The Seven Words from the Cross, Part V - I am thirsty (John 19:28)

We are past halfway done with our series on the seven last words of Jesus (you can click the following links for the first four words, click here: I, II, III, IV). The next two words come from the Gospel of John: "I am thirsty" and "It is finished." They appear close together and are related, but we will following the traditional arrangement by treating them separately.

After this, knowing that all things had already been completed, Jesus, in order to complete the Scripture, said, "I am thirsty." A jar full of sour wine was standing there; so they put a sponge full of the sour wine upon a branch of hyssop and brought it up to His mouth.

- John 19:28-29

Now storytellers have to make selections. They can't just tell every little detail that happened. They have to pick the most salient details. So any story the evangelists bother to tell they probably tell for a reason. Despite our perennial interest in the gory details, they give us very little by way of the physical aspects of Jesus' passion and death. Yet John bothers to mention that Jesus declares his thirst from the cross. He was probably also tired, hungry, short of breath and in agonizing pain. But they don't tell us about this. They do, however, tell us he was thirsty. Or, should I say, he tells us he is thirsty.

Why does John bother to tell us this? What is the significance of Jesus' declaration of his thirst?

Well, it probably won't surprise you that, since we are dealing with John's Gospel, there's probably some subtle (and not-so-subtle) symbolism going on here. The interpretative problem here is not so much whether there is a symbolic gesture here but which symbolic gesture is the key to understanding the passage. There are a number of possible symbolic connections to other Johannine themes and Old Testament motifs. Perhaps all of these are operating at some level. However, some prioritizing judgments probably need to be made to interpret the passage coherently. Let me just note some of the symbolic possibilities of some key elements of the passage for you to consider in your own wrestling with the text.

First of all, there is the rather obvious reference to Jesus doing this so that the Scriptures being fulfilled (technically "completed," but more on that next week). But what Scripture is fulfilled by Jesus saying he is thirsty? He does not appear to be directly quoting any specific verse.

There are two standard options given by interpreters. The first is that there is a reference being made here to Psalm 69:22, "for my thirst they gave to me vinegar to drink." That gets the language of "thirst" in play as well as the reference to "vinegar," which is what Jesus drinks. The second is that the dry mouth of Psalm 22:16 is being echoed here. Given the detail, the former is probably more likely. But the latter cannot be ruled given the significance of Psalm 22 throughout the passion narratives of all four Gospels and early Christian preaching. Perhaps John is playing off both. Whatever Scripture is being alluded to here, the point is that the mode of Jesus' death is a fulfillment of Scripture. That means it is not an accident. Jesus didn't just have a bad weekend in Jerusalem. Nor was it even a bad thing which God later made into something good, as we so often speak of evils in our lives. Rather, Jesus was knowingly and willingly fulfilling the plan of God in his death.

Second, there is the opening line that Jesus says this knowing that everything had been completed. Now this taps into a larger theme in John concerning Jesus' knowledge of his mission. The last events of his life are introduced by a similar reference to Jesus knowing that the time had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father (13:1). Later, Jesus is said to know all the things that were about to happen to him as he initiates the arrest sequence (18:4). Earlier in the gospel of John there is much talk of Jesus' knowledge of the Father and of the Father's will for him. This theme reaches its apex here, were Jesus is said to know that the things which he was sent to do have taken place. They are completed.

Noting this thematic connection is important because it seems to imply that Jesus says he is thirsty in order to "wrap things up" so to speak. The declaration of his thirst is not intended as window into his experience on the cross, but rather as a witness to his own freedom and purposiveness. Jesus is Lord even in his death. Regnum crucis: he reigns from the cross. "I lay down my life ... no one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down" (10:17b-18a).

Third, there is what he is given to drink in response to his thirst. The vinegar bit seems clearly linked to the Scriptural fulfillment, and it is shared with some other gospel writers. But John makes a major change from the synoptics by indicating that the vinegar was not given to Jesus via a "reed" but on a "branch of hyssop." This change should catch our attention. The possibility of a symbolic connection here is hard to miss, for hyssop appears throughout the Old Testament, most significantly in Exodus 12:22 in conjunction with the Passover Lamb. Now we don't want to make a theological mountain out of a textual molehill, but this symbolic reading is validated by the repeated references to the Passover Lamb through the book of John (cf. 1:29; 19:14; 19:33, 36). So it is reasonable to suggest that John is narratively presenting Jesus as the true Passover Lamb, even as he has been presented as the true King and true Priest earlier in the passion narrative.

Fourth and finally, there is the significance of thirst itself. John loves to talk about thirsting, drinking, pouring, etc. It is a very liquid gospel. And not just passing references to water baptism and changing water into wine, but whole discourses playing off thirsting and drinking, such as Jesus' conversation with the Samaritan woman (John 4), the streams of living water that flow from those that come to him (John 7:37-38), and the cup which Jesus is resolved to drink (18:11). Thirsting and drinking are intimately connected with what Jesus was sent to give to us and give up for us. He thirsts as the one who gives us drink. He takes our bitter cup (and takes it away!), and gives us his fresh, living waters, which flow from his side. Blessed is he who hungers and thirsts for righteousness, for he shall be filled.

Any thoughts?
Are there some interpretative possibilities that I have neglected to mention?
Do you find some of these interpretative possibilities more plausible than the others?
Is there any one aspect mentioned above that you think is the key for understanding this word from the cross?
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The Seven Words from the Cross, Part IV - My God, My God, Why have your forsaken me?

Here we come the central word spoken by Jesus from the cross: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" I mean "central" in at least three senses. It comes fourth out of seven in the traditional ordering Jesus' last words, and so it is numerically central. It is the only word from the cross spoken in Matthew and Mark, and so it is the central word within its original literary context. And over the centuries heated debate has surrounded its meaning and significance, and so it is found at the center of controversy.

What are some of the different ways of interpreting this passage? Well, as I see it, there are a number of layers to the options. Certain options open up certain problems that need to be addressed. I will try to follow these lines out, at least with respect to the third main option.

First of all, there is the big question of how "literally" to take this statement of Jesus. Was Jesus really abandoned? Three basic options emerge.

First, one could say that Jesus was neither abandoned nor did he think he was. There are a number of ways to support this claim, but a common one is to note that Jesus is quoting the beginning of Psalm 22. The end of Psalm 22 contains a strong statement of confidence in God's salvation, so we have good reason to interpret Jesus' statement in the context of confidence. Jesus dies in full confidence that God will sort things out (e.g., raise him from the dead). Although some find this appeal to Psalm 22 to be a stretch, there is ample evidence that the New Testament writers were well aware of broader contexts and connotations that came with their quotations and allusions. However, the fact that Jesus says this with a "loud cry" must be taken seriously. Also, the fact that the bystanders heard it as a cry for help is not irrelevant (though they misunderstood to whom he was crying out).

Second, one could say that Jesus felt abandoned by God while in fact he was not. This mediating interpretation tries to take seriously Jesus' suffering while at the same time avoiding the troubling implication that God abandoned Jesus. God did not abandon Jesus, but was with him all along. God's purpose for Jesus was that he would taste God-abandonment, if only for a moment. The apocalyptic signs that immediately follow Jesus' death (the tearing of the veil, the opening of the graves, etc.) show that God has not abandoned him, but has acted decisively. Although there is something to be said for God's continued hidden presence with Christ, this distinction between "feeling" and "fact" may be difficult to sustain. Does this reduce talk of God-abandonment to a mere state of consciousness? Is Jesus' state of consciousness really the point? Does this really tell us anything about the meaning of Jesus' death?

Third, one could say that Jesus was in some sense abandoned by God. On the other end of the spectrum from the "veiled statement of confidence" reading above is that Jesus in this word reveals his God-abandonment. God for some reason has abandoned Jesus in some sense. This reading takes this word from the cross in its strongest sense, and has the distinct advantage of opening up avenues for reflection on the meaning of Jesus' death on the cross. However, this strong sense requires one answer a number of difficult follow-up questions, many of which may be simply avoided by going with one of the previous two options.

There are at least three follow-up questions that must be asked of those who take this third option. There are multiple possible answers to each of these questions, which I will only mention. Each of these lines of questioning help to fill out in what sense Jesus was abandoned by God.

First, one must ask, "By whom was Jesus abandoned?" Obviously, Jesus addresses his "God." But how should we take this? Should we just treat this as God in an unspecified sense? Or should we understand it to be the Father? Or should we claim, as some have, that Jesus' own divinity (the Logos/Son) abandoned him on the cross? I lean towards the second option (Father), because the first is theologically vacuous and the third creates a split in Jesus' personality. But those who take this second option have to account for the striking shift away from Jesus' usual "Father" language. I think that can be done without much trouble, because he is using the language of Psalm 22, and he's probably not feeling very familial to God the Father at this moment. But I have to admit that the answer to this question is not immediately obvious.

Second, one must ask, "To what was Jesus abandoned?" Was he abandoned to failure, in the sense God did not help him in his struggle against evil on the cross? Was he abandoned to death, in the sense that the Father did not join him in his sojourn among the dead? Was he abandoned to judgment, in the sense that God placed on him his wrath against sin? Was it some or all of these? Answering this question is connected with the thorny question of the "time" between Jesus' death and resurrection: What was he doing? Where was he? Can we even talk of the time, place and activity of the dead? What is the meaning and significance of his descent?

Third, one must ask, "For what reason was Jesus abandoned?" It is interesting to note that a literal rendering of Mark's Greek would read, "for what reason have you abandoned me?" and a literal rendering of Matthew's Greek would read, "to what purpose have you abandoned me?" If we take the content of Jesus' cry of dereliction seriously, then we must also take its interrogative form seriously too. It is a question. Perhaps it is a rhetorical question. But it may in fact be answerable. Why did God abandon Jesus? For his own pleasure? (I hope not.) For our salvation? (I hope so.) If the latter, how can this be? How does God-abandonment serve God's saving purpose? Is it because abandonment is a trick to enter the sphere of sin, death and the devil in order to defeat it? Is it because Jesus is suffering our punishment in our place? Is it because sin is somehow extinguished through his death in God-abandonment? Is it some or all of these?

I think I've raised enough questions for us all to think on for a while. I think its the nature of this word from the cross that it raises many questions. I've hinted at how I would answer some of these? How about you?

Any thoughts?
How do you answer the first main question, and why?
How do you answer the follow-up questions, and why?
What other questions does this word from the cross raise?
_

The Seven Words from the Cross, Part III - Woman, here is your son... Here is your mother

This week let's reflect on Jesus' word from the cross spoken to his mother and the beloved disciple, which comes third in the traditional ordering. It goes a little something like this:

Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus then saw his mother, and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son!" Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother!" From that hour the disciple took her into his own. (John 19:25b-27)

Now, of all the words from the cross, this may seem the most out place. Surely others involve some interpretative difficulties (e.g., stay tuned next week on God-forsakenness). Yet even the most difficult still seem to have some direct bearing on the meaning of Jesus' death. But what significance is there in a story of Jesus finding a place for his mom to stay? It just seems out of place.

And even as it stands alone it is sort of odd. I mean, you have a guy being brutally tortured and he has the wherewithal to make arrangements for his mother. And his way of doing it is sort of abrupt: "Woman, behold!" Plus, why entrust her to one of his disciples? Why does she not go with one of Jesus' brothers, with whom his mother is often associated in the gospels? It's just sort of odd.

The out-of-place-ness of this odd story has contributed to the wide variety of interpretations that have been developed over the centuries. Let me list a few just to get the conversation going.

(1) The Etiological Interpretation. An etiological story is one that explains the origins of something. Some have interpreted this passage in conjunction with the tradition that John took Mary with him to Ephesus. Even if this tradition developed much later, one could see how some kind of etiological reading might befit the intention in this passage. It is clear from other portions of this gospel that the fourth evangelists is concerned with the authority and position of the beloved disciple (presumably John), especially vis-a-vis Peter. A story revealing that Jesus and John were so close that Jesus would entrust his mother to John could function as a one more piece of evidence securing the apostolic authority of John. I think this is an interesting line of interpretation, and should not be ignored. However, it does little to draw out the theological significance of this word from the cross (unless, perchance, I'm missing something; if so, please instruct me). So this reading alone will not do.

(2) The Family Values Interpretation. This might also be called the "Mother's Day" interpretation. The focus here is on Jesus' compassionate care for his mother at his death. Even though he is suffering, he is thinking of others before himself. He makes sure that his mother is taken care of after his death. Such a line of interpretation highlights Jesus' compassion and concern. It also serves as a example to us, that we too should take care of our families, especially the previous generations. This way of reading could also be linked with Marian piety, so as to highlight the affectionate relationship between Jesus and his mother. This line of interpretation has a lot of positive application for contemporary life. However, I have my doubts as to exegetical adequacy. In their cultural context, Jesus' addressing her as "woman," though not rude, is certainly not affectionate familial talk. Furthermore, in the literary context of John's gospel, Jesus' mother simply does not play the big role we are used to her playing, say, in Luke-Acts. She is never named "Mary." She only appears twice. Given the evidence, this line of interpretation, though perhaps not wholly wrong, lacks sufficient textual support.

(3) The Renunciation Interpretation. This way of reading the passage is directly opposed to the previous option. Instead of a story about Jesus' care for his mother, this passage can actually be read as a renunciation of family ties. Jesus at this crucial moment denies his familial relationship with his mother. He does not talk to her nor treat her as mother. She is rather among the women gathered at the cross, making her a (potential) disciple. This would fit a number of other episodes throughout the gospels that indicate a strained relationship between Jesus and his family. When they come to see him speak, he asks, "Who are my mother and my brothers?" Then he points to his disciples and says, "Here are my mother and my brothers. Whoever does the will of God is my brother and mother" (cf. Mark 3:31-34; Matt 12:46-50). Though it makes a great point about the primacy of discipleship over family ties, these were certainly harsh words to hear for Jesus' biological family. The same could be said of this word from the cross. Family ties are broken for the sake of discipleship. I think there is a necessary truth that must be heard in this line of interpretation. To ignore Jesus' repeated and absolute prioritization of discipleship over family is to miss the costliness of discipleship (cf. Luke 9:57-62). However, I am not sure if it fully illuminates the significance of this particular story. Why does he make this point at his cross? And why does he link his mother and John so explicitly? I think the general point stands as a crucial background assumption. But it does not fully explain the story.

(4) The Symbolic Interpretation. It is telling that this passage can be read in such opposed directions. I think this points to the mysterious complexity of this passage. And I think there may be a reading which takes into account the apparent contradiction between the "family values" and "renunciation" interpretations. However, doing so requires a more "symbolic" reading of the passage, which of course brings it own interpretative problems. Such a symbolic reading would first note that John's Gospel is highly symbolic. Places, characters, things, sayings, events, and even the sequence of the stories are rendered with a deeply Jewish symbolic imagination. Next, one would note that this symbolic imagination seems to apply to Jesus' mother, who is not a character in her own right (ala Luke's Mary) but some kind of cipher. Although she only appears twice, the episodes are in a parallel position within the chiastic structure of the gospel as a whole: the wedding of Cana is the second story after the prologue, whereas the passion narrative is the second to last story before the epilogue. In both, she is addressed as "woman," just like the Samaritan woman in John 4. So, in a manner similar to the symbolism of John 4, the mother of Jesus may be a symbol of Israel as God's chosen bride. As such, this old woman being "taken in" by the young man John, who is a symbol of the church, is a symbolic rendering of Jesus' claim that when he is lifted up he will draw all men to himself. Jew and Gentile are brought together as mother and son at the foot of the cross. This reading is able to draw together Johannine themes in such a way that it casts light on the meaning of the cross. And in so doing it includes the previous interpretations, so that John's authority is highlighted as a symbol of Jesus' delegation of authority to the church, Jesus' affection for his mother is highlighted as his affection for his people Israel, and Jesus' renunciation of family ties is highlighted as a symbol of the new bonds created in the church. However, after spelling it out, it sure seems difficult to sustain such a convoluted symbolic train of thought. This should not in principle rule it out, because the right interpretation may very well be a difficult one. But as a general rule, the simplest explanation is preferable. So for all its explanatory value, this line of interpretation must be flagged as cumbersome.

Any thoughts?
Do you have any interesting observations about the passage?
What lines of interpretation are missing from this typology?
Which reading do you prefer, and why?
What additional arguments and evidence could be brought to bear on evaluating these options?
_

The Seven Words from the Cross, Part II - Today you will be with me in paradise

Last week we introduced our Lenten series on the Seven Words from the Cross. The second word in the tradition also comes from Luke. Let's look at this word in context:

39One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: "Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!" 40But the other criminal rebuked him. "Don't you fear God," he said, "since you are under the same sentence? 41We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong." 42Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.[a]" 43Jesus answered him, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise."

Here's a few thoughts that come to mind when I read this passage.

(1) Solidarity

The first thing that stands out to me is that Jesus is found here hanging between two criminals, or "wrongdoers." In Mark and Matthew, they are referred to as "bandits." We are not just talking about "thieves," as it is typically put, which might be romanticized ala Robin Hood. No, these are violent criminals. They had to make enough trouble to get the attention of the Roman officials and their "make-an-example-out-of-you" form of punishment, crucifixion. Remembering this makes it all the more striking that Jesus is found with them. He has submitted himself to association with criminals. Of course, we've seen this trajectory all along in Jesus' life, as he eat with tax collectors and sinners and welcomes prostitutes into other people's homes. At here at the culmination of his mission he is found alongside the worst of the worst. He is in solidarity with sinners. The point for us as we reflect on the cross is to be reminded for whom Christ died. He came to seek and save the lost. Are there those whom we've deemed beyond the pale? Are we willing to see ourselves as truly lost and in need of redemption?

(2) Innocence

The second thing that jumps out at me is that the content of the other criminal's confession. He does not say anything about Jesus' identity as the Son of God. He does not discuss Jesus' Messianic status or his ability to save them from their predicament. He merely indicates Jesus' innocence. They, he admits, deserve their punishment. But he does not. He is innocent. He has does nothing wrong. He is punished unjustly, for he is just. This fits Luke's way of telling the story of Jesus, for upon Jesus' death the Roman centurion does not say "surely this was the son of God" as he does in Matthew and Mark, but rather says "surely this man was righteous." And throughout Luke-Acts emphasis is laid on the uprightness of Jesus and his followers by both Jewish and Gentile standards. Apparently it is important that Jesus is righteous, and the criminal is a witness to Jesus' righteousness. Unlike the sinners with whom he is found, Jesus is innocent.

(3) Solidarity + Innocence = Promise

When you add together the first two observations, you get the good news of the gospel: that he who knew no sin came among sinners for us that we might be called the righteousness of God. The one truly righteous one became the one true sinner, so that sinners might be made righteous. And so Jesus can turn and speak this promise to the criminal, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." The innocent one is with us sinners so that we sinners may be with him in the innocence of paradise. Sinners may come to him because he first came to them. His solidarity with us and his innocence for us are the ground of his promise to us.

Any thoughts?
- Does this line of reflection illuminate this word from the cross?
- What function does Luke's emphasis on the righteousness/innocence of Jesus have?
- What thoughts have you had about the criminals alongside Jesus?
- What are some additional observations that would add to, adjust, or go against this line of reflection?
_

The Seven Words from the Cross, Part I - Father, forgive them, for they known not what they do

Lent begins next week on Ash Wednesday. This Lent I am going to do a series of reflections on the so-called seven last words of Jesus. I say "so-called" because they do not in fact appear together in the gospels. Rather, each gospel has its own set of words from the cross. In the context of Good Friday liturgies, however, these words have been collected together. I will follow the traditional ordering in this series because it makes sufficient narrative sense. But since they are a collection of lines from different narratives, we'll need to be careful as we go along to understand each of these statements in their original literary and historical context.

Well, enough throat-clearing, here are some thoughts on the first word:

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do (Luke 23:34).

Our first word comes from the book of Luke. Interestingly, so does the last word in the traditional ordering. Coming first fits, because Luke places this line at the beginning of Jesus' crucifixion: "When they came to the place called the Skull, there they crucified him, along with the criminals—one on his right, the other on his left. Jesus said, 'Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing'" (Lk 23:33-34a). What is the meaning of this first word of Jesus from the cross? What is its significance for understanding his death?

Father ...

I think it is significant that Jesus' first word from the cross is a word of invocation. He addresses his father in prayer. This places the whole event of the cross as one which takes place before the face of God the father. The cross is first and foremost not about us, but about God. It is about us. We'll get to that. But the reason why this tragic event of history that took place there and then can be an event that took place for us here and now is that is is an event in the life of God. The incarnate son of God died before the face of God the father.

The cross does not only begin in prayer, it also ends in prayer. The last word in the traditional ordering, which also comes from Luke, reads "Father, into thy hands I commit my spirit." Furthermore, the central word in the traditional ordering, which is the only word spoken from the cross in Matthew and Mark, is "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" So, we could say not only that the event of the cross is set in the context of prayer, but also that the event of the cross is an act of prayer. In his death, Jesus addresses God.

So, if the cross of Christ is a prayer, what kind of prayer is it? Well, to answer that question we must return to the content of the first word.

... forgive them ...

Jesus does not ask to be delivered from the cross. He already got his answer to that question in the Garden of Gethsemane. Rather, he asks for forgiveness, not for himself but for those who are crucifying him. When you think about what they were doing to him, it is all the more striking that Jesus asks that they would be forgiven. Jesus asks that his torturers and killers be forgiven. Now that is a true act of mercy.

We might ask ourselves about the scope of the referent of "them." For whom was Jesus asking forgiveness? Was it only for his executioners? Or was Jesus also in some sense asking forgiveness for any and all sinners? Was Jesus praying, "Father, forgive them," on our behalf too? Perhaps. Just raising the question helps to expand how we think of the work of the cross. We often speak of the cross as Christ's vicarious suffering--his suffering on our behalf. And we are right to do so. But we might also speak of the cross as Christ's vicarious repentance--his turning to God and asking for mercy on our behalf. Some have developed whole atonement theories along these lines. I am not necessarily endorsing these views, but I think it is worth thinking through this side of Christ's work on the cross. Another way of putting it is that Christ's priestly office includes both a sacrificial and intercessory aspect. However it is conceptualized, the point is that there is a deep connection between Jesus' prayer, his cross, and our forgiveness.

... for they know not what they do.

I have always found this clause to be odd. Isn't it enough to ask that they be forgiven? Why does it matter than they do not know what they are doing? Is it their ignorance that makes them candidates for forgiveness? Is Jesus assuming a distinction between intentional and non-intentional sin? And is it really true that they do not know what they are doing? Are they accidentally nailing him to the cross? Are they inadvertently lifting him up so that he will suffocate? It seems at first glance that this clause undermines the seriousness of the sin which Jesus is asking his father to forgive.

Of course, they do know they are crucifying Jesus. In that sense, they know what they are doing. So this must mean something else. And, in another sense, we can say that they do not know what they are doing because they do not know the one to whom they are doing it. They know they are crucifying a Jew. But they do not know that they are crucifying King of the Jews. They know they are crucifying a man named Jesus. But they do not know that they are crucifying the Messiah, the Christ. They know they are crucifying a man. But they know not that they are crucifying the very Son of God. And so the Jewish man Jesus, who is the King, the Christ, and the Son of God, pleads to his father to forgive his killers, for they know not who he is and therefore do not know what they are really doing.

Any thoughts?
Is it helpful to thinking of the cross as a prayer?
What is the scope of Christ's word of forgiveness from the cross?
Is Jesus' true identity the "unknown factor" in the final clause, or is there some better explanation?
_

On Hiatus for January

I will be on hiatus from writing weekly thoughts here at drulogion for the month of January. But I'll be back in February! In the meantime, you can acquaint yourselves with the occasion of my hiatus here.

And His Name Shall Be Called ... Prince of Peace (Advent Reflections Part 4)

This week contains both the Fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Day itself. And so we come to the close this year's reflections on the messianic titles of Isaiah 9:6. We have already considered what it means for his name to be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, and Everlasting Father. Let us conclude with some thoughts on the last of these titles, Prince of Peace.

The prophet Isaiah speaks of the birth of a child who will be called "Prince of Peace." The church has long made use of this language to describe Jesus her Lord. And yet the birth of Christ is anything but peaceful. This tension should tell us something about the kind of Peace this Prince brings, which brings us to our first point.

(1) At Christmas, peace breaks through in the midst of strife. Despite the apparent peacefulness of many Christmas songs and scenes, the nativity story is a story full of strife. Mary and Joseph were caught in the middle of a shameful family situation. Traveling down to Bethlehem during her ninth month is hard enough, but they had to do it with the added weight of shame and fear. You add to this that the reason for their travels is a census for the purposes of taxation. Now for us, April 15th is no December 25th, but for them taxation was not merely a nuisance but the sign of foreign oppression. It had not been long since the Israelites led by Jacobus Maccabeus had violently rebelled against foreign rule (the occasion for the Hanukkah holiday) and it would not be long till they would rebel again. And strife not only precedes but also succeeds the nativity, as Herod decrees the slaughter of the innocents. So Christmas is a story full of strife. And yet, the birth of Christ is the birth of the Prince of Peace. Jesus, Lord at his birth, is already the prince of peace, the one who brings the peace of God. Christ's peace is a peace which invades, which breaks through in the midst of strife. It does not find an already peaceful scene. It brings peace into times and places that need peace most of all.

How can this be? How can peace break through in the midst of strife and still be genuine peace? To answer this, we must turn to our second point.

(2) The Peace of Christ is not defined by the cessation of conflict, but by reconciliation. This is why it can break through in the midst of strife. He is the Prince of Shalom, the Hebrew word translated "peace" in Isaiah 9:6. The meaning of Shalom cannot be reduced to the mere cessation of conflict. Shalom is not a temporary ceasefire. Rather, Shalom means a life of wholeness and abundance, were the nations are living and working together and God fulfills his promise to bless all the nations through Israel. Shalom thus has the character of reconciliation. Shalom is fulfilled in Jesus Christ, who in his very coming brings reconciliation between God and humanity. Because it is defined by reconciliation, the peace of Christ can break through in the midst of strife. In fact, the announcement of the reality of reconciliation may itself incur greater strife, for people do not always want to be reconciled. Peace can be a rude awakening, as the shepherds can attest. Peace interrupts our seemingly peaceful lives and drives us out of ourselves to encounter God and neighbor.

What does this mean for us? How should we then live if the peace of Christ is defined by reconciliation? Answering this question will bring us to our last point.

(3) Genuine peace consists in relationships. Peace is not a feeling. It is not a state of being. It is not an escape, even an escape from the greatest conflict. Peace is the reconciliation of parties, and therefore the establishment of relationships. Since peace is so defined by reconciliation, it is by definition impossible in the absence of relationships. Beware of false peace which isolates itself from the active life of reconciliation. Beware of the apparent peace of the shepherds, who inhabit a peaceful pastoral scene, restfully tending their sheep at night. True peace disrupts this false shepherds' peace, waking them up and telling them to go. Of course, relationships for so many of us are the very source of strife in our lives. And so we are tempted to recoil and retreat from relationships in order find peace. But isolation is not true peace. This Christmas, let us not isolate ourselves. That will only bring false peace, a temporary ceasefire, a shepherd's peace. Rather, the peace of Christ is expressed in acts of reconciliation. Surely there are times for quiet aloneness, and reconciliation cannot happen overnight. But Christmas points us in the direction of relationships. May we be faithful not to isolate ourselves, and to reach out to those that are isolated, so that the peace of Christ may be seen and heard on earth.

At Christmas, peace breaks through in the midst of strife because the peace of Christ is defined by relationships and therefore genuine peace consists in relationships.
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And His Name Shall Be Called ... Everlasting Father (Advent Reflections Part 3)

I have been organizing my Advent reflections around Isaiah 9:6b. We have already said a little bit about what it means for Christ to bear the name "Wonderful Counselor" and "Mighty God." Let's turn our attention to the third title: "Everlasting Father."

I must admit that I have a hard time with this title. It's not that the Fatherhood language doesn't connect with me; it does. It's rather that "Father" does not work well as a title for Jesus. Although he may evince Fatherly qualities, the New Testament never refers to Jesus as Father. Rather, Jesus distinctly and consistently calls God Father, and his apostolic witnesses followed suit. When ones adds that the traditional trinitarian doctrine says the Son has everything the Father has except that the Son is not the Father, so that the only thing that distinguishes the persons is their constitutive relations, it seems all the more problematic to use "Father" as a name for Jesus. Because of this potential confusion, it may be good to avoid a 1-to-1 application of this messianic title.

Such avoidance does not mean, however, that we should avoid all talk fulfillment. For in Christ we have God as our Father. It is Christ who teaches us to prayer to God as Father. It is Christ who reconciles us to the Father. It is Christ who is not ashamed to call us brothers, so that in him we might have God as our Father. In Christ the Fatherhood of God is forever made manifest and secure.

Note that such a move is, formally speaking, not too far removed of the original meaning of Isaiah 9:6. This passage speaks both of a coming human king and God as king. There are some debates in OT scholarship over whether and how such oracles might be used in the celebration of God's kingship. But whatever the state of this debate, the basic contours of the royal theology of Israel are clear: the Davidic King is the Son of God and as such is the representative of God to the people. God's fatherly care of the people is made manifest and secure in the the King's leadership of the people. So as the Son of God, the King functions as Father for the people. It is in this sense that we speak of the coming messiah as the Everlasting Father. This royal office is fulfilled in Jesus Christ, in whom the Fatherhood of God is forever made manifest and secure.

In Christ the Fatherhood of God is forever made manifest and secure. It is this foreverness, expressed in the adjective "Everlasting," which must require the remainder of our attention. What does "Everlasting" add to the equation? Is not the Fatherhood of God good enough news? Actually, the Everlastingness of God's Fatherhood is what makes him unique. We do not merely think of a good father and extrapolate that notion to God in the nth degree. For God's Fatherhood is unique-in-kind. What makes God's Fatherhood so special? God is an Everlasting Father. The eternity of God conditions the paternity in such a way that he is a father like no other father.

What does it mean to say that in Christ we have God as our Everlasting Father?

On the one hand, in Christ God has always been our Father. Even before the coming of Christ, God was the Father of Israel. Even before calling Israel out of Egypt, God was the Father of all creatures. Even before creating all things, God was from all eternity the Father of the Son who would become incarnate in time for us. In Christ God has always been our Father. Therefore, he's not new at this. God does not have to learn how to be a father by trial and error. He knows what he is doing in his fatherly care for us. So we can be confident that, even when it seems like God is failing us, God knows what he's doing.

On the other hand, in Christ God will always be our Father. Even after Christ died, God vindicated his Sonship by raising him from the dead. Even after Christ ascended, God adopted us as children by the Spirit of the Son. Even after our biological and spiritual parents are gone, God remains our Father. Even after we are gone, God remains our Father. Even after the heavens and earth pass away, God will be for all eternity the Father of Jesus Christ, the firstborn from the dead among many siblings who too will be raised. In Christ, God will always be our Father. Therefore, we never grow out of his fatherhood. God's relationship to us is not conditioned by the anxieties that plague all human relationships. We never have to take over, for he is our Father forever. So we can be calm that, even when all other care fades, God's fatherly care remains.

In Christ we have God as our Everlasting Father. He has always been our Father and will always be our Father. So in him and him alone we can be confident and calm.
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And His Name Shall Be Called ... Mighty God (Advent Reflections Part 2)

Last week we began our Advent reflections with the first of Isaiah's titles: Wonderful Counselor. This week, let us turn our attention the second: Mighty God.

Unto us a child is born ... and his name shall be called ... mighty God. During Advent we remember waiting for the coming of the Messiah, and specifically about his coming as a child. What does it mean to call this child mighty God? What a mystery! Let's unpack this mystery a bit by means of a series of statements that progressively build on each other.

God became a child.

During Christmas we speak of God becoming human. We call this the incarnation, the Word becoming flesh. But this becoming is not only linked to Jesus' public ministry. It refers to his whole life. And a life has a beginning, a starting point. From the beginning of his life, this man is God. And so we say with boldness and wonder that God became a child. This is the central mystery of the Christian faith. If we want to know and love God, we must know and love him through an encounter with this child, whose name shall be called Mighty God.

The Mighty God became a child.

We not only speak of God becoming a child, but also of the mighty God becoming a child. We are talking about the very God who created the heavens and the earth. The God who providentially governs all things. The God led the people Israel out of Egypt. This is the mighty God. This mighty God does not remain only at a distance, perhaps leaving the world to its devices. He comes to us, experiences our world and engages us where we are. This thought is perhaps worrisome, because the mighty God is getting in our face. He is getting in our business. He won't leaving us alone. We must not forget the seriousness with which we must take the coming of the mighty God in the flesh. But we can also thankfully say that it is unto us a child is born. The mighty God is for us. It is good news that the mighty God has come near, for it means he will no leave us to our own devices. The mighty God who comes will use his might for our good. So, although we may shake in awe, we need not fear the birth of this child, whose name shall be called Mighty God.

The Mighty God became a weak child.

But perhaps the most amazing thing about the mighty God becoming a child is that this child is and remains a weak child. The mightiness of God does not overwhelm the weakness of this child. We may sing "no crying he makes," but we have no basis to think that this child was except from the weakness of human nature. In fact, we have every reason to think that he experienced the depths of human frailty and sorrow from the beginning. The passion of the Christ commences at Christmas. He emptied himself, taking on the form of a servant, being made in the likeness of men, and humbled himself. And yet saying that this child is weak is not a denial of God mightiness. Rather, in his weakness his strength shown. God is so mighty that he can become weak without ceasing to be mighty. In it through this weakness that God's mightiest acts take place. He who was mighty in himself became weak so that we who are weak may be made strong. This display of divine might in human weakness comforts us in our weakness. It also critiques us in our use and abuse of might. And it calls us to see his might in weakness.

During Advent we re-await the coming Messiah. In Christ, God became a child. In Christ, the mighty God became a child. In Christ, the mighty God became a weak child. Unto us the Christ-child is born, and he shalled be called "Mighty God."
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And His Name Shall Be Called ... Wonderful Counselor (Advent Reflections Part 1)

During Advent, the church both remembers the waiting of Israel for the coming of the messiah and remembers her own waiting for the coming again of the messiah. Now how Israel and the church wait looks different. Israel waits for the one who is to come. The church waits for the coming again of the one who has already come. But who we wait for is the same. Despite the different form of our waiting, the content of our waiting is identical. Therefore, we can learn from Israel about the one whom we await. We can learn from them about him.

Learn from them about him. That's what I aim to do in the following four-week series of Advent Reflections. Specifically, I am going to reflect on the four messianic titles of Isaiah 9:6. His name shall be called (1) Wonderful Counselor, (2) Mighty God, (3) Prince of Peace, (4) Everlasting Father.

Now I will acknowledge up front that much of what I will say in the following reflections cannot be gleaned directly from this prophetic text. Much of the content of my reflections will draw on the apostolic witness to Jesus Christ (a.k.a., the New Testament). Isaiah 9:6 will for the most part serve as a way of organizing and orienting my thoughts.

However, I join the church in believing that the truest referent of all prophetic texts is Jesus Christ, even if there is not a perfect one-to-one correspondence between text and referent in matters of detail. In other words, I believe Isaiah really is talking about Jesus. Although it must be applied cautiously, this claim must be affirmed confidently.

Well, enough preliminaries. On to the first title.

Part 1 - Wonderful Counselor

First of all, it is worth noting that there should not be a comma between "wonderful" and "counselor." This disjunction nicely fits the cadence of Handel's Messiah. But such a division disrupts the parallelism of the titles in the original language, each of which consists of a noun and a modifier. So the first thing we must say about the one who was and is to come is that he is a counselor, and wonderful one at that.

So, what does it mean for Christ to be called Wonderful Counselor?

(1) He accomplishes the purposes of God. One's counselor is a party to one's counsels. A participant in one's plans, both in deliberation and execution. The messiah is God's counselor. We'll get to how he is our counselor in a moment. But in the first instance Christ is God's counselor. He is a party to the "counsels of God" (an archaic but telling phrase). He participates in the willing and enactment of God's plans. Although it is difficult to render in English, this notion is probably the closest to the original sense of the phrase. The revelation and execution of God's mysterious plans is celebrated in Ephesians 1:3-10. Although we don't want to turn the trinity into a committee, there is a sense in which the Father and Son make and fulfill plans, plans which glorify God and benefit us. His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, because he accomplishes the purposes of God.

(2) He guides us into truth and righteousness. But he is not only God's counselor; he is also our counselor. He is our counselor not in the sense of accomplishing our purposes, but rather as our guide. I'm thinking here of how Jesus speaks of the Holy Spirit as "counselor" (paracletos) in John 14 & 16. He says that the Spirit will guide us into truth and righteousness. Interestingly, the Spirit is introduced in John 14:16 as "another counselor" (allon paracleton). The Son is one counselor, the Spirit is another. So, the Christ is our counselor. Though their work must be differentiated, Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit share in this guiding activity. His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, because he guides us in matters of truth and righteousness.

(3) He is our advocate before God. But the language of counselor not only connotes friendly guidance but also legal representation. This multi-valence of the Greek paracletos is also found in English. Lawyers are actually referred to as "counselors" in the context of a courtroom. So Christ not only counsels us in our daily knowing and living, but also stands beside us as our advocate before God the Father. He is our advocate. If we sin, we have an advocate before the father, Jesus Christ, the righteous one, who is the propitiation for our sins, and not only our sins but the sins of the whole world (John 2:1b-2). He stood in for us on the cross, he stands up for us now, and he will stand with us at the final judgment. His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, because he is our advocate before God.

Jesus Christ wonderfully accomplishes the purposes of God, wonderfully guides us into truth and righteousness, and wonderfully advocates for us before God. Jesus Christ so counsels wonderfully. This advent we remember waiting for and remember to wait for the coming one, whose name shall be called Wonderful Counselor.
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