child like faith?

The following is an interpretive assignment I did for a class at Fuller called "Exegetical Method and Practice" with Marianne Meye Thompson. I'm posting it mainly to link it to another discussion I am having with friends on facebook. I had to transliterate the Greek, and I'm not so good at that, so forgive me. Also, interpretive assignments ask a lot of questions and don't draw very many conclusions, so you'll notice that it doesn't have a thesis or conclusion. It's more of an exploration.

Mark 10:13-16 - Interpretive Assignment (23 January 2007)

In chapter 10 of his narrative, Mark provides a pericope detailing the circumstances surrounding an event in which people brought children to be blessed by Jesus. On the surface, the passage seems to promote ministry to children and encourage a blind, “child-like” reception of “Christianity” into the believer’s heart. However, a closer reading may provide a slightly different conclusion.

This specific narrative in Mark is well documented by all of the synoptic writers. Both Matthew and Luke place the narrative in their gospels, and both stay true to Mark’s order of events in terms of context. Mark and Matthew place Jesus in Judea at the time of the narrative (Mark 10:1, Matt. 19:1), but it is not clear this information affects the interpretation of the passage. It seems the pericope stands as an independent unit and does not hinge on the previous or following passages. Since it is not found in a series of parables or a discourse of Jesus, it can stand alone. Mark seems to be using a story to promote an aspect of the kingdom of God. However, there is somewhat of a thematic context preceding and following Mark 10:13-16. In chapter 9, the disciples (specifically Peter, James, and John) witnessed the transfiguration. Following the description of this beautiful and powerful event, Mark provides several stories of failure and rebuke on the part of the disciples. Was Mark trying to show contrast of heavenly glory versus earthly mediocrity and failure? It would seem so considering the evidence of the pericopes dealing with human failure (i.e. failure to heal the demon possessed boy in 9:14ff, failure to understand the hierarchy of the kingdom of God in 9:33ff, Jesus’ rebukes of the disciples and others in 9:39, 9:42, 10:14, 10:38, 10:49, etc.).

An interesting question arises with the use of apsatai (third singular present middle subjunctive from apto) which carries several meanings depending on the usage. In BDAG apto can mean “to kindle” or “light”, “to make close contact, to touch, cling to, have sexual contact, etc.” In Mark 10:13, the term most likely refers to “touching as a means of conveying a blessing.” Were the people bringing the children to Jesus so that he might provide some kind of rabbinical blessing, or did they recognize him as the Messiah and perhaps wanted some kind of messianic blessing for their children? If the term does not carry the connotation of blessing, were they just bringing their children to Jesus for healing, or simply to have their children held by a “celebrity?” Whatever definition fits best, the question remains as to why the disciples did not want this to happen. Was it beneath their transfigured Lord to do such a thing? Was there a limited amount of time? Were the children interrupting Jesus during an important theological teaching?

The textual variant in this passage seems to be an attempt by scribes to soften the disciples’ actions. The highly supported reading of the text leaves the direct object of the disciples rebuke unclear. They could be rebuking those bringing the children or the children themselves. Some manuscripts added epetimon tois prosferousin or some form of that phrase to clarify that the disciples were rebuking the ones bringing the children. Still, why did the disciples feel the need to stop what was happening? Were children considered less than human or outcasts of society?

Jesus becomes angry with the disciples actions and rebukes them, insisting that the children be brought to him. Three times in this passage Mark uses paidion to refer to the children instead of the more common teknon. BDAG defines paidion as “a child, normally below the age of puberty” while teknon usually refers to a descendent or offspring. Mark wants his readers to know that these children are young. Were they babies? Was this a custom of the Jews to bring a baby to a teacher at a certain age to be blessed?

After the rebuke, Mark provides the theological truth intended by the narrative. Jesus states “the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it at all” (10:14b-15 NASB). Using the strongest negation possible (ou ma) Jesus, in a sense, says it is completely impossible to enter the Kingdom of God in any other way. This use of ou ma should cause the reader to pause and consider what was just read. But what does Jesus mean by the phrase, “receive the kingdom of God like a child?” Does this mean to receive it with blind faith? Does this mean to receive it happily and care free? Does he have something else in mind? Is this concept similar to the one found in Matthew 10:16 when Jesus said “so be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves” (NASB)? Does he mean something along the lines of what Paul wrote in Romans 16:19b: “I want you to be wise in what is good and innocent in what is evil” (NASB)? Is it the innocence of the child that is to be mirrored? Is Jesus teaching the concept of “rebirth” which he describes to Nicodemus in John, 3:3?

Could there also be a nuance in the wording of the passage? Could Jesus mean, “whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like I am receiving these children will not enter it,” as opposed to the more common reading of, “whoever does not receive the Kingdom of God like these children receive the Kingdom of God will not enter it?” If this is the case, the focus should be on the actions of Jesus and not the actions of the little children. Perhaps the reader should be considering the way Jesus reaches out to the poor, the widows, women in general, and children. Perhaps the reader should be reminded of the parable of the sheep and the goats in Matthew 25:31ff where the most important thing is the actions of believers to the poor, sick, jailed, hungry, etc. To enter the Kingdom of God, one must accept those to whom the Kingdom belongs, which in Mark 10:14b is the little children. This reading seems entirely possible, except when compared to Matthew 18:3-4 when Jesus is quoted as saying, "Truly I say to you, unless you are converted and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever then humbles himself as this child, he is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (NASB). With this reading in mind, one could interpret Jesus words in Mark in a similar manner, making the Mark passage promote a child-like faith. However, in Matthew 18:5, Jesus also says, "and whoever receives one such child in my name receives me,” (NASB) providing evidence for a social justice reading of Mark 10:13-16. It would seem the passage could go either way.

Finally, Jesus takes the children in his arms and blesses them. This action is common for Jesus. He often touches the socially outcast, the poor, the sick, etc. In Mark 1:41 he touches the man with leprosy. In Mark 5:41 Jesus touches the dead girl and brings her back to life. Jesus often touched those whom society considered outcast or unclean. Perhaps Jesus is showing his disciples in this passage that the ministry of the Kingdom of God is a ministry of social justice.

Further evidence can be found in the fact that Jesus demonstrates his teaching at the end of the passage. He instructs his disciples to receive the kingdom of God as children, and then he receives the children.

Cited: Danker, F. W. A Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament and Other Early Christian Literature. 3d ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000)

graduate

I'm a Fuller Seminary graduate. That's right - on Saturday, June 13, 2009, the degree of Master of Arts in Theology was conferred to me. President Mouw said something about it not being official yet, but I wasn't listening.

So the big question that everyone (and I do mean everyone) is asking me is some form of "now what?" I complete the degree, so what's the next step? Pastor a huge church? Join the faculty of Duke? Write the next "Velvet Elvis"? Make Bono look like a lazy politician?

Let me give you a short history of my educational life:

In the Spring of 1999, I began to work on a Bachelors degree in Pastoral Ministry at Valley Forge Christian College. The goal at that point was to some day become a pastor. I remember very clearly that I wanted to be a senior pastor and not a youth pastor. I'm not sure why that's important right now.

In December of 2002, I finished that degree and moved to Camp Hill, PA to become the executive director of a singles ministry called CROSSFIRE. Not exactly pastoring, but close enough for the time being. I got to do some great stuff with the group of people I felt most called to work with - college age men and women.

In April of 2004, I decided I wanted more in terms of education. I enjoyed working with college age students, but I wanted to have more impact on them as a professor than as a pastor in the local church. To make that a reality, I needed more education. I looked into Fuller Seminary (really the only school I seriously considered), made the decision with Nikki to move to California to attend, and started making the necessary steps to make that decision a reality.

In March of 2006, we made it out to Pasadena, and I began a Masters degree at Fuller. The original goal was to move into a PhD soon after getting the MA so I could work toward becoming a professor.

That brings us up to today and the question at hand - What's next?

Honestly, I'm not totally sure. I can tell you two things for certain; one more philosophical and the other more practical.

During the graduation ceremony, I had a bit of an epiphany as to what I feel is my calling in life. I devised a crude missions statement on the spot. That missions statement is as follows:

"To cultivate well-informed Christians who are capable of deep and critical thought."

That I know for sure is what makes the gears move in my head. But how does it play out in my life? Sure, at some point I would love to teach at the university or seminary level - to be able to directly influence people to engage in critical thought. That's just not a reality for me right now. I need more education.

Which leads me to the more practical aspect of "what I know." I will be starting a full-time position at Fuller as a recruiter beginning July 6. This feeds directly into my mission because Fuller is a place that cultivates Christians think deeply and critically. As a recruiter, I can have an indirect influence on the intellectual development of these people as I encourage them to consider a seminary education.

Why am I writing all this? Well, mostly for myself I guess. I don't want to forget what makes me tick. I don't want to have an epiphany and then lose it because I forgot to give it much thought. So here it is... and as a byproduct, you get to read it (if you've even lasted this long).

But maybe there are more out there like me. I know a few Fuller students and alum read this blog... you may be in the same position. The reason you started seminary has become obsolete, and the future is not clear. Be encouraged. There is something inside of you that drives you. Find what that is and be creative about how you can live that out.

create

I've been amazed by creative power lately... so amazed, I'm not even sure how to express it. I have been speechless several times over the last few weeks at the creative power of music, especially live music. Think about it: when you go to a live show, you are hearing pure creativity that probably will never be heard again. Sure, the artist is doing a song that he or she recorded years ago and has performed thousands of times. But they always seem to add something to it that's different - some unusual emphasis - some crazy run - maybe even some raw emotion. And all of that is probably something that will never be duplicated in the same way.

And therein lies the beauty of creative power. With music, we humans get to create something that did not exist before we created it and probably will not exist in the same form ever again. In this way, we get to participate in the creative power of God. It's because of this that I feel music (and other forms of art) connect us to God in a unique way.

We understand God as creator. One of God's most potent attributes is God's ability to create out of nothing. Much of creation will never be duplicated in the same way. It's always changing; always adapting. It's how God created it to be.

When we participate in art; in music, we connect to the Creator God in a deep and meaningful way. We display God's creative power for all who hear or see our art. We mirror the image of God in the tunes we hum, in the words we craft, in the art we create.

This was even more real to me at the India Arie concert last week. At one point, she prompted her vocalists to vamp on the concept of how they knew God to be real (based on her song "God is Real" from Voyage to India). She encouraged them to be free in their expression. What happened was so powerful; so spiritual that I couldn't keep my eyes open, and my breath escaped me. The raw emotionality of their responses are hard to describe and impossible to duplicate. It was pure creative power.

And I'm convinced God was pleased.

I love music. That is not a secret to anyone who knows me. But lately, music - ALL music - has helped me love God more.

theodicy

I've read a few things and talked to a few people over the last few weeks about that wonderful topic of Theodicy - i.e. how is God justified in allowing so much evil in the world. It is just a monster of a topic, and honestly, I shy away from it. How can God allow so much evil to thrive in this world? It's not easy to answer.

I've heard differently approaches to the topic from the Christian perspective, and they are generally OK... but not totally satisfying. I would say the most compelling argument is that in order for humans to have free will, there must be the possibility of both great good and great evil. If the possibility of evil is taken away, then free will becomes hollow.

I guess that works for me at least to distract me from having to think about the topic too much. It's kind of like a band-aid over a gaping, disgusting wound.

A thought occurred to me the other day as I was watching Blood Diamond. In the movie, Daniel Archer says, "Sometimes I wonder if God will ever forgive us for the things we've done to each other..." What an interesting twist in the theodicy discussion. So often in this discussion, we're asking if we can forgive God for allowing evil in the world. We are really trying to justify why it seems like God is asleep at the wheel; trying to maintain the doctrine of sovereignty in the face of what seems like an out of control world.

But what if we turn the discussion around and ask if God will ever forgive us for being so evil. You don't have to look far to see human beings doing horrible things to other human beings for nothing more than a little money and power. What a shame! And we have the nerve to ask God why there's evil in the world? Shouldn't God be asking us how we can stand being so evil?

Thankfully, my worldview leads me to believe that God can and has forgiven us for being so evil. But is a proper response to that forgiveness to turn around and demand an answer from God for why we are so evil in the first place?

In no way does this wrap up the discussion with a nice little bow. It's still a painful and tragic topic. But maybe we can balance the rhetoric by asking ourselves how God feels about there being evil in the world, and how so much of that evil is created with our own hands.

just a seminarian

I'm going to rant for a minute, so bear with me. There's a lot of talk these days (and in years past too) about how formal biblical education has the tendency of decreasing one's spirituality. In other words, the academic focus and the attention to cognitive processes when approaching the scripture and theology are in direct opposition to how one is "supposed" to read the Bible: with the heart, soul, or even spirit.

In fact, so many who have gone through seminary or any other biblical education seem to make similar statements: that Bible school makes them less spiritual.

A lot of this, as I mentioned above, has to do with the approach to scripture and theology of the seminarian; an approach that is analytical and cerebral. It's implied that by reading the Bible this way, one cannot have a spiritual experience. In order to have a spiritual experience of some sort, one has to return to reading the Bible as he or she did before he or she started biblical education.

I have a serious issue with this for several reasons. First, I have had so many deeply spiritual experiences while analyzing text. I have learned some deep truths about myself, the way God works in the world, the nature of humanity, etc. These have all produced some significant changes in my life along with some times of incredible spiritual connection to God.

Which brings me to my second problem with this statement about seminary: It's dualistic (and, in my opinion, dangerous). This is something I'm only beginning to ponder, but I think there's something in it. The dualism is that there is mind and there is spirit, and the two work independently. So when we analyze text, we are engaging out mind and not necessarily our spirit or soul. The same is true in reverse. When we are reading the text for some spiritual meaning, we aren't using our cognitive abilities. In fact, some would urge the reader to put aside his or her "intellect" (or maybe analytical skills) in order to approach the text in a spiritual way.

Now the answer to this dualism has been something to this effect: "The key is to engage both your intellect and your spirit and to hold them both in a healthy tension." Sounds good, but to me, it's still dualistic. Sure, the goal to have both intellect and spirit be equal is good, but this still maintains they idea that they are separate.

I want to move toward a more holistic view of the human being; like the what we see in the OT. In the Jewish mind, there is no outside and inside of the body; no spirit and flesh; no body and soul. We are whole beings.

And in reality, can we really separate our "intellect" from our "spirit?" Are we really able to function fully in one without engaging the other? Or, stated more directly, aren't they really the same thing? Where is my spirit? Point to it. Is it in a different location than my intellect?

All of this is really premature. I've only begun to mull it over. But I know for sure I get exceedingly frustrated when I hear of seminarians who claim an academic reading of scripture strips them of their spirituality. I also know for sure that I want to understand this human life we have in a more holistic way. Am I flesh? Am I spirit? Am I soul? Or am I human?

yeah, I'm OK

There are a series of phrases that I'd like to remove from my phrase vocabulary. They are phrases like, "are you alright?", "everything OK?", "Are you doing alright?", and so on.

You know these phrases. They're the ones we use when we think something is wrong with a friend or when we think a friend has something on their mind. So we say something like, "Hey man, are you doing alright?"

To which the easy answer is, "Yeah, I'm OK." Problem solved. Nothing is wrong.

Here's why the phrase bothers me: Why don't we be more direct? Why can't we ask, "Is there something troubling you?" Or better yet, why can't we just say, "Tell me why you seem sad/angry/hurt/etc." It's like we phrase the question in a way that we don't really have to get involved. In reality, we know something is wrong. We only ever ask the question when a friend seems to be troubled. So why not be more direct?

Instead we say, "Please tell me you're alright so I don't have to hear about what's wrong with you..." Sure, that's probably an exaggeration, but maybe not. Why else would we ask, "Are you alright?" if we're not hoping for a positive answer that lets us off the hook (although we still did our due diligence in asking).

So I'm trying to make an effort to ask, "What's on your mind?" or "Can we talk about what's bothering you?" instead of the non-committal, "Are you alright?"

Join with me...

two or three

Those who know me know I'm a stickler for context when it comes to reading the Bible. To me it's incredibly important to know the cultural/historical context of a passage in order to understand the intended meaning. I've seen many verses, when taken out of context, used to say all sorts of craziness. But sometimes the discussion of context need not go any further than the immediate textual context of a passage (read: the verses around a particular passage).

For a long time I've been very frustrated by a specific example of this. If you've gone to church on any kind of regular basis, you've probably heard Matthew 18:20 quoted: "For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them." I've heard it used during prayers, in worship, and even in sermons. The idea intended is that when a group of Christians get together, Jesus is there.

But when we look at the preceding verses, a different reading stands out. Jesus is talking to his disciples about the very specific topic of church discipline, and he is essentially telling them that whatever decision they make in terms of church discipline will be supported by him. So when two or three gather together to make a decision about what to do with someone in the Christian community who has done something wrong, it is as if Jesus is there supporting the decision.

There's a lot of weird stuff in the passage, including Jesus talking about things bound on earth being bound in heaven, and things loosed on earth being loosed in heaven. I'd have to study a little more to really understand what he's trying to say.

But the fact remains the passage so commonly quoted is often removed from its context to express some kind of point.

And here is where I'm really confused. What point is being made? That Jesus is only around when two or three are gathered? Are we saying Jesus is not with us when we're alone? If so, then why pray? Exactly what are we trying to say here?

My confusion grew when I read Henri Nouwen's, In the Name of Jesus a few weeks ago. In his book, he quotes this very passage to illuminate the importance of ministry being done in groups and not by individuals. But is that what Jesus is saying? Maybe more so than what others claim this passage means. But I still can't shake the sense that we are missing the point of this passage, and I'm frustrated to read that someone like Henri Nouwen uses Matthew 18:20 in a way I feel is inappropriate.

I don't want to rule out the fact that I am wrong with my understanding of the text. I may be. I'm often wrong more than I'm right. But this is something that has bothered me for quite some time, and it is an example to me how often we misuse scripture because we fail to consider context - whatever context that may be.

no room upstairs

Christmas is 10 days away, and I've been thinking about the birth narratives of Jesus. We wonderful Christians have such an easy time romanticizing the things we read in the Bible, and the birth narratives are no exception. Honestly, I'm not sure why we do this... maybe we're insecure about the stories and we feel the need to spice them up. Maybe we don't get the point so we make up our own. Maybe we just love the dramatic so much that we need to over dramatize things so they appeal to us.

So what about the birth narratives of Jesus? We all know the story: Mary and Joseph are traveling on a cold night, trying to get to Bethlehem. Mary is obviously pregnant, and they need a place to stay and fast! They go door to door to the different inns finding none that are vacant. Finally a kind innkeeper allows them to stay in his barn with the animals. This is where Jesus is born, and Mary and Joseph nudge the animals away from the feed to lay Jesus in the feed-trough. Soon Mary, Joseph, Jesus, and the animals are joined by shepherds and kings and apparently some kid with a drum.



Sounds about right, doesn't it? The crazy thing is that most of this info is not in the birth narratives. Most of what we know of the birth of Jesus is from Luke 2, with Matthew helping a little (Matthew adds the wise men, but some time after the birth).

Luke's story goes a little more like this: Emperor Augustus decrees a census (and a tax) be taken, and as a result, everyone has to go to their home towns (well, the men do at least). Since Joseph is from Bethlehem, that's where he goes. At some point after they are in Bethlehem, Mary goes in to labor and gives birth. After birth, she wraps Jesus in some infant clothes and places him in a manger/crib, and she does this, as the text indicates, because there is "no place for them in the inn" (Luke 2:7). Later, some shepherds, after hearing from angels that the Messiah is born, go to see Jesus.

And that's it. No innkeeper. No going door to door. No sense of urgency because she's about to have the baby. Not many of the details we're used to.

In fact, the word Luke uses for "inn" does not necessarily refer to a "hotel" of sorts. Luke uses this same word one other time in his gospel, but this time to refer to the upper room where Jesus had his last meal with his disciples (22:7-12). Even more interesting is that Luke uses a completely different word later in his gospel (10:34) to refer to an actual inn or guest lodging.

So it's very likely Luke is referring to the upper room of a private house when he uses the word "inn," changing the details we know so well just a little. Mary and Joseph find that there is no room in the upper room of Josephs ancestral house (where they most likely would have stayed during the census period), so they move to the lower level where the animals are kept, kind of like the garage. The most obvious place to lay a newborn in this kind of garage is one of the feed-troughs. Incidentally, the word for "manger" can also be translated "crib," but "manger" is probably a better translation here.

So what's the point? Why does it even matter? I'm not completely sure, and maybe you can weigh in on this, but I think it's generally a bad practice to romanticize biblical texts. Maybe I'm being cynical when I write this, but I would rather focus on the intended meaning of the texts rather than spice them up with fancy details, especially when those details are misleading.

What can we say about the birth narratives of Jesus? Well, especially in Luke, the announcement of the in-breaking reign of God and the redemption of humanity is made to a bunch of shepherds, not to kings and rulers. And this king has a birth that is not special in any way. He's not born in a palace and wrapped in purple cloth. He's born like everyone else and in normal circumstances. He represents what the humility of humanity means. Even in his birth, he identifies with us; with normal people and not with the most powerful and influential.

If anything, this is the beauty of the Christmas story: That God has come and is setting up a new way of life; one that is not based on power structures and amassing wealth but on humility, joy, and peace.

To me, that is a powerful message on its own.

I formally announce that I know it all

I wrote this for xanga a while back, and I just reread it today. I like it...

I think people misunderstand the purpose of doctrinal and theological studies. I don't think the point is to properly define God. I think the point of studying is to learn just how much of God there is yet to know.

The people I have met who suffer from the "I know all there is to know about God" syndrome are not the people who have devoted their lives to study. They are usually the people who have never properly studied doctrine or theology at all.

When you encounter someone who has deeply studied issues of doctrine and theology, you usually encounter someone who is humbled by what they have learned and wouldn't dare say anything about God in any definite terms.

It's like the person who sees the vastness of the universe for the first time. They don't walk away from that experience thinking they have seen all there is to see. They have a feeling of smallness that makes them realize how much there is to know, and how far they are from even knowing a fraction of it.

diversity and soda (from xanga)

Here's a blog I originally posted for xanga. Not new, but worth reposting:

I think diversity (in terms of racial/ethnic/cultural/etc diversity) is a lot like soda. Think about how many different kinds of soda are out there: Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, Sprite, Mt. Dew, Cherry Coke or Pepsi, Fresca, Grape, Birch/Root Beer, and on and on. And each kind has a diet version. In some cases, there are kinds that have extra caffeine versions. So the possibilities are endless.

But in terms of color, there aren't very many sodas: brown, clear, yellowish, purple, maybe a few more. So if we look at the diversity of soda in terms of appearance, we are really looking at it in a limited sense. But when we consider flavors, the possibilities become endless. Sure, Dr. Pepper and Diet Coke might both be brown, but they have very different flavors. Sprite and Sierra Mist Free (or whatever it's called) may both be clear, but one has a ton of sugar and the other has caffeine (at least I think...). So to just talk about the color of soda really limits the discussion of diversity.

I'm sure you figure out where I'm going here. A lot of people may look at a group of people and say, "I see a lot of white people. That's not very diverse." But is this really fair to say? Pick any two of the white people from that crowd and you will find two very different cultural backgrounds. And really, isn't that what diversity's all about? Or should we just limit it to color?

So the question could become, "What is diversity, really?" Is it different skin colors? Or is it different cultural backgrounds. Think of it like this: there are many families that have adopted children of a different race when they are very young. These children then grow up in a certain culture that may be very different than the culture of their specific ethnicity. Say a family has one child and adopts another of a different ethnicity. Are those two children very different from each other just because of skin color? Or does the culture in which they were raised determine who they are?

I guess what I'm getting at is that we have really limited the discussion on diversity by making it about color. In one sense, you could say this actually works against diversity since it limits it to a kind of stereotype. It may cause someone to look at a group of people who appear to be the same "color" and consider them all to be pretty much the same.

I guess I'm not ok with that.