Early in 2019, I made it my goal to read through most, if not all, of NT Wright’s scholarship in his printed material. I also planned on reviewing and interacting with the material on the blog. Half of my goal is going well – read on for some updates.Continue reading “#TwentyWrightTeen Update”
Even in the midst of the cosmic scale of the Bible, we hear about the faithfulness of people like Lydia.Continue reading “Lydia and the Cosmic Story of the Bible”
“To be human means above all to bury”, according to Robert Pogue Harrison in The Dominion of the Dead. Robert Macfarlane, in Underland, adds: “drawing on Vico’s suggestion that humanitas in Latin comes first and properly from humando, meaning ‘bury, burial’, itself from humus, meaning ‘earth’ or ‘soil’.” (Underland, p. 30)
They are almost correct.
The human life – the truly human life – does not stop at burial. In fact, it is at burial that the truly human life begins. When we die to ourselves, to our sin, and to life in the flesh, we enter into a new phase of living, a new creation. This new creation is ushered in by the Last Adam, the harbinger of life, who went into the tomb before us, bringing us into his resurrection life.
When we think about our lives, we need to stop thinking about burial as something that happens at the end of our time on earth. Instead, we look at our burial of baptism, remembering that as the moment that we truly stepped into the fullness of life. So, I suggest a change: To be human means, first, to be buried; to be human means, above all, to be raised into new life.
My review of Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge: Traveler’s Guide to Batuu.Continue reading “Review: Star Wars: Galaxy’s Edge: Traveler’s Guide to Batuu”
My review of Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Stories of Light and DarkContinue reading “Review: Star Wars: The Clone Wars: Stories of Light and Dark”
A post, putting Galatians in chronological order, hoping that it helps sort out some of the knots in the arguments.Continue reading “Galatians in Chronological Order”
When we feel overwhelmed, 2 Kings 6 reminds us to pray for illumination.Continue reading “Chariots of Fire (2 Kings 6)”
A short biblical theology of names.Continue reading “The Name of God and Our Names”
For those who are starting a new reading plan this January, especially those in Genesis, I thought I’d offer a few thoughts that came to me as I read this morning:Continue reading “Good and Evil”
The Bible introduces us to two men with striking similarities. Both are named Joseph, both are sons of a man named Jacob, and both have dreams about royalty.
The first Joseph was the son of Jacob, who was also known as Israel. This Joseph dreamt that he would one day rule over his brothers and his parents, symbolizing by the cosmic authorities bowing to him. Fueled by jealousy, his brothers sought to dethrone him, and sold him into slavery, casting him into the land of Egypt. He quickly became employed and valued in the house of Pharaoh. He ran afoul of leadership in Egypt and was cast into prison. There, Joseph dreamt again about two men in the royal court, which lead him to provide bread and wine for the whole land of Egypt. Joseph would then ascend to the second-in-command position of Egypt, a kingdom of Jew and Gentile together, fed by the exalted son of Jacob.
The second Joseph was the son of Jacob. This Joseph, a son of David, dreamt that his fiancee was having a son, one who would rule over all of the world. Fueled by jealousy, Herod the king sent word to have this child, and every male child under two was set to be destroyed. Je ran afoul of Herod, who had become his own kind of Pharaoh, setting out to kill the firstborn of Israel who might challenge his reign, so Jesus was cast into Egypt. There, Joseph dreamt again about Jesus, sparing the life of the one who would bring bread and wine for the whole world. Jesus would later ascend to the right hand of Yahweh, reigning as king over the Kingdom of God, a kingdom of Jew and Gentile together, fed by the exalted son of Jacob.
Truly, we can say, in the life of both of these Josephs, we learn that what man meant for evil (ra’ah), God meant for good (tov). In both of these Josephs, the ideal of Eden would be restored, as the tree of life would be made available to the world through the exalted son of Israel.
The Song of Songs is a surprisingly fitting book for the season of Advent.
On the face of it, the Song is the story of a woman, unloved and unvalued by her family and society, who has been set to marry the King of Israel. This King is both a royal figure and a shepherd. Sometimes, the King is portrayed on his couch, approaching with a caravan of soldiers and servants; other times, the King is a simple man, tending to his flock. Specifically, the Song was written as an ode to Solomon, the son of David. The woman is a Gentile who now lives under the reign of Solomon’s expanded Israel. As the Song progresses, the woman falls more and more in love with Solomon, becoming more like him. She is not named, but by the end of the Song, she has taken on the identity of Solomon: she is called a Shulammite, the feminine form of Solomon’s Hebrew name, Shlommo.
The Song is also the history of Israel, but with a surprising twist. In the Song, the woman can stand for God. The woman spends the majority of the Song chasing after the King, who is surprising aloof and far off. This is the story of Yahweh’s pursuit of Israel. She finds him in the Garden, where they enjoy a brief but broken time together (2:3-7). She searches for him in the wilderness, but he is nowhere to be found. She also describes their marriage house with language from the temple (1:16-17), but she can’t find her lover there. She searches for her lover in the city; no one has seen or heard from him (3:1-5). Her lover is like a fig tree (2:13), ripe for the eating. The story of Israel is the story of the chesed love of God, the love that pursues us and never abandons the chase, just as the woman pursues her king-lover.
But because this is the Bible, the lovers can also be swapped. We are the woman, searching for the better-Solomon-shepherd-King, the one who brings us the wealth of Israel and the nations of the world. We are the bride, unloved and unvalued, who finds their identity in the king. Just as the woman became a Shulammite, we are made into the likeness of our Groom. We yearn for our King, chasing him in the wilderness, the valleys, the fields, the gardens, the city; even when he seems far, he can always be found, and we rejoice.
The Song is an Advent book because it is a story about longing. When we yearn and long for the Advent of our King, Jesus, we are reliving the experience of Israel as she waited for the return of Yahweh to his Temple. But we have seen our King, and he has made himself known and found: a baby laying in a manger, the Bread of Life born in the flesh in the House of Bread (beth-lehem). As we search desperately, in love, for our King, we have seen him in the face of Jesus Christ. Now, we wait for him to return to us in the flesh, revealed in all of his glory.
Three times, the Song says “do not awaken love before its time”. In the dawning of the new covenant, in the rising sun of Jesus Christ, love has awoken, and our love can be stirred again.