This obituary from Philip Clayton on one of the great theologians of the twentieth-centtury.
All posts by Michael O'Neil
Scripture on Sunday – James 1:11
James 1:11
For the sun rises with its scorching heat and withers the grass; its flower falls, and its beauty perishes. It is the same with the rich; in the midst of a busy life, they will wither away.
Verse eleven extends the natural image James uses, and also sharpens his warning, generalising the fate which awaits the rich and thereby intensifying his warning to the wealthy believer in particular.
The fate of the wildflowers in the field was proverbial, with Jesus also using this image in his teaching (Matthew 6:28-30). Here today and gone tomorrow, the image speaks of the fragility and transience of life (Zerwick & Grosvenor, 691). Although James has a different purpose to that of Jesus, the image is similar. In the morning the flowers of the field spring up and flourish and yet by evening, they have fallen under the blistering assault of the sun and its heat (cf. Psalm 90:5-6). The word translated ‘heat’ in the NRSV (kausōni) literally means scorching wind (NASB) and may have Jonah 4:8 in the background, where God appointed with the sun a ‘scorching east wind’ to assail Jonah so that he despaired of life.
Vlachos makes the helpful observation that the four aorist verbs in this verse are all linked with kai (and), which provides a rhythmic pulse: aneteilen … kai exēranen … kai … exepesen kai … apōleto (i.e., risen … and withers … and … falls and … perishes). He suggests that this rhythmic pulse emphasises the cause and effect relation between each of the verbs, as well as the inevitability and swiftness of the action (35). The rising sun will inevitably wither the grass so that its flower falls from the stem and so perishes on the ground.
The NRSV translates kai hē euprepeia tou prosōpou autou apōleto as ‘and its beauty perishes.’ Literally the phrase is ‘and the beauty of its face perishes.’ The NASB translates as ‘the beauty of its appearance is destroyed,’ thus retaining the genitive, but losing the personification of the image (‘its beautiful face is destroyed’), and its resulting power when applied to the rich person (cf. 2:1).
The final phrase returns to the rich person (ho plousios) and so hints that verses 10-11 may be read as a chiasm:
A – The rich…
B – The flower of the field…
B1 – The flower of the field…
A1 – The rich…
Just as the flowers of the field will wither, fall and perish, so the rich person will ‘wither away’ (maranthēsetai) in the midst of their ‘busy life’ (en tais poreiais autou). Marainō appears only here in this form in the New Testament. Typically the word is used to refer to the withering of plants or the death of humans, usually in the sense of a gradual fading or wasting away (Vlachos, 36; Davids, 78). Poreia means ‘journey’ or ‘way of life,’ so that some commentators link this text to 4:13-17 and suggest that the rich person is a travelling merchant who will meet their end in the midst of their business trips (so Vlachos, 36, and McKnight, 103). Davids (78) suggests this is stretching the phrase and the context too far, and prefers a more generic reference to their ‘way of life.’ In both readings, however, it is notable that the demise of the rich is described in historical rather than eschatological terms, and so again, is suggestive that the rich person is to consider their life in the light of their own mortality and its implications.
The Casual Vacancy (J.K. Rowling)
I looked forward to reading this for quite some time, having very much appreciated Rowling’s Harry Potter series. The novel begins with the event which sets the whole story in motion. A man dies, and so must be replaced on the parish council of the little English village of Pagford. As the story proceeds, however, it is apparent that the village is riven with strife, power-struggles, competing moral visions, and disunity. The blurbs on the back cover refer to it as “a wonderful novel,” a “brilliant novel,” and a “great novel.” Beauty, I guess, is in the eye of the beholder.
If, as another blurb suggests, it is “a stunning … evocation of British society today,” and “a state-of-England novel driven by tenderness and fury,” I can understand the accolades. Still, I don’t know that I enjoyed it. But perhaps this was not a novel to be “enjoyed.” I found the novel somewhat depressing, being what I call a “gritty” story, an unvarnished and at times brutal portrayal of life in the small community. Rowling’s characters are coarse, nihilistic and deeply flawed; life, as the saying goes, is hard, brutish and short.
“Driven by tenderness and fury…” Perhaps the novel should be read as a novel of protest, a cry against the moral degradation afflicting western societies (not simply Britain). Rowling certainly attacks the “authentic” life, where “authenticity” is understood in self-centred and nihilistic terms. She is merciless in her attack on middle class moralism. Is Rowling furious? Or is she simply having fun, deriding all the various groups that make up the community? I am not entirely sure, and Rowling is not about to preach. She does, however, make us mourn the tragic vacuity and waste of young life. She hints that the character of the dead man points to a better way.
I probably need to read it again to get a better sense of what she is doing.
What did you make of it?
Reformed Theology (Allen)
Allen, R. Michael, 
Reformed Theology
(Doing Theology; London: T&T Clark International, 2010), xi + 217
ISBN: 978-0-567-03430-4
R. Michael Allen’s Reformed Theology is a welcome contribution for those who claim the tradition and those who do not. Allen is no impartial observer but an insider, a committed and thoughtful participant in the tradition who mines the Reformed confessional, dogmatic and exegetical heritage to delineate the central doctrinal commitments of his theological tradition. Although emerging from the Reformation and maintaining a ‘Reformational’ theology, it is to be distinguished from other Reformational groups such as Lutheranism, Anglicanism, and Anabaptism. Allen develops his outline of the tradition in eight chapters dealing with the Word of God, Covenant, God and Christ, Faith and Salvation, Sin and Grace, Worship, Confessions and Authority, and Culture and Eschatology. In so doing he demonstrates that Reformed theology cannot be dismissed as narrowly focussed on the so-called doctrines of grace or the “five points of Calvinism.” Rather, the Reformed tradition has a distinctive contribution to make across the whole spectrum of Christian theology.
Indeed, Allen argues that “Calvinism” is a misnomer and should be dropped entirely (3). He acknowledges the breadth and diversity of the tradition, although he is also clear that he stands within the conservative camp. He engages with voices from all sides of the tradition and acknowledges the critique of the “revisionists” where he feels it is appropriate. He is unafraid to make judgements: although a Reformed pastor, Schleiermacher is ‘outside the Reformed movement doctrinally’ (92); Karl Barth is a valued co-traveller in the tradition, though Allen often prefers the formulations of the tradition to those of the Swiss theologian.
The origin and formal principle of Reformed theology is the Word of God spoken to humanity, which takes several forms, primarily Jesus Christ, but also the Scriptures which constitute the normative witness to and source of our knowledge of God. Throughout the book Allen affirms the ‘regulative principle’ whereby Scripture functions to order the faith, theology, practices and structures of Reformed churches. If Scripture is the formal principle of Reformed theology, the leading material principle is the idea of the covenant. Allen, however, wants also to set alongside the material principle the ‘key theological tenets of the Reformed identity: justification, predestination, etc.
Reformed theology is confessional theology, undertaken in an ecclesial context where sola scriptura reigns, though, it must be acknowledged, ‘sola scriptura is not nuda scriptura’ (138). In his exposition of theological authority Allen follows Heiko Oberman’s suggestion that Protestant churches maintain a single-source theory with respect to the relation between Scripture and tradition; nevertheless, ‘the importance of tradition is underlined as the conduit by which Christ rules his church’ (139f.). Tradition is a legitimate though derivative and provisional authority in the contemporary church; nonetheless traditional formulations function as a legal authority—within the economy of the Spirit’s grace (142, 144f.; cf. 116), such that confessions ‘are formal texts that serve as rules for the theological beliefs of pastors and elders’ (145). Allen struggles to affirm both the binding authority and the provisionality of the confessions. He acknowledges the plurality and diversity that exists, particularly in recent confessions, and is concerned that loss of coherence between the various instruments is a danger confronting the Reformed churches. He insists that,
The enduring legacy of the Reformed reformation cannot simply be reduced to its formal principle: reform by Scripture alone. Many have been tempted to sever the formal from the material, taking the Reformed tradition as a constantly revolutionary process … But cultural and religious iconoclasm is not the Reformed vision or the practice of reforming church practice. It must also be guided by the material principle and key theological tenets of the Reformed identity: justification, predestination, etc. … Reformed theology is committed to the sole final authority of the Bible, to be read amongst the church and under the authority of her official confessions’ (154f.).
The difficulty observed here is not simply that which arises between theological authority and freedom, but between the formal and material principles of Reformed theology. Allen appeals to the Westminster Confession of Faith to specify the regulative principle, namely, only what is ‘either expressly set down in Scripture, or by good and necessary consequence may be deduced from Scripture’ is authoritative, ‘unto which nothing at any time is to be added, whether by new revelations of the Spirit, or traditions of men’ (139; WCF I.6). On this basis Allen outlines the Reformed argument for doctrines such as definite (i.e. ‘limited’) atonement and infant baptism. In both cases he fails to convince those not already convinced, and leaves the impression that covenant hermeneutics have been elevated above the primacy of Scripture. I suspect that Allen himself is not entirely comfortable with classic covenant theology; he suggests that ‘perhaps a way forward in Reformed theology will be found by combining Barth’s knack for lovingly describing the epistemic priority of God’s self-revelation, with the variegated narrative described in the “federal theology”’ (50). One unfortunate omission is the lack of explicit treatment of reprobation, which is a major concern for many outside the Reformed camp. Allen approaches the doctrine implicitly in a discussion of divine and human action (107-110). He acknowledges the need for more work ‘within the exegetical and dogmatic realms in showing how Jesus talks of judgment and love, and the Reformed tradition needs a new defense of the doctrine of hell and judgement, indeed, of God’s justice’ (110).
Reformed Theology is a well-written and generous book providing an excellent overview of the major features, methods and commitments of the Reformed doctrinal tradition. I hope it gains the wide reading it deserves, especially amongst those who seek a better, sympathetic understanding of the tradition, and also amongst those who self-identify as Reformed but whose exposure to the tradition has been unnecessarily narrow or even shrill.
Scripture on Sunday – James 1:10
James 1:10
and the rich in being brought low, because the rich will disappear like a flower in the field.
It is clear in this verse that James intends a contrast with verse nine. There he instructed the lowly to exult in their exaltation, while now he turns his attention to the rich (ho plousios) and speaks of their being brought low (tapeinōsei). Ho plousios means to be materially wealthy and is thus set in contrast to those belonging to the lower socio-economic strata addressed in verse nine. Whereas the lowly (ho tapeinos) are now exalted, the exalted (in the material sense) are now ‘brought low,’ the NRSV translation making the connection and contrast with verse nine explicit. Indeed the two verses demand to be read as a couplet with the syntax of verse nine governing the sense of verse ten. James’ command to the lowly in verse nine (kauchasthō) applies also to the rich in verse ten, the single instruction to boast or to glory being addressed to both groups.
It is also likely that the ho adelphos (‘brother,’ translated as ‘believer’ in the NRSV) from verse nine should be carried forward to verse ten. This is a more controversial claim, with a number of commentators arguing that ho plousios in James should be understood as referring to the ungodly and unbelieving rich who are described and decried in 2:6-7 and 5:1-6. Davids, for example, acknowledges that the syntax could refer to a rich believer, but argues that James would hardly consider such a rich person to be ‘truly Christian’ (77). In this case the exhortation is to the rich to really embrace the humiliation of identification with the poor Christian community so that they may truly have something to boast about! So, too, Scot McKnight views the rich here as the enemies of Christ and the Christian community, and so interprets James’ language as rich prophetic irony: the boasting and humiliation of the rich will soon be turned to humiliation (98-100). The NRSV supports this interpretation by inserting ‘the rich’ a second time into the verse. Despite these arguments, it is preferable to follow the natural sense of the syntax and to understand James as referring to a believer who is also rich. This wealthy Christian is to boast, not in his or her riches—McKnight is almost certainly correct to suggest that Jeremiah 9:23-24 lies in the background of James’ thought here—but rather, in their humiliation (NASB), because (hoti), says James, ‘like the flower of the grass’ (hōs anthos chortou) or perhaps better, a ‘flower of the field,’ or a ‘wildflower’ (NIV), he or she ‘shall pass away’ (pareleusetai).
A particular temptation for the rich is to rely on their wealth, perhaps even coming to believe that their wealth shields them from the trials that afflict the rest of humanity. “A rich man’s wealth is his strong city, and like a high wall in his own imagination” (Proverbs 18:11; cf. 10:15). This illusion is strengthened by the fact that wealth does to some degree function in this way. A large bank balance does shelter its owner from many common trials, just as a large estate filled with assets and enviable treasures may tempt its owner to believe in their invincibility, and to boast of their accomplishments. But James adopts a common image from the Palestinian countryside to depict the fate of all humanity—including the rich.
As for man, his days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourishes. When the wind has passed over it, it is no more, and its place acknowledges it no longer. But the lovingkindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him (Psalm 103:15-17).
A voice says, “Call out!” Then he answered, “What shall I call out?”
“All flesh is grass, and all its loveliness is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever”
(Isaiah 40:6-8).
James calls the rich to recognise their mortality in common with all people. They, too, ‘shall pass away,’ all their wealth and earthly glory notwithstanding. While their wealth may prove a shield in some affairs, ultimately the only lasting treasure is the fear of the Lord arising from his Word. As a believer they have embraced his Word. James now exhorts them to embrace the humiliation of association with the Christian community, of identification with the scandalous message of Jesus, for this is the true basis of glorying as Paul also insisted: “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord” (1 Corinthians 1:31).
Karl Barth – A Remarkable Life #3
This is my third and final instalment of observations drawn from Eberhard Busch’s excellent account of the life of Karl Barth.
Women
Barth’s view of the relations between male and female has been rejected by most in the days since his death. In this respect, he was certainly a man of his time arguing that female follows male as B follows A. The two are equal and definitely necessary, but just as definitely ordered. Busch’s story shows Barth living in a largely male world, with many male associates and peers. Nevertheless, women also show up in his life in many and varied ways, as friends and associates, as students and scholar-peers (though only one or two of these), and as fellow partisans in the struggle (see p. 317 for the story of Hebelotte Kohlbrügge who in July 1942 smuggled in her mouth, a microfilm of Barth’s message to the confessing churches in Holland!).
There was also, of course, a woman in his life, and I don’t mean Nelly, his wife. He married Nelly in 1913 and she remained his faithful wife all his days, and was mother of their five children. Nevertheless, the (other) woman in his life was Charlotte von Kirschbaum (“Lollo”), introduced to Barth in 1924 and who became a permanent member of his household in 1929. Without Lollo, Barth would not have been Barth. She became his assistant, typing and checking his works, handling his vast correspondence, participating in discussions with him and others, and accompanying him on his journeys, his semester-length stays in Germany immediately after WWII, and even on his holidays. We naturally conjecture as to the nature of their relationship, and in our time, given our fascination with all things sexual, many simply assume that it was such. We will never know whether or not that was the case for there is simply no record or comment to that effect by Barth or any of his family or associates. Her presence in the Barth house caused tensions for decades, and yet she was also treated as one of the family by the children, and after her death, buried by Nelly in the family tomb. Later in her life she began to give lectures and also wrote some of her own work. Barth himself acknowledged that he could not have accomplished anything near what he did without her participation and assistance. She was obviously a very capable and intelligent woman who chose a difficult (and selfless?) life in order to make a largely unseen contribution to Barth’s highly visible and significant career. Several biographies have been written about Charlotte—not all complimentary to Barth; I must read them also.
Old Age
As an old man with frequent health battles, Barth remained interested in theology, in his students, and in questions of the wider world. By now he was an international citizen, and guests from around the world came to visit him in Basel and to chat over their small kitchen table Bruderholzallee 26 in Basel. When, in December 2011 I visited his archives now housed there, I was told by archivist and curator, Hans Anton Drewes, that the then pope, Benedict XVI had visited Barth and sat at that table as the young and up-and-coming Joseph Ratzinger.
Of course, in old age other friends and associates were also growing frail and dying. I teared over as I read (and am tearing now again as I write),
In April 1966 Emil Brunner had also died. Shortly beforehand, Barth had sent him a “message through his friend Peter Vogelsanger: ‘If he is still alive and it is possible, tell him again, “Commended to our God,” even by me. And tell him, Yes, that the time when I thought that I had to say “No” to him is now long past, since we all live only by virtue of the fact that a great and merciful God says his gracious Yes to all of us.’ These words were the last that Brunner heard in his life… (476-477).
He still lectured from time to time, and on the night before he died was preparing a lecture to be given to a forum of Catholic and Reformed theologians in January 1969. The title was typical: “Starting Out, Turning Around, Confessing.” Barth was always “beginning again at the beginning,” seeking to hear again and afresh the Word of God spoken to us in Jesus Christ and witnessed in Holy Scripture. His work was interrupted by two phone calls, one from his godson Ulrich, and later, a phone call from his oldest friend Eduard Thurneysen whom he had known since his student days. The two friends spoke about the gloomy world situation before Barth said, ‘But keep your chin up! Never mind! “He will reign!”’ Afterwards, he did not return to his work but went to bed for the final time, Nelly finding him in the morning.
The sentences he had just written and to which he did not return after the call from Thurneysen were about the need for the church to listen to the Fathers in the faith who have gone before, for “‘“God is not a God of the dead but of the living.” In him they all live’ from the Apostles down to the Fathers of the day before yesterday and of yesterday” (498).
In my view, Karl Barth is one of those Fathers to whom we do well to listen.
Karl Barth – A Remarkable Life #2
Today I continue to post some observations drawn from Eberhard Busch’s Karl Barth: His Life from Letters and Autobiographical Texts which I highly recommend.
God
The living and true God, the high and holy God, the transcendent and immanent God, the one God revealed as Father, Son and Holy Spirit in the person of Jesus Christ, God the Creator, Reconciler and Redeemer, God the Wholly Other, the Good and Gracious God who has come to us and judges and calls us in Jesus Christ: this God was the centre of Barth’s existence, from whom and towards whom he lived. It was the reality of this God who ever stands over against us which drove Barth’s break with the Liberal theology of his student years, and it was the knowledge of this God revealed decisively in Jesus Christ that continued to drive his innovative theology over the course of his career.
Scripture
Dismayed by the capitulation of all but one of his Liberal teachers to the war policies of Kaiser Wilhelm in 1914, Barth and his friend Eduard Thurneysen knew they could no longer follow this theology, and so sought a “wholly other” foundation for theology (it was Thurneysen who first used the famous phrase). They tried starting again with Kant, Schleiermacher and Hegel, but found them more and more dissatisfying. In the end, they turned again to Scripture and found, “Lo, it began to speak to us.” Barth began his career with exegesis, especially of Romans, and it was this work which catapulted him into public awareness. For much of his career he taught not only theology but also New Testament exegesis. His Church Dogmatics abound with extended passages of biblical exegesis and exposition. About to be expelled from Germany by the Gestapo in 1935, he said in his final words to this students:
We have been studying cheerfully and seriously. As far as I was concerned it could have continued in that way, and I had already resigned myself to having my grave here by the Rhine! I had plans for the future with other colleagues who are either no longer here or have been away for a long time – but there has been a frost on our spring night! And now the end has come. So listen to my last piece of advice: exegesis, exegesis and yet more exegesis! Keep to the Word, to the scripture that has been given us (259).
Theology and Church
Theology, of course, is what Karl Barth is most well-known for. This was not only the field of his expertise, but also his passion. As early as 1902, shortly before his sixteenth birthday, and on the eve of his confirmation, ‘I made the bold resolve to become a theologian: not with preaching and pastoral care and so on in mind, but in the hope that through such a course of study I might reach a proper understanding of the creed in place of the rather hazy ideas that I had at that time’ (31). Theology, for Barth, is a human endeavour of response to the Word of God spoken to us in Jesus Christ. It is faith seeking understanding, the free and joyful science of God who has given himself to be known by us. It demands our very highest, deepest and most concentrated thought, and yet it is still grace if we come to know God at all. Indeed, as Barth struggled to grasp how he might arrange and structure the doctrine of reconciliation, ‘I dreamed of a plan. It seemed to go in the right direction. The plan now had to stretch from christology to ecclesiology together with the relevant ethics. I woke at 2 a.m. and then put it down on paper hastily the next morning’ (377). Barth’s doctrine of reconciliation (Church Dogmatics IV/1-4) is seen by many as a modern classic—and its outline came in a dream!
But theology, for Barth, is a discipline in and for the church, and indeed, for the entirety of his career Barth remained a man of the church. It is no accident that his major work is called Church Dogmatics—he had changed the title from an earlier attempt which was titled Christian Dogmatics. Barth wanted to make sure that theology is an activity of the church, and that the church rather than the academy was the proper locus for theology, although theology could legitimately be undertaken in the university so long as it remained true to its proper theme and method. Barth did theology to support and inform the proclamation of the church, and throughout his career pastors and preachers remained amongst his most avid readers. If only that remained true today! Theology is not an end in itself, but exists as a ministry of and to the church that it may be faithful in its other ministries of preaching and teaching. In so doing the church remains a teaching church and a hearing church, the place where God’s gift of revelation continues in the power of the Holy Spirit, and the church is thereby continually formed and reformed, gathered, built up and sent.
Praxis
Not only is theology in and for the church, but as Busch makes crystal clear in his account of Barth’s life, theology is also and simultaneously in and for the world. Theology is done in the world as well as in the church, for God’s Word comes to us as people in the world and God’s call makes us responsible to the world. For Barth, then, theology and ethics belong indissolubly together, and always in this order: right thought about God issues in right thought about the world and the church’s life in the world, and so generates an active life in correspondence to the active God revealed in Jesus Christ. Barth lived an active life in the world. During his Safenwil pastorate (1911-1921) he was known as the ‘Red Pastor’ because of his socialist convictions and activity on behalf of the poor workers in his village undergoing industrial transformation. He was deeply involved in the Confessing Church and the theological and ecclesial resistance to Hitler. After the war he pleaded for the forgiveness of the Germans and participated actively in its reconstruction, and was just as deeply involved in the politics of the Cold War, at odds with his many friends on both sides of the Atlantic because he refused to be caught up in anti-Communist fervour, but instead sought to support the church living under Marxist regimes.
Karl Barth – A Remarkable Life #1
Although first published in German in 1975, and in English translation in 1976, Eberhard Busch’s Karl Barth: His Life from Letters and Autobiographical Texts is still the go-to text for the story of Karl Barth’s remarkable life and theological development. That is not to say that this is the final word on his life; far from it, for we are still awaiting a full-scale critical biography. Perhaps someone might undertake this task for the fiftieth-anniversary of Barth’s death in 2018. (Do any German-speaking historians read this blog?) This work is not so much a biography as an account of Barth’s life, almost an itinerary, or a leafing through his diary, with Barth himself providing a running commentary on the various episodes of his life, the people he met, and the momentous events and days in which he participated.
Over the course of his life Barth wrote the 6,000,000 or so words of his unfinished magnum opus Church Dogmatics, hundreds of formal lectures and articles, hundreds more lectures to his students, hundreds of sermons (especially while pastor at Safenwil), and thousands of letters. Busch has carefully mined all these resources and more besides, such as radio broadcasts and recordings of class conversations, in order to let Barth tell, in his own words, the story of his life. The result is a large book of over 500 pages covering the whole of his life from his early childhood in Basel as a lively and perhaps even somewhat wild boy, through his student and pastoral years, to his early career in Göttingen and Münster as young professor, his participation in the church struggle against Hitler and the Nazi ideology which engulfed the nation and church, through the years of his global prominence, and to the final twilight years in which he still remained active and involved in theology despite advancing age and associated health concerns.
Barth’s theological development and commitments are naturally a primary focus of the work, and Busch has included sufficient summaries, excerpts and commentary to give the reader a good sense of Barth’s thought at each particular phase of his career. But the book also has extensive accounts of his family and friendships, his interactions, journeys and conflicts, which allow the very human and at times flawed character of the man to be clearly seen. The inclusion of more than 100 photographs add depth, colour and interest to the story, and the several maps, family tree, and extensive references help the reader, especially those not familiar with the history or geography of Barth’s time, to read profitably.
Eberhard Busch has done us a salutary service in preparing this account. I recommend it highly to any and all theological students, and anyone participating in Christian ministry. It is a story of a man living in extraordinary times, whose uncommon intellect, abundance of hard work, and network of relationships issued in a remarkable life of witness to Jesus Christ, and a substantial contribution to the work of church in his day.
I have just read, for the first time actually, the whole book from cover to cover. Previously I have only read those earlier sections immediately relevant to my work. Reading the whole has given me a fresh appreciation and sense of this remarkable life. Over the next few days I will record some observations of those things which stood out to me as particularly significant.
Extraordinary Times
Born May 10, 1886 and died December 10, 1968, Barth lived through two world wars and was deeply involved in both—not so much as a soldier, although he did enlist in Switzerland’s defence force in WWII, despite being in his 50s—but in thinking through what it meant to be church, to be a Christian, to do theology, in such turbulent and distressing times. Other movements included the rise of Christian socialism in Switzerland, the communist revolution in Russia and then the rise of international communism, especially the Stalinist variety, the attempted putsch in Germany, the Weimar Republic and its failure, the Confessing Church, Barmen, the atomic bomb, the eastern bloc and the Cold War: maybe it is the case that extraordinary times call for extraordinary characters. Barth was certainly an extraordinary man in extraordinary times.
Character
One of the primary characteristics to emerge from his story was Barth’s energy: he was a vibrant and dynamic person, accomplishing a vast amount of work and maintaining a punishing schedule of classes, meetings, lectures and international trips. He certainly slowed as he aged, but even then maintained quite high levels of participation in affairs theological, ecclesial and civil. He was a diligent networker and correspondent, obviously an extrovert, who enjoyed people and maintained enduring friendships and other associations over the course of his life. Yet there was also a certain pugnacious aspect to his character, evident in childhood scraps with his peers, his take-no-prisoners approach to the dispute with Brunner, his brother’s complaint that Karl was ‘a man who would brook no opposition’ (269). Thus he managed to lose friends and alienate colleagues as well, at times, being sharply critical of those with whom he disagreed. Especially during the church struggle of the 30s, the severity of the circumstances seemed to demand an “all-or-nothing,” black and white approach to the issues; one either sided with or against the gospel, and no sitting on the fence was possible.
And then, of course, his uncommon intellect, nurtured by the formidable German education system. Barth (and his associates) were deeply immersed in biblical studies and theology, had mastery of literature and philosophy, Greek, Hebrew, Latin (Barth was also fluent in French and then also learned English), the Patristic fathers and the Reformers, as well as living in the golden age of German culture prior to WWI. This, of course, also suggests his privilege, for only those of the right class got to go to university, and to participate in the kinds of circles in which Barth naturally fit all his life. He came from Old Basel society, from generations of pietist ministers on both sides of his lineage. Early in his life he rejected pietism as a way of being Christian, and yet it is evident that the influence of his pietist heritage marked him all his days: religion and theology could never simply be intellectual, but always was oriented to the good and gracious God, with “a touch of enthusiasm.”
Scripture on Sunday – James 1:9
James 1:9
Let the believer who is lowly boast in being raised up.
At first glance these verses appear to mark an abrupt change of theme and help support the idea that James is a collection of unrelated homiletical materials pieced together to form a letter representing the central themes of James’ teaching. It is possible, however, to read these verses as part of James’ overall theme in the first part of this chapter. First, verse twelve will return to the theme of the blessedness of those who endure under trial, suggesting that all the material from at least verse two through to verse twelve belongs together. Second, the opening word of verse nine (kauchasthō) is another third person singular imperative, extending the string of imperatives James has used in his opening section. Further, the word means to boast or to glory in which is not too far removed in concept if not language, from the opening thought of verse two where James exhorts his hearers to ‘count it all joy.’ In Psalm 149:5 (LXX) the word is set in parallel with joy: “Let the godly ones exult in glory; let them sing for joy on their beds.” Finally, a number of commentators understand these verses as an application of the opening section, identifying a particular trial, and indeed likely the major form of trial, being experienced by James’ community. The theme of wealth and riches, and the temptations associated with them recurs throughout the letter. The second chapter especially, indicates that this is a present trial and temptation for the community. Together, these contextual clues suggest that these verses should be understood as a continuation of the primary theme in this first chapter. That is, the community is to rejoice in the midst of their ongoing trials, enduring them steadfastly with faith, hope, and prayer for wisdom, and especially with reference to the vexed issue of economic difficulty, privation and temptation.
James turns his attention first to the lowly brother or sister(ho adelphos ho tapeinos), the reference to ho adelphos indicating that he refers not to the lowly in general, but to those in the community of God’s people. Tapeinos means humble or lowly, but in this context, especially given the contrast with ho plousios in verse ten, is to be interpreted in socio-economic terms rather than with respect to attitude or demeanour. The word is used in this sense in the Old Testament, and often in contexts in which the Lord is near to those who are tapeinos, to hear their prayer and to judge in their favour (e.g. Psa. 10:18; 18:27; 34:18; 102:17; Isa. 11:4). In 4:6 James will cite Proverbs 3:34 which declares that God gives grace to the tapeinos. Such favour is also in view in 2:5 where God has chosen the poor (ptōchos) to be the heirs of his kingdom. James, therefore, exhorts the person in ‘humble circumstances’ (NASB; NIV) to glory in their high position (NASB; en tō hypsei autou) because (reading en in a causative sense) they have been ‘raised up.’
Everything depends on the reality of this exaltation. Already they are the recipients of God’s grace and the special objects of God’s favour. Although not rich in this world they are rich in faith (2:5) and as such are heirs of the eternal kingdom. This, too, is divine wisdom, as James brings an eschatological worldview to bear on the circumstances of his readers. Only on the basis of divine grace and promise may the poor rejoice. From an earthly perspective they have no reason to boast. Just as joy in the midst of suffering is counter-intuitive, so too is boasting in the midst of poverty and affliction. But in the light of God’s present favour and eschatological promise, they may indeed boast for they have been made brothers and sisters in the very family of God.
2014 Archibald Prize
I was in Sydney recently and took the opportunity to visit the Art Gallery of NSW to view the portraits submitted for this year’s Archibald Prize. Now I am not an artist in any sense of the word, and could only stand amazed at so many of the paintings, admiring the skill and composition of the artists. I was glad that there were volunteer tour guides explaining and giving story about each of the paintings and sometimes, of the techniques involved. I enjoyed the experience so much, I might make it an annual pilgrimage!
The winning painting, by Fiona Lowry, actually shone, and was beautiful to look at. Lowry uses an airbrush technique to produce her work – at least the couple I saw – and the result was luminous. She had asked her subject, Penelope Seidler, to visit a place of particular memory for her. They went to the property that she and her husband had once owned. At some point while they walked the grounds of the old homestead, Seidler had turned and looked up at the old house. Lowry has captured her at that moment, and this was the result.
I also loved the painting Morpheus by Andrew Mezei, and perhaps if I were the judge, this one may have won. It was much smaller than Lowry’s work, and almost renaissance in its style, with mythological and symbolic elements enhancing the subject – Professor Kate Leslie, an anaesthetist and leading researcher into awareness and dreaming experienced by patients under general anaesthesia. The fish (representing the dreams), the poppies (opiates and sedation), the finger stirring the water and creating the ripples, the water itself, and the pebbled bed: a magnificent painting, in my humble and unschooled opinion! But, having said that, Lowry’s portrait of Seidler was also magnificent and a worthy winner.
All the portraits can be seen here, and other entries I found captivating included those by:
a) Jandamarra Cadd (Archie Roach) – this painting communicated massive dignity;
b) Anh Do (his father) – Do’s father was a baker and the painting looked like it had been done with a cake-icing knife!
c) Vincent Fantauzzo (himself, as his son!?) – a large painting; the eyes are amazing;
d) Tim Maguire (Cate Blanchett) – technique: the second frame adds blue;
e) Mirra Whale (Tom Uren) – She captures something very human in this portrait;
f) Mariola Smarzak (Wendy) – Not sure why I liked this one so much; an intense realism?
Any favourites?