Blind Man Moves

Small Wonk-Tangent

Doing some real research today, and ran across this helpful observation: The Blind Man (men) of Jericho move from the exit to the entrance in Luke.  Since we know Luke is using Mark, the question is: why the change?

First, Luke inserts the two stories Lk 19.1-10 (Zacchaeus) and Lk 19.11-28 (Minas) between his use of a Markan sequence (Mk 10.13-11.10).  Second, Zacchaeus takes place inside Jericho, not allowing Jesus to arrive and depart immediately.  But since, he moves the Blind Man to the entrance of Jericho and exits via the Parable of the Minas, we can conclude that Luke (or an earlier source) sees a very necessary link in the narrative sequence from the Zacchaeus’ story to the Minas (as 19.11 suggests).  What do you think this could be?  Any other thoughts on the synoptic comparison below?

(Matthew 20:29-34 ESV) (Mark 10:46-52 ESV) (Luke 18:35-43 ESV)
And as they went out of Jericho, a great crowd followed him. And behold, there were two blind men sitting by the roadside, and when they heard that Jesus was passing by, they cried out,
 “Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!” The crowd rebuked them, telling them to be silent, but they cried out all the more,
“Lord, have mercy on us, Son of David!” And stopping, Jesus called them and said,
   “What do you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Lord, let our eyes be opened.” And Jesus in pity touched their eyes, and immediately they recovered their sight and followed him.
And they came to Jericho. And as he was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a great crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind beggar, the son of Timaeus, was sitting by the roadside. And when he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he cried out all the more,

“Son of David, have mercy on me!” And Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart. Get up; he is calling you.” And throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. And Jesus said to him,




“What do you want me to do for you?” And the blind man said to him, “Rabbi, let me recover my sight.” And Jesus said to him, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.” And immediately he recovered his sight and followed him on the way.

 

As he drew near to Jericho, a blind man was sitting by the roadside begging. And hearing a crowd going by, he inquired what this meant. They told him, “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.” And he cried out,  “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And those who were in front rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he cried out all the more,

“Son of David, have mercy on me!” And Jesus stopped and commanded him to be brought to him. And when he came near, he asked him,

 

 

 

 

“What do you want me to do for you?” He said, “Lord, let me recover my sight.” And Jesus said to him, “Recover your sight; your faith has made you well.” And immediately he recovered his sight and followed him, glorifying God. And all the people, when they saw it, gave praise to God.

An ‘Other’ Example: Mark’s “Crowd”

(A follow up to #2 in the LOST in Theology Series)

To give another example of the function of an unidentified group within a single narrative, consider for a moment at the character development of “The Crowd” in Mark:

He went out again beside the sea, and all the crowd was coming to him, and he was teaching them. (Mark 2:13 ESV)

Jesus withdrew with his disciples to the sea, and a great crowd followed, from Galilee and Judea and Jerusalem and Idumea and from beyond the Jordan and from around Tyre and Sidon. When the great crowd heard all that he was doing, they came to him. (Mark 3:7-8 ESV)

And he said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a desolate place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they ran there on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. And he began to teach them many things. (Mark 6:31-34 ESV)

And when they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd around them, and scribes arguing with them. And immediately all the crowd, when they saw him, were greatly amazed and ran up to him and greeted him. (Mark 9:14-15 ESV)

And immediately, while he was still speaking, Judas came, one of the twelve, and with him a crowd with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the scribes and the elders. (Mark 14:43 ESV)

And the crowd came up and began to ask Pilate to do as he usually did for them. And he answered them, saying, “Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews?” For he perceived that it was out of envy that the chief priests had delivered him up. But the chief priests stirred up the crowd to have him release for them Barabbas instead. And Pilate again said to them, “Then what shall I do with the man you call the King of the Jews?” And they cried out again, “Crucify him.” And Pilate said to them, “Why, what evil has he done?” But they shouted all the more, “Crucify him.” So Pilate, wishing to satisfy the crowd, released for them Barabbas, and having scourged Jesus, he delivered him to be crucified. (Mark 15:8-15 ESV)

How does the so-called “crowd” change?  What’s its effect on you (the reader) or on Mark’s audience?

Friday’s Favorites 2/10/12

Karl Barth

Favorite post this week goes to Professor Kirk’s post on Knowing the Hidden God.  It was nice to hear some critique and good analysis, especially of my variety.  He says,

As an overall theological question, however, I think that the one Barth is pressing here continues to delineate different theological groups.

What does it mean to be a fundamentalist? an evangelical? a progressive? a liberal?

In part, the points along this scale are determined by the extent to which scripture as God’s revelation is seen to come into various cultures, from without—critiquing us and calling us to the God who is other, and the extent to which we see cultural moments shaping, limiting, and providing new opportunities for God’s revelation in the world.

Is revelation entirely a word from without? To what extent is it a word contextualized in time?

And this is the million dollar question:  How can you go from ‘Revelation’ from God into a human brain (and out towards humanity) without any corruption of data so-to-speak?  And who gets to say whether one has had that Revelation from God?  If you can show me a convincing positive answer, I’ll be ready to reconsider some of my views.  Until then…

Next week, we continue and aim to finish the LOST in Theology series.

Destiny calls: you are here for a purpose… aren’t you?

Bultmannia: ‘Mythology’

(Slightly Wonkish)

“For the conception “Kingdom of God” is mythological, as is the conception of the eschatological drama. Just as mythological are the presuppositions of the expectation of the Kingdom of God, namely, the theory that the world, although created by God, is ruled by the devil, Satan, and that his army, the demons, is the cause of all evil, sin and disease. The whole conception of the world which is presupposed in the preaching of Jesus as in the New Testament generally is mythological; i.e., the conception of the world as being structured in three stories, heaven, earth and hell; the conception of the intervention of supernatural powers in the course of events; and the conception of miracles, especially the conception of the intervention of supernatural powers in the inner life of the soul, the conception that men can be tempted and corrupted by the devil and possessed by evil spirits. This conception of the world we call mythological because it is different from the conception of the world which has been formed and developed by science since its inception in ancient Greece and which has been accepted by all modern men.”– Jesus Christ and Mythology, 1958.

Let’s be frank.  To Christians, the term “mythological” is scary.  Bultmann caught a good deal of flak for this term, and he admitted it was not the best term, yet it was the best one available to him.  I imagine though, that even if there were a perfect term for Bultmann’s mythology, it would still be controversial among Christians. But keeping in mind that Bultmann did scholarship in service of the Church and is a giant in the field, I believe there is a great deal of value in Bultmann’s analysis.

The best place to start is in the first sentence above.  Bultmann does not say that the Kingdom of God is mythological, an ontological claim that it is not real, and simply part of an ancient narrative.  Rather, mythological refers to the conceptual framework of the ancient authors and audiences of the Bible, which is then juxtaposed to our modern “scientific” conceptual framework.  This is hard to grasp, but if one wants to criticize Bultmann, one must grasp this first, before all else.

Two remarks to conclude, and let us take the example of Jesus walking on water.  First, those, who want to claim that the historical Jesus actually walked on water in a modern scientific way, are interpreting outside of the ancient framework within which the stories were composed.  This does not mean that Jesus did not walk on water, for this question is irrelevant, especially to Bultmann. We will discuss more about history in the future.  And second, since stories with characters who walk on water were common in ancient literature, the most important question then beccomes (since we cannot easily enter into a mythological conception of the world), “Why does the story-teller include a story about Jesus walking on water?”

More Bultmannia soon!  Cheers.

Supposing the Kingdom

 

As they heard these things, he proceeded to tell a parable, because he was near to Jerusalem, and because they supposed that the kingdom of God was to appear immediately.
(Luke 19:11 ESV)
 
Ἀκουόντων δὲ αὐτῶν ταῦτα προσθεὶς εἶπεν παραβολὴν διὰ τὸ ἐγγὺς εἶναι Ἰερουσαλὴμ αὐτὸν καὶ δοκεῖν αὐτοὺς ὅτι παραχρῆμα μέλλει ἡ βασιλεία τοῦ θεοῦ ἀναφαίνεσθαι.

This is the transitional statement that links the Zacchaeus story with the Parable of the Minas (Lukan version of the Parable of the Talents).  Truthfully, for the modern reader, this is an ambiguous statement.  We are given two reasons for the telling of the parable: 1) Jesus is near Jerusalem, and 2) Jesus’ audience thought, because of the Zacchaeus incident, that “the kingdom of God was to appear immediately.  Yet, it seems by the telling of the parable that the kingdom has not arrived, nor will it arrive soon.  Scholars typically deal with two options for interpreting the Minas Parable.  First, in Matthew, the parable is told next to the bridesmaids, suggesting that the parable exhorts the listeners to wait vigilantly for the return of the master.  But we do not have this context in Luke.

Another option for the interpretation of the parable is that Jesus tells it as evidence that the kingdom of God is not about to appear.  In other words, Jesus tells this parable against the master, against the nobleman who wants to be king (19.12).  The exploitation of the nobleman is evidence that the kingdom of God has not arrived, nor will it arrive soon.

Yet, I am curious, if there is a more complex answer, for when the people expect the nearness of the kingdom of God, Jesus tells a parable about the proximity of a different type of kingdom.  And in Luke’s version of the parable, the third servant is not condemned, but those who defy the king are (19. 14, 27).  There is a conflict over the kingdom and to whom it belongs, and it is not clear which is the good side.  Perhaps, the parable suggests that the “war” for the kingdom is on.  Thoughts?

The Idolatry of Certainty

Working through Bultmann’s Jesus Christ and Mythology, I’m preparing to post on it soon–fascinating, really.  But an issue occurred to me today in church, one which I’ve been meaning to blog.  In holding God as an object, one whom we can love or worship or seek, a question of certainty of one’s faith arises.  It is likely that the basis for certainty in the ancient (mythological) mind are quite different than the grounds for certainty in the modern (scientific) mind.  But behind both, I believe a lie exists: that a faith filled with certainty is better than a faith filled with doubt.  To be unfaithful is an altogether different category for a later discussion.

Certainty does not make one’s faith-claim any truer.  Certainty does not change the world in any ontological sense.  Instead, certainty serves more of a social function, to bring confidence to the believer and legitimation for one’s faith claims within a community of similar, like-minded believers.  Certainty can also serve as a resistance to other, larger, and dominant faith-claims (i.e. that Christ is the son of god rather than Caesar).

Yet, there can come a moment in the life of faith, where the desire for certainty overcomes the faith aimed at God–a moment where one’s doubts and questions are no longer of any value.  Certainty becomes the object fetischized, overvalued in relational exchanges.  The believer peddles certainty as if it will satisfy the needs of the faithful.  But this is idolatry.  Certainty replaces God.  Therefore, if one holds faith in a one, true God, and frowns upon idols, then beware of certainty.  Embrace your doubts and questions, for a faith that wrestles with and survives these, is at least a stubborn faith, if not a stronger one.

Occupy the Kingdom

There will be debate in the blogosphere, and out of it, over whether the Occupy Wall Street movement is Christian or not.  I’ve tried to argue in this blog for what I call Christian economics, and it is not complicated.  Perhaps the policies that might implement it can be complicated, but the principle is simple: Individuals, communities, and societies are called to favor, in behavior and in organization, the poor and the marginalized, in the ways that God and Christ favored them in the Law, the Prophets, and the Gospels.  Arguments for and against government involvement ought to be arguments for how to help the poor and the marginalized, not whether to help them.  In that same vein, I present another argument from the Gospel of Mark, chapter 5.

The writer of Mark favors what are called sandwich stories, A-B-A’ constructions, where B as the central point in the story, says something crucial about A and A’.  Have a look:

A.  21 And when Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered about him, and he was beside the sea.  22 Then came one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name, and seeing him, he fell at his feet  23 and implored him earnestly, saying, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live.”  24 And he went with him. And a great crowd followed him and thronged about him.

B. 25 And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years,  26 and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse.  27 She had heard the reports about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment.  28 For she said, “If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.”  29 And immediately the flow of blood dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease.  30 And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my garments?”  31 And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, ‘Who touched me?’”  32 And he looked around to see who had done it.  33 But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him and told him the whole truth.  34 And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

A’. 35 While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler’s house some who said, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?”  36 But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.”  37 And he allowed no one to follow him except Peter and James and John the brother of James.  38 They came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and Jesus saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly.  39 And when he had entered, he said to them, “Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping.”  40 And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside and took the child’s father and mother and those who were with him and went in where the child was.  41 Taking her by the hand he said to her, “Talitha cumi,” which means, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.”  42 And immediately the girl got up and began walking (for she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement.  43 And he strictly charged them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.

In the two stories above, an elite (ruler of the synagogue, male, house owner) comes to Jesus asking for him to heal his daughter and save her from imminent death.  But Jesus, on the way to the ruler’s house, pauses for a disenfranchised woman with an impure discharge who has no money.  He pauses, because this woman touched his garment to be made well.  And Jesus calls her, Daughter, not by mistake, but most likely in the presence of Jairus.  This girl too is a daughter.  Then Jesus continues and heals the daughter of Jairus.

In this story, Mark wonderfully juxtaposes the poor and the elite, and shows the priority of the Divine Dominion is for the poor and marginalized first, and then to the elites.  But not only that, but by calling her daughter, Jesus somehow connects the two daughters, perhaps calling Jairus, and other elites, to look upon this woman as a daughter as well.

The radical Judeanism of Jesus, calls his followers to occupy the kingdoms, the empires, the dominions of this world, in order to show God’s favor to the poor and the marginalized.  There is no hatred for elites (at least in this story), but simply a priority shown towards the disenfranchised.  Does the Occupy Wall Street movement do this?

What then the Parable?

In a Bible Study, the question was asked: “Were there examples of parables in other ancient texts, and how did Jesus’ parables differ if there were?”

My initial reaction was that there were other examples, but it was difficult to say what the differences were.  One thing was clear though, the parables were and are versatile.  This means that from the historical figure Jesus, to those who told stories about Jesus, and finally to the Gospel writers who collected these stories, the meaning of the parable might change or be nuanced differently.

Upon some further reading, I stand by my initial reactions.  The problem of parable study is first in the nomenclature: it is really difficult to define, according to the Gospels, what a parable is.  But there were examples in ancient literature:

First in the Old Testament, 2 Sam. 12.1-5:

“There were two men in a certain city, the one rich and the other poor. The rich man had very many flocks and herds,  but the poor man had nothing but one little ewe lamb, which he had bought. And he brought it up, and it grew up with him and with his children. It used to eat of his morsel and drink from his cup and lie in his arms, and it was like a daughter to him.  Now there came a traveler to the rich man, and he was unwilling to take one of his own flock or herd to prepare for the guest who had come to him, but he took the poor man’s lamb and prepared it for the man who had come to him.” (See also 2 Sam 14 for another possible example.)

Closer to the period of the Gospels, Jewish Midrash also contains parables:

“It is like a man who inherited a place full of rubbish.  The inheritor was lazy and he sold it for a ridiculously small sum.  The purchaser dug therein industriously and found in it a treasure.  He built therewith a great palace and passed through the bazaar with a train of slaves whom he had bought with the treasure.  When the seller saw it he could have choked himself [with vexation].” (trans. Jeremias.  from Midr. Cant., 4.12)

It is also likely that the Greeks had parables, because it is from the Greek word that we get our English word, “Parable.”  A quote from the Greek Rhetoricians eludes me at the moment, but they are the ones who gave an ancient definition to the parables.  Although, there would be no need for Jesus to have followed these “grammar rules.”

The disconnect I see is the the Greek speaking Semites use the Greek term for ‘parable’ to translate their own form of folk stories in Aramaic or Hebrew.  In the Septuagint (the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible), Ezekiel 17.2-8 reads:

“Son of man, relate a tale, and speak a parable to the house of Israel:  3 and thou shalt say, Thus saith the Lord; A great eagle with large wings, spreading them out very far, with many claws, which has the design of entering into Libanus– and he took the choice branches of the cedar:  4 he cropped off the ends of the tender twigs, and brought them into the land of Chanaan; he laid them up in a walled city.  5 And he took of the seed of the land, and sowed it in a field planted by much water; he set it in a conspicuous place.  6 And it sprang up, and became a weak and little vine, so that the branches thereof appeared upon it, and its roots were under it: and it became a vine, and put forth shoots, and sent forth its tendrils.  7 And there was another great eagle, with great wings and many claws: and, behold, this vine bent itself round toward him, and her roots were turned towards him, and she sent forth her branches towards him, that he might water her together with the growth of her plantation.  8 She thrives in a fair field by much water, to produce shoots and bear fruit, that she might become a great vine.”

This is slightly different than the Gospel forms of a parable, yet the translator of Ezekiel calls it a ‘parable.’  It resembles more the post-exilic prophecies of Ezekiel and Daniel than the parables of Jesus.  Yet, there also is some discrepancy in the Gospel’s own use of the parable.

In Mark 3, Jesus speaks “parables,” saying:

How can Satan cast out Satan?  24 If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand.  25 And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand.  26 And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but is coming to an end.  27 But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man. Then indeed he may plunder his house.

Where are the parables?  Where does one end and the other begin?  V27 looks like a parable, but is rather short, but when else does Jesus tell a parable where one of the characters is Satan?  Likewise, Jesus says later in Mark 7:17, “And when he had entered the house and left the people, his disciples asked him about the parable.”  Either, Jesus is referring to the statement in v15, “There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him,” or to the missing v.16.  It is difficult to tell, but clearly these examples are very different in form and content than Jesus’ more famous parables like the Good Samaritan, the Talents, or the Prodigal Son, where there are type-cast characters in a short narrative form.

Therefore, it seems highly likely that the Greek speaking writers and translators of our Bible used the term “parable” liberally to refer to all these different cases in the New Testament.  This makes for difficult work in saying how Jesus’ parables differed from the parables of other ancient literature.  What are your thoughts on forms and interpretations of Jesus’ parables?

For more internet reading, check Wikipedia or the Online Catholic Encyclopedia.

Personal Note

I’ve finally got internet in my new apartment, so blogging may begin again, although we are in a new semester.  I will try to post at least twice a week, hopefully more.  Submit any questions or suggestions.  It’s bee a crazy move from Chicago—Seoul—Boston over the course of a month-and-a-half, but we are finally settling down.  Through the course of the move, I have thought about many things to blog about, but I can recollect none of them at the moment.  So for today, I will direct you to what I’ve been reading in New Testament.

I’ve been commenting vigorously at Storied Theology on Christ or the Trinity, a subject that I am slightly passionate about.  You should definitely read the comments.  Professor Kirk, also posts a letter to students of the Bible, that I feel many teachers of it will agree with.  In other events, Rachel Held Evans is holding questions for a Gay Christian.  I encourage all of you who are struggling with this question to go an ask polite, but honest questions.  Finally, an interesting take on when to teach the Synoptic Problem in a Gospels course.

2,000 More Years of Critiquing Rome

Professor Byron states in a recent blog:

It has become quite popular over the last few decades for New Testament scholars to bash ancient Rome and suggest that when first century Christian writers use terms like gospel, Lord, savior, kingdom, etc, that these authors are deliberately critiquing Rome and its emperors. Some modern scholars have pushed this interpretation so far that the New Testament looks less like a theological book and more like a political manifesto. And perhaps that is part of the problem. Too often some of these interpretations of “Rome’s gospel” are clearly motivated by frustration with American hegemony. And while I think American policy does need to be critiqued and criticized, I am not sure that authors like Paul and others were doing same thing with Rome as some modern scholars suggest. To hear some New Testament scholars talk there was nothing good about ancient Rome and that the world would have been better off without it.

This got me thinking: Did everyone in the ancient world hate Rome? Which then reminded me of the scene from the Monty Python film Life of Brian in which the Jewish rebels are planning to kidnap Pilate’s wife because they hate the Romans. But of course, as the below clip makes clear, not everything about the Romans was all that bad.

(See the link to his blog for the Monty Python video)

In my view, Professor Byron is somewhat correct when he notes that such perspectives are motivated by “frustration with American hegemony.”  This stems from, what is in my view, the great anti-American Empire triumvirate from Boston: Howard Zinn, Noam Chomsky, and Richard Horsley.

However, this criticism is also based on a separate field of studies called Postcolonial studies, which analyzes texts from the colonized (see this introduction).  Particular studies have been done to look at colonies of the British Empire and see how they produced texts/art while being colonized.

Let’s be clear.  Every Empire does great things as the Monty Python skit suggests, but the question is always: “At what cost?”  Sure we like your aqueducts, your smooth roads, and your safe seas, but if the cost of these is human lives (Revelation 18.13), then is it really worth it?  But what Postcolonial criticism of literature has shown, is that even if the writers do not openly critique or show contempt for the Empire, there acts of writing still question the center and act at least in small forms of resistance.

Revelation critiques Rome with apocalyptic language.  The Gospels critiques the Roman way of life without naming the Empire.  And Paul has to jump through Imperial hoops to spread the Gospel and help the poor.  And why are there even so many poor that Paul has to help in the first place?  So certainly, every book in the New Testament doesn’t cry out, “Down with Rome!”  But the difficulties of Empire cannot be ignored when engaging the New Testament, or any of the Old Testament either (Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece…)

The problem I think Professor Byron has is that such criticism is all to prevalent these days in biblical studies. The first reason is that Postcolonial Criticism is a relatively recent development in biblical scholarship.  But the other reason is simply that for nearly 2,000 years, Roman Imperial oppression was almost totally ignored in biblical studies.  So in order to have a “little more balance,” we may need another 2,000 years of critiquing Rome.