Monthly Archives: January 2025

Emil Brunner’s Simple Faith (4)

Theology, , ,

Evil & Election

Although God created, rules, and guides the world God is not the sole actor in it. The reality of evil and suffering in the world calls divine providence and goodness into question. “Who can deny that this is a bedevilled world?” (30). Although Brunner acknowledges the reality of a diabolical power inimical to God, the greater issue is the stubborn opposition to God’s will which arises in human willing and which results in that being done which God does not will. God allows this. The disorder in the world is not a sign that God’s rule has been overthrown or forfeited. Rather, God gives time and space for the human creature to learn of God, to hear his Word, and freely to turn to God.

Hence He gives us, situated as we are in this deranged world, His Word, namely, the Law and the Promises, that we, perceiving the insane folly of evil and the fixed nature of His love, may return to Him in freedom and gladness (31).

Further, God has given himself to the world in Jesus Christ, permitting the world to rage against him, and in and through the cross of Christ demonstrating that he is Lord even in the face of the greatest human evil. Indeed, “men even in rebellion against him still remain tools in His hand to be used as He wills” (32).

In the Cross of Jesus Christ we perceive that destruction is not God’s will, and that in spite of it God keeps His masterly grip upon the world, and accomplishes His counsels of love. He gives us time to decide for ourselves, to turn to him (32).

Brunner does not pretend to explain God’s purpose in the face of the horrendous evil in the world. He places the blame for this evil squarely on the misuse of human free will and the diabolical power at work in the world. God does not will this evil and suffering or the derangement of this bedevilled world. But in the darkness of this world God shows us his will, found in the commandments and the gospel of forgiveness and salvation (33). The task of the church is to not explain but to announce the triumph of God’s love as revealed in the cross of Christ. Or to put it in words that Brunner does not use: the gospel is our theodicy. God has not given us an explanation for evil and suffering but an answer and a hope, grounded in the cross and resurrection of Jesus.

God’s purposes are grounded in the eternal thought and will of God, in ‘the eternal counsels’ of the God who views us graciously: “Deep, deep are the roots of our life” (33). Divine election signifies both origin—we come from eternity—and destiny—we are destined for eternity. The ‘we’ in this sentence is the believer; the circle of election is the circle of faith.

The elect in themselves are only ‘them that believe.’ And believers are those who in their hearts ‘have become obedient to the Word of God.’ Election dawns upon no one except in the full, independent, obedient and trustworthy decision of faith. … Election and obedience, election and personal decision of faith belong inseparably together in the Bible. One cannot play election off against decision, nor personal decision against election, tempting though that be to reason. Reason must bow here, yet dare not abdicate. How the two can be reconciled, the free eternal election of God and the responsible decision of man is a problem we cannot understand (35, original emphasis).

Election thus involves first God’s free, eternal decision and then a person’s responsible decision, the latter grounded in the former: “When a man is permitted to perceive that God sees him from eternity … A man then knows…” (34). Brunner rejects the idea of ‘double predestination,’ the idea that God from all eternity has chosen some for salvation and others for damnation. Of this doctrine,

There is no word to be found in the Holy Scripture. One can scarcely avoid drawing this conclusion from the teachings of the Scripture. Logic always misleads in that direction. But the Scripture itself does not do it, nor should we (35).

Thus, Brunner holds an election to faith and a judgement of the unbelieving. He insists that underlying all this is the divine will and purpose but refuses to draw the logical conclusion that God is responsible for the fate of the unbelieving. The teaching of Scripture is ‘a-logical’ (36), a mystery beyond our ability but a mystery nonetheless that may be believed and in which we may rejoice. This election—and thus our salvation—is entirely by grace alone, the operation of God’s boundless love and mercy. This is the Christian’s ‘greatest joy,’ and the true source of the ‘peace that passes all understanding’ (34).

Emil Brunner’s Simple Faith (3)

Theology, ,

Creational Purpose

God is the Creator—and Lord—of all things. He is the Lord prior to, in, and over his creation. To know God as Creator is to know him as the Lord who claims us in the totality of our existence. The world is God’s world and it testifies to him who made it.

The world is the house of the Great King and the Great Artist. He does not permit Himself to be seen; for man cannot see God, only the world. But this world is His creation, and whether conscious of it or not, it speaks of Him who made it. Yet in spite of this testimony man does not know Him, or at least not rightly. … We behave ourselves in this God-created world (if one may use the clumsy simile) like dogs in a great art gallery. We see the pictures and yet fail to see them. … Our madness, haughtiness, irreverence—in short, our sin, is the reason for our failure to see the Creator in His creation (24-25).

Humanity in all ages has had ‘presentiments’ of God though not true or full knowledge. This natural awareness of God’s existence is the basis of human religion: “the gods of the heathen are partly constructions of human fantasy, partly surmise of the true God, a wild combination of both” (26). This is true also of the philosophers.

Brunner distinguishes between belief that a divine being created the world (which is merely a theory of origins) and faith in the creator. The latter is, as already mentioned, to know God as Lord and to obey him as such.

The world is not an arbitrary occurrence, rather God’s creation is purposeful. What appears to us as perhaps random chance or fate finds its place in God’s overarching plan.

There is One who knows the destiny of the world, He who first made the sketch, He who created and rules the world according to this plan. What is confusion for us is order for Him, what we call chance is designed by Him, thought out from eternity and executed with omnipotence (28).

This purpose, however, is not immediately evident to those who live in the world and its historical unfolding but is a matter of revelation, a matter of Jesus Christ. Here Brunner announces the divine purpose: “reconciliation, salvation, forgiveness of sins, promise of eternal life, fulfilment of all things in God’s own life. That is God’s plan for the world” (29). The world that originated in God is to find its fulfilment and destiny in God: to this we are called and invited, and to this we must respond. “To hear this call, and in this call to hear where God will lead us, to have insight into God’s plan for the world—that is faith” (30).

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:17-21

Scripture, ,

Mark’s Passion Narrative (4)

Now that the evening has come, Jesus and his disciples gather for their meal, portrayed in Mark as a Passover meal. Already, we (the readers) have been warned that Jesus is to be betrayed, and already we know that the betrayer will be Judas; but none of the other disciples know this. And now Jesus himself announces his betrayal while they were eating—another prophetic insight.  You can read the passage here.

Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me, one who is eating with me.

Why does Jesus raise the topic? If he knows what will happen, why not let it simply play out? By raising it, Jesus is forewarning his disciples what is soon to take place. Perhaps they won’t be so shocked, especially at the betrayal by one of their own company.

Might Jesus’ warning about the fate of the betrayer be an opportunity for Judas to reconsider his part? Did Judas have to go the way that he did? Was his freedom overridden by an imperious divine will? (Cf. John 17:12) Here we are confronted once more with the mystery of the interaction of divine sovereignty and human responsibility. God’s purpose will be realised, and yet it is Judas who chooses, who acts, who betrays. The chief priests had already decided to kill Jesus; might they have achieved their purpose via a different mechanism?

His announcement also gives each of them pause, an opportunity for self-reflection: “Surely, not I?” They are confronted with the possibility that they could be the one who betrays Jesus. Each in turn, the disciples question how it could be them, insisting that it is not. Yet they do not know what Jesus knows and are shocked and grieved by the idea.

It is all the more poignant that it is ‘one who is eating with me.’ To share table and to eat together was no casual affair but an act of fellowship, friendship, hospitality, and brotherhood. It is unthinkable that one should turn against one’s friends. Yet Jesus insists that it is one of the twelve, an intimate friend, “one who is dipping bread into the bowl with me.” We have echoes in this passage of David’s distress in the Psalms:

Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who ate my bread, has lifted up his heel against me (Psalm 41:9).

For it is not an enemy who reproaches me—I could bear that. … But it is you, a man my equal, my companion and my familiar friend; we who had sweet fellowship together; we walked in the house of God in the throng.

This deepens Jesus’ announcement: it is not merely a dispassionate notice, a piece of information. Jesus, too, is distressed, feeling the pain of the coming betrayal. He loved Judas, valued his friendship, appreciated the intimacy he shared with him: washed his feet (cf. John 13:1-11).

In verse 21 we have a further pronouncement:

For the Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.

Jesus had spoken multiple times of his coming death—the ‘fate’ of the Son of Man. Afterwards, the disciples will recall that Jesus knew, that he was not taken by surprise but went willingly to his fate. Although he might have taken action to avoid this fate, he did not but rather bowed to it. This was something written, prophesied in Scripture, and so inevitable and assured. (Although precisely which biblical passages Jesus had in mind is not disclosed here.) The wheel has been set in motion, a divine necessity is underway, everything unfolding according to God’s plan. Thus, it is not ‘fate’ actually, not ‘blind fate,’ not an impersonal machinery operating arbitrarily. Rather, it is the purpose of the Most High to which the Son of Man goes.

Nor is all this without human accompaniment. “Woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is handed over!” The betrayer’s whole life will be summed up as it were, in this one act. This will provide the meaning of his existence. How different to the act of the unnamed woman. How sad!

Jesus loved his betrayer as he did all the disciples. And it would appear that they also loved him. And yet, one would betray him.

Surely not I, Lord? Surely not I?

Emil Brunner’s Simple Faith (2)

Theology, , , ,

The Knowledge of God

Brunner’s first three meditations concern the knowledge of God: Is there a God? Is the Bible the Word of God? and the Mystery of God. Brunner wants to turn the first question on its head. To even ask the question is to signify a fundamental disconnect between ‘ourselves’ and our heart, conscience, and awareness of the world, all of which testify to the reality of God. “Your heart knows something of God already; and it is that very knowledge which gives your question existence and power” (Brunner, Our Faith, 14). Further, “not only the heart within, but the world without also testifies of God” (14-15).

To ask the question, then, “Is there a God?” is to fail to be morally serious. For when one is morally serious one knows that good is not evil, that right and wrong are two different things, that one should seek the right and eschew the wrong. There is a divine order to which one must bow whether one likes to do so or not. Moral seriousness is respect for the voice of conscience. If there is no God, conscience is but a complex of residual habits and means nothing. If there is no God then it is absurd to trouble oneself about right—or wrong (15-16).

Like Calvin, Brunner presupposes an innate knowledge of God, supported by an external knowledge of God grounded in the created order. “That God exists is testified by reason, conscience, and nature with its wonders. But who God is—God Himself must tell us in His Revelation” (16, original emphasis). This ‘natural’ knowledge of God (shared by all humanity) is really an awareness of something more rather than personal knowing. One does not know God in a personal or relational sense but ‘knows’ of God or has an intuition of his reality. The reason for this is that God is not ‘a thing’ in this world, one more thing amongst other things, an object of knowledge which might be discovered and categorised and thereby mastered by the knower (13). God, rather, intends that we might know him and be mastered by him.

It is for this reason that God has given us the Bible: “God has made known the secret of His will through the Prophets and Apostles in the Holy Scriptures. He permitted them to say who He is” (18). Brunner holds an instrumental view of the Scripture. God speaks to humanity through the Bible. It is the Word of God because and as it points to Jesus Christ, and because in it we hear the voice of God. The Bible speaks in many ways of its one central theme—of the Good Shepherd God who comes to us. “The voices of the Prophets are the single voice of God, calling. Jesus Christ is God Himself coming. In Him, ‘the word became flesh.’ … He is the Word of God” (19, original emphasis). Brunner uses the analogy of a gramophone record and the record label “His Master’s Voice” to illustrate how the Scripture functions as the Word of God. (I remember as a child my father’s record collection included albums from this label!)

If you buy a gramophone record you are told that you will hear the Master Caruso. Is that true? Of course! But really his voice? Certainly! And yet—there are some noises made by the machine which are not the master’s voice, but the scratching of the steel needle upon the hard disk. But do not become impatient with the hard disk! For only by means of the record can you hear ‘the master’s voice.’ So, too, is it with the Bible. It makes the real Master’s voice audible—really His voice, His words, what He wants to say. But there are incidental noises accompanying, just because God speaks His word through the voice of man. … But through them God speaks His word. … The importance of the Bible is that God speaks to us through it (19-20).

What the Bible reveals is Jesus Christ—the mystery of who God is. All that humans can know in their own capacity is the world. God, however, is not the world but rather the mystery within which the world has its being (21). The mystery of God is threefold: his transcendent majesty over the world, his searing holiness which wills our obedience, and his unspeakable love and condescension. In his transcendent majesty, God is Lord. He is the Almighty whose holy will confronts us as an absolute to which we must either submit ourselves or against which we will shatter ourselves.

But the mastery of God is even greater. The will of this holy God—what He absolutely desires, is love. His feeling towards us is of infinite love. He wants to give Himself to us, to draw and bind us to Him. Fellowship is the one thing He wants absolutely. God created the world in order to share Himself. … God desires one thing absolutely: that we should know the greatness and seriousness of His will-to-love, and permit ourselves to be led by it. Our heart is like a fortress which God wants to capture (22-23).

Brunner’s portrayal of the divine mystery posits the sheer givenness of God’s transcendence: God simply is and is the almighty and holy God. This is the overarching reality within which our being and the being of the world has its being. The central category Brunner uses to discuss God’s relation to the world is the divine will. Brunner speaks first of the holiness and demand of God and only then of the tender lovingkindness of God. In each case it is a matter of the divine willing, and in each case the divine will is absolute. Yet although Brunner speaks of the divine holiness first, it seems that the divine loving has a deeper and perhaps more fundamental bearing: God created the world in order to share himself with it, and wills above all things that we should know his ‘will-to-love.’

Our heart is like a fortress which God wants to capture. He wants to capture it with His love. If, overcome by His love, we open the gate, it is well with our souls. If, however, we obstinately close our hearts to His love, His absolute will—then woe to us! If we refuse to surrender to the love of God, we must feel the absoluteness of His will as wrath (23-24).

A Parable for 2025

Personal

On Saturday as I started my regular bike ride, I thought: ‘The rail line to Ellenbrook is now completed: perhaps the bike path—which had been closed for the duration of the rail-line construction—has been re-opened.’ It was!

I determined that I would ride out to Whiteman Park, perhaps take some photos of the kangaroos and then return home. Somehow I missed the turn-off to Whiteman Park. So then I decided that I may as well continue on and ride through to Ellenbrook. After a few ‘interesting’ turns and ‘unexpected detours’ [read: I got lost], I finally made it to Ellenbrook, and even found my way to the new train station there, before heading back home.

It was a good ride, just over 50Ks / two hours: quite fast for me. The ride out was fast due to a tail wind. Bringing it home, though, was harder. Always is.

Welcome to 2025! Even if at times it is tough, or you take a wrong turn or get lost or find it hard to bring it home, I pray that this might be a good year for you, a year touched—even filled—with the goodness and kindness of God.

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:10-16

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (3)Jesus is going to die. He knows it, and somehow the woman who anointed him knows it. Now events move quickly with Judas enacting a conspiracy to betray Jesus to the chief priests. You can read the passage here.

Already in Mark 3:19, Judas Iscariot—Judas from the village of Karioth (Lane, The Gospel of Mark [NICNT], 136)—has been introduced as the last of the twelve disciples chosen by Jesus to accompany him and learn his way of life and service, and identified as the one “who also betrayed him.” The word used in 3:19 and twice in 14:10-11 is paradidõmi which means simply ‘to hand over or deliver’ and in this instance ‘to betray.’ Judas will hand Jesus over to the authorities, helping them in their wish to arrest him stealthily and avoid a riot (vv. 1-2). Further, Jesus is perhaps hard to locate when not in public (cf. John 11:57). Thus, Judas is seeking an opportune time to hand him over, away from the public gaze.

In 9:31 and 10:33 (twice) Jesus also uses paradidõmi to speak of his being handed over to be condemned to death. These ‘passion predictions’ indicate that Jesus is aware of his impending death—and of the resurrection which will follow. As such, this ‘handing over’ is in accordance with God’s purpose. That Judas now enacts his conspiracy is his decision and choice and yet somehow, it is also the fulfilment of the divine plan already announced. This does not diminish the pathos of the account: “then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the twelve…” In Mark’s Gospel we are not given any motive for Judas’s betrayal and are left wondering that one of Jesus’ closest associates could act in this way.

The sense of the unfolding of a divine plan continues in the strange story of verses 12-16. Mark begins with a timestamp which proves a little confusing. The anointing at Bethany is preceded with a similar note, that the Passover and (feast of) Unleavened Bread is two days away. Now in verse 12 it is the first day of Unleavened Bread “when the Passover was being sacrificed.” Technically, Unleavened Bread follows Passover on the fifteen of Nisan, but Mark appears to conflate the two feasts, for the Passover lambs were sacrificed on Nisan fourteenth and the Passover eaten that evening. It helps to recall that in Jewish time, the new day started at sunset, and so the transition from the fourteenth to the fifteenth occurred in the early evening. Further, it may be that Mark is merely repeating an understanding in which, in the popular mind, the two feasts were regularly conflated (e.g. Lane, 497).

More complicated is the realisation that in John’s account, Jesus’ final meal occurs before the Passover feast (John 13:1) and Jesus dies on Nisan 14 as the Passover lambs are being sacrificed (John 19:14, 30-31, 42). Has John sacrificed historical accuracy here, in support of a theological statement about Jesus, the Lamb of God? Or is John’s account more likely—with the result that Mark and the other Synoptic gospels have mistakenly called Jesus’ last meal a Passover meal when in fact it preceded the Passover? Or is there some way of reconciling the accounts so that both Mark and John are historically accurate accounts? Scholars have canvassed all three options of what Lane (497) has called “one of the most difficult issues in passion chronology,” although none of the proposals are entirely satisfactory.

Whatever the answer to this historical problem, it cannot be doubted that Mark portrays the meal as a Passover meal. In verse 12 when the lambs are being sacrificed, the disciples ask Jesus where he would like to eat the Passover. Verses 14 and 16 clearly state that they prepared the Passover meal in accordance with his instructions. The description of the meal also includes several features that mark it as a Passover celebration (Lane, 498; Morna Hooker, The Gospel according to Saint Mark [BNTC], 333).

The story itself is reminiscent of the mysterious story of Mark 11:1-7, about the colt for Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. The disciples obviously assume that they will keep the feast and so approach Jesus with their question. Jesus’ response is cryptic: they are to go into the city, follow a man carrying a pitcher of water (typically a woman’s role and so somewhat unusual), and tell the owner of the house that the man enters, “The Teacher says, ‘Where is my guest room in which I may eat the Passover with my disciples?’”

How did Jesus know? The whole episode has the sense of the prophetic, of divine control, of Jesus being assured and in control of the unfolding events. It may be, of course, that he knew the owner of the house and the owner knew him as ‘the Teacher.’ And perhaps too he knew the habits of the servant. This seems less than likely, however, for then he could have sent the two disciples directly to the house. Rather, Jesus has prophetic insight and is being led in his ministry, even in so mundane a task. We might say, although Mark does not say it like this, that Jesus is being led by the Holy Spirit—and his disciples are observing and learning.

Growing into the Truth

Spirituality,

In his book The Skillful Teacher, Stephen D. Brookfield speaks of ‘growing into the truth of teaching.’

Yet the truth is…that each of us comes to certain understandings and insights regarding teaching that just seem so right, so analytically consistent, and so confirmed by our experiences that describing them as truthful seems entirely justified. The truth I am talking about here is not universal truth, the grand narrative of standardized pedagogy that says that everyone should think, believe, or teach in a certain way. It is a more personal truth, one smelted and shaped in the fire of our practice so that it fits the situations we deal with every day. … By growing into the truth of teaching I mean developing a trust, a sense of intuitive confidence, in the accuracy and validity of our judgments and insights (8-9).

Brookfield is not advocating a solipsistic approach to this personal truth. In the next chapter he calls upon teachers to seek subjective and objective inputs into their self-reflection to develop their professional skills and practice. Their practice is self-critical and informed by reflection, student and peer feedback, recourse to professional literature and standards, and so forth. While he rejects a one-size-fits-all normative truth of teaching adequate for every situation, he does not reject truths of teaching. His focus is on the personal appropriation of these truths in the lived experience of practice, such that they become one’s own standards.

I like the image he uses of growing into the truth, a ‘personal truth, one smelted and shaped in the fire of our practice’ so that we develop ‘a trust, a sense of intuitive confidence, in the accuracy and validity of our judgements and insights.’

Something similar can occur in the Christian’s appropriation of biblical and doctrinal truth. There, too, occurs a mix of objective and subjective inputs. Personal reflection must be informed, guided, and disciplined by community theological discussion: both are necessary. But the truth of the gospel must take root in personal life, be tested and applied, proven and shaped in one’s practice and experience. The word must become flesh in us, as well, until we have an ‘intuitive confidence’ in the gospel that shapes our judgements and insights in everyday life.

(For a little more on this theme, see my post: How to Think Theologically).

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:1-11

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (2)

In an earlier post, I introduced this story from the final days of Jesus’ life. This unnamed woman, scolded and criticised by the onlookers for her very public and outrageous act of costly devotion to Jesus, does not respond. She never speaks or seeks to defend or explain herself. Why has she done what she has done? We have so many unanswered questions! But although she does not speak, Jesus does: he defends her against the bullies.

And they were scolding her. But Jesus said, “Let her alone; why do you bother her? She has done a good deed to me. For you always have the poor with you, and whenever you wish you can do good to them; but you do not always have me. She has done what she could; she has anointed my body beforehand for the burial” (Mark 14:5b-8).

The basis of his defence of the woman is that she has done him a good deed. The critics had wanted her to do a different good deed: to sell her expensive ointment and give to the poor. Such an act would be good also; indeed, Jesus suggests as much. Whenever we wish we can do good for the poor. It would be wrong, I suggest, to use this verse as a means of neglecting the poor, as though, if we ‘give to Jesus’ (or the church) we need not concern ourselves with the plight of the poor. Nor should we use the passage to construct a hierarchy of values with respect to our giving. Better, I think, simply to read the passage as the story of this situation: “You always have the poor with you … you do not always have me.” In his earthly historical existence, Jesus would very soon be gone, and the woman had seized the opportunity to express her love for him while she still could. She poured out what she had (all she had?) to Jesus, and he accepted and blessed it.

“She has done what she could.” There is grace in these words: she gave what was in her hand to give. She did what she could, not what she couldn’t. There was no demand that she give so extravagantly, no requirement that others do likewise. She retains agency in her act, and Jesus’ word protects against the manipulation of those who would abuse others in the name of ‘true discipleship,’ always demanding more.  Her offering was a gift springing from gratitude and love, and it was recognised as such.

More importantly, though, is Jesus’ next word: “she has anointed my body beforehand for the burial.” By this statement he provides the interpretation of her act. It would be possible to view Jesus as imposing an interpretation on the woman’s act, but it would be better I think, to suppose that Jesus perceives her true motive and desire. If this is the case, she had insight into what Jesus was about to suffer. She believed, perhaps, his passion predictions (Mark 8:31-33; 9:31-32; 10:32-34, 45), or maybe she had prophetic insight about his imminent death. In any case, she understood Jesus in a way that even his disciples had failed to. In response to the predictions of his sufferings they were resistant, confused, fearful, and doubting. She sees, she knows, and she responds. Somehow she knows that Jesus is giving his life—for her!—and so she responds in kind, echoing his self-gift with her own.

Truly I say to you, wherever the gospel is preached in the whole world, what this woman has done will also be spoken of, in memory of her (Mark 14:9).

Jesus’ defence and commendation of the woman now reach an astonishing crescendo: this unnamed and silent woman’s act will be spoken of wherever the gospel is preached. Even two millennia later and on the other side of the world, we speak ‘in memory of her.’ Why?

The story of this woman’s act stands in stark contrast to that of Judas, the Chief Priests, and the ‘others.’ They want to betray and kill him. They evaluate that done for his good as a ‘waste.’ She understands what they do not. She perceives what the others fail to see. She penetrates to an understanding of Jesus’ person and work in a manner they do not. In Luke’s version of the story Jesus asks his host: “Simon, do you see this woman?” He couldn’t even see her—his social inferior—let alone see what she could see. And yet this woman’s act is exemplary, and emblematic of true response to the gospel.

In this woman’s act we find portrayed the real meaning of discipleship: an act of devotion and love, a life given and poured out to the Jesus who gave and poured out his life for us. Here is seen a heart of love for Jesus Christ; an unconcern for the respect, approbation, or opinion of others; an act and not merely a wish or an aspiration; a devotion and not merely an attachment; a perception of who Jesus is and what he is about, and of his significance for and impact on—me; a responsive act to his prior self-giving; a true valuation of the value of things; a recognition that nothing given to Jesus can ever be a ‘waste’; and an understanding that he is worthy to receive all we are and all we have.

There is a reason, I think, that this woman remains unnamed and silent in the narrative: her whole existence is, as it were, reduced to this act. This act is her life-act, that by which her whole life and existence is characterised and understood. There is a being and a doing which cannot be distinguished. It may be that the one springs from the other, the heart as the source of the act, the act as revealing the heart, but in truth the two are one. This act, the outpouring of her life in grateful response to the act of Jesus, was and is the definitive act, the defining act, of her life, just as the cross was the defining act of Jesus’ life. It is in this way that she is an exemplar of discipleship.

I am left now with a searching question: what is my life-act? If my life were to be boiled down to its most characteristic element, would it reflect the love of God and love of neighbour? What defines my life – a whole-of-life devotion to Christ – or something else?