What Are You Reading and Why?

The book of Revelation in the Christian canon, interpreted literally, has resulted in bizarre scenarios and fanciful prediction tables.  Conventional interpretation saw it written when the early church was suffering great persecution.  But historical analyses find no evidence for a widespread persecution of Christians in first-century Asia.  “Evidence of both historical documents and the text of Revelation itself suggests that it was seduction by the Roman Empire from within a context of relative comfort that describes the original audience” (p. xxii).  “Revelation is a call to have faith in G-d rather than the empire . . . and is a call to how the disciples were to live in the midst of empire’ (p. xxiii).  “Revelation, like all the other biblical texts, was involved in a pitched battle over issues of spirit such as economics and politics” (p. xxiv).  “The empire itself stood in contradiction to the ways of G-d” (p xxvii).  “Revelation casts a critical eye on Rome’s economic exploitation, its politics of seduction, its violence and its arrogance” (p. 116).  “It was a reminder to the followers of Jesus of the commitment they had made at their baptism” (p. 117).  “The futurist preoccupation with Revelation ignores the verb tenses referring not to a sequential future but to the always co-present other reality in which G-d and the Lamb have already conquered empire” (p 124).  Heaven and earth have the same postal code but represent differing perspectives.  “When the lies and injustices of empire are given currency, there is earth.  Whenever the truth of G-d is believed and practiced, there is heaven” (p 128).

A powerful treatment of the early church’s faith in the face of empire, and a call to that same faith to us.

Vern Ratzlaff is a pastor and professor of historical theology at Lutheran Theological Seminary in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada.

        This collection of seven essays examines the nature of religious life in the context of religious pluralism and a post-Theodosian world [the Theodosian dynasty was the last of significance in the Roman Empire], as seen from perspectives of classical Lutheran confessions.  The final three chapters deal with “the legal contexts of church-state interaction,” with reference to issues of religious freedom, education and land use contexts, the latter an area frequently overlooked in issues of church and state relations.

        The first essay, “Lutheran thinking on Church-State Issues” summarizes the Lutheran perspective.  “Lutherans recognize government as one of the "masks" of G-d. Government is one of the divinely instituted orders or structures embedded in creation (p. 7).  (The other three “orders” are family, church and labour.)  “Each (order) is a place where the Christian can legitimately live out his or her vocation….  The gospel does not overthrow these orders but requires that they be kept” (p 8). Anabaptists are given short shrift; they “underestimated the presence of G-d in the world and thus failed to understand the nature and extent of G-d’s creation activity” (p 12).  Well!!

        A historical comment came to mind after reading “the Lutheran view of the state keeps the state within limits” (p 13); interesting that there is no mention of the Bethel and Barmen documents (of 1933 and 1934) and the disputation in Germany that did not keep “the state within its limits.”  While the issues of “religious freedom, education and land use” are key in today’s church-state dialogue, to make no mention of violence embedded in the state through bombing and drones and strategic assassinations is to ignore a crucial contemporary issue. 

“Christianity was product of empire. . . . Paul (established assemblies (ekkleisia) that were alternatives to official assemblies at cities such as Philippi and Corinth. . . . The principal social dimensions of this world that is passing away were overcome in these communities of the nascent alternative society. ‘There is no longer Jew or Greek . . . slave or free . . . male or female; all of you are one in Christ Jesus.’” (p. 1)  Contributors to Horsley’s anthology on the clash between Roman society and Christianity make their points clearly with reference to four major points of conflict between the imperial culture and upstart Christian religion.

The most pointed clashes/conflicts were on the issue of the gospel of imperial salvation, the cultural pattern of patronage, Paul’s counter imperial gospel, and building an alternative society (pp. 1-3).

One:  The imperial gospel (the emperor understood as being god, with shrines, temples and games sponsored in his honour) was countered by Paul’s contention that G-d had highly exalted Jesus Christ so that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord (Phil. 2:9-11).

Horsley summarizes the political and social times of Jesus and Jesus’ reactions to these, especially the role of violence in Palestine during Jesus’ time.  The reality of violence extends well beyond the direct, personal and physical; there is also psychological or spiritual violence, acts that impair other persons’ dignity or integrity. . . . To make (people) live on a subhuman level against their will, to constrain them in such a way that they have no hope of escaping their condition, is an unjust exercise of force (p. 21, 22).  Horsley quotes Dom Helder Camara (Brazilian bishop) ad his three stage ‘spiral of violence’:  injustice, revolt, force to preserve social order (p 23).  Horsley points out the spiral in Rome occupied Palestine as Jesus would have experienced it:  institutionalized injustice (the temple and priesthood), protest and resistance (generally non-violent), repression (use of terror, e.g., crucifixion), revolt (there were three instances of widespread revolt in this period:  4 BCE, 66-70 CE, 132-135 CE).  Key for Jesus to confront this spiral was the concept of the kingdom of G-d, the use of power to liberate, establish or protect the people in difficult historical circumstances (Egypt, Greek occupation)(p 168), focused on the needs and desires of people—the social-economic-political substance of human relations as willed by G-d… provided by G-d, in contrast to the emperor (p. 170).  Jesus emphasized G-d’s sovereignty, “excluding any other lordship and loyalty” (p. 312).  Jesus did not confine his activity to healing, preaching (telling cute little stories) and catalyzing renewal of local community life in rural Galilee (p. 285). The kingdom meant wholeness of life, and the audience was not just few charismatic villagers but the people generally.  For Jesus, pacifism was not a debating exercise or a tactic but the way to live together; he preached G-d’s liberation to a discouraged Jewish peasantry.  “Love your enemies” is not a cute bumper sticker slogan but a “social revolutionary principle, transforming local social-economic relations” (p. 326).

Vern Ratzlaff is a pastor and professor of historical theology at Lutheran Theological Seminary in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada.

Cox muses on his personal history of reading the Bible, identifying three stages in his life with the Bible.  The first stage saw the Bible primarily as stories (e.g., the Christmas pageant, daily readings in public schools).  The second stage was the historical-critical, where questions such as the multiple sources of the Pentateuch, or how many Pauline letters had actually been written by Paul, were raised.  The third stage was the spiritual, where Cox was involved with civil rights issues, and saw the bible as a living link in the long history of liberation movements.  The Bible “is an invitation, a living record of an open-ended history of which we can become a part.  It is a still unfinished story” (p. 8).  He quotes Krister Stendahl, who said that the two great questions about any biblical passage are, “What did it mean then?” and “What does it mean now?” (p. 10)  Interesting—this is the basic hermeneutical approach—peshar—of the Jewish community, especially of the Esssenes.  Cox adds a fourth step in biblical reading and interpretation, the “history of interpretation”, which brings in people who studied the Bible at different times and in different circumstances (p. 15).  (This reflects the Anabaptist emphasis on community-based and tested interpretation, and the prayer that the Ephesian congregation “may have the power to comprehend with all the saints” (Ephesians 3:18), what the Apostles’ Creed calls “the communion of saints”.)

Cox then applies these stages of enquiry to the major classifications of biblical material (the Pentateuch, the prophets, the gospels, the epistles, Revelation).

The book is a good read making for a better understanding of the essence of biblical literature.  “My hope,” Cox concludes, that in reading this book “you may come to know both G-d and yourself a little better, since in the end the two cannot be separated” (p. 231).

Do we have to deal with a bipolar G-d, a G-d of vengeance and retribution in the Old Testament and a G-d of mercy and love and rehabilitation in the New Testament?  A violent G-d and a non-violent Jesus?  Crossan develops a way to deal with this conundrum.  He takes seriously the full sweep of biblical data.  For example, the Year of Jubilee, Leviticus 25, spells out that the land belongs to G-d and every fiftieth year was to be a Jubilee, a year of liberation, redemption and restoration.   But if this was the understanding of land tenure, why is there so little mention of it in later texts?  E.g., Isaiah 5:8 is a diatribe against expansion of real estate ownership.  Why the move from divine decree to mere suggestion?  Crossan points out the process; ‘there is a struggle between G-d’s radical ideal for us (Lev. 25), which I call the radicality of G-d, and the standard coercive ways that culture in fact operate (Is. 5:8) which I call the normalcy of civilization’ (p 24).

Crossan documents this biblical sequence of acceptance/rejection, assertion/subversion (p. 24), in its views on slavery; the radicality of G-d prompts Paul to ask for Onesimus’ manumission; normalcy of the Roman culture concerning slavery is assumed by Ephesians and Colossians; a vision of the radicality of G-dis put forth, and then later that vision is domesticated and integrated into the normalcy of civilization so that the established order of life, slavery, is maintained.  A powerful hermeneutical methodology, especially as Crossan uses it to overcome ‘escalatory violence’.

Vern Ratzlaff is a pastor and professor of historical theology at Lutheran Theological Seminary in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada.

The fundamental question of multi-faith pluralistic society is not so much, ‘Do we have a common G-d?’ as ‘can we live together?’  This anthology of six articles by Christians, Jews and Moslems, explores both question, but places greater emphasis on the second.  Catholic Christopher Schwoebel puts it well.  ‘The goal of history is not that all people will become Christian. . . . In history we continue to live under pluralistic condition and therefore our efforts must be directed at managing the pluralistic situation in the light of faith’s apprehension of G-d’s character and of the human destiny’ (p 15).  This requires a tolerance, not the Enlightenment tolerance based on the uncertainty of religious faith, but toleration based on the certainty of faith.  Become more religious (in touch with our faith) will mean becoming more tolerant.  The corollary of this sense of tolerance is that our interfaith dialogue is not intended to issue in consensus but in gaining a better understanding of our difference (p 16).  The aim of dialogue is not a dogmatic consensus but working at common goals that are justified within each tradition by different goals interpreted from our different perspectives, in which we have to act together for our common good (p. 17).
 

There is fascinating discussion on the nature of Trinitarian thought (e.g., Christian and Moslems agree there is one and only one G-d—polytheism is ruled out, and there is no multiplicity of gods (p. 26).  A Muslim writer cites an event in 631 when a Christian delegation came to Medina to engage in theological discussion.  When they requested to leave the city in order to perform their liturgy, the Prophet invited them to worship according to their rites, with him in his own mosque.  The Prophet showed that ‘disagreement on the plane of dogma can—and should—coexist with spiritual affirmation on the spiritual plane of ultimate reality ‘ (p 104).  Personal relationships are key to true dialogue:  ‘I would not make judgements about others’ worship until I had extended contact with them’ (p. 163).

A great treatment not only clarifying inter-faith dialogue, but also useful for inter-Christian ecumenical conversations.

Cameron writes a wonderful book, illustrating the Christian impact on the Roman Empire through words and ritual.  Culturally, the early church was ‘in the midst of an intense interest in discussion, the expression of ideas, Christianity . . . placed an extraordinary pressure on verbal formulation’ (p 19).  ‘Christians built themselves a new world. They did so partly through practise…. The evolution of a mode of living and a communal discipline . . . and partly through a discourse that was itself constantly brought under control and discipline’ (p. 21).  She examines the role of rhetoric (‘a totalizing discourse’), ‘how Christian discourse made its impact on society ‘at large, and how it was itself transformed and shaped the endeavour…a two way process in which both sides (the Roman world, Christian discourse) are changing’ (p. 43).

Vern Ratzlaff is a pastor and professor of historical theology at Lutheran Theological Seminary in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada.

Cameron uses rhetoric not in a technical sense but as ‘characteristic means or way of experience (p 13), ‘denoting the manner and circumstances that promote persuasion’ (p. 20).  ‘Christian rhetoric increasingly moved into central areas of political discourse. . . .  Christian writers used and assimilated to their own purposes the rhetorical modes that had been the preserve of the educated elite’ (p 152).  Christianity came to be noted as ‘a religion of books’, and Christian discourse achieved the position of chief critic and arbiter of culture (p. 222).  Christians sought to legitimize their newly found political power and to ensure its transmission to future generations, and to share the stories, the lives of saints, stories that were a ‘repertoire of symbolic evocation’ (p. 84).  Christianity is a religion of books (Christians were the first to use primarily codices, bound sheets, not papyrus rolls) and rhetoric was the means of articulating a religion by its storytelling and its political analysis, and this book stresses the contribution of language to the church’s mission.  The church changed the shape of Roman culture by its attention to the foundation and possibility of language.

Revelation has usually been interpreted as a predictive book, and fanciful charts and timelines have sought to domesticate it (e.g., the ‘Left Behind’ series).  Kraybill’s take on Revelation is that John’s vision presents a parallel reality to the claim of the Roman imperial cult, an alternative political allegiance.  Revelation is not a prediction of future events but a text offering an alternative form of worship and allegiance, of how Christians who give their highest loyalty to Jesus should conduct themselves in a world where economic and political structures claim our allegiance.  ‘We have political, military and economic power to which millions give unquestioned allegiance’ (p 15).  Kraybill (former president of Anabaptist/Mennonite Biblical Seminary) points out that the coming of Jesus (the ‘parousia’) had a technical political meaning, referring to a king or other dignitary coming for a state visit.  ‘Rather than imagining Christians will be whisked away from a planet going up in flames, we should anticipate a day when we will go out to meet Christ and welcome him back to earth again. . . . The arrival of the new Jerusalem started already in John’s day, (continuing) in ours. . . . The holy city (of ch. 21) is a symbol of G-d restoring the world in the present (p 175,176).

Each chapter of Kraybill’s book concludes with two features: questions for reflection on the text just treated, and stories of Christians attempting to live out the implications of that chapter. A good study and discussion book.

“John’s act of writing a gospel, what he claims about Christ, and how he makes these claims, all represent fundamental rejection and subservience of Caesar’s power. . . . John believed that Christ is in every way superior to Caesar. . . . He reverses the normal public meaning of Jesus’ encounter with the agents of the Roman Empire” (p. ix).

Thatcher points out that the same story can have quite different meanings, e.g., a Jewish delegation meeting with Roman emperor, Caligula. One report, the official minutes of the encounter, shows the Jewish support of the emperor. Philo, a Jewish writer, points out what the Jewish delegation really felt.  The story illustrates the two faces every victim of imperial power must always wear. “These things happened,” Philo says, “but they didn’t mean what the people in power thought they meant” (pp. 23-25).  Thatcher develops his theory of public and “hidden transcripts,” “the little traditions,” the counter memories” (p. 26). “Every situation of conflict between Jesus and the authorities may be read at two levels: the normal public meaning of the events, and in John’s ‘little tradition,’ reinterpretation of those events as expressions of Christ’s absolute sovereignty” (p. 46).

In John’s story the Romans are not in control. The Jewish authorities, on whom Caesar depends, granting them the status of Roman prefects, are helpless, unable to stop Jesus’ mission or even protect their own interests (John 12, 18). Crucifixion was a major part of Roman policy of intimidation and control, but in John’s story fulfilled prophecy (e.g., division of Jesus’ clothing, Jesus’ death, the piercing with a spear) make the ultimate story of defeat end in conquest (p. 107). Jesus is in control to the very end. Even the Roman political order is not in final control. In John’s story, Pilate (the Roman governor) appears in seven scenes, without the results he wishes (28 verses; in the synoptics, Pilate gets a combined total of 37 verses), and  the Roman governor “is afraid” (19:8). Even after his vicious scourging, Jesus continues his words coherently against Pilate (19:12). Rome’s victims followed Rome’s script; Jesus has his own script (even washing his disciples’ feet—a sharp retort to Roman imperial practise).