Today’s reading: John 12.20–32:

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, ‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus.’ Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. Jesus answered them, ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honour.

‘Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—“Father, save me from this hour”? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name.’ Then a voice came from heaven, ‘I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.’ The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, ‘An angel has spoken to him.’ Jesus answered, ‘This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgement of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.’

I love this image of the heavens thundering, but the apostles hearing a voice:

“I have glorified [my name], and I will glorify it again.”

Within the immediate context of this passage, the voice must be referring to the crucifixion and resurrection. This is clear from the metaphorical meaning of the previous passage concerning the wheat which  must go into the ground in order to bear fruit. Jesus’ death, burial, and resurrection, however, is the firstfruits of a mighty harvest; we too must die in order to bear fruit.

My students often ask me: “What do I need to do to be in God’s will?” Sometimes we put so much pressure on ourselves to accomplish God’s will, forgetting that he will take care of what is necessary to accomplish his promises. We strive and strive and strive, and so often we fail. My answer always comes from Matthew 23:

1. Love God.
2. Love others.

Notice the lack of selfishness here. There is no real concern for self — only for others. We kill of the self in order to serve the other. We experience a death that leads to ultimate life. Love God; love others. If we are doing these things, then I have no doubt that God’s name will be glorified.

Father in Heaven,

Let us, your humble servants glorify your name by loving you and loving those with whom we come into contact. May we never forget your abundant love and your own self-sacrifice as we die daily in the hope of the ultimate reward.

Amen. 

Last night I had the pleasure of seeing Alister McGrath lecture at the Lanier Theological Library in northwest Houston. McGrath, a professor at Oxford with a doctorate in both molecular biophysics and divinity, is a scholar of the highest order and it was a real pleasure to see him in action.

McGrath’s lecture (entitled “The Lord is My Light”) began with a rather famous C.S. Lewis¹  quote:

I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else.

Through a series of illustrations, McGrath showed how a mind concentrated on God, concentrated on theology, attempting to comprehend the incomprehensible² , sees the world in a different way. Our words may not be good enough to do justice to the reality of who God is, but that’s part of the beauty of theology — it’s finite man’s attempt to explain the infinite. By way of illustration, McGrath tells the (probably apocryphal) story of Augustine when he meets a boy on a north African beach. The boy takes a seashell, walks to the sea, fills it with water, and transports that water to a hole that he has dug in the beach. Augustine asks: “What are you doing?” The boy responds: “Trying to move the Mediterranean into this hole.” Augustine: “You’ll never be able to do that.” The boy: “I don’t know. It seems you’re trying to do the same thing by putting God (i.e., the Trinity) into a book.”³ The Trinity is a rich vision of God that forces us to recognize our own limits. It puts us in our place.

After discussing the importance of theology and the life of the mind, McGrath spoke about the importance of Apologetics. He said there were two purposes for Apologetics:

1. Negative: Apologetics counters objections to the Christian faith.
2. Positive: Apologetics explains the truth and value of the Christian faith to our culture.

It was this second purpose that he focused on. Again using Lewis as a jumping off point, McGrath discussed the importance of “translating” the message to our culture.  The intense white light of God shines through a prism, which is theology, and allows us to break God up into various components that we may then translate to our culture. As an example, he translates the notion of “adoption” in Romans 8:15 and compares it to the theme song from Cheers — adoption means that we are in a place where we are wanted, where “everybody knows your name.” McGrath challenged the audience to find ways to translate the Gospel message into our culture.

Finally, McGrath discussed what he called “the limits of making sense.” Again, he uses Lewis as a starting point. Lewis stuck passionately to reason and intellect. In reading The Problem of Pain where Lewis very famously said that suffering is “God’s megaphone to rouse a deaf world,” McGrath finds Lewis’s lack of attention to emotion and the experience of suffering disturbing. However, when Lewis’s wife, Joy, died in 1960, Lewis wrote (under a pseudonym) A Grief Observed where he begins to attend to the emotional side of suffering.

McGrath takes Martin Luther as a bit of a corrective to Lewis’s dogged devotion to reason and intellect. Luther does not allow that theology bring everything into sharp focus (the way that Lewis wanted it to). Not all questions will be resolved. In the end, that’s okay. If all of the questions were resolved then we would no longer be able to speak of God as a mystery.

McGrath’s lecture was a challenge to me. His theme really dealt with the richness of the Christian faith and its ability to excite all parts of the human: mind, body, soul.⁴ As I told one student after the lecture, the lecture was a reminder that theology is not passive; theology is active and leads us to see the world in a different way, leads us to behave differently toward ourselves, our fellowa humans, and our God.

Footnotes

1. McGrath is currently working on a book about C.S. Lewis. Consequently, his lecture was absolutely peppered with Lewis. My students are currently reading Mere Christianity, and many of McGrath’s comments about Lewis dealt with ideas found in that particular text. So, it was nice for a couple of them to hear this stuff from someone other than me.
2. Cf. the Athanasian Creed.
3. We can see why this might be apocryphal…
4. Cf. Matthew 22.34–40

As I type this, I’m laughing at Ronald Stroud, an older gentleman and professor of Classics at UC Berkeley, who has a knack for asking insightful questions with lovely (and humorous) rhetorical flourish.

Dr. Stroud is just one of the presenters at “Corinth in Contrast: Studies in Equality”, a conference hosted by the departments of Classics, Religious Studies, and the Institute for the Study of Antiquity and Christian Origins (ISAC) at the University of Texas at Austin.

The conference brings together scholars from various disciplines — archaeologists, New Testament specialists, art historians, etc. — in order to re-examine the ancient city of Corinth and the concept of inequality.

Thinking back on the last two days, in some ways the conference has been a great example of the direction that scholarship needs to move, as well as a picture of the dichotomy between archaeologists and historians of religion.

First, it’s been fantastic to see archaeologists, ancient historians, and religious studies scholars interact with each other. While James Walters presented a paper discussing a new interpretation of Paul’s rhetorical use of the Last Supper in 1 Corinthians 11 using practice theory as his theoretical framework, archaeologists listened with great interest, in spite of the fact that Walters opened his presentation with this caveat: “I won’t be talking about material culture in this paper.”

The conference, therefore, suggests two important movements in scholarship:

1. The legitimation of Religious Studies as a discipline.
2. The importance of cross/inter-disciplinary work.

This is a very positive move.

Second, however, I see an issue with this particular conference that I can’t help but highlight. Through the first four sessions,¹ most presentations have been divided into either archaeological or literary. Few presentations (Stroud’s discussion of magic and ritual, and Dr. Steve Friesen’s analysis of Junia Theodora and Phoebe are notable exceptions), have really blended analysis of material culture with analysis of ritual practice or literature.

That being said, the possibility of the continued legitimation of religious studies and its alliance with those who dig around for evidence of the day-to-day lives of ancient people is exactly the direction that we need.

Footnotes

1. I realize this may change with tomorrow’s session, which I will miss, unfortunately.

In Plato’s dialogue Cratylus, Socrates gives us one of Heraclitus’s most important ideas:

You cannot step twice into the same stream.

For Heraclitus, this idea epitomized his doctrine of flux — everything is constantly changing.¹ Though it may seem as if you are stepping into the same stream a second time, so much has changed since you last stepped into it — you are feeling different water molecules, there are microscopic shifts in sediment, the temperature has changed by a thousandth of a degree, etc.

The opening poem of Ecclesiastes (1.2–12), however, offers a different view. Like Heraclitus, the author understands the world to be constantly changing, but that change is cyclical — eventually the stream will be the same again and it might be possible to step into that same stream a second time. To illustrate this, Ecclesiastes also uses imagery that depicts the natural world: sun, wind, flowing water. Each of these elements reaches its destination and then returns back again to its source. For example, look at v. 6:

The wind blows to the south,
and goes around to the north;
round and round goes the wind,
and on its circuits the wind returns.²

Likewise, the sun returns to its start (v. 5); the streams continue to flow, and, because the ocean never seems to have its fill, the streams must be returning to their source (v. 7). So, we can see that things are changing, but they eventually return back to their original state.

How can we explain this return back to their original state? If we look at the second law of thermodynamics, we understand that an unmaintained system will eventually devolve into chaos or disorder — it’s entropy increases.³ Therefore, if the natural world is left to its own devices, if it is not maintained, entropy increases, and the world devolves into disorder and chaos.

But Ecclesiastes tells us that this change is cyclical; eventually, things will again be just as they are now — “the Earth remains forever” (v. 4). How is this possible? The answer is obvious: there must be something maintaining the system — i.e., God.

In a way, this is a wonderful picture of the Gospel. While the world is in a constant state of flux and our lives may feel like they are devolving into a state of chaos and disorder, in fact the world and everything in it is being constantly maintained by the divine hand of God.

Footnotes

1. Note that Plato (via Socrates) will eventually dismantle this idea.
2. I wonder if the author may have considered the Earth to be spherical. How does this “round and round” action happen exactly? Likewise, does the author understand the water cycle (see v. 7)?
3. Entropy is the measure of disorder within a system.

Part eight of the series “Hebrews 2:9 – Separated by Grace.”

Thus, we have demonstrated the importance of patristic evidence for the textual criticism of Heb 2:9. Because Origen’s citations pass the appropriate tests (the grammar of the citation is not significantly affected; the author may be quoting directly from a text; our critical edtion is reliable; and the readings are preserved in the original Greek), it should be reckoned as a powerful witness to the text of Hebrews during that time period. Moreover, since in context it makes little difference which variant he chooses, Origen’s witness seems rather strong, at least for Alexandria.

Further, we have illustrated the importance of internal evidence for assessing this particular variant. χωρὶς is not only the lectio difficilior, but also a more common word in Hebrews than χάρις, and, while its alteration can be explained by scribal lapse, it is more likely the work of a theologically motivated scribe.

When this internal evidence and the evidence of Origen and other patristic authors is combined with the manuscript evidence that heavily favors χάριτι, we are confronted with the realities of an early christological debate that has manifested itself as a text-critical quandary.

The earliest version of the text probably read χωρὶς θεοῦ, but proto-orthodox scribes, sensitive to the “heretical” practice of splitting Christ into multiple persons, have elected to alter the text in an effort to reclaim Paul as a witness to their view.

Part seven of the series “Hebrews 2:9 – Separated by Grace.”

Irenaeus seems to be fighting the same battle in Book 3 of Adversus haereses. In III.16.9, he lays out the testimony of Paul in an attempt to refute the notion that there is a divine Christ distinct from a human Jesus; he wants to show that they are one and the same:

Christ suffered, and he himself was the Son of God, who died on our behalf, and with his blood he redeemed us at the pre-appointed time . . . he [Paul] proclaimed most plainly that this same one who was apprehended and suffered and shed his blood for us, this is the Christ, this is the Son of God, who also rose again and was taken into heaven.¹

And later, in III.17.4, he describes the “heresy”:

They understand Christ to be one, and Jesus another, and they teach that there was not one Christ, but many. And if they say that they are united, again they show that this one underwent suffering, but this one remained impassible; that one ascended to the Pleroma, but the other remained in the intermediate area, and that this one in invisible and unnameable areas feasted and reveled, but this one sat by the Demiurge emptying his power.²

Irenaeus is very concerned with this notion that “heretical” groups are splitting Christ into multiple persons. His tactic is to show how scripture, especially Paul, refutes such a notion. Within this sort of climate, it is not difficult to see how a pious, proto-orthodox scribe, knowing that the christological debate is of great concern, might alter the text to say not that Jesus tasted death χωρὶς θεοῦ (a reading that, according to all intrinsic factors, appears to be genuine), but that he was crucified χάριτι θεοῦ (a reading that is extremely well-attested, but falters when the internal evidence is gathered). Indeed, the former reading could provide ammunition for those who believe that the Divine left Christ, while the latter is a gloss more friendly to Irenaeus and the like.

Footnotes

1. Rousseau and Louis Doutreleau, Contre Les Hérésies (SC 211; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1974) 322–25: Christum passum et ipsum esse Filium Dei, qui pro nobis mortuus est et sanguine suo redemit nos in praefinito tempore . . . hunc eundem qui apprehensus et passus est et effudit sanguinem suum pro nobis, hunc Christum, hunc Filium Dei manifestissime adnuntians, qui etiam surrexit et adsumptus est in caelos. (The translation here is my own.)
2. Ibid., 338-41: Alium autem— Christum et alium Iesum intellegunt, et non unum Christum sed plures fuisse docent; et si unitos eos dixerint, iterum ostendunt hunc quidem participasse passionem, hunc autem impassibilem perseuerasse; et hunc quidem ascendisse in Pleroma, hunc autem in Medietate remansisse; et hunc quidem in inuisibilibus et innominabilibus epulari et oblectari, hunc autem adsidere Demiurgo euacuantem eum virtutem. (The translation again is my own.)

Part six of the series “Hebrews 2:9 – Separated by Grace.”

Origen mentions the χωρίς reading of Heb 2:9 six times, four of which are preserved in Greek, two in the Latin translations by Rufinus.¹  While Origen does not seem to declare a preference for either reading, he does seem to favor the χωρίς reading over χάριτι.

First, let us consider his use of Heb 2:9 in the Commentary on John: χωρὶς γὰρ θεοῦ ὑπὲρ παντὸς ἐγεύσατο θανάτου (“for apart from God on behalf of all he tasted death”). He then adds the phrase ὅπερ ἔν τισι κεῖται τῆς πρὸς Ἑβραίους ἀντιγράφοις χάριτι θεοῦ (“which among some copies of the [epistle] to the Hebrews is set down ‘by the grace of God’”)—clearly indicating that he knows of manuscripts with both readings.²  As Paul Garnet points out, Origen here seems—somewhat tacitly—to support the originality of χωρίς, and his choice of this reading in no way affects the theological point that he is trying to make (namely, that “Jesus offered himself as a sacrifice not only for men, but for every rational being”).³  For Origen, the point is not that Jesus tasted death χωρὶς θεοῦ, but that he tasted death ὑπὲρ παντός. So, whether or not the manuscript says χωρίς or χάρις is inconsequential for his purpose. If the reading were necessary for Origen’s argument, then it would be easy to infer why he might prefer it.

Contrast this, for example, with Ambrose’s repeated citation of Heb 2:9 in De Fide.⁴  Because Ambrose finds Jesus’ separation from God (sine Deo) to be so theologically significant, it is obvious why he might prefer that reading.⁵  It is also possible to conjecture that whichever manuscripts he had in front of him, he would continue to prefer χωρίς every time .So also for Theodore of Mopsuestia, who refers to the χάριτι reading as γελοιότατον (“most ridiculous/most laughable”).

Origen’s use of Heb 2:9, however, does not seem to suffer from the four aforementioned shortcomings of patristic citations. For, the syntax of the sentence does not significantly alter the quotation (though he does add γάρ and change the mood of γεύομαι to the indicative); while he does not explicitly claim to be quoting from a text in front of him, the nature of the quotation (and the appendage of the phrase about other manuscripts) indicates that he is reproducing the text somewhat faithfully; the text we have is found in a good critical edition; and finally, we do not need to worry about issues of translation, since this text is preserved in Greek.

Another citation by Origen that may be significant is found in the Dialogue with Heraclides 27: ζητῶ ἵν’ εὕρω ὅτι Χριστὸς Ἰησοῦς ὕπερ πάντων ἀπέθανεν χωρὶς θεοῦ (“I seek so that I find that Christ Jesus died apart from God on behalf of all”).⁶  Garnet contends that the phrase which introduces this quote (ζητῶ ἵν’ εὕρω) indicates the Origen has actually taken the time to search out the verse.⁷  While Garnet’s argument for Origen’s direct use of the manuscript for his citation is not altogether convincing (mainly because the citation has Jesus dying rather than “tasting death”—a variant not to be found elsewhere), this citation is important because it comes amidst christological debate.⁸  As we have discussed earlier, Ehrman is convinced that the alteration of χωρίς to χάριτι most likely centered around christological debate. In the case of Heraclides, we clearly have Heb 2:9 being used as a scriptural argument for a discussion about the nature of Christ. Hebrews 2, in fact, is most intimately concerned with Christology. Verses 5–18 provide a concise description of Jesus’ status as a human being. He was made lower than the angels and crowned with glory and honor because of his suffering of death (2:8–9), and he is put on the same level as humans (2:11), taking on the same nature and sharing flesh and blood (2:14).⁹  In Hebrews 2, the very nature of Christ is at stake, just as it was for scribes of the second century. The passage puts a great deal of emphasis not only on Jesus’ divinity (all things are subjected to him), but also on his humanity (he shares in flesh and blood). Therefore, the text becomes important for two different christological camps—those who would wish to proclaim Jesus’ full divinity, as well as those who might argue that the Divine is incapable of suffering death and thus that the Divine must have left Jesus before his suffering.

Footnotes

1. Commentary on John, I.35, XXVIII.18 (bis); Dialogue with Heraclides, 27; Commentary on Romans III.8 and V.7. See Garnet,“Hebrews 2:9.” I have adopted where applicable the Sources Chrétiennes system for labeling chapters, rather than the system used by Garnet.
2. Cecile Blanc, Commentaire Sur Saint Jean (SC 120; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1966) 186–87; and Garnet, “Hebrews 2:9,” 321.
3. Ibid., 321.
4. Hughes, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Hebrews, 95.
5. Ambrose, in De Fide 2.3.65, during a discussion of what it means for Christ to be “made lower,” uses Heb 2:9, making the following statement: “How wisely the Apostle wrote: ‘In order that apart from God He might taste death on behalf of all,’ lest we should think that the Godhead, rather than the flesh, had endured the passion.”
6. Jean Scherer, Entretien avec Héraclide (SC 67; Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2002).
7. Garnet, “Hebrews 2:9,” 321–22.
8. Contrast this with the Origen’s use of Heb 2:9 in The Commentary on John where he is discussing the efficacy of the cross and the redemptive nature of Jesus’ death. The Latin translations by Rufinus for The Commentary on Romans also employ Heb 2:9 in discussion of Jesus’ sacrifice. It is also worth noting that in Commentary V.7, a discussion of grace, Rufinus preserves ut sine Deo pro omnibus gustaret mortem (“So that without God, on behalf of all, he tasted death”). Certainly some form of χάριτι would be preferred in a section about grace. In both Latin cases, Rufinus preserves the Hebrews word order, unlike the Greek citations we have. See Garnet, “Hebrews 2:9,” 322.
9. Ehrman, Orthodox Corruption of Scripture, 149.

Earlier this week, I briefly discussed the poem in 2 Tim 2.11–13 in my post about parathēkē. Here, I’d like to explore this passage a bit more, line-by-line.

First, let’s set the context. The purpose for 2 Timothy, predominantly, is to encourage a co-worker in Christ to continue to preach boldly the gospel, and to avoid apostasy at all cost. In the midst of this exhortation, Paul¹ offers this poem:

2 Tim 2.11–13 (Hebert Translation)
This word is trustworthy:
For if we died with [Christ], we also will live with him.
If we endure, we also will reign with him.
If we are going to deny [him], he also will deny us.
If we are faithless, he will remain faithful,
for he is not able to deny himself.

2 Tim 2.11–13 (Nestle-Aland 27)
πιστὸς ὁ λόγος·
εἰ γὰρ συναπεθάνομεν, καὶ συζήσομεν·
εἰ ὑπομένομεν, καὶ συμβασιλεύσομεν·
εἰ ἀρνησόμεθα, κἀκεῖνος ἀρνήσεται ἡμᾶς·
εἰ ἀπιστοῦμεν, ἐκεῖνος πιστὸς μένει, ἀρνήσασθαι γὰρ ἑαυτὸν οὐ δύναται.

The hymn or poem is comprised of four couplets arranged in parallel structure, two positive and two negative. Each of the couplets is a condition of the first form² , meaning that these are very simple conditions making suppositions neither about the reality of the condition nor its probabilty. Essentially, we have a logical formula that looks something like this:

If A = B, then C = D.

In this sense, this is the simplest of conditions. The only minor complication comes in v. 12b where the verb arnēsometha (ἀρνησόμεθα) is in the future tense. These couplets yield some interesting theology of great use.

Couplet #1: Die to Live

If we died with Christ, then we will also live with him.

Essentially, this couplet encapsulates Paul’s doctrine of dying to the self,³ which is really a riff on Jesus (e.g., in Luke 9.23–24). Here, Paul is reminding Timothy the gain that is associated with taking part in the death, burial, and resurrection for Jesus. Remember that this is the Gospel according to Paul.⁴ These themes and ideas are further developed in Colossians 2 and Romans 6.

A competing interpretation understands this death to refer to martyrs. However, because of the aorist tense of the verb in the protasis, and because the condition is a past simple condition, I consider this interpretation deficient.

The beauty here is in the idea of our participation in the death of Christ. The believer has actually died with Christ with the promise that s/he will find life with Christ. It’s a glorious and paradoxical idea — and I am indeed a fan of paradoxes.

Couplet #2: Endure to Reign

If we endure, then we also will reign with him.

Much of the New Testament speaks of endurance. Philippians and James come to mind. However, this idea of reigning with Christ, this royal imagery, feels like a new development to me. Yes, there is discussion of the crown of life in James 1.12 which is connected directly to the idea of endurance, but it feels different to me. “Crown of life” always seemed like a reward, whereas reigning with Jesus feels more like a mission or  job.

Here’s the point, though, endurance is the mark of the believer; s/he endures through all and will find triumph on the other side of all those oppressions. To my ear, it feels much like the radical social upheaval preached by Jesus and especially emphasized by Luke — the last shall be first.

Furthermore, this couplet promises full participation in the Kingdom. We aren’t merely God’s loyal subjects; we are participants in his Kingdom. We have a duty to fulfill, a part to play.

Couplet #3: Deny and Be Denied

If we are going to deny him, then he also will deny us.

The heart of this couplet is in apostasy, a major theme in 2 Timothy. According to Paul, those who turn away and deny Jesus will be denied. This is a difficult passage for universalists. The penalty for denying Jesus is disavowal by God.

The protasis is in the future: “If we are going to deny him.” Is it possible that this only applies to apostates? Is it possible that this doesn’t apply to those who have never had the opportunity to deny Jesus?

I’m not sure. The saying is certainly situated within the context of not turning your back, not falling away, not committing apostasy. So, I do think this is possible.

Couplet #4: Lose Faith but He Won’t

If we are faithless, he will remain faithful,
for he is not able to deny himself.

I do not take this verse to mean that Jesus will remain faithful and restore to him even those who are faithless. Instead, I think the point is this: even in the midst of our faithfulness, God is still faithful to his promise because, unlike humans, he is unable to deny himself.

This is a really interesting idea and may run counter to my own understanding of the Cross in some ways. I am a proponent of a variant in Heb 2.9 that would cause that particular verse to read that Jesus died “separated from God” rather than “by the grace of God.” Good evidence, both internal and external, exists to support this argument. Additionally, this idea jives with Jesus’ own words on the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” To me it lends an extra layer of gravity to the proceedings — this is not just Jesus going through the motions; no, he suffered real pain and real separation; his very being was rent in two.

However, in order for this idea of the forsaken Jesus on the Cross to work, it would seem that God would have to deny himself. This verse makes that impossible.

Is there some other way to think about Jesus forsaken on the cross? I don’t know.

The point for Paul here, however, is more about God’s own endurance and faith. Jesus was faithful to the end and remains faithful to the promise of life that he has granted to all of us. Even when we lose faith, even when we deny him, even when we turn our backs and run, he remains faithful because it is utterly against his character to do otherwise. It simply isn’t possible.

Footnotes

1. I realize there are issues with Pauline authorship. For the purposes of this post, I will simply use Paul as the name for the author in accordance with tradition.
2. See Smyth, Greek Grammar, §2298–2301.
3. Read Philippians 3.
4. Cf. 1 Corinthians 15.

In a previous post, I made the point that the parathēkē (παραθήκη), the beautiful thing that God has entrusted to us (in the parlance of the epistles of to Timothy), is not necessarily the Gospel, but really a certain kind of doctrine or orthodoxy — right teaching.¹

First, in order to understand this, we must understand the difference between Gospel and Orthodoxy or Gospel and Teaching.

While the Gospel itself is conveyed to us by words (or the Word, if you will) in the New Testament, the word itself goes beyond this. Gospel, of course, is an Anglo-Saxon term that simply means “good news” — a direct translation of the Greek euaggelion (εὐαγγέλιον) from which we get the word “evangelism.” While we can literally think of the Gospel as this good news (e.g., the report that has been conveyed to us by Luke or someone like that), I would argue that the Gospel really goes beyond this and encompasses not only the message, but also its meaning — hope of salvation in Christ. Ultimately, Paul’s gospel is a gospel of hope, of release from bondage to this world into the bondage of the perfect master: Jesus Christ.

Orthodoxy, on the other hand, is less about the news report, and less about the meaning, and more about the teaching that is associated with it. In light of the Gospel, in light of this message of hope and redemption, what do we do? How do we go about understanding all of this? How do we appropriate it into our lives? Orthodoxy, right teaching, gives us a direction to go for these questions. Orthodoxy leads to orthopraxy.

So, on the one hand, we have the Holy Spirit that has been entrusted to us; on the other hand, we have what the Holy Spirit is meant to guard in us (2 Tim 1.14) — and I’m taking this to mean the instruction that Paul is passing on because this instruction allows us to live out the Gospel.

In this sense, Paul is not unlike ancient Jewish wisdom teachers (the authors of Proverbs, Wisdom of Solomon, Sirach, and, as I would argue, the Epistle of James). Paul is passing down the wisdom he has acquired during his struggle and striving. In 2 Timothy we can see kernels of this sprinkled throughout. Here is one of my favorites:

2 Tim 2.11–13 (Hebert Translation)
This word is trustworthy:
For if we died with [Christ], we also will live with him.
If we endure, we also will reign with him.
If we will deny [him], he also will deny us.
If we are faithless, he will remain faithful,
for he is not able to deny himself.

2 Tim 2.11–13 (Nestle-Aland 27)
πιστὸς ὁ λόγος·
εἰ γὰρ συναπεθάνομεν, καὶ συζήσομεν·
εἰ ὑπομένομεν, καὶ συμβασιλεύσομεν·
εἰ ἀρνησόμεθα, κἀκεῖνος ἀρνήσεται ἡμᾶς·
εἰ ἀπιστοῦμεν, ἐκεῖνος πιστὸς μένει, ἀρνήσασθαι γὰρ ἑαυτὸν οὐ δύναται.

This series of statements conveys meaning to us not only by some very nice parallelism, but also by sound theology that leads us into general orthopraxy. Namely, because we have this hope in Christ that we will live in him, we know that we must endure. This endurance, this dying with Christ, is characterized by remaining faithful and not denying him. Beyond this, we know that God will remain faithful because Christ is not able to deny himself. To imitate Christ means to remain faithful to him, to endure whatever comes our way, and never to deny him. The pastoral epistles are full of these little nuggets of wisdom; such wisdom usually ends with a call to response on the part of the hearer. In this example, we are called to remain faithful.

While the Holy Spirit brings the Gospel from person-to-person, dwelling within each, it is our job to transmit this beautiful teaching from person-to-person. As Paul says: “…[W]hat you have heard from me by many witnesses, pass it down to faithful persons, whoever will be capable of teaching others as well.”²

Footnotes

1. For some rambling thoughts on orthodoxy and heresy, see my very jumbled post: “Awww, Hell…Heresy!” from a last week.
2. 2 Tim 2.2 (Hebert Translation)

Allow me to draw your attention to the period (.) ending the title of this post. Normally I would have a question mark (?) here, but I am making a grand statement! Yes, I think there is something inherently wrong with the idea of systematic theology.

Allow me to state first that I have great respect for many of the Church’s systematic theologians. Thomas Aquinas comes to mind. That guy was a stud. Augustine, Barth,¹ Erasmus, Origen, Tillich, all make my list of “dudes I respect” (hrm…no women here…sad), and all engaged in certain systematic pursuits. I think there’s a lot to be said for systematic theology, but I do have a problem with it: too often it smacks of proof-texting, ignorance of context and genre and other literary concerns, and the inability to give the other side a fair shake annoys me to no end.

Perhaps no well-reviewed work of systematic theology annoys me more than Wayne Grudem’s aptly titled Systematic Theology. Grudem goes about creating his system by the aforementioned proof-texting route without paying much attention to the context. What is laudable about his book is also what is condemnable: Grudem’s conciseness. The book is so concise, in fact, that Grudem didn’t find room to offer any serious reflection on Scripture. There is a reason that Barth had to stretch Church Dogmatics out into 13 volumes while only covering a few of the very large categories² — because careful theology requires careful exegesis. Of course, to criticize Grudem for this is to ignore what he’s trying to do. Grudem’s aims were accessibility — Systematic Theology prefers to live on the bookshelves of lay people rather than professional clergy with an eye toward serious theological reflection. I get that. Unfortunately, it doesn’t make it less frustrating.³

So, here’s the thing. I’d rather take a cue from the greatest theologian of the 20th century (Mr. Barth), and focus on the paradox here. To me, what is most interesting and compelling about Christianity are the paradoxes. For example, Jesus Christ himself represents the most incredible paradox: God and Man in one. Serious reflection on this idea requires pages and pages and pages of thought to work out.

Another example of a paradox is systematic theology itself. Here we have a human attempting to systematize, categorize, and make easily referenced that which defies and even denies systematization. As Paul says in 1 Cor 13:12: “For now we see in a mirror dimly…” Sure, we understand some attributes of God. We can offer some kind of mental assent to God’s infinitude and the paradoxes inherent within (e.g., love and justice | eternal and temporal | etc.). But, at the end of the day, we only have a faint impression of his fullness. The best Christian thinkers are like Monet in his later periods, stricken with cataracts that alter his perception of color⁴ — we are painting a half-blind impression of the fullness of God.

So what’s wrong with systematic theology?

Infinitude defies finite system.

But, that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try…

Footnotes

1. Barth himself was critical of this systematizing enterprise. In the end, however, I think it would be difficult to argue that the 13-volume Church Dogmatics is not a systematic theology.
2. For example, I don’t believe Barth ever got around to the doctrine of “redemption” here.
3. I could offer a much longer, more detailed review of Grudem’s work. For example, I take issue with his lack of engagement with other serious theologians. But such criticisms must be developed more fully elsewhere. I will say that Grudem’s text is handy for getting some basics out of the way or finding passages that might speak to a particular issue. I keep a copy near my desk, and I am grateful and indebted to Dr. Grudem.
4. Fact Check Alert! I must admit that I am no art historian, and this information comes from what I remember of a Monet exhibit at the Houston Museum of Fine Arts over 15 years ago. Please correct me if you know a lot about the impressionists.