Monday of Holy Week

A traditional reading fro the Monday of Holy Week is John 12:1-36. This includes several pericopes, but there's a really interesting one from verse 20 on. This is something we don't hear much about, so it is also striking. I will reproduce here vs 20-33:

Now there were certain Greeks among those that went up to worship at the feast:

these therefore came to Philip, who was of Bethsaida of Galilee, and asked him, saying, Sir, we would see Jesus.

Philip cometh and telleth Andrew: Andrew cometh, and Philip, and they tell Jesus.

And Jesus answereth them, saying, The hour is come, that the Son of man should be glorified.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a grain of wheat fall into the earth and die, it abideth by itself alone; but if it die, it beareth much fruit.

He that loveth his life loseth it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.

If any man serve me, let him follow me; and where I am, there shall also my servant be: if any man serve me, him will the Father honor.

Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say? Father, save me from this hour. But for this cause came I unto this hour.

Father, glorify thy name. There came therefore a voice out of heaven, saying, I have both glorified it, and will glorify it again.

The multitude therefore, that stood by, and heard it, said that it had thundered: others said, An angel hath spoken to him.

Jesus answered and said, This voice hath not come for my sake, but for your sakes.

Now is the judgment of this world: now shall the prince of this world be cast out.

And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto myself.

But this he said, signifying by what manner of death he should die.

So there's material here for pages and pages, but I want to focus on two things: one, the Greeks, and two the voice from heaven.

These Greeks are not Greek-speaking Jews, but actual Gentiles. In contrast to the Jews who are encountering Jesus after the triumphal entry, these Gentiles are not the ones Jesus has spent most of His time dealing with. The crowd that just welcomed Jesus will turn on him, this we know already. They are looking for a political Messiah, and when He disappoints, they will kill Him for it. And these Gentiles, these God-fearers who aren't even allowed to worship as the Jews, say "Sir, we would see Jesus." 

And look at this response! Jesus responds with His death. He tells them, and His disciples present, that He is here to die. For the whole world! Those Gentiles, those non-Jews! Those that the people of Jerusalem want Jesus to lead them against! Jesus is already letting them down as a political figure, and pointing to His sacrifice for the whole of creation. 

And what's the response to this? God the Father speaks from heaven, telling us that it glorifies His name that salvation is for all. It's not just for the folks we like. It's not just for the people who are like us, who have the same tastes, the same skin color, the same practices, or the same culture. It's for everyone, it's for the whole of creation - for God glorifies His Name. That's the same name from the traditional reading yesterday in Philippians 2: the name of Jesus, at which every knee shall bow and every tongue confess.

Every human is made with a purpose, and that purpose is bound up in God. Every life makes this same statement, and the proclamation of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ is the right response to what He has done in us. We say, along with the world:

"Sir, we would see Jesus."

Jesus, lifted up on the cross, drawing all to Himself.

"Sir, we would see Jesus."

Jesus, in the proclaimed Word.

"Sir, we would see Jesus."

Jesus in the bread and wine of the Eucharist.

"Sir, we would see Jesus."

Jesus, in us, working in our lives, and through us to others.

"Sir, we would see Jesus."

Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday – the day we proclaim the triumph of the Lord. The day that the crowds celebrate a coming Messiah, who isn’t quite what they expect. The day that we can’t quite decide if we are celebrating a triumph, or nodding smugly, knowing that this One is come to die.

Well, it’s actually both. Jesus’ triumphal entry is a proclamation of His Lordship as Prince of Peace. He didn’t come to be a political leader, to draw Israel into war with Rome or create a new, strong nation. He didn’t stand up for His rights, or talk about being a citizen of a country with pride. As an earthly king, He failed – but as the Lord of creation, He redeems it to Himself.

As someone recently pointed out to me, all of the events of Holy Week are carefully orchestrated to make sure the crucifixion happens. Jesus isn’t an accidental victim, but an intentional one. He’s out to get killed, because it’s that death and resurrection that redeems.

But this is Palm Sunday – it isn’t time for the Passion, it isn’t time to talk about death. Not yet. Right now, we see celebration. An acknowledgement of the Lordship. Not the political Lordship, because this One comes to die – but rather the cosmic Lordship, the Lord of creation. It is for this reason that every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord. The celebration of the triumphal entry is something we can take part in because we know it is a proclamation of who Jesus really is. He is the One who comes in the Name of the Lord, and He is the Lord of creation. It’s true, He is come to die, and it’s also true that it is the Lord of creation who comes to die.

Sing hosanna, then, to the Lord of Hosts, who gave Himself for us. The Gift is the Giver Himself. Let us proclaim His majesty!

Meditations: Invocavit

The past Sunday was the first Sunday in Lent. Not of Lent, as the Sundays don't count toward the forty days, but in Lent. It's known as Invocavit,  from the Latin antiphon, which comes from Psalm 91: Invocavit me, et ego exaudium eum.

Historically for Lutherans, Invocavit is a big deal, due to a series of sermons Luther preached in 1522, with the result of calming the Reformation into a nonviolent movement. More on that another time, though.

What I'd like to point out about this week and the readings from this Sunday is about temptation. Traditionally, we read about Jesus being tempted on Invocavit - if you follow the revised common lectionary, you are in year B, so there's only one verse about it in Mark, you kind of got the Baptism of Christ again. In any case, we remember the temptation of Jesus on this Sunday as we remember His sufferings throughout Lent. He went through what we do - and we fail at it.

As a colleague of mine has remarked, any chance we get, we want to turn stones into bread, we want to get something for nothing. Jesus doesn't live from the sweat of others, He's not interested in what He can get at someone else's expense. We sure are, though.

And in the same way, anything that gives us the least advantage, a bit of wealth or power, a better reputation, some pleasure - we are right there to worship that, every chance we get. Jesus succeeds where we fail - He that kept the Law for us became a curse for us, that we might be redeemed.

It strikes me, when I look at these temptations, how thoroughly I, we all, fall prey to the same thing, even if it looks different today. We remember in Lent why we need a Saviour, and that we have one.

Meditations: Septuagesima

This last Sunday actually began the pre-lent period (the "gesimas"). This is the three weeks before Ash Wednesday in which we prepare for the time of repentance that is Lent. Many places do away with this, after all, Lent is hard enough, right? These are rough Sundays, too - it was Septuagesima, or Circumdederunt Sunday. That's "wrapped around" or "entangled", coming from Psalm 18:5 in Latin: The ropes of the grave entangled me. Not a very nice thought, but it does serve to remind us that we need to repent, and we are in need of a Saviour!

Historically, the Gospel for the past Sunday is Matthew 20:1-16, the parable of the workers in the vineyard. And what a Gospel it is! The Lord of creation hasn't decided to pay us according to our works, but to dispense with what is His own as He chooses. He has chosen us, apart from what we may have done or may not have done. Perhaps we are even decent people - not perfect, but decent. There's no way to be good enough, and there's no need to be good enough. We are taken as sinners, declared righteous, and then we are united to Christ. He becomes sin for us, that we might become righteous.

In this busy mid-week, after the last vestige of Epiphany is gone with Candlemas, after a groundhog prognisticates the weather, and before our thoughts even begin to turn to Lent and Easter, let us remember the insufficiency of our "good enough", of our "do this", of our "achieve that", and the great sufficiency of His "it is done." He has claimed us as His own, away from the powers of death, sin, and the grave, though they encircled us. We are His - and He may do what He chooses with what belongs to Him. May it be so.

VDMA

No longer under the radar

So if you used to read this blog, you know that I haven't posted in a very long time. There's a reason for that, and it's not just laziness.

About a year ago I moved from Munich, Germany, back to the United States. I was happy in academia, but wanted to pursue ordination and more direct ministry, instead of "just" teaching. We probably could have stayed in Germany, but  there were some other personal matters involved in the decision.

So, having been a member of the EKD, I entered into the colloquy process with the ELCA. Colloquy is a process by which a pastor from another tradition or Lutheran body becomes a pastor in a Lutheran body. And boy, is the ELCA different from the EKD. While I was comfortable in the EKD, if on the conservative end of things, in the ELCA, I was so far right on some issues that I could barely see the left-of-center leadership I was working with. Needless to say, this did not bode well for my colloquy.

I won't go into all the details, but it took me a year to accept the fact that it just wasn't a good fit - and five rounds of added requirements and rule changes to get the message that they thought so too. It was probably one of the worst years of my life, certainly one of the worst recently.

However, once I got it, I was able to take stock of what I felt called to do, and the situation around me, and I found a new home: the Evangelical Lutheran Conference and Ministerium in North America, the ELCM. I found a group that I'm 100% theologically in agreement with, and their polity is amazing. It's seriously by consensus - and stuff gets done! We are a moderate, centrist group, and I'm happy to be a part of things. I've been extended a call as healthcare chaplain and mission development pastor, and there is also a return, at least partially, to academia in the works. I've come a long way to be back where I started, but God has grown me a lot, and I've learned a lot about myself.

So what does that have to do with this blog? Well, I'm. I longer worried about what I say in here affecting my material security or future. I'm free to proclaim what I believe, faithfully.

So starting with this week, this blog is alive again. It's Septuagesima Sunday - a time of preparation for Lent, where we focus on our need for penance. A time where we are reminded, in the traditional Gospel for today, that God rewards as He chooses, and He gives to those He chooses (Matt 20:1-16). A time when we say, out of the depths have I cried out to thee, O Lord: Lord hear my voice - and know that He has indeed heard.

Old Testament Lection, Trinity 4

I've been pretty inactive with this blog for a while, so something I would like to start doing is sharing some of my thoughts on the readings for the week. The Revised Common Lectionary is what I'll be using, and I will reflect from time to time on the different passages from the Sunday that starts the week.

This last Sunday was the 4th Sunday after Trinity Sunday, and the Old Testament reading was from Isaiah 55:10-13 (ESV here):

¹⁰ “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
    and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
    giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
¹¹ so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
    it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
    and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.

¹² “For you shall go out in joy
    and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you
    shall break forth into singing,
    and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
¹³ Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
    instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall make a name for the Lord,
    an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.”

 There is a connection here between the natural order of things and the spiritual order of things. Verses 10 and 11 compare the two - the natural order provides an illustration for the spiritual, but this isn't because there is some necessity that the spiritual conform to the natural, or because the natural order objectively reveals something about the spiritual order, but rather because the spiritual order is prior to and foundational for the natural order. Nature looks the way it does because the model set for it is based on who God is.

What difference does that make? In verse 11, the Word of God has efficacy. Everything that is the Word achieves the purpose set by God - and we know of whom we speak when we talk about God's Word. The divine origin, divine commision, and divine power of the Word presuppose here (in personification) the divine nature of the Word. The deliverance from exile in verses 12-13 are also a type of our deliverance from subjection that the Word unfailingly brings. This is an anticipation of salvation offered in Christ.

The natural order shows us God, when we have the eyes to see, because if we know the One who sets the standard, we can see the echoes in nature.

On Heresy

So generally, I assume that there is at least some connection between faith as being salvific and the propositional content of faith. As a friend of mine put it recently, you can't have a relationship with God without knowing certain things about God. I tend to think in the older categories of notitia (factual knowledge), assensus (assent that the factual knowledge is true), and fiducia (trust and reliance). These seem to presuppose one another, i.e., I trust and rely on a God about whom I know certain things and hold those things to be true. For example, I know the fact of God's omnipotence, and I hold to be true that God is omnipotent, but the real faith bit is my reliance on God's omnipotence as sufficient to steer the world, deal with my stuff, etc.

So what happens when one of the first two categories (or propositional knoweldge at all) is untrue?

Here's a simple example that most would accept: Someone who "comes to faith" in a Jesus who is not divine has the wrong object of faith (false propositional content). But does that prevent faith in the sense of relying on and apprehending the promise of God?

Also stirring the pot is that I hold fides apprehensiva: the idea that faith is a created gift of God that then apprehends or takes hold of God's promise, resulting in the application to the subject. So can we have a created gift of faith taking hold of a promise when the promise is greviously misunderstood?


Obviously, we didn't do the easy one first, though. Take another example: Someone hears the Gospel and responds, but shortly thereafter is taught e.g. modalism. It's not at all clear that the initial faith is in the wrong object, but subsequent propositional content (as well as subsequent notitia and assensus) are heterodox. This individual has been taught heresy, but we don't want to place the efficiency of proclamation with the one who proclaims, or we're all in trouble. A possible heresy in a sermon doesn't preclude God's activity in Word as a means of grace. So is the subsequent heterodox belief a fall? Then we have to allow for a lot of back-and-forth. One possible solution here is to have a proleptic grace based on present (correct) faith and yet-future correct doctrine, but I worry that this hamstrings the impulse to correct heresy, either polemically or irenically.

Now we get more complicated: An individual who comes to living, fruit-producing faith, and who after a longer period of time, engages in theological reflection and is intellectually convinced of a heretical position. I'm pretty sure this was me at one point. I'm prepared to accept that this entailed a fall from grace, because of theological reflection (even if mine was naive, I had the obligation to know better). Someone who assumes a heretical position after theological reflection is consciously (or at least culpably) rejecting orthodox faith, so I am pretty sure that this imperils the soul. (By the way, I am talking about actual serious heresy, not adiaphora. My example before was modalism, in my case it was full-on Pelagianism) So there seems to be something about intellectual heresy changing the object of relying faith to move one outside of Christ.

A worry: how in the world can anyone differentiate between individuals of the second type and those of the third type until after the fact? On one hand, we are not a particularly theologically educated society. On the other, in modern societies with such an emphasis on education, we may all be culpable in the "should have known better" sense. And if you are standing on the outside looking at this, how does one correct heretical doctrine in (pastoral) love?

Hey, I don't have any answers, I just come up with problems.