Ancient Graffiti

Without doing research, I'm wondering if any of you can guess the historical and theological significance of this piece of graffiti from the ancient world? Hint: it is a political and religious drawing.

In an attempt to be creative . . .

I used this introduction last night to get a hearing on Paul's tough teaching regarding the man having sex with his stepmother in I. Cor. 5. At the onset of the worship time I told people I was going to "stretch their imaginations tonight . . . .so stay with me 'til the end." Here's what I did:

You might know Kara and I spent part of this past summer traveling. We worked it out to have time in London on our way to Uganda. On our way back, I spent some time in Paris. While I’m not necessarily in love with Parisians per se, the city of Paris is electric. One of my favorite aspects about being in Paris (in addition to Notre Dame) is the experience of walking through the Louvre. Known as perhaps the greatest art gallery in the world (though workers at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NYC might quibble with me), the Louvre is the gold standard, the best of the best.

As Kara and I walked through the halls of the Louvre, in awe of the sheer age of much of the work (and incidentally, the easy-to-forget youth of our home country), we felt the buzz as we moved closer and closer to the Big Show—the Mona Lisa. I’d heard Sara Barton talk about her disappointment with her Mona Lisa Experience, but I was not to be deterred. As we closed in on Da Vinci’s sixteenth century masterpiece, I could barely see ahead of me. The large room was packed wall to wall. Camera’s flashed, voices spoke in dozens of languages . . . we were coming closer and closer.

Just as I approached the velvet markings, in church we call them sheep herders, boundary markers (the kind you see on television roping off runways for celebrities walking down the red carpet via their que’s) . . . a short man grabbed my arm.

“Excuse me, Monsieur,” he said with a degree of brashness.
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Are you a priest?” This is what I get for wearing my black shirt with a white tee-shirt underneath. I thought about explaining non-denominational Christianity and the word ‘minister’ (“technically all Christians are ministers”) to the mysterious French-men. I reconsidered knowing this man’s only orientation to the world was Catholicism. Hence my black and white shirt.
“Yes. I am a priest.” I finally stammered.
“We’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?” All of the sudden I felt as if I was in some sort of version of Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code. Was this a new game show—DaVinci Code Pranks Gone Wild?
“Yes. Come with me.” Now I was getting a bit upset with this guy. Who did he think he was? I could no longer find Kara—we’d been separated from each other in the mad dash to get closer to the Mona Lisa—whose smile was now getting further and further away from me.

I followed the short Frenchmen (his name, according to his work nametag, was Jean-Pierre). Jean led me to an unmarked elevator on the south side of the hallway. We took that down about three levels to an awkward room.

“Wait here,” he said abruptly.

After a few minutes of waiting, he came back with another man. They had a portable table and a large steel box. “We think you will find some interest in the contents of this box. About a year ago, an archaeologist for National Geographic stumbled upon some ancient letters in Italy. They were written in a form of Greek that very few people recognized. After a few months, we were informed by religion scholars that these letters were written in Koine Greek, the Greek of the New Testament. Mr. Graves, I don’t know quite how to say it, but you are holding a letter written by St. Paul himself. This is not a letter that appears in the New Testament. In fact, only a few dozen people have even laid eyes upon this. We believe this letter was written by St. Paul near the end of his life, concerning a person that appears in his first letter to Corinthian Christians. Would you mind looking at it, and telling us what you think? The best we can tell, this letter refers to I Corinthians 5 and St. Paul’s dealings with Christians living in Corinth.”

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I've had to explain to several people what I was trying to do (and why I was trying to do it). That is, 1) we only have some of Paul's letters/correspondence with Corinthian Christians and 2) It's a precious gift that we have any at all.

Paul and Imagination

We started a new series at Rochester Church tonight. We're working through Paul's first (really his third) letter to Corinth. I enjoyed talking most about Paul. The Jew/Hellenistic Philosopher/Roman Citizen/Follower of Jesus used all of his experience and education to expand his conviction that Jesus was the Jewish Hope for the world.

Our teaching site is now up-to-date.

Paul's ability to translate the life of Jesus in Israel to the life of the Church in Corinth is masterful. From kurios replacing messiah to honor and shame, party invitation lists, and political allegiance--Paul is the master of doing what modern thinkers call contextualization. Which, in simple terms, means "having the imagination to see how the story of Jesus is already at work in a given culture while at the same time imagining how the story of Jesus can bring goodness, justice, beauty, and community to various situations."

Bishop (Brother) Wright

Some things just click with me.

Like watching Denzel Washington play the role of Malcolm X perfectly. Witnessing Larry Bird shoot a three-pointer or eating my grandmother’s cream corn. Listening to Bruce Springsteen sing We Shall Overcome on his new album. Certain things in life rise up and grab your heart.

That’s how I felt when I first met Kara: we just naturally fell into a holy rhythm.

That’s what the scholarship, work, and writing of N.T. Wright means to me. From his scholarly work (click here here and here) to his more popular work (here and here)—Wright has emerged as the single most important and influential scholar/preacher/story-teller/linguist/theologian of the twenty-first century. Moreover, I get him and I appreciate his voice.

I can’t say that about all scholars. I struggle through much of Kierkegaard, Kant, Wittgenstein, Tillich, Barth, Crossan et al. Their work is hard work. Rewarding, but hard work nonetheless.

However, with Wright, I get it. All of it. Down to the last footnote. He has a way of simplifying the most complex elements of religious scholarship (philosophy, history, theology, textual analysis) without making those things trite, trendy, or commercialized.

His newest book came in the mail this week and I can’t put it down. This work, by the way, is a summary of Jesus and the Resurrection of the Son of God.

We cannot use a supposedly objective historical epistemology as the ultimate ground for the truth of Easter. To do so would be like lighting a candle to see whether the sun had risen. What the candles of historical scholarship will do is to show that the room has been disturbed, that it doesn't look like it did last night, and that would-be normal explanations for this won't do. Maybe, we think after the historical arguments have done their work, maybe morning has come and the world has woken up. But to investigate whether this is so, we must take the risk and open the curtains to the rising sun. When we do so, we won't rely on the candles anymore, not because we don't believe in evidence and argument but because they will have been overtaken by the larger reality from which they borrow, to which they point, and in which they find a new and larger home, Surprised by Hope (pg. 74).

A Jesus Story . . .

Two men decide to go to church one Sunday. One is a preacher, the other, a biker.

The preacher gets to church early. He turns his computer on in his cozy office. He checks over his notes one last time, combing every last detail and transition. Feeling a twinge of doubt creep into his gut he looks up at his wall to view his theology degrees hanging in great pride.

The preacher walks into the sanctuary prepared for worship. He holds his hands high in the air and declares, “God, thank-you for making me a leader of leaders. I teach, tithe, and volunteer with the homeless. It’s good to be me.”

The other man, the biker, comes into the worship service ten minutes late. Several pairs of eyes meet his. He doesn’t fit the church-going look. Unsure of where to sit, the biker walks close to the front—greasy jeans, tattoos, big black boots and all. As he walks toward the front the chain attached to his hip smacks against his leather coat.

During one of the worship songs (“Who would’ve thought that a lamb would rescue the souls of men?”), the biker drops his head, and presses his right hand against his chest. “God, I sure have made a mess of my life—please, please, forgive me.”

Two men went to church to pray. One was a minister with all the right credentials. The other was a man who loved Harley’s more than the air in his lungs. The man who’d lived a hard life went home justified. The minister just went home. Why? Jesus gives us the answer, “For whoever thinks highly of himself will be humbled. Whoever is humbled will be justified.”

Jesus told that story. It’s in Luke’s gospel. I like it, but some stories Jesus told really irritate me. Actually, some stories haunt me, and keep me up at night. Christianity becomes something different when Jesus begins to keep you up at night. It’s one thing when the Tigers or your shopping list keeps you awake. It’s another when it’s Jesus that won’t allow you a peaceful night’s rest.

Pain

I'm back from spending a few days in Tulsa. The workshop was a great event. Terry Rush, Danna T. et al do a remarkable job putting such a big event together. They truly have the spiritual gift of organization. Also, I have to give a shout-out (that's what we say in Detroit) to the Priest family. Not only are they great lunch partners, their hospitality knows no bounds.

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Here's another great snippet from Levine's The Misunderstood Jew (see two posts ago). Towards the end of the book she tells a rabbinic tale from the nineteenth century which recalls a conversation between two neighbors. This conversation serves to remind Christians and Jews that true reconciliation will only happen under one condition . . .

The first said: "Tell me, friend Ivan, do you love me?"
The second: "I love you deeply."
The first: "Do you know, my friend, what gives me pain?"
The second: How can I, pray, know what gives you pain?"
The first: "If you do not know what gives me pain, how can you say that you truly love me?"

"Understand, then, my sons," continues the teacher, "to love, truly to love, means to know what brings pain to your comrade."

. . . true reconciliation happens when we know what "pains" our neighbor.

Easter

Since eighth grade, I've collected quotes. Here are a few that have been on my mind lately. 

I love this quote from Bono. "I'm a believer, but religion is the thing when God, like Elvis, has left the building. But when God is in the house, you get something else. I'm happy in a Catholic cathedral or a tent show down in the South with gospel music."

I like this quote from Dr. King. "Human salvation lies in the hands of the creatively maladjusted."

I am still trying to fully understand this line from Annie Dillard. I really like Annie Dillard. "So once in Israel love came to us incarnate, stood in the doorway between two worlds, and we were all afraid."

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I re-told the story of the resurrection in John's Gospel four times today (three times at Rochester Church of Christ and once at Christ Church: Macomb). Here's the thing that strikes me every time: In the Gospel of John, women are key characters in the narrative. Jesus' mother initiates his public ministry (ch.2); Jesus reveals his true identity to a scandalous woman (ch. 4); Jesus stands up to the religious power-brokers who want justice over mercy (ch. 8); and Jesus tells Mary and Martha "I am the Resurrection and the Life," (ch. 11). 

We should not be surprised that Mary Magdalene is tending the tomb (ch. 20). She does not equate an empty tomb with resurrection. Yet, she wants to remain near Jesus, because, he is "the Lord."

Jesus comes to her as a gardener. He speaks her name and she instantly knows who stands in her midst.

Unlike the men of power (Pharisees, Sadducees, Herodians), and the men concerned with reputation (disciples)--the women in Jesus' day had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Perhaps, that kind of sociological "thing" happens today. 

But those are the questions we usually avoid asking. 

Jesus Was Not Russian

One of the benefits of doing my grad work at Lipscomb (in Nashville) was access to the Divinity Library at Vanderbilt, just a few miles down the road. Known as one of the best theological libraries in the United States, my “clergy” card got me unlimited access to every journal and book I wanted to get my nerdy hands on. I spent many a Saturday afternoons in a little cubby with a stack of books on theology, history, geography, etc. I said my hands belonged to those of a full-fledge nerd.

It was there, that some of the students told me about a prof from Vandy named Amy-Jill Levine.
I’ve finally been able to dive into her work (some three years later) and I’m kicking myself for waiting this long. She's one of the leading scholars of our time.

Levine is Jewish, but teaches New Testament background at Vandy. In a recent book, The Misunderstood Jew, Levine highlights and emphasizes the “scandal of particularity”—the historical context in which God became flesh. Here are a few sound bytes.

“ . . . The time and place therefore matter. Christianity follows Jesus of Nazareth, not Jesus of Cleveland or Jesus of Mexico City; the incarnation dates to the first century, not the twenty-first. Further, the Jewish tradition into which Jesus was born and the Christian tradition that developed in his name were ‘historical religions,’ that is, their foundational events took place in history and on earth . . .”

Regarding the development of Christianity, “At this point, matters get dicey. To preach to Jews the idea of a crucified messiah is dangerous enough, or, as Paul puts it, a ‘scandal.’ To speak of the ‘son of God’ or ‘god from god’ or ‘savior’ and to mean Jesus rather than Caesar (for these were titles given to the Roman emperor) was to suggest disloyalty to the state. To tell Gentiles that there were certain religious or social practices that they would have to give up was not only ‘folly’; it was seditious.”

All around the planet two billion people will celebrate the Jewish Prophet from Nazareth who died for Israel and Gentile alike. The Jewish man on whom the destiny of the world depends. The one who transformed the cross of condemnation into the cross of hope.