Commands of Jesus We Happily Ignore

I guess I have not read Mt 23:1-12 in a long time because when I read it in today’s Lenten gospel reading it really struck me that we Christians are highly selective in what aspects of Jesus’s teaching we follow. In this passage alone are several commands which Christians simply bypass. Jesus says, “Do whatever they [the Pharisees and scribes] teach you and follow it.” And later on he instructs them that they are not to be called “teacher,” “father,” or “instructor.” For my part, I don’t know anyone who takes these instructions at face value. I don’t know of any Christians who make pharisaic teaching a priority or who consciously seek to follow the teachings of the scribes and Pharisees from the first century. And as for not calling anyone father or teacher?

The reason for this is that we (appropriately) interpret the teachings of Jesus in light of their larger contexts: literary, cultural, and historical. In Jesus’s teaching in Mt 23:1-12 his main point is clear and is explicit in v. 12: “The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.” And Jesus makes this point, like any good teacher, through memorable statements and illustrations, and, in this case, through hyperbole. We know he doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t call anyone father; his point is that God is the one Father of all humanity, and humans shouldn’t take on titles that obscure that reality. If we were to obey that literal “command” we would actually be missing the point.

So as we read this passage in context, we take it as condemnation of those who teach the right thing but do not embody the accompanying humility; we take it on ourselves that we should follow that particular teaching (the humility part), and view the rest as somehow less important.

This is all very interesting to me as a professor of scripture since it raises all kinds of issues of interpretation. When people say they take the Bible literally, or just read the Bible and do what it says, it is just not so simple. Every reader of scripture must make these kinds of interpretive decisions on nearly every line. This is part of the “fun” of reading the Bible! But it can also be a source of real division when one group interprets a passage one way and another group takes it entirely differently—and then those differing interpretations are used to test whether one is “in” or “out” of “our” group.

The reality is that no one reads the Bible in a vacuum, free of other influences. Alongside the Bible we have a history of interpretation that is part of whatever Christian tradition we find ourselves in. In addition to our tradition, we also have our own reason and our own experience. Taken together, tradition, reason, and experience play very important roles in our interpretation of a sacred text like the Bible. This is as it should be, but sometimes we may forget this and think that what we are “seeing” in the text is the one obvious meaning. An awareness of the interplay of these various influences might at least give us some intellectual and spiritual humility as we engage with the views and interpretations of others who differ from us.

As for the point of this passage in Matthew, we are aided by other references throughout the New Testament to the importance of humility and taking the attitude of a servant. In fact, in one of the earliest examples we have of a hymn in praise of Jesus, it is the humility of Jesus that is the subject of the praise:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
6 who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
7 but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
8 he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross. (Phil 2:5-8)

In view of this emphasis on humility, this Lenten season seems to be a perfect time to exhibit humility about our interpretation of scripture. (And if you disagree with me about that...well, ok.)

Jesus in the Wilderness

“And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness” (Mark 1:12)

Lately I am not into wilderness. I don’t want to be in a place, physical or metaphorical, where I am at the mercy of the elements, where I am unsafe, where my very survival is at issue. I much prefer to be in control of my surroundings, feel safe in the life I have ordered, and have my mind on things higher up on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs than simply staying alive. Therapeutic moral deism—a popular distortion of Christianity which envisions a God whose sole purposes are to improve my life and help me follow clearly demarcated moral guidelines—encourages me, perhaps unintentionally, to avoid the wilderness. But here in the gospels, Jesus is led (driven!) by the Spirit into the wilderness. And here in Lent, if I am to enter into this season of reflection, I am invited to reflect on the reality of wilderness. And I am beginning to think that, in many ways, I am in the wilderness like it or not, so I might as well face it.

The biblical scholar in me is helpful at this point. I can take a step back from my personal feelings about entering the wilderness and ask what wilderness meant to the gospel writers, when they chose to include this detail from the life of Jesus in their narratives. Recognizing the cultural, historical, and literary context of this event from the life of Jesus is a good starting point. Such reflection can provide some guidance for more personal reflections about wilderness.

source: faith.nd.edu

For Jewish writers in the first century, the wilderness could be viewed as a place of individual isolation and struggle, but that was not its only meaning. The theme of “wilderness” also had many other connections, some with deep roots in the Jewish worldview embraced by the New Testament writers. Wilderness was the place where their ancestors had wandered for forty years: a place of communal (rather than individual) purification and testing. It was also a place of a place of divine revelation. Moses is associated with the wilderness, encountering God at the burning bush and receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai, in addition to leading the Israelites through their wilderness wanderings. All of these aspects of Israelite history suggest the importance of wilderness for the early Jewish worldview. In addition, in the period of the Second Temple, the wilderness was a place where rebel leaders against oppressive regimes had gathered their forces, particularly in the Maccabean era. Finally, the wilderness has associations with the concept of exile: the forced removal of the people of Israel from the land of promise during the era of the monarchy. Though the Bible also recounts a return from exile in the era of king Cyrus, for many Jewish authors in the Second Temple period, the exile continued to define their reality as separated in some way from the covenant blessings of God.

With this rich palate of associations related to the idea of “wilderness,” any serious reader of the New Testament might want to pause to consider what particular connotations may be in mind when a gospel writer explicitly points out that Jesus was led into the wilderness. One might expect divine encounters and divine revelation in a narrative that involves a journey into the wilderness. (For an accessible and helpful look at the significance of the wilderness in the era of the New Testament, see Daniel Smith’s Into the World of the New Testament, especially chapter four).

To me, it seems that the notion of the wilderness in these passages makes a link between Jesus and Moses very strong. Such a connection is supported when we see other places in the gospels where Jesus and Moses are both shown to be a part of God’s working in the world (see John 1:17, for example). The full significance of Jesus can only be appreciated when his advent is seen as part of the long history of God’s working in the world. For the earliest Christians, themselves Jews, the significance of Moses and the Torah cannot be overestimated. Thus, in his being led into the wilderness, Jesus is shown to be a participant in God’s age old plan of redemption of God’s people. And this to me is a vital recognition: for the gospel writers Jesus is not just a radical new initiative on the part of God to redeem humanity. Jesus is part of God’s plans from of old. “Wilderness,” as a theme, is one way of showing that connection to the reader.

This way of reading the wilderness temptation of Jesus does not preclude the idea that Jesus models a personal practice of piety in which one is purified through time alone in the wilderness, even as one faces and strives to resist temptation. Christians have always identified personally with this narrative, finding in it encouragement and hope when in temptation. But it is important to also recall that a personal application of this passage to “my life” is not the whole story. Jesus’s going into the wilderness is a way of the gospel writer saying: “Hey, pay attention. This story I am recounting is not only about a unique individual overcoming temptation; what follows will be rich with divine revelation.” Just as God was revealed in the wilderness in the past, God is being revealed in the gospel in the life of Jesus, albeit in a new way. The gospel writers are inviting us to make the connection that this story (the story of Jesus) is part of that story (the story of God and God’s people). New Testament historian N. T. Wright puts it this way: “Jesus is acting out the great drama of Israel’s exodus from Egypt, Israel’s journey through the wilderness into the promised land” (Mark for Everyone, p. 6).

When I think about this passage, yes it can lead me to think about my own experience of wilderness, my own experience of exile. I can take comfort in knowing that Jesus was in the wilderness as well, and that I am not alone in whatever physical or spiritual wilderness I find myself. Those are good things to consider. But I can also consider the larger idea that the story of Jesus is a part of the ancient story of God’s redemptive work in the world.

The prophet Isaiah’s words are thus a very apt reminder of the rich tapestry of wilderness themes throughout scripture: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord” (Isaiah 40:3). So whether I find myself in a real or metaphorical wilderness, such a place is a fitting one in which to prepare the way of the Lord.

An Advent Reflection on the Beginnings of the Gospels

Below is an edited version of the reflection I shared at a meeting at Carlow University this week.

Advent season takes Christians through a time of preparation for the celebration of the birth of Jesus. In many ways the birth of Jesus can be seen as a new beginning in the history of salvation; and yet in many other ways it can be understood as a continuation and more complete expression of God’s work throughout history. This can be seen most clearly by reading the beginnings of each of the four Gospels. 

The Gospel of Mark skips right over the birth of Jesus and begins with John the Baptist, preparing the way for the Messiah. John the Baptist, a Jewish preacher and prophet, is linked very much to the prophetic tradition of the Jewish Scriptures. John the Baptist also baptizes Jesus. In beginning in this way, Mark shows continuity with God’s work in history through the Jewish people.

The Gospel of Matthew begins with a genealogy, going back in time earlier than Mark does, tracing the lineage of Jesus back to Abraham, and through King David. Such a beginning shows Jesus to be of Jewish royal lineage- a messiah who is a king.

The Gospel of Luke also begins with a genealogy. But his genealogy goes back even further- past David, past Abraham, all the way back to Adam. Luke also portrays Jesus as a Jewish messiah and king, but by tracing his lineage back to Adam Luke hints at his emphasis on Jesus as a savior for all people- a theme which one can trace through the entire Gospel of Luke. This is also a theme which is prominent in the nativity passages, for example the angelic announcement to the shepherds: 

But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.  (Luke 2:10-11)

The Gospel of John begins not with John the Baptist, or with a birth, or with a genealogy, but with a poem (John 1:1-18). This poem--quite possibly an early Christian hymn--takes readers back yet further in time, even prior to the very beginning of the world. And by doing so in the medium of poetry makes its claims in a powerful and evocative fashion.

As we read this ancient poem, I’d like to note that this poem lays a foundation for several aspects of our tradition as a Catholic University. First, Jesus is described as the Word, using the Greek term Logos, a term ancient philosophers used to describe universal reason- the divine principle that orders the cosmos and sustains the world. Jewish writers had already been using this term as well to describe the Wisdom of God, which sometimes is represented through personification in Wisdom poems in biblical texts and early Jewish texts. The idea for the author of this poem is that what happened with the birth of Jesus was in line with all of the other manifestations of God’s Wisdom throughout history. Second, as this poem begins with creation it lays a foundation for our understanding of the sacredness of creation- all creation is the work of God, and all life and light has its origin in him. Third, through imagery of light and darkness, the poem reminds us that there is a moral dimension to humanity’s quest for knowledge. People can accept or reject the illuminating Wisdom of God which is available to all, and throughout history they have. Finally, as the poem describes God’s Logos becoming flesh in the human person of Jesus, it lays a strong foundation for our understanding of the dignity of all humans, and a holistic view of persons as not only spiritual but also physical, and highly complex. A reminder that as a university we educate not disembodied minds, but  whole persons who are valuable in all of who they are.

The poem that begins the Gospel of John can be arranged in seven strophes representing seven different eras of the work of God in the world through the Logos:

1) The word with God (vv. 1-2)

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  2 He was in the beginning with God. 

2) The word and Creation (vv. 3-4)

3 All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being 4 in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  

3) The Word in the World (v.5, v.9)

5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. 9 The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 

4) The Rejection of the Word in the World (vv. 10-11)

10 He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him.  11 He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. 

5) The Word and those who Receive Him (vv. 12-13)

12 But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God,  13 who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. 

6) John’s Community’s Experience of the Word (v. 14)

14 And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.  

7) The Community’s Ongoing Reception of Grace (vv.16-17)

16 From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace.  17 The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.  

8) Concluding comment after the poem (v. 18)

18 No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.

The climactic and startling moment of John’s opening poem comes in 1:14 where we learn that the Logos, the divine Wisdom, became flesh and made his dwelling among humans. The implications of this claim are rich and deep, and surely have yet to be fully probed. As noted above, though, the incarnation is foundational for some of the essential claims of the Catholic Intellectual Tradition, particularly the sacredness of all creation and the dignity of all people. In the incarnation we learn that human experience, the bodily experience of humanity, can be a place of divine revelation. 

The incarnation thus affirms our bodily existence, and the basic stuff of daily life, as a place where God can be at work- and is. To me this all but eliminates the idea of an either/or distinction between the sacred and the profane. Instead, we can see life as a both/and. Our lives are both physical and spiritual at the same time. All of life is sacred and can reflect divine wonder.

Worshipping or working; being born or growing old; caring for a child or a loved one; teaching or serving; talking with a colleague or student; grading papers or writing an email; and even participating in a meeting. All that we do with our bodies has the potential to be seen as participating in God’s life-giving and light-giving work.

As throughout history, not everyone sees God’s Wisdom at work. And even in the life of Jesus, it was not everyone who perceived the glory of God in his life. But may our eyes be open to see every moment as a moment in which we are participating in something that is much larger than just ourselves alone. Amazingly, we are participants in God's story. This is the mystery that the Gospel writers, in their own ways, invite us to consider.