"the blood of the goat" and "the blood of the Lamb: on preaching for a transcultural occasion

On the occasion of our North American church visitors meeting some of our South African church partners at a rural homestead in the Transkei earlier this month, I found myself in the position of having to preach a message that both honored the transcultural dimension of the encounter and spoke to the spiritual realities of communities that still live on the boundary between Christianity and traditional religion.

I chose for the occasion a message that came to me much earlier but which heretofore I had not had the opportunity to preach.  While studying Revelation 7 last year, I began to ponder the significance of the white robes adorning the great throng from "every people, language, tribe, and nation" (Rev 7:9).  In an utterly paradoxical description, the robes of the faithful in John's vision were washed white "in the blood of the Lamb" (Rev 7:14).  Indeed, if it is blood that usually stains red, then the blood that cleanses white must point to a salvation for God's people beyond the physical, to a cleansing that transcends the flesh.  Along these lines, I began to ponder another biblical story of a robe--the robe of Joseph not cleansed but stained with the blood of a goat (Gen 37:31).  

The contrast between the robes washed white and the robe stained red was of far more than color; indeed their respective colors were just outward appearances of inward realities.  In the case of Joseph, the robe itself and the blood of the goat by which it was stained stood for division between the children of Israel, God's own people.  Since Israel had given Joseph a robe as a show of favoritism above his brothers, the robe aroused the brothers' jealousy toward Joseph.  At an opportune time, they stripped him of his robe, threw him in a pit, sold him into slavery, and covered up their crimes before their father through the blood of a goat: "They had the long robe with sleeves taken to their father, and they said, 'This we found; see now whether it is your son's robe or not" (Gen 37:32).  The blood of the goat, therefore, was as a seal to the robe of jealousy, marking a bitter separation between God's people which was to last many years until the time of forgiveness should come.

The robes of Revelation's faithful, by contrast, stood for the hard-won unity of God's people.  The robes of Revelation adorn not the one exalted by his father above his brothers but the many freed from their sins by the blood of God's own Lamb, Jesus Christ (Rev 1:5).  "These are they" who together--not one above another--have been made "to be a kingdom and priests serving [their] God and Father" (Rev 5:10; 1:6).  The robes of white stand for the peace of Christ, the genuine reconciliation of one human family which has come through the bitter discord of "the great ordeal" (Rev 7:14).  The robe of Joseph brought hostility, but the robe of Jesus Christ brings peace.  The blood of the goat brought separation, but the blood of the Lamb "speaks a better word" (Heb 12:24).

Thus it was that I tried to address, in one way subtle, in another way less so, what I perceived as the twofold demand of the occasion.  In terms of black and white meeting together for worship, the sermon pointed rather explicitly to the reconciliation between the races still laboring to be born years after the "great ordeal" of apartheid (literally, separate-ness) in South Africa.  And for a few hours on that day, black and white together praising our God and Father, the kingdom of God drew near.  In terms of the particular temptations of the traditionally-minded Africans with whom we worshiped, my intention was to point, in far less direct ways than to the issue of racial reconciliation, to the sacrifices which please God.  As a white person, for the cause of racial reconciliation, I am compelled to guard against being seen to be denigrating anything deemed by anyone to be a part of the cultures of black people.  And as one who preaches Christ crucified, I am also compelled, via the scriptures, to contrast the way of Christ to the ways of the world--black or white.  Thus, with what I believe was sufficient subtlety, I simply contrasted "the blood of the goat"--the most commonly sacrificed animal in Xhosa ancestral religion--with the "the blood of Jesus Christ" in the particular terms of the Genesis and Revelation texts.  By locating the contrast in terms of the texts, I believe that my chances of delivering a redemptive word are greatly increased.  Through Genesis 37's "blood of the goat" and Revelation 7's "blood of the Lamb" I can speak to issues of division and reconciliation between two groups of people even as the contrast between the sacrifices of "goats and bulls" (Heb 9:14) and the sacrifice of Christ need not be lost on anyone who has an ear to hear.  

-Joe

more from funerals

In my last post I chronicled the message of the preacher and some of the cultural dynamics at play in a funeral I attended recently.  Yet there are more insights I could share from such an experience.

1.  The event was actually a double-funeral.  The old man from the Bible School was buried alongside his twenty-something grandson. The deaths were said to be interrelated. The stress of hearing that his grandson had been stabbed to death by some of his gangster mates was too much for the old man.  Consequently, the other major dynamic at play in the preacher's message was the predicament of youth in modern South African culture.  This was not the first funeral we have attended for a young man who met a violent end; to my memory we have attended three other such funerals and have known of several other like incidents.  Youth violence among peers thus was the context for the preacher's admonition by way of the text not to look for Jesus "among one's relatives and friends".  "Friends may give you drugs," he said, referring to the known habit of the grandson to smoke dagga (marijuana) with his friends.

2.  The event also included a "tombstone unveiling" for a previously deceased member of the family.  Typically tombstone unveilings among the Xhosa are events separate from the burial of the dead, occurring perhaps a year or more later.  The tombstone unveiling on this day was quite literally an aside, performed in one corner of the large field where the funeral-goers were gathered for the burial, out of sight and earshot for many.  Still, I was able to get some explanation for the procedure.  The biblical justification for the tombstone unveiling was taken from Joshua 24:26-27, in which Joshua sets up a "large stone" as a witness against Israel should they forsake their pledge to "put away the gods that their ancestors served" and "serve the Lord" (24:14ff.).  Previously, I have seen church leaders base the practice on Genesis 35:20, in which Jacob "sets up a pillar" at the grave of his beloved Rachel, or 2 Samuel 18:18, in which Absalom sets up a pillar of remembrance prior to his own death because he had no son to do it for him.  What each of these texts has in common, it seems, is reference to a stone--and that in itself seemingly is enough to justify the practice of unveiling a stone for the dead in the name of being "biblical".

In my own cultural context for funerals, I don't ever recall the setting up of tombstones as something requiring special rationale; I suppose it is taken very much by the religious communities in which I grew up to be a stone of remembrance for the dead.  In the Xhosa context, however, it is clear that church leaders--if they have concerns that the event might be misconstrued by those attending--do feel pressure to explain the practice.  Thus, in this case, the attending bishop explained that "this is not a sin, we are not worshiping.  This is just a stone for remembrance."  He then proceeded by way of Joshua to locate the practice in the Bible, and also added the scriptural reference to Jesus Christ as the true "cornerstone."  I assume that the leader meant to guard against conceiving of the tombstone as a place where power could be conferred upon the dead person's living relatives, such as in the case of another pastor who once told the grandchildren at an unveiling for their grandfather that "now you have a place to come back to.  You can kneel here and be healed."  And so, while I still puzzle over how the stone of Israel's covenant with Yahweh is directly analogous to a stone of remembrance for a family's deceased, some rationale in the direction of memorial over magic is likely better than none.

3.  Xhosa funerals always include elaborate narratives from the person who most nearly attended or "nursed" the deceased in his or her last days or hours.  One of our students divulged to me that these narratives sometimes lend themselves to insinuating blame on others for the death of the person.  It has oft been noted that death in African traditional religion is not due to "natural causes"; there is a human agent of ill-will behind the death of a person.  Thus what in former times may have more commonly been ascribed to a witch (usually an old woman) plotting evil somewhere in the shadows (not that the days of fear of witchcraft have passed) has become in the present the fault of "some old woman who doesn't know how to drive" (my student's example), if the cause of death, for example, had been a car accident. The tendency to assign blame can easily drift into the call for vengeance (we found ourselves in the midst of such a situation at a funeral last year).  No such call was issued at this funeral, and the nearest blame for the death of the grandson was assigned to the grandson himself for not "listening to his parents"--a common complaint in the conflict between generations which deserves its own post.

Funerals are a treasure trove of cultural knowledge.  I am grateful to those African companions who enable me to reach some level of understanding.

-Joe

Glory of glories

More than a year ago, I recorded some discoveries I had made on the transfiguration story from the gospels (Mk. 9:2-8; Mt. 17:1-8; Lk. 9:28-36) in conversation with African traditional religion. That entry reflected preparation I had done for teaching the story at Bethany Bible School. Finally, in May, that opportunity came to pass. I used the story as the Bible Study text for my lesson on the synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke.

The story is a good one for getting at some of the thematic differences between the gospels. Taking Mark as the narrative baseline for the synoptic tradition in general, one can see through the transfiguration story the distinct ways in which Matthew and Luke built upon the story. Matthew, for example, adds to Mark’s account the description of Jesus coming to the disciples, touching them, and telling them not to fear after they have witnessed the dramatic scene, entered the cloud, and heard the voice. Jesus comforts the disciples because they have fallen “on their faces” in response to the cloud and the voice. This is the second usage of “face” in the text; the first occurs at the outset of the story when Jesus’ “face” begins to shine a brilliant white. Whereas in Mark it is Jesus’ clothes which turn white, Matthew adds also that Jesus’ face shines. In doing so, Matthew intensifies the comparison between Jesus and his prophetic predecessor, Moses, whose face also used to shine when communing directly with God. Matthew’s intensification of the comparison between Jesus and Moses is commensurate with his gospel’s broader emphasis of Jesus the Law Giver/Teacher who gives the new law which fulfills the law that was given to Moses.

Luke’s account, on the other hand, reveals his own emphases. Jesus is transfigured while he is “praying”, something he did regularly according to Luke. Moreover, the city of “Jerusalem” again figures in this story as it does throughout Luke. Luke alone informs the reader of what specifically Moses and Elijah were talking about with Jesus: the exodus that he was about to accomplish “from Jerusalem.”

It is also from Luke that I was able to make my major connection between the world of the text and the traditional thought-world of my Xhosa audience. As pointed out in my earlier entry, an African reader might quickly notice in this story what a westerner might not, namely, that Jesus is communicating with his dead ancestors. Traditional African Religion was/is based upon communication with the ancestors. The story then might be read as a justification of communication with the dead.

It is not always or perhaps often appropriate to make comparisons between Jewish religion pre-Christ and African religion pre-Christ. There are significant differences, the main one being that Jewish faith was oriented toward the one God, Yahweh, to the exclusion of other gods, whereas African religion was oriented functionally toward many spiritual mediators or “gods” in spite of the fact that a concept of the one Creator God did also exist. Still, for the purpose of proclaiming a text, in this case the transfiguration story, it works to place Moses and Elijah in place of the ancestors of African traditions. Indeed, in this story, Moses and Elijah appear personally to the disciples whom Jesus had led with him up the mountain--as a deceased African grandfather might appear to his progeny in a dream. Peter’s response to the sight, likewise, is functionally equivalent to the decisions many African Christians have made with Christ—put him alongside, not necessarily in place of or even higher than, the other spiritual authorities in one’s life (we must also say that westerners have not often placed Christ in a superior position to the particular “powers and principalities” of their cultures).

But back to Luke. What of his contribution to the story? Luke, alone among the synoptic evangelists, dwells with suspense upon the characters that turn out to be Moses and Elijah. That is, Luke initially does not say, as Matthew and Mark do, that “there appeared with him Moses with Elijah” but rather, simply, “two men”. Who are these two men? Only then does Luke answer: Moses and Elijah. Going on: “they appeared in glory and were speaking about his exodus which he was about to accomplish from Jerusalem”. Luke returns to the appearance of glory once more thereafter: “Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep, but because they stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him.” Whereas in the first appearance of glory to the disciples, glory includes three—Moses, Elijah, and Jesus—in the second appearance of glory only one remains. He alone is glorious; Moses and Elijah are again, merely, “men.”

Of course, this is also how all of the synoptic evangelists conclude the narrative. The voice with the cloud acclaims “my beloved Son; listen to him” after which only one—"Jesus alone”—remains.

The ancestors used to look glorious to our eyes. But when Jesus came, we saw true glory.

-Joe