Yeehaw! It’s Tuesday, and here’s a daily dose of “Round-Up”:

• Andrew Criddle of Hypotyposeis explores the similarities between Christian Sacraments and Mithraic rituals in Justin Martyr: “Sacraments in Mithraism and Early Christianity.” I, for one, have never been impressed by comparisons between mystery cults and early Christianity. Give Criddle’s analysis a read.
• Lingamish continues the schoolin’: “Grasshopper Greek: Letting Go.”
• Will John and I ever disagree? Check out his recent post: “Papa Ratzinger speaks out on Creationism and Evolutionism.”
• Dumbest thing I’ve seen today (link is to Michael Halcomb who also thinks it is ridiculous): “Da Vinci Againci: Superimposed Style.”
• Josh McManaway raises questions about hyper-specialization in the field of New Testament: “New Testament Scholarship.”
• Mark Goodacre calls my attention to a new book from Fortress: “Rethinking ‘The Parting of the Ways.’” In the past this has been a topic of great interest to me. I look forward to finding a copy on my desk somehow.

That’s all for today…until tomorrow!

Stuff culled from Monday (and last week).

• Iyov reports that 5 professors are leaving my alma mater. I have been rather critical of Harvard Divinity and some of its hiring practices. It will be interesting to see what happens to HDS in the coming years.
• David Lang talks about his “Translational Journey.”
• Loren Rosson III discusses “Being in the Minority.” I rather like being in the  minority, personally. It makes me feel like David facing Goliath!
• Chris Weimer jumps into the “Jew or Judean” fray. I am partial to the use of “Judean” myself.
• Check out Lingamish’s “Grasshopper Greek: Seeing Double.”
• John over at Ancient Hebrew Poetry offers us what we really want to know: “Victoria Beckham’s Hebrew Tattoo Patiently Explained.” I am so thankful that he patiently did that for me.

There’s a few items to chew on for now!

This is the 25th part in an ongoing series on the Epistles of John.

Okay, we get into some heady stuff here. Following from the previous section which dealt with this idea that those who are abiding in God cannot sin, John goes on to say that those who continue to sin are doing the work of the devil. More importantly, it was this very work which Jesus came to abolish. From the beginning the devil sinned.

In John’s view, the devil is responsible for sin. Likewise, God is responsible for righteousness. Just as we can tell a tree from the fruit it bears, we can tell to whom a person belongs based on their fruit. If a person is producing righteousness, then they must be of God. If a person is producing sin, then they must be of the devil.

Interesting to note in this section is this idea of being “born of” God, or “born of” the devil. Again, John emphasizes this notion that we are God’s spiritual children. Indeed, we are “born of” God. And like a son takes after a father, we begin to take after the Father. The greatest example of this fruit, the best way to do this righteousness into which we are born, is to love your brother.

Are we talking only about familial brothers here? I think not. This is your brother—you know…your brother. Loving our fellow man (or woman) is what we are called to do. Again, John is returning to the theme of 1 John 2:9–11. Brotherly love is where it’s at!

Bottom Line (confusing, because it’s at the top): The building I go to most Sundays cost $2 million to build.

Now, that’s not an exact figure, but you get the idea. That is a heck of a lot of money, even in the affluent community in which I dwell. That’s 2 million McDonald’s double cheeseburgers that could have fed 2 million hungry mouths. That’s 100,000 pairs of jeans that could have kept somebody warm or made them feel a little more comfortable at school or a job interview. That’s a lot.

It seems to me that so many churches start off small with these grand ideas of changing the world. They begin as visionaries, as idealists. When the rubber meets the road, and people start coming, they start changing. They have to employ more people to care for the people. They have to employ more people to care for the people who care for the people. They start up new programs. They build new buildings.

I am not at all saying that these costs aren’t necessary. But, so many of them are. How many sweet lookin’ macs do we need? [I admit that I would usually say: “As many as we can get our hands on.] Why do we need “state-of-the-art” sound systems? Does this help God to be heard? Are granite floors really the way to go?

Churches should invest in people. So many do such a great job of this. The church I go to does a pretty good job of it (I have some ideas for how they could do better…of course). I’ve harped and harped and harped about how relationships are so important. Investments in relationships excitement—they are a better foundation than concrete and steel.

Okay, what does a building-less church look like?

Well, I’m going to get an opportunity to see. Ecclesia, a church that serves the Montrose area in Houston, is planting a church in southeast Houston (the Clear Lake area) called, appropriately, “Ecclesia Clear Lake.” Regular meetings being September 9. The vision for this community does not have the word “building” anywhere associated with it. This is not at all uncommon. What is uncommon is a pastor that has a vision for a building-less church (at least this was his vision several months back).

So, I ask again: “What does a church with no building look like?”

This is the 26th part in an ongoing series on the Epistles of John.

This is one of those passages that a pastor of mine would have called: “a hard Word.” It is. On the one hand, it is perfectly reasonable for John to describe those who “practice sinning” as “practicing lawlessness.” This is not surprising; we should not be taken aback. [I think it should be noted that “lawlessness” probably has little to do with Mosaic law.]

The second bit works quite easily too: “You know that he appeared to take away sins, and in him there is no sin.” I can get on bored with that. Jesus came to take away sin, and He Himself was sinless. Right on.

Finally, John says that “no one who abides in Him keeps on sinning.” At first, this makes me think that maybe the bar is set pretty high for what “abiding in Him” really means. Perhaps “abiding in Him” is not possible here on Earth, because my understanding is that we all sin. Then, however, John goes on to say that “no one who keeps on sinning has either seen Him or known Him.” Well, what am I supposed to do with that? I continue to sin, but I wouldn’t say that I’ve never seen him or known Him. What is John getting at?

The short answer is: “I’m not entirely sure.” It seems to me that it can’t mean what it sounds like, largely because it would contradict what we’ve already read in 1 John 2:1. If anyone who sins has an advocate in Christ, it would seem that these people do indeed know Him. That’s the way it seems to me anyway.

So what does John mean here in 3:6? I’d love to hear some opinions down in the comments…

It was recently brought to my attention that a local religious leader (who shall remain quite nameless) disparages certain ministries for putting too much emphasis on the “experiential.” I found this quite curious. In my time as a Christian, I have felt that there is definitely an experiential aspect to this life. In reality, so much of Christianity hinges on experience.

When you consider the way that Jesus worked, at least as it is passed down to us in the Gospel, we aren’t talking about a guy who went around preaching a bunch of heady sermons with polysyllabic words that no one understood. We don’t find a guy who wanted to systematize and organize the kosmos in such a way that people could understand. Instead, he invoked in them a far greater teacher: personal experience.

Primarily, I feel that Jesus did this in two different ways:

• Miracles
• Parables

Miracles

Miracles are obviously experiential. When Jesus heals the blind man, or casts demons out of someone, or something preternatural of that ilk, the object of that miracle experiences God’s love in a way that stretches beyond systems and flow charts. The experience is personal and impactful. Experiences such as these tend to create a radical change in a person.

What we don’t want to overlook is the effect that these miracles might have had on the throngs of people following Jesus around. It is not only the object of the miracle who has a bona fide experience. Onlookers feel the power of these events as well. Watching a person healed or raised from the dead right before your very eyes can have a powerful effect on you. “If he did that for him, what about me? What could be done for me?”

Now, most of us haven’t seen a resurrection, or even a healing. But we do experience little miracles from time to time. These can be the birth of a child, or a friend’s change of heart, or whatever. When these events happen, they have an effect on us. They leave an imprint on us. We experience.

Parables

Very often, Jesus chooses to teach in parables. Why might that be? Why doesn’t he just say whatever the heck is on his mind? Well, for very good reason. If Jesus was just to tell us, just to give us straight up answers, there might be a dimension missing. Instead he chooses to speak in parables. Some say this is simply so that he can relate to a wider audience of a variety of socio-economic classes. There’s probably a lot of truth to that. I would also say that there is a lot of power in storytelling.

Jesus’ parables are often stories that engage the reader/listener. We read along wondering what the prodigal son will do, and amazed at the love that his father shows him. We are transfixed by these stories. They relate to us on a very experiential level while also giving us theological data to feed the left, systems-hungry, side of the brain.

Stories are powerful. They have the ability to persuade an audience and move them. Jesus was a storyteller. Likewise, we too should become tellers of stories.

Theological

So, is there any thing wrong with theology? Well, I have to say, “NO.” First of all, look at my freakin’ degree: I’m a master of theological studies. I’m supposed to love theology, right? Darn right!

The trap that we can fall into, and I speak from experience, is stressing theology so much that we endanger our mystical side. For me, part of being a Christian is mystical; it’s magical; it’s wonder. I have absolutely no problem with dissecting a passage word-for-word and squeezing that theological turnip till the blood runs dry. To know this, you need to simply ask the college group at my church who spent six weeks reading Romans 1:1 with me! I love that stuff!

The local leader I mentioned above is really just questioning the value of the experiential because either (a) he doesn’t have a lot of experience—which I don’t think is true—, or (b) he fears that ministries that cater to the experiential are manipulative. I think this is a valid concern. I wouldn’t want to take part in a ministry that reaches out and tries to manipulate people into Christianity. First of all, it’s rude. Second, coercion such as this does not develop real lovers of God. Instead, it creates coerced people who live in fear. This is exactly why God does not force us into submission, but allows us to make choices (I suppose there is some debate on this topic…this represents my view).

The reality is this. The two should be married. We should feed both sides of our soul—theological knowledge goes hand-in-hand with experiential knowledge. I think of 1 John, which I’ve been spending a lot of time playing with lately. The end of chapter two describes a system in which people know things because they are abiding in God (see here). I really like this idea.

This is the 25th part in an ongoing series on the Epistles of John.

For John, we are adopted sons of God. This is a huge honor and expresses God’s love in a very profound way. It is a gift of love. Our sonship is unrecognizable to the world, just as He was unrecognizable to the world (see the prologue to the Gospel of John, John 1). John’s audience is so intertwined with the spiritual, so intertwined with God, that those who do not recognize God do not recognize His people.

The next part is intriguing. John tells his audience that they are God’s children now, but what they will be has not yet appeared. My question is this: What more can they be? How can there be anything higher or greater than “children of God”? No doubt, it is a lofty title. But this status is nothing compared to the status to be gained upon his return: “Like Him.”

Placing our hope in this purifies us. This is reminiscent of what Paul has to say in Romans 8:23–25. We place our hope in this adoption. The result is on the level of the miraculous: we become “Like Him.”