from nakedness to clothed

Several weeks ago I was given the opportunity to address the teenage children of a school hostel in Cradock.  Every Sunday evening, Lawrence Coetzee, our friend and pastor of MWC-member Grace Community Church, organizes a service for the students.  He usually invites pastors from the community to speak and, because we were visiting, he invited me to share the word.

I had been studying the book of Ephesians a lot in the previous months (I taught a course on it in June), and so it was in the forefront of my mind as I pondered what I might say.  I chose to focus on the well-known armor of God passage (Eph 6:10-17), and found myself preaching on clothing as a motif for the proclamation of the gospel message.

Since armor is a type of clothing, and since Paul exhorts the Ephesians to "Put on the whole armor of God", it follows that the goal of the Christian life is to be dressed (6:11, 13).  That might sound unremarkable, except that in the Genesis account of creation, human beings in their state of primal "goodness" are depicted as naked: "the man and the woman were naked together and unashamed" (Gen 2:25).  If the original intention was nakedness, how can the final intention be a state of being clothed?

The tension between clothed and unclothed as both expressions of the will of God gives rise to the insight that our state of blessedness or goodness as human beings consists not in returning to a previous state of our existence but in going forward to the place where God's Spirit is leading us.  We cannot return to Eden; we can only go forward to the New Jerusalem.  We cannot recover the goodness of the first human being, unmarred before the sin of disobedience to the will of the Creator; we can only receive the goodness of the second human being, Jesus Christ, and allow his righteousness to overcome our sin.  We cannot go back to our original nakedness; we can "put on the whole armor of God" and "be clothed with the Lord Jesus Christ" (Rom 13:14).

Such a view of salvation, of being not returned but being transformed, frees us from the weight of striving to retrieve that which we find impossible to retrieve, though we often struggle precisely to put back into place that which was.  A friend once related a story to me of a "saved person", a born-again Christian, who reasoned on the basis of his faith that his old life of sin was of no consequence, and thus he has cut all ties with the child who was born to him out of wedlock.  The implicit view of salvation in such a strategy would seem to be a going back to the life one had before the act of which one is ashamed, since the man's present "peace" consists in pretending that he is in some sense as he was before--not a father to the child he "fathered".  In the biblical canon, such a strategy for dealing with regret was represented by Ezra and Nehemiah, who demanded after the return from exile in Babylon that the Jews "put away the foreign wives" whom they had married (Ez 10:3, 11, 44).  Ezra and Nehemiah espoused salvation as return to an idealized past before a time of foreign contamination of the covenant community.  In the Old Testament, books such as Ruth would seem to counter such a perspective; the blood of a Moabite woman, Ruth, mixes with Boaz to produce the line of Israel's greatest king.

The good news of Jesus Christ, likewise, accepts the consequences of behavior as a point of departure toward greater things, not abandoning the fallen or eliminating the foreign but incorporating them into the body of Christ.  Within his body, things do not look as they were before nor are they left as they are; rather, "there is a new creation" (2 Cor 5:17).  That new creation is very much a matter of clothing the naked.  It covers the shame of sin, not by undoing what has been done (which no one can do!), but with a shirt of righteousness; a belt of truth; shoes of peace; a hat of salvation; a shield of faith; and a sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.  Christ himself transforms us as we "put him on."

-Joe

forgiveness and rest

My father-in-law led the workshop at Bethany Bible School over the weekend on the topic of vengeance and forgiveness.  The workshop yielded many personal stories and fascinating insights into scripture from the participants.

Among the scriptural allusions was one man's application of the stoning of Stephen (Acts 7:58-60) to the theme of forgiveness.  The man's particular contribution was to link the resting of Stephen's spirit to his act of forgiving his murderers.  Thus we read that, during his stoning, Stephen first prays, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit (7:59)."  Not having yet died, however, Stephen further cries out, "Lord do not hold this sin against them (7:60a)."  Only then, after having given up the desire for vengeance in pronouncing forgiveness for his enemies, does Stephen die (7:60b).  In other words, it is only in Stephen's forgiving of his enemies that his own spirit is received or returns to its origin in God.  His first prayer--a plea for his own ultimate salvation--is answered in his second prayer--a word of forgiveness to others.

Whether or not the man's reading of the death of Stephen was the author's intended meaning, I regarded it when I heard it as an interesting and powerful testament to forgiveness.  Upon further study, however, I regard his comments as likely indicative of the author's intended meaning as well.  Indeed, the stoning of Stephen in Acts bears striking resemblance to the crucifixion of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke, both the telling of a single author (Luke).  Just as Jesus forgave his enemies with "Father forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing (Lk 23:34)," so Stephen said, "Do not hold this sin against them."  Likewise, each man, first Jesus and then Stephen, prays that his spirit might be received.  Such comparisons of Acts with the gospel narratives of Matthew, Mark, and John are not available; it is only in Luke that the crucifixion of Jesus includes the words of explicit forgiveness and the personal plea for rest.  Jesus' first and last word from the cross in Matthew and Mark is, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?", whereas in John his last word is "It is finished (Mk 15:34//Mt 27:46; Jn 19:30)."  If the reader should thus view the account of Stephen's stoning and the crucifixion of Jesus in Luke together, the point at which the respective narratives diverge then becomes significant in terms of meaning.  What was Luke trying to say about the deaths of Jesus and Stephen?

For Luke, Jesus as Israel's Messiah sets the standard for the church which lives by his Spirit.  The spirit of Jesus' suffering is paradigmatic for his followers.  It is interesting to note, then, that the order of Jesus' twofold plea of forgiveness and rest is reversed in Stephen's twofold prayer of the same.  Whereas Jesus first pronounces forgiveness and then finds rest, Stephen first pronounces rest but only later finds forgiveness.  It is only in coming to forgiveness--as had Jesus before him--that Stephen finds rest.  It is only when Stephen forgives his enemies that his spirit returns to God.  It is only when Stephen's "order" of suffering truly follows that of Jesus that his spirit becomes one with his Lord.  Just as Jesus' progression from the pronouncement of forgiveness to the request for rest ended in his death, so Stephen's request for rest was finally granted in his pronouncement of forgiveness.  "When he had said this," that is, when Stephen had forgiven his enemies, "he died" (Luke 7:60).

Finally, a couple of caveats:

1. Though the above interpretation is an affirmation of the Christian necessity to forgive, also the very heart of the prayer Jesus taught his disciples to pray, it should be taken as an affirmation of the graciousness of the forgiving spirit rather than as a condemnation of the spirit that cannot yet forgive.  It should be taken as a clear affirmation of the goal to which the Christian aspires rather than as a compulsion to forgive before the time is right.  In fact, the story of Stephen itself implies this process, albeit in a short space of time.  Stephen himself did not find the rest that comes with forgiveness without a struggle.  If Jesus' graciousness in suffering is paradigmatic for the believer, Stephen's is perhaps more representative.  Victims of violence should expect, and be afforded time by others, to go through a process toward ultimate rest.

2.  Jesus' suffering is a model for Christians at the point of showing love for (forgiving) others, not for suffering's sake alone.  The stories of the crucifixion of Jesus and the stoning of Stephen have to do with suffering in order to redeem others ("do not hold this sin against them").

-Joe

curiosity that saves

On Sunday evening we read the story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10) as a family.  We finished our Bible study with the question, What do you learn about what kind of a person Jesus is from this story? 

I learned that Jesus is someone who only needs a small gesture of interest from a person in order to bring about what Luke calls “salvation” (which is tied in this text to economic justice)(vv. 8-10).  The text seems to emphasize Zacchaeus’s curiosity.

“He was trying to see who Jesus was” (v. 3).

“So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree to see him . . .” (v. 4).

“So he hurried down and was happy to welcome him” (v. 6).

Though Zacchaeus was a “sinner”, one despised by others (v. 7), he is the one who shows exceptional interest in Jesus.  It is that curiosity which Jesus recognizes—and which sets in motion the process of restitution, probable reconciliation (we don’t know how the crowd responded to Zacchaeus’s pledge to repay those he had defrauded), indeed salvation.  In the midst of all that are Jesus’ words of welcome to Zacchaeus—“Hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today”.  It is a welcome that Zacchaeus is only too eager to return (v. 6).  And it all began with Zacchaeus’s visible spark of interest in Jesus.

I take from the story encouragement for the work of ministry.  Jesus works with us, not because our resume is perfect (if that were the case, who could stand before the Lord?), but because he sees something in us with which he can work.  And, if this story is to be believed, that which Jesus sees may be nothing more than our desire to make a start with him.

-Joe

the baptized life

Over the weekend I taught on the subject of ecclesiology, the theology of the church, at Bethany Bible School.

I studied and selected several texts for the lesson, one of which was Acts 2:41-47.

Acts 2:41-47 is framed by two statements which speak of people being "added" to the number of the apostles.  First, after Peter's Pentecost Day sermon, about "three thousand people were added" (2:41). Finally, after descriptions of the early life of the apostolic community, the text states that "the Lord added day by day to them those who were being saved" (2:47).  These parallel statements about "addition" also invite comparison between those who were being added.  In the first instance, those who were added were those who "welcomed [Peter's] word and were baptized" (2:41).  In the second place, those who were added were those who were "being saved."  The text begins with addition through baptism and ends with addition by salvation.  One wonders, therefore, how baptism and salvation are related.  

A possible explanation of the connection between baptism and salvation may be found in the description that falls between the bookends of verses 41 and 47.  Verses 42-46 are exclusively about what happened to those who were baptized, those who, like others after them, "were being saved."  After being added upon baptism, the text states that they "continued in the apostles' teaching, the breaking of bread and fellowship, and the prayers" (2:42).  These activities find an echo later in the description that they "broke bread from house to house", the centerpiece of a life of daily worship in the temple, "sharing food with glad and generous hearts, praising God, and having the goodwill of the people" (2:46-47).  Between these parallel descriptions are two other statements which each feature a couplet--the first "wonders and signs" (2:43) and the second "possessions and goods" (2:45).  The first statement says simply that "many wonders and signs were being done by the apostles" while the second specifically enumerates the activities of the early church: "they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need."  The structural parallelism in the text invites the reader to consider whether the "wonders and signs" of the apostles were not in fact the "possessions and goods" which they sold to meet human need.  Finally, in between all of these statements is the summary of the apostolic community: "All who believed were together and had all things in common" (2:44).  Everything else in the text is an illustration of this basic apostolic unity.

It is equally true, of course, that the central unity of the church in the text, around which everything else gathers, is itself the product of the distinct practices in the text which surround that center.  The unity of the church was forged by those who were baptized being devoted to "the apostles' teaching, the breaking of bread, fellowship, and the prayers."  Unity was forged by generosity and mutual aid, the fulfilling of human need.  Those who welcomed Peter's word about Jesus "continued" in that word, in word and deed.  It is that continuity with the message and ministry of Jesus that enabled those were baptized to become truly a church--a community devoted to one another under Christ in service to the world.  And it is those who continue in the baptized life to which the text points who are "being saved."

-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

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

as the head, so the body

The Christ hymn of the book of Colossians, 1:15-20, claims, once at the beginning and once at the end, that the “beloved Son” (1:13) is so close to “the Father” (1:12) that he is with the Father one God. First, in v. 15, it claims that the Son “is the image of the invisible God”; second, in v. 19, it claims that in the Son, “all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.” These twin statements about the identity of God the Son are complemented by twin statements about the activity of God the Son as Creator and Savior. First, “in him all things in heaven and on earth were created, things visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or powers—all things have been created through him and for him” (v. 16); second, “through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven” (v. 20). Obviously, the work of the Son in creation and salvation in this second pair of statements is emphasized by the language of “all things”—first, the Son is the one through whom “all things” were created; second, the Son is the one through whom “all things” were reconciled to God. Moreover, in both cases, “all things” include that which is “in heaven and on earth” (v. 16, 20). In short, therefore, as reflected in this hymn, the early Christians claimed that Christ Jesus, the Son of the Father, one God from “before all things” (v. 17), is the Creator and Savior of the universe (or whatever is the biggest possible designation for “all things”).

Alongside these lofty claims, however, are two claims “from below.” That is, if the Son is God, the Invisible One, he is also simply “the head of the body, the church” (v. 18), the visible one. God, who is Spirit, who has no body in the form of God’s creation, is nonetheless, in Christ, the “head of the body, the church”, made up of many human members. A second claim “from below” is more shocking: the One in whom “all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell” is the same One through whom God “was pleased to reconcile to himself all things . . . by making peace through the blood of his cross” (v. 19-20). God, the eternal one, “before all things,” Creator not created, became in Christ the mortal one, beneath all things, rejected, crucified—“on the cross.” God, “before all things”, is “pleased” to work in no other way than “through the cross,” through God’s giving of God’s self to the world in creation and redemption. God, though “before all things,” is not a God who stands far off from all things, but enters into their condition in order to redeem them. God is pleased to dwell in the flesh, and to be glorified in it.

And how will God be glorified in the flesh?

If the dual claims “from above”—that the Son is God who creates and redeems all things—are related—then so too the claims “from below”—“the head of the body, the church” reconciles all things to God “by making peace through the blood of his cross” (vv. 18, 20). As the church proclaims in word and deed—in true worship—the identity and activity of the Son, it becomes like its “head.” The church that truly sings of its head will become like its head. The church that claims the identity of its head must take up the activity of its head, “making peace”—even at the cost of its own life, “through the blood of his cross.”

-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

"Feed my sheep (don't count them)"

Though I have no way of verifying it, my memory tells me that I have heard a number of Pentecostal and Charismatic leaders over the past several years quote from--of all books--1 and 2 Chronicles. Aside from that, another observation of said church leaders is their obsession with numerical growth. They want to preside over a "big church", have so and so many new congregations planted by such and such a date, and have a new "3,000 seater" building built by such and such a date. Something else I suspect--more through second-hand reports than firsthand experience--is that the conception of discipleship that accompanies such goals is training people who "get saved" to themselves do basic evangelistic work. This basic evangelistic work, focused on "getting people saved", means giving a short presentation of the gospel of a sinful humanity redeemed by Christ's death and offering others an invitation to repent of their sin and welcome Jesus through a formulaic prayer. In other words, in this conception, discipleship is not, first and foremost, training in the life and words of Jesus, but grounding in a particular method of salvation.

This whole schema has been rehearsed and critiqued time and time again, and probably sounds familiar to those reading it here. Consequently, I do not wish to again offer that same tired critique--if only it were truly tired. It seems, however, based on the endurance of this conventional Christian understanding of salvation, that some words of alternative wisdom still need to be said. Which brings me to--of all places--1 Chronicles 21.

Pastor Ntapo recently referred to the story there, another version of which also appears in 2 Samuel 24, as evidence that what seems to be the prevailing ethos of Charismatic Christianity in southern Africa is out-of-step with a biblical faith centered in Jesus Christ. In the story, David, in the waning days of his reign over Israel, is "incited by Satan to count the people of Israel" (as an aside, it is interesting that in the narrative of 2 Samuel, it is God, not Satan, who is the subject who "incites" David) (1 Chr. 21:1//2 Sam. 24:1). Both versions of the story, in spite of their differences, condemn the action of David in counting his people. Indeed, it is David--the shepherd whom God appointed to lead God's "sheep" (v. 17)--upon whom responsibility rests for the sin of counting the people. It is David, the leader, the "pastor" of the flock, whose obsession with numbers leads to disaster for the sheep: "seventy thousand persons fell in Israel", casualties of the "pestilence" God sent as punishment for David's sin (21:12, 14).

If David was not to count the people, what should he have done? And if an obsession with numbers leads ultimately to destruction, what kind of an orientation leads to life?

Perhaps David might have remembered Gideon, that judge who preceded him in the history of Israel, with whom the troops of his charge were "too many" to fight God's battles; rather, it was with "300", down from an original 32,000, that God delivered Israel from the Midianites (Jdg. 7). Perhaps David might have remembered his earlier life, he who found discomfort in the sophisticated armor and weaponry of Saul, choosing instead "five smooth stones and a sling"--by which he triumphed over a giant and put an entire army to flight (1 Sam. 17:38ff). Perhaps he might have "looked forward", as did his forefather Abraham (Jn. 8:56; Heb. 11:17-19), to the Christ who was crucified, rejected by the crowds for his refusal to fight with the weapons of flesh and blood--but exalted by his Father for "enduring to the end" (Mt. 24:13).

All this is not to say that numbers are a sign of unfaithfulness. It is to say that the seeking of numbers bears little resemblance to ministry in the mode of Christ. God will count the sheep; let us feed them with the words of eternal life (Jn 6:63, 68, 21:15-19).

-Joe

salvation: on tense and status

The book of Lamentations, 1:1-6, came up in the lectionary last week. I have never preached on Lamentations before, but the images the author uses to give voice to his despair fit within a broader theme I was encountering during the weekend. When discussing our Bible School with some friends recently, they were perplexed that most of our students would come from “Zionist” churches, the name typically used for African Independent Churches (AICs) in southern Africa. Although there is a range of spirituality within Zionism (not to be confused, by the way, with the movement of the same name with regard to the modern state of Israel), the dominant perception of outsiders is that it is sub-Christian, consisting of churches whose members “worship the dead” in line with ancestral traditions of Africa. Members of New Pentecostal or Charismatic churches often regard Zionists as “unsaved”. The problem with all this is not that certain Zionists do not in fact do what certain Charismatics say that they do; the problem is that often the language of “saved” and “unsaved” comes across as the attempt of the one who uses such categories to justify himself—something which can never be done not at the expense of others. A second problem, furthermore, is that this language of salvation is often intended by these who employ it within a very specific sense; if preaching or teaching, albeit thoroughly biblical and Christ-centered, does not lead directly to a short ceremony whereby one can “raise their hands” to accept Christ and be led in a prayer of repentance, it does not lead to salvation. Hence, one of our friends asked us whether “we ever discuss at our Bible School things like salvation”; my internal reaction was that, if we are not teaching salvation, we might as well pack our bags and leave South Africa. Indeed, salvation is the gospel, but the gospel is much bigger than many people understand.

Whereas the comments of many Christians tie salvation to a specific ceremony, pledge, or formula, the Bible consistently speaks of it as a way of life that never ends. Although it is the culture in “saved” churches here for every testimony to begin with the phrase, “I am saved”, the Bible speaks of salvation in the present and future tenses as well as the past. “In hope you were saved”. “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.” “For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life” (Rom. 8:24; Php. 2:12; Rom. 5:10).

If salvation, therefore, has not one but at least three tenses, it follows that that which happened to us in the past must somehow work itself out in the present so as to be effective in the future. If that which happened in the past does not work itself out—within us to whom it has happened—it will not work in the end. If we do not work out that which we are, we will cease to be.

We will be, in the words of Lamentations, like “the city that once was full of people”, now “lonely” (1:1). Or like the nation, once “a princess among the provinces”, now a “vassal” (1:1). Or like “the roads to Zion”, once full of festival-goers, now deserted (1:4). Or like “the princes of Zion”, once well-fed, now “stags that find no pasture” (1:6).

If we do not intentionally seek to live the life of Jesus “daily” (Lk. 9:23), we can expect our status to change. Though God has taken the initiative to change our status from bad to good, from weak to powerful, from enemies to friends, we must—even now, every day—pray for the “clean heart,” the “right spirit”, the “joy of salvation”, lest we lose that which is most precious and become that which we do not want to be (Rom. 5:6-10; Ps. 51:10-12).

-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

the word is the work

I've been enjoying reading through the book of James, coming up as it has in the lectionary over the past three weeks. I also had the privilege of preaching on James 1:17-27, thereby stepping into a well-established tradition on the African continent; through his research, Philip Jenkins, the respected scholar of global Christianity, has noted that the book of James has long been an orienting point for the worship and witness of African churches.

A few observations:

It is well-known that Martin Luther relegated James to a subordinate status in his translation of the Bible, dubbing it "the epistle of straw" for its insistence that "faith apart from works is dead" (2:17ff), a perceived challenge, of course, to his teaching that salvation is by "faith alone." In the ensuing years, the church came to accept uncritically Luther's original dichotomy, and came to line up on opposing sides, not only "faith" and "works" but also "word" and "deed". It is not hard to see what lined up with what: faith and word were one side, works and deeds the other.

James, of course, did make a distinction: "Be doers of the word," he told his people, "and not merely hearers" (1:22). However, that distinction, contra to how the church has arranged things, was not between word and deed, but between hearing and doing. In James, the force that unites hearing and doing is itself the word; a higher regard for the word in no other book can be found. Indeed, it is "the word of truth" which "gave us birth", the "implanted word that has the power to save your souls" (1:18, 21). In light of this, it is entirely obvious why James spilled so much ink on the subject of that from which the word emanates: the vehicle of speech, the tongue. He counsels his audience to "bridle their tongues" (1:26) because, as he later explains, "the tongue is placed among our members as a world of iniquity", an "untameable" source of "deadly poison" with which the human being "curses those who are made in the likeness of God" (3:6-9).

Yet, as James says, "this ought not to be so" (3:10). The corollary of the spoken word's great power for destruction is its great power for life. Indeed, we do not only "curse" with the tongue; "from the same mouth also comes blessing". James calls for a bridle, not a screw. He calls not for the cessation of words, but the channeling of right words. He calls for the words that build up the people of God, not the words that ridicule, deride, tear down the poor of the earth.

The word is the work. If we hear it, let us do it. That is "pure religion" (1:26-27).

-Joe

Philip Jenkins's comments can be found in The New Faces of Christianity: Believing the Bible in the Global South (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 2006), pp. 60-62.