Category Archives: Scripture

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.

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!

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:17-21

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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?

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.

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?

Obedience, Prayer, and the Knowledge of God

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I came across this quote the other day in an essay on Moses:

And now we recognize for the first time just how deeply shaped Moses has become by the new story into which he has been inducted, and by his convictions about the character of the God who is authoring it. For at this crucial moment in his life his trust in God issues, not in obedience to God’s expressed will, but in argumentative prayer, in which he ‘reminds’ God of who he is and what he has been intent on doing in the world …

Thus we discover that Moses, like Abraham, before him…is able to penetrate to the heart of God and of the story that God is telling, even beyond some of God’s own words. Or perhaps he is actually exceedingly attentive to the true implication of God’s words, recognizing that ‘leave me alone’ (Exodus 32:10) in fact ‘leaves the door open for intercession.’ One way or another, Moses has learned well with whom he is dealing, and what is this person’s fundamental posture toward the world (Iain Provan “Moses: Man of God” in Houston & Zimmermann (eds), Sources of the Christian Self: A Cultural History of Christian Identity, 33).

I was struck by several things. First, the fact that our identity grows, develops and deepens over time in accordance with the story or stories of which we are part. Moses’ ongoing journey with God led him ever deeper into relationship with God and thereby deepening experiential knowledge of the divine character and purpose. Second, Provan makes much of Moses at prayer: thrust into seemingly impossible situations, he had come to depend upon God and to trust God, so much so that he became an intercessor, praying even for his enemies. Now, in this episode of the golden calf he again prays, standing against God’s expressed will (‘leave me alone!’) on behalf of the people who had betrayed and forsaken God. In this case he does not obey, but prays, calling upon something deeper that he knows about God’s character and purpose.

Finally, Provan’s contention that Moses and Abraham were able to penetrate to the heart of God ‘even beyond some of God’s own words’ is as insightful as it is provocative. I suspect that it would be easy to misuse this idea, claiming some deeper knowledge of God and his ways and thereby coopting God to our own agenda. Moses, in fact, rejected any personal advantage, the possibility that God would begin again with him, and appealed to the purpose of God revealed already in his covenantal dealings with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Moses set this word of God into the broader context of his overarching covenant promise, purpose, and word. Moses disobeyed this word of God in order to pray for the realisation of a deeper, richer divine purpose. Maybe, as Provan suggests, God was inviting Moses still deeper into the divine life and counsel. But make no mistake: in this instance, Moses withstood God even to the point of saying, “But now, if you will, forgive their sin—and if not, please blot me out from Your book which You have written!” (Exodus 32:32). Moses too was amongst this people in need of God’s mercy and forgiveness. How could God start again with him if he were willing to blot them out? He, too, was a sinner. Moses withstood God because he knew that God’s mercy was more fundamental than his wrath. He stood in the breach between God and God’s people, as one with God’s people, and equally in need of mercy. And he knew that God’s words must be set within the context of God himself, his enduring covenantal purpose, character, and act. “So the Lord changed his mind about the harm which He had said He would do to His people” (Exodus 32:14).

 

Scripture on Sunday – Mark 14:1-11

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Mark’s Passion Narrative (1)

This is surely one of the most poignant stories in Mark’s gospel, even more so given its setting. In this passage we see again something common in Mark’s gospel: one story inserted into another. Mark uses this ‘sandwich’ technique to highlight a common theme between the two stories, or alternatively, a contrast between them. In this instance, the beautiful story of a generous act of devotion (vv.3-9) contrasts with an overarching narrative of vicious conspiracy, hate, and betrayal (vv. 1-2, 10-11).

You can read the passage here.

We are in the final days of Jesus’ life. His religious opponents want to kill him, stealthily, for they are afraid of the people (cf. 11:32). The people considered that John Baptist was a prophet; they seem to have a similar or even higher regard for Jesus, especially as we consider their response to his entry into Jerusalem (11:1-10). The chief priests and scribes are pursuing their own agenda, one not shared by the people. That they were determined to act in secret should have been a warning to them that their intent was not ‘above board.’

Jesus was at the home of Simon (the leper!), reclining at table in the company of others. Mark does not say who these others are, though Matthew states quite plainly that it was the disciples (Matt. 26:8; cf. Luke 7:36ff). Perhaps Mark wanted to avoid this since he has already noted that the disciples have ‘left everything’ to follow Jesus (10:28).

(I prefer not to harmonise the accounts in the four gospels since they seem to have a different context and content, especially in Luke and John. This may reflect variance in the oral tradition or the gospel authors’ editorial purposes. Although an interesting question, it is one to explore some other time!)

During the meal an unnamed woman approached and poured expensive perfume over his head. We are given no motive for this act in Mark, no context. What has she done and why has she done it? What led to this? What was she seeking to express or communicate? What was she saying—for herself? What was she saying—to Jesus? Why here, why now? How did she have access to so great a treasure? Was it a spur of the moment act, or something well-considered? Will she, did she, later regret it? How would she explain it?

We don’t know. The woman never says a word. Others around the table, however, have plenty to say. They are indignant and critical:

“Why has this perfume been wasted? For this perfume might have been sold for over three hundred denarii, and the money given to the poor.” And they were scolding her (vv. 4-5).

We now see the extent of the woman’s act: 300 denarii was a year’s salary for the common labourer. This is an extraordinary, an outrageous, act; such a fortune, simply poured out! How much good this money might have done! How noble it would have been to give the money to the poor! How practical, how necessary! What a waste simply to pour it out!

And how virtuous the critics appear, quite prepared to do something with someone else’s money! It is too easy to sit in the critic’s chair, comfortable and uncommitted, non-participatory and non-productive. It is too easy to sit in the critic’s chair and to launch barbs at those who are active, who are committed, who are doing something. Such indignation and criticism provide a false sense that one is ‘doing’ something. It betrays a sense of superiority, of finer judgement, of better knowledge.

The critics perhaps feel secure, knowing that they are criticising someone socially inferior, a nameless woman, a ‘nobody.’ But Jesus defends the woman saying,

Let her alone. … 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 (vv. 6-7).

Is this a veiled rebuke from Jesus to the critics: “If this is so important to you, don’t just talk about it, nor criticise this woman: go do it!” Whenever you wish you can do good for the poor!

The story of the woman’s act stands in contrast to that of Judas, the chief priests and scribes, and the ‘others.’ Judas values Jesus as having some worth: he could be betrayed for some money. The chief priests and scribes ascribe ‘negative value’ to Jesus: he is a worthless person, a threat to be eliminated. The ‘others’ consider the woman’s act a ‘waste’ though Jesus says that she has done him a good deed (v. 6). She has, in a public act that appears to spring from gratitude and devotion, given him an outrageous gift, perhaps all she possessed (cf. 12:44)—and he has with gratitude received it and honoured her.

Nothing given to and for Jesus is ever wasted.

On Reading and Memorising Scripture

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In the third chapter of Psalms as Torah, Gordon Wenham argues that the Psalms should be understood as an anthology intended for memorisation. (I note that his point could and should probably be extended to all Scripture.) Drawing on the work of Paul J. Griffiths, Wenham distinguishes a ‘consumerist’ (modern) approach to reading from ‘religious reading.’ In the age of the printed book and of the internet, modern writings whether blogs or learned tomes are ephemeral, read, perhaps noted, and then discarded. They have no particular authority and different readers ascribe different value to them.

Religious reading, on the other hand, is different for the texts are treated with reverence as an ‘infinite resource,’ as a treasure house of wisdom, etc. As such, the words are read and re-read over and over and in time, tend to be committed to memory. “And as a reader memorizes a text, he becomes textualized; that is, he embodies the work that he has committed to memory”:

‘A memorized work (like a lover, a friend, a spouse, a child) has entered into the fabric of its possessor’s intellectual and emotional life in a way that makes deep claims upon that life, claims that can only be ignored with effort and deliberation.’ … A memorized text has a peculiarly character-forming effect on the memorizer. The text becomes part of his character; he lives in it and lives it out (Wenham, Psalms as Torah, 53, citing Paul J. Griffiths, Religious Reading, 46-47).

“Let the Word of Christ dwell in you richly,” said the apostle (Colossians 3:16). “Your word have I hidden in my heart” said the Psalmist (119:11).So, too, the Sage of Proverbs reminds us to “Give attention to my words; incline your ear to my sayings. Do not let them depart from your sight; keep them in the midst of your heart. For they are life to those who find them and health to all their body” (4:20-22). For “when you walk about, they will guide you; When you sleep, they will watch over you; and when you awake, they will talk to you. For the commandment is a lamp and the teaching is light; and reproofs for discipline are the way of life” (6:22-23).

Reading, praying, singing, and memorising the words of Scripture are character-forming, life-directing, and transformative. This is a good reminder for me at the start of 2023.

Happy New Year 😊

Scripture on Sunday – James 3:2

Scripture, , ,

James 3:2
For we all stumble in many ways. If anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able to bridle the whole body as well. (NASB)

The opening sentence of this verse continues the first-person plural of verse 1b, and may be read as though James continues his instruction concerning teachers. Verse one, however, is not addressing teachers directly but the congregation generally—‘my brothers and sisters’—about those who might consider becoming teachers. The congregation knows that ‘we’—teachers—will be subject to greater scrutiny in the judgement, and thus, not many (πολλοὶ) of them should become teachers. In this verse the ‘we’ returns to its general sense: “For we all stumble in many ways” (polla gar ptaiomen hapantes; πολλὰ γὰρ πταίομεν ἅπαντες)—James again, is addressing all his ‘brothers and sisters.’

This statement is a truism: each one of us continues to stumble in many ways (NASB) or, ‘over and over again’ (JB)—the polla can signify either meaning, and there is little between them. Although the way in which we stumble may differ from one person to the next—we do not all stumble in exactly the same way—each does stumble, and likely does so ‘over and over again.’ To ‘stumble’ seems to indicate relatively minor transgressions, what McKnight (274) refers to as ‘peccadillos.’ But even a minor transgression may become a more serious issue for the teacher whose more visible public role may mean that the stumble has greater or broader impact.

Now James will focus on a particular issue: while all may stumble in different ways, it is virtually inevitable that all will stumble with respect to their speech. This is, of course, particularly the case for teachers whose role involves a good deal of public speaking. Nevertheless, while “if anyone” (ei tis; εἴ τις) could certainly refer to teachers, it could equally refer to anyone at all. James is making a general statement that he will discuss further in what follows. “If anyone does not stumble in what he says” (en logō ou ptaiei; ἐν λόγῳ οὐ πταίει), literally, ‘in word’ (en logō) “he is a perfect man” (houtos teleios anēr; οὗτος τέλειος ἀνὴρ). Typically, James refers not to an abstract ‘sinless perfection,’ some indefinable or intangible ideal, but to a fully developed maturity of character. We have seen in 1:4 that to be teleios refers to mature character shaped by endurance in the face of trial and suffering. It is described as being complete or entire, lacking nothing. 1:25 suggests that such ‘perfection’ is the fruit of a life shaped by the ‘perfect (teleion) law of liberty,’ as one gazes into and practises the Word and is a doer of the work. Here, the ability to control one’s tongue so as not to stumble in word, is indicative of such maturity. Those able to bring the tongue into submission are also, according to James, “able to bridle the whole body as well” (dunatos chalinagōgēsai kai holon to sōma; δυνατὸς χαλιναγωγῆσαι καὶ ὅλον τὸ σῶμα). So difficult is it to control one’s tongue, that mastery here suggests a degree of self-control that is able to master one’s other passions and appetites as well.

This verse is a forceful reminder (Davids, 138) of 1:26 where, if one fails to ‘bridle’ (chalinagōgeō) one’s tongue, their religion is worthless. For James, a controlled tongue is central to genuine spirituality and indicative of maturity.

It is worth noting that James’ concern for the proper use of the tongue continues a prominent strand of reflection in Israel’s wisdom tradition and in the teaching of Jesus. It is worth noting also that while Scot McKnight’s argument that ‘body’ in 3:2 refers to the messianic community supports his contention that James is referring to and addressing teachers throughout this section, this seems an unlikely interpretation of the verse (276). James does not develop the ‘body’ metaphor for the church as Paul does in his writings, and makes no reference to this idea anywhere in his letter. And while it is true that James’ overall purpose is harmony in the congregation, he will arrive there by a different route.

Scripture on Sunday – James 3:1

Scripture,

James 3:1
Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers and sisters, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.

With this verse James begins a new topic—or does he? It is possible to read the verse in connection with what has already been said, as though James is warning the church, and especially his interlocutor of 2:18ff., of the dangers of being a false teacher. But it seems more likely the beginning of a new section, as signalled by the words, “my brothers and sisters” (adelphoi mou; ἀδελφοί μου—cf. 1:2, 16, 19; 2:1, 5, 14), and perhaps one in which he is addressing those who would be or are presently, teachers in the congregation. But this, too, is somewhat problematic, since in verse two James begins a long argument for control of the tongue, with reference to teachers disappearing altogether. In the latter half of the chapter he deepens the discussion by considering the character of true wisdom and suggesting that only those who display the characteristics of the ‘wisdom from above’ may be considered truly wise. Again, there is no explicit reference to those who teach. The first verse, then, appears to be a fragment, the apparent commencement of a new section in the letter yet isolated from what follows. We have at least three options concerning how to interpret the verse:

  • As a single-verse admonition, disconnected both from what precedes and what follows it.
  • As the commencement of a new theme in which verses 2-12 are particularly directed toward would-be and actual teachers.
  • As connected more particularly to Vv. 13-18 which also addresses the leadership of the community, so that vv. 2-12 are viewed as a (not unrelated) digression, but with a more general intent than applying only to teachers.

It seems best to adopt the third option. James addresses the whole community, even in verse one, and not merely teachers alone, though what he says across both major sections of the chapter and especially the second, is relevant also to those who seek this ministry.

“Not many of you” (Mē polloi; Μὴ πολλοὶ), says James, “should become teachers” (didaskaloi ginesthe; διδάσκαλοι γίνεσθε). Of the whole community, only few should ‘become’ teachers. The idea of becoming a teacher in the early Christian communities could well be desirable: in a world with few opportunities for advancement, especially for those of the lower classes, the role of teacher promised increased status and reward (Davids, 136).

Was this a role to which anyone could aspire and so take to oneself? Or was one called to the role by God, with this call being recognised by the community, with the result that one was appointed to the task? The answer is probably both–and. On the one hand, Jesus, Paul, and presumably the other apostles recruited followers to learn the ways of the Christian life and ministry, and who were thereby equipped and appointed for service in the churches. On the other hand, in 1 Timothy 3:1 Paul makes a ‘trustworthy statement’ saying that anyone aspiring to the office of an overseer desires a fine work. It is possible, then, and even legitimate, for a person to seek such roles within the Christian community. It is noteworthy, though, that Paul qualifies this aspiration by noting first that it is the work more than the office itself, which is sought, and second, by listing the characteristics suitable for those who would serve in this way. Perhaps James intends something similar in this chapter; that is, by detailing the character, ethos, and practices of mature spirituality he provides a criterion for the community by which they might recognise those suitable for the role of teacher, and also a standard for the would-be teachers themselves.

The New Testament makes clear that while many people sought to be teachers not all were suitable. Some were accused of being ‘false’ teachers intent on leading others astray, others of having poor motivations, still others of having inadequate knowledge. As we shall see, James 3 suggests that there were those in his communities who were seeking this role within the churches for reasons other than the wellbeing of the people of God.

According to James, those who teach can expect a stricter judgement: “for you know (eidotes; εἰδότες) that we . . . will be judged with greater strictness” (hoti meizon krima lēmpsometha; ὅτι μεῖζον κρίμα λημψόμεθα). This reminder should serve to give pause to those intent on seeking a teaching ministry. Moo (119-120) suggests that the teacher will be subject to a closer scrutiny of both their doctrine and their life, for those who presume to teach are thereby claiming greater knowledge of Christian truth. The teacher has responsibility both for the content of their teaching and for their life which is to illuminate and exemplify what is taught. The content of the teaching is presumably, the word of truth (1:18), the perfect law of liberty (1:25), and the contours of ‘pure and undefiled religion’ (1:27). James does not reference either the gospel per se, or the ‘word of Christ,’ though his own reliance on Jesus’ teaching would suggest this. In broader canonical sense, however, one would have to speak of faithfulness to the apostolic witness, to the gospel, to the message of the New Testament. Not only must the teaching be sound with respect to knowledge and doctrine, but the teacher is to embody the message; their life is to display a congruence between word and work.

Jesus, too, in Mark 12:38-40, warned of a stricter judgement for those who abuse their positions of trust. Those who use their position as a vehicle to honour and personal advancement, or who use it exploit the vulnerable will “receive greater condemnation” (lēmpsontai perissoteron krima; λήμψονται περισσότερον κρίμα; cf. Luke 12:47-48).