Misquoting Jesus

I’ve always heard that if you’re going to write, then you have to read. Reading, I guess keeps the mind engaged in story, ideas and communication. Maybe one reason I didn’t make a blog post in November was that I wasn’t reading (outside of sermon preparation).

Anyway, since Thanksgiving I’ve wedged in three books, a couple of “religious” books and a novel. And one of them I’d like to recommend, especially if you’re a Bible history nerd like me.

Bart Ehrman, in his 2005 book, Misquoting Jesus, does a scholarly, yet easily readable job, of explaining why it’s beyond our ability to determine what the “original text” actually said. He doesn’t do it to undermine the faith, but as part of a scholarly discipline to search for the truth, even if the truth is disconcerting. In the process he shows that faith is sustained not by a belief in the inerrancy of the Bible, but by a relationship with the living Christ.

Ehrman grew up in Biblical literalism. A “born-again” convert of Campus Life Youth for Christ, he graduated from Moody Bible Institute and Wheaton College –bastions of fundamentalism. His interest in textual criticism however took him to Princeton to study under one of the best in that area, Bruce Metzger. He understands both the desire for “the literal Word of God,” and the inconsistencies that show the Word is a human record of God’s revelations.

I especially liked the way he explains how the “written story” was passed along, first by untrained devoted followers making copies, and then by “professional” copiests. The number of textual variants resulting from unintentional, and intentional changes is overwhelming (estimated to be in the tens of thousands), but many of these are insignificant. Ehrman selects several major ones to cover in detail. It left me with a desire to know even more about the text, and a renewed appreciation of the work of the Spirit to make the text alive (inspired) in each generation.

Ehrman's book has been challenged by a host of conservative scholars who believe the Bible is the actual, literal Word of God. And I can see how his work can be used by those outside the faith to heap criticism on the Bible. But those of us who think of the Bible as a divinely inspired human record that contains or reveals the Word of God, his work helps us continue to search for the truth.

The Passover in 3D

I am doing a summer sermon series on atonement theories, but, of course, I'm not calling it that. I set it up with the question, "How does the death of Christ bring us salvation?" and am using texts from the Hebrew Bible as motifs relating to various explanations.

Today the text I used was Exodus 12, the story of the 10th plague, the Passover. This was the basis for the "ransom theory," Christ paying the price to set us free from our bondage and slavery to sin. I could easily tell the story of Exodus 12 because it was ingrained in me when I was a child of only five years old.

The details of the occasion are fuzzy, but I know that I was sick for several days, as was my older brother. He had to stay home from school. I think we had the measles, but what we had was not as important as what happened.

My mother kept two sick boys entertained by making us recreate the story of the Exodus. We unfolded the sofa bed and there with plastic army men, we established Pharaoh's army and the Hebrew people. We made our way through the plagues, often using sound effects for the things we didn't have: flies, locusts, thunder and hail, etc.

There on the sofa mattress world, the Hebrew people finally escaped the brown blanket of Egypt, but were hemmed in by the blue blanket of the Red Sea. Amazingly, that blanket parted and the Hebrews crossed over on dry mattress to the wilderness.

I don't remember all that we did to create the story, but cotton balls substituted for the cloud of God's presence leading the Hebrews by day, and I do remember striking matches to represent the fiery presence by night. And for scholars who have wondered for years exactly what manna was, I can tell you - manna is crumbled saltine crackers!

These are pleasant memories from a period of sickness a long time ago. They tell the story of a mom who was loving and caring for her boys while wanting to teach them what she values most, God's Word. I just glad she didn't have a Veggie Tale video to make us watch back then. I probably wouldn't have remembered that at all.

A Plea for Vindication

What are usually considered the last words of Jesus from the cross are also words usually misunderstood. Our church used the seven utterances from the cross for services in the Lenten journey. The last one comes from Luke 23:44: “Into thy hands I commit my spirit.” The usual interpretation of these words depict them as a final resignation before dying.

Jesus is at the point of death. He then “lets go” and expresses his trust in God to care for his “spirit”, by quoting from Psalm 31:5. The psalmist in Psalm 31 is overwhelmed with trouble, calls on God to be his safe place, and to make it right. “In you, O God I seek refuge, let me never be put to shame, in your righteousness deliver me…into your hand I commit my spirit.”

Such an interpretation, however nice it is, misses the point being made in the gospel. These are not words of resignation. They are an appeal for justification. Like the psalmist in distress, Jesus is appealing to the highest authority to vindicate him – to correct the wrongful judgment.

This alternate interpretation of Jesus’ words is supported by Luke’s usage of Psalm 31, the concept of death from a Jewish perspective, and Luke’s emphasis on salvation history. A vindication view of Jesus’ death and resurrection hleps us to see the entire “Jesus event” as God’s work of salvation instead of just focusing on the cross.

Luke’s placement of the quote from Psalm 31 as the Jesus’ last words cross sets the stage for his understanding of the resurrection. God overturns the verdict of this world that condemned Jesus - at worse as a blasphemer and at least as an insignificant revolutionary. For Luke, the redemptive work of Christ was not just his death on the cross, but his whole life: his incarnation, his teachings, his miracles, and his passion.

Luke concludes his gospel with two resurrection appearances. In the road to Emmaus appearance, he “interpreted to them all the things about himself in all the scriptures” (Luke 24:27) and is revealed to them in the eucharistic breaking of the bread. When Jesus appears to his disciples, he tells them that all his words and everything written about him (in the law, the prophets and the psalms) must be fulfilled and that they are to be witnesses of these things. (Luke 24:44-49). For Luke, the resurrection demonstrates that God hears and honors Jesus’ appeal and thus sets him as an authority higher than all the authorities of the world. In that authority and power the church is created, whose story Luke will continue in the Acts of the Apostles.

(More...full article at Checked Luggage site.)

The Orthodox funeral practices reflect the belief that death is not just the cessation of life, but the beginning of dying. During the year of mourning the deceased undergoes the cancellation of their sins as their flesh decomposes. “One’s evil deeds were thought to be embedded in the flesh and to dissolve along with it.” Jewish thought at the time of Jesus was that the painful disintegration of the flesh left the bones (which contain the personality) as a framework for a new body on the day of resurrection.

But at Christ’s death, God interceded. God overturned the judgment of the world and through the resurrection, prevented the dying process from taking place. An expiation of sin in the dying was not needed, as God vindicated Jesus. “Taken in its cultural context, the claim of resurrection for Jesus asserts that his death was wrong and has been overturned by a higher judge. This cultural interpretation contrasts sharply with a theological one: that Jesus’ death was right and necessary and required by God ‘to take away the sins of the world.’”. (Quotes, Bruce Malina, see full article.)

From this perspective, our salvation was not in the suffering of Jesus prior to his death. That suffering, at the hands of cruel men, was evil and wrong. Our salvation is in placing our lives in Christ, heeding his words and following in his footsteps, being born anew from the kingdom of this age into the kingdom of God.

“Into thy hands I commit my spirit,” Jesus’ last words on the cross, are a call for vindication. He has been wrongly condemned to death and uses the words of the psalmist, who in a similar situation appealed to God for justice. In the resurrection, God intervenes, overturning the power of this world and asserting the righteousness of Christ.

We can almost hear in the resurrection the message of God at the Transfiguration (Luke 9:35) “This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him.” For if we listen to and follow him, placing our lives in him, he who vindicated Jesus in the resurrection will also raise us up with him in the last day. Into your hands, Lord, we commit our spirits. Hear our plea, amen.

A Discovery from The Last Week

Have been reading Borg and Crossan's book, The Last Week, as part of my Lenten journey. It was published in 2006, primarily as their response to Mel Gibson's movie The Passion of the Christ. The talk generated by the movie made them realize that many Christians have poor understandings of what actually took place the last week of Jesus' life. They follow the day by day outline of Mark's gospel, with their usual scriptural, sociological, and historical-critical method.

Borg and Crossan are usually labeled on the liberal side of the scale as Jesus scholars. So I was surprised to see a Brian McLaren (of the emerging church culture) endorsement on the book jacket. I don't know McLaren's way of reading them, but I know how I and a few others do: we love their analysis and the way they paint the full cultural picture of what's happening around Jesus, but then we don't draw the same conclusions about the nature of God's actions/interventions or the meaning in terms of Christian doctrine. To me, it seems Borg and Crossan shy away from any divine manifestations that call for a pure faith acceptance.


What this book does well is define the political/economic/religious domination system in which the temple was enmeshed. They show how Jesus stood with the poor and dispossessed against the exploitation by the powerful of that day - both Roman and Jewish power brokers. That must be the theme of Lent for me. I just finished John Grisham's novel, The Appeal, about a large chemical corporation "buying" a supreme court justice election in order to overturn a $41 million dollar damage verdict. Grisham's book is a well written reminder that a yearning for justice against corrupt systems is as vital today as it was when Jesus "cleared the temple."

What inspired this post, however, was a "gem" unearthed in The Last Week, that I'd never considered before. As they describe the dominance of the temple and tax system in Jesus' day, Borg and Crossan tell us that the opposition to the corrupt temple dominance is announced at the beginning of Mark's gospel. John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. (Mk 1:4) The temple system, however, controlled the only legitimately sanctioned means of "forgiveness of sins." And that was through sacrifice, done only at the temple, of course.

John the baptizer, and Jesus (who thought it just as appropriate to "forgive sins" as to "heal infirmities" cf. Mk 2), subverted "the temple's essential role as the mediator of forgiveness and access to God." (p.21) I thought about all the times I've read Mark 1:4 and just considered it in individualistic terms, the way we interpret so much of the gospel. But John's ministry was a bold challenge to the system, to restore the access of grace to common, everyday people. No wonder John baptized in the wilderness at Bethany beyond the Jordan - he needed a good bit of distance between his activity and the contolling powers of the temple in Jerusalem.

Now the application of this has me wondering: in what ways is the Church perceived as "controlling" the access to grace/forgiveness in our day. What formulas, sinner's prayers, signs of repentence, etc. do we insist upon that keep the unchurched at bay. And in what ways are we breaking down barriers, to see and celebrate the grace of God in ordinary, daily lives?

The Case of the Missing Joseph

The gospel lesson for the fourth Sunday of Advent (Matthew 1:18-25) tells us of Joseph's implication in the birth of Jesus. Matthew's gospel shows an appreciation for the role of the male in that culture, who normally would not get intangled in birth matters.

The text says, "he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus." I think that didn't just mean sexual relations. In that culture, with extended families involved and the strong distinctions between male and female roles, Joseph perhaps had little contact with Mary until after the birth.

I know this idea runs contra to the idyllic picture of Joseph by Mary's side as she gives birth in the manger. But that image is mainly our projection back on to the first century culture. A Jewish male would have nothing to do with birthing. For them, not only would it violate the codes of gender roles, it was unclean, literally and ceremonially.

The beautifully done movie, The Nativity, has it wrong. It shows Joseph assisting (receiving the baby as it emerges). This is after Joseph can find no one to help. For other reasons, which I won't go into here, I don't think that's what Luke intends at all when he tells us there was no room for them in the inn.

If the little town was full of people for the census, there would have been women to come to the aid of Mary. And they would have done so, honoring the bond of women and the codes of Mideastern hospitality. Once the child had been born, a messenger would have been sent to find the father and announce the news of the birth.

I enjoy reading the work of John Pilch, who has devoted his life to the study of social behaviors and cultural norms of the Bible. So I'm sure he gets credit for many of my thoughts on this, but I'm not exactly sure what is his (and where I read it) and what I've added with my own study. But this much I do remember reading from Pilch: if baby born was a male, the messenger would joyfully announce the "good news" to the father. (If it was a girl, the messenger would try to soften the bad news with a remark like, "Perhaps the father will receive a handsome dowry for his new child.")

The messenger bearing good news plays prominently in Luke's account. Luke takes this common behavior and changes it for a very Lukan emphasis, that Jesus is the redeemer of the whole world. Instead of recording the messenger going to tell Joseph of the birth, an angelic messenger goes to the shepherds to announce "I bring you good news of great joy to all people, for unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord."

But back to Matthew, who tells us Joseph "is a righteous man," one who honors not just the letter of the law, but the spirit of the law as well. This Joseph "took her as his wife," staking his honor and his future on the promise of God. Who takes the greater risk? God, trusting Joseph will believe, or Joseph, trusting God will fulfill?

Lectionary Thoughts Matthew 3

His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire. Matt 3:13

The gospel reading for the second Sunday of Advent concludes with this verse. It is part of John the Baptist’s prophecy about the one who would follow him, the Christ.

Many years ago on a mission trip to the Dominican Republic I watched a man separate the wheat from the chaff, so to speak. I didn’t get a picture of it, but it’s an image that has stuck with me.

At the edge of the small village of Canoa, DR, I noticed a large pile of some kind of small, light brown bean piled on the dirt, covered with a green tarp. The pile was just outside a two-room, mud-brick home, not far from where we were laying blocks to build a church.

One windy morning a man approached the pile with a home-made tool that looked like a hybrid between a shovel and a rake. He would toss shovelfuls of the beans in the air, letting the wind blow away the chaff.

Such a sight was probably common in Jesus’ day, though rare for us. The man sifted the beans all morning. Then he began scooping them with his hands into a gunny sack. I remember thinking about the words, “separating the wheat from the chaff,” as I watched him.

The text makes it pretty clear that John the Baptist knew he was not the winnower, the sifter. His words are strong and direct as he admonishes different groups to get their act right. “You brood of snakes,” he calls the religious leaders. “Who warned you to flee the wrath to come. Bear fruit worthy of repentance.”

John the Baptist calls people to repentance since the kingdom of God is coming near, but his role is not to separate. As he names the truth of others, there is indeed a judgment, but it is not the judgment that writes them off or casts them aside.

In practice, that’s not an easy distinction to make, and the church hasn’t always done a good job with that either. We’re often guilty of labeling, condemning, and casting into unquenchable fire, so to speak, those who don’t measure up. How much harder it is to speak the truth in love, but to leave the winnowing to God.

And if we were appropriately busy with bearing the fruits of repentance - demonstrating justice, mercy and love in our actions – we would have less time or concern for the separating. The beans I saw sifted had substance, had weight, and fell back to the earth to be gathered in. We, however, have the ability to choose, whether our lives are lived with substance, or whether the wind will carry us away.