"hidden from our eyes" (Luke 19:42)

As I read, and then eventually preached, the story of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem (Luke 19:28-44), I became interested in the characterization of the disciples. Though it might be argued that they do not appear as dim-witted as they do in Mark's gospel, in Luke the disciples do, nonetheless, in the words of my pastoral colleague, "say things that they do not understand." To this we might also add that they often "do things that they do not understand." In this text, for example:

• the disciples must not have imagined what their simple act of obedience to Jesus' command instigated. Indeed, they seem to need assurance that the thing which they are about to do can in fact be done; Jesus anticipates their doubt that they will find a colt tied up precisely as he tells them and that they will be allowed to acquire it. Thus he arms them with a response to any who would hinder them: "Just say this, 'the Lord needs it' (v. 31). At least having a plan--however audacious that plan may seem--is enough to send the disciples on their way ahead of Jesus. This, in this text, is their first act of trust in him.
• the disciples' trust in Jesus is rewarded beyond any doubts. First, they "found [the colt] as he had told them" (v. 32). Second, the anticipated scenario likewise goes exactly "as he had told them": the disciples are asked for a reason for their course of action to which they utter the instructed response. Third, "the Lord needs it" works. The text does not mention any further dispute, no ensuing haggling with the colt's owners. Immediately, they simply "brought [the colt] to Jesus" (v. 35). Their initial act of faith in Jesus has been rewarded.
• Confidence booming, they act on their own, apart from any explicit command from their lord. They "throw their cloaks on the colt"; "they set Jesus on it." Next, "as he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road" (v. 36). Could the disciples have imagined that their initial decision to act on their faith in Jesus, to trust him, to take him at his word, would yield similar acts from an entire "multitude of disciples" (v. 37), now "spreading their cloaks on the road" before Jesus? Here again in the gospel narrative appears something of the dynamic of the so-called "messianic secret". Jesus explicitly instructs his disciples or would-be followers to say nothing of his marvelous acts or his true identity, yet they are unable to keep quiet (cf. Mark 1:40-45). Here he is simply silent, yet his disciples pick him up, "set Jesus on [the colt]"--they literally exalt him. Their doing so opens the way for others to acclaim him "king" (v. 38).
• All this does not mean, however, that the disciples now understand Jesus, that they now perceive his significance. Luke, it would seem, illustrates their knowing in part, as "in a glass darkly" (1 Cor 13:12), through his juxtaposition of the "multitude's" acclamation of Jesus at the beginning of his earthly life and now at its end. That is, when the heavenly "multitude" appears to Judean shepherds with the news of Christ's birth, they proclaim "on earth peace" (2:14). The earthly "multitude", upon his entry into Jerusalem, proclaim "Peace in heaven" (19:38). Does the earthly multitude understand the heavenly acclamation? Do they know "the things that make for peace"? (v. 42) Do they believe that the peace of heaven is intended for earth?

They do not. For this reason Jesus is weeping for them--for us (v. 41).

-Joe

mob justice and the justice of God

See this reflection on siyahamba.

-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

prophetic desperation

My last entry, on prophetic loneliness, ended by introducing another characteristic of the prophets--desperation.

I came to this realization in the course of teaching the topic last month. As I was desperately trying to communicate my message (as always, across vast language and cultural barriers), I sensed how the words and actions of the biblical prophets also reflected desperation.

For the small group activity, I had asked the students to find examples from the prophetic books that fit four categories of prophetic communication that I had identified from my own reading.

They are:

1. Analysis and Truth-telling. The prophet looks around at the world and observes that it is not as God designed it to be. Then the prophet tells the truth about the world. I think here of Amos, for example, in chapter 8:4-6. He identified the social situation of his time and decried it as it was.

2. Prophetic Displays/Dramatizations. The prophet enacts before the people the message he is trying to communicate to them. The prophet Hosea, for example, married a prostitute in order to show Israel that they were prostituting themselves with gods who were not God, with gods who neither loved Israel nor had married her (as Yahweh had) (Hosea 1-3).

3. Parables and Allegories. We think of parables in the ministry of Jesus, who certainly continued the prophetic tradition of the Old Testament. One of my favorite parables is that which Nathan told to David after David had committed adultery with Bathsheba and murdered her husband (2 Sam. 12)

4. Visions. The prophets saw visions and reported them. I chose to highlight Isaiah 6.

In the course of proclaiming again these texts, I realized a common thread: God is persistent in trying to reach God's people. God is desperate to turn the people back to himself. Consequently, God uses the prophets in many and various ways. If simple analysis and truth-telling does not get through, God will dramatize the people's sin before their very eyes; the prophet performs a drama. Where words cannot communicate, perhaps actions stand a chance. On the other hand, perhaps the limits do not lie with words but with the manner of words; not analysis but imaginative portrayal will get through. In desperate times--but not only desperate--only story, parable, hits home. Still, If even parable will not do, perhaps a vision of the Holy Itself will convince one of his sin. In the case of Isaiah, "a man of unclean lips living among a people of unclean lips", purification begins with the prophet.

There are doubtless many ways to tackle a subject as big as the prophets. For this time and place, this was mine.

-Joe

prophetic loneliness

I have an excess of material in my heart and mind from studying in preparation for teaching a lesson on "the prophets" for Bethany Bible School earlier this month. I gave a shortened version of what I did at BBS for our Tuesday evening fellowship group this week. The last two Sundays at Mandela Park I preached on the experience of two different prophets, Elijah and Isaiah. In the case of Elijah I focused on his showdown with the prophets of Baal (1 Kings 18). In the case of Isaiah I found myself preaching on his call vision of the Lord in chapter 6.

Perhaps the unifying theme of the stories of Elijah and Isaiah is their loneliness. As people called to stand for their God, to speak his words to a rebellious people, they experience widespread, nearly total, rejection.

"To be a prophet is to be alone"--this is how I put it.

It is, therefore, precisely in their loneliness that the prophets embody the faithfulness that God intends for all his people. Standing for God, the prophets can no more rely for support on a people who have rejected God. The only thing, the only one, left for the prophet is the One. The prophet's support has been reduced to God. The prophet's only dependence is God. The prophet thus is privileged to know in his or her own person or very being that which is fundamentally true: that God is the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer of the universe. "There is no other", as God put it through Isaiah (Isa. 45:5).

One of the biggest dangers for my noble faith tradition, the Anabaptist, is mistaking the God who holds our life for the human community. Our language sometimes suggests that the community of the church is God. "We discern together," we say, "in the gathered community of believers". We speak as if this in itself is a safeguard against sin and the running amok of injustice, a balance of powers of sorts not unlike the set-up of the democracy in the land in which I have heard these words (America, the land of my earthly citizenship). We forget, however, that the early Anabaptists from whom we have inherited were not so much in their beginning an established faith community as they were a coming together of convicted individuals rebelling each in his own sphere against the rebellion of the established church. The Anabaptists were first and foremost lonely individuals, rejected at large by the culture in which they were born, eventually coming together to form an alternative community in the world. In the land of my birth, that alternative community is no longer alternative; it is dominant. The community has triumphed over the individual alone before her God.

The irony of all this is that the health of the community is dependent upon the holy loneliness of every one of its members. Every person needs to face that place in which they are rejected, in which the only one they have to go to is God. Each person needs to confront that one nagging fear, the avoidance of which has become his dependence, his security, his god. Only then, having found himself alone, does one discover that he is not alone. He is with his God. She is with her God.

In this light the cross of Jesus is the witness of prophetic loneliness par excellence. The crucifixion is the final cycle of prophetic loneliness opening up to holy communion. Jesus experiences on the cross that which he experienced numerous times on the way to the cross. Alone with the tempter in the desert, eventually finding strength in the Word of God. Deserted by companions in Gethsemane, persevering in prayer to his "Abba". Finally, on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me" ends in "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit" (Mk. 15:34; Lk. 23:46). The final experience of human loneliness is God's fullest embrace. Loneliness and communion are two sides of the same coin in the life of God.

The prophet knows that life, and he is desperate for others to know what he knows.

-Joe

"more to be desired"

Three weeks ago, the pastor phoned me before church to say that some mutual friends of ours had lost one of their adult children. I said we would be coming to church, and that we could talk about the matter following the service. In the end, the news meant that I would be preaching twice on this day; the pastor and I agreed that we should seize the moment and head out to the bereaved family's homestead directly after our regular service.

I have been to a bereavement such as this before. It is tradition in Xhosa culture for friends and relatives to visit the family at their home immediately following the death of a loved one. Some form of service inevitably ensues.

Nevertheless, when the pastor and I arrived, I was taken aback by the sight of a rondavel filled, as is typical, with men on one side and women on the other. I knew that we would soon be on. The people were singing as we arrived, and soon they would be expecting the words of comfort for which the visitors had been sent.

Psalm 19 was on my mind, for it was the text I had just preached on that morning in Mandela Park. Now I would have to find its significance for a different occasion.

In the church service, I had focused in on the line "more to be desired are they than gold, even much fine gold; sweeter also than honey, and drippings of the honeycomb" (v. 10, NRSV). That which is "to be desired", of course, is what the text calls variously "the law of the Lord", "the decrees of the Lord", "the precepts of the Lord", "the commandment of the Lord", "the fear of the Lord", and "the ordinances of the Lord" (vv. 7-9). These or this--shall we say simply "the word of God"--are/is, according to the Psalmist, the most desirable "thing" in human experience. Nothing, in fact, within the creation is finer or sweeter. Neither gold--the most expensive thing--nor honey--the tastiest thing--appeals to the senses as the word of God.

"It is good that God made us to desire him," I said, "for even if we should lose a beloved child, hope is not lost." Though all the things of creation--humans and plants and animals--should pass away, God and God's Word remain for those left behind.

I don't know whether that sounds trite. I do know that, as I go into situations in which I must speak, I am reduced only to that which is already in my heart, which I already understand. I am made more simple. I am reduced to trusting in the moment the very God I proclaim. I am reduced to trusting that the words and the love which he has already deposited in me are sufficient for the day. That I have found to be true.

-Joe

persistent waiting

A number of weeks ago I preached on John 2:1-11, or Jesus' "first sign" which he performed at the wedding at Cana. It came on a Sunday within the new year in which the church in Mandela Park, usually high in children and youth, contained but one adult (aside from Anna, me, and the pastor).

"It looks as though we are ministering to the youth," the pastor said to me as it came time for the sermon.

I found myself focusing in this text on the role of "the mother of Jesus". Indeed, her importance is emphasized, for John introduces the setting with reference to her. "On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there." The reader's curiosity is thus piqued regarding her; what role will she play in the unfolding drama?

She plays, in fact, the pivotal role in the story. It is she who tells Jesus that the wine has run out at the party. When he responds that his "hour has not yet come", she refuses to take his "no" for an answer. She presses Jesus until his "no" becomes a "yes."

How? She springs into action. "Do whatever he tells you," she instructs the servants at the wedding. Put in an uncomfortable position, all eyes presumably fixed upon Jesus, Jesus must act. He springs into action. The six stone water jugs are filled. The water is drawn. The water tastes like wine. The wine is the best wine--usually served at the beginning, now reserved for the end. As a result, "his disciples"--who had also "been invited to the wedding" along with Jesus and his mother--"believed in him".

Had the mother of Jesus not acted, not persisted, not insisted that Jesus "hour" had in fact "come", Jesus would not have "revealed his glory" nor his disciples "believed."

The mother of Jesus is, here in John, akin to the persistent widow in Luke 18:1-18, she whose refusal to take "no" for an answer from the "unjust judge" is given as a model to Jesus' disciples for approaching the "just judge", God. Such an approach may be summed up simply as persistence, perseverance, the disciple's determination to trust that God is good despite experience to the contrary. Such persistence will be rewarded. In fact, it finds in store at the end, whenever that end might be, a much better wine than one might have tasted at the start. It finds, in fact, a wine that makes all other wine forgettable, undesirable, useless. It leads to thanksgiving to the God who withheld from us wine for a time in order that we might taste the truly good wine which God has "kept until now."

So what might this story have to say to youth?

In any culture, and particularly South Africa, waiting for the good wine is quite literally a matter of life and death. If the wine is sex, waiting for a trustworthy companion in life, sealed by marriage, may be the difference between contracting or not contracting a deadly virus. Waiting can be the difference in a context of great need between the lure of illusory wealth in the present or lasting stability through the completion of education. For example, in South Africa we have "Mbeki babies", babies born to young women in order to secure government child grants which constitute their only reliable source of income (so named after the former state president, Thabo Mbeki).

More basically, for youth or whomever, waiting is the task of life. Waiting is faith, not of the passive nature which accepts the world as it is, but the persistent kind--that of the mother of Jesus--which demands the action of a seemingly distant but Just Judge to make right the desperate situations of our world.

-Joe