Passage: 1 Corinthians 15:35-58
Paul’s concluding section on the resurrection deals with the resurrection body itself. Our understanding of resurrection has been (unfortunately) informed by centuries’ worth of folklore about reanimated and revivified bodies. When we think of the resurrection of the body we picture the bodies we’ve buried in the ground emerging as we last saw them – the old body simply awakened and given new life. This leads to all kinds of questions about what to do with the bodies of our deceased loved ones and what kinds of instructions to leave regarding our remains. What about people whose bodies have been horribly disfigured or even obliterated in death? What about those who have gone through elaborate embalming procedures? What about those who have been cremated? If you’re going to come back with the body you had when you left, what’s the best way to ensure the most attractive, or at least intact, afterlife?
To those of us who lose sleep over these questions (maybe you hadn’t until today), Paul says, “Don’t be silly!” Our reference point is Jesus. Although we’re not provided much by way of a metaphysical explanation of his resurrection, we’re given a few clues that Paul, in turn, fleshes out. What we know about the resurrected Jesus is that he has a new body. The Gospels report that those of Jesus’ friends who saw him didn’t immediately recognize him. This suggests that although Jesus is Jesus, his resurrection body isn’t exactly like the one he died in. Paul extrapolates to say that Jesus died in a body that was flawed, made of the stuff of earth, and perishable; he was raised in a body that is perfect, made of the stuff of heaven, and imperishable.
Paul uses the metaphor of seeds and planting to explain. He says, “You put a seed in the ground. The essence of the seed emerges later. But it’s new – unrecognizable as the seed that was planted. In fact, in the process of planting, germination, and growth to new life the seed as we know it is completely consumed. Yet the essence of the seed comes to life as the new plant. So it is with us, death, and resurrection. Old body goes into the ground. The essence of who you are comes to expression in something new, even as the old is utterly consumed.”
The promise of the resurrection takes the fear out of life and the sting out of death. In Christ the life we live now is the life we will live for eternity. Death is not the end of your best life but your passage into it. Be encouraged. As Paul says, “Stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.”
Friday, April 29, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Resurrection, Part 2
Passage: 1 Corinthians 15:12-34
Paul continues his discourse on the resurrection by placing the resurrection at the center of true faith. It’s as though Paul addresses ahead of time an argument that has been raised ever since: “Did the Resurrection really happen? And does it really matter whether it did?” Throughout the history of the church there have been “Christians” who claim that it’s enough to believe in Jesus’ resurrection as a “spiritual” resurrection (Jesus rose in spirit but not in body) or a “symbolic” resurrection (Jesus lives on in his teaching and the faith of his followers). These arguments are based on the presupposition that bodily resurrection is impossible.
Paul argues that bodily resurrection is at the heart of the Christian faith. He says, “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith.” The Christian faith is effective not as a framework for moral behavior or as a means to your best life here and now. The Christian faith is a life-transforming belief in resurrection – the first resurrection of Jesus as a guarantee of the resurrection of all those who believe in him. Paul claims that our only lasting hope is the promise that there is life beyond the grave. Without the resurrection there is only this life – a life fraught with the pain of the body, the despair of the soul, and the fear of death. The promise of the resurrection gives us patience for the pain, hope in place of despair, and courage in the face of death. It sets us free to live fully now, and guarantees a fuller life in eternity than any we could achieve here. Paul concludes this section with an exhortation to live for eternity rather than settle for the impermanent pleasures of the now. The promise of the resurrection gives us what we need to hold out for that better life that is still to come.
Paul continues his discourse on the resurrection by placing the resurrection at the center of true faith. It’s as though Paul addresses ahead of time an argument that has been raised ever since: “Did the Resurrection really happen? And does it really matter whether it did?” Throughout the history of the church there have been “Christians” who claim that it’s enough to believe in Jesus’ resurrection as a “spiritual” resurrection (Jesus rose in spirit but not in body) or a “symbolic” resurrection (Jesus lives on in his teaching and the faith of his followers). These arguments are based on the presupposition that bodily resurrection is impossible.
Paul argues that bodily resurrection is at the heart of the Christian faith. He says, “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith.” The Christian faith is effective not as a framework for moral behavior or as a means to your best life here and now. The Christian faith is a life-transforming belief in resurrection – the first resurrection of Jesus as a guarantee of the resurrection of all those who believe in him. Paul claims that our only lasting hope is the promise that there is life beyond the grave. Without the resurrection there is only this life – a life fraught with the pain of the body, the despair of the soul, and the fear of death. The promise of the resurrection gives us patience for the pain, hope in place of despair, and courage in the face of death. It sets us free to live fully now, and guarantees a fuller life in eternity than any we could achieve here. Paul concludes this section with an exhortation to live for eternity rather than settle for the impermanent pleasures of the now. The promise of the resurrection gives us what we need to hold out for that better life that is still to come.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Resurrection, Part 1
Passage: 1 Corinthians 15:1-11
In 1 Corinthians 15 the Apostle Paul teaches intensively on the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is significant that Paul begins not with a treatise on the reality of the resurrection (how it happened and why you should believe) but with a personal testimony of the resurrection’s transformative power. Paul says, “I am a changed man because I met the risen Lord Jesus.” He says, “Jesus died for our sins; he was buried; he was raised after three days (according to the Scriptures!); he then appeared to the Twelve disciples, then to a larger group of his other followers. Finally he appeared to me.” Paul adds that he is “as one abnormally born” and “the least of the apostles”, having received the revelation of Jesus Christ later than everyone else. Rather than feel disenfranchised by this, however, Paul is overjoyed. Why? Because even though he didn’t meet Jesus during the Savior’s life on earth, he still got to meet the Savior. Better late than never. And it could have been never. Paul had been an enemy of Jesus and a persecutor of the church. He didn’t deserve to be counted among Jesus’ friends. But Jesus came back for Paul, revealed himself as risen Lord, and saved his life. Paul testifies to the power of the resurrection at work in his own life – “I once was lost, but now am found; was blind but now I see!”
Paul includes his listeners – then and now – among those “abnormally born.” We didn’t meet Jesus face-to-face. But we have received the Good News of the resurrection. We have been included as recipients of all the benefits thereof. Our sins died with Jesus. With Jesus we are raised to new life. By the grace of God we have a share in the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
In 1 Corinthians 15 the Apostle Paul teaches intensively on the resurrection of Jesus Christ. It is significant that Paul begins not with a treatise on the reality of the resurrection (how it happened and why you should believe) but with a personal testimony of the resurrection’s transformative power. Paul says, “I am a changed man because I met the risen Lord Jesus.” He says, “Jesus died for our sins; he was buried; he was raised after three days (according to the Scriptures!); he then appeared to the Twelve disciples, then to a larger group of his other followers. Finally he appeared to me.” Paul adds that he is “as one abnormally born” and “the least of the apostles”, having received the revelation of Jesus Christ later than everyone else. Rather than feel disenfranchised by this, however, Paul is overjoyed. Why? Because even though he didn’t meet Jesus during the Savior’s life on earth, he still got to meet the Savior. Better late than never. And it could have been never. Paul had been an enemy of Jesus and a persecutor of the church. He didn’t deserve to be counted among Jesus’ friends. But Jesus came back for Paul, revealed himself as risen Lord, and saved his life. Paul testifies to the power of the resurrection at work in his own life – “I once was lost, but now am found; was blind but now I see!”
Paul includes his listeners – then and now – among those “abnormally born.” We didn’t meet Jesus face-to-face. But we have received the Good News of the resurrection. We have been included as recipients of all the benefits thereof. Our sins died with Jesus. With Jesus we are raised to new life. By the grace of God we have a share in the resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Hell
Passage: Q&A 44
Q. Why does the creed add, "He descended to hell"?
A. To assure me in times of personal crisis and temptation that Christ my Lord, by suffering unspeakable anguish, pain, and terror of soul, especially on the cross but also earlier, has delivered me from the anguish and torment of hell.
This is one of the most difficult passages of the Heidelberg Catechism. It raises a bunch of questions/dilemmas that both confound our logic and challenge our assumptions about Hell itself. Many have responded by simply calling for the removal of this clause from the Apostle’s Creed and Catechism; or perhaps changing the language to say “the grave” rather than “Hell”. There are good reasons for keeping it the way it is.
Problems arise when we think of Hell as a geographical location rather than a state of being. Hell is referred to repeatedly in the New Testament. However, the writers of the New Testament (and Jesus himself) use terms and descriptors that are either familiar to the culture of the day or closest approximations of an indescribable reality. Centuries of literal interpretation and creative license have given us literary and artistic depictions of Hell that are impositions on what the Bible actually says about it.
An illustration is Jesus’ parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31). Here Jesus tells a story that touches on the destination of those who have ignored God’s Word (or Law and Prophets). In it, the condemned rich man experiences torment; burning; and an unbridgeable chasm between him and Heaven. Jesus’ imagery evokes an actual place. But it could also describe a state of being – the state of being irrevocably removed from the presence of God.
Human beings were created to live in intimate fellowship with God the Creator. Although the fall into sin resulted in a barrier that limits our sense of connectedness with God, all living people live in a world whose every square inch is governed and inhabited by God. In short, while alive all people experience some benefit of God’s presence and God’s grace – even in the midst of suffering and hardship. This means that while alive any person can appeal to God’s grace and know the connection with God for which we were created.
The worst thing any person can experience is the severance of this connection. A person removed from God (the ruler of Creation and the source of life) would experience unparalleled alienation and the disintegration of body and soul - the existential equivalent of being consumed by fire. This is Hell. Can a person experience “Hell on earth”? No, because on this side of the grave every person is, cognizant of it or not, in the presence of God.
There’s one exception: Jesus. When Jesus cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” he was experiencing the one thing you and I should never have to: Hell. Utter separation from God the Father. He descended not to a place, but a state – the state of being abandoned by God. If you have embraced Jesus as Savior, then Hell does not exist for you. You will never know what it’s like to be forsaken by God. He is now, and will always be, with you. Jesus went to Hell so you and I would never have to.
Q. Why does the creed add, "He descended to hell"?
A. To assure me in times of personal crisis and temptation that Christ my Lord, by suffering unspeakable anguish, pain, and terror of soul, especially on the cross but also earlier, has delivered me from the anguish and torment of hell.
This is one of the most difficult passages of the Heidelberg Catechism. It raises a bunch of questions/dilemmas that both confound our logic and challenge our assumptions about Hell itself. Many have responded by simply calling for the removal of this clause from the Apostle’s Creed and Catechism; or perhaps changing the language to say “the grave” rather than “Hell”. There are good reasons for keeping it the way it is.
Problems arise when we think of Hell as a geographical location rather than a state of being. Hell is referred to repeatedly in the New Testament. However, the writers of the New Testament (and Jesus himself) use terms and descriptors that are either familiar to the culture of the day or closest approximations of an indescribable reality. Centuries of literal interpretation and creative license have given us literary and artistic depictions of Hell that are impositions on what the Bible actually says about it.
An illustration is Jesus’ parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31). Here Jesus tells a story that touches on the destination of those who have ignored God’s Word (or Law and Prophets). In it, the condemned rich man experiences torment; burning; and an unbridgeable chasm between him and Heaven. Jesus’ imagery evokes an actual place. But it could also describe a state of being – the state of being irrevocably removed from the presence of God.
Human beings were created to live in intimate fellowship with God the Creator. Although the fall into sin resulted in a barrier that limits our sense of connectedness with God, all living people live in a world whose every square inch is governed and inhabited by God. In short, while alive all people experience some benefit of God’s presence and God’s grace – even in the midst of suffering and hardship. This means that while alive any person can appeal to God’s grace and know the connection with God for which we were created.
The worst thing any person can experience is the severance of this connection. A person removed from God (the ruler of Creation and the source of life) would experience unparalleled alienation and the disintegration of body and soul - the existential equivalent of being consumed by fire. This is Hell. Can a person experience “Hell on earth”? No, because on this side of the grave every person is, cognizant of it or not, in the presence of God.
There’s one exception: Jesus. When Jesus cried out on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” he was experiencing the one thing you and I should never have to: Hell. Utter separation from God the Father. He descended not to a place, but a state – the state of being abandoned by God. If you have embraced Jesus as Savior, then Hell does not exist for you. You will never know what it’s like to be forsaken by God. He is now, and will always be, with you. Jesus went to Hell so you and I would never have to.
Monday, April 18, 2011
No Condemnation
Passage: Romans 8:1-17 (ESV)
In the Book of Romans, the Apostle Paul spends a great deal of time highlighting the “before and after” picture of our life in Jesus Christ. Throughout the book he uses the metaphors of slavery and freedom. “Before we met Jesus,” says Paul, “we were all slaves. Jesus set us free.” But free from what, exactly?
In Romans 8 Paul spells it out. We are, by nature, slaves to the flesh. The Greek word Paul uses is sarx. The NIV (which our church uses in worship) translates sarx “sinful nature”. Although this interpretation draws out one facet of Paul’s argument, it is misleading. Sarx is best understood within this context translated, simply, “flesh”. Paul uses the term to refer to our created, flesh-and-blood human nature. Paul argues that the sarx leads us into sin. But he does not contend that the flesh is intrinsically sinful or evil.
Our flesh, as it turns out, is not bad. It’s part of our God-given, good nature. There are long-standing Christian traditions that have treated any urge, need, or pleasure of the body as sinful. Members of those traditions believe that to be truly spiritual you have to avoid anything enjoyable – even deny yourself the enjoyment of anything physical. God gave us the gift of bodies that enjoy; furthermore he gave us the capacity to feel pleasure when our life-sustaining needs are satisfied.
That being said, our flesh clearly gets us into trouble. In Romans 8 Paul draws an all-important distinction between flesh and Spirit. Paul addresses the church, a community of people who have declared their allegiance to Jesus Christ. So doing, they have become hosts of Christ’s Spirit – the Holy Spirit lives in their hearts. “If this is you,” says Paul, “you’re no longer driven by your flesh. Your flesh no longer dictates your actions. You’re driven by the Spirit. You are set free to make decisions not based on your every urge and instinct, but based on the impulses of the Spirit of God.” This is an essential part of the Good News.
Why? Anyone who has lived with an addiction or struggled to kick an unhealthy habit can answer this question. If we don’t have a competing driving force, our flesh quickly masters us. We become slaves to our physical appetites. And whereas indulging our senses is fun for awhile, it doesn’t take long to run its course. There comes a point at which bingeing stops being pleasurable. But if your flesh has taken over, you can’t stop. The pursuit of pleasure becomes a drab treadmill from which you “can’t get no satisfaction” and you can’t get no freedom. Over time it starts to kill you – physically and spiritually. Slavery to your flesh is a form of God’s condemnation of sin. Paul mentions in Romans 1 that God has judged people by "giving them over to their flesh." This is slavery. The end result of a lifetime of slavery is ultimate condemnation – God simply abandons those who have given themselves to the flesh.
But there’s hope. Paul says, “Jesus Christ took on our flesh. He died on our behalf. When he rose to new life, he set us free from sin.” In fact Paul says Christ condemned sin in the flesh. When Jesus rose from the grave, he had new flesh. "If you’re in Christ," says Paul, "you have new flesh, too." Flesh that no longer gives itself to every urge, but is aligned with the will of God. Guided by the Spirit, our needs, urges and desires find their proper place and come to proper expression. Far from being condemned, our flesh is redeemed. Made what God intended it to be. Within the context of right relationship with God, through Jesus Christ, our flesh takes its rightful place. It steps out of the driver’s seat and allows itself to be controlled and guided by the Spirit of God.
In the Book of Romans, the Apostle Paul spends a great deal of time highlighting the “before and after” picture of our life in Jesus Christ. Throughout the book he uses the metaphors of slavery and freedom. “Before we met Jesus,” says Paul, “we were all slaves. Jesus set us free.” But free from what, exactly?
In Romans 8 Paul spells it out. We are, by nature, slaves to the flesh. The Greek word Paul uses is sarx. The NIV (which our church uses in worship) translates sarx “sinful nature”. Although this interpretation draws out one facet of Paul’s argument, it is misleading. Sarx is best understood within this context translated, simply, “flesh”. Paul uses the term to refer to our created, flesh-and-blood human nature. Paul argues that the sarx leads us into sin. But he does not contend that the flesh is intrinsically sinful or evil.
Our flesh, as it turns out, is not bad. It’s part of our God-given, good nature. There are long-standing Christian traditions that have treated any urge, need, or pleasure of the body as sinful. Members of those traditions believe that to be truly spiritual you have to avoid anything enjoyable – even deny yourself the enjoyment of anything physical. God gave us the gift of bodies that enjoy; furthermore he gave us the capacity to feel pleasure when our life-sustaining needs are satisfied.
That being said, our flesh clearly gets us into trouble. In Romans 8 Paul draws an all-important distinction between flesh and Spirit. Paul addresses the church, a community of people who have declared their allegiance to Jesus Christ. So doing, they have become hosts of Christ’s Spirit – the Holy Spirit lives in their hearts. “If this is you,” says Paul, “you’re no longer driven by your flesh. Your flesh no longer dictates your actions. You’re driven by the Spirit. You are set free to make decisions not based on your every urge and instinct, but based on the impulses of the Spirit of God.” This is an essential part of the Good News.
Why? Anyone who has lived with an addiction or struggled to kick an unhealthy habit can answer this question. If we don’t have a competing driving force, our flesh quickly masters us. We become slaves to our physical appetites. And whereas indulging our senses is fun for awhile, it doesn’t take long to run its course. There comes a point at which bingeing stops being pleasurable. But if your flesh has taken over, you can’t stop. The pursuit of pleasure becomes a drab treadmill from which you “can’t get no satisfaction” and you can’t get no freedom. Over time it starts to kill you – physically and spiritually. Slavery to your flesh is a form of God’s condemnation of sin. Paul mentions in Romans 1 that God has judged people by "giving them over to their flesh." This is slavery. The end result of a lifetime of slavery is ultimate condemnation – God simply abandons those who have given themselves to the flesh.
But there’s hope. Paul says, “Jesus Christ took on our flesh. He died on our behalf. When he rose to new life, he set us free from sin.” In fact Paul says Christ condemned sin in the flesh. When Jesus rose from the grave, he had new flesh. "If you’re in Christ," says Paul, "you have new flesh, too." Flesh that no longer gives itself to every urge, but is aligned with the will of God. Guided by the Spirit, our needs, urges and desires find their proper place and come to proper expression. Far from being condemned, our flesh is redeemed. Made what God intended it to be. Within the context of right relationship with God, through Jesus Christ, our flesh takes its rightful place. It steps out of the driver’s seat and allows itself to be controlled and guided by the Spirit of God.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Gethsemane
Passage: Matthew 26:31-44
One great source of Jesus’ earthly suffering is the tension between his two natures. Jesus is human, clothed in flesh that constantly whispers to him of comfort and self-preservation. Jesus is divine, embodying a will that is inextricable from that of God the Father. It’s the will of the Father that birthed the Son into human flesh and human space. And it’s the will of the Father that draws Jesus inexorably to the cross.
At Gethsemane Jesus’ flesh cries out for some alternative. He knows that God’s eternal redemption plan leads here. His heart beats with love for a race whose only hope is this course. Yet his flesh anticipates the whip; the thorns; the nails. And everything in him screams “No!” Everything, that is, but the thing that brought him here. Here to the garden. Here to the cross; to the grave; to the terrible separation that seals once and for all the promise of salvation. The very will of the Father, who so loved the world that he gave his only Son.
One great source of Jesus’ earthly suffering is the tension between his two natures. Jesus is human, clothed in flesh that constantly whispers to him of comfort and self-preservation. Jesus is divine, embodying a will that is inextricable from that of God the Father. It’s the will of the Father that birthed the Son into human flesh and human space. And it’s the will of the Father that draws Jesus inexorably to the cross.
At Gethsemane Jesus’ flesh cries out for some alternative. He knows that God’s eternal redemption plan leads here. His heart beats with love for a race whose only hope is this course. Yet his flesh anticipates the whip; the thorns; the nails. And everything in him screams “No!” Everything, that is, but the thing that brought him here. Here to the garden. Here to the cross; to the grave; to the terrible separation that seals once and for all the promise of salvation. The very will of the Father, who so loved the world that he gave his only Son.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Suffered
Passage: Lord's Day 15
For the past two months I’ve suffered with tennis elbow (no, I don’t play tennis, I just have the elbow). It’s surprisingly painful, and affects almost every movement of my arm – from opening doors to brushing teeth to pouring milk. It’s no fun having persistent physical pain. Not that I can complain. To this point I’ve lived a relatively pain-free life. I’ve enjoyed the ability to engage in a lot of physical activity. I’ve been spared any serious illness. I’ve had it pretty good.
But I’m getting older (why didn’t anyone tell me this was going to happen?). My body doesn’t bounce back the way it did when I was 21. Repetitive activities like shoveling snow and lifting small children take their toll. My body hurts.
In Lord’s Day 15 the Heidelberg Catechism deals with Jesus’ suffering. Lord’s Day 15 argues that Jesus suffered not only on the cross (which we take as a given) but throughout his life on earth. This may seem like hyperbole. Did Jesus really suffer “during his whole life”? Well, let’s think about it. Life begins with the pain of being thrust into light and noise and cold after enjoying the safe haven of the womb. This is followed by the pain of being handled by much bigger people who aren’t always as gentle as they could be. The pain of emerging teeth; skinned knees and bitten lips. Growing pains. Physical and emotional bruises from playmates and peers. Being born into human flesh and growing up in human space, God subjected himself to pain. Jesus suffered in ways that, prior to the incarnation, God had known only vicariously. Jesus’ suffering began at birth and reached its climax on the cross. Jesus suffered with us by partaking of our full humanity before he suffered for us as the sacrifice for our sin.
For the past two months I’ve suffered with tennis elbow (no, I don’t play tennis, I just have the elbow). It’s surprisingly painful, and affects almost every movement of my arm – from opening doors to brushing teeth to pouring milk. It’s no fun having persistent physical pain. Not that I can complain. To this point I’ve lived a relatively pain-free life. I’ve enjoyed the ability to engage in a lot of physical activity. I’ve been spared any serious illness. I’ve had it pretty good.
But I’m getting older (why didn’t anyone tell me this was going to happen?). My body doesn’t bounce back the way it did when I was 21. Repetitive activities like shoveling snow and lifting small children take their toll. My body hurts.
In Lord’s Day 15 the Heidelberg Catechism deals with Jesus’ suffering. Lord’s Day 15 argues that Jesus suffered not only on the cross (which we take as a given) but throughout his life on earth. This may seem like hyperbole. Did Jesus really suffer “during his whole life”? Well, let’s think about it. Life begins with the pain of being thrust into light and noise and cold after enjoying the safe haven of the womb. This is followed by the pain of being handled by much bigger people who aren’t always as gentle as they could be. The pain of emerging teeth; skinned knees and bitten lips. Growing pains. Physical and emotional bruises from playmates and peers. Being born into human flesh and growing up in human space, God subjected himself to pain. Jesus suffered in ways that, prior to the incarnation, God had known only vicariously. Jesus’ suffering began at birth and reached its climax on the cross. Jesus suffered with us by partaking of our full humanity before he suffered for us as the sacrifice for our sin.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Today I Have Become Your Father
Passage: Acts 13:16-33
In Acts 13 the Apostle Paul addresses a synagogue in Antioch. His audience is a mixed crowd of Jews and Gentiles, all of whom believe in the God of Israel. Paul’s intent is to convince them that Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of God’s covenant promises to Israel – to point out the ways their scriptures come to perfect expression in Jesus. In this relatively short speech Paul highlights God’s faithfulness to his people; their struggles to remain faithful to God; and God’s persistent, remedial action in response to his people’s need for reconciliation. Paul traces the history of God’s intervention: first through miraculous acts; then through God-fearing kings; next through prophets, and finally through Jesus. Paul contrasts the temporal efficacy of God’s prior interventions with the ultimate efficacy of Jesus’ intervention when he cites John the Baptist. John, whom Jesus called “the greatest of the prophets” – God’s greatest human representative to date – said of Jesus, “I’m unworthy to untie his sandals.” John, a person of incomparable godliness, says he’s not even close to being in Jesus’ league. Jesus is a person like no other. He is, as Paul concludes, the Son of God. Not a son by association; not a son in the way that all people are “God’s children.” Jesus is the Son by virtue of divine parentage. Jesus is a breed apart – not the offspring of two human parents, but the offspring of a human mom and a divine dad. This, says Paul, is what makes Jesus exactly what humanity needs. A sacrifice sufficient for our sins; a Savior selected and sent by God; a champion powerful enough to defeat death. No mere human could do all this. Yet only a human could be what Jesus is for us: perfect priest; legitimate representative; surrogate sacrifice. As do the other Apostles, Paul recognizes Jesus' divine-human parenthood as an inextricable and integral part of God’s plan of redemption.
In Acts 13 the Apostle Paul addresses a synagogue in Antioch. His audience is a mixed crowd of Jews and Gentiles, all of whom believe in the God of Israel. Paul’s intent is to convince them that Jesus Christ is the fulfillment of God’s covenant promises to Israel – to point out the ways their scriptures come to perfect expression in Jesus. In this relatively short speech Paul highlights God’s faithfulness to his people; their struggles to remain faithful to God; and God’s persistent, remedial action in response to his people’s need for reconciliation. Paul traces the history of God’s intervention: first through miraculous acts; then through God-fearing kings; next through prophets, and finally through Jesus. Paul contrasts the temporal efficacy of God’s prior interventions with the ultimate efficacy of Jesus’ intervention when he cites John the Baptist. John, whom Jesus called “the greatest of the prophets” – God’s greatest human representative to date – said of Jesus, “I’m unworthy to untie his sandals.” John, a person of incomparable godliness, says he’s not even close to being in Jesus’ league. Jesus is a person like no other. He is, as Paul concludes, the Son of God. Not a son by association; not a son in the way that all people are “God’s children.” Jesus is the Son by virtue of divine parentage. Jesus is a breed apart – not the offspring of two human parents, but the offspring of a human mom and a divine dad. This, says Paul, is what makes Jesus exactly what humanity needs. A sacrifice sufficient for our sins; a Savior selected and sent by God; a champion powerful enough to defeat death. No mere human could do all this. Yet only a human could be what Jesus is for us: perfect priest; legitimate representative; surrogate sacrifice. As do the other Apostles, Paul recognizes Jesus' divine-human parenthood as an inextricable and integral part of God’s plan of redemption.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Conceived
Passage: Lord's Day 14
One of my favorite movies is The Princess Bride, featuring the astounding cast of Peter Falk, (a very young) Fred Savage, (then unknown) Cary Elwes, Robin Wright, Mandy Patinkin, Billy Crystal, and the late, great Andre the Giant. The film is a story within a story. A young boy is home sick, and his grandpa comes to entertain him for the day. He shows up with a book (“What’s that, Grandpa?” “When I was a boy, television was called ‘books’!”). Grandpa begins reading the story. But no sooner has he launched in than his precocious audience of one interjects. The narrative of the story, brought to life on screen, is regularly interrupted by the skeptical boy’s questions. At a certain point the Grandpa says, “Well, time for a break. You’re obviously more interested in answers than listening to the story.”
There are numerous points at which skeptics interrupt the Gospel story. They cut off the narrator saying, “That couldn’t have happened; Jesus couldn’t have said that; those events couldn’t possibly have happened in that sequence.” The interruptions start with the first chapter of three of the Gospels (Matthew, Luke and John), each of which make the claim that Jesus Christ was conceived by the Holy Spirit of God, and born of a virgin woman. Critics of the Christian faith, and believers of a more rationalist bent, argue that this is a part of the story that’s simply unbelievable. The accounts of the divine conception and virgin birth must use metaphorical or symbolic language. The Gospel writers perhaps incorporated a mythic flourish to stress Jesus’ unique nature and divine calling. Anybody with half a brain knows that babies – even very special babies – aren’t born that way.
When you filter the facts of the Gospel through a skeptic's lens, you miss the story. It’s exceedingly difficult to draw the line regarding what’s plausible and what isn’t. Western post-Enlightenment readers balk at the apparent breaches of the laws of science that the Gospel writers report. Any student of Jewish religion and history might disbelieve the claims Jesus (a widely accepted rabbi in his day) is said to have made about himself and the Law of God. Those familiar with the gender politics of the 1st century middle east would consider the reports of Jesus’ dealings with women preposterous, or at least exaggerated. You could analyze the Gospels to death (people do, and will continue to do so until the Second Coming). If you accommodated the objections of every critical camp you’d have nothing left. It all, at best, strains credibility.
Instead, you could take the story as a whole. You could accept that the Gospel writers are reporting what they heard and saw and pieced together from other eyewitness accounts. You could allow, for the moment, that the whole story is miraculous. You could remember that this is, indeed, the point. The Gospel is the story of the Creator and Ruler of the Universe taking on human flesh. Choosing birth and infancy; choosing the same “growing up” process; choosing the same aches, pains and vulnerabilities we experience as the means by which he reestablished intimacy with us. It’s the story of him standing in and taking the punishment we deserve: utter alienation from God; physical and spiritual death. Him rising from the grave, and returning to heaven to be our human mediator there. The divine conception of Jesus is just one of the events in his story of our perfect redemption. At every turn we have to decide: Will I let the details turn me off, or will I allow the story to transform my life? The first detail of Jesus’ story is a detail so essential that the Gospel writers unapologetically present it with all the rest. If you’re going to live with any part of the story, you have to live with this part too.
One of my favorite movies is The Princess Bride, featuring the astounding cast of Peter Falk, (a very young) Fred Savage, (then unknown) Cary Elwes, Robin Wright, Mandy Patinkin, Billy Crystal, and the late, great Andre the Giant. The film is a story within a story. A young boy is home sick, and his grandpa comes to entertain him for the day. He shows up with a book (“What’s that, Grandpa?” “When I was a boy, television was called ‘books’!”). Grandpa begins reading the story. But no sooner has he launched in than his precocious audience of one interjects. The narrative of the story, brought to life on screen, is regularly interrupted by the skeptical boy’s questions. At a certain point the Grandpa says, “Well, time for a break. You’re obviously more interested in answers than listening to the story.”
There are numerous points at which skeptics interrupt the Gospel story. They cut off the narrator saying, “That couldn’t have happened; Jesus couldn’t have said that; those events couldn’t possibly have happened in that sequence.” The interruptions start with the first chapter of three of the Gospels (Matthew, Luke and John), each of which make the claim that Jesus Christ was conceived by the Holy Spirit of God, and born of a virgin woman. Critics of the Christian faith, and believers of a more rationalist bent, argue that this is a part of the story that’s simply unbelievable. The accounts of the divine conception and virgin birth must use metaphorical or symbolic language. The Gospel writers perhaps incorporated a mythic flourish to stress Jesus’ unique nature and divine calling. Anybody with half a brain knows that babies – even very special babies – aren’t born that way.
When you filter the facts of the Gospel through a skeptic's lens, you miss the story. It’s exceedingly difficult to draw the line regarding what’s plausible and what isn’t. Western post-Enlightenment readers balk at the apparent breaches of the laws of science that the Gospel writers report. Any student of Jewish religion and history might disbelieve the claims Jesus (a widely accepted rabbi in his day) is said to have made about himself and the Law of God. Those familiar with the gender politics of the 1st century middle east would consider the reports of Jesus’ dealings with women preposterous, or at least exaggerated. You could analyze the Gospels to death (people do, and will continue to do so until the Second Coming). If you accommodated the objections of every critical camp you’d have nothing left. It all, at best, strains credibility.
Instead, you could take the story as a whole. You could accept that the Gospel writers are reporting what they heard and saw and pieced together from other eyewitness accounts. You could allow, for the moment, that the whole story is miraculous. You could remember that this is, indeed, the point. The Gospel is the story of the Creator and Ruler of the Universe taking on human flesh. Choosing birth and infancy; choosing the same “growing up” process; choosing the same aches, pains and vulnerabilities we experience as the means by which he reestablished intimacy with us. It’s the story of him standing in and taking the punishment we deserve: utter alienation from God; physical and spiritual death. Him rising from the grave, and returning to heaven to be our human mediator there. The divine conception of Jesus is just one of the events in his story of our perfect redemption. At every turn we have to decide: Will I let the details turn me off, or will I allow the story to transform my life? The first detail of Jesus’ story is a detail so essential that the Gospel writers unapologetically present it with all the rest. If you’re going to live with any part of the story, you have to live with this part too.
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