Getting It Right
Commentary
Someone has suggested a powerfully illuminating analogy. When a ship is built, he said, each part has a little voice of its own. As seamen walk the passageways on her maiden voyage, they can hear the creaking whispers of separate identities: “I’m a rivet!” “I’m a sheet of steel!” “I’m a propeller!” “I’m a beam!” For a while, these little voices sing their individual songs, proudly independent and fiercely self-protective.
But then a storm blows in on the high seas and the waves toss, the gales hurl, and the rains beat. If the parts of the ship try to withstand the pummeling independent from one another, each would be lost. On the bridge, however, stands the captain. He issues orders that take all of the little voices and bring them together for a larger purpose. By the time the vessel has weathered the storm, sailors hear a new and deeper song echoing from stem to stern: “I am a ship!”
It is the captain’s call that creates the deeper identity. So too in our lives, according to Jesus. We can hear many voices in the Bible. Moses is there, and so are Isaiah and David. The law and the prophets guide our lives and keep us sailing. But ultimately the voice that matters is that of the captain. That is why Jesus said that all of scripture explains him, and he explains all of scripture. This we see in each of our readings for today.
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 (replacing the badge of circumcision in its unique application to the nation of Israel—see Colossians 2:11–12).
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).
Jesus and his disciples and all of the first Christians were Jews of Galilee and Judea, speaking Aramaic, for the most part, with many knowing at least a smattering of Hebrew for worship. The larger world in which they lived, however, was a Greek- and Latin-speaking universe. International travelers, traders, and educated folk spoke Greek around the eastern half of the Mediterranean Sea, and Latin in its western parts. Most Jews lived outside of Palestine and were predominantly Greek speakers. But because of the “homeland” character of Judea, Jews from all over the Greco-Roman world came to Jerusalem for its yearly religious festivals, and many “returned” to Jerusalem in the latter years of life to retire at the heart of Messiah’s domain, hoping and praying for his arrival.
Therefore, the gospel of Jesus spread like wildfire through the Jerusalem community and beyond, and most new Christians were Aramaic-speaking Jews. Still, some of the Greek-speaking Jews also got the message and understood the messianic faith. It was particularly for this group that the first deacons were appointed (Acts 6:1-6). Widows, who did not have husbands or sons to look after their needs, were marginalized in the loving community which shared and cared, simply because they did not know when distributions were going to take place or where gatherings for worship and fellowship would happen. “Everybody” talked in Aramaic. Except that these people, also Christians, did not.
When some finally noticed the marginalization and segregation, albeit unintended, they informed the apostles. The apostles agreed that this was a big problem and needed to be addressed. So devout leaders within the new Christian community were selected to ensure all were included. The only caveat was this: these “deacons” needed to speak Greek!
Seven such persons were appointed, and among them was Philip. This explains, at least in part, why Philip was selected by Jesus, and sent by the Holy Spirit, to engage the Ethiopian government official. The man in the chariot was an African on vacation, and wealthy enough to travel. He probably was curious about other cultures and social groups and had gone to Jerusalem to experience Jewish rituals at the heart of their identity. While there, he had picked up some tourist trinkets when wandering the bazaars and shops of Jerusalem, including copies of segments of the Hebrew scriptures.
As he returned home from his holidays, he reviewed his purchases, including a scroll of Isaiah. The Holy Spirit brought Philip to him at exactly the moment the Ethiopian man was reading what we know as Isaiah 53. In what would become one of the earliest Christian exegeses of this passage, Philip told the man about Jesus, and baptized him in the name of the Savior.
1 John 4:7-21
It is probable that 1, 2 and 3 John were part of a single packet of correspondence, written together in one setting, and delivered all at one time, by a man named Demetrius. Demetrius was being sent by the elder as his personal representative. 3 John forms the cover letter for the collection. In it, the elder commends Demetrius to Gaius, identifying Demetrius as the chosen ambassador of the elder who was trusted to act on the elder’s behalf in resolving this crisis. 2 John is the introductory letter from the elder to the congregation, encouraging faithfulness during these stressful times of dispute and tension, and setting the stage for a public reading of the summary teaching, also enclosed. 1 John forms that brief but substantive teaching itself. It was intended to be read and discussed by the congregation, outlining correct and incorrect theologies that have surfaced in this debate, and pointing to next steps in dealing with these matters.
What is the heretical teaching that this competing group is putting forward? Although we do not have any actual writings that might have been circulated by the false teachers, or first-person written reports of their oratory, we can read backwards through John’s main points of emphasis and decipher nuances of the heresy propounded. Over against what the others must have been teaching, John stresses these things:
Gnosticism saw the world as cosmologically dualistic. All 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 existed, an emanation (called the Demiurge) from the transcendent god served must have served as a secondary or subordinate creator. Of course, any god who 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.
Christianity, however, is the religion of Jesus, the liberator. Obviously, if Jesus is to bring salvation, he needs to transcend the material world, which is inherently bad. So Gnostic forms of Christianity took one of two approaches, when theologizing about Jesus. The Docetists (from the Greek word meaning to “seem” or “appear”), believed that Jesus was only a divine projection into our world (like a hologram), who was not actually human and did not really interact directly with material substance. It was precisely because of his intrinsic difference from us that he was able to speak to our condition and provide a means of spiritual escape.
The adoptionists, on the other hand, believed that Jesus was an exceptionally good human being who was then adopted by God to be used as a temporary transmitter of divine teachings. When Jesus was baptized by John, the Holy Spirit came upon him, granting to the man Jesus the ability to see and know and understand transcendent, spiritual things. Later, when Jesus was being crucified, he himself acknowledged what had happened, for he raised his face toward heaven and cried out, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit!” This, of course, was the release or separation of the divine spirit from the human Jesus. Many of the adoptionists believed that God was deeply grateful to Jesus (the man) for his faithful service and partnership for a time with the divine spirit, and that after Jesus (the man) died, God raised him up as a new kind of creature. This resurrected Jesus was the prototype that true Christians should emulate, and toward which they should aspire.
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. This is why, in the Gnostic Gospel of Judas, for instance, Jesus tells Judas that Judas’ planned betrayal of Jesus is of supreme importance and constitutes the most necessary task that any of the disciples could accomplish. Judas is the hero of the story, for Judas alone understands that Jesus cannot be a fully blessed immaterial spirit until his physical flesh and blood dies. Only this will release the divine spark within him. So, Judas is praised by Jesus as the one who does the very best thing in having Jesus killed. Physical death is the only guaranteed way to get rid of the material substance which diminishes true human life. 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 pull 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 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 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 other’s 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 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. Therefore, the last line of John’s teaching (“Dear children, keep yourselves from idols”), often considered cryptic or ill placed, is 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
John’s gospel has two major parts, which readers have labeled “The Book of Signs” (John 1-12) and “The Book of Glory” (John 13-21). Each name reflects the dominant features in that section, as identified by Jesus himself.
Once the transition takes place from the “Book of Signs” to the “Book of Glory,” 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 for 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 trouble 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 entire discourse. 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. So, a multiplication and amplification have to happen. Jesus himself spoke about this at the end of the “Book of Signs.” He said: “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me…” (12:26)
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 has become a global movement through Jesus’ disciples who “abide” in him through the power of the “Paraclete.”
Application
Horatio Spafford was a lawyer in Chicago in the latter half of the nineteenth century. When Mrs. O’Leary’s cow overturned the lantern the night of October 8, 1871, the great fire that resulted destroyed Spafford’s home and business. These disasters put a heavy strain on the family. Mrs. Spafford became so nervous and run-down that her doctor recommended a vacation, so the family laid plans to sail for Europe in November of 1873.
As the date approached, Horatio realized he was too busy to leave with his family. He sent his wife and four daughters on ahead, planning to catch up with them later.
On November 22, the ship carrying the five Spafford women sank beneath the waves of the north Atlantic. Nearly everyone on board died. On December 1, Mrs. Spafford sent a telegram to Horatio from Cardiff, Wales. It said, “Saved alone!”
How much more would one couple have to suffer? Where was God in all of this?
Horatio left immediately to join his wife. As he crossed the Atlantic, he asked the captain to show him where the other ship had gone down. When they came to the spot, Horatio stood at the rail, looking out at the cruel gray sea. Did he cry out to God in pain? Probably so. Did he feel cheated by life? Undoubtedly. Did he turn away from God, saying God had let him down?
He could have. But he did not, because in those moments he wrote these words:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
“It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blest assurance control;
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
and has shed his own blood for my soul.
O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend;
even so, it is well with my soul. (Public Domain)
So, we carry on, as he did, living by faith in a troubling world, trusting in Jesus through the power of the Paraclete. Horatio and Anna Spafford moved to Jerusalem after these events. They spent the last decades of their lives establishing a community of reconciliation between Jews, Muslims and Christians in the heart of that troubled city.
So how is Jesus living in us here? What do others know of the power of the Paraclete who shines through us into a troubled world?
There is a glowing network spreading from this place, isn’t there? How is your connection?
Alternative Application (John 15:1-8)
In the 1930’s, many members of the church in Germany lost their faith because Hitler seduced them into ways of living that kept them from practicing their faith. But there was one man whom Hitler could not compromise. His name was Martin Niemöller. During World War I, Niemöller had been a great hero in the German military. But when the Second World War came, he refused to bow to the authorities. He was marching to a different drumbeat. And march he did. When Hitler could not make him change his tune, when he could not bring him in line with the Nazis’ brutal policies, Hitler had Niemöller thrown into a concentration camp.
Seven years later, when Niemöller came out of the camp, this is what he said: “Christianity is not an ethic, nor is it a system of dogmatics, but a living thing.” Everyone who saw the fruits of his life knew who he was and where he stood and how he built his reputation.
Niemöller was a disciple of Jesus. Like those who share the final meal with their Lord, in the setting of our “farewell discourse” text, Niemöller experienced the “troubling” of the world that Jesus foretold. But he also knew the empowering of the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit of God, who brings remembrance and courage and hope.
But then a storm blows in on the high seas and the waves toss, the gales hurl, and the rains beat. If the parts of the ship try to withstand the pummeling independent from one another, each would be lost. On the bridge, however, stands the captain. He issues orders that take all of the little voices and bring them together for a larger purpose. By the time the vessel has weathered the storm, sailors hear a new and deeper song echoing from stem to stern: “I am a ship!”
It is the captain’s call that creates the deeper identity. So too in our lives, according to Jesus. We can hear many voices in the Bible. Moses is there, and so are Isaiah and David. The law and the prophets guide our lives and keep us sailing. But ultimately the voice that matters is that of the captain. That is why Jesus said that all of scripture explains him, and he explains all of scripture. This we see in each of our readings for today.
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 (replacing the badge of circumcision in its unique application to the nation of Israel—see Colossians 2:11–12).
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).
Jesus and his disciples and all of the first Christians were Jews of Galilee and Judea, speaking Aramaic, for the most part, with many knowing at least a smattering of Hebrew for worship. The larger world in which they lived, however, was a Greek- and Latin-speaking universe. International travelers, traders, and educated folk spoke Greek around the eastern half of the Mediterranean Sea, and Latin in its western parts. Most Jews lived outside of Palestine and were predominantly Greek speakers. But because of the “homeland” character of Judea, Jews from all over the Greco-Roman world came to Jerusalem for its yearly religious festivals, and many “returned” to Jerusalem in the latter years of life to retire at the heart of Messiah’s domain, hoping and praying for his arrival.
Therefore, the gospel of Jesus spread like wildfire through the Jerusalem community and beyond, and most new Christians were Aramaic-speaking Jews. Still, some of the Greek-speaking Jews also got the message and understood the messianic faith. It was particularly for this group that the first deacons were appointed (Acts 6:1-6). Widows, who did not have husbands or sons to look after their needs, were marginalized in the loving community which shared and cared, simply because they did not know when distributions were going to take place or where gatherings for worship and fellowship would happen. “Everybody” talked in Aramaic. Except that these people, also Christians, did not.
When some finally noticed the marginalization and segregation, albeit unintended, they informed the apostles. The apostles agreed that this was a big problem and needed to be addressed. So devout leaders within the new Christian community were selected to ensure all were included. The only caveat was this: these “deacons” needed to speak Greek!
Seven such persons were appointed, and among them was Philip. This explains, at least in part, why Philip was selected by Jesus, and sent by the Holy Spirit, to engage the Ethiopian government official. The man in the chariot was an African on vacation, and wealthy enough to travel. He probably was curious about other cultures and social groups and had gone to Jerusalem to experience Jewish rituals at the heart of their identity. While there, he had picked up some tourist trinkets when wandering the bazaars and shops of Jerusalem, including copies of segments of the Hebrew scriptures.
As he returned home from his holidays, he reviewed his purchases, including a scroll of Isaiah. The Holy Spirit brought Philip to him at exactly the moment the Ethiopian man was reading what we know as Isaiah 53. In what would become one of the earliest Christian exegeses of this passage, Philip told the man about Jesus, and baptized him in the name of the Savior.
1 John 4:7-21
It is probable that 1, 2 and 3 John were part of a single packet of correspondence, written together in one setting, and delivered all at one time, by a man named Demetrius. Demetrius was being sent by the elder as his personal representative. 3 John forms the cover letter for the collection. In it, the elder commends Demetrius to Gaius, identifying Demetrius as the chosen ambassador of the elder who was trusted to act on the elder’s behalf in resolving this crisis. 2 John is the introductory letter from the elder to the congregation, encouraging faithfulness during these stressful times of dispute and tension, and setting the stage for a public reading of the summary teaching, also enclosed. 1 John forms that brief but substantive teaching itself. It was intended to be read and discussed by the congregation, outlining correct and incorrect theologies that have surfaced in this debate, and pointing to next steps in dealing with these matters.
What is the heretical teaching that this competing group is putting forward? Although we do not have any actual writings that might have been circulated by the false teachers, or first-person written reports of their oratory, we can read backwards through John’s main points of emphasis and decipher nuances of the heresy propounded. Over against what the others must have been teaching, John stresses these things:
- There is clear continuity between Old and New Testament ages (1:1–4)
- God has given a recent new revelation, the person of Jesus (1:2–3)
- There is only one God, and this divine being is entirely unified in character (1:5)
- Sin is an obvious reality, and cannot be ignored or presumed out of the human picture (1:6–10)
- Jesus actually died, and this happened as a sacrifice that had religious transactional qualities; it was redemptive (1:7, 2:1)
- There is a unity of theology and ethics; what you believe must come out in your practices, or it is not truly held at all (2:3–6)
- Followers of Jesus are, by their very nature and calling, concerned about the physical well-being of others (2:9–11)
- Godly people need to deny worldly desires that constantly plague humans (2:15–17)
- The highest value of all is love expressed in relationships (3:10–15, 4:21)
- Jesus died, and this was an atoning sacrifice (3:16, 4:10)
- The Holy Spirit is one with the Father and the Son (3:21–4:6)
- Jesus is and remains truly flesh and blood (4:2, 5:6–8)
Gnosticism saw the world as cosmologically dualistic. All 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 existed, an emanation (called the Demiurge) from the transcendent god served must have served as a secondary or subordinate creator. Of course, any god who 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.
Christianity, however, is the religion of Jesus, the liberator. Obviously, if Jesus is to bring salvation, he needs to transcend the material world, which is inherently bad. So Gnostic forms of Christianity took one of two approaches, when theologizing about Jesus. The Docetists (from the Greek word meaning to “seem” or “appear”), believed that Jesus was only a divine projection into our world (like a hologram), who was not actually human and did not really interact directly with material substance. It was precisely because of his intrinsic difference from us that he was able to speak to our condition and provide a means of spiritual escape.
The adoptionists, on the other hand, believed that Jesus was an exceptionally good human being who was then adopted by God to be used as a temporary transmitter of divine teachings. When Jesus was baptized by John, the Holy Spirit came upon him, granting to the man Jesus the ability to see and know and understand transcendent, spiritual things. Later, when Jesus was being crucified, he himself acknowledged what had happened, for he raised his face toward heaven and cried out, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit!” This, of course, was the release or separation of the divine spirit from the human Jesus. Many of the adoptionists believed that God was deeply grateful to Jesus (the man) for his faithful service and partnership for a time with the divine spirit, and that after Jesus (the man) died, God raised him up as a new kind of creature. This resurrected Jesus was the prototype that true Christians should emulate, and toward which they should aspire.
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. This is why, in the Gnostic Gospel of Judas, for instance, Jesus tells Judas that Judas’ planned betrayal of Jesus is of supreme importance and constitutes the most necessary task that any of the disciples could accomplish. Judas is the hero of the story, for Judas alone understands that Jesus cannot be a fully blessed immaterial spirit until his physical flesh and blood dies. Only this will release the divine spark within him. So, Judas is praised by Jesus as the one who does the very best thing in having Jesus killed. Physical death is the only guaranteed way to get rid of the material substance which diminishes true human life. 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 pull 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 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 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 other’s 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 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. Therefore, the last line of John’s teaching (“Dear children, keep yourselves from idols”), often considered cryptic or ill placed, is 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
John’s gospel has two major parts, which readers have labeled “The Book of Signs” (John 1-12) and “The Book of Glory” (John 13-21). Each name reflects the dominant features in that section, as identified by Jesus himself.
Once the transition takes place from the “Book of Signs” to the “Book of Glory,” 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 for 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 trouble 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 entire discourse. 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. So, a multiplication and amplification have to happen. Jesus himself spoke about this at the end of the “Book of Signs.” He said: “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me…” (12:26)
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 has become a global movement through Jesus’ disciples who “abide” in him through the power of the “Paraclete.”
Application
Horatio Spafford was a lawyer in Chicago in the latter half of the nineteenth century. When Mrs. O’Leary’s cow overturned the lantern the night of October 8, 1871, the great fire that resulted destroyed Spafford’s home and business. These disasters put a heavy strain on the family. Mrs. Spafford became so nervous and run-down that her doctor recommended a vacation, so the family laid plans to sail for Europe in November of 1873.
As the date approached, Horatio realized he was too busy to leave with his family. He sent his wife and four daughters on ahead, planning to catch up with them later.
On November 22, the ship carrying the five Spafford women sank beneath the waves of the north Atlantic. Nearly everyone on board died. On December 1, Mrs. Spafford sent a telegram to Horatio from Cardiff, Wales. It said, “Saved alone!”
How much more would one couple have to suffer? Where was God in all of this?
Horatio left immediately to join his wife. As he crossed the Atlantic, he asked the captain to show him where the other ship had gone down. When they came to the spot, Horatio stood at the rail, looking out at the cruel gray sea. Did he cry out to God in pain? Probably so. Did he feel cheated by life? Undoubtedly. Did he turn away from God, saying God had let him down?
He could have. But he did not, because in those moments he wrote these words:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
“It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blest assurance control;
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
and has shed his own blood for my soul.
O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend;
even so, it is well with my soul. (Public Domain)
So, we carry on, as he did, living by faith in a troubling world, trusting in Jesus through the power of the Paraclete. Horatio and Anna Spafford moved to Jerusalem after these events. They spent the last decades of their lives establishing a community of reconciliation between Jews, Muslims and Christians in the heart of that troubled city.
So how is Jesus living in us here? What do others know of the power of the Paraclete who shines through us into a troubled world?
There is a glowing network spreading from this place, isn’t there? How is your connection?
Alternative Application (John 15:1-8)
In the 1930’s, many members of the church in Germany lost their faith because Hitler seduced them into ways of living that kept them from practicing their faith. But there was one man whom Hitler could not compromise. His name was Martin Niemöller. During World War I, Niemöller had been a great hero in the German military. But when the Second World War came, he refused to bow to the authorities. He was marching to a different drumbeat. And march he did. When Hitler could not make him change his tune, when he could not bring him in line with the Nazis’ brutal policies, Hitler had Niemöller thrown into a concentration camp.
Seven years later, when Niemöller came out of the camp, this is what he said: “Christianity is not an ethic, nor is it a system of dogmatics, but a living thing.” Everyone who saw the fruits of his life knew who he was and where he stood and how he built his reputation.
Niemöller was a disciple of Jesus. Like those who share the final meal with their Lord, in the setting of our “farewell discourse” text, Niemöller experienced the “troubling” of the world that Jesus foretold. But he also knew the empowering of the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit of God, who brings remembrance and courage and hope.
