Tag: Jesus Then & Jesus Now

  • Jesus Then and Jesus Now: A Sermon

    Introduction[1]

    Audio of the sermon at the 5.00pm Mass
    Opening Prayer
    Jesus, son of Mary, you come among us
    as one we think we know all too well.
    Open our eyes
    to see you again for the first time.
    Open our hearts
    to see God in one another.
    Open our hands
    to live with compassion.
    Amen.
    First Reading: Rumi, “What Jesus Runs Away From
    Gospel: Mark 6:1–6a
    Blessing
    With open eyes, open hearts, and open hands,
    may we be a blessing to all we meet this week,
    in the name of Jesus. Amen.

     

    Let me begin by bringing greetings from the Christian community in Palestine, and especially those communities with which I am most familiar: St Luke’s Anglican Church in Haifa and the Sabeel community in Nazareth. This is a difficult time to be a Christian in the Middle East, and I would seek your prayers for my friends there, just as they offer their prayers for us.

    My task in the homilies this weekend is to reflect with you on the significance of Jesus for our kind of faith community here at St Mary’s in Exile. Rethinking Jesus is a big part of our project, I suspect; even if not always at the top of the agenda.

    As we say at the beginning of most liturgies, “We gather to reflect on our lives in light of the Christian mystery …”

    After five years, the conversation about what kind of community we are at SMX is not yet finished. My focus in this homily today is the part that Jesus plays in our collective and personal lives.

     

    The Book

    First of all, and especially in this context, it seems appropriate to begin with my recent book, Jesus Then and Jesus Now: Looking for Jesus, Finding Ourselves.

    Yes, it is yet another ‘Jesus book’—and there have been quite a few of them in recent years. As the sub-title seeks to suggest, this one has its own character and focus. It is as much about the meaning of Jesus for today, as it is about Jesus in the first century.

    A few times recently I have asked to describe the book. When that happens I like to outline the three major sections of the book in order to indicate its own particular logic:

    The first section draws on my involvement with historical research:

    • history of the Galilee and Second Temple Judaism more generally
    • the work of the Jesus Seminar, of which I am a long-time member
    • and my involvement with the archaeology dig at Bethsaida

    This part of the book is very much about getting a fix on ‘Jesus back then’ in first-century Galilee.

    The second section draws on my work as a lecturer in Biblical Studies, and focuses on selected Jesus themes in the NT Gospels:

    • Jesus and the kingdom of God
    • Jesus and the afterlife
    • Calling Jesus names
    • The death of Jesus

    This middle section of the book is very much about getting a fix on the Jesus tradition during first 100 years after Easter. What were people thinking about Jesus and saying about him in that formative period for Christianity?

    The final section draws on my personal perspectives as a person of faith myself, and it deals with the relevance of the person of Jesus and the traditions about Jesus for us here and now:

    • Jesus as one of us
    • The significance of Easter
    • Jesus in a world of many faiths
    • Being a follower of Jesus today

    This part of the book is much more theological and much more personal. It is probably also more controversial.

    Brevity is a key virtue in this context, so let me just say a few words about my reading of Jesus as a first-century Galilean Jew and then offer some reflections on the significance of Jesus for me as a progressive Christian.

     

    Jesus Then

    I locate Jesus within Torah-observant Jewish settler communities in the Galilee. “Settler” is a term I have chosen with intent. It disturbs both my Jewish and Palestinian friends, not mention other Christians.

    It is important to keep in mind that Jesus was neither an eco-theologian nor a first-century feminist. He was a person of his time and place, and he is a stranger to us and our values.

    We may well criticise creedal Christian for divinising Jesus too easily, but we also tend to domesticate him. We recruit Jesus into our social and political agendas.

    In very brief terms, then, I see Jesus (‘back then’) as coming from a small Jewish settler community at Nazareth, with maybe not more than a dozen or so families in the settlement. The people of that newly-established community were deeply attached to their Jewish identity. This included loyalty to the Temple and cultural resistance to Hellenism.

    Jesus of Nazareth was more like a prophet (Elijah, Elisah, Hosea, Jonah, et al) than a sage or rabbi.

    ‘Prophet’ may not be a perfect category, but it is better than most others and no better one comes to mind. This seems to have been his preferred self-description and to get us about as close to his own self-understanding as we are ever likely to reach.[2] His prophetic mission put him on a collision course with imperial Rome and its local puppets.

    However we may care to label him, Jesus seems to have been a catalyst for a Jewish renewal movement centred on the “reign of God”. He was, after all, a disciple and successor to John the Baptiser, so a focus on the kingdom is not surprising.

     

    Jesus Now

    Assuming that this description is reasonably accurate, and even if it is not, I still need to address the relevance of such a Jesus here and now.

    Because I am a Christian, Jesus is central to my understanding of God and my understanding of myself. To be like Jesus and to see the character of the Christ develop within me is my religion in a nutshell.

    It could have been otherwise, and most likely would have been otherwise had I not been born and raised in a family that took its Christian faith very seriously. But my family set me up to experience life through the lens of Christian faith, and thus Jesus has been at the very centre of my worldview from as early a stage as I can recall.

    One helpful way to explore the significance of ‘Jesus then’ and ‘Jesus now’ is offered to us by Marcus Borg, who speaks of the difference between  “Jesus before Easter” and “Jesus after Easter.”

    I think Borg is onto something very important for Christian faith in this idea, as the formula upholds the essential continuity of Jesus on both sides of Easter while also recognizing that Jesus is ‘something else’ after Easter than he had been before Easter. In using these terms we are not speaking about the ontological essence of Jesus, but rather our perceptions of Jesus and our reception of the blessings that God offers us in and through Jesus.

    The prophetic identity and mission of Jesus before Easter was expressed in his actions as he healed and exorcised, taught in private and public spaces, called disciples and sent them on mission to act on his behalf, as well as when he challenged and confronted those with privilege and power. His prophetic role is seen in his teaching activity, and especially in his aphorisms and parables. In addition, his prophetic character is anchored in his personal integrity; culminating in his death on the cross.

    That Jesus—the one we knew before Easter—continues to be a significant prophetic figure with much to say to us today. That faithful humanity is enough for us, and it is as a prophet that Jesus is honoured within Islam.

    Indeed, as I see it, the faithful humanity of Jesus is itself a prophetic act that cuts across the centuries and invites us to get ready for the coming reign of God. Jesus speaks for God, and he does not always need to use words.

    But something happened to Jesus at Easter.

    This is not the moment when Jesus became God, but it is the moment when we see Jesus differently. Jesus after Easter is a combination of radical transformation and profound continuity with Jesus of Nazareth.

    It is the same Jesus. The Jesus who cared about the poor and the sick, is the Jesus in whose face shines the eternal light of God. Yet something significant has changed.

    Jesus after Easter relinquishes his role as prophet, becoming instead an epiphany (revelation) of God. Not surprisingly then, the Easter traditions in the New Testament are as much about epiphany as they are about resurrection.

    Almost certainly none of the first disciples stopped to ask themselves what had become of Jesus’ flesh and bones. It seems crass even to contemplate such a question in this context. They had glimpsed the human face of God.[3] They knew the truth of the saying that to see Jesus is to see God (John 14:9).

    Perhaps we could modify this statement slightly. Can we suggest that to see Jesus after Easter is to see God, while to see Jesus before Easter is to catch a glimpse of God?

    Jesus after Easter is the Christian encounter with God.

    This God has a human face, and it is a Jewish face..

    This God is not just compassionate, but suffers and dies and rises again.

    This God knows what it is like be alone, cold, hungry, loved, mocked, and touched.

    This God sets a table and calls us to eat.

    This God overturns the crass transactions at the centre of our lives and challenges us to become houses of prayer for all nations.

    This God has become the Spirit poured out on all flesh, so that Paul could also say, “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Cor 3:17).

     

    Conclusion

    As disciples of Jesus, as people who responds to the call of God who was deeply present in Jesus of Nazareth, how do we live out from that encounter with God in Jesus in our own time and place? This encounter with grace and love and forgiveness and life transforms and radicalizes my own life. How am I to put it into practice?

    However I answer that question to myself, it will not be a solo project. It will involve others and it will require me to be part of a community people seeking to fashion their own response to God in Jesus.

    We see this dynamic in the story of Jesus. The human face of God did not drop out of the sky in splendid isolation. Rather, the Word of God was born into a human family and nurtured within the village life of first-century Nazareth. Even in his death, Jesus was surrounded by people: the other victims, the perpetrators of the violence, the vested interests that stood to benefit from the violence, and the intimate circle of those who would most deeply feel the impact of his violent death.

    In between that communal birthing and dying we have the public years that leave no mark on the creeds and confessions of Constantine’s church. The hallmark of those years was that Jesus gathered a community of people around him. Our God is a gregarious god. She likes company!

    God’s preferred company are the broken and the misfits, the blind and the lame, the poor and the outcasts, widows and hemorrhaging women, parents with sick children, collaborators, and women with reputations. Cast the first stone, our God says, if you have no sin! Come as you are. Come and eat at my table.

    Given the importance of community in the life and ministry of Jesus, this is going to be a priority as I respond to my experience of God in Jesus. I am looking for a community of disciples of Jesus that is committed supporting each of its members in their personal and collective response to their encounter with God. As a priest I long to shape and serve such a community. As a Christian I want to be a part of such a community.

    In fact, I think I have found such a community here at SMX.

    Our is a community that reflects the character of our God, the God encountered in Jesus. We seek to be generous community, a church that takes our humanity seriously. This will not be a church where everything is tidy and all the questions have been answered. Most likely this will be a messy church, a church that is living with the questions rather than clinging to traditional answers, and a place where we do not have to be right in order to be loved.

    I suspect it is also the kind of church where God likes to be seen.

     

    Endnotes

    [1] A sermon for St Mary’s in Exile, Brisbane (24 & 25 May 2014).
    [2] For a more detailed discussion of this suggestion, see “One of the prophets,” chapter 4 in Gregory C. Jenks, Jesus Then and Jesus Now.
    [3] This phrase is an intentional homage to the influential book by Bishop John A. T. Robinson, The Human Face of God (London: SCM, 1973; reprinted, 2012). I read this book as a theological student and the phrase has been a part of my personal perspective on Jesus ever since.
  • A birth certificate for Jesus

    A Birth Certificate for Jesus

    This is a pre-publication extract from Gregory C. Jenks,  Jesus Then and Jesus Now: Looking for Jesus, Finding Ourselves. (Melbourne: Mosaic Press, 2014) Pages 118–22.

    For people researching their family history, the birth certificate of an ancestor is a key document. It preserves valuable information with a presumed degree of accuracy about the person whose birth is being documented, and various relatives of that person at the time of their birth.

    How might we imagine a birth certificate for Jesus? Before we attempt that exercise in holy imagination, a comment about the sources for our information is needed.

    There are a number of items in the Jesus Database that relate to the traditions around the birth of Jesus: 007 Of Davids Lineage; 026 Jesus Virginally Conceived; 367 Birth of Jesus; 368 Genealogy of Jesus; 369 Star of Revelation; 431 Conception of John; and 432 Birth of John.[1] I include the last two items relating to John the Baptist since they are integral parts of Luke’s story about the birth of Jesus.

    As we have already seen, the NT offers confusing and contradictory information about the family of Jesus. This is not surprising, as such information is not the reason for the Gospels being composed. The data is simply transmitted by the tradition without any desire to coordinate with other documents.[2] In brief, the information in the NT can be summarized as follows.

    In the letters of Paul there is just a single reference to the birth of Jesus (Gal 4:4). Jesus is simply described as having been “born of a woman, born under the Law.” Paul’s letters are the earliest Christian documents that have survived, and they offer no hint of any special circumstances attending the conception and childhood of Jesus.

    In the Gospel of Mark not much has changed. As we have already seen, Jesus is described as the son of Mary, and a brother to several siblings. This suggests a typical Jewish family, except that there is no mention of his father in Mark. On the basis of this early Christian Gospel we would never imagine anything unusual about the birth of Jesus.

    In the Gospel of Matthew things begin to change. Now a stepfather appears on the scene in the infancy narratives, along with an explicit denial of any natural paternity. Despite this, Jesus is called “son of the carpenter” in Matthew’s revised version of Mark’s episode from the village of Nazareth. In my view, Matthew is the source for the virginal conception idea, and his Joseph character is surely shaped to evoke the legacy of Joseph the dreamer from Genesis.

    As we have seen already, in the Gospel of John the identity of Jesus’ parents is not a mystery. The crowds claim to know both his parents (John 6:42) and Jesus is explicitly called the “son of Joseph” (John 1:45; 7:40–44). His mother is mentioned several times, but never named. This natural biological conception sits alongside the most sophisticated Christology to be found in the NT, as John celebrates Jesus as the “only begotten Son” of the Father, and the incarnation of the divine Logos (John 1:1–18). This should reassure people who worry that taking Jesus as the natural child of Joseph and Mary will necessarily result in a ‘low’ Christology.

    Finally, in the Gospel of Luke we find our early second-century author reviewing the earlier accounts about Jesus. In Luke 1:1–4 he claims to be familiar with their work and sets himself the task of providing a more accurate account. It is possible that Luke understood his version as correcting and replacing these earlier versions that he considered inadequate to the task. He begins that revisionist task with his version of the birth of Jesus. In the Gospel of Luke Jesus has a more complete family context, including two relatives of his mother, Elizabeth and her priestly husband, Zechariah. Indeed, Luke’s story of Jesus’ conception and birth is closely entwined with the story of the conception and birth of his cousin, John the Baptist (Luke 1:5–2:52).

    As a matter of critical method I give no historical weight to any of the traditions in the infancy narratives, including the motif of an irregular conception of Jesus. Rather, I see these traditions—and especially those in Matthew and Luke—as late additions, and expressing the developing devotion to Jesus around the end of the first century. They provide no additional historical information about the childhood of Jesus or the circumstances of his conception.

    In any case, why would we give any credibility to the idea that Jesus was conceived in anything other than a perfectly normal way for his time and culture? The idea seems only to be derived from the infancy legends in Matthew and Luke, and specifically Matthew.[3] Indeed, we find no hint of anything irregular about the circumstances of Jesus’ birth in Paul, Mark, John or any part of the NT except for Luke and Matthew.

    One possible exception is the comment in John 8:41.

    [Jesus said to them,] “You are indeed doing what your father does.” They said to him, “We are not illegitimate children; we have one father, God himself.”

    This turn in the dispute between Jesus and the Jewish crowd is sometimes understood as an allusion to there being something irregular about Jesus’ conception.[4] Such an irregularity—whether arising from his parents not being married when he was conceived, or his father being someone other than his mother’s husband—would result in him having the status of a ‘mamzer’ (a social outcast).’ I think it is a stretch to connect this verse from the Gospel of John with traditions of Jesus’ alleged status as a mamzer. I also note that the gospels nowhere reflect any sense that Jesus was excluded from full participation in the religious life of his community.[5]

    Most critical scholars reject the miraculous elements of the story, but some would suggest that there was some historical core to the tradition. The idea that the gospels preserve a memory of something irregular or shameful about the circumstances of Jesus’ birth seems to me to be a survival of traditional beliefs rather than a natural interpretation of the biblical texts. While we know very little about Jesus as an adult, and even less about him as a child, it seems clear that the biblical texts themselves do not require a supernatural conception for Jesus.

    In light of the most natural reading of the biblical material, a naturalistic explanation along the following lines seems most probable. Stories about a miraculous conception are best understood as Christological statements rather than reports on Mary’s reproductive history. Indeed, I wonder if we would ever have wondered about the paternity of Jesus were it not for the Gospel of Matthew? It seems that we only contemplate the circumstances around Jesus’ conception, including the mamzer theory, because of the influence of the virginal conception motif introduced by Matthew.

    Matthew represents Isaiah as predicting that a virgin (Greek, parthenos) will conceive and bear a son.[6] This is the term found in the Greek versions of the Jewish Scriptures, but the Hebrew text has ‘almah (maiden, young woman). Most likely, Matthew was working with a testimonium, a list of biblical verses extracted for convenience, as scrolls were not easy documents to consult. The genre is known from examples discovered among the Dead Sea Scrolls at Qumran, but Matthew’s list of proof texts seems to have drawn from the Greek version of the Jewish Scriptures.

    Matthew may have been quite unaware that the Hebrew tradition did not use the word for “virgin” but rather a more generic term that describes a young woman eligible for sexual relations.[7] The term does not occur often in the Tanakh, but this example is typical, and hardly suggests a sexual virgin.

    Three things are too wonderful for me;
    four I do not understand:
    the way of an eagle in the sky,
    the way of a snake on a rock,
    the way of a ship on the high seas,
    and the way of a man with a girl (‘almah). (Prov 30:18–19)

    People shaped by our contemporary secular and scientific worldview are generally not disposed to accept stories about a virginal conception as historical, and we therefore consider various alternatives. There are just three options. In the first place, there is the default option of normal conception within a first-century Jewish family system with its traditional patterns of betrothal, marriage, etc. Secondly, there is the option of a normal conception through consensual sexual activity outside of such cultural norms. In addition, there is the possibility of a normal conception as a result of non-consensual sexual violence.[8]

    Either option two or three could have resulted in the child suffering some form of discrimination and loss of social status. This seems to be the core of the mamzer hypothesis. However, there is also the broader question of what evidence we have for the mamzer status in the first few decades of the first century CE—and especially in a remote and extremely small village such as Nazareth must have been. For example, would Mary have been the first or only young woman in that social system to become pregnant before she was in a recognized relationship with her male partner?

    In any case, Luke is certainly unaware of such a tradition. Rather than portray Jesus as a social outcast, Luke has Jesus circumcised according to Jewish tradition (Luke 2:21), presented in the Jerusalem temple (Luke 2:22–24), and even engaging deeply in the religious life of the temple as a twelve year old boy (Luke 2:41–49). In Luke’s imagination, Jesus also has a regular custom of attending prayers at his local synagogue where he even reads from the Scriptures before offering a sermon (Luke 4:16–21). We do not have to take any of these episodes as historical in order to see that Luke entertained no concept of Jesus as a mamzer. For Luke, Jesus is an insider rather than an outsider, and he participates actively in the religious life of his community, as do his followers in the Acts of the Apostles.

    For the record, I think Jesus was probably born in Nazareth as a result of normal sexual relations between his parents. Joseph and Mary subsequently had other children. Joseph does not feature in the tradition outside of the infancy legends even though his name and his paternity are preserved in the Gospel of John. Given the mortality rates at the time, an early demise for Joseph is unremarkable, although Mary seems to have done surprisingly well to survive several pregnancies despite the risks of childbirth in such a society.

    Perhaps we can now attempt to complete the birth certificate for Jesus?

    Parents: Joseph of Nazareth, also known as Joseph son of Jacob (Matt 1:16) and Joseph son of Heli (Luke 3:23); Mary of Nazareth.

    Place of birth: Nazareth.

    Date of birth: unknown, but most likely late in the reign of Herod the Great (37–4 BCE) and certainly not 25 December.

    Siblings: James, Joses, Judas, and Simon, plus at least two sisters.

     


     

    [1]For details see Appendix 3, The Birth of Jesus in the Jesus Database.

    [2] For representative scholarship around these Gospel narratives, see Raymond E. Brown, The Birth of the Messiah. A Commentary on the Infancy Narratives in Matthew and Luke  (London: Geoffrey Chapman, 1977); John P. Meier, A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus. 1. The Roots of the Problem and the Person, ABRL (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1991); Robert J. Miller, Born Divine: The Births of Jesus and Other Sons of God (Santa Rosa, CA: Polebridge, 2003); Jane Schaberg, Illegitimacy of Jesus: A Feminist Theological Interpretation of the Infancy Traditions. Expanded Twentieth Anniversary Edition, 2nd ed., Biblical Seminar (Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix Press, 2006).

    [3] A close reading of Luke suggests no lack of human paternity, just a providential blessing of the child that Mary will bear once she is married to the man with whom she is already betrothed.

    [4]For one example of this interpretation, see Brown, Raymond E. The Gospel According to John. Introduction, Translation, and Notes. Anchor Bible 29. (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1966), I, 357. For an opposing view, see Miller, Born Divine, 213–15.

    [5] For a different view, with which I disagree, see Bruce D. Chilton, Rabbi Jesus. An Intimate Biography  (New York, NY: Doubleday, 2000).

    [6] See http://www.jesusdatabase.org/index.php?title=026_Jesus_Virginally_Conceived

    [7] For a more detailed discussion of Isaiah 7:14 in Christian interpretation, see Gregory C. Jenks, The Once and Future Bible: An Introduction to the Bible for Religious Progressives (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2011). 100-03.

    [8] It is also possible that the mother of Jesus may have conceived him as a result of an involuntary sex act, such as rape by a Roman soldier. However, we have absolutely no evidence for that and we can therefore set it aside as baseless speculation, as Robert Miller also does in Born Divine, 215–16. Roman soldiers would not normally have been present in the territory ruled by Herod and his sons, although Miller (ibid., 220–21) notes that Roman forces were in the vicinity of Nazareth to suppress the rebellion at Sepphoris following the death of Herod in 4 BCE.

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