Let your gentleness be evident to all

"Let your gentleness be evident to all." (Philippians 4:5)

There are several issues that press the collective spirit of the United States: A decade of war, an economic collapse and recession, an environmental catastrophe, and an inability to address immigration issues. Taken together, we have become more divisive and distrustful, more protective and territorial. As a collective, we want to insist on our rights, we feel the need to fight for what is "ours." It is a spirit of grasping and clinging, we are suspicious of others whom we believe are trying to steal from us: terrorists abroad, immigrants within our boarders, the government, or corporate powers.

"Tolerance" is a word that has been debated in our society for a while. Some mock the idea of tolerance: this isn't a tolerant world for the weak, you have to fight for what is rightfully yours. At this point, the sense of tolerance, civility, and gentleness seem only to be words devoid of substance, political rhetoric to give us a moral sense of superiority.

Paul's exhortation to the Philippians is to "let your gentleness be evident to all." The Greek word here, epieikes, is a difficult one to translate. The idea has to do with gentleness, but it has to do with the type of gentleness that yields and surrenders its right of law over others. The lexical definition is as follows (BDAG): “not insisting on every right of letter of law or custom, yielding, gentle, kind courteous, tolerant.”

The scholar R.P. Martin translates this word as magnanimity: "Aristotle contrasted it with akribodikaios 'strict justice.' For him it meant a generous treatment of others that, while demanding equity, does not insist on the letter of the law. Willing to admit limitations, it is prepared to make allowances so that justice does not injure. It is a quality, therefore, that keeps one from insisting on one’s full rights, 'where rigidity would be harsh' (Plummer, 93; cf. Aristotle, Eth. nic. 5.10 §1137b.3), or from making a rigorous and obstinate stand for what is justly due to one."

Whereas a political or cultural climate such as ours would encourage a person to insist on getting their due and asserting their rights, a spirit of magnanimity or gentleness spoken of by the Apostle Paul would be yielding, kind, tolerant, and pull back from insisting on getting one's full due. What is more, Paul's exhortation to the Philippians is that this spirit of gentleness be "evident to all." In other words, it is not merely a private disposition without public ramifications. The idea is that one's magnanimity overflow into public life such that a person is distinctly marked as a tolerant and kind individual.

I do not think this means that one defers from standing up for justice or righteousness, nor do I think that a person need not express strong opinions related to current day political issues. Nor do I even think it is out of place to discuss one's rights or what is due us. However, such ideological discussions should never turn us against another in such a way that we harshly insist on getting our due without any sense of compassion for others. In other words, "let your generosity be evident to all" ultimately means that a person does not hesitate to pull up short of demanding their rights in deference to others. It is a stance of gentleness as opposed to a harsh and inflexible insistence that right is right.

This spiritual teaching from the Apostle Paul is the mark of one who lives markedly different from the prevailing culture of violence that marks our day and age. "Let your gentleness be evident to all."

Works of the Law

I am going to deliberately confuse my translation of Paul:

"Knowing that a person is not dikaioutai through the works of the law but only through (the) faith(fulness) in/(of) Jesus Christ, and we have believed in Christ Jesus, in order that dikaiothomen might be of (the) faith(fulness) in/(of) Christ and not of the works of the law, because by the works of the law no flesh will be made dikaiothesetai." (Galatians 2:16)

This post continues my commentary on Paul's book of Galatians. I deliberately confuse the translation, because interpretation is not a straightforward venture for this passage. Is Paul talking here (and in the whole letter to the Galatians) about "justification," a legal declaration? Or is there something deeper? And how do we get this righteousness/justification? Is it through faith in Jesus Christ, an action on our part of having faith or the possessing faith? Or is Paul here saying that we have righteousness/justification through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ? In which case, it has more to do with Christ than with us?

What does Paul mean by these dikai- words, words we usually translate as "justification" or "righteousness"? Is it a mere forensic "justification," that God is saying "you are now justified," and then slams his hammer upon the gavel? I don't like that take. I don't like it because it makes righteousness a one-and-done process. Taken as a whole, Paul's theology is more focussed on living a life of transformation. For me, seeing faith primarily as a forensic declaration makes it very transactional and less transformative. I don't mean to say that there is not some sense of forensic justification in Paul's theology, but the real heart of Paul is the life of the Spirit, ushering a radical "new creation." Paul's vision is for something radical.

As I write more about Galatians, I will discuss more what I think the dikai- words mean. For this post, I wanted to discuss "the works of the law" (ex ergon nomou). Whatever this righteousness/justification is, it is not to be sought through the works of the law. Christianity was a Jewish faith, in the beginning; but it spread to the Gentiles, and Paul saw his mission as aimed at spreading the Gospel to Gentiles. There was conflict, though, between Jews and Gentiles. Jews tended to see their Jewishness as an essential component of Christianity. This new "Way" of Jesus was not a radical break from being a Jew, so observing the law and customs of Judaism was natural for a Jewish Christian. Naturally, as Gentiles came into the churches, Jews just expected them to adopt a Jewish Christianity, complete with Jewish observations of the law. This, again quite naturally, turned into a somewhat legalistic thing: you can't be real member of the church without adopting Jewishness. Paul takes exception to this.

For Paul, though, "the works of the law" can probably be extended to any religious practice that attempts to gain righteousness, justification, or goodness based solely on doing. Paul is clear about this later in his life when he writes to the Christians in Rome. In Romans 4, Paul says that when a person works for a wage, the payment given them is based on what they have done. But this isn't the way faith works. It isn't a quid-pro-quo.

For Paul, faith isn't a transaction. This is central to Paul's Gospel of Jesus Christ.

But if we cannot get this righteousness/justification based on a concrete transaction, then it leaves things quite up in the air. Everything is suddenly a bit less defined. The life of faith becomes a bit less concrete......which seems to be the point of much of Paul's discussion of the Gospel.

Revelations and religious experience

Speaking in tongues. Ecstatic prayers. Calm assurance. Visions. Revelations.

What to make of religious experience. Neurosis, psychosis, or psychopathology? A real connection with God, the angels, the spirit world, or the demonic? Something of both?

Paul is no stranger to dealing with the question of religious experience. To the Church at Corinth, he advises that it is good to go after the lofty spiritual experiences, such as speaking in tongues; but to love, however, is greater by far.

Paul tells the Galatian church that his gospel was received by a revelation, directly from the boss:

For I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that the gospel that was proclaimed by me was not of human origin; for I did not receive it from human beings nor was I taught it, but I received it by a revelation of Jesus Christ. Galatians 1:11-12

After a bit of a delay, I am continuing with my reflections on the book of Galatians, one of Paul’s more radical epistles. In Galatians, Paul sweeps the entire “law” aside in favor of freedom, breaks down ethnic, gender, and class distinctions, and mercilessly attacks anyone who opposes his gospel.

Yet before we get into these issues in more depth, I want to pause and look at Paul’s radical individualism. He bases his presentation of the gospel on an isolated revelation from Jesus Christ. This idea of personal revelation has been present in Christianity ever since Paul, with many throughout the centuries believing that they have received something directly by God: through visions, by an intense study of the inspired scriptures (as though directly given by God), through intense religious feelings, or by being taken up in trances.

When Paul says that he received his gospel by a revelation of Jesus Christ, he is clearly talking about a direct transmission of some sort. What is less clear is what this implies. Is Paul saying that his gospel should be given special consideration because it was transmitted directly from Jesus? The answer would seem to be “yes,” at first glance; however, Paul himself never actually makes the connection. Paul never says, “Look, I heard this gospel from Jesus, so that establishes it’s authority.”

In his commentary, Dieter Lührmann, takes pains to say that Paul is not developing an argument for the truth of his position based on religious experience: “Theology for Paul is not a retreat into his own religious experiences, which could perhaps establish his authority, but as such would not be transmittable. Theology, rather, is the unfolding of the content of the gospel, which has eschatological meaning for his own existence, as his interpretation of the Damascus experience as a ‘revelation of Jesus Christ’ shows. The gospel can also acquire such meaning for others, because its convincing power lies not in the personality of the preacher but in its content, which brings salvation.” (page 19)

What Lührmann says above is interesting. If one appeals to one’s own religious experience, then it is not transmittable. I think this is a good point. The only way a personal religious revelation is transmittable is if someone else seems to have the same experience. But what happens in the church, or in any faith community, if the religious experiences start to vary? Bob feels that God spoke to him and told him that the church needs to spend more money on electric guitars for the worship service. What if others hear different voices?

Many contemporary evangelicals believe that this is precisely why we need an objective text like the Bible: The Bible can resolve differences and provide us with “the answers.” But this experiment has failed for at least two reason. First, there are as many different interpretation of the Bible as there are people reading it. Next, the Bible itself doesn’t come to us as the book of answers, but only as a collection of scriptures that present diverse approaches to faith. This does not, in my opinion, make the Bible less appealing or even truthful, but in fact gives us texts that are dynamic.

As we read through Galatians, it is clear that Paul doesn’t appeal to his revelation experience to make his case. He cites the Hebrew scriptures, he develops arguments, he appeals to the Galatian congregation’s own religious experience. Paul does not use his revelations as grounds for the truth of his gospel….but still….he does mention it. His gospel is not of human origin. It’s directly from Jesus Christ. Despite the fact that Paul does not directly use his revelation to push his gospel in terms of making an argument, the fact of the matter is that revelation from Jesus Christ does seem to give a person a bit of spiritual credibility.

This leads us into a discussion of the tension between personal/individual religious and the community. On the one hand, the personal nature of faith is very important. Religious experience can be deeply meaningful and transformative for each individual. On the other hand, an important element of religious experience is being a part of a religious community. That is, a believer finds that simply being a member of a greater whole is itself meaningful. For many, isolated religious experiences are secondary to the participation in a religious tradition that may span hundreds and even thousands of years. One feels a historical communion with saints and sages of the past.

The tension is in the book of Galatians itself. Clearly individual revelation is important to Paul. He sets himself apart from any received tradition, presumably as a superior form of communication. However, Paul does stand in the Jewish tradition, and it is the Hebrew scriptures that become central in his argument for a gospel that is based on the “promise” not law. This promise/law discourse is found in 3:15-25. At the end of chapter three, Paul says that “you are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus,” and that all were baptized into Christ. As such, “there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” In 5:6 Paul says that circumcision nor uncircumcision are of any value. The only thing that counts is faith “being at work” (energoumene) through love.

So, while Paul places incredible emphasis on his own personal revelations, he stands in a tradition, argues from that tradition, and encourages those in the congregation to be one in Christ through the expression of love. This last point is somewhat astounding, considering how much Paul rails against his opponents. He suggests, ironically, that those who oppose him by emphasizing circumcision should go all the way with the knife and castrate themselves. At the close of his letter he suggests that his opponents only want to look good. They don’t keep the whole law, even if they suggest that others do so. And while Paul bears the marks of Christ on his body, his opponents sell out the real gospel in order to avoid persecution.

Things at this point are quite muddled and confused. Do we each just go our own way, according to our own personal revelations and individual religious experiences? Or do we try to hold together some sort of community of diversity? The book of Galatians just kind of leaves things confused. Paul condemns his opponents in no uncertain terms, and yet he doesn’t have a detailed plan for what happens next? Do the Galatian churches kick out these folks? If so, what is the litmus test? Paul himself isn’t entirely clear on defining what such a litmus test should be. Or do the churches try to work things out so that they can all stay in fellowship together, respecting differences and disagreements? Based on Paul’s letter alone, any number of possibilities would work.

On this point, I interpret Paul’s letter to the Galatians as an example of how difficult it is to work out our individual religious experiences within the context of a faith community. Experiences come into conflict with each other; our ethics and values might be in conflict; and our entire perspective on “faith” might be so different from someone else that we just have a difficult time finding any common ground. We all think that we are right. Those of us who are religious usually relate with Paul in some way, believing our revelations or ideas of faith are that which should prevail.

Sometimes we should stick it out with the community. Over the long run we find that it is worthwhile to stay together, and maybe over time differences become less and less important, as the relationships form into something that is much more substantial that our individual perspectives on faith. And yet at other times it is in fact necessary to break the ties and go our separate ways. It might be easier to stay, it might take courage to leave. Sometimes faith communities are together, but nothing seems to be gained (for anyone) by that union.

It’s tricky, but the tension is in the text, and I’m glad for that. In reading Galatians (and many of the other epistles of Paul), I am comforted by the complexity at work in the lives of individuals (like Paul) and the greater faith community. We do the best with the wisdom and discernment that we have, and try through all things to love each other, whether that means working things out together or going our separate ways.

Religious experience is often a mystery, even to those who experience; perhaps especially to those who experience it. As far as I can see, navigating these experiences in the context of others is a delicate and complicated matter. Even Paul seems to run into the complexities.

Evangelistic

Galatians 1:8 But even if we or an angel from heaven should proclaim to you a gospel contrary to what we proclaimed to you, let that one be accursed!

1:9 As we have said before, so now I repeat, if anyone proclaims to you a gospel contrary to what you received, let that one be accursed!

1:11 For I want you to know, brothers and sisters,that the gospel that was proclaimed by me is not of human origin;

1:15-16 But when God, who had set me apart before I was born and called me through his grace, was pleased to reveal his Son to me, so that I might proclaim him among the Gentiles, I did not confer with any human being,

1:23 they only heard it said, "The one who formerly was persecuting us is now proclaiming the faith he once tried to destroy." (NRSV)

"What is the gospel? The Greek euangelion has come into English by way of Latin and French as evangel (cf. German Evangelium, French evangile). The more common gospel derives from the Old English godspel "good talk," and--like the popular phrase good news--is based on the etymology of the Greek word....

"The gospel of Christ is accordingly an abbreviation that points to the content of the gospel, which has already been alluded to in Paul's additions to the opening (vv. 1b, 4). Thus the gospel, which in his [Paul's] view is perverted by the troublemakers in Galatia, is the proclamation that God has created salvation in the event of Jesus' death and resurrection....For Paul this understanding has consequences in regard to the law and circumcision, which he will then discuss in the following chapters....The foundation of his [Paul's] argumentation is primarily the content of the gospel, the Christology. Subordinated to it are the Scriptures (for him, only the Old Testament) and the history of the gospel in Paul's own history from his conversion before Damascus to his activity in Galatia." (Dieter Lührmann, p. 12-13, Galatians 1992)

Given enough time and energy, I hope to blog a bit through the book of Galatians....we shall see....in any event, something strikes my fancy as I read through these opening verses in Galatians. Paul is an evangelist. The Greek words that we translate as "gospel" and "proclaim" (or "preach") are very similar, euangelion and euangelizo, respectively. Why this is interesting is the link between proclamation and content, the relation between the way in which one is proclaiming the gospel and the gospel that is being proclaimed....and....of course.....that makes me think of my own prior background as an evangelical in the U.S.

From my experience in evangelical circles there has been a very rapid decline in enthusiasm for evangelism. I think that this creates a bit of an evangelical crisis. Evangelism, as it has been defined in the last fifty years or so, basically reduces to proselytizing: convince others that Christianity (or "a relationship with Jesus/God" as the contemporary language goes) is the religion of choice. As I said, from my experience, the younger set is kind of losing its steam for this kind of approach. So, most people really don't engage in proselytizing, at least not in a direct person-to-person mode.

To address this crisis of evangelism, the evangelism of choice these days is marketing manipulation. (Yes, I am negatively predisposed!) Contemporary evangelism has taken the form of media to the masses. Evangelical film, literature, and staged church performances attempt to persuade the nonbeliever of his or her need to become a believer. This seems more subtle to today's evangelical--rather than "preach" to people and put them off with a direct confrontation (as they did in the good 'ole days), the contemporary evangelical prefers the subtle, nonthreatening methods of modern media. In my opinion, however, it is simply a manipulation tool like all other manipulation tools in today's media age. This is evangelicalism in the digital age, evangelism as advertising, manipulation, and marketing.

My observation at this point is that we need to evaluate the link between the gospel message (euangelion) and the "proclamation" (euangelizo). Simply put, the reason that so many evangelicals cringe at the thought of direct evangelism is that the message itself is so threatening, uncomfortable, and just plain awkward. Things can get a bit uncomfortable when you mention to people, "Uh, there's this place called hell that you are going to....."

The received gospel that most evangelicals inherited is this: Everyone is going to hell because each individual (no matter who they are or what they have done) is a sinner, thankfully Jesus died for your sins and rose again, you need to now confess you are a sinner and have faith in Jesus so that you are no longer a hell-bound sinner. In most evangelistic presentations (and this is a crucial point), the emphasis is on the gap between God and human beings. Each individual is responsible for "repenting," "having faith," feeling really really guilty and bad, or responding in some way ("having faith," perhaps?) that will close this gap. Some gospel tracts illustrate this by showing a cross that bridges the gap. Your job is to walk across this cross that bridges the great divide.

Most "biblical evidence" for this received gospel is based on cutting and pasting verses together from various parts of the Bible. This is no accident, because the above gospel is simply not the gospel that Paul teaches. (It is Paul, incidentally, who develops the most thorough New Testament theology of the gospel.) There are verses that one can find to support this gospel, but then again, one can mix and match verses to come to most any conclusion.

Paul's actual gospel spends scant little time (if any) expounding on hell or the sinfulness of individuals. It's there, no doubt, in the classic texts like Romans 1 and Ephesians 2. But the point of such discussions, as I read them, is not to condemn people as much as it is to contrast two approaches to life: one view of life where one is consumed with themselves and ultimately destroyed by their own ego-obsessions, the other view of life is a life lived by faith, walking with the spirit in love (agape) and self-less-ness. It's not really about saving your own self from hell. Actually, this sort of spiritual narcissism ("how can I keep myself from burning in the next life?") is one of the problems.

Paul's gospel is much more progressive. Radically progressive, actually. It is about a "new creation" (2 Corinthians 5:17). It is about "reconciling all things" (Colossians 1:20). Furthermore, contrary to popular evangelistic efforts, the goal is not to elicit a spiritual experience of rebirth. Rather, the goal is to simply recognize that the fact that any person can join the happy band of the redeemed. For Paul, whatever happened on the cross took care of the gulf between God and man. So, living as a part of this merry band of new creationists is to simply recognize that you are already on the other side. The reconciliation has already taken place. There is nothing that a person needs to "do" to cross the bridge. That's been taken care of, which is why Paul spends most of his time talking about what it means to live out this new life, rather than talking about what we have to do to "get in" and "be saved."

So, maybe the reason why so many are losing interest in evangelism is because they never really had a very good gospel. And perhaps I can even be a bit more radical here: perhaps evangelism isn't about proselytizing. Perhaps it isn't about winning converts or "getting people saved." Maybe the great proclamation is simply to announce that there is no gulf between God and humanity, that God's focus for the world is reconciliation and peace, that personal and global transformation start with a gift of grace that is available to all, and that we need as many people as possible to get on board with this positive mission of reconciliation.

It's no wonder evangelism is petering out, or being relegated, impersonally, to mass media proselytizing. It's a dour, powerless gospel. Remember how Paul begins his letter to the Romans? "For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for the deliverance (soterian) of all who believe." This is a racial inclusivity, not an exclusive who's-in-and-who's-out approach. In Paul's letter to the Galatians power and transformation are also the focus. The life of the spirit produces the fruit of the spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

Perhaps evangelistic zeal could be rekindled if a gospel was proclaimed that was a bit more in line with the radical vision of Paul. What is the radical vision? Simply that there is nothing to do, nothing to do to cross a bridge or any such nonesense. Grace is the ultimate do-nothing, which paradoxically transforms. There is nothing to do except to believe in a new creation and live by this faith. This gospel must be beyond formulas, beyond definition, and even beyond words. This is so because the gospel is about grace, which is ineffable.

So, as I read the first verses of Galatians and as I reflect on the state of evangelism today, the pivotal question that arises, the absolutely crucial question for a Christian, is this: have we got the right Gospel?

Being still

Be still and know that I am God

Since last spring, I have implemented a regular practice of meditation and silent prayer. The main focus of this practice is to simply be silent and still.

Silence and stillness is a tricky thing. In stillness and silence, any number of thoughts and feelings might arise. Ideally, when one is meditating, all attention is focussed on breath. This is also called "mindfulness." When one is mindful of nothing but one's own breathing, then there is a deep sense of stillness, silence, and peace.

This is the ideal.

As I have engage in a regular practice of stillness, I quite naturally want to become better or more skilled at the practice. I want there to be less noise from my heart and mind. I want to enter into that sense of peace.

Many spiritual practices are like this. We tend to look at "spiritual growth" in terms of mastery: are we mastering the our particular moral or spiritual skill/art/practice? We tend to be critics of ourselves, measuring ourselves by some standard that we hope to achieve.

James Finley, a spiritual teacher, says that good meditative practices tend to be messy. This is a wise approach.

The act of stillness, silent prayer, or meditation is not about achieving some state of peace. It is not in any way about becoming better. It is an end in itself. It is a practice of grace. As a practice of grace, the point is not to "grow" or "achieve." The point is to just be. Just as I am.

When grace is the foundation, then we can embrace everything that we experience during stillness. If we feel distracted, then we can become aware of our distracted heart/mind in a gracious way. If we are deeply hurt by others, then we can become aware of our pain in a gracious way. If our soul is restless, then we can become aware of our feeling of restlessness in a gracious way. If our minds are busy and excited, then we can become aware of this positive buzz in a gracious way.

This practice of grace is a "letting be." Whoever we are is okay. We become grounded in something that is deeper than merely the rising and falling of our thoughts and feelings. Whatever it is that we are "grounded in" is mysterious. It isn't something that we can define or ever capture. From the perspective of the Christian tradition, this is the sense of "Be still and know that I am God."

By letting ourselves be, just as we are, we become less clingy to life. We become less controlling of life. We realize how much is out of our control, and how necessary it is to extend grace in the same way that we have experienced grace.

The practice of stillness, silence, and meditation is about honestly engaging the feelings and thoughts that channel through us. We develop awareness of who we are and surrender ourselves into grace.

Slaves and Heirs

One of the key distinctions for most versions of Christianity is a stark distinction between "saved" and "unsaved." There are the B.C. days, meaning "before Christ," and there are the "I'm a new creation" days that come after salvation. The salvation experience, then, is a complete ontological change, a drastic transformation from one spiritual state-of-being to another.

This ontological transformation is clearly an important part of the theology of the Apostle Paul. "Behold, all things have become new." Those who are of the faith are "a new creation." The language of the Apostle Paul is clearly aimed at transforming our belief about ourselves, to conceive of ourselves as radically different. Holy. Chosen. Loved.

I have always been a bit suspicious of this stark dichotomy between "believer" and "unbeliever." Common experience shows that "believers" are not quite as perfect as they would like to be, and "unbelievers" are not quite as "depraved" as many Christians would like them to be.

Apart from common experience, though, my recent study of Galatians shows that in the writings of the Apostle Paul, himself, there may be reason to question this dichotomy. I would like to turn your attention to Galatians chapter 4.

In Galatians 4, Paul begins by talking about how an "heir" (kleronomos) is no different from a "slave" (doulos), at least while the heir is still "under age" (nepios). In one sense, the heir is still the "ruler of all," but in another sense the heir is like the slave; this is true, until the time is set for the heir to receive the inheritance and actually assume their position as the ruler and lord.

For Paul, this is an analogy for the Galatians. They were at one time "under the elemental spiritual forces of this world" (hupo ta stoichia tou kosmou). This time period, though, was the time period of being "under age" (nepios). Paul uses this same word, nepios, to describe the situation of the Galatians when they were not yet believers. If the analogy holds, then, it seems that the Galatians, although not yet believers were still heirs. They were just still nepios, they were under aged and had not yet discovered the fullness of who they are.

This passage lead me to consider that the believer/unbeliever dichotomy might not be as sound as many like to believe. Is it possible that those who are living "under the elemental spiritual forces of this world" are simply not yet of age? Not yet come into the fullness of who they are? And if we take this a step further, perhaps wisdom and humility would suggest that none of us have completely arrived in this regard. That we are all coming into our own as heirs. While there may be a specific time at which the "heir" becomes "master" and assumes the control of the inheritance and the position of lord, it is equally true that becoming a wise, discerning, and benevolent is a life-long process. Theologians sometimes speak of this as "already, not-yet."

While a person may have a spiritual conversion experience, this does not yet mean that a person has fully come into their own as a person of faith. In fact, observation often reveals that if someone believes themselves to have "arrived," then this is often indicative of pride and ego-assertiveness. When pride and ego become the dominant sources of motivation in life, then one can actually experience a good deal of personal and spiritual regress. In this sense, making a sharp dichotomy between "believer" (those who have arrived or are farther along) and "unbeliever" (those who still need a bit of work to get on down the road a bit) might be counter productive.

A serious question emerges from these ramblings

Does our American culture suffer from a lack of meaning?

Well, in one sense the answer is no. Meaning is everywhere, in everything. In professional sports, for example, every game has the potential to be "historic" and spectacular. Meaning is the pull of most sales pitches. Watching a toilet paper commercial or a fabric softener commercial is an exercise in living a more meaningful life, as this Downy commercial from 1990 illustrates:



And yet in an era where everything is meaningful, nothing is meaningful. That is, we are saturated in meaning, we live in a hyper-meaningful society. Our lives are intensely meaningful, much of this is due to the fact that Corporate America needs to link "a meaningful life" with the product or service that it is selling.

You need an investing company that understand how meaningful your life is. You need to invest in a laptop that can really (no, I mean really) express your unique creativity and interests. And, of course, your toilet paper is an intimate aspect of what really defines you.

So, in this meaning-saturated context, we walk this tightrope, we exist in this tension: we want this life to be meaningful, even though we know that the meaningful life we are being sold isn't nearly as meaningful as it appears on tv.

The result, I think, is that we kind of surrender to the cycle of over-hyped products that can't deliver the meaning they promise. But if we just keep going, we can kind of numb ourselves to the fact that there are no alternatives.

Meaning has become so commonplace that it is almost as if we transcend meaning completely.

Meaning is banal, boring.

The Bible.

Where does the Good Book fit into this mix?

For those of us from 20th century religious backgrounds, the Bible was that above which there is no higher meaning. It was the uber-meaningful. Meaning to the tenth power.

But this was a sales job. It was part of a mad scramble to compete with the hyper-meaning of the greater culture, or just a desire to completely disconnect from the culture of meaning and insulate the religious community, gathering around the Good Book each night and shunning all other forms of meaningful expression.

So, to the extent that the Good Book became caught up in the competition for meaning, it became so meaningful that it became banal. In fact, I suggest that for some, since the Bible was the ultimate source of meaning, it follows that the Bible suffers from being ultra-banal and uber-boring. Since we are numb to meaning, we are particularly numb to things that are particularly meaningful.

In what sense, then, is there hope for the Bible?

Where does that leave the Good Book?

A while back on this blog, I suggested that we burn our Bibles. That the Good Book was too common place, not sacred enough.

Anyone have a less radical solution? Or did I misidentify the problem?

Deep Acceptance

I’ve always wondered about “peace that surpasses understanding;” something deep that goes beyond cognitive explanation.

I’d like to present a few, short blogs sharing a few of the notes I took on a weekend spiritual retreat led by James Finley, a psychotherapist, spiritual teacher, and former monk who resided with and learned from Thomas Merton. I’ll space only a day or so between them, sharing some of the short but thoughtful things that were of particular interest to me.

Finley talked about peace that is not dependent on outcome or circumstance, the ultimate lesson of the cross. Peace in the midst of deep suffering.

Interestingly, Finley links this kind of peace to deep acceptance. The kind of acceptance that only a child can have.

“Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will not enter it.” (Mark 10:15; Luke 18:17)

A child is accepting by nature. A child knows nothing else other than acceptance. It is beyond cognitive understanding. It is deep.

I have heard that a child does not have the capability of hating its parent without a psychotic breakdown. That is, it is not within a child’s psychological capacity to hate. Children are emotional, yes. Very emotional. But not hateful. They have deep acceptance.

Finley links this deep, childlike acceptance to peace. It is a certain disposition to the world that accepts the world as it is, a certain trust in God, in ourselves, and in the world that goes beyond cognition and leads to peace.

“By learning to accept as a small child, we realize that even if we burn to death, the fire is trustworthy….Even the violator is a confused and warped member of the trustworthy human race….Life is wholly trustworthy through childlike acceptance.”

“God protects us from nothing but sustains us in the midst of it. This is the centrality and mystery of the cross.”

This acceptance, says Finley, does not mean that one is passive toward evil. Rather, this deep acceptance is the trust that sustains. This allows us to engage the world in an aggressive stance toward evil, while remaining centered, trusting, and deeply accepting.

“Meditation grounds us in acceptance of God’s sustaining power, while guiding us toward not being passive toward the unacceptable.”

Love and Divine Union: Summary Thoughts

Ephesians 3:14-19 (my translation):
For this reason I bow my knee before the father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, in order that he might give to you according to the riches of his glory/divinity (doxes), empowering you to be strong through his spirit in the inside person (eso anthropon), Christ living in you (katoikeo) through faith in your hearts, being firmly rooted and firmly established in love (agape), in order that you might be able to fully understand with all the saints what is the width and length and height and depth, to know the surpassing knowledge (gnosis) of the love (agape) of Christ, in order that you might be filled to all the fullness of God.

In the previous post, I wrote down a few, brief exegetical notes on the above passage. In this post, I have a few summary observations.

Summary Thoughts
The idea here in this passage of participating with God and sharing of the divinity is fascinating to me. I believe that God is essentially and most fundamentally mystery, because God "dwells in unapproachable light.” God transcends in mystery. However, the New Testament does not hesitate to open the possibility of humanity sharing in the divine nature. And, in fact, this is the heart of the Gospel. As Athanasius famously said, "God became man so that man might become God.” (On the Incarnation, 54:3) In the Gospel, the greatest gift that God gives is God's self.

This union with the divine is connected here with love. Through contemplation of love, one can begin to contemplate being “filled with all the fullness of God.”

Intriguing.

I am also intrigued by Paul’s language of the “inside person.” Early in the prayer, Paul speaks of the existential awareness of ourselves. Divine union and divine love penetrate to the “inside person,” to the self. It is this self that can realize the “surpassing” knowledge of love (v. 19).

What does it mean to discover this divine union and love?

Personally I have no answer to this question. And perhaps there is no answer, per se. Perhaps the question of divine union and divine love is a question that takes a lifetime to unpackage and reflect on.....to contemplate and to live. The point of divine union and love, I think, is the direction in which it points us. It is interesting that when it comes to mystical issues of experiencing the fullness of divine union and divine love, it seems as though we are given the direction but not the map. We are pointed in way but not shown how to walk. The process of walking seems to be our gift: to discover for ourselves how to discover union with God and the surpassing knowledge of love.

I think, though, that grace must be most basic. Often we cannot embrace the divine or understand love because something in us does not believe we deserve the "fullness" of the divine. Or we build up internal defense mechanisms to cope in the grace-less-ness of the day-to-day world, and we reach a point where we close our hearts to grace, failing to open to the gift that God gives us of God's own self and of the vast dimensions of Her love.

Grace is that openness to receive the love and the divine, the openness to be "filled to all the fullness of God."

I also appreciate in these verses how Paul opens with a deep sense of inclusivism: the whole family of the cosmic universe derives its name from God. God's desire, as expressed in chapter 1 verse 10 of this same book of Ephesians, is to bring all together under Christ. Whether Paul truly believes in an eschatological universalism is certainly not clear, but what is clear is that universalism is the goal and ideal: that the Gospel is fundamentally about reconciliation and restoration.

Love and Divine Union: Exegetical Notes on Ephesians 3:14-19

For this reason I bow my knee before the father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, in order that he might give to you according to the riches of his glory/divinity (doxes), empowering you to be strong through his spirit in the inside person (eso anthropon), Christ living in you (katoikeo) through faith in your hearts, being firmly rooted and firmly established in love (agape), in order that you might be able to fully understand with all the saints what is the width and length and height and depth, to know the surpassing knowledge (gnosis) of the love (agape) of Christ, in order that you might be filled to all the fullness of God.

In this post, I would like to share a few exegetical notes here, commenting on specific phrases, etc. In the next post, I will provide a few summary thoughts on the passage taken as a whole.

Exegetical notes of interest:

Verses 14 through 19 are are all one, long sentence, a continuous prayer made by Paul on behalf of the believers in Ephesus. Paul prays that the believers in Ephesus might experience a union with God through Christ and a comprehension of divine love.

The family of God the Father (v. 14-15)
In these verses, Paul suggests that every "family" takes its name from the "father." This brings the entire cosmos into the family of God.

"The father, then, is the Creator and Lord of all family groupings; their existence and significance is dependent on him." (A.T. Lincoln's Word Biblical Commentary, p. 203)

Clearly Paul is speaking here, not just of those who believe but of the entire cosmos.

"The God who is Father of all families is the same God who is Father of Jesus Christ and who is at work to redeem a cosmos which has become alienated from him." (Lincoln, p. 203)

Compare Ephesians 1:10 as the plan in the fullness of time, to unite all in Christ, those in heaven and on earth.

Whether Paul is making a universalist claim here in his letter to the Ephesians is not really the point. What is the point, I think, is that he presents a powerful and positive vision for a time when all things might be brought together in Christ. In other words, universalism is clearly the end goal and vision of the Gospel: uniting all things together because all things already "derive their name" from God the father.

Giving of the divine glory v. 16
God is giving. To me this is one of the most basic truth of the Gospel: that God gives. The Gospel is the gift. In verse 16, Paul is praying that God’s gift would be of God’s own self.

The NIV translates the doxes of verse 16 as "glorious riches," but this seems as though it entirely misses the structure of the Greek, unless perhaps I am missing something. I translate this (as do most of the other translations) as "the riches of his doxes"; that is, Paul is praying that God would give out of the richness of God's own glory and divinity.

Some of us may perhaps be used to thinking that this doxes, this glory and divinity of God, belongs to God alone. For example, in Romans 3:23 Paul says that all of have sinned and fallen short of the "glory/divinity" of God. And "For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen." (NRS, Romans 11:36) However, in this verse, Paul's prayer is clearly that humanity would share of God's divinity and glory.

Paul suggests something similar in 2 Corinthians 3:18 "And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit." (NRS)

Also note that in 2 Peter 1:4 humanity can "participate (or "partake," "share" koinovos) in the divine nature (Theios phusis). John speaks repeatedly of "abiding" in Christ and records Jesus' prayer in John 17:22, "The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one" (NRS, emphasis added).

The “inside person” v. 16
Paul prays that God would give of his/her own glory and divinity. The gift of God’s divine nature is for the purpose of empowering the “inside person” (eso anthropon). To me, this language implies the “self” that we have discussed. As Kierkegaard says, “the self is a relation that relates itself to itself.” There is a sense in which we have an inner self (or spirit or soul) that we relate to and with. A self has a certain consciousness of being a self. As human beings, we contemplate our place in the universe and the cosmos, we form a sense of identity, we look for meaning, try to discover our purpose, and we reflect on ourselves. We ask the “who am I?” questions.

Paul affirms this existential sense of ourselves with the interesting term, the “inside person.”

Lincoln has some interesting commentary on this term:
The strengthening through the Spirit is to take place in “the inner person,” a notion in popular use derived from Hellenistic anthropology of a dualistic variety. Plato had talked similarly of “the person’s inward person” (Rep. 9.589a), and Philo wrote also of “the person within the person,” which he equated with “the mind” (Congr. 97; cf. also Plant. 42; Deter. 23). In the Corpus Hermeticum this inner person is held to be imprisoned in Adam’s earthly body (1:15; 9:5; 13:7, 14), while in later Gnostic anthropology, according to the church fathers, it is used as one of the terms for the divine spark within humanity (cf. Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 1.21.4, 5; Hippolytus, Ref. 5.7.35, 36; cf. also K. Rudolph, Gnosis, tr. R. McL. Wilson [Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1983] 88–113). The terminology is found in Paul in 2 Cor 4:16 and Rom 7:22, and R. Jewett (Paul’s Anthropological Terms [Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1971] 391–401) has in fact argued that Paul took over the term from Corinthian Gnostics. It is just as likely, however, that he was familiar with the phrase “the inner person” from its popular usage and chose to use it for his own purposes—in 2 Cor 4:16 in connection with the believer, and in Rom 7:22 in connection with the Jew under the law. In 2 Cor 4:16, it stands for the inner part of a person’s being, not accessible to sight, where the renovating power of the age to come is now in operation. It appears to be equivalent to the term “heart” used in the surrounding context in 2 Cor 4:6; 5:12. Elsewhere, in Rom 12:2, it is the mind, in particular, that is said to be renewed. In Rom 7:22, the inner person is equivalent to the mind (cf. vv 23, 25), and the focus is on the ability to make value judgments. Of course, context determines whether the use of such language conveys dualistic connotations. In Paul these are not present, for the inner person appears to be that part of a person which is accessible to God but which, in the case of the person under the law, is ultimately in bondage to the powers of the flesh and sin, and, in the case of the believer, is being constantly renewed. Here in Ephesians the concept is used in a similar way. It is not to be equated with the new person or new humanity of Eph 4:24 (contra Schlier, 169), but is instead the base of operation at the center of a person’s being where the Spirit does his strengthening and renovating work. In the parallel clause in v 17a its equivalent is again the heart, and in 4:23 it is the spirit of the mind which is said to be renewed. 1 Pet 3:4 has an interesting variation on this terminology when it speaks of ὁ κρυπτὸς τῆς καρδίας ἄνθρωπος, “the hidden person of the heart.” (p. 205)

For more on Kierkegaard’s view of self, see Kierkegaard and the self as well as Kierkegaard and the Self: The Fantasy of the Infinite

"Christ living in you" (v. 17)
This continues the theme of union with the divine. Christ “living” in/with us. “Living” (katoikeo) is the common word for a person’s physical dwelling place. In the Gospels, this word is used from time to time to describe the houses, residences, or cities where Christ would stay. Here in verse 17 it is used to describe how Christ lives in the souls of human beings.

It is interesting to compare this with Acts 7:48 and 17:24, where it is suggested that the most high does not live (katoikei) in temples made by human hands. Yet here in Ephesians, Paul suggests that Christ does in fact find his home in the human heart.

Also of interest is Colossians 1:9, which speaks of the Father being pleased to have all his fullness dwell in Christ. The fullness of God in Christ and Christ dwelling in the human soul. Similarly in Colossians 2:9, Christ is the one in whom the fullness of the deity (theotetos) lived in bodily form.

As verse 17 continues, Paul prays that the “living” of Christ might be “through faith in your hearts.” A.T. Lincoln comments, “As in the OT, so in Paul and now here in Ephesians, the heart is understood as the center of the personality, the seat of the whole person’s thinking, feeling, and willing.” (p. 206)

Love v. 17-19
After speaking of union with the divine, Paul quickly moves into a prayer for love. Union with God is manifested through love: being firmly rooted and firmly established in love, being able to fully understand the love of God, fathoming the vast dimensions of love (the width and length and height and depth), and knowing the surpassing love of Christ.

Love is at the heart of union with God.

Filled to the Fullness of God v. 19
The closing prayer to be filled to the fullness of God builds on the knowledge of love. Knowing the surpassing gnosis of the love of Christ, in order that one might be filled with all the fullness of God.

This idea of being filled to the fullness of God is remarkable for its scope. It is not merely a prayer for having a bit of God or drinking of an ounce or two of the divine. The prayer is for the “fullness” (pleroma) of God.