The Jewishness of God

This Christmas I have been hearing a lot about the Jewishness of Jesus. Radio Preachers, Seminarians, Bible Scholars, and Rob-Bell-fans have been reminding us that Mary and Joseph were Jews and that the Jewish baby Jesus was wrapped in Jewish swaddling clothes and laid in a Jewish manger. These are not particularly new this year; actually, such ruminations have been around for ages. They just seem to be appearing with greater frequency (according to my anecdotal evidence).

Why all the talk about Jews at Christmas? What is the significance of the Jewishness of Jesus?

Historicity:

I think one reason why we talk about the Jewishness of Jesus is to defend the historicity of the event of Christmas. We want to assert that this is not myth or a legend in the order of Santa Claus. This story is real flesh and blood history that took place in the time and space of the Jewish people. Such an emphasis on historicity is especially important for apologetics, as it serves to shore up a potentially floundering faith in the face of modern skeptics. The Jewishness of Jesus' birth empowers us to say, "No, this is not a myth; it really happened!"

Hermeneutics:

But historicity is not the whole picture. The apologetic concern is not the only concern. We also talk about the Jewishness of Jesus because it helps us understand the story better. Hearing about the complexities of Jewish bethrothal practices helps us to grasp why Mary and Joseph's situation was so harried. Knowing that the shepherds were were the lowest class in Jewish society helps us get the message of Luke's account. The Jewishness of Jesus helps the stories make more sense, therefore making an old story come alive.

... but ...

But I wonder if these two aspects really get at the heart of what it means to say Jesus is Jewish. I wonder what it is like for Jews to overhear Christians talk about this stuff. I wonder if Jews think we don't take the Jewishness of Jesus seriously. Because if we did, we would not just talk about historicity and hermeneutics. Why? Because as long as its just about defending and understanding the story, the Jewishness of Jesus is still just accidental to the story itself. In other words, it is not an essential or necessary aspect of the story. We are interested in Jesus' Jewishness because we are interested in Jesus, and he just happens to be Jewish. If he happened to be Filipino, Belgian, or Kazakh, then we would be studying one of these cultures. But he didn't. So we just happen talk about Jews during Christmas.

Theology:

What would it mean for the Jewishness of Jesus to be more than accidental to the Christmas story? It would start with remembering that Jesus is a Jew because he is the the fulfiller of God's covenant with Israel. He is Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Annointed One of God. These are Jewish titles, which are not just culturally interesting but theologically loaded. They remind us of the history of Israel, and that we are not talking about God-in-general but Yahweh, the God of Israel. Furthermore, Christians confess that this Jewish man Jesus Christ is the Incarnate Son of God. To put it more badly: God became a Jew. God is Jewish.

The Jewishness of God should give us pause concerning how we treat our Jewish neighbors this holiday season. More importantly, the Jewishness of God should give us pause concerning how we treat God this year. Do we really beleive that he became this man? Do we take that seriously? Does it bring out awe in our hearts? Does it color everything we do? Does it affect our picture of how God relates to his creation? Does it imply something about what it means to be human? Do we really worship the God of the Jews who became a Jew to save the Gentiles?

In light of the Jewishness of God, Christmas is also about identifying God. It did happen in history (historicity), and its cultural context helps us understand it (hermeneutics). But it also definitively and irreversibly identifies God as the God who became this Jewish man. This God, and this God alone, we celebrate this and every Christmas.

Does the Resurrection of Jesus Really Matter?

If the life and death of Jesus perfected our reconciliation with God (see below), why the resurrection? If the words "it is finished" are an apt description of the cross, why was Jesus raised? If we are saved by the blood of Jesus, who could ask for anything more?

These questions show that the way we talk about the saving significance of Christ's life and death seems to make the resurrection an afterthought. This may explain why so many modern theologians have found it so easy to question the historicity of the resurrection. Certainly they are propelled by the modern suspicion of the miraculous. But modern theologians will stand by a miracle when they feel it is needed for the integrity of the faith. Yet again and again, people have found ways to have faith in Christ without faith in the empty tomb.

And before you swiftly dismiss these modern notions of resurrection-less faith, take note of the fact that the resurrection often plays no explicit role in the faith of those who do defend it as history. Sure, they stick by it as a matter of principle, usually connected to the authority of Scripture. But do they really take seriously the function of resurrection in the economy of salvation? If the best we can do is say "The Bible says...", then we have not yet begun to explore the significance of the resurrection for us.

Well, why does the resurrection matter? I would argue that the resurrection is best understood as the revelation of who Jesus is and what he has done.

Who is Jesus in light of the resurrection? Well, people are not raised into glory just any time. For first century Jews, that's something that happens at the end of time to everyone. But to happen in the middle of time to one man shows that this man is actually the Lord and Judge of the world, seated at the right hand of God himself.

What did Jesus do in the light of the resurrection? Since God has raised him, Jesus' life and death is proven to be vindicated. He lived and died for us, achieving for us forgiveness of sins and new life. God has forgiven us in the death of Christ, and we know this to be the case because he raised him from the dead.

But what if Jesus lived and died and that was it? Would our salvation really be won? Yes! But would it do us any good? No! Upon the completion of his history, Jesus Christ now contains within himself the new life of a redeemed humanity. But how will that new life get to us? He must be raised so that what he has achieved for us may become available to us. He must traverse the barrier of time and space so that we can partake of the goods he has in his possession. It is this transition from him to us that makes the resurrection so important, so essential to the story of our redemption.

Any thoughts?

Is it true that allowing certain beliefs to go un-integrated makes them vulnerable to unbelief?
Does this account of the resurrection's significance help to make it more essential to our faith?
Is there some other way to think about the resurrection that better accounts for its significance?

Why Didn't Jesus Just Die Right Away?

If Jesus came to die for our sins, why didn't he just die right away? Why did God not ordain that his son would die under Herod's slaying of the infants? If he was the true incarnation of God in human flesh, why not die as our substitute right off the bat? Certainly he would have already been the spotless sacrifice, for who is more sinless than an innocent child?

Well, we know this is not what happened. It happened that Jesus grew up, called disciples, taught, healed. In other words, he lived before he died. So the biblical history being what it is, I have no interest in challenging its sensibility. But, in order to dive into the sense of the story, we may and even must ask why it happened the way it did. Because there must be some reason why Jesus didn't die for our sins right away.

I would guess that the initial answer to this question is that the time between his birth and death was the time of his teaching. In terms of one classic distinction, Jesus first fulfilled his prophetic office before proceeding to fulfill his priestly office. Certainly there is merit in this retort, especially as it brings to light that Christ came to do more than simply die. However, is this answer really adequate? Can Jesus' teaching and atonement be so separated? Does his life have so little to do with his death? Are his teachings just a "meantime" activity? Such an answer does not do justice to either his life or his death.

A more adequate answer to the question may be found by challenging the assumption beneath the question itself. Could Jesus really have died right away? Is the requisite substitute for our sin only God enfleshed in a sinless human being? Isn't there more to our reconciliation with God than this? Yes! The perfection of Jesus cannot be understood as a static freedom from sin. Rather, the perfection of Jesus is accomplished as a perfecting of our human life extended over history. His whole perfected history stands as a substitute for our failed histories - or, better yet, for the failed history of humanity as a whole. Check out the temptation stories (Mt 4 = Lk 4) in contrast to the Deuteronomy stories which Jesus quotes to catch a glimpse of how Jesus succeeded where we failed.

Thinking about the atonement this way not only answers the question, but avoids splitting Jesus' life and death. For Jesus in his entire history - both life and death - is our substitute. He has re-lived (or "recapitulated") the life that we did not live so that we may live again in him. And Jesus as this perfected one (with his "acquired righteousness" so to speak) has died the death we deserved so that we do not have to die.

Any thoughts?
Does this answer address the concern of the question?
Is the initial answer really as bad as I portrayed it?
How does the resurrection fit in here ... it certainly does - but how?

The Creator of the Universe and the God of Israel

Most Christians take for granted that the creator of the universe and the God of Israel are one and the same being. The one who made the heavens and the earth is the one who called Abraham. The one who brought Israel out of Egypt is the one who made man and woman in his own image. Not much debate here, at least within the hermeneutical circle of the Christian community.

But there is a subtle difference of approaching this equation that can have far reaching consequences. The question can be put this way: Is the Creator of the Universe the God of Israel, or is the God of Israel the Creator of the Universe? In other words, which is given priority: the universality of the divine creator or the particularity of the divine covenant? Let's take a look at each view in turn.

The Creator of the Universe is the God of Israel

The point here is that we all know something about the creator of the universe. There is a general human common ground here. Christians come along and say, "Hey, that thing you call 'God,' or 'The Ultimate,' or 'The Supreme Being' happens to be the God who linked himself up with the history of Israel culminating in Jesus Christ."

The advantage to this way of speaking is that the universal scope of God's reign is emphasized. Also, a point of contact is established between people's assumptions about divinity and their fulfillment in Scriptural revelation. The disadvantage is that the particular history of Israel can be construed as a mere "illustration" of what is already true between God and the world, rendering it superfluous. Also, the unique claims of Christ are harder to hold up when the universality of God is already assumed.

The God of Israel is the Creator of the Universe

The point here is that if there is a specific revelation of God we should start there, before moving on to the larger implications of who God is in relation to the world. God has chosen to focus his dealings with creation and humanity on the one little nation of Israel. Through this nation he desires to bless all the nations of the world. But this particular history always remains in the foreground, even as God opens up his covenant to the Gentiles.

The advantage to this way of thinking is that the particular identity of God is emphasized. Thus one is not caught in the forecourt of philosophical questions of whether God exists or what God is like, but rather turns directly to who God is. Also, this view can serve to support claims about the uniqueness of Jesus the Jew. The disadvantage of this approach is that one is always tangled up in questions of the scope of mercy outside the history of covenant (e.g., "what about the man on the desert Island?)". Also, this view has a harder time building bridges across cultural boundaries because the identity of God is so tied to the particularly cultural history of Israel

What do you think?
Is the Creator of the Universe the God of Israel?
Or is the God of Israel the Creator of the Universe?
How do you decide?
In what ways does this distinction play itself out practically?
For instance, do you communicate the Gospel differently in each case?Is there something missing from this discussion?
Is there a way to use both of these approaches?

Mission is the Mother of Theology: Problem, Permanent, or Perpetual?

You may have heard it said, "Christian doctrine is really just baptized Greek philosophy." Let's take a look at this claim and consider how one might respond to it.

In order to curb the pejorative tone of this accusation, it is important to note the motive behind Christian use of Greek philosophy. In an important early twentieth century essay, Martin Kahler declared, "Mission is the mother of theology." What he meant by this is that the early church first began to theologize (explicit reflection on its teaching) in response to the missional encounter of the gospel in new cultures. In other words, the early Christians embedded their claims into the language and mind-set of its pagan mission field in order to bring them into the fold. Such mission-driven theology can be seen at work specifically in the intertwining of Greco-Roman culture and the Hebrew Scriptures, first in an incipient form in the New Testament and later in the full-blown synthesis of Trinitarian and Christological doctrines.

Most people would not quarrel with whether this happened. It is certainly an aspect of the historical development of Christianity. The question is what to do about it now that it is the case. What do we do with all this Greek philosophy commingled with classic Christian doctrine? As I see it, there are three logical options:

(1) Problematic - One view would be that the existence of Greek ideas in Christian doctrine is a problem to be solved. One might be charitable enough to say that this synthesis was innocent in its day, but it must be eradicated now. Greek philosophy is dated at best, and pernicious at worst. We must clear off the husk of cultural expression and get back to the kernel of Gospel truth. In Kahler's terms: mission is the mother of theology, but theology has grown up and no longer needs its mother.

(2) Permanent - The opposite view would be that the synthesis achieved by the early Christians is the essential form of Christianity. There was no Christianity properly-so-called until this encounter took place. Orthodoxy's dependence on Greek philosophy is therefore not a problem to be solved but a relationship to be explored. To retrieve a robust Christian faith in our day requires a simultaneous retrieval of the insights of Greek philosophy and culture. In Kahler's terms: mission is the mother of theology, and thou shalt honor thy mother.

(3) Perpetual - There is a third view that the cultural embedding of the gospel is a perpetual process that must occur over and over again. On each new mission field, theology once again does its work of reflecting on the gospel and its claims in the new context. This is a hybrid view, for on the one hand it agrees with the first view that past cultural expressions are not normative, while on the other hand it does not disparage those cultural expressions for what they are. In Kahler's terms: mission is the mother of theology, and each new mission is the mother of a new theology.

What do you think?
Would you agree that mission is the mother of theology?
Is this a fair account of the possible responses to this fact?
Is there a possible response not listed?
Toward which approach do you lean? Why?
Should we make use of all of these options in a case-specific manner? If so, which options go with which issues?

Traveling Light

I have been a backpacker since I could walk. One of the most important principles of backpacking is weight. It is not just how fit the hiker is (though that helps), but how light the hiker is. Certainly this applies to the weight of one’s body. But the more relevant variable is the weight of one’s pack. If your pack is heavy, so are you, and every pound – every ounce – slows you down. So when I prep for backpacking, I cut my toothbrush in half, count calories per ounce in my food, and (most importantly) leave behind supposed “necessities.”

Of course, I am not the only one who does this. Traveling light has become a bit of a fad. Not only in backpacking, but life in general – including matters of faith. Christians around the globe are searching for a “churchless Christianity” or “Jesus without the church.” [Note: The fact that this fad is not actually new does not concern me here; I am less interested with the genetics of this pattern and more with its current form].

I think traveling light in matters of faith is a good idea. I have no vested interest in preserving the institutional church as-is. Cutting away excess is the heart of reform in every age, and I willingly and joyfully participate in such a move.

But, traveling light is not an end in itself. What would you say if I packed a 9-pound dry pack, then sat at home and watched a James Bond marathon? You would rightfully jeer, because reaching a light pack is no achievement in and of itself. It is a means to an end. The goal is to hike more miles. I pack light only in order to travel light.

The same applies in matters of faith. Freeing oneself from the shackles of ungenerous orthodoxy or institutional preservation are no accomplishments themselves. It’s actually quite easy and rather unimpressive. I will save my applause for those who develop doctrine and transform institutions in service of the church’s mission. The church is sent to proclaim Christ and do his work to the ends of the earth. As Matthew 10, Acts 15, and the whole Epistle to the Galatians attest, there are doctrines and practices that unnecessarily hinder the mission. A truly missional church will joyfully put itself under this kind of Gospel-centered criticism.

So what does this look like? Well, it starts with not giving up on the church. Then the next step is to follow criticism with construction. Tell us what’s wrong, but tell us more about how to do it right. The path to construction comes by mulling over one’s criticism with these questions in mind: What about this doctrine or practice bothers me? Is the motivation for my criticism truly missional? If so, what does the missional alternative look like? And if you are not willing to enter into these constructive reflections, then maybe you should consider putting your criticisms on the shelf. For goodness sake, if you are not going to hike, stop cutting your toothbrush in half!

What do you think?
Is traveling light a good idea?
Does a missional understanding help?
How can we avoid the twin dangers of institutionalism and spiritualism?
Am I right that criticism without construction is incomplete?
How else might one move from criticism to construction?

Where is Jesus?

A friend of mine was babysitting and asked the kid "Have you asked Jesus into your heart?" He promptly replied, "Yes!" After a pause, the kid got a puzzled look on his face and asked, "Who lives in my ear?"

Although amusing, the innocent literalism of this child challenges our linguistic habits. What do we mean when we say that Jesus lives within us? Do we really take this seriously? And if we do, what happens to our belief that Jesus was raised from the dead? How can an embodied person be present in us?

This puzzle first hit me a few years back, but I have yet to "solve" it. However, I do have a better sense of the options and what is at stake than I used to. So here goes a crash course in the debate surrounding the bodily presence of Jesus.

Either: Jesus is in heaven

After Jesus was raised in bodily form, he ascended to the right hand of God the father, from whence he will come to judge the living and the dead. Thus Jesus' body is locally present at the right hand of the Father. He has "ascended to the heavenlies." Jesus can be said to be present in us only in the form of his Spirit. Any presence between the believer and Christ is to be understood spiritually. We will only be bodily present to one another at the end of time when he returns.

The advantage of this view is that it holds on dearly to the genuine bodily resurrection of Christ. It also gives a significant place to the Holy Spirit in the relationship between Christ and the Christian. The disadvantage of this view is that Jesus' body appears to be "trapped" in heaven. He lacks the freedom proper to his divinity. He is present only in Spirit, but is that a genuine presence? Is that any different than me being "present" to my friends in California because they are thinking about me? Furthermore, this view merely begs another question: Where is heaven? Is heaven in outer space, tucked behind Saturn? Is heaven even a place at all?

Or: Jesus is everywhere

The alternative view is that Jesus' raised body takes on the properties of divinity, and thus is capable of being omnipresent. Jesus in his glorified form can be bodily present beyond the usual boundaries of space. Thus Jesus really is present to us and in us. This is certainly a mystery, but it is a mystery based on a promise: "lo I will be with you to the very end of the age" and "wherever two or three are gathered, there I will be in the midst of them." So the right hand of God the Father is not some place, but a symbol of the divine power by which Jesus is present.

The advantage of this view is that it can take with radical seriousness the biblical claims to Christ's presence with the believer. It also avoids splitting up the body and spirit of Jesus. The disadvantage is that an omnipresent body is an unthinkable thought. What makes a body a body is that it is bounded by space. A body that is everywhere ceases to be a body. Furthermore, one wonders how the Holy Spirit fits into this equation. Why did Jesus ascend and pour out his Spirit if he is already omnipresent by virtue of his resurrection? On this view, the cosmic narrative of Jesus falls into redundancy.

What do you think?

Is Jesus localized in heaven?
Or is Jesus everywhere?
Which view's advantages outweigh its disadvantages?
Can one view assimilate the concerns of the other?
Is there a third view?
Should the question be reframed? For instance, are these views rigidly spatial and so need to be supplemented by temporal questions?
What else should be taken into account?

Is "God" in the Old Testament the Father or the Trinity?

If the purpose of theology is to make us better readers of Scripture (which I believe), then this is one area where the opposite seems to be the case. The interface between the Trinity and the Old Testament wreaks havoc on the intelligibility of both. The doctrine itself is entirely absent (I'm not one of those who would attempt to "prove" the Trinity from the OT, let alone the New) and hence an imposition on the text. But the OT too loses intelligibility, at least if one is trying to read it in Christian terms (which is not necessarily the only way to read the OT, but must be at least a way).

The nub of the problem is this question: Is "God" in the OT the Father or the whole Trinity?

Option #1: God is the Father

The advantage to this formulation is that it quickly solves the problem by relegating all trinitarian interpretation to the NT. The God of the OT, the one who brought Israel out of Egypt, is the Father of Jesus Christ. The intelligibility of the text is protected against the imposition of later doctrinal developments.

The disadvantage to this formulation is that the doctrine of the Trinity is rendered unintelligible. The whole purpose of the doctrine of the Trinity is to ensure the divinity of the Son and the Spirit, who must be divine in order to bring us salvation and revelation. If the Son is not “there” in the OT, then he is not really “there” in the eternal triune God. Jesus ends up being one historical manifestation of one God, not the incarnation of the second person of the Trinity.

Option #2: God is the Trinity

The advantage to this formulation is that a robust doctrine of the Trinity is maintained. God in the OT is the eternal triune God acting in time with his people Israel. The fatherhood of God is not just a metaphor for the being of God, but is linked to his eternal fathering of the son. The incarnation is not some questionable add-on, but the fulfillment of his eternal design.

The disadvantage to this formulation is obvious: the triune God is nowhere to be found on the pages of the OT text. Only forced exegesis finds the Trinity in the OT. So those who hold this position are cornered into talking about the Trinity being “hidden” during this time. Theological problems abound as well, for the Son becomes detached from his historical incarnation and thus his human particularity can be questioned.

What do you think?

Which one is better?
Which one is worse?
Is there a way to hold on to both?
Is there a third option?

Providence and Predestination

I have noticed a pattern regarding the combination of two complex doctrines: providence and predestination. The two are of course related, providence being the secret divine willing of all events and predestination the eternal election of who will be saved. It is precisely their close proximity that makes the pattern of popular belief so striking. So here's my desciption of how I have observed church folk approach these problems.

Neither Providence nor Predestination - A lot of folks either practically or theoretically reject the two doctrines. Certainly God is not behind everything. Certainly our free will is sufficiently powerful in both mundane and salvific matters. Certainly God's hands are tied by our decisions.

Both Providence and Predestination - Of course, you have the other extreme in what I call "street" calvinists, who piously affirm both the election to salvation and the ordination of all events. Thus you have the legend of the puritan woman who fell down the stars only to say "I'm glad I got that out of the way." There are surely more sophisticated ways of contruing the relationship between these two doctrines. But I am trying to describe common belief and practice here.

Providence without Predestination - Here's where it gets peculiar. The potential extremity of the above views is at least commended for its consistency. But the fact of the matter is a large segment of church folk affirm providence without predestination. So you have folks who firmly believe that God has a particular will for their life and they need to find it. They piously approach suffering and death as "God's will." Yet when it comes to salvation, they are extreme Arminians, proudly claiming free will and a full capacity to accept or reject salvation. They have somehow found a way to separate the pair in their minds, or at least in their lives.

Predestination without Providence - But it gets weirder. You have the opposite combination as well. There are many among us who will go the wall defending God's utter predestination of souls unto salvation, yet affirm complete autonomy in all other matters. These folks might even quote the famous line of Luther's from The Bondage of the Will, wherein he exclaims (in his usual tongue-in-cheek manner) that yes, humans have free will ... to hammer a nail, to go to the market, to get up from bed ... but in matters of salvation we are utterly dependent on God. This can be a very "respectable" position, because one affirms divine sovereignty where it counts for the traditional battle, but can take a world-affirming, humanist viewpoint on all other matters.


The funny thing about this pattern is that it displays our ability to sustain "happy inconsistencies." We have found a way to have our theological cake and eat it too. And maybe I shouldn't spoil the fun, because consistency isn't the only theological virtue. However, one wonders if we have any coherent sense of who God is if we think he works in two completely different ways depending on whether it is a matter of salvation or not. Is this really the God we serve?

Am I on to something here?
Is this pattern descriptively adequate?
Could you think of examples that fit nicely into this pattern?
What am I missing?
Which is the best approach?
Are we doomed to some 'happy inconsistencies' to avoid extremes?
Or is there a way to affirm both without becoming deterministic? If so, how?

New Items Posted Regularly at The Writing of John Drury

Two new items have been posted at The Writing of John Drury, my collected writings page. Just two formal seminar papers on the knowledge of God, one on Calvin and one on Barth. If you are into that sort of thing, check them out here under "hotspot." If you have comments, leave them at this post.