Believing is Seeing (Part 2)

It is possible to walk with Jesus day-in and day-out for twelve months, to see him perform signs, to hear him preach on the biggest stage in all of Palestine during the biggest time of the year, and not hear a word he is saying, not see a thing he is doing. 

            The story of John 5:1-9 is offensive to some.  Jesus walks past hundreds of sick and maimed and heals a single person.  The Scripture shows Jesus having compassion on this single paralyzed old man.  But what about everybody else?  That must mean that he didn’t have compassion for hundreds of people, right? 

No, actually.  The response of the crowds and the disciples to the time when Jesus shows compassion on the thousands sheds some light on why Jesus does not heal everybody, how it is that our belief would not be stronger “if only we could see him”.  We are given a dramatic example of what people had been seeing when they saw Jesus. 

            One of the most beautiful things about Scripture is that it tells the story not only of God’s interaction with mankind, but the story of man’s response to God’s action.  John 6:1-15 is as much about Jesus’ compassion as it is about everyone else missing it.  In their search for Leonidas they came across Jesus of Nazareth, a carpenter, who everyone loves and follows (except the leaders), who has powers of healing and apparently can multiply food.  Sounds like an unbeatable general in the making.  He can heal his troops and feed entire armies (five thousand men, remember) in the blink of an eye.  And this is what turns the table on our reading not only of John 5:1-9 but our reading of anything Jesus does.  The question is no longer “why didn’t Jesus heal everyone”, but “why did Jesus heal anyone?”  He knew full well that his actions would be misinterpreted.  He knew full well that everything he did and said would be misinterpreted, misconstrued, and distorted. 

            But the Father always has a plan.  Everything God does has purpose.  And everything Jesus did makes sense in light of the Cross.  Everything he said and did was pointing to it; the turning of water into wine pointed to the new life that his death and resurrection would bring to the world; his words with the woman at the well in chapter four spoke of the nature of eternal life that was coming; his healing of the paralyzed man and the feeding of the five thousand were concrete expressions of the new life signified by every word and action up to that point- and everything points to the Cross, the epitome of God’s Word to the world, when Jesus, the Word (John 1:1), who spoke and did so much, finally falls silent with a wordless cry (Mark 15:7), when the heart of God is literally, literally poured out (John 19:34). 

            We see in the feeding of the five thousand, in every action and word of the Word, Jesus the Christ, the perfect image of God.  And the image is of a God who literally pours out his heart, in blood and water, for the world.  The challenge for the world, in response to the action of this God, is to have faith.  We see in all the Gospels that simply seeing, with our eyes, is not the way to faith, that our faith would not be any stronger were Jesus to stand in front of us and begin to speak.  We are left with the task of knowing that Jesus is always in the room (Acts 17:27-28), that anything is possible because Jesus Christ was raised from the dead.  We are left with the task of living in Truth that already is.  And so it is faith that we need, not sight.

Believing is Seeing (Part 1)

Jesus is a crazy guy.  It turns out that you can walk with him, literally, for years and still not know who he really is.  You can, literally, spend every day and every night with him for years straight and, in the middle of such a “life season” or “trial period”, still believe him to be King Leonidas.  In fact that is almost exactly who the crowds and even his closest disciples believed him to be by the time we get to chapter six in the gospel of John. 

            OK, so “King Leonidas might be a slight exaggeration.  But the exaggeration really is slight.  The Jews of first century Palestine, those who populated the crowds that follow Jesus in John 6 and the time period in which the story takes place, all expected their Messiah to be a powerful military figure.  Their Messiah would be the one to lead Israel against the Romans, the one to free God’s people from the yoke of the pagans.  And this expectation or, better yet, the eagerness for the coming of this prophetic figure was at an all-time hi during the first century.  An example of the fire in the hearts of these ancient Jews would be any video clip from the Libyan rebellion against the regime of Muammar Gaddafi.  The Libyan rebellion is not an exact parallel of the situation of first century Palestine but does suggest what the climate of Jerusalem was like under Roman rule.

            Imagine the kind of individual it would take to lead a rebellion like the one in Libya.  Chances are your mind conjured up, if not Leonidas himself, some sort of ethnic variation of the famous Spartan (always with a beard, of course).  Actually all you need to do is change John 2:16 to “THIS IS SPARTA!” and Jesus starts to seem pretty dang ripped.  But let’s get back to John 6.

            Actually, to John 6:1-15.  The feeding of the five thousand was perhaps the greatest sign performed by Jesus during his ministry, hence it’s being the only miracle recorded by all four gospels.  All of the gospels have subtly different chronologies but in John the feeding of the five thousand take place at least twelve months into Jesus’ ministry.  We know this because the Passover festival was and is celebrated once every twelve months and verse four tells us the time of the Passover was near when this sign took place, the second time in the gospel that the Passover has appeared so far.  John does not specify the amount of time that lapsed between John 2:13 (the first mention of the Passover) and the stories preceding it.  We will take the conservative route and say that by the time the feeding of the five thousands occurs not only have rumors and stories about this Jesus guy been circulating towns and hills of Palestine, not only have thousands seen him heal and preach in the temple in Jerusalem, but at least twelve men, whom Jesus called his disciples, have been at Jesus’ side virtually every hour of every day since Jesus asked them to follow him.  Such was the relationship between a Rabbi and his disciples.  Class was not in session during select hours of select days of the week.  Rather, class was never not in session.  One learned from one’s Rabbi by watching and listening to everything he did and said.

            The feeding of the five thousand was truly incredible.  A careful reading of verse ten reveals that only the men were counted.  The customary way to estimate or count a large crowd was to count the men.  If you figure (conservatively) that every other man had a wife and a child then it is highly likely that there were at least ten thousand people on this great grassy plain. 

For all its grandeur the feeding of the five thousand ends as a tragedy.  The crowds are amazed at the powers of Jesus and try to forcibly capture him and make him their king.  For all his efforts people have yet to see and hear who Jesus is.  Verse fifteen ends with an important detail, “Jesus, as he realized they were about to come and take him by force and make him king, fled back to the hills alone” (New Jerusalem Bible).  That he was forced to flee alone, without his posse following at his heels or protecting him, means that his posse was on the same page as the crowds who saw not Jesus, the Lamb of God (1:29), but King Leonidas.  

Like A Child

Alone in the wild.  A reality show in 2010 bore this name.  It featured the story of Ed Wardle, a born-and-raised wilderness man.  Ed has spent his entire life in love with nature.  But Ed’s love for nature is much more “hands on” than most.  In Orange County (let alone Southern California) it is not uncommon to hear “love for nature” equated with “appreciation of sunsets”.  Nothing is wrong with the equation, sure.  But it fails to really describe people like Ed.  See, Ed has climbed Mt. Everest twice.  And been on an expedition to the North Pole.  His astonishing resume can be viewed here, but let it be known that Ed is, quite frankly, unnatural. 

            Naturally, Ed had always dreamed of living alone in the wild and wanted to prove to himself that he could, if necessary.  The National Geographic Channel decided they’d like to give Ed the opportunity.  And wanted him to film it of course.  Alone In The Wild was born.  Ed was given the task of surviving alone in the Yukon Territory in Northern Canada for 3 months, living off the wildlife he could legally catch.  The story was compelling while it lasted.  Ed called it quits 5 weeks short of the goal.  But the 7 weeks of footage really were remarkable.  He lost 28 pounds and became literally sick with loneliness.  That majestic, beautiful wilderness which had always drawn Ed to such fantastic heights (literally) became cold, cruel, and dispassionate.  In a singularly powerful moment Ed confesses that nature, in all its beauty, could care less whether or not he starved to death.  The greatest teacher is life, after all.

            What would Ed have thought if he had read Psalm 19:1-4 while sitting in such a dismal classroom?

1 The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. 
2 Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge. 
3 They have no speech, they use no words; no sound is heard from them. 
4 Yet their voice goes out into all the earth, their words to the ends of the world. 
In the heavens God has pitched a tent for the sun.

Mr. Wardle may have reacted any number of ways.  Dying of hunger, going mad with loneliness, because of a river’s refusal to provide fish, of an unseen predator always lurking in the dark, from any and every noise completely lacking any trace of human causation, it doesn’t take the imagination of a Nick Fetner or a Jordan Benedict to know how Ed would have felt were he to read that the thing killing him was also glorifying God.  He may have questioned the psalmist; his character or life experience.  But the psalmist didn’t write this poem out of ignorance.  Exposure to weather was a little more widespread 3,000 years ago in the Middle East than it is today in the West.  Ed may have questioned the nature of this god; a god who is glorified by a thing capable of such fatal apathy as nature must be just that- fatally apathetic. 

            Despite the incredible distance between the experience of people who lived so wildly 3,000 years ago (or Ed today) and the rest of modern western society, a certain peculiar proximity between the two peoples does exist.  In fact the parallels are quite obvious.  Ed exposed himself to a world that could literally take his life at any moment.  It would not ask his permission.  Were a bear to smell the dead porcupine hanging next to Ed in that tree it would not have asked for a leg of porcupine.  The bear (and this thought tormented Ed all night) would probably have eaten Ed himself.  And that’s pretty much how it works.  By now some of you may already know where this is going.  It almost goes without saying that life in America over the last several years can be described in very similar terms.  Bears may not have haunted us in the night, but millions learned the implications of living in a world where the majority of capital is controlled by the minority.  A few bank owners behave like humans and the global economy is thrown into a nosedive that no one can see an end to.  Millions learned that saving up for retirement, like hanging a porcupine in a tree, does not guarantee that the bear won’t eat you AND your porcupine. 

            But there is good news.  We are not alone.  The machine or bear or whatever shape it happens to take does not have the final say.  Actually, it has already been defeated.  In actuality, the victory is ours (1^st Cor. 15:54-57).  We, as His children, no longer fear bears or machines (Lk. 12:4-5) because, in all truth, they cannot touch us (Rom. 8:37-39).  Our Father can literally, morning after morning, cover the earth around us with provisions (Ex. 16:4-5).  But we choose death when we turn our cares from Him to His provisions (16:20, 27).  It was with Mt. 6:25-34 in mind that a wise man once said, “God cares for tomorrow, and if man cares about God, then his tomorrow is also taken care of.”

            The good news is appalling when circumstances are the dominating filter through which it’s received.  But good news is good news, even when it’s salty.  Ed Wardle learned a hard lesson out in the Yukon Territory about the love of his life.  But his love did not turn to hatred.  His love actually grew.  Ed was humbled.  He realized that, ultimately, he is not in control.  The will of the Father is that His children would know this and more: to be His children we must act as His children, having faith like a child (Mk. 10:13-16), completely vulnerable and dependent on our Father for everything.  This is good news, that the One in whom all things exist (Rom. 11:36) is also the giver of life itself (Jn. 5:21), that if our hands reach out to receive instead of to grab our Father will give us His kingdom (Mk. 10:13-16).  May we stand in this truth for heaven’s sake.

The Universal Presence

“God is not far from any one of us: for in him we live, and move, and have our being” (Acts 17: 27-28)

This verse is spoken by St. Paul in his speech to the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers at the meeting of the Areopagus and was meant to illustrate the tangibility of the Christian God, whom Paul associated with the “unknown god” that these Greeks reserved a place for in their worship.  Tangibility.  Not a word that is typically associated with “unknown”.  But Paul does, because his God is.

The god Paul is witnessing to is close.  Very close, in fact.  How close, you might ask?  Paul, in his effort to witness to the closeness of his god, points to life itself.  And what does life, in part, depend on?  Air.  Oxygen.  You know, the stuff that travels through your mouth, down your trachea, into your lungs, through your bloodstream, bringing strength and life to the billions of cells in your body.  And then it is exhaled.  Your body gently pushes it out of your lungs, through your vocal cords, which vibrate at varying frequencies producing sound.  The movement of your mouth and tongue control the release of this oxygen, these sounds, and hence the source of your voice.  But it is this stuff, air, oxygen, which only imperfectly illustrates the nearness of Paul’s god.  Because Paul’s god is closer than the air in your lungs, your vascular system, and your trachea. 

How can this be?  How can any-thing, let alone any person, let alone any god, be closer to your Self than air?  But even the “air” metaphor (not that Paul is speaking metaphorically), stretched and pushed to its limit, fails to do justice to the intimacy of Paul’s god. 

How about being?  Paul says that we have our being in his god.  The Greek word for being is ousia, which can also mean “existence”.  Paul tells us that he exists IN his god, explaining his previous statement, showing how it is that his god “is not far from any one of us”.  Really, this truth Paul is witnessing to has its source back before time, before the Beginning itself.  This is what Tozer calls “the universal presence”.

Unfortunately we (21^st century American Christians) tend to err in the same direction as the ancient Greek philosophers that Paul spoke to thousands of years ago.  Sure, we don’t refer to our God as unknown, and we don’t (explicitly) worship the gods of the Greek pantheon.  But practically?  Minute-to-minute?  From Monday to Saturday?  Once our Sunday singing ends?  God all too often is relegated to the corner, the little labeled box with his name on it, to the back of our minds waiting to be acknowledged again next Sunday.  Far too often our God, the God of St. Paul, is practically unknown.  Unfortunately I know this more from honest self-examination than observation of other people, though finding a self-proclaimed Christian who fails to consistently live out their beliefs isn’t the most daunting task imaginable. 

We know His name, Jesus Christ, “through [whom] all things were made” (John 1:3).  He is not unknown.  He has made himself known.  And not just himself, but in him we see the Father, “the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being” (Hebrews 1:3).  And he lives in us.  Sit with that.  Sit with that when you wake up in the morning.  Sit with that as you drive to work.  Sit with that in the midst of conversations.  Sit with it, so that your Sunday singing spills into Monday, and then Tuesday, into your living, moving, and breathing.
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At His Word (John 4:50/Part 2)

I got it.  I got there and laid the weight of my heart at his feet. 

“Jesus, come to my house and cure my dying son”. 

His response was sort of expected.  Though he didn’t spit on me he also seemed to have denied my request.  But his denial was not as I anticipated.  I thought the denial would be of the kind you get when you ask a wall to dinner.  Your words bounce straight back and hit you in the face and then you eat alone.  But Jesus hadn’t ignored my existence or even my words.  He responded.  And even his response was unexpected.  Instead of calling me a fool or spitting the words “rich man” in my direction, he seemed to have spoken to me like I was the same as everyone in the crowd. 

“Unless you people see signs and wonders,” Jesus said, “you will never believe.”

Yes, he denied me, but he saw me, first of all, as equal to those around me.  Needless to say I was stunned.  As I said I’ve been spit on and insulted, but never called poor or faithless.  Jesus said this to me, to us, though I had never been led to believe there was an us.

            I could hardly gather my self.  All that was left standing from this peculiar push of Jesus was the cry of my heart for the life of my son.  And it was with a voice betraying more of this cry than I had hoped that I spoke. 

“Sir,” I replied, “come down before my child dies.” 

In a flash the atmosphere shifted from confusion and dismay to ferocity.  The tremor in my voice affected the crowd like a downed deer might affect a hungry lion.  But it was just a flash after all.  Every eye was fixed on Jesus even as he reprimanded them and these eyes had only begun to turn onto me when his countenance completely changed.  It was terribly ironic, that my own life seemed so seriously imperiled as I pleaded for the saving of my son, but it really felt as if it could leave me any second due to my affliction. 

The crowd, yet to fully shift their attention from Jesus, perceived the relaxing of the muscles, the softening of those ever-hardening lines and perhaps, even, the slightest shadow of a smile pass across that well of mystery that was the face of Jesus. 

“Go home,” said Jesus, “your son will live.”

Never has my life hung so literally on the words of another.  Never have I seen so clearly the eternity that exists in between moments of time.  Having (against all odds!) made it through eternity and hearing what he said I was brought to the crossroads upon which my son hung.  No Rabbi has ever thought so much in so little time as I did in those few seconds of silence.  “Go home,” he said to me.  Go home?  Was he yanking my yamaka?  Were those stories racing across Judaea and Galilee stories of Jesus telling people to leave?  No they weren’t!  He touched people with his hands, he spoke to them, he prayed over them, and they were changed, delivered, healed.  Was I asking something new or different or that he hadn’t heard?  Was I a type of person he had yet to come across?  That’s quite unlikely for someone like him whose been hanging around Jerusalem during the Passover and traveling the countryside.  So what was it?  Really, I have yet to know.  Perhaps it was my desperation, my vulnerability, or my request that provoked such an unusual response from Jesus.  But he had responded.  And I will never forget the look on his face when he did. 

Suddenly it became clear that there was no better thing to do in that moment than to take Jesus at his word.  Indeed, to this day I have yet to come across a word so worthy of my life, even the life of my son.

The ride home was agonizing.  Not fearfully agonizing.  No, my son would live.  That much was true.  But I could hardly wait to see him!  I had all but given up hope of ever seeing his life restored, and now it was.  And then I saw dust approaching from the distance.  As it grew closer I realized it was my servants.  As they grew closer I could see the urgency of their riding.  And then they met me, telling me of the recovery of my son.  Of course he was recovered.  That much was expected, but I hadn’t thought of the effect it would have on my entire household.  I asked them when the fever left him, they said yesterday at the seventh hour, the exact time Jesus had said it would.  I told them and my household the story of my encounter, much to the dismay of my servants, and my conviction became theirs.  This Jesus, the center of swirling mystery, who was coming to be known as the leader of the weak, the Rabbi to the poor, transcended all the stories and sayings.  He was the leader of the weak and poor but my experience told of a man doing more than gathering an army or winning the masses.  Jesus was starting his own movement directed not exclusively toward the poor, but toward anyone who would trust his word, his very person.  Jesus is the Chosen One of God, and as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.

At His Word (John 4:50/Part 1)

50“’Go home,’ said Jesus, ‘your son will live.’ The man believed what Jesus had said and went on his way home”.

            It was clear to me very early, even as a young boy; the eyes that burned into me as I rode past, and those that refused to even drift in my direction, were part of the same chastising strike.  Not that this insight, gained so early, had anything to do with a profundity of wisdom on my part, or any sort of instruction or warning from my father.  However consistently dark and mysterious, even bright and mysterious, this world is, she has truth to share that is unavoidable, even for the weak-minded.  Like gravity, or the need for food or the heat of the sun, knowledge of the hatred of entire villages of you and your horse and garments and the clinking of the gold in your purse, is inevitable.  For all people ignorance is bliss.  For a few people ignorance is impossible.

            The leper is cursed by God and so he is a leper.  The rich man is blessed by God and so he is rich.  Yet both are hated, one for being cursed and the other for being blessed.  It really is- almost –funny.  And so I laughed as I rode to the last place I could have chosen to spend the day, in Cana of Galilee, to beg a man who would either glare and spit like the others, or listen and acknowledge with the compassion of a 5’8’’ rock.  Dismal prospects indeed, my family was thoroughly convinced I’d lost my mind; my son was on his deathbed and the best solution I had come up with was to throw myself into the lion’s den.  Taking Daniel as my example I rode straight into Cana and immediately found the man I’d been hearing about.

            His name was Jesus.  He was the center of the endless commotion surrounding last Passover, the subject of stories spreading like wildfire throughout the countryside.  They say that when he looks at you he sees straight into your heart, sees who you were, who you are, who you will be.  They say that his prayers strike both the proud and the humble, offending one and embracing the latter.  That he provokes the wrath of the elite and the adoration of the weak.  That his touch, even his shadow, is enough to heal a man.  And yet, while I knew where I fit into the stories I’d heard (the meaning of the sideways glance of my own servants upon discovering my eavesdropping) I remained drawn to this man.  A peculiar mystery pervaded these stories, pervaded him, provoking my reminiscence on my most precious memories, like the first time I read the story of the burning bush, or smelled the holiness drifting out of the inner sanctuary of the Temple.  And I could see this same effect move like a breeze across the town squares and temples, producing the oddest mix of fury and compassion on the countenance of its subjects.  Sooner or later I knew I would need to see, hopefully hear, this man for myself.

            Of course everyone within a days journey of Cana heard quickly of Jesus’ return, hence the tension, the strain in the air of the entire town.  It’s difficult to say whether I would have felt compelled enough to make the journey, to press through the crowds, to sit with the lions, for the opportunity to see for myself, were my son not slowly and steadily approaching Abraham’s bosom.  But I had to.  I had to see, to ask, to beg if necessary.  I guess I did.  But not at first.  It was easy enough to find him and less easy to draw near enough to have a hearing.  I persevered despite the exceptional firmness of the social chastisement.  I thought I was ready for the hate but had not thought through the implications of someone like me trying to have a word with “their guy”.  Glares turned to shoves and spit struck my feet.  I’m not positive, but it seemed that my purse grew progressively lighter as I pressed through the crowd.  Divine encouragement? Unlikely.  I didn’t care.  The life of my child depended upon this conversation.

Paranormal Activity

What a phrase.  Thanks to the recent trilogy of movies bearing this title, its utterance alone seems to fill people with a mixture of fear and excitement.  Our minds are filled with images of shadows appearing on walls, people getting tossed here and there by invisible forces, and 145 lb. girls with the strength and temper of a steroid injected Goku-Frieza fusion.  But are these true-to-life depictions of paranormal activity?  In some cases, yes.. sort of. I will get to the “sort of” part later, but it is true that violent paranormal activity does in fact exist. 

The spiritual realm is real, demons are real, and they impact, affect, and at times possess people who are not temples of the Living God.  And this is the answer most Christians will give when asked why they won’t watch these movies, because that stuff actual happens, needs to be taken seriously and is not an appropriate source of entertainment.  But not everyone who thinks of themselves as Christian refuses to see them.  In fact, those Christians who are willing to see them must be in the majority if one is to account for the incredible success of the three movies.  Why do they still go?  Probably a combination of minimal worry about content in any of their sources of entertainment and they’ve developed a liking for the kind of thrill that these movies offer.  And so one would think that the question at hand, when it comes whether or not it is OK to watch movies like Paranormal Activity, centers around the importance of the content in our sources of entertainment.  But it seems like Christians, on both sides of the argument, have already bought into the falsities perpetuated by the paranormal trilogy (which is also bound up with all of these ghost-hunter shows). 

To cut to the chase, these movies are teaching America to fear the paranormal, meaning demons.  And here is problem #1.  Already they are outside the biblical witness (the standard which the Church is required to hold the world to) by equating  “paranormal activity” with “demonic”.  Dictionary.com defines paranormal as “of or pertaining to the claimed occurrence of an event or perception without scientific explanation, as psychokinesis, extrasensory perception, or other purportedly supernatural phenomena”.  Notice the immediate discrepancy between the definition provided by the Paranormal movies and Dictionary.com.  The former has nothing more to say than “demonic” while the latter says, basically, “things beyond the explanation of modern science”.  But is the demonic the only thing existing beyond the reaches of modern science?  And it’s at this point that Christian’s on both sounds of the argument should be bothered. 

Problem #2: these movies, for all their emphasis on paranormal activity, have nothing to say about the paranormal activity that people across the world encounter hundreds of times more frequently than anything witnessed to in these movies; the movement of the Holy Spirit, the living presence of Jesus, the joy of the Father, in our worshipping together as the Church, in time spent in silence seeking personal communion with our Creator, in our loving of our children, in our taking the posture of servant towards our friends, families, and enemies, in our helping the helpless, and even in the appreciation of a purple-red-orange-melting together sunset.  And while it’s the life of the former three that gives significance to the latter activities, it remains true that we worship, know, and are known by a God who is all-powerful, all knowing and everywhere.  (If the reader is like every other Christian in the world who struggles to grasp the nature of those attributes of God, here is an explanation that approaches those attributes from a different angle.)  The only Christian influence, by the movie’s standards, is a Catholic nanny that knows how to do spells.  Some would point out that her being Catholic means she’s not Christian.  I would point out that her spell-casting means she’s not even Catholic.  And that’s it.  The movies are silent outside of this single pseudo-Catholic influence. 

At this point some might say we shouldn’t take things so seriously, to stop dissecting for theological error movies that were created solely for entertainment purposes.  This brings us to problem #3: the country is being taught to fear things that really aren’t worth fearing, while the things worth fearing are truly left in the dark.  Millions and millions have flocked to theatres to see these films over the years (including myself).  The only explanation for this (besides the movies being skillfully put together) is that the subject matter actually scares people.  And at first glance it would seem that the fear driving people to these theatres is healthy; it’s based on stuff that is sort of real.  And so we come back to the “sort of” from the first paragraph.  Not only do these movies define “paranormal activity” as “demonic”, but also equate “demonic” with “people getting flung across rooms”.  This is what’s truly unhealthy about these films: they take something the majority of people are afraid of and then build movies around a fantastic caricature of it while the truer evils of demonic forces are completely neglected. 

Yes, demons can probably throw you across a room.  Yes, they could probably lift your entire kitchen up to the ceiling and then drop it with timing so precise as to maximize your reaction.  But if every time a demon pumped thoughts through your mind to distort the image of your friend with the goal of destroying your relationship with them you instead got your feet pulled out from under you and landed on your back, you would be profoundly better off.  If every time you were led in your thinking to see women as objects to be consumed an invisible Chuck Liddell instead punched you in the chest, you might still know how to treat women as persons created in the image of the Triune God.  If every time you were home alone your lamps started blinking and swaying, or you got picked up by your hair, or kept getting locked in closets, instead of being led to believe that the only way to relieve your boredom was to go on Facebook or watch TV or look at pornography, then you might have annoying lights, a sore scalp, or need to become a locksmith, but at least you would know the importance of being alone and silent at the feet of your Redeemer, or to pray for the many sorrows you see in the lives of those around you, not to mention the catastrophic evil that fills our news stations, or to appreciate the irreducible beauty of the turning leaves on the tree outside your window.  If instead of institutions that systematically exploit the weak and powerless we had a bunch of men in suits that got picked up in their sleep, we might have some freaked out men in suits but thousands of Americans might still have their homes, little girls would not be enslaved by sex trafficking gangs, and children in Africa would not be abducted and forced to armies. 

The subject, or the exploitation of the subject, of these movies, offends many Christians.  It’s the position of the Pious and Profane that even said Christians have already been tricked by the father of lies.  He would have our fears directed toward little girls who act like tigers, inexplicable shadows on walls, and rearrangement of furniture, all the while we are being trained to see women as pleasures to be had, to interpret that comment we heard the other day as intended to hurt, to think that the world will be better off, that we can end sex trafficking, the corruption of wall street, and perverse international economic imbalance if only we can get “our guy” in the oval office.  The irony is that (to borrow from Pastor Sean Kappauf) the thing the world needs most, which she aches and groans for (Rom. 8:19-22), IS paranormal activity in its truest, most biblical sense.  She needs the movement of the Holy Spirit, the living (and therefore judging) presence of Jesus the Christ, according to the eternal plan of the Father.  And until the true King returns on a cloud of fire, hurling lightning bolts at evil forces, dropping grenades of power on our demonic systems, it is the job of the holy and catholic Church to usher in the Kingdom by the power of the Spirit.  God’s plan for the world is wildly paranormal, and it’s about time His Body reclaimed that word in His name.

Before the Beginning

It all started in the beginning- or, actually, before the beginning.  It’s crazy to think and even more difficult to imagine how, that “the beginning” itself was created.  I guess, then, it never really started at all.  Or, actually, He never really started at all.  He was, and is, and will be.  Before the beginning He was- laughter, joy, love, and then… Creativity.  He was, they were, three yet one.  A God, three persons in perfect, harmonious community out of whom flowed, really inside of whom flowed, love that was creative.  It’s tempting from a finite perspective to speak of this creativity pouring out of the three, to forget the fact that there is no “outside” of these three.  They are.  There is no greater, or other, or more.  “All”, as big as we can grasp, as much we can grasp, has nowhere to be but in the Three.  They are Reality. 

The first act of creativity, then, was not “positive” or “external” of God.  His first act was not actually speaking.  It is true that God created, in the beginning, heaven and earth.  But He needed first to create the beginning or, better yet, space for the beginning in Himself.  Remember, they were not a god surrounded by emptiness, the way our minds unconsciously imagine Him when they read Genesis 1, an emptiness that they speak into.  If they were, and there was no-thing else, then their first act of creation was to make space, in themselves, in the midst of their perfect community, for “the beginning”, space to create in. 

Their first act of creation is inward.  It is retreat, drawing themselves back and therefore self-limitation, self-humiliation.  And so the first act of creation is mighty and great, and the degree to which we misunderstand the relationship between self-humiliation and greatness is the degree to which our definitions of each miss the mark or, in other words, are sinful (the word “sin” literally means “missing the mark”).  The Cross was great, in part, because it challenged, shattered, and reordered the world’s definition of power, i.e. might and greatness.  The display of power on the Cross stood in direct contrast to the way Rome displayed power; Rome displayed its power but hanging people on crosses, God displayed His power by hanging Himself on a cross.  And what we see when we look at God’s first act of creation, or his action before creation, is that the way the Cross defines power is rooted in eternity, in God’s first action before creation.  “Power” is measured not, first of all, by one’s ability to force but by one’s ability to surrender.  What’s more, God’s surrender is always, in a sense, forceful (and purposeful).  The powers and principalities of this world were forcefully defeated through God’s self-surrender on the Cross; the cosmos in all their grandeur are the result of God’s self-limitation in eternity. 

We see also, when we look back before the beginning, not only the type of Creator they are, but the type of creation they made.  We see what it is.  Not an arbitrary hobby or pastime of God’s.  Not His vain means of self-glorification.  That He is infinitely greater than it and not identical to it (as in the pantheism of Eastern religions) because it was indeed created.  That the creation is rooted and flows from love, the love that defines His eternal community.  It exists to glorify its Creator only within the boundaries of love, and its glorification of its Creator springs from love, not visa-versa. 

We see where it is.  Not in a formless void, or in darkness, but very literally in the circle of love that They are because, indeed, there is no other place to be.  Paul was very serious when he said, “in Him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28).  Even evil itself and the very depths of hell do not escape the boundaries of His love because, to beat a dead horse, there are no such things as boundaries to His love.  And it is in this sense that He is all-powerful, all knowing, and everywhere at all-times, because everything- all power, all knowledge, and all space- are contained within Himself.

This is the stage on which the story of the redemption of the universe plays out.  This is our God.

31 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? 33 Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. 34 Who then is the one who condemns? No one. Christ Jesus who died—more than that, who was raised to life—is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. 35 Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? 36 As it is written:

“For your sake we face death all day long; we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”

37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:31-39

The Wedding at Cana (Part 2)

1 On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, 2 and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.”

   4 “Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My hour has not yet come.”

 5 His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”

 6 Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.

 7 Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so they filled them to the brim.

 8 Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.”

   They did so, 9 and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside 10 and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”

 11 What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

Revelation of glory episode 1: Jesus turns water in to wine.  We’ve already magic school bused ourselves into this first century wedding at Cana of Galilee, a major community event worthy of celebration, providing laughter and joy during a time of severe theological/economic/historical drought.  But the world is a vampire.  It respects no-thing, not even the sacred, not even the temporal and fleeting world the sacred will at times provide.  And so the wine runs out.  Sucked. Dry. 

Mary is the first to notice and acts as quickly as possible, hurrying to the only person who can do something to alleviate? fix? replenish? the joy.  She lays the need at his feet.  Like any good son who’s partying is interrupted by his mother who presents him with a problem that is not his responsibility, Jesus says, “This is not my responsibility”.  He also adds “My hour hasn’t come”.  So not only like a good son but a clever son as well, Jesus responds with a combination of logic and theology.  My mom would go crazy if I talked to her this way.  But of course I am not Jesus, and I am not on a mission to literally save the world.  Nevertheless Mary persists.  Actually, she ignores his deflection of her request, but it’s not that she hasn’t heard what Jesus has said.  Quite the opposite, Mary knows full well what he said, who he is, and what he’s about (at least she knows enough to know, to intuit, the meaning of the mystery of his person).  Mary’s actions speak for themselves, “I know you have a plan but I also know that you’re able and willing, so can’t your hour come sooner than it would have?”  Of course Mary has no power over Jesus.  She has not threatened, coerced, or manipulated Jesus.  Jesus does not need to do anything.  He does not need to tell the servants what he does.  But he does.  He loves Mary’s request, her persistence, her ability and willingness to know him.  And so he honors her.

Jesus instructs the servants.  This will become the paradigm for church history, but lets keep that rabbit in the hat until later.  For now it’s what Jesus instructs them that requires our attention.  He tells the servants to fill all six of those massive stone jars with water.  A seemingly normal request, (especially for the 21^st century believer who has read this story 23-58 times) because, after all, Jesus does need to make a lot of wine right?  At this point we need to back up.  We have already missed what Jesus is doing.  We have let that little title at the top of the story determine what we read.  John includes a couple of details that profoundly affect the story. 1) These jars were used by Jews for ceremonial washing.  Ceremonial washing was necessary for Jews to remain ceremonially clean, that is, clean so they could worship.  All sorts of things could make a Jew unclean, or unfit for worship, like eating non-kosher food, coming in to contact with gentiles, or dead animals, humans, et cetera.  They would also wash, or clean themselves, before eating, and it was primarily for this purpose that these jars would have been used.  Before eating water would be taken from these jars and poured down the hand of the person, who arm would be bent at the elbow, so that the water would flow down the forearm and off the elbow.  This would have been performed on every person at the party, on both arms. 2) Each jar could hold 20 to 30 gallons.  That’s very big, and there were 6 of these jars.  If we take the conservative road, then it would take 120 gallons to fill them.  That’s a lot of potatoes.  In fact, that is more potatoes than this wedding party could possibly need, than they could possibly exhaust in a week of partying.  Now think about the servants entrusted with the task of filling them.  The party has already started, people have already been washed and are eating, and they’re instructed to re-fill these massive jars.  Yet John gives us no sign of their complaining.  They seem to follow the instructions of this semi-popular Galilean dutifully. 

Thus the dual significance of the jars: their representation of the Jewish ceremonial system and their ridiculous size.  The servants faithfully carry out Jesus’ troublesome instructions and the result of their faithfulness is literally miraculous.  Having filled each jar to the brim they draw water out and take it to the master of the banquet.  He would either have been a servant or member of the family, but either way he was in charge of the party and would have been responsible for the premature depletion of the wine stores.  Part of his job was to control the distribution and dilution of the wine so as to make it last for the length of the party.  When he tastes the water the servants brought to him it has changed in to wine, and not just any wine, but wine of a quality greater than the best wine available for this party.  This is what is implied in v. 10.  And John adds, in v. 11, that through this sign Jesus revealed his glory and his disciples believed in him. 

But remember where we started.  The problem was not that they had merely run out of a drink.  They had run out of that which symbolized joy and life at a community-affecting/defining event, during a period of history lacking greatly in literal joy and life.  But Jesus has not only given them lots of really good wine.  The real significance of the story lies in what the wine has replaced- the water reserved for ceremonial washing.  They have incredible wine in ridiculous abundance but this incredible blessing is literally taking up the space traditionally reserved for purification water.  Obviously the implication is that they can no longer cleanse themselves, for pouring wine over one’s body was not exactly prescribed in the Old Testament.  What does this mean? How can Jesus do this? Doesn’t he know the inconvenience he has caused, virtually guaranteeing their perpetual uncleanliness for an indefinite period of time? 

It means just that.  The blessing Jesus gives means, according to their old way of thinking, that they will be ritually unclean.  And it is their old way of thinking that is required to end.  He has new wine for them that will not be held by old wineskins.  The blessing he is transcended the system through which they interacted with God.  His presence is the reason why the Sabbath can be defied, why his disciples do not need to fast, and why the distinction between clean and unclean no longer exists.  John 1:1-18 is here.  “For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ” (1:17).  Grace and truth have arrived at a wedding in Cana.  What exactly is this grace and truth?  This the reader won’t begin to know until the third day.

The Wedding at Cana (Part 1)

1 On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, 2 and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. 3 When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, “They have no more wine.”

   4 “Woman, why do you involve me?” Jesus replied. “My hour has not yet come.”

 5 His mother said to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”

 6 Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.

 7 Jesus said to the servants, “Fill the jars with water”; so they filled them to the brim.

 8 Then he told them, “Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.”

   They did so, 9 and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside 10 and said, “Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.”

 11 What Jesus did here in Cana of Galilee was the first of the signs through which he revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.

            Angels ascending and descending over the Son of Man, episode 1 takes place at a wedding in Cana of Galilee, the Oildale of Bakersfield, the Hemet of Riverside. And it takes place “on the third day”.  “On the third day” is a phrase with multiple meanings, each of which John could have been using. 1) a literal chronological reference, nothing more nor less. 2) a Jewish figure of speech denoting an unspecified but short amount of time. 3) part of a metaphorical construction; if 1:19-2:1 are read a certain way then the story builds on a 7 day structure, climaxing with the wedding at Cana on the 7^th day; the significance of the 7 day structure lies, especially when viewed in light of the overt parallels to the book of Genesis in vv. 1-18, in their implication that on the 7^th day Jesus is beginning a new creation.  This view has something to it, but if you want to know more e-mail me. 4) John allows the reader to believe whatever they want concerning 2:1 but, because of its repeated and redefined reference of three days in 2:19-21, leaves room for the reader to rethink the reference in 2:1.  2:19-21 describes the three-day language as a reference to the resurrection, the event that provides the lens through which John is reinterpreting the entire ministry of Jesus. John’s reinterpretation of Jesus’ ministry through the lens of his resurrection explains why his gospel took the shape it did, why it begins with the prologue and develops so uniquely compared to the other gospels. Though it is likely that all four views are actually true it is option #4 that makes the most sense of the story in vv. 1-11, as we will soon see.

            Mary, Jesus’ mother, was there at the wedding. John never refers to Mary by her name, only by her association to Jesus, i.e., his mother. This is no disrespect to Mary.  Instead it is part of the emphasis John means to place on the person of Jesus. 

            Jesus is at the wedding with his disciples and the wedding runs out of wine.  Mary comes to Jesus informing him of the problem and, judging from his response, she informs him with an air of expectancy.  They have no wine and she expects Jesus to do something about it. For the sake of understanding the story it’s important to know that running out of wine was a practically tragic thing to occur at a wedding for multiple reasons. 1) wine was a symbol of joy or life in first century Jewish culture, and to run out of it did in fact symbolize running out of joy or life.  Of course this does not mean that they did in fact run out of joy or life, but merely symbolized the occurrence of such a thing.  This does not mean that first century Jews were alcoholics.  Drunkenness was a definite, clear-as-day no-no for any Jew.  And do not make the mistake of confusing the differences between their association of wine with joy or life with contemporary association of alcohol with fun.  Not only was their wine much more diluted than our wine today, they did not depend on drunkenness to supply their “good times”, as is the case with much of contemporary culture. 2) first century Palestine suffered from the same economic polarity that plagues giant chunks of our world today, meaning that the vast majority of people were poor.  And poverty would definitely have been widespread in a town as obscure as Cana of Galilee.  An economic environment as depleted as this, coupled with the fact that the wedding was taking place in the aforementioned obscurity that was Cana, allows us to make the reasonable deduction that this wedding was a huge event for the community(s) involved.  Everyone would have been anticipating it, a fleeting glimpse of light on an ever-grey theo-historical horizon.  That this event would run out of wine, of all things, would have been devastating not only for the vibe of the week-long party but also for the legacy of the newly-weds.  This is what happened, and this is what Mary lays at the feet of Jesus.

            Her request is an interesting one.  Though she kind of knows who Jesus is (she probably hasn’t forgotten his virgin birth) there is no evidence of his performing miracles before this story.  Perhaps her “kind of” knowledge, similar to that of the disciples, derived more from experience of the holy mystery that he was than the privilege of reading gospels that we now have, was enough for her to have faith that he would/could do something.  And that seems to be all she asks him.  His reply is even more interesting.  It sounds like a rebuke when translated to English, and a more accurate translation might be “Ma’am” instead of “Woman”.  Still, though ma’am isn’t an impolite way to address one’s mother, it still is unusual.  And while he doesn’t outright refuse to help he makes it clear that he would prefer not to do anything because, number one, the problem belongs to the master of the banquet and the wedding party, not him, and number two, “his hour” has not yet come.  By “his hour” Jesus is referring to the beginning of his ministry that simultaneously would signify the beginning of his road to the cross.  Though Jesus has followers and is most definitely teaching them he has yet to begin his public ministry. 

            There is an additional tension in Jesus’ interaction with his mother.  Jesus says later on that he can only do what the sees the Father doing, so that when he says his time has not yet come the implication is that he is waiting for his Father’s instruction to begin.  Interestingly enough Mary does not listen to Jesus.  She tells the servants to do what he says despite his initial rejection of responsibility.  Here Bill Dogterom’s insight into the play-fullness of Jesus and those who follow him is helpful.  Preaching on the woman of the demon-possessed child in Mark 7:24-30 he describes a situation very similar to what we see in John 2:1-11.  There is a woman with faith in Jesus, his power, capabilities, heart, et cetera.  She wants him to fix something, to save someone, in a way that no one else in the world is capable of.  Indeed each woman presents a problem to Jesus that is, for all practical purposes, unfixable.  Just as people (let alone gentiles) cannot command demons to leave children’s bodies, people cannot replenish the depleted wine stores of a party in the middle of a party.  Here is some helpful cultural background for you: most places in the first century did not have a BevMo! or a 7eleven down the street.  Thus, in both instances, Jesus is being asked to do something practically ridiculous. 

But the insistence of these women is not about “getting ‘a thing’ from him but about getting real relationship with him” (quotes taken from “Faith with Attitude”, The Garden Church Long Beach, 7/9/11 and is free to download on iTunes).  Neither of these interactions is about getting God to do stuff, which the Pharisees are repeatedly after when they ask Jesus to prove his authority and to perform miracles.  No, there is a profound qualitative difference between the insistence of Mary and the gentile woman and that of the Pharisees.  They are after Jesus.  They already have faith, they already know, and want to play.  “For your answer you may go, your daughter has been healed” he tells her in Mark 7:29.  They know who he is, what he can do, and subsequently know that he can heal their tragedy.  And precisely because of their willingness to play, to press in, he does.  The woman in Mark returns home to find her daughter healed.  Mary watches as Jesus reveals his glory.  

John 1:43-51

43 The next day Jesus decided to leave for Galilee. Finding Philip, he said to him, “Follow me.”

 44 Philip, like Andrew and Peter, was from the town of Bethsaida. 45 Philip found Nathanael and told him, “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote—Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”

 46 “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” Nathanael asked.

   “Come and see,” said Philip.

 47 When Jesus saw Nathanael approaching, he said of him, “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit.”

 48 “How do you know me?” Nathanael asked.

   Jesus answered, “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you.”

 49 Then Nathanael declared, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the king of Israel.”

 50 Jesus said, “You believe because I told you I saw you under the fig tree. You will see greater things than that.” 51 He then added, “Very truly I tell you, you will see ‘heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending on’ the Son of Man.”

John 1:1-18, meet Philip, a very average man. Not much is known about Philip and he is only scarcely mentioned throughout the gospels. And when he does appear in the story his role is neither great nor terrible, mostly just forgettable. A good example of this is when some Romans come to him looking for Jesus. He doesn’t know what to do, semi-panics, and fetches another disciple, who, without thinking twice, brings the Romans to Jesus. But this is the man Jesus calls. In fact, in John’s gospel, Philip is the only man that Jesus calls. And Philip, having spent an unspecified amount of time with Jesus (though probably less than more) responds beautifully, as did the previous disciples. Having collided with John 1:1-18 Philip is compelled to tell somebody about what the heck he has just experienced, and the first person that comes to mind is Nathanael.

Nathanael, it seems, was at least a good friend to Philip and was likely well hearsed in Jewish scriptures, hence Philip’s description of the man he has just encountered as “We have found the one Moses wrote about in the Law, and about whom the prophets also wrote”. That’s quite a claim for a Philip of Bethsaida to make. But, then again, he just collided with John 1:1-18. And Nathanael, hitherto lacking the privilege of colliding with John 1:1-18, responds as anyone would who is told by average Joe not only that he’s just met the man predicted throughout all of the scriptures, but that this man is from Galilee, the Visalia of Fresno, the Bakersfield of San Luis Obispo, the Clippers of the Lakers, the Starbucks of Kean. Verse 46: “Can anything good come from Bakersfield?” A solid question in its own right, Philip doesn’t even blink. “Come and see”, he says. Philip- with a smirk? a big goofy grin? who knows- invites, welcomes, dares Nathanael to see for himself. Intrigued, Nathanael accepts the dare.

 Jesus saw Philip and Nathanael approaching. In the Greek the language here implies that Jesus looked searchingly, probingly at Nathanael before he speaks. The words he chooses are humorous yet profound in a way that fails to translate to English. The phrase “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no deceit” draws on the story of Jacob in Genesis, where he is described, before having his name changed to Israel, as having deceit or guile. Thus Jesus is introduces Nathanael to the other disciples with a word play: “Here truly is an Israelite in whom there is no Jacob”. But there is more than word play going on. Jesus’ introduction/description of Nathanael, viewed in its first century Jewish context, is also a supremely high compliment. The quality of having no deceit is ascribed in the Psalms to the one who is to liberate Israel in the last days, a fact that would not have been lost on Nathanael’s ears. And he replies, “how do you know me?”, a question which obviously implies his acceptance that Jesus does in fact know him.

Jesus’ response is interesting. “I saw you while you were still under the fig tree before Philip called you”. A seemingly normal response, Jesus probably saw Nathanael the day before under a tree and remembered his face. But if this is all Jesus is saying then why such an extravagant reaction on the part of Nathanael? Jesus has said about 20 words to Nathanael, who originally approached Jesus with skepticism and doubt, but Jesus already has him addressing him as “Rabbi” (master, teacher), “Son of God” (not yet understood as only begotten son of the father, but a person whose relationship to God is of unsurpassable intimacy and quality), and “the King of Israel” (self-explanatory, but means Nate has confessed this man to be his literal king). Though it’s true that all these categories that Nathanael is invoking will be redefined by the cross and resurrection, he is, nevertheless, using the very strongest language at his disposal to answer to the mysterious Galilean.

So what the heck did Jesus mean, or what the heck did Nathanael hear, when Jesus said he saw him under the fig tree before Philip brought him? Perhaps Jesus’ confession that he saw Nathanael before Philip brought him meant more than he remembered his face from the other day? Perhaps there is some significance to Jesus’ description of the tree Nathanael was under as a fig tree? At this point a level of caution is appropriate, as it always is when scripture takes us down mysterious roads with very few signposts. The reader is free to ride the symbols and metaphors as far as they like with the danger lying in their riding them right off the page, far beyond the scope of the author’s intention and the possibilities of the symbolic world. But reasonable exploration is healthy and in cases such as these, is encouraged by the text. The fig tree, used frequently throughout the Old Testament as a symbol for Israel, was also commonly used to study scripture under, meet with rabbis under, and pray and meditate under because of its broad leaves that provided shade on hot days. Looking at Jesus’ statement through the lens of Nathanael’s response, it’s possible that there is some correlation between what Nathanael was doing under the fig tree and Jesus’ confession of seeing him there. Remember, this Galilean is John 1:1-18. Anything is possible, though Jesus isn’t omnipresent, omniscient, or omnipotent (qualities he surrendered in the incarnation, i.e. Philippians 2). But it remains likely that Jesus saw, met, encountered Nathanael supernaturally while Nathanael was engaging with his Creator in one of the ways mentioned above. Of course, Jesus is Nathanael’s creator, and despite his incarnated state is capable of such an encounter, even though Nathanael is not capable of knowing such a fact at this point in time. It seems that Nathanael, upon his collision with John 1:1-18, is at least aware that he is encountering a person who stretches the linguistic categories available to him.  Nathanael has encountered- at least -transcendent, holy mystery.

And Jesus isn’t done. And that’s what he tells them (in the Greek it’s clear Jesus is now addressing multiple people, presumably disciples). They will see greater things than that (than his encounter with Nathanael). “Very truly I tell you”, emphasizing the truth and importance of what is about to be said, “you will see heaven open, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man”. A loaded statement indeed, Jesus is combining two extravagant stories in the Old Testament to describe the significance of his life. The former image, of angels ascending and descending from earth and heaven, comes from Genesis 28. Jacob has a dream of this taking place over the place he is sleeping and, accompanied by the significance of the words he hears God speak to him, is compelled to build an altar when he wakes up. The dream spoke to the unique presence (literally, functionally, and in the future) of God in that place. The Son of Man reference comes from a vision in Daniel 7 where “one like a son of man” is lifted by clouds into the presence of the Ancient of Days. In the vision the son of man is the representative of the people of Israel, whose ascension on clouds to the throne symbolizes his/Israel’s vindication before the world. So how do these two Old Testament references function in John 1:51? Basically Jesus, in the way he combines these references and phrases the statement, is claiming to be both the Son of Man and the place over which heaven is communicating with earth (communication between heaven and earth being the implication of the angelic imagery).  Now notice the language in the text: Jesus is speaking in the future-tense to the disciples, while I just spoke in the present; Jesus is speaking in the future tense, of a coming event, but the event he’s speaking of is their seeing. In other words Jesus, John 1:1-18 walking around Palestine, already is the locus of divine communication between heaven and earth, but the day is coming when the disciples will see this. He is promising the opening of their eyes, a new understanding, insight into the mystery that stands before them and presses their categories of understanding to their very limits.

And so ends chapter one. John has brought us through the prologue, the witness of the Baptist and his struggle to get people to follow Jesus, and then to Jesus himself. Few are drawn to him, fewer are called by him, but these few encounter the Galilean in such a way that they are immediately propelled back out to their little worlds, only to draw fragments of those little worlds back in to Jesus. The promise of verse 51 closes the beginning of the story in a way that’s fitting for those first disciples and readers alike, testifying to the truth of verses 1-18 while propelling them/us into the rest of the story: “You are all awed by the way I’ve interacted with you so far, well you haven’t seen anything yet. Soon you will begin to grasp just who it is I am because, indeed, I am”.

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John 1:35-42

³⁵ The next day John was there again with two of his disciples. ³⁶ When he saw Jesus passing by, he said, “Look, the Lamb of God!”

 ³⁷ When the two disciples heard him say this, they followed Jesus. ³⁸ Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, “What do you want?”

   They said, “Rabbi” (which means “Teacher”), “where are you staying?”

   ³⁹ “Come,” he replied, “and you will see.”

   So they went and saw where he was staying, and they spent that day with him. It was about four in the afternoon.

 ⁴⁰ Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, was one of the two who heard what John had said and who had followed Jesus. ⁴¹ The first thing Andrew did was to find his brother Simon and tell him, “We have found the Messiah” (that is, the Christ). ⁴² And he brought him to Jesus.

   Jesus looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You will be called Cephas”(which, when translated, is Peter [Rock]).

The next day, the Baptist again points at Jesus and screams “THAT GUY!” and the two disciples who happened to be with him become the Baptist’s first two success stories. In direct contrast to certain leaders of the modern church who equate success with attendance, the Baptist seems to equate success with exodus (pun intended, if it help drives the point home). While his ministry doesn’t approach fulfillment until 3:25-36, the ball must get rolling sooner or later, and it is these two faithful Jews who take the first step, literally. They start walking behind Jesus, following him, without the courage to actually say anything or to really approach him. As is characteristic of Jesus throughout the gospels he takes the initiative in engaging the interested. He turns and asks them what they want, a question loaded with profundity when posed by the Lord of the universe. But these disciples don’t know Jesus is the Lord of the universe. But they want to know, hence their response: “Rabbi, where do you live?” Here John adds the note that “rabbi” (a Hebrew word) means “teacher” (a Greek word). An initially puzzling response to modern ears, what these disciples mean to imply is that their curiosity demands quality time with Jesus, and can’t be satisfied by a roadside chat. And Jesus obliges their request. “Come and see” was a rabbinic phrase that meant, more or less, “lets go figure this out together”. John notes that they spent the day with Jesus. Coupled with fact that this meeting took place around 4 p.m. (the tenth hour), John implies that these disciples stayed the night at Jesus’ house as well, taking us to verse 40.

The next day begins with one of these disciples, Andrew, completely beyond lit up from his time with Jesus, finding and then bringing his brother Simon to the Messiah who the unnamed disciple and himself have found. It’s the first thing Andrew does. Simon is brought before Jesus who, more obvious in the original Greek, gazes searchingly at Simon. When Jesus does speak he renames him.

A note. John is writing his gospel so that the first-century unbeliever (regardless of ethnicity or religious affiliation) would read his story and subsequently come to faith in Christ (20:31). He goes about this by revealing, up front, just who Jesus of Nazareth is. He is the one through whom all things were created (1:3), the Word of God become flesh (1:14), the fulfillment of the Law given through Moses (1:17), and the only one who can reveal the Father (1:18). Not until this cosmic-eternal understanding of Christ is laid bare does John begin his narrative, and in doing so seems to say to the reader, “this is whom I’m talking about, now watch him walk around and blow everybody’s mind”. The scope of Jewish messianic expectation was totally, insufficiently narrow compared to the Messiah they received in Christ, and so we have a consistent theme running throughout every scene and conversation in John’s gospel: Jesus, at every turn, stretches, expands, transcends, the hopes and dreams of his contemporaries. Back to verse 42.

Jesus renames Simon. Do you know anyone who has been renamed mid-adulthood? I don’t. And though I might know one or two individuals whose self-confidence might lead them to believe in their right to do such a thing, I have yet to hear of their acting in such a way. And there is good reason for that. Today, just as in the first-century, renaming someone, let alone a complete stranger, would be considered an act not only ridiculous but most likely insulting. It implies the possession of a profound authority of the namer over the named. Of course Jesus knows this, but it is neither arrogant nor insulting in verse 42. Jesus is God. Again, the disciples, at this point in the story, don’t know this. They know Jesus is the Messiah, but they’re incapable of thinking in categories beyond those described in the study of 1:19-28.

Re-read that post again, if you must, in the attempt to wrap your ahead around the contrast between the Pharisaic/Jewish messianic expectation and the messiah described in John 1:1-18. Additionally, the quality of Jesus’ renaming of Simon is reminiscent of episodes of renaming in the Old Testament (Genesis 17:5, 32:29). Jesus isn’t just demonstrating his authority over Simon, but is speaking prophetically into Simon’s life. By calling him Rock he is identifying/describing a quality of Peter’s character. Only adding to the beauty of this scene is the fact that Peter will be anything but a rock throughout the entire gospel narrative. Remember, Jesus eventually calls him Satan, and Peter is infamous for his three-fold denial of Jesus in his greatest moment of need. But Jesus does indeed see what truly lies within a person (2:25). Jesus saw the entirety of Peter’s person after one pondering glance, looked deep beneath the dime-a-dozen fisherman, the stupid (Mark 9:5-6), selfish (Mark 8:32-33), and cowardly (Mark 14:66-72) man in front of him to the man who would become the leader of the church in Rome, the man who, when arrested and condemned to crucifixion, felt unworthy to die the same way as his Lord and so was crucified upside down. This is the messiah who was sent to Israel and the world. John 1:1-18, meet Simon, a Jewish fisherman.