit of this image for the context of the oikos is that it helps us to see the divine-human community of the church: our father is the Father of Christ, our mother is the life-giving Spirit of God, and the Son of the living God is our brother.  As a human community, then, we are a community of brothers and sisters in fellowship with our true Mother and Father.

Finally, as a church that exists within an insatiable human economy in which there is never enough, we are called to be a community that confesses the good news of God’s economy: there is enough.  Those of us who come into the church from places of privilege humbly admit that God is the liberator of the poor, oppressed, marginal, and downtrodden.  Those who come into the church from a position of material poverty must also admit that spiritual poverty is also a very real affliction.  For those of us who are wealthy, we must recognize that most of the wealthy people who come to Jesus in the Gospels found him to be too difficult to follow.  There is, however, one counterexample which we are challenged to follow: Zacchaeus, who gave half of everything he owned to the poor and paid back everything he took fourfold (Lk. 19:1-10).  Zacchaeus was committed to reconciliation and accordingly worked very hard to restore the relationships he had violated and broken.

In God’s economy, money is not in itself good or evil; what matters is justice and community.  In the New Testament picture of God’s community of the church, there are both rich and poor members, but what is important is that they are nevertheless a community of equals who are dedicated to sharing with one another and meeting the needs of the community (Jm. 5, Act. 4).  In fact, it is precisely this kind of diversity—the rich and poor communing together—that is essential to how God’s economy works.  It is precisely by bringing the rich and the poor together into relationships that the resources of the rich can be directed to meet the needs of the poor–both spiritually and materially.  That is because “the opposite of poverty is not property.  The opposite of both poverty and property is community.”

Conclusion: Homecoming

The household of God is the community that is marked by the ethic of the Sermon on the Mount (Mt. 5-7).  This community’s vocation within the holistic project of God’s reconciliation is to be the people who have returned home to the house of our true Father.  In this oikos, we have all been the prodigal sons and daughters who return from estrangement glad even to be readmitted into our Father’s house as domestic servants but unimaginably surprised by the grace of being accepted warmly and lovingly, though certainly undeservingly, as sons and daughters (Lk. 15:11-32).

Our challenge, however, is to remember this as we call all our other long lost siblings back into the household, lest we should be like the brother in the parable and start to hate our returning brothers and sisters out of entitlement and jealousy.  We know that as the family grows, it will also change in ways that may make us uncomfortable.  Where these attitudes of fear, insecurity, and self-preservation surface in the community, they will be corrected by an affirmation of the good news of God’s economy: there is enough for everyone!  Then and only then will we be equipped for our role in reconciliation: to continue the homecoming by welcoming all who will enter into God’s ecological and ecumenical household.

Bibliography

Barry, Wendell. “Two Economies.” Review & Expositor 81, no. 2 (1984): 209-223.

Boff, Leonardo. Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor. Translated by Phillip Berryman. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1997.

Conradie, Ernst M. “The Whole Household of God (Oikos): Some Ecclesiological Perspectives.” Scriptura 94 (2007): 1-9.

Edwards, Dennis. Jesus the Wisdom of God: An Ecological Theology. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1995.

Gottfried, Robert R. Economics, Ecology, and the Roots of Western Faith. Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995.

Harper, Brad, and Paul L. Metzger. Exploring Ecclesiology: An Evangelical and Ecumenical Introduction. Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2009.

Jung, L. Shannon. “Grounded in God: Ecology, Consumption and the Small Church.” Anglican Theological Review 78, no. 4 (1996): 587-602.

Lee-Park, Sun Ai. “The Forbidden Tree and the Year of the Lord.” In Women Healing Earth: Third World Women on Ecology, Feminism, and Religion, Rosemary R. Ruether, 107-116. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1996.

Moltmann, Jürgen. The Source of Life: The Holy Spirit and the Theology of Life. Translated by Margaret Kohl. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997.

Park, Rohun. “Revisiting the Parable of the Prodigal Son for Decolonization: Luke’s Reconfiguration of Oikos in 15:11-32.” Biblical Interpretation 17, no. 5 (2009): 507-520.

Schut, Michael. “Coming Home: Economics and Ecology.” Anglican Theological Review 91, no. 4 (2009): 581-588.

Snyder, Howard A. Liberating the Church: The Ecology of Church and Kingdom. Downer’s Grove, Ill.: Inter-Varsity Press, 1983.

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God’s Mission is nothing less than the sending of the Holy Spirit from the Father through the Son into this world, so that this world shall not perish but live…For the Holy Spirit is ‘the source of life’ and brings into the world – whole life, full life, unhindered, indestructible, everlasting life.

– Jürgen Moltmann

 

Introduction

Notions of Stewardship

The concept of stewardship has a long history of application to the context of Christian understandings of the relationship between human beings and the natural world.  Thus, there is no singular or all-encompassing concept of what stewardship specifically means; there are many interpretations.  As is the case for virtually every biblically-derived notion, proponents of stewardship have often misinterpreted or abused their scriptural sources and consequently developed unacceptable concepts.  The most prevalent text for understanding human stewardship of the natural world is the second creation narrative in Genesis 2, which states that God placed the original human being in the garden “to work it and keep it” (v. 15).  In the same account, God creates all of the animals to be in community with the human being and with each other, and then consummates the created community by giving ha adam (the earthling) an ezer kenegdo — a human companion and counterpart to share the task of working and keeping and sustaining God’s garden (2:18).  Now the harmonious community of creation was complete and it was good, just as God intended.  Though not explicitly mentioned, this passage is foundational for a concept of stewardship that entails the work of maintaining the harmony of God’s creation by working to sustain the relationships among creation in three spheres: between humans and God, between humans and each other, and between humans and the other creatures God has made (vv. 18-19).  So far, this is a healthy conception of stewardship that is rooted in solid exegesis.

 

Problems and Critiques of Stewardship

The problem with the idea of human stewardship of the earth is not found in the text of the Bible itself, but rather in the abuse of the text in its employment for the justification of corrupt and sinful human constructs.  The twin creation narratives of Genesis have been abused in such a way as to confound the proper biblical understandings of all three aforementioned spheres of relationship.  In the first place, it has been forgotten that the first humans were not simply land managers for an absentee landlord-God. On the contrary, the Lord God was present, dwelling and walking with them and the other creatures in the garden (cf. Gen. 3:8).  The immanent presence of God in creation cannot be neglected; it is the God’s ruach, the breath and Spirit of God, which animates and sustains all living creatures and renders them mere dust when it retreats (Ps. 104:29;146:4; Job 34:14).  When God is seen as wholly transcendent and absent from creation, stewardship quickly devolves into an anthropocentric view that appropriates the charge to dominate and subdue the earth (Gen. 1:26) and ignores all of the biblical constraints on this privilege.    Yet, when this critique is carried to its logical extreme, the result is a pantheistic view that ultimately also loses the fundamental basis for respecting the natural world—that it is God’s creation and we, as God’s creatures, are answerable to God for how we interact with it.  Furthermore, when God is characterized and caricatured as exclusively male, the sense of domination takes on a sexist dimension and finds in Genesis 2-3 evidence for the primacy and superiority of males over females (cf. 1 Tim. 2:9-15). The only way to resolve these problems and begin answer their critiques, then, is to reclaim a panentheistic theology that realizes God is beyond gender, recognizes both God’s transcendence and immanence and which respects God’s creation, affirms God’s ownership and lordship over creation, and sees God as both the preeminent source and indwelling sustainer of all life.  The benefit of panentheism is that it can hold God’s well-attested transcendence and often neglected immanence in tension, affirming the fullness of the divine nature without reducing God to one or the other extreme.  After surveying the foundational scriptures for such a theology, it will become abundantly clear that the missio Dei, God’s work for the redemption of creation, is at its core a missio vitae, a mission of life.

 

Old Testament Foundations

Ruach: The Spirit of Life

All that exists is created through and sustained by God’s ruach, the very breath

of life.  It enveloped the entire earth when God began to speak created life into being (Gen. 1:2), and still fills the world and holds all living beings together (Isa. 34:16).  So dependent is all life on the immanent presence of God’s ruach in creation that Job says, “If he should set his heart to it and gather to himself his spirit and his breath, all flesh would perish together, and man would return to dust” (34:14-15).  It is through the denial of God’s presence in creation that human sinfulness brings about the violation and destruction of life—both human and non-human.  For if, by the breath of the Spirit, Godself is present in creation, indwelling and supporting all life, then there can be absolutely no basis for an anthropocentric worldview.  If the very Creator is here, and not somewhere else, then it matters what we do and how we interact with God’s creatures.  It is no accident, then, that in the very same passage in Job, the presence of God’s spirit leads him to proceed directly to talking about justice!  Throughout the Old Testament the knowledge of God as Creator is inextricably bound up with God’s presence on earth, and that is precisely why justice is among God’s most fundamental concerns; in a very real sense, a violation of creation or creatures is simultaneously a violation of the Creator. More specifically, sin and injustice are essentially violations of life—all of the violence, deprivation, vulnerability, suffering and oppression that characterize human sinfulness are connected with death in that “they are all something death steals from life.”

 

Sin, Injustice and Death

That the Old Testament writers connect justice with God’s life giving immanence in creation becomes abundantly clear in the writings of the prophets, in which the concrete victims of human sin and injustice are depicted in the crying out of creatures both human and non-human.  One clear example of this occurs in Joel, where the prophet declares that because the “fields are destroyed, the ground mourns” (1:10).  He goes on to exclaim, “How the beasts groan! The herds of cattle are perplexed because there is no pasture for them; even the flocks of sheep suffer” (1:18).  The ground itself, and the creatures that depend upon it are said to “pant for [the Lord] because the water brooks are dried up” (1:20).  In the vulnerability of embodied suffering, non-human creatures, both plants and animals, know to cry out for the God upon whose Spirit they depend for their very life; it is the humans in this passage who are the last to realize this need, and it is they who are to blame for the suffering endured by all the creatures.  The desolation of the earth is “because of its inhabitants, for the fruit of their doings,” says Micah (7:13), and the ensuing punishment is brought upon this terrestrial dwelling place because humans “fill their master’s house with violence and fraud” (Zeph. 1:9).

 

The Household of God and the Missio Vitae

All of God’s creatures are linked by their mutual sharing of life in God’s household, the community of creation, as we have seen in Genesis 2.  The scientific word for the study of this intricate and interconnected community of creation is ecology, which comes from the Greek root oikos and refers literally to the household shared by all living organisms.  Wilderness ecologist Aldo Leopold once said, “We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us.  When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.”  Thus, we see that the underlying premise of the science of ecology, despite its basis in evolutionary biology rather than creation theology, is very close to the central emphasis of cosmology in the Jewish and Christian scriptures: God’s creation is a fundamentally relational community of life.

The other connection made by the prophets with regard to the injustice of human sin as a violation of God’s oikos is an economic one: the sin of slavery, oppression, and economic exploitation of the poor by the wealthy. While the first part of the word economy comes from oikos, the second part comes from another Greek word: nomos, which refers to laws or regulations.  In the oikos of God, ecology and economy are inextricably linked.  Thus, when Jesus ‘cleanses the temple’ in Mark 11, he quotes from two prophetic texts that speak to this connection: the first is a statement by God about the nature of God’s house and who it is for—”a house of prayer for all nations” (Is. 56:7)—and the second deals specifically with how humans have profaned God’s house by making it “a den of thieves” (Jer. 7:11).  We might ask, in what way was God’s house made a den of thieves?  Of course, we only need to turn to Jeremiah 7:5-10 to discover the reason: the people do not execute justice with one another but instead they “oppress the sojourner, the fatherless, or the widow, or shed innocent blood” (vv 6-7) and God refuses to allow the doers of such domestic violence to dwell in God’s house, so God asks, “Will you…then come and stand before me in this house, which is called by my name, and say, We are delivered!—only to go on doing all these abominations? Has this house…become a den of robbers in your eyes? Behold, I myself have seen it” (vv 9-11).  The sheer volume of prophetic writings pertaining to the indivisibility of executing justice and worshipping God make it impossible to drown out the biblical cries of the poor and oppressed.  Injustice everywhere elicits the cry of the ecological community, as we saw in Joel, as well as the cry for economic liberation from the poor and oppressed.  Therefore, we do not understand the prophetic witness to God’s divine judgment at all unless we understand that “the judgment is for the cleansing of the world, not is demolition.”

These lamentations and God’s judgment, however, is not the end of the story, for God listens lovingly to the cries of creation’s suffering and detests the empty worship of those who call to him but do not practice justice; and to both parties, God offers the same solution: “Seek me and live” (Amos 5).  In the fallenness of the Godforsaken world of human sin and injustice, we suffer and cry out in the feeling that there is not enough to sustain us; death is everywhere encroaching on our very existence.  This is not the end of the story, as Moltmann eloquently suggests, “But if God is not far off, if God is near, if God is present among us in the Spirit, then we find a new, indescribable joy in living…we are at home.”  The prophets affirm that God does indeed dwell in this very cosmos, and that God is with us, neither far off nor cordoned off in the brick and mortar of the temple (Isa. 66:1).  Joel looks forward to the time when humans will join the earth and the animals in praising God, the giver of life, when God says, “I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh” (2:28).  For now, the “palace is forsaken,” says Isaiah, but only “until the Spirit is poured upon us from on high, and the wilderness becomes a fruitful field…then justice will dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness abide in the fruitful field” (32:14-16).  After God’s redeeming work to restore the household community of creation, when God’s missio vitae is fulfilled, God says, “My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places” (32:18).  In this beautiful prophetic vision, not only is humanity liberated, but so too are the animals set free from economic bondage, for God also says, “Happy are you who sow beside all waters, who let the feet of the ox and the donkey range free” (v. 20).

 

New Testament Appropriations

The Immanence of God in the Incarnation

We have seen the firm Old Testament foundation for a panentheistic theology that affirms God’s life-breathing presence in creation and its implications for understanding the missio Dei as a missio vitae, a mission of redeeming and restoring life.  In the New Testament, these scriptural traditions are not only affirmed; they are radically recontextualized; God not only pours the Spirit on all flesh—through the incarnation of the Jesus Christ, the Son and second person of the Christian Trinity, God has indeed become flesh!  This is not seen as simply a symbol or merely a doctrinal suggestion; the only heresy explicitly described as such in the entire New Testament is not believing precisely that extreme statement: that God has become flesh in the person of Jesus Christ (1 Jn. 4:2-3).  At the incarnation, the immanence of God is revealed in a new and more profound way; it is Emmanuel, God with us.  The one in and through whom all of creation has come into being, according to John, “became flesh and dwelt among us” (Jn. 1:14).  In the same Gospel, Jesus later says, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (10:10), and after the resurrection, he tells his disciples, “Because I live, you also will live. In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you” (14:19).  Thus, for Moltmann, the fourth Gospel states quite directly what it is that God has brought into the world through the incarnation—life—and this leads him to state that, “God’s mission is nothing less than the sending of the Holy Spirit from the Father through the Son into this world, so that this world should not perish but live.”  Through Christ, then, we understand that the beginning of the pouring of God’s spirit anticipated by Joel and Isaiah has indeed entered the world, this very world, and that it is sent out to us by Christ himself.

 

Reconciliation in Christ

The apostle Paul connects the notion behind John’s words about Christ with the imagery of God’s nature in Isaiah 34:16 in his epistle to the Colossians: “all things were created through him and for him…and in him all things hold together” (1:15).  Having brought together the Old Testament understanding of God’s creation and life-sustaining activity and the incarnation of God in Christ, Paul goes on to speak about what was accomplished in this miraculous event, “For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven” (vv. 19-20).  God’s reconciliation, says Paul, is not just for all humans, or all animals, or all life; it is for the entirety of creation.  In his letter to the Romans, Paul strikes this chord even more eloquently, speaking of the “hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God” (8:21).  Before speaking about our own hope, Paul speaks of the hope of creation crying out in yearning for God’s Spirit, just as the ground and the animals did in Joel 2.  For the fate of the earth is not merely to be the staging ground for human salvation; with the earth, from which we were made, our own fate is inextricable bound up.  Thus, Paul goes on:

For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now.  And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.  For in this hope we were saved (vv. 22-24).

Here we get a new image of life in the redeemed household of God: family.  In Jesus Christ, the firstborn, we have the hope of life and adoption into the very family of God.  We do not get the idea that we will escape this world, nor our bodies; instead we are promised the “redemption of our bodies.”

 

 

 

The Body of Christ

It is not uncommon to hear the church called God’s house in Christian circles, but what is significant is that the imagery of God’s house in scripture is not of brick and mortar (Is. 66:1) but it is rather imagery of living flesh: the Body of Christ.  It is after building this embodied image of the church that Paul goes on to mix in the imagery of God’s house:

So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God…In [Christ] you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit (Eph. 2:19-22).

In the reconciliation through which God is bringing us back, the relationship between humanity and God is mended mutually; we are allowed back into the house as family members, while at the very same time, we are opening up to allow the Spirit of God to dwell in us!  But what can this mutual indwelling possibly mean?  How can this help us to understand the nature of the church and to find our place in the midst of God’s project of reconciliation?  To understand all this, it must be remembered that the same trait is at the very core of the biblical imagery for God, creation, human beings, Jesus Christ, and the church: they are all alive. Moltmann says that we have failed to understand the role of the church in the missio Dei because we have fundamentally misunderstood the mission of Christ: “Jesus didn’t bring a new religion into the world.  What he brought was new life.”  Thus, as we read the accounts of Jesus’ earthly mission in the Gospels, we discover that, “Where Jesus is, there is life…sick people are healed, sad people are comforted, marginalized people are accepted, and the demons of death are driven out.”  According to the bible, the signal of the Spirit’s presence is vitality and the true end of history is completion of the missio vitae wherein all relationships are indwelled by the Spirit and taken into the community of the triune God.  To us, the firstfruits of God’s redeemed household have been entrusted.  It is in this sense that we, who by grace have been allowed back into the house, indeed even welcomed in as actual family members, can conceive of ourselves as oikonomoi—stewards.  Such an understanding is not hierarchical, nor does it seek to dominate the household in the place of an absentee Master; it is ecumenical.  For the literal sense of the word “ecumenical” is of all the inhabitants of the household living together as a family.

 

The Church and the Missio Vitae

Home Economics 101

As a church that exists within an insatiable human economy in which there is never enough, we are called to be a community that confesses the good news of God’s economy: there is enough.  Those of us who come into the church from places of privilege humbly admit that God is the liberator of the poor, oppressed, marginal, and downtrodden.  Those who come into the church from a position of material poverty must also admit that spiritual poverty is also a very real affliction.  For those of us who are wealthy, we must recognize that most of the wealthy people who come to Jesus in the Gospels found him to be too difficult to follow.  There is, however, one counterexample which we are challenged to follow: Zacchaeus, who gave half of everything he owned to the poor and paid back everything he took fourfold (Lk. 19:1-10).  Zacchaeus was committed to reconciliation and accordingly worked very hard to restore the relationships he had violated and broken.  In God’s economy, money is not in itself good or evil; what matters are justice and community.  In the New Testament picture of God’s community of the church, there are both rich and poor members, but what is important is that they are nevertheless a community of equals who are dedicated to sharing with one another and meeting the needs of the community (Jm. 5, Act. 4).  In fact, it is precisely this kind of diversity—the rich and poor communing together—that is essential to how God’s economy works.  It is precisely by bringing the rich and the poor together into relationships that the resources of the rich can be directed to meet the needs of the poor–both spiritually and materially.  That is because “the opposite of poverty is not property.  The opposite of both poverty and property is community.”  In this community of sharing, it becomes possible to speak, like Arias, or “evangelization by hospitality.”

Homecoming

The household of God is the community that is marked by the ethic of the

Sermon on the Mount (Mt. 5-7), and its mission must reflect this ethic.  This community’s vocation within the holistic project of God’s missio vitae is to be the people who have returned home to the house of our true Father.  In this oikos, we have all been the prodigal sons and daughters who return from estrangement glad even to be readmitted into our Father’s house as domestic servants but unimaginably surprised by the grace of being accepted warmly and lovingly, though certainly undeservingly, as sons and daughters (Lk. 15:11-32).  Our challenge, however, is to remember this as we call all our other long lost siblings back into the household, lest we should be like the brother in the parable and start to hate our returning brothers and sisters out of entitlement and jealousy.  We know that as the family grows, it will also change in ways that may make us uncomfortable.  Such are the challenges to the oikonomoi, the stewards of the household.  Where these attitudes of fear, insecurity, and self-preservation surface in the community, they will be corrected by an affirmation of the good news of God’s economy: there is enough for everyone!  Then and only then will we be equipped for our role in reconciliation: to continue the homecoming by welcoming all who will enter into God’s ecological and ecumenical household.

 

The Missio Vitae in Context

The Stewardship of Life

We have expanded our view of God and the church in order to glimpse the

missio Dei in a new lens: the life-affirming activity of God on behalf of all creation.  As disciples of Jesus who are welcomed into the family life of God’s household, we are stewards of life called to participate in God’s mission, whose aim is the abundance of life (Jn. 10:10).  “If we could start from that premise,” Douglas Hall argues, “The despondency that now so often clings to our discourse on mission…would be exchanged for a new sense of being needed.”  It is the grounding in the missio vitae that finally enables us to get beyond stewardship as a flawed framework, dismissed by economic and environmental activists as archaic and oppressive, and shrugged off by the church as a periphery slogan and biblical euphemism for shrewdness.  Instead, the stewardship of life becomes “a way of designating the very core of our faith. In a time given over to the courting of death, the gospel means: stewarding life!”  Throughout the Old Testament, from Deuteronomy to the prophets, God’s people have been confronted with a choice: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse.  Therefore choose life” (Deut. 30:19).  In the New Testament, we learn that in Christ, God has personally brought this life into the world.  On the cross, Christ took upon himself the world’s response to the charge in Deuteronomy 30, in order to transform the world’s opting for death into the possibility and promise of new life.  Hall poignantly remarks, “I am interested in rediscovering the mission of that Jesus; and I suspect that it doesn’t have very much to do with getting people to say, ‘Lord, Lord.’”

Lest we should fall into a form of Christian legalism and merely solicit the empty cry of ‘Lord, Lord,’ we must remember the task to which we have been called.  As Johannes Nissen reminds us, “Mission is not only about verbal proclamation but healing action as well, and it strives not just for church growth but for the wholeness of creation.”  To be a community of healing, we must seek out and identify with vulnerable and suffering creation.  What we need is “compassion so that we enter into the suffering of the earth…In sharing its wounds, we will become participants in the healing of the earth.”

 

Implications

What does it mean to be a community of sharing justice and peace in God’s household?  For starters, we must recognize that the basic unit of God’s salvific mission is not the individual, or even simply humanity; it is the whole of creation.  “Justice, biblically, is the rendering, amidst limited resources and the conditions of brokenness, of whatever is required for the fullest possible flourishing of creation.”  The primary advantage of beginning to adopt this point of view for the concern of evangelism is that it entails truly good news for everyone.  What agent for centripetal mission could be better than being known as the community that is dedicated to the fullest possible flourishing of all creation?  Who could possibly find in that goal any bad news?  The sheer universality of this claim identifies it with the very heart of the gospel itself and also opens up a vital starting point for dialogue.  In a postmodern world in which models of authority and conquest are distrusted and abhorred (and for good reason!), the humble goal of upholding all life and identifying with the most vulnerable members of creation will open more doors than any other missionary model.  Jesus did not lay down his life so that we could avoid our responsibility, and the cross that we must take up in our own time is that of affirming life in a world in which it is always and everywhere threatened.  If we send missionaries to Iraq or Afghanistan alongside the troops whose bombs and bullets are killing and destroying their lands and people, what success could we possibly expect?  Yet if there are Christians in those places, risking that their own lives may be caught in the crossfire, to stand alongside Iraqis and Afghans in the name of Christ, what better witness could be asked for?  How can the Christian mission reach those people who are already laying down their lives for the life of the world today, but who do not know the Lord for whose mission they work?  As Hall points out, “Those who are really giving their lives for the world’s life today are too altruistic to be concerned primarily for their own salvation.”  But what if the message of the Gospel and the hope of salvation is not just about me?  Then, I suppose, there would be a mission worth joining, a God worth serving, and a community—indeed, a household and family— truly worth participating in.  Then, we might actually have some good news to proclaim to a world numbed and deafened by the ceaseless drone of bad news.

References Cited

Attfield, Robin. “Environmental Sensitivity and Critiques of Stewardship.” In Environmental Stewardship, Edited by R.J. Berry, 76-91. New York: T & T Clark International, 2006.

 

Boff, Leonardo. Cry of the Earth, Cry of the Poor. Translated by Phillip Berryman. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1997.

 

Conradie, Ernst M. “The Whole Household of God (Oikos): Some Ecclesiological Perspectives.” Scriptura 94 (2007): 1-9.

 

Dyrness, William. “Stewardship of the Earth in the Old Testament.” In Tending the Garden: Essays on the Gospel and the Earth, Edited by Wesley Granberg-Michaelson, 50-65. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987.

 

Edwards, Dennis. Jesus the Wisdom of God: An Ecological Theology. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1995.

 

Gottfried, Robert R. Economics, Ecology, and the Roots of Western Faith. Lanham, Md.: Rowman & Littlefield, 1995.

 

Hall, Douglas J. The Stewardship of Life in the Kingdom of Death. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1985.

 

Jegen, Mary E. “The Church’s Role in Healing the Earth.” In Tending the Garden: Essays on the Gospel and the Earth, Edited by Wesley Granberg-Michaelson, 93-113. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987.

 

Knights, Philip. “”The Whole Earth My Altar”: A Sacramental Trajectory for Ecological Mission.” Mission Studies 25, no. 1 (2008): 56-72.

 

Moltmann, Jürgen. The Source of Life: The Holy Spirit and the Theology of Life. Translated by Margaret Kohl. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1997.

 

Newbigin, Lesslie. The Open Secret: An Introduction to the Theology of Mission. Grand   Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978.

 

Nissen, Johannes. New Testament and Mission: Histonrical and Hermeneutical Perspectives. Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 2007.

 

Palmer, Clare. “Stewardship: A Case Study in Environmental Ethics.” In Environmental Stewardship, Edited by R.J. Berry, 63-75. New York: T & T Clark International, 2006.

 

Park, Rohun. “Revisiting the Parable of the Prodigal Son for Decolonization: Luke’s Reconfiguration of Oikos in 15:11-32.” Biblical Interpretation 17, no. 5 (2009): 507-520.

 

Rasmussen, Larry L. “Creation, Church, and Christian Responsibility.” In Tending the Garden: Essays on the Gospel and the Earth, Edited by Wesley Granberg-Michaelson, 114-131. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1987.

 

Van Dyke, Fred, David C. Mahan, Joseph K. Sheldon, and Raymond H. Brand. Redeeming Creation: The Biblical Basis for Environmental Stewardship. Downer’s Grove, Ill.: Inter-Varsity Press, 1996.

It would be nearly impossible to cite the biblical references to the theme of economic justice exhaustively, but here is a short list: Is.1:2-4, 56:4-8, 58:6-7, 59:13-15; Jer. 11:13-16, 22:4-5,13-17; Ezek. 9:9, 12:2-3, 14:11, 37:10-14; Hos. 4:1-3; Joel 1:9-20, 2:12-16; Amos 3:15; Mic. 7:13-17, Zep. 1:9; Hag. 1:4; Hab 2:8-20; Zec. 3:7

 

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10/26/2010

Introduction

Before conducting a historical study of Jesus, it must first be remembered that he lived in a time, place, culture, and religion which are different from our own.  The task of the historical study is thus to allow this particular situation of the man Jesus of Nazareth to speak to us out of this very particularity.  At the same time, however, we cannot deny that the only reason history has recorded the words and deeds of Jesus is because of the conviction of his followers that this man revealed the nature of God in a way that profoundly spoke to them in their own particular situation(s).  The very reason for trying to understand and locate Jesus in his own historical context is to attempt to discover how he can relate to and speak to us in our contexts.  The universal significance of Jesus Christ has as its foundation the particular significance of the first century Jewish man from Nazareth in Galilee.  Through all this, we must humbly admit that Jesus of Nazareth speaks to us solely through the voices of others, and that this fact itself contributes an important insight into what manner of man Jesus himself was.  These other voices constitute the earliest attempts by communities of Jesus’ followers to articulate how this historical human being is at once the living Christ, present to their own communities and cultures which differed both from one another and from that of Jesus himself.  In this sense, the Gospel accounts are not historical records of the man who worked miracles and taught in parables, but are themselves parables that attest to the miraculous experience of Jesus as Emmanuel, God with us.  John Dominic Crossan’s understanding of both parables of Jesus and parables about Jesus sums this point up quite well:

 

Here is another principle well understood in parables by Jesus, but often forgotten in

parables about Jesus. What if the audience, having heard the Good Samaritan parable,

unanimously chose to debate its historicity. “I think,” said one, “it is history, for I was on

that road only yesterday.” “I think,” said another, “that it is parable: did you really think his

Sower story was about agriculture?” “I think,” said a third, “that whether it is parable or his-

tory, the point is the same: what if the alien is kinder to us than we are to each other?”

 

 

The point is well made: we cannot afford to get lost in debate over which accounts are historical fact and which ones are myth, because either way we risk missing the point of what it all means.  The truth of Jesus’ parables clearly withstand the historical judgment that they are fictional constructs because their historicity is not the point; in the same way we risk losing the very fabric of our faith if we pin the truth of the Gospels on their historicity.  In the end we must confess that the truth of the scriptures is not of the sort that can be proven right or wrong by historical inquiry.  Once we relinquish these fears, we may then open ourselves up to the truth of a renewed understanding of who Jesus was, and thereafter begin to understand in a much more profound way who Jesus is.

Identity & Context of Jesus

Essential to any scholar’s effort to elucidate the historical mystery of Jesus of Nazareth is a method that seeks to establish to the best degree possible the context in which he lived.  However, as historians begin piecing together the frail fragments of the past, widely variant pictures emerge.  There are, it seems, as many historical Jesuses as there are Jesus historians.

In itself, this is not necessarily a bad thing, for there is a considerable diversity of images of Jesus within the New Testament itself.

What is needed is a way of seeing the underlying unity of this diversity.  In short, the best method is the one that can account for the widest variety of sources and integrate them into a more holistic understanding of Jesus of Nazareth and the communities of his followers.  Such an explanation would need to account for how Jesus was both situated within his own context and at the same time distinct enough from his context to have begun his own movement.  In his book Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography, Crossan depicts a Jesus who is sufficiently revolutionary, but is he intelligible enough to his contemporaries to have garnered as many followers as he clearly had? Paula Fredriksen’s Jesus of Nazareth: King of the Jews is thoroughly Jewish, but is he original enough to have cast the seeds of a movement cohesive enough to break free from mainstream Judaism even under the circumstances of harsh imperial backlash?  The truth, as usual, must be somewhere in the middle.  If Jesus was so indistinguishable from his peers then there is little to explain why we are still talking about him; yet if he was unintelligible to his peers there is no indication why anyone in his day would have taken him seriously enough to listen to him, much less execute him as an incendiary figure.

Ultimately, the historical study of Jesus must take account of the precious few facts that are beyond dispute.  Of these, the most solid fact is that of his death: he died by crucifixion, a political execution carried out as a public address by the Roman prefect Pontius Pilate in Jerusalem on or around the time of Passover.

We also know that while Jesus was executed as a political criminal, his followers were not—they continued to live in Jerusalem for years after Jesus’ death.

Any historical account must tackle the question of how this Galilean Jewish religious figure came to be executed as a political insurrectionist despite being considered harmless enough not to warrant killing or even persecuting his closest and most immediate followers. To attempt to answer these questions by appeal to the scriptures alone is insufficient, for the New Testament accounts were written during a time when the very center of the Jewish faith, the Jerusalem Temple, had been destroyed in a war with Rome, and when the Jewish communities that had come to be known as Christians were increasingly at odds with another Jewish sect, the Pharisees, and were also increasingly incorporating Gentiles into their fellowship.

While it is instructive to examine how the writers of the New Testament related Jesus to their own contexts in order to see how we might understand him in light of our own situation, this tendency in scripture makes it difficult to see past the post-Temple, and even more importantly, post-Resurrection consciousness of Christian faith into the thoroughly Jewish life of Jesus.  Yet aside from a small handful of outside (but by no means neutral) sources, the Gospels comprise the largest and most useful source of information about Jesus.  One cannot discount the veracity of the New Testament texts without accounting for how and why any given piece was created by the scripture writers; if a tradition about Jesus is not historically accurate there must still be some historical reason for its creation and circulation, as well as for its being identified with Jesus—all of which tells us more about who Jesus was.  From a historical standpoint, the more attested a particular datum is by independent sources, the more reliable it is.

According to a consensus of scholars, the earliest strata of independent sources under consideration are the Epistles of Paul, Mark, and the theoretical source Q which comprises the shared material of Matthew and Luke that is not taken from Mark.  Crossan adds to the list the extra-biblical sayings Gospel of Thomas, which he presumes to be similar in both form and content to they hypothetical Q source.

Fredriksen emphasizes the importance of John for an alternative to Mark’s dramatized Galilee to Jerusalem trajectory, suggesting that John’s account of Jesus’ back and forth movement between Jerusalem and Galilee can better account for the circumstances of Jesus’ death.  What all the sources agree on is that Jesus was from Nazareth in Galilee, and that his ministry began and generally stayed in that region after Jesus had met John the Baptizer, and came to an end when he was crucified in Jerusalem under the authority of the Roman prefect Pilate.  How we interpret who John and Pilate were will ultimately shape how we view Jesus and his ministry.

The Question of Divinity

To make sense of how, when, and in what sense Jesus became aware of his divinity, one is hard-pressed to make any conclusion based solely on New Testament evidence.  Even if we take the use of “Son of God” as literal expression of his divinity, the Gospels could give the impression that Jesus’ divinity was rooted either in his resurrection and exaltation (Mk. 13:32; Lk. 1:32; 1 Cor. 15:24; 1 Thes. 1:9), or at his baptism (Mk. 1:11; Mt. 4:3-6; Lk. 4:3-9), or at birth (Lk. 1:32-35), or even from eternity (Jn. 1:14-18; Rm. 8:3; Gal. 4:4; Col. 1:15).  How do we make sense of this?  We must remember that these passages do not reflect the self-consciousness of Jesus himself, but instead they are reflections of Jesus’ followers whose profound experience of Jesus as risen Lord led them to search their culture and tradition for words and symbols to articulate what this experience meant for them.  The more we retroject this post-Easter consciousness back onto the pre-Easter Jesus of Nazareth, the muddier and less plausible the historical picture becomes.  The sense in which Jesus may have thought himself divine, then, must be grounded in his own pre-Easter context.  To that end, we can learn much more about who Jesus was by examining precisely who he was not.

From Mark 6:3, Matthew 13:55, and Luke 4:22 we learn that Jesus was, by family trade, a tekton which is usually translated to mean carpenter.  In the context of first century Palestine, we learn that the word carried a derogatory connotation of one who had to work with his hands; in a Roman world that was sharply divided between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have-nots’ this would place Jesus squarely in the latter category.

Leaving the question of Jesus‘ literacy aside, we must at least admit that this distinction identifies Jesus with the peasant class.  This is what makes the suggestion of Jesus‘ divinity so shocking.  We know from history that the concept of divine sonship and even virginal conception are by no means unique to Jesus; both had, in fact, been attributed to Caesar Augustus by Virgil.

Crossan cites the pagan philosopher Celsus to make the point that what made Christianity so shocking in the ancient world was not so much the application of divinity or divine sonship and virgin birth to a human being, but rather the specific human to which these were applied.

To say such things of Caesar made perfect sense, but to say the same of a Jewish peasant was vulgar as far as Celsus was concerned.  What is enlightening about this element of context is that it casts Jesus’ divinity in terms of power and authority as defined against both Caesar and Rome on the one hand and against the Jewish priests and religious authorities in Jerusalem on the other.  In this sense, Jesus seems to have become aware of this authority after his baptism, when he subsequently began to exercise it in his ministry.  Since we cannot see inside his mind, the best we can do is look for evidence in Jesus’ words and deeds–all of which commence after his baptism by John (Mk. 1:9; Lk. 3:21; Mt. 3:13-15).

Jesus’ Message

The predominate theme of Jesus’ earthly message is without a doubt his proclamation of the Kingdom of God, or, as it is called in Matthew, the Kingdom of Heaven.  In the synoptic Gospels, this phrase is used a total of 123 times, and it appears five more times in John.

The question is whether and to what extent Jesus’ proclamation of the Kingdom was apocalyptic.  It is clear that Jesus’ Kingdom message came right on the heels of the ministry of John the Baptizer, who was himself clearly an ascetic apocalyptic prophet.  Did Jesus continue on after John as an apocalyptic prophet?  Fredriksen points to the urgency, impracticality, and intensified ethical teaching of Jesus’ Kingdom message to assert that it ought to be understood apocalyptically: “the fervent conviction that redemption was at hand served as incentive for the intensification and extension of the teachings of the Torah.”

Thus, she goes on to dismiss “its sheer impracticality.  No normal society could long run according to the principles of the Sermon on the Mount.”

In making this point, however, she ironically gives credence to Crossan’s alternative appraisal of Jesus’ message.

Crossan cites Matthew 11, Luke 7, and Mark 2:18-20 as evidence that Jesus broke away from John’s movement of apocalyptic asceticism, which leads him to conclude that “Jesus was not an apocalyptic prophet like John the Baptist, but he was a world-negating eschatological figure.”

Thus, according to Crossan, the message about the Kingdom needs to be interpreted in the same matrix of power and authority as Jesus’ divinity. For Crossan, the Kingdom simply means “what the world would be if God were directly and immediately in charge.”

When Fredriksen candidly admits that no usual society could run on Jesus’ Kingdom principles, she is quite right; that is precisely Crossan’s point about how utterly scandalous and revolutionary Jesus’ ministry was.  This Kingdom of God, which Jesus enacted through his boundary-shattering ministry and the practicing of what Crossan terms “open commensality” and “radical egalitarianism,” is in fact “more terrifying than anything we have ever imagined, and even if we can never accept it, we should not explain it away as something else.”

 

Crossan’s elucidation of the social and political dimensions of the Kingdom seems to explain the biblical record better than the strictly apocalyptic characterization of Fredriksen.  For if the Kingdom teaching was the central theme of Jesus’ teaching as the synoptics clearly suggest, then it had to have been a theme revolutionary enough to have so polarized its hearers that Jesus would at once be revered as Christ and crucified as a criminal.  In addition to the obvious fact that the phrase itself is couched in thoroughly political terms, the biblical references to Jesus’ teaching about the Kingdom of God only further substantiate such an understanding.  It is first and foremost the Kingdom of the poor (Mt. 5:3; Lk. 6:20; James 2:5), which is to be received as a child (Mk. 10:13-16; Mt.18:1-4; Jn. 3:1-10), and which is characterized as both an obnoxiously invasive weed (Mk. 4:30-32; Mt. 13:31-32; Lk. 13:18-19), and a dinner party for social outcasts (Mt. 22:1-13; Lk. 14:15-24).  These things Jesus came to announce within an empire that devalued and oppressed the poor, which regarded children as expendable nobodies, and in whose society there were rigid mores about who ought to eat with whom.

Jesus’ Ministry

It is often pointed out that the controversy between Jesus and the Pharisees, especially poignant in Matthew, is better accounted for by the context of the Gospel’s writer than the historical Jesus.  The need to distinguish and define the community over against the Pharisees and the now destroyed Jerusalem Temple comprise the polemical concerns of Matthew’s community much more than that of Jesus.

This does not, however, rule out altogether the notion that Jesus was involved in a religious conflict with his contemporaries.  Indeed, one of the most salient features of the Judaism of Jesus’ day was that there were many competing interpretations, held as firm convictions, of what constituted the correct way to be Jewish.

What put Jesus’ interpretation at odds with that of his contemporaries seems to be his way of subverting hierarchies and power relations.  The Kingdom he announced was open to all without distinction; the only requirement was that they be open to hear and see the work God is doing to enact the Kingdom in present reality.  This Kingdom erased boundaries and undermined those who make them.  Thus, we see Jesus dine with tax collectors and sinners (Mk. 2:14-17), unclean lepers (Mk. 1:40-45), women (Mk. 1:30; 5:25-34; 12:41-44; 14:3-9; 15:40-41), and children (Mk. 10:13-16).  Even if we disagree with Crossan’s way of eschewing the literal factuality of all Jesus’ healing stories as “intervention into the physical world,” we must accept his analysis of their significance as “intervention in the social world.”  For through healing Jesus was directly undermining the boundaries of ostracizing the unclean.

None of this implies that Jesus was not Jewish, or that he was adamantly opposed to the Judaism of his time; what it does imply, however, is some tension between Jesus the boundary-breaking Galilean peasant Jew and the aristocratic Jerusalem priestly Jews.

 

Reconstructing how this ministry led up to his crucifixion is no easy task.  Fredriksen discounts the entire chronological sequence of Mark and its emphasis on the  scene with the money changers in the Temple as the cause of Jesus’ execution, because it fits in all too well with Mark’s aforementioned anti-Temple polemic.

Instead, she points to the Triumphal Entry as the occasion that riled up a potentially dangerous crowd.  The way in which Jesus came into Jerusalem announcing the Kingdom of God, she argues, would have led them to associate Jesus with the messianic figure who would usher in the rule of God.  Since they were not familiar with Jesus’ mission of nonviolence and healing, they were not aware that Jesus could not be this messianic warrior; since they could easily become unruly during such a sensitive time as Passover, Jesus had to be killed as an example.  This, then, explains why only he and none of his followers were killed.

Crossan, on the other hand, dismisses the Triumphal Entry as another instance of “prophecy historicized” because of the way the evangelists seem to go out of their way to identify Jesus’ actions with obscure Old Testament prophecies which render the entire story, in his view, historically implausible.  Instead, he argues, it was indeed the incident in the Temple that leads to Jesus’ execution.  Such an event is attested to by Mark (11:15-19), John (2:14-17) and the Gospel of Thomas.

Even though John places the scene near the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, John nevertheless clearly associates it with Jesus’ death, so he merely placed it at the beginning of the story, Crossan argues, to cast a shadow over the rest of what follows.

 

This construction would certainly indicate why Jesus had upset many of his contemporary Jews, but why, Fredriksen asks, would this have anything to do with the Romans who ultimately executed him?  If the issue of Temple cleansing exists between Jesus and the priests, why should Pilate intervene?

Yet, while attempting to discredit the Temple scene as the decisive event that provoked Roman action, Fredriksen ironically concedes that based on the layout of the Temple, among the few people who would have had a good enough view to even witness Jesus’ actions were the Roman soldiers watching from above.

Though this fact is entirely incidental of Fredriksen’s intentions, it could perhaps explain precisely why the Romans did get involved with Jesus’ execution.  And why should they need to execute any of Jesus’ followers if it was only himself performing this disruptive deed?  Crossan seems to make a good case that this was the only trip Jesus made to Jerusalem, at least during his period of ministry, and that the evidence of the scene at the Temple seems most compelling in its ability to explain the circumstances of Jesus’ death.  But Fredriksen is also right in asserting that the crowds in Jerusalem also had to play a role—after all, death by crucifixion was a kind of sadistic public service announcement, and the Jerusalem crowds were its intended audience.

It seems plausible, then, to combine both reconstructions: Jesus was speaking and acting out a provocative and controversial prophetic statement both on the way to Jerusalem and in the Temple which provoked the priests, alarmed the Roman guard, and elicited messianic expectations among the crowds.  Fearing that Jesus’ authority would undermine their own, the priests would have good reason to plot against him; appealing to the delicate and tense situation of Passover in Jerusalem, Rome would have had every reason to stamp out the situation and make Jesus an example to the crowds by publicly crucifying him.

Conclusion

The story of Jesus is one of both historical particularity and eternal universality.  We have no exact portrait of who Jesus was; what we have are interpretations.  The Gospels themselves emerge as a unique literary genre: lengthy parables centered on the meaning of Jesus’ life and death, the elements of which are recast in the image of the intended audience’s context to provide meaning for the difficulties posed by the historical particularity of each community.  Out of this emerges the universal Christ— grounded in the particularity of the historical man Jesus of Nazareth, yet indifferent to the particular situation of the actual man in order to remain relevant to communities different from the one he inhabited.  The fact that these diverse images of Christ come from the particular and concrete individual Jesus of Nazareth grounds Christ’s universality in his particularity.  We relate to what Jesus meant for his peers by extending an analogy or metaphor to make him our peer.  He asks of everyone to answer the question: “Who do you say I am?” The answer is not so much concluded as lived.  One lives one’s life in response to Jesus’ question, searching for glimpses of the coming Kingdom and carrying on his work as a community of healed healers.

Personal Implications of Historical Jesus Studies

My personal reflection on the significance of this study for my own life and ministry must reflect the nature of my life and ministry.  Since I am first and foremost a poet, I will thus conclude with two poems:

 

The Real Jesus

Who is the real Jesus,

after Christ became Caesar?

Who can be our humble king,

After the cross was co-opted by Constantine?

Or should we keep clamoring on about his death

Only to ignore what he said with each breath,

To be the children of patristic church fathers

Instead of Jesus’ Abbah Father?

 

What happens when we get harshly critical

Of harsh critics?

Do we then transcend them or get them to rescind?

Or does neglect and disrespect reckon

Us equal to that which we object?

 

For what do we exist?

Is it to insist,

Or to resist,

Or to consist,

Or to persist or subsist,

Or is it to assist?

Or is it to define oneself as some other -ist?

 

If you get the gist of this list,

Seeing the truth through shrouded mist,

Like one breaking out of the literalist’s cist

Whence life and death coexist,

The dualist must desist without grist

And hold his whist–

 

For the twisted wish to be an -ist,

Whether atheist or a theist,

Is inconsistent with

The fact that all of us exist betwixt

The “is” and “am”

Imprisoned, dammed,

And in need of a fix…

…and this,

This is Christ

 

 

On Easter Sunday

 

On Easter Sunday

I went to worship

But the message of Resurrection

Was painted poorly in story,

With tainted inflection;

 

No more do they preach–

They teach

Empty theory presented in hollow speech,

Asking me in faith

To accept the dispersion

Of a latter gospel version

Forensically,

When it was penned as a myth

To be understood intrinsically,

And lived out with each breath

As we unite with the divine

To defeat death

 

And it’s hysterical

How Truth’s become clerical,

Hijacked from meaning

By religious fanatics, combatants

More eager to judge and sentence

Than to trade a grudge for repentance

 

Father forgive them,

For they know not what they do

Grant grace and forgiveness

For making an unholy idol of You

For no one needs Resurrection and new life

More than we “Christians” do

On Easter Sunday

 

Hope is Christ

Hope is alive,

it survives, and thrives

In new life

Died not dead

Bleeds not bled…

 

Salvation is suffering

Salvation from suffering;

Was not

Once and for all,

Is always

With us

Because no Caesar

Can be our leader,

Not from above

He must be with us and love

He must be with us

So we are one

 

Christ is not crystallized

He is alive

Christ is our chrysalis

His promise is

To mend our many weary scattered

Caterpillar legs

Weaving them into wings

Then peal them back in sacrificial openness

So we can be born again

Free

 

Bibliography

 

 

Crossan, John Dominic. Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography. New York: HarperOne, 1994.

 

Crossan, John Dominic. “The Parables of Jesus.” Interpretation 56, no. 3 (2002): 245-319.

 

Fredriksen, Paula. Jesus of Nazareth: King of the Jews. New York: Vintage Books, 1999.

 

Horning, Estella B. “Who Is Jesus? Christologies in the New Testament.” Brethren Life and Thought 41.1 (1996): 20-28.

 

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December 6, 2010

Luke 6:20-38

20Then he looked up at his disciples and said: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. 21“Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. “Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. 22“Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. 23Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets. 24“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. 25“Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry. “Woe to you who are laughing now, for you will mourn and weep. 26“Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

27“But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. 29If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. 30Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. 31Do to others as you would have them do to you. 32“If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. 37“Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 38give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.”

Introduction

Compared to the rest of the third Gospel, Luke’s account of the Sermon on the Plain (SP), as it has traditionally been called, has received little critical scrutiny and still less appreciation.  Until recently, scholars and theologians have assumed that this passage was merely a shortened, less accurate, and ultimately less insightful Lucan summary of the much preferred Sermon on the Mount (SM) from Matthew 5-7.  These scholars believed that the two accounts were different versions of the same speech, and thought that Luke omitted important parts of the SM and redacted according to his own ideas and theological bias whereas Matthew merely reported accurately what Jesus had actually said.

Thus, scholarly attention was diverted from the presumably inferior SP in Luke to the superior and more detailed SM in Matthew until the emergence of the two source hypothesis—that both Matthew and Luke used Mark’s account and a second hypothetical source called Q—which suggested that both writers used and edited the same or similar source material independently.  If this is true, then the SP must be taken into account in its own right as an independent passage with its own structural integrity and purpose unique to its setting in Luke’s Gospel.  The purpose of the following exegesis, then, will be to illuminate the salient features of the beatitudes and ethical exhortations of Luke 6:20-38 and shed some much needed light on the setting of this teaching within the two overarching purposes of Luke-Acts as a whole: to depict Jesus’ mission in the context of God’s Jubilee, and to show that Jesus came both to reclaim the lost sheep of Israel and to be a light to the Gentiles.

Literary Criticism

The pericope is found within the two volume work known as Luke-Acts.  The author of Luke-Acts is anonymous and there are no explicit clues about its authorship within the text itself.

Due to the tendency of ancient writers to write pseudonymously in the name of a particular figure’s school or tradition, the anonymity of Luke-Acts must be respected.

Nevertheless, the only clue we have about the author’s identity is that the church tradition ascribes both volumes to an educated gentile named Luke, the ‘beloved physician’ and companion of the apostle Paul (cf. Col. 4:14).

In any case, the writer displays a brilliant command of Koine Greek and is extremely well-regarded for his dramatic compositional technique.

A variety of dates for the composition of Luke-Acts have been offered (as early as 60 c.e. and as late as 110), due mostly to the uncertainty of the age of Luke’s sources, but the most widely accepted round date is 80 c.e.

The precise location of the composition and the community for which it was composed are also subject to a wide range of speculations, but what is fairly certain is that Luke wrote from an urban church community in the Hellenistic world.

That the religious and ethnic background of Luke’s audience is primarily Greek and gentile can be readily deduced from Luke’s consistent efforts to portray Jesus’ identity in Greek cultural notions.

The SP is used by Luke as a summary of Jesus’ message that combines the forms of beatitudes (blessings) and woes with exhortations for his disciples that are adapted by Luke to make sense to a primarily Greek audience.

In this way, the traditional designation of the passage as a sermon is misleading as pertains its specific genre.  Hans Dieter Betz argues convincingly that it ought to be identified as an example of a Greek epitome, a presentation of Jesus’ teaching in a particular selection of sayings organized systematically for the specific purpose of educating and training gentile Christian disciples.

The point of the epitome is to confront its audience with the need to be hearers and doers of Jesus’ word by casting it in the concrete terms of identifying with the poor as opposed to the rich (vv. 20-26).

Form Criticism

The narrative structure of Luke-Acts as a whole is aligned geographically with a progression of Jesus’ ministry and revelation that starts in Judea in the Gospel and ends with the apostle Paul in Rome in Acts.

Within this scheme, the SP falls within the  section of the Gospel that is centered in the villages of Galilee (4:14-9:50).

Like Matthew’s SM, Luke places the SP right before the story of the healing of the centurion’s servant at Capernaum (Mt. 8:5-13; Lk. 7:1-10).  The difference is that in Luke, Jesus has called the twelve apostles before the SP, whereas in Matthew the SM precedes the calling of the twelve (Lk 6:12-16; Mt. 10:1-4).

Due to the lack of clear section breaks created by Luke’s use of “bridging passages” to splice subsections together and the eclectic thematic content of the SP, commentators are far from unanimous agreement on its overall structure.

Nevertheless, most commentators divide the entire passage into three sections: introductory exordium with blessings and woes (vv. 20-26), a main body of ethical teaching (vv.27-45), and concluding peroration (vv.46-49).

Within this structural scheme, the pericope under consideration includes the exordium and the first subsection of the main body (vv. 27-38), which entails the ethical conduct of disciples to others outside their immediate community.  The progression of thought is achieved more by an association of ideas rather than a close-knit argument, and the introductory beatitudes underscore the overall emphasis of both the particular pericope and the Gospel as a whole on Jesus‘ promise of God’s blessings for the poor and oppressed, and the consequential need for disciples to show the same love and mercy (v. 36).

Textual Criticism

The accuracy of the manuscripts for this passage is as certain as any passage in the Gospel.  The earliest manuscript that contains the entirety of the SM is the proto-Alexandrian papyrus known as P75 which is dated around 175.

The scribe responsible for this manuscript copied the text letter by letter and primarily restricted changes to grammatical and stylistic improvements, in keeping with the Alexandrian tradition, with no major changes or systematic revision of the text.

The Alexandrian text, of which this manuscript constitutes the earliest phase, is regarded as the best ancient recension and the nearest approximate of the original text known to contemporary biblical scholarship.

The corruptions of the text that surface in later manuscripts, aside from attempted grammatical improvements, mainly arise from the desire of the copyist to harmonize the SP with the SM by adding “in spirit” to verse 20, transposing the beatitudes into the third person rather than Luke’s usage of the second person, and by omitting the temporal designation “now” in verse 21.

Redaction Criticism

Most scholars agree that the SM and the SP are based on one basic piece of tradition, held to be found in Q, upon which both authors subsequently expanded and edited for their own purposes, and contrary to what scholars before the 20th century held, it is now believed that Matthew took more redactional liberties while Luke stayed closer to the original.

It is important to consider the notion that Q underwent a series of pre-Synoptic redactions of its own before being transmitted to Matthew and Luke in separate recensions, however, because solely appealing to the redactional activities of the Gospel writers themselves fails to adequately account for the differences in the Gospels’ respective usage of Q; it cannot account for why some Q material was worded identically by both writers whereas the rest appears quite different.

There are five possibilities regarding the redaction of the sermons in Q and the Gospels: 1) Q is closest to SP and the SM is a revision and expansion of Q-SP (most current scholars hold this position), 2) Q is closest to SM and the SP is Luke’s revision and reduction of Q-SM (no longer held by any scholars), 3) Q is not like SP or SM and both were the redactions and elaborations of Luke and Matthew who received the same Q source in different translations (evidence for this position is negligible), 4) Matthew and Luke received Q in two different recensions, one SP and one SM, and the main differences stem from pre-Synoptic redaction rather than that of Matthew and Luke (many scholars take this argument as a supplement to option 1), or 5) SP and SM were formed separately from Q and the writers later added sayings from Q to their sermons (which can account for why some of the SM material appears elsewhere in Luke).

The ethical content of the sayings also bears strong resemblance to the parenesis of the early church as seen in the writings of Paul, and the earliest section of the Didache (cf. Rom. 12:14, 17-20; 1 Thess. 5:15; Did. 1.2-5 and Lk. 6:27-28).

Luke’s personal touches can be seen in the juxtaposition of rich and poor in the blessing and the added woe statements (vv.20-26), a contrast which is very typical in Luke (see 1:53; 16:19-31).

The changes Luke made to his sources serve his goal of relating the primarily Jewish context of Jesus and his disciples to new gentile converts in Luke’s community.  It cannot, however, be conclusively demonstrated that these sayings do not trace back in some form to the actual teachings of Jesus, and this assumption should be held until proven otherwise.

Source Criticism

Luke borrows the scene for his SP from Mark 3:7-12, where Jesus is so overwhelmed by the crowds pursuing him to be healed that he retreats to his boat and addresses the crowd from the sea.  Luke preserves the details about the sort of crowd that was following Jesus—the poor, the crippled and the sick—which fit nicely within Luke’s overarching emphasis on the solidarity of Jesus and the socially marginalized (5:27-32; 6:17-19; 7:22, 37-39; 16:19-31), but he takes liberties with Mark’s actual scenery.  Where Mark’s focus is on telling about Jesus’ healing activity in detail and referring only anecdotally to his address, Luke reverses the priority by anecdotally referencing Jesus’ healings in the prologue to the sermon (vv. 17-19) to emphasize that the crowd came not only to be healed, but also to hear Jesus’ teaching.

Also important in verse 17 is the statement that Jesus came down from the mountain to a ‘level place’ or ‘plain’ in an action reminiscent of Moses descending from Mount Sinai (Ex. 34:29) which would seem to indicate the importance of Jesus’ forthcoming exhortation by analogy to Moses and the decalogue.

The symbolic action of Jesus’ movement from a high place to a level plain also serves as a performative enactment of the theme of reversal of fate for the rich and poor (1:53; 4:16-30; 6:20-26; 9:1-6; 10:1-12; 14:11).

The concrete identity of the “poor” who are blessed by Jesus in verse 20 should not be seen as contrary to the “poor in spirit” of Matthew 5:3 and both should be considered along with the others blessed in the beatitudes: those who mourn are the protestors of social evil (cf. 1 Cor. 5:1), and the meek are those who protest the loss or theft of their ancestral land (cf. Ps. 37).

Instead, the difference results from Matthew’s context of Jewish moralism wherein the world consists of the righteous (poor in spirit) and the unrighteous as opposed to Luke’s account which reflects the tendency of Hellenistic moralists to view the world in terms of the poor (good) and the rich (bad).

Yet Luke’s understanding is not unfamiliar to Jewish scriptures; in fact, his version of the beatitudes harmonizes more closely with the LXX wording of Isaiah 61:1-2, which fits with his consistent usage of this prophetic theme of Jubilee and aligns the SP with Jesus’ first ‘sermon’ in Luke’s Gospel where he directly quotes this passage (4:18-19).

Just as the Jubilee reversal of fate for the poor is invoked at the onset of Jesus’ mission, it resurfaces here as the introduction to Jesus’ ethical requirements for his disciples.  Furthermore, Luke’s reference to those who “weep” because of the fallen condition of the world and the suffering that results reflects Jesus’ weeping over Jerusalem (Lk. 19:41, 23:28), and to “hunger now” is the immediate consequence of poverty in both the literal and figurative sense (cf. Is. 32:6-7; Job 22:7).

Luke’s Greek sourcing is further evidenced by the phrase “leap for joy” in verse 23, which comes from the Greek word σκριταω.  This specific word refers to the grotesque dances of the Satyrs which were a popular decorative motif for walls and vases in Greek antiquity; such a reference would have elicited a few grins from an audience of gentile Christians, where a more Jewish audience would have been repulsed (hence the lack of a parallel in Matthew’s account).

Another example concerns the phrasing of the four maxims in verses 27-28 to resemble Greek paradoxes, and their explanation in verses 29-38, which constitutes Luke’s attempt to illustrate why Jesus’ seemingly absurd exhortation to love even one’s enemies makes Greek ethical sense.

This unique exhortation was recognized early on as the main teaching that differentiated Christian ethics from traditional Judaism, as even Jewish commentators recognized that this saying is the only part in the entire SM that is completely without parallel in rabbinic literature.

It is best understood as Jesus’ interpretation and intensification of the biblical injunction to love the neighbor (cf. Prov. 25:21; Lk. 10:25-37).  Though Jesus’ commandments have their sources in both scriptural and cultural traditions, they are unique in that they are extended in every case beyond the usual limits.

Social-Historical Criticism

It is impossible to properly understand the meaning of the SP’s ethical implications for how disciples are to interact with the societies in which they live without first grasping the social and historical context in which Luke wrote.  Roman Palestine was an honor-shame society in which concerns about the acquisition or loss of honor permeated every aspect of public life and took on the seriousness of life and death.

Honor was seen as a limited good, meaning that honor gained was honor taken from someone else, and it was inextricably bound up with economic concerns such as the control of resources, land, crops, livestock, social status, marriage opportunities and political clout.

On the other hand, the shaming of one individual had the potential to destroy the well-being of his or her entire family.  To be shameless, then, was to lack proper concern for one’s honor.  In that light, the beatitudes could be better translated as “how honorable are you who are poor” (v. 20), and the woes could likewise be rendered, “how shameless are you who are rich” (v. 24).

The understanding of rich and poor needs to be understood in light of their relation to the system of honor and shame whereby economic deprivation and social ostracism are inextricably linked.  In an oral culture, honor-shame language functions as a social sanction on moral behavior and is perpetuated by gossip—the public record of one’s honor or shame.

Thus, in verse 26, the situation in which all speak well of someone refers to flattery; to be rich was to be surrounded by flatterers, and the problem with flattery is that it conflates the proper acquisition of an honorable reputation: the merit of one’s character.

The reference to clothing in verse 29 is also related to the notions of poverty and shame.  In the Galilean village context of this passage, most people only had one cloak (outer garment) and one tunic (undershirt) to wear under it; the poorest might have to forego the tunic, whereas owning two tunics was a sign of being relatively well-off.

Clothes were scarce among the poor and thus became a frequent object of robbery (6:29; 10:30).  Furthermore, to go without one’s clothes was considered shameful and ritually impure—a point of particular emphasis in Luke’s retelling of the Gerasene demoniac who “wore no clothes” (8:27), but once he was healed was found by the townspeople to be fully clothed (v. 35).  Thus, the ethical exhortation Jesus gives his disciples concerning generosity is one that comes at a very high cost, socially speaking.  It calls, as Luke frequently points out, for a stance of seemingly shameful solidarity with the outcasts of mainstream society.

In addition to honor and shame, the social life of Roman Palestine was also structured as a patronage system in which the low class (clients) had to have their needs met by the high class (patrons).

While patrons competed with each other for social position by accumulating as many clients as possible, the clients were required to provide all of the manual labor on the patron’s land and subject themselves to frequent humiliation and were given only one meal a day as payment—anything beyond that was considered generous.

While notions of hospitality and generalized reciprocity in which favors or food were given without any expected return, this was conventionally only true within one specific sector (age, sex, occupation, status).

Thus, the idea of giving without return in verse 35 entails the expectation that Jesus’ disciples should act as if they are the benefactors, or patrons, but they should do so without any of the usual social entitlements that come with this status.

Jesus justifies this charge by appealing to the very nature of God, the benefactor par excellence in Luke’s Gospel (v. 36).  In the top-heavy power structure of the patronage system, the vast majority of people were at the bottom and many were crushed by insurmountable debt, but Jesus announces that God, the Great Benefactor, will enact a dramatic reversal to uplift the over-burdened poor, and he charges his disciples to act likewise by forgiving debts themselves—a truly otherworldly way of acting.

Praxis

The two sections of Jesus’ teachings to his disciples in Luke 6:20-26 and 27-38 raise two important principles: the repudiation of privilege based on wealth and the refusal of retaliation that leads to violence.  The ethical stance inherent in these teachings is “diametrically opposed to the assumptions of the marketplace and the media that shape American culture: the wealthy are privileged and conflict requires that one show strength through retaliation.”

Jesus confronts his disciples with a simple choice about who they identify themselves with in solidarity: those who are comfortable with their excesses garnered from the degradation of others, or those who are themselves degraded, vulnerable, and marginalized by their society (vv. 20-26).  Jesus gives a clear alternative to the social practices that foster hostility and oppression (vv. 27-38).

While it may not mean the same thing for us to give away our shirt as it did when Luke wrote his account, we can carry on the spirit of the passage by thinking about the underpaid and often underage workers who toil to make our clothing so that we can afford to buy so much of it.  We should not, however, be fooled by the differences between our world and the world in which Jesus lived; the extreme gulf between haves and have-nots remains just as pronounced in most of the world today as it did then.  Luke’s account of Jesus’ teaching cuts across all barriers in his audience; whether we are closer to the blessed poor or the woeful rich, the sermon speaks to us directly and in concrete terms about who we are to have solidarity with.  That is why Damian Marley’s song “Stand a Chance” harmonizes so well with the motifs sounded by Luke’s Gospel.

Though he was born into privilege to the wildly successful reggae artists Bob Marley and Cindy Breakspeare, Damian Marley still seeks to uplift, identify with and be reconciled to the urban poor.  In the song, he refers to being born in “uptown” Kingston, Jamaica—the high-rise financial district of the city (where Halfway Tree, the title of the album, is located)—as opposed to “Trenchtown” which is the city slum and home of many Rastafarians, including his father.  Thus, he is saying that even though he was born into Halfway Tree, his heart has always been and will always be in the slums.  In the song’s refrain, the lyrics echo the contrast between rich and poor in verses 20-26 by juxtaposing the phrases “where there’s more hungry mouths than food to eat” and “where there’s more food to eat than mouths to feed.”

He then appeals for all of us to look up to the Creator, our source of light, so that we may shine again and show the world God’s love which beautifully echoes Jesus’ “light of the world” imagery that appears in the SM (Mt. 5:14-16).

Appendix

Stand A Chance

Where there’s, more hungry mouths

Than food to eat

It’s where the homeless

Roam the street

Where broken glass

And broken dreams

Are shattered and scattered

Amongst debris

Sufferation wrath

And still they laugh

And dream of a mansion

Above the half

No one to speak

Upon there behalf

Now tell me do they stand a chance?

Where there’s, more food

Than mouths to feed

Where you find those who

Claim to lead

Because of all their personal greed

They always want more than they need

They don’t help those

Below the half

Instead they stand aside and laugh

As if it’s all we’ll ever ask

When will they make a change?

Children lift your heads

To the one

Who create the sun

My children

And your light will come shinning again

Show the world

Jah love is okay

When we rise and greet the son

Lets give him thanks and praise

Illegal guns

They roam the night

In hungry hands

Waiting to bite

The first sign of

Any food in sight

Youths in the dark

Searching for light

Hard time they face

Is not a choice

Police curfew

Is no surprise

And with no one

To be there voice

Do they stand a chance?

Where there’s, more hungry mouths

Then food to eat

Where you find those who

Claim to lead

Because of all there personal greed

They always want more than they need

They don’t help those

Below the half

Instead they stand aside and laugh

As if it’s all we’ll ever ask

When will they make a change?

Its like a punk never check

Or dem did forget

Say a death

We nature naughty

Ah true mi go born uptown

Tell dem fools don’t cross me

That’s only where Cindy brought me*

And that’s why they can’t impress me

With no boasty car

Me know dat ah kill dem softly

And then they’re not

Really even who they think they are

They’re not really moving crafty

Mi get fi understand

Say them plan dem faulty

Well nuff a dem a twenty

And favor forty

Filthy rich big belly

And hearty

Di real Gideon will

Be arriving shortly

Rasta nuh beat Binghi

Drum we claatt it

We live longer

Cause we food nuh salty

We grow stronger

And dem can’t assault we

So haile Rastafari love

And exhalt it

Bibliography

Betz, Hans Dieter. The Sermon on the Mount: A Commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, Including the Sermon on the Plain (Matthew 5:3-7:27 and Luke 6:20-49). Edited by Adela Yarbro Collins, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995.

Bovon, François. Luke 1: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 1:1-9:50. Translated by Christine M. Thomas. Edited by Helmut Koester, Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2002.

Cassidy, Richard J. Jesus, Politics and Society: A Study of Luke’s Gospel. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1978.

Comfort, Philip W., and David P. Barrett. eds. The Complete Test of the Earliest New Testament Manuscripts. Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1999.

Culpepper, R. Alan. 1995. Luke. In Luke and John. Vol. 9 of The New Interpreter’s Bible, ed. Neil M. Alexander, 1-149.  Nashville: Abingdon.

Danker, Frederick W. Jesus and the New Age: A Commentary on St. Luke’s Gospel. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988.

Malina, Bruce J., and Richard L. Rohrbaugh. Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels. 2nd ed. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003.

Marshall, I. Howard. The Gospel of Luke. The New International Greek Testament Commentary, Edited by I. Howard Marshall and W. Ward Gasque, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1978.

Metzger, Bruce M. The Text of the New Testament: Its Transmission, Corruption and Restoration. New York: Oxford University Press, 1964.

Moxnes, Halvor. The Economy of the Kingdom: Social Conflict and Economic Relations in Luke’s Gospel. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1988.

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I. Statement of Mission

To call this a “statement of mission” is to make a double-entendre.  While on the surface, this will function in the conventional sense as a corporate declaration of purpose, in the context of a new vision for the Christian Church, the different connotations of the word “mission” already begin to make a statement:  the mission of the Church is to be missional.  The first step in realizing the nature of this mission is to recognize in both the election of the nation of Israel in the Old Testament and that of the disciples of Christ in the New Testament, election was not implied as an end in itself, but as a means toward a wider end:  God’s plan of restoring and reconciling all his creation.

To put it more concretely, we can begin to define the Church’s mission, in the words of the mission theology of the Church of the Brethren, as “ a word of hope to all peoples. The church exists primarily for others…so that all might live toward God’s

shalom, experiencing power and redemption in an ever-widening covenant community.”

Within this community, it is important to promote the fact that all members of the Church are ministers of Christ who play a role in sharing the good news of Jesus Christ with others and inviting others to take part in the faith community.

In the specific context of the Church that is being developed and cultivated in my own community, we will develop our ecclesiology by emphasizing and appropriating this emphasis on a relational faith community.  As a congregation with no building or boundary, our identity will be defined by our commitment to form, foster, and dwell in Christ-centered relationships with others.  To this end, our hope is, as Stanley Hauerwas puts it, “to be faithful to the kingdom by showing the world what it means to be a community of peace.”  We recognize our community as one “that God has made…ecclesially homeless,” and thus, “we can only pray [that this] will be the beginning of a unity, as John Howard Yoder would put it, from the bottom up.”

In this community, we place a value on addressing and welcoming the “other” into our midst because of our firm conviction that all people are God’s children.  Our mission is to move from a preoccupation with homogeneity that is idolatrous toward a fuller engagement of otherness through which God mediates new life.

As the mission of Paul brought the gospel of Christ to the Gentile “other,” we seek to continue that process by committing ourselves to openness and vigilance in seeking out the opportunities God sets before us.  We intend to take our location and cultural context very seriously, and to address the plurality of perspectives through conversation and openness to questions.  In our gatherings, our goal is to cultivate and empower this dialogical awareness and engagement in order to equip each member for their own unique ministerial task.  We seek to be a congregational community of the loved, so that we may actively and lovingly engage the world around us in our everyday ministry.

Within our cultural situation, we recognize and sympathize with the view point of postmodern thought.  We take seriously the fact that many, if not most, of those in the community we feel called to reach harbor suspicions of authority–especially with regard to the dogmatic exclusivism of many who claim to represent the Christian faith but have served only to further marginalize, rather than embrace, many within our community.  In this sense, we endeavor to be a deconstructive Church; to deconstruct the very vocabulary of our faith in order to better understand and live our identity.  We must engage the marginalized in dialogue, and humbly subject ourselves to their perspectives and criticisms so that we can undertake the task of deconstruction in solidarity with them, and only then begin to reclaim the true and full meaning of “church.”  Deconstruction in this sense is a community-centered act of interpretation, wherein we open ourselves to marginalized interpretations of the context in which we live, and then establish a community of interpreters of the scriptures, and from there, of the life we are called to live in faith.

With Derrida, we affirm that “there is nothing outside the text,” so that we can proceed to deconstruct our own interpretive worldview and determine which text is guiding and shaping our identity: that of the Bible, or those of the secular consumerist world.

II. Biblical and Theological Foundations

When Jesus instructed his disciples to go among the nations and continue making disciples, they became a faith community centered on the gospel message that they had received God’s love and shared this love and salvation by cultivating and engaging practices of reconciliation, forgiveness and ministering to the needy and the marginalized people among them.

In this sense, faith is seen not merely as a two-way affair between us and God, but rather a three-way (or trinitarian) engagement with both God and our neighbor.

This can be emphasized by a Christocentric ecclesiology instead of a Church-centered ecclesiology; the tiny seed of true ecumenical unity can only be rooted in the mutual recognition that our existence is centered in Christ.

Furthermore, confessing Christ as our only Lord is the source of our engagement with and in the world, not the reason for a retreat from it.  It gives rise to our call to be an actually “Embodied Body of Christ, incarnated into the real world, tak[ing] on…the functions of power in the world.”

Ultimately, the foundation of our identity in Christ finds its expression in the fact that he is the “image of the invisible God” (Col. 1:15).

As an embodied community, our confession is that the original intention of God’s creation of humankind (Gen. 2:7-25) is restored in the person of Christ.  Furthermore, this comes with the promise of not only a restored humanity, but also of the pouring out of God’s Spirit on all creation (Joel 2).  Sin can thus be characterized by a distortion of proper relationships in three spheres: between humans and God, between humans and each other, and between humans and the rest of creation.  As the Body of Christ, it is our task to speak to and work for restoration, redemption, and reconciliation in all three of these spheres.

We are called to remember that the whole world belongs to God, who creates, sustains, and nurtures all his creatures, and to take this as our basis to free ourselves from anxiety and the supposed need to secure our own well-being for ourselves.

As in the parable of the rich man who builds a storehouse (Luke 12), we often fancy ourselves to be owners and masters rather than the vigilant stewards whom Jesus commands to be ready and watchful.

We are called to be a liberated Church, in which there are no distinctions of privilege, race, or nation, because all are baptized into the priesthood of Jesus.  Thus, we are to be a Church of liberation in two senses: baptizing the world into the liberation of Christ, and also liberating the laity within the Church to participate and find their own roles within this process.

Thus, we may conclude that the people in this participatory Body of Christ are, as Moltmann puts it, “personally addressed and taken seriously…needed, with their own particular abilities and gifts.  Free decision in faith, voluntary community, mutual recognition and acceptance of one another, together with a common effort for justice and peace in this violent society: these are the guidelines for the Church’s future.”

In the spirit of openness, and in the openness of the Spirit, we seek to incorporate the entire narrative of the Bible, and a full spectrum of the theological interpretations thereof, as our Biblical and theological foundations.  While we  find our mission more specifically located in the call to embrace one another in our diversity through our new-found identity in Christ (Gal. 3:28) and to minister to the marginalized and the least among us (Mat. 25:40), we recognize the need to avoid Gospel reductionism and to root this mission in the full context of the Bible.

Even as we strive to rethink the meaning of “church” in a postmodern context, we must remember Christ’s call for love and unity among his followers (John 17), and remind ourselves that a necessary prerequisite for loving the unloved of this world is continuing to love the entire Church, seeking to promote its unity in Christ even as our congregations differ in manifestation.

III. Specific Context of our Ministry

A congregation is a community which seeks to discover together its place within the world by telling its story and determining God’s will for how its members ought to live out their faith.

Charles R. Foster cites two ways in which congregations have historically been gathered: the “territorial parish,” and the “voluntary congregation.”

Our goal is to bridge this divide by being a voluntary faith community whose mission is to engage and interact with the local community, or parish, through both individual and corporate ministry.  Our location, in this sense, will be twofold: our first location is the neighborhood in which our house church gathers, but our second locations become the places in which the individual members of our congregation spend their lives throughout the rest of the week–in the workplaces, schools, families, and other everyday contexts in which we challenge ourselves to see our role as ministers of Christ.

The location of our weekly gatherings is in an apartment complex near the University, which is located in a neighborhood that includes people of all ages and walks of life.  Although the majority of residents is Caucasian, there are also several African-Americans in our community, including one couple that is an integral part of our congregation.

Strengths Conducive to Diversity

The importance of elements of African-American culture for our congregation, such as spoken word poetry, hip-hop music and spirituals, help our community to be effective in embracing and integrating cultural and ethnic diversity.  Our commitment to the importance of creative expression through the arts (visual, musical, and linguistic) creates an open and integrating forum in which diverse perspectives and cultural traditions can be combined and appropriated into our community’s identity.  Another strength is that the leaders in our community are all actively engaged in and committed to strengthening relationships with people from different races, ethnicities and nationalities.  With our diversity constituted in terms of relationships and social networks, we are well equipped to provide a harmonious and friendly multicultural environment.

Since eating together is very important to us, we also try to share food from many different cultures and enjoy experiencing and trying new things together.  By sharing a dinner of Indian food, for example, we can promote unity in diversity because the Caucasian and African-American members of the group find common ground in sharing an experience that is outside of their respective cultural backgrounds, while simultaneously making a gesture that validates and welcomes Indian culture into our community.

Challenges to Diversity

The biggest challenge our congregation has in ministering to the full diversity of our surrounding community is not the difficulty of forming inter-cultural or interracial relationships so much as the difficulty in addressing age differences.  The primary weakness of creating a community that embraces and engages with emerging postmodern culture, and whose practices are admittedly non-traditional (at least on the surface) is that this severely hinders our ability to relate to older generations who feel uncomfortable and alienated by the culture and practices of our younger generation.  To avoid isolating ourselves from older members of the community, our only recourse is to refer to the core of our mission: the formation of relationships and social networks to integrate others into our faith community.  When we truly commit ourselves to seeing strangers as our neighbors, whom we are commanded to love, then we will devote ourselves to overcome this obstacle and welcome others into our community.

Additionally,  since I am coming from a house church in which younger members are the minority, and since this congregation is one of the primary models for the foundation of our own, we can work to integrate our ministry with that of the older members of the other house church to promote age diversity to a greater degree.

IV. Description of Leadership

The leadership of our congregation is much more fluid than fixed.  Since it is one of the foundational goals of our congregation to empower and emphasize the ministerial role of each member, there is no formal delineation between clergy and laity in the conventional sense.  Leadership and authority in our context  are determined relationally.  Owing to my familiarity with Biblical studies as a seminary student, I take on a role of leadership with respect to our weekly engagements with scripture.  This, however, does not manifest formally as a sermon so much as it underscores my leadership role as facilitator and moderator of a group discussion on a given topic or text and its interpretation.  While my insights and knowledge are for guiding and shaping discussion, our communication remains dialogical and open to questions, interactions, and contributions from all members.

Our commitment to diversity in leadership is evidenced by the fact that of the four founding members of the congregation, I am the only male.  Where female leadership has often been, and still often is marginalized by many Christian congregations, the goal of equipping and empowering women in leadership and ministry is central to the life of our faith community.  Furthermore, our leadership is unique in that we are all lay people, in the sense that our primary vocation is something other than professional ministry.  Thus, each leader speaks from the context of their individual ministry in various fields such as psychology student, Starbucks employee, elementary school teacher, salesman, and, in my own case, social worker for the developmentally disabled.  When we meet as a congregation, each member is given the floor to speak from their individual context about how their ministry is going, and to challenge the rest of the group by modeling the kind of ministry we are each held accountable for.  In this way, we cultivate our congregational ministry to and with the world and our community, exercising the utmost caution against engaging solely in ministry at the world.

V. Snapshot

As a deconstructive Church, we take very seriously the role of our community in interpreting the life of faith as guided by the Biblical text.  For that reason, we open ourselves to the entirety of the Biblical narrative to interpret the context of our scripture readings, and open ourselves to tradition in our awareness of ancient interpretations even as we seek to discover new interpretations that guide our present life and community.

As an “Embodied Body of Christ,” we incorporate practices that cultivate and express our “passionate concern for humans, for animals, for the earth and for the real material bodies in which we dwell…marked by concern for bodies abused and broken, neglected and uncared for, sick and dying, and bodies healthy and whole.”

We will endeavor to welcome all others into our midst, including those who are already weekly members (even clergy) of institutional congregations, in order that we may work for the unity of the Church while we minister to the world around us with healing and hope.

We seek to embody a missional rather than a consumer-oriented Church; a congregation whose members come to meet each other’s needs and work together for the needy in the community.

We seek to be a participatory community rather than a mode of religious entertainment that merely creates a product to meet the needs of a consumer congregation; and beyond this we seek to be guided by a vision of Godly human existence that challenges and speaks out against the dominant assumptions of our consumption-consumed, capital-crazed culture.

In our gatherings, we will facilitate participation and intimate community by meeting  in a living room, with chairs and couches arranged in a circle so the group is seated facing one another to promote comfortability and conversation.  We seek to create a holistic spiritual experience that engages the whole person in multi-sensory worship by cooking and eating together, creating a mood of meditative reverence by appreciating darkness and candle light, and appreciating the ancient roots of our faith through symbols and imagery that evoke the Church’s long history and tradition.

To uphold the ministerial leadership of all members, preaching will be radically redefined in our congregation.  Each member will be encouraged to “preach” from their own realm of personal ministry.  My personal contribution to preaching will come largely in the form of imparting my own knowledge and familiarity with the Bible to guide and shape group discussion, as well as to teach and explain parts of the text that are challenging for group discussion and interpretation.  In this sense, my preaching will largely be deconstructive, as an exercise in deconstructing terms like “gospel,” or “sanctification,” or “Armageddon” that comprise the lexicon of the Christian faith, but are seldom understood.

I will attempt to embrace diverse perspectives where appropriate and incorporate these voices to challenge myself and the congregation to ask questions and engage the life of faith critically.  Outside of our Biblical studies, however, each member of the congregation will preach through their ministry outside the Church in building relationships, and through sharing these experiences within the Church to encourage and challenge the rest of our faith community.  Another vital component of the preaching in our community will be to express our message and tell our story through the arts.  We will share our poems, songs, paintings, crafts, and personal stories as we participate together in the worship experience and share the joys of our experiences of God’s work in and through us.

VI.  Conclusion

The impetus for our experiment in deconstructing, redefining and reclaiming the name of the Church is to challenge ourselves to re-envision the nature of Christian leadership.  By recognizing the focus of the priesthood of all believers and the ministry of all Church members, we can move beyond going to church as a weekly gathering toward being the Church in ongoing mission.

From there we can learn to see our ministerial roles as engaging the community and forming relationships, moving beyond a gospel of self-realization toward a gospel of serving others.

This will take place as we move from an inwardly focused Church committed to its own self-preservation to a congregation of disciple-making disciples engaged in social transformation.

It is our firm conviction that maintaining this community-oriented focus, far from reducing our faith to a mere “social gospel,” will enrich and animate our weekly gatherings as we commune to encourage one another and experience the depth of the presence of the Spirit together.  Our emphasis on daily ministry will remind us that the spiritual practices of worship are rooted in and related to our material everyday existence.  Our experience of corporate worship will in turn ground our everyday lives in the Spirit and remind us to be vigil stewards, committed to a Kingdom and a Lord that are not of this world.  Though we will face challenges and conflicts along the way, maintaining a commitment to nurture relationships and remain dedicated to a message of hope and healing will provide us with an over-arching vision and purpose that trumps the temptation to avoid embracing diversity.  As Eric H. F. Law puts it, “To live as faithful people, we must not avoid the world, but find the courage to enter it, knowing God will protect us.”

By grounding our security and our safety in God’s promise to provide for us, we can begin to let go of our insecurities and anxiety and live faithfully as Jesus commanded his disciples to live (Luke 12).

VII. Appendix

Bibliography

Belcher, Jim. Deep Church: A Third Way Beyond Emerging and Traditional. Downers Grove, IL: Ivp Books, 2009.

Brueggemann, Walter. “Vision for a New Church and a New Century Part I: Homework Against Scarcity.” Union Seminary Quarterly Review 54, no. 1-2 (2000): 21-39.

____ “Vision for a New Church and a New Century Part II: Holiness Become Generosity.” Union Seminary Quarterly Review 54, no. 1-2 (2000): 41-44.

Foster, Charles R.. Embracing Diversity: Leadership in Multicultural Congregations. New York: The Alban Institute, 1997.

Gibbs, Eddie. LeadershipNext: Changing Leaders in a Changing Culture. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2005.

Kim, Van Nam. A Church of Hope: A Study of the Eschatological Ecclesiology of Jurgen Moltmann. Lanham, MD: University Press Of America, 2005.

Kimball, Dan. The Emerging Church. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Zondervan, 2003.

Law, Eric H. F.. Sacred Acts, Holy Change: Faithful Diversity and Practical Transformation. St. Louis: Chalice Press, 2002.

Ramsey, Duane. “A Biblical and Theological Basis for New Church Development.” Brethren Life and Thought 36, no. 1 (1991): 142-150.

Reist, John S. “Founding or Finding: A Theology for New Church Development.” Journal of Religious Thought 43, no. 1 (1986): 102-115.

Rhodes, Stephen A.. Where the Nations Meet: The Church in a Multicultural World. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1998.

Smith, James K. A.. Whos Afraid of Postmodernism?: Taking Derrida, Lyotard, and Foucault to Church. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Academic, 2006.

Swartzentruber, Elaine K. “Marking and Remarking the Body of Christ: Toward a Postmodern Mennonite Ecclesiology.” Mennonite Quarterly Review 71, no. 2 (1997): 243-265.

Wright, David. “The Beloved, Ambivalent Community: Mennonite Poets and the Postmodern Church.” Mennonite Quarterly Review 77, no. 4 (2003): 547-558.

Yancey, George A.. One Body, One Spirit: Principles of Successful Multiracial Churches. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2003.

Additional Resources

The following websites provide information, pictures, forums and links pertaining to new

ways of thinking about the Church:

www.vintagefaith.com

www.emergentvillage.org

www.next-wave.org

www.Sacramentis.com

www.theooze.com

www.youthspecialties.com

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It is clear that the economic situation worldwide is rife with injustice and inequality, but what many of us overlook is the extent to which these ill plague our neighbors here in the United States.  As swelling unemployment rates and bad news on Wall Street threatens middle-class Americans, the question that goes unasked is what is happening to the poorest Americans who were already struggling before our economy took a turn for the worst?  Though economic justice is an exceedingly broad topic, I will attempt to highlight some of its main theological and ethical concerns by focusing on one specific issue that is significant for our time: healthcare.

According to the US Census Bureau, there were over 47 million Americans who went without health insurance in 2008.

That amounts to more than fifteen percent of the population.  A report from the Institute of Medicine of the National Academies estimates that around 18,000 unnecessary deaths are caused each year by a lack of health insurance.

The main source of health insurance for most Americans is their employer, but at least 27 million of the uninsured worked at least part time without receiving benefits.  Most people agree that reform is desperately needed, however, people strongly disagree about the kind of changes we should pursue.

Even within a solely Christian perspective, views on the issue of healthcare are quite divergent.  One major perspective is the conservative evangelical movement as characterized by organizations like Freedom Federation and the Family Research Council.

Both of these organizations are lobby groups that are strongly opposed to any measure of universal healthcare, citing their major objections as potential provision for abortion, potential discrimination against the elderly, and an underlying distrust of government’s ability to manage such a system.  On the FRC website, one may even download bulletin inserts and a free sermon-starter entitled “Government Healthcare Takeover: The Wrong Prescription for America.”

Such a title is an obvious hint at the underlying polemical content of these faith-based  organizations that attempt to obfuscate their political ideologies and rhetoric by appealing to Christian principles and morality.

On the opposite side of the spectrum there are Christian groups like the Sojourners, who appeal to a very different set of Christian values.  They are strong advocates for a universal healthcare plan that provides comprehensive and affordable coverage to everyone, including the poorest Americans.  Sojourners also see healthcare as an issue of stewardship and therefor suggest that it is a burden that ought to be equally shared by all in our society.

While conservative groups emphasize abortion and trust the free-market, groups like the Sojourners appeal to the faith tradition of caring for the poor and down-trodden, and they seem to distrust the free-market as a viable means of caring for the underprivileged.

While these groups attempt to appeal to their Christian convictions as a foundation for their advocacy, their output is often disappointingly polemical.  Rather than focus on the fact that they share many of the same values (as they should if they bear the name of Christ) they tend to define their own positions negatively with respect to those of the other side.  Rather than see this issue as a two-sided debate, however, still other groups have attempted to address healthcare problems in more creative ways.  One example of this is an organization called Medi-Share.  Medi-Share is a Christian organization inspired by the community described in the book of Acts, which provides healthcare coverage by fostering a large network of Christians who pay shares which are then distributed to other members on basis of need to cover whatever healthcare costs are incurred.

Rather than jump on one or the other side of a political fence, this organization has taken matters into its own hands in an attempt to model the kind of community the church can and should be.

Though I am not convinced any single approach discussed above possesses the entire solution to the healthcare crisis, each perspective is rooted in its own theological and ethical subtext.  In that regard, I find myself unable to accept the position of the conservative evangelical groups–abortion is a significant ethical issue, to be sure, however the over-emphasis of this point seems to function as a facade for the flawed prosperity theology that lies beneath.  I do not intend to suggest a sort of sinister plot being undertaken there, but there do seem to be some uncritical assumptions regarding the compatibility of American middle class values and free-market capitalism with the gospel of the Kingdom of God.  This, I believe, is the mentality that Scott Bader-Saye is referring to when he speaks of the ideas of Adam Smith.  Smith spoke of the ‘invisible hand’ that guides the capitalist system, so that the best way an individual can help someone else is to pursue their own self-interest.

The flaw, as Bader-Saye points out, is in thinking that God’s providence means it is his responsibility to care for the poor; or as the familiar saying goes, “God helps those who help themselves.”  In reality, though, God’s abundant providence is a call to us as a faith community to participate in its distribution as part of the good news we may bring too the weary and downtrodden.  If we cannot agree on the method, at least let us rally around our mutual calling and remember what Jesus reminds us in Matthew 25:44-45, “They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’  He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’”

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Introduction

An analysis of how the work of the Holy Spirit and the work of Christ relate to one another requires, from the onset, an affirmation that they are, in fact, related.  This cannot be done outside a trinitarian framework which acknowledges the inseparability of oikonomia and theologia; the mystery of salvation is inextricably bound up with the mystery of the triune God. The main obstacle to delineating this relationship lies in the difficulty of doing Christology and pneumatology without subordinating one to the other.

The need therefore arises to construct the two in mutual subordination within a trinitarian framework wherein we can conceive of a Christological pneumatology and a pneumatological Christology; if this divine division of labor is taken too far, we will digress from trinitarian theology to tritheism.  By allowing perspectives from the Orthodox and Catholic traditions to dialogue with the theological insights of the Reformed and Protestant communities, perhaps we can facilitate the kind of ecumenical spirit needed to tread such precarious theological territory.  For it is only in the one Spirit of the one Father and only Son that we have any hope for redemption in the one Kingdom and one community that Jesus desires his disciples to become (Jn. 17).

Whatever can be said of the work of Christ and the Spirit must take the doctrine of creation as its backdrop.

From creation, we can establish a trinitarian framework of human relationships–between humans and God, between humans and other humans, and between humans and the rest of creation–all of which are mediated in the Spirit.  The experience of sin is a corresponding threefold alienation with respect to these harmonious relationships, which leads to the need and hope for an act of redemption, as alluded to by the prophetic expectation of God’s Spirit being poured over all creation, as well as the New Testament hope for a new creation.

 

To understand how the work of Christ fits into this framework, we must also turn to Genesis to explore the creation of humankind in the image of God (Gen. 1:26-28), and to examine the kind of work humans were created to do–mediate God’s presence in creation and sustain its original, perfect harmony (2:15).  This work is ultimately tied to the presence of the Spirit which was breathed into humanity during creation (2:7), and which is needed for humankind to be restored.  Thus, the work of Christ consists in a human being, Jesus of Nazareth, who was filled with the Spirit in such a way as to reclaim the image of God (Col. 1:15), inaugurate the reestablishment of God’s Kingdom, and ultimately becomes so filled by the Spirit as to pour it out himself for the redemption of all.  The work of Christ and that of the Spirit, thus, become intertwined so that, as Vladimir Lossky has said, “Christ becomes the sole image appropriate to the common nature of humanity. The Holy Spirit grants to each person created in the image of God the possibility of fulfilling the likeness in the common nature.”

The relationship implicit in the trinitarian understanding of the oikonomia has also led St. Irenaeus to call the Son and the Spirit “the two hands of God,” whose presence and work are active in the sanctification–or theosis as it is called in the Orthodox tradition–of the body of Christ, and through it, to work for the salvation of the world.

What follows is an attempt to briefly outline how the theme of oikonomia is developed in scripture and doctrine in order to move toward a way of understanding Christian discipleship and life in the Spirit–from proclaiming to performing our doctrines of faith.

The Work of the Spirit: From the Beginning

The two creation accounts in Genesis make it quite clear that human beings were created for and in community.  This involves a series of three relationships: with the creator, with the animals and the earth, and with each other (and the self).  In fact, the only thing in all of the creation process that was said by God to be “not good” was that the human being should be alone (Gen. 2:28).  Sin is both the cause and effect of the experience of alienation with respect to these relationships; it is the disordering of the created order of relationships.

The freedom in which humanity was created is solely within the context of relationship; as finite beings, we must be paradoxically bound to our relationships if we are to be freed from the alienating power of sin.  This led Paul, for one, to use the stark language, contrasting slavery to sin with slavery to righteousness in Christ (Rom. 6:16-20).  Thus, freedom and salvation from this alienation requires, as Luther put it, not for sin to leave man, but for man to take leave of sin.

Hence, the need for the Spirit’s activity to be mediated by the work of a human being to reconcile humanity’s estrangement from God.  In short, God’s creative and redemptive activity are one; he created by his Word (dabar), and his redemptive Spirit is his Breath (ruach) by which he created and redeems humankind (Ps. 33:6; Gen. 2:7).

This anticipates the frame of reference that led early Christians to see Christ as the divine Word (logos) made flesh; an incarnation of the Word, Breath and Spirit of God in human form (Jn.1).

The tradition of hope for God’s redemption by his Spirit is given particularly vivid expression in the prophetic literature of the Hebrew Bible, the themes of which were heavily drawn upon in the language and tradition of the New Testament.  It is impossible to understand Christian testimony about the Spirit of Jesus Christ without seeing it within the eschatological backdrop of Hebrew prophecy.  For the prophets, the violated relationships which constitute sin represent the disorder of God’s order, which is often poetically depicted as a sort of un-creation of God’s creative activity (Amos 5:8-27).  This, however, was not the end of the prophetic vision, which goes on to promise the pouring out of God’s liberating and life-giving Spirit on all flesh (Joel 2:28-29), which will usher in the dawn of a new creation (Ezek. 36:24-28).

By Jesus’ time, however, many had come to believe that the activity of the Spirit had ended because God no longer seemed to speak to them through his prophets.

 

Thus, the language of the promise of redemption through God’s Spirit became the appropriate means of understanding the redemption experienced by the Christian community in the person of Christ.  As Moltmann describes it, they saw anew the work of the Spirit in the ministry of John the Baptist, as it was given to Jesus when it descended upon him at his baptism, then empowered him while leading him to face temptation in the desert, gave him authority in teaching and healing, sustained him in his suffering, and finally broke into the world of God-forsakenness at his death on the cross only to raise him into new life, being poured out by Christ himself for the new creation that is the coming Kingdom of God.

Such an understanding is corroborated by the Orthodox theology of St. Gregory of Nazianzen, who saw the work of the Spirit clearly active throughout the biblical narrative of Christ’s own work.

The work of the Spirit in the Orthodox process of theosis, has also been described in the Catholic tradition as the very same process of sanctification by which the “divinization of the humanity of Christ” is accomplished, then shared with the community of faith.

The language of theosis and sanctification can be especially helpful for the discovery of work of the Spirit in the church within Protestant traditions that have emphasized justification in its stead.

An analysis of this theme within the life and work of Christ will thus constitute a useful paradigm in which we can understand the work of the Spirit that restores the threefold relationships that have lapsed into threefold estrangement.

 

The Work of Christ: Renewing Relationships

We need to affirm that the human being Jesus of Nazareth was sanctified by the Spirit into oneness with God (Christology from below), and then to speak simultaneously of the incarnation of the divine hypostasis of the Son of God (Christology from above); in Christ, the humanity of Jesus is brought into oneness with God who is then brought into oneness with humanity at the same time.

Likewise, we can describe the work of salvation as both the overcoming of death and sin, and as the perfection of fallen human nature through the restoration of right relationships.

Whereas Adam had set an unfortunate precedent in grasping for what was not his –namely, taking the place of God–bringing death for all (Gen. 3), Jesus set a new precedent by humbling himself in sheer obedience to God unto death, bringing the grace of new life to all (1 Cor. 15:21).

This parallel led to the development within Christology of seeing Jesus as a new Adam, the firstborn and eldest brother of a new eschatological family, to mark the dawn of a new creation.

As the true image of God, Jesus becomes for us the image of true humanity in fellowship with God, into whose likeness all of creation is to be born anew.

 

Just as creation was brought into its original order through the wisdom of God (Prv. 3:19), Jesus has come to be seen as the mediator of this wisdom in human form as the Word incarnate (Jn.1).  In Jesus, this wisdom becomes manifest in the way he reestablished proper relationships with God, creation, and other humans through the way he lived and died.

In his life, he preached and lived the good news of the Kingdom of God.  While there was a well-established prophetic expectation for a future in which God would once again rule over his creation, Jesus was unique in proclaiming it in the present tense, thereby inaugurating it himself (Mk. 1:15).

Because he related to God as his Father (Mt. 6:5), he paved the way for others to be adopted as children of God (Eph. 1:5)  The key to understanding our faith in Jesus therefor lies in the faith of Jesus, whose obedience to the will of God even in suffering unto death remained perfect; this is what has made his life and death effective in bringing righteousness to others.

The language of Jesus’ death as an atoning substitutionary sacrifice can become misleading and morbid if we treat Jesus’ death in isolation from the resurrection.

Together with the joy of Easter, the metaphor of sacrifice, however abused and misappropriated it may be in isolation, also has the power to speak to the very heart of God with its capacity to orient us to his graceful, self-giving love poured out for his creation.

Because Jesus lived so fully in the Spirit, after he was raised from the dead by the Spirit, the Spirit became his to give to all creation.

 

 

The Spirit, Christ and the Kingdom: At Work in the Church

In his book The Trinity and the Kingdom, Moltmann outlines a thoroughly trinitarian development in the unfolding of the Kingdom of God: the Kingdom of the Father, the Kingdom of the Son, and the Kingdom of the Spirit.  In the first of these, that of the Father, humans are revealed to be not mere servants of an earthly ruler, but servants to the creator God, reclaiming the divinely endowed task of sustaining his creation (Gen. 2:15).

We are released from our bondage to the Law which Christ fulfilled–not by abolishing it, but by internalizing and therein protecting it from being broken.

Instead of being hopelessly bound to religious customs and rituals, we are freed to live according to the natural order of God’s creation, taking on this already divinely established way of life.

 

In the Kingdom of the Son, the servants of God are further revealed to be his children; we begin to relate to him as a king who is also our parent.

The promise of the cross is freedom from sin; the freedom to be obedient to God.  This is because obedience can only come from within, and cannot be externally coerced by any threat of violence or fear–even unto death on the Roman cross.

The word translated “ransom” (lutron) in Mark 10:45 carries the connotation of the price that is paid to free someone from slavery, and this is the sense in which the obedient death of Jesus must be understood.

Through the faith in and of Christ, who sends his Spirit to us, we are now adopted as God’s children (Gal. 3:2), so that we can share in his intimate union with the God he revealed to be our Abba Father (Gal. 4:6).

As we are able to share in Christ’s baptism in the Spirit, we must remember that “Christian baptism is not…baptism into a particular community of faith but into the universal new humanity, the body of Christ, designed to nurture commitments to universal humanization.”

While many in the Protestant West have focused on doctrines of justification, the Orthodox emphasis on theosis–the work of Christ’s restoration of true humanity, as well as the pouring out of his Spirit to effect this process within the church–is an element of good news that we cannot afford to neglect.

 

Finally, with the Kingdom of the Spirit, comes the hope of freedom from death.  In the Spirit, we who are God’s children are further revealed to be God’s friends.

The full disclosure of the Kingdom of God is eschatological, so the hope of freedom from death is latent, though not yet manifest.  As the body of Christ, we experience simultaneously the joy represented by Easter and the suffering represented by the cross; we are free to rejoice where we experience the liberation of the Spirit, which also compels us into solidarity with those who are still in bondage.

Thus, even as we experience the freedom of Easter, we are not permitted to escape this world of death and suffering; it is our task to accept this world and work patiently and diligently by the renewing power of the Spirit to transform it into the world that is to come.

 

 

Conclusion

We have seen the work of the Spirit and that of Christ in various Christian perspectives, which have arisen from a multitude of attempts to grasp the profound mysteries of the triune God and his work of salvation and redemption.  On some points these perspectives agree more than others, but they can and must be brought together in the name of the Spirit who blows where she wills, in spite of the doctrinal boxes we attempt to fit ourselves and our God into.  Moving past these conceptual differences, we must strive to live by the Spirit of Christ so that the good news “will not be a matter of proclamation but of service, since the proof of our dogmatic pudding will be found in the acts of kindness and justice…which we conduct in the name of Jesus Christ.”

 

To say Jesus is the Christ is to imply that his is a divine Spirit, a Holy Spirit; to say that the Son of God was Jesus of Nazareth is to say that his divine Spirit is also a very human one.  Thus, it must be said that the process of theosis is as much one of becoming human as it is of participating in the divine life.  There is no need to speak of God becoming human without in the same breath (ruach?) speaking of our becoming truly human.  To speak of Christ, then, is to say, ‘If God lived as a human being, this is who he would be…this is how he would be…this is the gospel he would preach…and want us to be and preach,‘ and to affirm that in Jesus of Nazareth, this is exactly what has happened.  Jesus is like a prism through which the unbearably bright white light of the Spirit is channeled, concentrated, dissected, then reflected as the rainbow of colors that are its constituent parts, so that we all might find our own individual frequency within the full illuminating spectrum of divine light.  As the Spirit filled Jesus without dissolving his human identity, so shall it be for those of us who become part of the body of Christ, that we may “not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of [our] mind[s]. Then [we] will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing and perfect will” (Rm. 12:2).

 

Bibliography

Bobrinskoy, Boris. “The Indwelling of the Spirit in Christ: ‘Pneumatic Christology’ in the Cappadocian Fathers.” St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 28, no. 1 (1984): 49-65. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0000941057&site=ehost-live&scope=site (5 April 2010).

 

Breck, John. “The Two Hands of God: Christ and the Spirit in Orthodox Theology.” St Vladimir’s Theological Quarterly 40, no. 4 (1996): 231-246. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0001020499&site=ehost-live&scope=site (5 April 2010).

 

Brümmer, Vincent. Atonement, Christology and the Trinity: Making Sense of Christian Doctrine. Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate, 2005.

 

Coffey, David. “The “Incarnation” of the Holy Spirit in Christ.” Theological Studies 45, no. 3 (1984): 466-480. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0000925407&site=ehost-live&scope=site (5 April 2010).

 

Groppe, Elizabeth T. “From God For Us to Living in the Spirit of God, the Spirit of Christ: Catherine LaCugna’s Trinitarian Theology as a Foundation for her Theology of the Holy Spirit.” Horizons 27, no. 2 (2000): 343-346. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0001277040&site=ehost-live&scope=site (5 April 2010).

 

Gunton, Colin E. The Actuality of Atonement. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1989.

 

Hector, Kevin W. “The Mediation of Christ’s Normative Spirit: A Constructive Reading of Schleiermacher’s Pneumatology.” Modern Theology 24, no. 1 (2008): 1-22.

 

Lee, Jung Young. The Trinity in Asian Perspective. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996.

 

Malcolm, Lois. “Jesus and the Trinity.” Word & World 29, no. 2 (2009): 143-151.

 

McFarlane, Graham. “Atonement, Creation and Trinity.” In The Atonement Debate: Papers from the London Symposium on the Theology of Atonement. Ed. Derek Tidball, David Hilborn, and Justin Thacker, 192-206. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Zondervan, 2008.

 

Moltmann, Jürgen. Theology of Play. Translated by Reinhard Ulrich. San Fransisco: Harper & Row, 1972.13

 

Moltmann, Jürgen. The Spirit of Life: A Universal Affirmation. Translated by Magaret Kohl. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1992.

 

Moltmann, Jürgen. The Trinity and the Kingdom. Translated by Magaret Kohl. San Fransisco: Harper & Row, 1989.

 

Moore, Stephen D. Post Structuralism and the New Testament: Derrida and Foucault at the Foot of the Cross. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994.

 

Seeley, David. “Deconstructing the New Testament.” Vol. 5. In Biblical Interpretation Series. Ed. Alan Culpepper and Rolf Rendtorff, New York: E.J. Brill, 1994.

 

Yong, Amos, Dale T. Irvin, Frank D. Macchia, and Ralph Del Colle. “Christ and Spirit: Dogma, Discernment, and Dialogical Theology in a Religiously Plural World.” Journal of Pentacostal Theology 12, no. 1 (2003): 15-83. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0001473052&site=ehost-live&scope=site (5 April 2010).

 

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2/20/2010

In what sense can we speak of Jesus as fully divine and fully human?  For centuries this question has baffled the minds of Christians who have sought to come to terms with who Jesus was and who he has continued to be for his followers.  Though most of the language we use to address this question has its source in scripture, the details and implications of this question do not seem to have been so problematic for the original writers and readers of the New Testament literature.  As this language was appropriated by the early Church Fathers and debated in the Ecumenical Councils, however, it was gradually abstracted into categories of Platonic philosophical thought wherein it became conceptually problematic.

It was this kind of abstract theologizing, founded, as it were, on inadequate philosophical grounds, which produced a litany of misunderstandings, conflicts, and divisions within the church.

The importance of understanding Jesus was felt as strongly as it had been by his earliest followers, but the context for this understanding had shifted dramatically, resulting in two millennia of confusion and fragmentation which is not easily untangled.  If there is to be any hope for  a truly unified ecumenical church, however, we must humbly begin to take up the task of deconstructing these doctrinal puzzles in order to re-establish the cultural, linguistic, and historical context of Jesus and the writings produced by the early communities of his followers.  To impose later definitions upon the language of scripture is both anachronistic and detrimental to our ability to appreciate the gospels as intended by their authors.

If we continue to proclaim the full divinity and humanity of Jesus, reading this presupposition back into the New Testament texts, we are doomed to repeat the mistakes of the Church Fathers and to persist in our irreconcilable divisions.  Thus, we must seek to reclaim the language of the earliest Christian communities in the rich fullness of their original context, so that we may once again understand how we continue to experience God through Jesus in our own context.  I will argue that a two-fold dialectic is needed to come to such an understanding.  First, we must make a conceptual distinction between the Pre-Easter Jesus of Nazareth and the Post-Easter Jesus Christ to understand how a first century Jewish man came to be professed as Lord.  Then, we must explore the intricacies of the dialectic of divinity and humanity in general in order to understand the significance of God’s revelation to us through Jesus in terms of who we are, who he is, and how we can envisage our relationship with him.

Our first task is to take up the question of what can be known about the Pre-Easter Jesus of Nazareth as an individual historical person.  While this knowledge cannot be absolutely determined as a matter of historical fact, much progress can be made by simply exploring the cultural context in which Jesus lived.  We know, first of all, that Jesus was a Palestinian Jew who lived in a period of Roman domination.  He came out of a religious tradition characterized by creational and covenantal monotheism in which God was seen as the creator of all that exists, and believed to be a God that entered into a covenant relationship with the people of Israel through whom he chose to unfold his plan of restoring the original harmony of this creation.

Given this context, it is obvious why Roman rule posed not only a political, but ultimately a theological challenge which produced a gamut of responses.  Messianism is deeply rooted in the notion that God would again deliver his people from the hands of foreign oppressors.  There is also a deep historical connection between times of exile and the word of God being spoken to his people through prophets, who reminded the people of their relationship with God and warned of the consequences associated with forgetting who they were (God’s people) and who God is (the Creator).  Again, this points back toward the creational and covenantal monotheism. This Jewish historical context is indispensable for interpreting the roles and actions of John the Baptist and Jesus, who deliberately associated themselves with this prophetic tradition and were, according to the New Testament, readily recognized for having done so by their contemporaries.

With this picture in mind we may now examine what the first Christian communities wrote about Jesus.

According to a consensus of New Testament scholars, it is clear that the earliest known writings containing biographical information about Jesus are the synoptic gospels Matthew, Mark, and Luke, of which Mark is regarded as the earliest.

Within Mark, we read descriptions of Jesus made by his earliest followers, using the religious and cultural idioms most familiar to them to describe how they had experienced God’s revelation through the life and death of Jesus.

Such language is primarily manifested in the usage of several titles attributed to Jesus, all of which are deeply rooted in Jewish tradition, and none of which were originally or exclusively associated with Jesus, much less did they implicitly or explicitly denote his unique divinity; only later would these terms begin to carry such a special connotation.

The usage of Son of Man and Son of God need not, however, be taken as titles solely attributed to Jesus in reference to his two natures, divine and human.  Son of God is not the same as God the Son, the second person of the trinity, but was instead suggestive of the special sense of intimacy and commissioning Jesus had with God.  Son of Man, on the other hand, is notoriously ambiguous; it could simply mean ‘human being’ or it could refer to various Old Testament images, such as the Righteous Sufferer of Psalm 22.

The original intent of using titles like Son of God, Son of Man, Son of David, Lord, and Word was metaphorical in the sense that they were a means of likening something new that was not fully understood (their experience of Jesus) to something familiar within their religious tradition.  In this sense, such titles were a means of appropriating the language that had applied to God’s chosen people of Israel, and to reapply them to Jesus, who had revealed to his followers the truth about who God is and who his people are called to become.

We can catch a glimpse of the self-understanding of the Pre-Easter Jesus in Mark, which is what N.T. Wright has called “the story of a Galilean prophet, announcing the kingdom of Israel’s God, summoning Israel to change her direction, that is, to repent.”

This is a portrait of a real human being, who modeled the paradigm of openness in relationship with the God he called ‘Father,’ and who, rather than explicitly defining who he was, has chosen to encounter his followers with the open-ended question that begs our creative response: ‘who do you say I am?’

This sounds more like the kind of question posed by one who wishes to be followed in both life and death, more than a statement intended to produce conclusive doctrines about abstract conceptions of his nature(s).

As we begin to understand the language used to speak of Jesus as a product of a faith community seeking to reconcile their Jewish roots with their profound experience of God’s Spirit in the person of Jesus, we can better appreciate what these early Christians were trying to express.  The crux is, as Marcus Borg eloquently summarizes, that “very early on we [Christians] metaphorized our history, and since then we have often historicized our metaphors.”

When this happens, we find ourselves lost in nonsensical doctrines we no longer understand, and we lose the rich meanings imbedded in the original metaphorical language.  It seems much more powerful to encounter, for example, the ‘I am’ statements the gospel John as metaphorical and poetic product of a community’s effort to understand the experience of the Post-Easter Christ, rather than as being literally and factually stated by the Pre-Easter Jesus; it says much more about what an extraordinary figure Jesus was if his earliest followers came to speak of him in such high regard in spite of the fact that he never claimed any such thing for himself than it would if he had foisted such an understanding upon them during his life.

This is not, however, to undermine the profundity of the experience of the divine Spirit of God that these Christians witnessed in the risen Christ, nor to call to discontinue the use of such language in both scripture and creed.  Instead, it seems as though a literal interpretation does more to undermine its significance, where the use of metaphorical and poetic language implies an attempt to express something so powerful that ordinary language simply could not begin to contain it.  Attempts to understand these truths literally have led to failure and accusations of heresy; the power of a metaphor rests in its ability to point beyond its own imagery toward a greater and higher truth while being expressed in a shared experience.

We must part with the notion that a metaphor is somehow less true or inferior to literal language, because, quite simply, the gospels were not written by modern journalists. Only poetic language can point toward the deeper meaning we experience when we engage the Christ of faith, but only if we know where these inherited idioms come from and what they have meant for those who used them.

Understanding our language is tantamount to understanding Jesus.  It is at this point that there is continuity between the Pre-Easter Jesus and Post-Easter Christ: the Easter experience of Christ as a divine presence after his death flows directly out of the experience of the empowering of the Spirit in the healing, teaching and wisdom of Jesus of Nazareth.

Thus, Paul began to reinterpret the original language, and especially the title “Christ,” as a way of addressing the profound intimacy of Jesus Christ and the God he called the Father.  Such creative use of familiar language in unfamiliar ways is poetry at its best.  Paul, then, must be seen as creatively responding in an ideal way to the question Jesus posed: ‘who do you say I am?’  As one deeply imbedded in Jewish religious life, Paul experienced God’s presence in Jesus so radically that Jesus became his lens for re-envisioning the implications of everything he previously knew about God.  Paul as Pharisee had lived the Torah, but Jesus seemed to live the Torah in such a way that Paul had to rethink (repent) how God related to his people.

Christ, for Paul, was a more powerful symbol than the Torah itself for establishing an identity for the people of God–one which now extends beyond the nation of Israel.

We must not, however, ignore the direction Paul takes as he expounds this into the notion of our adoption as God’s children, made possible by Jesus, who is seen as the firstborn of a restored humanity.

It is also significant that all of this is done within the thoroughly Jewish understanding of God as the creator, and of human beings as his image or likeness, as described in Genesis 1:26. In Jesus, we have received a revelation not only about who God is, but also who we humans are, and accordingly how we are related to God.

Here we encounter not only the question of Jesus’ divinity and humanity in particular, but also the dialectical interrelation of divinity and humanity in general.

If we affirm the divinity of Christ in the same spirit as Paul, this forces us to radically rethink our notions of what the divine nature is; if we affirm his humanity, as well, then we must recognize that divinity and humanity cannot be defined in isolation.

Defining natures in a mutually exclusive way is unjustified, unproductive, and unnecessary; a more inclusive dialectical way of thinking is needed to make sense of the concept of incarnation.

The central Biblical symbol for exploring this dialectic is the creation of humans in God’s image, and Paul’s use of it when he says of Christ, “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation” (Colossians 1:15).

If we take this connection seriously, along with Jesus’ use of ‘Father’ for God, we must see in this a humanizing of God.  Anthropomorphism is by no means a novelty in God-language, but in these usages there is a liberation from false anthropomorphism, and implicitly from false humanism.  That is, in Berdyaev’s words, “Human-ness is divine; it is not man that is divine, but human-ness…the integral attitude of man to life…the revelation of the fullness of human nature…the disclosure of the creative nature.”

This must be taken in conjunction with the fact that “man as we know him is to but a small extent human; he is even inhuman.”

For Berdyaev, our exalting language of Christ has stopped short of reaching the Pauline notions of adoption and sonship.  One of the primary reasons is that we tend to equate God with power, or omnipotence; such a supposition is seriously challenged by the fact that in a literal sense, the Roman empire was more powerful than the Son of God.

Thus, if God is powerful, it is power in a very different sense; it is spiritual power and love.  Carrying this concept of power a little further, we begin to see that God’s Kingdom, which Jesus preached and ushered in, is a very different sort of kingdom, and Jesus, having been executed by the most “powerful” empire on earth must be a very different sort of Lord than the roman Caesar.  If Jesus is in a sense God, this means God himself suffered and was crucified by the most powerful human nation, but it also means that God breaks through our estrangement and alienation from him by sharing our suffering out of his profound love.

If we attempt, as the Fathers have tried to do, to locate Jesus’ deity in his miraculous works and in his resurrection from death instead of in his suffering, we fall right away into docetism and we are again cut off from this Jesus who only seemed to be, yet, as it turns out, ultimately was not like us.

 

Thus, if we wish to uphold the language of our tradition and proclaim the full divinity and humanity of Jesus, we can do so only if we explore the wider implications of how we share in that relationship as, in Paul’s language, the adopted children of God of whom Jesus was the firstborn.  In the revelation of Jesus we must encounter the truth not only of who God is, but who we are as well.  If we allow the rich resonances of our metaphorical and poetic religious language to penetrate to greater depth than face-value literalism, we can continue in the spirit of Paul and the early church by recasting symbols from our own cultural context in a creative response to Jesus’ question: “who do you say I am?”  This creative act of engaging our religious convictions with the cultural world we inhabit is fundamental in our attempt to understand our identity as individuals in a faith community.  If we have nothing new to say about who Jesus is, who God is, and who we are, then the voice of God has ceased to speak to us; if we do take this up as our task, however, the Word of God will once again be pronounced and God’s new creation can come into being as his Kingdom begins to break through and restore its original perfect harmony.

Bibliography

 

Bateman, Herbert W.,  IV. “Defining the Titles “Christ” and “Son of God” in Mark’s Narrative Presentation of Jesus.” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 50, no. 3 (2007): 537-559. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0001612497&site=ehost-live&scope=site (accessed February 17, 2010).

 

Berdyaev, Nikolai A. The Divine and the Human. Translated by R M. French. London: Geoffrey Bles, 1949.

 

Borg, Marcus J. Jesus: Uncovering the Life, Teachings, and Relevance of a Religious Revolutionary. San Fransisco: Harper Collins, 2006.

 

Borg, Marcus J., and N T. Wright. The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions. San Fransisco: Harper Collins, 1999.

 

Brümmer, Vincent. Atonement, Christology and the Trinity: Making Sense of Christian Doctrine. Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate, 2005.

 

Gianoulis, George C. “Is Sonship in Romans 8:14-17 a Link With Romans 9?.” Bibliotheca Sacra 166, no. 661 (2009): 70-83. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0001703998&site=ehost-live&scope=site (accessed February 17, 2010).

 

Hick, John. The Metaphor of God Incarnate. Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1993.

 

Kärkkäinen, Veli-Matti. Christology: A Global Introduction. Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003.

 

Le Poidevin, Robin. “Identity and the Composite Christ: An Incarnational Dilemma.” Religious Studies 42, no. 2 (2009): 157-186. http://libproxy.anderson.edu/login?url=http://search.ebscohost.com/login.aspx?direct=true&db=rfh&AN=ATLA0001733874&site=ehost-live&scope=site (accessed February 17, 2010).

 

Moltmann, Jürgen. The Crucified God. Translated by R A. Wilson and John Bowden. New York: Harper & Row, 1974.

 

Need, Stephen W. Truly Divine & Truly Human: The Story of Christ and the Seven Ecumenical Councils. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 2008.

 

Skarsaune, Oskar. “From the Jewish Messiah to the Creeds of the Church.” Evangelical Review of Theology 32, no. 3 (2008): 224-237.

 

 

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10/05/2009

If our task is to explicate the Christian understanding of God as it shapes theological reflection, we must first assume that there is such a Christian understanding, and then attempt to articulate it.  The primary source of a Christian understanding, then, is the witness of scripture; the interpretation of scripture is subsequently informed by tradition—the myriad attempts that have been made by previous and contemporary Christians to glean just such an understanding from scripture.  In this endeavor, we must readily admit, like Anselm, that God cannot be comprehensively understood or conceptualized, and that we must rely first on our faith to guide our understanding.  Nevertheless, we also admit that our understandings are grounded in a context or worldview, and that they rely on reason and logic to be articulated.  Although the scripture’s witness of God occurs within a Hebrew context, much of traditional Christian thought has appropriated a Hellenistic hermeneutic that is not intrinsically a Christian paradigm.  Furthermore, the spread of global Christianity throughout modernity has inspired the appropriation of various other cultural contexts as interpretive lenses through which Christianity can be understood.  Rather than legitimate one culture’s system of logic over against another’s, this crisis of interpretive pluralism forces us back to God’s self-revelation in scripture and our humble faith that this revelation is self-authenticating.  By using the “both/and” logic of Chinese philosophy instead of the “either/or” reasoning of Greek philosophy, we can better understand the uniqueness of a Christian understanding of a God who is transcendent, a God who is one, and also a God who is with us.

In order to affirm that God is transcendent, we must first dispense of the Aristotelian dualistic logic of “either/or.”  This leads to an insolubly static duality of subject and object, which is incompatible with a God who transcends the division of subject and object.  At this, Karl Barth rightly adopts a “both/and” or “neither/nor” logic in place of “either/or.”  He suggests that God is both essence and existence, and neither an object nor an idea.  Thus, not only is the logic of Aristotle inadequate to conceptualize a transcendent God, but also neither is the Platonic conception of ideals.  In the tradition of the church, the metaphysics of Greek ontology led to the static ontology of God seen as the essence of being.  This thought permeated both the Neo-Platonist thought of Augustine, as well as the Aristotelian thought of Aquinas.  Seeing God as a static being, however, is incomprehensible to a humankind and a world that are in the dynamic process of becoming, and not being.  The “both/and” logic in which Chinese philosophy is rooted allows us to conceive of a God who, by transcending the dualism of “either/or” is both being and becoming.  If, as we faithfully believe, God is ultimate reality, he must be both.  Thus, Jung Young Lee is able to account for both the changelessness alluded to by the doctrine of divine impassability as the source of creation, and the need for a dynamic conception of God to relate to humankind, by asserting the Chinese concept of change as ultimate reality.  Thus, by conceiving of God as change, God implicitly transcends any objectification, while still relating to the world in which all things are in a process of change and becoming.  If we read God as change, then it is true when Lee asserts that, “everything changes because of change [i.e. God], but change itself is changeless.”  In other words, the use of this Chinese conception informs and enhances our traditional notions that God is the first cause through which our dynamic world of changes has come into being, and yet this God is also unchanging.  Rather than fall into the dualistic trap of interpreting these doctrines in light of a static God of substance, we can use the inclusiveness of the concept of change to understand how such a God relates to us and reveals himself to us in a world in flux.

Next, we must see how this understanding of God as changeless change sufficiently articulates the Christian concept of a God who is one.  In this endeavor, we must turn to the scriptures that mediate God’s self-revelation.  Deuteronomy 6:4 contains the Hebrew Shema, an ancient understanding of the God of the Bible.  In the transliterated Hebrew text, it reads, “Sh’ma Yis-ra-eil, A-do-nai E-lo-hei-nu, A-do-nai E-chad,” which literally means, “Hear Israel! Yahweh our God, Yahweh one.”  By virtue of its ambiguity, it is translated in a number of different senses in English, such as “Hear O Israel: the LORD is our God, the LORD alone” and “Hear O Israel, the LORD our God, the LORD is one.”  Both senses emphasize the unity or oneness of God, and point toward the Christian conception of monotheism.  Old Testament scholar Victor Hamilton, however, casts this concept of monotheism in a different light: it does not seem to indicate belief in one God as opposed to a polytheistic belief in many gods; monotheism in the Old Testament rather indicates a God who is consistent in his action in history.  Thus, “a God who is inconsistent is historically polytheistic.”  God is our God because he is the same for us as he was for the patriarchs, he is one because he has not changed, and he is alone because he is God of all.  As we see in Amos 9:7, God is both the God of the Israelite exodus from Egypt, and the God of the exoduses of other peoples as well.  He transcends the dichotomized duality of “us” and “them” precisely by being one God for all.  As Barth argues, God’s transcendent unity is also the unity of the past, present, and future.  Thus, we begin to see that the authoritative uniqueness of Christianity is grounded not in the exclusiveness, but in the inclusiveness of God.  As Lee states:

It encourages not competition but cooperation, not domination but coordination, not authority but authenticity, not conformity but affirmation.  It rejects…a dualism that is in any case incompatible with the original Judeo-Christian message.

Both Barth and Lee are articulating the notion that theological reflection cannot assert its own authority based on the merit of its propositions.  Hence, Christian theology is authoritative not so much by virtue of an overt claim to authority as by its self-authenticating proclamation of a transcendent God who is one and who includes all by loving grace.  This God is changeless insofar as he is consistent from one time and people to another, but he also implicitly must embody change in order to be the same God in changed circumstances.

Lastly, it becomes clear that God, when understood as changeless change, is not only unified and transcendent, but he is also Immanuel—God with us.  As Barth confirms, God reveals himself to us in the scriptures and through the history of his deeds.  He does this because he has a fundamental interest in humankind, which culminated in the act of the incarnation of Christ.  The concept of changeless change helps us see God in light of the dynamic interrelationship that Barth asserts is the task of theology to describe; a God whose unity allows him to “exist neither next to man nor merely above him, but rather with him, by him, and most important of all, for him.”  Traditionally, this aspect of God has led to his characterization as a personal God, but when he introduces himself for the first time in scripture, we see that while his relation to us is on some level personal, his nature nevertheless transcends the bounds of personal and impersonal.  Thus in his meeting with Moses in Exodus 3:14, when asked by Moses what his name is, his response is strikingly non-symbolic and mysterious: “I am who I am,” or “I will be who I will be.”  The other names we use for God symbolically reflect the conditions of certain encounters with God, but when God defines himself, he does so non-symbolically as “is-ness.”  Though it is important that God relates to us on a personal level, and that he achieved the fulfillment of this relationship through the incarnation of Christ, the impersonal or super-personal nature of God must not be forgotten.  Otherwise we risk misunderstanding God through what Barth calls “anthropotheology” rather than properly trying to understand ourselves and God through “theoanthropology.”  In other words, God must first be understood as transcendent before he can be understood as Immanuel; otherwise we merely reduce God to being Immanuel in the sense that he is one of us.  We were created in his image, so we must not cast him in our image; instead we must faithfully strive to understand him, which in turn will inform a proper understanding of ourselves as his likeness.

By using the “both/and” logic of Chinese philosophy instead of the “either/or” reasoning of Greek philosophy, we can better comprehend how God is transcendent; a God who is one and alone, and also a God who is with us.  This understanding prompts us to reflect upon how we relate to God, and how we live our lives as Christian believers in this God.  Since he is a God who loves, forgives, and extends grace, we are called to do the same; since is inclusively one universal God of all, we must also be inclusive of all; since he exhibits his authority through his humility, being tortured and killed by the authorities of this world, we are called to be humble servants.  As he is the God of the Gospel, we are likewise called to bring this “good news.”  If, however, we fail to understand him in this dynamic interrelationship, and if we fall into a static conception of him as wholly other, then we cut ourselves off from allowing him to transform us.  For this reason, we have faith in him, that we may understand him, and that through our faith seeking understanding we may be transformed by him.

 

 

 

References

 

Barth, Karl. Evangelical Theology. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1963.

 

Charry, Ellen. Inquiring After God. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 2000.

 

Hamilton, Victor. Handbook On the Pentateuch. Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005.

 

Lee, Jung Young. The Theology of Change. New York: Orbis Books, 1979.

 

Siddur, Siddur.org.  Available from HYPERLINK “http://www.siddur.org/transliterations/SatAM/11shacharit_shema_2.php#shma” http://www.siddur.org/transliterations/SatAM/11shacharit_shema_2.php#shma; Internet; accessed October 5, 2009.

 

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11/24/2009

Since its earliest days, the church has held the doctrine of the trinity to be of central importance.  Agreement on this point was nearly unanimous.  The proper articulation of the doctrine, however, has been one of the most contentious and divisive areas of Christian theology.  The difficulty of elucidating and grasping the trinity has in turn led to its neglect in some cases and its outright dismissal in others.  In both instances, the abandonment of the trinity stems from assumptions and modes of thought that are non-trinitarian.  Forcing the trinity to be non-trinitarian is a tiresome and fruitless endeavor, but it has unfortunately been a common pitfall.  Inevitably, contradiction arises out of monistic and dualistic thought.  These are but two sides of the same philosophical coin; the coin that encompasses and surpasses them, then, is trinitarian thought.  Integral to the application of trinitarian thought to the Christian doctrine of the trinity is the least understood and most neglected hypostasis thereof: the Holy Spirit.  In order to reclaim the doctrine of the trinity, we will need to examine the non-trinitarian thinking that ultimately leads to the neglect of the Spirit, explore the implications of the Spirit in trinitarian thinking, and finally begin to discover the role of the Spirit in the Christian life.

To critically examine the validity of affirming the trinity as the Christian concept of God, one must first determine whether the perceived problems of the doctrine lie within the trinity itself, or merely in the poor articulation thereof.  To that end, Lesslie Newbigin points out that the trinity is not so much a problem as a solution to the problem of the dualistic tendencies of classical thought.  The issue is that monotheism is taken as the assumed starting point from which the trinity is derived.  This gives rise to two basic doctrines and one common result.  On the one hand is Tertullian’s conception of the divine substance in three persons,  and on the other hand is the Hegelian conception of the divine as absolute subject.  Both of these are functionally disintegrative as they reduce the three parts of trinity into a static and abstract monotheism; both of them are guilty of reducing trinity to modality.  The problem with these approaches is that they restrict the ‘persons’ of the trinity from having any substantial or subjective personhood, and thereby effectually negate the need for distinguishing between them in the first place.  The result is the insoluble dualism whereby the cold absolute God is isolated from humanity with no mediator.  What is missing is a trinitarian approach, grounded in the inclusive mediator of the Spirit.  That is needed to resolve the startling ecclesial contradiction that the church has no developed doctrine of the Spirit, yet it acknowledges the role of the Spirit as the mediator of all revelation.  The Spirit is the inner connecting principle that connects and brings to completion the seemingly contradictory and exclusive sides of dualism, or the static reductionism of monism.  Thus, we can discern the presence of the Spirit in John 14:11, “I am in the Father and the Father is in me.”  Without the ‘in’ as a representative of the functioning Spirit, the distinction between the Father and Son are dissolved: “I am the Father and the Father is me.”  If we conceive of God as substance, then we lose this subtlety because ‘in’ is not a substance, and it therefore loses all meaning and significance.  We are led to conclude with Berdyaev that the antithesis between Spirit and matter cannot be upheld, because the “Spirit is freedom, not substance.”

Thus, in the context of the doctrine of the Spirit, the doctrine of the trinity elucidates the unity of God not so much numerically as in terms of fellowship.  It is a co-working of three subjects.  In John 10:30 we read, “I and the Father are one,” not “I and the Father are one and the same.”  The latter would indicate a stress on numerical identity, whereas the actual text tends more toward emphasizing a relationship.  Once again, we may infer the presence of the Spirit in this verse as the connecting principle operating in the word ‘and.’  This is underscored by the notion of marginality that is interwoven with the function of the Spirit as mediator.  Marginality can be seen as the unrecognized existence between two worlds that is treated as if not existing.   The marginality of Jesus is depicted in John 1:11 where his own people do not recognize him. It was not until after the Easter event when the Spirit was poured out that his marginality was to be accepted and transfigured; only in the context of the trinity can we accept the marginal (and thus ourselves be accepted).  Only within trinitarian thought can we experience the harmony of unity and diversity seen as complementary rather than mutually exclusive.

The implications of the trinitarian inclusiveness of the Spirit for Christian living are manifold; they constitute an inexhaustible call for a creative response as a faith community.  If our faith affirms a Spirit who indwells then we must embrace and uphold this as a fundamental mystery.  Our knowledge of God cannot be entirely propositional so we are led to a twofold affirmation of revelation as the humanity of God expressed in the mutual revelation of the Son and the Father on one hand, and the mystery of God expressed in the Spirit on the other.  To speak of the humanity of God is not necessarily an anthropomorphic elevation of man; as Berdyaev paradoxically elaborates, “it might be expressed by saying that God is human whereas man is inhuman.”   The Russian Orthodox thinker Aleksei Khomiakov coined the term sobornost to cast the notion of  the catholicity of the church in a trinitarian light.  In sobornost, he implied, “unity in multiplicity, oneness in diversity…a catholicity realized in quality not in quantity, in depth rather than breadth, a characteristic communicated by the Holy Spirit which enables individual communities, and even persons, to give full and complete manifestation to the mark of catholicity.”  Berdyaev expounds upon Khomiakov’s notion by seeing in the Pentecost of Acts the inauguration of a new era of the Spirit that promises a social and cosmic transfiguration culminating in a “real and not merely symbolic sobornost.”  Moltmann sees this in the transformation from the Shekinah of God that was dwelling with us in the Temple to the Spirit of God that indwells our bodies which become temples (I Cor. 6:13-20).  Through the Spirit we are at last allowed to partake, by faith, in the sonship of Jesus as we are transfigured, as his church, into his body.  In this we are liberated from the earthly kingdoms consisting of lords and servants and invited to freely participate in God’s Kingdom which consists of a loving Father and us as his free children.  As by grace we are included in this sonship, we are called to embody this same grace in extension to the Other.  Only within trinitarian thought can we truly include the Other without attempting to dissolve the otherness.  Then we may engage in the practice not of dialogue, but that of ‘trilogue,’ recognizing the Spirit is already on both sides of the table, accepting the Other as the only truly genuine expression of religious empathy.

The trinity is the essential starting point for all Christian reflection.  If it is to be thoroughly reclaimed, however, it must be on the basis of a truly trinitarian mode of thought.  Only in this paradigm can the implications of the Christian trinity be discussed, and from there the implications for Christian living.  The essence of the trinity is bound up in the acceptance of the Spirit, without which it unravels into a static conception of a God to whom we cannot relate.  This is not to downplay the significance and/or centrality of the Father and the Son, but merely to serve as a corrective to the longstanding neglect of the Spirit and of the lack of its doctrinal development.  Without the trinity and the Spirit, the Christian faith is a hopelessly tragic tale of a despotic God and a condemned humanity forever separated from the God we confess faith in.  Only within the trinity can we find the true Christian hope of the coming Kingdom and the ultimate source of God’s good news for his children.

Bibliography

Berdyaev, Nikolai. Truth and Revelation. London: Geoffrey Bles, 1953.

Kärkkäinen, Veli-Matti. Trinity and Religious Pluralism. Burlington, Vt.: Ashgate, 2004.

Lee, Jung Y. The Trinity in Asian Perspective. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1996.

Moltmann, Jürgen. The Trinity and the Kingdom. San Fransisco: Harper & Row, 1981.

Newbingin, Lesslie. “The Trinity as Public Truth.” In The Trinity in a Pluralistic Age, Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997.

Ritchey, Mary G. “Khomiakov and his Theory of Sobornost.” Diakonia 17, no. 1 (1982): 53-62.

Vanhoozer, Kevin J. “Does the Trinity Belong in a Theology of Religions?.” In The Trinity in a Pluralistic Age, Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997.

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