Thought this was funny. I'm with Golic.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Friday, July 23, 2010
Function
When we hear that God created, we have a tendency to think that God made something out of nothing. This is because of our western heritage and is reflected in the gospel of John, which says, “Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.”
However, in Old Testament times, the primary idea of creation was not making something out of nothing, but bringing order out of chaos by assigning function. For example, Enki and the World Order, a Sumerian story from before 2000 B.C., tells of the way the creator god brought order to the zones of the earth by assigning them functions such as agriculture or engineering. In the same way, Genesis 1 tells us that God made two big lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. Those are their functions.
When God created humans, he gave them a purpose, a function, a destiny. He said, “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let him rule over the fish, the livestock, the birds, and the wild animals.” God created man with the purpose of dominion. It’s our job to care for creation, right from the start.
However, in Old Testament times, the primary idea of creation was not making something out of nothing, but bringing order out of chaos by assigning function. For example, Enki and the World Order, a Sumerian story from before 2000 B.C., tells of the way the creator god brought order to the zones of the earth by assigning them functions such as agriculture or engineering. In the same way, Genesis 1 tells us that God made two big lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. Those are their functions.
When God created humans, he gave them a purpose, a function, a destiny. He said, “Let us make man in our image, in our likeness, and let him rule over the fish, the livestock, the birds, and the wild animals.” God created man with the purpose of dominion. It’s our job to care for creation, right from the start.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Image of God
In Gen. 1, we’re told that we were created in the image of God. Much ink has been spilled about what it means to be created in the image of God. To the philosopher, it means we’ve been endowed with the ability to reason and to use logic. To the artist, it means we’ve been given creativity and the ability to appreciate beauty. In fact, we have a tendency to create a meaning for “the image of God” in our own image.
But what would ancient Israelites likely think about when they heard they were made in the “image of God?” Well, when ancient kings would go conquering, in order to extend their dominion beyond their own borders, they would often have an image of themselves set up in the temple of the town they conquered.
For example, this nearly life-sized statue was found in an ancient temple. It tells us that it’s the image and likeness of the king, used to represent his rule or dominion in the foreign land. From an ancient near eastern perspective, to be told that we’re created in the image and likeness of God is to be told that we are God’s little statues, that he has placed on the earth as a representation of his dominion. When tells Adam and Eve to be fruitful and multiply, he’s saying, “YOU statue of God, extend my dominion, my sovereignty, into the furthest reaches of the earth.”
But what would ancient Israelites likely think about when they heard they were made in the “image of God?” Well, when ancient kings would go conquering, in order to extend their dominion beyond their own borders, they would often have an image of themselves set up in the temple of the town they conquered.
For example, this nearly life-sized statue was found in an ancient temple. It tells us that it’s the image and likeness of the king, used to represent his rule or dominion in the foreign land. From an ancient near eastern perspective, to be told that we’re created in the image and likeness of God is to be told that we are God’s little statues, that he has placed on the earth as a representation of his dominion. When tells Adam and Eve to be fruitful and multiply, he’s saying, “YOU statue of God, extend my dominion, my sovereignty, into the furthest reaches of the earth.”
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
I AM
When did Jesus claim to be God? I mean, it's easy to think of passages where other people called him God (especially Paul), but when did Jesus make the claim himself?
Well, I’ll give you an example, but to do so I have to go back to the beginning. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and void, and the spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the deep.” The image is one of a watery chaos, a common starting point for ancient Near Eastern creation stories. For example, in the Babylonian creation story, a god has to do battle against the watery chaos. In the Bible creation story, God is simply hovering over the waters, the way a mother hen would hover over her eggs… Fast forward to Exodus 3. When Moses asks God his name, God says, “I AM has sent you.” Fast forward again, this time to Exodus 33. After the miraculous release from slavery, after the Israelites have received torah at Mount Sinai, while wandering around the wilderness, Moses says to God, “Show me your glory.” So God tells Moses, “When I pass you by, you will see my glory.” Fast forward one last time, to the time of Jesus, when he sends his disciples out on the lake. The weather turns sour, the waves kick up, the disciples are straining at the oars, and there’s Jesus, strolling on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but they got terrified, and he stops and says “Take courage! I AM. Don’t be afraid!”
Jesus takes the image of the spirit of God hovering over the watery chaos, the image of God passing by Moses, and he calls himself, “I AM.” Put all that together and, well…you get the point.
Well, I’ll give you an example, but to do so I have to go back to the beginning. “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and void, and the spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the deep.” The image is one of a watery chaos, a common starting point for ancient Near Eastern creation stories. For example, in the Babylonian creation story, a god has to do battle against the watery chaos. In the Bible creation story, God is simply hovering over the waters, the way a mother hen would hover over her eggs… Fast forward to Exodus 3. When Moses asks God his name, God says, “I AM has sent you.” Fast forward again, this time to Exodus 33. After the miraculous release from slavery, after the Israelites have received torah at Mount Sinai, while wandering around the wilderness, Moses says to God, “Show me your glory.” So God tells Moses, “When I pass you by, you will see my glory.” Fast forward one last time, to the time of Jesus, when he sends his disciples out on the lake. The weather turns sour, the waves kick up, the disciples are straining at the oars, and there’s Jesus, strolling on the lake. He was about to pass by them, but they got terrified, and he stops and says “Take courage! I AM. Don’t be afraid!”
Jesus takes the image of the spirit of God hovering over the watery chaos, the image of God passing by Moses, and he calls himself, “I AM.” Put all that together and, well…you get the point.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Lights
In the ancient near east, the sun and the moon were considered deities. This is a picture of the sun god that dates from the neo-Babylonian period, roughly the 9th century B.C. In front of the deity is his symbol, the sun disc, and the king is being led in before the god in order to worship him. In ancient near eastern creation stories, after an introductory description of the watery chaotic state, the first thing the main god would create is other gods, and it’s important to remember that in the ancient near east, the sun and the moon are deities. But what happens in Genesis? Right at the point where other creation stories tell about the creation of other deities, we’re told that God created two great lights, a greater light and a lesser light, and that he set them in the expanse of the sky. What we have to notice is that the sun and the moon are not named. Why? Because to name them would sound an awful lot like the big god is creating lesser gods, namely the sun and moon. Why? Because the words ‘sun’ and ‘moon’ are the names of other gods. Right away, we’re told that God didn’t need to create lesser gods to help him organize and govern the universe.
To us, maybe that doesn’t mean much, but to an ancient near eastern mind, this is radical.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Rephaim
In the O.T. there are these characters called the Rephaim. They are the “shades of the dead,” deceased heroes of old. Spoken of in other ancient near eastern cultures, as well as in the Old Testament, they are sort of like the Undead Army in the Lord of the Rings. In Ugaritic, a language similar to Hebrew, texts dating from near the time of Moses tell of the Rephaim:
“Come, O man of the funeral feast, to my house,
O Rephaim, into my house I invite you, I call you,
O divine ones, to my temple.”
After him the Rephaim surely come,
After him verily come the divine ones.”
As you can see, in Ugaritic the Rephaim were treated as though they were divine.
From a later period, roughly the 5th century B.C., Phoenician texts such as this sarcophagus—a stone, human-shaped coffin—speak of the Rephaim, warning away grave robbers. “And if you open my cover and disturb me, may you have no offspring among the living under the sun or a resting place with the Rephaim.”
With this backdrop in mind, take a look at how the bible talks about the Rephaim. Proverbs 9 says that Lady Folly “sits at the door of her house calling out to those who pass by. But the one who listens does not know that the Rephaim are there, that her guests are in the depths of the grave.”
Of course, God alone has the power to raise the dead, to bring to life the Rephaim and those who keep their company. As Isaiah says, “Oh, let Your dead revive! Let corpses arise! Awake and shout for joy, you who dwell in the dust! [Lord,] You make the land of the Rephaim come to life.”
“Come, O man of the funeral feast, to my house,
O Rephaim, into my house I invite you, I call you,
O divine ones, to my temple.”
After him the Rephaim surely come,
After him verily come the divine ones.”
As you can see, in Ugaritic the Rephaim were treated as though they were divine.
From a later period, roughly the 5th century B.C., Phoenician texts such as this sarcophagus—a stone, human-shaped coffin—speak of the Rephaim, warning away grave robbers. “And if you open my cover and disturb me, may you have no offspring among the living under the sun or a resting place with the Rephaim.”
With this backdrop in mind, take a look at how the bible talks about the Rephaim. Proverbs 9 says that Lady Folly “sits at the door of her house calling out to those who pass by. But the one who listens does not know that the Rephaim are there, that her guests are in the depths of the grave.”
Of course, God alone has the power to raise the dead, to bring to life the Rephaim and those who keep their company. As Isaiah says, “Oh, let Your dead revive! Let corpses arise! Awake and shout for joy, you who dwell in the dust! [Lord,] You make the land of the Rephaim come to life.”
Friday, July 16, 2010
British Open
The British Open is at St. Andrews this week. I was at St. Andrews last summer for a conference (Genesis and Christian Theology) and since the town doesn't have any trespassing laws I went strolling along the course, including a quick walk across Swilcan Bridge, estimated to be some 700-800 years old. Truly a magnificent place.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Ridicule of Hope
It seems odd to say, especially to an American, that as a culture we ridicule hope. But I think there’s something to it.
As a nation, we are good at remembering, but this can be a tow-edged sword. When a soldier facing battle calls upon national memory, is it images of Iwo Jima that stir to action or recollection of the debase inhumanity of the jungles of Vietnam? In the same way, when we sit in our staff and elder meetings, do we remember that we serve the God who released the slaves from Egypt and rose Jesus from the dead, or do we remember the last program that floundered despite the time, emotional energy, and financial resources we dumped into it? Or perhaps, most crippling of all, we busily recollect what God did twenty years ago, wandering why he’s done nothing since, unable to own up to the fact that in our minds we’ve been riding past success while around us the world is dying and our ministries are crumbling for lack of new life.
All too well I remember the pain of sitting in meetings listening to long-time members bemoan the fact that twenty years earlier God worked in mighty ways through a building project at the church. People gave sacrificially, many taking out second mortgages on their homes to free up money to give to the project, others giving valuable time and energy to use their skills to help with construction, maintenance, or anything their hands could find to do. I naively thought that this would be the very memories that would stir to action in a desperate hope to see God do it again. Instead, it turned out to be nothing more than the screen behind which to hide from any hope for the future. Like the tired, middle-aged man losing the love and affection of his teenage daughters because he’s too wrapped up in the “glory days” of high-school and college ball to see the joy right in front of him, so the Christian who has forgotten what it’s like to be a Christ-follower, unwilling to hope that God could do it again, all the while losing the affections of the young people in the church but complaining to the youth pastor about “kids these days.” Hope is unwanted because it requires new action.
Speaking personally, I would rather sit in my easy chair and take phone calls from people telling me what a great sermon I gave last week than get on my knees before the sun comes up desperately seeking God’s face for the message he wants to bring next week to a hurting, dying world.
Hope also requires risk. What if it doesn’t work out? It’s so much easier and, even more compelling, safer to either rest on what I have or feel sorry for myself for what I don’t have than to engage in the risky business of hope. A friend of mine has trouble even praying for God to give her anything, even things she knows from the Bible God wants her to have, because asking God for something would mean risking the disappointment of not getting it. It’s easier for her to not hope, and therefore not ask, than to take the risk involved in hoping for a better future. Besides, the present isn’t so bad, so why not just be content? (There’s a fine line between contentment and complacency.) It sounds so spiritual, but after years of not hoping, she’s having to come to grips with the fact that her fear has crippled her.
As a nation, we are good at remembering, but this can be a tow-edged sword. When a soldier facing battle calls upon national memory, is it images of Iwo Jima that stir to action or recollection of the debase inhumanity of the jungles of Vietnam? In the same way, when we sit in our staff and elder meetings, do we remember that we serve the God who released the slaves from Egypt and rose Jesus from the dead, or do we remember the last program that floundered despite the time, emotional energy, and financial resources we dumped into it? Or perhaps, most crippling of all, we busily recollect what God did twenty years ago, wandering why he’s done nothing since, unable to own up to the fact that in our minds we’ve been riding past success while around us the world is dying and our ministries are crumbling for lack of new life.
All too well I remember the pain of sitting in meetings listening to long-time members bemoan the fact that twenty years earlier God worked in mighty ways through a building project at the church. People gave sacrificially, many taking out second mortgages on their homes to free up money to give to the project, others giving valuable time and energy to use their skills to help with construction, maintenance, or anything their hands could find to do. I naively thought that this would be the very memories that would stir to action in a desperate hope to see God do it again. Instead, it turned out to be nothing more than the screen behind which to hide from any hope for the future. Like the tired, middle-aged man losing the love and affection of his teenage daughters because he’s too wrapped up in the “glory days” of high-school and college ball to see the joy right in front of him, so the Christian who has forgotten what it’s like to be a Christ-follower, unwilling to hope that God could do it again, all the while losing the affections of the young people in the church but complaining to the youth pastor about “kids these days.” Hope is unwanted because it requires new action.
Speaking personally, I would rather sit in my easy chair and take phone calls from people telling me what a great sermon I gave last week than get on my knees before the sun comes up desperately seeking God’s face for the message he wants to bring next week to a hurting, dying world.
Hope also requires risk. What if it doesn’t work out? It’s so much easier and, even more compelling, safer to either rest on what I have or feel sorry for myself for what I don’t have than to engage in the risky business of hope. A friend of mine has trouble even praying for God to give her anything, even things she knows from the Bible God wants her to have, because asking God for something would mean risking the disappointment of not getting it. It’s easier for her to not hope, and therefore not ask, than to take the risk involved in hoping for a better future. Besides, the present isn’t so bad, so why not just be content? (There’s a fine line between contentment and complacency.) It sounds so spiritual, but after years of not hoping, she’s having to come to grips with the fact that her fear has crippled her.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
christotainment
Part of what Willow's Reveal survey showed is that dumping resources into production--the Sunday morning "show"--is a two-edged sword. On the one hand, we desire to give God our best and represent him well. If we show up on Sunday morning and offer up music we haven't rehearsed and a sermon that isn't well prepared, we dishonor God and seekers walk away thinking that the God we tout as worthy of our all isn't even worthy of above-minimal effort. In this our actions really do speak louder than our preaching.
The flip side, though, is that when we put all our eggs into the basket of the Sunday morning production we inadvertently give in to one of the biggest ills of our culture and biggest threats to spiritual maturity--consumerism.
How do we strike a balance between christotainment and bland irrelevance?
The flip side, though, is that when we put all our eggs into the basket of the Sunday morning production we inadvertently give in to one of the biggest ills of our culture and biggest threats to spiritual maturity--consumerism.
How do we strike a balance between christotainment and bland irrelevance?
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Have It Your Way
No problem if it’s about a burger. If I’m getting a burger and I don’t want any pickles on it, then by all means I’m going to “Have it my way” and hold the pickles. But sometimes, at least for me, this is nothing more than a microcosm of the larger “root” issue of selfishness and self-indulgence. The problem occurs when I'm confronted with an opportunity to serve or put someone else first. The honest truth is I usually opt for having it my way, which does not ultimately satisfy, despite the claim to joy implicit in the phrase, “Have it your way.”
Monday, July 12, 2010
Rainbow
Today I saw the most amazing rainbow out over Lake Michigan. It got me thinking about God putting his bow in the clouds after the flood (Genesis 9). It was hard for me to look at that rainbow and not be impressed, and I think that's the point. Bows were used in treaty making ceremonies as a way for a sovereign to say, "I beat you up and now I'm ready to come to terms...but you better remember who's in charge." In the same way, God put his bow in the sky when he made his treaty with Noah....
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Religion of Order
The following are some thoughts I had after reading the first chapter of Walter Brueggemann's The Prophetic Imagination.
What does it mean to have a “religion of order,” or, as Brueggemann calls it, a religion of static triumphalism? Well, first of all, everything is nice and tidy when we worship a God of order. I can write off the drunk guy on the corner because his life represents chaos, and I serve the God of order. I can safely ignore the young people who want to change things in my church because things might get messy or disorganized, and I serve the God of order. Sure, God brought order out of chaos when he created the world. Sure, God brings order to the chaos of my life. But it is one thing to say God brings order out of chaos, and entirely different to say that God is a God of order.
What do I mean? Well, if God is a God of order, how do you explain the chaos he brought into the life of Job? If God is a God of order, how do you explain him using a fish to swallow a man who refuses to obey? If God is a God of order, why does fire and thunder and lightning accompany his presence at Sinai? Why does he appear to Moses in a bush that is on fire but doesn’t burn up? After all, doesn’t order demand that something on fire burns? Most of all, how do you explain the Spirit of God as a wind that blows where it will? Is this not a perfect picture of disorder? (Or, at the very least, that God can’t be manipulated.) Isn’t the point of that statement the unpredictability of God? Sure, God is dependable, but is that really the same as predictable? I don’t think it is.
It is this issue of predictability that is really at the root of worshipping a God of order. That which is ordered is utterly predictable, and that which is predictable can be manipulated—the core of idolatry. Idolatry was never primarily about making images out of gold or wood. This was only a symptom of the disease. The disease was manipulating deity. If I can craft a god with my hands and set it up in my home, I have exerted control over the deity. If I am responsible for feeding or caring for the idol, something the ancients believed, then I can again exert some control over the deity. If I keep him or her well fed, then he should bless me with children or good crops. If my crops go bad or if there is drought or famine then I know the deity is displeased and I go out of my way to pacify him. In the end it’s all very ordered and predictable, that is, it’s idolatrous.
What does this have to do with us who have never made an image? Well, have you ever had any of these thoughts: “I’ve done good this week, God should bless me.” “I’ve been having my quiet time regularly, so God is supposed to make things go well.” “I’ve been missing my quiet time, so God doesn’t like me right now.” “I’m afraid to drive today because I looked at pornography last night so God has removed his protection from me.” “I’ve hit every red light, God must be mad at me.” All of these thoughts are idolatry. Why? Because they assume that God has to act in certain ways as a result of our behavior. This is manipulating God, and the God of the Bible refuses to be manipulated. Yes, he often chooses to bless us in response to our obedience, but this is his choice.
We even use Scripture to manipulate God. Have you ever thought that you could make your children believe by teaching them all the right things? After all, didn’t God say, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it?” Do you know the pain of wondering what you did wrong because your child has rejected God? As lovingly as I can I want to tell you that that is idolatry. God will not be manipulated by your good works. David was a “man after God’s own heart” but most of his kids were creeps. The proverb quoted above is just that—a proverb, a generalization. This is different than a promise—it’s a statement of what is generally, not always, true. Notice that no parent in scripture is ever held responsible for the actions of his children. Even Eli, whose sons were wicked, was judged not for the actions of his sons but for his action of not holding them accountable.
I had lunch today with a friend of mine whose twenty-something daughter has shown no interest in Jesus. He admitted to me that he and his wife have been tempted to look back and try and figure out what they did wrong. Then he told me, “But we just can’t go there.” He’s a practical guy, and he recognizes that there’s no benefit to getting stuck in a myriad of doubts that can’t be resolved. But more than that, he went on to say, “I can’t be Jesus in her life.” Wow. He gets it. He sees that ultimately it’s God who draws people to himself, and no matter what he does or how much we pray for his daughter he can’t force her to faith or demand that God act in a certain way. He can “be Jesus in her life” in the sense of loving her and caring deeply for her, but he can’t save her. Only God can save.
What does it mean to have a “religion of order,” or, as Brueggemann calls it, a religion of static triumphalism? Well, first of all, everything is nice and tidy when we worship a God of order. I can write off the drunk guy on the corner because his life represents chaos, and I serve the God of order. I can safely ignore the young people who want to change things in my church because things might get messy or disorganized, and I serve the God of order. Sure, God brought order out of chaos when he created the world. Sure, God brings order to the chaos of my life. But it is one thing to say God brings order out of chaos, and entirely different to say that God is a God of order.
What do I mean? Well, if God is a God of order, how do you explain the chaos he brought into the life of Job? If God is a God of order, how do you explain him using a fish to swallow a man who refuses to obey? If God is a God of order, why does fire and thunder and lightning accompany his presence at Sinai? Why does he appear to Moses in a bush that is on fire but doesn’t burn up? After all, doesn’t order demand that something on fire burns? Most of all, how do you explain the Spirit of God as a wind that blows where it will? Is this not a perfect picture of disorder? (Or, at the very least, that God can’t be manipulated.) Isn’t the point of that statement the unpredictability of God? Sure, God is dependable, but is that really the same as predictable? I don’t think it is.
It is this issue of predictability that is really at the root of worshipping a God of order. That which is ordered is utterly predictable, and that which is predictable can be manipulated—the core of idolatry. Idolatry was never primarily about making images out of gold or wood. This was only a symptom of the disease. The disease was manipulating deity. If I can craft a god with my hands and set it up in my home, I have exerted control over the deity. If I am responsible for feeding or caring for the idol, something the ancients believed, then I can again exert some control over the deity. If I keep him or her well fed, then he should bless me with children or good crops. If my crops go bad or if there is drought or famine then I know the deity is displeased and I go out of my way to pacify him. In the end it’s all very ordered and predictable, that is, it’s idolatrous.
What does this have to do with us who have never made an image? Well, have you ever had any of these thoughts: “I’ve done good this week, God should bless me.” “I’ve been having my quiet time regularly, so God is supposed to make things go well.” “I’ve been missing my quiet time, so God doesn’t like me right now.” “I’m afraid to drive today because I looked at pornography last night so God has removed his protection from me.” “I’ve hit every red light, God must be mad at me.” All of these thoughts are idolatry. Why? Because they assume that God has to act in certain ways as a result of our behavior. This is manipulating God, and the God of the Bible refuses to be manipulated. Yes, he often chooses to bless us in response to our obedience, but this is his choice.
We even use Scripture to manipulate God. Have you ever thought that you could make your children believe by teaching them all the right things? After all, didn’t God say, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it?” Do you know the pain of wondering what you did wrong because your child has rejected God? As lovingly as I can I want to tell you that that is idolatry. God will not be manipulated by your good works. David was a “man after God’s own heart” but most of his kids were creeps. The proverb quoted above is just that—a proverb, a generalization. This is different than a promise—it’s a statement of what is generally, not always, true. Notice that no parent in scripture is ever held responsible for the actions of his children. Even Eli, whose sons were wicked, was judged not for the actions of his sons but for his action of not holding them accountable.
I had lunch today with a friend of mine whose twenty-something daughter has shown no interest in Jesus. He admitted to me that he and his wife have been tempted to look back and try and figure out what they did wrong. Then he told me, “But we just can’t go there.” He’s a practical guy, and he recognizes that there’s no benefit to getting stuck in a myriad of doubts that can’t be resolved. But more than that, he went on to say, “I can’t be Jesus in her life.” Wow. He gets it. He sees that ultimately it’s God who draws people to himself, and no matter what he does or how much we pray for his daughter he can’t force her to faith or demand that God act in a certain way. He can “be Jesus in her life” in the sense of loving her and caring deeply for her, but he can’t save her. Only God can save.
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