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

breaking from the tomb

In between Mark’s crucifixion narrative (15:25-39, see last post) and his resurrection narrative (16:1-8) is the burial of Jesus.  Chapter 15 ends with the notice that “Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where the body was laid” (15:47).  This is the perfect set-up for the events of chapter 16.
Seeing where the body was laid, these two women along with a third, Salome, “brought spices so that they might go and anoint him” (16:1).  Spices in hand, they head for the tomb.  The resurrection narrative in Mark centers around the tomb.  The women set out to go there (v. 2).  Later they enter there (v. 5).  Finally, they flee from the tomb (v. 8).  The tomb receives one extra mention, this time in the mouths of the women themselves rather than from the narrator.  As they approach they ask themselves, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb” (v. 3).  Presumably this question was occasioned because the stone was “very large” (v. 4).  Nevertheless, looking up, they find that the stone “had already been rolled back” (v. 4).  And so they are able to enter the tomb.

It is in the tomb that the central drama of the story takes place.  It is in the tomb that the women see the messenger of Jesus’ resurrection (v. 5), hear the announcement of Jesus’ resurrection (v. 6), and receive instructions of what to do next (v. 7).  All of this happens in the tomb.

But none of this were the women seeking in the tomb.  Though we must credit them—perhaps especially in comparison to the twelve disciples of Jesus—for looking on at the cross (15:40), we cannot say that their faith was complete.  The women, like the disciples, had not taken Jesus at his word.  Presumably they too, with the twelve, had heard him predict his death and resurrection.  Witnesses to Jesus’ authority in life, the women might have trusted, even now, that what Jesus said would be fulfilled in him would come to pass.  Yet they set out with spices “to anoint him”; they are not seeking a risen Lord or a living God in this moment.  They are seeking a corpse.  It is a dead man which they seek.  That is the most for which they can hope.  A body is what they have come seeking in this place.  For a dead man they have entered here.

It is precisely in that place, however, in the tomb of their hope which was not a hope, that they hear something which they did not expect.
 
“Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here.  Look, there is the place they laid him” (v. 6).

If the women’s best hope was hopelessness, their best faith an instinctual sense of duty, their present state a dulling numb, then it was not by their merit that they received the news spoken by the young man robed in white (v. 5).  By the mercy of God they hear, “He has been raised.”  They were hoping for a corpse; they received a revelation of the living God.

It is well-known that Mark, aside from the disputed endings to his gospel (16:9-20), narrates no resurrection appearances of Jesus to his followers.  Likewise it is customary in certain circles, perhaps for shock value, for preachers to point out that the women in Mark flee from the news in terror, saying nothing to anyone (v. 8).  Full stop.  End of story.  I’m not sure what all that emphasis is for; given the subsequent widespread belief in the resurrection, good logic suggests that he both appeared to the women (as the other gospels attest) and that they did overcome their fear and tell his disciples, from which the witness spread.  Yet if Mark’s focus on the women’s fear, not unrelated to the way in which Mark characterizes disciples generally in his gospel as dull and often disobedient, awakens our senses to the reality of God’s love and grace breaking through, then his ending is well-played indeed.

-Joe

saving faith

Luke 17:11-19, the story of the ten lepers, is a text which has proved relevant to us repeatedly over the last two years—most recently, at last week’s discipleship class. As we studied the story together, one young man connected its meaning to a sermon I had preached in the church last month. Just as there are “three tenses” of salvation in the biblical witness, so in this text there are perhaps “three stages” of salvation. These three stages correspond to, or rather may be derived from, three distinct words in the Greek, translated “cleansed” (v. 14), “healed” (v. 15), and “saved” (“made well”, NRSV) (v. 19). That is, after the ten lepers cried out to Jesus for mercy, Jesus sent them to the priests, on the way to whom “they were made clean” (v. 14); seeing that “he was healed”, “one of them turned back, praising God with a loud voice, prostrated at Jesus’ feet” (v. 16); this one, because he returned to give thanks to Jesus for his cleansing and healing, was also pronounced “saved” (v. 19).

What this summary shows is that there is both a close relationship of meaning between the words “cleanse,” “heal”, and “save” and a distinction between the three. Their unity lies within the merciful will of God as revealed in Jesus, that is, that cleansing of the skin and healing of the body is within the salvation that God intends for God’s creation. Indeed, the cleansing and healing of the leper were critical factors resulting in his salvation; physical cleansing and healing are not separate from salvation but within it. Consequently, any “salvation” that undermines the needs of the body is not the salvation that Jesus brings.

Even so, the very emphasis of the unity of cleansing, healing, and salvation reveals their diversity. Indeed, though cleansing may lead to healing which leads to salvation—that they are parts of one process—that very “leading to” prioritizes “salvation” as something more than the body—even if not exclusive of. The distinction is as important as the unity. This is so because the goodness of God cannot be limited to the health of the flesh. In other words, the faith to live, the declaration of God’s goodness to and love for his creatures, continues in spite of the suffering of the flesh. Though Job was stricken, yet he said, “I know that my Redeemer lives” (19:25). Or Habakkuk:

“Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vines; though the produce of the olive fails, and the fields yield no food; though the flock is cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will exult in the God of my salvation” (3:17-18).

In spite of suffering in the flesh and famine in the physical world, these prophets perceived that life with God continues. “In the valley of the shadow of death” they perceived that they were not dead yet—that death was only that: a shadow (Psa 23:4). As long as they had breath, they had the love of God.

If the life that remained in the prophets in spite of suffering was enough to maintain hope in God, the life that remains for us in the resurrected Christ is surely enough to sustain us. Though the presence of suffering tests our hope no less than it did Job, we have the story even he did not. Even the flesh that died has been raised immortal, imperishable, incorruptible (1 Cor 15).

Just as the Samaritan leper kept the faith--thanking Jesus for his mercy--and so experienced salvation, so our faith of the same order will keep us for eternity.

-Joe

of Pilate and the poor

Since re-reading it a couple of weeks ago, Jesus' conversation with Pilate (John 18:33-38) has been on my mind.

Some observations:

1. Pilate acts here as any worldly king does, ultimately disinterested in the plight of the poor in his kingdom. This is obvious from his lack of effort in distinguishing Jesus from the people who have handed him over. Those who handed him over, of course, were Jesus' own people, in the words of Pilate to Jesus "your own nation and the chief priests" (v. 35). Also by implication these are simply what the text calls "the Jews", for Pilate is perturbed that Jesus insinuates that Pilate might be able to tell for himself whether Jesus is truly or not "King of the Jews." "I am not a Jew, am I", Pilate retorts, aghast that he might be associated on any level with the subjects of his rule. In effect Pilate is saying, "I don't know them, I can't know them, indeed I do not want to know them." It is unthinkable that a man of his power shares anything in common with the subjects of his kingdom. Because of this attitude, it is not surprising that Pilate is surprised that Jesus' own people would hand him over; the impassible king does not sense that conflict rages within and among the subjected peoples of his reign. He can only ask,"What have you done?", implying an act of offense great enough to warrant a request for crucifixion, because he sees no reason otherwise why the Jews should be at war among themselves. This is not because Pilate regards the Jews as exceptionally good people, immune to conflict, but simply because he does not care whether they are typically human enough to have passion, disagreement, conflict. To Pilate they are "only" Jews, the subjects of his rule, objects to be moved or crushed for his political gain. In Pilate's eyes, the only conflict of the Jews is that between them and him; they are all out to get him because everyone and everything must always be about the king.

2. Jesus, on the other hand, is not out to get the king, at least not in the manner that Pilate fears. Jesus, rather, contra Pilate, is only concerned with the plight of the poor, his own people (which is to say, and not with Pilate). Jesus knows that the fight which Pilate fears from the Jews is not the fight that will free them. He will not permit them to fight, and see, as he explains to Pilate, his followers do not fight "to keep me from being handed over to the Jews" (v. 36). Rather, Jesus' people will be free on account of their trust in another kingdom--one "not from this world"--and another king. The sign of that trust will be their refusal to fight in the manner of Pilate, with the weapons of blood and flesh. The sign will be that they will "be handed over", but they will hand no one over. It is the sign that distinguishes Jew from Jew, the sign also Pilate might have seen if he had eyes to sees.

3. The question remains whether the sons and daughters of Pilate will ever see. The historical record is not good (At this moment Barack Obama has handed over 30,000 more U.S. troops to a war in Afghanistan). We have little reason to doubt whether the kingdoms of the world have not really been "given over" to Satan (Lk. 4:6), and whether therefore the poor are not more worthy of our attention in the hope of a better world.

-Joe

from danger to danger

One of the purest joys in my life is the act of preaching. In particular, this joy is the product of moments of unexpected creativity. In the flow of retelling a Bible story, words find me, flashing across my mind seconds before they leave my mouth.

Several weeks ago, I was taking my time in preaching the story of Moses. I came to the part in the story in which Moses' mother places him in a basket in the river in order to hide him from Pharaoh's campaign of slaughter of Hebrew boys (Ex. 1-2). In the concern of making the story exceedingly clear for my audience, I realized that it didn't make sense for me: why exactly would a mother think that putting her baby in a river, however pitched the basket and however watched by the baby's sister, is a situation more conducive to the child's survival than hiding him away in a house somewhere? Feeling my way through this dilemma, I suggested that the river was surely infested with hungry crocodiles. Then another scripture came to mind. In response to evildoers who proclaimed the coming of "the Day of the Lord", the prophet Amos had declared that "Day" not light but darkness. It was to be a day of judgment, and not one in which the perpetrators of justice would find comfort. Amos likened it to someone "who fled from a lion and was met by a bear", or "rested a hand against the wall and was bitten by a snake" (Amos 5:18-20). Taking up the imagery, I suggested that Moses adrift on the Nile was akin to going "from danger to danger."

From danger to danger. It was simply a phrase coined to find a way through a telling on my way to a broader point. It was, in the end, the phrase that one listener had filed in his memory bank, the phrase which he recounted to me weeks later upon our next meeting; the phrase had gone with him as the presence of God for weeks and weeks.

Why? I wondered. I do not know exactly, but I suspect that it has something to do with the reality that this brother's life is a going about "from danger to danger." A tempestuous marriage. A physically abusive wife (yes, contrary to the dominant pattern in South Africa, the domestic abuse in this situation runs the opposite way and, by the way, the wife is much bigger than the husband). Sporadic "piece" jobs. Wandering through town, dependent upon the generosity of acquaintances to provide for daily bread. Scrapping to pay school fees for four children.

If his life is not danger to danger, it is hardship to hardship, stress to stress, insecurity to insecurity.

"How are things?" I ask my friend. "It is better to have hope than not to have hope," he replies, reduced to one of the "three things that will remain" (1 Cor. 13:13).

"God is taking us somewhere", he also testifies to me. For my friend perceives that "from danger to danger" has a flip-side. The weight of suffering now is preparing him for "an eternal weight of glory", a "yoke that is easy and a burden that is light" (2 Cor. 4:17; Mt. 11:30).

"From danger to danger" is one side; "from glory to glory" is the other (2 Cor. 3:18).

-Joe