Go read Luke 22:54-62.
No, seriously. Go read it. I'll wait.
(La-de-da-dum. Tap-tap-tap.)
So what Luke does is allow us to picture Peter there in the courtyard with a random assortment of strangers and assume Jesus is off being mocked, beaten, and tried unjustly somewhere else. Peter's denial of his Lord thus seems distant and impersonal. But then, in 22:61, he reveals that the trial has been going on in the courtyard: Peter's argument around the fire is just a little bit away from the main event, and in plain view.
(This explains, by the way, why Peter's interrogators refer to Jesus as "he." No name is necessary since Jesus is right there, and probably is being gestured towards.)
Suddenly, Peter's denial becomes simultaneously more understandable and more monstrous. If he's identified as Jesus' follower, he could very well suffer the same fate, and at that very moment. But Jesus is also a witness to this betrayal, and his suffering thereby becomes all the worse.
By telling the story the way he does, Luke clarifies our understanding of what has occurred in a moment, and thereby creates a sudden and visceral sense of horror. Seriously, this Luke is a brilliant storyteller. No wonder he got a book deal for a sequel.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
In the bosom
On page 59 of his commentary on John's Gospel, Herman Ridderbos observes that "in the bosom of the Father" is less a familial image than that of two adult friends, reclining together at the dinner table (per the custom of the day) in intimate conversation. Interestingly, this is how John himself pictures his relationship to Jesus in John 13:23.
Friday, December 19, 2008
On the Church year
My series of pastoral letters introducing the seasons of the Church year, or litugical calendar, can be downloaded as a .pdf document from the Park Hill Presbyterian Church website: http://www.parkhillpresbyterian.org/Study%20Resources.shtml.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
So much depends on a pronoun
In Luke 2:22 we read, "When the days of their purification had been fulfilled according to the Law of Moses...," a reference to Leviticus 12. The flow of blood involved in birth made both mother and child unclean, or impure, under the Old Covenant ceremonial law. The period of impurity for a male child was 40 days (halved from that of the daughter's 80 days because the son was circumcised); afterward, sacrifices would be offered up to restore both mother and child to a state of ritual cleanness.
The third person plural pronoun in Luke 2:22 is significant because it tells us both Mary and Jesus were impure. Since Jesus was sinless, his being unclean could not have meant he was somehow guilty of sin. Thus, while ceremonial uncleanness in many ways symbolized man's alienation from God as a result of sin, it was only a symbol.
In other words, Luke 2:22 should disabuse all Christians of the unfortunately common notion that ceremonial uncleanness somehow equaled sinfulness.
The third person plural pronoun in Luke 2:22 is significant because it tells us both Mary and Jesus were impure. Since Jesus was sinless, his being unclean could not have meant he was somehow guilty of sin. Thus, while ceremonial uncleanness in many ways symbolized man's alienation from God as a result of sin, it was only a symbol.
In other words, Luke 2:22 should disabuse all Christians of the unfortunately common notion that ceremonial uncleanness somehow equaled sinfulness.
Friday, December 12, 2008
"Fear Not," the first draft (A meditation on Luke 2:8-11)
[For those of you interested in my process (and if you're still reading this, you're interested, whether you want to admit it or not), here's a look at the original version of "Fear Not," which was published in New Horizons last December. It began as a Christmas Eve homily a few years back when my habit was to improvise that sermon. A week or so before the service, I wrote a rough draft of what I thought I might say. I then cold submitted the piece to NH a few months later. A couple years after that, the editor asked me to expand it to something more than twice the original length, no mean feat since I am a member of the "edit out more than half of what you originally wrote" school. At any rate, I'm guessing I still hold the copyright to this version of "Fear Not," and I don't think the OPC will sue me for posting it here.]
In many ways I envy those who grew up in faithful Churches, but I think I have one advantage over them. By virtue of having been exposed to the literally worst sermons imaginable from liberal protestant ministers, I have an appreciation for the preached Word I think my more advantaged brethren cannot. If one expects a pastor to faithfully exposit Scripture, one can afford to be critical of the manner in which he handles the text. But if one is pleasantly surprised there even is a text as the basis for the sermon, one tends to be perpetually grateful for even the dullest of homilies.
This is why I love Christmas Eve services; traditionally, they do not include a sermon. A collection of set readings and hymns, the service cannot be bent to man’s whims because it includes only the Bible and the most orthodox songs in Christendom. At least, this was the case during my childhood, when the ministers were older than my father and took seriously their obligation to carry on the Church’s traditions, no matter their own theological proclivities. But in my late teens, the ministers became younger than my father and lacked their predecessors’ sobriety. The nadir of all Christmas Eve services came when, instead of Scripture, members of the youth group read from a “novelization” of the Bible and the homily was a lame imitation of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion monologues. Sadly, it lacked even the slight spiritual insight one finds on National Public Radio.
What I was robbed of that night, and what I hoped for every Christmas Eve of my life, was the angel’s proclamation “Fear not!” I don’t remember many white Christmases, but every Christmas Eve has been dark; very dark. Each year I was with those shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night, surrounded by impenetrable darkness.
As are we all. I have been accused of pedantry for insisting the Bible does not identify evil and sin with the color black, but with darkness. Still, this is not an unimportant distinction. Our problem has nothing to do with color; our problem is we have no light by which to see color. In the darkness, we are blind; being blind, we are afraid. We know our sin, and we know death is impending, and we cannot see any way of escape. I can’t speak for the shepherds, but I know we do not become afraid because of the glory of the Lord. We begin afraid because of sin and death, because of the darkness which surrounds our lives.
And into that darkness shines the glory of the Lord. All of a sudden, light. The presence of God Himself. And should we fear even more? Has God come in judgment?
No preacher, no matter how orthodox, can improve on the words of the angel. “Fear not! For I bring you glad tidings of peace which will be to all men.”
The light is the glory of the Lord. That light shines in the darkness and gives hope to the Gentiles. The angel’s glad tidings, his Gospel, bring you out of darkness into light, from death into life, from sin to redemption.
I was in grave rebellion against the Lord, utterly unfaithful to my baptism, until February of 1988. But in retrospect, I can now admit; indeed, I can now gladly confess that which I refused to all those long years prior. I longed to hear there was born to me, a sinner in the darkness, in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
The light has shone. The Son of Mary has grown and died and been raised again for the justification of all who will turn to Him. He lived in the darkness with us so that you need do so no longer. You need to be reminded, year in and year out, that you live in His light, a light which will only grow and grow until it reaches perfection in glory and night is banished forever. Because of Christ Jesus, because God was and is with us, there is only day here.
I don’t need to read the words; they are written on my heart and mind as I suspect they are on yours. But I need to hear them; we all need to hear them. “Fear not; for behold, I bring you glad tidings of peace which will be for all men. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
In many ways I envy those who grew up in faithful Churches, but I think I have one advantage over them. By virtue of having been exposed to the literally worst sermons imaginable from liberal protestant ministers, I have an appreciation for the preached Word I think my more advantaged brethren cannot. If one expects a pastor to faithfully exposit Scripture, one can afford to be critical of the manner in which he handles the text. But if one is pleasantly surprised there even is a text as the basis for the sermon, one tends to be perpetually grateful for even the dullest of homilies.
This is why I love Christmas Eve services; traditionally, they do not include a sermon. A collection of set readings and hymns, the service cannot be bent to man’s whims because it includes only the Bible and the most orthodox songs in Christendom. At least, this was the case during my childhood, when the ministers were older than my father and took seriously their obligation to carry on the Church’s traditions, no matter their own theological proclivities. But in my late teens, the ministers became younger than my father and lacked their predecessors’ sobriety. The nadir of all Christmas Eve services came when, instead of Scripture, members of the youth group read from a “novelization” of the Bible and the homily was a lame imitation of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion monologues. Sadly, it lacked even the slight spiritual insight one finds on National Public Radio.
What I was robbed of that night, and what I hoped for every Christmas Eve of my life, was the angel’s proclamation “Fear not!” I don’t remember many white Christmases, but every Christmas Eve has been dark; very dark. Each year I was with those shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night, surrounded by impenetrable darkness.
As are we all. I have been accused of pedantry for insisting the Bible does not identify evil and sin with the color black, but with darkness. Still, this is not an unimportant distinction. Our problem has nothing to do with color; our problem is we have no light by which to see color. In the darkness, we are blind; being blind, we are afraid. We know our sin, and we know death is impending, and we cannot see any way of escape. I can’t speak for the shepherds, but I know we do not become afraid because of the glory of the Lord. We begin afraid because of sin and death, because of the darkness which surrounds our lives.
And into that darkness shines the glory of the Lord. All of a sudden, light. The presence of God Himself. And should we fear even more? Has God come in judgment?
No preacher, no matter how orthodox, can improve on the words of the angel. “Fear not! For I bring you glad tidings of peace which will be to all men.”
The light is the glory of the Lord. That light shines in the darkness and gives hope to the Gentiles. The angel’s glad tidings, his Gospel, bring you out of darkness into light, from death into life, from sin to redemption.
I was in grave rebellion against the Lord, utterly unfaithful to my baptism, until February of 1988. But in retrospect, I can now admit; indeed, I can now gladly confess that which I refused to all those long years prior. I longed to hear there was born to me, a sinner in the darkness, in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
The light has shone. The Son of Mary has grown and died and been raised again for the justification of all who will turn to Him. He lived in the darkness with us so that you need do so no longer. You need to be reminded, year in and year out, that you live in His light, a light which will only grow and grow until it reaches perfection in glory and night is banished forever. Because of Christ Jesus, because God was and is with us, there is only day here.
I don’t need to read the words; they are written on my heart and mind as I suspect they are on yours. But I need to hear them; we all need to hear them. “Fear not; for behold, I bring you glad tidings of peace which will be for all men. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
Ella Wishes You a Swinging Christmas
is on sale this week on iTunes for only $7.99. 15 tracks plus 3 alternate takes; the alternate take of "Frosty the Snowman" is a very different Ella. Quite the bargain, and cheaper than you'd pay for a physical copy, if you can find one. And boy, does she swing.
And yes, I am shilling for the man.
Catholicity and conscience
Peter Wallace, a member of the OPC's Committee on Ecumenicity and Interchurch Relations, has a helpful article in the month's Ordained Servant, "Catholicity and Conscience" (http://www.opc.org/os9.html?article_id=128). He argues that on the American Church scene, and particularly in reformed circles, the scruples of one's conscience have been allowed to trump all obligations towards ecumenical practice, that this is a relatively recent development, and that we should work to bring catholicity and conscience back into greater balance.
I generally agree; I've argued in lectures on ecclesiology (particularly when discussing subscription to confessions) that if the pope cannot be head of the Church, then neither can your conscience. Still, all other things being equal, given our presbyterian doctrine of Christian liberty (Westminster Confession of Faith ch. 20), I'd rather defer to conscience than impose what some might consider unbiblical practice in the interests of ecumenicity.
Wallace suggests several ways catholicism can be better practiced on the local level. My essay "All Ecclesiology Is Local," which appeared in the June 2002 (11.1) issue of Ordained Servant, touches on similar themes. You can download it at http://www.opc.org/os_archive.html.
I generally agree; I've argued in lectures on ecclesiology (particularly when discussing subscription to confessions) that if the pope cannot be head of the Church, then neither can your conscience. Still, all other things being equal, given our presbyterian doctrine of Christian liberty (Westminster Confession of Faith ch. 20), I'd rather defer to conscience than impose what some might consider unbiblical practice in the interests of ecumenicity.
Wallace suggests several ways catholicism can be better practiced on the local level. My essay "All Ecclesiology Is Local," which appeared in the June 2002 (11.1) issue of Ordained Servant, touches on similar themes. You can download it at http://www.opc.org/os_archive.html.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
From the perfect to the present
In seminary, I learned the Greek perfect tense indicates a past action which continues into the present; for example, "I have been living in Denver since 1999." In John 1:26, John the Baptist describes Jesus (who is not mentioned by name until John 1:29, a provocative literary move by John the Evangelist which has the effect of building anticipation) describes Jesus with a perfect participial and a perfect active verb: "...in your midst has been standing one whom you all have not known...." Curiously, all the English versions I consulted translate these verbs in the present tense. The ESV is a representative example: "...but among you stands one you do not know...."
One can easily justify this choice; John the Baptist certainly means that Jesus is still amongst them. However, the present tense implies that Jesus is physically among the delegation of priests and Levites questioning John the Baptist, right at that moment. Since this was almost certainly not the case (Jesus wasn't a priest or Levite, and John the Evangelist tells us he showed up the next day in 1:29), the perfect tense in English more clearly communicates the simple idea that Jesus has "been on the scene" in Judea for some time.
Given that the perfect tense is, well, perfectly clear in English, I can't imagine why so many translators went with the present in John 1:26. This may be a case of "KJV hangover:" since it was translated that way in the King James Version, subsequent translators did the same without too much reflection.
One can easily justify this choice; John the Baptist certainly means that Jesus is still amongst them. However, the present tense implies that Jesus is physically among the delegation of priests and Levites questioning John the Baptist, right at that moment. Since this was almost certainly not the case (Jesus wasn't a priest or Levite, and John the Evangelist tells us he showed up the next day in 1:29), the perfect tense in English more clearly communicates the simple idea that Jesus has "been on the scene" in Judea for some time.
Given that the perfect tense is, well, perfectly clear in English, I can't imagine why so many translators went with the present in John 1:26. This may be a case of "KJV hangover:" since it was translated that way in the King James Version, subsequent translators did the same without too much reflection.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Design Your Life
I drove by a building today which had a rather large sign in front, reading "Design Your Life Ministries." What am I to make of that?
On the one hand, I can remember a time when "ministry" was the term parachurch organizations used to distinguish themselves from Churches. This raises the possibility the building houses some sort of christianized interior design firm.
On the other hand, this could be some sort of church, the gospel of which is, apparently, to enable you to design the sort of life you'd like to lead. So much for a sovereign God who saves, sanctifies, and glorifies sinners after the image of Christ.
What am I to make of "Design Your Life Ministries"? Nothing good.
Umm... not what we meant by "SAD"
The reader has no doubt heard of Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD. As summer wanes and autumn waxes, the hours of daylight in our northern hemisphere decrease. This diminished exposure to sunlight produces in some a change in their emotions and mood, or their "affect."
The Presbyterian Curmudgeon is afflicted with SAD. Right around Reformation Day (or "Halloween" to you papists), my typically dour, and appropriately presbyterian, mood begins to perk up. My step, normally a shuffling gait appropriate to carrying the weight of the world, acquires an unaccountable spring. By Thanksgiving, I've entered into a state of what can only be described as giddiness. For example, I listen to, and profoundly appreciate, the Christmas albums of Elvis Presley and Raul Malo without a trace of irony. If anything, a sentimental tear can be discerned in the corner of my eye.
This change is so profound that Mrs. Curmudgeon and the curmudgelings can't help but notice it. The day after Thanksgiving, as we were hanging our wreath on the front door (a wreath made entirely out of jingle bells and whose jingling not only fails to annoy, but brings a smile to my face every time the door opens, which if nothing else is proof sufficient of my disorder), Thing One said, "Daddy, I love you when you hang that up." Naturally, he expresses love for me throughout the year (who wouldn't?), but still.
What so disorders my affect? In a word, the season. Or more precisely, the season of the Church year. Last December, New Horizons published my essay, "Fear Not" (http://www.opc.org/nh.html?article_id=529), which I've increasingly come to consider my spiritual testimony. Having been raised with the Church year, autumn brings Advent, and Advent brings the good news that Christ came for a sinner like me. It's no wonder, then, that I suffer from SAD.
Isn't that everyone's experience?
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
An angel ministered to him
Luke 22:23-24 are textually disputed; that is, they appear in some manuscripts, but not others. Judging their reliability is, in this case, extremely tricky since the evidence for regarding them as original is about as strong as that for regarding them as suspect. In the past, the tendency of critical scholars was to judge against texts like these, but that no longer seems the case. The more recent critical commentaries I consulted favored their inclusion. Perhaps more interestingly, my copy of A Textual Commentary on the Greek New Testament by Bruce Metzger, which is based on the third edition of the United Bible Societies Greek New Testament, reports that the editing committee gave these two verses a "C" grade. However, my actual UBS Greek New Testament is a 4th revised edition, which grades them as "A."
My own reason for thinking 22:23-24 are genuine has to do with the way Luke has structured his Gospel. He explicitly points out Satan's return as Jesus' Passion begins (Luke 22:3, 31), a theme which is at best only implicit in Mark's and Matthew's Gospels. Thus, in Luke, Jesus' anticipation of his suffering (Luke 22:1-46) is paralled to his temptation by Satan in Luke 4:1-13. Now, Luke's account of Jesus' temptations after his baptism differs from Mark's and Mathew's in that he does not record the fact that Jesus was ministered to by angels. Therefore, it seems likely to me, and possibly because he had the other Gospel accounts in mind, that Luke is the only Evangelist to mention the angel at Gethsemane because he wants his readers to note how our Lord resisted temptations at both the beginning and end of his earthly ministry.
My own reason for thinking 22:23-24 are genuine has to do with the way Luke has structured his Gospel. He explicitly points out Satan's return as Jesus' Passion begins (Luke 22:3, 31), a theme which is at best only implicit in Mark's and Matthew's Gospels. Thus, in Luke, Jesus' anticipation of his suffering (Luke 22:1-46) is paralled to his temptation by Satan in Luke 4:1-13. Now, Luke's account of Jesus' temptations after his baptism differs from Mark's and Mathew's in that he does not record the fact that Jesus was ministered to by angels. Therefore, it seems likely to me, and possibly because he had the other Gospel accounts in mind, that Luke is the only Evangelist to mention the angel at Gethsemane because he wants his readers to note how our Lord resisted temptations at both the beginning and end of his earthly ministry.
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