Again, my apologies for the long delay. Life got a little busy around here between the beginning weeks of school and Hurricane Ike roaring up through the middle of Ohio (!). Hurricanes and the Midwest are not a combination I'd ever imagined before, but it was interesting! But back to contagious holiness:
The first time I see contagious holiness at work in the Old Testament is actually all the way back in Eden. God created Eden as the perfect paradise, a place of abundant life surrounded by chaos and wilderness. God commands Adam to take care of this garden and maintain it (Gen 2) and to fill the earth and subdue it (Gen 1). G.K. Beale in The Temple and the Church's Mission observes that the language used to describe Adam's commission indicates that Adam is not only to care for the garden but to expand its borders as well. So let's follow the logic: Eden is a place of abundant life, where rivers flow from it to water the earth. Eden is also the place where God comes to "walk with" man, so it is a place where God meets with and communicates with man. Eden is a place of order and a focal point of God's creative ability. These things together depict a place where God's rule, his sovereignty, and his presence, are active in a unique and powerful way. By any definition, this makes Eden a primordial temple. Adam's charge to expand its borders is equivalent, Beale says, to expanding God's rule on earth. Beale bases his conclusions not just on the language of the text but also on his understanding of how ancient civilizations would have understood the Eden account.
But what does this mean? Well, if Eden is a sort of organic temple, and God's plan for Eden was that it expand over the earth, then God's plan from the beginning of earth's time has been that his presence and his rule spread throughout the earth, not just in an omnipresent, omnipotent way, but in a special, active way where not just humanity but all of creation are determined to fall in with and pursue his will in all things.
Again, what does this have to do with holiness? My answer is that if holiness is being set apart to God for service and devotion to him, I can find no better description of the process outlined above than sanctification. Seen in this light, Adam's job was to expand the borders of a holy place, to infect the lands around Eden with a sense of being set apart to God for active obedience and service to him. Yes, God made the world, and so it technically is all his anyway. But he created mankind with the freedom to choose: to choose sin, and thus spread evil everywhere he goes, or to choose holiness, and to spread the rule of God everywhere he may go. And we--the church--have been commissioned to do the same: to infect those around us with this same sense of being called to set ourselves apart from sin as a people holy to God, expanding the borders of the kingdom throughout the world.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Contagious Holiness
The idea of "contagious holiness" has sort of made the rounds in recent years, most notably in Craig Blomberg's Contagious Holiness: Jesus' Meals With Sinners. In this book, Blomberg took a look at what it meant that Jesus ate with sinners. In a culture where purity was key to one's standing before God, this was a tremendous break not only with tradition but also with theology. Blomberg concludes that Jesus' meals were in fact a sort of parable-in-action: Jesus showed God's contagious holiness in a very human way to demonstrate the new way of the kingdom.
Blomberg's book is well worth the read if the above description intrigues you. He's done a superb--and thorough--job of discussing a concept not many have really touched on. But by the end of the book, it was clear to me that Jesus' eating habits was not the only example of contagious holiness in his ministry.
In fact, I think the idea of contagious holiness begins way back in the Old Testament, back as far asthe Tabernacle and sacrifices Eden and can be see drawn larger than life in the prophets. In fact, it seems quite possible Jesus was deliberately evoking these images and stories in his actions, demonstrating contagious holiness not just as part of his announcement of the new kingdom way but as a fulfillment of the prophecies and symbols of the Jewish Scriptures. With this in mind, in the next couple of posts I'll tackle some Old Testament passages and talk about a new way Jesus brought holiness: through his healing ministry.
Now here's my disclaimer: these will really be more like outlines of ideas based on these passages and certainly not publishable as is. I'm still putting this together in my mind, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.
Addendum: I've recently come across some ideas that mean I need to rethink some of my approach and incorporate some new information, so it may be another couple of days before I get to the good stuff!
Blomberg's book is well worth the read if the above description intrigues you. He's done a superb--and thorough--job of discussing a concept not many have really touched on. But by the end of the book, it was clear to me that Jesus' eating habits was not the only example of contagious holiness in his ministry.
In fact, I think the idea of contagious holiness begins way back in the Old Testament, back as far as
Now here's my disclaimer: these will really be more like outlines of ideas based on these passages and certainly not publishable as is. I'm still putting this together in my mind, so I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.
Addendum: I've recently come across some ideas that mean I need to rethink some of my approach and incorporate some new information, so it may be another couple of days before I get to the good stuff!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
What do you think?
While I was studying for the GRE last week, I ran across an issue topic that's been running through my head ever since:
"In order to produce successful original work, scholars and scientists must first study the successful work of others to learn what contributions remain to be made."
In other words, as I research and write my thesis, my main objective should be to discern areas that have been overlooked or questions that have not been answered. Realistically, of course, you need to have an idea or area already in mind, and then look to see if there are holes to be filled in that area or with that idea. So you must start at least with a tentative direction and not with an exhaustive--and exhausting!--review of an entire body of literature. Then you can look for weak spots or holes that you think you can address in an original and thought-provoking way.
This general idea strikes a chord with me, both in terms of guiding my research and in terms of how I present my research (rationale for the method and topic, especially). What's curious to me is that no one I've spoken with has couched academic contributions in this manner. Instead, it seems that the underlying idea is just to present your take on something and hope someone else jumps on it as a timely or brilliant piece of work (hopefully, both!). In retrospect, this approach seems incredibly un-strategic (is that even a word?) and not a terribly efficient approach to something that's going to swallow a good part of your life, be it thesis or dissertation. The thought of jumping into such a project without some strategic thinking suddenly gives me the chills!
All I can think is that I've stumbled onto a basic principle that either everyone knows and doesn't talk about (because they assume everyone knows), or I've just discovered the way people should have been thinking about research and presentation all along! What do you think?
"In order to produce successful original work, scholars and scientists must first study the successful work of others to learn what contributions remain to be made."
In other words, as I research and write my thesis, my main objective should be to discern areas that have been overlooked or questions that have not been answered. Realistically, of course, you need to have an idea or area already in mind, and then look to see if there are holes to be filled in that area or with that idea. So you must start at least with a tentative direction and not with an exhaustive--and exhausting!--review of an entire body of literature. Then you can look for weak spots or holes that you think you can address in an original and thought-provoking way.
This general idea strikes a chord with me, both in terms of guiding my research and in terms of how I present my research (rationale for the method and topic, especially). What's curious to me is that no one I've spoken with has couched academic contributions in this manner. Instead, it seems that the underlying idea is just to present your take on something and hope someone else jumps on it as a timely or brilliant piece of work (hopefully, both!). In retrospect, this approach seems incredibly un-strategic (is that even a word?) and not a terribly efficient approach to something that's going to swallow a good part of your life, be it thesis or dissertation. The thought of jumping into such a project without some strategic thinking suddenly gives me the chills!
All I can think is that I've stumbled onto a basic principle that either everyone knows and doesn't talk about (because they assume everyone knows), or I've just discovered the way people should have been thinking about research and presentation all along! What do you think?
Saturday, August 30, 2008
School is here!
This fall is starting off with a bang: Greek began once more at 8am for all my poor bleary-eyed undergrads last week, and classes begin for me the following week. On top of that, I took the GRE this morning (it wasn't required for seminary, but it is for my application to doctoral programs--so nice to have it out of the way!), and am still trying to finish the first chapter of my thesis in the midst of the usual round of frantic before-the-semester-really-gets-under-sway meetings this coming week. It's been busy, though I hope with the GRE out of the way, I'll be able to focus more on my thesis and maybe (!) post some thoughts over the next few days.
With that in mind, I wish all of you a relaxing Labor Day weekend, an oasis in the flurry of fall beginnings!
With that in mind, I wish all of you a relaxing Labor Day weekend, an oasis in the flurry of fall beginnings!
Saturday, August 9, 2008
Symbols and Symbolic Language
Ben Witherington, in his Christology of Jesus, writes that kingdom is not a symbol in itself because symbols point to something else, and so refer to something external to the symbol itself (194). Instead, he says that kingdom kingdom of God "refers" to another set of ideas, but does not symbolize them (195). It appears that part of his concern here is to take the kingdom out of the abstract and affirm its present, dynamic reality. Also, he is intent on affirming that the kingdom of God embodies the concepts it refers to, so that these are not concepts outside of itself that it somehow abstractly "stands for." His definitions of an external referent (see above), and what I suppose he would call an internal referent clarify this rather complex distinction.
Something to think on as I determine what sort of language I'll use when I describe Matthew's use of kingdom of Heaven later this fall.
Something to think on as I determine what sort of language I'll use when I describe Matthew's use of kingdom of Heaven later this fall.
The Evolution of Symbols
Recently I've been reading Norman Perrin's Jesus and the Language of the Kingdom. His material on symbolic language is what drew me to his work. I'm not convinced by his designation of "steno" and "tensive" symbols, though. According to the authorities, a steno symbol is one that is static, and its meaning does not change. A tensive symbol is dynamic, and the meaning of the symbol may change over time or in usage.
It seems that such a distinct breakdown is unrealistic, not to mention anachronistic for the first century, as Witherington notes. Language is inherently fluid, and when the meanings of regular words are subverted for rhetorical impact or just for fun, symbols are even more subject to subversion, because a symbol is so much more profound than a description or synonym. A symbol may hold a set meaning until a gifted orator subverts its meaning for his own agenda, or until political, social, or even natural events cause a shift in emphasis and, over time, meaning.
However, a valuable contribution Perrin has made is that he has recognized--and drawn attention to--the dynamic nature of symbols (though he would admit to only certain symbols changing). Their ability and, I think, their tendency to change has implications, then, on how we approach symbolic language and even on how we interpret the author's message and intent.
Practically speaking, this means that the individual contexts in which a symbol is used should have a significant role in determining the meaning of the symbol, in tracing the author's argument through his development of the symbol, and in discussing the impact of the text (how the audience would perceive it). The context in which the author uses the symbol reveals a lot about the message he is trying to communicate--both in the specific instance and throughout the text--which in turn reveals a lot about the author's view of reality and his theology, and opens new venues for considering the author's purpose and rhetorical strategy.
For example, Ezekiel's use of Temple imagery, or Jeremiah's use of covenant, Paul's use of "Gentile" or "Israel" . . . anybody interested?
It seems that such a distinct breakdown is unrealistic, not to mention anachronistic for the first century, as Witherington notes. Language is inherently fluid, and when the meanings of regular words are subverted for rhetorical impact or just for fun, symbols are even more subject to subversion, because a symbol is so much more profound than a description or synonym. A symbol may hold a set meaning until a gifted orator subverts its meaning for his own agenda, or until political, social, or even natural events cause a shift in emphasis and, over time, meaning.
However, a valuable contribution Perrin has made is that he has recognized--and drawn attention to--the dynamic nature of symbols (though he would admit to only certain symbols changing). Their ability and, I think, their tendency to change has implications, then, on how we approach symbolic language and even on how we interpret the author's message and intent.
Practically speaking, this means that the individual contexts in which a symbol is used should have a significant role in determining the meaning of the symbol, in tracing the author's argument through his development of the symbol, and in discussing the impact of the text (how the audience would perceive it). The context in which the author uses the symbol reveals a lot about the message he is trying to communicate--both in the specific instance and throughout the text--which in turn reveals a lot about the author's view of reality and his theology, and opens new venues for considering the author's purpose and rhetorical strategy.
For example, Ezekiel's use of Temple imagery, or Jeremiah's use of covenant, Paul's use of "Gentile" or "Israel" . . . anybody interested?
I'm back!
Sorry for the unannounced hiatus, folks. A few days after my last post it was forcibly born in on me that I was badly burned out. I took a vacation--first I've taken in well over two years, and in that time I've had a baby, started work on my thesis, taught two semesters of Greek, and finished over half of my M.Div. It's amazing how tired you discover you are when you finally admit it! Still am, actually, but I'm ready to go again. I'll give you an update over the next day or two of the past month, and all the exciting thesis- and Ph.D.-related things that have been going on. It's good to be back!
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
The Purpose of the Temple/Tabernacle
My thesis (M.Div.) will discuss the themes of Temple and Kingdom from the Gospels of John and Matthew, respectively. As always seems to happen with research, I've run across tangents that I'd still like to explore. This may well be the best venue, at least until I have something in publishable form.
This particular tangent was a thought I had regarding the purpose of the Temple. Here goes:
The overarching purpose of the Tabernacle (and, by extension, the Temple) is God's presence, out of which flows the need for atonement in order to enter his presence, and the need for worship to respond to his presence. These three—presence, atonement, and worship—describe all of the major ritual roles of the Tabernacle described in the Law. For example, Exodus 25-30 recounts the structures of the Tabernacle and their purposes. Each item either plays a part in the atonement ritual or celebrates God's presence in a tangible way. Leviticus 1-9 describes the rituals of atonement and worship, and the degree to which the two are consistently so closely intertwined throughout the text suggests that their interweaving is intentional. In addition, the many passages within the Law that dictate proper expressions of worship all hold a common thread: worship is to be in the presence of God, at the Tabernacle.
So, to restate, while presence is the key symbol here, atonement and worship are the active images describing the responses of the people to God's presence, and the structures and rituals of the Temple all reflect this in some way.
Any ideas on this? I'd welcome any refining or critique. It's an intriguing enough idea that I believe it merits a lot more thought. More than I currently have to devote to it, I'm afraid. It also occurs to me that I've missed the purification aspect of so many of the rituals. Purification has obvious ties to God's presence, as his people must be clean/pure/sanctified in order to enter his presence. I'm sure I've missed something else--feel free to let me know in the comments.
The ramifications of this view of the Temple extend to the church, as well. Jesus, as the preeminent Temple in his incarnation, certainly fulfilled the atonement imagery perfectly. How should the church, as God's Temple on earth now (1 Cor. 6, among others), fulfill the worship and purification imagery?
Thoughts to ponder, I suppose.
This particular tangent was a thought I had regarding the purpose of the Temple. Here goes:
The overarching purpose of the Tabernacle (and, by extension, the Temple) is God's presence, out of which flows the need for atonement in order to enter his presence, and the need for worship to respond to his presence. These three—presence, atonement, and worship—describe all of the major ritual roles of the Tabernacle described in the Law. For example, Exodus 25-30 recounts the structures of the Tabernacle and their purposes. Each item either plays a part in the atonement ritual or celebrates God's presence in a tangible way. Leviticus 1-9 describes the rituals of atonement and worship, and the degree to which the two are consistently so closely intertwined throughout the text suggests that their interweaving is intentional. In addition, the many passages within the Law that dictate proper expressions of worship all hold a common thread: worship is to be in the presence of God, at the Tabernacle.
So, to restate, while presence is the key symbol here, atonement and worship are the active images describing the responses of the people to God's presence, and the structures and rituals of the Temple all reflect this in some way.
Any ideas on this? I'd welcome any refining or critique. It's an intriguing enough idea that I believe it merits a lot more thought. More than I currently have to devote to it, I'm afraid. It also occurs to me that I've missed the purification aspect of so many of the rituals. Purification has obvious ties to God's presence, as his people must be clean/pure/sanctified in order to enter his presence. I'm sure I've missed something else--feel free to let me know in the comments.
The ramifications of this view of the Temple extend to the church, as well. Jesus, as the preeminent Temple in his incarnation, certainly fulfilled the atonement imagery perfectly. How should the church, as God's Temple on earth now (1 Cor. 6, among others), fulfill the worship and purification imagery?
Thoughts to ponder, I suppose.
The Kingdom and the Church
In the conclusion of his book The Kingdom of God, George Beasley-Murray makes a case that the kingdom and the church are not the same entities; they cannot be used interchangeably, suggesting that members of one are not automatically members of the other. However, he seems to be making his case by defining the church as an organization, an institution. (He doesn't actually offer an explicit definition of church, but his usage suggests this definition.) He does provide a short definition of the kingdom of God, though, as the reign or rule of God.
Given these definitions, I can agree that the organization or institution known as the church should not be blithely equated with the kingdom. However, I find it surprising that Beasley-Murray, who has so consistently throughout his book depended on biblical usage to determine definitions (especially of the kingdom), to then use a definition of the church that holds no resonance with the New Testament. NT usage of ekklesia refers to the gathering of those who believe, not to an institution of attendees.
The church is made up of those who believe and seek to obey God, who have been brought into "the kingdom of the Son he loves" (Col. 1.13). So the church is part of God's kingdom. And by Jesus' definition, those who believe his words, love him, and obey his commands belong to his family, the church (John 15, Mark 16, Luke 8). So these, then, belong to the kingdom. The members of the one really are automatically members of the other, because obedience is the proof of membership for both. Yes, I can concede that the kingdom transcends the church because I would include God's supernatural working as key to kingdom momentum, but I do wish Beasley-Murray's discussion was more detailed. As it is, I just can't buy it.
Given these definitions, I can agree that the organization or institution known as the church should not be blithely equated with the kingdom. However, I find it surprising that Beasley-Murray, who has so consistently throughout his book depended on biblical usage to determine definitions (especially of the kingdom), to then use a definition of the church that holds no resonance with the New Testament. NT usage of ekklesia refers to the gathering of those who believe, not to an institution of attendees.
The church is made up of those who believe and seek to obey God, who have been brought into "the kingdom of the Son he loves" (Col. 1.13). So the church is part of God's kingdom. And by Jesus' definition, those who believe his words, love him, and obey his commands belong to his family, the church (John 15, Mark 16, Luke 8). So these, then, belong to the kingdom. The members of the one really are automatically members of the other, because obedience is the proof of membership for both. Yes, I can concede that the kingdom transcends the church because I would include God's supernatural working as key to kingdom momentum, but I do wish Beasley-Murray's discussion was more detailed. As it is, I just can't buy it.
It's late . . .
and I suppose one shouldn't decide on the spur of the moment to make one's thoughts open to the world, but the blogging bug has bitten, and I'm too tired to fend it off.
Really, thesis research is just daunting--a lot of work with not so much to show for it--and I'm badly in need of feeling that I've accomplished something today, not to mention hoping that a little stream-of-consciousness might jar some itty bit of brilliance loose from a rather sticky corner somewhere. Too much Chilton, Schweitzer, and Dodd will do that to you, not to mention trying to put together a syllabus for a new class. Urgh! Writing lesson objectives and course rationales have always given me hives, and never more so than this weekend!
Reality has struck hard, though, and convinces my procrastination to take a hike. What's not done now must be done later, and I've no guarantee I'll have the buckets of time later, or that my toddler will compliantly take her nap on deadline day. But my mind is fuzzing over now, and some bit of conscious thought remaining reminds me I'll regret staying up tonight.
Ah, well. I suppose it's too much to hope for that piece of brilliance to shake loose while I sleep and present me with an Einstein-ian solution to a very knotty introduction? Yeah . . . I was afraid so.
Really, thesis research is just daunting--a lot of work with not so much to show for it--and I'm badly in need of feeling that I've accomplished something today, not to mention hoping that a little stream-of-consciousness might jar some itty bit of brilliance loose from a rather sticky corner somewhere. Too much Chilton, Schweitzer, and Dodd will do that to you, not to mention trying to put together a syllabus for a new class. Urgh! Writing lesson objectives and course rationales have always given me hives, and never more so than this weekend!
Reality has struck hard, though, and convinces my procrastination to take a hike. What's not done now must be done later, and I've no guarantee I'll have the buckets of time later, or that my toddler will compliantly take her nap on deadline day. But my mind is fuzzing over now, and some bit of conscious thought remaining reminds me I'll regret staying up tonight.
Ah, well. I suppose it's too much to hope for that piece of brilliance to shake loose while I sleep and present me with an Einstein-ian solution to a very knotty introduction? Yeah . . . I was afraid so.
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