Introducing Jesus Christ

We’re ready, Christ! Bring it!

"The one who testifies to these things says, ‘Yes, I am coming soon!’ Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!" Revelation 22:20

Or, as my Greek neighbor, Anastasia, might translate the second part of that verse, "What in heaven’s name is taking you so long? For Pete’s sake, get your holy butt back down here!"

Happy Easter!



Maundy Thursday: Betrayal

It all started tonight.

Yes, I recognize the incongruency in that statement, the past tense "started" with future reference "tonight." But that’s what it means to enter into the story of the Bible. In some sense, as the writers of Battlestar Galactice said, "All this has happened before; all this will happen again."

I don’t mean that Christ’s work on the cross isn’t finished. I don’t mean that he needs to be crucified again. I mean that as a believer, I enter this story again and again. It’s a part of me. It defines me, this story.

This morning, my husband and I listened to the Maundy Thursday chapters of the story, the part where Jesus breaks bread with his disciples one last time before his death, where he agonizes on the mount alone, pleading with the Father to do this another way, where one disciple betrays him with a kiss and another disciple betrays him three times before the rooster crowed.

Then Luke said, "The next morning," and we stopped the CD. We stopped it at betrayal and beatings and mocking.

All of this has happened before; all of this will happen again. I betray him. I mock him. I spit in his face.

Piss Christ.

Image via Wikipedia

There’s an art piece called Piss Christ, a plastic crucifix emerged in a cup of urine. It received some attention, particularly negative attention from the evangelical church. But the truth is, this cup of urine pictures what I do to Christ every day when I fail him. It pictures Judas’ betrayal, Peter’s betrayal, and my betrayal.

Tonight begins the crisis, and Jesus will be alone. Stripped of clothes, dignity, and friends. Soon, he will be stripped of the very presence of the Father.




Art and Theology: An Interview with Dr. Reg Grant, Part IV

It’s been a while since I’ve posted a video blog/podcast. Here’s the next in the series of conversations with Dr. Reg Grant.

In this episode, he compares acting to Christianity.

The podcast is under five minutes

Book Thoughts: A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving

In A Prayer for Owen Meany, John Irving retells the gospel story in more modern times. In the beginning, you think Owen is a prophet of some sort, a voice of God, but as the story develops, you learn he’s more than a prophet. He’s a Christ-figure.

I’ve wondered, if Jesus’ incarnation were today, not 2000 years ago, how would I respond? I’ve grown up comfortable with the ideas of the virgin birth and God and man. Irving creates a story that gives me a glimpse into this. How does the religious establishment react to a man like Owen?

There’s nothing in Owen’s appearance that would draw us to him–he’s short, and his voice! Irving does a magnificent job of not describing Owen’s harsh voice but conveying it all the same. Sometimes those around him love him. Sometimes they hate him. Even I at one point found myself disliking Owen. What on earth is he doing? I thought.

Owen comes from humble means, from somewhere unexpected–what good could come from this family? we ask. And yet, he lives on the rock, on a quarry where his family extracts and sells granite.

He’s the voice of God, but that doesn’t always mean good. He’s the instrument of God in the death of the mother of John (Owen’s best friend and the storyteller) and at the same time, the instrument of John’s faith. These two cannot be separated. What does this say about the God we believe in and can we accept it? But we must.

Owen is lifted up by those around him, always lifted up. At his death, he’s again lifted up, and he stretches out his arms and dies to save others.

It’s no mistake the story is told by Owen’s best friend, John (the disciple whom Jesus loved). John, some years later and in exile, alternates between Owen’s gospel and commenting in frustration on the powerful and corrupt empire of America (what we recognize as Revelation). Even the last line of the book ("O God–please give him back! I shall keep asking You.") reminds us of the end of Revelation, especially Revelation 22:20–"He who testifies to these things says, ‘Yes, I am coming soon.’ Amen. Come, Lord Jesus."

We know so many things from the beginning–that John’s mother will die, that Owen will die, that John doesn’t know who his father his (and we know, though Irving doesn’t explicitly say it, who John’s father is). The brilliance of the book is unfolding the details of how these events occur and what accompanies them. For example, at one point, John realizes he could figure out who his father is. Yes, we think, finally! Then we consider it as John gets closer and closer. No, this is terrible. He can’t know who his father is. What will happen when he knows this?

Another thing I particularly like is how Irving develops the character of John. We love him as a child. As an adult, he can get on our nerves. He’s just like his grandmother–always so critical. He diatribes the United States, and he hasn’t lived there for years. Let it go! we want to tell him. And stop boring me with these details in the meantime. But as the story develops, we begin to learn why he’s like this, why he says the things he says, and we become more and more empathetic with him.

Irving explores doctrines of the Christian faith such as original sin and resurrection. Regarding original sin, this develops as John feels connected to his unknown father when he lusts. "Henceforward, whenever I was troubled by a way I felt–and especially when I felt this way, when I lusted–I thought that my father was asserting himself within me."

Owen emphasized resurrection and victory over death, perhaps because he foresaw his own death. His favorite verses in hymns were the ones about resurrection and victory. He quoted–incessantly quoted–"whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." He quoted this as he died. This is the core to the Christian faith. This is our hope. In fact, in another place, Owen says, "If you don’t believe in Easter, don’t kid yourself–don’t call yourself a Christian."

There are so many themes and ideas in this book about faith, life, death, and living. This is what makes a book rich. It’s a long book, but I highly recommend it because of its writing, which takes you into this world and into the characters, and its development of themes.

The Gardener

Because she thought he was the gardener…

The Gardener hung on the cross to atone for the gardeners. On the third day, he rose from the dead, conquering the death and evil that swept through his garden.

He prunes us. He snips away the deadness.

He gives us life. We, the branches, suck nutrients, minerals, and the water of life from the Vine. The Gardener became the firstfruits of the resurrection for which the whole garden groans.

It groans.

We groan.

Someday we will be like the Gardener. We will join in the resurrection. The garden will be resurrected and transformed.

Even now, He begins his transforming work, snipping, pruning, watering, feeding. He teaches us out to be gardeners, how to take care of the garden. He gives us the shears and points. "Remove that deadness," he says. "Take away that oppression, that disease." So we join the Gardener in his work. 

Sometimes we rejoice at the riddance of the ugliness. Sometimes we yank and yank, but the roots have infiltrated deeply, and it takes more work, causes more calluses, needs more tools than we expected. Sometimes we say, "But, Gardener, it still looks pretty."

He hands us the shears. "Remove that deadness," he says. He prunes it from our lives. He prunes it from the lives of the oppressed. He prunes it from the lives of the sick. He prunes it from the lives of the powerful. And he fertilizes and waters and tenderly lifts the buds.

Each of us flower the cross. Each of us, individual blooms, together become a bouquet of new life.

Because she thought he was the gardener…

What Leviticus Taught Me

It taught me that Jesus was stubborn and impossible.
According to Leviticus, no priest with any deformity could serve in the once a year Holy of Holies ceremony. (Note: said priest would still be part of the priesthood, would still have duties and would still receive their pay. The important factor is that they could not be in the presence of God.) Nothing but perfection could go before the Lord (c.f. the passages describing the requirement of sacrifices: again, perfection – nothing blemished). Priests could not touch any dead body (except for their wife, children, mother, father and siblings, although not siblings by marriage). (Note: this explains the Good Samaritan. The priest in the story wanted to make sure he didn’t touch a dead body, so just in case the body laying on the side of the road was dead, he went around the long ways.) A jug that contained a dead fly would have to be smashed. Carcasses found dead in the fields could not be touched. Nothing that came into contact with this death and decay could be in the presence of God (except for the sacrifices). Anyone who came into contact with a woman on her period or anyone with a hemorrhaging problem would be considered unclean and would have to go through a slew of cleansing rituals.
I want to make sure that I don’t present God as unkind. He also told them to treat the foreigner as one of them (scandalous!), to treat their slaves kindly (unheard of!), and to leave part of their fields unharvested so that the poor could come in and take some (uneconomical!). He called the Israelites to live hospitable and generous lives, too.
But back to Jesus. Jesus touched dead bodies and a woman with a hemorrhaging problem and men with leprosy. Instead of becoming defiled, he gave life with these touches. However, the Pharisees saw a breaking of the law. He’s touching everything God said not to touch. He’s touching everything God said couldn’t be in His presence because of His holiness. And this guy is claiming to be God! Right. Yeah. Except that it goes against everything we believe, the Pharisees said. This guy is immoral.
Leviticus taught me to understand the Pharisees. I didn’t say they were right, mind you. I just said I understand. If a guy acting immorally claimed to be Jesus, I’m not sure I would believe Him either.
Of course Jesus exuded God’s love and redemption, something the Pharisees didn’t understand, something that was supposed to be part and parcel of the whole purpose of the Israelites.
And Numbers (while we’re at the hard books of the Bible to get through): all those countings of all those Israelites. Man, oh, man, can that be boring. But here’s the thing. Over 600,000 men of fighting age accounted for at the time Moses wrote the book. Which means well over 1 million Israelites if you add in all the women and children. All from Abraham, who, after 100 years of infertility hanging on a promise that God would make him the father of a great nation, had one son. 400 years later, voila! A nation of 1 million people.
Here’s the other crazy thing: these Israelites, over 600,000 of fighting age, in tip-top shape from years of hard labor and camping in the wilderness, tremble in their sandals at having to go in and fight the Canaanites. This is after hearing the stories of Abraham and his faith and the time Abraham fought and beat the Canaanites with just over 300 men, and this is after they saw the 10 plagues and God deliver them from slavery and the parting of the Red Sea. Imagine walking through a sea with hundreds of yards of water wall tall on either side, fish and sharks and whales swimming through. But they walked through. They experienced it all. And they whined.
Today’s theme, I think: stubbornness.