Reading the Bible After Christendom

The following book review was written for The Messenger. Much more could be said about the book, but the word limit for book reviews in this publication is 250 words.

Lloyd Pietersen, Reading the Bible After Christendom (Harrisonburg, VA/Waterloo, ON: Herald Press, 2012

There is much lament over the diminished profile of the church in society. Pietersen is keenly aware of this reality yet remains optimistic about the possibility of significant positive benefit arising from a reading of scripture that authentically honours scripture, even when society appears to have rejected it.
Pietersen promotes a “reading from the margins” which reflects the situation and values of the early Anabaptist movement. While it may be true that the church no longer carries the influence that it has in times past, it does not follow that the truth of scripture can no longer effect positive change in people and society. Pietersen believes that this can happen when scripture is read from a place of weakness on the margins, yet with a strong voice of deep conviction that issues a clear challenge to the injustices perpetrated by a society that has lost its moorings.
Pietersen reviews how scripture has been read throughout church history, notes imbalances that were fostered by the church's prominence and authority, and highlights key characteristics of an Anabaptist reading. He rightly cites the biblical indication that Jesus Christ is the clearest revelation of God as the prime concern of an Anabaptist hermeneutic, and then does a high level flyover of the entire Bible that models this consideration. Unfortunately, in spite of the solid merit of this reading, the exegetical work lies beyond the scope of this book.
Reading the Bible After Christendom presents a solidly Christocentric call, and a roadmap, for a return to biblical truth.

Greg Boyd on Mennonite theology

Hi, Greg Boy's reflection on the place of Anabaptist-Mennonite theology within the current (in 2008) context of religion in our world is an intriguing read. Greg was an atheist before coming to faith as a student at Yale. Please keep in mind that the theology Boyd appreciates is not reflected in all streams of Mennonite thought, nor is it restricted to those who identify themselves as Mennonite. Boyd lists several movements (eg., the emergent conversation, which was stirring up substantial controversy at the time, I think precisely because it was the sort of prophetic voice of challenge to the evangelical community that Boyd portrays as characteristic of Mennonite theology) that share some of the values of Mennonite thought that he appreciates. Enjoy.

Scripture reading collage for my mom's funeral

My dear mother passed away on her 87th birthday, January 4, 2012. The scripture collage below was read at her funeral.
Go with God, mother. Love you so much! Miss you so much. Rest in peace. Till we meet again.

Scripture reading collage
Job 19:1, 25-27
Job answered “I know that my redeemer lives,
and that in the end he will stand on the earth.
And after my skin has been destroyed,
yet in my flesh I will see God;
I myself will see him
with my own eyes—I, and not another.
How my heart yearns within me!
Lamentations 3:17-26
I have been deprived of peace;
I have forgotten what prosperity is.
So I say, “My splendor is gone
and all that I had hoped from the LORD.
I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.
I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.
Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:
Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
Therefore I will wait for him.”
The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;
it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD.
Isaiah 25:6-8b
... the LORD Almighty will prepare
a feast of rich food for all peoples,
a banquet of aged wine—
the best of meats and the finest of wines.
... he will destroy
the shroud that enfolds all peoples,
the sheet that covers all nations;
he will swallow up death forever.
The Sovereign LORD will wipe away the tears from all faces;
Isaiah 26:19
your dead will live, LORD;
their bodies will rise—
let those who dwell in the dust
wake up and shout for joy—
your dew is like the dew of the morning;
the earth will give birth to her dead.
1 Corinthians 15:53-55, 57
For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”
“Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?”
... thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.
Revelation 21:1-5a
Then I saw “a new heaven and a new earth,” for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and be their God. 'He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death’ or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”
He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!”
Song of Songs 2:10b-13
“Arise, my beloved,
my beautiful one, come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my beloved;
my beautiful one, come with me.”

Scary Demoniac

Read Mark 5:1-20

What is scarier than a mad man, strong enough to break the chains used to bind him, running around in a cemetery naked, and terrorizing all passerby?

According to the story as recorded in Mark 5 (and Luke 8), it is a former madman, dressed and in his right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus.

Why? When a mad man is healed, we should all be happy, right? Some say that the main concern of the townspeople was the financial loss represented by the loss of the pigs. That may have been a factor, but the way the story is told has me thinking there is something else going on here. If the main concern was loss of livelihood I would expect they would have come in anger upon hearing of the loss. However, both Mark and Luke say that the people who were told of the events that transpired on the hillside came to see what was happening and, when they saw the man dressed and in his right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus, then they were afraid. Why? Why are they more scared when they see this man dressed and in his right mind, sitting at Jesus’ feet, than when he is running around on a lunatic fringe, naked and unstoppable?

And why, when Jesus’ words after his miracles are almost exclusively a strongly worded charge to tell no one, does he now insist that this former madman is not to accompany him as he desires, but rather, he is to stay in his home town when Jesus leaves, and tell everyone?

My suspicion is that the reason for the people’s fear is a recognition what has happened here is something which they do not understand, and cannot control. They had become accustomed to the lunatic raising cane, and they had an agreeable arrangement that they stayed out of his way, and he stayed among the tombs and disturb only the dead. It was an agreeable arrangement that made life work for all of them. Now along comes Jesus, he renders their careful arrangements moot, and they cannot understand how he did it, but they realize that this kind of remedial action could wreak havoc with their own lives, as it already has with the lives of their pigs. They do not know or understand Jesus and his actions, but they recognize a power that lies way beyond their ken and control. That is terrifying.

So they ask Jesus to leave; they beg Jesus to leave. “Please, just leave us to the lives we know. We are not interested in change, most certainly not interested in change we do not understand and cannot control. Please go away. Just leave us alone.”

So Jesus leaves. Why does he just leave? The man who was just healed wants to go along. Who would not? He has just been saved from a bondage he had never imagined he could overcome, a bondage which he never could have overcome on his own. With just a few words Jesus has freed him from his demons. Of course he wants to maintain connection with this source of healing.

But Jesus tells him to go home. “Go home and tell everyone what the Lord has done for you.” Why does this man get to talk about what God has done for him? On almost every other occasion when Jesus healed someone they are told to keep quiet about it. Why does this man get to tell everyone?

Jesus knew our appetite for easy answers. If there is a simple solution for our problems we will take it and avoid the hard work of achieving an honest understanding our problems in light of truth. We would rather pray about our problems and Voila! It is gone!! The problem is that easy answers are usually escape routes from our own culpability and responsibility. Easy answers are usually structures that allow or even enable us to live with our sinfulness, rather than addressing the root problem of our sinfulness. If people catch wind that Jesus can supply their wishes they will lose interest in having their needs answered, and Jesus wants to provide far more robust solutions for our challenges than merely granting genie-in-a-bottle responses to our fantasy wish lists.

Hence, in those areas where Jesus spends most of his time the siren call of easy answers suggested by the stories of healing will distract people from the whole hearted search for full-bodied answers. However, he is leaving the Decapolis, and the demoniac’s stories will not suggest the same easy answers because he will not be just a wish away. The former demoniac’s story (or testimony) of a life turned around through the mercy of Jesus will be able to function as a catalyst for soul-searching and possibility thinking regarding what could happen in the lives of the townspeople. The former demoniac’s encounter with Jesus can be the introduction of an encounter with Jesus that turns the town upside down, or rather, right side up even though they are currently unaware they are living life in reverse.

The demoniac’s encounter with Jesus becomes the door for the townspeople’s encounter with Jesus that introduces them to themselves. Just at the demoniac was living in a state of radical disconnection with the self he was made to be, and was restored to himself in his encounter with Jesus, so may his neighbours find themselves in their own encounter with their Maker.

For the moment, however, that prospect is too frightening. Finding the former demoniac, dressed and in his right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus, is just too scary. “Please, Jesus, just leave us. We are fine with the way we are.”

Allan Hirsch tells us that the only place for the church to find its mission is in Jesus Christ. Institutions and structures are not a substitute for a radical meeting with Jesus the Christ. The only way for the church to be the church she was intended to be is when her sole purpose is to be Jesus to the neighbour. Authenticity is found in Jesus. Institutions and structures must serve the church, not the other way around. When institutions and structures become the definition of the church, then the church is not herself. When institutions and structures become the definition of the church, then the church is in bondage.

However, after living with these chains long enough we become comfortable with them. We learn to define ourselves by our maladies and the prospect of change becomes disconcerting and threatening. Our maladies become our normalcy, and the prospect of finding ourselves dressed and in our right minds, sitting at the feet of Jesus is just too scary.

Presumably we are not so scared of an authentic encounter with Jesus that we will ask him to leave. Hopefully, too, we will not pretend to be only single-mindedly welcoming of an encounter with the living God. A measure of trepidation only indicates that we recognize the potentially devastating consequences of such an encounter for some of our prized religious constructions that have heretofore provided cherished shelter from some deeply disturbing introspection and analysis of how well we reflect the image of our Creator in our selves and our church.

Nonetheless, assuming we do wish to invite Jesus to send healing into our own lives and our community, how do we do this? How do we distinguish institutions and structures that serve Christlikeness from those that interfere? Can we hope to have structures and institutions that reflect God’s wishes for our community any better than we ourselves reflect the same? If not (and I believe not), how do we allow an authentic encounter with Jesus to bring the healing to us that we believe God wants to bring to our community? Will we just be scary? Or will we be so scary that our neighbours will recognize a potential encounter with God? And how scary would that be?

Between Hope and Despair

Between Scylla and Charybdis

Between Hope and Despair

Address delivered at Heartland Community Church, Landmark, Manitoba, Palm Sunday, 2011

Read Walter Wangerin Book of God p. 764-767

I want to turn our attention to the themes of hope and despair in this story. What can we learn about hope from the people who so enthusiastically welcomed Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem on a donkey’s colt? How does the despair we encounter in this story alert us to the pitfalls that sometimes obscure for us the vanity of our hope? And how can a recognition of these hazards lead us not to despair, but to dig down deeper to a chastened hope that can sustain us through times of excruciating pain and disappointment?

We do not know exactly what was in the hearts and minds of those who threw down clothing and branches to pave the way for Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, but they are moved to ecstatic hopefulness by the appearance of One whom they acclaim as King, and to whom they look for some sort of salvation. Their cries included expressions of hope for peace and salvation, but to what extent Jesus’ riding on a donkey inclined their expectations towards a Prince of Peace rather than a conquering warrior king is uncertain. There is ample speculation that Judas was a Zealot whose expectations leaned toward a military champion who would overthrow the Roman oppressors and lead Israel back to her former glory as the sovereign power of the homeland originally promised to Abraham. Bible scholars tell us that the a king would ride on a donkey in a time of peace. That makes Jesus’ choice of a donkey in this case, a powerful statement of his intention to come in peace, and a purposeful repudiation any notion of a violent overthrow of Roman tyranny. Whatever the precise nature of the expectations held dear in the hearts of the throng, it is clear that this was a time pregnant with hope – hope that the fulfillment of a long awaited and dearly held expectation was imminent.

However, a week later the One on whom the crowd had hung their hope, was himself hung on a Roman cross. What happened? How was delirious hope so quickly and cruelly dashed? How was euphoric hope so suddenly turned to abysmal despair? And where was this throng when the personification of their hope was on trial for his life? We don’t know how many of these people were present at Jesus’ trial and crucifixion, but if present, they certainly seem to have lost their voice, as there is no record of any significant dissent at the travesty of justice that was perpetrated less than a week after this jubilant procession. For those who hoped in Jesus for release from Roman oppression the tables have been cruelly turned. The One who was to facilitate their freedom is Himself executed by the very Roman power that He was to vanquish. Now where is hope?

We could go quickly to the Christian interpretation of these events and settle the matter by recasting the crucifixion as not merely a political setback, and not even cosmic defeat, but the most monumentally pivotal victory ever to occur in the history of the universe. We would not be entirely remiss in doing so, but I fear we would be covering too much ground too quickly. That Christian understanding of the event of the cross we whole heartedly take to be true, thank God, but what does it mean for us to place our hope in that interpretation of this event? How would that understanding have impacted the jubilant throng of Palm Sunday when the terrors of the day we have come to call Good Friday transpired? Is there a thread of hope that runs between these events or must one give way to the other? How do we anchor our hopes so that they are meaningful for the life we live day by day, without anchoring so that our hope is susceptible to a cruel uprooting in the same mundane events? How do we anchor our hope deeply enough to withstand the ravages of a life that sometimes gets very messy, without anchoring at such a remove from ordinary life that the security of the anchor point becomes meaningless? How can we hope in the Jesus who rides the unbroken foal of a donkey into Jerusalem on Sunday, without losing all hope when that same Jesus hangs on a cross on Friday? How can hope not be shattered, and how dare we respond with anything other than despair, when it is not only our hopes, but our God himself who hangs on a cross?

The answer, I think, is as new as today, and as old as Genesis, and it is not an answer, but an invitation. The answer lies not in a formula or theological creed or religious activity. The answer is not the end of a search, but the beginning of a journey that starts at the cross and must never get past the cross, and can never get past the Jesus who both rode the donkey and hung on the cross, but then rose on the third day, burst the confines of the grave, and conquered death and sin, our worst enemies, and now lives forever.

A clue to the answer is found in the substance of Jesus’ expression of despair in his lament over Jerusalem “If you, even you, had only known on this day what would bring you peace—but now it is hidden from your eyes.... because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you.” (Luke 19:42, 44b). The people were still consumed with what they hoped God would do for them, so much so that when God became flesh and moved into the neighborhood, they did not recognize that their God who they hoped would do things for them had done better than save them from a distance. He did not merely offer them a homeland and freedom and hope and peace, but he offered them his very self, and they did not recognize him. They didn’t notice that their hopes had been wildly exceeded, they only noticed that they did not realize their dearly held dreams. In their obsession with their dreams they missed their God when he walked among them.

So often we put our hope in what we want God to do for us, rather than in the God who wants to be for us. Now, it is not entirely wrong to have hopes for what God can do for us, but our confidence needs to be in the God who wants to be for us. This is not to say that God does not want to do things for us, but that the things we hope for may or may not line up with what God wants to do for us, and what God wants to do for us is always a function of who God wants to be for us.

This is why the answer is as old as Genesis. When God created all the heavens and the earth God said

“Let us make mankind in our image....

So God created mankind in his own image,

in the image of God he created them;

male and female he created them.”

I won’t pretend to unpack all of the theological significance of these statements, but it is clear that at the heart of who God is there is a relationality - for God says “Let us make mankind in our image”, and that relationality is at the core of what it means for mankind to be created in the image of God “in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.” We are created for relationship – with God and with each other, and it is in relationship that we find our anchor point for hope. It is in the knowledge that God is for us, and in responding in gratefulness with our being for God, that we find a deep hope that exceeds anything we could hope for in terms of what we wish God to do for us. It is in our relationship with one another that we encounter images of God in each other, and find hope in our being for each other and in our being for God together. This does not preclude our doing things for each other and for God, but our being for each other is both expressed in, and exceeds, the things we do for each other.

Now how could the throngs that lined the road to Jerusalem on Palm Sunday have recognized Jesus as God, and as their hope, not only as their liberator from bondage to Rome, but their hope for freedom from themselves and their willing servitude to the real enemy Jesus intended to vanquish? By what sort of dynamic or discipline or experience could the people of Jerusalem have been expected to hope for more than what they wanted Jesus to do for them? And how do we learn to respond to Jesus in a way that exceeds what we wish him to do for us?

Just as the people who watched and shouted and worshiped as Jesus rode into Jerusalem on that donkey’s foal, so do we often find ourselves shivering in a religious ecstasy when it seems that our expectations are coming to fruition, only to find our hopes dashed when events seem to just as suddenly turn against us. Sometimes our euphoria rides the wave of a new religious experience, or an overwhelming sense of God’s presence and direction in our lives, or a satisfaction when our efforts begin to reap anticipated results, and sometimes we could be hard-pressed to distinguish this sort of elation from that which we experience as our favorite hockey franchise embarks on a post-season quest for the Canadian Holy Grail - aka the Stanley Cup. None of these things are intrinsically bad, and in fact all of them can quite legitimately be a source of satisfaction, adding meaning and enjoyment to our lives, but all of them - all of them - can also serve as place holders in which our kingdoms dangerously mimic God’s kingdom, surreptitiously obscuring critical distinctions between our efforts to build our own kingdoms, and our participation with God in building his kingdom. Programs and buildings and dogma can be very useful, even indispensable, tools we use as we work with God to build his kingdom, but God’s kingdom is about people first, and that means relationships.

This is not to say that despair and disappointments will all disappear when we place our hope in a relationship with our God, and all of our God’s children. Even if the people of Jerusalem had recognized their Saviour on Palm Sunday, they would still have been crushed on Good Friday, for how can we not be crushed when God hangs on a cross? We cannot truly understand the emotions and despair of Good Friday, because on our side of the resurrection we know that Sunday’s a’comin’! However, there is something profoundly significant in recognizing our God not merely as a God who can do great things for us, though surely he “is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” (Eph 3.20). There is something profoundly invigorating in seeing God not simply as a genie who we hope will bend to our every wish, but as the God who is for us, and “if God is for us, who can be against us?... No,” Paul says, “in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Rom 8:31, 37-39)

This relationship with God is part of the treasure that we carry “in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. (So that, while w)e are hard pressed on every side, we are not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed.” (2 Cor 4:7-9)

However, we do not live this relationship in an individual vacuum. We live out this relationship in the community of faith, and in recognizing the image of God in each and every act of God’s creation, particularly in our brothers and sisters with whom we journey, we retain remnants and glimpses of God to help carry us through our disappointments. It is in the hope that is nurtured in relationships of mutual caring that we see Jesus and experience that relationship which sustains us when things do not work as we wish, or even as God wishes.

That is why the answer is as new as today. Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts. Instead, reach out in response to his invitation to walk with Him. Reach out and join hands with your brothers and sisters as we learn and grow into Him together. Anchor your hope in the Promise that is as old as Genesis, and as new as today. “And surely,” Jesus promises “I AM with you always, to infinity and beyond!” (Mt 28:20)