this was from my New Testament class. We were supposed to first read the passage in Luke about the calming of the storm, and view it as metaphor. Then we were tasked with engaging with it personally. Lastly, we were to pick our favorite scripture and explain why...
Scripture as metaphor:
Crossing to the other side - we are a part of a new exodus, leaving the old for the new; we have set out on this journey at the behest of our teacher/messiah/Lord; he has begun a new creation, and we are ready for the glorious journey...
(the ascension) - Jesus falls asleep.
The storm - wow, this journey is tough. Immediately, things have taken turns for the worse. What was promised is not being fulfilled. We are fighting against not only our own spiritual failings but against what seems to be the very bent of creation.
The calm - Jesus wakes up. He fixes it. (Implied: we make it to the other side).
My personal view:
Well, I always try to run away (far far away) from my built-in, Sunday school, canned responses that are so interwoven with the language and narrative of scripture that I have trouble distinguishing my own thought from that of Cokesbury Publishing. Here, after clearing my head as much as possible, I felt afraid. This story is deeply connected to my own struggle in this present day. I am much like the disciples, pre-calm.
We (humans/Christians in general) are stuck in a nasty storm. The waves are terrible. The wind is powerful and chaotic. There was little to no warning. We are in danger, constantly. So what do we do? I believe that we must read between the lines to understand the space between the storm and the waking up of Jesus (else, why the comment regarding little-faith?). The disciples first tried to bail out. They tried to sail away, or sail through. Some might have wanted to turn back. Others began doing what I find myself doing on a daily basis: accusing. "Peter, I thought you knew how to sail this thing!" "Andrew, you said those clouds wouldn't put us in danger!" "James, it was your turn to check the boat for leaks!" "Thaddeus, it's your job to get this boat bailed out!" "C'mon guys, we suck, we need to fix this boat!! We are failing! This isn't how we were supposed to sail!! How do you expect to get to the other side like this!" "Jesus, you ... you. are. sleeping."
Where are you, Lord? How strongly does the storm rage.
The promise is there in the text. I do not feel inclined to read this passage in a individualistic/salvation light. So I ask that dreaded question. Why? Why are you sleeping? Do you not care that we are perishing?
Now. My choice of text.
Revelation 22:17, 20.
"The spirit and the bride say, 'Come.'
And let everyone who hears say, 'Come.'
And let everyone who is thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift...
The one who testifies to these things says,
Surely.
I am
coming
soon.
Amen. Come Lord Jesus."
I echo the words again, in my soul.
Amen.
Amen.
Come Lord Jesus.
Come.
10.03.2007
9.27.2007
Descriptive Review of The Essential Tillich, Ch 5
Engaging with Paul Tillich’s writing has been refreshing and challenging to my soul. So, as I attempt to do a descriptive review of his chapter on “The Nature of Religious Language,” I am certain that my own enjoyment of Tillich will show through; however, I also will attempt to be as honest and critical of Tillich’s arguments and methods as I would of any other author.
Question: The question for this chapter is illuminated by the title of the essay from which it was collected: “Religious Symbols and Our Knowledge of God” (Tillich 44). Tillich attempts to answer the dilemma that he has created in previous chapters, as he has established that God is the being beyond being, or Being-Itself. If God is beyond being, then how can we speak of God? Tillich writes this piece in 1955, in America, at a time when the world was picking up the pieces from a foundation-shaking war (44).
Answer: Tillich answers this question through his description of symbols over against signs, then through his refinement of the specifically religious symbols. To the author, one obviously cannot understand any reality without some kind of sign or symbol to point to that experienced reality (45). Tillich differentiates between signs and symbols, and this is the key to his answer. A sign can only represent something, but it is arbitrary (45). The letters in this sentence have no internal significance; if they had any originally, it has since been lost. Symbols, however, “participate in the meaning and the power” of the reality which they represent (45). Furthermore, a religious symbol both participates in and points to the “fundamental level … of being itself” (49). Therefore, the concept of God, while insufficient, is the religious symbol for the transcendent reality of the Being-Itself (51). Not only this, but all of the materials that make up our conception of God are from our own experienced reality (52); therefore, our conception of God can only be a symbol, since God, by definition, is greater than all of our experienced reality.
Method: Tillich engages in a philosophical method aptly named dialectic. All of Tillich’s syntheses in this chapter are forged from the theses and antitheses that Tillich brings up. First, Tillich juxtaposes the concepts of sign and symbol (45); his synthesis states that symbols are those concepts that participate in the reality to which they point, and he arrives at this conclusion by illustrating that signs are excluded from this definition, in that they are arbitrary. Next, Tillich holds up symbols to a more specific religious symbol (49). Symbols in general point to a deeper reality, but religious symbols point to the ultimate transcendent reality. Then the theologian holds up the transcendent reality itself as an antithesis to the previous thesis in order to arrive at this synthesis: “participation is not identity; they [the religious symbols] are not themselves the Holy” (49). This kind of logic and approach intermingled with existential language and reasoning drive Tillich’s arguments.
Significance: For all those who have suffered under the yoke of existentialism, and for any and all who feel infinitely distant from a transcendent God, this chapter offers a light unto the path back to speaking of God. We must be careful, Tillich notes, but we must still attempt to point to the deep dimensions of reality with symbols and to the ultimate dimension of Being-Itself with religious symbol. For any and all who have become worshippers of the symbols themselves, this chapter is a warning and a reminder of just how limited our symbols actually are.
Evaluation: Following Tillich’s lead, the thesis is that this chapter logically demonstrates for us how we can and why we should still attempt to speak of the Holy; the antithesis is that the very arguments made are made with signs, rather than symbol. We can then move to our synthesis that this chapter examines language with language, and thus is limited; but Tillich acknowledges this limitation in his tone and structure. One weak point in Tillich’s chain of reasoning is the seemingly simple dichotomies that the author moves through to get to his point. We must ignore all gray in order to clearly delineate the black and white. Sign and symbol, we are led to believe, are the only ways to communicate reality. Conversely, Tillich’s method of differentiating between the two is one of degrees and personal judgment, leaving much open ended and unclear. Furthermore, Tillich appears to work in a world of universals – there is little room in these arguments for different perspectives. Overall, a great chapter that is effective and important; but like all reasoned arguments, it has its flaws.
Question: The question for this chapter is illuminated by the title of the essay from which it was collected: “Religious Symbols and Our Knowledge of God” (Tillich 44). Tillich attempts to answer the dilemma that he has created in previous chapters, as he has established that God is the being beyond being, or Being-Itself. If God is beyond being, then how can we speak of God? Tillich writes this piece in 1955, in America, at a time when the world was picking up the pieces from a foundation-shaking war (44).
Answer: Tillich answers this question through his description of symbols over against signs, then through his refinement of the specifically religious symbols. To the author, one obviously cannot understand any reality without some kind of sign or symbol to point to that experienced reality (45). Tillich differentiates between signs and symbols, and this is the key to his answer. A sign can only represent something, but it is arbitrary (45). The letters in this sentence have no internal significance; if they had any originally, it has since been lost. Symbols, however, “participate in the meaning and the power” of the reality which they represent (45). Furthermore, a religious symbol both participates in and points to the “fundamental level … of being itself” (49). Therefore, the concept of God, while insufficient, is the religious symbol for the transcendent reality of the Being-Itself (51). Not only this, but all of the materials that make up our conception of God are from our own experienced reality (52); therefore, our conception of God can only be a symbol, since God, by definition, is greater than all of our experienced reality.
Method: Tillich engages in a philosophical method aptly named dialectic. All of Tillich’s syntheses in this chapter are forged from the theses and antitheses that Tillich brings up. First, Tillich juxtaposes the concepts of sign and symbol (45); his synthesis states that symbols are those concepts that participate in the reality to which they point, and he arrives at this conclusion by illustrating that signs are excluded from this definition, in that they are arbitrary. Next, Tillich holds up symbols to a more specific religious symbol (49). Symbols in general point to a deeper reality, but religious symbols point to the ultimate transcendent reality. Then the theologian holds up the transcendent reality itself as an antithesis to the previous thesis in order to arrive at this synthesis: “participation is not identity; they [the religious symbols] are not themselves the Holy” (49). This kind of logic and approach intermingled with existential language and reasoning drive Tillich’s arguments.
Significance: For all those who have suffered under the yoke of existentialism, and for any and all who feel infinitely distant from a transcendent God, this chapter offers a light unto the path back to speaking of God. We must be careful, Tillich notes, but we must still attempt to point to the deep dimensions of reality with symbols and to the ultimate dimension of Being-Itself with religious symbol. For any and all who have become worshippers of the symbols themselves, this chapter is a warning and a reminder of just how limited our symbols actually are.
Evaluation: Following Tillich’s lead, the thesis is that this chapter logically demonstrates for us how we can and why we should still attempt to speak of the Holy; the antithesis is that the very arguments made are made with signs, rather than symbol. We can then move to our synthesis that this chapter examines language with language, and thus is limited; but Tillich acknowledges this limitation in his tone and structure. One weak point in Tillich’s chain of reasoning is the seemingly simple dichotomies that the author moves through to get to his point. We must ignore all gray in order to clearly delineate the black and white. Sign and symbol, we are led to believe, are the only ways to communicate reality. Conversely, Tillich’s method of differentiating between the two is one of degrees and personal judgment, leaving much open ended and unclear. Furthermore, Tillich appears to work in a world of universals – there is little room in these arguments for different perspectives. Overall, a great chapter that is effective and important; but like all reasoned arguments, it has its flaws.
Visual Exegesis: Rob Pepper's "Crucifixion"
In this piece of art by Rob Pepper entitled “Crucifixion,” there are several elements that immediately stand out. For one, the piece appears to be a drawing done by black ink, and then colored in with gold paint at selective places. The strokes are very sketchy in nature, and not many lines connect. Due to the nature of the medium, negative space is apparent in almost every portion of the piece. There are many repeated similar strokes, and certain lines seem to be slightly thicker than others. Movement is suggested by the flowing and lengthy nature of some of the lines, and the repeated short strokes imply stillness by their abruptness. The top and middle center of the piece immediately draws your attention, as many of the lines move outward from or inward towards this section. The negative space at the top portion of the piece is blocked off by two parallel arching lines that delimit all eye movement to everything below it. Concentric semicircles facing upward at the top center of the piece imply movement downwards toward the middle center. The piece itself feels very symmetrical and balanced; there is not much pull away from the middle-top center.
The general scene is fairly obvious at first glance (to those familiar with the Christian tradition). The man portrayed at the center of the piece has a beard, what appears to be a crown of thorns, a loincloth, and is very clearly elevated above the observers portrayed on either side, below him. The symbol that centers the piece is a cross-shape behind this elevated man. A clearly delineated cross is not present, but implied by the shape of the elevated man, and two clear lines above at eye level from the man, moving vertically outward to either side from his head. The observers below – four of which are distinct – seem to be downcast, implying grief or shame. The observers are not clearly defined, and leave room for interpreting more observers in the short, abrupt and unclear strokes surrounding them. These elements clearly establish that this is a crucifixion scene.
Several elements that are atypical of depictions of crucifixion, and which seem somewhat out of place, are noteworthy. First, the two arching parallel lines don’t seem to connect with the ground, and therefore don’t appear to be a physical structure in the scene. The left side of this arch has four sketchy block shapes that follow the movement of the arch from bottom left to top middle and do not wildly deviate from their path. The right side of the arch has five sketchy block shapes that seem to be progressively out of the alignment of the arch. In the middle of the arch, the concentric semicircles point downward to the head of the crucified man. Finally, the most eye-catching element of this piece is the golden leaf structure that surrounds the crucified man on both his left and his right. The leaves seem to moving outward from the crucified man, as implied by the strong and smooth strokes that seem to be the branches upon which the leaves are growing. The contrast of the gold on the black and white clearly establishes the importance of these leaves, and consistently draws the viewer’s eyes outward from the crucified man.
At this point, it can be assumed – both from the analysis thus far and the title of the piece – that the crucified man is Jesus of Nazareth, and the scene is the death of Jesus as portrayed in all four gospels. The piece focuses only on Jesus (there are no rebels being crucified on either side), the observers are in mourning, and more importantly, the vine/tree with its golden leaves has sprung forth. The artist has used this primary element to establish what the artist believes was accomplished, or begun, on the cross by Jesus. It is clear that this bright, glowing plant receives its beginning and nourishment from the man on the cross. It is also evident that this plant is moving outward and growing; it is growing downwards as well, as it is beginning to reach the heads of the mourning observers. It should be noted here that the four distinct observers do not seem to be aware of the movement of life that has sprung out of the crucified man.
Another interesting key to this piece is the arch across the top. It does not seem to be arbitrary; indeed, it echoes the prophecies about capstones and rejected stones. Jesus on the cross becomes the capstone that the builders rejected. This element is implied by the unfinished nature of the arch, as well as the placement of Jesus in the middle of the arch. Furthermore, the concentric semicircles also seem to be pointing down at Jesus, and the semicircles are in the spot where the capstone would go. The arch is also in the heavens, implying an eternal nature. The semicircles also seem to symbolize God’s movement from heaven to act in Jesus Christ.
Taking these two elements together, the leaves and the arch, the viewer can come to the conclusion that the artist believes Jesus’ death on the cross to have accomplished something that is eternally important and life giving. The concept of Jesus as the capstone contains the understanding that Jesus’ life and death was essential to the architecture of creation. The concept of Jesus’ death as a life-giving moment means that Jesus began a New Creation through his death and resurrection. This New Creation, as the painting implies, begins on the cross, but grows outward and downward to creation, and to all of us.
Overall, this piece does an excellent job of capturing two beautiful and powerful meanings in the crucified God. Rob Pepper, the artist, stunningly captured one of the most essential elements of our Lord’s death: the breaking in of a New Creation. He did so by using the very images that Jesus uses in his parables and are found in prophecies throughout the Hebrew Bible: the vine, the capstone, and the tree of life, among others.
If any criticism presents itself, it is the criticism that is inherent to any artist attempting to point at religious depths; there are infinitely more meanings to the cross of Christ than are portrayed in this piece. The darkness and bitterness of the death of Jesus is delimited in order to highlight his saving work. Part of the power of the cross is the suffering Savior. Furthermore, only two persons of the trinity are present in the piece. The implied breaking in of God and the incarnate Son are easily found, but the Spirit is not hinted at in this work.
The medium of the art, the artist’s intention, and the subject matter itself all combine to form a striking and moving rendition of one of the most important moments in human history.
9.24.2007
Old Testament Exegesis Paper #1
In the Hebrew Bible, not all narratives feel as realistic as the Jacob cycle. Full of brotherly betrayal, fear of destruction, trickery and cunning, the story has the feel of a modern day soap opera. In spite of the gritty nature of the narrative, or more accurately, alongside of this trait, another characteristic is evident. The narrator of the text tells this story in such a way as to display to the implied reader the emergence of Israel in accordance with the promise to Abraham, as well as to exhort the implied reader to trust in the same promise. I will demonstrate this purpose as it is woven into the text of Genesis 32:3-33:17 by first establishing the context of the written text; second, I will illustrate the importance of the place of the story within the larger narrative; and finally, I will engage in a detailed analysis of the passage, explicating the elements of the text that support my thesis.
The text of Genesis is, in part, a patchwork quilt of old legends and narratives woven into a larger, seamless meta-narrative. We have no records of these stories and legends independent of the text, however the stories carry the character of many differing folktales and legends. Therefore, the narrator (probably some in the sixth century BCE or later ) seems to have consciously attempted to draw varying sources together to help the reader understand this meta-narrative at work. Here, we are examining a section of the Jacob cycle. This narrative contains obvious etymological , ethnological and ceremonial elements; these will not be fully explored, as they are inherent in the legendary material but not urgently tied to the two-fold purpose of the narrator.
The story of Genesis so far has shown the emergence of humanity, the emergence of the patriarchs and the covenant with Abraham. This covenant promise is the primary unifying strand in the stories. The Jacob cycle is part of this narrative; it lasts from Genesis 25:19-37:1. The story of Jacob and Esau is the primary framework within the narrative. Jacob was the younger of the twins, but receives a prophecy that “the elder will serve the younger” Jacob then steals Esau’s birthright, receives great wealth without ‘earning’ it, and leaves a foreign land with wealth and children (sign of promise) to return to the Land of promise.
Gen 32:3-6: introduction // Gen 32:7-23: conflict and response
The players in the story are quickly identified and characterized in the first few sentences. Jacob is marked as a man who is reentering a familiar land (he knows where Esau is), has gained wealth and prosperity in a foreign land, and is subservient to Esau. The story then moves quickly into conflict, as the messengers return with word of Esau; the elder brother is coming, with 400 men, and Jacob is “greatly afraid and distressed.” Jacob has stolen Esau’s blessing and birthright, and now Esau is coming in power to reclaim them.
Jacob’s response is threefold. It is clear that Jacob has only two options: return to the land from which he had just fled, or face Esau and find a way to reconcile with his estranged brother. He rises to the challenge by first dividing his camp into two, so that if one is destroyed, “then the company that is left will escape.” To the implied reader, this division echoes and foreshadows the future division of the kingdom of Israel, as it too was divided and only one “company” was left to escape. At this point in the story, it is still not clear whom Jacob is going to turn out to be. As Brueggemann notes, “it is not known whether Yahweh … will be faithful.”
Next, Jacob responds to the oncoming wrath through a prayer. This prayer reminds the reader that this whole situation is about the promise. God is re-introduced into the narrative, and the reader is reminded that the only reason Jacob returned home is that God promised greater blessing. And finally, Jacob responds to the conflict through a “present” to Esau. It seems clear that Jacob is returning Esau’s stolen birthright to him, as the droves are very clearly shown to be fertile and of high value. Jacob, as far as the text shows, seems to be clearing his conscience by sending to Esau what might be rightfully his; this act is accompanied by a reminder that Jacob is second to Esau, and that Jacob has no desire to usurp power or wealth (any further) from Esau.
The repeated word/image “face” comes into play here, as Jacob declares his hope of appeasement. The word “pen” (face) is repeated five times in verse XX, and it has many layers of meaning. Most importantly, it signifies how completely Jacob is at Esau’s mercy. Finally, it seems clear from the text that Jacob has ceded his original blessing back to Esau. This leaves Jacob in the precarious position of returning to the land without the promise of a blessing. The question of Jacob’s inheritance is now at stake.
Gen. 32:24-32: intercalated legendary material
Jacob was left alone. He then, apparently, wrestles with a man. This legend presupposes the myths of the numen, and the implied reader most likely does not question the supernatural essence of this encounter. The wrestling ends with Jacob and the being in a draw; Jacob has clung to the man, and the man has granted Jacob a new blessing. Henceforth, Jacob’s blessing has been earned through his tenacity, rather than his deceit. This is a major turning point for Jacob, although it does not fully resolve the conflict with his brother, Esau. Heather McKay notes that similar legends implied that the hero “defeats the god, and then is entitled to take possession of the land.” Therefore, it seems implicit that Jacob’s near-victory ensures his continuance in the land he enters into.
More importantly, to the implied reader, this moment reveals the true nature of Jacob. In the renaming to Israel , the listener can now clearly see Jacob as the one whose progeny will inherit the land they long to return to. The hints and foreshadowing (earlier, the names of the tribes) all culminate in this climactic moment. Jacob/Israel is now ready to cling to the promise as he clung to the wrestler.
Gen. 33:1-3: repetition of conflict and response // Gen. 33:4-11: climax and resolution
This section reiterates to the reader what exactly is going on. Lest we forget, Jacob must be reconciled fully to his brother before he can claim the promise. The land will always be at risk if Esau is always looming to the South. The section reminds us that Jacob is still afraid, the companies are still divided, and Jacob is still subservient to Esau. This subservience is made full by Jacob’s “complete” submission and bowing to Esau.
Jacob has passed the birthright back to Esau. Esau now greets Jacob with an emotional embrace. To those in exile wishing to return home, this is a message of hope. Jacob then further establishes his inheritance by ensuring that Esau accepts his rightful sacrifice. Jacob’s declaration that seeing Esau’s face is like seeing the face of God is the inclusio that signals the end of the Jacob-Esau conflict.
Gen. 33:12-17: denouement
Jacob is now shown to move into the land itself, rather than follow Esau further south into what is obviously not the land of promise. Jacob is now free from constraint or guilt, no longer haunted by his past deceit, but now able to fully embrace the promise and inheritance given to his forefathers, Abraham and Isaac. In Jacob, the promise will be fulfilled.
Jacob’s clinging to the promise in spite of the odds being against him is both ethnological in that it displays the kind of tenacity the nation of Israel needed to come into its own in the land of Canaan; this story also is an exhortation to the listener to lay claim to the same promise in spite of fear of rejection, failure or destruction.
In my personal journey, I have encountered many times of fear and distress. Like Jacob, I have set out on my way with the best of intentions, determined to follow the calling on my heart, and have run into many obstacles, often of my own creation. Like Jacob, I often find myself alone at the most critical junctions. This story is a challenge to me to continue to cling to the covenant, to do what I can to reconcile with those I have injured, and to follow through to the very last the commitment to the promise of hope and restoration.
Unfortunately, I often fail at this level of commitment. I aspire to join with others in the great task of bringing the hopeful message of God’s kingdom to the world; I, and my brothers and sisters, often get too wrapped up in self-concern and self-pity to put ourselves at risk. If we are to take this story seriously, and believe its implications, then we, as the community of Christians, must engage those who seem bent on our destruction with humility and hope. We must wrestle with and cling to the promises of hope and inheritance that seem out of our grasp.
Furthermore, we must not forget that our hope comes not from strength, but from weakness. As Brueggeman notes, it is this “same theology of weakness in power and power in weakness [that] turns this text towards the New Testament and the gospel of the cross.” If we put each other first, and do not claim power or arrogant strength over each other, perhaps we will see the face of God in each other’s faces.
The text of Genesis is, in part, a patchwork quilt of old legends and narratives woven into a larger, seamless meta-narrative. We have no records of these stories and legends independent of the text, however the stories carry the character of many differing folktales and legends. Therefore, the narrator (probably some in the sixth century BCE or later ) seems to have consciously attempted to draw varying sources together to help the reader understand this meta-narrative at work. Here, we are examining a section of the Jacob cycle. This narrative contains obvious etymological , ethnological and ceremonial elements; these will not be fully explored, as they are inherent in the legendary material but not urgently tied to the two-fold purpose of the narrator.
The story of Genesis so far has shown the emergence of humanity, the emergence of the patriarchs and the covenant with Abraham. This covenant promise is the primary unifying strand in the stories. The Jacob cycle is part of this narrative; it lasts from Genesis 25:19-37:1. The story of Jacob and Esau is the primary framework within the narrative. Jacob was the younger of the twins, but receives a prophecy that “the elder will serve the younger” Jacob then steals Esau’s birthright, receives great wealth without ‘earning’ it, and leaves a foreign land with wealth and children (sign of promise) to return to the Land of promise.
Gen 32:3-6: introduction // Gen 32:7-23: conflict and response
The players in the story are quickly identified and characterized in the first few sentences. Jacob is marked as a man who is reentering a familiar land (he knows where Esau is), has gained wealth and prosperity in a foreign land, and is subservient to Esau. The story then moves quickly into conflict, as the messengers return with word of Esau; the elder brother is coming, with 400 men, and Jacob is “greatly afraid and distressed.” Jacob has stolen Esau’s blessing and birthright, and now Esau is coming in power to reclaim them.
Jacob’s response is threefold. It is clear that Jacob has only two options: return to the land from which he had just fled, or face Esau and find a way to reconcile with his estranged brother. He rises to the challenge by first dividing his camp into two, so that if one is destroyed, “then the company that is left will escape.” To the implied reader, this division echoes and foreshadows the future division of the kingdom of Israel, as it too was divided and only one “company” was left to escape. At this point in the story, it is still not clear whom Jacob is going to turn out to be. As Brueggemann notes, “it is not known whether Yahweh … will be faithful.”
Next, Jacob responds to the oncoming wrath through a prayer. This prayer reminds the reader that this whole situation is about the promise. God is re-introduced into the narrative, and the reader is reminded that the only reason Jacob returned home is that God promised greater blessing. And finally, Jacob responds to the conflict through a “present” to Esau. It seems clear that Jacob is returning Esau’s stolen birthright to him, as the droves are very clearly shown to be fertile and of high value. Jacob, as far as the text shows, seems to be clearing his conscience by sending to Esau what might be rightfully his; this act is accompanied by a reminder that Jacob is second to Esau, and that Jacob has no desire to usurp power or wealth (any further) from Esau.
The repeated word/image “face” comes into play here, as Jacob declares his hope of appeasement. The word “pen” (face) is repeated five times in verse XX, and it has many layers of meaning. Most importantly, it signifies how completely Jacob is at Esau’s mercy. Finally, it seems clear from the text that Jacob has ceded his original blessing back to Esau. This leaves Jacob in the precarious position of returning to the land without the promise of a blessing. The question of Jacob’s inheritance is now at stake.
Gen. 32:24-32: intercalated legendary material
Jacob was left alone. He then, apparently, wrestles with a man. This legend presupposes the myths of the numen, and the implied reader most likely does not question the supernatural essence of this encounter. The wrestling ends with Jacob and the being in a draw; Jacob has clung to the man, and the man has granted Jacob a new blessing. Henceforth, Jacob’s blessing has been earned through his tenacity, rather than his deceit. This is a major turning point for Jacob, although it does not fully resolve the conflict with his brother, Esau. Heather McKay notes that similar legends implied that the hero “defeats the god, and then is entitled to take possession of the land.” Therefore, it seems implicit that Jacob’s near-victory ensures his continuance in the land he enters into.
More importantly, to the implied reader, this moment reveals the true nature of Jacob. In the renaming to Israel , the listener can now clearly see Jacob as the one whose progeny will inherit the land they long to return to. The hints and foreshadowing (earlier, the names of the tribes) all culminate in this climactic moment. Jacob/Israel is now ready to cling to the promise as he clung to the wrestler.
Gen. 33:1-3: repetition of conflict and response // Gen. 33:4-11: climax and resolution
This section reiterates to the reader what exactly is going on. Lest we forget, Jacob must be reconciled fully to his brother before he can claim the promise. The land will always be at risk if Esau is always looming to the South. The section reminds us that Jacob is still afraid, the companies are still divided, and Jacob is still subservient to Esau. This subservience is made full by Jacob’s “complete” submission and bowing to Esau.
Jacob has passed the birthright back to Esau. Esau now greets Jacob with an emotional embrace. To those in exile wishing to return home, this is a message of hope. Jacob then further establishes his inheritance by ensuring that Esau accepts his rightful sacrifice. Jacob’s declaration that seeing Esau’s face is like seeing the face of God is the inclusio that signals the end of the Jacob-Esau conflict.
Gen. 33:12-17: denouement
Jacob is now shown to move into the land itself, rather than follow Esau further south into what is obviously not the land of promise. Jacob is now free from constraint or guilt, no longer haunted by his past deceit, but now able to fully embrace the promise and inheritance given to his forefathers, Abraham and Isaac. In Jacob, the promise will be fulfilled.
Jacob’s clinging to the promise in spite of the odds being against him is both ethnological in that it displays the kind of tenacity the nation of Israel needed to come into its own in the land of Canaan; this story also is an exhortation to the listener to lay claim to the same promise in spite of fear of rejection, failure or destruction.
In my personal journey, I have encountered many times of fear and distress. Like Jacob, I have set out on my way with the best of intentions, determined to follow the calling on my heart, and have run into many obstacles, often of my own creation. Like Jacob, I often find myself alone at the most critical junctions. This story is a challenge to me to continue to cling to the covenant, to do what I can to reconcile with those I have injured, and to follow through to the very last the commitment to the promise of hope and restoration.
Unfortunately, I often fail at this level of commitment. I aspire to join with others in the great task of bringing the hopeful message of God’s kingdom to the world; I, and my brothers and sisters, often get too wrapped up in self-concern and self-pity to put ourselves at risk. If we are to take this story seriously, and believe its implications, then we, as the community of Christians, must engage those who seem bent on our destruction with humility and hope. We must wrestle with and cling to the promises of hope and inheritance that seem out of our grasp.
Furthermore, we must not forget that our hope comes not from strength, but from weakness. As Brueggeman notes, it is this “same theology of weakness in power and power in weakness [that] turns this text towards the New Testament and the gospel of the cross.” If we put each other first, and do not claim power or arrogant strength over each other, perhaps we will see the face of God in each other’s faces.
9.19.2007
Descriptive Review on Karl Barth's Humanity of God, Essay 2
Karl Barth, The Humanity of God “Essay 2: The Humanity of God”
If one were to attempt to analyze Barth’s arguments in “The Humanity of God,” one might spend pages upon pages explicating all the implications and foundations buried in this concise and eloquent sermon; however, I have two pages, so I will attempt to focus on a brief overview, along with an evaluation of one aspect of Barth’s “consequences” that particularly struck a chord with me.
Question: The primary question, in essence, that Barth attempts to answer in this essay is “What do we know about God?” The secondary question asked by Barth is “What does this knowledge then imply for us?” Barth is nearing the end of his career in 1956, and speaking directly to a group of Swiss Reformed ministers in Aarau, Switzerland (Barth 37). If one understands that Barth is communicating with people in the same tradition as himself, one gets closer to understanding why Barth does not choose to spend time elucidating his reasons for believing in the God-man relationship as found in Jesus Christ; this knowledge also helps us understand who Barth is encouraging and exhorting in his final words.
Answer: Simply put, the answer to the primary question is that we can only know God through Jesus. From this starting point, Barth proclaims that since Jesus is both “wholly” human and “wholly” God (47), we can therefore pronounce that God has both humanity and deity (48). To Barth, “God’s deity does not exclude … [God’s] humanity (49); instead, we both recognize God as human and the implied value of human nature. What does this actually mean? In my own paraphrase, we can’t understand God in any other way than as a human God. Therefore, we are not being superstitious, anthropocentric, or ignorant when we pray to a God who is actually like us. Conversely, we can’t cast aspersion on humanity, since God’s self is revealed as being fully human. This leads to us treating all of humanity as valuable and containing the stamp of divinity (53).
The answer to the secondary question leads out from the previous statement. If God is similar to us in God’s humanity, what does that imply for us? Since the starting point for Barth’s theology is Jesus, then Barth proclaims that God chooses to be for us, even though God doesn’t have to (60). It as if Barth is saying that God could be against us, just as we could be for or against our neighbor. Due to God’s humanity, God can choose any direction; God exists in space and time. This leads Barth to the most powerful aspect of the gospel of grace: God is not constrained to act in any way, but chooses to act for us. This gospel, according to Barth, is the “framework” within which all proclamation in the church must be spoken (60).
Method: Barth uses, on the one hand, a hermeneutic of trust when examining scriptures and history (55). The author also employs the use of analogical thinking and reason to move from point A to point B.
Significance: Within this text, there is a strong call to the church to actually manifest the humanity and deity of God to the world. To a land that was still reeling from the damages of two major and destructive wars – during which the church somehow managed to attach the name of Jesus to both Allied forces, National Socialism, and worst of all, genocide – Barth exhorts the listener and the reader to act as a force for positivity, hope and love on behalf of God and in the power and grace granted by God. Barth’s sermon eloquently encourages a people to continue in the work that was begun in the Event of Incarnation and continued by the church.
Evaluation: Several of Barth’s points ring true with me. Barth’s profound description of human culture (54), his view that all theology must be dialogue over against monologue (57), and his statement that there is no such thing as private Christianity (64) all echoed in my heart and mind as important truths for any Christian theologian. However, Barth’s depiction of the church and his near-commandment to stay within the institution seemed hollow and false. For one, I have yet to discover a church that actually holds to Barth’s view of Jesus, God and God’s humanity. Barth seems to ignore the fact that his own tradition had to move outside the institution, so to speak. Second, I agree with Barth that the Event precedes the institution; unfortunately, I employ a hermeneutic of suspicion when studying church history, and it seems clear that even from the earliest of institutions, the church fails to adequately follow the trajectory that the event established. Therefore, should we not constantly be seeking to be faithful to the Event, over and against the institution? If it is understood that the institution is not in line with this trajectory, then no claim be made on the believer to “affirm … this community in its peculiarity” (64). Instead, the believer should continue, as Barth implores, to be in the family of faith that is most faithful to the Event of God’s descent to humanity and humanity’s ascent to God.
If one were to attempt to analyze Barth’s arguments in “The Humanity of God,” one might spend pages upon pages explicating all the implications and foundations buried in this concise and eloquent sermon; however, I have two pages, so I will attempt to focus on a brief overview, along with an evaluation of one aspect of Barth’s “consequences” that particularly struck a chord with me.
Question: The primary question, in essence, that Barth attempts to answer in this essay is “What do we know about God?” The secondary question asked by Barth is “What does this knowledge then imply for us?” Barth is nearing the end of his career in 1956, and speaking directly to a group of Swiss Reformed ministers in Aarau, Switzerland (Barth 37). If one understands that Barth is communicating with people in the same tradition as himself, one gets closer to understanding why Barth does not choose to spend time elucidating his reasons for believing in the God-man relationship as found in Jesus Christ; this knowledge also helps us understand who Barth is encouraging and exhorting in his final words.
Answer: Simply put, the answer to the primary question is that we can only know God through Jesus. From this starting point, Barth proclaims that since Jesus is both “wholly” human and “wholly” God (47), we can therefore pronounce that God has both humanity and deity (48). To Barth, “God’s deity does not exclude … [God’s] humanity (49); instead, we both recognize God as human and the implied value of human nature. What does this actually mean? In my own paraphrase, we can’t understand God in any other way than as a human God. Therefore, we are not being superstitious, anthropocentric, or ignorant when we pray to a God who is actually like us. Conversely, we can’t cast aspersion on humanity, since God’s self is revealed as being fully human. This leads to us treating all of humanity as valuable and containing the stamp of divinity (53).
The answer to the secondary question leads out from the previous statement. If God is similar to us in God’s humanity, what does that imply for us? Since the starting point for Barth’s theology is Jesus, then Barth proclaims that God chooses to be for us, even though God doesn’t have to (60). It as if Barth is saying that God could be against us, just as we could be for or against our neighbor. Due to God’s humanity, God can choose any direction; God exists in space and time. This leads Barth to the most powerful aspect of the gospel of grace: God is not constrained to act in any way, but chooses to act for us. This gospel, according to Barth, is the “framework” within which all proclamation in the church must be spoken (60).
Method: Barth uses, on the one hand, a hermeneutic of trust when examining scriptures and history (55). The author also employs the use of analogical thinking and reason to move from point A to point B.
Significance: Within this text, there is a strong call to the church to actually manifest the humanity and deity of God to the world. To a land that was still reeling from the damages of two major and destructive wars – during which the church somehow managed to attach the name of Jesus to both Allied forces, National Socialism, and worst of all, genocide – Barth exhorts the listener and the reader to act as a force for positivity, hope and love on behalf of God and in the power and grace granted by God. Barth’s sermon eloquently encourages a people to continue in the work that was begun in the Event of Incarnation and continued by the church.
Evaluation: Several of Barth’s points ring true with me. Barth’s profound description of human culture (54), his view that all theology must be dialogue over against monologue (57), and his statement that there is no such thing as private Christianity (64) all echoed in my heart and mind as important truths for any Christian theologian. However, Barth’s depiction of the church and his near-commandment to stay within the institution seemed hollow and false. For one, I have yet to discover a church that actually holds to Barth’s view of Jesus, God and God’s humanity. Barth seems to ignore the fact that his own tradition had to move outside the institution, so to speak. Second, I agree with Barth that the Event precedes the institution; unfortunately, I employ a hermeneutic of suspicion when studying church history, and it seems clear that even from the earliest of institutions, the church fails to adequately follow the trajectory that the event established. Therefore, should we not constantly be seeking to be faithful to the Event, over and against the institution? If it is understood that the institution is not in line with this trajectory, then no claim be made on the believer to “affirm … this community in its peculiarity” (64). Instead, the believer should continue, as Barth implores, to be in the family of faith that is most faithful to the Event of God’s descent to humanity and humanity’s ascent to God.
9.11.2007
Descriptive Review of Church Dogmatics in Outline, Ch 12
Karl Barth, Dogmatics in Outline – Chapter 12
As we wrap up our analysis of Karl Barth’s Dogmatics in Outline, I am compelled to note that this study has proven to be tremendously beneficial to me, both as a reminder of the core of Christian doctrine as passed down through history as well as an inspiration to pursue my own theology as it develops. For Barth did not need to write in the tongues of philosophy or existentialism or postmodernism, but wrote simply to the common Christian theologian, and in doing so left a permanent and powerful mark upon Christendom.
On the chapter in question, “God’s Only Son,” Karl Barth asserts the divinity of Christ, and the implications found therein. The four adjectives that stand out in the epigraph – and hence, in the text – are helpful, adequate, compelling and exclusive. These four words define the boundary of the argument being attempted. Barth does not attempt to determine what divinity actually is in an ontological sense; instead, Barth seeks to claim the divinity of Christ as exclusive, compelling, helpful and adequate.
Question: Why do Christians say they “believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only son?” What do they mean when they say this? These two primary questions are addressed by Barth in this essay, and they are addressed to the Christian church as it does confession. This starting point, within the church, is made clear when Barth states that “starting from the Christian faith” (83).
Answer: The statement of Jesus as God’s only son means that the “revelation” of God is “compelling and exclusive,” and the “work” of God is “helpful and adequate” (82). These two statements and four terms define what Barth means when he claims that God is “uniquely living through” Jesus (82). The Incarnation of God in Jesus is compelling and exclusive in that in Jesus, there is the supreme and final Revelation of God. If Jesus is God made human (which Barth has spoken of in the previous articles), then there can be no other God made human – Jesus’ Revelation is exclusive. If Jesus is God made human, then we are compelled to seek and understand this Revelation. Furthermore, Barth claims, if Jesus is God made human, then this Revelation has shown us a God that if for us; this God made human is both helpful and adequate.
Method: Barth again uses the primary tool of exegesis and reasoning based on his prior assertions. Barth does not engage in questions of substance and essence, of eternity and time, but Barth affirms the definitions and answers of the early church fathers as they struggled with these issues. Barth commends them for not being “afraid to fight” (86); indeed, Barth confesses that “all we men do is problematic, shameful and joyless,” a caveat for the reader declaring that even Barth’s assertions must be held in the same understanding. Barth does not claim any special revelation or power – he only stands with the church, claiming what the church claims.
Significance: To those who have experienced abuse of power in Christ’s name and to those who have “reduced” Jesus to simply a man/teacher/great thinker, Barth stands for Christ’s divinity, over against these things. For one, to those in Barth’s era who had seen people lay claim to the special Revelation and even the divinity of God (Heil, Hitler = Heil, Marie), and subsequently experienced terrible acts of inhumanity at their hands, Barth reminds us that Jesus as God is both helpful and adequate. And to those in Barth’s time who spoke of the Christian message as powerless and empty in the face of evil and death, the theologian offers us hope in that Jesus as God is compelling and exclusive. This work of God, according to Christian faith, is both final and for our good.
Evaluation: It is now quite clear that Karl Barth is not concerned with abstract theology and questions, but with practical Christian theology, as can be determined from the bible and from the creeds. I believe that Barth accomplishes this to a certain degree, as is evidenced from his longevity. More importantly, I believe Barth offers up a new criteria for faith and progress; we must not discard or discredit the past, but instead we must look searchingly for truth where it is to be found, and then determine what is helpful and adequate, compelling and exclusive in the work of God as “He wills to be for us in His only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ” (87).
As we wrap up our analysis of Karl Barth’s Dogmatics in Outline, I am compelled to note that this study has proven to be tremendously beneficial to me, both as a reminder of the core of Christian doctrine as passed down through history as well as an inspiration to pursue my own theology as it develops. For Barth did not need to write in the tongues of philosophy or existentialism or postmodernism, but wrote simply to the common Christian theologian, and in doing so left a permanent and powerful mark upon Christendom.
On the chapter in question, “God’s Only Son,” Karl Barth asserts the divinity of Christ, and the implications found therein. The four adjectives that stand out in the epigraph – and hence, in the text – are helpful, adequate, compelling and exclusive. These four words define the boundary of the argument being attempted. Barth does not attempt to determine what divinity actually is in an ontological sense; instead, Barth seeks to claim the divinity of Christ as exclusive, compelling, helpful and adequate.
Question: Why do Christians say they “believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only son?” What do they mean when they say this? These two primary questions are addressed by Barth in this essay, and they are addressed to the Christian church as it does confession. This starting point, within the church, is made clear when Barth states that “starting from the Christian faith” (83).
Answer: The statement of Jesus as God’s only son means that the “revelation” of God is “compelling and exclusive,” and the “work” of God is “helpful and adequate” (82). These two statements and four terms define what Barth means when he claims that God is “uniquely living through” Jesus (82). The Incarnation of God in Jesus is compelling and exclusive in that in Jesus, there is the supreme and final Revelation of God. If Jesus is God made human (which Barth has spoken of in the previous articles), then there can be no other God made human – Jesus’ Revelation is exclusive. If Jesus is God made human, then we are compelled to seek and understand this Revelation. Furthermore, Barth claims, if Jesus is God made human, then this Revelation has shown us a God that if for us; this God made human is both helpful and adequate.
Method: Barth again uses the primary tool of exegesis and reasoning based on his prior assertions. Barth does not engage in questions of substance and essence, of eternity and time, but Barth affirms the definitions and answers of the early church fathers as they struggled with these issues. Barth commends them for not being “afraid to fight” (86); indeed, Barth confesses that “all we men do is problematic, shameful and joyless,” a caveat for the reader declaring that even Barth’s assertions must be held in the same understanding. Barth does not claim any special revelation or power – he only stands with the church, claiming what the church claims.
Significance: To those who have experienced abuse of power in Christ’s name and to those who have “reduced” Jesus to simply a man/teacher/great thinker, Barth stands for Christ’s divinity, over against these things. For one, to those in Barth’s era who had seen people lay claim to the special Revelation and even the divinity of God (Heil, Hitler = Heil, Marie), and subsequently experienced terrible acts of inhumanity at their hands, Barth reminds us that Jesus as God is both helpful and adequate. And to those in Barth’s time who spoke of the Christian message as powerless and empty in the face of evil and death, the theologian offers us hope in that Jesus as God is compelling and exclusive. This work of God, according to Christian faith, is both final and for our good.
Evaluation: It is now quite clear that Karl Barth is not concerned with abstract theology and questions, but with practical Christian theology, as can be determined from the bible and from the creeds. I believe that Barth accomplishes this to a certain degree, as is evidenced from his longevity. More importantly, I believe Barth offers up a new criteria for faith and progress; we must not discard or discredit the past, but instead we must look searchingly for truth where it is to be found, and then determine what is helpful and adequate, compelling and exclusive in the work of God as “He wills to be for us in His only-begotten Son, Jesus Christ” (87).
Church Dogmatics in Outline, Chapter 10
Karl Barth, Dogmatics in Outline – Chapter 10
In chapter 10 of Karl Barth’s Dogmatics in Outline, the author tackles the portion of the Creed that contains the phrase, “Jesus Christ.” In doing so, Barth illuminates his Christ centric tendencies. This chapter makes the audacious claim to be expositing the “heart of the object of Christian faith” (65). The author makes his point very clear, that in the second article, “I believe in Jesus Christ,” we find the foundation of all Christian belief and theology.
Question: Barth asks the simple question, “Why must we confess that we believe in Jesus Christ?” Why not say, “I believe in God, but not in Jesus,” or “I believe in the movement Jesus started?” Barth is concerned here with positing that Christians confess that they believe in Jesus Christ, the historical person (69), as the actual and literal center of all else they claim to believe. Why is this so, asks Barth?
Answer: As the author claims on page 65, the “original Christian confession consisted of three words, ‘Jesus Christ (is) Lord.’” If Barth holds to the idea that the closer to the original faith we get, the closer we get to God (and it seems that this is most undoubtedly the case), then a priori the original creed of the Church is most likely to have essential truths therein. So, to Barth, the answer to the previously noted question of why is answered by the voice of the early church, as they proclaimed the Christian message of Jesus Christ as supreme.
Method: One does not arrive at Barth’s conclusion by speculating or philosophizing. Barth’s methodology once again is clearly an exegetical approach to first scripture, and then creeds (the closer to the Incarnation, the better). The reason that Barth accepts and lifts up the creeds and doctrines of the Reformation is that Barth believed, as the reformers did, that they were returning to the more original understanding of the Christian message. Barth, like the reformers, is concerned with refining our theology regarding God and Word, and is focused on the evangelical nature of this confession. As is evident in this chapter, the author speaks of Jesus Christ as God becoming man for our good. This is absolutely good news, claims Barth.
Significance: The significance of this chapter is primarily noted in demonstrating how Barth is Christ centric. By understanding Barth’s point of view regarding the Incarnation, one can more clearly understand the whole of Barth’s theology and dogmatics (65). Accordingly, this chapter is significant to any who might agree with the author regarding the nature of theology, scripture and Christian confession. To any and all reformed theologians, this chapter is a significant statement of belief, couched in modern terms and context, and paves the way for future hope and proclamation regarding the Event of God made man.
Evaluation: According to the measure of philosophers and historians, this chapter does not stand up. Barth does not prove, in fact, does not make an attempt to prove, why Jesus must be declared as central to the Christian faith. To Barth, that Jesus is central is established in the fact that Jesus Christ is central. There is no argument around or against this. Barth has declared, since the beginning, that we are playing with his rules, and these rules dictate that Jesus Christ is central. In fact, this is the very starting point for the theology and expositions that the author has engaged in.
Socrates and Plato might have decried this work as a work of rhetoric, as a work of a Sophist; to many, Barth does nothing more than try to convince the reader of his rightness, disregarding any truth that might be discovered outside the revealed truth already in the mind of this sophist. I would wager, however, that Barth did not perceive his work as sophistry, but instead as exposition of history – a history based in the work of God as done in and through Jesus. I stand in the middle, both admiring Barth for his boldness and clarity of thought as he engages in admittedly Christian theology, but also shuddering at the arrogant and dismissive ways that Barth seems to disregard all other arguments against his reasoning.
In chapter 10 of Karl Barth’s Dogmatics in Outline, the author tackles the portion of the Creed that contains the phrase, “Jesus Christ.” In doing so, Barth illuminates his Christ centric tendencies. This chapter makes the audacious claim to be expositing the “heart of the object of Christian faith” (65). The author makes his point very clear, that in the second article, “I believe in Jesus Christ,” we find the foundation of all Christian belief and theology.
Question: Barth asks the simple question, “Why must we confess that we believe in Jesus Christ?” Why not say, “I believe in God, but not in Jesus,” or “I believe in the movement Jesus started?” Barth is concerned here with positing that Christians confess that they believe in Jesus Christ, the historical person (69), as the actual and literal center of all else they claim to believe. Why is this so, asks Barth?
Answer: As the author claims on page 65, the “original Christian confession consisted of three words, ‘Jesus Christ (is) Lord.’” If Barth holds to the idea that the closer to the original faith we get, the closer we get to God (and it seems that this is most undoubtedly the case), then a priori the original creed of the Church is most likely to have essential truths therein. So, to Barth, the answer to the previously noted question of why is answered by the voice of the early church, as they proclaimed the Christian message of Jesus Christ as supreme.
Method: One does not arrive at Barth’s conclusion by speculating or philosophizing. Barth’s methodology once again is clearly an exegetical approach to first scripture, and then creeds (the closer to the Incarnation, the better). The reason that Barth accepts and lifts up the creeds and doctrines of the Reformation is that Barth believed, as the reformers did, that they were returning to the more original understanding of the Christian message. Barth, like the reformers, is concerned with refining our theology regarding God and Word, and is focused on the evangelical nature of this confession. As is evident in this chapter, the author speaks of Jesus Christ as God becoming man for our good. This is absolutely good news, claims Barth.
Significance: The significance of this chapter is primarily noted in demonstrating how Barth is Christ centric. By understanding Barth’s point of view regarding the Incarnation, one can more clearly understand the whole of Barth’s theology and dogmatics (65). Accordingly, this chapter is significant to any who might agree with the author regarding the nature of theology, scripture and Christian confession. To any and all reformed theologians, this chapter is a significant statement of belief, couched in modern terms and context, and paves the way for future hope and proclamation regarding the Event of God made man.
Evaluation: According to the measure of philosophers and historians, this chapter does not stand up. Barth does not prove, in fact, does not make an attempt to prove, why Jesus must be declared as central to the Christian faith. To Barth, that Jesus is central is established in the fact that Jesus Christ is central. There is no argument around or against this. Barth has declared, since the beginning, that we are playing with his rules, and these rules dictate that Jesus Christ is central. In fact, this is the very starting point for the theology and expositions that the author has engaged in.
Socrates and Plato might have decried this work as a work of rhetoric, as a work of a Sophist; to many, Barth does nothing more than try to convince the reader of his rightness, disregarding any truth that might be discovered outside the revealed truth already in the mind of this sophist. I would wager, however, that Barth did not perceive his work as sophistry, but instead as exposition of history – a history based in the work of God as done in and through Jesus. I stand in the middle, both admiring Barth for his boldness and clarity of thought as he engages in admittedly Christian theology, but also shuddering at the arrogant and dismissive ways that Barth seems to disregard all other arguments against his reasoning.
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