Posts
In Matthew 24:35-37, we read:
“Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my words shall not pass away.
But of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven,
but my Father only. But as the days of Noe were, so shall also the
coming of the Son of man be” (KJV).
This passage appears to suggest that Jesus does not know the exact
time when he will return. How can this be, if Jesus is God and, thus,
is omniscient?
I subscribe to Derek Leman’s
Daily Portion. Derek was a Messianic Jewish rabbi. His Daily Portion
presents a passage from the Torah and a passage from the Gospels, along
with brief quotations of scholarly commentaries. I have enjoyed reading
the Daily Portion because Derek usually notices the sorts of things
that I would notice—-the sorts of things that I would find interesting
if I were reading those commentaries.
On Matthew 24:36-51, Leman quotes from Dale Allison and W.D. Davies, Matthew: A Shorter Commentary
(New York: T&T Clark, 2004). Allison and Davies discuss how
ancient church fathers wrestled with the idea of Jesus not knowing the
time of his own return:
“Older Christian theology often struggled with Jesus’ declaration of
ignorance. Luke omitted the saying, as did certain copyists of Matthew
and Mark. Origen wondered whether Jesus was referring to the church of
which he is the head. Ambrose attributed ‘nor the Son’ to an Arian
interpolation [i.e., he did not think it was genuine but that copyists
who doubted Jesus’ divinity added it]. Athanasius suggested Jesus only
feigned ignorance. The Cappadocians thought the Son did not know the
date on his own, but only through the Father; or as Gregory Nazianzen
put it: ‘He knows as God and knows not as man.’ Chrysostom, in a prize
example of bad exegesis, simply denied that Jesus was ignorant of
anything: ‘neither is the Son ignorant of the day, but is even in full
certainty thereof.’ So too Cassiodorus, citing Jn 21:17 and contending
that ‘nor the Son’ means that the Son did not make others know. But
modern Christian theology, emphasizing with the creeds that Jesus was
‘true man,’ has come to terms with our saying as an expression of
kenosis [the truth from Philippians 2 that the Son emptied himself of
certain divine privileges to descend into humanity].”
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Friday, December 11, 2015
Firefly, Jaynestown, and Grace
I’ve been watching the TV series Firefly, which was on for
one season in 2002-2003. It is science fiction. Although it was only
on for one season (plus a movie was made to wrap up the story), it
gained a cult following. I thought that the pilot was boring, but I
have been enjoying the episodes after that. It is light and funny. I
particularly like Shepherd Book, the preacher with a mysterious past,
who is kind to everyone he meets.
Last night, I watched the episode “Jaynestown.” That episode has a lot of good things: Shepherd Book and River talks about biblical contradictions and inaccuracies, and what faith really means; the companion Inara teaches a 26-year-old virgin what it means to be a man.
The episode revolves, however, around a town that is honoring Jayne. Jayne is played by Adam Baldwin, and he is crass, blunt, and rather self-centered. I think of what Leia said about Han Solo in Star Wars: “Your friend is quite a mercenary. I wonder if he cares about anything. Or anybody.” Jayne and some people of the Firefly crew are going to a planet, and Jayne insists on disguising himself because he caused trouble there years earlier. They arrive on the planet, and they see a statue of…Jayne!
They go to a bar, and people are singing a song about Jayne. The song says that Jayne stood up to the magistrate and robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. Jayne dropped money on the peasant mud-makers from his aircraft.
Jayne then remembers what it is they are talking about. When he was last on the planet, Jayne stole money from the magistrate. When he was in his aircraft, he had to drop cargo in order to lighten the plane. He accidentally let out the money.
The mud-makers recognize Jayne, and they treat him like a hero. Jayne learns that his presence inspired the mud-makers to unite and stand up against the magistrate. “You had a riot on account of me?”, he says. Jayne delights in his celebrity status.
The magistrate learns that Jayne has returned, and the magistrate releases someone from a box, which is jail on that planet. The prisoner is Stitch, who was Jayne’s partner in crime years earlier. Jayne not only let cargo out of the aircraft to lighten the plane. Jayne also let out Stitch!
When Jayne gives a speech to the mud-makers in front of his statue, Stitch shows up to confront him. Stitch tells everyone the type of man that Jayne really is. Stitch says that Jayne dropped him from the aircraft, and that the money only fell out of the aircraft by accident. When Jayne replies that Stitch would have done the same thing to him, Stitch vehemently denies that. Stitch says that partners are supposed to have each other’s back.
Stitch shoots Jayne, and a boy from the mud-makers jumps in front of Jayne and takes the bullet for him. Jayne is mortified that someone would die for him. “What’s wrong with you?,” he shouts. “Didn’t you hear a word that he said? All of you people, do you think someone would drop money on you, money that they could use? Well, there ain’t people like that. There’s just people like me.” Jayne goes to the statue and knocks it down.
On the Firefly, Jayne is by himself, feeling sad. The captain, Mal, comes to talk to him. Jayne laments that the mud-makers on the planet probably raised the statue back up after they (the Firefly crew) left. Mal replies that there are a lot of people who have statues made of them, and many of them were probably SOBs. What is important is not whether Jayne deserved that statue. Rather, it’s what the people needed.
I do not know if this event will change Jayne in any way. On some level, Jayne is resigned to being the sort of person he is. On the other hand, can one be given that sort of undeserved admiration—-which includes someone dying for him—-and be unchanged by that, at least a little bit?
I thought of a few things after watching that episode. In the movie Saving Private Ryan, a group of Allied soldiers save Private Ryan so he can return alive to his mother, but they all get killed in the process. The Captain, played by Tom Hanks, tells Private Ryan right before he dies to “Earn this.”
There was a story on ABC News last night about a department store Santa reaching out to a kid with autism. The Santa listened to the boy telling him about autism and told him that he was a good boy. This story has been liked and shared on Facebook thousands of times. This department store Santa was probably a regular human being, with flaws like the rest of us. He wasn’t even really Santa Claus! But he got to be part of a sacred occasion.
From a Christian perspective, I think about Christ sacrificing himself for us and giving us honor that we do not deserve. Does that impact or change me in any way? It should, but it is often an abstract doctrine for me. That is why it is good to see examples of that kind of theme in stories, and in real life.
Last night, I watched the episode “Jaynestown.” That episode has a lot of good things: Shepherd Book and River talks about biblical contradictions and inaccuracies, and what faith really means; the companion Inara teaches a 26-year-old virgin what it means to be a man.
The episode revolves, however, around a town that is honoring Jayne. Jayne is played by Adam Baldwin, and he is crass, blunt, and rather self-centered. I think of what Leia said about Han Solo in Star Wars: “Your friend is quite a mercenary. I wonder if he cares about anything. Or anybody.” Jayne and some people of the Firefly crew are going to a planet, and Jayne insists on disguising himself because he caused trouble there years earlier. They arrive on the planet, and they see a statue of…Jayne!
They go to a bar, and people are singing a song about Jayne. The song says that Jayne stood up to the magistrate and robbed from the rich and gave to the poor. Jayne dropped money on the peasant mud-makers from his aircraft.
Jayne then remembers what it is they are talking about. When he was last on the planet, Jayne stole money from the magistrate. When he was in his aircraft, he had to drop cargo in order to lighten the plane. He accidentally let out the money.
The mud-makers recognize Jayne, and they treat him like a hero. Jayne learns that his presence inspired the mud-makers to unite and stand up against the magistrate. “You had a riot on account of me?”, he says. Jayne delights in his celebrity status.
The magistrate learns that Jayne has returned, and the magistrate releases someone from a box, which is jail on that planet. The prisoner is Stitch, who was Jayne’s partner in crime years earlier. Jayne not only let cargo out of the aircraft to lighten the plane. Jayne also let out Stitch!
When Jayne gives a speech to the mud-makers in front of his statue, Stitch shows up to confront him. Stitch tells everyone the type of man that Jayne really is. Stitch says that Jayne dropped him from the aircraft, and that the money only fell out of the aircraft by accident. When Jayne replies that Stitch would have done the same thing to him, Stitch vehemently denies that. Stitch says that partners are supposed to have each other’s back.
Stitch shoots Jayne, and a boy from the mud-makers jumps in front of Jayne and takes the bullet for him. Jayne is mortified that someone would die for him. “What’s wrong with you?,” he shouts. “Didn’t you hear a word that he said? All of you people, do you think someone would drop money on you, money that they could use? Well, there ain’t people like that. There’s just people like me.” Jayne goes to the statue and knocks it down.
On the Firefly, Jayne is by himself, feeling sad. The captain, Mal, comes to talk to him. Jayne laments that the mud-makers on the planet probably raised the statue back up after they (the Firefly crew) left. Mal replies that there are a lot of people who have statues made of them, and many of them were probably SOBs. What is important is not whether Jayne deserved that statue. Rather, it’s what the people needed.
I do not know if this event will change Jayne in any way. On some level, Jayne is resigned to being the sort of person he is. On the other hand, can one be given that sort of undeserved admiration—-which includes someone dying for him—-and be unchanged by that, at least a little bit?
I thought of a few things after watching that episode. In the movie Saving Private Ryan, a group of Allied soldiers save Private Ryan so he can return alive to his mother, but they all get killed in the process. The Captain, played by Tom Hanks, tells Private Ryan right before he dies to “Earn this.”
There was a story on ABC News last night about a department store Santa reaching out to a kid with autism. The Santa listened to the boy telling him about autism and told him that he was a good boy. This story has been liked and shared on Facebook thousands of times. This department store Santa was probably a regular human being, with flaws like the rest of us. He wasn’t even really Santa Claus! But he got to be part of a sacred occasion.
From a Christian perspective, I think about Christ sacrificing himself for us and giving us honor that we do not deserve. Does that impact or change me in any way? It should, but it is often an abstract doctrine for me. That is why it is good to see examples of that kind of theme in stories, and in real life.
Thursday, December 10, 2015
Book Write-Up: Until the Dawn, by Elizabeth Camden
Elizabeth Camden. Until the Dawn. Minneapolis: Bethany House, 2015. See here to buy the book.
Until the Dawn is set in the late nineteenth century. The mansion of Dierenpark is a tourist attraction in the Hudson River Valley. Dierenpark is owned and was long inhabited by the Vandermarks.
Locals have long heard stories about the Vandermarks and Dierenpark. They know the story about how two brothers, Caleb and Adrien Vandermark, came from Holland and established a prosperous shipping business. Adrien was fair in his dealings with the Native Americans (unlike many white people who dealt with them) but was supposedly killed by them. Caleb’s descendant Karl was a pillar of the community who was admired for working with the locals at the mill, in spite of his wealth and status. Karl committed suicide. Or was it a suicide? Many, including the elderly Nickolaas Vandermaark (who is Karl’s son), believe that Dierenpark is cursed and want it destroyed. Nickolaas also believes that there are unusual natural (or supernatural) properties at Dierenpark: lilies grow where they are not supposed to grow, and crocuses bloom more often than they are supposed to bloom.
One of the locals of the community, the twenty-something and attractive Sophie van Rijn, has long loved Dierenpark, and she set up a weather station on its roof as part of her volunteer work for the Weather Bureau. That work gives her meaning in life because it is useful and helps others. Conflict emerges, however, when the first Vandermark to set foot on Dierenpark in sixty years shows up. Quentin Vandermark is Nickolaas’ grandson. Quentin is an architect because he does not want to be one of the “idle rich.” He is melancholic and walks with a cane because he broke his leg years before and could not reset it properly. He is a widower and is accompanied by his young son, Pieter.
Quentin is initially outraged that Sophie set up a weather site on his roof without permission, but he lets her continue her work because he is committed to science. Quentin is an atheist. Part of the reason for his atheism is that he prefers to stick with what he can see and understand rationally, and part of the reason is that he was burned out with religion because his grandfather Nickolaas continually dragged him on journeys to sample various religions and spiritualities. Sophie, in contrast with Quentin, is a devout Christian. Quentin admires Sophie’s winsomeness, but he thinks that she is naive about the ways of the world.
There were many passages in this book that I liked. My favorite plot-element is when Sophie is trying to get the Weather Bureau to set up an actual station in her community, and she hopes to work there for money. While many mock her dream, Quentin actually takes her seriously and challenges her to write a scientific and well-researched proposal about why the station should be set up in that town. After Sophie overhears a Weather Bureau representative diminish her knowledge and abilities to Quentin, Quentin tries to encourage her by telling her about some of the rejection that he has experienced as an architect. He also tells her about how she has made a difference.
In terms of the prose and story, Until the Dawn is not as simple or shallow as a number of other Christian fiction books. Characters are not always as they seem. The ending was happy, but not all of the characters get what they want, at least not entirely. The book has lots of stories: about the mysterious Vandermark history, and Quentin’s previous marriage. Nickolaas at the end of the book responds to Christianity in an endearing (and not necessarily evangelical) way. Just when the reader thinks that an element of the plot has been resolved, something unexpected comes out of the woodwork. The characters are dealing with disappointments, hurts, and flaws, and that makes for a good story. The book could have been more complex, and it did have typical elements of Christian fiction: a Christian saves someone, who feels aimless and depressed because of the lack of God in his or her life. Still, this book was an enjoyable read because of the wise things that Sophie and Quentin said, the interaction with various worldviews, the characters, and the mystery.
I felt comfortable reading this book, and I would like to read more of Elizabeth Camden’s novels.
I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher, in exchange for an honest review.
Until the Dawn is set in the late nineteenth century. The mansion of Dierenpark is a tourist attraction in the Hudson River Valley. Dierenpark is owned and was long inhabited by the Vandermarks.
Locals have long heard stories about the Vandermarks and Dierenpark. They know the story about how two brothers, Caleb and Adrien Vandermark, came from Holland and established a prosperous shipping business. Adrien was fair in his dealings with the Native Americans (unlike many white people who dealt with them) but was supposedly killed by them. Caleb’s descendant Karl was a pillar of the community who was admired for working with the locals at the mill, in spite of his wealth and status. Karl committed suicide. Or was it a suicide? Many, including the elderly Nickolaas Vandermaark (who is Karl’s son), believe that Dierenpark is cursed and want it destroyed. Nickolaas also believes that there are unusual natural (or supernatural) properties at Dierenpark: lilies grow where they are not supposed to grow, and crocuses bloom more often than they are supposed to bloom.
One of the locals of the community, the twenty-something and attractive Sophie van Rijn, has long loved Dierenpark, and she set up a weather station on its roof as part of her volunteer work for the Weather Bureau. That work gives her meaning in life because it is useful and helps others. Conflict emerges, however, when the first Vandermark to set foot on Dierenpark in sixty years shows up. Quentin Vandermark is Nickolaas’ grandson. Quentin is an architect because he does not want to be one of the “idle rich.” He is melancholic and walks with a cane because he broke his leg years before and could not reset it properly. He is a widower and is accompanied by his young son, Pieter.
Quentin is initially outraged that Sophie set up a weather site on his roof without permission, but he lets her continue her work because he is committed to science. Quentin is an atheist. Part of the reason for his atheism is that he prefers to stick with what he can see and understand rationally, and part of the reason is that he was burned out with religion because his grandfather Nickolaas continually dragged him on journeys to sample various religions and spiritualities. Sophie, in contrast with Quentin, is a devout Christian. Quentin admires Sophie’s winsomeness, but he thinks that she is naive about the ways of the world.
There were many passages in this book that I liked. My favorite plot-element is when Sophie is trying to get the Weather Bureau to set up an actual station in her community, and she hopes to work there for money. While many mock her dream, Quentin actually takes her seriously and challenges her to write a scientific and well-researched proposal about why the station should be set up in that town. After Sophie overhears a Weather Bureau representative diminish her knowledge and abilities to Quentin, Quentin tries to encourage her by telling her about some of the rejection that he has experienced as an architect. He also tells her about how she has made a difference.
In terms of the prose and story, Until the Dawn is not as simple or shallow as a number of other Christian fiction books. Characters are not always as they seem. The ending was happy, but not all of the characters get what they want, at least not entirely. The book has lots of stories: about the mysterious Vandermark history, and Quentin’s previous marriage. Nickolaas at the end of the book responds to Christianity in an endearing (and not necessarily evangelical) way. Just when the reader thinks that an element of the plot has been resolved, something unexpected comes out of the woodwork. The characters are dealing with disappointments, hurts, and flaws, and that makes for a good story. The book could have been more complex, and it did have typical elements of Christian fiction: a Christian saves someone, who feels aimless and depressed because of the lack of God in his or her life. Still, this book was an enjoyable read because of the wise things that Sophie and Quentin said, the interaction with various worldviews, the characters, and the mystery.
I felt comfortable reading this book, and I would like to read more of Elizabeth Camden’s novels.
I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher, in exchange for an honest review.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
A Foundation on Which to Build
Christians have different forms of Christianity.
I was eating dinner with a Catholic friend over a decade ago, and he was telling me how he believes that Christianity is about God changing him. On another occasion, I had dinner with this Catholic friend and a Lutheran, and both took issue with an evangelical who called Jesus his friend. They had the impression that this evangelical believed that Jesus was cool with whatever choices he made, like a buddy. “A real friend challenges you,” the Lutheran said. “And, once you meet one challenge, he gives you another challenge,” the Catholic said. On another occasion, the Catholic said that God has given us the gift of salvation, and God wants to see what we will do with it.
That kind of treadmill Christianity did not appeal to me then, and it does not appeal to me now. I am the sort of Christian who likes to emphasize God’s unconditional love and grace. By “grace,” I mean God accepting me even though I am a flawed person. There are all sorts of definitions of grace out there, within the Bible and outside of the Bible. I do draw on other definitions in my spiritual life: “God give me the grace to endure this situation,” I can find myself saying. There, grace is not so much God’s undeserved favor as it is God strengthening a person. But I need to feel that God accepts me even when I am flawed because my flaws so often turn up.
Not long ago, I reviewed Mark Strauss’ Jesus Behaving Badly: The Puzzling Paradoxes of the Man from Galilee. (Intervarsity Press sent me a complimentary review copy.) On page 76, Strauss quoted a lady who was recovering from preacher Bill Gothard’s Advanced Training Institute. The ATI defined grace as “the desire and the power to do God’s will.” She replied:
“Over the past 15 years, I’ve gradually learned that God doesn’t dislike me. He is always present and active, gentle and loving. When I sin, there is much grace. When I succeed, there is much grace. When I’m apathetic and can’t bring myself to ‘try’ any harder, His grace is still there with me. Grace is so much more than ‘the power and desire to do God’s will.’ It’s God Himself, carrying me whether I walk or stumble. It’s completely undeserved — God’s unmerited favor.”
See here to read her full letter.
That is the kind of God I need—-one who loves me and carries me even when I have difficulty trying. Does that mean that I should not try? Am I against Jesus challenging me or changing me? No on both counts. But there are times when my spiritual life does feel like a step forward, followed by a step back. I have to feel that God loves me even then. That does not preclude effort on my part. I believe that there is a standard of what is right and what is wrong, notwithstanding the moral ambiguity that may exist in areas. Consequently, I cannot follow every desire that enters my mind. As atheist Robert M. Price said in The Reason Driven Life, however, many people find that they make spiritual progress when they stop trying so hard.
I have issues with a model of Christianity that says that I will eventually showcase myself before God, and God will like what he sees because I have done well. I guess I have problems with the Gospel statement of “Well done, good and faithful servant,” right? Not necessarily. Those who have sacrificed to serve others and to do good may need the hope of that divine pat on the back to keep them going. I have a hard time envisioning myself showcasing myself before God because, again, I have flaws. I need grace.
Some may tell me that I am trying to craft God according to my personal preferences. I would say that there is a lot of subjectivity in everyone’s conception of God. I have made that point before, as have others. What I will also say, though, is that I need a foundation on which to build a spiritual life. There are religious concepts out there that I cannot do a whole lot with. Suppose that God’s love is conditional and based on people’s spiritual and moral performance. What exactly am I supposed to do with that? All that leads to is self-condemnation on my part. I need a spiritual concept that enables me to progress. God’s love and grace form that concept for me. Even if I am not as loving or as spiritually advanced as others, I am more loving than I would be without believing in God’s unconditional love and grace.
I will also add that I try not to dismiss uncomfortable parts of Scripture. But I do not let them overthrow my concept of God’s love.
I was eating dinner with a Catholic friend over a decade ago, and he was telling me how he believes that Christianity is about God changing him. On another occasion, I had dinner with this Catholic friend and a Lutheran, and both took issue with an evangelical who called Jesus his friend. They had the impression that this evangelical believed that Jesus was cool with whatever choices he made, like a buddy. “A real friend challenges you,” the Lutheran said. “And, once you meet one challenge, he gives you another challenge,” the Catholic said. On another occasion, the Catholic said that God has given us the gift of salvation, and God wants to see what we will do with it.
That kind of treadmill Christianity did not appeal to me then, and it does not appeal to me now. I am the sort of Christian who likes to emphasize God’s unconditional love and grace. By “grace,” I mean God accepting me even though I am a flawed person. There are all sorts of definitions of grace out there, within the Bible and outside of the Bible. I do draw on other definitions in my spiritual life: “God give me the grace to endure this situation,” I can find myself saying. There, grace is not so much God’s undeserved favor as it is God strengthening a person. But I need to feel that God accepts me even when I am flawed because my flaws so often turn up.
Not long ago, I reviewed Mark Strauss’ Jesus Behaving Badly: The Puzzling Paradoxes of the Man from Galilee. (Intervarsity Press sent me a complimentary review copy.) On page 76, Strauss quoted a lady who was recovering from preacher Bill Gothard’s Advanced Training Institute. The ATI defined grace as “the desire and the power to do God’s will.” She replied:
“Over the past 15 years, I’ve gradually learned that God doesn’t dislike me. He is always present and active, gentle and loving. When I sin, there is much grace. When I succeed, there is much grace. When I’m apathetic and can’t bring myself to ‘try’ any harder, His grace is still there with me. Grace is so much more than ‘the power and desire to do God’s will.’ It’s God Himself, carrying me whether I walk or stumble. It’s completely undeserved — God’s unmerited favor.”
See here to read her full letter.
That is the kind of God I need—-one who loves me and carries me even when I have difficulty trying. Does that mean that I should not try? Am I against Jesus challenging me or changing me? No on both counts. But there are times when my spiritual life does feel like a step forward, followed by a step back. I have to feel that God loves me even then. That does not preclude effort on my part. I believe that there is a standard of what is right and what is wrong, notwithstanding the moral ambiguity that may exist in areas. Consequently, I cannot follow every desire that enters my mind. As atheist Robert M. Price said in The Reason Driven Life, however, many people find that they make spiritual progress when they stop trying so hard.
I have issues with a model of Christianity that says that I will eventually showcase myself before God, and God will like what he sees because I have done well. I guess I have problems with the Gospel statement of “Well done, good and faithful servant,” right? Not necessarily. Those who have sacrificed to serve others and to do good may need the hope of that divine pat on the back to keep them going. I have a hard time envisioning myself showcasing myself before God because, again, I have flaws. I need grace.
Some may tell me that I am trying to craft God according to my personal preferences. I would say that there is a lot of subjectivity in everyone’s conception of God. I have made that point before, as have others. What I will also say, though, is that I need a foundation on which to build a spiritual life. There are religious concepts out there that I cannot do a whole lot with. Suppose that God’s love is conditional and based on people’s spiritual and moral performance. What exactly am I supposed to do with that? All that leads to is self-condemnation on my part. I need a spiritual concept that enables me to progress. God’s love and grace form that concept for me. Even if I am not as loving or as spiritually advanced as others, I am more loving than I would be without believing in God’s unconditional love and grace.
I will also add that I try not to dismiss uncomfortable parts of Scripture. But I do not let them overthrow my concept of God’s love.
Tuesday, December 8, 2015
Book Write-Up: The Reality of God and Historical Method, by Samuel V. Adams
Samuel V. Adams. The Reality of God and Historical Method: Apocalyptic Theology in Conversation with N.T. Wright. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2015. See here to purchase the book.
A question that has loomed large in post-Enlightenment theology and biblical studies is whether one can derive theological truths from history, particularly a historical study of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. Thinkers have pointed out potential barriers to such an endeavor. There is the contingent, changing nature of human reality, including the past, which leads many to ask if timeless theological truths can be derived from history. There is historians’ lack of access to many things in the past. There are also contradictions between what certain biblical scholars have concluded from their historical studies about the history of Israel, Jesus, and early Christianity, and what religious communities and even the biblical texts themselves claim about their sacred history. The response to this was a polarity between history and theology, as a number of theologians focused on a personal religious experience of the divine, set apart from what historians say about Jesus.
N.T. Wright is an influential New Testament scholar. He is also an evangelical Christian, although some of his positions, such as his view on justification, have been controversial among evangelicals. N.T. Wright has addressed the question of the relationship between history and theology. In The Reality of God and Historical Method, theologian Samuel V. Adams critiques Wright’s conclusions, methodology, and focus.
N.T. Wright does believe that history is important for understanding Jesus, for he has sought rigorously to interpret Jesus in light of his first century Jewish context. Wright is not a rigid Christian fundamentalist, but he does appear to maintain that the general picture of Jesus in the New Testament Gospels (at least the synoptic Gospels) is historically plausible, and he contends, though historical argumentation, that Jesus rose from the dead. For Wright, Christians can be inspired and shape their worldview in reference to what the historical Jesus said and did, and Jesus’ resurrection can provide them with an epistemology of love, one that does not just look at bare facts but places those facts in a new light, a light that affirms God’s love for creation. According to Adams, Wright’s views on history reflect realism in that they maintain that there is a reality out there that (on some level) can be accessible to people’s understanding, and yet, like postmodernists, Wright acknowledges the existence of subjectivity and the role of narrative in contextualizing data. Wright, according to Adams, also navigates worldviews: can one account for a Christian belief by looking at what the Christian community itself says, and how does that compare with how an outsider might account for that Christian belief? In addressing such thorny questions as the possibility of miracles, Wright notes that the people who are being studied, the early Christians and Jews, believed in miracles, which may be a way that Wright tries to accept their possibility, while being true to conventional historical methodology.
Adams’ critique of Wright revolves around the reality of God and apocalyptic theology. Apocalyptic theology seems to be divine revelation: God has taken the initiative of revealing Godself through Jesus Christ, and only those who are spiritually regenerated (born again) can see the Kingdom of God. Interacting with T.F. Torrance and Soren Kierkegaard, Adams maintains that humans, by themselves and their own devices, cannot arrive at a knowledge of God. That belief will form a significant part of his critique of Wright, for Wright arguably presents history as a way to arrive at knowledge of God and Jesus. Adams also believes that Wright’s model neglects important considerations: that a new reality in Christ has invaded our own reality and coexists with it, and that this new reality is discontinuous from history and (unlike history) brings life rather than death.
Adams addresses the question of whether he himself neglects or negates the importance of history in understanding Jesus. Is Adams like the theologians who prioritized a subjective religious experience and divorced it from historical methodology? Does Adams’ apocalyptic model present God revealing Godself out of the blue, in a manner that does not relate to what came before (since an event relating to what came before is significant in conceptualizing events historically)? Adams maintains that history is still significant, for God did reveal Godself in a historical person, Jesus; plus, God’s revelation does relate to what came before, since God prepared the way for the coming of Christ. For Adams, historical study of Jesus is still acceptable, but it should be conditioned by an acknowledgment of God’s revelation in Jesus, and the necessity of spiritual regeneration in knowing God. While many may claim that such an approach to historical study is biased, Adams states that all historians have presuppositions and contextualize facts within a story.
The greatest deficiency of this book, in my opinion, is that Adams does not show what historical study is supposed to look like under his model. Is it basically conservative maximalist New Testament scholarship, which maintains that what the Gospels say about Jesus is historically accurate and that the New Testament uniformly proclaims what evangelical Christianity believes (as opposed to there being diversity in thought within the New Testament)? Would historical methodology, under Adams’ model, argue rigorously for these views from a historical standpoint, or simply assume them (since, after all, if you are born again, you get it, and if you are not born again, you don’t)? Can historical study, under Adams’ model, even interact with the conclusions of liberal New Testament scholars, or does it simply dismiss those conclusions as coming from people who don’t get it? Under Adams’ model, is there some neutral ground on which confessional or conservative New Testament scholars can fruitfully discuss Jesus and early Christianity with liberal New Testament scholars, or are people essentially isolated from each other on account of their different presuppositions and whether or not they had a spiritual experience?
A fruitful direction in which Adams could have taken his method would have been to say that God revealed Godself in history through Jesus, and we can try to understand Jesus through historical methodology, following wherever the evidence leads. Adams may believe this, at least partially (I doubt that he would be as open to liberal conclusions as I am), but he did not flesh this out.
Adams was lucid on some points, and rather elliptical on others. He thoughtfully articulated Kant’s epistemology (no small task). He did not focus much on the historicity of events in the Gospels, which is a significant issue in the relationship between history and theology and N.T. Wright’s scholarship, even though Adams did seem to refer to that indirectly (i.e., Adams said that Wright lowered the bar for what counts as historical). Adams’ discussion of Wright did sensitize me to the difficulty of trying to arrive at theological truth with what historical methodology has to offer. At the same time, I wondered at times if Wright already acknowledges some of the points that Adams makes, meaning Wright’s methodology is not as deficient as Adams thinks. I one time heard Wright speak, and Wright was saying that Jesus’ resurrection marked the beginning of a new week, and that this new week coexists with the old world. That sounds to me like what Adams is saying.
I apologize for any misunderstandings on my part in reading this book.
I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher, in exchange for an honest review.
A question that has loomed large in post-Enlightenment theology and biblical studies is whether one can derive theological truths from history, particularly a historical study of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. Thinkers have pointed out potential barriers to such an endeavor. There is the contingent, changing nature of human reality, including the past, which leads many to ask if timeless theological truths can be derived from history. There is historians’ lack of access to many things in the past. There are also contradictions between what certain biblical scholars have concluded from their historical studies about the history of Israel, Jesus, and early Christianity, and what religious communities and even the biblical texts themselves claim about their sacred history. The response to this was a polarity between history and theology, as a number of theologians focused on a personal religious experience of the divine, set apart from what historians say about Jesus.
N.T. Wright is an influential New Testament scholar. He is also an evangelical Christian, although some of his positions, such as his view on justification, have been controversial among evangelicals. N.T. Wright has addressed the question of the relationship between history and theology. In The Reality of God and Historical Method, theologian Samuel V. Adams critiques Wright’s conclusions, methodology, and focus.
N.T. Wright does believe that history is important for understanding Jesus, for he has sought rigorously to interpret Jesus in light of his first century Jewish context. Wright is not a rigid Christian fundamentalist, but he does appear to maintain that the general picture of Jesus in the New Testament Gospels (at least the synoptic Gospels) is historically plausible, and he contends, though historical argumentation, that Jesus rose from the dead. For Wright, Christians can be inspired and shape their worldview in reference to what the historical Jesus said and did, and Jesus’ resurrection can provide them with an epistemology of love, one that does not just look at bare facts but places those facts in a new light, a light that affirms God’s love for creation. According to Adams, Wright’s views on history reflect realism in that they maintain that there is a reality out there that (on some level) can be accessible to people’s understanding, and yet, like postmodernists, Wright acknowledges the existence of subjectivity and the role of narrative in contextualizing data. Wright, according to Adams, also navigates worldviews: can one account for a Christian belief by looking at what the Christian community itself says, and how does that compare with how an outsider might account for that Christian belief? In addressing such thorny questions as the possibility of miracles, Wright notes that the people who are being studied, the early Christians and Jews, believed in miracles, which may be a way that Wright tries to accept their possibility, while being true to conventional historical methodology.
Adams’ critique of Wright revolves around the reality of God and apocalyptic theology. Apocalyptic theology seems to be divine revelation: God has taken the initiative of revealing Godself through Jesus Christ, and only those who are spiritually regenerated (born again) can see the Kingdom of God. Interacting with T.F. Torrance and Soren Kierkegaard, Adams maintains that humans, by themselves and their own devices, cannot arrive at a knowledge of God. That belief will form a significant part of his critique of Wright, for Wright arguably presents history as a way to arrive at knowledge of God and Jesus. Adams also believes that Wright’s model neglects important considerations: that a new reality in Christ has invaded our own reality and coexists with it, and that this new reality is discontinuous from history and (unlike history) brings life rather than death.
Adams addresses the question of whether he himself neglects or negates the importance of history in understanding Jesus. Is Adams like the theologians who prioritized a subjective religious experience and divorced it from historical methodology? Does Adams’ apocalyptic model present God revealing Godself out of the blue, in a manner that does not relate to what came before (since an event relating to what came before is significant in conceptualizing events historically)? Adams maintains that history is still significant, for God did reveal Godself in a historical person, Jesus; plus, God’s revelation does relate to what came before, since God prepared the way for the coming of Christ. For Adams, historical study of Jesus is still acceptable, but it should be conditioned by an acknowledgment of God’s revelation in Jesus, and the necessity of spiritual regeneration in knowing God. While many may claim that such an approach to historical study is biased, Adams states that all historians have presuppositions and contextualize facts within a story.
The greatest deficiency of this book, in my opinion, is that Adams does not show what historical study is supposed to look like under his model. Is it basically conservative maximalist New Testament scholarship, which maintains that what the Gospels say about Jesus is historically accurate and that the New Testament uniformly proclaims what evangelical Christianity believes (as opposed to there being diversity in thought within the New Testament)? Would historical methodology, under Adams’ model, argue rigorously for these views from a historical standpoint, or simply assume them (since, after all, if you are born again, you get it, and if you are not born again, you don’t)? Can historical study, under Adams’ model, even interact with the conclusions of liberal New Testament scholars, or does it simply dismiss those conclusions as coming from people who don’t get it? Under Adams’ model, is there some neutral ground on which confessional or conservative New Testament scholars can fruitfully discuss Jesus and early Christianity with liberal New Testament scholars, or are people essentially isolated from each other on account of their different presuppositions and whether or not they had a spiritual experience?
A fruitful direction in which Adams could have taken his method would have been to say that God revealed Godself in history through Jesus, and we can try to understand Jesus through historical methodology, following wherever the evidence leads. Adams may believe this, at least partially (I doubt that he would be as open to liberal conclusions as I am), but he did not flesh this out.
Adams was lucid on some points, and rather elliptical on others. He thoughtfully articulated Kant’s epistemology (no small task). He did not focus much on the historicity of events in the Gospels, which is a significant issue in the relationship between history and theology and N.T. Wright’s scholarship, even though Adams did seem to refer to that indirectly (i.e., Adams said that Wright lowered the bar for what counts as historical). Adams’ discussion of Wright did sensitize me to the difficulty of trying to arrive at theological truth with what historical methodology has to offer. At the same time, I wondered at times if Wright already acknowledges some of the points that Adams makes, meaning Wright’s methodology is not as deficient as Adams thinks. I one time heard Wright speak, and Wright was saying that Jesus’ resurrection marked the beginning of a new week, and that this new week coexists with the old world. That sounds to me like what Adams is saying.
I apologize for any misunderstandings on my part in reading this book.
I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher, in exchange for an honest review.
Monday, December 7, 2015
Ben Carson on the National Sunday Law
I probably should have written this post when Ben Carson was higher
up in the polls, but this is a topic of interest to me, so I will post
it.
Ben Carson, the retired neurosurgeon who is running for the Republican nomination for U.S. President, is a Seventh-Day Adventist. Carson has been gaining support from conservative evangelicals.
The reason that this has interested me is that Seventh-Day Adventism fears (or, at least, negatively anticipates) a National Sunday Law, which will require people to honor Sunday religiously and will supposedly persecute people who observe the Sabbath on other days, as the Seventh-Day Adventists observe the Sabbath on Saturday (or, more accurately, from Friday sunset to Saturday sunset). Many Seventh-Day Adventists, due to their opposition to a National Sunday Law, tend to be critical of the religious right, fearing that it will erode the wall between church and state and lead to a National Sunday Law. Carson, however, is supported by people who could be characterized as part of the religious right. Is this an inconsistency? How does Carson himself navigate this tension?
I found a YouTube video in which Carson talked about the National Sunday Law before a Seventh-Day Adventist church. Carson said that he is opposed to political-correctness and the new world order, and their attempts to undermine the Judeo-Christian ethic in America. Carson states that he is actively fighting political correctness. Carson also predicted that, in accordance with Bible prophecy, there will be a religious awakening in America, and that things will get better as a result of that. But, Carson continues, some will take that awakening in overly zealous directions, and that will lead to a National Sunday Law and the persecution of seventh-day sabbathkeepers. According to Carson, persecution over the seventh-day Sabbath will come from the right rather than the left. Finally, Carson jokingly remarked that he hopes he is not around by that time!
Carson seems to support a religious awakening, thinking that will result in good things for the country; this may explain why he supports a lot of what the religious right supports, notwithstanding his Seventh-Day Adventism. But he still maintains his Seventh-Day Adventist belief that there will come a National Sunday Law, and he hopes that he will not be around to see it.
Ben Carson, the retired neurosurgeon who is running for the Republican nomination for U.S. President, is a Seventh-Day Adventist. Carson has been gaining support from conservative evangelicals.
The reason that this has interested me is that Seventh-Day Adventism fears (or, at least, negatively anticipates) a National Sunday Law, which will require people to honor Sunday religiously and will supposedly persecute people who observe the Sabbath on other days, as the Seventh-Day Adventists observe the Sabbath on Saturday (or, more accurately, from Friday sunset to Saturday sunset). Many Seventh-Day Adventists, due to their opposition to a National Sunday Law, tend to be critical of the religious right, fearing that it will erode the wall between church and state and lead to a National Sunday Law. Carson, however, is supported by people who could be characterized as part of the religious right. Is this an inconsistency? How does Carson himself navigate this tension?
I found a YouTube video in which Carson talked about the National Sunday Law before a Seventh-Day Adventist church. Carson said that he is opposed to political-correctness and the new world order, and their attempts to undermine the Judeo-Christian ethic in America. Carson states that he is actively fighting political correctness. Carson also predicted that, in accordance with Bible prophecy, there will be a religious awakening in America, and that things will get better as a result of that. But, Carson continues, some will take that awakening in overly zealous directions, and that will lead to a National Sunday Law and the persecution of seventh-day sabbathkeepers. According to Carson, persecution over the seventh-day Sabbath will come from the right rather than the left. Finally, Carson jokingly remarked that he hopes he is not around by that time!
Carson seems to support a religious awakening, thinking that will result in good things for the country; this may explain why he supports a lot of what the religious right supports, notwithstanding his Seventh-Day Adventism. But he still maintains his Seventh-Day Adventist belief that there will come a National Sunday Law, and he hopes that he will not be around to see it.
Sunday, December 6, 2015
Scattered Ramblings on John the Baptist and the Recent Shootings
The service at church this morning revolved around John the Baptist preparing the way for Jesus. The pastor preached on Luke 3:1-18.
We sang a worship song, “Here Is Our King.” The song talked about spring arriving and healing the ground, and someone saying something that causes the rose to unfold. The song calls what is coming—-presumably Jesus—-“A trace of what we’re looking for.”
Jesus is what we’re looking for. Jesus will satisfy our needs. Is that actually in the Bible, or is that evangelicals projecting consumerism and self-esteem onto the biblical text? I do not see this theme in every single book of the Bible; the synoptic Gospels, for example, seem to assume that people should repent because that is the right thing to do, not because it meets their personal needs. But the idea that Jesus or God satisfies our hunger and thirst is in some places. Jesus in John 4:14 says that people will never thirst again after drinking the water that he gives them. Jesus in John 6:35 states that people who come to him will never be hungry. Isaiah 55:2 has: “Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness” (KJV).
We have this worship song about Jesus being what we are truly looking for and, presumably, satisfying our needs. But, as the pastor noted, John the Baptist sounded pretty harsh in his sermon to the people. John was not preaching a seeker-sensitive message! According to the pastor, John was doing this to shake people out of their complacency so that they can be prepared for the Messiah’s coming. Similarly, the pastor said, many of us can become complacent, in our comfort, about the suffering in the world. John was calling people vipers and was warning them about unquenchable fire, but there was also a positive aspect to his message. John in Luke 3 was predicting the salvation of God, and he was exhorting people who had two coats to give one of those coats to someone who had none. As the pastor said, a person only needs that one coat! John also talked about the uplifting of valleys and the lowering of mountains, and the pastor interpreted this in reference to (among other things) people who are hurt becoming healers.
Our church is giving to people who lack. Someone was telling us about a ministry in our church that gives long underwear and socks to the needy. That helps them, during this winter season.
The pastor did not preach about the recent shooting, but he did make some remarks about it earlier in the service, during the prayer part. He encouraged us to think about how we are connected with those mourning the victims, and to ask God what we can do in response. The pastor said that he would not be preaching about the shooting in the sermon, because the shootings happen so often, and he does not want focusing on the shootings to detract from focusing on Jesus during this Advent season. Jesus, for the pastor, is part of the solution for these kinds of ills in society.
The pastor may have been responding to what some atheists and progressive Christians have been saying online about prayer, in light of the recent shooting. Essentially, they have been saying that prayer should not take the place of action. The pastor was encouraging prayer that leads to action. The thing is, however, that many of us do not know how to solve large-scale problems. The pastor himself, in a blog post this past week, confessed that he does not entirely know what to do, and he said that, while he supports gun control, he does not see that as the end-all, be-all solution to the problem.
Other than prayer, I am not planning on actively doing something about the shootings. I do not know what to do. I still agree with trying to feel some human connection to the victims and their loved ones, however. Last week, ABC News was showing some of the victims of the shooting, and they looked like regular people, good people trying to get through life, the sorts of people I know. When it comes to the shootings, I plan to pray. Maybe I can see if there are public policy options that can expand access to mental health treatment, especially to those who cannot afford it (and not just the poor, either, but for those who spend so much on necessities that there is not much left over for therapy), and to encourage lawmakers to address that.
Rather than stressing out over things that I cannot control, because the problems are bigger than me, I can look at what I can do. I can donate to a charity that gives long underwear and socks to the needy, for example, or to another worthy cause.
We sang a worship song, “Here Is Our King.” The song talked about spring arriving and healing the ground, and someone saying something that causes the rose to unfold. The song calls what is coming—-presumably Jesus—-“A trace of what we’re looking for.”
Jesus is what we’re looking for. Jesus will satisfy our needs. Is that actually in the Bible, or is that evangelicals projecting consumerism and self-esteem onto the biblical text? I do not see this theme in every single book of the Bible; the synoptic Gospels, for example, seem to assume that people should repent because that is the right thing to do, not because it meets their personal needs. But the idea that Jesus or God satisfies our hunger and thirst is in some places. Jesus in John 4:14 says that people will never thirst again after drinking the water that he gives them. Jesus in John 6:35 states that people who come to him will never be hungry. Isaiah 55:2 has: “Wherefore do ye spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness” (KJV).
We have this worship song about Jesus being what we are truly looking for and, presumably, satisfying our needs. But, as the pastor noted, John the Baptist sounded pretty harsh in his sermon to the people. John was not preaching a seeker-sensitive message! According to the pastor, John was doing this to shake people out of their complacency so that they can be prepared for the Messiah’s coming. Similarly, the pastor said, many of us can become complacent, in our comfort, about the suffering in the world. John was calling people vipers and was warning them about unquenchable fire, but there was also a positive aspect to his message. John in Luke 3 was predicting the salvation of God, and he was exhorting people who had two coats to give one of those coats to someone who had none. As the pastor said, a person only needs that one coat! John also talked about the uplifting of valleys and the lowering of mountains, and the pastor interpreted this in reference to (among other things) people who are hurt becoming healers.
Our church is giving to people who lack. Someone was telling us about a ministry in our church that gives long underwear and socks to the needy. That helps them, during this winter season.
The pastor did not preach about the recent shooting, but he did make some remarks about it earlier in the service, during the prayer part. He encouraged us to think about how we are connected with those mourning the victims, and to ask God what we can do in response. The pastor said that he would not be preaching about the shooting in the sermon, because the shootings happen so often, and he does not want focusing on the shootings to detract from focusing on Jesus during this Advent season. Jesus, for the pastor, is part of the solution for these kinds of ills in society.
The pastor may have been responding to what some atheists and progressive Christians have been saying online about prayer, in light of the recent shooting. Essentially, they have been saying that prayer should not take the place of action. The pastor was encouraging prayer that leads to action. The thing is, however, that many of us do not know how to solve large-scale problems. The pastor himself, in a blog post this past week, confessed that he does not entirely know what to do, and he said that, while he supports gun control, he does not see that as the end-all, be-all solution to the problem.
Other than prayer, I am not planning on actively doing something about the shootings. I do not know what to do. I still agree with trying to feel some human connection to the victims and their loved ones, however. Last week, ABC News was showing some of the victims of the shooting, and they looked like regular people, good people trying to get through life, the sorts of people I know. When it comes to the shootings, I plan to pray. Maybe I can see if there are public policy options that can expand access to mental health treatment, especially to those who cannot afford it (and not just the poor, either, but for those who spend so much on necessities that there is not much left over for therapy), and to encourage lawmakers to address that.
Rather than stressing out over things that I cannot control, because the problems are bigger than me, I can look at what I can do. I can donate to a charity that gives long underwear and socks to the needy, for example, or to another worthy cause.
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