In The Thicket

There is much said and written about the found violence in the Quran and some interpretations of its voice.  Media and politicians and some church leaders are quick to point the finger at the text as the reason for the violence of terrorism, war, treatment of women and children and its own form of law.

 

I am no expert on Islam but I do read the Christian scriptures and am constantly challenged by the violence there in, the violence accredited to heroes of faith, and the violence that emanates from or is sheeted home to God. And I am always challenged by the violence of the cross as the central focus of our faith.  It doesn’t matter how I read the texts, last weeks or this weeks, I am left with a sense of unnecessary violence as an integral part of my faith.

 

This violence is in full view in the Genesis reading of the binding of Isaac – the akedah – and the intervention of God at the very last moment to rescue the boy. It is often this intervention that is spoken of as the compassion of God but the reality is that Isaac was facing death at the hands of his father because of a command apparently given by God. Human sacrifice was prevalent in Abraham’s time. even though it had been banned by his people it still had a deep hold over the people and their understanding of God. Otherwise there could be no story. Abraham would have dismissed this idea as a madness and left it behind. He didn’t’. He went along with it.

“Not only do the prophets condemn such sacrifices in honour of Molech, but the Hebrew Bible even notes the power of such sacrifices when deployed against Israel in battle:

When the king of Moab saw that the battle was going against him, he took with him seven hundred swordsmen to break through, opposite the king of Edom; but they could not. Then he took his firstborn son who was to succeed him, and offered him as a burnt offering on the wall. And great wrath came upon Israel, so they withdrew from him and returned to their own land. [2Kings 3:26-27]

The story of Isaac—horrific as it is—must also be read alongside the even worse story in Judges 11 where Jephthah offers his daughter as a human sacrifice in fulfilment of a vow.” (Jenks) It is a confronting story to read. There is no intervention by God; no last minute testimony to their faith, as the story of Abraham and Isaac is often interpreted; it ends as it was intended to, with the father killing his daughter to maintain a vow.

 

In the story of Isaac we get the straying sheep stuck in a thicket and all ends well. But does it? Has the damage been done? Have we ended up with a tainted God, a God who is not afraid of using violence and who is not impartial – he saves Isaac but not the daughter of Jephthah? Has this image of God continued to haunt the church, not the least through the interpretation of the cross as the inevitable means to solve God’s relationship problems with his creation?

 

Modern day atheists such as Stephen Fry, Richard Dawkins and others cite this seemingly in built desire for violence as the reason to dismiss any discussion of a god or God’s existence. You and I have our own stories and questions regarding the seeming disparity in justice, fairness and compassion shown by the world to those we love and care for. Where was God? Why did God allow such and such to happen? Why did God do no thing about this tragedy or disaster? Many who no longer profess faith can point to a moment when the perceived disparity between a God of love and a God of violence changed their heart and mind.

 

We cannot simply pass this off as an Old Testament anomaly. There is much in the birth of Christianity that raises the same questions. The history of the church in all its forms is replete with violence ranging from inquisitions, crusades, persecution of witches and women, the abuse of children and more seem to make a lie of the image of God as all consuming love.

 

What are we to do with these stories and experiences and how are we to frame or reframe the image of God? How are we to read the scriptures and the history of the church containing many such stories in such a way that we too do not find it all too incongruous and slip away ourselves?

 

We could:

·      Simply ignore that they are there and go merrily on our way oblivious to the impact they have on others – the ostrich approach;

·      Embrace them and spruik a wrathful God who will do what ever he please to whomever he pleases, but never to us  - the bring it on God approach;

·      Spend copious amount of time to study the research and academia and develop an appropriate intellectual understanding of why this would be so in this particular time for this particular people - the there is always a rational reason for stuff we don’t like approach;

·      Simply accept the incongruous nature of evolution of thought and understanding and get on with living out our understanding as truthfully and respectfully as possible – the living with the questions approach.

 

Living with the questions and the questionable seems to be the way faith and understanding has developed or evolved. It does not come pre-packaged fully comprehended ready to roll. It has to be grappled with, argued about and lived to become real. There is a sense that the stories which disturb us are a part of that process. Abraham’s almost murder of Isaac was stopped when Abraham had an insight and recognised the foolishness of his ways. Jephthah fails to stop his crime because his vow was more important than the outcome and he didn’t recognise the very same insight. The accrediting of the process in both cases to God forgets the cultural impulse to child sacrifice and the incredible growth in understanding required for Abraham to change his mind. No wonder the story is told with God at the centre, Abraham had to frame his experience this way to explain how he could do such a tremendous about turn.

 

If we are seeking a squeaky clean narrative of the evolution of the understanding of humans interaction with the Divine then we won’t find that in the scriptures. If we are seeking a nice neat interpretation of stories such as today’s Old testament story then we are fooling ourselves. The path to spiritual understanding and experience is a prickly one, as prickly as the thicket that caught the lamb. Not to learn to live with incongruous stories of an evolving relationship, and to learn to live with all our questions will find us  running the risk of abandoning our faith. Embrace the questions and the messy stuff, it is the only way. 

The Human Jesus

First century theology was less sophisticated than that we have inherited through our creeds and traditions. The ideas and dogma we now take for granted either did not exist or did so in a much more primitive manner.

 

Marks gospel for example has no birth or resurrection story in it’s original form. Writers such as the one who penned the Letter to the Hebrews knew nothing of the trinity, penal substitution or of Jesus being without flaws. Their theology was a reflection of their Jewish traditions and of their personal experience, and much of it would fail to pass muster in various schools of theology today.

 

Yet it speaks clearly to us of a simplicity of thought and practice we have long let go past. Complicating the simple seems to give it an aura of truth and credibility – try reading some academic papers before you go to bed tonight and I think you will see what I mean.

 

Both Mark and the writer of the Hebrews understand Jesus and his message in simple terms. Here was a man for whom the love of humanity stood over and above love for self or some particular individual. He looked with compassion on the state of people in the world around him, not because he was divine and above them, but because he was human and one of them.

 

Jesus found himself in the place of the priest, acting on behalf of other because he was aware of his own humanity. The writer to the Hebrews highlights this by saying he was chosen to be God’s represent not because he sought that position, put up his hand or filed an application for the role and attached his cv. He was chosen because of his lived and embraced humanity.

 

He writes: “Every high priest chosen from among mortals is put in charge of things pertaining to God on their behalf, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. ²He is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is subject to weakness; ³and because of this he must offer sacrifice for his own sins as well as for those of the people. ⁴And one does not presume to take this honour, but takes it only when called by God, just as Aaron was. ⁵So also Christ did not glorify himself in becoming a high priest, but was appointed by the one who said to him, “You are my Son, today I have begotten you” (Hebrews 5:1-10)

 

This is far from the idea of Christ being predestined to be sinless and therefore the only one who could fulfil God’s economy in the world. He was chosen because he made no attempt to avoid his humanity or to pretend to be better than he was. He was human and understood the struggles all humanity were, and are, muddling through.

 

Jesus muddled through by ‘prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to the one who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverent submission.’ He waited on the hesed, the everlasting compassion of God, and remained faithful to humanity in all he did.

The constant theme of Mark’s gospel is one of Jesus challenging those who put themselves above humanity and calling them to become subservient to the will of God for all people. His was a life lived for others, despite, in the eyes of the first century writers, just being human himself.

In Mark’s Gospel (Mark 10:35 - 45) he became a ransom for humanity, not because of a sacrifice of blood, but because of his faithfulness to the cause of humanity, the reign of God in the world. This is not about claiming the blood of Jesus as the means to wipe away my personal sin. It is to claim the obedience of Jesus to sacrifice himself so that others may have the capacity to live for the kingdom of God despite the suffering and pain that comes with that.

‘Although he was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; ⁹and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him,..’

And many people have continued to obey ever since, even many who would not claim him for their own. Anyone one who gives up the sense of entitlement to possess Jesus, life, position, power, and lives in solidarity with the greater mass of humanity, shares in that quality of life called eternal salvation.

It is interesting that the writer of the Hebrews asserts he learnt obedience through suffering and therefore can speak on our behalf to God. William Loader, writes: "This is first century theology finding its way of asserting that right next to God there is a voice urging compassion for those hard up against it. Later generations will develop trinitarian doctrine and find ways of asserting this primitive idea in more integrated ways, speaking of solidarity as something which God does not need to be told about but which is central to God's being."

James and John epitomise the desire to rise up. Jesus in both Mark and Hebrews epitomises the need to grow down. Growing down is growing into the lives and experiences of others, of becoming one with those who have had to accept their place in the world and the rawness of their humanity.  Refugees, children in detention, victims of addiction, those suffering mental illness and more call not for the transcendent but the immanent, a human being who can say “all shall be well’ if we remain in unity with each other.

James and John sought to rise above unity into an individual play for divinity. They wanted the special place of power, to have the ear of Jesus in glory, able to influence and bask in the reflected glory of JesustheChrist. Jesus did not seek that position. In Hebrews and Mark it is clear they understood him as an exemplary man, different in his humanity than any others they had seen. It was only later that this was confirmed as divine. Here he is simply the very best a man, a human, could be. He was given the ear of God as a result of learning wisdom and compassion though suffering in the same way as the rest of humanity.

There is something valuable here for us to grasp, something we often fail to understand. You do not need to aspire to be somebody other than yourself, your lived humanity is sufficient. Each time you work at the pantry or op shop, help out the grandmothers stall, march for refugees rights, visit your neighbour, cook a casserole for another, make a phone call to someone who is lonely, drive someone to and from church or just welcome each other at church you are living out your humanity in just the way Jesus did. These are acts that cost you something, that reflect your understanding of the important things of life learnt through your own suffering. As my daughter would say, ‘It’s not rocket science Dad”.

The writer of Hebrews brings us back to basics, it is the human that matters, and the human that matters most is the one who has learnt though suffering how to be obedient to the needs of the kingdom of God in those around them.