praying forgiveness

Within the span of a week I've had two opportunities to share some insights on the Lord's Prayer (Mt 6:9-13). Here's what I've found:

The prayer defines its addressee in the first line, "Our Father, the one who is in the heavens".  While it may seem obvious to some Christians that we would address God in prayer, the fact that Jesus specifies only God as the recipient of our prayers cuts against the grain of some traditions in which other spiritual authorities are also invoked.  Within the Lord's Prayer there is no mention of the saints or ancestors of human religion/culture.

The prayer features seven verbs.  The first three verbs are pleas for the Father to do something for the Father's own sake.  These accompany nouns with possessive pronouns in the second person singular.  I call this "a pattern of possession or belonging to the second person" who is, in this case, God.    The three verb-noun combinations then are:

May it be kept holy/sanctified--your name
May it come--your kingdom
May it be done--your will

All are pleas pertaining to God.  Disciples pray, as Jesus taught us, for God to guard/protect/keep God's own prerogatives as the creator of the world.  While human beings can participate in the glorifying of God's name, the coming of God's kingdom, and the doing of God's will, all are ultimately the work of the Father himself.  Only the Father can protect his name, kingdom, and will from the humans who inevitably fail to honor God.  Our shortcomings simply expose the need to pray to the Creator, and reveal why we should begin in prayer with pleas that pertain to God for God's sake.  It is upon God's heavenly name, kingdom, and will that the same might be established on earth, and so we address the only One who can bring about these realities.  We plea to God not to give up on the establishment of God's name, kingdom, and will upon the earth in the face of our sin.

After we have put first things first, the things upon which everything else is founded, then we begin to pray to God about the things that belong uniquely to us as frail human beings.  Here come the next four verb-noun combinations.

Give us today--our daily bread
Forgive us--our debts
Do not bring--us into temptation
Deliver--us from the evil one

If in the "pattern of possession or belonging to the second person", that is, "to God", the pronoun was "your", the final four verbs pertain to "our" or "us".  In other words, the second set of verb-noun combinations forms a "pattern of possession or belonging to the first person plural", "to us".  After we have asked God to do some things for God's own sake, upon which our own survival also depends, now we begin to plea for God to do some things for us.  Give us daily bread.  Forgive us our debts.  Do not bring us into temptation.  Deliver us from the evil one.  All four pleas refer to situations unique to the human condition.  We are the ones in need of bread--not God.  We are the ones who have debts (or sins or trespasses)--God has none.  We are tempted--God is not.  We must be delivered--Satan poses no threat to God.  All of these predicaments are truly ours.  And thus, as before, we speak to the only One who can help us.

Now, regardless of whether the pattern is "your" (to God) or "our" (to us), each verb is a plea for God to do something.  God is the subject of doing, whether it be for God's own sake or for ours.  That is the case--with one exception.  Only one verb of the seven appears twice--to "forgive."  If we have prayed for God to forgive us our sins, we must also pray that "we forgive those who sin against us".  If we have prayed for God to forgive our debts, we also pray that "we forgive our debtors".  The two, in fact, are dependent one upon the other.  It is in the act of forgiveness alone that our agency and God's overlap.  God forgives us as we forgive one another.  We express our "godliness", our "god-likeness", through forgiveness.  We "are perfect as our heavenly father is perfect" (Mt 5:48) in no other way but as we extend love without condition to our fellow human beings.  We "complete" the love of an already "complete" God as "we love one another" (1 Jn 4:12).

If therefore we do, as Jesus commanded, "pray then in this way", forgiveness will be the spirituality of our lives; reconciliation its fruit; and peace the kingdom come--"on earth as it is in heaven".

-Joe

doing discipleship

I had the privilege last evening again to lead, with the pastor, a lesson on discipleship for mostly youth and young adults at Harvest Time Ministries.  Our text was Matthew 21:28-32.

The context of this text is the series of encounters between Jesus and the chief priest, elders of the people, and Pharisees after he has entered the temple during his passion week (21:23, 45).  This parable, like's Luke's better known story of "the prodigal son" (Lk 15:11-32), may be called "the parable of the two sons."  

I share the following insights from studying the text below.

1.  The parable seems to recommend a correspondence between the actions of the father and the actions of his children.  What the father does, he commands the children to do.  In the text, the father does two things: he goes to each child and he speaks to each child.  What he commands the children to do, similarly, is to go and to work--"in his vineyard" (23:28).  As the father has two activities, so his children.  This suggests to me, simply, that the sons and daughters of God must go where he calls us.  That is always the first step.  The second step, simply, is to be about God's business when we get there.  We are to "work" in God's vineyard.  That in turns suggests a challenge, for we must clearly discern between God's work and our own, and then submit to doing God's work when we may in fact prefer our own.

On the theme of this correspondence, one exceptionally bright girl from our study group suggested that "what God does, we can do because we are made in the image of God."  That theology and anthropology has its place, especially in this setting of historic disempowerment (colonialism and apartheid), of people's own sense of their loss of agency as human beings.  On the other hand, that kind of theology and anthropology is in the ascendancy here among types of churches with sometimes destructive effects upon community--since the encouragement to exercise one's authority in the image of God can be taken in a highly individualized sense, as though my God-given authority blinds me to the reality that God has also given his authority to others.  Thus, if two people who are "anointed" are to have a relationship, they must yield to one another.  So the continuing challenge is to affirm human dignity while not robbing others of their own.

2.  "The man" or the father in the story gives to both his children the same, basic tasks.  The text says that he "said the same" or "likewise" to the second child as he had said to the first.  This suggests, in the phrase of the same girl from our group, that "God is no respecter of persons."  And of course, what that old aphorism has always meant is that God does not privilege one of his children over another.  God does not see as humans typically see.  God looks not upon the stature of David, inferior to his brothers, but on David's heart, finding him fit to lead God's people.  In the text, this takes the form of Jesus deeming the unesteemed--the tax collectors and the prostitutes--as worthy of the kingdom as the esteemed, the religious leaders.  In fact, due to the leaders' pride, the tax collectors and prostitutes "are going into the kingdom of God ahead [of the religious leaders]" (v. 31).  But the basic point remains; in the beginning, both children--those who, because of whatever turn, became prostitutes and those who became religious leaders, were called by God "to go and work".  

3.  The difference between the two children is that the first "changed his mind and went" (v. 29), whereas the second did not go.  Of course, for the first child to change his mind implies that he once had a different mind from his father, that is, a mind not to do what his father told him to do.  In this sense, the first child is no different than the second child who clearly shows that he never had a mind to go even though he told the father that he would.  That is, both children did not want to go as the father commanded.  One, on the other hand, did go, after changing his mind--and that makes all the difference.

This means, therefore, that the decisive difference in God's eyes does not lie in what each child has spoken to his father.  If that were the case, then the second son would have been approved and the first not, since the second spoke what was right.  He said, in response to his father's call, "I go, sir" (v. 30).  While we could wish that the first child would have also made a right reply with his mouth, what is of first importance is that he put his actions in line with his father's will.

4.  The priority of doing over saying in Jesus' parable confirms the word of the apostle James, that true faith does not exist without good works (Ja 2:18-26).  The dynamic could be expressed like this: humans beings are justified, "declared righteous by God" on account of their faith, but their faith is justified, "declared righteous by God" on account of their works.  So then, by logic, do works justify us before God.  That still leaves us with the question of what kind of works justify, since works of ritual and purity are "morality" for some as much as compassion and mercy are for others (I believe Jesus sides definitively on that question as well).  Let it simply be said, however, that any confession that denies the place of works for salvation is less than true faith.   

5.  Jesus puts the matter of entering the kingdom of God in the hands and in the mouths of human beings.  He asks the religious leaders for the answer to his riddle--"Which of the two did the will of his father?" (v. 31).  Jesus does not condemn his opponents; they stand self-condemned.  It is they who give the right answer, knowing that the child who went and worked was the one who did his father's will, even as it is they who do not, in their own lives, do their father's will.  It is they who, like the second son, profess with their lips what is right but do not do as they say.  Thus, it is truly "by our words that we will be judged", for our words reveal our knowledge of God's will and leave us without excuse for making an honest attempt to put our actions in line (see Mt 12:36-37).

One final point:

No matter how obvious some of this may seem to works-oriented Christians, it is still worth saying that words are meaningless apart from their confirmation in the actions of human beings.  There is still too much posturing behind words without real substance in the world in which we live.

-Joe

sign of protection

As we did in 2010, we're leading a discipleship class at a local congregation, Harvest Time Ministries, on Wednesday evenings.  Since largely the group has changed since we last taught the class, we're again beginning with lessons from the gospels, primarily from the parables of Jesus.  The insight I'd like to report on here, however, comes not from my lesson but from the testimony of a man who was given a chance to speak after the lesson.  The purpose of his speaking was to clarify some things to the church about why he had been absent recently, and to reaffirm his support of the pastor.  Within that explanation, making a connection which I did not fully understand, the man narrated part of the story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal on Mt. Carmel (1 Kings 18).

The man's narration climaxed in the detail about the self-lacerations of the prophets of Baal in their plea to their god.  He contrasted their blood that flowed to no effect to the blood of Jesus which is "all that we need".  I don't know all that was in the man's mind when he made this application; I do know that to even make the application suggests a need within the cultural setting to hear such a message.  That need, I would guess, is the desire for healing of which the shedding of blood is often involved.  The story describes how the prophets of Baal, "as was their custom . . . cut themselves with swords and lances until the blood gushed out over them" (1 Kgs 18:28).  I immediately thought of the many people from this context who exhibit scars on their faces, signs of their own, or perhaps their parents', attempt to insert protective or healing traditional medicine (muthi) through incisions in the face.  In such a setting, the blood (life) of Jesus that protects us without the shedding of more blood is good news indeed.

-Joe

obedience and counting

At our Mennonite worker retreat over New Year's, each participant shared his or her personal faith story.  Additionally, each participant brought one topic for discussion to the group for our second hour of input.  On our day, Anna and I opened a discussion on Luke 14:25-33, a text which I have done some thinking about earlier in this blog and which is a difficult text for a mother and father of four children--for any family for that matter.

Indeed, this is the text in which Jesus speaks of the disciple's calling to "hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters" (14:26).  The text recommends a "forsaking all" for a life of following after Jesus.

In our discussion, we noted that the "forsaking all" of the text is somewhat analogous to the simple obedience with which biblical characters like Abram (in Gen 12:1-9, our first journey story for our first night of worship) set out to follow. Some of us called it "unquestioning", not raising any objections--though there may be many--to what God has asked us to do.  In our attempt to find common themes of "journeys with God", we couldn't deny that this must be one: the disciple's willingness simply to go where the teacher has led.

But that is not all.  Jesus, within the same text, speaks of a "counting the cost" of discipleship.  This "counting the cost", in fact, makes up the bulk of his words in the text and is the subject of his illustrations.  "Counting the cost" means "estimating" whether one has enough resources to "build a tower" before one begins to build it (14:28); it means calculating whether one has enough weaponry and manpower to defeat the enemy before one engages him in war (14:31).  There is only "ridicule" for the one who acts without counting (v. 30).  In light of this, therefore, the obedience inherent to following may not, in one sense, be so simple.  Information is needed, and evaluation.  And wisdom to choose the course that leads to the destination.

Nevertheless, "counting the cost" does not negate "simple obedience", any more than "simple obedience" means refusing to count.  Rather--and perhaps this is why Jesus speaks of them within the same breath--obedience and careful consideration are the two parts which make up the one complete whole of following him.

Lacking the simple desire to obey, we will never go.  And lacking the ability to assess what we need to survive, even to enjoy, the journey, we will never reach "the place in the distance" where God has led (see Gen 22:3-4).

-Joe

upon his shoulders

Our family has been memorizing Isaiah 9:1-7 during our evening devotions this Advent.  In hearing the text repeated over and over out loud, I noticed the repetition of the word “shoulders”.  In its first usage, “shoulders” is where the “bar” of the people’s “burden” (as in “the yoke of their burden” ) and the “rod of their oppressor” lies.  Their shoulders are the locus of the people’s oppression, the place where their suffering is most keenly felt.  In its second appearance, however, “shoulders” is not the same place of the people’s burden but upon which the “authority” of the “child born for [them]” “rests”.  Suffering is no longer the “bar across their shoulders”; “authority rests upon his shoulders.”

Through this word-play, that is, through “shoulders”, Isaiah emphatically links suffering and authority.  “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light”, they now “rejoice as with joy at the harvest”, because “the yoke of their burden and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor” has been broken “as on the day of Midian”.  It has been broken because authority, in spite of all worldly pomp, does not in fact rest with “their oppressor” but upon the shoulders of “the son given to us”--the Messiah or Christ, the anointed one of God.  “The bar across their shoulders” has been broken because all authority rests upon the shoulders of the One who is for them, “for us”.

Yet the close linkage in the text between suffering and authority does not refer simply to the end result--the change in state from darkness to light, from suffering to joy--which the people enjoy.  Surely, Isaiah also has in view the means by which their oppression was broken.  Isaiah sees not only that the people now enjoy freedom; he sees with great clarity the One who purchased their freedom.  The prophet sees that the “child born for us” broke the “bar across their shoulders” only by bearing the bar across “his shoulders”.  The authority that rests upon the shoulders of the Messiah is revealed in his suffering for those oppressed.  Only then is he acclaimed, “Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”  And only thus “will his authority grow continually”, even in us--as we share in his suffering for others so also to be exalted with and by him.

-Joe

the mirror and the law

As we thought about what we wanted our message to be to the church in North America this summer, we selected James 1:22-25 as our starting point. The text seems to compare two things, two things which human beings might "look into." One, a mirror, appears in the context of a person who, after looking into a mirror, "immediately upon going away forgets what he looks like." James calls this the predicament of a person who "hears the word but does not do it." A second thing, what James calls "the perfect law, the law of liberty", has an opposite effect; rather than the mirror which accompanies forgetfulness, the perfect law, when looked into, leads to blessing.

Of course, on the one hand, it is not simply the "looking in" to the perfect law that guarantees blessing any more than simply "looking into" a mirror is a recipe for forgetfulness; the person who looks in must also "persevere"--then she will "be blessed in her doing." On the other hand, it does greatly matter what we as human beings are looking into. On closer examination, looking into a mirror is not as fruitful as looking into the perfect law of freedom, the story of scripture which gives shape and direction to our lives. For a mirror--if that is what we are regularly looking into--shows us only what we are on the outside, imperfections and all. Moreover, the mirror shows us only ourselves and our most immediate surroundings. But the perfect law, when looked into, is like a mirror which shows us beyond our own time and space; it puts us within a vast history, and in the presence of the God who has gone with our ancestors throughout time. And knowing that story, that law, that movement from slavery to freedom, through suffering to redemption, determines our own walking--our own doing--in the paths of blessing.

-Joe

the grace of sheer silence

During this period of relating to the North American church while away from South Africa, I’ve attended two sessions of a men’s Bible study in which we read the texts from the lectionary. Last week we read 1 Kings 19:9-18, the story of Elijah’s encounter with God at a cave. The study group discussed a number of themes elicited by the story, one of which—the problem of violence and the will of God—I will comment on below.

The violence surrounding the text, of course, is Elijah’s slaughtering of the prophets of Baal after they have been defeated in the great contest on Mt. Carmel (1 Kgs 18:40). It seems to be Elijah’s violence, in fact, which has led him to the cave. As the story goes, setting the context for Elijah’s wanderings after his triumph on Mt. Carmel, “Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword (1 Kgs 19:1). To this report from Ahab, her husband, Jezebel responds by swearing that she will make Elijah’s life “like the life of one of them by this time tomorrow” (1 Kgs 19:2). In other words, because Elijah acted to kill the prophets of Baal—after Yahweh had already defeated them by fire on Mt. Carmel—Jezebel now vows to kill Elijah as he killed others. Perhaps Jezebel would have acted to destroy Elijah on the basis of the results of the contest alone, on the basis of her wounded pride that her gods were not as powerful as Elijah’s God. Even so, the text seems to emphasize that it was the violence following Yahweh’s victory—Elijah’s decision to take up the sword against the false prophets—which further incited Jezebel, Elijah’s enemy, against him. That explains, therefore, why the text seems to separate the simple results of the contest in the preceding narrative (1 Kgs 18)—“all that Elijah had done” (19:1)—from Elijah’s activity following the victory of Yahweh—“and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword” (19:1). It also explains why Jezebel justifies her intent to kill Elijah on the basis of the fate of the prophets of Baal at the hands of Elijah. Elijah’s act of violence, not the victory of his God over false gods, is that which has put him to flight—and led him now to the mouth of the cave.

Against that background, one does not read Elijah’s case before God in the ensuing story as a righteous plea but as a plea of self-righteousness. For when Yahweh summons him at the cave—“What are you doing here Elijah?” (1 Kgs 19:9)—Elijah lists not the violence he’s committed but the violence committed against him and his people: “for the Israelites have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword. I alone am left, and they are seeking my life, to take it away” (1 Kgs 19:10). It is also to such a response that God responds in turn with, as on Mt. Carmel, a demonstration of God’s power—though not as Elijah expects. Having just received, on Carmel, wind which brought a drought-breaking rain (18:44-45), “a great wind” passes before Elijah in the cave—“but the LORD was not in the wind” (19:11). Having just received, on Carmel, fire from heaven, fire passes before Elijah in the cave—“but the LORD was not in the fire” (19:12). Rather, it is only after a “sound of sheer silence” that the voice of God speaks (19:12ff.).

Elijah might have learned, first from Carmel’s fire, then from Carmel’s wind and rain, that God’s grace was sufficient for him. Through no effort of his own, the fire fell from heaven to put his enemies to flight, the wind and rain to water a dying land. In the narrative, however, Elijah uses grace as a cause for sinning; he capitalizes on the defeat of Baal to slaughter his prophets “with the sword” (19:1). Elijah turns a victory of the Spirit into a battle against flesh and blood (see Eph 6:12). Fleeing from grace, Elijah finds himself within the wrath of retribution—the vow of a wicked queen to kill him as he himself killed.

But God is persistent. Where sin increased, grace abounded all the more (Rom 5:20); though Elijah might have known the character of God in fire and rain, God visits him again in the “sound of sheer silence”. If Elijah does not yet understand, God continues to reveal Godself to Elijah, waiting for the day when he—when we—might understand.

The “sound of sheer silence” also did not awaken Elijah to the fullness of the presence of God. Following the sound, Elijah repeats his prior speech and, within the permissive will of God, is commanded to anoint others for further acts of violence (19:14-17). Because Elijah, like Moses before him, could not break the cycle of retribution, he was not declared—by the voice that came after him on another mount—to be “my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased” (Mt 17:5). That was reserved for “Jesus alone” (Mt 17:8), the Word who spoke to Elijah in “sheer silence” and speaks to us through Elijah’s story.

-Joe