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

the significance of ascension

Last Thursday I was invited to give the meditation at an Ascension Day service.

I chose to focus on the similarities and differences between the ascension of Jesus Christ (Acts 1:1-11) and an Old Testament ascension, the ascension of Elijah (2 Kings 2:1-18).

Both the ascension of Elijah and the ascension of Jesus take place in the company of others.  Jesus ascends from the presence of the eleven disciples on the Mount of Olives.  Elijah ascends from the presence of his disciple, Elisha, on the far side of the Jordan River.  In the Elijah narrative, however, it is not Elisha alone who is witness to the ascension of his master.  At each stage of the journey toward Elijah being taken up to heaven, a "company of prophets" meets Elisha and asks him, "Do you know that today the Lord will take your master away from you?" (2 Kgs 2:3, 5)  From Jericho, the last point of departure before the Jordan, the company of prophets follows Elijah and Elisha at a distance, presumably to see what will happen (2 Kgs 2:7).  While the company of prophets waits on the Jericho side of the Jordan, Elijah and Elisha cross over to the place from which Elijah then ascends in wind and fire.  Though it was only Elisha who crossed over with his mentor, the company of prophets also seems to have known that Elijah ascended.  When Elisha returns from the other side of the Jordan, the company of prophets recognize not only that "the spirit of Elijah rests on Elisha" but that "it may be that the Spirit of the Lord has caught [Elijah] up and thrown him down on some mountain or in some valley" (2:16).  Thus, even though the company of prophets recognize that spiritual authority has passed from Elijah to another, their proposal to Elisha is to search for Elijah, as though to restore Elijah to his prior role.  Elisha disapproves of their proposal, knowing that Elijah cannot return, yet under pressure permits the company to search.

The search of the company of prophets for the ascended prophet is mirrored in Acts 1 by the "looking up toward heaven" of the disciples after their ascended Lord.  And, just as Elisha warned the company of prophets not to search for Elijah, so "two men in white robes" admonish the disciples not "to stand looking up toward heaven?" (Acts 1:10-11).  Their message to the disciples left behind is a variation on Jesus' last words to them before he was taken up.  The two men assure the disciples that Jesus will come again "in the same way as you saw him go into heaven", which is to say that for the time being Jesus has really departed from them as a person of flesh and blood.  The disciples are not to look into heaven, for they cannot bring back the one whom God has taken away.  Jesus, similarly, had just previously told the disciples that "it is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority" (1:7); just as the disciples' gazing toward heaven could not bring Jesus back, so the disciples' longing for Jesus to now "restore the kingdom to Israel" could not make it so (1:6).  In either case, the disciples are looking for their leader and prophet to assume his prior position in their lives.  Their desire with regard to Jesus is as the desire of the company of prophets with regard to Elijah; they wish to bring back to earth the ascended holy man.

Jesus' plan for his disciples' lives is entirely different from their own.  Rather than doing the work of the kingdom in their stead, Jesus will empower the disciples to do God's work in his stead.  "You", he says to the disciple band, the New Testament company of prophets, "will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (1:8).  The work is no less Jesus', but the power for kingdom work and witness has been transferred from the one prophet of God to the many; witness moves from the flesh and blood body of Christ to the spiritual body of his followers.  By the power of his Holy Spirit, the church will do the work of the kingdom of God until Jesus comes again.   

Thus it is that the disciples realized in their lives what the company of prophets could not realize in theirs.  Because they did not wish to see Elisha's master, their master, taken away, because they went looking for him rather than assume the responsibility of his mission, they did not receive, as Elisha did, the spirit that once rested on Elijah.  But for the mercy of God through his messengers, the disciples of Jesus would have gone the way of the company of prophets.  As it was, however, they remembered and heeded the words of Jesus "not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father" (Acts 1:4).  Their commitment to follow Jesus was met with the power to follow Jesus from Jerusalem into the world at Pentecost.

In our own time, the church, like the company of prophets and the disciples gazing toward heaven, often rather cedes the work of God to holy individuals.  The church too would rather search for Elijah than take up his mantle (see 2 Kgs 2:13).  As a result, the spirit that might have passed to the whole company of God's people passes only to solitary Elishas.  The Protestant ideal of the priesthood of all believers goes unfulfilled.  In the words of John Howard Yoder, the church of "no one ungifted, no one not called, no one not empowered, and no one dominated" is "the reformation that has yet to happen."

One final word on the ascension of Jesus Christ: What is the significance of the ascension?  The ascension lies between resurrection and Pentecost.  The ascension makes possible the conferring of the power of the resurrection of Jesus to his followers at Pentecost.  If Jesus does not go away, he cannot come to us by his Spirit.  If he does not leave us empty through his ascension, he cannot fill us by his Spirit.  Perhaps then the ascension of Jesus is a call to the church for preparation and purification in anticipation of empowerment for service and mission in the world.

-Joe

The quote from John Howard Yoder comes from Body Politics: Five Practices of the Christian Community Before the Watching World (Scottdale, PA: Herald Press, 1992), pp. 59-60.

law in light of law

Earlier this month at Bethany Bible School I taught on the topic of Law, or the course in our curriculum on the Torah or Pentateuch. The eight-hour course (in one day) is designed 1) to give students a framework for making sense of the material in the five books; 2) to gain understanding of one particular Old Testament law; 3) to gain understanding of how Jesus interprets that OT law in a gospel text. For this year, I selected Deuteronomy 25:5-10 and Mark 12:18-27 to accomplish the goals of points 2 and 3.

Deuteronomy 25:5-10 spells out the procedure for what is known as levirate marriage, or the marrying of a deceased man's widow to his brother. The purpose of such marriage is defined in the law itself as “the perpetuation of the [dead] brother's name in Israel” (25:7). Indeed, the concern for the continuation of the deceased's name appears three times in the text: 1) in the introduction to the law, “so that his name may not be blotted out of Israel” (25:6); 2) in the conclusion, “This is what is done to a man who does not build his brother's house” (25:9); 3) centrally, in the words of the widow pleading her case before the elders at the gate, “My husband's brother refuses to perpetuate his brother's name in Israel” (25:7). Although elsewhere in the Old Testament the law of levirate marriage is portrayed as an initiative of the widow to gain security for herself through offspring (Gen 38:1-26; Ruth), the Deuteronomy text seems not to foreground the care of the widow but the perpetuation of the deceased man's name. Though it may not be insignificant to the cause of justice for the widow that by law the widow carries out the public shaming of the brother who refuses to take her in marriage (what if all men who did not fulfill their responsibilities toward women were similarly shamed, rather than the woman bearing the shame of society by herself?), nonetheless the primary offense of failure to marry a brother's widow is stated in the law by the widow herself—the failure of the brother “to perpetuate his brother's name in Israel” (25:7). The perpetuation of the name, I argue, is the central concern of this law.

Having established with the students that the perpetuation of the deceased brother's name does appear to be the text's central concern, one older woman offered her opinion of the text: “I so don't like this lesson.” It was perhaps not the practice of levirate marriage that offended her, which is even still not unknown to our students or resides in memory in the not-so-distant past; rather, the prescription of the widow “spitting in the face” (25:9) of the her husband's brother who refuses to take her in marriage struck the woman as not in accord with the broader concern of the Torah for “holiness” and “love”. The student's disdain for the text was encouraging to me, not because my goal is for them to disdain particular texts, but because she displayed the ability to read the text in the light of other texts, in canonical perspective. For many of our students, the Bible is an authority whose commandments are beyond interpretation (perhaps in North America we have a slightly different problem: the erosion of the notion of the Bible's authority). The woman's comment thus showed an ability to critique the text in light of the Text.

The woman made one other, highly imaginative comment. The brother who refused to marry the widow, the brother whom the widow by law may publicly disgrace, is, in the words of the woman, the righteous one who belonged to the age of the resurrection. Why did the woman make this comment, and upon what was her reference to the resurrection based?

In the gospel text that appropriates the levirate law, Mark 12:18-27, Jesus tells the Sadducees that “when they rise from the dead, they neither marry nor are given in marriage” (12:25). The man who did not wish to marry his brother's widow, therefore, belonged before his time to the resurrection in which “they neither marry nor are given in marriage”. In our student's perspective, the disgraced brother was the righteous one; the one shamed according to the law was the one vindicated by the word of Jesus.

Whether or not one accepts the woman's midrash, it is certain that Jesus disagreed with the Sadducees' application of Deuteronomy 25:5-10 to the issue of resurrection if not the main concern of that particular law itself. The Sadducees, those “who say there is no resurrection,” applied the levirate law to a hypothetical and highly unlikely situation in order to deny the resurrection and to humiliate Jesus (Mark 12:18ff.). Their story, in which seven brothers, each in turn taking his brother's wife following his brother's death and failing to produce offspring for his brother, somehow, in the Sadducees' mind, proved the impossibility of resurrection. The proof for the Sadducees seemed to lie in the unassailability of life by “natural” means. In Sadduceean perspective, life continued or went forward into future generations through sons, those who would carry on or “remember” the name of their father in Israel. Without offspring, the continuation of life through the perpetuation of the name was an impossibility. For the Sadducees, fathers only lived on through their sons, ancestors through their descendants who remembered them. The only possibility for a kind of “everlasting life” was via reproduction. To the extent that Deuteronomy 25:5-10 also attaches ultimate concern to the perpetuation of the brother's name, the Sadducees not incorrectly understood it as the guardian of the one way of “eternal” life.

Jesus, of course, rejected the Sadducees' way of thinking and perhaps with it the central concern of Deuteronomy 25:5-10. For Jesus, eternal life was not secured by one's capacity for offspring but through the faithfulness of God. In Jesus' perspective, human beings do not cause their own names to be remembered in perpetuity; God, as he promised Abram on the heels of the disaster of those who tried to “make a name for [themselves]” at Babel (Gen 11:4), will “make your name great” (Gen 12:2). Abram, the one whom God called to obedience in the very years of his childlessness, is the same Abraham whose name God remembered when God appeared to Moses in “the story about the bush”--the very story from the Law (Exodus 3) that Jesus used to combat the Sadducees' account of eternal life through the law. If God remembers the righteous dead, those who “walked before [God]” that they might be “blameless” (Gen 17:1), then the righteous dead continue in God. Life is secured by the God who raises the dead—not by human beings who, through all manners of desperation, attempt to “raise up” offspring for the sake of a name (Mark 12:19).

One might see all kinds of applications of this textual debate to the realities of traditional and modern life in Africa, North America, or elsewhere. I leave that work to the reader. But in terms of an understanding of biblical law and its authority for our lives, Christians still have much to learn from Christ's way of reading law in the light of law through the knowledge of “the scriptures” and “the power of God” (Mark 12:24).

-Joe

meeting the Lord

It is a not unknown counterargument to the modern doctrine of the rapture to point out the precise first-century meaning of the Greek word apantesis, "meeting", in the context of 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18. Even so, recent reflection on this text in light of my experience of certain African cultural practices of hospitality would seem to bolster just that scholarly counterargument.

The doctrine of the rapture, a sudden snatching away of believers to heaven to escape the destruction of the earth, is extrapolated from Paul's assurance to the Thessalonians that "we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up in the clouds together with them to meet the Lord in the air; and so we will be with the Lord forever" (1 Th 4:17).   In the immediate background to this verse are "the dead in Christ"; those living, those remaining, those "left" are left in relation to those who have died.  Paul wants the living not to be "uninformed about those who have died, so that [they] may not grieve as others do who have no hope" (4:13).  Thus Paul informs the Thessalonians that their dead in Christ "will rise first", that is, just before or as the living "are caught up in the clouds with them" at the Lord's coming.  Together, the living and the dead in Christ will "meet the Lord in the air."  The Greek word apantesis which the NRSV translates as a verb, "meet", is actually a noun--the living and the dead in Christ will be "caught up . . . into a meeting of the Lord in the air" (4:17).  

The critical point is that Paul has appropriated apantesis, a word from the realm of politics, to describe in anticipation the scene at the coming of the resurrected Jesus.  Just as a delegation of representatives ventured outside their city to welcome an approaching dignitary in the Greek world of the first century, just as they held an apantesis with the king as he was coming, so the living and the dead in Christ will have "a meeting with the Lord in the air" as he "descends from heaven" (4:16).  As the initial reception of the king took place outside the gates of the city to which he was coming, so believers will welcome their Lord "in the air", in the middle zone between departure and destination.  For indeed, just as the purpose of an entourage is to accompany the dignitary to his destination, so believers will not remain with their Lord "in the air".  The middle space is but the point of reception; the goal is to bring the king into his city.

As I prepare a lesson on this text for teaching on eschatology to African church leaders, I am reminded of the welcome we and a group of American church visitors received from a rural African church last month.  Like the first-century delegation coming out to meet the arriving king, so these African Christians lined our pathway outside the gates of the homestead and church premises.  Moreover, just as 1 Thessalonians paints the scene of the Lord's coming with shouts, calls, and trumpets, so we too were met with singing and instrumentation (in this case, drumming).  Of course, the point of all this was not to remain with us outside the gate, never to enter the house; the inhabitants of this village were welcoming us in order to bring us in. Inside a banquet was prepared for us.

If therefore, both the first-century practice of apantesis and an African way of "meeting" in the 21st century shed light on the New Testament's description of the Lord's coming, then an escape of believers to their Lord before the earth's cataclysmic destruction seems not to be the stuff of Christian hope.  Rather, that hope which is truly Christian "catches us up" in making our world a place in which the Lord is pleased to dwell when he comes.

-Joe

joy in the judgment

Today I've been studying Ecclesiastes 3:16-22 in preparation for an upcoming lesson.

In this passage, Qoholeth, the "Teacher" of Ecclesiastes (1:1), ruminates on the fate of human beings.  The teacher does not believe in life after death.  The teacher does not share the voice of Isaiah, that those who die in the Lord "shall live, their corpses shall rise" (Isa 26:19), nor the hope of Daniel that "many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to everlasting shame and contempt" (Dan 12:2).  Far from these rare affirmations of resurrection in the prophetic and apocalyptic literature of the Old Testament, the wisdom of Ecclesiastes is that human beings "are but animals" (3:18).  Humans and animals share the same "fate"; they are one in spirit (or breath) and flesh ("dust") (3:19).  Perhaps in rebuttal of a more optimistic view of human destiny, the teacher sees little reason to hope that "the human spirit goes upward and the spirit of animals goes downward" (3:21).  His summary is that "all go to one place" (3:20).

If the teacher's conclusion on the fate of humans and animals was that they die to "one" and the same "place", it was his vexation that "in the place of judgment, wickedness was there, and in the place of righteousness, wickedness was there" (3:16) that led him to that conclusion.  The troubling proposition of the one and same place of judgment (or "justice", Hebrew mishpat) and wickedness, of good and evil, of saints and sinners, leads him to "the one place" of humans and animals.  Because wickedness flourishes in the place of righteous judgment,  in death humans go to the same place as animals.  In the teacher's mind, the reality of the one place of wickedness and righteousness is somehow related to the one place of humans and animals.

What is the relation?  In the teacher's mind, the one place of death follows from the same place of justice and wickedness because "God will judge the righteous and the wicked" (3:17).  The teacher, far from having abandoned hope, clings to faith in the judgment of God.  The wicked's standing, not falling, in the place of judgment, would seem to be evidence of the injustice and impotence of the world's Creator--if but for one equally conspicuous phenomenon.  For, just as the teacher has observed that it is common for the wicked to sit in the judgment seat, lording it over the just, he has observed that all human beings--righteous and wicked--die with the animals.  Just as surely as, in death, "humans have no advantage over the animals", so the wicked, by fact of their humanity, have no advantage over the righteous. Because of the animals, the place of judgment is not in the end overrun by wickedness; the witness of the animals suggests that a righteous God will yet pull the wicked from their thrones.

Consequently, while the perspective of the teacher is not exactly resurrection hope, it is nonetheless biblical faith. If the teacher could not affirm as much as Isaiah and Daniel, Paul and, of course, Jesus (“I am the Resurrection”) (Jn 11:25), he does, like them, “entrust himself to the one who judges justly” (1 Pet 2:23). Such trust, moreover, commends a distinctive course of living. For Jesus, trusting God for judgment sealed his own perseverance in love that refuses to return violence for violence. Paul, confident in God's vindication of the righteous through the resurrection of Jesus, counseled the Corinthians to “be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord” (1 Cor 15:58). The teacher wrote that “there is nothing better than that all should enjoy their work, for that is their lot” (3:22). Unless we view enjoyment of the work that God has given us to do as evidence of selfishness (as though working for God should not bring us happiness), the teacher's course of action is a welcome contribution to the biblical canon. Joy in our living is not the sign of self-satisfaction but of our justification by faith in God.

-Joe

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Joe

"What they said pleased the whole community"

We just had the privilege of having Hlobisile Nxumalo, director of Acts of Faith, a youth program in Swaziland, lead our workshop March 1-2 at Bethany Bible School.  Hlobi is trained as an accountant, but her broader passion seems to be management and, in particular, management as it pertains to the church.  She led the students of BBS in thinking about how they lead and participate in meetings in their churches.  She emphasized processes of communal decision making and building consensus in the church on divisive issues.

In her presentation on Saturday, Hlobi drew our attention to Acts 6:1-7, the text which tells of the choosing of the first deacons in the early church.  Hlobi stressed verse 5a: "What they said pleased the whole community."  Within the text, verse 5a might be quickly overlooked, a throwaway comment on the way toward a greater point.  I suspected, nevertheless, that in fact Hlobi had directed our eyes toward the very structural heart of the text--and thus the interpretive key to its message as a unit.

As I investigated the structure of Acts 6:1-7, I found an unmistakable inclusio, a two-part frame marking off the text as a distinct unit of thought.  The text begins by emphasizing that, "during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number" (6:1); it ends with a similar thought: "the number of the disciples increased greatly in Jerusalem" (6:7).  In other words, the inclusio in the text pertains to the growth of the church; the church moves from growth to growth.  Growth is the frame of the text.

This is not to say, however, that the growth of the church is something to be taken for granted, an inexorable harvest of increase until disciples of Jesus cover the earth as the waters cover the sea.  On the contrary, the growth of the church passes through many troubles and trials, progressions and recessions more akin to the tides crashing on the beach during the course of a day.  Thus we read that, "during those days, when the disciples were increasing in number, the Hellenists complained against the Hebrews because their widows were being neglected in the daily distribution of food" (6:1).  With an initial burst of growth comes conflict.  Precisely on the heels of triumph comes frustration.  The sailing of the church is not smooth.  As the disciples were increasing, the Hellenists were arguing against the Hebrews over the equality of care for widows.  The church increased; the church was dividing.

The conflict over equal care, a matter of justice, might have destroyed the church, fractured the hard-won work of Christ's cross which had broken down the dividing wall of hostility between Hebrew and Hellenist.  Instead, however, the conflict was an extension within the life of the church of the cross of its Lord, an opportunity to confront the powers of injustice and dispel them through perseverance in love for others.  So it was that "the twelve", the acknowledged leaders of the church, "called together the whole community of disciples" and proposed a distinct course of action toward justice (6:2, 3-4).  Their proposal--the appointment of deacons (servant leaders) to be responsible for the distribution of food to Hellenist and Hebrew alike--"pleased the whole community" (6:5a).  The community which the twelve had "called together" to discuss the problem of injustice was the same community which was "pleased" by the appointment of deacons.

One of Hlobi's main points, therefore, was that the transformation of the conflict, signaled in the story by the satisfaction of the "whole community" (v. 5a), was the involvement of the "whole community" in the decision-making process.  Because the twelve had "called together the whole community", the "whole community" was "pleased".  The solution to the problem belonged to the whole community as much as it belonged to the twelve.

In addition, we might add the following lessons from this text:

1. Don't rest on your laurels.  Times of frustration are bound to follow times of triumph.  Frustration need not have the final word, but the church will need to work through conflict.  In the positive, this might be expressed, in the parlance of the New Testament's apocalyptic texts, as the injunction to "Keep awake" or "Here is a call for the endurance and faith of the saints" (Mk 13:35, 37; Rev 13:10).

2. Growth is dependent upon maintenance.  The increase of the community is related to the health of the community.  The church's inner life affects its outer witness.  The life and processes of the community have a direct affect upon its capacity for attracting outsiders.  The church must thus attend to its inner life, to the maintaining of justice among its members, and to the spiritual practices that enable it to attend to the needs of members.  Thus the twelve were wise in not forsaking "the word of God in order to wait on tables" even as the "waiting on tables" through the appointment of deacons was the solution to the needs of its members.  Spirituality and justice are the requirements for lasting growth.

-Joe