The Good Life
Commentary
When Ryan Barbarisi was in fifth grade at Grace Community Christian School in Tempe, Arizona, his teacher asked each member of his class to finish this sentence — “I would be rich if . . . ” — and then to draw a picture of what he or she was thinking about. Here is what Ryan wrote: “I would be rich if I had enough money to buy a mansion and a red Ferrari. I would like to have these things because if I had a mansion, I would have a good life. If I had a Ferrari, I would burn up the streets.”
We have heard that song and dance before, haven’t we? In fact, we have heard it from people much older than Ryan. I have heard words of that sort coming out of my own mouth. Maybe you have too. We are all looking for the “good life.” That is the human quest.
But what is the “good life”? For one thing, the biblical picture of the good life has a lot to do with relationships. Relationships make life meaningful, and tragic is the lot of those who walk alone. Quality human relationships are at the heart of life. Our doctrine of the Trinity is all about that, in fact. I remember when I first came to realize that the doctrine of the Trinity is more than some intellectual game of mad theological conjuring; in fact, it means that there is a community of persons who stand at the center of all that exists in this universe. Can you see it? At the heart of reality is not some impersonal power, but a fellowship of three who wish to share their fellowship with others. That is what the “good life” is all about.
Second, a sense of dependency sifts through the Bible. “Blessed are all who fear the LORD” (Psalm 128:1), not merely those who have the red Ferrari or the mansion on the hill. Blessed are those who know they cannot make it on their own and realize it early enough in life. Blessed are those who find power in weakness, who find strength in inability, who are led to depend on others and on God through the limitations of their own skills.
Third, there is a great urgency of hope in the forward thrust of the biblical message. The future beckons, and it is a good future because it is full of the promises of God. There is a sense that our hope is tied not to our own ability to make it, but to God’s own character and identity. If there is a “good life,” then it is “God’s Life” or it is nothing at all.
Maybe someday I will get a red Ferrari. I doubt it, but who knows? If it should ever happen, it will only be an extension of the “good life” I know now, and not the source of it. This is at the heart of each of our lectionary readings for today.
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
Imagine a scene in a farmhouse kitchen. It is early September. Crops are still in the fields, and the smell of freshly cut hay mixes with the odors of manure and the pungent staleness of last year’s silage. Flies buzz everywhere, leaving their small black dots of contamination. The air hangs heavy with choking humidity, begging for a late afternoon shower to wash clean the atmosphere.
A ticking wall clock rivets the silence of three who sit around a kitchen table, with its plastic red and white covering. Cups of tea, hardly touched, idle in front of each: an older husband and wife, and their strapping teenage son, nearly a grown man in his own right.
Suddenly, the young fellow stands and says, “Well …” Mom and Dad jump up quickly, and walk him to the door. Outside is a battered compact car crammed with the stuff a first-year student takes off to college, deluded into thinking his mother knows what he will need there.
There are too many important things to say, so nobody uses words. Mom grabs her son around the waist and clenches the air out of his lungs in surprising ferocity as she weeps into his chest. When he finally pats her away and turns toward Dad, there is a glistening of almost-tears in the older fellow’s eyes that the son hasn’t seen before. They shake hands, man to man, in a grip no bear could pull out of. Finally, Dad manages a few expressions. “Son,” he says, “remember what we’ve taught you! When you get to the big city, and you find your place at the university, there will be all sorts of women who come after you. Pick wisely, or it will be the ruin of you. Remember who you are!”
And with that, the son escapes to find his fame and fortune. What will he be like in a year or four? What will he do with his opportunities? How will he face the challenges that cultured life has to offer him, once the protective structures of rural society no longer define how he is to live? Most importantly, who will he date, and why, and will he find a mate with whom he can thrive? Or will he get caught in the lure of enticements that steal his soul as well as his heart?
Ruminating on this scenario brings us directly into the book of Proverbs. Here is an ingenious curriculum built upon a love story. In fact, the book of Proverbs starts out as an allegory on a relationship triangle, with a voice of parental reason whispering from offstage.
While it may seem, at first glance, to be a tedious collection of rather dry one-liners, Proverbs is much more than that. It is our doorway into the educational system of the Israelite community. Our word “proverb” is derived from a Latin term which means “for a verb.” So these are “words” which take the place of “more words.” In other terms, this is a concise distillation of wisdom compacted into a few carefully conceived phrases. The wisdom presumed by the proverbs is the worldview of the Sinai Covenant, as the prologue (Proverbs 1:1-7) indicates. The message of the book derives its direction from Solomon, who was enormously wise because of the special gift of God (1 Kings 3). Solomon was the father of Proverbs in several ways. First, he created Yahweh’s temple in Jerusalem, which gave a permanent home to Israel’s covenant marriage partner. Second, the wisdom of Yahweh spoke powerfully through Solomon, so that the whole world came to hear his proverbs and pithy sayings (1 Kings 3-4). Third, the greatest bulk of this book called “Proverbs” is attributed directly to Solomon (1:1, 10:1, 25:1). Fourth, Solomon was also known for his wide-ranging — and ultimately catastrophic flirtations, courtships and marriages, which may well be reflected in the pointed moral sermons of the first nine chapters of Proverbs. In truth, both Solomon’s early expressions of pithy wisdom (which drew the attention and the attraction of the world; 1 Kings 4:29-34, 10:1-13) and his disastrous sexual alliances (which caused his downfall; 1 Kings 11:1-13), served to shape the collection of Proverbs in its final form.
This is seen in the “Lectures on Wisdom and Folly” that stand at the head of the book. In the Hebrew language, both “wisdom” and “folly” are feminine nouns. Thus the use of the repeated literary device “my son” in Proverbs 1:8-9:18 is intentional. All readers or hearers of these lectures become the “son” who is courted by two women, “Wisdom” and “Folly.” By the end of these carefully crafted lectures, in which each woman is given ample opportunity to present her case, all of us must choose which woman to wed. The choice is real, personal, and life changing. Wisdom brings stability and well-being; Folly offers quick experiences and tragic ends.
Dating often seems to be a trivial pastime, and sexuality sometimes merely the arena for power plays and sporting events. But in Proverbs, the high calling of courtship is held out as the definer of human identity. None of us remains single. All of us are swept up into the drama. It is forever a triangle: whether female or male, in this affair, we are the young man pursuing and being pursued by two women, folly and wisdom. Each parades her virtues. Each calls for a choice and a commitment. But there the similarities end. For folly brings us into an endless addiction to one-night stands, in which we lose ourselves in the delirium of mere titillation and ultimately lose all substance and self-respect. Wisdom, however, wants to take things slowly, and seeks as much to get to know us as we her. Wisdom desires a relationship where respect deepens and both parties are enriched.
If, at the close of these lectures, one should choose folly, the rest of the proverbs have no meaning. That person should slam shut the book and get on with other destructive behaviors, for she or he cannot understand the language that is used in the house of wisdom.
If, however, one hears and understands these lectures and responds with an appropriate desire to court and marry wisdom, the rest of the book of Proverbs becomes the stuff of which her house is made. When one is bound to wisdom, the proverbs are the furnishings of her home, the decorations on her walls, the conversation pieces in her rooms, and the lifestyle that organizes her economy. The many, many proverbs are not to be read together as an unbroken narrative, but are supposed to be savored and tasted like the multitude of meals taken over time in the marriage house of wisdom. They are to be breathed in as if they were the life-sustaining rhythms of respiration itself.
Romans 5:1-5
Because Paul had not yet made a visit to Rome, this letter is less personal and more rationally organized than was often otherwise true. Paul intended this missive to be a working document; the congregation, already established in the capital city of the empire, would be able to read and discuss it together, in anticipation of Paul’s arrival, which was planned for some months ahead (Romans 1:6-15). Paul summarized his working theme and emphasis up front: A new expression of the “righteousness of God” had been recently revealed, with great power, through the coming of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:17).
Paul moves directly from his brief declaration about the righteousness of God into an extended discourse on the wrath of God as revealed against wickedness (Romans 1:18). Because of this, many have interpreted Paul’s understanding of God’s righteousness as an unattainable standard, against which the whole human race is measured and fails miserably. Only then, in the context of this desperate human situation, would the grand salvation of Christ be appreciated and enjoyed.
But more scholars believe that Paul’s assertions about the righteousness of God actually have a positive and missional thrust. In their understanding of what Paul says, it is precisely because of the obvious corruption and sinfulness in our world, which are demeaning and destroying humanity, that God needed again, as God did through Israel, to assert the divine will. In so doing, the focus of God’s righteousness is not to heap judgment upon humankind; instead, God’s brilliant display of grace and power in Jesus ought to draw people back to the creational goodness God had originally intended for them. In other words, the Creator has never changed purpose or plan. The divine mission through Israel was to display the righteousness of God, so that all nations might return to the goodness of Yahweh. Now again, in Jesus, the righteousness of God is revealed as a beacon of hope in a world ravaged by evil bullies. The power of God is our only sure bodyguard against the killing effects of sin and society and self.
This more positive perspective on the righteousness of God fits well with the flow of Paul’s message. In chapters 1:18-3:20, Paul described the crippling effects of sin. We are all alienated from God (1:18-25). But we are also alienated from each other (1:26-32), so that we begin to treat one another with contempt and painful arrogance, and destroy those around us in the malice which blinds us. We are even, said Paul, alienated from our own selves (2:1-11), not realizing how tarnished our sense and perspectives have become.
We make excuses about our condition (2:12-3:20), claiming that we are actually pretty good people (2:12-16), or accusing society and religion of raising moral standards to levels that are simply unrealistic (2:17-3:4), or even blaming God for all the nastiness around us and within us (3:5-20). Yet, the result is merely self-deception, and continued rottenness in a world that seems to have no outs.
Once the stage had been set for Paul’s readers to realize again the pervasive grip of evil in this world, Paul marched Abraham out onto the stage as a model of divine religious reconstruction. God does not wish to be distant from the world, judgmental and vengeful. Rather, Jesus came, the fullness of God’s healing righteousness revealed.
The story of God’s righteousness as grace and goodness began with Abraham. God has always desired an ever-renewing relationship with the people of this world, creatures made in God’s own image. Paul described God’s heart of love in 3:21-31, using illustrations from the courtroom (we are “justified” — 3:24), the marketplace (we receive “redemption” — 3:24), and the temple (“a sacrifice of atonement” — 3:25). Moreover, while this ongoing expression of God’s gracious goodness found its initial point of contact through the Jews (Abraham, and “the law,” and Jesus), it was clearly intended for all of humankind (3:27-31).
This is nothing new, according to Paul. In fact, if we return to the story of Abraham, we find some very interesting notes that we may have glossed over. “Blessedness” was “credited” to Abraham before he had a chance to be “justified by works” (4:1-11) In other words, whenever the “righteousness of God” shows up, it is a good thing, a healing hope, an enriching experience that no one is able to buy or manipulate. God alone initiates a relationship of favor and grace with us (4:1-23). In fact, according to Paul, this purpose of God is no less spectacular than the divine quest to re-create the world, undoing the effects that the cancer of sin has blighted upon us (Romans 5). It feels like being reborn (5:1-11). It plays out like the world itself is being remade (5:12-21). This is the great righteousness of God at work!
John 16:12-15
Although its development is markedly different from that of the synoptic gospels, there is a very clear pattern to John’s portrayal of Jesus’ activities and teachings in this gospel. When reading straight through the document, one notices several significant literary points of change. For instance, John 1:1-18 is a kind of philosophic reflection on time and space and the incarnation. Then, suddenly, at 1:19, we are brought directly into the daily life of first-century Palestine, walking among crowds who are dialoguing with John the Baptizer about his identity. Clearly, a shift of some kind takes place between 1:18 and 1:19.
The flow of life in real time continues through the next several pages, as John the Baptizer points to Jesus and then steps out of the way (1:19-36); Jesus gains a following through his miracles and teachings (1:37-12:50); and then predicts his impending death (13:1-38). What transpires next seems to move into another kind of literature once again. From chapter 14 through chapter 17, Jesus is almost lost in a last reverie, a kind of mystical intimate moment with his disciples. The monologue weaves back and forth on itself until it shoots upward toward heaven in a prayer that surrounds Jesus and his disciples in a divine blanket of engulfing holiness (17). Abruptly, the light dissolves, and with a kind of staccato journalistic pedantry, the events of Jesus’ arrest, trial, death, and resurrection are recorded (18-20). Chapter 20 ends with a brief, but sufficient, conclusion to the book as a whole. Yet, suddenly another story appears, and the finality of the wrap-up in chapter 20 is broken and ignored (21). The disciples are listless and almost devoid of the power revealed when they earlier had realized that Jesus was come back to life. They now decide to go off fishing, for lack of anything better to do. But then Jesus appears, and their lives are quickly refocused so that they will be his followers to the end of their days. With that said, a second brief conclusion is offered, and the gospel is finished.
Stepping back from the whole of this narrative, and reviewing the obvious literary disjunctures or sudden stylistic shifts in gospel, it becomes apparent that a significant transition happens between chapters 12 and 13 (related to the coming of “the hour” for Jesus; note 2:4, 4:23, 7:6, 12:23, 13:1, 17:1). This pivotal point is further accentuated by the grouping of all of Jesus’ “miraculous signs,” as John calls them, into chapters 1-12. This is why the first part of John’s gospel is often called “The Book of Signs,” while the last part wears well the name “The Book of Glory,” because Jesus terms it so (12:23). Bookending everything, a cryptic prologue opens the gospel (1:1-18), and an epilogue, perhaps written by another party and added after the initial gospel was completed (chapter 21), brings it to a close. Each of these four sections deserves a closer look.
The gospel’s unique prologue highlights several ideas. First, both Jesus and the message of Christianity are tied to the comprehensive foundational values shaping common philosophic systems of the day. “Logos,” to the Greek mind, was the organizing principle giving meaning and identity to everything else. By using this term to describe Jesus, John portrays him as more than just a fine teacher who said a few nice things on a Palestinian spring afternoon. Jesus is, in fact, according to John, the very creator of all things, and the one who gives meaning to life itself. Apart from Jesus, nothing makes sense or has any intrinsic meaning.
Second, “light” and “darkness” explain everything. Right up front, John helps us think through life and values and purpose in a stark dualism that is engaged in a tug-of-war for everything and everybody. Nicodemus will come to Jesus in the darkness of night (chapter 3), only to be serenaded by Jesus’ fine teachings about walking in the light. The blind man of chapter 9 is actually the only one who can truly see, according to Jesus, because all of the sighted people have darkened hearts and eyes. Judas will enter the room of the last supper basking in the light of the glory that surrounds Jesus (chapter 13), but when he leaves to do his dastardly deed of betrayal, the voice of the narrator ominously intones “and it was night.” Evening falls as Jesus dies (chapter 19), but the floodlights of dawn rise around those who understand the power of his resurrection (chapter 20). Even in the extra story added as chapter 21, the disciples in the nighttime fishing boat are bereft of their netting talents until Jesus shows up at the crack of dawn, tells them where to find a great catch, and is recognized by them in the growing light of day and spiritual insight. Darkness, in the gospel of John, means sin, evil, and blindness and the malady of a world trying to make it on its own apart from its Creator. Light, on the other hand, symbolizes the return of life, faith, and goodness, and health and salvation and hope and the presence of God.
Third, as a corollary to these ideas, John shows us that salvation itself is a kind of re-creation. Using a deliberate word play to bind the opening of the gospel to the sentences that start Genesis, John communicates that the world once made lively by the Creator has now fallen under the deadly pall of evil, and needs to be delivered. The only way that this renewal can happen is if the Creator reinjects planet Earth with a personal and concentrated dose of the original light by which all things were made. Although many still wander in blindness or shrink back from the light like cockroaches or rodents who have become accustomed to the inner darkness of a rotting garbage dump, those to whom sight is restored are enabled to live as children of God once again.
This leads to a fourth theme of the prologue, namely that the New Testament era is merely the Old Testament mission of God revived in a new form. Jesus, the Logos, comes to earth and “tabernacles” among us (verse 14), just as the Creator did when covenanting with Israel, and commissioning her to become a witness to the nations. Furthermore, those who truly recognize Jesus for who he is, see in him the “glory” of the Father. This is a direct link to the Shekinah glory light of God that filled the tabernacle and the temple, announcing the divine presence. The mission of God continues, but it will now be experienced through the radiance that glows in all who are close to Jesus. The “tabernacle” that houses the glory of the divine presence is on the move into the world through this “only begotten Son of God” (1:14) and all who become “children of God” (1:12) with and through him.
On this philosophic foundation, John organizes a very deliberately shaped encounter with Jesus. The seven “miraculous signs” of chapters 2-11 not only provide healing and hope to those who were first the objects of divine grace through Jesus, but they also dig deeper into biblical history to replay major scenes of the Old Testament in a way that reasserts the mission of God, while shifting its agency from Israel to Jesus. For instance, just as sin first disrupted the marriage of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, so Jesus first displays his regenerative powers by restoring the celebration at a wedding (chapter 2). Again, while Adam and Eve mourned the loss of their son through murder brought about by sin, a new nobleman (John deliberately sets this character above national, tribal, or ethnic limitations that are otherwise used to identify all other persons in the gospel) receives back his son from the dead (chapter 4). Next, Jesus encounters a man who has been ailing for thirty-eight years (chapter 5), and who can only otherwise be healed by passing through waters that have been divinely disturbed. Interestingly, Moses, in Deuteronomy 2:14, gives the only other reference to the number 38 in all of the Bible, mentioning it as the amount of time that the Israelites have been wandering in the wilderness, waiting for the shalom that can come to them only if they pass through the waters of the Jordan River, which will be divinely disturbed in order to make the crossing possible.
In this way, John continues to portray Jesus as the new agent of divine redemption, functioning in parallel to the manner in which God dealt with Israel of the Old Testament. Jesus, too, feeds the people of God in the wilderness (chapter 6) and tames the raging waters that in the darkness prevent God’s people from entering the Promised Land (chapter 6). Furthermore, as Isaiah was told about the blindness of the people in his day (Isaiah 6), Jesus contends with similar dysfunctional eyes (chapter 9). And just as Ezekiel had to preach to the dead nation of Israel in order to resurrect it from the grave of exile (Ezekiel 37), so Jesus brings back to life one of his dear friends who has died (chapter 11), symbolizing the ultimate goal of divine grace.
It is only when the seven signs have been published to the world in this manner, that the “Greeks” (John’s notation for the whole world out there, beyond our tiny Jewish enclave) come seeking Jesus (12:21). Then, immediately, Jesus declares that his “hour” has come. Why? Because the salvation of God sent to this world (John 3:16-17) has been recognized through the signs, and has been received by the world. It has begun to make an impact, and the world will never again be merely content with darkness. Dawn is breaking.
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 to 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, 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’s 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’ ongoing 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
On this Trinity Sunday, is it important to pull together the whole biblical story, summarized well in today’s lectionary readings. Jesus did not appear in a vacuum. Throughout the Old Testament, God made it clear that God would send a specially commissioned person to bring healing and forgiveness to the citizens of earth. As priests and kings and prophets were anointed with oil at the start of their careers, so this person, too, would be anointed. In fact, this special deliver would be called “The Anointed,” a term which comes across in Hebrew as “Messiah” and in Greek as “Christ.”
While God’s people remained confident that God was about to do another tremendous redemptive work on planet earth, the details remained shrouded and misty. It was not at all clear how the looming “Day of the Lord” would emerge from heaven’s occluded hiddenness into earth’s everyday existence. So when Jesus appeared on the scene, various interpretations about his identity and its relationship to the prophetic “Day of the Lord” quickly developed.
One perspective emphasized Jesus’ humanity, but in a divinely asserted and uniquely empowered role. Seeking continuity with God’s saving initiatives in their people’s past, Ebionite Christians declared that Jesus was “Savior” and “Messiah” in a similar manner to Moses and Joshua and Samuel at the great points of crisis and change in Israel’s history. Jesus was the Messiah foretold by Israel’s prophets, but he was truly and fully human, not divine, empowered by God to bring about deliverance for God’s people. In the face of declining Jewish commitments to the ceremonial and legal codes of the Torah, according to the Ebionites, Jesus demanded a stronger fidelity that included heart devotion in addition to external practices. Jesus was killed, said the Ebionites, because the religious leaders of his day found him threatening and unsettling, particularly when he called them hypocrites and invited the general Jewish population to question their authority. These Ebionites believed God raised Jesus from the dead to vindicate Jesus’ faithful service. Christians, they said, should respond to Jesus’ calls for deep devotion to God, and serve as his witnesses in the Jewish community, emphasizing the need for Jews to more fully and faithfully keep the ceremonial practices and holiness codes. Gentiles might also become Christians, Ebionites admitted, but only if they first became Jews, and fully invested themselves into Jewish identity and religious practices.
In effect, Ebionite Christians understood Jesus to be somewhat like a man wearing a heroic avatar persona. Jesus remained fully human, but due to God’s special dispensation of divine empowerment, he was able to speak more clearly about the things of heaven, perform miracles, and call God’s people to truer faithfulness. Out of step with most Christians, the Ebionites would only read Matthew’s gospel as scripture alongside the Hebrew Bible. They believed Paul to be a monstrous blasphemer for having adapted so fully into the non-Jewish Hellenist world of his Gentile converts, and for violating true monotheism in his declarations that Jesus is God.
We recognize this Ebionite perspective as it lingers in our current society. Jesus was a good man, some say, perhaps one of the greatest who has ever lived. Jesus was an incredible teacher, or a superb moral prophet, according to others. We have so much to learn from him.
True, but if our appreciation of Jesus stops there, we miss the biblical point. God’s work among us is not limited to injecting larger-than-life leaders into our irredeemable situation now and again, either to wake us up or get us to cope and survive. God enters our world to address the realities of sin and evil that threaten and destroy us. And that kind of job requires someone more than merely human, no matter how good or insightful he or she might be.
A competing view regarding Jesus in the early church was held by the Gnostics. 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 — nonrelational, dispassionate, impassive, unchanging, and transcendent. But since the material world actually existed, an emanation (called the Demiurge) from the transcendent god 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, according to Gnostics. 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 Jesus’ 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, similarly to the Ebionites, believed that Jesus was a very 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, 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 Adoptionist Gnostics 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’s 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’s 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 that 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 the Apostle John addresses in his first letter. 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 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.
Like Ebionite views regarding Jesus, these Gnostic perceptions continue to whisper. Jesus is the on-going manifestation of God’s presence, appearing now and again to people in need, righting wrongs like Superman, or performing miracles in the unlikeliest of settings.
But neither Ebionite Adoptionism nor Gnostic Docetism fit the message of the Bible. Jesus is truly God, and that means there is no higher or better or stronger advocate for us (including the angels, esteemed and powerful as they are) who are God’s favored creatures. At the same time, Jesus is fully and truly human, sharing with us all of the realities of material and physical life. Because we are struggling in a sin-compromised world, Jesus shared our journey completely with us. But because we need a powerful Savior who is able to take us out of and beyond the fears and failings and pains of this existence, Jesus is also fully and completely divine.
Alternative Application (Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31)
Wisdom, according to Proverbs, is not merely intelligence, for people with big brains can do very foolish things. Nor is wisdom simply street smarts or hardscrabble experience, though both of these can help us figure out what really matters in life. At its root, true wisdom is the process of entering and appreciating the worldview developed out of the Sinai Covenant community. When one learns to live with Yahweh in holy awe, the contours of the world begin to be defined by the resurgence of the Creator’s design. Living in this universe, one becomes married to wisdom, because wisdom is the human expression of Yahweh’s presence at the heart of the society. And in wisdom’s house, conversations of daily simplicity, as well as the intimacies of family relationships and the governing principles of kings and courts, are formed by the language of these Proverbs.
We have heard that song and dance before, haven’t we? In fact, we have heard it from people much older than Ryan. I have heard words of that sort coming out of my own mouth. Maybe you have too. We are all looking for the “good life.” That is the human quest.
But what is the “good life”? For one thing, the biblical picture of the good life has a lot to do with relationships. Relationships make life meaningful, and tragic is the lot of those who walk alone. Quality human relationships are at the heart of life. Our doctrine of the Trinity is all about that, in fact. I remember when I first came to realize that the doctrine of the Trinity is more than some intellectual game of mad theological conjuring; in fact, it means that there is a community of persons who stand at the center of all that exists in this universe. Can you see it? At the heart of reality is not some impersonal power, but a fellowship of three who wish to share their fellowship with others. That is what the “good life” is all about.
Second, a sense of dependency sifts through the Bible. “Blessed are all who fear the LORD” (Psalm 128:1), not merely those who have the red Ferrari or the mansion on the hill. Blessed are those who know they cannot make it on their own and realize it early enough in life. Blessed are those who find power in weakness, who find strength in inability, who are led to depend on others and on God through the limitations of their own skills.
Third, there is a great urgency of hope in the forward thrust of the biblical message. The future beckons, and it is a good future because it is full of the promises of God. There is a sense that our hope is tied not to our own ability to make it, but to God’s own character and identity. If there is a “good life,” then it is “God’s Life” or it is nothing at all.
Maybe someday I will get a red Ferrari. I doubt it, but who knows? If it should ever happen, it will only be an extension of the “good life” I know now, and not the source of it. This is at the heart of each of our lectionary readings for today.
Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31
Imagine a scene in a farmhouse kitchen. It is early September. Crops are still in the fields, and the smell of freshly cut hay mixes with the odors of manure and the pungent staleness of last year’s silage. Flies buzz everywhere, leaving their small black dots of contamination. The air hangs heavy with choking humidity, begging for a late afternoon shower to wash clean the atmosphere.
A ticking wall clock rivets the silence of three who sit around a kitchen table, with its plastic red and white covering. Cups of tea, hardly touched, idle in front of each: an older husband and wife, and their strapping teenage son, nearly a grown man in his own right.
Suddenly, the young fellow stands and says, “Well …” Mom and Dad jump up quickly, and walk him to the door. Outside is a battered compact car crammed with the stuff a first-year student takes off to college, deluded into thinking his mother knows what he will need there.
There are too many important things to say, so nobody uses words. Mom grabs her son around the waist and clenches the air out of his lungs in surprising ferocity as she weeps into his chest. When he finally pats her away and turns toward Dad, there is a glistening of almost-tears in the older fellow’s eyes that the son hasn’t seen before. They shake hands, man to man, in a grip no bear could pull out of. Finally, Dad manages a few expressions. “Son,” he says, “remember what we’ve taught you! When you get to the big city, and you find your place at the university, there will be all sorts of women who come after you. Pick wisely, or it will be the ruin of you. Remember who you are!”
And with that, the son escapes to find his fame and fortune. What will he be like in a year or four? What will he do with his opportunities? How will he face the challenges that cultured life has to offer him, once the protective structures of rural society no longer define how he is to live? Most importantly, who will he date, and why, and will he find a mate with whom he can thrive? Or will he get caught in the lure of enticements that steal his soul as well as his heart?
Ruminating on this scenario brings us directly into the book of Proverbs. Here is an ingenious curriculum built upon a love story. In fact, the book of Proverbs starts out as an allegory on a relationship triangle, with a voice of parental reason whispering from offstage.
While it may seem, at first glance, to be a tedious collection of rather dry one-liners, Proverbs is much more than that. It is our doorway into the educational system of the Israelite community. Our word “proverb” is derived from a Latin term which means “for a verb.” So these are “words” which take the place of “more words.” In other terms, this is a concise distillation of wisdom compacted into a few carefully conceived phrases. The wisdom presumed by the proverbs is the worldview of the Sinai Covenant, as the prologue (Proverbs 1:1-7) indicates. The message of the book derives its direction from Solomon, who was enormously wise because of the special gift of God (1 Kings 3). Solomon was the father of Proverbs in several ways. First, he created Yahweh’s temple in Jerusalem, which gave a permanent home to Israel’s covenant marriage partner. Second, the wisdom of Yahweh spoke powerfully through Solomon, so that the whole world came to hear his proverbs and pithy sayings (1 Kings 3-4). Third, the greatest bulk of this book called “Proverbs” is attributed directly to Solomon (1:1, 10:1, 25:1). Fourth, Solomon was also known for his wide-ranging — and ultimately catastrophic flirtations, courtships and marriages, which may well be reflected in the pointed moral sermons of the first nine chapters of Proverbs. In truth, both Solomon’s early expressions of pithy wisdom (which drew the attention and the attraction of the world; 1 Kings 4:29-34, 10:1-13) and his disastrous sexual alliances (which caused his downfall; 1 Kings 11:1-13), served to shape the collection of Proverbs in its final form.
This is seen in the “Lectures on Wisdom and Folly” that stand at the head of the book. In the Hebrew language, both “wisdom” and “folly” are feminine nouns. Thus the use of the repeated literary device “my son” in Proverbs 1:8-9:18 is intentional. All readers or hearers of these lectures become the “son” who is courted by two women, “Wisdom” and “Folly.” By the end of these carefully crafted lectures, in which each woman is given ample opportunity to present her case, all of us must choose which woman to wed. The choice is real, personal, and life changing. Wisdom brings stability and well-being; Folly offers quick experiences and tragic ends.
Dating often seems to be a trivial pastime, and sexuality sometimes merely the arena for power plays and sporting events. But in Proverbs, the high calling of courtship is held out as the definer of human identity. None of us remains single. All of us are swept up into the drama. It is forever a triangle: whether female or male, in this affair, we are the young man pursuing and being pursued by two women, folly and wisdom. Each parades her virtues. Each calls for a choice and a commitment. But there the similarities end. For folly brings us into an endless addiction to one-night stands, in which we lose ourselves in the delirium of mere titillation and ultimately lose all substance and self-respect. Wisdom, however, wants to take things slowly, and seeks as much to get to know us as we her. Wisdom desires a relationship where respect deepens and both parties are enriched.
If, at the close of these lectures, one should choose folly, the rest of the proverbs have no meaning. That person should slam shut the book and get on with other destructive behaviors, for she or he cannot understand the language that is used in the house of wisdom.
If, however, one hears and understands these lectures and responds with an appropriate desire to court and marry wisdom, the rest of the book of Proverbs becomes the stuff of which her house is made. When one is bound to wisdom, the proverbs are the furnishings of her home, the decorations on her walls, the conversation pieces in her rooms, and the lifestyle that organizes her economy. The many, many proverbs are not to be read together as an unbroken narrative, but are supposed to be savored and tasted like the multitude of meals taken over time in the marriage house of wisdom. They are to be breathed in as if they were the life-sustaining rhythms of respiration itself.
Romans 5:1-5
Because Paul had not yet made a visit to Rome, this letter is less personal and more rationally organized than was often otherwise true. Paul intended this missive to be a working document; the congregation, already established in the capital city of the empire, would be able to read and discuss it together, in anticipation of Paul’s arrival, which was planned for some months ahead (Romans 1:6-15). Paul summarized his working theme and emphasis up front: A new expression of the “righteousness of God” had been recently revealed, with great power, through the coming of Jesus Christ (Romans 1:17).
Paul moves directly from his brief declaration about the righteousness of God into an extended discourse on the wrath of God as revealed against wickedness (Romans 1:18). Because of this, many have interpreted Paul’s understanding of God’s righteousness as an unattainable standard, against which the whole human race is measured and fails miserably. Only then, in the context of this desperate human situation, would the grand salvation of Christ be appreciated and enjoyed.
But more scholars believe that Paul’s assertions about the righteousness of God actually have a positive and missional thrust. In their understanding of what Paul says, it is precisely because of the obvious corruption and sinfulness in our world, which are demeaning and destroying humanity, that God needed again, as God did through Israel, to assert the divine will. In so doing, the focus of God’s righteousness is not to heap judgment upon humankind; instead, God’s brilliant display of grace and power in Jesus ought to draw people back to the creational goodness God had originally intended for them. In other words, the Creator has never changed purpose or plan. The divine mission through Israel was to display the righteousness of God, so that all nations might return to the goodness of Yahweh. Now again, in Jesus, the righteousness of God is revealed as a beacon of hope in a world ravaged by evil bullies. The power of God is our only sure bodyguard against the killing effects of sin and society and self.
This more positive perspective on the righteousness of God fits well with the flow of Paul’s message. In chapters 1:18-3:20, Paul described the crippling effects of sin. We are all alienated from God (1:18-25). But we are also alienated from each other (1:26-32), so that we begin to treat one another with contempt and painful arrogance, and destroy those around us in the malice which blinds us. We are even, said Paul, alienated from our own selves (2:1-11), not realizing how tarnished our sense and perspectives have become.
We make excuses about our condition (2:12-3:20), claiming that we are actually pretty good people (2:12-16), or accusing society and religion of raising moral standards to levels that are simply unrealistic (2:17-3:4), or even blaming God for all the nastiness around us and within us (3:5-20). Yet, the result is merely self-deception, and continued rottenness in a world that seems to have no outs.
Once the stage had been set for Paul’s readers to realize again the pervasive grip of evil in this world, Paul marched Abraham out onto the stage as a model of divine religious reconstruction. God does not wish to be distant from the world, judgmental and vengeful. Rather, Jesus came, the fullness of God’s healing righteousness revealed.
The story of God’s righteousness as grace and goodness began with Abraham. God has always desired an ever-renewing relationship with the people of this world, creatures made in God’s own image. Paul described God’s heart of love in 3:21-31, using illustrations from the courtroom (we are “justified” — 3:24), the marketplace (we receive “redemption” — 3:24), and the temple (“a sacrifice of atonement” — 3:25). Moreover, while this ongoing expression of God’s gracious goodness found its initial point of contact through the Jews (Abraham, and “the law,” and Jesus), it was clearly intended for all of humankind (3:27-31).
This is nothing new, according to Paul. In fact, if we return to the story of Abraham, we find some very interesting notes that we may have glossed over. “Blessedness” was “credited” to Abraham before he had a chance to be “justified by works” (4:1-11) In other words, whenever the “righteousness of God” shows up, it is a good thing, a healing hope, an enriching experience that no one is able to buy or manipulate. God alone initiates a relationship of favor and grace with us (4:1-23). In fact, according to Paul, this purpose of God is no less spectacular than the divine quest to re-create the world, undoing the effects that the cancer of sin has blighted upon us (Romans 5). It feels like being reborn (5:1-11). It plays out like the world itself is being remade (5:12-21). This is the great righteousness of God at work!
John 16:12-15
Although its development is markedly different from that of the synoptic gospels, there is a very clear pattern to John’s portrayal of Jesus’ activities and teachings in this gospel. When reading straight through the document, one notices several significant literary points of change. For instance, John 1:1-18 is a kind of philosophic reflection on time and space and the incarnation. Then, suddenly, at 1:19, we are brought directly into the daily life of first-century Palestine, walking among crowds who are dialoguing with John the Baptizer about his identity. Clearly, a shift of some kind takes place between 1:18 and 1:19.
The flow of life in real time continues through the next several pages, as John the Baptizer points to Jesus and then steps out of the way (1:19-36); Jesus gains a following through his miracles and teachings (1:37-12:50); and then predicts his impending death (13:1-38). What transpires next seems to move into another kind of literature once again. From chapter 14 through chapter 17, Jesus is almost lost in a last reverie, a kind of mystical intimate moment with his disciples. The monologue weaves back and forth on itself until it shoots upward toward heaven in a prayer that surrounds Jesus and his disciples in a divine blanket of engulfing holiness (17). Abruptly, the light dissolves, and with a kind of staccato journalistic pedantry, the events of Jesus’ arrest, trial, death, and resurrection are recorded (18-20). Chapter 20 ends with a brief, but sufficient, conclusion to the book as a whole. Yet, suddenly another story appears, and the finality of the wrap-up in chapter 20 is broken and ignored (21). The disciples are listless and almost devoid of the power revealed when they earlier had realized that Jesus was come back to life. They now decide to go off fishing, for lack of anything better to do. But then Jesus appears, and their lives are quickly refocused so that they will be his followers to the end of their days. With that said, a second brief conclusion is offered, and the gospel is finished.
Stepping back from the whole of this narrative, and reviewing the obvious literary disjunctures or sudden stylistic shifts in gospel, it becomes apparent that a significant transition happens between chapters 12 and 13 (related to the coming of “the hour” for Jesus; note 2:4, 4:23, 7:6, 12:23, 13:1, 17:1). This pivotal point is further accentuated by the grouping of all of Jesus’ “miraculous signs,” as John calls them, into chapters 1-12. This is why the first part of John’s gospel is often called “The Book of Signs,” while the last part wears well the name “The Book of Glory,” because Jesus terms it so (12:23). Bookending everything, a cryptic prologue opens the gospel (1:1-18), and an epilogue, perhaps written by another party and added after the initial gospel was completed (chapter 21), brings it to a close. Each of these four sections deserves a closer look.
The gospel’s unique prologue highlights several ideas. First, both Jesus and the message of Christianity are tied to the comprehensive foundational values shaping common philosophic systems of the day. “Logos,” to the Greek mind, was the organizing principle giving meaning and identity to everything else. By using this term to describe Jesus, John portrays him as more than just a fine teacher who said a few nice things on a Palestinian spring afternoon. Jesus is, in fact, according to John, the very creator of all things, and the one who gives meaning to life itself. Apart from Jesus, nothing makes sense or has any intrinsic meaning.
Second, “light” and “darkness” explain everything. Right up front, John helps us think through life and values and purpose in a stark dualism that is engaged in a tug-of-war for everything and everybody. Nicodemus will come to Jesus in the darkness of night (chapter 3), only to be serenaded by Jesus’ fine teachings about walking in the light. The blind man of chapter 9 is actually the only one who can truly see, according to Jesus, because all of the sighted people have darkened hearts and eyes. Judas will enter the room of the last supper basking in the light of the glory that surrounds Jesus (chapter 13), but when he leaves to do his dastardly deed of betrayal, the voice of the narrator ominously intones “and it was night.” Evening falls as Jesus dies (chapter 19), but the floodlights of dawn rise around those who understand the power of his resurrection (chapter 20). Even in the extra story added as chapter 21, the disciples in the nighttime fishing boat are bereft of their netting talents until Jesus shows up at the crack of dawn, tells them where to find a great catch, and is recognized by them in the growing light of day and spiritual insight. Darkness, in the gospel of John, means sin, evil, and blindness and the malady of a world trying to make it on its own apart from its Creator. Light, on the other hand, symbolizes the return of life, faith, and goodness, and health and salvation and hope and the presence of God.
Third, as a corollary to these ideas, John shows us that salvation itself is a kind of re-creation. Using a deliberate word play to bind the opening of the gospel to the sentences that start Genesis, John communicates that the world once made lively by the Creator has now fallen under the deadly pall of evil, and needs to be delivered. The only way that this renewal can happen is if the Creator reinjects planet Earth with a personal and concentrated dose of the original light by which all things were made. Although many still wander in blindness or shrink back from the light like cockroaches or rodents who have become accustomed to the inner darkness of a rotting garbage dump, those to whom sight is restored are enabled to live as children of God once again.
This leads to a fourth theme of the prologue, namely that the New Testament era is merely the Old Testament mission of God revived in a new form. Jesus, the Logos, comes to earth and “tabernacles” among us (verse 14), just as the Creator did when covenanting with Israel, and commissioning her to become a witness to the nations. Furthermore, those who truly recognize Jesus for who he is, see in him the “glory” of the Father. This is a direct link to the Shekinah glory light of God that filled the tabernacle and the temple, announcing the divine presence. The mission of God continues, but it will now be experienced through the radiance that glows in all who are close to Jesus. The “tabernacle” that houses the glory of the divine presence is on the move into the world through this “only begotten Son of God” (1:14) and all who become “children of God” (1:12) with and through him.
On this philosophic foundation, John organizes a very deliberately shaped encounter with Jesus. The seven “miraculous signs” of chapters 2-11 not only provide healing and hope to those who were first the objects of divine grace through Jesus, but they also dig deeper into biblical history to replay major scenes of the Old Testament in a way that reasserts the mission of God, while shifting its agency from Israel to Jesus. For instance, just as sin first disrupted the marriage of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, so Jesus first displays his regenerative powers by restoring the celebration at a wedding (chapter 2). Again, while Adam and Eve mourned the loss of their son through murder brought about by sin, a new nobleman (John deliberately sets this character above national, tribal, or ethnic limitations that are otherwise used to identify all other persons in the gospel) receives back his son from the dead (chapter 4). Next, Jesus encounters a man who has been ailing for thirty-eight years (chapter 5), and who can only otherwise be healed by passing through waters that have been divinely disturbed. Interestingly, Moses, in Deuteronomy 2:14, gives the only other reference to the number 38 in all of the Bible, mentioning it as the amount of time that the Israelites have been wandering in the wilderness, waiting for the shalom that can come to them only if they pass through the waters of the Jordan River, which will be divinely disturbed in order to make the crossing possible.
In this way, John continues to portray Jesus as the new agent of divine redemption, functioning in parallel to the manner in which God dealt with Israel of the Old Testament. Jesus, too, feeds the people of God in the wilderness (chapter 6) and tames the raging waters that in the darkness prevent God’s people from entering the Promised Land (chapter 6). Furthermore, as Isaiah was told about the blindness of the people in his day (Isaiah 6), Jesus contends with similar dysfunctional eyes (chapter 9). And just as Ezekiel had to preach to the dead nation of Israel in order to resurrect it from the grave of exile (Ezekiel 37), so Jesus brings back to life one of his dear friends who has died (chapter 11), symbolizing the ultimate goal of divine grace.
It is only when the seven signs have been published to the world in this manner, that the “Greeks” (John’s notation for the whole world out there, beyond our tiny Jewish enclave) come seeking Jesus (12:21). Then, immediately, Jesus declares that his “hour” has come. Why? Because the salvation of God sent to this world (John 3:16-17) has been recognized through the signs, and has been received by the world. It has begun to make an impact, and the world will never again be merely content with darkness. Dawn is breaking.
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 to 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, 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’s 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’ ongoing 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
On this Trinity Sunday, is it important to pull together the whole biblical story, summarized well in today’s lectionary readings. Jesus did not appear in a vacuum. Throughout the Old Testament, God made it clear that God would send a specially commissioned person to bring healing and forgiveness to the citizens of earth. As priests and kings and prophets were anointed with oil at the start of their careers, so this person, too, would be anointed. In fact, this special deliver would be called “The Anointed,” a term which comes across in Hebrew as “Messiah” and in Greek as “Christ.”
While God’s people remained confident that God was about to do another tremendous redemptive work on planet earth, the details remained shrouded and misty. It was not at all clear how the looming “Day of the Lord” would emerge from heaven’s occluded hiddenness into earth’s everyday existence. So when Jesus appeared on the scene, various interpretations about his identity and its relationship to the prophetic “Day of the Lord” quickly developed.
One perspective emphasized Jesus’ humanity, but in a divinely asserted and uniquely empowered role. Seeking continuity with God’s saving initiatives in their people’s past, Ebionite Christians declared that Jesus was “Savior” and “Messiah” in a similar manner to Moses and Joshua and Samuel at the great points of crisis and change in Israel’s history. Jesus was the Messiah foretold by Israel’s prophets, but he was truly and fully human, not divine, empowered by God to bring about deliverance for God’s people. In the face of declining Jewish commitments to the ceremonial and legal codes of the Torah, according to the Ebionites, Jesus demanded a stronger fidelity that included heart devotion in addition to external practices. Jesus was killed, said the Ebionites, because the religious leaders of his day found him threatening and unsettling, particularly when he called them hypocrites and invited the general Jewish population to question their authority. These Ebionites believed God raised Jesus from the dead to vindicate Jesus’ faithful service. Christians, they said, should respond to Jesus’ calls for deep devotion to God, and serve as his witnesses in the Jewish community, emphasizing the need for Jews to more fully and faithfully keep the ceremonial practices and holiness codes. Gentiles might also become Christians, Ebionites admitted, but only if they first became Jews, and fully invested themselves into Jewish identity and religious practices.
In effect, Ebionite Christians understood Jesus to be somewhat like a man wearing a heroic avatar persona. Jesus remained fully human, but due to God’s special dispensation of divine empowerment, he was able to speak more clearly about the things of heaven, perform miracles, and call God’s people to truer faithfulness. Out of step with most Christians, the Ebionites would only read Matthew’s gospel as scripture alongside the Hebrew Bible. They believed Paul to be a monstrous blasphemer for having adapted so fully into the non-Jewish Hellenist world of his Gentile converts, and for violating true monotheism in his declarations that Jesus is God.
We recognize this Ebionite perspective as it lingers in our current society. Jesus was a good man, some say, perhaps one of the greatest who has ever lived. Jesus was an incredible teacher, or a superb moral prophet, according to others. We have so much to learn from him.
True, but if our appreciation of Jesus stops there, we miss the biblical point. God’s work among us is not limited to injecting larger-than-life leaders into our irredeemable situation now and again, either to wake us up or get us to cope and survive. God enters our world to address the realities of sin and evil that threaten and destroy us. And that kind of job requires someone more than merely human, no matter how good or insightful he or she might be.
A competing view regarding Jesus in the early church was held by the Gnostics. 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 — nonrelational, dispassionate, impassive, unchanging, and transcendent. But since the material world actually existed, an emanation (called the Demiurge) from the transcendent god 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, according to Gnostics. 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 Jesus’ 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, similarly to the Ebionites, believed that Jesus was a very 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, 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 Adoptionist Gnostics 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’s 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’s 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 that 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 the Apostle John addresses in his first letter. 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 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.
Like Ebionite views regarding Jesus, these Gnostic perceptions continue to whisper. Jesus is the on-going manifestation of God’s presence, appearing now and again to people in need, righting wrongs like Superman, or performing miracles in the unlikeliest of settings.
But neither Ebionite Adoptionism nor Gnostic Docetism fit the message of the Bible. Jesus is truly God, and that means there is no higher or better or stronger advocate for us (including the angels, esteemed and powerful as they are) who are God’s favored creatures. At the same time, Jesus is fully and truly human, sharing with us all of the realities of material and physical life. Because we are struggling in a sin-compromised world, Jesus shared our journey completely with us. But because we need a powerful Savior who is able to take us out of and beyond the fears and failings and pains of this existence, Jesus is also fully and completely divine.
Alternative Application (Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31)
Wisdom, according to Proverbs, is not merely intelligence, for people with big brains can do very foolish things. Nor is wisdom simply street smarts or hardscrabble experience, though both of these can help us figure out what really matters in life. At its root, true wisdom is the process of entering and appreciating the worldview developed out of the Sinai Covenant community. When one learns to live with Yahweh in holy awe, the contours of the world begin to be defined by the resurgence of the Creator’s design. Living in this universe, one becomes married to wisdom, because wisdom is the human expression of Yahweh’s presence at the heart of the society. And in wisdom’s house, conversations of daily simplicity, as well as the intimacies of family relationships and the governing principles of kings and courts, are formed by the language of these Proverbs.
