meeting the Lord

It is a not unknown counterargument to the modern doctrine of the rapture to point out the precise first-century meaning of the Greek word apantesis, "meeting", in the context of 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18. Even so, recent reflection on this text in light of my experience of certain African cultural practices of hospitality would seem to bolster just that scholarly counterargument.

The doctrine of the rapture, a sudden snatching away of believers to heaven to escape the destruction of the earth, is extrapolated from Paul's assurance to the Thessalonians that "we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever" (1 Th 4:17).   In the immediate background to this verse are "the dead in Christ"; those living, those remaining, those "left" are left in relation to those who have died.  Paul wants the living not to be "uninformed about those who have died, so that [they] may not grieve as others do who have no hope" (4:13).  Thus Paul informs the Thessalonians that their dead in Christ "will rise first", that is, just before or as the living "are caught up in the clouds with them" at the Lord's coming.  Together, the living and the dead in Christ will "meet the Lord in the air."  The Greek word apantesis which the NRSV translates as a verb, "meet", is actually a noun--the living and the dead in Christ will be "caught up . . . into a meeting of the Lord in the air" (4:17).  

The critical point is that Paul has appropriated apantesis, a word from the realm of politics, to describe in anticipation the scene at the coming of the resurrected Jesus.  Just as a delegation of representatives ventured outside their city to welcome an approaching dignitary in the Greek world of the first century, just as they held an apantesis with the king as he was coming, so the living and the dead in Christ will have "a meeting with the Lord in the air" as he "descends from heaven" (4:16).  As the initial reception of the king took place outside the gates of the city to which he was coming, so believers will welcome their Lord "in the air", in the middle zone between departure and destination.  For indeed, just as the purpose of an entourage is to accompany the dignitary to his destination, so believers will not remain with their Lord "in the air".  The middle space is but the point of reception; the goal is to bring the king into his city.

As I prepare a lesson on this text for teaching on eschatology to African church leaders, I am reminded of the welcome we and a group of American church visitors received from a rural African church last month.  Like the first-century delegation coming out to meet the arriving king, so these African Christians lined our pathway outside the gates of the homestead and church premises.  Moreover, just as 1 Thessalonians paints the scene of the Lord's coming with shouts, calls, and trumpets, so we too were met with singing and instrumentation (in this case, drumming).  Of course, the point of all this was not to remain with us outside the gate, never to enter the house; the inhabitants of this village were welcoming us in order to bring us in. Inside a banquet was prepared for us.

If therefore, both the first-century practice of apantesis and an African way of "meeting" in the 21st century shed light on the New Testament's description of the Lord's coming, then an escape of believers to their Lord before the earth's cataclysmic destruction seems not to be the stuff of Christian hope.  Rather, that hope which is truly Christian "catches us up" in making our world a place in which the Lord is pleased to dwell when he comes.

-Joe

taking supper

When I taught on the theme of the Letters of Paul earlier this month, I used 1 Corinthians 11:17-34 as a case study in the thought of Paul.  As I had spent much time reading through the Pauline corpus in my preparation, I was drawn to a threefold emphasis on Paul’s personal call (or his relationship to the Lord Jesus Christ); Paul’s eschatological focus (or his focus on “last things”, which for Paul meant that the resurrection of Jesus was the fulfillment and “first fruits” of a final age, the embodiment in the present of the world still to come); and Paul’s ecclesiological focus (the centrality of the ekklesia, the church, to Paul’s thought, and also to his personal call and his eschatology).  The importance of his call, his belief that the old world was ending and the new world had come in the resurrected Christ, and his conviction that the church was the sign of the resurrection and that new world, seem to be the theological bases on which Paul formulated specific and contextually-shaped guidance on the everyday ethical issues facing his church communities.  1 Corinthians 11:17-34 is one textual illustration, among many potential options within his writings, of Paul’s theologically-based moral reasoning.

The problem with which 1 Corinthians 11:17-34 deals is “divisions among [the Corinthian church]” (v. 18), specifically manifested in the church’s common meal.  Paul summarizes the problem for the Corinthians as he has heard about it:

“For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk” (v. 21).

In contrast to what the church’s meal was purported to be, Paul, in light of the evidence, asserts that the Corinthians are indeed not eating “the Lord’s Supper” (v. 20).  Paul then proceeds to remind the Corinthian church what the supper of the Lord did entail, and assumes that the contrast between it and the Corinthians’ practice is obvious.

But is it obvious to us?  How is the remembrance of Jesus’ eating with his disciples on the night he was betrayed (v. 23) an antidote to the church’s practice of eating together?  What is it about the tradition of Jesus’ last supper that judged the Corinthians’ habits at supper?

Perhaps Paul’s intended contrast can be found in his use of the Greek verb lambano , to take, as he applies it to the supper etiquette of both the Lord Jesus and the Corinthian church.  Whereas “each” of the Corinthian believers or “each” of the Corinthian church factions, according to Paul, “goes ahead [prolambanei, literally takes before] with your own supper”, “the Lord Jesus . . . took [elaben] a loaf of bread and gave it to others.  Whereas the Corinthian Christians took and consumed the common food before everyone had had a chance to eat, Jesus—the honored head of the household—took the bread of the meal, gave thanks, broke it, and said, “This is my body that is for you” (v. 24).  Whereas the Corinthians take their meal before everyone has been served, Jesus gives that which is his to others before serving himself.

It is this Jesus way of taking supper that Paul commends as the antidote to the Corinthians’ hunger and drunkenness, and which forms Paul’s specific counsel to the Corinthian church: not take before (v. 21) but “wait for one another” (v. 33).

As Paul moves from the problem (“taking before”) to the solution (“wait for one another”), his call, his eschatology, and his ecclesiology are clearly in view.  In reciting the Jesus tradition of supper for the Corinthians, Paul claims it as his own.  “For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you” (v. 23).  That which Paul saw fit to hand on to others he first had to welcome in his own life.  Paul’s personal connection to Jesus, his experience of being embraced by his Lord, is the strength by which and for which he hands on the way of Jesus to others.

Moreover, Paul’s purpose in handing on the way of Jesus to others is eschatological; by eating the bread and drinking the cup in the manner of Jesus the church “proclaims the Lord’s death until he comes” (v. 26).  Though the resurrection of Jesus is not here explicit (but see chapter 15!), it is here for Paul the invisible pivot between the Lord’s death and his coming again.  Because he is raised, the Jesus who died will come again.

Finally, it is up to the church, the ekklesia, to proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes, that is, to embody now within its common life—indeed in the ordinary but essential practices of eating and drinking—the just and equal sharing of the age to come.  In the time between the passing of the old and the arrival of the new, the community of God’s people is the frail but precious witness to the hope of a new creation, the cause for which Paul urges greater faithfulness to the one in whom all things hold together.

-Joe

“the fellowship of his sufferings”

I’ve been immersed in the letters of Paul for the last two weeks as I’m preparing to teach on that subject for BBS next month.  I’ll try to share some of my findings here over the next few posts, beginning today with Philippians 3:2-11.

I was drawn to this text in light of the question, Who was Paul?  Indeed, in this text, Paul outlines as explicitly as he does anywhere else the details of his personal identity.  Thus, in terms of determining the identity of the man to whom is ascribed the majority of words in the New Testament, this seemed to be as good a place to start as any.

the Apostle Paul

Philippians 3:2-11 is notable for Paul’s usage of the language of “losses” (also could be translated as “damages”) and “gains”.  Those features of Paul’s life which he regarded as gains or benefits he came to regard as losses for the sake of his relationship to Jesus Christ.  If we line up Paul’s gains and losses, as the structure of Paul’s rhetoric suggests we might, some fruitful interpretive possibilities begin to emerge.

Following the Greek, I count seven losses in Christ (gains from the perspective of life apart from Christ) and seven gains in Christ (losses from the perspective of life apart from Christ).  This, then, is how they line up.

Losses in Christ (vv. 5-6)                           Gains in Christ (vv. 9-10)

1. circumcised on the eighth day . . . . . . be found in him [Christ]

2. from the people of Israel . . . . righteousness from faith of Christ

3. from the tribe of Benjamin . . . righteousness from God upon faith

4. a Hebrew of Hebrews . . . . . . . . . . . . to know him [Christ]

5. as to the law a Pharisee . . . . . . and the power of his resurrection

6. as to zeal a persecutor of the church . . fellowship of his sufferings

7. blameless under the law . . . . . . . . being conformed to his death

Though many of the losses in Christ, on the one hand, and gains in Christ, on the other, may be synonymous, seeing each as distinct uncovers rich nuances in meaning.  Paying attention to distinctions enables us, as we’ve done above, to match losses with gains.  A few of those matches may be worth commenting on.

For example, a direct contrast might be seen between Paul’s first line of loss and gain, his circumcision as a Jew on the eighth day and being “found in Christ”.  Whereas circumcision was the rite by which males born to Jewish families became forever incorporated into the people of God, Paul prefers rather now “to be found”—not among his own people—but “in Christ”.

We might draw another contrast from Paul being, “according to righteousness under the law, blameless” (line 7 above) and Paul “being conformed to the death [of Christ]”.  According to the law, Jesus himself in his death on the cross was not righteous but precisely “cursed” (Gal 3:13/Deut 21:23), though to God the cross revealed his righteousness, later sealed by his resurrection.  Having been found in Christ, Paul too seeks the righteousness of Christ “by becoming like him in his death” (3:10 NRSV)—not the righteousness “that comes from the law” (3:9).  It is no longer to the law but to God himself whom Paul desires to be “blameless”.

A third contrast can be found on line 6, between Paul formerly being a zealous “persecutor of the church” to Paul sharing in “the fellowship [Greek: koinonia] of [Christ’s] sufferings”.  In Christ, Paul now suffers with that very community upon which he once inflicted pain.  The enemies of his zeal have become the fellowship of his joy.  Likewise, it is this “fellowship of Christ’s suffering”, the church, which is the key to understanding the letters of Paul.  It is to the church that he wrote, urging its members on to faithfulness to God and love for one another amidst suffering, the cause for which Paul counted all else as loss in Christ.

-Joe

Jesus Our Obedience

Our topic last Saturday at Bethany Bible School was Creation, Sin, Redemption, or the basic course I've outlined on soteriology, the Christian teaching on how Christ saves. I included the three words--creation, sin, redemption (or salvation)--in the course title in order to make it clear that salvation from sin is of or for the creation. In other words, salvation is not an experience unrelated to how God created us to live as God's creatures in God's creation. On the contrary, salvation has everything to do with human life. It is not simply preparation for a future, as-of-yet unexperienced reality (though it does prepare us for whatever lies ahead); it is, simply, the life that God created us to live. Because of sin, our rebellion against God, our disobedience to the Creator's will, salvation is new creation, that is, it is a making new of something which had lost its way or fallen away from the Creator's design. Therefore, albeit "new", the connection of creation to salvation, is, quite obviously, close.

I take as critical to my understanding of the relationship between creation, sin, and redemption the logic which the Apostle Paul employs in Romans 5-6. Paul talks about sin entering the creation through human disobedience (see Rom 5:19). Sin is the force of disobedience. If therefore, sin is the sickness, that from which humans must be saved in order to be restored to the will of God, it follows that its cure, that which takes away its effect, is obedience. Salvation is the force of obedience.

All of this brings us to Christ, the Savior. Christ is the force of obedience. By becoming like us, "in the likeness of sinful flesh" (Rom 8:3), yet "without sin" (Heb 4:15), Christ reversed the curse of disobedience in the human will. Through his obedience to the love of God, Christ opened the way of obedience to God for all human beings. As the writer of Hebrews said, "he learned obedience through what he suffered; and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him" (5:8-9). As the Son's obedience to the Father was the source of his salvation in the flesh, his rescue, his being made perfect, his exaltation (Php 2:9), his being raised from the dead, so our obedience to the Son, to walk in the way of Jesus, is our salvation. And because Jesus is raised, exalted, complete, beyond what we have been, he is, in the words of Paul, a spiritual person who gives life--not merely a human being to whom life and breath was given (see 1 Cor 15:45). He is a Spirit, the Holy Spirit, who abides with us as we hear his Word and begin to live by it. He is the One who inspires our obedience to the love of God--and so saves us.

-Joe

salvation with fear

This past weekend our church hosted special services on the occasion of a visit from another church which has a member who has found fellowship with our congregation while he works in Mthatha.  Pastor Ntapo picked the theme for the weekend: “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling”—Paul’s words to the Philippians (2:12).

I preached at the first service on Saturday.  I chose to focus on how the two key words in Paul’s sentence—salvation and fear—are related.  What does salvation have to do with fear, and especially since Paul, in other places, seems to contrast the two?  If salvation is freedom from fear, as it appears to be, for example, in Galatians 4-5, then how does fear help one “work out salvation”?

Paul often talked about salvation as freedom from the law (Rom. 8).  By this, however, Paul did not mean the end of all law but of that law which restricts one’s ability to love God and neighbor as one’s self (Gal 5:14).  Indeed, Paul, as well as other New Testament writers (and Jesus), continued to conceive of that which Christ brought in terms of law—“a new commandment”, “fulfillment of the law, not abolishment”, “the law of Christ” (Jn. 13:34, 15:12; Mt. 5:17; Gal. 6:2; Rom. 8:2).  The freedom from the law of which Paul spoke was from human interpretations of law in the cause of oppression.

Consequently, just as there are two kinds of law—that which God has revealed for the sake of God’s love and human interpretation of that law for the sake of self-interest—there are two kinds of fear.  There is the fear of punishment for disobeying the prescription of human interpretation, and there is the fear of God.  There is the fear of humans and the fear of God.

Perhaps a third fear arises from this tension.  It is the fear of being scorned, ostracized, punished by one’s fellow human beings for obeying the law of God.  This fear is the fear of humans because humans fear rejection, isolation, death.  This fear is also the fear of God because obedience to God’s love for the sake of all leads to rejection by some.  It’s the fear of Jesus who healed on the sabbath, delighting the weak, infuriating the powerful.  It’s the fear of a young African mother who forgoes costly rituals for her deceased mother, infuriating her uncles, in order to provide for her small child.

In order to “endure such scorn from evil men” (Heb. 12:3), to exercise freedom in the den of bondage, one needs the experience of God working within—of God’s Spirit working with our spirit, “working out our own salvation with fear and trembling” (Rom. 8:16; Php. 2:12).

-Joe