no minor message

From Monday, I've started a one-on-one study with a student leader at Bethany Bible School.  As our discussion circled around the theme of the Old Testament prophets, I shared with him certain "summaries" of the Old Testament Law.  Of course, we discussed the centrality of the Shema, Deuteronomy 6:4-9, the commandment Jesus chose to summarize the Law, coupled with Leviticus 19:18.  Also I pointed him to Micah 6:6-8, whose triad of "do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God" has been cited as the summation of the Law within the history of Jewish biblical interpretation.  Other rabbis boiled Micah 6:8 down to Habakkuk 2:4: "the just shall live by faith."  Quite naturally, therefore, our discussion highlighted the interrelatedness of faith, justice, mercy, humility, and love.  To put it another way, what it means to have faith is to walk humbly with God, accordingly living justly with and showing mercy to others.  That all sounds very much like loving God with all one's heart, soul, and might, and one's neighbor as oneself.

Within our study, my friend testified to me of Micah 6:8 that "this was his first time to see this verse." He also had this to say of the "minor prophets", the corpus of twelve prophetic books of which Micah and Habakkuk are two:

"They are not minor in meaning.  They are very direct.  I sometimes go into Christian bookstores and buy books with 200, 300 pages.  But they don't say anything new.  These books [the minor prophets] say far more in fewer words."

-Joe

individual, community, God: the church at peace

Two weeks ago, I participated in a pastoral ordination for one of our members of Mennonite World Conference.  The event had been on our calendar for the entire year—it was much anticipated.  Because I had been asked to give leadership to the ordination, I did a lot of research on the practice of ordination within the Mennonite Church, trying to get my head around how to relate a structure or process for ordination within my sending denomination (MCUSA) to a much less-defined practice within the church in this case.  In the end, I think we managed something that could be deemed a success—a blending of practices, roles, and personalities that marked one pastor’s identity as a servant of God to the people to whom he has been called.

In my own preparation for the event, the text that grabbed my attention was 1 Timothy 4:12-5:2, a text in which the three participants named above—the pastor, God, and the people—are clearly visible.
The text is marked by a frame of implicit conflict or potential conflict within the church.  Such conflict is acknowledged in Paul’s exhortation to Timothy, “Let no one despise your youth” (4:12), and in his counsel to Timothy, “Do not speak harshly to an older man” [Greek: presbyter] (5:1).  In other words, at the beginning and end of this unit of scripture, conflict or the potential for conflict in the church is assumed.  If it was not so, why then does Paul deem it worthy to affirm Timothy’s calling in the face of those who would “despise his youth”?  Likewise, if the potential of young leaders such as Timothy to deride older leaders were not present, why then do we find Paul warning Timothy not to “speak harshly to an older man” (5:1)?  Indeed, the text acknowledges that conflict is close at hand.

But if the context of the text is conflict, then the substance of the text pertains to how Timothy—the addressee of this epistle (1 Tim 1:2)—might conduct himself within that conflict.  And though Christ is nowhere mentioned in this unit, we might not be surprised to learn that the method Paul lays down for Timothy for dealing with conflict has Christ written all over it.  To those who would despise his youth, Timothy should—rather than returning derision in the form of speaking harshly to an older man—“set the believers an example in speech and conduct, in love, in faith, in purity” (4:12b).  Timothy is not to concern himself with the insults of others, becoming fixated on them, but to “give attention to the public reading of scripture, to exhorting, to teaching” (4:13).  These are the things—the things of God and not the things of human beings (Mk 8:33)—that Timothy should “put into practice”, “devote [himself] to”, “continue in” (4:15, 16).  Timothy’s responsibility is to the scripture, the teaching of scripture, and his own integrity to that scripture-shaped life in the presence of others.  Indeed, Timothy is to “pay close attention to [himself] and to [his] teaching” (4:15).  As far as it concerns Timothy, the pastor for others, the scripture judges him before it judges his flock. 

The conduct of a Christian leader, therefore, is self-reflection, humility, and submission to God rather than the presumption to be like God.  The leader sets an example (4:12) of dependence on God which the people can follow—not with regard to the leader but to the leader’s Leader.  The goal of the church is not to play “follow the leader”; the church follows the leader in following God.

As implicit in the text as the conflict is the power of the example of “love, faith, and purity” to overcome the conflict.  It is entirely possible, even likely, that for a time the example will be despised by those who love darkness more than light (Jn 3:19).  That does not mean, however, that the example of love is not ultimately efficacious, for it is the power of God for all who have faith and even now are victorious precisely in keeping their purity in love in the midst of derision.  In the best of times, by God’s grace, the example of enduring love (which is Jesus Christ himself) will even win the derisive.  The example of “love, faith, and purity” always leaves open the door to redemption, the cessation of hostility and the embrace of peace—and that is why Paul commends it to Timothy.  Indeed, Paul insists that the example “will save both [Timothy] and [his] hearers (4:16).

At the very heart of the text is an image of the “saved” church.  It is an image of the people of God, so to speak, “in the beginning”, perhaps before the despising of youth and cruelty to the old had become a threat to genuine peace.  Paul reconstructs the memory for Timothy.  “Do not neglect the gift that is in you, which was given to you through prophecy with the laying on of hands by the council of elders” (4:14).  The memory of what the people of God once were points to the reality of what the people of God will be.  Before it forgot its true calling, the community recognized the gift of God to individuals among them and acclaimed God’s gift by a show of support in the presence of all.  That which was given to one “through prophecy”, God’s Word breaking in to human experience, was affirmed by the many “with the laying on of hands by the council of elders. [Greek: presbytery].”  He who would deride those who called him, and those who would despise the one they called, are themselves called to remember who they really are in Christ.

-Joe

the glory of community

Since last February, when I taught the topic of “salvation” at Bethany Bible School, a couple of texts have been paired in my mind.

Exodus 33:18-34:7 and 1 John 4:7-12 both define the essential characteristic of God as love. 1 John says that “God is love”, while Exodus says that Yahweh, “the LORD”, is “abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness”, something which Yahweh also “keeps to the thousandth generation” (1 Jn 4:8; Ex 34:6-7).

In Exodus, the love of God is linked to the “glory” of God, as in Moses’ request to God—“Show me your glory, I pray”—which led to God’s unfolding revelation of himself to Moses (Ex 33:18). In Exodus 33-34, that revelation of God’s glory “unfolded” in two stages. In the first place, in response to Moses’ request, God directs Moses to “a place in the rock” where Moses might hide while God “passes over”, enabling Moses to glimpse God’s back—not God’s face or else Moses would die (Ex 33:20-23). While passing over, God also proclaims God’s name, “Yahweh”, and pronounces God’s character, “gracious” and “merciful” (Ex 33:19).

Merciful and gracious, it turns out, are the very same characteristics which Yahweh uses to introduce himself again to Moses in the second stage, that is, when God again proclaims God’s name (Ex 34:5-6). Likewise, whereas God “passed over” Moses by the rock in the first revelation, in the second revelation God “passes before” Moses on the mountain (Ex 33:22, 34:6).

It was upon Exodus’s narrative foundation of God’s glory, God’s name, and God’s character that John built his address to “the beloved”, his “little children” (1 Jn 2:1, 28, 3:2, 7, 18, 21, 4:1, 4, 7, 11). The glory of God, for example, also appears as a prominent theme in the theology of John’s gospel, as in the prologue: “We have seen his glory, the glory of a Father’s only Son, full of grace and truth” (Jn 1:14). Similarly for John was God’s name important: “Yahweh” or “I am” is the name which Jesus the Son applies to himself repeatedly throughout the gospel (Jn 6:35, 8:12, 8:58, 10:7, 10:11, 11:25, 14:6, 15:1). Finally, for John, God’s character was primary; in addition to the Father’s only Son being full of “grace and truth”, through the Son “God so loved the world” (Jn 3:16). Now, also in his first epistle, the apostle proclaims that “God is love” (1 Jn 4:8). And that “God’s love was revealed among us in this way: God sent his only Son into the world in order that we might live through him” (1 Jn 4:9).

It is here—within the context of God’s love “revealed among us”—that John states the greatest narrative modification to the story of Israel in the person of Jesus, the Christ, the Son. That is, whereas the glory, the name, and the character of God “passed over” Moses in Exodus 33-34, the “signs” of God’s presence “remains”, “abides”, “dwells”, “stays”, “lives” with God’s people—upon one condition: that they “love one another.” As it says, “If we love one another, God abides with us and his love is perfected among us” (1 Jn 4:12).

“If we love one another”, John perceived through God’s revelation of God’s very self in the person of Jesus, God will never take away God’s glory from God’s people; no longer to “pass over”, as a revelation of God’s back, the love shared between the followers of Jesus is that which allows us to begin to “look into” the face of God. Because we have not yet truly, fully loved, God’s glory is still hidden. “We see”, in the words of another apostle, “in a glass darkly” (1 Cor 13:12). Thus, as John put it, “it is not yet revealed what we will be; but when he is revealed we will be like him, for we will see him as he is”— “face to face” (1 Jn 3:2, compare with 1 Cor 13:12).

So Moses said, “Show me your glory, I pray.” And God replied, “Love one another.”

-Joe

on sacrifice

When, at our gathering of Bethany Bible School last month, I asked for insights from the students on the meaning of “sacrifice” as it appears in 1 John 4:10, one old man referred me to the story of Abraham offering Isaac (Gen 22:1-19). And so it happened that I began to ponder that story once again.

The old man’s point, I think, was that “sacrifice” is an act of “love”—the main theme of the 1 John text we were studying. That, of course, is also how the author put it there: “Not that we loved God but that God loved us, and sent his only Son to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins” (1 Jn 4:10).

Many theologians in the West, both professional and lay, would dispute the assumption that sacrifice is an expression of love, that God’s sending of the Son to his slaughter proves not God’s love but God’s cruel detachment. However one interprets the Aqedah, “the binding of Isaac” from Genesis 22, on its own merits, the New Testament’s interpretation of that story—of which the 1 John text may be one example—is a classic example of employing a human story to speak of the mysteries of God. In other words, the story of Abraham offering up his “only son, Isaac, whom [he] loves” became for the New Testament authors a window on the Heavenly Father who offered up his “only begotten Son” for a sinful world. For the New Testament authors, the story of Abraham and Isaac illuminated the story of Jesus, the one whom they “declared to be the Son of God” (Rom 1:4).

The key, of course, is that the New Testament’s declaration of “the Son” does not imply his distance but his closeness to the Father—a closeness so close so as to reveal that they were really One Person. Yet, when that One should appear in flesh—a new realm for the One who is not a human being—he cannot but acquire another human title which differentiates him from the experience of him in the realm of pure Spirit. That title, of flesh married to Spirit within God, is “the Son”.

Once, therefore, the Son is understood, not from the perspective of pure flesh (“from a human point-of-view”) (2 Cor 5:16) but from flesh-in-Spirit, the Son ceases to be a pure object of slaughter, something acted upon by someone else. The Son becomes, rather, both Subject and Object, One who gives himself to the world of flesh. The Son is not simply the human Jesus, sent to his death by Another; the Son is Jesus the “Christ”, the one “in” whom “God was reconciling the world to himself” (2 Cor 5:19). The “Father” is not detached; the “Father” is in the “Son.”

From the perspective of closeness, therefore, one also begins to appreciate the metaphor of Abraham and Isaac, a father and his son, for the Father and the Son. For, when we read that Abraham heard the word to “take your son, your only son, Isaac, whom you love . . . and offer him there as a burnt offering . . .” (Gen 22:2), we remember, from knowing the whole story, that this Isaac was the same son of his old age, the one promised him with his wife Sarah before they as yet had any heir. It was this Isaac for whom they waited and scarcely dared to hope, this Isaac who, when announced by angels, was greeted with the laughter of incredulity (Gen 17:17; 18:12). It was this Isaac who, when born, actualized the promise of God that Abraham might become the father of many nations, his descendants more numerous than the stars in the sky (Gen 15:5). This is the Isaac whom God now says to sacrifice, he the long-awaited promise now given up.

It is from this perspective--the story of a human father Abraham giving up his human son Isaac--that 1 John 4 has drawn its interpretation of God in human flesh in Jesus the Christ. In other words, it is not from the characterization of God at the outset of Genesis 22--the God who simply "tests" and commands Abraham to offer Isaac as a "burnt offering"--that the author of 1 John has found inspiration; it is from Abraham's, the father's, "sacrifice" of his "only son, whom he loved." 1 John's inspiration, moreover, comes not specifically from the father Abraham, that is, in isolation, nor from the son Isaac, but from the "sacrifice"--with all its intense relational implications. Abraham the father with Isaac the son approaches, becomes the best available analogy for God in Christ, because the story so vividly "counts the cost" of "offering up", of "sacrifice" (Lk 14:28). Whatever Abraham's reasons for heeding the call to offer Isaac, or however obvious it may seem that Abraham's will to kill Isaac was to deny his love for him, the background to the text--the personal history of father and son and all the implications of their relationship--and the text itself illustrates the complexities, the hardships, the suffering inherent to love. Precisely because Abraham "loved" Isaac is their story a story of sacrifice. Only that which is loved is truly "offered up".

Because the story of Abraham and Isaac is, therefore, a true offering, it invites, for those who know it, comparison with another story of authentic love. Considering the giving up of the son of promise, the one through whom the world was promised to Abraham, we glimpse the depth of the love of the God who "sent his only Son into the world . . . to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins" (1 Jn 4:9-10). We see, that is, that God gave up God's own Self-identification. Like Abraham who gave up his God-promised dreams for posterity in offering his son, so God gave Godself in the person of the Son. The Spirit takes on flesh. The Source of life enters death. The Light confronts the darkness. The blessed becomes the cursed (Gal 3:13). The Righteous One is made to be sin (2 Cor 5:21). In the Son, God denies Godself--everything, that is, but his love. "So that we might live through him" (1 Jn 4:9).

-Joe

“perfected in us”

The small-group Bible study text that I chose for our February lesson at Bethany Bible School on soteriology was 1 John 4:7-12, one of the great “love” texts of the Bible.

The text contains four key, repeated nouns and one key, repeated verb. The nouns are “Beloved” (vv. 7, 11), “God” (all verses), “the Son” (vv. 9-10), and “love” (which can also be, of course, a verb) (all verses). The verb is “sent” (vv. 9-10). We might approach this text by asking how these nouns and this verb fit together.

Who, for example, is being “sent”? Who is sending? Why, or for what purpose, was the sent one sent? Or why did the sender send the one who was sent? The answers to these questions may help us to understand the meaning of every key word which we have found.

The text proclaims, then, that “the Son” was “sent”. Moreover, “the Son” was sent by “God”. Furthermore, “the Son” was sent “into the world”. And why did God send the Son into the world? “In order that we might live through him” and “to be the atoning sacrifice for our sins” (vv. 9-10). We might go even further and ask about the motivation of the sender: Why does God desire that we “live through him”; why does God make an “atoning sacrifice for our sins”? The text is clear—because of God’s “love”.

So far we have accounted for the usages of “God”, “the Son”, and “love”, as well as the verb “to send”. The missing noun, “Beloved”, is also, however, implied within this schema. The “beloved” is the “we” who might “live through him”, the “our” whose sins have been atoned for. The “beloved” are, in other words, the objects of the love of God who “sent the Son into the world”. “Beloved” is a collective noun. The “beloved” are the many-in-one, made to be so because of the love that brought them together.

It is on the note of the unity of this collective, this one body made up of many members, that this text ends—with an astonishing claim. “No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us” (v. 12). “God is love”; the text has already said so in no uncertain terms. Indeed, “love is from God” and “everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love” (vv. 7-8). “God is love”.

If God is love, it would seem that love has already been “completed” or “made perfect”. Even before the creation, love is perfect in the God who is, the God who is love. And this may be so—except that the text claims that God has a purpose for God’s love beyond God’s own invisible Self—whom “no one has ever seen”. God’s purpose was that love would not be contained within God, but overflow to those whom, because of love, God created. As soon as God creates, as soon as the possibility of other lovers becomes a reality, there is more love to share, more love that needs to get out, more love seeking completion. The love of God is seeking completion in the members of God’s creation. Though “God is love” and no other, though it was “not that we loved God but that God loved us” (v. 10), it is yet only in us, the “beloved”, that God’s love can be perfected. God cannot perfect his love in us without us. We must “love one another” (vv. 7, 11, 12). Only then do we have the assurance of God’s abiding presence with us. Only then do we know that God remains. Only then can the One “whom no one has ever seen” be seen.

“God sent the Son into the world in order that we might live through him.” “If we love one another”, that same world to which Jesus came will see the glory of God.

-Joe

compassion in the story

Here is my latest column for the Anabaptist Network in South Africa.

-Joe

giving up, giving back

Luke 14:25-33 contains some of the truly “hard sayings” of Jesus. In particular I note two parallel statements in three sentences which frame the stories Jesus tells to illustrate the meaning of following him (discipleship). Those statements, two sentences at the beginning and one at the end of the text, are:

“Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple” (vv. 26-27).

“So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions (v. 33).

The main reason for seeing these statements as parallel, of course, is that they both pronounce requirements for following Jesus, framed in the negative. “Whoever . . . does not hate father and mother . . .”, “Whoever does not carry the cross . . . cannot be . . .”, “ . . . none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up . . ..” What one cannot be, of course, without doing what Jesus commands is—in all three sentences—his “disciple.”

If, therefore, we see them as parallel, then we also begin to see the connection between those different “things” which Jesus tells the “large crowds traveling with him” (v. 25) that they must forsake. In other words, there is some connection between “hating” family members and “giving up” possessions. Indeed, though we may more readily accept—in theory if not in practice—that we should give up material possessions on which we have become dependent to our destruction, we are less likely to regard our beloved family members as possessions to be given up. We are very likely, in fact, to see our loving duty as precisely not to give them up, to keep them close, to protect them at all costs. In other words, even if we do not regard family members as possessions, we are inclined to treat them as such. We treat “father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself” as possessions. We regard our relationships with others as things to be possessed, held on to, maintained at all costs. Jesus calls us to “give them up”, release them, set them free.

Good relationships progress because they are free. The best relationships are those which we did not expect, those in which we found ourselves loving a person we did not set out to love. This does not mean that we set out not to love them; it simply means that we had no intention for the relationship itself, no expectations of where it might lead. We began to relate to a person free of requirements, pressures molding the relationship into a preconceived form. The moment we awake, however, to the goodness of relationship, is the moment we begin to possess it. The experience of love creates the desire to love more, and the desire to love more—beyond where we have even now loved—becomes the expectation toward which we strive to steer the relationship. The relationship becomes a thing possessed, an object of our control.

Because the goodness of relationship is the gift of God—pure grace, that which we did not expect, that which we could not create—our attempts to control it will destroy it. That which is created free cannot live possessed. Jesus says we must “give it up”, release it from our control, forfeit our expectations of it. The good news, however, is that our “giving it up” is really “giving it back”—into the hands of the loving God. God wants us, like Abraham with Isaac, to give up that which is most precious; God knows that is the only way we will remain in love.

-Joe

"The Father and I are one"

I preached last Sunday, as doubtless did many preachers around the world, on the parable of "the prodigal son", Luke 15:11-32. It has been pointed out that the parable is misnamed. In the first place, Jesus introduces the parable with the line "there was a man who had two sons" (v. 11). The story is not simply about the youngest son who goes to a distant country and squanders his inheritance; it is also about his older brother who stays home. In the second place, and perhaps more importantly, the common title to the parable is misleading because the parable itself makes central the role of the father. The parable is not summed up by the son's sin but by the father's mercy (admittedly, one cannot have one without the other). I make the following observations on the activity and identity of the father in the parable.

1. The response of the father is the center of the text. The father's action is narrated directly between the critical, twofold repetition in the text, the plea of the younger son. First, after he has exhausted his portion of mercy in the "distant country", the younger son rehearses the words which he has resolved to say in going back to his father.

"Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands" (v. 19).

Second, after he has come back to his father, the younger son says to him,

"Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son" (v. 21).

The two statements, of course, are identical--with one exception: the younger son is not able to finish what he had rehearsed; he never says to the father, "treat me like one of your hired hands". The absence of the rehearsed ending in the actual confession is not, however, the son's omission. The father does not need to hear any more. His response, in effect, cuts off the son's confession. Instead of a hired hand, the father treats the son like a king.

Put the best robe on him. Put a ring on his finger. Put sandals on his feet. Make a feast. Let's celebrate (vv. 22-24).

These actions complete the father's earlier action upon seeing his son for the first time since he had left home with his inheritance. That is, "while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him" (v. 20). This is the climax of the story, the turning point of the text. The reader, previously in suspense, now knows that the father will not count the son "unworthy to be called his son". The father welcomes him home as his son.

2. The father's love is not human love. It is not, for example, the love of the younger son, who asked for the inheritance that would be his, that is, after his father had died, while his father was still alive. Likewise, it is not the love of the older son, who was angry that his father would have compassion on his younger brother. The only love in the story is the father's own.

3. The father is Jesus. The parable is the third in a succession of three which Jesus tells in response to the complaint of the "Pharisees and scribes" that Jesus "welcomes sinners and eats with them" (Lk. 15:2). The parable is a near-exact match for reality: the "older son" Pharisees and scribes complain about the mercy shown to their "younger son" sinners and "tax collectors" (15:1). In the parable, the older son complains to his father. In reality, the Pharisees and scribes complain to Jesus. They do not perceive that he is their father.

-Joe

the Gift and the gifts

When thinking about the overarching theme of the Bible School, the mission that we want to be about, we have returned again and again to Ephesians 4. Specifically, verse 13: "until all of us come to the unity of the faith and the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ" (NRSV).

This sentence fragment includes both the mission and the vision. Through acquiring "knowledge of the Son of God" through the corporate study of his Story, we find ourselves growing into "the full stature of Christ".

What is the life that "the full stature of Christ" entails? How do we realize our vision?

When reading Ephesians 4, I have often puzzled over vv. 9-10. In the flow of the text, it seems tangential, a diversion from the flow of Paul's exhortation. The NRSV, in fact, encourages such a sentiment, for it supplies parentheses around the verses. As is often the case with interpretation, however, precisely that part of the text which seems out of place is key to the meaning of the whole. And so it is with Ephesians 4:1-16.

The text reveals a movement from one to many. There is one Body, one Spirit, one hope of your calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father (vv. 4-6). Singularity soon gives way to plurality: some apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers (v. 11).

What lies between the one and the many? How do we get from one to the other?

The text locates "Christ's gift" between the two. Christ's gift (singular) is the fountainhead of the gifts (plural) "he gave to his people" (v. 8b), namely, "that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers" (v. 11).

The gift of the one conditions the gifts of the many. If we want to understand our own gifts, we must know Christ's. What is the character of his gift?

Here the text speaks of Christ's ascension. "When he ascended on high he made captivity itself a captive; he gave gifts to his people" (v. 8). There is something necessary about Christ's ascension--his departure as a flesh and blood reality from this earth to "the right hand of God", the "heavenly" seat of all power in the universe--for our own empowerment.

Yet the ascension is previously conditioned.

Translated parenthetically, Paul actually makes the main point. The One who ascended did so only by first descending; "he who descended is the same one who ascended" (vv. 9-10).

What is Christ's gift, the Gift according to which we also receive our gifts?

It is none other than God's descent in Christ. The Word becoming flesh in Jesus' birth. Jesus' descent beneath the waters of baptism (an event itself blessed by the descent of the Spirit). Jesus stooping down to wash his disciples' feet. And finally, one dramatic descent, fraught with irony: the Son of Man "lifted up" on the cross in his descent to the dead.

What is the quality of Christ's gift? It is God's own self, the love of the One given for the many.

And what, then, in turn, are the qualities of our gifts? Whatever the differences implied within the various tasks of the so-called "five-fold ministry" (apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors and teachers), there is still one ministry: the descent, the humility, the self-giving love operative in those who have joined themselves to Christ's Body.

As the One, so the many. As the Gift, so the gifts.

We see, then, that the movement of the text is not, after all, one-way. The many give themselves back to God, which is to say, also to one another.

" . . . until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ" (v. 13).

-Joe

5, 2, and 1

How would you summarize the message of the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Bible?

For our February teaching at Bethany Bible School on the theme of "Law", I chose five words.

1. Liberation. God rescued a people from slavery.

2. Provision. God led the people in the desert. God fed the people in the desert.

3. Covenant. God made a covenant with Israel, an agreement of mutual faithfulness.

4. Law. God gave Israel instruction on how to remain faithful to God.

5. Holiness. God set Israel apart as a witness before the nations.

I then summarized these five in two words.

1. Grace. God chose Israel, not because of its righteousness but because of God's love.

2. Justice. Israel responds to God's grace by practicing justice in all of its relationships.

And finally, one word:

Love. Israel's life flows from and is characterized by God's love.

Much more could be said. But this is one framework for telling the story.

-Joe