Do You Understand?
Commentary
“If you don’t know where you are going,” says an ancient source, “any road will get you there.”
To live in a different way requires some goals that pull us toward the narrow path that leads to the Kingdom of God. Goals don’t have to be big or outlandish or extravagant. They must, however, be important. In the preface to his magnificent novel Moby Dick, Herman Melville says, “To write a mighty book you must have a mighty theme.”
When the BBC wanted to do a program on the work of Mother Teresa in Calcutta, she at first refused. She didn’t want publicity, and didn’t think it would be worth her time or their while. She certainly did not want to be famous.
Finally, Malcolm Muggeridge talked her into it. He helped her to see that others needed her vision, her sense of purpose, her understanding of what God means for life. When he explained it to her like that she became excited. “Yes!” she said. “Malcolm, let’s do it! Let’s do something beautiful for God!”
That became the title of the program: “Something Beautiful for God.” If that is what a person wants in life, she’s on the right road, as was the Ethiopian eunuch, Jesus’ disciples, and the friends of John who knew, above all else, that “God is love.”
Acts 8:26-40
The momentum of the stories told in the book of Acts is derived from a single critical incident that took place in Jerusalem during the Jewish religious festival known as Pentecost. Jesus’ instruction for his disciples to stay in Jerusalem and wait for a special gift (Acts 1:4), must have seemed vague at the time, but the arrival of the explosive power of the Holy Spirit during the Pentecost feast made sense. This celebration was both a harvest festival and a time for recalling the gift of the original covenant documents to Moses at Mount Sinai. These two themes intersected marvelously with what was taking place. First, there was the dawning of a new age of revelation and divine mission, paralleling the first covenant declaration in the book of Exodus. Second, during the Pentecost harvest festival, the first sheaves of grain were presented at the Temple, anticipating that God would then bring in the full harvest. This expression of faith served as a clear analogy to the greater missional harvest of the church, which was begun through a miraculous “first fruits” in Jerusalem that day.
Peter capitalized on these themes when he preached a sermon explaining Joel’s prophecy of the “Day of the Lord.” Peter tied together God’s extensive mission, the history of Israel, the coming of Jesus, and the splitting of the Day of the Lord so that the blessings of the messianic age could begin before the final divine judgment fell. The pattern for entering the new community of faith was clearly outlined: repent and be baptized. The former indicated a transforming presence of the Holy Spirit in individual hearts, while the latter became the initiation rite by which the ranks of this missional society were identified.
Reaction to the rapidly developing Christian fellowship was swift and sharp. Within Jerusalem’s dominant religious community there was consternation about the Apostles’ identification of Jesus as the Jewish Messiah (Acts 4), creating tensions and divisions. Inside the newly organizing church itself, there were ethical issues that needed to be addressed (Acts 5–6). Soon the followers of Jesus needed to expand their leadership team (the deacons of Acts 6), and found themselves the targets of increasingly organized persecutions (Acts 8:1–3). Although this disrupted the close fellowship of the Jerusalem congregation, those who moved elsewhere to find safety brought the message of Jesus’ teachings, death and resurrection with them (Acts 8:4).
The Deacons of Acts 6 were supposed to ensure that the early Jewish-Christian community did not become introverted and self-absorbed, looking only after the interests of those who spoke the dominant language or had long-established social connections. This outward gaze was turned first to the Greek-speaking widows who were Jewish, but otherwise disconnected (Acts 61). Then it spread to include attention to true aliens and foreigners, like the Ethiopian eunuch of our lectionary reading today. He had used his vacation time to explore cultural and religious expressions that had been known in his territory for a thousand years, since the Queen of Sheba had made a similar pilgrimage during King Solomon’s reign.
Having purchased a tourist trinket from the Temple marketplace, the eunuch was mystified by its strange prophecy. While reading the Isaiah scroll, he was approached by Philip, one of the Christian community’s newly-minted Deacons, who offered interpretive assistance. In a few moments, both were transported from divergent cultural and religious backgrounds into the presence of Jesus, savior of all. The barriers of race and language and social standing were eliminated, and the rich and powerful eunuch from Ethiopia became brother to the poor Hellenistic widows on the wrong side of the tracks in Jerusalem.
What had been a centripetal energizing motion during the first phase of God’s recovery mission on planet Earth (that is, drawing all nations toward a re-engagement with their creator through the strategically placed people of Israel), was now shifted into a centrifugal motion of divine sending out these blessings of testimony to the world, in ever-widening circles of witness. The Christian church, born as a Jewish messianic sect, became a global religion.
1 John 4:7-21
Gnosticism was a philosophic worldview that often parasitically attached itself to various religious expressions, twisting their key concepts in complex and mystical directions. During the second century, a number of Gnostic communities sprang up in the Christian church, particularly in its eastern regions. Clement of Alexandria (c. 150-c.215) and his pupil Origen (c. 185-254) were among the most articulate spokespersons of gnostic-influenced Christian theology who remained within the orthodox faith. Irenaeus (c. 140-c. 202), Tertullian (c. 160-c. 220), and Hippolytus (170-235) all wrote extensively against the heresy of Gnosticism, and their explanations often parallel John’s earlier teaching on these things.
Gnosticism saw the world as cosmologically dualistic. All of physical reality was bad and degraded, while spiritual dimensions of life were good and empowering. The ultimate deity was like that of the Greek Stoics—non-relational, dispassionate, impassive, unchanging, and transcendent. But since the material world actually existed, an emanation (called the Demiurge) from the transcendent god served must have served as a secondary or subordinate creator. Of course, any god which would bring into being material things was already compromised. So, clearly, the deity of the Jews, the Creator God of the Old Testament, had to be a bad god. This distinguished Christianity from Judaism. Like the Demiurge (or identified with the Demiurge), the god of Genesis (and therefore all of the Hebrew Scriptures) was certainly less than perfect, and may well have been an ogre with a sadistic mean streak. Human beings, after all, are at best an evil joke. Many of us (but not all), have a divine spark trapped within our material shells, imprisoned almost to extinction by the loathsome attachments we have to passion and appetites.
If we as humans are to gain release from our material prisons and become truly liberated spirits, we need several things. First, we must gain the appropriate knowledge. This is the origin of the term Gnosticism, which is simply taken from the Greek word γνωσις, meaning “knowing” or “knowledge.” Since we are all trapped in the same material muddle, only a transcendent, divine spirit can communicate this necessary knowledge to us. Jesus’ life was all about this, whether as a projection into our experiences who was not himself fully, materially human, or by way of the unique divine insights and abilities granted the man who was adopted by God, and endowed with a special spiritual connection. So we need to learn the teachings of Jesus, because these will help us shed the claws of materialism that dig into the divine sparks many of us are beginning to realize that we have. Of course, the sayings and parables of Jesus would be interpreted differently by Gnostic teachers than they would by John and those who followed in his steps. That was the reason for the controversy which erupted in Gaius’ congregation in the first place.
Second, we must engage in rituals of purification through which we learn to transcend our own evil flesh, and purify the growing power of our spirits. These may be negations of bodily functions, or solitary mystical reveries. In any case, they are very myopic and self-focused: “I am on a spiritual quest…” “I am seeking truth, which you might not be privy to…” “I cannot be bothered by your needs or concerns, since I have moved into transcendence…”
Third, we must release the divine spark within us, ultimately through the death of our physical bodies. Thus, Jesus’ death and resurrection are at the center of Gnostic theology, but their purposes are strikingly different than expressed in the rest of Christian hope and understanding. For Paul and John and the rest of the New Testament writers, Jesus’ death was a scandal and a tragedy, even if it was part of the divine purpose and will. Jesus’ resurrection was an affirmation of the goodness of human life restored, precisely in its material state. For Gnostics, however, things were exactly the opposite. Jesus’ death was the great release, and the resurrected Jesus was fully spiritual, completely separated from physical influence or limitation.
These opposing perspectives about the intended or best expression of human life produced the ethical concerns that John addresses. Some Gnostics evidently believed that since we are powerless to transform our bodies or material substance into anything good, we might as well allow our flesh to enjoy its pitiable quest for passion, and indulge ourselves in any gross sensuality that our bodies might lead us into. After all, our truest beings are not really engaged in these things; it is only our weak and self-destructive bodies that are so inclined. Meanwhile, our spirits are set on higher goals and purposes.
A second element of Gnostic behavior, apparently, was that of ignoring the plight of others. Why should we try to alleviate the suffering which others experience in their flesh, since comfort only buttresses the pretense that their bodies have some meaning. We ought not to care for others, because such investments mess us up with material reality. These actions, in turn, only pulls us away from our truest spiritual goals, strengthen the capacities and resolve of the material prisons of our bodies which hold our spirits in check, and prevent others, whose flesh is weakening, from gaining more quickly the blessed release that will happen to their spirits when their bodies actually die.
All of this seems to have fostered a kind of Gnostic elitism. If some of us know these things, and others do not, we who know are better than those who do not know. We who have true knowledge from Jesus are on the track toward illumination and release, while those others are dumb dodos. Too bad they aren’t like us, but there is not a thing we can do about it. We are enlightened, they are not.
In the face of these teachings, which were dividing at least this one congregation, and threatening the gospel that John knew so well and had taught for so long, John gives some very pointed instructions. Right at the start of his short lecture, he affirms that the God of the Old Testament is also the true creator God (1 John 1), and that there is no cosmological dualism in which good and evil coexist in the eternal forms of spirit and matter. Evil is not an inherent part of human identity; it is an intruder (1 John 1:6-10). Nor is evil automatically connected only with the material dimension of human existence; our spirits can be sinful, just as our hands can be engaged in things that are good and right and noble (1 John 2:9-11).
When focusing on Jesus, John declares without qualification that he is the divine Son of God who actually became flesh and blood (1 John 2:20-23). Jesus is neither a holographic spiritual projection into our world, untouched by material plight or passionate feelings, nor an adopted superman who is so divinely charged that he no longer fully participates in the experiences of the rest of us. This counters the Gnostic ideas about their supposed divine teacher, and turns the testimony of the incarnation into the critical test for defining which teachings are true and which are not (1 John 4:1-3).
Furthermore, since God cares about us as fully integrated flesh and blood and spirit creatures (after all, we are brought into being by the true and good Creator), we ought also to care about each other (1 John 3:7-24). Since God loved us so much that God entered our world in the person of Jesus, we ought also to fully engage in each others’ lives for help and encouragement and care (1 John 4:7-21). In fact, the test of love is whether one has learned to care about the physical needs of a sister or brother (1 John 4:19-21). Christianity does not remove us from pain, but causes us to enter into it on an even deeper level, just as it brought Jesus into his stormy and tortured existence with us, and ultimately crucified him (1 John 5:1-12).
Thus, salvation is both physical and spiritual. We are already “children of God” (1 John 3:1), and we are also becoming more fully the family of the creator (1 John 3:2-3). Love is the highest moral good, the truest expression of “Light” over against the “Darkness” that evil and sin have brought into our world. This is why the last line of John’s teaching (“Dear children, keep yourselves from idols”), often considered cryptic or ill placed, is actually the summation of the entire teaching. It is the idolatry of self or spirit that misled these false teachers. They were neither superior spiritual gurus nor better human beings than those who did not believe in their proto-Gnostic teachings. In the end, they were false messiahs (thus “antichrists”) of the cult which, in its most dastardly expressions, was merely self-absorbed childishness, where “I” stand at the center of the universe. John believes that God does a better job in that location, and that our lives are meant to radiate the divine glory wherever we find ourselves. After all, “we love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19).
John 15:1-8
Once the transition takes place from the “Book of Signs” (John 1-12) to the “Book of Glory” (John 13-20), only two major events happen. First, Jesus meets for an extended meal and conversation with his disciples (chapters 13-17). This lengthy monologue seems somewhat meandering and repetitive until it is viewed through the Hebrew communication lens of chiasm. Then the “Farewell Discourse,” as it is known, takes on new depth, as it weaves back and forth, and climaxes in the middle. This parting exhortation becomes an obviously deeply moving instruction Jesus’ followers to remain connected to him by way of the powerful “Paraclete” (a Greek term meaning “counselor” or “advocate”), in the face of the troubling that will come upon them because of his imminent physical departure, and the rising persecutions targeted toward them by the world that remains in darkness. In chiastic summary, the Farewell Discourse can be portrayed in this manner:
Gathering experience of unity 13:1-35
Prediction of disciple’s denial 13:36-38
Jesus’ departure tempered by Father’s power 14:1-14
Promise of the “Paraclete” 14:15-24
Troubling encounter with the world 14:25-31
“Abide in Me!” teaching 15:1-17
Troubling encounter with the world 15:18-16:4a
Promise of the “Paraclete” 16:4b-15
Jesus’ departure tempered by Father’s power 16:16-28
Prediction of disciple’s denial 16:29-33
Departing experience of unity 17:1-26
Every element of this “Farewell Discourse” is doubled with a parallel passage except for Jesus’ central teaching that his disciples should “abide in me.” Furthermore, these parallel passages are arranged in reverse order in the second half to their initial expression in the first half. At the heart of it all comes the unparalleled vine and branches teaching, which functions as the chiastic center and ultimate focus of the discourse as a whole. In effect, John shows us how the transforming power of Jesus as the light of the world is to take effect. Jesus comes into this darkened world as a brilliant ray of re-creative light and life. But if he goes about his business all by himself, the light will have limited penetrating value, over against the expansive and pervasive darkness that has consumed this world.
In this chiastic “Farewell Discourse,” Jesus makes clear the meaning of everything. His disciples have been transformed from darkness to light (and thus from death to life) through Jesus’ incorporation of them into fellowship with himself and the Father (chapters 13 and 17). This does not free them immediately from struggles, as seen in Judas’ betrayal and the coming denial of them all. But the connection between the Father and the disciples is secure, because it is initiated by the Father, and will last even when Jesus disappears from them very shortly, because the powerful “Paraclete” will arrive to dispense Jesus’ on-going presence with them all, wherever they go and in whatever circumstances they find themselves. Of course, that will only trigger further conflicts and confrontations with “the world.” So (and here’s the central element of the discourse), “abide in me!” Either you are with the darkness or you are with the light. Either you are dead because of the power of the world, or you are alive in me. And, of course, if you “abide in me,” you will glow with my light, and the multiplication of the seed sown will take place. Eventually, through you, the light that comes into the world through Jesus will bring light to everyone. It is a picture of the mission of God, promised to Abraham, enacted geographically through Israel, but now become a global movement through Jesus’ disciples who “abide” in him through the power of the “Paraclete.”
Application
In his famous sermon, “The Weight of Glory,” C. S. Lewis talked about the idea of rewards in the Christian faith. Yes, he said, God promises us a reward for what we do in his name. But that doesn’t make us mercenaries, giving in order to get, selling our good deeds on the open market.
If a man would marry a woman with great wealth in order to get her money for himself, said Lewis, we would call him mercenary, and rightly so! We would thumb our noses at him, and be appalled at his audacity!
But if a man marries a rich woman only because he expects the reward of love, said Lewis, we would think him the greatest fellow on earth! He would be getting his reward, but it would actually be the fulfillment of what he is himself giving to the other! His reward is the extension of his gift!
So it is with us, says Lewis. We give of ourselves in Christian charity. We give of our time, our talents, our money. And, as Jesus says, God will reward us.
But what will that reward be? A million dollars? A life without sickness or cancer? A public declaration of our good deeds?
No.
The reward is simply to become one with LOVE itself, to give as we have been given, to share in the delights of his sharing, to stretch our souls and to find ourselves.
“I think,” said Annie Dillard, “that the dying prayer at last is not ‘please,’ but ‘thank you,’ as a guest thanks his host at the door.”
She is right. Life on earth is not about a demand for recognition, but a quiet “thank-you” for all that we have been able to see and show and share.
That doesn’t necessarily make good copy in the morning newspaper. Nor does it necessarily mean that we will be “successful” in life, at least in the ways many count success.
King Oswin, an early ruler of a northern territory in Britain, once gave his prize stallion to the local bishop as a token of appreciation. As the bishop traveled he met a beggar along the road. Since the man had nothing at all, the bishop got off his fine steed and put the reigns in the man’s hand. “Take him!” ordered the bishop. “Sell him and live! He’s all I have to give you.”
When King Oswin found out what the bishop had done he said, “Why didn’t you sent him to me? We have dozens of old horses that are more fitting for a beggar!”
The bishop quietly asked, “Is that stallion worth more than a child of God?!”
King Oswin thought about the question for a moment, and suddenly threw off his royal robes, falling at the bishop’s feet and crying to God for forgiveness. The bishop blessed him and sent him away in peace. But for a long time he stared after the king with sorrowful eyes. When one asked him why he was so troubled, bishop Adrian replied: “I know that the king will not live long, for I have never seen a king so humble as he is. He will be taken from us, as the country is not worthy to have such a king.”
His words proved true. In 651 the king was murdered by a neighboring rival who used Oswin’s own kindness to gain an audience. And the world was poorer that day.
But you are still here, and I am still here. And today we have heard again the gospel.
Alternative Application (1 John 4:7-21)
Our individuality makes us scramble for a personal identity. At the same time our sinfulness makes us fight for our distinction from everyone else. But something about love burrows past our rocks and walls and pride, and opens us to the wonder that there might be in intimacy with that special person! Says the poet about someone loving someone intimately:
Here I come home: in this expected country
They know my name and speak it with delight.
I am the dream and you my gates of entry.
The means by which I waken into the light. (A. D. Hope)
I was asleep, unaware of who I was, till you spoke my name, till you called me awake, till you brought me home to myself for the first time! This is the tenderness of love that works its magic on our crusty selves, when God, who is love itself, ignites the passions that make us fully human, fully alive.
To live in a different way requires some goals that pull us toward the narrow path that leads to the Kingdom of God. Goals don’t have to be big or outlandish or extravagant. They must, however, be important. In the preface to his magnificent novel Moby Dick, Herman Melville says, “To write a mighty book you must have a mighty theme.”
When the BBC wanted to do a program on the work of Mother Teresa in Calcutta, she at first refused. She didn’t want publicity, and didn’t think it would be worth her time or their while. She certainly did not want to be famous.
Finally, Malcolm Muggeridge talked her into it. He helped her to see that others needed her vision, her sense of purpose, her understanding of what God means for life. When he explained it to her like that she became excited. “Yes!” she said. “Malcolm, let’s do it! Let’s do something beautiful for God!”
That became the title of the program: “Something Beautiful for God.” If that is what a person wants in life, she’s on the right road, as was the Ethiopian eunuch, Jesus’ disciples, and the friends of John who knew, above all else, that “God is love.”
Acts 8:26-40
The momentum of the stories told in the book of Acts is derived from a single critical incident that took place in Jerusalem during the Jewish religious festival known as Pentecost. Jesus’ instruction for his disciples to stay in Jerusalem and wait for a special gift (Acts 1:4), must have seemed vague at the time, but the arrival of the explosive power of the Holy Spirit during the Pentecost feast made sense. This celebration was both a harvest festival and a time for recalling the gift of the original covenant documents to Moses at Mount Sinai. These two themes intersected marvelously with what was taking place. First, there was the dawning of a new age of revelation and divine mission, paralleling the first covenant declaration in the book of Exodus. Second, during the Pentecost harvest festival, the first sheaves of grain were presented at the Temple, anticipating that God would then bring in the full harvest. This expression of faith served as a clear analogy to the greater missional harvest of the church, which was begun through a miraculous “first fruits” in Jerusalem that day.
Peter capitalized on these themes when he preached a sermon explaining Joel’s prophecy of the “Day of the Lord.” Peter tied together God’s extensive mission, the history of Israel, the coming of Jesus, and the splitting of the Day of the Lord so that the blessings of the messianic age could begin before the final divine judgment fell. The pattern for entering the new community of faith was clearly outlined: repent and be baptized. The former indicated a transforming presence of the Holy Spirit in individual hearts, while the latter became the initiation rite by which the ranks of this missional society were identified.
Reaction to the rapidly developing Christian fellowship was swift and sharp. Within Jerusalem’s dominant religious community there was consternation about the Apostles’ identification of Jesus as the Jewish Messiah (Acts 4), creating tensions and divisions. Inside the newly organizing church itself, there were ethical issues that needed to be addressed (Acts 5–6). Soon the followers of Jesus needed to expand their leadership team (the deacons of Acts 6), and found themselves the targets of increasingly organized persecutions (Acts 8:1–3). Although this disrupted the close fellowship of the Jerusalem congregation, those who moved elsewhere to find safety brought the message of Jesus’ teachings, death and resurrection with them (Acts 8:4).
The Deacons of Acts 6 were supposed to ensure that the early Jewish-Christian community did not become introverted and self-absorbed, looking only after the interests of those who spoke the dominant language or had long-established social connections. This outward gaze was turned first to the Greek-speaking widows who were Jewish, but otherwise disconnected (Acts 61). Then it spread to include attention to true aliens and foreigners, like the Ethiopian eunuch of our lectionary reading today. He had used his vacation time to explore cultural and religious expressions that had been known in his territory for a thousand years, since the Queen of Sheba had made a similar pilgrimage during King Solomon’s reign.
Having purchased a tourist trinket from the Temple marketplace, the eunuch was mystified by its strange prophecy. While reading the Isaiah scroll, he was approached by Philip, one of the Christian community’s newly-minted Deacons, who offered interpretive assistance. In a few moments, both were transported from divergent cultural and religious backgrounds into the presence of Jesus, savior of all. The barriers of race and language and social standing were eliminated, and the rich and powerful eunuch from Ethiopia became brother to the poor Hellenistic widows on the wrong side of the tracks in Jerusalem.
What had been a centripetal energizing motion during the first phase of God’s recovery mission on planet Earth (that is, drawing all nations toward a re-engagement with their creator through the strategically placed people of Israel), was now shifted into a centrifugal motion of divine sending out these blessings of testimony to the world, in ever-widening circles of witness. The Christian church, born as a Jewish messianic sect, became a global religion.
1 John 4:7-21
Gnosticism was a philosophic worldview that often parasitically attached itself to various religious expressions, twisting their key concepts in complex and mystical directions. During the second century, a number of Gnostic communities sprang up in the Christian church, particularly in its eastern regions. Clement of Alexandria (c. 150-c.215) and his pupil Origen (c. 185-254) were among the most articulate spokespersons of gnostic-influenced Christian theology who remained within the orthodox faith. Irenaeus (c. 140-c. 202), Tertullian (c. 160-c. 220), and Hippolytus (170-235) all wrote extensively against the heresy of Gnosticism, and their explanations often parallel John’s earlier teaching on these things.
Gnosticism saw the world as cosmologically dualistic. All of physical reality was bad and degraded, while spiritual dimensions of life were good and empowering. The ultimate deity was like that of the Greek Stoics—non-relational, dispassionate, impassive, unchanging, and transcendent. But since the material world actually existed, an emanation (called the Demiurge) from the transcendent god served must have served as a secondary or subordinate creator. Of course, any god which would bring into being material things was already compromised. So, clearly, the deity of the Jews, the Creator God of the Old Testament, had to be a bad god. This distinguished Christianity from Judaism. Like the Demiurge (or identified with the Demiurge), the god of Genesis (and therefore all of the Hebrew Scriptures) was certainly less than perfect, and may well have been an ogre with a sadistic mean streak. Human beings, after all, are at best an evil joke. Many of us (but not all), have a divine spark trapped within our material shells, imprisoned almost to extinction by the loathsome attachments we have to passion and appetites.
If we as humans are to gain release from our material prisons and become truly liberated spirits, we need several things. First, we must gain the appropriate knowledge. This is the origin of the term Gnosticism, which is simply taken from the Greek word γνωσις, meaning “knowing” or “knowledge.” Since we are all trapped in the same material muddle, only a transcendent, divine spirit can communicate this necessary knowledge to us. Jesus’ life was all about this, whether as a projection into our experiences who was not himself fully, materially human, or by way of the unique divine insights and abilities granted the man who was adopted by God, and endowed with a special spiritual connection. So we need to learn the teachings of Jesus, because these will help us shed the claws of materialism that dig into the divine sparks many of us are beginning to realize that we have. Of course, the sayings and parables of Jesus would be interpreted differently by Gnostic teachers than they would by John and those who followed in his steps. That was the reason for the controversy which erupted in Gaius’ congregation in the first place.
Second, we must engage in rituals of purification through which we learn to transcend our own evil flesh, and purify the growing power of our spirits. These may be negations of bodily functions, or solitary mystical reveries. In any case, they are very myopic and self-focused: “I am on a spiritual quest…” “I am seeking truth, which you might not be privy to…” “I cannot be bothered by your needs or concerns, since I have moved into transcendence…”
Third, we must release the divine spark within us, ultimately through the death of our physical bodies. Thus, Jesus’ death and resurrection are at the center of Gnostic theology, but their purposes are strikingly different than expressed in the rest of Christian hope and understanding. For Paul and John and the rest of the New Testament writers, Jesus’ death was a scandal and a tragedy, even if it was part of the divine purpose and will. Jesus’ resurrection was an affirmation of the goodness of human life restored, precisely in its material state. For Gnostics, however, things were exactly the opposite. Jesus’ death was the great release, and the resurrected Jesus was fully spiritual, completely separated from physical influence or limitation.
These opposing perspectives about the intended or best expression of human life produced the ethical concerns that John addresses. Some Gnostics evidently believed that since we are powerless to transform our bodies or material substance into anything good, we might as well allow our flesh to enjoy its pitiable quest for passion, and indulge ourselves in any gross sensuality that our bodies might lead us into. After all, our truest beings are not really engaged in these things; it is only our weak and self-destructive bodies that are so inclined. Meanwhile, our spirits are set on higher goals and purposes.
A second element of Gnostic behavior, apparently, was that of ignoring the plight of others. Why should we try to alleviate the suffering which others experience in their flesh, since comfort only buttresses the pretense that their bodies have some meaning. We ought not to care for others, because such investments mess us up with material reality. These actions, in turn, only pulls us away from our truest spiritual goals, strengthen the capacities and resolve of the material prisons of our bodies which hold our spirits in check, and prevent others, whose flesh is weakening, from gaining more quickly the blessed release that will happen to their spirits when their bodies actually die.
All of this seems to have fostered a kind of Gnostic elitism. If some of us know these things, and others do not, we who know are better than those who do not know. We who have true knowledge from Jesus are on the track toward illumination and release, while those others are dumb dodos. Too bad they aren’t like us, but there is not a thing we can do about it. We are enlightened, they are not.
In the face of these teachings, which were dividing at least this one congregation, and threatening the gospel that John knew so well and had taught for so long, John gives some very pointed instructions. Right at the start of his short lecture, he affirms that the God of the Old Testament is also the true creator God (1 John 1), and that there is no cosmological dualism in which good and evil coexist in the eternal forms of spirit and matter. Evil is not an inherent part of human identity; it is an intruder (1 John 1:6-10). Nor is evil automatically connected only with the material dimension of human existence; our spirits can be sinful, just as our hands can be engaged in things that are good and right and noble (1 John 2:9-11).
When focusing on Jesus, John declares without qualification that he is the divine Son of God who actually became flesh and blood (1 John 2:20-23). Jesus is neither a holographic spiritual projection into our world, untouched by material plight or passionate feelings, nor an adopted superman who is so divinely charged that he no longer fully participates in the experiences of the rest of us. This counters the Gnostic ideas about their supposed divine teacher, and turns the testimony of the incarnation into the critical test for defining which teachings are true and which are not (1 John 4:1-3).
Furthermore, since God cares about us as fully integrated flesh and blood and spirit creatures (after all, we are brought into being by the true and good Creator), we ought also to care about each other (1 John 3:7-24). Since God loved us so much that God entered our world in the person of Jesus, we ought also to fully engage in each others’ lives for help and encouragement and care (1 John 4:7-21). In fact, the test of love is whether one has learned to care about the physical needs of a sister or brother (1 John 4:19-21). Christianity does not remove us from pain, but causes us to enter into it on an even deeper level, just as it brought Jesus into his stormy and tortured existence with us, and ultimately crucified him (1 John 5:1-12).
Thus, salvation is both physical and spiritual. We are already “children of God” (1 John 3:1), and we are also becoming more fully the family of the creator (1 John 3:2-3). Love is the highest moral good, the truest expression of “Light” over against the “Darkness” that evil and sin have brought into our world. This is why the last line of John’s teaching (“Dear children, keep yourselves from idols”), often considered cryptic or ill placed, is actually the summation of the entire teaching. It is the idolatry of self or spirit that misled these false teachers. They were neither superior spiritual gurus nor better human beings than those who did not believe in their proto-Gnostic teachings. In the end, they were false messiahs (thus “antichrists”) of the cult which, in its most dastardly expressions, was merely self-absorbed childishness, where “I” stand at the center of the universe. John believes that God does a better job in that location, and that our lives are meant to radiate the divine glory wherever we find ourselves. After all, “we love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19).
John 15:1-8
Once the transition takes place from the “Book of Signs” (John 1-12) to the “Book of Glory” (John 13-20), only two major events happen. First, Jesus meets for an extended meal and conversation with his disciples (chapters 13-17). This lengthy monologue seems somewhat meandering and repetitive until it is viewed through the Hebrew communication lens of chiasm. Then the “Farewell Discourse,” as it is known, takes on new depth, as it weaves back and forth, and climaxes in the middle. This parting exhortation becomes an obviously deeply moving instruction Jesus’ followers to remain connected to him by way of the powerful “Paraclete” (a Greek term meaning “counselor” or “advocate”), in the face of the troubling that will come upon them because of his imminent physical departure, and the rising persecutions targeted toward them by the world that remains in darkness. In chiastic summary, the Farewell Discourse can be portrayed in this manner:
Gathering experience of unity 13:1-35
Prediction of disciple’s denial 13:36-38
Jesus’ departure tempered by Father’s power 14:1-14
Promise of the “Paraclete” 14:15-24
Troubling encounter with the world 14:25-31
“Abide in Me!” teaching 15:1-17
Troubling encounter with the world 15:18-16:4a
Promise of the “Paraclete” 16:4b-15
Jesus’ departure tempered by Father’s power 16:16-28
Prediction of disciple’s denial 16:29-33
Departing experience of unity 17:1-26
Every element of this “Farewell Discourse” is doubled with a parallel passage except for Jesus’ central teaching that his disciples should “abide in me.” Furthermore, these parallel passages are arranged in reverse order in the second half to their initial expression in the first half. At the heart of it all comes the unparalleled vine and branches teaching, which functions as the chiastic center and ultimate focus of the discourse as a whole. In effect, John shows us how the transforming power of Jesus as the light of the world is to take effect. Jesus comes into this darkened world as a brilliant ray of re-creative light and life. But if he goes about his business all by himself, the light will have limited penetrating value, over against the expansive and pervasive darkness that has consumed this world.
In this chiastic “Farewell Discourse,” Jesus makes clear the meaning of everything. His disciples have been transformed from darkness to light (and thus from death to life) through Jesus’ incorporation of them into fellowship with himself and the Father (chapters 13 and 17). This does not free them immediately from struggles, as seen in Judas’ betrayal and the coming denial of them all. But the connection between the Father and the disciples is secure, because it is initiated by the Father, and will last even when Jesus disappears from them very shortly, because the powerful “Paraclete” will arrive to dispense Jesus’ on-going presence with them all, wherever they go and in whatever circumstances they find themselves. Of course, that will only trigger further conflicts and confrontations with “the world.” So (and here’s the central element of the discourse), “abide in me!” Either you are with the darkness or you are with the light. Either you are dead because of the power of the world, or you are alive in me. And, of course, if you “abide in me,” you will glow with my light, and the multiplication of the seed sown will take place. Eventually, through you, the light that comes into the world through Jesus will bring light to everyone. It is a picture of the mission of God, promised to Abraham, enacted geographically through Israel, but now become a global movement through Jesus’ disciples who “abide” in him through the power of the “Paraclete.”
Application
In his famous sermon, “The Weight of Glory,” C. S. Lewis talked about the idea of rewards in the Christian faith. Yes, he said, God promises us a reward for what we do in his name. But that doesn’t make us mercenaries, giving in order to get, selling our good deeds on the open market.
If a man would marry a woman with great wealth in order to get her money for himself, said Lewis, we would call him mercenary, and rightly so! We would thumb our noses at him, and be appalled at his audacity!
But if a man marries a rich woman only because he expects the reward of love, said Lewis, we would think him the greatest fellow on earth! He would be getting his reward, but it would actually be the fulfillment of what he is himself giving to the other! His reward is the extension of his gift!
So it is with us, says Lewis. We give of ourselves in Christian charity. We give of our time, our talents, our money. And, as Jesus says, God will reward us.
But what will that reward be? A million dollars? A life without sickness or cancer? A public declaration of our good deeds?
No.
The reward is simply to become one with LOVE itself, to give as we have been given, to share in the delights of his sharing, to stretch our souls and to find ourselves.
“I think,” said Annie Dillard, “that the dying prayer at last is not ‘please,’ but ‘thank you,’ as a guest thanks his host at the door.”
She is right. Life on earth is not about a demand for recognition, but a quiet “thank-you” for all that we have been able to see and show and share.
That doesn’t necessarily make good copy in the morning newspaper. Nor does it necessarily mean that we will be “successful” in life, at least in the ways many count success.
King Oswin, an early ruler of a northern territory in Britain, once gave his prize stallion to the local bishop as a token of appreciation. As the bishop traveled he met a beggar along the road. Since the man had nothing at all, the bishop got off his fine steed and put the reigns in the man’s hand. “Take him!” ordered the bishop. “Sell him and live! He’s all I have to give you.”
When King Oswin found out what the bishop had done he said, “Why didn’t you sent him to me? We have dozens of old horses that are more fitting for a beggar!”
The bishop quietly asked, “Is that stallion worth more than a child of God?!”
King Oswin thought about the question for a moment, and suddenly threw off his royal robes, falling at the bishop’s feet and crying to God for forgiveness. The bishop blessed him and sent him away in peace. But for a long time he stared after the king with sorrowful eyes. When one asked him why he was so troubled, bishop Adrian replied: “I know that the king will not live long, for I have never seen a king so humble as he is. He will be taken from us, as the country is not worthy to have such a king.”
His words proved true. In 651 the king was murdered by a neighboring rival who used Oswin’s own kindness to gain an audience. And the world was poorer that day.
But you are still here, and I am still here. And today we have heard again the gospel.
Alternative Application (1 John 4:7-21)
Our individuality makes us scramble for a personal identity. At the same time our sinfulness makes us fight for our distinction from everyone else. But something about love burrows past our rocks and walls and pride, and opens us to the wonder that there might be in intimacy with that special person! Says the poet about someone loving someone intimately:
Here I come home: in this expected country
They know my name and speak it with delight.
I am the dream and you my gates of entry.
The means by which I waken into the light. (A. D. Hope)
I was asleep, unaware of who I was, till you spoke my name, till you called me awake, till you brought me home to myself for the first time! This is the tenderness of love that works its magic on our crusty selves, when God, who is love itself, ignites the passions that make us fully human, fully alive.
