When I was doing my undergrad work, I had a fellow student in one of my religion classes who was a purported Biblical literalist (purported because, in my opinion, no one truly reads the Bible literally, we pick and choose what texts we want to use literally and which we don't - but that's a topic for another day). He struggled through much of the semester because the instructor was not a literalist. Additionally, he struggled with the fact that she was female and an ordained minister (see 1 Timothy 2:11-15 for his dilemma). I began a discussion with him, that was extracurricular to class, regarding the role of women and the probable interpretive influences on some of the language, as we looked specifically at Romans 16:1 where Phoebe is declared to be a 'diakonon' (in Greek) in the church. The KJV (and the NIV still) translates this as servant or slave, where in other places when used for males it is translated "minister." Now the word is, at times, translated servant or servants, but when used as an adjective for a man, it is translated minister. So why, when used as an adjective for a woman, is it translated "servant"? My point for him, was that this was an interpretive choice. Someone chose how to interpret this word "diakonon" which has multiple interpretations into English, including, yes, servant, but also deacon, minister, and administrator. Why is Phoebe a servant, while Paul and Apollos in 1 Corinthians are ministers when described with the same word? It is an interpretive overlay based on the bias of the interpreters.
In his recent blog, my e-friend Christian Piatt, writes about the blow back being created by the new bible translation called "The Voice" because the interpreters have chosen not to use the word, 'Christ' but instead to translate the Greek word as "the Anointed One" - a perfectly acceptable interpretation of the Greek text. This is an interpretive choice made by the person or persons who are creating the translation; the word in Greek, Christos, can be interpreted as Christ or Messiah, or as Anointed One.
Several years ago, the newest translation receiving attention was "The Message." It was from Eugene Peterson, a minister for many years, as well as a linguist and a seminary instructor. I am a big fan of Peterson's books, of which there are many, and I am constantly impressed by the depth of his faith, the strength of the Spirit's Presence in his life and writing, and by his ability to tease out the meaning and context of so much of the original biblical texts. One of the criticisms from some, as I recall, was his use of the phrase, "Jacob-wrestling God." It is a phrase the speaks to me and it is a reference to Genesis 32 where Jacob wrestles with a "man" who turns out to be the angel of the Lord. Jacob actually wrestles a blessing from the Lord and because he does he receives a new name: "Israel - one who strives with God." So while the term is not one that we see in most mainstream translations there is something to the idea that the God of Israel is Jacob-wrestling God. Additionally it speaks to me in the metaphorical sense that we, too, at times wrestle with God. It is an interpretive overlay that is a choice made by the translator(s).
I remind people in Bible studies and in sermons on a regular basis that we are reading translations and therefore interpretations. The translators made choices and often the choices grew from their own biases. This is not a bad thing, but is simply the way it is. Marcus Borg suggests in the book he co-authored with N.T. Wright, "The Meaning of Jesus," that all of us have a lens that we look through. We cannot remove the lens, we simply need to recognize it is there. Piatt suggests in his blog that the King James Bible translators "had a specific human agenda" and that is true. It does not make the translation invalid, but we need to recognize that it exists. I agree with Piatt's conclusion that even if we read it in the original texts (assuming the Greek, Hebrew and Aramaic are the original texts - many scholars suggest that Matthew, Mark, and Luke used a common source that they dub "Q" - indicating the possibility that there are texts we do not have), we would still be interpreters, by virtue of the fact that we speak English (mostly) and have been raised in a culture that is completely foreign to what their cultures were like.
I again quote Piatt's conclusive thoughts, that for "some, these agendas folks brought (and bring)...are problematic and should be eliminated.... For me, the agendas are, in many ways as important as the word's on the page." I agree. We need, like Jacob, to wrestle with the Divine presence. We need to reject the notion that every answer has already been revealed and laid out in perfect order. The value of the journey lies in the journey and not in the arrival at the destination. Like Jacob, I believe that we receive the blessing when we have to wrestle with God - when we have to wrestle with the text and not just accept a literal reading of an interpreted text.
When we wrestle with the text, we also wrestle with our own agendas that we bring to the text as well. Like Borg, I believe that all of us have a lens we look through and it is important to understand what that lens is - not to simply deny its existence. When we read other translations and interpretations, it can give us opportunity not just to wrestle with God, but to wrestle with our preconceived notions of the text, of God, and of what we understand ourselves to be as followers of the Way. It is my belief that God is big enough to endure our questions, to withstand our challenges, and to wrestle with us as we strive to find our place in the world and in the body of Christ and to understand our relationships to one another and to the Divine.
Like Israel, we should welcome a Jacob -wrestling God and wrestle as well.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Killing Lazarus
Grief is a powerful emotion. If you have ever lost someone close to you, you have some understanding of grief and its power. It is comforting to me, at the times when I feel grief, to know that even Jesus grieved. We are told that when Jesus arrived at Bethany to find that his friend Lazarus had died, he wept. Presumably he wept with grief at the loss of his friend. Most of us know the rest of this story. Jesus resurrects his friend from the dead.
In the twelfth chapter of John we find Jesus back in Bethany as he shares a meal with his friends, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. The other gospels do not name the woman, and we are left to understand that it may in fact be someone different, but in John's gospel it is Mary, the sister of Lazarus who anoints the feet of Jesus with expensive oil. John tells us that Judas objects, but Jesus says that she is preparing him for burial. Many of us are familiar with this story, and there has been much discussion about the oil, the poor, the role of Judas, and so on. I want to consider one other aspect of this story for a moment.
John goes on to tell us that when the people learned that Jesus was there a large crowd gathered "not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well" (John 12:9b-10, NRSV). By killing Lazarus they hoped to erase all record of the miracle that Jesus had performed - to eliminate the evidence. By removing the result, in other words, they hoped to remove the problem.
And how often do we do the same? In our culture, or work, our government and so many other ways, don't we assume that if we can eliminate the symptoms we have cured the problem? By killing Lazarus, effectively eliminating the symptom, the priests thought they could cure the problem. And the result? We don't know that they actually carried out the killing of Lazarus, but I suspect that if they had, the end result would have been the same as it was from killing Jesus, instead of killing the problem, it exacerbated it.
What problems face us daily? What problems face our world? Oppression, racism, poverty, hunger, ignorance, war - we cannot cure these problems by eliminating the evidence of them. We must address the issues that create the problem. Killing Lazarus would not address the problems they were having with Jesus (killing Jesus would not solve the problem either). Too often we, as well, think that by silencing the critics, killing the prophetic voices, and removing those who protest that we can eliminate the problem. If we hide the poor away, kill our enemies, and lock up our social conscience, we can cure the problem. These are not the problem, though. Like Lazarus they serve only to remind us of the realities with which we are faced.
Jesus tells Judas (in John's gospel) that we will always have the poor with us. This is not an excuse to ignore the problem, but like Lazarus was for the chief priests, it is a reminder that we have real problems to address. We cannot cure the issues that face us as a country or a world, by covering over the evidence of problems such as global warning or health care and pretending that we have solved them. When we refuse to fund programs that help people in favor of programs that expand our ability to fight war, we are, in effect, killing Lazarus.
On that Saturday following the crucifixion, I suspect the chief priests probably felt like they had solved their problem by killing Jesus. Were they still plotting to kill Lazarus? And what then, come Easter? As we approach Easter Sunday, the stories of the resurrection of Lazarus and Jesus remind us not just of hope, but of life. Life has problems and living together creates problems. Instead of killing Lazarus and killing Jesus to try to fix our problems, let us recognize at Easter and beyond that we are empowered by the Holy Spirit as the people of the Kingdom of God to find ways together to address our problems. Ignoring, hiding, or burying our issues will not make them go away and temporary fixes will only bring them back later. Killing Lazarus may be the easy way - but it is not the solution. Instead, as God's people in Jesus Christ, let us find ways to work together and to work with others to effect permanent solutions in faith, in hope, and in love. Happy Easter!!
In the twelfth chapter of John we find Jesus back in Bethany as he shares a meal with his friends, Mary, Martha, and Lazarus. The other gospels do not name the woman, and we are left to understand that it may in fact be someone different, but in John's gospel it is Mary, the sister of Lazarus who anoints the feet of Jesus with expensive oil. John tells us that Judas objects, but Jesus says that she is preparing him for burial. Many of us are familiar with this story, and there has been much discussion about the oil, the poor, the role of Judas, and so on. I want to consider one other aspect of this story for a moment.
John goes on to tell us that when the people learned that Jesus was there a large crowd gathered "not only because of Jesus but also to see Lazarus whom he had raised from the dead. So the chief priests planned to put Lazarus to death as well" (John 12:9b-10, NRSV). By killing Lazarus they hoped to erase all record of the miracle that Jesus had performed - to eliminate the evidence. By removing the result, in other words, they hoped to remove the problem.
And how often do we do the same? In our culture, or work, our government and so many other ways, don't we assume that if we can eliminate the symptoms we have cured the problem? By killing Lazarus, effectively eliminating the symptom, the priests thought they could cure the problem. And the result? We don't know that they actually carried out the killing of Lazarus, but I suspect that if they had, the end result would have been the same as it was from killing Jesus, instead of killing the problem, it exacerbated it.
What problems face us daily? What problems face our world? Oppression, racism, poverty, hunger, ignorance, war - we cannot cure these problems by eliminating the evidence of them. We must address the issues that create the problem. Killing Lazarus would not address the problems they were having with Jesus (killing Jesus would not solve the problem either). Too often we, as well, think that by silencing the critics, killing the prophetic voices, and removing those who protest that we can eliminate the problem. If we hide the poor away, kill our enemies, and lock up our social conscience, we can cure the problem. These are not the problem, though. Like Lazarus they serve only to remind us of the realities with which we are faced.
Jesus tells Judas (in John's gospel) that we will always have the poor with us. This is not an excuse to ignore the problem, but like Lazarus was for the chief priests, it is a reminder that we have real problems to address. We cannot cure the issues that face us as a country or a world, by covering over the evidence of problems such as global warning or health care and pretending that we have solved them. When we refuse to fund programs that help people in favor of programs that expand our ability to fight war, we are, in effect, killing Lazarus.
On that Saturday following the crucifixion, I suspect the chief priests probably felt like they had solved their problem by killing Jesus. Were they still plotting to kill Lazarus? And what then, come Easter? As we approach Easter Sunday, the stories of the resurrection of Lazarus and Jesus remind us not just of hope, but of life. Life has problems and living together creates problems. Instead of killing Lazarus and killing Jesus to try to fix our problems, let us recognize at Easter and beyond that we are empowered by the Holy Spirit as the people of the Kingdom of God to find ways together to address our problems. Ignoring, hiding, or burying our issues will not make them go away and temporary fixes will only bring them back later. Killing Lazarus may be the easy way - but it is not the solution. Instead, as God's people in Jesus Christ, let us find ways to work together and to work with others to effect permanent solutions in faith, in hope, and in love. Happy Easter!!
Friday, April 6, 2012
A Moment
After all it's but a moment,
a movement,
a quick and furtive motion.
After all it's just an instant,
a brief word spoken and then silence -
a fleeting touch,
a stolen glimpse, here then gone.
Just a candle blown by the wind with only
smoke to remind us of the burning
flame that was, but is gone.
The beat of butterfly wings,
broken and bleeding in the sun -
a moment -
gone, passed and done.
©Al Gritten, 2012
a movement,
a quick and furtive motion.
After all it's just an instant,
a brief word spoken and then silence -
a fleeting touch,
a stolen glimpse, here then gone.
Just a candle blown by the wind with only
smoke to remind us of the burning
flame that was, but is gone.
The beat of butterfly wings,
broken and bleeding in the sun -
a moment -
gone, passed and done.
©Al Gritten, 2012
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