Note: See Introduction for context on this series on the Gospels.
Summary of Matthew 3:13-17
Jesus is baptized by (a reluctant) John the Baptist. A dove descends and a voice from heaven speaks.
Detailed Thoughts about Matthew 3:13-17
The story is so familiar to me that it's hard to ponder the significance, but I'm going to try. First of all, Matthew implies that John knew who Jesus was, and that John believed Jesus was the Messiah. How does John know about Jesus? Does he know him personally? Did Jesus already have a reputation? Was it another one of Matthew's dream sequences?
In any case, John thought so highly of Jesus that he felt their roles (baptizer and baptizee) should be reversed. But Jesus said no. He said this arrangement is how it should be for now. "We must all do what God wants us to do." This sentence and this scene actually remind me of a sermon my pastor gave about baptism a few weeks ago. He had a completely different take on it than anything I'd heard before.
Previously, I had been taught that baptism was a symbol of being born again, and that it was an outward expression of (1) God's ownership and (2) our commitment to obedience. I grew up in that slice of Christianity that did not really believe that baptism had anything to do with salvation from eternal hell; but, it was a choice you made to show that you were really a Christian. Being baptized meant that you were willing to go anywhere for God...even if it was a tarantula-infested village in Africa. It was a big deal for me to be baptized, because I didn’t want to go to Africa. I felt guilty and then petrified: if I didn’t have the willingness to go to Africa, maybe I wasn't really a Christian! This twisted logic led me to believe that the choice was eternal hell or a lifelong Fear Factor scenario. Baptism (and the decision to be baptized) was just another way to be filled with shame and fear.
Fast forward to today. I’ve been going to a small, progressive church for the past 3 months or so. As I mentioned earlier, the pastor recently spoke about baptism in a sermon. He suggested that baptism is a sacrament that sets us apart...not to demonstrate how holy or righteous we are, or how willing we are for God to use us for His glory. (Ugh. What does that even mean? C’mon. Anyway I digress....) No, baptism, he explained, sets us apart in order to love people. That’s it. There's no mandate to convince people in other countries to believe the same things that a group of homogeneous Westerners believe about Jesus and God. It sets us free to love. "We must all do what God wants us to do." Jesus is being baptized—set apart—to love others; to be the ultimate example of love for us. That concept of baptism rings truer to me than the former interpretation. It’s a concept that I can embrace.
Back to the text. When Jesus came out of the water, Matthew describes the familiar scene: the sky opens up; Jesus sees the Holy Spirit descending upon him like a dove; a voice from heaven claims Jesus as “my own dear son” with whom he is pleased. That’s the story.
Could it be that THAT is what God is thinking of us when we are baptized?
Ok. I feel a need to take a step back. Am I bringing a lot of my old beliefs—along with some wishful thinking—to this passage? Matthew is telling a story about Jesus to persuade readers that Jesus is the Messiah. I don’t know if I should be scooping out all these ideas about the true meaning of baptism just from this one event. Perhaps that’s all it is: an event that provides another "proof" from Matthew about Jesus. Not meant to convey some deeper, profound truths about baptism.
Even though I went away from "Christianity" for awhile, my brain has still retained so much. I don’t want to fall into the same traps, the same convenient arguments, the same black-and-white theology that attempts to package complex literature (with an even more complex history) into a silly, 20-minute devotional.
Final note: I debated whether to edit out some of these thoughts, but I decided to keep the stream-of-consciousness vibe. It’s a truer snapshot of what’s going on in my mind as I read and struggle through the book.
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Thursday, January 31, 2013
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
A Tale of Two "Gravity"s
Music has always been a big part of my life. As a small child, I listened to the Music Machine and Psalty the Singing Songbook records. In my teens, I discovered Amy Grant, Michael W. Smith, and Twila Paris. The music I listened to always came from a Christian source. In fact, my first job was working at a Christian bookstore—selling Christian fiction, Christian music, Christian T-shirts, even Christian breath mints. (Testamints. Clever, huh?)
"Christian Music" is that odd genre that is defined more by its worldview than its actual music. And the worldview of Christian Contemporary Music (CCM for short) is mostly and specifically evangelical. The genre has its roots in 60s/70s hippie culture (Jesus music) but has shifted through the years to its current state of bland praise-pop. (Yes, that's a generalization!) I started listening in the mid-80s, so by that time the music reflected the Christian culture of the time. However there are artists who have worked both within and outside the CCM bubble who tweak, challenge, and question the evangelical conventional wisdom of the day. Examples include Nichole Nordeman & Sara Groves from within; Derek Webb from without. These are the artists I kept listening to even as I questioned, rejected, and eventually reconfigured everything I learned about God. (I'm reconfiguring every day, in fact.)
Yesterday a song called Gravity by Shawn McDonald came up in my iPod mix. That song really took me back--in more ways than one! Listening to that song reminded me of another song, of the same name, from a group called Out of the Grey. Both songs have been favorites of mine for different reasons. Both songs are worth a listen. Additionally, each of these songs pinpoints a separate instance in my own spiritual journey.
The lines in Shawn McDonald’s song include “I don’t want to fall away from You / Gravity is pulling me on down” and “Don’t let me lose my sight of You.” In the song, he feels gravity is pulling his focus away from God. He seems to imply that "gravity" is sin and temptation, or perhaps worldliness in general. The song has a "stop the world I want to get off" vibe—a desire to go to heaven and leave earth behind (i.e., very Christian emo.)
The song, and the way Shawn sings it, is filled with longing--which is probably why it appeals to me. It reminds me of a confusing time in my life, when I wanted to want to attain that elusive feeling of loving God and feeling his presence. For me, the song represents my longing to feel the way that praise band worship leaders feel when they are emoting breathlessly on the church stage about God’s awesomeness. It caused a lot of what's-wrong-with-me introspection. I identify with this particular song in that way, although it’s probably not the way it was intended.
The second Gravity song, this one from Out of the Grey, defines gravity a bit differently. It’s a song about the "gravity" of life; how trying to float above it (like a balloon) is not the answer. This song recommends actually feeling the gravity, and allowing it to "pull you to your knees." The song (and a major theme of the album, which is also called Gravity) is talking about both the gravity of sin and the gravity of real life. It is a reminder not to deny this grave reality: that there are some really shitty things going on in the world.
As I mentioned earlier, these two songs pinpoint two separate instances in my own spiritual journey. The first was when I was deep inside the homogeneous, Christian evangelical, politically conservative bubble. My own sin and guilt were vague and were wrapped up in odd little behavioral tasks that I didn’t fulfill and sexual impurity of the mind (and the hand). Ironically, in the Christian culture I knew, anything “social justice-y” was labeled "legalism" and “a gateway to liberalism” (and worse). Thinking about these songs has made me realize how many mixed messages there are in this subculture. No wonder Shawn and I were both confused and filled with vague, existential longing for heaven!
The second song is a fairly good indicator of where I am today. The world is in a grave state. There are so many who are being oppressed, who are poor and hungry. It is overwhelming. Compared to most, I am marinating in riches and privilege. That's the gravity that's bringing me to my knees these days.
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"Christian Music" is that odd genre that is defined more by its worldview than its actual music. And the worldview of Christian Contemporary Music (CCM for short) is mostly and specifically evangelical. The genre has its roots in 60s/70s hippie culture (Jesus music) but has shifted through the years to its current state of bland praise-pop. (Yes, that's a generalization!) I started listening in the mid-80s, so by that time the music reflected the Christian culture of the time. However there are artists who have worked both within and outside the CCM bubble who tweak, challenge, and question the evangelical conventional wisdom of the day. Examples include Nichole Nordeman & Sara Groves from within; Derek Webb from without. These are the artists I kept listening to even as I questioned, rejected, and eventually reconfigured everything I learned about God. (I'm reconfiguring every day, in fact.)
Yesterday a song called Gravity by Shawn McDonald came up in my iPod mix. That song really took me back--in more ways than one! Listening to that song reminded me of another song, of the same name, from a group called Out of the Grey. Both songs have been favorites of mine for different reasons. Both songs are worth a listen. Additionally, each of these songs pinpoints a separate instance in my own spiritual journey.
The lines in Shawn McDonald’s song include “I don’t want to fall away from You / Gravity is pulling me on down” and “Don’t let me lose my sight of You.” In the song, he feels gravity is pulling his focus away from God. He seems to imply that "gravity" is sin and temptation, or perhaps worldliness in general. The song has a "stop the world I want to get off" vibe—a desire to go to heaven and leave earth behind (i.e., very Christian emo.)
The song, and the way Shawn sings it, is filled with longing--which is probably why it appeals to me. It reminds me of a confusing time in my life, when I wanted to want to attain that elusive feeling of loving God and feeling his presence. For me, the song represents my longing to feel the way that praise band worship leaders feel when they are emoting breathlessly on the church stage about God’s awesomeness. It caused a lot of what's-wrong-with-me introspection. I identify with this particular song in that way, although it’s probably not the way it was intended.
The second Gravity song, this one from Out of the Grey, defines gravity a bit differently. It’s a song about the "gravity" of life; how trying to float above it (like a balloon) is not the answer. This song recommends actually feeling the gravity, and allowing it to "pull you to your knees." The song (and a major theme of the album, which is also called Gravity) is talking about both the gravity of sin and the gravity of real life. It is a reminder not to deny this grave reality: that there are some really shitty things going on in the world.
As I mentioned earlier, these two songs pinpoint two separate instances in my own spiritual journey. The first was when I was deep inside the homogeneous, Christian evangelical, politically conservative bubble. My own sin and guilt were vague and were wrapped up in odd little behavioral tasks that I didn’t fulfill and sexual impurity of the mind (and the hand). Ironically, in the Christian culture I knew, anything “social justice-y” was labeled "legalism" and “a gateway to liberalism” (and worse). Thinking about these songs has made me realize how many mixed messages there are in this subculture. No wonder Shawn and I were both confused and filled with vague, existential longing for heaven!
The second song is a fairly good indicator of where I am today. The world is in a grave state. There are so many who are being oppressed, who are poor and hungry. It is overwhelming. Compared to most, I am marinating in riches and privilege. That's the gravity that's bringing me to my knees these days.
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Monday, January 28, 2013
Gospel Blog: Matthew 3:1-12
Note: See Introduction for context of this series on the Gospels.
Detailed Thoughts about Matthew 3:1-12
There is a lot to unpack in these 12 verses (doing the whole chapter in one blog post was too much). Forgive me if these thoughts are a bit disjointed. Frankly, I have more questions than answers.
People were coming from far and wide to get baptized by John the Baptist. It gets really interesting when, in vs. 7, John starts speaking to the religious leaders of the time--the Pharisees and Sadducees--who also came to be baptized. He starts by calling them a bunch of snakes.
Ooh. Already, we're seeing an impatience and downright anger to current religious leaders. It doesn't sound very loving, does it? It makes me wonder if the real, Christian way to engage with the Dobsons, the Driscolls, the Pipers, et al, is actually one of scorn. Pointing out their hypocrisy and the damage that they do. Doing this seems to follow the example of John the Baptist, at least. It opens a whole other can of worms: who has the moral authority to call these people out? I'm mindful of passages about judging and eye-planks. I don't have the definitive answer.
One of the things I'm keeping my eye on as I read through the Gospels is how Jesus (and others close to him) interact with people who are in power--especially religious power. In this passage, at least, John doesn't show any deference!
I also wonder if some of the Pharisees and Sadducees that came to see John were actually shocked at his words to them. Were all of them arrogant and proud, or were there some who were sincere and followed the law as best as they could? Maybe some of them (most of them?) sincerely believed their way of life and their worldview was THE way to please God? I group myself with them. I used to think this way, too. I feel great conviction from these words. My hope is that these words broke through to some of these men (I'm assuming they were all men at this point, but perhaps not?), especially those whose hearts were seeking, questioning, and humble--stuck in this hierarchy without yet consciously knowing it.
Backing up to verses 1-6 (espec. vs 6): I wonder for what "sins" the crowds are sorry? I always thought of sin as a lack of spending time with God, not witnessing for God, and sexual impurity. (For more on this, see yesterday's post on guilt.) Were they thinking of breaking specific law, or were they thinking of not taking care of the poor and oppressed? Of greed?
My final thoughts on this passage have to do with the judgment that John talked about when he addressed the religious leaders:
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Summary of Matthew 3:1-12
Years after Jesus and family settle in Galilee, Matthew introduces John the Baptist. John baptizes many from all over Israel, but chews out the religious leaders when they come to be baptized too.Detailed Thoughts about Matthew 3:1-12
There is a lot to unpack in these 12 verses (doing the whole chapter in one blog post was too much). Forgive me if these thoughts are a bit disjointed. Frankly, I have more questions than answers.
People were coming from far and wide to get baptized by John the Baptist. It gets really interesting when, in vs. 7, John starts speaking to the religious leaders of the time--the Pharisees and Sadducees--who also came to be baptized. He starts by calling them a bunch of snakes.
Ooh. Already, we're seeing an impatience and downright anger to current religious leaders. It doesn't sound very loving, does it? It makes me wonder if the real, Christian way to engage with the Dobsons, the Driscolls, the Pipers, et al, is actually one of scorn. Pointing out their hypocrisy and the damage that they do. Doing this seems to follow the example of John the Baptist, at least. It opens a whole other can of worms: who has the moral authority to call these people out? I'm mindful of passages about judging and eye-planks. I don't have the definitive answer.
One of the things I'm keeping my eye on as I read through the Gospels is how Jesus (and others close to him) interact with people who are in power--especially religious power. In this passage, at least, John doesn't show any deference!
I also wonder if some of the Pharisees and Sadducees that came to see John were actually shocked at his words to them. Were all of them arrogant and proud, or were there some who were sincere and followed the law as best as they could? Maybe some of them (most of them?) sincerely believed their way of life and their worldview was THE way to please God? I group myself with them. I used to think this way, too. I feel great conviction from these words. My hope is that these words broke through to some of these men (I'm assuming they were all men at this point, but perhaps not?), especially those whose hearts were seeking, questioning, and humble--stuck in this hierarchy without yet consciously knowing it.
Backing up to verses 1-6 (espec. vs 6): I wonder for what "sins" the crowds are sorry? I always thought of sin as a lack of spending time with God, not witnessing for God, and sexual impurity. (For more on this, see yesterday's post on guilt.) Were they thinking of breaking specific law, or were they thinking of not taking care of the poor and oppressed? Of greed?
My final thoughts on this passage have to do with the judgment that John talked about when he addressed the religious leaders:
- John said, "Who warned you to run from the coming judgment?" What judgment does he mean?
- John also gave a metaphor of a tree: The ax will cut you down if you do not bear fruit.
- He also said that Jesus would separate the wheat from the husks, and the husks will be burnt in a fire that would never burn out.
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Saturday, January 26, 2013
In Defense of Liberal Guilt
"Liberal Guilt," both the phrase (wielded as a snark-weapon against—among others—rich, white Obama enthusiasts) and the concept, is troublesome. I pass a poor person on the street and think: “something must be done!” yet I’m unwilling to actually do anything but spare a moment of existential angst. This scene is an example of what liberal guilt is meant to convey when used as a pejorative: bleeding heart + zero action.
Lately, however, I’ve been thinking about the concept a bit differently. What if, instead of smirking at ourselves for this pang of angst, we stopped a minute and really let ourselves feel it. What if we actually took ourselves seriously at this point, and allowed ourselves to go down "into the weeds” of this angst? What if this pang we feel moves us to action? Let me explain further by sharing my own story with guilt.
The Christianity I define for myself today looks so much different than the type I espoused growing up. In those days, I experienced a much different kind of guilt. It wasn’t liberal guilt but a legalistic, behavioral guilt. I felt guilt if I didn’t have my “devotions” for the day. (Having devotions, in fundamentalist language, means setting aside a quiet time each day to read a passage of scripture and have a time of prayer. Not a bad thing in itself, but for me it became a mindless task to check off my "be-a-good-Christian" list. If not done, fellowship with God would be lost—and who really knew what that meant? It was an effective threat!)
Another requirement that I never lived up to (and therefore always felt guilty about) was being a witness for Christ. Witnessing is another fundamentalist buzzword that means telling everyone you know (and also strangers!) that they need Jesus, and if they don’t accept him as their personal savior they will go to hell. Yeah, sign me up for THAT! Because witnessing was so hard to do and so incredibly socially awkward to accomplish, it MUST be what God wanted! We must take up our cross and “suffer” for him…apparently by acting like a know-it-all asshole to everyone we meet! Something about this didn’t ring true for me; however, that didn’t stop me from trying and from feeling guilty when I didn’t try hard enough.
I also felt guilt for lack of “purity.” Purity in fundamentalist language always means “sexual purity.” To be blunt, I think of all the various categories of guilt I experienced, I felt the most guilt after masturbating. Even to this day, that m-word is fraught with such heaviness and ugliness! Even the way it is spelled seems so sinister and degenerate!!! Add to it the fact that I was attracted to men instead of women, and this guilt became so big and so intense that my mind was consumed by it.
Later in my 20s, my energy was geared toward staying a virgin at all costs. That meant gritting my teeth, praying for purity and change, going to Christian therapists, going to ex-gay programs. I was defined by shame.
I point out all these categories of fundamentalist-culture-driven guilt for this reason: There was absolutely no room in my head to even consider those who were poor and oppressed. No room, in fact, to care about the people and the principles that Jesus actually cared about.
I now see my journey of the last 10+ years as a necessary undoing of every belief and assumption about myself, about God, about Jesus, and about people in general. These days I feel differently than I ever have. I feel a new level of confidence--a new lack of shame--about who I am. With this new grace, I am experiencing a new clarity of thought and vision. I’m beginning to see the world outside the tiny bubble in which I grew up. I am seeing injustice. HERE is where I am feeling a different kind of guilt; HERE is where I’m really feeling my true “sin”: in my unwillingness to radically give myself to the poor and the oppressed. To others it may seem like “liberal guilt,” but for me it is something more real than that. It feels like true conviction of the heart.
This conviction--of my own embarrassment of cultural and material riches, while others have it so much worse than I--is another reason why I’m intent on reading through the Gospels with a new perspective. In this unequal world with me near the top of the privilege-pyramid, I can see the "last shall be first" motif for sure. In this snapshot moment of my journey, I can’t emphasize enough this feeling of my own sin--my own failings. My response can only be broken humility. An open heart and open ears. A thick skin. A reliance on God’s grace. Prayer that God will make me more courageous, energetic, and willing to give to and work for the oppressed and the needy. How can I not forgive the minor, day-to-day slights toward myself (real and perceived) when I know that I’ve been forgiven so much?
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Lately, however, I’ve been thinking about the concept a bit differently. What if, instead of smirking at ourselves for this pang of angst, we stopped a minute and really let ourselves feel it. What if we actually took ourselves seriously at this point, and allowed ourselves to go down "into the weeds” of this angst? What if this pang we feel moves us to action? Let me explain further by sharing my own story with guilt.
The Christianity I define for myself today looks so much different than the type I espoused growing up. In those days, I experienced a much different kind of guilt. It wasn’t liberal guilt but a legalistic, behavioral guilt. I felt guilt if I didn’t have my “devotions” for the day. (Having devotions, in fundamentalist language, means setting aside a quiet time each day to read a passage of scripture and have a time of prayer. Not a bad thing in itself, but for me it became a mindless task to check off my "be-a-good-Christian" list. If not done, fellowship with God would be lost—and who really knew what that meant? It was an effective threat!)
Another requirement that I never lived up to (and therefore always felt guilty about) was being a witness for Christ. Witnessing is another fundamentalist buzzword that means telling everyone you know (and also strangers!) that they need Jesus, and if they don’t accept him as their personal savior they will go to hell. Yeah, sign me up for THAT! Because witnessing was so hard to do and so incredibly socially awkward to accomplish, it MUST be what God wanted! We must take up our cross and “suffer” for him…apparently by acting like a know-it-all asshole to everyone we meet! Something about this didn’t ring true for me; however, that didn’t stop me from trying and from feeling guilty when I didn’t try hard enough.
I also felt guilt for lack of “purity.” Purity in fundamentalist language always means “sexual purity.” To be blunt, I think of all the various categories of guilt I experienced, I felt the most guilt after masturbating. Even to this day, that m-word is fraught with such heaviness and ugliness! Even the way it is spelled seems so sinister and degenerate!!! Add to it the fact that I was attracted to men instead of women, and this guilt became so big and so intense that my mind was consumed by it.
Later in my 20s, my energy was geared toward staying a virgin at all costs. That meant gritting my teeth, praying for purity and change, going to Christian therapists, going to ex-gay programs. I was defined by shame.
I point out all these categories of fundamentalist-culture-driven guilt for this reason: There was absolutely no room in my head to even consider those who were poor and oppressed. No room, in fact, to care about the people and the principles that Jesus actually cared about.
I now see my journey of the last 10+ years as a necessary undoing of every belief and assumption about myself, about God, about Jesus, and about people in general. These days I feel differently than I ever have. I feel a new level of confidence--a new lack of shame--about who I am. With this new grace, I am experiencing a new clarity of thought and vision. I’m beginning to see the world outside the tiny bubble in which I grew up. I am seeing injustice. HERE is where I am feeling a different kind of guilt; HERE is where I’m really feeling my true “sin”: in my unwillingness to radically give myself to the poor and the oppressed. To others it may seem like “liberal guilt,” but for me it is something more real than that. It feels like true conviction of the heart.
This conviction--of my own embarrassment of cultural and material riches, while others have it so much worse than I--is another reason why I’m intent on reading through the Gospels with a new perspective. In this unequal world with me near the top of the privilege-pyramid, I can see the "last shall be first" motif for sure. In this snapshot moment of my journey, I can’t emphasize enough this feeling of my own sin--my own failings. My response can only be broken humility. An open heart and open ears. A thick skin. A reliance on God’s grace. Prayer that God will make me more courageous, energetic, and willing to give to and work for the oppressed and the needy. How can I not forgive the minor, day-to-day slights toward myself (real and perceived) when I know that I’ve been forgiven so much?
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Friday, January 25, 2013
Gospel Blog: Matthew 2
Note: See Introduction for context of this series on the Gospels.
Summary of Matthew 2
Evil King Herod tries to kill the Messiah and commits child genocide. Joseph, Mary, and Jesus escape, and after Herod’s death they eventually settle in Nazareth.
Detailed Thoughts about Matthew 2
After finishing this passage, I had three initial thoughts:
Keep in mind, I am simply blogging my thoughts and not using related history texts, concordances, or other supplemental materials. To any theologians reading this: I hope you are not shouting answers to these questions at the screen in frustration! Your comments are welcome.
But then the text concentrates on Herod. Wow, this guy. After the wise men asked him these questions, Herod got confirmation from the religious leaders about the birthplace of the Messiah according to the prophets. Then he used diabolical manipulation to get the wise men to tell him where this child actually was located. Finally, in desperation, after the wise men were told (in a dream) to clear out, Herod did something breathtakingly evil. He ordered all male children under 2 years old in Bethlehem to be killed. Child genocide. I can’t take it in.
For a discussion on whether this genocide was historical or just a myth, see posts by James McGrath and Tony Jones.
What I see in this chapter, besides the horror, is a man desperate not to lose power. So desperate, in fact, that he would kill the Messiah in order to keep this power. What a timeless, common human condition! We see this desparation in politics, in business, in relationships, and, clearly, in the church: people willing to manipulate, lie, cheat, or worse in order to keep power. Matthew's brief portrait of Herod sets up another contrast to the radical teachings of Jesus. (I admit it: I’m already getting excited about reading Jesus’ words in this whole new light.)
In the meantime, Joseph had a dream where he was instructed to flee Bethlehem and go to Egypt for safety. When Herod died, Joseph had another dream to return to Israel. When hearing that Herod’s son was ruler of Judea, Joseph had yet another dream to go to Nazareth. So after 2 chapters in Matthew, Joseph has already had 4 dreams. (What is it with Joseph and the dreams?)
Matthew uses these stories to bring more evidence to his argument that Jesus is the true Messiah: the birth in Bethlehem, the text from Jeremiah “Rachel weeping for her children” (although indicating Herod's massacre as a fullfillment of this prophecy seems a bit of stretch to me), and that the Messiah would be a Nazarene.
Looking at these stories with an objective eye, it all seems pretty unbelievable. My honest reaction? It reads more like a myth than an historical text. However, I’m just going to sit with that thought and let it be. At this early stage, what I’m already taking away from these readings is the stark contrast between what I know of the life and teachings of Jesus and the world and culture that he inhabited.
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Summary of Matthew 2
Evil King Herod tries to kill the Messiah and commits child genocide. Joseph, Mary, and Jesus escape, and after Herod’s death they eventually settle in Nazareth.
Detailed Thoughts about Matthew 2
After finishing this passage, I had three initial thoughts:
- Herod was desperate not to lose power.
- Herod’s actions in Jerusalem were unspeakably awful.
- Joseph sure dreamed a lot!
Keep in mind, I am simply blogging my thoughts and not using related history texts, concordances, or other supplemental materials. To any theologians reading this: I hope you are not shouting answers to these questions at the screen in frustration! Your comments are welcome.
But then the text concentrates on Herod. Wow, this guy. After the wise men asked him these questions, Herod got confirmation from the religious leaders about the birthplace of the Messiah according to the prophets. Then he used diabolical manipulation to get the wise men to tell him where this child actually was located. Finally, in desperation, after the wise men were told (in a dream) to clear out, Herod did something breathtakingly evil. He ordered all male children under 2 years old in Bethlehem to be killed. Child genocide. I can’t take it in.
For a discussion on whether this genocide was historical or just a myth, see posts by James McGrath and Tony Jones.
What I see in this chapter, besides the horror, is a man desperate not to lose power. So desperate, in fact, that he would kill the Messiah in order to keep this power. What a timeless, common human condition! We see this desparation in politics, in business, in relationships, and, clearly, in the church: people willing to manipulate, lie, cheat, or worse in order to keep power. Matthew's brief portrait of Herod sets up another contrast to the radical teachings of Jesus. (I admit it: I’m already getting excited about reading Jesus’ words in this whole new light.)
In the meantime, Joseph had a dream where he was instructed to flee Bethlehem and go to Egypt for safety. When Herod died, Joseph had another dream to return to Israel. When hearing that Herod’s son was ruler of Judea, Joseph had yet another dream to go to Nazareth. So after 2 chapters in Matthew, Joseph has already had 4 dreams. (What is it with Joseph and the dreams?)
Matthew uses these stories to bring more evidence to his argument that Jesus is the true Messiah: the birth in Bethlehem, the text from Jeremiah “Rachel weeping for her children” (although indicating Herod's massacre as a fullfillment of this prophecy seems a bit of stretch to me), and that the Messiah would be a Nazarene.
Looking at these stories with an objective eye, it all seems pretty unbelievable. My honest reaction? It reads more like a myth than an historical text. However, I’m just going to sit with that thought and let it be. At this early stage, what I’m already taking away from these readings is the stark contrast between what I know of the life and teachings of Jesus and the world and culture that he inhabited.
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Thursday, January 24, 2013
Reformed Relationships
The other day Jay Bakker asked, via tweet, whether Mark Driscoll and the reformed theology folks are the new Religious Right. I don’t have anything to say about Driscoll that hasn’t already been well-said 500,000 times by others more experienced with him and his brand. However, I can share my own experience with reformed theology, how my parents have adopted the label “reformed,” and how it has changed them in a positive way.
Before going further, I should say that I do not personally hold to the reformed theology world view. I also do not want to be (or even sound) condescending about my parents’ beliefs. Those of you who hold to reformed theology: I have no interest in trying to change your mind. We all have our own journey of faith, and have no idea how each of us got to where we are today.
My parents both grew up in a non-denominational, fundamentalist church in the Midwest. They were both still members when I was born; when I was 5 years old my Dad was re-located to Tulsa, Oklahoma. There, we went to another fundamentalist church similar to their former church, but a bit larger. In both of these churches, the teaching centered around personal salvation (going to heaven instead of hell after death) and “behavioral holiness.” The teaching about personal salvation was straightforward in some ways, but eerily vague in other ways. For example, there was always the fear of “losing fellowship with God” because of unconfessed sin. What did this really mean? What were the consequences? What if we have sin that is unknown and therefore unconfessed? I didn’t realize this at the time, but looking back I can see how church leaders (perhaps unconsciously) used this fear as a power-tool for behavioral modification. For my parents (and for me), the result was the constant nagging fear of hell and the ominous "lost fellowship."
In addition to this existential fear, my parents also dealt with the culture of spiritual competitiveness in these churches. One didn’t want to admit to any sort of doubt or disagreement regarding the “fundamentals of the faith.” Without doubt or disagreement, these churches just became more and more homogeneous—not just in theology, but also in behavior and language. And the only way to learn the language is to be immersed in the culture. If you didn’t meet all the criteria of theology, behavior, and language, subtle (and sometimes overt) judgment was passed.
My parents are good people. They have kind and loving hearts, and within their context and their journey they have searched for truth and meaning. Years and years of fundamentalist culture took its toll on them. Eventually (for reasons too lengthy to go into here) they started going to a “reformed” church. Soon afterward, they started sending me links to reformed theology books, blogs, sermons, and podcasts. I could definitely see the excitement and joy they were experiencing, and I had never associated “excitement” and “joy” with my parents and anything associated with the church!
Here’s why I think the reformed movement, and more specifically the new church that they have been attending, has been helpful for them and for our relationship:
UPDATE: Shortly after publishing this post, I saw a riveting new post from Rachel Held Evans called The Scandal of the Evangelical Heart. It's an amazing post about the implications of reformed theology, and it makes a great counterpoint to this personal story. A must read!
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Before going further, I should say that I do not personally hold to the reformed theology world view. I also do not want to be (or even sound) condescending about my parents’ beliefs. Those of you who hold to reformed theology: I have no interest in trying to change your mind. We all have our own journey of faith, and have no idea how each of us got to where we are today.
My parents both grew up in a non-denominational, fundamentalist church in the Midwest. They were both still members when I was born; when I was 5 years old my Dad was re-located to Tulsa, Oklahoma. There, we went to another fundamentalist church similar to their former church, but a bit larger. In both of these churches, the teaching centered around personal salvation (going to heaven instead of hell after death) and “behavioral holiness.” The teaching about personal salvation was straightforward in some ways, but eerily vague in other ways. For example, there was always the fear of “losing fellowship with God” because of unconfessed sin. What did this really mean? What were the consequences? What if we have sin that is unknown and therefore unconfessed? I didn’t realize this at the time, but looking back I can see how church leaders (perhaps unconsciously) used this fear as a power-tool for behavioral modification. For my parents (and for me), the result was the constant nagging fear of hell and the ominous "lost fellowship."
In addition to this existential fear, my parents also dealt with the culture of spiritual competitiveness in these churches. One didn’t want to admit to any sort of doubt or disagreement regarding the “fundamentals of the faith.” Without doubt or disagreement, these churches just became more and more homogeneous—not just in theology, but also in behavior and language. And the only way to learn the language is to be immersed in the culture. If you didn’t meet all the criteria of theology, behavior, and language, subtle (and sometimes overt) judgment was passed.
My parents are good people. They have kind and loving hearts, and within their context and their journey they have searched for truth and meaning. Years and years of fundamentalist culture took its toll on them. Eventually (for reasons too lengthy to go into here) they started going to a “reformed” church. Soon afterward, they started sending me links to reformed theology books, blogs, sermons, and podcasts. I could definitely see the excitement and joy they were experiencing, and I had never associated “excitement” and “joy” with my parents and anything associated with the church!
Here’s why I think the reformed movement, and more specifically the new church that they have been attending, has been helpful for them and for our relationship:
- After a life of feeling nothing was ever good enough for God or others, they finally no longer have that constant nagging fear of hell or of “lost fellowship” with God. They have been able to integrate the Calvinist principle of predestination into their own view of personal salvation and the salvation of others. (It’s out of their hands!)
- In their new church, theology, not behavior, is stressed. Granted, disagreement with the core tenants of the theology is discouraged, which again makes the church overly homogeneous. However, because of the principle of God’s work on the cross as TOTAL (any “belief” in Christ is completely a gift from God himself), people in the church don’t worry too much about specific beliefs or even behaviors--again, because it's God's work to change hearts, not theirs. It has a mellowing effect; it also contributes to a much less judgmental environment. This was NOT the case with their former churches, where leaders and members tended to be very grace-less about disagreement.
- With newfound confidence in the work of Christ and their own helplessness, they too have become less judgmental. In fact, until they started going to this church, I did not plan to reveal to them that I was gay. Changing churches and having a more solid theology was transforming for them. Seeing this transformation, I felt compelled to have a more honest and authentic relationship with them. Coming out to them was very difficult; they still look at the relationship I have with my partner as a sin. However, they choose to reconcile my identity as a gay person with their belief that everyone is completely sinful and in need of Christ (who calls whom He will...and no one else.) They see my "sin" as just another one that Christ covered with his death and resurrection. And they love my partner!
UPDATE: Shortly after publishing this post, I saw a riveting new post from Rachel Held Evans called The Scandal of the Evangelical Heart. It's an amazing post about the implications of reformed theology, and it makes a great counterpoint to this personal story. A must read!
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Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Gospel Blog: Matthew 1
Quick note: at the beginning of a new book, I'll begin by sharing the theme of the book. Every post will then contain a brief summary of the covered passage followed by detailed thoughts. See also Blogging the Gospels: An Introduction for a clearer understanding of the purpose of this series and the perspective I will bring to each post.
The Book of Matthew
Matthew wrote his gospel primarily for a Jewish audience, wanting to convince his readers that Jesus was sent from God as the Messiah.
Summary of Matthew 1
Jesus descended directly from Abraham and David. The virgin, Mary, became pregnant by the Holy Spirit. At first Joseph wants to call off the wedding, but after a visit from an angel, decides to marry Mary after all.
Detailed Thoughts about Matthew 1
In the first part of the chapter, Matthew shows that there were 14 generations from Abraham to David, 14 generations from David to the Babylonian exile, and 14 generations from exile to Jesus. Looks like Matthew is going “all in” at the very beginning. He enumerates how Jesus is not only a direct descendant from Abraham and David, but uses the numbers to show a kind of mystical order and method to his birth. In other words he is saying: Take a look at this, people. 14-14-14. BOOM.
Subsequent verses reveal this theme of Jesus being the Messiah of the Jewish nation:
It’s interesting to me that the Old Testament prophesies a virgin conceiving and giving birth. From my understanding of the Old Testament, women were generally looked upon as less than men and often unclean. The Messiah had to come from a woman who was “pure.” One can see already how radical Jesus’ teachings would be! He would be challenging cultural norms and religious traditions, yet at the same time fulfilling the OT prophesies in a paradoxical way.
A new perspective I must bring to the reading is the realization that these words were written many, many years after Jesus was born and died. Matthew (was he even the author?) was writing to persuade, and my critical mind wonders how many facts he skewed to make his historical account about Jesus match the OT prophesies. In order to be honest, I have to admit that possibility.
Still, the story is powerful. Just the name Immanuel is powerful: God is with us. I’m looking forward to observing what happens next.
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The Book of Matthew
Matthew wrote his gospel primarily for a Jewish audience, wanting to convince his readers that Jesus was sent from God as the Messiah.
Summary of Matthew 1
Jesus descended directly from Abraham and David. The virgin, Mary, became pregnant by the Holy Spirit. At first Joseph wants to call off the wedding, but after a visit from an angel, decides to marry Mary after all.
Detailed Thoughts about Matthew 1
In the first part of the chapter, Matthew shows that there were 14 generations from Abraham to David, 14 generations from David to the Babylonian exile, and 14 generations from exile to Jesus. Looks like Matthew is going “all in” at the very beginning. He enumerates how Jesus is not only a direct descendant from Abraham and David, but uses the numbers to show a kind of mystical order and method to his birth. In other words he is saying: Take a look at this, people. 14-14-14. BOOM.
Subsequent verses reveal this theme of Jesus being the Messiah of the Jewish nation:
- v 18: Joseph was also from the line of David
- v 21: Jesus will save his people from their sins
- v 22-23: Immanuel (God with us) prophecy is fulfilled
It’s interesting to me that the Old Testament prophesies a virgin conceiving and giving birth. From my understanding of the Old Testament, women were generally looked upon as less than men and often unclean. The Messiah had to come from a woman who was “pure.” One can see already how radical Jesus’ teachings would be! He would be challenging cultural norms and religious traditions, yet at the same time fulfilling the OT prophesies in a paradoxical way.
A new perspective I must bring to the reading is the realization that these words were written many, many years after Jesus was born and died. Matthew (was he even the author?) was writing to persuade, and my critical mind wonders how many facts he skewed to make his historical account about Jesus match the OT prophesies. In order to be honest, I have to admit that possibility.
Still, the story is powerful. Just the name Immanuel is powerful: God is with us. I’m looking forward to observing what happens next.
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