Blogging with Barth: CD 1.2 §15.2.1 "Very God and Very Man (Part 1)" pp.132-146

Check here for previous posts in the "Blogging with Barth" series or check here for a detailed reading schedule for the Church Dogmatics with links to the respective posts I've written to accompany each day's reading.

The Leitsatz (thesis statement) for §15 states: "The mystery of the revelation of God in Jesus Christ consists in the fact that the eternal Word of God chose, sanctified and assumed human nature and existence into oneness with Himself, in order thus, as very God and very man, to become the Word of reconciliation spoken by God to man. The sign of this mystery revealed in the resurrection of Jesus Christ is the miracle of His birth, that He was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary."

In subsection §15.2 ("Very God and Very Man"), Barth says of the title to this section, "Very God and Very Man"...

We understand this statement as the answer to the question: Who is Jesus Christ? and we understand it as a description of the central New Testament statement, Jn. 1:14: “The Word was made flesh.” Therefore this New Testament verse must guide us in our discussion of the dogmatic statement that Jesus Christ is very God and very man (132).

In subsection §15.2, Barth undertakes a three-part exegesis of John 1.14 - "The Word was made flesh" - and today's summary looks at part one. In part one Barth focuses on "the Word" which Barth notes is "very God."

Ὀ λόγος, the “Word” spoken of in Jn. 1:14, is the divine, creative, reconciling, redeeming Word which participates without restriction in the divine nature and existence, the eternal Son of God. According to the whole context of Jn. 1:1–12, what is meant by Jn. 1:14 is the Word that was in the beginning, that was with God and was indeed God Himself, by whom all things were made, the sum total of the life which shines as the light of revelation in man’s darkness. His name is not John, but He is the object of John’s witness. He begets children for God among men, not of their will or power, but completely and solely by His own might, whose glory is that of the only-begotten, of whose fulness His witnesses can only receive grace. The Logos is He who proclaims God, who is invisible for all other. He alone can proclaim Him, because He is Himself the only-begotten, in the bosom of His Father. For that reason, the Word, and therefore the Jesus Christ who is identified with the Word according to Jn. 1:1–18, is “very God.” And “very God” means the one, only, true, eternal God (132).

This truth is of vital importance:

The importance of this truth and its recognition extends not only over the whole of Christian proclamation but also over the whole of Church dogmatics. It is not to be circumvented, forgotten, or disdained in any quarter where there is a duty to speak correctly about God and about man. If Christology in particular insists upon this truth and its recognition, it thereby describes as it were an inner circle surrounded by a host of other concentric circles in each of which it is repeated, and in which its truth and recognition must be maintained and expounded. This inner circle can come fully into view only if we read the text right to the end, “the Word was made flesh.” (133).

And there are, according to Barth, four primary implications of this confession:

1) The Word is the subject of what happens.

"In the statement, “the Word was made flesh,” the Word is the Subject. Nothing befalls Him; but in the becoming asserted of Him He acts." [...] "Like creation itself, it is a sovereign divine act, and it is an act of lordship different from creation." (134).

2) The Word as subject acts in divine freedom:

"When it says that the Word became flesh, this becoming took place in the divine freedom of the Word. As it is not to be explained in terms of the world-process, so it does not rest upon any necessity in the divine nature or upon the relation between Father, Son and Spirit, that God becomes man. We can certainly say that we see the love of God to man originally grounded upon the eternal relation of God, Father and Son. But as this love is already free and unconstrained in God Himself, so, too, and only then rightly, is it free in its realisation towards man." (135).

3) The Word does not cease to be free in becoming flesh:

When it is said that the Word became flesh, even in this state of becoming and of having become, the Word is still the free, sovereign Word of God. Strictly speaking, the Logos can never become predicate or object in a sentence the subject of which is different from God. The statement “very God and very man” signifies an equation. But strictly speaking, this equation is irreversible. If it is reversed and Jesus is called not only very God who is very man, but also very man who is very God, in the second statement we must not neglect to add that it is so because it has pleased very God to be very man. The Word became flesh, and it is only in virtue of this becoming, which was quite freely and exclusively the becoming of the Word, that the flesh became Word. (136).

This has theological implications - the rejection of certain heresies prevalent in the Christian world:

Likewise from this point there results the inevitable rejection of any abstract Jesus-worship, i.e., any Christology or christological doctrine or practice which aims at making the human nature, the historical and psychological manifestation of Jesus as such, its object (136). 

With this the “historical Jesus” of modern Protestantism falls to the ground as the object of faith and proclamation. It was purposely discovered, or invented, in order to indicate an approach to Jesus Christ which circumvents His divinity, the approach to a revelation which is generally understandable and possible in the form of human judgment and experience (137). 

This undertaking finds its exact material and historical parallel in the Heart of Jesus cult which (on the basis of a vision of Maria Margareta Alacoque in 1675) arose and spread in the Roman Catholic Church of the same period with the special co-operation of the order of Jesuits. On all sides efforts were made to guard against any connexion between these two phenomena, but it makes no difference to the reality of it. In the Heart of Jesus cult, too, it is blatantly a matter of finding a generally illuminating access to Jesus Christ which evades the divinity of the Word (137).

4) That the Word became flesh justifies in some way the description of Mary as theotokos, "Mother of God":

To a certain extent it amounts to a test of the proper understanding of the incarnation of the Word, that as Christians and theologians we do not reject the description of Mary as the “mother of God,” but in spite of its being overloaded by the so-called Mariology of the Roman Catholic Church, we affirm and approve of it as a legitimate expression of christological truth. We must not omit to defend it against the misuse made of the knowledge expressed in this description. But the knowledge in question and so the description as well must not for that reason be suppressed (138). 

Blogging with Barth: CD 1.2 §15.1 "The Problem of Christology" pp. 122-132

Check here for previous posts in the "Blogging with Barth" series or check here for a detailed reading schedule for the Church Dogmatics with links to the respective posts I've written to accompany each day's reading.

The Leitsatz (thesis statement) for §15 states: "The mystery of the revelation of God in Jesus Christ consists in the fact that the eternal Word of God chose, sanctified and assumed human nature and existence into oneness with Himself, in order thus, as very God and very man, to become the Word of reconciliation spoken by God to man. The sign of this mystery revealed in the resurrection of Jesus Christ is the miracle of His birth, that He was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary."

In subsection §15.1 ("The Problem of Christology"), Barth begins with a little review of where's he has been and launches into a preliminary Christological discussion which he will eventually flesh out fully in CD IV. In his first brief statements in this section, Barth makes it clear that since he thinks revelation is essentially incarnation (upon which scripture and Christian proclamation both stand and fall), then dogmatics must be essentially centered upon Christology:

In §13 we answered the question as to the objective possibility of revelation (or the question as to the freedom of God for man) by pointing out its reality. And in §14 we held this reality to be the object of Old Testament expectation and of New Testament recollection, to be fulfilled time in the midst of the times. In a strict and proper sense this reality, and so fulfilled time in the midst of the times, is the Easter story and the Easter message. It is the revelation of the Word of God, with which Holy Scripture and with it the proclamation of the Christian Church are connected. With it they stand and with it they fall. With it also all church dogmatics obviously stands or falls. From the Easter story the passion story is of course inseparable. In it takes place the hidden work of Jesus Christ which is subsequently revealed and believed in His resurrection. And to the passion story belongs the story of the whole life of Jesus prior to it, although that life is not without signs and anticipatory revelations of the Kingdom at hand, not without announcements of His resurrection. What happens in this life and passion of Christ is thus the concrete content of the revelation which takes place in the event of Easter. 

We now have to inquire into the presuppositions of this work and event, hidden in the life and passion of Christ and revealed in His resurrection. What is the power of the resurrection, and so of this work and event? How can it be the Word of reconciliation, spoken by God to men, at once divinely true and humanly real and effective? Who is the subject of it? Who is Jesus Christ? We have already in the most varied contexts underlined emphatically the answer to be given here, that Jesus Christ is very God and very Man. From this fact and from this standpoint the work and event in question, and so the revelation of it, derives its force and significance. From this standpoint we have already answered the question as to the objective possibility of revelation. From it we have obtained a view of the unity of times in fulfilled time, or the time God has for us. But just because everything else depends upon this “standpoint,” it now claims special investigation for its own sake. At this point we are entering the problematic sphere of Christology, in the special sense of this concept. A church dogmatics must, of course, be christologically determined as a whole and in all its parts, as surely as the revealed Word of God, attested by Holy Scripture and proclaimed by the Church, is its one and only criterion, and as surely as this revealed Word is identical with Jesus Christ. If dogmatics cannot regard itself and cause itself to be regarded as fundamentally Christology, it has assuredly succumbed to some alien sway and is akeady on the verge of losing its character as church dogmatics (122-123).

Barth of course feels like the "alien sway" had already had its way by the time he was writing - because there was a loss of focus on the reality that the Word became flesh:

The collapse of church dogmatics in modern times under the devastating inrush of natural theology would not have been possible had the way not been already paved for it in the age of orthodoxy (and even to some extent in mediæval Scholasticism and among the fathers), because the necessary connexion of all theological statements with that of Jn. 1:14 did not receive the obvious attention required at this point, if the construction of sub-centres alien to its content was to be avoided (123).

Barth contends that the first important step in fleshing out a Christology is to make a concrete statement about Christology's content - which is that God became human in Jesus Christ. This is pointed to in two crucial New Testament witnesses and signs - the conception by the Holy Spirit and the virgin birth:

The first essential to a complete grasp of this matter is a statement about the content of the incarnation, about God and man becoming one (the so-called “two natures”) in Jesus Christ, in which the mystery of revelation must be brought to its definite expression. This must be accompanied and followed by a statement about its form, about the miracle of Christmas, i.e., about Jesus being born of the Virgin Mary (123–124).

After some important statements about how an emphasis on the Trinity and Christology allows the church to do "Church" dogmatics (rather than natural theology and philosophical prolegomena), Barth turns to the "problem" of the title of this section. The "problem" is the problem of the mystery of revelation. He begins with a discussion of limits - limits set by the Object itself:

In Christology the limits as well as the goal must be fixed as they are seen to be fixed already in the Evangelists and apostles themselves; i.e., the goal of thought and language must be determined entirely by the unique object in question. But this same object in its uniqueness must also signify for us the boundary beyond which we are not to think or speak. Christology has to consider and to state who Jesus Christ is, who in revelation exercises God’s power over man. But it must avoid doing so in such a way as to presuppose that man may now exercise a power over God. It must state definitely what cannot be stated definitely enough. But even so it must observe its own limits, i.e. the limits of man who has seriously to do with God’s revelation (125).

In other words, true Christology has to stay with its object but in doing so it sets its own limit, beyond which it cannot speak. To illustrate this, Barth turns to the example of Matthias Grünewald's Isenheim altarpiece, seen here and above:

The altarpiece in situ

The Second View, which Barth references below

Of it, Barth says:

This condition under which alone Christology is possible takes visible form in the main picture on the altar at Isenheim by M. Grünewald. Its subject is the incarnation. There are three things to be seen in the picture, and it is difficult to say where the observer should begin. In the background upon the heights of heaven, beyond earth’s highest mountains, surrounded by innumerable angels, there is God the Father in His glory. In the foreground to the left there is the sanctuary of the old covenant. It also is filled with and surrounded by angels, but inexorably separated from the background by an immensely high, gloomy partition. But towards the right a curtain is drawn back, affording a view. And at this point, at the head of the whole world of Advent looking to see the Messiah, stands Mary as the recipient of grace, the representative of all the rest, in adoration before what she sees happening on the right side. Over there, but quite lonely, the child Jesus lies in His mother’s arms, surrounded with unmistakable signs reminding us that He is a child of earth like all the rest. Only the little child, not the mother, sees what is to be seen there, the Father. He alone, the Father, sees right into the eyes of this child. On the same side as the first Mary appears the Church, facing at a distance. It has open access on this side, it adores, it magnifies and praises, therefore it sees what is indeed the glory of the only-begotten of His Father, full of grace and truth. But it sees only indirectly. What it sees directly is only the little child in His humanity; it sees the Father only in the light that falls upon the Son, and the Son only in this light from the Father. This is the way, in fact, that the Church believes in and recognises God in Christ. It cannot run over to the right side, where the glory of God can be seen directly. It can only look out of the darkness in the direction in which a human being is to be seen in a light, the source of which it cannot see itself. Because of this light streaming down from above, it worships before this human being as before God Himself, although to all visual appearance He is literally nothing but a human being. 

John the Baptist too [see image at the very top of this post], in Grünewald’s Crucifixion, can only point—and here everything is bolder and more abrupt, because here all indication of the revelation of the Godhead is lacking—point to a wretched, crucified, dead man. This is the place of Christology. It faces the mystery. It does not stand within the mystery. It can and must adore with Mary and point with the Baptist. It cannot and must not do more than this. But it can and must do this (125).

Thus the limitation. But what a glorious limitation it is. And in terms of the "problem" of this section - again - it is the problem of the mystery of revelation, which Modern thought has avoided. Orthodox dogmatics must not do this though.

The central statement of the Christology of the early Church is that God becomes one with man: Jesus Christ “very God and very man.” And it describes this event in the conceptus de Spiritu sancto, natus ex Maria virgine [conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the virgin Mary]. The merit of the statement is that it denotes the mystery without resolving it away. In all the (apparently or really) complicated explanations which are indispensable to the understanding of this statement of primitive Christology, we must be quite clear from the very start that (with the descriptive statement about the miracle of Christmas) it speaks not only simply and clearly, but with real humility and relevance about the very mystery of revelation (125-126).

"Primitive Christology" is a bit of a theme in this reading. In expounding on the topic "primitive Christology", Barth is defending the early Christological statements of the creeds against charges of intellectualism and metaphysical abstraction brought against them by folks like Harnack (see pp. 125-131). Barth rebuts this in an extended small print section and turns a charge against the modernists - they avoid the "problem" of Christology...

Horror of this means a strange impoverishment, but that is not of decisive importance here. What is important is that in all this there lurks a horror of the being of God in His revelation. The polemic against the concept of the two “natures” in Christ does not rest only upon a misunderstanding of terms. Rather, in refusing to acknowledge a “natural” element in revelation, it refused to acknowledge an ontological element. It was opposed to the realism of the biblical message of revelation. It wanted to accept it only so far as it proved to be “historical”—and by that was meant a similar assertion of moral judgment and religious experience to that which was fathered by the wish. But there was no desire to accept it as the supreme Word of the Lord, who is the Lord before we have experienced or adjudged Him as such by our own glory. Because objection was raised at this point, the New Testament had to be worked over, partly by interpretation, partly by literary, partly by religious-historical criticism, until nothing more was said of this Lord, until realism was completely stripped away. And what was more natural than to cease to derive any commands from a New Testament thus purged, to feel no need to face the mystery of its witness to Christ, or to maintain any connexion between its own Christology and this witness to Christ? (130-131).

Despite the faults or dangers of early "primitive" Christology, it did not avoid the "problem" - the mystery of revelation, but it confronted it head on. Now Barth concludes in this way:

Only one thing should be insisted upon here under the title of “the problem of Christology,” namely, that if we have let ourselves be led to Jesus Christ along the only sensible, legitimate path for the Church, i.e., by the prophetic and apostolic witness to revelation, then the statement, “Jesus Christ is very God and very Man,” is the assumption upon which all further reflection must proceed. We could have reached a different assumption only by a different path. But this assumption is a genuine and proper assumption, in so far as it cannot be over-topped by any other, and therefore suspended on, and even disputed by, a higher assumption. Christology deals with the revelation of God as a mystery. It must first of all be aware of this mystery and then acknowledge it as such. It must assume its position at the place where the curtain of the Old Testament is drawn back and the presence of the Son of God in the flesh is visible and is seen as an event; yet visible and seen as the event in which, in the midst of the times, in the simple datable happening of the existence of Jesus, a “man like as we are,” God the Lord was directly and once for all the acting Subject. At this point He was Man: God without reserve and man without reserve. Scripture leads us to the place confronting this event. This is the place Christology has to occupy with its question: Who is Jesus Christ? From this place it cannot fail to see or forget the mystery as such. It cannot, therefore, take further account of the possibility of denying it. Nor can it reckon with the possibility of transmuting it into something devoid of mystery. It has to stand by it and to stand by it as a mystery. It is, so to speak, fixed upon this object with this as its particular character. It can do otherwise only by dropping its problem. This is what modern Christology has done. And in so doing it has been guilty of an unpardonable error, an error which renders impossible any understanding, in fact in the long run any discussion at all, between itself and a Christology which refuses to commit this error. Primitive Christology did not commit this error. It did not drop the problem, but stuck to it. It saw the mystery and, on the whole, was able to preserve it, whatever other faults it may have been guilty of in detail. All its efforts were directed towards preserving the mystery. In this respect it was always relevant. And for this reason we must emphatically take its side both at the outset and in principle (131-132).

Sermon: "Putting Herod Back Into Christmas" Matthew 2:13-23 [Christmas IA]

William Holman Hunt, "The Triumph of the Innocents" Tate Gallery, London

“Putting Herod Back into Christmas” [1]

Matthew 2:13-23

Those who are culture watchers and news junkies will note that this time of year brings the inevitable year in review summaries in newspapers and on websites. What was the year 2013 really like? What events of note have occurred? News sources line up to tell us.

In their stories, all the triumphs and tragedies of the year that was are rolled out for our consideration. Often the commentary on what we as a nation or we as a world has done is a bit depressing. Sometimes we think to ourselves - really? - *those* were the banner events for our species in 2013? But just as often, we are forced to pause and remember great and awesome events which have shaped our world and our lives — events of note and of great importance.

Such is true for the first century as well. 

Surprisingly, were we to pick up a copy of the Judea Times or the Jerusalem Star Ledger in the first century to get their views on occurrences of note in the year of Jesus’ birth - we would not likely find the events which the first two chapters of Matthew’s Gospel tells us were most noteworthy.  For example…

Very few noted the birth of Jesus. Yes, there were shepherds, but they had to be alerted by the angels to know what was happening, and even the magi traveling from the east had to be informed by some uncommon astrological occurrence to make their journey. 

Fewer still — actually no one save his immediate family — would mark the baby Jesus’  departure to Egypt because of Herod’s threat and the angelic warning.

Significant as it seems to us now — not many would have heard or remarked on the tragic death of the young innocents in Bethlehem because of Herod. [2]

Likely no one noticed when Jesus’ family returned from Egypt to an insignificant little village like Nazareth. To add insult to injury, later the people would ask: can anything good even come from Nazareth? 

But though these events would attract little newspaper copy in the first century, we realize now their importance and significance, which I’d like to consider a little more fully this morning. Perhaps fitting the spirit of the introduction, I think I’ll give the salient points of today’s sermon in headline copy form. Here goes nothing:

<in best nasally newsperson voice> 

HEADLINE: “World Sleeps While Angel’s Warning Prompts Jesus Family Escape”

So there’s the banner: Jesus escapes to Egypt! And as luck would have it, we have a narrative account of the story:

“Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.” [3]

So, what’s the backstory here? Well, in the build up to our text today, we learn that Magi from the East have come to visit the baby Jesus. And this is significant - the gifts that the Magi brought were the sort of things that people in the ancient world would think of as appropriate presents to bring to kings, or even gods [4]. Quite surprising for a relatively unknown baby! But of course someone noticed - in this case King Herod! When asked by the Magi about where this child could be found - the child the Magi think of as the “King of the Jews” - Herod grew quite frightened. He thought he was the king of the Jews! And he is keen to have the Magi’s story confirmed when they return. What will they find in Bethlehem?

Of course, another question to be answered is: why, if Jesus was the Kings of Kings, was the baby not born into more luxury, ease, and “power”? One analyst who considered this story, NT Wright, had this to say:

“Before the Prince of Peace had learned to walk and talk, he was a homeless refugee with a price on his head…” “…This is how Israel’s redeemer was to appear; this is how God would set about liberating his people, and bringing justice to the whole world. No point in arriving in comfort, when the world is in misery; no point having an easy life, when the world suffers violence and injustice! If he is to be Emmanuel, God-with-us, he must be with us where the pain is. That’s what this [story] is about.” [5] 

And what a story it is! Wright continues, 

“In fact, the shadow of the cross falls over the story from this moment on. […] Plots are hatched; angels have to warn Joseph; they only just escape from Bethlehem in time. Herod the Great, who thought nothing of killing members of his own family, including his own beloved wife, when he suspected them of scheming against him, and who gave orders when dying that the leading citizens of Jericho should be slaughtered so that people would be weeping at his funeral—this Herod would not bat an eyelid at the thought of killing lots of little babies in case one of them should be regarded as a royal pretender. As his power had increased, so had his paranoia—a not unfamiliar progression, as dictators around the world have shown from that day to this.” [6]

Thus Jesus is born into times of paranoia. Times of unmitigated power. Times of conflict.

Thus our next…HEADLINE: “Herodian Power Grab Leads to Massacre of Infants”

Luck of luck, another narrative account:

“When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet Jeremiah: 

    “A voice was heard in Ramah, 

    wailing and loud lamentation, 

    Rachel weeping for her children; 

    she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.” [7] 

So this headline is a strange kind of political story in effect, isn’t it? It’s the story of the birth of one king and the violent opposition of another [8]. Soon after the familiar Christmas stories of Jesus’ birth come stories of genocide and massacre — further reminders that Christ is born into a fallen and broken world.

Yes, the birth of the Messiah ushers in a new day of peace, but it appears on the surface to be business as usual. After all, these are still days of powerful kings doing immoral things to powerless people. And yet, those days are numbered. Because of God’s protection, the Messiah escapes and eventually the people will be comforted. In the Messiah’s escape, everyone, even the mothers who lose their sons, will find satisfaction and justice. The Messiah will reign one day, and there will be no such murder and violence any more. [9] 

Despite the darkness surrounding the baby Jesus, we see that scripture is being fulfilled. The places these events are happening and the ways in which they are happening are pointers to the special quality of this child. Not only is he the Messiah, his very life is the re-enactment of the story of Israel. Like his forefathers before him, it is now Jesus who flees to Egypt. As God proved faithful in the Old Testament when He brought his people out of the tyrannical hands of the Pharaoh, Jesus will be brought safely into and then out of the land of Egypt as he escapes his own tyrant, King Herod. [10]

Thus our next… HEADLINE: “Jesus Family Returns From Egypt. World Asks: Who’s Jesus? Where’s Nazareth?”

And would you believe it!? Another narrative account:

“When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean.” [11]

It’s quite a story isn’t it? But what does it all mean for us today? What are some of the ways that today’s text might speak to us?

The Gospel of Matthew gives us an opportunity to realize once again the gravity and importance of the baby Jesus’ birth. 

Lest we think that Jesus’ birth is safe and does not impact the world, we see Herod freaking out worried about his own hold on power - so much so that he murders small children to secure his legacy - and we realize that the birth of Jesus is of great consequence to the world, especially one in which evil exists. Jesus came to break the power of evil forever.

The Gospel text today speaks to us (and confronts us with) the question of why the innocent suffer. 

We are reminded that the world our Savior Jesus was born into is fallen and riddled with sin and violence. We must admit as Christians that evil likely arises from good — not directly but indirectly. It arises from good by the abuse of a good power called freedom. Freedom in itself is not evil. It is good to be free. But with freedom comes the possibility of evil [12]. King Herod used his freedom to seek more and more power. He valued it so much he would kill innocent children to protect it.  

The text today calls us to ask how we are using our power? How are we using our freedom? Are there areas in our lives where we avoid bending the knee to the lordship of Christ - even to the point of hurting others? These are difficult and searching questions to be asked.

Today’s text also reminds us that people may point to violence and pain in the world as the absence of God, but God was born into reality, not a fairy tale [13]. 

And we see that God was at work in the midst of violence and pain — just as He is today. He was not absent then. He is not absent today. In the coming days when we encounter the commentary and news summaries I mentioned earlier, just remember that God’s true work doesn’t often make the press, though false work wrongly attributed to Him often does. The media does not usually make us privy to God’s real work, and His plans are not always noteworthy in the corridors of power —especially since they often concern the least of these and those without significance. 

And yet, the movement of God in this world shakes kings and exposes evil and tyranny in its every guise. Once the world has had a vision of the King of Kings, the “powers that be” scramble to consolidate power and prestige, not realizing that the world will never be the same for them.

Finally, none of the evil entities Jesus will encounter in his life, whether Herod or the Roman cross, will deter the plans of God. 

The simple words of today’s text, “Herod died” convey the end of such powers, the end of their plottings and scheming, the end of their pretense and brutality [14]. 

And in the end, God wins. The great lawgiver, the redeemed One who was once saved in the flight to Egypt, who is the new Moses who comes out of Egypt to the neediest of this world in order to save them, is the God who wins. 

If God wins and His plans will not be thwarted by the world’s greatest powers, what are we doing with our lives today? If we have experienced union with Christ in salvation and we are united with him - how is his victory working itself in our lives?

Are we giving ourselves wholly to Him and working to secure his victory in this world? Are we working with the God who wins or are we allies of the defeated powers of this world? 

These are important questions to ask as 2013 draws to a close.

Let’s pray.

________________

[1] Title comes from a Sojourners article of the same name written by Joy Carroll Wallis. In that article she writes, "Herod represents the dark side of the gospel. He reminds us that Jesus didn't enter a world of sparkly Christmas cards or a world of warm spiritual sentiment. Jesus enters a world of real pain, of serious dysfunction, a world of brokenness and political oppression.” These are important reminders for us in the final Sunday of 2013.

[2] Michael J. Wilkins, Matthew, The NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Publishing House, 2004), 112. Wilkins remarks, “No other historical records exist of this incident, which is not surprising, since Bethlehem was a somewhat small, rural town at this time. The number of infant boys massacred was a huge loss for Bethlehem, but it was not an incident to stand out significantly when seen in the light of other horrific events in Herod’s infamous career.”

[3] Matthew 2:13-15

[4] Tom Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part 1: Chapters 1-15 (London: SPCK, 2004), 11–12.

[5] Ibid., 14-15.

[6] Ibid., 14.

[7] Matthew 2:16-18

[8] Walter Brueggemann et al. Texts for Preaching: A Lectionary Commentary Based on the NRSV Year A (Louisville: WJK Press, 1995), 72.

[9] David Bartlett, and Barbara Brown Taylor, Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 1, Advent through Transfiguration (Kindle Locations 6039-6042). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.  

[10] Matthew’s typology includes elements of Jesus and Moses and the escape to and from Egypt with its evocation of the exodus. There really is much to explore here.

[11] Matthew 2:19-23

[12] Norman L. Geisler, "The Problem of Evil," Baker Encyclopedia of Christian Apologetics, Baker Reference Library (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1999), 219.

[13] Thought taken from the podcast “Pulpit Fiction” — recording for Christmas IA, which can be accessed here: http://www.pulpitfiction.us/2/post/2013/12/ep-43-the-charlie-browniest-podcast-or-christmastide-1a.html

[14]  Brueggemann, Year A, 72.

Sermon: "Emmanuel: God with us" Matthew 1:18-25 [Fourth Sunday of Advent 2013]

Emmanuel: God with us

Matthew 1:18-25

[Cf. Is. 7:10-16; Ps. 80:1-7;17-19; Rom. 1:1-7]

Does anyone feel just a wee bit stressed out by the fact that Christmas is only a short three days away? Would anyone admit that? 

A little story in “The Washington Post” this week caught my eye - and captured the prevalent mood of the season well, I thought. It was a story about the demands on (particularly) women at Christmastime to pull off the perfect holiday. One woman being interviewed said,

For years, my sister and I have had a long talk on the phone on Christmas Eve —at 2 a.m., while frantically wrapping the last of the presents. This, of course, comes after we’ve shopped, decorated, addressed teetering stacks of Christmas cards and generally fried ourselves trying to create that holiday magic.

And our husbands? They’re sound asleep at that time — a fact we usually note between clenched teeth. Before hanging up, we exchange our own holiday wish: “Merry Stressmas.” [1]

Merry Stressmas! The stress is of course a primary indicator of the way American culture and media both load Christmas with false expectations and demands for perfection which can — if we’re honest — swamp us [2]. And why wouldn’t the demands swamp us?

First, we’re goaded to put on the “picture perfect Christmas.” The Washington Post article just cited reminds us that “…magazines and blogs even publish Christmas checklists with to-do items that begin in January — buy next year’s ornaments and cards on sale — and continue throughout the year, with reminders to plant amaryllis bulbs in October for holiday blooming, make a freezer inventory in November and begin a holiday journal in December” [3] Thus, it takes all year to be perfect for one day.

Second, we’re swamped because we are goaded to fake perfection in the midst of deeply imperfect personal circumstances. So often times, sadness or brokenness, difficult family relationships, or financial shortages make “picture perfect Christmases” perfectly unattainable. And yet, perfection demands superhuman effort, we’re told.

Third - and I suspect a truly evil problem here in the Northeast corridor - is that Christmas escalates the war of “keeping up with the Jones’s” to nuclear levels. Any venture into department stores right now reminds us of the reality of mutually assured destruction. Perfection is a war, ya’ll.

So…perfection. It’s a word with a lot of tyranny in it. If you’re feeling a bit tyrannized this morning, then today’s Gospel text should come to you as a healing balm in Gilead. 

Why should this be? 

Well, we’re reminded by Matthew’s text this morning that things were far from perfect in the days leading up to the first Christmas. In fact, things were very very messy, when one really stops to think about it.

How so? Enter Joseph and his young fiancé, Mary. Hearing their story, we say “Houston, we have a problem.” The problem itself is very simple. Before they were married and came together intimately as married people are wont to do - Mary was found to be with child. Far from perfect, the “Christmas story includes the very sordid tale of an engaged young woman who is apparently cheating on her fiancé.” [4]

Pastor and theologian Daniel Harrell captures it all so well when he describes the problem. He writes,

“She’s carrying somebody else’s baby. She says that God did it, which adds blasphemy to the infidelity. Ancient law allowed for the jilted Joseph to stone Mary, but preferring to keep the scandal out of the papers, he decides to break it off quietly and save everybody any further embarrassment.

The whole thing was a miserable mess. And as Joseph would eventually discover, it was all God’s doing. So then why make everything look so ungodly? Why all the secrecy? Why not a blaze of public, visible Holy Spirit glory following a pregnant Mary? That way her neighbors could have thrown her a baby shower with swaddling clothes from Baby Gap. Somebody could have made sure there were posh accommodations at the Bethlehem Hilton. Better yet, why not just skip the whole birth process entirely? Spare Joseph the painful humiliation and Mary the painful labor. Spare Jesus the hazardous temptations of adolescence. It’s not like he did anything for his first 30 years anyway. Better yet, show up on earth on Good Friday and you’re back in heaven by Sunday.” [5]

Harrell asks great questions here, and yet we’re told in v. 18 “Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way…” 

It took place in “…this way…” 

Not in perfection. Not in posh circumstance. Not in some contrived, inhuman way. But in humiliation and condescension. Within thoughts of divorce and real risk of stoning. In the midst of pain and misunderstanding. That is to say, in the middle of truest human condition. It took place in “this way.”

And this, my friends, is the “true perfection” of Christmas — what theologians call the “miracle of Christmas.” [6] It is that God becomes human, in the most human of ways, and yet in one of the great mysteries of our faith, in the miracle of union between human and divine. [7]

And in the moment that God comes to us and gives us eyes to see and ears to hear so we can begin to understand “this way” — that “…the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way…” we begin to understand one of the central mysteries of Advent and the Christmas season — which is that the baby Jesus will be Emmanuel. 

And by God’s grace we begin to understand the great mystery of Emmanuel, which is that God is with us. 

And the great mystery of Emmanuel is more than just that God is with us, it is that God becomes human, really human — with us. [8]

The great German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer, describes the miracle of God’s humanity this way. He writes, 

“…it’s not enough to say that God takes care of human beings….in the conception and birth of Jesus Christ, God took on humanity in bodily fashion. God raised his love for human beings above every reproach of falsehood and doubt and uncertainty by himself entering into the life of human beings as a human being, by bodily taking upon himself and bearing the nature, essence, guilt, and suffering of human beings. Out of love for human beings, God becomes a human being. He does not seek out the most perfect human being in order to unite with that person. Rather, he takes on human nature as it is.” [9]

“The infinite mercy of the almighty God comes to us, descends to us in the form of a child, his Son. That this child is born for us, this Son is given to us, that this human child and Son of God belongs to me, that I know him, have him, love him, that I am his and he is mine — on this alone my life now depends. A child has our life in his hands…” [10]

Bonhoeffer’s reminder that the child would have our lives in his hands was no mere hyperbole. As the text today reminds us in the angel speaking to Joseph: “…you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins” (v. 21).

In this fourth Sunday of Advent, this must be the center of our focus. Don’t let the stress of the secular siren song steal this truth from your mind: that the child in the manger, who once came to earth and dwelt in flesh, is the man Jesus Christ, in whom is contained all the fullness of the divine nature, in whose hands rests the salvation of the world. 

In fact, in the mystery of Christmas, the salvation of humanity has already begun through Christ’s perfect humanity. Christ as “God-with-us” makes it possible for us to enter into perfect communion with the most Holy Trinity.

The ancient Christian creeds would find language to describe this union of divinity and humanity in Jesus, when they stated that Jesus was “very God and very man.” [11] “The mystery of the revelation of God in Jesus Christ consists in the fact that the eternal Word of God chose, sanctified and assumed human nature and existence into oneness with Himself, in order [that], as very God and very man, [he would] become the Word of reconciliation spoken by God to man. The sign of this mystery revealed in the resurrection of Jesus Christ is the miracle of His birth, that He was conceived by the Holy Ghost, born of the Virgin Mary.” [12]

And what is so important about Jesus who is both “very God and very man” is that God wants to join with us, his creation, and be reconciled. Not because we are perfect. Not because we have it all together. But because, out of his great love for us, God has given us one of the greatest signs of the divine Yes! to all humanity - he has joined with us in the human condition.

And because God has done this, we can be witnesses to something truly different in this world. While so many religious systems around the world require your perfection (or even your obliteration), only true Godself — very God and very man— reveals the God who condescends and comes down to us out of great love and a desire to share with us the communion which already exists (and has existed) among the triune Godhead: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Meaning for us that, there is no perfection which we can or are expected to achieve. Only we look in faith towards the truest Perfection and perfect Gift, Jesus Christ, who himself comes and achieves for us and on our behalf, salvation, which is itself a gift. 

My prayer for you over the next several days is that you will cast off the distractions of the secular season for a good, long, (even) silent stretch of time. And that you will just sit still before the remarkable reality that God became a child. That God became Emmanuel. God with us.

As Bonhoeffer has said,

“Mighty God (Isa. 9:6) is the name of this child. The child in the manger is none other than God himself. Nothing greater can be said: God became a child. In the Jesus child of Mary lives the almighty God.

[And so] Wait a minute!

Don’t speak; stop thinking!

Stand still before this statement!

God became a child!

Here he is, poor like us, miserable and helpless like us, a person of flesh and blood like us, our brother. And yet he is God; he is might. 

Where is the divinity, where is the might of the child? In the divine love in which he became like us. His poverty in the manger is his might. In the might of love he overcomes the chasm between God and humankind, he overcomes sin and death, he forgives sin and awakens from the dead. Kneel down before this miserable manger, before this child of poor people, and repeat in faith the stammering words of the prophet: “Mighty God!” And he will be your God and your might.” [13]

Let’s pray.

_______________

[1] Brigide Schulte, “For women, it’s the most stressful time of the year” The Washington Post, 20 Dec. 2013. Accessed online at http://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/for-women-its-the-most-overwhelming-time-of-the-year/2013/12/20/a26461ae-668e-11e3-8b5b-a77187b716a3_story.html

[2] Aaron Klink, Feasting on the Word: Year A, “Pastoral Reflection on Matthew 1:18-25.” Kindle location 3438-3485.

[3] Schulte, “Stressful.” Washington Post.

[4] Daniel Harrell, “Living By the Word.” The Christian Century. Accessed online at http://www.christiancentury.org/article/2013-11/sunday-december-22-2013

[5] Ibid.

[6] For example, Karl Barth! Cf. CD I,2 “The Miracle of Christmas” [KD p.187; CD p. 172]

[7] This is the Incarnation. Of it, the great scholar of the Incarnation, Thomas Torrance, would say, “By the Incarnation, Christian theology means that at a definite point in space and time the Son of God became man, born at Bethlehem of Mary, a virgin espoused to a man called Joseph, a Jew of the tribe and lineage of David, and towards the end of the reign of Herod the Great in Judaea. Given the name of Jesus, He fulfilled His mission from the Father, living out the span of earthly life allotted to Him until He was crucified under Pontius Pilate, but when after three days He rose again from the dead the eyes of Jesus’ disciples were opened to what it all meant: they knew Him to be God’s Son, declared with power and installed in Messianic Office, and so they went out to proclaim Him to all nations as the Lord and Saviour of the world. Thus it is the faith and understanding of the Christian Church that in Jesus Christ God Himself in His own Being has come into our world and is actively present as personal Agent within our physical and historical existence. As both God of God and Man of man Jesus Christ is the actual Mediator between God and man and man and God in all things, even in regard to space-time relations. He constitutes in Himself the rational and personal Medium in whom God meets man in his creaturely reality and brings man without, having to leave his creaturely reality, into communion with Himself.” [Space, Time and Incarnation (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1969), 52]. 

[8] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, God is in the Manger: Reflections on Advent and Christmas (Louisville: WJK Press, 2010), 50. 

[9] Ibid.

[10] Ibid., 56.

[11] Cf. Nicene Creed

[12] Italics quoted directly from Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics: The Doctrine of the Word of God, Part 2, vol. 1 (London; New York: T&T Clark, 2004), 122.

[13] Bonhoeffer, God is in the Manger, 58.

Sermon: "Are you the One?" Matthew 11:2-11 [Third Sunday of Advent 2013]

“Are you the One?”

Matthew 11:2-11

[cf. Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:5-10]

One of the greatest questions posed in all of scripture is Jesus’ own question to his disciples: “Who do people say that I am?” [1]

“Who do people say that I am,” Jesus asked. And it’s a question that is all about identity — interestingly not just Jesus’ identity but our own, too. Who Jesus is and who we expect him to be turns out to be quite important in our own faith lives.

The famous New Testament scholar Tom Wright tells of his time as a minister and lecturer at university. He writes, 

For seven years I was College Chaplain at Worcester College, Oxford.  Each year I used to see the first year undergraduates individually for a few minutes, to welcome them to the college and make a first acquaintance.  Most were happy to meet me; but many commented, often with slight embarrassment, “You won’t be seeing much of me; you see, I don’t believe in god.” 

I developed a stock response: “Oh, that’s interesting; which god is it you don’t believe in?”  This used to surprise them; they mostly regarded the word “God” as a univocal, always meaning the same thing.  So they would stumble out a few phrases about the god they said they did not believe in: a being who lived up the in the sky, looking down disapprovingly at the world, occasionally “intervening” to do miracles, sending bad people to hell while allowing good people to share his heaven.  Again, I had a stock response for this very common statement of “spy-in-the-sky” theology: “Well, I’m not surprised you don’t believe in that god.  I don’t believe in that god either.” [2]

I think it is safe to say that there are a great many people today that are a bit confused by who God is - in particular the second member of the Triune God - Jesus Christ. As it turns out, this was true of Jesus in the first century as well - there was confusion about his identity even for those who were some of his most important followers.

Exhibit A? John the Baptist.

You remember John, right? He was the baby who leaped [3]. The great early confessor of Jesus who was fond of saying things like “I am not the Christ” [4]. “I am not the Prophet.” “I am not Elijah.” Who are you then, John?  “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord’ [5]. 

But as it turns out, John was a doubter too. What gives?

Well, in our text today - gone is the John who was crying out in the wilderness that the Messiah was coming. Gone is the delivery of his messages of judgment and calling for repentance [6]. Gone is the baptizing and the witness to “one who is to come.”

Say hello to the John who is prison. I’ll spare you the longish details but John is in prison because he had denounced King Herod for philandering [7] with his sister-in-law. 

And in the midst of poor John’s imprisoned state - word gets through to him of some things Jesus the Messiah was doing in his ministry - and it all sounds a bit sketchy to ole’ John. He’s troubled. Listen to how NT Wright describes John in this state:

King Herod had taken exception to John’s fiery preaching, and particularly to his denunciation of him for marrying his brother’s ex-wife. This was all part of John’s announcement that God’s kingdom—and God’s true king—were on the way. Herod wasn’t the real king; God would replace him. No wonder Herod put him in prison.

But now, in prison, John was disappointed. He heard about what Jesus was doing, and it didn’t sound at all like the show he thought they’d rehearsed. He was expecting Jesus to be a man of fire, an Elijah-like character who would sweep through Israel as Elijah had dealt with the prophets of Baal (the pagan god many Israelites worshipped instead of YHWH). No doubt John looked forward eagerly to the day, not long now, when Jesus would confront Herod himself, topple him from his throne, become king in his place—and get his cousin out of prison, and give him a place of honour. 

But it seemed as though Jesus was working to a different script altogether. Jesus was going around befriending tax-collectors and ‘sinners’ (people whom strict Jews would regard as outsiders, not keeping the Torah properly). He was gaining a great reputation—but not for doing what John wanted him to do. What was going on? Had John been mistaken? Was Jesus after all ‘the one who was to come’—the one the play demanded, the one written into the script John thought they were acting out? [8]

John is confused. What sort of Messiah could Jesus be who teaches in the synagogues, preaches the gospel of the kingdom, and heals every disease and infirmity? [9]

And so John asks his famous question - “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” And in the moment of asking his question, John is confronted by the question we all have to answer - Jesus’ own question for all people  - “Who do people say that I am?”

And Jesus answers him like this (channeling the words of Isaiah 29:18-19; 35:5-6):

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” [10]

In this insanely great [11] moment of Jesus’ reply to John in prison - the one (John) who has formerly been the great testifier for the Messiah instead is testified to by no less than Christ himself. Christ himself prepares the witness that John must receive. John must hear for himself that in Christ the blind see, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have good news preached to them (v. 5). John must hear and understand these things because by hearing and understanding this testimony, John will become a greater disciple. And he will understand that, yes, Jesus is the Messiah.

Yes, maybe Jesus is doing something quite unexpected - using a ‘different script’ as NT Wright says — but it is one that is consistent with the witness of Who the Old Testament said the Messiah would be. No wonder Jesus said of the OT scriptures, “these testify of me…” [12]

So, how does this text speak to us today?

Well, let’s talk about doubt. 

This text is especially important for us to hear in Advent. It gives us a chance to admit we have doubt, too. Here, in this season, the pressure to “believe” or at least act like we believe is intense. But what if we doubt? Do we have the grace to admit it? [13] It’s OK to doubt and to even be surprised by God. The best descriptor for what the Christian life is all about is Faith Seeking Understanding [14]. Sometimes we need to admit more often that we just don’t understand. But we’re striving to - in faith. And doubt can be an important lens through which we can see what God is really doing in the world.

Now, let’s talk about God doing unexpected things, just like Jesus in his earthly ministry.

Sometimes we struggle when we hear that God is doing things among groups where we are surprised he might be doing things. Case in point: among people who don’t meet under the umbrella of the Churches of Christ.

You know the drill - the surprise that can sometimes hit us when we realize that God spends time within other tribes…

“What!?”, we exclaim. “Jesus is at work among the Catholics!? How can that be? What do you mean God is at work with that congregation? He’s hanging out with the Episcopalians!? What is this world coming to?”

I get that - but try to get beyond that. The text today suggests that sometimes Jesus (OK, really lots of times Jesus) does things we don’t expect. Do the good work of praying for other tribes and congregations and the good work that God is already doing among them. Pray for these others Christian groups to be faithful. 

Now, let’s talk about being on mission with Jesus in the world. 

Jesus, we’re told, came to the neediest in this world to do a great work of mercy: “…the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” as the text today says. How does this inform us today as the church? Well, we need to pick up this New Testament witness to Christ’s work and embrace it as our own mission today in light of Christ. In the Gospels, we see that the church’s mission flows out of the mission of Jesus. And we see that Jesus models a profoundly holistic mission. He both proclaims and embodies the good news of the kingdom of God. He demonstrates it with deeds of power and acts of mercy toward outsiders. Our mission, as well, must be motivated by Jesus’ love and compassion for the least and the lost.

This text also tells us that who Jesus is and who we expect him to be turns out to be quite important in our own faith lives.

John the Baptist needed a new understanding of who the Messiah was, what sort of work the Messiah does, and with what sort of people he does it [15]. Mercy was at the heart of Jesus’ messianic mission, just as it remains at the heart of the church’s work today—an important implication for us as disciples. Whether or not that’s the script people want us to follow, that’s the way we’ve got to go—to be ambassadors, ministers of mercy, and reconcilers for God. And Jesus invokes a special blessing on people who realize that this is the true story. “Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me” (Matt. 11:6). This is where and how God is at work. Those who recognize it, and are not offended because they were expecting something else, will know God’s blessing [16].

Finally, this text hints at something we who are Christians know to be true. “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus asks us. And from God’s indwelling Spirit and His work within us we are able to say, along with the Apostle Peter, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God!” [17] We are witnesses to this great revelation of God—God Himself in flesh in Jesus Christ.

And in the moment that God empowers us to confess this great truth — a moment of revelation that comes to us like salvation — we are given the answer to who we really are — we are given the answer to the question of our own identity. 

We are those who - along with John the Baptist - witness and point to the Christ, to the Messiah, to the baby in the manger, to the God who takes on flesh.

We are the Advent people — waiting and witnessing to the risen Lord —the God who will come again in mercy and truth.

We are those who confess with that great martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer - “Whoever I am, thou knowest, O God, I am thine.” [18]

We are His, aren’t we? We are those who have ceased to exist, who live only as Christ lives in us. We are nothing, and He is everything. We are, because He is.

Let’s pray

------------

[1] Matthew 16:13

[2] Extract from NT Wright’s lecture “Jesus and the Identity of God” originally published in Ex Auditu in 1998. Accessed on the “NT Wright Page” online at: http://ntwrightpage.com/wright_jig.htm

[3] Luke 1:41

[4] John 1:20

[5] John 1:23

[6] Brueggemann, et al, Texts for Preaching (Year A), p. 26.

[7] philander |fəˈlandər| — readily or frequently entering into casual sexual relationships.

[8] Tom Wright, Matthew for Everyone, Part 1: Chapters 1-15 (London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2004), 125.

[9] Brueggemann, et al, Texts for Preaching (Year A), p. 26.

[10] Matthew 11:4-6

[11] Yeah, I went there - Apple works its way into my homily! 

[12] John 5:39

[13] A great question and point for consideration from “Doubting Advent” - an expository essay from Dr. William R. Long, accessed online at: http://www.drbilllong.com/LectionaryIII/Matt11.html

[14] fides quaerens intellectum. Literally, “faith seeking understanding.” The phrase originated with Anselm in his Proslogion and was used to show the relationship of religious faith to human reason. For Anselm, matters of religion and theology are understood only by first believing them and then proceeding to gain an intellectual understanding of the things already believed. In other words, faith is both logically and chronologically prior to reason. I’m spiritualizing it’s more technical meaning a bit here to make my point. Caveat emptor.

[15] Brueggemann, et al, Texts for Preaching (Year A), p. 26.

[16] Wright, Matthew, 126.

[17] Matthew 16:16

[18] From one of Bonhoeffer’s last poems before he was martyred: “Who Am I?” You can read the entire poem here: http://www.dbonhoeffer.org/who-was-db2.htm