Thursday, September 30, 2010
Richard Dawkins and Alister McGrath Pt. 3 of 15
To some extent this is old-hat but these are two shorts in a fantastic series of outtakes taken from Dawkins' Channel 4 documentary that aired sometime ago. Here he locks horns with fellow Oxford associate, Alister McGrath. Scintillating conversation and you can sense the tension bubbling below the surface as their polite camera demenour is strained to the limit!
The Crisis of Suffering and The God Who Is There
Throughout the book that bears his name, Job pleads with God to show himself. He groans and pleads with God to appear, that he would contend with Job and explain the deeper reasons for his awful affliction and suffering. At one point, in chapter 23, Job cries out in his pain and anguish:
“Today also my complaint is bitter;
my hand is heavy on account of my groaning.
Oh, that I knew where I might find him,
that I might come even to his seat!
I would lay my case before him
and fill my mouth with arguments.
I would know what he would answer me…” (23.2-5)
Job gradually looks from his own suffering and begins to cast his gaze over the suffering and difficulty of his neighbours. Injustice is everywhere; the poor are abused and exploited while the criminal and the wicked prosper. Job sees the unjust and the evil people who
”…drive away the donkey of the fatherless;
they take the widow’s ox for a pledge.
They thrust the poor off the road;
the poor of the earth all hide themselves.
Behold, like wild donkeys in the desert
the poor go out to their toil, seeking game;
the wasteland yields food for their children.
They gather their fodder in the field,
and they glean the vineyard of the wicked man.
They lie all night naked, without clothing,
and have no covering in the cold.
They are wet with the rain of the mountains
and cling to the rock for lack of shelter.
(There are those who snatch the fatherless child from the breast,
and they take a pledge against the poor.)
They go about naked, without clothing;
hungry, they carry the sheaves;
among the olive rows of the wicked they make oil;
they tread the winepresses, but suffer thirst.
From out of the city the dying groan,
and the soul of the wounded cries for help;
yet God charges no one with wrong. (24.3-12)
“…yet God charges no one with wrong.” The poor are afflicted and the righteous suffer whilst the wicked and the unjust prosper. Poverty, misery, despair, death and injustice are everywhere. But where is God? Why does he not intervene? Why will he not act? Job’s anguish and misery deepens until it becomes focussed in a lengthy discourse that culminates in a direct provocation of God:
“God has cast me into the mire,
and I have become like dust and ashes.
I cry to you for help and you do not answer me;
I stand, and you only look at me.
You have turned cruel to me;
with the might of your hand your persecute me.
You lift me up on the wind; you make me ride on it,
and you toss me about in the roar of the storm.
For I know that you will bring me to death
and to the house appointed for all
living.” (30.19-23)
Job’s former resolve to honour God with his lips despite his grave suffering has collapsed. Misery has engulfed him. For the first time, he doubts the gracious character of God and shouts in his face. God is no longer his advocate. Instead, he has become his persecutor, the one who tosses him in the storm; the one who will bring him to death with no word of comfort. God will not help him. God stands and merely looks on as Job writhes in agony and goes to the grave in despair.
And so it seems that God will bring Job no resolution. The knot of anger and outrage in the pit of Job’s stomach will not be assuaged by a clear answer from God. The litany of anguished questions that perplex Job are ours too. Will God show up and speak for himself? Will he give an account of himself? Will he meet Job’s piercing questions head-on or will he remain hidden, inscrutable, distant?
God does show up. And he speaks. Indeed, he answers Job - but not in the way we expect. We are completely unprepared for the denoument that unfurls as God finally speaks out of the whirlwind:
Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind and said:
"Who is this that darkens counsel by
words without knowledge?
Dress for action like a man;
I will question you,
and you make it known to me.
"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone,
when the morning stars sang together
and all the sons of God shouted for joy…?” (38.1-7)
Out of the whirlwind God speaks. He hurls a catalogue of questions that scupper the human intellect and bow the human spirit low in bafflement and awe:
"Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades
or loose the cords of Orion?
Can you lead forth the Mazzaroth in their season,
or can you guide the Bear with its children?
Do you know the ordinances of the heavens?
Can you establish their rule on the earth…?” (38.31-33)
The book of Job climaxes in this shocking and exhilarating revelation of God; unbounded in his freedom and supreme in his wisdom he questions Job. No longer is God in the dock; suddenly Job is challenged to come forward and answer the searching questions God puts before him. Job’s questions, formerly so pointed and urgent, now evaporate into thin air as the presence of God engulfes him. God reveals the unsearchable depths of his glory; he speaks and Job listens.
“Then Job answered the LORD and said:
"I know that you can do all things,
and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
'Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?'
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.'
'Hear, and I will speak;
I will question you, and you make it known to me.'
I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear,
but now my eye sees you;
therefore I despise myself,
and repent in dust and ashes." (42.1-6)
“I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you.” The philosopher Paul Ricoeur mused on these passages in an article entitled The Religious Significance of Atheism. To his mind, when God finally speaks he reveals the very fullness of his Being; something so incommensurable and immense that no words are adequate to capture it or render it comprehensible. In other words, the manifest presence of God is signified in words and questions designed to short-circuit human understanding. The Being of God is disclosed in words that can summon only one response; a posture of listening and awe.
Job cannot answer the questions God puts to him. And neither can we. The barrage of words are intended to signify the mystery and the majesty of the Being of God; his words convey his overwhelming presence. Job is engulfed in an explosion of pure Being; he is surrounded by the presence of God who fills and contains all things. (According to Ricoeur, it is this Being whom the Pre-Socratics discerned as the “logos” that sustained the known universe and all reality. They had a dim intuition of the One Job encounters directly in the pages of the Old Testament.) Job does not recieve from God that for which he pleaded; instead of offering a clear answer to his questions, God comes close and reveals himself in an immediate encounter.
Like Job, in the midst of suffering, although we cry out to God for the reasons why we suffer, we will never receive them clearly stated in so many neat words we easily comprehend. “The problem we have is Job’s problem writ large: and Job’s protests are our protests. We need the solution he was offered: a sense of the presence of God.” (Frances Young, Can These Bones Live, pp. 80) Ultimately, of course, it is not a ready question that our heart seeks but the comfort of the close presence of the God who is there.
The plaintive cry of Job in the Old Testament anticipates another, far deeper and more disturbing cry. Job’s muttered, tearful questions are mere echoes of a far deeper and far more disturbing question. At the heart of the New Testament, as Jesus hangs on the cross in the darkness, he utters the terrifying words: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15.34, Matthew 27.46)
Jesus is utterly God-forsaken as he hangs from the crucifix on Golgotha. Is it possible to make some sense of this awful cry of Jesus, the anguished questions of Job and the God who is there? How does it all hang together?
With the help of Leon Morris, we’ll investigate these questions in the next post.
Until then –
The Scribbling Apprentice.
“Today also my complaint is bitter;
my hand is heavy on account of my groaning.
Oh, that I knew where I might find him,
that I might come even to his seat!
I would lay my case before him
and fill my mouth with arguments.
I would know what he would answer me…” (23.2-5)
Job gradually looks from his own suffering and begins to cast his gaze over the suffering and difficulty of his neighbours. Injustice is everywhere; the poor are abused and exploited while the criminal and the wicked prosper. Job sees the unjust and the evil people who
”…drive away the donkey of the fatherless;
they take the widow’s ox for a pledge.
They thrust the poor off the road;
the poor of the earth all hide themselves.
Behold, like wild donkeys in the desert
the poor go out to their toil, seeking game;
the wasteland yields food for their children.
They gather their fodder in the field,
and they glean the vineyard of the wicked man.
They lie all night naked, without clothing,
and have no covering in the cold.
They are wet with the rain of the mountains
and cling to the rock for lack of shelter.
(There are those who snatch the fatherless child from the breast,
and they take a pledge against the poor.)
They go about naked, without clothing;
hungry, they carry the sheaves;
among the olive rows of the wicked they make oil;
they tread the winepresses, but suffer thirst.
From out of the city the dying groan,
and the soul of the wounded cries for help;
yet God charges no one with wrong. (24.3-12)
“…yet God charges no one with wrong.” The poor are afflicted and the righteous suffer whilst the wicked and the unjust prosper. Poverty, misery, despair, death and injustice are everywhere. But where is God? Why does he not intervene? Why will he not act? Job’s anguish and misery deepens until it becomes focussed in a lengthy discourse that culminates in a direct provocation of God:
“God has cast me into the mire,
and I have become like dust and ashes.
I cry to you for help and you do not answer me;
I stand, and you only look at me.
You have turned cruel to me;
with the might of your hand your persecute me.
You lift me up on the wind; you make me ride on it,
and you toss me about in the roar of the storm.
For I know that you will bring me to death
and to the house appointed for all
living.” (30.19-23)
Job’s former resolve to honour God with his lips despite his grave suffering has collapsed. Misery has engulfed him. For the first time, he doubts the gracious character of God and shouts in his face. God is no longer his advocate. Instead, he has become his persecutor, the one who tosses him in the storm; the one who will bring him to death with no word of comfort. God will not help him. God stands and merely looks on as Job writhes in agony and goes to the grave in despair.
And so it seems that God will bring Job no resolution. The knot of anger and outrage in the pit of Job’s stomach will not be assuaged by a clear answer from God. The litany of anguished questions that perplex Job are ours too. Will God show up and speak for himself? Will he give an account of himself? Will he meet Job’s piercing questions head-on or will he remain hidden, inscrutable, distant?
God does show up. And he speaks. Indeed, he answers Job - but not in the way we expect. We are completely unprepared for the denoument that unfurls as God finally speaks out of the whirlwind:
Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind and said:
"Who is this that darkens counsel by
words without knowledge?
Dress for action like a man;
I will question you,
and you make it known to me.
"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?
Tell me, if you have understanding.
Who determined its measurements—surely you know!
Or who stretched the line upon it?
On what were its bases sunk,
or who laid its cornerstone,
when the morning stars sang together
and all the sons of God shouted for joy…?” (38.1-7)
Out of the whirlwind God speaks. He hurls a catalogue of questions that scupper the human intellect and bow the human spirit low in bafflement and awe:
"Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades
or loose the cords of Orion?
Can you lead forth the Mazzaroth in their season,
or can you guide the Bear with its children?
Do you know the ordinances of the heavens?
Can you establish their rule on the earth…?” (38.31-33)
The book of Job climaxes in this shocking and exhilarating revelation of God; unbounded in his freedom and supreme in his wisdom he questions Job. No longer is God in the dock; suddenly Job is challenged to come forward and answer the searching questions God puts before him. Job’s questions, formerly so pointed and urgent, now evaporate into thin air as the presence of God engulfes him. God reveals the unsearchable depths of his glory; he speaks and Job listens.
“Then Job answered the LORD and said:
"I know that you can do all things,
and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
'Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?'
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.'
'Hear, and I will speak;
I will question you, and you make it known to me.'
I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear,
but now my eye sees you;
therefore I despise myself,
and repent in dust and ashes." (42.1-6)
“I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you.” The philosopher Paul Ricoeur mused on these passages in an article entitled The Religious Significance of Atheism. To his mind, when God finally speaks he reveals the very fullness of his Being; something so incommensurable and immense that no words are adequate to capture it or render it comprehensible. In other words, the manifest presence of God is signified in words and questions designed to short-circuit human understanding. The Being of God is disclosed in words that can summon only one response; a posture of listening and awe.
Job cannot answer the questions God puts to him. And neither can we. The barrage of words are intended to signify the mystery and the majesty of the Being of God; his words convey his overwhelming presence. Job is engulfed in an explosion of pure Being; he is surrounded by the presence of God who fills and contains all things. (According to Ricoeur, it is this Being whom the Pre-Socratics discerned as the “logos” that sustained the known universe and all reality. They had a dim intuition of the One Job encounters directly in the pages of the Old Testament.) Job does not recieve from God that for which he pleaded; instead of offering a clear answer to his questions, God comes close and reveals himself in an immediate encounter.
Like Job, in the midst of suffering, although we cry out to God for the reasons why we suffer, we will never receive them clearly stated in so many neat words we easily comprehend. “The problem we have is Job’s problem writ large: and Job’s protests are our protests. We need the solution he was offered: a sense of the presence of God.” (Frances Young, Can These Bones Live, pp. 80) Ultimately, of course, it is not a ready question that our heart seeks but the comfort of the close presence of the God who is there.
The plaintive cry of Job in the Old Testament anticipates another, far deeper and more disturbing cry. Job’s muttered, tearful questions are mere echoes of a far deeper and far more disturbing question. At the heart of the New Testament, as Jesus hangs on the cross in the darkness, he utters the terrifying words: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Mark 15.34, Matthew 27.46)
Jesus is utterly God-forsaken as he hangs from the crucifix on Golgotha. Is it possible to make some sense of this awful cry of Jesus, the anguished questions of Job and the God who is there? How does it all hang together?
With the help of Leon Morris, we’ll investigate these questions in the next post.
Until then –
The Scribbling Apprentice.
Dispatches from Elsewhere #1
A dispatch in the blogosphere worth sharing. The Exiled Preacher touches on the nature of evangelicalism and its troubled identity:
Exiled Preacher: The Great Evangelical Identity Crisis: "The very idea of what it means to be an Evangelical has been subject to revision and redefinition in the last couple of decades. In 1989, D...."
Exiled Preacher: The Great Evangelical Identity Crisis: "The very idea of what it means to be an Evangelical has been subject to revision and redefinition in the last couple of decades. In 1989, D...."
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Vain Wisdom & the Folly of the Cross
We are currently preparing to begin a series of sermons on Proverbs here at Immanuel (www.immauelchurchdublin.org). Proverbs, the book of Psalms and the books of Job and Ecclesiastes make up what is known as the corpus of “wisdom literature” within the Bible.
The book of Proverbs and the Psalms contain a multitude of commands for daily life. Generally speaking, the commands are clear. Over and over again, a God-centred way of life is presented as true wisdom. The way to live such a life is to obey the will of God revealed in his Word. The only alternative to this way of life is the way of the fool. The foolish person ignores the counsel of God and walks according to his own designs and intentions.
As the Psalms and Proverbs progress, it is made clear that only the wise can live a life filled with blessing. On the other hand, the foolish can only hope for a life pierced with misery and hardship. The wise and the foolish life are continually set in opposition to one another. The writers of Proverbs and the psalmists continually admonish the reader to obey God in order to enjoy his blessing. The reader is constantly warned to avoid the pitfalls of a foolish life.
The Psalms and Proverbs are filled therefore with commands that fit into a general pattern: Obey God and experience blessing; disobey God and endure misery and difficulty. Psalm 1, for example, reads:
1 Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
2 But his delight is in the law of the LORD,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
3 He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.
4 Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff that the wind blows away.
5 Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
6 For the LORD watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.
The wise man is like a tree planted by streams of water; whatever he does will prosper. Not so the wicked; they are like chaff the wind scatters away. This clear motif in psalm 1 is echoed through the remaining 149 psalms.
The contrast between the folly of the wicked and the blessedness of the righteous is even stronger in Proverbs. Again and again, we read verses like the following in chapter 1:
20 Wisdom calls aloud in the street,
she raises her voice in the public squares;
21 at the head of the noisy streets she cries out,
in the gateways of the city she makes her speech:
22 "How long will you simple ones love your simple ways?
How long will mockers delight in mockery
and fools hate knowledge?
23 If you had responded to my rebuke,
I would have poured out my heart to you
and made my thoughts known to you.
24 But since you rejected me when I called
and no one gave heed when I stretched out my hand,
25 since you ignored all my advice
and would not accept my rebuke,
26 I in turn will laugh at your disaster;
I will mock when calamity overtakes you-
27 when calamity overtakes you like a storm,
when disaster sweeps over you like a whirlwind,
when distress and trouble overwhelm you.
28 "Then they will call to me but I will not answer;
they will look for me but will not find me.
29 Since they hated knowledge
and did not choose to fear the LORD,
30 since they would not accept my advice
and spurned my rebuke,
31 they will eat the fruit of their ways
and be filled with the fruit of their schemes.
32 For the waywardness of the simple will kill them,
and the complacency of fools will destroy them;
33 but whoever listens to me will live in safety
and be at ease, without fear of harm."
Whoever listens to wisdom and accepts godly counsel will live in safety but calamity will overtake those who despise the counsel of God. The book of Proverbs makes this very clear indeed. The equation is simple: obey God and be blessed; despise God and suffer.
But, is the equation really so straight-forward as all that? Is the reality of life really so simple? Is it not much more complex? Honestly, when we match up the commands and promises of Proverbs with the reality of life, do we not encounter a broad disparity? All around us, we see the evil and the wicked prosper whilst the good, wise and noble people are often made to suffer terribly. The justice that Proverbs promises us is rarely apparent in our day-to-day lives. And there’s the rub: why do bad things happen to good, honourable and God-fearing people whilst evil-doers prosper and flourish?
It is these very questions that the other two books of wisdom literature pick up on and examine. In the book of Job, we encounter a noble, upstanding and God-fearing man who is made to suffer terribly. On the basis of what must be a shallow reading of Proverbs, his friends come to him and insist that there must be some secret evil in his life. There must be some unconfessed sin; otherwise God would not be dealing with him so severely. And so, in the book of Job we are brought face-to-face with the awful mystery; a good and holy man is made to suffer and the wisdom of his friends utterly fails to bring them (or Job) closer to understanding precisely why. Only the evil suffer; the wise honour God and so should only experience fullness and blessing.
In the book of Ecclesiastes, we meet the Teacher who surveys all of life; human commerce, the endless search for knowledge, civilisation, love and death. In the end, he is moved to confess that all is “vanity and a striving after wind”:
"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless" (Ecclesiastes 1.2)
Life is meaningless says the Teacher. There is no rhyme or reason to life; no end or goal. Everything is meaningless. We toil and struggle our whole life long; seeking wisdom, wealth or reputation, gleaning knowledge and what little pleasure our lot in life permits us. In the end,
"There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow" (Ecclesiastes 1.11)
Once dead, we are swiftly forgotten by the world. None of us will be remembered by those who follow. Everything is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Job and Ecclesiastes examine the human condition in all of its absurdity and frailty; acknowledging the path of wisdom plotted in the book of Proverbs, but wondering at the agonising questions it cannot resolve.
And so, the riddle of human existence and the attendant miseries of suffering and death are in tension with the affirmation of a good, wise and all-loving God. Can the tension be resolved? Can humankind chance upon the wisdom and the insight that will bring resolution to this awful existential tension at the heart of human existence?
The wisdom literature of the Old Testament seemingly leaves us with these unresolved paradoxes that no human being can properly answer. Indeed, there is no human wisdom that is up to the task of answering these taxing questions at the heart of existence. The best of human wisdom, personified in Job’s friends, was woefully ill-fitted to bring a satisfying answer that would comfort their suffering friend.
The vexing questions that hover over the content of the Old Testament wisdom literature are only answered ultimately by Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians: Christ crucified is the wisdom of God revealed. Human acumen, learning and insight could never bring us a thorough and satisfying answer to the riddle and paradox at the heart of existence. In the Person of Christ, in his life, his crucifixion, his death and resurrection, God has finally answered the riddle of the ages. The wisdom of God long sought after has been manifested perfectly in the Person of Jesus:
“…Christ Jesus, who has become to us wisdom from God – that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption” (1 Corinthians 1.30)
Christ Jesus has become for us the wisdom that for so long eluded the Hebrew sages of old and for which every human heart gropes after in the midst of the agony and pain of life. The supreme manifestation of the wisdom of God, says Paul, is Christ crucified:
“For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written:
"I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength” (1 Corinthians 1.18-25)
The world through its wisdom did not know God. The foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom. The foolishness of God is Christ crucified; wisdom supreme above all human thought and speculation.
In a very real sense, the cross of Jesus is anticipated in the tensions encountered in the wisdom literature of the Old Testament. The anguished questions unresolved in Job and Ecclesiastes are answered finally upon Golgotha. Divine wisdom is finally and supremely manifested in the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ. The wisdom the Teacher sought after in vain and the wisdom Job cried out for in his baffled anguish has been revealed to us finally in the Person of Jesus Christ and the awful cross he bore.
And so we are brought back once again to the enourmity of the atonement event. In the next post, I’m hoping to include some reflections from Leon Morris’ excellent book, The Cross of Jesus, which touches on many of the themes we have briefly examined here.
Until then –
The Scribbling Apprentice.
The book of Proverbs and the Psalms contain a multitude of commands for daily life. Generally speaking, the commands are clear. Over and over again, a God-centred way of life is presented as true wisdom. The way to live such a life is to obey the will of God revealed in his Word. The only alternative to this way of life is the way of the fool. The foolish person ignores the counsel of God and walks according to his own designs and intentions.
As the Psalms and Proverbs progress, it is made clear that only the wise can live a life filled with blessing. On the other hand, the foolish can only hope for a life pierced with misery and hardship. The wise and the foolish life are continually set in opposition to one another. The writers of Proverbs and the psalmists continually admonish the reader to obey God in order to enjoy his blessing. The reader is constantly warned to avoid the pitfalls of a foolish life.
The Psalms and Proverbs are filled therefore with commands that fit into a general pattern: Obey God and experience blessing; disobey God and endure misery and difficulty. Psalm 1, for example, reads:
1 Blessed is the man
who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked
or stand in the way of sinners
or sit in the seat of mockers.
2 But his delight is in the law of the LORD,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
3 He is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither.
Whatever he does prospers.
4 Not so the wicked!
They are like chaff that the wind blows away.
5 Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
6 For the LORD watches over the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.
The wise man is like a tree planted by streams of water; whatever he does will prosper. Not so the wicked; they are like chaff the wind scatters away. This clear motif in psalm 1 is echoed through the remaining 149 psalms.
The contrast between the folly of the wicked and the blessedness of the righteous is even stronger in Proverbs. Again and again, we read verses like the following in chapter 1:
20 Wisdom calls aloud in the street,
she raises her voice in the public squares;
21 at the head of the noisy streets she cries out,
in the gateways of the city she makes her speech:
22 "How long will you simple ones love your simple ways?
How long will mockers delight in mockery
and fools hate knowledge?
23 If you had responded to my rebuke,
I would have poured out my heart to you
and made my thoughts known to you.
24 But since you rejected me when I called
and no one gave heed when I stretched out my hand,
25 since you ignored all my advice
and would not accept my rebuke,
26 I in turn will laugh at your disaster;
I will mock when calamity overtakes you-
27 when calamity overtakes you like a storm,
when disaster sweeps over you like a whirlwind,
when distress and trouble overwhelm you.
28 "Then they will call to me but I will not answer;
they will look for me but will not find me.
29 Since they hated knowledge
and did not choose to fear the LORD,
30 since they would not accept my advice
and spurned my rebuke,
31 they will eat the fruit of their ways
and be filled with the fruit of their schemes.
32 For the waywardness of the simple will kill them,
and the complacency of fools will destroy them;
33 but whoever listens to me will live in safety
and be at ease, without fear of harm."
Whoever listens to wisdom and accepts godly counsel will live in safety but calamity will overtake those who despise the counsel of God. The book of Proverbs makes this very clear indeed. The equation is simple: obey God and be blessed; despise God and suffer.
But, is the equation really so straight-forward as all that? Is the reality of life really so simple? Is it not much more complex? Honestly, when we match up the commands and promises of Proverbs with the reality of life, do we not encounter a broad disparity? All around us, we see the evil and the wicked prosper whilst the good, wise and noble people are often made to suffer terribly. The justice that Proverbs promises us is rarely apparent in our day-to-day lives. And there’s the rub: why do bad things happen to good, honourable and God-fearing people whilst evil-doers prosper and flourish?
It is these very questions that the other two books of wisdom literature pick up on and examine. In the book of Job, we encounter a noble, upstanding and God-fearing man who is made to suffer terribly. On the basis of what must be a shallow reading of Proverbs, his friends come to him and insist that there must be some secret evil in his life. There must be some unconfessed sin; otherwise God would not be dealing with him so severely. And so, in the book of Job we are brought face-to-face with the awful mystery; a good and holy man is made to suffer and the wisdom of his friends utterly fails to bring them (or Job) closer to understanding precisely why. Only the evil suffer; the wise honour God and so should only experience fullness and blessing.
In the book of Ecclesiastes, we meet the Teacher who surveys all of life; human commerce, the endless search for knowledge, civilisation, love and death. In the end, he is moved to confess that all is “vanity and a striving after wind”:
"Meaningless! Meaningless!"
says the Teacher.
"Utterly meaningless!
Everything is meaningless" (Ecclesiastes 1.2)
Life is meaningless says the Teacher. There is no rhyme or reason to life; no end or goal. Everything is meaningless. We toil and struggle our whole life long; seeking wisdom, wealth or reputation, gleaning knowledge and what little pleasure our lot in life permits us. In the end,
"There is no remembrance of men of old,
and even those who are yet to come
will not be remembered
by those who follow" (Ecclesiastes 1.11)
Once dead, we are swiftly forgotten by the world. None of us will be remembered by those who follow. Everything is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.
Job and Ecclesiastes examine the human condition in all of its absurdity and frailty; acknowledging the path of wisdom plotted in the book of Proverbs, but wondering at the agonising questions it cannot resolve.
And so, the riddle of human existence and the attendant miseries of suffering and death are in tension with the affirmation of a good, wise and all-loving God. Can the tension be resolved? Can humankind chance upon the wisdom and the insight that will bring resolution to this awful existential tension at the heart of human existence?
The wisdom literature of the Old Testament seemingly leaves us with these unresolved paradoxes that no human being can properly answer. Indeed, there is no human wisdom that is up to the task of answering these taxing questions at the heart of existence. The best of human wisdom, personified in Job’s friends, was woefully ill-fitted to bring a satisfying answer that would comfort their suffering friend.
The vexing questions that hover over the content of the Old Testament wisdom literature are only answered ultimately by Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians: Christ crucified is the wisdom of God revealed. Human acumen, learning and insight could never bring us a thorough and satisfying answer to the riddle and paradox at the heart of existence. In the Person of Christ, in his life, his crucifixion, his death and resurrection, God has finally answered the riddle of the ages. The wisdom of God long sought after has been manifested perfectly in the Person of Jesus:
“…Christ Jesus, who has become to us wisdom from God – that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption” (1 Corinthians 1.30)
Christ Jesus has become for us the wisdom that for so long eluded the Hebrew sages of old and for which every human heart gropes after in the midst of the agony and pain of life. The supreme manifestation of the wisdom of God, says Paul, is Christ crucified:
“For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written:
"I will destroy the wisdom of the wise;
the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate."
Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. Jews demand miraculous signs and Greeks look for wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man's strength” (1 Corinthians 1.18-25)
The world through its wisdom did not know God. The foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom. The foolishness of God is Christ crucified; wisdom supreme above all human thought and speculation.
In a very real sense, the cross of Jesus is anticipated in the tensions encountered in the wisdom literature of the Old Testament. The anguished questions unresolved in Job and Ecclesiastes are answered finally upon Golgotha. Divine wisdom is finally and supremely manifested in the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ. The wisdom the Teacher sought after in vain and the wisdom Job cried out for in his baffled anguish has been revealed to us finally in the Person of Jesus Christ and the awful cross he bore.
And so we are brought back once again to the enourmity of the atonement event. In the next post, I’m hoping to include some reflections from Leon Morris’ excellent book, The Cross of Jesus, which touches on many of the themes we have briefly examined here.
Until then –
The Scribbling Apprentice.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Problem of Evil - Dr. William Lane Craig (Part 3)
Dr William Lane Craig ponders the problem of evil and the existence of God (part 3).
The Problem of Evil - Dr. William Lane Craig (Part 2)
Dr William Lane Craig continues to ponder the problem of evil and the existence of God (part 2).
The Problem of Evil - Dr. William Lane Craig (Part 1)
Dr William Lane Craig examines the problem of evil and the existence of God (part 1 of 3). All three audio posts together mount to a measured, ponderous and profound meditation. As with much of Dr Craig's work, it is philosophically rigorous and so rewards a careful listen.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Big Issue of Divine Justice: A Rejoinder
I have been reflecting on the issues touched on in a recent post (“The Big Issue of Divine Justice”) and so decided to post up a very brief rejoinder. I simply want to say three things, all of which come off the back of that short post.
First of all, this is no simple issue that is easily navigable; by no means are the issues of justice and unjust suffering reducible to mere platitudes about God and the end of the world. Never are we to retreat into a comfortable, pietistic corner and ignore the brute reality of unspeakable human suffering. God hasn’t; indeed, in the Person of his Son, he suffered through life and endured a death of excruciating physical, mental, emotional and spiritual agony on the cross. Furthermore, God submitted himself to the supreme injustice; Christ was condemned to crucifixion in the wake of a mock trial. The religious and military powers of his age conspired to crush and maim him. In Christ, God became a victim of hatred, abuse, unjust violence and mockery. In the Person of Christ, God has come close to the suffering and the broken-hearted.
Secondly, it seems to me that a Biblical eschatology propels us toward the alleviation of suffering in the world; the Kingdom of God is now amongst us, the new age of the reign of God in Christ has been inaugurated. To refuse to bind the wounds of the broken or being the good news of liberation to the oppressed is to stand against the Kingdom work God is bringing to pass in his Son, now, this very moment. We dwell in a world so broken and torn by sin but the outcome – newness, redemption, renewal – is already certain. As such, we have a great incentive to seek to bring justice to the world now.
Lastly, (and perhaps this is merely a restatement of the last point) if the victory is already certain, if the work of justice is neither fruitless nor aimless nor a waif in an absurd universe, if to bring justice now is to merely echo that which is to come fully when Christ returns – then, as Christians, we are blessed with a third incentive to seek and do justice in the world.
So, three incentives – the character of God demonstrated in his Son, the one who has suffered with the suffering, enduring the lash of military might and corrupt religious authority; the reality of the spreading Kingdom amongst us now; and finally, the certain outcome: the rule of Christ will prevail. He will be all in all and all things will be made new.
It seems to me that on the basis of these three incentives (Biblically grounded, I think) we cannot retreat from injustice and merely voice pious platitudes. The work of justice in the world is the vocation of every Christian. However, harking back one last time to the previous article (“The Big Issue of Divine Justice”), there was a particular point I was driving at. Namely, it is only if we believe that God will bring about ultimate justice that we ourselves can be fortified and strengthened to refrain from doing violence to others in our thirst for revenge.
Surely, if we cannot expect cosmic justice when history has run its course, we human beings are truly pitiable creatures. If, indeed, there is no cosmic weighing of the balances and a true and perfect meting out of justice at the last, can we endure life on this earth?
Cardinal Newman was once asked “What would you do if all the evils and injustices of the world were never to be put right by a loving, just God after all?” He replied “Well, I think I should go mad!” Quite right - I’m with Newman there. If all the grave injustices of the world, all the unspeakable violence and unthinkable atrocities were never to be accounted for by the God of history…well, surely the only options left to me are the poor alleviants of escapism, absurdism, anguish, bitterness or a stoic self-resignation and a tight-lipped commitment to the “common good”.
To my mind, the last is the most noble by far. However, in the face of the heinous evil humanity is capable of and our seemingly inexplicable, uncontainable appetite for the most appallingly capricious and degrading crimes, it seems to me there is no human reservoir of moral fortitude deep enough to enable any one of us to somehow face it all down or arrive at the bottom of it. None of us can make full sense of human evil or injustice, let alone bring alleviation and complete healing to the broken and maimed. No one can re-align the cosmic balances of justice perfectly and right every wrong committed throughout the course of human history. Such a task is utterly beyond us. None of us possess the omnipotence nor the banks of knowledge and memory, nor the inexhaustible love required for such a task.
Every one of us is myopic; even our base understanding of justice is construed by our limited, selfish conceptions of the reality we inhabit. Beneath every assessement of wrong, there lurks the prejudice born of moral blindness and the sheer lack of balanced understanding required to bring about true justice. Indeed, few of us manage to honour and love orthers in the simple everyday niceties of life, nevermind facing up to the far more pressing (and challenging) responsibilities of honouring the stranger, the immigrant, the hungry, the debased and the addicted.
Only God is capable of facing up to the exacting, monolithic task of ultimate, cosmic justice. Further, he has shown himself to be so much more loving and wise than we are. Ultimately, the only satisfying answer to the perplexing riddle of human evil, the unquenchable human passion for justice and the reality of suffering is the revelation of God encountered in the person of Jesus Christ.
Until next time,
The Scribbling Apprentice.
First of all, this is no simple issue that is easily navigable; by no means are the issues of justice and unjust suffering reducible to mere platitudes about God and the end of the world. Never are we to retreat into a comfortable, pietistic corner and ignore the brute reality of unspeakable human suffering. God hasn’t; indeed, in the Person of his Son, he suffered through life and endured a death of excruciating physical, mental, emotional and spiritual agony on the cross. Furthermore, God submitted himself to the supreme injustice; Christ was condemned to crucifixion in the wake of a mock trial. The religious and military powers of his age conspired to crush and maim him. In Christ, God became a victim of hatred, abuse, unjust violence and mockery. In the Person of Christ, God has come close to the suffering and the broken-hearted.
Secondly, it seems to me that a Biblical eschatology propels us toward the alleviation of suffering in the world; the Kingdom of God is now amongst us, the new age of the reign of God in Christ has been inaugurated. To refuse to bind the wounds of the broken or being the good news of liberation to the oppressed is to stand against the Kingdom work God is bringing to pass in his Son, now, this very moment. We dwell in a world so broken and torn by sin but the outcome – newness, redemption, renewal – is already certain. As such, we have a great incentive to seek to bring justice to the world now.
Lastly, (and perhaps this is merely a restatement of the last point) if the victory is already certain, if the work of justice is neither fruitless nor aimless nor a waif in an absurd universe, if to bring justice now is to merely echo that which is to come fully when Christ returns – then, as Christians, we are blessed with a third incentive to seek and do justice in the world.
So, three incentives – the character of God demonstrated in his Son, the one who has suffered with the suffering, enduring the lash of military might and corrupt religious authority; the reality of the spreading Kingdom amongst us now; and finally, the certain outcome: the rule of Christ will prevail. He will be all in all and all things will be made new.
It seems to me that on the basis of these three incentives (Biblically grounded, I think) we cannot retreat from injustice and merely voice pious platitudes. The work of justice in the world is the vocation of every Christian. However, harking back one last time to the previous article (“The Big Issue of Divine Justice”), there was a particular point I was driving at. Namely, it is only if we believe that God will bring about ultimate justice that we ourselves can be fortified and strengthened to refrain from doing violence to others in our thirst for revenge.
Surely, if we cannot expect cosmic justice when history has run its course, we human beings are truly pitiable creatures. If, indeed, there is no cosmic weighing of the balances and a true and perfect meting out of justice at the last, can we endure life on this earth?
Cardinal Newman was once asked “What would you do if all the evils and injustices of the world were never to be put right by a loving, just God after all?” He replied “Well, I think I should go mad!” Quite right - I’m with Newman there. If all the grave injustices of the world, all the unspeakable violence and unthinkable atrocities were never to be accounted for by the God of history…well, surely the only options left to me are the poor alleviants of escapism, absurdism, anguish, bitterness or a stoic self-resignation and a tight-lipped commitment to the “common good”.
To my mind, the last is the most noble by far. However, in the face of the heinous evil humanity is capable of and our seemingly inexplicable, uncontainable appetite for the most appallingly capricious and degrading crimes, it seems to me there is no human reservoir of moral fortitude deep enough to enable any one of us to somehow face it all down or arrive at the bottom of it. None of us can make full sense of human evil or injustice, let alone bring alleviation and complete healing to the broken and maimed. No one can re-align the cosmic balances of justice perfectly and right every wrong committed throughout the course of human history. Such a task is utterly beyond us. None of us possess the omnipotence nor the banks of knowledge and memory, nor the inexhaustible love required for such a task.
Every one of us is myopic; even our base understanding of justice is construed by our limited, selfish conceptions of the reality we inhabit. Beneath every assessement of wrong, there lurks the prejudice born of moral blindness and the sheer lack of balanced understanding required to bring about true justice. Indeed, few of us manage to honour and love orthers in the simple everyday niceties of life, nevermind facing up to the far more pressing (and challenging) responsibilities of honouring the stranger, the immigrant, the hungry, the debased and the addicted.
Only God is capable of facing up to the exacting, monolithic task of ultimate, cosmic justice. Further, he has shown himself to be so much more loving and wise than we are. Ultimately, the only satisfying answer to the perplexing riddle of human evil, the unquenchable human passion for justice and the reality of suffering is the revelation of God encountered in the person of Jesus Christ.
Until next time,
The Scribbling Apprentice.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
How Should We Then Live 7#1
Dr Schaeffer in action and wearing his famed white stockings. This is a clip from ten-part series Schaeffer created with his son, entitled "How Should We Then Live".
A Brief Bulletin Outlining the Recent Lack of Bloggage Material
Early last month, we embarked on an epic 15-day interrailing trip that took us from Bratislava (Slovakia), into Budapest (Hungary), on to Zagreb (Croatia) and on into Istria (the north-west coast of Croatia), then up into the mountainous green of Slovenia. Next, it was south into Trieste, Italy and from there on to Venice. After Venice, we made our way into beautiful Florence and finished up in the medieval, walled town of Lucca. It was all beautiful – just too much was seen and experienced to outline in so short a post!
Next, we caught a train up into Switzerland and spent about 10 days in L’Abri. If have not yet been to stay with the community of L’Abri in Huemoz, Switzerland then you must go. For many, L’Abri and the name of Francis Schaeffer are very familiar indeed. Scheaffer was an evangelist, writer, theologian and thinker who began a ministry from his Swiss chalet sometime in the middle of the last century. What began as a humble work has blossomed into a global network of communities committed to working out the implications of serving and knowing Christ in every sphere of life. L’Abri is the French word for “shelter”. As such, it is a Christian community that welcomes all and sundry who wish to talk and think through the ultimate questions of life – whether atheist, agnostic, universalist or animist – in the context of a Christian community commited to serving and following Christ.
Our days at L’Abri revolved around working on the up-keep of the grounds of the chalet, reading in the quiet surrounds of Farel House (the library and chapel) and discussing our musings and learnings with oneanother as we shared meals together. Without a doubt, one of the most stimulating, encouraging and satisfying 10 days I have yet enjoyed on this earth.
The above paragraphs hardly touch on the reality of L’Abri and the momentous work of Francis Schaeffer. The following links sketch out the life and work of Schaeffer in much greater detail:
http://www.rationalpi.com/theshelter/
http://www.labri.org/
The link below will take you to the swiss L’Abri website:
http://www.labri.org/swiss/index.html
Until next time,
The Scribbling Apprentice.
Next, we caught a train up into Switzerland and spent about 10 days in L’Abri. If have not yet been to stay with the community of L’Abri in Huemoz, Switzerland then you must go. For many, L’Abri and the name of Francis Schaeffer are very familiar indeed. Scheaffer was an evangelist, writer, theologian and thinker who began a ministry from his Swiss chalet sometime in the middle of the last century. What began as a humble work has blossomed into a global network of communities committed to working out the implications of serving and knowing Christ in every sphere of life. L’Abri is the French word for “shelter”. As such, it is a Christian community that welcomes all and sundry who wish to talk and think through the ultimate questions of life – whether atheist, agnostic, universalist or animist – in the context of a Christian community commited to serving and following Christ.
Our days at L’Abri revolved around working on the up-keep of the grounds of the chalet, reading in the quiet surrounds of Farel House (the library and chapel) and discussing our musings and learnings with oneanother as we shared meals together. Without a doubt, one of the most stimulating, encouraging and satisfying 10 days I have yet enjoyed on this earth.
The above paragraphs hardly touch on the reality of L’Abri and the momentous work of Francis Schaeffer. The following links sketch out the life and work of Schaeffer in much greater detail:
http://www.rationalpi.com/theshelter/
http://www.labri.org/
The link below will take you to the swiss L’Abri website:
http://www.labri.org/swiss/index.html
Until next time,
The Scribbling Apprentice.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
We Too Are Beggars
A large crowd followed and pressed around him. 25And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years. 26She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse. 27When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak, 28because she thought, "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed." 29Immediately her bleeding stopped and she felt in her body that she was freed from her suffering.
30At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?"
31"You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you can ask, 'Who touched me?' "
32But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. 33Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. 34He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering" (Mark 5.25-34).
This may be one of the most touching passages in the Gospel of Mark. Luke and Matthew also report this incident, although they devote a much shorter space to it in their respective accounts. In each gospel account, we read of a woman who suffers from a horrendous vaginal infection which has caused her to bleed ceaslessly for twelve long years. In each account, she is seen to creep up and touch Jesus’ cloak from behind and each gospel makes it clear that she is healed because of her faith. But only Mark includes the details alluded to in verse 26: “she had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse.” The anonymous woman had been to see many expensive specialists but their treatments had been futile and very expensive, draining her of all the money she had.
This anonymous woman was also a social outcast. She was ritually unclean. Her infection was abnormal. It was impure. Her impurity was contagious and transmissible to others until the problem was cured. Anyone who came into contact with her – whether they lay in her bed, sat in her chair, or even touched her – became unclean and immediately had to bathe and launder their clothing. Her discharge of blood causes her to be discharged from society. Like any leper, the anonymous woman is a castaway who is exluded from the normal social relations of first century Jewish society. Because of her constant menstrual bleeding she is a nidda – a Hebrew word designating those menstrual women who were seperated from Jewish community. For most women, they were nidda only for the duration of their period. This woman, however, is perpetually bleeding. Therefore, she is only ever nidda; she is always seperated. Indeed, she is effectively banished.
The Levitical laws that shaped the Jewish culture and religion of the first century focused on four phenomena: death, blood, semen and skin disease. Vaginal blood and semen symbolised life to every Jew of Jesus’ day; their loss symbolised death. The constant loss of blood that marked out the anonymous woman made her synonymous with death in the eyes of her countrymen and women. So she was excluded and villifed as being unclean. As a result, she daily suffers acute social embarrassment and psychological pain. If she was ever married, she would have been divorced as soon as the discharge of blood began. It was unlawful for a man to be with his wife during her menstrual period; it was therefore unlawful and unthinkable for a man to be with her. Menstrual women were looked on as being unclean and so a sexual relationship with her husband would have been impossible. Attending services in her local synagogue – the social, cultural and religious centre of her local village – would also have been out of the question.
In the small village societies of ancient Palestine, word would have leaked out and spread quickly. If the divorce proceedings with a former husband had not brought public humiliation, her many doctors, her friends or even her family would have spread the word about her infection and the attendant bleeding. As a result, the anonymous woman we encounter in Mark 5 has been utterly ostracized. She is walking pollution.
The passage prompts a a number of compelling questions. Why does Jesus insist on forcing the woman to come forward and publicly acknowledge her healing? Why not allow this poor woman to hide in the crowd and go on her way, no longer suffering the humiliation and pain of the blood discharge?
One reason Jesus forces the issue is to ensure that this anonymous woman will leave knowing that the one who cured her cares for her. She will leave the feet of Jeus knowing that she is a person worth taking time for and addressing. In a moment, Jesus overturns the internalised perceptions the woman has of herself. He explodes the personal perception ingrained in her over twelve long years (“I am vile”, “I am nothing”). But not only that; in one swift stroke he publicly challenges and overturns the purity laws every person within ear-shot has worked so hard to preserve and safe-guard. Before the eyes of the watching crowds, Jesus makes sure that the woman he addresses no longer remains anonymous, a despised unclean nobody. Instead, Jesus heals her and then publicly welcomes her back into the fold of the people of Israel.
The woman will leave Jesus a publicly vindicated meber of Jewish society. She is no longer an outcast. Jesus publicly restores her as a daughter of Israel. He releases her from the misery that has trapped her for so long. He tells her to go in peace (verse 34). Undergirding the word “peace” is the Hebrew word Shalom (which has connotations of wholeness, well-being, prosperity, security, friendship, salvation.) In an instant Jesus banishes the infection and the social stigma has brought so much misery and pain into the life of this woman. In their place, Jesus brings wholeness, restoration and salvation.
This is a feature that crops up all over Mark’s gospel; Jesus is not hampered by traditional purity laws in any way. In fact, he shows a blithe disregard for them. He touches a leper and cleanses him, he ventures into the tomb areas of the pagan Decapolis and drives a legion of demons into a herd of pigs, he is touched by a woman with a hemorrhage and she is made whole. Never in the gospel of Mark does Jesus’ connection with the unclean make him unclean. Jesus has the power to overcome ceremonial defilement and reverse it. The Jewish purity laws were concerned to prevent human, sinful uncleaness from defiling God’s holiness. Jesus’ ministry shows that God’s holiness is completely unaffected when it comes into contact with ceremonial uncleaness. Jesus does not need to cleanse himself when he comes into contact with anything unclean; instead, he overcomes it. His holiness swallows up everything that defiles.
It is important to read the above account of the anonymous woman in the context of the story of Jairus. Mark’s account above is sandwiched in the centre of Jesus’ dealings with Jairus, a ruler of the local synagogue. In the context of the story, Jairus is a man of destinction. He has a name. He is an honoured member of his community and can openly approach Jesus with a direct request. In contrast, the woman is nameless and has no honour. She slinks about and must approach Jesus from behind, for fear of drawing unwanted attention to herself. These two main chacters of the story occupy opposite ends of the social, economic and religious spectrum.
By arranging the material in this way, Mark is raising telling questions: should Jesus bother stopping for such a woman when he may endanger the life of another whom we regard as being more worthy? And can the love and power of Jesus really overcome anything, no matter how contemptible? Can he overcome religiously ingrained hatred? Can he overcome social ostracism? Can he overcome vaginal disease? Can he overcome even death?
In our passage, Mark depicts two very different people, each with a very different social standing. In the space of a few paragraphs, Jesus meets a synagogue ruler and a social outcast. Mark wants us to see that not for a moment does Jesus assess either person on the basis of their social standing; not for a moment does he respond to them because of their social or religious credentials. Jairus the synagogue ruler is made to wait in distress as Jesus carefully addresses a nobody; an anonymous woman in a crowd. Mark wants us to see the stark truth: Jesus responds to people on the basis of their faith and not their social standing. This is really a very radical thing; the social distinctions, positions and influence by which we define people does not matter to God in the least. In fact, in the eyes of God, such things are completely irrelevant.
Perhaps the anonymous woman was unable to verbalise precisely why she was drawn to Jesus. Undoubtedly she had heard the reports about him. Perhaps she thought Jesus was a charismatic Jewish holy man invested with strange powers. She may have known very little or nothing about the Messianic prophecies of the Hebrew Scriptures. Whether she identified Jesus as the Messiah or not, we cannot be sure. It is likely that she hadn’t worked out all her theology or grasped the scope of Biblical doctrine before she grabbed at the clothes of Jesus. All she knew was that she was utterly desperate. And Jesus was her last hope. So she reaches out to take hold of his cloak in absolute desperation.
Like the anonymous woman, we do not need sophisticated intellectual and theological clarity before we access the transforming power of Jesus. Jairus was so desperate, he lay aside all thoughts of public decency and fell before the feet of Jesus, pleading for the life of his child. The anonymous woman was compelled by utter desperation to reach for the clothes of Jesus as he passed her by. Just like the desparate, trusting faith of Jairus and the anonymous woman, genuine faith is often propelled by a deep conviction that Jesus alone is sufficient to meet the grave spiritual need deep within us. In the end, none of us can verbalise or understand our deep sense of spiritual weakness and our profound need. All we can do is plea with God and fall on the grace he has shown us in Christ his Son.
The anonymous woman, the panic-stricken Jairus and Mark’s depiction of Jesus’ loving response to both of them offers us a stark and moving picture of grace. In preparation for this sunday evening's sermon, as I looked through the various commentaries on Mark available to me, a footnote led me to Timothy George’s “Theology of the Reformers”. There I encountered a study on Luther which echoed the themes Mark touches on in this short segment of his gospel.
After Martin Luther's death, a tattered piece of paper was found lying beside his bed. On it was scrawled 6 words, half in German, half in Latin: “Wir sein Pettler, Hoc est Verum.” “We are beggars, that is true.”
Timothy George writes: “Luther’s whole approach to the Christian life is summed up in these last words. The posture of the human vis a vis God is one of utter receptivity. We have no legs of our own on which to stand. No mystical “ground of the soul” can serve as a basis for our union with the divine. We can earn no merits which will purchase for us a standing before God. We are beggars – needy, vulnerable, totally bereft of resources with which to save ourselves. For Luther the good news of the gospel was that in Jesus Christ God had become a beggar too. God identified with us in our neediness. Like the good Samaritan who exposed himself to the dangers of the road to attend to the dying man in the ditch, God “came where we were”…Luther once remarked that his insight into the gracious character of God had come to him while he was “auff diser cloaca,” literally, “on the toilet.” While some scholars have interpreted this saying in terms of Luther’s acute suffering from constipation, we know that the expression in cloaca was a common metaphor in medieval spiritual writings. It referred to a state of utter helplessness and dependence upon God. Where else are we more vulnerable, more easily embarrassed, and, in Luther’s mind, more open to demonic attacks, than when we are – in cloaca? Yet it is precisely in a state of such vulnerability – when we are reduced to humility, when like beggars we can only cast ourselves on the mercy of another – that the yearning for grace is answered in the assurance of God’s inescapable nearness….”
We are beggars, that is true. Like Jairus and the anonymous woman, we are beggars too.
Yours,
The Scribbling Apprentice.
30At once Jesus realized that power had gone out from him. He turned around in the crowd and asked, "Who touched my clothes?"
31"You see the people crowding against you," his disciples answered, "and yet you can ask, 'Who touched me?' "
32But Jesus kept looking around to see who had done it. 33Then the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came and fell at his feet and, trembling with fear, told him the whole truth. 34He said to her, "Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering" (Mark 5.25-34).
This may be one of the most touching passages in the Gospel of Mark. Luke and Matthew also report this incident, although they devote a much shorter space to it in their respective accounts. In each gospel account, we read of a woman who suffers from a horrendous vaginal infection which has caused her to bleed ceaslessly for twelve long years. In each account, she is seen to creep up and touch Jesus’ cloak from behind and each gospel makes it clear that she is healed because of her faith. But only Mark includes the details alluded to in verse 26: “she had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse.” The anonymous woman had been to see many expensive specialists but their treatments had been futile and very expensive, draining her of all the money she had.
This anonymous woman was also a social outcast. She was ritually unclean. Her infection was abnormal. It was impure. Her impurity was contagious and transmissible to others until the problem was cured. Anyone who came into contact with her – whether they lay in her bed, sat in her chair, or even touched her – became unclean and immediately had to bathe and launder their clothing. Her discharge of blood causes her to be discharged from society. Like any leper, the anonymous woman is a castaway who is exluded from the normal social relations of first century Jewish society. Because of her constant menstrual bleeding she is a nidda – a Hebrew word designating those menstrual women who were seperated from Jewish community. For most women, they were nidda only for the duration of their period. This woman, however, is perpetually bleeding. Therefore, she is only ever nidda; she is always seperated. Indeed, she is effectively banished.
The Levitical laws that shaped the Jewish culture and religion of the first century focused on four phenomena: death, blood, semen and skin disease. Vaginal blood and semen symbolised life to every Jew of Jesus’ day; their loss symbolised death. The constant loss of blood that marked out the anonymous woman made her synonymous with death in the eyes of her countrymen and women. So she was excluded and villifed as being unclean. As a result, she daily suffers acute social embarrassment and psychological pain. If she was ever married, she would have been divorced as soon as the discharge of blood began. It was unlawful for a man to be with his wife during her menstrual period; it was therefore unlawful and unthinkable for a man to be with her. Menstrual women were looked on as being unclean and so a sexual relationship with her husband would have been impossible. Attending services in her local synagogue – the social, cultural and religious centre of her local village – would also have been out of the question.
In the small village societies of ancient Palestine, word would have leaked out and spread quickly. If the divorce proceedings with a former husband had not brought public humiliation, her many doctors, her friends or even her family would have spread the word about her infection and the attendant bleeding. As a result, the anonymous woman we encounter in Mark 5 has been utterly ostracized. She is walking pollution.
The passage prompts a a number of compelling questions. Why does Jesus insist on forcing the woman to come forward and publicly acknowledge her healing? Why not allow this poor woman to hide in the crowd and go on her way, no longer suffering the humiliation and pain of the blood discharge?
One reason Jesus forces the issue is to ensure that this anonymous woman will leave knowing that the one who cured her cares for her. She will leave the feet of Jeus knowing that she is a person worth taking time for and addressing. In a moment, Jesus overturns the internalised perceptions the woman has of herself. He explodes the personal perception ingrained in her over twelve long years (“I am vile”, “I am nothing”). But not only that; in one swift stroke he publicly challenges and overturns the purity laws every person within ear-shot has worked so hard to preserve and safe-guard. Before the eyes of the watching crowds, Jesus makes sure that the woman he addresses no longer remains anonymous, a despised unclean nobody. Instead, Jesus heals her and then publicly welcomes her back into the fold of the people of Israel.
The woman will leave Jesus a publicly vindicated meber of Jewish society. She is no longer an outcast. Jesus publicly restores her as a daughter of Israel. He releases her from the misery that has trapped her for so long. He tells her to go in peace (verse 34). Undergirding the word “peace” is the Hebrew word Shalom (which has connotations of wholeness, well-being, prosperity, security, friendship, salvation.) In an instant Jesus banishes the infection and the social stigma has brought so much misery and pain into the life of this woman. In their place, Jesus brings wholeness, restoration and salvation.
This is a feature that crops up all over Mark’s gospel; Jesus is not hampered by traditional purity laws in any way. In fact, he shows a blithe disregard for them. He touches a leper and cleanses him, he ventures into the tomb areas of the pagan Decapolis and drives a legion of demons into a herd of pigs, he is touched by a woman with a hemorrhage and she is made whole. Never in the gospel of Mark does Jesus’ connection with the unclean make him unclean. Jesus has the power to overcome ceremonial defilement and reverse it. The Jewish purity laws were concerned to prevent human, sinful uncleaness from defiling God’s holiness. Jesus’ ministry shows that God’s holiness is completely unaffected when it comes into contact with ceremonial uncleaness. Jesus does not need to cleanse himself when he comes into contact with anything unclean; instead, he overcomes it. His holiness swallows up everything that defiles.
It is important to read the above account of the anonymous woman in the context of the story of Jairus. Mark’s account above is sandwiched in the centre of Jesus’ dealings with Jairus, a ruler of the local synagogue. In the context of the story, Jairus is a man of destinction. He has a name. He is an honoured member of his community and can openly approach Jesus with a direct request. In contrast, the woman is nameless and has no honour. She slinks about and must approach Jesus from behind, for fear of drawing unwanted attention to herself. These two main chacters of the story occupy opposite ends of the social, economic and religious spectrum.
By arranging the material in this way, Mark is raising telling questions: should Jesus bother stopping for such a woman when he may endanger the life of another whom we regard as being more worthy? And can the love and power of Jesus really overcome anything, no matter how contemptible? Can he overcome religiously ingrained hatred? Can he overcome social ostracism? Can he overcome vaginal disease? Can he overcome even death?
In our passage, Mark depicts two very different people, each with a very different social standing. In the space of a few paragraphs, Jesus meets a synagogue ruler and a social outcast. Mark wants us to see that not for a moment does Jesus assess either person on the basis of their social standing; not for a moment does he respond to them because of their social or religious credentials. Jairus the synagogue ruler is made to wait in distress as Jesus carefully addresses a nobody; an anonymous woman in a crowd. Mark wants us to see the stark truth: Jesus responds to people on the basis of their faith and not their social standing. This is really a very radical thing; the social distinctions, positions and influence by which we define people does not matter to God in the least. In fact, in the eyes of God, such things are completely irrelevant.
Perhaps the anonymous woman was unable to verbalise precisely why she was drawn to Jesus. Undoubtedly she had heard the reports about him. Perhaps she thought Jesus was a charismatic Jewish holy man invested with strange powers. She may have known very little or nothing about the Messianic prophecies of the Hebrew Scriptures. Whether she identified Jesus as the Messiah or not, we cannot be sure. It is likely that she hadn’t worked out all her theology or grasped the scope of Biblical doctrine before she grabbed at the clothes of Jesus. All she knew was that she was utterly desperate. And Jesus was her last hope. So she reaches out to take hold of his cloak in absolute desperation.
Like the anonymous woman, we do not need sophisticated intellectual and theological clarity before we access the transforming power of Jesus. Jairus was so desperate, he lay aside all thoughts of public decency and fell before the feet of Jesus, pleading for the life of his child. The anonymous woman was compelled by utter desperation to reach for the clothes of Jesus as he passed her by. Just like the desparate, trusting faith of Jairus and the anonymous woman, genuine faith is often propelled by a deep conviction that Jesus alone is sufficient to meet the grave spiritual need deep within us. In the end, none of us can verbalise or understand our deep sense of spiritual weakness and our profound need. All we can do is plea with God and fall on the grace he has shown us in Christ his Son.
The anonymous woman, the panic-stricken Jairus and Mark’s depiction of Jesus’ loving response to both of them offers us a stark and moving picture of grace. In preparation for this sunday evening's sermon, as I looked through the various commentaries on Mark available to me, a footnote led me to Timothy George’s “Theology of the Reformers”. There I encountered a study on Luther which echoed the themes Mark touches on in this short segment of his gospel.
After Martin Luther's death, a tattered piece of paper was found lying beside his bed. On it was scrawled 6 words, half in German, half in Latin: “Wir sein Pettler, Hoc est Verum.” “We are beggars, that is true.”
Timothy George writes: “Luther’s whole approach to the Christian life is summed up in these last words. The posture of the human vis a vis God is one of utter receptivity. We have no legs of our own on which to stand. No mystical “ground of the soul” can serve as a basis for our union with the divine. We can earn no merits which will purchase for us a standing before God. We are beggars – needy, vulnerable, totally bereft of resources with which to save ourselves. For Luther the good news of the gospel was that in Jesus Christ God had become a beggar too. God identified with us in our neediness. Like the good Samaritan who exposed himself to the dangers of the road to attend to the dying man in the ditch, God “came where we were”…Luther once remarked that his insight into the gracious character of God had come to him while he was “auff diser cloaca,” literally, “on the toilet.” While some scholars have interpreted this saying in terms of Luther’s acute suffering from constipation, we know that the expression in cloaca was a common metaphor in medieval spiritual writings. It referred to a state of utter helplessness and dependence upon God. Where else are we more vulnerable, more easily embarrassed, and, in Luther’s mind, more open to demonic attacks, than when we are – in cloaca? Yet it is precisely in a state of such vulnerability – when we are reduced to humility, when like beggars we can only cast ourselves on the mercy of another – that the yearning for grace is answered in the assurance of God’s inescapable nearness….”
We are beggars, that is true. Like Jairus and the anonymous woman, we are beggars too.
Yours,
The Scribbling Apprentice.
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