Violent Men Laying Hold

One of the most difficult passages in the New Testament is Matthew 11:12. And by difficult, I mean, “Nobody has any idea what this could possibly mean.”

11 “I assure you that no one who has ever been born is greater than John the Baptist. Yet whoever is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. 12 From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven is violently attacked as violent people seize it. 13 All the Prophets and the Law prophesied until John came. 14 If you are willing to accept it, he is Elijah who is to come. 15 Let the person who has ears, hear. (Matt 11:12, CEB)

Is violence something happening to the kingdom? Or is it the way it’s proceeding? Is violently laying hold of it a good thing? or a bad thing?

The CEB guides us toward the idea that the violence is a bad thing. In the past, all I’ve had to offer students is an invitation to read Flannery O’Connor’s, The Violent Bear It Away.

But I heard a paper this morning that I think points in a helpful direction for making sense of it. The paper, by Matthew Bates of Quincy University, is entitled, “Veiled Resistance to a Violent King.”

Bates backed us up to the larger context, where Jesus responds to John’s disciples, and elaborates on John the baptist:

What did you go out to see? A reed shaken by the wind?

Bates draws attention to coinage that has been found–on which Herod Antipas has a reed a symbol of his leadership.

What did you go out to see? A person dressed in fine clothes? No–those in fine clothes live in king’s palaces.

In Matthew, as in Mark, Herod Antipas is referred to as “King,” specifically in the passage where Herod kills John the Baptist (Matthew 14).

Bates frames his argument with James Scott’s discussion of “hidden transcripts”: for those who are dominated, especially by a violent oppressor, critique and even words of judgment toward the overlords must be veiled. The cryptic code throughout the passage encodes veiled references to Herod Antipas.

People did not flock to see Herod, but the prophet. They did not flock to see the softly clothed, luxurious king. They went out to see a prophet.

They did not to out to see a Herodian kingdom, but the turning of the ages–the predecessor to the coming Kingdom of God. Herod has acted violently toward the kingdom; he has taken hold of it with violence.

Herod is belittled, Bates claims.

Also, I would add, the Kingdom of God is exalted. But exalted like the exalted little speck of yeast that gets hidden in the dough only thence to grow and leaven the whole.

History, Theology, and Jesus

Today there was a wonderfully stimulating session in the Theological Interpretation of Christian Scripture group, as a panel of reviewers critically assessed and compared Darrell Bock and Robert Webb (eds.), Key Events in the Life of the Historical Jesus with Richard B. Hays and Beverly R. Gaventa (eds.), Seeking the Identity of Jesus: A Pilgrimage.

The conversation on the panel swirled around the questions of what it means to read the Bible as Christians; or, how to do greatest justice to the historical narratives contained in the gospels.

In this, I was much more sympathetic to the Hays and Gaventa volume. Their volume strives to cultivate reading strategies for the canonical gospels that witnesses to Jesus. The Bock and Webb volume strives to establish, and explain the coherence of, a dozen key moments in the life of the historical Jesus.

Bock and Webb, along with Michael Bird, spoke of historical Jesus research as a necessary prolegomenon to New Testament Christology and other such study.

No, I don’t think so.

The church has not canonized the historical Jesus, it has canonized four Gospels. We can cultivate a rich theology for the church based on these interpretations, without digging behind them to the “real Jesus” back there in history. In such a practice, inevitably we tell a new story, construct a fifth quite theologically conditioned Jesus of our own. Our fifth Gospel is not the “starting point” for studying the four.

But for all my wariness about the historical project as such, I am not ready to rush into the arms of some versions of an already theologized Jesus, either.

And here I come back (again!) to the challenges posed by those who think that we should be reading the Jesus stories toward Chalcedon. In a line that was quoted a couple of times, Rob Wall spoke of scripture as something along the lines of spirit sanctioned witnesses to Jesus as incarnate Christ. I’m butchering the first and beautiful part of the sentence, in which Wall draws us to give the four canonical gospels their rightful place as starting-point for our Jesus deliberations.

But in articulating that to which they witness in the terms of the divine christology of the later church, the bible has lost the place he seems to be claiming for it, and now Chalcedon has come to take its place.

And so I once again walk away appreciative of both history and theology, but wanting to reiterate what I see as a better theological method: not beginning with the history behind the text, nor beginning with the theology placed in front of the text to refract our vision, but beginning with the stories of Jesus themselves.

Papers & People

I always of hope that when I’m at the Society of Biblical Literature conference the papers and presentations will spur thoughts that end up being part of the weekend’s blogging.

I could do a bit of that.

The session in which I presented yesterday afternoon had a wonderful paper exploring the book of Daniel in the Coen Brothers’ Barton Fink and Ladykillers. I need to do a bit more research and watch Barton Fink another 10 times.

I also got some great suggestions on how to keep building my thesis about Job and Ecclesiastes in A Serious Man and No Country for Old Men, respectively.

But the past two days have been more about people than papers. And this is truly the best part about SBL after developing relationships in the academy since going to seminary fourteen years ago.

It is the nature of this business, and of life in our culture more generally, that we scatter from the people with whom we live and study for a time. The annual gathering is filled with reunions–for me, with people I met as an undergraduate, friends from seminary, professors from seminary and grad school, colleagues I have gotten to know at this meeting over the years, blogsphere connections and Facebook friends that become reincarnate each year the weekend before Thanksgiving.

So yes, I’ve learned a bit about the value of keeping politics in mind while reading Romans or Galatians.

But I’ve learned more, as I often do during this weekend, about the value of friendship.

Are You Willing?

If you want change, you have to be willing to give up everything.

Yesterday we had some great conversation at the Newbigin House of Studies’ “Leadership for the Church in Mission” conference. N. T. Wright gave a couple of talks that engaged biblical theology with an eye toward the place of the church in our current culture.

Image: Danilo Rizzuti / FreeDigitalPhotos.net


During the panel of which I was a part, George Hunsberger made the point that the missional church conversation calls us to be willing to put everything on the table, to be willing to reassess all of our structures, all that we do.

Later in the conversation, Pamela Wilhelms reflected on why it is so difficult for us to speak truth to power: power pays our salaries. The church that is separate from the state is funded by the people who give their money, who are in leadership in the major corporations–the major corporations who account for 1/2 of the world’s top 100 economies.

Are we willing to go about the dangerous business of calling everything to account?

The conversation we had gave me pause.

We were a bunch of church- or seminary-funded religious professionals. We were talking as though the purpose of theological education is to serve the church.

Is that it? Or is the purpose of theological education to serve the world in which the church finds itself? Have we gotten it out of our heads, yet, that the missional calling of the church tells us that our identity is to be sent out into the world even as the son was sent into the world?

Are we willing to allow our rethought theology to call our own power and institutions into question?

Or when we talk about movements such as “Fresh Expressions” in the U.K., are we going to see the fact that they come up with a somewhat standard form of worship as an indication that we’ve been in the right all along and therefore don’t need to rethink anything for a new generation? Or will we be willing to let go of the power and control that comes from being those established in power, perhaps even admitting that we cannot do what we’ve always done and see the church or kingdom thrive in a new generation?

There are lots of great conversations going on, there is lots of good theology being kicked around, and the practitioners are doing good, faithful work.

But are we willing to change everything for the Kingdom, even if it means a loss of power or place or income?

These are the challenges that rumble about in my mind as I reflect on a day of missional conversation.

Wright on Jesus

Yesterday’s second N. T. Wright event at Fuller Northern California entailed a talk about Jesus and the Kingdom in front of a packed house of well over 700 attendees.

He reflected on the problem that was the driving force behind Scot McKnight’s recent King Jesus Gospel: what is the gospel of the Gospels? Why do we have these stories about Jesus’ life?

Wright set up the problem like this:

For many Christians, Jesus could be born of a virgin and die for our sins, and that would be enough.

What, then, do we discover in the Gospels?

He suggested that there are four “speakers” that need to be properly adjusted in volume so that we can get the full, stereoscopic effect of the Gospels’ depiction of Jesus:

  1. The Gospels show Jesus as the climax to the story of Israel–not merely isolated prooftexts, but the whole grand narrative. This speaker, Wright suggests, has been on mute for too much of the church’s history–and still today.
  2. The Gospels depicts Jesus as the embodiment of Israel’s God. This speaker, Wright argues, has been turned up far too loud–and perhaps played with no little distortion as well. The point should be less Jesus as second person of the Trinity and more Jesus as the God who renews covenant (Isa 54) and redeems the whole world (Isa 55) by carrying our sins and bearing our sorrows (Isa 53).
  3. Jesus is the start of the movement that became the church. Again, Wright sees this one as turned up too loud inasmuch as it causes us to look past Jesus’ actions on earth far too quickly. The forward-looking reading can make us, too, look forward and thereby forget that Jesus is inaugurating the kingdom in his life and death.
  4. The kingdom of God calls the kingdoms of this world to account. This speaker, too, Wright thinks has been too low–perhaps disconnected and stuck in a corner. Wright looks at Jesus and Pilate debating kingship and truth, at Paul proclaiming Jesus is Lord in Caesar’s own city, and sees the gospel calling the kingdoms of this world to account, to a better way of rule.

At the end, Wright strove to connect this four-fold reading of the Gospels to both life and death of Jesus. Perhaps my mind was wondering after a long day. I didn’t find this part to be as clearly laid out. Perhaps my problem was that I couldn’t quite see how there was an inherent connection, how cross drove the kingdom vision or enabled it to come about.

After a day with Wright, and seeing how he can pack out a house, even in the middle of the day in the middle of the week, I was poised to have N. T. Wright thoughts in mind when I read this morning’s blog post by Seth Godin.

The blog post talked about being “the best”–essentially, it says, being the best is a distraction that keeps us from taking our “better than most” and becoming well known for our unique contribution.

As I’m about to go to the Society of Biblical Literature conference, I think about N. T. Wright and think that there are probably any number of people who could rightly claim to be “better” New Testament scholars than Wright. They are more careful exegetes, know their history a bit better, or some such.

But what Wright has done is to take his “better than most” and parlay it into “most influential,” such that his overall project ends up being one of, if not the, most important biblical theology projects because people actually listen to what he is doing.

That’s where Wright has been able to become great: he has made the effort, and succeeded, in speaking to the masses. And the church’s and academy’s readings of the Bible are becoming, and will continue to be, better for it.

Conference Week: Day 1

It’s conference week. Day 1.

I’m at Fuller Sacramento today. N. T. Wright is getting ready to take the stage to talk about Paul for the 21st century.

The follow up panel discussion will be moderated by Kathryn Greene-McCreight. I’ll be on the panel with Peter Rodgers, Libby Vincent, and Chap Clark.

Stay tuned for a full debrief. This is your warning: blogging for the next week will be heavily tainted by biblical studies, and the Society of Biblical Literature conference in particular. Stay tuned…

UPDATE

This afternoon, N. T. Wright addressed the significance of Paul for the 21st century church. He began by a sort of brainstorming of various issues that confront us in the 21st century: wealth and poverty, e-generation and its impact on relationships; the standoff between secularism and fundamentalism.

With the table set, Wright addressed three issues where Paul speaks and transforms our understanding: God (monotheism); People of God (election); and Hope (eschatology: one glorious future awaiting the world).

Each of these, Wright argues, is reworked around Jesus and the Spirit in Paul.

God is the God and father of Jesus Christ; Jesus is Lord, the Spirit works the works of God.

The people of God are those who are the one, holy people of God–the body of Christ.

And as for eschatology: there is a hope present among us because new creation has begun with the resurrection of Jesus.

There was lots of great stuff here; nothing new for those who know Wright’s work, but great reminders about who God is for us in Christ, and who, then, we are supposed to be.

The one question I raised, and perhaps slight concern I had, was that Wright talked a lot about hope and resurrection with little mention of the cross as the road to our promised future, the source of obedience that secures our resurrection hope.

All told, it was a great afternoon, with almost 500 in attendance. Tonight’s gathering on Jesus is a few hundred stronger and getting started now.

Great stuff going on at Fuller, Sacramento!

Taddeo Zuccari

A number of people have asked me about the artist responsible for the painting on my book’s cover:

The work is that of Taddeo Zuccari, “The Conversion of St. Paul,” completed in 1550. You can see a reproduction of the whole thing here.

The Story of Christ… Really…

I’ve found myself indirectly thinking about what it means to read the Bible as Christians. By “indirectly” I mean that these thoughts have gnawed around the edges of my thinking while I’ve been working on other things: teaching the Gospels and Acts, writing a paper on wisdom literature in the Coen Brothers’ movies, listening to sermons on the deadly sins, reading books on what the Bible is and we’re supposed to do with it.

By “reading the Bible as Christians” I don’t just mean reading it like we’re supposed to learn from it. There are lots of ways to read the Bible so as to learn from it. But those among whom I number myself approach the Bible as Christians–not as Jews, not as Mormons, not to mention that we don’t approach it as atheists or pantheists or deists.

Reading the Bible as Christians means that we not only read it with a ready disposition to hear it as God’s word, as the story of salvation, it means to read the story with the conviction that the narrative comes to its surprising climax in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

You have to do this on purpose, if you want to do it.

Pick up the book of Deuteronomy, and you’ll come away with a strong sense that they way God will fully restore his people is through their faithful obedience to Torah. Jesus is a surprise.

Pick up the law or the prophets, and you’ll come away with the strong sense that God’s ultimate plan is for a nation to be located in the geophysical land of Israel. The explosion of the promise of land to a promise of the world and indeed of new creation is a surprise.

Pick up the Proverbs, and the next thing you know you’ll be looking for your diligence to overflow in wealth and peace. The call to embody the death of Jesus in all quarters of our world is a surprise.

To read the Bible as the story of Jesus is to decide that nothing in the OT comes to us directly. It all comes to us mediated through Jesus. This means both that it is mediated through Jesus and that it all comes to us. Some is transformed in him, some is fulfilled and left behind. And some comes as a word reiterated now for a people reconfigured around Christ rather than Torah.

The vitality, and validity, of our reading the OT as Christians hinges on our willingness to read it in light of what we know to be more ultimately true: the Christ who is the end of the Law, the Christ to whom the Law, Prophets, and Psalms bear witness.

Houston in April

Texas friends, mark your calendars!

I’ll be participating in the Christians for Biblical Equality one day conference on April 28. I hope to see you there!

I’ll be giving a talk entitled, “Reading Scripture by the Light of New Creation’s Dawn.”

Can’t God Just Forgive?

When people wrestle with atonement theology (i.e., how does the cross, in particular, bring about forgiveness of sins), the objection to atonement theology as a whole is sometimes voiced: why can’t God just forgive? Does God really need some sort of payment?

On the one hand, yes, God can do whatever God wants. This is possible.

On the other hand, we develop our understanding of how the cross works ex post facto. We’re not setting up parameters that have to be met, but trying to understand the biblical witness about how the death of Jesus did, in fact, function. We have books like Hebrews that say things like, “You could almost say that without shedding of blood there is no forgiveness.” We have the language of Jesus’ death as atoning sacrifice.

So atonement theology is our attempt to make sense of what did happen, not to set requirements on God.

But there’s another piece of the biblical puzzle as well. That piece is Luke-Acts.

Luke seems to go out of his way to mute the idea that Jesus’ death is somehow a ransom or payment for sins. You know that, “Son of Man didn’t come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many” saying? It’s replaced by the son of man being among his people as one who serves the table.

Look at the sermons in Acts. Here, of all places, we should get a clear exposition of the purpose of the cross. And we do! But its focused purpose is to fulfill the scripture about Israel rejecting its own Messiah, so that Israel will see that they, as much as the Gentiles, stand in need of the forgiveness of God.

God forgives.

God isn’t paid.

Sin isn’t covered.

Blood doesn’t cleanse.

Canonically, this is not enough. There is more to be said, other developments of the significance of Jesus’ death that need to be incorporated into a fully developed understanding of the atonement.

But here’s the question: is this atonement-free forgiveness a viable starting point for us to take with people who find the idea of God needing payment to be barbaric, weird, etc.? Can we set aside the other angles on Jesus’ death and cultivate a Lukan theology of the God who forgives, and who is at work in the world through Christ and the Spirit, as the gospel with which we begin?

Discuss.