Monthly Archives: February 2025

Emil Brunner’s Simple Faith (8)

Theology, ,

Brunner’s Christology

Brunner presents the heart of Christian faith—the person and work of Jesus Christ—across five chapters entitled Jesus the Christ, The Son of Man, The Son of God, The King, and The Mediator. It is immediately apparent that this is a titular Christology, using New Testament titles attributed to Jesus Christ as the entry point for the discussion.

Brunner begins by noting that Jesus—the remarkable human person who may win our admiration—is and was also the Christ; that is, the one in whom God himself has spoken and acted and come to us. He is the revelation both of God and of ourselves.

Jesus is a man, but in that human life something happened that never happened before. In Him God’s will, God’s world plan, God Himself, whom we do not apprehend, but can merely surmise, became manifest (58-59).

But Jesus is known as the Christ only by those that believe, who, confronted by this person, see more than his humanity, who perceive in him the divine presence itself, and therefore whose hearts are opened, who believe, and receive him as the Christ. Historical knowledge of Jesus is not sufficient. Rather, spiritual apprehension is necessary, as well as personal decision and response. The existential moment of encounter is critical, and, if it occurs, is a gift of grace.

Jesus the Christ is also the Son of Man, the true human being, humanity in the image of God, humanity as God intended it. He is no abstract ideal but the reality itself. What is true of Jesus is not true of any of the rest of humankind—in us the divine image has been lost, washed out, and faded. But the promise and message of the Son of Man is that humanity can and shall be restored to true humanity, so that we shall be as he is.

Who God is, and who we are, is revealed to us in Jesus Christ by God Himself. God had to come to us as man to show us ourselves, our own creation, and our own sin. … “Behold the man,” the image of God. That is Jesus, man as God wanted him to be when He created him, the man who lives wholly in the things of his Father. … Jesus Christ is come not only to show us the true man, but to tell us God’s purpose to remake us in our lost image. That you shall become (59, 61-62, original emphasis).

The ‘Son of God’ title reveals who Jesus Christ is: not merely a man or one who speaks for God as a prophet, but God himself, the Word that God speaks directly to us. Jesus is the Word of God, the revelation of God, the wisdom, will, and way of God. In him, God speaks to us and comes to us. In Jesus Christ we come to know who God is and what he is like and what he wills. Christian faith is nothing less than this: belief in the true divinity of Jesus Christ. Brunner explains that Jesus is more than merely a prophet: he not only has the Word but is the Word. He not only proclaims salvation but gives it.

To know Jesus is to know him as Christ, Son of God, and King. We have Christ truly, only as Lord and King. Faith in Jesus is expressed as obedience to his Lordship. One must forsake their own desires for independence in order to live under his reign. Brunner sets forth a dialectical understanding of human experience in relation to Christ the King:

Liberty is not the first, but the second word. The first word is obedience. God created man in His own image—which means that we are created for liberty. But we have overlooked the first word: God created man. Therefore God is master. As long as men keep that firmly in mind, that God is Lord, they may and should strive for liberty; but when they have forgotten the primary truth their liberty becomes licence and arrogance (66-67, original emphasis).

God’s lordship is not tyrannical; he wills that our obedience be freely rendered, grounded in the fear of the Lord, a responsive self-giving in reverence and love to his initiating love. Such obedience is not the forfeiture of our freedom but its realisation.

We want to be our own Lords. … Jesus Christ is come but we will not have Him for our king, we want to remain ‘free.’ But that simply means that we want to remain slaves of evil, for if Christ does not reign in us, someone else does. … Faith means to accept Jesus as King and obey Him. That is the oldest creed of the Christian church—Jesus, the Lord! (69).

The human problem is our guilt, something, Brunner insists, that we know, deeply within ourselves. Our own conscience, God’s instrument to reveal our guilt-worthiness, testifies against us.

Secretly everyone feels this. There is no one who does not fear God—even those who deny God and laugh at faith in God. Beneath the surface, deep down in the soul, dwells the fear of God, the fear of being lost (71).

God treats humanity’s sinfulness with utmost seriousness. God wants us to know ourselves truly as those who in themselves are and remain guilty sinners, and yet who are also reconciled in Jesus Christ. Our guilt is objective, registered against us in heaven.  But at the cross Jesus has taken it upon himself. He reveals both: the misery of the human condition and the reconciling love of God. Here, at the cross, he is Immanuel, God with us.

He will not destroy the manuscript that testifies against us, but He will destroy its power by a higher power. He has ‘nailed it to the cross’ that we might see both our guilt and His even greater mercy, the earnestness of His holy will and the even greater earnestness of His fatherly love. That is the message of Jesus Christ, the Mediator (72).

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:26-31

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (7)

Peter’s Denial (Carl Heinrich Bloch, 1834-1890)

Mark sets the Last Supper between two passages that speak of betrayal, desertion, and denial. The covenant meal which symbolises unity and participation with Jesus, covenant loyalty and faithfulness, covenant friendship and intimacy, is contrasted with prophecy of personal betrayal. Jesus will be abandoned by his own: betrayed by one friend, deserted by others, and denied—three times!—by Peter. You can read this passage in Mark here.

Amongst devout Jews, the Passover concluded with the so-called Hallel Psalms (Psalms 114-118). It is possible that Jesus and the disciples sang or recited these psalms as they finished their meal and prepared to go out to the Mount of Olives, something Jesus did regularly when in Jerusalem (Luke 21:37).

As they were going, Jesus announced to his disciples that they would all desert him—become offended, fall away, or be ‘scandalised.’ Jesus supports this assertion with an appeal to Scripture: ‘I will strike the shepherd and the sheep will be scattered.’

Jesus is quoting Zechariah 13:7 though suggesting that it is God who strikes the shepherd. In Zechariah it is an oracle against the wicked shepherds of God’s people. There the shepherd is struck so that the sheep may be scattered; that is, it is an oracle of judgement. Here, and the sheep will be scattered—is a consequence rather than intention. Nevertheless, the whole story of Jesus’ passion is unfolding in accordance with the divine purpose. His death is not the triumph of evil nor a tragic accident. Jesus gives his life as a ransom for many (10:45).

Jesus’ announcement that the disciples will desert him offends the disciples, especially Peter. The Greek word for ‘desert’ is skandalizesthai which in Mark denotes defection in the face of trial or persecution (e.g. Mark 4:17; 6:3; 9:42-47; see Lane, The Gospel of Mark, 509). When believers encounter trouble, trial, or persecution they are tempted to become offended: why is God allowing this to happen? I didn’t sign up for this!

Peter denies vehemently that he will desert Jesus: “Even if all become deserters, I will not.” I can’t help but wonder if there is an edge in Peter’s voice, a little competitiveness whereby he asserts his faithfulness over against that of his companions. In Luke’s account, we learn that a dispute arose amongst the disciples as to which of them was the greatest (Luke 22:24). And in John’s account of the washing of the feet, Jesus demonstrates what true greatness looks like, instructing the disciples in the nature of servant leadership for those in his community (John 13:1-20).

Although Peter claims much for himself, he too will fall away. Indeed, Jesus tells him bluntly that “this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times.” Peter vehemently denies that he will deny Jesus; he corrects Jesus! “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” Now, refusing to be outdone by Peter, all the others join in to assert the same of themselves. They all insist that they will not desert him, though as the narrative proceeds, they all do fall away.

Peter’s heart is to be true to Jesus: no doubt he means what he says. In his mind, denial is worse than death for honour is at stake. He has committed friendship and loyalty to this man—how could he deny him? But though his heart aspires to such heroic steadfastness, he will fall.

In this passage we see something of Mark’s insight into the passion of Jesus: “the passion story is not simply about the passion of Jesus, but the passion the community experiences in its living out of the gospel in the world” (Senior, The Passion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, 63). What Jesus suffered for them they will also suffer for him. The disciples will be like their Master. This is the brutal truth, that in their association with Jesus they too will suffer as he did. Mark’s first readers in Nero’s Rome were finding this to be true and like Peter, would find their faith severely tested.

Part of Peter’s problem is that he did not listen carefully enough to Jesus, for Jesus had something more to say. Peter heard Jesus’ first statement by not his second. His abrupt announcement is immediately supplemented with a promise: ‘But after I am raised up I will go before you to Galilee.’ As with the defiant faith of verse 25, so here. Jesus death, the disciples’ desertion, and Peter’s denial are not the end of the story. Jesus will also be raised and will go ahead of them to Galilee. They will also go to Galilee—they who have deserted and denied him. “The scattered flock will be brought together again, under their shepherd’s leadership. In spite of their failure, the shepherd will still acknowledge his sheep” (Hooker, The Gospel According to St Mark, 345). They will be forgiven and restored, gathered and unified, and made participants once more in his cause.

The word proagõn ‘to go ahead of’ or ‘lead’ used in 10:32 is identical with the words found in 14:28 (“I will go before”) and 16:7 (“he is leading”). The three verses together are a distillation of Mark’s entire theology: the Son of Man who leads the fearful community of disciples from Galilee to Jerusalem and who will also go ahead of them through death to victory, is the same compassionate and now triumphant Son of Man who will restore his broken followers to discipleship and lead them back to Galilee. “Galilee” is the place of the universal mission, but no disciples are ready to proclaim the Gospel there until they have walked the road to Jerusalem and encountered the reality of the cross (Senior, The Passion, 66).

Emil Brunner’s Simple Faith (7)

Theology, ,

Brunner’s Natural Theology

It is clear in this section that Brunner presupposes a universal knowledge of God, natural in the sense that every person has some ‘instinct’ (53) for it, that the gift of conscience has been given to every person by God, that “the law of God is as though it had been engraved in the human heart” (46). “Even the heathen know faintly that this life is a gift of God the Creator” (56). And they know also that they have violated God’s law and ordinances.

Everyone has a bad conscience whenever he thinks about God, for we know quite well what God wants of us, and our own failure to do what He demands. We know that we are disobedient. But because we know … we flee from God, we hide from Him like Adam and Eve after the Fall. The Law of God drives us away from God, or, more correctly, our bad conscience drives us away. We do not fear God, but we are afraid before God. … A bad conscience and the law of God belong together. We have a bad conscience because we know the law of God (55).

Evident in this citation is Brunner’s emphasis of human responsibility before God, of a final accounting before the Judge. “God requires an accounting. He holds us responsible. And that is what strikes terror in us, for how can we bribe the judge in this case?” (47)

The spring of life is really poisoned, things are bad with us. This is the testimony of conscience and even more sharply and clearly, the testimony of Holy Scripture. Behind God’s command stands the fearful word—Judgment! Lost! It is written more sharply in the New Testament than in the Old Testament. What then are we to do? (51, original emphasis)

A question we might ask is whether Brunner has correctly assessed the human condition or whether, in fact, his analysis is predicated on the loss of the cultural knowledge of God in Christendom. His exposition is not uncommon but follows a long tradition of biblical interpretation, especially passages such as Romans 1-2. His doctrine echoes that of Calvin and the Reformed tradition’s distinction between general and special revelation. Nonetheless, his rhetoric seems to presuppose the conditions of European Christendom.

Further evidence of this suggestion arises from Brunner’s discussion of the divine ordinances. He speaks specifically in terms of human marriage, the relationship between parents and children, and rulers and ruled. This language was widespread in nineteenth and early twentieth-century theology but was controversial in the period between the wars precisely because it was applied to such notions as nation, blood, and race. That is, the idea that there are ‘orders of creation’ was used in support of Nazi ideology, as God-ordained structures of existence that must be supported and maintained.

Although Brunner does not here engage these ideas, the structure of his argument suggests that he is aware of the danger that lurks here and that he repudiates it. Brunner explicitly grounds his doctrine of the ordinances in the divine love; they arise from God’s love for the creature and are given that humanity’s relationships might be ordered by the kind of love that God is and gives. True humanity is not defined by nation, blood, or race but by the image of the God who is love. These other realities divide humans from one another and so by definition fail Brunner’s test of what constitutes authentic human existence.

Finally, Brunner clearly notes that the Decalogue begins with God’s Word of grace but does not draw out the implication that the Decalogue is not so much a ‘republication’ of natural law but commandments for the covenant community. In particular, it is difficult to see how the first table of the law could arise as part of a natural law ethic; these commands are specific for the people of Israel.

There is, therefore, a tension in Brunner’s discussion. The traditional interpretation of Romans 1-2 especially, establishes human culpability before God: we are all sinners and therefore liable to divine wrath and judgement. Brunner maintains this interpretation and strengthens it with his assertion that “in his law God tells us nothing but the natural laws of true human life…” (46). But this diminishes the particularity of the revelation given to Israel and over-estimates the natural knowledge of the divine law that humanity supposedly possesses.

Jesus Christ Superstar

Culture,

Last Friday evening Monica and I saw Jesus Christ Superstar at Crown Theatre in Perth. The band was amazing, the staging effective, the music superb, the dancers spectacular, the soloists soaring, the light show a spectacle complementing it all. It was a great, high-sensory, night out.

I remember the controversy in the early 70s when the musical was first performed. I was just a boy then, in a Catholic environment, and can remember the tut-tutting and warnings about the musical. I can see why, especially in those more conservative and defensive times. Jesus is portrayed as very human – merely human? – and quite insecure about his identity and mission. The ending is ambiguous: he died but still lives … but where? How? In what kind of existence? He and Judas share the final scene. It is not, however, resurrection.

The whole notion of Jesus as a ‘Superstar’ was playing on the personality cults which emerged in popular culture in the 60s, and came not long after John Lennon’s infamous throw-away remark that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. It was seen by some as deliberately provocative and offensive, and perhaps it was. And Herod as gay? As far as I know, there is little historical evidence for this characterisation, but it would have been another provocation for those concerned about the production.

Superstar is very different from Godspell which appeared around the same time, a Stephen Schwarz musical based loosely on the Gospel of Matthew (and which I would love to see brought unapologetically to the big stage again, especially in a full theatre show like this one).

Mahalia Barnes played Mary Magdalene and performed beautifully the show’s breakout song I Don’t Know How to Love Him. It was a highlight. I also really enjoyed the vibrancy of the dance, and especially the work of Darcey Eagle, the ‘mob leader’ who brought very sinister atmospherics to her performance.

I don’t think Christians need get upset that Superstar isn’t a faithful representation of the gospel story. It is a secular representation of Jesus’ personality refracted through the lens of a popular cultural motif. It is entirely unsurprising that secular creatives would be attracted to the person of Jesus, and that they would interpret him in categories open to and familiar to them. (Christians do that all the time as well, unfortunately.) I am glad that they are attracted to the figure of Jesus! And I am glad that thousands will be attracted to see the show.

During the intermission I heard a young woman speaking to her friend as they walked by: “I didn’t know Judas betrayed Jesus.” It seems remarkable to me but there you go. We live in a very different cultural moment to the early 70s and the Jesus-story is not well known. Superstar won’t improve that. But perhaps—and this is my prayer—some of those who go to see the show might be prompted to explore the biblical story for themselves. Or to talk at work about the show and maybe hear others’ perspectives about Jesus. On that basis I would encourage Christians to go see it, so they can join in the discussion.

Jesus Christ Superstar plays until March 2nd in Perth before moving to seasons in Melbourne and Brisbane. I really enjoyed it and can recommend a good night out.

Photo Credits: Both photos were taken by Jeff Busby and found at the Jesus Christ Superstar gallery.

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:22-25

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (6)

“This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many” (Mark 14:24).

This covenant is the new covenant in Jesus’ blood, although Mark does not designate it as such. Luke 22:20 makes explicit that this is the new covenant. But what covenant could it be if it is a covenant in his blood? This is neither the Abrahamic nor the Mosaic covenant. Mark, however, does provide further clues. Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem just days earlier is an echo of Zechariah’s prophecy concerning Israel’s coming king:

Rejoice greatly O daughter of Zion, shout aloud O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold you king is coming to you, righteous is he, and having salvation, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey (Zechariah 9:9; cf.  Mark 11:1-10 and Matthew 21:1-5).

Zechariah continues in verse eleven:

As for you also, because of the blood of My covenant with you, I have set your prisoners free from the waterless pit.

The prophetic expectation of a new covenant will be realised in Jesus’ death ‘for the many’—that is, for all, gentile as well as Jew. (Cf. Jeremiah 31:31-34; Ezekiel 11:14-21; 36:25-27) Jesus’ death is a divine promise and pledge—for the many. His death is a ransom—for many (Mark 10:45). As the Passover Lamb he is deliverance and redemption, God taking his people as his own, giving them life and liberty. This covenant is in his blood: he makes the promise and the disciples drink “all of it.” They are the recipients. They are granted a participation in his death and in his victory over death. They are granted a participation in the covenant itself.

And he took the cup and … gave it to them, and they all drank of it (Mark 14:23).

Does the fact that the disciples all drink from the cup equate to an answering pledge on their part? Is their drinking an acceptance of the covenant with respect not only to the divine promise but also its claim? Are they also saying, “All that the Lord has spoken, we will do” (cf. Exodus 24: 3, 7-8)? The blood of the covenant is a covenant of grace. But this does not mean that the recipients of the covenant are not called to faithfulness and obedience.

The metaphor of the cup appears several times in the gospel. In Mark 10:38-39 Jesus says,

Are you able to drink of the cup that I drink? … The cup that I drink you will drink.

And a little later, in Gethsemane, Jesus uses the term again in his prayer:

Remove this cup from me. Yet not what I will but what you will (Mark 14:36).

To participate in the cup, to receive it from Jesus and to drink from it is to receive his covenant promise. It is also to be called into participation with him in his mission—and in the manner of his mission: a life of self-giving for the welfare of others. The bread and the cup unite the participant to Jesus himself such that they are now participants in his promise and his destiny, his life and his mission. The signs and the sayings belong together. When we eat the bread, Jesus says, “This is my body,” and when we drink the wine, “This is my blood of the covenant.”

Truly I say to you, I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God (Mark 14:25).

Jesus’ blood will be poured out, yet he will live and drink again in the kingdom of God. This is a defiant faith in the face of death. He will take the cup he is given, and drain it to its dregs. But the cup of death will become, in the kingdom of God, the cup of victory and the wine of everlasting life.

Emil Brunner’s Simple Faith (6)

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God’s Will for Humankind

In his reflection on the nature of human being, Emil Brunner suggests that the ‘image of God’ is a dynamic becoming:

He created man as a personal being, that is as a being that does not simply develop of itself into that for which God created it, but rather as a being who achieves his destiny only by saying his ‘yes’ to it (51).

Persons achieve or realise their ‘true’ humanity as they hear and receive the Word of God addressed to them. In chapters 10-13 of his little book Our Faith he explores the nature and contours of this Word, beginning with the Law.

Brunner begins with human experience of ‘law’ in general: our experience of cultural and social laws, of the laws of physics, of the human freedom and sense of autonomy that tempts us to think that we might be a ‘law unto oneself.’ Perhaps we can be even our own god! Yet, says Brunner, we find our autonomy limited and ultimately doomed. We find ourselves in environments we are unable to change or to bend to our will. We are confronted, finally, by the inevitability of death and with it all our God-pretensions. Brunner thus argues from a learned sense of law to establish an understanding of that which stands over against us and for which we are responsible: the Law of God.

The divine law is God’s will for humankind. “Every man, Jew or Christian, believer or atheist, cultured or uncultured, has some knowledge of this law. Every man has the consciousness of ‘responsibility’” via the faculty of conscience (46). This law is a reflection of the Creator’s good will for human life and it is just as inviolable as the laws of nature (47). Further, God has supplemented conscience by giving his people a written Law which is really a reiteration of “the natural laws of true human life” (46).

God’s law reveals that God wants something of us and that we are accountable for it. What is it that God desires? Brunner’s answer is threefold: something new every moment (!), only a few things—the Ten Commandments, and indeed, only one thing—the first commandment, for “he who keeps the first commandment keeps all the rest” (49). To have God alone as our God is to have a Master and thereby to forsake all alternatives, including especially the desire to be our own master. “God wants only that we should be that for which He created us. He created us ‘in His image’” (49). In binding us to himself God binds us also to others for the command to love God includes within itself the command to love our neighbour.

The Commandment of God is what God wants of us. But if we understand the words concerning the image of God, we also know what God wants for us. That God first loved us, before He demanded anything of us, and that He demands nothing more than that we should accept His love, that is, react to love with love, is simply what we call faith. … God’s incomprehensible, undeserved Love; and whosoever does that fulfils the will of God (49-50, original emphasis).

Of course, humanity has failed to keep God’s commandments and his law. We have supplanted God’s rule in the attempt to be our own master, seeking to live without and apart from God. We misuse our freedom of choice to do that which God does not will.

But God in His creative goodness, having given man freedom to choose for himself, gave him something more in that when he sinned he might not wholly corrupt his life and the life of others, might not wholly deviate from God’s way. This gift is the Ordinances of God (52).

The ordinances of God are those regularities of the natural ‘order’ in which human life is set. More particularly, they are limits and realities implanted in our very nature by God, which we can know intuitively, and which we can but ought not to transgress.

The most important of these ordinances is the fact that God has so organized human life that no man can live for himself. He cannot live without the other. Man needs woman, woman needs man. … Human life is so ordered by God because God has created man for love (53).

The ordinances of God can be endangered by human wilfulness, and, says Brunner, this has never been more apparent in world history than ‘today’ (53). The individual’s will for mastery, for autonomy, for independence tears at the very fabric of relationship and society.

The man who recognizes nothing higher than reason becomes ‘independent’—he no longer needs others, he is his own master—even his own God. And then human fellowship is dissipated like a string of pearls when the cord is cut. What binds us together is the Ordinances of God, behind which stands God’s love. He alone who is bound to God, and through God to his neighbour, can really become a man (54).

God’s address to humanity takes not only the form of law but also promise. Indeed, “God is not primarily the lawgiver, but the lifegiver” (55). The law functions to make us aware of our failure to do what God wills. But in itself it is a gift of divine love given to us for our good. Brunner acknowledges that the commandments do not begin with Thou shalt Not but with I am the Lord your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of bondage. All humanity have some inkling of the divine demand but the knowledge of the promise is strictly the message of the Bible.

That is the biblical message, not what God wants of us, but what He desires for us; no what we should do, but what God does and gives. The Law of God is everywhere, the Promise of God is only in the Bible—the promise, namely, that God comes to His sick, rebellious people, to heal them, the message of the ‘Saviour,’ the healing, saving, forgiving, and redeeming God. This promise is really the Word of God. … God desires nothing of us save that we allow Him to bestow life upon us (57, original emphasis).

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14: 22-25

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (5)

Mark’s story of Jesus’ last supper with his disciples is very brief. There is no reference here to the Passover itself, but that it is a Passover meal is surely significant. This memorial feast of Israel’s deliverance, of God’s action and revelation, of a new beginning within the story of the covenant people, of the rich symbolism of the Lamb’s blood and its sacrificial import: all this and more is in the background. You can read Mark’s account of the Last Supper here.

In Mark’s telling, there is no instruction to ‘do this in remembrance of me.’ There is, however, Jesus’ own statement that he will not again drink of the fruit of the vine “until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.” Jesus looks forward, beyond his death, to a new day in the coming kingdom. He—the one who will be betrayed and handed over, who will be executed—he will drink again. This foreshadows the resurrection. Albert Schweitzer speculated that Jesus thought that God would intervene to rescue him prior to his death. Within Mark’s story, however, Jesus clearly anticipates his death: “the Son of Man came . . . to give his life as a ransom for many” (10:45). In this text, too, his blood will be poured out for many. And yet, he will again drink it ‘new in the kingdom of God.’

Mark’s account includes both sign and saying. Jesus took the bread and having blessed (presumably, and in accordance with normal Jewish practice, he was blessing God rather than the bread), broke it and gave it to them, saying, “Take: this is my body.” The four verbs echo Jesus’ compassionate action in the feeding of the five thousand (Mark 6:41) and the four thousand (Mark 8:6). These miracles in the wilderness were kingdom signs, signs of his person and the universal nature of his mission (Senior, The Passion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, 56-58). Now he indicates that he himself is the bread, the gift of the kingdom. In giving them the bread he is giving them his own ‘body,’ his own self. Mark’s focus is not on the breaking of the bread but on its distribution: each is to take it. Mark does not say that they ate the bread but it is surely assumed. In their taking, they receive Jesus’ gift of himself, and in their eating they participate in Jesus’ life and fellowship, kingdom and mission.

Jesus takes the cup and gives thanks and gives it to them and “they all drank from it.” Now he interprets this action: “The is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” This is my body. This is my blood. The signs and the sayings belong together. No doubt Jesus was speaking metaphorically of the bread and the wine, declared to ‘be’ his body and blood. That his blood will be poured out for many refers to his imminent death, and so the parallel saying about the bread now also be similarly understood.

The saying concerning the cup has an additional element: it is Jesus’ ‘blood of the covenant.’ The idea of blood as part of a covenant ceremony had ancient roots (cf. Genesis 15). In Exodus 12 the Israelites celebrated the first Passover by taking the blood of the Passover lamb and smearing it on the door posts and lintels of their homes. The blood thus smeared would be a sign for them: by it, divine judgement would ‘pass over’ their home and they would be spared (Exodus 12:12-13; cf. 21-23). The Levitical regulations and especially the Day of Atonement ritual (Leviticus 16), repeat and deepen the imagery, and the connection between sacrificial blood, God’s covenant promise, and the forgiveness of sins.

Further, this blood of the covenant is ‘poured out for many’: it is for others. Jesus’ death is sacrificial and substitutionary. The emphasis is on Jesus’ action in its intended outcome and purpose; that is, the provision and promise of the covenant rather than human response to the covenant as in Exodus 24:1-8 where the emphasis is on responsive obedience and covenant faithfulness.

This is beautifully portrayed in Lucas Cranach’s central altarpiece at St Mary’s (“City Church”) in Wittenberg. Although not nearly as famous as Leonardo da Vinci’s portrayal of the Last Supper, Cranach’s painting, as a piece of Reformation polemic, portrays Martin Luther as one of the twelve apostles seated around Jesus (being served the cup by a young knight – Lucas  Cranach Jnr!). Who is missing to make way for Luther? I don’t know. But the painting suggests a deeper point: we, too, who are followers of Christ are included at the table of the Last Supper, and included in its meaning and promise. More: even those who have not shown themselves the most devoted of followers might find some reason for hope. Cranach portrays Jesus feeding even Judas with the bread of his promise!

Emil Brunner’s Simple Faith (5)

Books, Theology, , ,

On the Mystery and Goodness of Humankind

What is man? Neither merely dust, nor merely animal, nor a god. As Brunner turns to the Bible to answer this question he finds that humanity is created being, so that whatever we are, we are because God has made us so. Brunner bats away the scientific question concerning the mechanism God used to create humanity: “it is not a critical question for faith” (38). Clearly God uses means as the instruments of his work—such as dust, or human parents—but the work done remains God’s work.

Humanity is created in God’s image which distinguishes the human from all other creatures and establishes a similarity of the human creature to God. “What distinguishes man from the rest of creation is the share he has in God’s thought, that is, reason as distinguished from perception, which the animal also possesses” (39). More fundamentally, humanity is not merely created,

by the Word of God but for and in his Word. That means, God created man in such a way that he can receive God’s Word. That is reason in its true sense. Man really becomes man when he perceives something of God. … Man has been so created by God that he can become man only by perceiving God, by receiving God’s Word and—like a soldier repeating a command—repeating God’s Word. … When he says that in his heart homo sapiens becomes humanus. … We are man to the extent that we let God’s Word echo in our hearts. We are not simply men as a fox is a fox. But we are men only when God’s Word finds an echo in us. To the degree that this fails to happen we are inhuman (39, original emphasis).

Two features of this exposition bear reflection. First, ‘reason,’ for Brunner, is true to the extent that it responds and corresponds to the Word of God. The instrumental use of reason which has so distinguished the human from the rest of creation must be supplemented or perhaps crowned with this additional use if humanity is to be truly human, to fulfil its destiny as the divine image.

This infers that, second, Brunner views human existence as a project of becoming. We are human but must become, as it were, what we truly are. What we truly are is what God has intended and created us to be rather than what we find ourselves as. Homo sapiens must ‘become’ humanus. The Latin term can simply mean ‘human’ but also carries the nuances of humane or cultured or refined. This ‘becoming’ is a matter of positive response to the Word of God addressed to us. The person must perceive God, receive God’s Word, and let it echo in their heart. “The freedom to say yes or no to God is the mystery of man” (40). We have this freedom only because we are addressed by God. In this way we become his image, corresponding to him in his Word.

Failure to answer God’s Word addressed to us leaves us ‘inhuman.’ I don’t think Brunner intends this pejoratively, though it is tempting, perhaps, to see here a reference to the developing political and social situation of Germany in the mid-1930s. Rather, we fail to realise our existence as ‘the image of God.’ We are still ‘human’ in terms of our species but now without God as it were, less than what God intends for his creation. We are still endowed with the remarkable capacities God has given us but they now function in ‘inhuman’ ways, warped perhaps by our selfishness. For Brunner as for Calvin, we can only truly see and know ourselves as we perceive God; we know ourselves in his light.

To know ourselves truly, however, is also to understand that we are sinners. From a human perspective there is no one who is wholly good or wholly bad for we are all a mixture of both, though some people tend more the one way and some the other. In a biblical perspective, however, ‘there is none that does good, no, not one…’ To be a sinner is to be “bad at heart, infected with evil at the core” (41).

Sin is a depravity which has laid hold on us all. It is a radical perversion from God, disloyalty to the Creator who has given us so much and remains so loyal, an insulting alienation from Him, in which all of us, without exception, have shared (42-43).

Brunner uses the image of two people on a train, one sensible and the other stupid. But the point is that they are both on the same train and both heading in the same direction—in this case, away from God. This perversity, this evil that has captured the human heart, is inexplicable. We cannot explain sin nor even perceive it until it is shown to us in the death of Christ:

It is not until we see how much it cost to remove the stone between us and Him, that we understand how great was the weight of sin’s guilt. Christ shows us how completely the whole movement of life is in the wrong direction (44).