What’s the Deal With Resurrection?

I really have seven hundred places I could start, but this is closest to the main point I want to talk about:

This true meaning has remained hidden because the Church has trivialised it and the world has rubbished it. The Church has turned Jesus’s Resurrection into a “happy ending” after the dark and messy story of Good Friday, often scaling it down so that “resurrection” becomes a fancy way of saying “He went to Heaven”. Easter then means: “There really is life after death”…

Now, suddenly, the real meaning of Easter comes into view, as well as the real reason why it has been trivialised and sidelined. Easter is about a new creation that has already begun. God is remaking His world, challenging all the other powers that think that is their job. The rich, wise order of creation and its glorious, abundant beauty are reaffirmed on the other side of the thing that always threatens justice and beauty – death. Christianity’s critics have always sneered that nothing has changed. But everything has. The world is a different place.
NT Wright in Times Online

I will be the first to admit that resurrection scares the be-Jesus out of me. I do not, for one second, admit to understand what all the implications are. But I am left with certain facts. Jesus was raised bodily, not to live as he formerly lived, but to live a much more real, full, whole, holy, glorified existence. The existence Paul says we “we will be like him”. He was raised in the middle of history, far before anyone expected the resurrection to happen. After all – the only category anyone in the first century had was that “this must be the end – we just witnessed resurrection”. So, don’t be surprised when that is exactly the attitude they hold about their time.

Resurrection “meant” (in the secondary sense – its implications if you will – beyond the referent that “someone who was dead, coming to bodily life”) that God’s new creation has started. Reading any of the OT passages about resurrection, either the concrete referent of raising to life, or the metaphor about a return from exile (ala Ez 37), and you will find something about a new creation. Those are the facts that I am forced to deal with in my Christian life, and the same ones that the Church at large is forced to deal with.

That very new creation theology, I’ve found is terribly lacking in the greater Church today. The power of resurrection has been sucked out of the word. Not least because the majority of people who are practicing, preaching, and teaching Christianity are now the powerful. They are now the status-quo, the empire. And Jesus challenges the status-quo. If you don’t think resurrection, the new-creation, is a massive challenge:

… is to miss the point, to cut the nerve of the social, cultural and political critique. Death is the ultimate weapon of the tyrant; resurrection does not make a covenant with death, it overthrows it. The resurrection, in the full Jewish and early Christian sense, is the ultimate affirmation that creation matters, that embodied human beings matter. That is why resurrection has always had an inescapable political meaning; that is why the Saducees in the first century, and the Enlightenment in our own day, have opposed it so strongly. No tyrant is threatened by Jesus going to heaven, leaving his body in a tomb. No governments face the authentic Christian challenge when the church’s social preaching tries to base itself on Jesus’ teaching, detached from the central and energizing fact of his resurrection (or when, for that matter, the resurrection is affirmed simply as an example of a supernatural ‘happy ending’ which guarantees post-mortem bliss).

Saying ‘Jesus has been raised from the dead’ proved to be self-involving in that it gained its meaning within this counter-imperial worldview. The Sadducees were right to regard the doctrine of resurrection, and especially, its announcement in relation to Jesus, as political dynamite.
NT Wright, Resurrection of the Son of God, pg 730-1

If you think you’ve got resurrection down pat, think again.

Shane Claiborne at Park St Church

Last night we saw Shane Claiborne (of the Simple Way, and Irresistible Revolution as well as Jesus for President) at Park St Church in Boston. The man is certainly a storyteller. He has chosen to do things most people think is crazy. He is a fantastic encouragement that anyone can do this. Around ten years ago he started a community on Potter St in Philadelphia. They opened a community garden, and housed Christians. They got increasingly involved with the neighbors and children around them. They set aside (tithe) money to help the community with whatever needs were current. They’ve made a huge impact and given Christians a good name there.

A lot of what I’ve been reading recently and thinking about personally was affirmed in his talk. For a while I’ve been distressed at the Church’s largely personal and individualized gospel. Not only was it ignoring the larger Kingdom context of Jesus’ preaching and the Jewish hope – whatever it did retain about that was for the most part off in the future. I’m being forced to reconsider the amount of inaugurated eschatology that I do believe in – that God’s power, through the spirit, is causing the age to come to break into this age prematurely. Shane calls what they do there “practicing resurrection”.

One of the most profound insights I had was a single word that Shane used in his talk: “patterns”. I use the word found in Paul’s epistles ‘institutions’, but that word is unable to effectively communicate it to people today. The patterns of the world is the way to communicate that very same idea, and Shane turned me on to it. To talk about the Church, and being the Church, we cannot conform to the patterns of the world. In nearly all cases the patterns of the world are built to negate so much of God wants done. Therefore to be complicit with those patterns, to encourage them, enforce them, support them – through action, or theology – is to be anti-Gospel. Why? Because Jesus did not conform to the patterns of this world, he broke them at every turn to glorify God and redeem His creation. His very death being salvific instead of the destruction of hope is a perfect example. This is the very beginning of the theology that lies behind Christian justice movements. Unfortunately this theology is hardly ever taught in churches.

Jesus and Power

At community group tonight we were looking over the passage in Mark 1:

They went into Capernaum; and immediately on the Sabbath He entered the synagogue and {began} to teach. They were amazed at His teaching; for He was teaching them as {one} having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was a man in their synagogue with an unclean spirit; and he cried out, saying, “What business do we have with each other, Jesus of Nazareth? Have You come to destroy us? I know who You are–the Holy One of God!” And Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be quiet, and come out of him!” Throwing him into convulsions, the unclean spirit cried out with a loud voice and came out of him. They were all amazed, so that they debated among themselves, saying, “What is this? A new teaching with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey Him.”

And we got to talking about power and authority. One of the questions that we were asked is what would it look like if the Church acted with this authority. And another question that is always there week in and week out is how does this inform our faith and actions. We always leave that question to be pondered, without a definitive discussion on it.

Power was one of the big conclusions I talked about in my first paper on atonement. Jesus, as a figure in Mark’s story, is incredibly powerful. He is teaching with authority, and backing it up with his spiritual authority to heal and cast out demons. The surprising thing to me is not that Jesus is acting with authority or has authority – but rather how he uses that authority.

In reading through NT Wright’s historical work (starting the third volume now), along with others like Scot McKnight, Ben Witherington, and David Daube it seems plain that both John the Baptist and Jesus are specifically critiquing the way power is used. Jesus is not like King Herod trying to prove his greatness and worthiness while ruthlessly killing his brothers or the people. Or the Pharisees, laying down un-carriable burdens. Or the Shammites willing to die, to kill, and to sacrifice the lives of the Jewish people to stand up and fight against Rome. Or the priests, hopelessly intertwined in compromise with their pagan overlords. No, Jesus is doing something very different with the authority and power of God.

What would the Church look like with that authority?

Jesus at the Center

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Being Human to the ‘Other’

When we try to understand just who we are, we inevitably turn to our families and communities. Closely tied to our perception of ourselves is the perception of everyone else, specifically those not in our community. This is what ‘the other’ is. It is the group of people that you define yourself over and against. Generically, for the Christian ‘the other’ is the non-Christian. You could map out the groups along all sort of barriers and lines. The “haves” and the “have-nots”, the Catholic and the Protestants, African-Americans and Caucasians, are all good examples. The problem comes not with the intrinsic differences – but rather the perception of the ‘other’.

One of the unusual aspects of Jesus’ ministry was to the ‘other’. He went to the poor, the disenfranchised, the marginalized, the outcasts, the sick to proclaim God’s Kingdom, and to these he invited and declared to be righteous, in-the-right. Meanwhile, any traditional route of the messiah-claimants of Jesus’ time were “fighting the good fight” hashing it out politically with Rome’s client-rulers, chief priests, Pharisees, and all the other rival Jewish groups. Jesus’ treatment of the other is incredibly radical.

Jesus recognizes the humanness of the other. He recognizes that they too are made in God’s image. Jesus enters into a relationship with the other. He recognizes their needs and fulfills it. Jesus, as the opening of Matthew and Luke tell us, is the new Adam, the new image of God. Because of sin, we are broken images of God. Jesus’ origins result in his perfect reflection of God. Jesus is the human being we are all meant to be.

One of the problems with denominations and sects is the demonization of the other. Each of the Jewish sects in the first century did this. The Muslims and Christians did it in the Crusades. The Catholics and Protestants are still doing in Ireland. The “haves” and “have-nots” have done it routinely in Europe in civil unrest and revolution. The African-Americans and Caucasians did it in South Africa during and after aparthied.

We have to recognize the humanness in everyone around us. In the prostitute. In the homeless man you pass on your way to work. In your dysfunctional family members. In your misunderstood co-workers. In your inappropriate friends. In the people that go to that other church on the other street. In the people that do not go to church at all. In the people in your church you think you know – but you don’t really know.

And then we have to be the human being that Jesus was. A real human being, not a broken imitation of the image of God. We have to enter a relationship with the other. That is the only way to be human. That is the only way to share the Gospel. That is the only way to show people Jesus.

Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews

The book by Paula Fredrickson, of the same title, is an astounding short read. It is an attempt to understand the crucifixion of Jesus historically. Why did the Jewish rabbi named Jesus die the death of a violent revolutionary? Of course the simple answer would be that he was a violent revolutionary – yet absolutely no direct evidence remotely hints that he was. All indications are that Jesus led a peaceful, arguably pacifist, movement. Fredrickson notes that if Jesus did lead a violent revolutionary movement, his followers along with him would have been crucified. James, the new leader of this movement lived in Jerusalem after the crucifixion. He moved freely there with no worry for his life. This is the fundamental paradox Fredrickson seeks to answer.

In the beginning of the book she briefly moves through the various methodological blunders that have taken the reins of the historical quests. I’m not entirely sure how to take certain portions of her writing. It is almost as if she willfully attempts various methodologies, liberal and fundamentalist to solves the problems but only gets frustrated. I cannot sort out what could be sarcasm from what could be a severe disdain for certain conclusions (regardless of method). By the end of the book she is fully engaged in, what I acknowledge to be based on other works of historical inquiry, the right kind of historical method.

The traditional explanation to the crucifixion is to follow the synoptic accounts. Jesus’ actions in the Temple are the direct reason for Jesus’ death by Pilate. Jerusalem during the feast of Passover was an intense time because of both the increased Roman military presence, and the heightened eschatalogical hope for salvation of the Jewish people. So, the slightest Jewish aggression would have incurred a Roman military response. The theory goes that Jesus’ actions in the Temple would have given the ruling Jewish aristocrasy a reason to get the Romans involved.

Fredrickson goes on to show why this fails for two reasons. First, another notable Jerusalem Jew Jesus ben Hanan, spoke of the Temple’s coming destruction – for seven years during all of the feasts. He was not put to death. He received punishment by both the Jewish ruling class and the Romans and was left to continue. Second, Jesus’ actions in the Temple would barely have been noticed by the throngs of people there. The temple mount is three football fields wide. The market is on one side under the porticos. Roman soldiers would have been stationed on the elevated porticos. Only the immediate masses around Jesus would have seen his actions, and only the Roman soldiers some sixty-plus yards away would have seen him. Combining these two facts, it would be historically unlikely that Jesus was crucified for this one action. So where do we go from here?

Fredrickson does a good job setting the scene of Jewish apocalyptic hope. I’m not sure if she retains the idea that the Jewish, and subsequently Christians, believed in the coming “end of the world”, or (what is gaining traction with me) the other understanding of apocalyptic literature, investing current events with theological significance through the use of cosmic and symbolic imagery. She also does a good job showing that there are various traditions behind the concepts of Kingdom, the Gentile participation, and Messiah. They all float on continums and gradients with various teachers and sects putting in their stakes at certain points along the way. Fredrickson does a fantastic job highlighting the relationship between Galilee, Jerusalem, and their respective rulers leading up to the time of Jesus, some of which brilliantly runs against current thinking on the subject. And in another brilliant turn she goes to the gospel of John, long thought to be the least historical, to find an answer to her perplexing question of Jesus’ crucifixion.

John’s basic structure depicts a wandering itinerant preacher Jesus, active for three years, with followers all over Israel, in Galilee, Jerusalem, Bethany, and more cities. The fair presumption here is that Herod of Galilee and Pilate of Jerusalem would have known who this Jesus is. He made regular appearances in synogagues and the Temple in Jerusalem. He did not hide from public life. In another interesting twist Fredrickson chooses not to see things from Jesus’ perspective here, but rather from Pilate’s! Because Pilate knows who Jesus is, there is no threat. Jesus has not actively sought to build an army. He has not actively made a messianic claim (no doubt some of his followers could have, and did, come to this conclusion. Again, she does not go towards Jesus’ self-understanding, Pilate couldn’t have cared less.) She writes “A straight line connects the Triumphal Entry and the Crucifixion.” Pilate witnessing this would not immediately be afraid of Jesus. He doesn’t see Jesus having any power. He knows that Jesus preaches a Kingdom which God will usher in, not the might of men. Surely other messianic claimants like Theudas the Egyptian made the same claim. Yet he also gathered thousands in the desert on marches re-enacting Joshua’s military entry into the promised land over the Jordan. Gathering crowds like this got Rome’s attention and they got rid of Theudas. However, Jesus never gathered crowds out in the desert like that. Yes, he baptized and fed. But nothing that wasn’t near a city where the people were from, or outside an already present congregation like the Temple or synogague. Fredrickson argues that precisely because of the crowds reaction to Jesus’ Triumphal Entry, laden with messianic tones, Pilate found it necessary to crucify Jesus. Again, it is passover and this is the time that sedition is most likely to break out. The people don’t even need a messianic figure to get started – and now they think they’ve found one. This satisfies how Jesus was crucified as an insurrectionist and his disciples were not. Because Pilate was not directly challenged, militarily, by the Jesus movement. Only indirectly by the claims of the masses on Passover. It was the crowd Pilate needed to control, and he did it by crucifying their newest messiah.

I find this line of argumentation, historically, to be very very persuading. It is no means a conclusive statement on Jesus’ identity, I don’t think it was intended to be. But it is very persuasive, and would require strong argumentation to dislodge, concerning the historical means of crucifixion.

On other accounts of theology, and Jesus’ self-identity, I don’t see any conflicts that this line brings up. It creatively uses the perspective of Pilate to understand Pilate’s own actions. And it has to do this in the first century Jewish context. It succeeds on both points. Having said that, I find myself very persuaded by NT Wright’s line of argumentation concerning Jesus’ self-identity. His work is equally historically focused, but from the perspective of Jesus himself. The only interesting point of integration required is the always sticky synoptic problem of where to put the Temple scene: with John in the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, or with the synoptics, at the end. Bauckham’s work is giving John’s gospel a more vaulted place as history than is traditionally given to it. Certainly, the gospel of John isn’t any worse off (from a literary point of view) “getting Jesus crucified” without the Temple incident. And all of the synoptics include the Triumphal Entry. The argument of where it appropriately belongs may very well be less valuable than thought, if it is not a requirement for his crucifixion, where, again, in John it is not a requirement.