Discussing Death

Themes: On Language, On Power, Society, Speech

It was trendy a generation ago to talk about ‘sexual repression’. The idea being that until the Sexual Revolution, the topic of sex was something that could not be raised in society.
Everyone knew it was going on, but there was a silent conspiracy of silence.

It seems that death has taken over this mantle.
We are struggling with ‘Death repression’

There is something strangely similar in the experiences of speaking about sex and death.
When we hold forth on either topic we are transgressing social boundaries and therefore consciously taking on ourselves a position ‘outside’ society.

Yet at the same time we are directly addressing society about issues that stand close to the core of how we define our identity. We are talking about what it means to be human.
Speaking about sex or death draws us inevitably into a relationship with society that is something akin to prophetic speech.

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Persuasion in Mark

Themes: Apologetics, Exams, Gospel, On Language, Reading Scripture

The recent essay I had to write for our New Testament 1 course has given me a lot of food for thought*, particularly with regard to the techniques employed by Mark in seeking to persuade us that Jesus is the ‘Christ, the Son of God.’

Have you ever thought that if you or I set out to convince someone that they should follow Jesus, give him their personal allegiance to the point of death, that we probably wouldn’t be content to simply present a narrative?

I’ve just come back from a mission week where we were engaged in a whole range of evangelistic presentations. We gave out CD’s and knocked on doors. I sat in on a ‘dialogue meeting’ (question and answer time with Christians and non-Christians), and spoke at a Chapel service. Each activity was designed to engage with people and persuade them that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God.

Yet we didn’t once engage in the form of persuasion and teaching that was employed by the writers of the Gospels.

I really don’t want to fall into the sad, trendiness, of those ‘Evangelists’ who want us to simply tell each other our ‘stories’. Narrative theology is all the rage at the moment and it has been very influential in thinking through how we preach and proclaim God’s word. It helpfully reminds us to be attentive to the form in which God’s word presents truth. It’s good to remember that the literary form of the scriptures isn’t just an accident of history. There are no accidents in history.

So why does Mark tell a story where he (and we) might reasonably have chosen a more direct form of argument?
I thought about this a lot while I was working to understand the overall significance of the feeding miracles for Mark’s presentation of Jesus.

I think the feeding miracles form a piece of the interpretative framework which Mark is unfolding for the reader. By that I mean, Mark isn’t just writing a narrative of Jesus’ life. He’s writing a narrative that will have a certain effect on the reader. Mark is creating a framework that is designed to create a reader who will encounter the events of Jesus’ death equipped to understand them as (among other things) the climax of Jesus’ kingly provision for his followers.

Mark establishes a resonance in the mind of the reader through his description of events. As you progress through the narrative, Jesus’ breaking bread to feed the hungry crowds, echoes in his breaking bread for his disciples at the Passover.
Jesus’ compassion, his power, his superabundant provision, are in the mind of the reader as he or she comes to the final meal that Jesus shares with his disciples. As the bread is broken once more, Mark adds the final touches to the framework through which the reader will encounter the death of Jesus.
The narrative structure of Mark is intended to create a reader who is capable of understanding the true significance of the disturbing events at the end.

Mark faced the difficulty of presenting a message to individuals who could not possibly have the framework of experience to understand its significance. How could anyone hear of the execution of a man for blasphemy and come to the conclusion that he is the answer to our seeking after God? In itself, the death of Jesus is a deeply ambiguous event.

We face the same problem as we seek to share the message of Jesus with people who are completely unequipped to understand it. On a practical level, the average Aussie doesn’t see themselves as occupying the same narrative world as Jesus, our questions about life seem different, the history of answers to these questions – the culture we share seems very removed from the world of the New Testament. On a spiritual level, the average Aussie is unable to understand the message of Jesus due to darkness and ignorance brought on by rebellion against God.

For anyone to encounter Jesus, his life, death, and resurrection – and to correctly understand the significance of these events – requires that they themselves be transformed into the kind of person capable of understanding. This requires the spiritual work of removing blindness. And it also requires the approach taken by Mark and the Gospel writers. The person will need to be transformed by the narrative so that they come to occupy the same thought-world, so that the reader is shaped to stand at the correct vantage point, the proper angle, from which to view the cross.

That’s why its fascinating to study the narrative techniques by which Mark does this shaping, and to wonder how we could apply similar techniques to our engagement with people.
Who’d be interested in writing an evangelistic book along these lines?

*topic of the essay was “What is the significance of the feeding miracles for Mark’s presentation of the ministry of Jesus?”

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Let the Reader Understand…

Themes: On Language, Reading Scripture

““When you see the abomination that causes desolation standing where it should not” (let the reader understand), “then those in Judea must flee to the mountains!” (Mark 13:14 HCSB)

That little parenthetical remark, “let the reader understand”, has been the source of a great deal of discussion over the centuries. Where would Markan theologians be without the endlessly useful variations for the titles of their books?

It’s a little bit like that moment in the movie Fight Club where Edward Norton’s character begins to realise the truth about Tyler Durden, the narrative that’s been playing in his head begins to unspool, the screen begins to flicker and it looks like the film strip is whirling off the projecter, the celluloid about to burst into flame.
It’s an interesting moment in the film, the scales drop from the eyes of the main character – and because we see the story through his eyes, we share in the experience of revelation.

The really interesting thing, though, is that screen flicker. It makes the characters suddenly come outside the screen. The medium of communication is exposed, the mechanics laid bare for a moment, but the character survives and continues to speak. It’s deliberately unnerving, like being in a room full of statues, thinking you are alone, and someone moves.

Mark inserts editorial remarks everywhere throughout the book. For example, he gives some classic comments on the reactions of Jesus disciples,

“Then Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good for us to be here! Let us make three tabernacles: one for You, one for Moses, and one for Elijah”— because he did not know what he should say, since they were terrified.” (Mark 9:5-6 HCSB)

It’s impossible to write a narrative without having some kind of narration, the voice over who ties events together, provides insight into the motivations of the characters, and moves the action along. Every narrative has this with the exception of a first person narrative – where the Narrator is the main character.

And that really wasn’t an option for Mark’s Gospel…

What isn’t so common, is for the Narrator to interrupt the main character in the middle of a sentence.

““When you see the abomination that causes desolation standing where it should not” (let the reader understand), “then those in Judea must flee to the mountains!” (Mark 13:14 HCSB)

It’s a drastic ploy for any writer to make, most times the words of the Narrator can wait ’til the character has finished speaking. It’s a truly colossal thing when the speaker is Our Lord…

In reading Mark, it’s a moment when the screen flickers. The mechanics of Mark’s writing are put on view for a moment. The room full of statues – the text which we read as a work of art, held at a distance – suddenly moves. The Narrator steps out from behind the narrative, and pokes you in the ribs.

It has to be in the middle of a sentence to achieve this effect. There is no disrespect intended when Mark breaks in to Jesus’ sentence.
Jesus’ broken sentence has sharp edges, it has a cutting edge – it is not just another (admittedly strange) conversation between the characters in a story. It is an address through the pages directly to the reader.

The words are for YOU.

Mark 13 is known as the Apocalyptic chapter within this Gospel. It’s full of strange language and dark predictions. But there is more going on here than just old fashioned Buffy-the-Vampyre-Slayer weirdness.

‘Apocalyptic’ is a Greek word referring to something being ‘uncovered’ or ‘revealed’. Apocalyptic literature seeks to uncover the spiritual realities behind earthly events. That’s why at the start of the Book of Revelation (Greek name: The Apocalypse) John says, ‘After this I looked, and there in heaven was an open door.’ (Rev 4:1) John is being given an insight into what’s going on behind the scenes. Revelation is a backstage pass to Reality.

Mark 13 is an apocalyse about Jesus’ death. It’s a backstage pass to the Reality of Jesus’ death – the curtains are drawn back, the door stands open. It’s not easy to understand, if you’ve ever pulled apart a clock or a radio you’ll know that the insides of something very rarely look simple on first inspection, but it’s giving behind the scenes information.

It makes sense that at this point Mark the Writer breaks into the narrative. He reveals himself, for a moment his narrative techniques are left dangerously open to view. It is an apocalypse within an apocalypse.

And this double apocalypse has an uncanny effect.

In chapter 13 the narrative breaks out of this world, in order to reveal the Reality behind. At the same time, in the very middle of this movement, it also breaks into our world.

Mark’s direct address lets us know that we are the objects to whom this is being revealed – not just the confusing bits in Mark 13, but the entire narrative. It breaks through our arms-length reading and demands to be urgently understood.

Let the reader understand!!!

*(do you know that there is no such thing as one (1) shenanigan, it’s a plural noun. weird…
**(this has nothing to do with my essay on Mark, just found it interesting)

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Tyndale and the Bible Reading

Themes: Critique, On Language, Scripture, Tyndale

There is an interesting piece of research that featured in the Sydney Morning Herald recently. The central finding is that our brains have a limited capacity to store information in working memory (similar to the RAM in a computer), i.e., there are only so many memory-tasks that we can perform simultaneously. Since, reading, listening, verbalising, all require some of this working memory, if we are engaging in too many of these activities at the same time we become less effective at any particular one of them.

[This] questions the wisdom of centuries-old habits, such as reading along with Bible passages, at the same time they are being read aloud in church. More of the passages would be understood and retained, the researchers suggest, if heard or read separately.
Sydney Morning Herald

I was particularly interested in the application by the application of this research to the Christian practice of reading along with the Scripture passage being read out in a Church service. It struck true with me – my experience is that either listening or reading the Bible is likely to be more effective for absorbing what I’m studying than doing both at once.

Which makes me think that next time we do Bible study, I might suggest that one person read while the rest of the group simply listens. Perhaps we could discuss together whether this is more effective for absorbing the meaning of the text.

However, while I think that it’s appropriate for us to try this out at Bible study, I won’t be going down the same path at Church.
You see, reading along with the passage in Church is not simply about seeking to absorb the passage. There is the rest of the sermon for explanation and checking over the text (if the sermon is any good). The whole point of a good sermon should be to explain and encourage us to absorb the meaning of the text.

Even if reading along with the passage isn’t the quick absorbtion method for Bible understanding, I’d be worried if we stopped this practice. Not least because it might lead us to stop bringing our Bibles to Church.

Reading along with the passage is a crucial means of holding the Minister accountable for his words.

People like William Tyndale struggled and were killed so that men and women would have free access to God’s word in their own language. Their fight was not solely motivated by the belief that God speaks to each of us directly through Scripture.
Tyndale and others believed that the Church was best guarded against heresy when the members of a congregation are able to check the words of the preacher against the words of the text.

On 6th May 1536, King Henry VIII of England ordered that a copy of the newly translated English Bible be placed in every Church throughout the country. The people of each parish were to have free access to this Bible at any time of the week for their own reading.
This is the piece of history that lies behind those great big old Church Bibles you can still see around in older Churches. It was possibly the greatest piece of legislation ever passed.

So I’m all in favour of anything that helps us to absorb and understand the Bible better. But keep taking your Bibles to Church. Check the reading against the text, hold the preacher accountable for his words.

If the people stop taking their Bibles to Church, the Church will fall.

Do Tyndale proud…

I defie the Pope and all his lawes. If God spare my life, ere many yeares I wyl cause a boy that driveth the plough to know more of the Scripture, than he doust.
William Tyndale
As quoted in the Actes and Monuments of these Latter and Perillous Days, touching Matters of the Church (Foxe’s Book of Martyrs) by John Foxe

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On Knowledge and Faith

Themes: Faith, Gospel, On Knowing God, On Language

“For God, who said, “Light shall shine out of darkness”—He has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of God’s glory in the face of Jesus Christ.” (2Cor 4:6 HCSB)

There are lots of different ways of using the verb ‘know’. It can be a slippery little word.
If I say, ‘I know the history of Ballet’, I mean something slightly different to when I say ‘I know Bob the Ballerina’. When I say ‘I know…’ I might mean anything from being able to repeat facts, through a claim about having had certain experiences, to relationships, sexual intimacy, recognition of objects, and who knows what else! Humans are incredibly creative when it comes to playing our language games.

Generally however, you can work out what I mean by ‘I know’ by referring in the context to the object I’m speaking about. That’s how you can tell the difference between my uses of ‘know’ in ‘know the history of ballet’ and ‘know Bob’.

The thing I’m claiming to know tells you something about the kind of knowledge I might have.

How does this work with God?

If I claim to know God, what kind of knowing is this?

We can only work out what kind of knowing it is by working out what kind of object it is that I’m speaking about – in this case, God.

But God isn’t an object. He’s a He. God is a being. God is a person…
…actually The Person.

We know this because he reveals himself.
We are capable of understanding this Self-Disclosure, we are capable of knowing God as The Person, precisely because he made us with this capability.
[There is more on this here]

What we find, as God makes himself known to us, is that God is a Unique Person, A Unique Being.

God is an utterly Unique object of human knowledge.

And therefore, when I speak of ‘knowing’ God, I’m speaking of knowing a unique kind of thing. It won’t necessarily be like knowing the history of Ballet, or knowing Bob the Ballerina. The only thing knowing God can be like is… knowing God.

So what is ‘knowing God’?

The strange answer in the pages of the Bible is this:
Knowing God is what happens when the gospel is proclaimed.
Knowing God = the effect of the gospel.
Human knowledge of God is defined as that which is created in human minds through the preaching of the gospel.

(there is more to be said at this point about the work of God the Spirit in the words of the gospel preaching and in the mind of the hearer, but another time)

This is a unique form of knowledge – a unique definition – for a unique object of knowledge.

What does it mean for me to ‘know God’? It means that I have heard the message of the gospel, and that the gospel has had its proper effect on me.

What does it mean for the gospel to have had ‘it’s proper effect’. What is the effect produced by the gospel?

Faith

The gospel produces faith in those who have heard it (in the truest sense).
Therefore, the heart of Christian knowledge of God is faith in God.
To know God is to trust God, believe God.
Faith is the uniquely characteristic form of the Christian knowledge of God.
We are truly knowing God when we trust him.

Trusting God sends us outwards again to the words of the gospel because to have faith in God means to have faith in his words. And this is precisely what is demanded by the gospel which comes to us in the form of a promise:

““For God loved the world in this way: He gave His One and Only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16 HCSB)

It is a promise secured by the death and resurrection of Christ, and therefore a ‘better promise’, but a promise nonetheless:

“But Jesus has now obtained a superior ministry, and to that degree He is the mediator of a better covenant, which has been legally enacted on better promises.” (Heb 8:6 HCSB)

To know God is to have faith, which is to say, to trust God’s word of promise.
Abraham’s trust in God was a belief that he would carry out his word of promise to Abraham.
Of course this was not simply a static, mental affirmation. Abraham’s faith in God led him on a journey to a foreign and unknown Land, led him to the point of sacrificing his promised Son, of refusing to let his Son leave the Land, and lying dead in a bought burial plot.
The knowledge of God produced by the gospel is faith – the action of trusting in God’s word. The word produces the response which acts in accordance with the word.
Word-Response-Word.
This is the double-action of gospel preaching.

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On Language

Themes: On Language

In our experience, knowing God always starts with the words of another human being. Whether it was your parents, grandparents, or a friend, someone spoke to us words about God which imparted knowledge about God.

I think that this probably holds true for every human being to have lived since Father Adam walked with God in the Garden.

Even in the absence of face to face communication from one person to another, the words of scripture, in which God has chosen to make himself known, are also the words of humans, the words of people speaking words about God.

Whether it was in the words of scripture, or the re-presentation of the words of scripture in the words of friend, the knowledge of God came to us through human words.

Words: frail, ambiguous, capable of misunderstanding. There is nothing so utterly human as language.

In words we find ourselves determined and free. We cannot chose our language, grammar, pronounciation, meanings, all are fixed before we ever existed and overrule us. Yet, in language we find our greatest freedoms, to describe, express, share, to write fiction and dream of the impossible!
Humanity is language.

But God is the Great Speaker.
He is the master of words, who spoke the heavens and earth into being, who spoke humanity into being. We find the origin of our language in the traces left by words in Adam’s dust. Our words began with God, who gave us language, so he could speak it to us.

In the fulness of time, God spoke human words through human beings. He committed himself to the rules of Hebrew and Greek grammar, took the risks of misunderstanding associated with verbal aspect, bore the frailties and inconsistencies and exceptions.

There is something of symmetry between the Word of God who became flesh in the person of Jesus of Nazareth, and the word of God committed to the mouths and pens of people.
Don’t get me wrong, Jesus the Word, and the Bible, and the words spoken by that Christian friend are not all the same thing, or to be taken in the same way. But God is at work in all to achieve his will. He is at work in words to make himself known.

I know God because of words.

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