A Quick Report on Robert Jenson’s Bultmannesque Demythologized Account of the Resurrection

I just finished Robert Jenson’s Systematic Theology: Volume 1: The Triune God; I’d read most of V1 in the past back in 2005, but this is the first time I read it in full. I have mixed feelings about what he communicates via his theological offering; his Lutheran Christology seeps throughout (i.e. communicatio idiomatum), and his writing style is something to get used to. Since I’ve offered two posts that have been on the constructive/positive side in regard to Jenson’s theology, let me, in this post, offer a critical/critique oriented post. It has to do with what some might call Jenson’s Bultmannesque theology of the resurrection of Jesus; i.e. in regard to the bodily nature of the resurrection.

For the remainder of this post we will look at two quotes from Jenson which will help to illustrate why I have serious concerns with Jenson on the issue of the resurrection. He demurs—and this is to frame it collegially—at just the point wherein historic orthodox Christianity finds its juice; he flounders at just the point where you think he would hit his stride—since he sells his theology as one that pivots on the resurrection, the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ (or at least that’s what a reader would think based upon the way Jenson uses the language of resurrection). Someone I know (Kurt Anders Richardson) ā€œwarnedā€ me about Jenson’s Bultmannian approach to the resurrection, but honestly I was a bit skeptical; that is until I read Jenson for myself. What my friend warned me of turned out to be true in the case of Jenson.

For Bultmann in the modern world of science and human progression something like the bodily resurrection of a divine-man kicks against all rational and empirical sensibilities. And so just as we find with Bultmann, Jenson acknowledges the world within which we live, takes his hat off for it, and attempts to make sense of the orthodox and biblical assertion that Jesus rose again bodily from within the modern milieu; so he demythologizes and attempts to give us the essence and existential gist of what the idea of the resurrection implies self-referentially within the Christian narrative. Realizing that this is in the background of Jenson’s informing theology, in general, it rather guts much of the valuable ā€œsoundingā€ things he connives throughout the rest of his theological meandering. I’ll leave us with two quotations from the pertinent section of his ST:

Most of the Gospel’s resurrection stories are of appearances, in line with the tradition followed by Paul. But the other ancient account, transmitted by Mark writing perhaps ten years later than Paul, is of finding Jesus’ tomb empty. The historical difficulties of Mark’s story have, one may think been much exaggerated. It is nevertheless noteworthy that other empty-tomb stories in the Gospels may well be dependent on the single story in Mark, and that the New Testament contains no trace outside the Gospels of a conviction that the tomb was empty, or even of any interest in the matter.

In any case, the two claims are not conceptually symmetrical. The assertion that the tomb was empty could be true while Jesus nevertheless remained dead. But if the claim was true that some saw Jesus alive after his death, then Jesus had indeed been raised. Therefore, whether or not the tomb was found empty, only the appearances could be the actual occasion of the Easter-faith.[1]

I once heard, in person, at a regional Evangelical Theological Meeting in Portland, OR in 2011, Jesus Seminar fellow, Marcus Borg, make almost a verbatim accounting of Jesus’ Easter-faith resurrection appearances. It is something that we might expect from a neo-Gnostic like Borg, or the demythologizing theologian, par excellence, Rudolph Bultmann, but not what I would have expected to hear from America’s best theologian (according to some), Robert Jenson.

He closes this section on Resurrection with this:

. . . The tomb, we may therefore very cautiously judge, had to be empty after the Resurrection for the Resurrection to be what it is. We can, of course, say nothing at all about what anyone would have seen who was in the tomb between the burial and the first appearances. If the tomb marked by the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is indeed where Christ lay, then it is empty not by inadvertence but as the Temple of Israel was empty.[2]

It strikes me as rather odd that Jenson, a theologian known for placing such emphasis on the resurrection, per the paces of his theology, is so agnostic and ambiguous in regard to the bodily resurrection of Christ. Even in the last quote from him, we need to read that from within the context set for that in the first quote I shared from him. For Jenson, what is important is the existential Easter-faith of the Apostles rather than the actuality of the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ; this comes off as an incidental for Jenson, in regard to whether or not it did in fact happen or not.

While Jenson does have some insightful things to say about church history and ideation, at the end of the day, without the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ informing his theology, as the Apostle Paul notes:

12Ā But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead,Ā how can some of you say that there is no resurrectionĀ of the dead?Ā 13Ā If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised.Ā 14Ā And if Christ has not been raised,Ā our preaching is useless and so is your faith.Ā 15Ā More than that, we are then found to be false witnesses about God, for we have testified about God that he raised Christ from the dead.Ā But he did not raise him if in fact the dead are not raised.Ā 16Ā For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either.Ā 17Ā And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins.Ā 18Ā Then those also who have fallen asleepĀ in Christ are lost.Ā 19Ā If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.[3]

In an ultimate kind of way I don’t have very much interest in Jenson’s theology precisely because what should be the capstone of his theology—even on his own assertion—is weakly. Karl Barth, Thomas Torrance et al. are all strong on the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ, and for them it can truly serve of primal import in regard to the development of their respective theological offerings. Because of the waningness of Jenson’s own report on the bodily resurrection he cannot claim the same type of bravado when it comes to offering a Trinitarian theology that has the Gospel of the bodily resurrection at the core of the core of his theology.

I plan on finishing up Jenson’s Volume 2, but only to say that I’ve been there done that. Any kind of abiding interest I might have had in Jenson’s theology has been somewhat quenched by his material lacuna in regard to the necessity of an empty tomb or not.

[1] Robert W. Jenson, Systematic Theology Volume 1: The Triune God (Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 195.

[2] Ibid., 206.

[3] I Corinthians 15:12-19, NIV.

Job 19. Miscellaneous Personal Reflection. Death and Suffering, Incarnation and Resurrection

I am an avid Bible reader, and have been one since 1995; by the grace of God. Indeed, this is where it all started for me; i.e. where the love of theology has come from. But I’m afraid this reality about who I am doesn’t come through enough in my posts; so in an effort to remedy that I’m hoping to post reflective posts on wherever I’m at in my Bible reading at that point. I’m currently in the book of Job, and one of my favorite passages of Scripture is found in Job 19. Let me share the section I’m thinking of, and you’ll see the passages I particularly like emboldened. I will share more on the other side.

13Ā ā€œHe has alienated my familyĀ from me my acquaintances are completely estranged from me. 14Ā My relatives have gone away; my closest friendsĀ have forgotten me. 15Ā My guestsĀ and my female servantsĀ count me a foreigner; they look on me as on a stranger. 16Ā I summon my servant, but he does not answer, though I beg him with my own mouth. 17Ā My breath is offensive to my wife; I am loathsomeĀ to my own family. 18Ā Even the little boysĀ scorn me; when I appear, they ridicule me. 19Ā All my intimate friendsĀ detest me; those I love have turned against me. 20Ā I am nothing but skin and bones; I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth. 21Ā ā€œHave pity on me, my friends,Ā have pity, for the hand of God has struckĀ me. 22Ā Why do you pursueĀ me as God does? Will you never get enough of my flesh? 23Ā ā€œOh, that my words were recorded, that they were written on a scroll, 24Ā that they were inscribed with an iron toolĀ onĀ lead, or engraved in rock forever! 25Ā I know that my redeemerĀ lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth. 26Ā And after my skin has been destroyed, yetĀ inĀ my flesh I will see God; 27Ā I myself will see him with my own eyes—I, and not another. How my heart yearnsĀ within me![1]

I don’t really want to try and wax eloquent, but I do want to share from the heart as I reflect upon this passage.

Job obviously was no stranger to human suffering, indeed, we might call him a ā€˜type’ of the Suffering Servant; in fact I think we’d have exegetical (intertextual) warrant for that. But look at the depth of his suffering given poetic voice in the passage I’ve shared; like many of the Psalms Job moves from utter despair to utter hope. What I love the most about Job’s hope is the contrast we see between the God that he has come to know through his suffering with the God that his ā€œfriendsā€ throughout the pages of Job presume to know as the true God. Indeed Job seems to have the same conception of God that his friends have, in the beginning, but as we progress through the book we see an intimacy forged, and knowledge of God gained in and through the suffering Job experiences. It’s as if everything else is torn away, and Job is shorn down to his bare bones; what he finds there is the hope of the Incarnate God (Deus incarnandus). This seems to be an inescapable observation, that is that Job had an idea of the ā€˜incarnation’ (maybe thinking back to the Genesis theme of God walking in the cool of the garden, and projecting that out proleptically as a real and coming hope). Job also seems to have an understanding of the resurrection; this is all amazing to me. Ostensibly Job is one of the earliest books of the Bible, at least the history it covers, and yet here we have a man who somehow knows the Covenant God, Yahweh, and somehow has an idea about incarnation and resurrection.

What I’m impressed with most is the idea that death and suffering, in God’s economy, within his covenant with humanity (typified in Israel) leads the submitted person to the reality that our only hope is the incarnation and the resurrection of God in Christ for all of us. I see this as the ā€˜depth dimension’ of what Job is about; that suffering and death only lead us deeper into God. As the Apostle Paul opined ā€˜he had the sentence of death written upon him so that he wouldn’t trust himself but in the One who raises the dead.’ Job had this same Pauline expectation and hope driven into him through the death and suffering he was pushed up against.

This reality, at least to me, is not the most comforting thing. I mean it does portend that we will and must go through all types of tribulation as we enter the kingdom of Christ, in the kingdom come who is Christ; but then there is this ultimate type of hope. And even in the immediate as Paul also knew, and Job came to know, God’s grace is sufficient and heightening even in the deepest depths; so elevating, in fact, that we get to see God’s face, his glory, in Christ in ways we never have before. For Job this meant that he got to know God in a personal and relational way, contrary to his friends who walked away from the experience only frustrated by the fact that all they were able to do was project a god from their own insecurities that in the end was found wanting by the true and living God.

There is something to be said for suffering before God. It isn’t that we can say it desirable, or easy; or even part of what God ultimately desires. The most we can say about human suffering is that it isn’t something that is absent in God; he is present with us in the deepest of ways because he freely and graciously elected the human predicament for himself to not be God without us but with us in Jesus Christ. In other words, human suffering (death), and all the angst and alienation we experience in our daily lives, to one degree or another, has come to have ultimate and immediate value because God has freely chosen that his life for us be cruciform in shape. He can sympathize with our weaknesses in ways that no one else can. I know that from experience, and I’m sure many of you do as well.

Job is one of the most Christ anticipating books in the canon of Scripture; at least I think so. And now you can see why I might think that.

[1] Job 19, NIV.

God’s Story in the Drama of Human Suffering: Applied to an Incurable Cancer Diagnosis

I wanted to share something I wrote on April 14th, 2010. I was still in the thralls of my treatment; I was totally beat up! I had gone through 6 cycles of very hard-core chemo, had lost over 50 pounds, and came close to losing my life without the intervention of the oncologists; i.e. from the treatment. At this moment they were just giving me time to recover to prepare for surgery (that would happen until May 6th). As I gained strength back, having a break from my chemo, I gained strength to write; and so I produced the following reflection on the story of Job. Here’s what I wrote:

In Bible study (or literary studies) there is a ā€œdeviceā€ called ā€œdramatic irony.ā€ The perfect example of this is found in the book of Job. We as the readers have a birds-eye view of the whole story; we see God’s discussion with satan in heaven, we see God giving satan space to slam Job for a ā€œseason.ā€ Then we see the unfolding of satan’s attack upon Job, we go through all the false accusations of Job’s friends; we see Job in great pain and affliction, we see him wondering what’s going on, wondering where God was. We see Job in great mental, emotional, and physical anguish. Then we turn the pages and see God responding to Job — not in the way we might think either — and finally we get to the end of the book; we see how it turns out, how Job is blessed, even more so than he was before — mostly because He came to know the LORD in ways he never did before. My point, is that with Job we know he’s going to be okay (we know the end of the story); Job didn’t have our vantage point, he had to go thru it.

As I think about this, and my own precarious situation, it is amazing to think about dramatic irony; there is a story that has already been written by God, there is a so-called ā€œback-storyā€ going on here. To learn from Job, God is sovereignly in control of all the circumstances of my life; when I cry out to Him and wonder where He is and what He’s doing, to learn from Job, God is in control and every circumstance is ordered by Him. Beyond this there is a time of refreshing and rest coming; in ways that me and my family have never known (since we’ve never known the depth of suffering we are currently experiencing). There is great hope in looking at Job. God is in control, and He doesn’t want to keep that a secret; He also doesn’t want to hide that He is a God of great comfort, who doesn’t answer to us, but instead lovingly comes to us in His way, in His time. Dramatic irony is an ongoing reality, in my life, and in all of our lives; unfortunately we don’t know, specifically (we do in general as Christians), how each of our particular stories end (whatever kind of suffering or trial we are currently facing in life as God’s children). The good news is that God knows how each of our stories end and begin; He’s in control, and He just wants us to trust and rest in Him (I say to myself). [originally posted here]

As I contemplate this over 6 years removed from that time I am able to look back and see more of the story, but I still do not know the whole story of course. Like Job, like someone like Lazarus, just because my body has been ā€œraised from the deadā€ ā€œdelivered from the valley of the shadow of deathā€ I am still human and I am still facing my mortality on a daily basis. I have a greater confidence in God’s care and capacity to intervene, to break into my life in a very personal and concrete way. I have come to understand that my life is indeed but a vapor, but that ā€˜vapor’ is the LORD’s; He is in control of the vapors. The further out we get from my cancer free date (May 6th, 2010), the further away we seem to be removed from that strange world. But in honesty I don’t really feel that removed from it. I still have a 12 inch scar running from the bottom of my sternum to the top of my groin; I still have a horizontal scar running about 3 inches across my upper right chest from where they embedded my port under my skin; I still have some neuropathy in my feet from the chemo; I still have one less kidney; and I still have 6 inches of gortex holding my inferior vena cava together. Beyond that, and this is the more blessed part: I still have not forgotten the dramatic in-breaking of God’s life into our lives during that season. His provision and presence was other-worldly; He spoke with His still small voice into my heart words of encouragement; He pointed me to passages of Scripture before I even knew they were passages of Scripture and spoke those words into my life.

In a small way we have experienced the dramatic irony of God’s dealing with our life. We can look back at that part of the story and see how God has worked. More broadly we can look to God in Jesus Christ and have confidence that this same God from In the beginning to the amen has written the story of all of our lives in the life of Jesus Christ. We can read the drama that this life produces over and again from the Alpha&Omega of God’s finished work in Jesus Christ and know that the story ends very well; just as it did in a temporal sense for Job; just as that happened for Lazarus; and just as it has happened for me in this instance of living through (thus far) an ā€˜incurable cancer.’ Soli Deo Gloria!

The Christian Bodily Hope as Commentary and Critique on Current Politics

What this current season of political carnival has worked into me is a sense of loss, of hopelessness. But this sense isn’t discordant with what I’ve already felt for a long time in regard to human government and institutions; indeed, this loss is associated with the human condition in general. This condition noted by the Apostle Paul in his own struggle when he asks: ā€œWretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?ā€[1] Humanity lives in a ā€˜fallen’ state, whether it recognizes it or not; that is God’s conclusion about humanity, and His ā€˜judgment’ is given in the
hillaryincarnation of His Son, Jesus Christ; the judgment, that indeed humanity is in a situation, left to itself: where there is no hope!

The fact that the two candidates we have before us, Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton, as a Ā fact is rather horrifying. But at the end of the day they seem to be types of a logical conclusion to the human condition, and so their arrival at just this time seems fitting relative to the extent to which the human condition has ā€œflourishedā€ in itself. A ā€œflourishingā€ of humanity that is fitting with its own self-determined self-possessed path of homo incurvatus in seĀ or narcissism; a path where liars are free to be liars, and larceny gets to run unabated. I know we all like to blame the elites for all of this, but in reality we are all at fault; the human condition, the fallen one, has so cultivated a society[s] such that it gives blossom to what we see in the ā€œelitesā€ of our world—something like self-expressions of our inner-selves projected outward and personified in the so called establishment.

Has the picture I’ve been painting caused enough despair yet? It has for me. Despair to the point that I can no longer handle looking inward; I can no longer sustain any hope in human institutions or personages who embody those institutions of self-aggrandizement and self-glorification. My eyes look elsewhere for hope; my hope is eschatological. It is the hope of the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ, and the Christian hope of Second Advent; that Jesus, as He promised, is coming again (the parousia). I don’t hear enough Christians speaking about this in North America, but you would think that would be all we were looking to these days. It is what Jesus Himself comforted and reproved the many churches in Ephesus with through his letter to them found in the book of Revelation. Unfortunately things like Left Behind, and Dispensational theology have made many Christians reticent to even speak of eschatological hope when it comes to facing real life crises; such as we face in this current political season. But this shouldn’t be the case, Christians should boldly hope as Jesus wants us to and look to the heavens from whence, as the King James says, ā€˜our redemption draws nigh’.

To my encouragement this morning as I was doing some reading I came across something very edifying and hope-filled, especially in light of our two options (Donald and Hillary) as reminders of the human condition. I was reading an essay by Richard Bauckham called The future of Jesus Christ. As Bauckham usually does[2], especially when it comes to things eschatological, he provides prescient words for the weary Christian soul; he writes of the genuine hope that we have for the future, and how that hope breaks in on us trumpcurrently afresh and anew, and how that ought to offer us, as Christians, hope eternal and perspective for the moment that allows us to fulfill our vocation as witnesses for Jesus Christ. Here is Bauckham in extenso:

A powerful Jewish objection to the Christian identification of Jesus as the Messiah is that, when the Messiah comes, the world will be freed from evil, suffering and death. As Walter Molberly puts it, in chapter 12 above: ā€˜The heart of the Jewish critique is simple: if Jesus is the redeemer, why is the world still unredeemed?’ One form of Christian response, and unfortunate one, has been to ā€˜spiritualise’ redemption in a way that is alien to the Jewish religious tradition. Salvation is reduced to what Christian believers experience as forgiveness of sins, personal justification before God, and virtuous living, with spiritual immortality in heaven after death. But the Christian tradition at its most authentic has realised that the promise of God made in the bodily resurrection of Christ is holistic and all-encompassing: for whole person, body and soul, for all the networks of relationship in human society that are integral to being human, and for the rest of creation also, from which humans in their bodiliness are not to be detached. In other words, it is God’s creative renewal of his whole creation. Here and now such salvation is experienced in fragmentary and partial anticipations of the new creation, and these are only properly appreciated as anticipations of the fullness of new creation to come. But even these anticipations are not limited to a ā€˜spiritual’ sphere artificially distinguished from the embodiment and sociality of human being in this world. Significantly, what has most kept the holistic understanding of salvation alive in the church, when tempted by Platonic and Cartesian dualisms to reduce it, have been the resurrection of Jesus in its inescapable bodiliness and the hope of his coming to raise the dead and to judge, which makes all individual salvation provisional, incomplete until the final redemption of all things. Hope for the future coming of the crucified and risen Christ has continually served to counter Christian tendencies to pietism and quitetism, spiritualization and privitisation, because it has opened the church to the world and the future, to the universal scope of God’s purposes in Jesus the Messiah.

It has also been a corrective to absolutising the status quo in state or society: either the transformation of Christianity into a civil religion uncritically allied to a political regime or form of society, or the church’s own pretensions to be the kingdom of God virtually already realised on earth. In such contexts the Christ who reigns now on the divine throne has been envisaged as the heavenly sanction for the rule of his political or ecclesiastical deputies on earth. Resistance to ideological christology of this kind can come from the hope of the Christ who is still to come in his kingdom. The expectation of the parousia relativises all the powers of the present world, exposing their imperfections and partialities. This is why it has often been more enthusiastically embraced by the wretched and the dispossessed than by the powerful and the affluent. It embodies the hope that the world will be different, contradicting every complacent or resigned acceptance of the way things are. It offers an eschatological provisio and a utopian excess that keep us from pronouncing a premature end to history, as a tradition of Enlightenment thought from Hegel and Comte to Francis Fukuyama has encouraged people to do and as totalitarian politics is often minded to do in justification for repressing dissent. Thus the Jewish messianic critique of Christian messianism is a necessary one whenever the church’s faith in the Christ who is still to come falters.[3]

maranatha.

[1] NRSV, Romans 7.24.

[2] See Richard Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation; and Climax of Prophecy: Studies in the Book of Revelation.

[3] Richard Bauckham, ā€œThe Future of Jesus Christ,ā€ in The Cambridge Companion To Jesus, ed. Markus Bockmuehl (Cambridge/New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007), 268-69.

The ‘Return of Reason’ through Resurrection: A Parable in Daniel 4:28-37

28Ā All this came upon King Nebuchadnezzar.Ā 29Ā At the end of twelve months he was walking on the roof of the royal palace of Babylon,30Ā and the king said, ā€œIs this not magnificent Babylon, which I have built as a royal capital by my mighty power and for my glorious majesty?ā€Ā 31Ā While the words were still in the king’s mouth, a voice came from heaven: ā€œO King Nebuchadnezzar, danielprophet1to you it is declared: The kingdom has departed from you!Ā 32Ā You shall be driven away from human society, and your dwelling shall be with the animals of the field. You shall be made to eat grass like oxen, and seven times shall pass over you, until you have learned that the Most High has sovereignty over the kingdom of mortals and gives it to whom he will.ā€33Ā Immediately the sentence was fulfilled against Nebuchadnezzar. He was driven away from human society, ate grass like oxen, and his body was bathed with the dew of heaven, until his hair grew as long as eagles’ feathers and his nails became like birds’ claws.

34Ā When that period was over, I, Nebuchadnezzar, lifted my eyes to heaven, and my reason returned to me. I blessed the Most High, and praised and honored the one who lives forever. For his sovereignty is an everlasting sovereignty, and his kingdom endures from generation to generation. 35Ā All the inhabitants of the earth are accounted as nothing, and he does what he wills with the host of heaven and the inhabitants of the earth. There is no one who can stay his hand or say to him, ā€œWhat are you doing? 36Ā At that time my reason returned to me; and my majesty and splendor were restored to me for the glory of my kingdom. My counselors and my lords sought me out, I was re-established over my kingdom, and still more greatness was added to me.Ā 37Ā Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are truth, and his ways are justice; and he is able to bring low those who walk in pride. ~Daniel 4:28-37

Daniel, as a true prophet of the living God, his word, or God’s word came true for King Nebuchadnezzar. I see this as something of a parable (not that I don’t see this as a historical event, I do!) for humanity in general. We are all born into this world in the same state, with the same proclivity for an incurved existence as Nebuchadnezzar; it’s just that he had more available to him, as far as material and pleasurable resources. Nevertheless, he did what we do; indulge himself in self-adoration, finally to the point that God said that was enough—God graciously and mercifully humbled him.

It isn’t until God does the same for us, for modern humanity that ā€˜reason’ returns to us; reason being that orientation where we have right knowledge of God resulting in right knowledge of ourselves (something which Calvin knew something of). Aren’t all humans prone to live like socio-paths, like feathered loons (to one extreme or another) without a right orientation to God; without bowing the knee to God? Sure, we are good at fooling ourselves into thinking we are ā€˜normal’ sentient human beings who live relatively well ordered lives (at least relative to the Jones’ next door); we are good (well kind of) ordering chaos in such a way that we think we have got things together. But of course the knowledge of God, the knowledge of the cross won’t let us honestly live like that for very long; reason will return, and in this dispensatio it is at the cross where the humiliation and exaltation of God and humanity in Christ have met, where genuine reason and right-mindedness have come.

Personally I went through a season of life (many years ago) where I thought I was losing it, mentally. The only place where I found intellectual and heart solace was in the place where Nebuchadnezzar found it; with the recognition that God alone rules heaven and earth, and it is therein where I found my place as His creature. Reason for humans can only be present when they are rightly oriented to God. That orientation does not come willingly, but only through God’s choice for us in Jesus Christ to put us to death with Him at the cross; and then to raise us with Him as new creations—that’s the reason that radiates God’s Kingdom, the resurrected life of the eternal Son, Jesus Christ. Reason has returned for humanity in Christ, in His resurrection, and now in our participation with His resurrected humanity.

 

Coping with the Fear of Death through the Vicarious Humanity of Jesus

Death is scary, or at least the thought and the process of death are scary. It goes against the grain of humanity; the grain of humanity after all is the indestructible life of God in Jesus Christ for us (Deus incarnandus), as He is the imago Dei, the εἰκὼν τοῦ θεοῦ, the image of God whose image humanity simpliciter has been both created and recreated in (i.e. the resurrection). To be ripped lastsupperasunder from that life, His life necessarily creates an existential anxiety and response within human beings who live in that state of separation on a day to day basis. But even for those of us who have acknowledged our election in God in Christ, even for those who have actively said yes to God from the Yes and Amen of God for us in Jesus Christ, we still live in these fallen frail bodies that cry out from the futility that has been inflicted upon them. Even though we know that our lives are grounded in Christ’s life, in His resurrected humanity (cf. Rom. 6; Col. 3; etc.) we still live in bodies that are subject to biological death, aging, sickness, disease, and a host of other unnatural things (if we understand that the natural mode for what it means to be human is determined by Christ’s humanity rather than the fallen humanity we continue to inhabit). And so when we are confronted with our mortality it is scary; it is something that humans as a rule don’t dwell upon from day to day, instead we live as if we might never die (or at least that’s how people tacitly seem to function day to day).

But we are going to die, and are dying every day; the reality of death is inescapable. When I was diagnosed with incurable statistically terminal cancer back in 2009 I was scared! I can remember before that though, for most of my life, I had this inexplicable fear of death (and I have been a Christian from a very young age); it was an oppressive fear I would sometimes get when faced with the thought that I could get cancer or something, and then I did! When that happened, the diagnosis, I went into a deep shock.

One of my particular plagues is that I am a deep thinker, and at points my mind can grab onto an idea and run it deeper than it should, or even really can. This was part of my problem from years past, ever before I was diagnosed with cancer; I would take the concept of my personal mortality, and its reality, and try to make some sense out of it at an existential and subjective level, at a felt level. But my mind, obviously, could never make sense of it; it was like entering into a dark abyss and trying to navigate a course through it. The moment I would finally hit the wall, and admit it, this is where heavy fear would come in; it meant I was up against a reality that I could not control, and my ā€˜flesh’ could not handle that. But it wasn’t just that, it was the thought of trying to conceive of life apart from what I’ve always known life to be, with full extension into space and time in my embodied physical concrete state. I think this reality is the one that scared me the most about death (and when I think about it it still is scary). It simply is not natural for a human being to die, as such it becomes a totally inscrutable thing to try and conceive of and make sense of; it truly is a labyrinth that humans have not been equipped to grasp or navigate through, it truly is a privatio or privation of what makes sense (which is what humanity has been created for; i.e. life with God).

This particular deep fear of mine, and I would imagine this is not my fear alone, was given some perspective as I walked through the valley of shadow of death with my cancer. Did the ā€˜fear of death’ completely go away? Absolutely not! I have no desire to die or go through the process of death. But what did happen is that that Lord showed up in some very real and tangible ways; in ways that let me and my family know that the armies of heaven were standing with us, and that the Lord of Hosts Himself was ever present. Not in some sort of abstract ā€˜up there’ kind of way, but in a concrete way that made clear that death was no match for Him! The reality that He is ā€œthe resurrection and the lifeā€ and that though I may ā€œdie, yet I shall liveā€ became very real.

As I started this post out with, the ground and reality of our lives is the vicarious humanity of Jesus Christ. There is no separate humanity from His, but we find our humanity as we participate from His for us. We look solely to Him as the source of eternal life that springs up from our navels as living waters which cannot be quenched. This is my hope, and I am glad that I have found it in Jesus Christ! We need this hope in our world today! People are dying all around us, even if they try to live and act like they aren’t; they are. They need the hope of Jesus Christ, and the hope of His resurrection life as the ground and basis of their lives. He alone can enter into the abyss of death, put it to death, and rise again in a glorified body, and has! If we are going to have hope and a way through such darkness we need to be in a participatory relationship with Him by the Holy Spirit. If this is the reality we live in and from, ā€˜in Christ,’ then all hope is ours and the fear of death can no longer hold us captive; we can live truly free in and from the freedom of God’s indestructible Triune life which is indeed graciously for us in Jesus Christ.

25Ā Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: 26Ā And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this? ~John 11.25-26

14Ā Forasmuch then as the children are partakers of flesh and blood, he also himself likewise took part of the same; that through death he might destroy him that had the power of death, that is, the devil;15Ā And deliver them who through fear of death were all their lifetime subject to bondage. ~Hebrews 2.14-15

4Ā Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.5Ā For if we have been planted together in the likeness of his death, we shall be also in the likeness of his resurrection: ~Romans 6.4-5

3Ā For ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.4Ā When Christ, who is our life, shall appear, then shall ye also appear with him in glory. ~Colossians 3.3-4

For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. ~II Corinthians 5.1

Ā 

Ā 

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The Problem of Sin and the Last Word, The Death of Death

I don’t know about you, but I grow weary of sin; I (we) face an ongoing battle every breath that we take. Whether it be perverse thoughts, dark deep secrets that plague the conscience, actions that result in destruction for you and all those related to you, systemic evil that permeates the very fabric of society (this is probably most insidious since we are conditioned by it in ways that give it a normalcy and thus societal and then personal acceptance); the Apostle can relate,

23But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members. 24O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death? Romans 7:23, 24

We battle on. But how do we know what we battle; how do we gauge the target, how do we even know that there is a target to hit? How do we realize that evil isn’t some just mysterious lurking principle ‘out there’ that ultimately is outside of me, and not something that actually implicates my very being to its deepest depths—even when I engage in the evil ‘out there’ occasionally or situationally? How do I know, even if I can index concrete and ongoing instantiations of evil ‘out there, that the evil is indeed me? And that this all encompassing wickedness and deprivation consumes my inner self, which organically shapes my outer self—since really ourselves (body/soul) are integrated wholes. In other words, I am sin to the depths, and the reason there is sin, evil, wickedness ‘out there’; it is mostly because it has a context ‘in here’, in me. But how can I say such things, how can I ground such assertions beyond some sort of psychological intuition? We know that we are blind when the impression of light intensifies our darkness; when Jesus acts the way he does, and did, we know we are indeed blind. We come to the realization that for all our good, for all our posturing toward ourselves; that the next to the last word is that we live in a state of No, or blindness to the fact that what we see the Apostle Paul giving voice to can only come when faced with the depth of our problem as we participate in the life of Christ. The One who took our No, our blindness, and indeed our sin unto himself ‘by becoming sin for us that we might become the righteousness of God in him’ (II Cor. 5:21). As Calvin so perceptively knew, we only truly have knowledge of ourselves (and our abysmal state), when we first have knowledge of God through Christ, God the Redeemer.

It is this that John Webster masterfully elucidates as he engages Karl Barth’s vision of a christologically conditioned knowledge of sin in its most depth dimension. Let me quote Webster, who is commenting on Barth’s Church Dogmatics & Ethics, and the moral anthropology embedded therein:

[B]arth’s Christological determination of sin is not so much an attempt to dislocate ‘theological’ from ’empirical’ reality, as an argument born of a sense that human persons are characteristically self-deceived. Human life is a sphere in which fantasy operates, in which human persons are not able to see themselves as they truly are. The ‘man of sin’

thinks he sits on a high throne, but in reality he sits only on a child’s stool, cracking his little whip, pointing with frightful seriousness his little finger, while all the time nothing happens that really matters. He can only play the judge. He is only a dilettante, a blunderer, in his attempt to distinguish between good and evil, right and wrong, acting as though he really had the capacity to do it. He can only pretend to himself and others that he has the capacity and that there is any real significance in his judging. (CD IV/1, p. 446.)

This theme of concealment surfaces frequently in paragraph 60 (and elsewhere). Believing ourselves to see clearly, even allowing ourselves to suppose our sight to be sharper than that of our fellows, we are blind to the reality of our own selves. Barth acutely perceives that moral earnestness frequently rests upon clouded vision and lack of self-awareness and self-distrust. And so, once again, we return to the Christological basis for the treatment of human sin: ‘Compared with Him we stand there in all our corruption … The untruth in which we are men is disclosed … We are forced to see and know ourselves in the loathsomeness in which we find ourselves exposed and known.’

Human sinfulness, then, entails an ability to disentangle ourselves from our acts in such a way that they are no longer really ours. As Barth puts it in a passage in Church Dogmatics IV/2, we allow ourselves to believe that:

The sinful act is regrettable but external, incidental and isolated failure and defect; a misfortune, comparable to one of the passing sicknesses in which a healthy organism remains healthy and to which it shows itself to be more than equal. On this view, the individual — I myself — cannot really be affected by the evil action. I do not have any direct part in its loathsome and offensive character. In the last resort it has taken place in my absence. I myself am elsewhere and aloof from it. And from this neutral place which is my real home, I can survey and evaluate the evil that has happened to me in its involvement with other less evil and perhaps even good motives and elements; in its not absolutely harmful but to some extent positive effects; in its relationship to my other much less doubtful and perhaps even praiseworthy achievements; and especially in my relationship to what I see other men do or not do (a comparison in which I may not come out too badly); in short, in a relativity in which I am not really affected at bottom. I may acknowledge and regret that I have sinned, but I do not need to confess that I am a sinner.Ā  (CD IV/2, p. 394)

These clarifications of the forms of human self-deception (which are by no means intended to underrate the ambiguity of the moral situation) are an important background to Barth’s treatment of original sin. His objection to some formulations of that doctrine is, at heart, that they are deficient in their account of positive evil. And his refusal of an independent locus peccati, his rejection of anything other than a Christologically determined account of sin, is directed by precisely the same concern. Far from averting attention from evil as fact, Christology is intended to furnish a means of clarifying our vision and dissolving our illusions about our own moral integrity. [John Webster, Barth’s Moral Theology: Human Action in Barth’s Thought, 69-70.]

The Apostle Paul concurs with this kind of assessment about the deleterious effects of sin upon a life that knows that it only knows its true state of affairs because of the One who finally has given the last wordĀ  to our No-being by his Yes to the Father for us—viz. a Yes that is given concrete form through his death, burial, and most importantly resurrection-ascension. The Apostle Paul, with his eyes wide open, as we noted earlier, gives a final sigh of relief when he writes:

Ā 25I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord. So then with the mind I myself serve the law of God; but with the flesh the law of sin. Romans 7:25

The Apostle knew, that he knew sin, not ultimately because of the Law; but ultimately, because of Christ who penetrated deeper than the Law could on its own—viz. into the cavernous depths of the human soul which left to itself continues to look at evil and wickedness as if its ‘out there’, while all along failing to realize that they’ve never even seen sin and evil and wickedness in its most grotesque form; that’s because they’ve never presumed that maybe, just maybe the most insidious form of evil, in the end, dwells where they can’t peer, where they dare not, in themselves.

The ‘Beast’ in the Book of Revelation, He’s Here

I have been reading Richard Bauckham’s The Climax of Prophecy: Studies on the Book of Revelation; I was spurned to read this because I read his smaller book The Theology of the Book of Revelation a few months ago, which was excellent and a must read. In fact I would say that if you haven’t read either of these books you haven’t really ever studied the book of Revelation. What I want to highlight is a bit of Bauckham’s discussion and identification of the Beast in the book of Revelation. Now, if your reading this as a dispensationalist you will be challenged (to say the least); but I think if you read Bauckham’s development in full you would be hard pressed to refute what he has to say. He looks at the internal structure of the book, and really presses the ‘Epistle’ genre of the book (then also the ‘Apocalyptic’ and ‘Prophetic’); resulting in taking seriously that John was writing for the seven churches he is speaking to in 1st century Graeco-Rome. Bauckham is at his best as he situates the apocalyptic genre of Revelation in its proper literary context. Meaning that he identifies how all of the picteresque and emotive language of Revelation was understood within its historical context, and what the prophetic significance would have been for these 1st century Christians; and then what it means for us today (by way of application). I uphold what Bauckham here communicates about the ‘Beast’, and I want to commend it to you for your consideration. What he brings out on the Beast and Empire presents a paradigm shifting proposition in the way that most Evangelical Christians have understood this amazing book. I am going to share this quote on the Beast and Empire from Bauckham, and then I will close with a few parting comments.

[T]he images of the beast will probably become most easily accessible to us as we realise that it was primarily in developing the theme of christological parody that John found the Nero legend useful. It enabled him to construct a history of the beast as paralleling the death, the resurrection and the parousia of Jesus Christ. Some interpretation of Revelation has made the theme of christological parody seem a mere creative fantasy which John projects onto the Roman Empire, which of course had no intention of aping the Christian story of Jesus. In fact, as we have seen, the christological parody corresponds to real features of history of the empire, to the character of the imperial cult, and to contemporary expectations of the future of the empire. It is a profound prophetic interpretation of the contemporary religio-political image of the empire, both in Rome’s own propaganda and in its subjects’ profoundest responses to Roman rule. This religio-political ideology, which John sees as a parody of the Christian claims about Christ, was no mere cover for the hard political realities: it entered deeply into the contemporary dynamics of power as they affected the lives of John’s contemporaries. He sees it as a deification of power. The empire’s success is founded on military might and people’s adulation of military might. By these standards Christ and the martyrs are the unsuccessful victims of the empire. Instead of worshipping the risen Christ who has won his victory by suffering witness to the truth, the world worships the beast whose ‘resurrection’ is the proof that this military might is invincible. The parallel between the ‘death’ and ‘resurrection’ of the beast and the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ poses the issue of what is truly divine. Is it the beast’s apparent success which is worthy of religious trust and worship? Or is the apparent failure of Christ and the martyrs the true witness to the God who can be ultimately trusted and may alone be worshipped?

The ambiguity of the period of the beast’s reign, in which to earthly appearances the beast’s ‘resurrection’ has established his eternal kingdom, while those who acknowledge God’s rule are slaughtered by the beast, cannot be permanent. God’s kingdom must come. The parallel between the beast’s ‘parousia’ and Christ’s poses the issue of what will turn out ultimately to be divine, whose kingdom will prevail in the end. The cult of military power contains its own contradiction: the city which lived by military conquest will fall by military conquest. But beyond that, military power which aims only at its own absolute supremacy must prove a false messiah. It overreaches itself because it is the merely human grasping for what is truly only divine. It is only the parousia of Christ that can establish an eternal kingdom, because it is truly the coming of the eternal God who alone canĀ be trusted with absolute supremacy.

The riddle of the number of the beast pointed specifically to Nero as the figure whose history and legend displayed, to those who had wisdom, the nature of the Roman Empire’s attempt to rival God. Any contemporary reappropriation of Revelation’s images that aims to expose the dynamics of power in the contemporary world in the light of the Gospel would also have to be specific. [Richard Bauckham, The Climax of Prophecy, 451-52]

Theological Implications

The first thing I want to draw our attention to is Bauckham’s last paragraph. What he is doing with this is delimiting the application of the book of Revelation to a particular set of boundaries. In other words, he is using its original audience and shape as determinative for how we can appropriate and apply it to our own context and situation today (just as in principle we should interpret the so called Minor Prophets or Book of the Twelve). What this does, by implication, is that it disallows the Dispensationalist interpretation of the book of Revelation. It won’t allow for providing the kind of the nitty-gritty detail that Dispensational exegesis of this book is known for. There is a general understanding of end time events revealed in this book (as it pertains to the end of the current world system), and only a more particular understanding of the consummate age or heaven. In other words, to read stuff into Revelation (like identifying the European union as the ten headed beast, or taking the “Mark of the Beast” as a literal mark or bar code embedded on your hand or forehead) will not work; and this is convincingly revealed as the exegete studies the background context and Jewish-Christian apocalyptic tradition from which John wrote and received the revelation of Jesus.

Bauckham’s prior development, to the quote above, has highlighted how the history in the 1st century (second Temple Judaism) supplies all the historical referents for which John’s apocalyptic language finds a referent. In other words, the language of “Beast” was common moniker for the Roman Empire, and its gone wild military power. The ‘Mark of the Beast’ was required in order to buy and sell in the Roman Empire (or allegiance to Nero and the Caesars). So as Bauckham notes, if true, then the application of this (prophetically for the future) is that the power of the Beast (represented by empires who have their strength through military might and power) will not last (which was immediately realized in the Roman context as ultimately the Roman empire collapsed, but this kind of “power” has continued to persist into the present). Also there is an interesting note, historically in regards to the language of the Beast receiving a fatal blow to the head, and then his resurrection (which was also common apocalyptic language directed toward the Roman empire and the Nero legend by other apocalyptic writings during this period like the Ascension of Isaiah etc.); Bauckham identifies how this was something that had already happened in reference to the Beast (in particular Nero legend, whom the number 666 through Gematria [the common usage of Greek letters that have numeric value to identify people or places, in this instance, the Greek letters for Nero add up to 666]); that after Nero committed suicide, it appeared that the Roman empire was doomed, but at the time of 70 AD Titus Vespasian resurrected and coalesced the empire through the sacking of Jerusalem and the military might of the Rome. It appeared that the Beast had died, but within a short period of time he rose again to excessive power. These are just a few examples of how Bauckham reorientates the book of Revelation through providing a thick account of the context in which the book of Revelation was written. The exegete, if genuine, cannot simply over-look what Bauckham has provided if he or she is going to honestly engage the book of Revelation. Which leads to my last implication.

For all too long, personally, folks I have been around who want to continue holding onto their particular interpretive schema of things (especially dispensationalists) will caricature other interpretive approaches to the book of Revelation in particular. There usually is a sketch of the other positions (like historist, idealist, preterist), but then this is only used to relativize the interpretive situation (or confuse); at which point the dispensationalist steps in and offers his clarity of interpreting the book of Revelation through a futurist lens alone. This is not good practice, and it ultimately turns people like me off. True, each one of us has to make our own decisions when it comes to principles of interpretation; but I would like to think that that involves being honest, and taking all the evidence (we are aware of) into account. That we are not so locked into particular denominations and their distinctives that we are afraid to change our minds, and allow our preunderstandings that we bring to the text to change in accordance with the relative weight of the evidence on the ground that we are confronted with through the kind of rigorous study that Paul admonishes us to (cf. II Tim. 2.15). [I am of course not talking about essential things here, I am talking about so called secondary things like this issue entails]

One more implication. If what Bauckham writes is true, then this has paradigmatic consequences for how we view our current situation, especially as Westerners and Americans in particular. We should not conflate being a Christian with being a Patriot, a Republican-Democrat-Independent, or simply with being an American. In fact insofar as America’s strength is rooted in her military might, then she exemplifies the features of the ‘Beast’ and not the City on the Hill that Ronald Reagan attributed to her. What the book of Revelation does is that it places any empire (like, really the emerging Global Empire we inhabit) on notice; that its time is short, and that all of its wanton desires are coming to an end. You can kill the Christians (and the ‘Beast’ has, statistically more so in the 20th century by itself than the previous 19 added together), but it is through the martyrs blood that the Beast only proves his own demise; the blood of the martyrs cries out, and signals that the Lion-Lamb’s kingdom has come and will finally come at the last trumpet. What Bauckham’s insights implies is that the Beast (or Anti-Christ) is not necessarily embodied in a single person; instead Nero and the Roman empire exemplifies or symbolizes the kind of power that is embodied by empires or empire in the world. There will be, according to the unfolding of the judgments in Revelation (the Seal, Trumpet, Bowl) an intensification of the Beast and empire just prior to the return of Christ (where the Danielic ‘Stone’ will crush the kingdoms of this world cf. Daniel 2). In other words, Jesus could come at any moment!

The Dusty Death juxtaposed with ‘The Death of Death’

I posted this verse on my Facebook wall awhile ago:

[T]he prophets prophesy falsely, and the priests rule at their direction; my people love to have it so, but what will you do when the end comes? ~Jeremiah 5.31

Not to pick on my younger cousin, who unfortunately I have not gotten to really know over the years, just said this in response to the verse:

“Probably Die and cease to exist”

The only problem with this response, is that Jesus died, and he continued to exist; in fact he conquered the grave and death. He is Victor!, and Triumphant! This poses a problem for folks who believe, along with the “Teacher” of Ecclesiastes, that when we die, we go the way of the rest of the animals (simply to the ‘dust’). Since Jesus rose from the dead, we know, along with John Owen, that there has been “the death of death,” so to speak! Quod Erat Demonstrandum

I pray my younger cousin does not really believe that there is no resurrection; if true, we are of all men most to be pitied!