progressive involvement

Lectionary blogging:: Lent 4:: John 3: 14-21

And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, ¹⁵that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

16 ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

17 ‘Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. ¹⁸Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. ¹⁹And this is the judgement, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.²⁰For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. ²¹But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.’ 

Translation:  And just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so it is necessary for the son of man to be lifted up so that all the ones trusting in him might have life eternal, for, in this way, God loved the cosmos, so that he gave the only-begotten son so that all the ones trusting in him might not be lost but might have life eternal.

For God did not send the son into the cosmos in order to judge the cosmos but so that the cosmos might be saved through him.  The ones trusting in him are not judged, but the ones not trusting already have been judged because they have not trusted into the name of the only-begotten son of God. 

But this is the judgment:  that the light has come into the cosmos and the people loved the darkness more than the light for their works were evil.  For all the ones doing evil hate the light and do not come to the light so that their works might not be exposed.  But the ones doing the truth come to the light so that their works might be revealed that in God it is being done.

 

Background and situation:  The fourth gospel compares Jesus being "lifted up" to Moses lifting up the serpent in the wilderness (Numbers 21: 4-9).  Where the serpent in the wilderness brings life," the son of man's "lifting up" will go the serpent one better and bring "life eternal."

The lection is the major portion of the dialog with Nicodemus (3: 1-21), a pharisee and member of the Sanhedrin.  Nicodemus is a Greek name, probably Naqdimon in Hebrew.  "Nicodemus" means "peoples' victory."

As a pharisee, Nicodemus would have been in the minority faction.  In the time of Jesus, the Sanhedrin was dominated by Sadducees.  (About two-thirds of the Sanhedrin was Sadducee and one-third pharisee.)

At the time of the writing of the fourth gospel, however, the pharisees were the only major faction left.  The Sadducees were no more, having fallen with the Temple in AD 70.

Confronting the dark side:  Christians generally associate serpents with evil, probably because of our primordial fear of snakes and because the serpent beguiled Adam and Eve in Genesis 3. 

In many cultures, however, the serpent is not a personification of evil, but rather a symbol of immortality or the main concerns of the unconscious.  If you're dreaming, let's say, and a serpent appears with something to say, it is thought to be a message from your unconscious about a concern that needs to be addressed in your life.

In the Numbers passage, the Lord God instructs Moses to place a serpent on a pole.  The very nemesis of the people, the one that had been afflicting them, is to be "placed" and "looked upon."  This, in turn, brings "life."  

This is an encouragement to confront the "dark side."  Look at that very thing which causes you pain.  Comprehend the "shadow" side of reality.  Healing comes when the "shadow" is recognized, acknowledged, and integrated into the whole of one's personality.  As Carl Jung put it, "One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making darkness conscious."

Conversely, failure to confront the "shadow" results in a one-dimensional personality that is cut off from its unconscious energy and clueless about its own motivations and desires.  Confronting the "shadow" is a difficult psychological manuever, but one that is necessary in order to add depth to the personality and harness the unconscious in the service of healthy development of the ego.  This is how engaging the "shadow" serves the cause of healing. 

Likewise, the serpent of Moses, an agent of illness, when "looked" upon becomes an agent of healing.  This perspective is represented in Greek religion as well.  The rod of Asclepius, the Greek god of healing, is a snake entwined around a staff, still the symbol of medicine today.  

The serpent as a symbol of healing also appears in the apocryphal literature of the early church (Acts of John).  In the story of the Chalice of St. John, the apostle was condemned to die by drinking poison from the chalice.  Just before he drank, the poison left the chalice in the form of a snake, and St. John was able to drink safely. 

"Lifting up" in the fourth gospel:  In the Numbers passage, both the Hebrew and Greek versions of the Old Testament say that Moses "placed" the serpent on the pole.  The fourth gospel deliberately changes this to "lifted up."  This text is the first of three "lifted up" passages In the fourth gospel.  (The others are 8: 28, and 12: 32.)   

Where the synoptics prefer a three-fold passion prediction where Jesus will "undergo great suffering and be killed," the fourth gospel prefers a three-fold "lifting up."  The synoptics accent the suffering of Jesus.  The fourth gospel emphasizes the healing aspect of the crucifixion of Jesus, the purpose of which is to "draw all" to him (12:32). 

The reason for all of this is because of God's great love for "the universe"--kosmou, the entire created order.  This is not a general attitude or feeling of God, but rather love expressed and done in a certain and particular way;  "God so loved" means that God loved in a certain way--(houto, in this manner).  

That certain way is that he "gave the only-begotten son" to be "lifted up" on the cross for the salvation of the world.  This is how God loves the world.  This action of love by God will be later contrasted with the evil acts of those who "loved the darkness more than the light" (3:19). 

God did not send the son to judge (krinei) the world.  The basic sense of krinei is to separate or distinguish--to "judge" in the sense of critiquing or drawing comparisons, both favorable and unfavorable.  It is not, in other words, necessarily a condemning action, but more a discerning one.  (As Brian Stoffregan notes, if the fourth gospel had meant "judging" as "condemnation," it likely would have used a different word, katakrino.) 

In sending Jesus, the whole purpose of God was to "save" the cosmos (3:17).  Jesus was not sent for the purpose of judging or condemning, but rather to bring healing and life.  (Its use in 3:17 is the only time sozo--"save"--appears in the fourth gospel.)

Son of man:  The phrase "son of man" or "human one"--ho huios tou anthropou--appears 69 times in the synoptics, 14 times in the fourth gospel, once in Acts, and twice in Revelation.  It appears not at all in the epistles of Paul.  The expression has its most direct root in the "son of man" figure of Daniel (7:13ff.)  The Hebrew phrase upon which it is based, the phrase likely uttered by Jesus, is bar nasha. 

Psychologically, "son of man" or "human one" can be seen as an archetype, i.e. a typical and universal pattern.  The "human one"--the bar nasha--would mean the one immersed in the total experience of the legendary human being.  It represents our complete humanity, and that within us which leads us toward ego maturity.  

Themes of light and dark:  Consistent with the themes of light and darkness in chapter one, the fourth gospel again says "that the light has come into the cosmos and the people loved the darkness more than the light."  How can he say this?  Because "their works were evil." 

Contrast these "evil works" of those not trusting in Jesus with God's "work" of "love" for the entire cosmos in verse 16.  In the midst of all the talk about peoples' love for the darkness, it is well to keep in mind God's unconditional act of love. 

The "light" and "darkness" of the fourth gospel are not meant literally, but rather as spiritual truths.  "Light" is associated with joy and good, "darkness" with misery and evil.  In contrast to God's love for the cosmos, human beings "love" darkness and evil.  The Greek word here, translated as "evil," is ponerou;  that is, evil as a principle, and one that is active in the world.

The reason human beings "love" darkness and evil is because we do not want our deeds to be known--"For all the ones doing evil hate the light and do not come to the light so that their works might not be exposed."  We do not want to our actions to be "brought to light" because we don't want our complicity in evil to be known.

Nevertheless, "the true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world (1:9)."  Evil will be exposed as well as our complicity in it.  All this, however, is in the service of life.  The one who judges us is also the one who loves us the most, whose desire is not death but life, and whose good "work" is that of loving the world.    

 

Think what you want, so long as you agree with me

Mark Noll published The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind about 15 years ago.  He concluded that the real scandal of the evangelical mind was that there wasn't much of one.  People took notice because Noll is a highly-regarded evangelical himself.

It appears there wasn't much lasting effect from Noll's effort.  Now, Peter Enns says it's not that evangelicalism doesn't want to have a mind.  It surely does, and it also wants to value scholarship.

The problem is that this is only true provided that scholarship supports predetermined conclusions.  As Enns puts it:  "Sure, dig into evolution and the ancient context of Genesis, but by golly you’d better give me an Adam when you’re done."

The "documentary hypothesis"--or no, Moses didn't write the pentateuch

We don't know the names of the earliest Biblical authors, but scholars have been able to discern four primary authors of the earliest parts of the Old Testament.  They are known as J, E, P, and D.

J:  “J” is short for "the Yahwist."  The sections of the Old Testament written by "J" are probably the first parts of the Old Testament to be written down.  The written form of "J"  appears to date from about the time of King David. 

This would make sense.  The early Hebrews, pre-David, lived a bedouin lifestyle.  They were on the move a lot, and they likely wanted to travel as light as possible, which would mean that they would see little utility in lugging around a bunch of written scrolls.

In about 950 BC, David took Jerusalem from the Jebusites.  The name “Jerusalem” means “city of great peace.”  “Jeru” means “city of,” and “salem” is a form of the word “shalom,” a word with broad meanings of peace and well-being—hence, “city of great peace.”  

But alas, as we all know, Jerusalem has known a lot of war and conquest in its history.  When David took Jerusalem from the Jebusites, it meant, according to Samuel, that the last local Canaanite resistance had been overcome.  What Samuel couldn’t have known is that it also meant that when Jerusalem first stepped onto the stage of known world history, it did so as a victim of conquest.

Jerusalem was also strategically located between tribes of Israel and Judah.  It was “neutral territory,” which is why David, his eye on domestic politics, made it his capitol city.  (This is also to say that Jerusalem first made it onto the international scene through political calculation as well as war.) 

A capitol city meant a government.  The court of David, and its attendant bureaucracy, settled into Jerusalem, as did various other retinues and hangers-on.  Things settled down, or at least they settled down enough so that some started to think about writing history.

We don’t know who wrote this early history, but the name “J” has been given to this person (or persons).  It is so named because this history is notable for its use of the word “YHWH” for God.  (It was a German scholar who first postulated the existence of the author “J”.  The letter “J”, he believed, was the closest approximation to the Hebrew letter “Y,” which is why the text was named “J” instead of “Y”.)   

We don’t know exactly how YHWH was originally pronounced, incidentally.  “Yah!”-“whuh!” is a good guess.  The resonant and rolling word “Jehovah” is actually a corruption of the breathy “Yahweh.”

What was Bonhoeffer's "world come of age"?

People in the ancient world felt themselves dominated by forces from outside themselves, like “fate” and kings.  They felt themselves under external control. 

The medieval era—roughly the period from the decline of Rome to the reformation—was characterized by feelings of internal control.  People felt that they were controlled by forces within themselves, like sin and disease.  

The modern era was characterized by external freedom, the idea that we could use the laws of the universe to be free from being controlled.  Instead of being controlled, we could be in control ourselves.  We could do this through modern means, such as science, economics, engineering, and war.  The great gardens of Europe, for example, are creations of the modern era.  They express the sense that nature itself could be manipulated and molded—even controlled—by human beings.

It would follow that the (so-called) postmodern era could be a time characterized by internal freedom.  Will it?  Will it be a time when we seek freedom by asserting power over forces inside ourselves?  Put another way, will it be a time when we look for God less in “externals,” like dogmas, proofs, and external authorities, and more in “internals,” like relationship and devotion?

Dietrich Bonhoeffer, writing in the 1940’s, and from a Nazi prison no less, anticipated this question when he spoke of a new consciousness which he called “a world come of age.”  For Bonhoeffer, “religious consciousness” was passing away and “world-come-of-age consciousness” was rising, a development which he welcomed.

By “religious consciousness,” he essentially meant a worldview that continues to be based in the authority of religion and church.  “Religious consciousness” was invested in retaining what it considered to be traditional understandings of God and reality.  

One of the ways that religion responded to science, for example, was by using “God” as an explanation for things that could not be explained (or, as it turned out, could not be explained yet).  Bonhoeffer used the phrase “god of the gaps” as a way of saying that, when there is a “gap” in our knowledge, it is quite often there that the church asserts “God.”  In other words, God is trotted out to explain what we cannot explain.  (Thus, ironically, “God” is associated with what we don’t know.)  

As we all know, science is now able to explain more and more of what, up until recently, was unknown.  The unknown has been, and is being, whittled down.  Since we had associated God with the unknown, many people came to feel that God was being whittled down too.  As we knew more and more about the processes of the universe, God seemed to be pushed more and more into the background. 

Perhaps this is why people in a “religious consciousness” tend to feel more and more unsettled and more and more out of place.  They tend to move away from these challenges of the secular world and into what Bonhoeffer called “religious enclaves” where they can pretend that “religious consciousness” still holds sway. People in a “religious consciousness” tend to be suspicious of new discovery, and leery of human achievement.  

In a “world come of age consciousness,” Bonhoeffer believed that the impulse toward human achievement, self-determination, and responsibility would not be resisted, but applauded.  The increase of knowledge would not be met with suspicion, but rather with welcome.  

With the decline of a “religious consciousness,” and the rise of “world come of age consciousness,” people would give less and less deference to a worldview that makes little sense to them.  They would, out of their own multiplicity of experience and ability to discern between competing claims, make their own decisions and actions in life, without falling back on, or seeking refuge in, any external authority.  

People would, of course, have to take responsibility for their autonomy and their decisions and actions in the world, which they would gladly do.  “World come of age” people do not shirk this responsibility, or fear it.  Indeed, they welcome it.  Of course, they recognize that they will make mistakes, but they will not blame “God” or “fate” or even “sin” for their failures.  They themselves will own up to them, without shame or guilt.  

Bonhoeffer believed that the church would resist the world’s coming of age.  The clergy will use all their “clerical tricks” to retain “religious consciousness,” he said.  They will frame certain questions in such a way that “(supposedly) only ‘God’ can give an answer.”

The very rich irony is that “world-come-of-age people” are actually closer to a Christian understanding of themselves and the world than are people in a “religious consciousness.”  Throughout the Bible, God calls people to take responsibility.  Directly in the face of the “religious consciousness” expressed by the Biblical pharisees, Jesus himself expressed a “world come of age consciousness” when he told them, “Why don’t you decide for yourselves what is right?” (Luke 12: 57)

When Bonhoeffer opposed “religious consciousness,” he was not opposing the Christian faith, the gospel, the centrality of Christ, or the use of the Bible.  He did not even call for a change in the liturgy.  He was opposing a “head buried in sand” Christianity that, in its heart of hearts, wanted to revert to a 13^th century view of the world when the church told people what to think.    

“World come of age” consciousness would lead to a “religionless Christianity,” a Christianity that did not have its mind set in “religious consciousness,” one that did not seek God out there somewhere, in the wild, blue yonder, in a place we don’t really know.  

“Religionless Christianity in a world come of age” would seek God in the world we do know, in the midst of life, with all its joys and sorrows, successes and failures, and would encounter God precisely there, in one’s own heart, and in relationship with our neighbor.   

A “world come of age consciousness” is one of internal freedom.  It is freedom from the external control of “religion” and any other hierarchical authority.  People will, in an exercise of autonomy and responsibility, make their own decisions in life without relying upon the dictates of any institution—not church, not state, not even family.  Edwin Friedman, the late psychiatrist, called this exactly what Bonhoeffer called it:  “adulthood.”  

Thus, “world come of age consciousness” is not about morality.  It is not about “good” or “bad” or “right” or “wrong.”  It is not about moral perfection or even moral improvement.  It is about psychological maturity.  It is about taking responsibility for one’s self, and making one’s way in the world without excuses.

Bonhoeffer completely understood Luther’s famous saying:  “Sin boldly, and love and worship Christ more boldly still.”  To “sin boldly” is to make decisions.  I’m reminded of a scene in the movie “Ironweed” when a homeless woman, played by Meryl Streep, goes into a church to get warm.  Looking up at one of the side altars, she said, “I don’t call it sin.  I call it decisions.”  

We must act in the world.  We cannot escape this.  Naturally, we will make mistakes.  We will “sin.”  But, we can “sin boldly” because the gospel is not about not making mistakes. 

 

Was Eusebius responsible for the inclusion of Revelation, or was it Athanasius?

I've not read Elaine Pagels' new book on Revelation, but Adam Gopnik reviews it in the New Yorker.  Pagels apparently argues that the book of Revelation is an argument against the Pauline form of Christianity that was emerging out of the first century.

"...it was written by an expatriate follower of Jesus who wanted the movement to remain within an entirely Jewish context, as opposed to the 'Christianity' just then being invented by St. Paul..."

In any case, Gopnik says that the inclusion of Revelation came at the insistence of Athanasius in the fourth century.  Says he:

Revelation very nearly did not make the cut.  In the early second century, a majority of bishops in Asia Minor voted to condemn the text as blasphemous.  It was only in the three-sixties that the church council, under the control of the fiery Athanasius, inserted Revelation as the climax of the entire New Testament.  As a belligerent controversialist himself, Pagels suggests, Athanasius liked its belligerently controversial qualities. 

This is some different than the case made by David Dungan in Constantine's Bible.  He argues that it was Eusebius of Caesarea who created a process for determining the books of the Christian canon.  Eusebius essentially took a poll of the writings of the early church fathers--the ones earlier than him--and, if a book was universally accepted as "orthodox" it was included.  If a book was argued about, it was put in the "disputed" category.

Eusebius included the book of Revelation, even though accepting it meant going against his own system.  After noting that Revelation was accepted by some, but disputed by other church authorities, he went ahead and included Revelation anyway, an inclusion that was "entirely inconsistent" with his own method, says Dungan. (p. 71)

So who is responsible for the inclusion of Revelation?  The acerbic fanatic Athanasius, or the wily academic Eusebius?  You can see the motivation of Athanasius.  The pitched battles of Revelation reflected his own personal battles with (people he designated as) heretics.  The enigmatic Eusebius' motivation is less clear.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose"

"Human understanding increases as the years pass and one age succeeds another...yet in faith--the area in which threat of error is most dangerous--there is no progress...This is the sure result of the fact that one is never allowed to investigate what should be believed among one's own people, or to escape punishment for raising doubts about what is said by everyone...People profess themselves to believe what they admit they cannot understand, as if faith consisted in uttering words rather than in mental understanding."

Peter Abelard, c. AD 1130

W.B. Yeats a "new-age guru"?

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) is, in the opinion of many, the greatest poet of the English language.  He is almost singlehandedly responsible for the Irish Literary Revival of the early 20th century.  He received the Nobel Prize in 1923.

Yeats was a strong Irish nationalist and patriot, though with a strongly liberal sentiment.  He deplored the bigotry and hatred which sometimes came from his own side.  (See his poem, Easter 1916, for example.)

Matt Taibbi has a piece in the current Rolling Stone which deals with the political career of Rep. Michelle Bachmann, tea party leader (supposedly), and evangelical crusader.  

The piece is worth reading in its own right, but this especially caught my eye:  Some years ago, in Stillwater, MN, Bachmann joined up with one of those "purify our schools" outfits.  This one was called EdWatch.

EdWatch...railed against various dystopian indoctrination plans, including the U.N.-inspired International Baccalaureate program, offered in some American high schools. Bachmannites despise IB because its "universal" curriculum refuses to recognize the superiority of Christianity to other religions. You and I might have thought William Butler Yeats, for example, was a great poet who died half a century before the Age of Aquarius, but EdWatch calls him a "New-Age Pantheism Guru" who was aggressively "undermining Christianity."

Yeats died in 1939, well before the "new age" movement of the 1970's.  Yeats liked nature, so apparently that means he was a "pantheist."  Witness the stultifying effects of ideology:  Yeats is not a nature-loving mystic.  He's a "new age pantheist guru." 

What he was for sure is a prophet.  Perhaps it is this quality which really confounds his evangelical critics.  In "The Second Coming," Yeats spoke of social disintegration because of social divisions--"things fall apart / the center cannot hold"--which he attributed to ideological extremism:  

The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

He hopes for rescue--"Surely some revelation is at hand!"  "The Second Coming!" he exclaims.  But as soon as he does, he also sees the true "spirit of the world," which is dry and lifeless--"a waste of desert sand".  The "rough beast" rises out of this "waste" to do battle with "the second coming."

A shape with lion body and the head of a man, 
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, 
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. 
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, 
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

You could call that "new age pantheistic guru-ism" which "undermines Christianity."  Or, you could call it an incisive analysis of contemporary politics.

Image:  Wiki

Technically speaking, the "immortality of the soul" is not a Christian belief

The Raab Collection is offering for sale a letter written by William Herndon, Abraham Lincoln's best friend, in which Herndon discusses Lincoln's religious beliefs.  Lincoln kept his religious views pretty much to himself and evidence on the subject is sparse.  The asking price is $35,000, incidentally.  Said Herndon:

"At one time in his life, to say the least, he was an elevated Pantheist, doubting the immortality of the soul as the Christian world understands that term. He believed that the soul lost its identity and was immortal as a force. Subsequent to this he rose to the belief of a God, and this is all the change he ever underwent. I speak knowing what I say. He was a noble man – a good great man for all this," he wrote.

"I love Mr. Lincoln dearly, almost worship him, but that can’t blind me. He’s the purest politician I ever saw, and the justest man. I am scribbling – that’s the word – away on a life of Mr. Lincoln – gathering known-authentic – true facts of him."

19th century America was strongly influenced by the "spiritualist" movement which took to the idea of the "immortality of the soul" in a big way--Mrs. Lincoln reportedly hosted a seance herself.

The idea comes from Greek philosophy.  Plato believed that only the spiritual world was really real.  The physical world we inhabit is but a pale imitation of the spiritual world.  

They were body/soul dualists.  The body was inferior because it was bound by physicality.  The soul was superior because it was immortal.  In fact, while inhabiting a body, the soul had to suffer what the Greeks regarded as the indignity of materiality.

The early Hebrews didn't think like this.  They could speak of a person's "heart" or "spirit" or even "soul," but they didn't see this as being distinct from the person themselves--that is, the "soul" or, more frequently, "heart" was seen as the essence of the person and not something distinct from the person.

The Apostles' Creed says "resurrection of the body"--not "immortality of the soul."  The Nicene Creed says "resurrection of the dead"--not "John Brown's body lies a 'moldren in the grave, but his immortal soul goes marching on!"

 

400th anniversary of the King James Bible

Will occur on May 2.  In 1604, King James I authorized an entirely new translation from the original languages. The work started in 1607 and the first draft was available in 1609.  The work was completed for publication in 1611.

The work made use of Erasmus' compilation of a Greek New Testament.  Erasmus' sources were not the greatest.  Some of the manuscripts he included were as late as the 11th century.  Nevertheless, he did the best he could at the time, and his work was critical for the development of a Bible based on the original languages.

As time goes on, I am more and more impressed with the King James Bible.  This is not because of its supposedly exalted, Elizabethan language.  In fact, there is less Elizabethan floridity in the KJV than people think.  The KJV adds very little, if anything, to the Greek.  Of all the major translations, the KJV is the one most likely to follow the Greek exactly.

The big complaint about the KJV is that it's hard to read, which it is.  This is not because of its antiquated language or the quality of its translation.  It is, rather, because the Bible itself is difficult to read.  There's a reason Jesus said things like "those who have ears to hear, let them hear"--it's because what he was saying was hard to hear.

"Am I self-centered, or is it just me?"

Julian Assange is looking for a first sentence for his book.  That's one suggestion.

I've never read anything of Faulkner, but it's hard to beat the first line of one of his short stories, The Vengeance of Nicrotis":  "Hushed were the streets of many-peopled Thebes."  

Kurt Vonnegut had some good ones too, among them this one:  "This is the tale of a meeting of two lonesome, skinny, fairly old white men on a planet that was dying fast."

Of course, Faulkner and Vonnegut both wrote fiction, and we don't know quite into which genre Assange's book will fit.

Jeralyn offers this suggestion:

As the cell door closed behind me and I faced the cold, dank space, I began to contemplate the brunt of the awesome power of government, once it has descended to unleash its wrath.