“a little cloud”

In his parting words last week to three churches which had gathered for a weekend of study and fellowship in the Northern Cape, Pastor Ntapo of Harvest Time Ministries in Mthatha referenced the story of Elijah following his showdown with the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel (1 Kings 18). At Elijah’s command, his servant finally spots rising from the sea “a little cloud no bigger than a person’s hand” (1 Kings 18:44). It was, of course, from that same “little” cloud that “the heavens grew black with clouds and wind; there was a heavy rain” (18:45). The cloud was, for Pastor Ntapo, a sign of the way in which godly relationships grow—starting small, they grow to bring refreshing rain to a drought-stricken land. Whether or not that word was signifying a growing cloud of relationship between the three specific churches gathered on that day, it does signify for Pastor Ntapo the relationship that has been forged over the last four years between his congregation and Mennonites, represented by us. That relationship, like the cloud, at first seemed insignificant—scarcely visible to those outside and growing beyond the comprehension of those within—but is now above the horizon. Like Elijah, we have heard the “sound of rushing rain” (18:41), and we’re trusting God to bring the “heavy rain” in God’s own time.

-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

mercy’s victory

On Sunday I preached on 2 Kings 6:8-23, the story of the prophet Elisha’s showdown with the army of Aram. This was not a story, upon coming upon it several years ago, that I remembered from my childhood Bible story books. Yet it deserves to be better-known than it seems to be.

The story seems to express in narrative form what the Psalmist proclaimed: “A king is not saved by his great army; a warrior is not delivered by his great strength. The war horse is a vain hope for victory, and by its great strength it cannot save” (Ps. 33:16-17).

Indeed, the text makes much of horses, chariots, and armies. Two of the appearances of these in the text have to do with weapons of “blood and flesh”, to borrow the language of Ephesians 6. A third has to do with the weapons of the spirit—the “horses and chariots of fire” which the servant of Elisha saw were “more” than “the army with horses and chariots” which surrounded the Israelite city of Dothan.

The king of Aram is keen to use the horses and chariots of flesh; the prophet Elisha fights with the “sword of the spirit”—prayer. When Elisha repeatedly foils the king of Aram’s plans to attack Israel, the king of Aram responds by escalating his military escapades. Even though the king’s earlier military strategies have failed because of Elisha’s interventions in the spirit—his officers tell him that “it is Elisha, the prophet in Israel, who tells the king of Israel the words that you speak in your bedchamber”—the king is not deterred from attempting to take Elisha by force. In spite of all evidence to the contrary, the king does not consider that more military might will not now bring his enemies under his feet. He dispatches “horses and chariots and a great army” to Dothan to put an end to Elisha’s prophesying.

As before, his latest attempt is foiled. Elisha prays. The Aramean army is struck blind. Elisha leads them to Samaria, the seat of power in the Northern Israelite kingdom. He prays again. The Lord opens their eyes, “and they saw that they were inside Samaria.” By his might the king of Aram had hoped to put his enemies under his feet; now his army finds itself within the grasp of his adversary, the king of Israel.

If the Arameans expected the king of Israel to do unto them as they did unto others, this indeed would have been a time for fear. If they had understood, however, that the God of Israel is not a man, they might have expected that mercy which they received through the words of the prophet.

“Set food and water before them so that they may eat and drink; and let them go to their master" (v. 22).

“The war horse was a vain hope for victory” for the king of Aram. Far from victory, in fact, it was his defeat. Only the God who led him there, against whom his plans were laid, could bring his army out—by mercy, for the sake of God’s merciful name (see Ex. 34:5-6).

-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

if and are

I’ve had opportunity recently to revisit the story of Jesus’ temptation (Lk. 4:1-13).

In particular, I noticed the manner in which the devil approaches Jesus in the temptation story in comparison to the way in which the “voice from heaven” approaches him at his baptism, the story which directly precedes the temptation in the gospel tradition.

The “voice” says to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Lk. 3:21). The devil says to Jesus, “If you are the Son of God”, followed by a series of requests he makes of Jesus.

God says “You are.” The devil says “If you are.”

God says “you are” my child. The devil says “If you are” God’s child, you must prove yourself according to a certain set of criteria.

The criteria which the tempter says we must fulfill in order to be a child of God comes from outside the child of God. They come from the expectations and demands that others have for us. Such expectations and demands may be the right course for us—if, and only if, they are confirmation of what the Spirit of God has already, beforehand, prior to, said to us. You are a child of God because of what God has put in you.

-Joe

the forbearance of God

As I prepared to teach the Gospel of Luke at our May conference of Bethany Bible School, and then as we marked Ascension and Pentecost in the last weeks, I was struck by the significance of the city of Jerusalem in the text. Indeed, as I mentioned in my last entry, the word "Jerusalem" occurs 30 times in 24 chapters in Luke, compared with 10/16 and 12/28 in Mark and Matthew respectively. Fittingly, Jerusalem is central to Luke's accounts of the ascension in the gospel and its sequel, the book of Acts. As it says, Jesus "ordered [the apostles] not to leave Jerusalem" after his ascension into heaven, "but to wait there for the promise of the Father" (Acts 1:4). Staying, or waiting in Jerusalem was the prerequisite for the disciples' reception of the Holy Spirit (Acts 2).

Why was it necessary for the disciples to wait in Jerusalem? We might simply answer that the disciples were still struggling with their fear of the authorities ("fear of the Jews" as John put it, 20:19) and therefore could not--apart from a miracle--have begun any ministry in Jesus' name. Still we must ask, why Jerusalem? Matthew's gospel, for example, closes in Galilee. It is from there--indeed from "the mountain to which Jesus had directed them" (28:16)--that Jesus gives the apostles directions for an upcoming ministry to "all nations." To summarize:

In Matthew, the disciples' ministry to "all nations" under the "authority" of Jesus departs from Galilee; in Luke, the disciples' ministry, eventuating in "all nations" or "to the ends of the earth" (Lk. 24:47; Acts 1:8), in the "power" of the Holy Spirit "begin[s] from Jerusalem" (Acts 1:8; Lk. 24:47).

To all nations. Power of God (Jesus, Holy Spirit). Place of Departure.

These are the common ingredients. The difference is in the place of departure. Matthew assumes that power was conferred on the mount of ascension. Luke emphasizes that power was conferred in Jerusalem. So the question remains: Why Jerusalem? Why has Luke bequeathed to us, his readers, the Jerusalem part of the narrative? What are we to understand?

My working hypothesis is that Luke, via Jerusalem, is emphasizing the long-suffering of God. Jerusalem, the religious center of Israel's faith, the location of the house of God, must be given every last chance to "recognize the time of [its] visitation from God" (Lk. 19:44). Jerusalem, the embodiment of the Jewish people, must be given every opportunity to acknowledge Jesus as its own anointed "Leader and Savior" (Acts 5:31). It is only then, after God has extended every chance, fulfilled every promise to his people, that God can turn his face to the nations. Not without suffering does God turn away from those whom he called. Even beyond the cross, the place of God's suffering for his own, is God found extending his mercy to Jerusalem. The resurrection, ascension, Pentecost, the apostolic ministry bring a second chance--a third, a fourth, a fifth. The apostles preach first, again, "in Jerusalem"--then Judea, Samaria, and the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8). In fact, even when Paul, God's "chosen instrument to bring his name before Gentiles and kings" (Acts 9:15), ventures throughout the earth preaching the good news of Jesus Christ, he goes first to the Jewish houses of worship. After, in various cases, some Jews reject his message (while others welcome it) and Paul vows "from now on only to go to the Gentiles," he nonetheless returns to the synagogues; Paul cannot give up on his brethren. Indeed, the last picture of Paul's life is of him trying to convince the Jews in Rome about Jesus. So ends Luke's narrative, the story of God's promises extended to the nations--but always, forever, with reference and with concern, for the Jews (Acts 13:46, 14:1, 17:1-2, 17, 18:5-11, 8-10, 28:17ff.).

If this message is for God's first chosen, those whom he first called to be his witnesses upon the earth, it is also for his second chosen--for whomever, from every nation, tribe, and language, has chosen to live by the faith of God's Messiah. Not without suffering does God abandon his wayward people. Patiently God persists, "not wanting any to perish but all to come to repentance" (1 Pt. 3:9, 15).

-Joe

fear and fears

Last week I reported on some of my method and content for teaching the Gospel of Matthew at our Bethany Bible School conference earlier this month. Now for Mark.

Mark's gospel is the one with which I have been the most familiar, having taken a course on it in seminary. And, if I had to choose one gospel with which to be most familiar, I would choose Mark, for knowing Mark allows one to know the basic structure of the Jesus-story; Mark's frame is the one which Matthew and Luke most likely built upon in giving us their own account of Jesus' life.

Even so, I needed to revisit Mark afresh to pump new life into my ability to teach it. This time around I particularly noticed Mark's narrative comments about the "sea" in Jesus' ministry. Jesus is always on or around the sea (of Galilee): teaching "beside the sea", from the boat while a great crowd listens to him from the land (3:7-9; 4:1); going across the sea to the "other side", where he delivered the man from Gerasa who had a "legion" of demons, and fed the five thousand in a "desert place" (5:1-21; 6:30-44); on the sea, preaching peace to the storm, and later, "walking on the sea", revealing himself as the presence of God to his disciples ("Do not fear--I AM") (6:50) (4:35-41; 6:47-52).

Why does it seem that Mark was so keen on emphasizing that the Jesus story took place on or around the sea? We might say simply that this is so because the Jesus story did take place beside the sea, and Mark was simply reporting the facts. But something more is going on. Each gospel writer did frame the Jesus story in his own way. We noted how Matthew emphasizes Jesus' teachings in five main sections, each encapsulated by a common narrative refrain. Luke chose to emphasize, even though the early part of Jesus' ministry also takes place in Galilee, that Jesus' ministry took place "on the way to Jerusalem" (from 9:51 onward). The word "Jerusalem" occurs 30 times in Luke, compared with only 10 and 12 respectively for Mark and Matthew. This is all to emphasize that Mark framed his own story about Jesus around the sea; that was the detail he particularly wanted to highlight about Jesus' ministry. So again we ask, why? And so I asked my students.

"What is the significance of the sea?"

"The sea is like the kingdom of God," said one man. "You go to the sea and it takes away everything. Everything [sin, impurity, etc.] gets washed away in the sea."

"The sea is like God," said one old woman.

"How?" I inquired.

"It is sort of scary."

The sea is scary as God is scary--this would be the old woman's logic. I think that many western Christians would deny such a statement with their words. At least I think they wouldn't come out with such a statement as innocently, unashamedly as this woman seemed to do so. Indeed, God for us is supposed to be gentle, comforting, a shepherd who carries us on his shoulders rather than one who keeps us in line with his staff. Scariness, or fear, is supposed to be the enemy of God who is love, whose "perfect love casts out fear" (1 Jn. 4:18).

If, however, I am honest with myself, God is still scary to me. I also experience the comforting God, the God who casts out my fear and leaves joy in its place. But I am not so mature as to have left behind the scary God. We might say that scary is not the right word, and it wouldn't be my first choice. Let us use instead "fear", which is a biblical word and which we might rationalize can mean something more along the lines of that which inspires awe. Yet even that awe is not without fright, for it is the awe of an experience of something so immense that it could utterly overcome, consume the one who stands in its presence. Not unlike a human being before the sea. The sea is big to us in a manner like God is big to us. The woman's point is well-made.

I also think this is Mark's point. The sea, in broad biblical perspective, is that untameable force which was tamed by God. The order of creation came about by God separating the waters, assigning them their place in order that dry land could appear, then produce, then sustain human life. The waters were there, the great, dark "deep", before God said "Let there be light" and began to make a world (Gen. 1). The waters indeed seem before all things, except the One who is not a thing. We might think that the sea is God, if God had not revealed himself, as he did to Job, as the one who said to the sea, " 'Thus far shall you come, and no farther, and here shall your proud waves be stopped' " (Job 38:11).

All this points us to a reality that something greater than the sea is with us, someone greater, in fact, than all powers and principalities of this world. If that is the case, we need not fear, as Jesus commanded his disciples in the midst of the storm on the sea; we need not fear, that is, the sea and all powers because "I AM", "God is with us" (Mk. 6:50).

But must we fear the One who is greater than the sea?

I think we must. I think, in fact, it is the only way to live joyfully, peacefully, lovingly, in a world which fears the world. The world is now betraying us, as we have betrayed it. Natural disasters increase, sweeping humans away, as our climate changes. We are told we are on the brink of chaos. We can no longer trust the world. Our misplaced trust is now exposed. Yet if God is our Fear (Gen. 31:42, 53), the fears of the world will not destroy us. If God is our Fear, we will not cling to our lives as if no other life exists. If scarcity increases, we will share what we have with others in faith that God will provide. We will "not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather fear him who can destroy both body and soul in hell" (Mt. 10:28). Jesus said that. And it is that fear which he meant to be our comfort.

-Joe