The Laughing Jesus

Before I begin, let me say that I do believe Jesus has a sense of humor, and that He no doubt enjoyed Himself on many occasions while here on earth. He was the one who made the "best wine" for a wedding party, after all. So the idea of Jesus laughing is not one I am uncomfortable with.

As I read the Gospel of Judas, I was struck by how often the author of that treatise describes Jesus as laughing. Usually when Jesus laughs, He is laughing at the misconception of the disciples or of Judas, and His laughter seems to be somewhat derisive. It also struck me that a number of those events have Jesus laughing at the concepts held by the orthodox church of that time.

Now, the author of Judas doesn't always appear to have a firm grasp on the orthodox faith of the second century. There seems to be some bouncing around between Christian and Jewish thought, and a few of the times it's hard to say just what the author has Jesus laughing at. This is sometimes due to gaps in the manuscript of the text, and the reconstructions needed to try to fill in as many blanks as possible. Still, there seems to be a gap between what this author considers orthodoxy to teach and what we see in other authors of the second century.

No doubt at least some of this is also due to the unsettled nature of orthodox theology in the second century. While we look back and piece together the commonalities of the writers we have to try to understand what the early church believed, some of the formulations of later times have not yet been worked out. The church, under periodic persecution and with no central organizational structure, was more concerned with survival and evangelism than with producing anything approaching what we might today call a systematic theology.

This fluidity has been used by some to posit that there were multiple Christianities, and that what we today call "orthodoxy" just happened to be the winning form. The authors who contribute essays to the volume I have been reading fall into that camp to a greater or lesser degree. They believe that the Gospel of Judas is a major discovery that shows us what an alternative Christianity looked like.

My take on the presentation of Judas is exactly the opposite. The use of a chronological framework that appears to work around the Passion week accounts of the canonical gospels and the very fact that the author tries to make orthodox thought the foil to the more "exalted" Gnosticism he presents tell me that there was on at least some level an "orthodoxy" that stood opposed to the ideas presented in this treatise. There apparently were some core beliefs that were widespread enough that they touched the locale in which this author wrote.

I don't have the time at present to do so, but it might make for an interesting study (no doubt already done somewhere if I could find it) to try to work out the theology to which the Gospel of Judas is a Gnostic reaction. It certainly appears to me that it is something along the lines of the orthodox, catholic faith we see in the writers of the second century, which was more fully developed in the writings of Irenaeus at the end of that century. It certainly would not be a theology at which Jesus would laugh; I suspect His mirth might be more aptly expressed at those scholars who two millennia later would find a fragmentary Gnostic gospel more exciting than the gospel accounts of Jesus' life.

How Much Truth Is Enough?

In my rather unsystematic excursion through the second century, I came across the life and works of Bardesanes, the Syriac poet and author from Edessa. Although we have little of his work extant, what we know about his life and his writings certainly makes him an intriguing figure. Depending on whom you consult, the various influences of astrology, Christianity, and Valentinian Gnosticism land Bardesanes a place among the faithful, the fallen, the heretical, or the badly confused.

This leads to a question with which Christians of all stripes have to wrestle, and which does not lend itself to an easy answer: How much truth is needed to lead to an authentic faith? I am not one to teach that the content of faith doesn't matter, just the sincerity of the seeker. Jesus said, "I am the way, the truth, and the life," and it is not for us to say otherwise. So the question becomes, "What does it mean to have faith in Jesus as Savior and Lord?"

Maybe another way to put it is, Is Bardesanes [or your favorite questionable figure] a believer?" Christianity took some unusual forms in the second century, and it takes some unusual forms today. Which of these forms retain enough of the truth to ensure the salvation of their adherents?

We often put this question into a denominational form: Are Baptists/ Catholics/ Lutherans/ Episcopalians/ Orthodox/ Pentecostals/ whomever truly saved? The answers range from the fanatical assertions that the only true church is "us" to the extremely broad "God loves everyone." As a student of church history and a friend of Christians whom I believe are born again even though they belong to a denomination other than mine, I want to answer this carefully.

In the end, only God knows for certain who are His. I believe that we need to walk a fine line between recognizing that He may work in many different ways and through many different groups to draw people to Jesus and remaining faithful to Jesus' own teaching that He is the only way. I believe that those whose faith is in Jesus (not the church, a denomination, a particular teacher, or a vague notion of God) are bound for heaven, even if we are not exactly correct in every point of doctrine. This doesn't excuse us from studying and seeking to refine our beliefs to conform to the Bible, but it does provide some needed humility.

So was Bardesanes a Christian? Will we see him in heaven? My opinion (and it is just that) is that yes, he was a genuine believer who tried to fit what he knew to his faith, sometimes stumbling. (As opposed to someone like Valentinus, who I believe was not a Christian despite the Ehrman/Pagels arguments, but whose belief used Christian terminology to cloak something entirely different.) I'll find out someday, when I get to heaven and join all who truly trusted Jesus around His throne.  

Solving Problems By...Creating the Same Problem?

It's funny how sometimes when we combat a problem, all we seem to do is make that very same problem worse. It may even be that in proposing a solution to a potential problem, we actually cause the problem we were trying to avoid in the first place. This isn't just a modern phenomenon; there are historical examples that sometimes make us scratch our heads in wonder.

One example is the way Victor, the bishop of Rome at the end of the second century, handled the issue of the date of Easter. Most of the churches at that time celebrated Easter on the Sunday after the 14th of Nisan, the Jewish date for the Passover. It was widely held that a Sunday was the appropriate day to celebrate the risen Lord, since Sunday was the Lord's Day in commemoration of the resurrection. Still, there were a number of Christians, mostly in Asia Minor, who thought it was most appropriate to commemorate the crucifixion of the 14th of Nisan, and the resurrection two days later, no matter on which day of the week they fell. They were called "Quartodecimans" after the Latin word for fourteen.

The issue had created some small controversy between the parties, but through the middle of the second century both sides had pretty much agreed to let each other celebrate as they chose. Victor. however, decided that unity in the church's observance was paramount, and proclaimed that all churches should call councils and set the date of Easter as the Roman church reckoned it. In fact, a large portion of the church did, but the significant region of Asia Minor was largely Quartodeciman and did not want to change their practice, which was rooted in the practice handed down to them from such figures as Philip, John, and Polycarp.

So, in order to achieve unity, Victor excommunicated the church in Asia Minor! Yes, he decided unity was best achieved by splitting off a large chunk of the church from the majority. The desire for a unified practice may have been a worthy goal (and at Nicaea would become the official position of the church), but Victor's "solution" only created the problem he sought to avoid. The churches of Asia Minor protested strongly, and Irenaeus, who himself followed Roman practice, sent a letter of reprimand to Victor stating that he needed to put a true unity in the church ahead of his desire to enforce a particular practice. To his credit, Victor backed down. He heeded Irenaeus' call not to break fellowship over an issue like this.

What kinds of problems are you facing? Are the solutions you are considering likely to help solve the problem, or might they possibly create the very problems you are trying to avoid? We need to exercise wisdom, particularly when we are standing for Jesus Christ, in order to resolve issues in such a way that the problem is properly dealt with and that we honor God in what we do to solve it.

Nothing New Under the Sun

I had the opportunity, while browsing in my local Barnes and Noble, to skim through Dr. Bart Ehrman's new book Forged: Writing in the Name of God--Why the Bible's Authors Are Not Who We Think They Are. Books like this fascinate me, although never enough to actually buy them. In fact, this book is just part of the ongoing wave of material pushing the Baur hypothesis which has garnered quite a bit of attention from the a press and public generally uneducated about the issues involved.

Since I have not read the book thoroughly, this is by no means an extensive critique of the entire work. However, my reason for not immediately adding this book to my must-read list is that it really contains nothing I have not seen elsewhere, sometimes many times over. Ehrman seems to be attempting to popularize a strand of Biblical criticism that has long been known in student, professional, and academic circles. To some of his readers it will seem new and shocking, but it really is just old hat.

Ehrman goes through the boilerplate liberal criticism surrounding several of the NT books. He also reviews a number of books excluded from the NT canon, although they were known in the early days of the church. None of his material appears to be anything you would not learn from a standard "mainstream" NT introduction-or for that matter, from a standard conservative NT introduction, which would interact with the material. Going from Moody to Princeton certainly seems to have been a shock to Ehrman's system, although the impression he leaves is that of someone who was looking for a way around much of what he had learned and grateful to find it in other circles than those in which he had traveled.

The one aspect of the book for which I give Ehrman a great deal of credit is his honesty concerning pseudopigraphy. Most scholars who reject the traditional authorship of NT books, even liberal ones, make the case that pseudopigraphy isn't really a serious problem, because it was widespread and the readers knew it was being practiced. Ehrman calls it like it is on this; he claims any book that was written under an assumed name should be classified as a forgery, and its authority questioned. I strongly disagree with his evaluations, but he at least follows through consistently with what he believes about a book's authorship.

Rejecting the authority of many NT books allows Ehrman to go on to his usual arguments for "multiple Christianities," in which other belief systems (particularly Gnostic ones) that formed around orthodox Christianity are given equal weight and status with the orthodox consensus. This allows a scholar such as Ehrman to pick and choose what he believes "authentic" Christianity was in the patristic period, and to explore the implications of allowing these rejected systems to have an equal voice at the Christian table today. If most of the surviving NT has no more authority than the works of Gnostic writers or other heretical groups, Ehrman could make a case for this, which is why he argues the critical points so strongly.

This book covers no new ground, yet is sure to get a huge amount of attention from the mainstream press. I expect the History Channel special with Dr. Ehrman to be available sometime this fall. In the end, though, I doubt that Christianity or the authority of the NT will crumble under the featherweight of Ehrman's rehashed arguments. 

Illustrious Men

I started reading Jerome's Lives of Illustrious Men today. While much of the early part of the book is heavily dependent of Eusebius, it still makes for some fascinating reading. Jerome took a format used by pagan writers and adapted it to Christianity by listing those whom he knew had produced significant literary works from the time if the New Testament up to his day.

One of the aspects of this work that makes it so intriguing is the number of writers whose works we do not have and who thus, by today's standards, are obscure or unknown. Certainly you will find familiar names in the list, starting with Peter, including the NT authors and the Apostolic Fathers, writers like Tertullian and Irenaeus, and on through the years until it ends with Jerome himself. But the majority of those listed are either familiar only to those who specialize in patristic study or perhaps not even to them.

I think this is a great illustration of the way God uses many people in accomplishing His will. There are always a few prominent individuals who are recognized widely among large groups of people. There are also some who may not be known outside Christian circles, but who are well-known within them. Then there are those whose work is known only to a select few who happen to be around where they are. Finally there are those who toil in anonymity, known only to God. All have a role to play in the kingdom of God.

Those writers who are listed by Jerome but whose works are unknown now may have been every bit as brilliant and insightful as those whose works we have. They may have labored courageously to proclaim the gospel message (and quite a number are noted as martyrs). Jerome thought them worthy of mention as "illustrious" despite the losses, some of which had occurred by his time. Yet all of them served their Lord faithfully, even if their contribution is no longer available to us.

Don't worry about your reputation as a follower of Jesus. If you serve the Lord, the only reputation that matters is the one you have with God. Be an example, be faithful, and let the Lord declare you "illustrious" in His sight.

Big and Small Prayers

It is always interesting to argue with an ancient author. While it may seem that the advantage lies with the reader, who is after all alive while the author is not and can thus not respond, the very fact that the author's work has survived gives immense weight to his argument. I certainly do not consider myself to be the intellectual equal of a classic author, yet I have confidence that sometimes I am right and he is wrong.

Origen seems to be all over the place when it comes to the kinds of prayer we are to make. He emphasizes that we are to ask God for the big things, which in his estimation are those that are spiritual, and not worry God with the small things, which he considers most physical requests to be.  He then discusses how when we ask for an receive the more important things we will also receive the lesser. There seems to be a tension within Origen as to how we approach God without being focused on our worldly needs.

Origen disparages the physical, preferring the spiritual. In order to fit requests like "Give us today our needful bread" into what he sees as a spiritual context, he takes allegorical liberties in his interpretation. In doing so, he often teaches a significant spiritual truth, but he also misses the main point. (Eventually, this allergorical interpretation and focus on the spiritual while downplaying the physical would get him into trouble!)

However, I think there is an important point made by Origen's teaching on prayer. I don't believe we have to find a "spiritual meaning" behind every request or teaching on prayer in the Bible; it is clear that we are to pray for everything. Where Origen has it right is that we should not allow a focus on our temporal needs to completely over shadow the spiritual needs in our lives. We should pray for our daily bread, healing, and other earthly concerns, but we should also be praying "Your kingdom come" and "Deliver us from the evil one."

If we balanced our prayer perspectives, we wouldn't fall into the "health and wealth gospel" trap of seeing God as there to provide everything we want. Prayer is not only about us and our needs; it is about God and our relationship with Him. As a loving Father, He wants to meet our needs (although there is no Biblical warrant for asking Him to meet our "wants"), but He also wants us to draw closer in a loving relationship that will last for eternity.

So while I think Origen has gone too far in his quest to make prayer purely about spiritual concerns, I think there is a salutary warning for us not to go the other way and make our prayers purely about our temporal concerns.  

The "Unchanging" Church

I was talking to one of my fellow pastors today, and he told me about a friend of his who became a convert to Roman Catholicism after reading the works of the church fathers. Such conversions are not terribly unusual (although I think more evangelicals tend to move toward the Orthodox Church), and often result in rather zealous evangelists for their new theological views.

This young man told my colleague that he joined the Roman Catholic Church because he thought it had retained the true teaching of the early church, and in fact that its teaching and practice had not changed in two millennia. Such a view is taught in some Catholic circles, but it is historically naive. Still, it raises a critical question: in what ways do we Christians today have a part in an "unchanging" church?

Part of the issue is rooted in the very nature of the early church. The church from its early days was under sporadic persecution in divers locales. The New Testament was still being written up to almost the end of the 1st century, and the full acceptance of the NT canon would take another century or two. The church's structure was still fluid, and there were few voices of authority to promote orthodox teaching. Rival religions often hung onto the edges of Christianity. There is something in the Fathers to confound any modern church tradition: pedobaptists have to explain the Didache, presbyterians and congregationalists the epistles of Ignatius, and many Christians struggle with the battle between the Jewishness of some writers and the Greco-philosophical bent of others.

I absolutely enjoy spending time reading and studying the fathers of the church. Yet I know that they were fallible men despite their gifts, and that the teaching of the Bible is more important than the teaching of its early interpreters. At the risk of sounding unduly critical, placing authority in the hands of the Fathers is not dissimilar to the way Jews of Jesus' time placed authority in the hands of the rabbis rather than in the Scriptures. Our authority is the Bible; our teachers are the men and women of faith throughout the ages who seek to guide us into truth.

We participate in an "unchanging" church when we hold fast to the Biblical doctrines that were hammered out by those who went before us in an attempt to clarify what the Bible teaches us. There is in this sense an "orthodox consensus" that is centered on belief in God as Father, Son, and Spirit, in Jesus as both fully divine and fully human, in the practice of baptism and Communion (albeit differently understood), and in a firm conviction that all genuine believers in Christ are part of a larger body, one spread throughout the world and throughout the ages. We all share in belief in the early creeds, and that center of our faith holds us together when other beliefs and practices set us apart. There is an unchanging core for Christianity, but it is not found in the fathers; rather, our unchanging center is Jesus Christ as revealed in His eternal Word.

A Half-Millennium of Change

I finished reading Pelikan yesterday. (Of course, now I have to add the rest of the series to my reading list, especially vol. 2.) As I read the final chapter, discussing the state of Christianity around AD 600, I thought about the change that had occurred within the church over half a millennium. As someone who has a special interest in the 2nd century, I found the church entering the 7th century was a much different entity, both in practice and belief. There had been much clarification and solidification of several major doctrines, and many liturgical innovations as well. The church was politically connected to the Empire; no longer was it a persecuted minority.

Yet as I thought about it, it shouldn't be so strange that so much had changed over what is quite a long period of time. To put it in perspective, 500 years ago the Western church was still six years from Luther's Ninety-five Theses. While there was a reformative unrest in the church, the fuse had not yet been lit. In the Eastern church, less than 60 years had passed since the fall of Constantinople, and the church was still dealing with the fallout from that event. The changes since those days have made our own half-millennium at least equally interesting.

What is truly intriguing about the changes in the first 500 years of the church is the way those changes took place in the context of an era without the rapid transit and information options of our own age. Of course, that also may have been a plus; sometimes we spend so much time and effort reacting to the latest news that we fail to truly digest what is important. Athanasius couldn't send out a quick, hot e-mail in response to an Arian publication. He would have time to read it, and his reaction was written out over a period of time that allowed him time to really think it through. (This doesn't mean all correspondence or writings were carefully thought out, but it's probably safe to say they took a little more thought than those of our age generally do.)

The other factor that impressed me is how much of the catholic consensus that existed in 600 still underlies the theology of the varied branches of Christianity today. Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant alike recite the Nicene Creed, and find support for what they believe in the writings of the Fathers. (Admittedly, Protestants do it less than the other branches, and the Orthodox seem a little more attached to the ancient Fathers due to the rise of the papacy in the West.) While the world of patristic Christianity is certainly not the same as our world today, we still find ourselves all part of one universal brotherhood.

That idea should help to cure us of some of the arrogance we exhibit in modern Christian circles. We often prefer to hear the latest idea, and to follow teachers who proclaim that they have discovered something new to add to the faith. Surprisingly, the "latest" idea often turns out to be something that has been known and taught for centuries. Some perspective on those who have gone before us, and on whose shoulders we stand, is needed to give us a wider perspective on the church, not only geographically but chronologically as well. In heaven, we will be worshipping God with brothers and sisters from all ages, and growing together with them forever.

A half of a millennium will seems a few days then; when we have the ability to meet our ancestors through what they have left for us, it should not separate us as a family now.

Origen: On Prayer

One element of my Lenten observance is reading teaching about prayer. I plan to combine this to a large degree with my interest in patristics, and to read from some of the many writings of the church fathers on prayer.

I came across Origen's treatise "On Prayer" as I looked up some materials online. (Many sites have the public domain translation of William Curtis available free of charge.) Origen is a truly interesting figure in the early church, whose reputation throughout the years (even going back to his own times) has swung back and forth depending on the controversies of the era, but he is generally regarded as the greatest scholar of his time and one of the greatest in church history, even by those who find problems with his exegetical methods or theological views. We have quite a bit of his work still available, yet it is just a small sample of his massive output.

This treatise is a short one, addressed to two Christians, Ambrosius and Tatiana, and is exactly what its title suggests: a discussion of prayer. One aspect of Origen's work I appreciate is his attempt to ground all of his teaching in Scripture. I found myself pausing to meditate over the beginning passages of this work, where Origen speaks of the "impossibility" of praying in the right way, which is only made possible through the Holy Spirit.

His comments on the disciples asking Jesus to teach them to pray are powerful: "I think it must have been the awakened consciousness of human weakness falling short of prayer in the right way, above all realized as he listened to great words of intimate knowledge falling from the Savior's lips in prayer to the Father, that moved one of the disciples of Jesus to say to the Lord when He ceased praying, 'Lord, teach us to pray, even as John also taught his disciples.'" The example of Jesus as recorded in the Gospels (not to mention the unwritten example He set for His disciples) showed them and us that our prayers are not a matter of a particular set of words or a set pattern, but of understanding that we need help to pray.


This is a truth I wrestle with. There is a tendency to think that "learning to pray" means finding the right prayer outline (ACTS, the Model Prayer, etc.) and using that for every prayer. We try to find appropriate language; should it be formal or informal, written or spontaneous? In the end, Origen reminds us that in a sense none of those elements matters. We can't pray right.


Of course, he continues with the wonderful Biblical truth that the Holy Spirit prays with us and for us. We are empowered to pray by God the Spirit, and He guides us and teaches us as we pray. This to me is a critical lesson that I am still trying to grasp. It is in knowing our powerlessness that we become powerful; it is in understanding that we don't know how to pray that we are able to pray.


I hope to finish this treatise this weekend, and I hope to learn lessons that I can use to strengthen my own prayer time.
 

Humanity Is Not Getting Better

You might suppose that this post is a response to all the turmoil in the world at the moment. I must admit, I find it curious that people can look at the increased oppression, greed, violence, and general depravity in our world and still believe that humanity is essentially good and getting better. Talk about not facing the facts! The only reason for this is that to face reality forces people to contemplate the existence and activity of God.

I stress this point many times in my preaching. In order to understand the world, you have to understand human nature, and human nature apart from Jesus is sinful and selfish. The result is a sinful and selfish word, a world we humans have created by our own self-centered choices. Humanity is broken and badly in need of fixing.

The real impetus for this post is my continued scanning of my old papers. One was an analysis of Augustine's views on free will in man. This was a curious paper; it is not research into what others say about Augustine, but an analysis of his own writings, primarily Grace and Free Will. As I edited the scan (OCR software is much better than it used to be, but is hardly infallible, especially when professors write all over your paper!), I found that in my conclusion I state the reality of human nature in pretty much the same terms I currently use. I hadn't recalled that this was part of what I believed and stated strongly in my seminary days.

Reading about Augustine's teaching, it also reminded me that the human condition has not changed much in the last 1600 years. The ways we choose to indulge ourselves may be different, but the human heart is the same. We continue to serve self over God, and to try to find ways to push God out of the practical sphere of our lives. We might give Him some due on Sunday morning, but then it's back to a distant heaven from which He does not disturb us.

Augustine pointed out that free will simply gives us the ability to choose and follow our own nature. For those who do not know Jesus, this means even their best efforts are driven by selfish desires. Augustine even argued that good works done without God are done only to provide an advantage for the sinner. Without Jesus, we have no hope and no way to improve as humans.

As Christians, our will can now follow our regenerate nature, but we struggle with our old, sinful nature still. We have a genuine free choice to be natural, but two natures that fight against each other for control. Discipleship is the process of learning to follow our new nature by the power of the Holy Spirit, and slowly pulling free from the old self.

Maybe I do overstate the case a bit in my title. Humanity is not getting better by itself, but by the grace of God, through the sacrifice of Jesus, and under the guidance of the Holy Spirit humanity has the potential to become more like God created it to be.

Old Papers

I've been cleaning up my basement, and in the process I came across a pile of old papers I had written in and after seminary. While the scholarship is obviously dated, I found that much of what I wrote 20 years ago still stands up pretty well today. Were I to cover the same subjects now, I would not be embarrassed to start with what I wrote back then.

Perhaps more intriguing is looking back at how I approached the various subjects. These papers were for the most part assignments for classes I took in seminary and graduate school, so there is some obvious "academic speak" in them. I found some details were incorrect, and I think that was largely due to the time pressure of school, along with some inexperience in certain fields. Interestingly, the exegetical work done for a few papers in OT and NT studies has held up well; I doubt that much would change if I rewrote those today.

I especially found my writing for church history fascinating. Some short papers written as responses/reactions to questions involving different eras of church history demonstrated (at least to me) my interest in the earliest years of the church. The roots of my love of the patristic period were already beginning to form then. It would not be until a course in patristics a couple of years later that my interest would grow, but seeing my academic roots was a stimulating experience.

I was pleased to find my magnum opus among those old papers. (Yes, my tongue is firmly in my cheek.) I wrote a paper for Patristics on baptismal doctrine and liturgy in the writing of the Apostolic Fathers, which I later expanded for a graduate school application. Although the work was done on translations of the texts, I believe I did justice to the topic, and I would not be embarrassed to have someone read that paper now.

Recalling the work that went into that paper, I think that I have a lot to do to match it with my current project, another visit with patristic theology. Rather than discouraging me, I find that reading my old work encourages me to look ahead, to study harder, and to attempt to do just as well in explicating and discussing another subject.

Often when we go to school, we labor for days, weeks, or months on a subject, only to have the paper read by a professor or a committee, graded, and forgotten. It was like a visit to my past to read these old works, and to recall much of what went into their production. I hope to use what I learned then to help me as a scholar now.