Meier on the Resurrection of Lazarus (in the Parable and John 11)

In my write-up today on volume 2 of John Meier’s A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, I will write some about the relationship between the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man in Luke 16:20-31, and Jesus’ resurrection of Lazarus in John 11.  I will not cover every single point that Meier makes about this issue, but only what I consider to be the highlights.

Meier disagrees with the view of some scholars that the Parable of Lazarus and the Rich Man somehow influenced or gave rise to the story in John 11 about Jesus’ resurrection of Lazarus.  On first sight, such a view is tempting because there do appear to be similarities between the two: both discuss the resurrection of a man named Lazarus, and both hold that Lazarus’ resurrection will fail to convince certain people to repent (i.e., Lazarus’ brothers in the Parable, and the Jewish leaders who want to kill Jesus in John 11).   

But Meier disagrees, for at least two reasons.  One, there are many Jews in John 11 who do believe in Jesus on account of Jesus’ resurrection of Lazarus.  And, second, Meier regards the part of the Parable about Lazarus rising from the dead to be secondary—-something that Luke added to the Parable—-for it reflects Lukan terminology.  Originally, according to Meier (if I’m understanding him correctly), the Parable was a typical stock story about the exaltation of the poor and the debasement of the rich in the afterlife.  A first century C.E. parable in Egyptian demotic, for example, talks about a rich man who “is tormented in the next world while a poor man is honored” (page 826), and such a theme also appears in rabbinic literature.  (But Meier also says that the part of the Parable about someone rising from the dead in order to warn people reflects a motif in Near Eastern folklore.)  Meier does not think it plausible that a redactional addition to a Parable would “influence or give rise” to the Johannine story, especially since Luke was writing roughly when John was active (the end of the first century C.E.).

For Meier, what could have happened was that the Parable was influenced by a pre-Gospel version of the story in John 11.  That’s why the poor man is called “Lazarus” in the Parable.  Originally, Meier maintains, the poor man in the story was anonymous, as are all of the characters in the parables of Luke’s Gospel.  But he was later called “Lazarus”, presumably on account of the similarities between a later stage of the Parable and John 11. 

It appears that Meier believes that there is greater likelihood that the Johannine story would influence the Parable, rather than that a small addition to the Parable would influence the Johannine story.  Perhaps that’s because he considers the Johannine story to have been more prominent and well-known than a mere redactional addition to the Parable.

The (Gentile) Demoniac

For my write-up today on volume 2 of John Meier’s A Marginal Jew: Rethinking the Historical Jesus, I will talk some about Meier’s discussion of Jesus’ exorcism of the Gedarene demoniac.  This story appears in Mark 5, Luke 8, and Matthew 8 (only, there, the land is called the country of the Gergesenes, and there are two demoniacs).

Meier believes that the demoniac in the story was actually Gerasene, on the basis of many “early and excellent” ancient manuscripts of Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  But, according to Meier, there was a change to “Gedarenes” and “Gergesenes” because those particular areas are closer to the Sea of Galilee than Gerasa, which is not close to the Sea (see the map here).  For those who made the change, the city of the demoniac had to be close to the Sea of Galilee, for, in the story, the demons enter the pigs, who then jump off of a cliff into the Sea. 

But, for a variety of reasons, Meier believes that the part of the story about the pigs was added later.  (For example, Meier states that Jesus in the Gospels usually does not destroy other people’s property.)  Meier’s conclusion is that the story was originally about a Gerasene demoniac and did not have the part about the pigs, but that people altered the location to Gedar or Gerges after the pigs part was added.  That, for Meier, accounts for the present of Gerasa in ancient manuscripts.  And Meier is open to the possibility that the historical Jesus performed an exorcism in Gerasa and that “the unusual venue of the exorcism helped anchor it in the oral tradition” (page 651).  Why was the venue unusual?  Because it was part of the Decapolis, “a group of Hellenistic cities with mostly pagan populations in the region of southern Syria and northeastern Palestine” (page 651).  Ordinarily, Jesus ministered to fellow Jews.

This information actually answers a question I have had about the story: Why were there pigs in Israel, which regarded them as unclean?  It turns out that the pigs were in predominantly pagan areas.  And, when Jesus told the ex-demoniac to go home and testify to his family about what the Lord did for him, there’s a likelihood that the ex-demoniac’s family was pagan and did not worship the God of Israel, meaning that the ex-demoniac was witnessing to Gentiles.  Of course, as I noted, Meier does not believe that the story originally had the pigs.  But the information about the Decapolis helped me to understand the pigs’ presence in the story (at some stage).

Something else that interested me was Meier’s reference to Franz Annen’s view that the story was written by early Christians to justify the mission to the Gentiles against conservative Jewish-Christian detractors.  Jesus, after all, is visiting a Gentile area and is conducting an exorcism there.  Meier maintains that the story was historical, however, because the very appeal to it demonstrates that Jewish-Christians accepted its historicity as well, for why refer to a story that the Jewish-Christians could simply say was made-up?  This argument stood out to me because of the scholarly view that Jesus did not envision a mission to the Gentiles, for Paul would have spoken about that in his debates with Judaizers had Jesus given any indication of support for a Gentile mission.  Perhaps.  Or maybe Paul didn’t know about that story, or it didn’t come to his mind in his debates.

What’s Wrong with That?

At church this morning, the Pastor Emeritus spoke to us, since our regular pastor is still in Israel.  The Pastor Emeritus spoke to us about Jesus’ parables.

There were two parables that stood out to me.  The first was the one in Luke 12:15-21 about the rich man who had a surplus of crops and resolved to store his surplus in bigger barns and to take it easy.  God then took his life that night because he was not rich towards God.  The Pastor Emeritus asked his grandson about how we can be rich towards God, and the grandson replied that we can do so by doing the right thing.

The second was the Parable of the Pharisee and the Publican in Luke 18:9-14.  In this parable, the Pharisee brags to God about his own righteousness, whereas the publican beats himself on the chest and confesses to be a sinner.  Jesus says that the publican went home justified, whereas the Pharisee did not.  What intrigued me was that the Pastor Emeritus was highlighting how the Pharisee was doing good things: the Pharisee was not extorting people, he was trying to be fair, etc.  As the Pastor Emeritus noted, the Pharisee probably had to struggle against temptations while he was attempting to live so righteous of a life.  And yet, the Pharisee’s prayer was faulty because he was focusing on himself rather than God.  The Pastor Emeritus’ comments stood out to me because Christians often stereotype the Pharisees as being more concerned about rituals than morality, and the Pastor Emeritus was showing that there was a solid moral component to the Pharisee’s righteousness.

I’ve heard these parables numerous times.  My reaction going through my head when I heard them this morning was “What’s wrong with that?”  What’s wrong with the rich man storing his grain, kicking back, and taking it easy for the rest of his life?  I’d love to arrive at that sort of economic security!  What’s wrong with the Pharisee congratulating himself for doing the right thing, or thanking God that he was doing the right thing?  Are we never allowed to pat ourselves on the back for a job well done?  Must we always be beating ourselves up for our inadequacies?

Regarding the rich man, my mind turned to how the rich man had a limited vision.  What is the point of earning a lot of money, if you are not trying to do the right thing—-if you are exploiting or hurting the poor, if you are not trying to help others, or if your vision is limited to yourself and your own prosperity, as opposed to looking at something broader than that?  I thought that even an atheist could be rich towards God by doing the right thing.  But then the pastor was talking about how the Pharisee was not rich towards God, even though the Pharisee had done good things for his fellow human beings, for the Pharisee was not focusing on God.  And yet, I’d say that even an atheist can look at the Pharisee’s attitude in the parable and consider it to be far from admirable.  For one, people should not think that they are better than others.  And second, people should help others because it’s the right thing to do, not in order to pat oneself on the back.  Justice is good for society, and we should be just towards others because we would not like for others to be unjust towards us.

Ben Witherington’s Critical Methodology and Apologetics

I finished Ben Witherington III’s Jesus the Sage.  I have two items:

1.  Are the Gospels fiction, or are they historical?  Witherington says on page 154:

“I have argued elsewhere that the ancient popular biography provides us with our closest analogies for the genre of the Gospels…There are certainly many other options besides pure fiction and photographic recall.  For instance, it is possible the Gospel writers have used material of some historical substance and a broad historical outline of the life of Jesus, coupled with their selection, editing, and arrangement of various pericopes according to their various theological purposes.”

On the TV program, Faith Under Fire, Witherington said that the Gospels contain eyewitness testimony, and that the testimony is reliable (even though the Gospels were written about forty years after the events that they clam to narrate) because the Mishnah states that disciples were able to remember vast amounts of material that their teacher taught them.  Witherington notes that Luke claims to draw from the testimony of eyewitnesses, and that both Matthew and Luke carefully use the sources that they have, such as Mark, showing that they were responsible historians.  For Witherington, there is a good chance that Mark wrote the Gospel of Mark and that Luke wrote the Gospel of Luke, even though these Gospels are formally anonymous, for the second century church would not attribute Gospels to non-eyewitnesses or to non-apostles unless those figures actually wrote them (and Mark and Luke were not apostles).  Regarding Matthew, Witherington does not claim that Matthew the apostle was responsible for the Gospel of Matthew’s final form, but he does suggest that the Gospel contains traditions going back to Matthew the apostle.  And, if my impression is correct, Witherington appears to believe that John wrote the Gospel of John, and he notes that the end of the Gospel says that it represents eyewitness testimony.  You can watch or listen to Witherington making his points here and here.

Is this consistent with what Witherington argues in Jesus the Sage?  I’d say yes and no.  In both, Witherington maintains that the Gospel authors used sources, and he is confident that these sources, on some level, reflect the historical Jesus.  At the same time, I think that Witherington in Jesus the Sage is more sensitive to the fact the the Gospel authors had ideological and theological agendas and were not simply recalling what actually happened.  He criticizes scholars for unjustifiably (at times) preferring Luke’s forms of sayings over how other Gospels’ present them, and he attributes that to the scholars’ attraction to Luke being less Jewish and apocalyptic in his presentation of the sayings (page 215).  Witherington also proposes to uncover what is authentically Q by peeling back the layers that obviously reflect Matthew and Luke (and one can see the characteristics of Matthean and Lukan interaction with sources by looking at their use of Mark).  Witherington affirms that Matthew softens Mark’s portrayal of the disciples as dense in their failure to understand Jesus, and he also discusses differences between the synoptic Gospels and James.  For example, Witherington notes that James does not really talk about the inbreaking Kingdom of God through Christ.

Regarding John, Witherington does not believe in Jesus the Sage that the Gospel of John goes back to John the Galilean son of Zebedee, for there is not much in that Gospel about Jesus’ Galilean ministry or the sons of Zebedee.  But Witherington does acknowledge that the Beloved Disciple could have been a Judean eyewitness to Jesus as well as the source of traditions that made their way into the Gospel of John (whose present form came from someone other than the Beloved Disciple, according to Witherington).  This is similar to what Witherington said about Matthew on Faith Under Fire.  Another point: In Jesus the Sage, Witherington says that Peter in the Gospel of Matthew is given a scribal authority to bind and to loose.  Does this imply that there were written sources going back to the original disciples of Jesus, according to Witherington?

I think that the passage with which I opened this item, the one from page 154, is a reasonable way to see the Gospels: they are not a photographic recall of events, but rather they are the result of a process of using sources and composing a work that accords with the ideologies of the Gospels’ writers.  Some, or even many, of these sources may go back to eyewitness testimony.  But a significant part of uncovering the historical Jesus is sifting what is ideological in the Gospels from what is historical—-though it is possible that the ideological can overlap with the historical, as Witherington seems to believe when he regards the Gospels of Matthew and John to be accurately depicting Jesus as one who claimed to be wisdom itself.

2.  On page 353, Witherington says: “Kings were often said to have miraculous births in antiquity, and Jesus is no different.”  In my opinion, this differs from Witherington’s defense of the historicity of the virgin birth in his blog post, The Virginal Conception—-Miracle on Nazareth Street, where he argues that the virgin birth is historical because (1.) Matthew and Luke had to get the idea from somewhere, and there were no true parallels in the ancient world, and (2.) the story was embarrassing within that honor and shame culture, so it was most likely not made-up.  Based on what Witherington says on page 353 of Jesus the Sage, I can argue that early Christians could have attributed to Jesus a miraculous birth to show that he was like other kings (even if other kings were not said to be the products of a virginal conception).

N.T. Wright on the Virgin Birth

Claude Mariottini on his blog has a link to an article by N.T. Wright on the virgin birth of Jesus.  Wright’s article is entitled Suspending Scepticism: History and the Virgin Birth.  In my post here, I’ll interact with a few of Wright’s defenses of the historicity of the virgin birth.  I’ll only be scratching the surface of what Wright’s article is about, however, and so I’ve linked to it here so that you can read it for yourself.

1.  Here are some quotes from Wright, which make essentially the same point:

“…there is no pre-Christian Jewish tradition suggesting that the messiah would be born of a virgin. No one used Isaiah 7:14 this way before Matthew did. Even assuming that Matthew or Luke regularly invented material to fit Jesus into earlier templates, why would they have invented something like this?  The only conceivable parallels are pagan ones, and these fiercely Jewish stories have certainly not been modelled on them. Luke at least must have known that telling this story ran the risk of making Jesus out to be a pagan demigod. Why, for the sake of an exalted metaphor, would they take this risk – unless they at least believed the stories to be literally true?”

“Smoke without fire does, of course, happen quite often in the real world. But this smoke, in that world, without fire? This theory asks us to believe in intellectual parthenogenesis: the birth of an idea without visible parentage. Difficult – unless, of course, you believe in miracles, which most people who disbelieve the virginal conception don’t.”

This appears to be similar to Wright’s argument in defense of Jesus’ resurrection.  In that case, Wright argued that first century Judaism did not expect the Messiah to rise from the dead before the eschaton, and that Messianic movements generally folded after the death of their leader.  For Wright, the fact that the Jesus movement continued after Jesus’ death and claimed that their founder was risen had to be due to some reason, and Wright believes that reason was the actual resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.  Similarly, in the area of the virgin birth, Wright’s argument seems to be that the notion of the virgin birth of Jesus had to come from somewhere, and, for Wright, the most plausible explanation is that it came from the fact that Jesus was born of a virgin.  Wright does not believe that Matthew or Luke got the idea from pagan stories, which first century Jews anathematized, plus Luke was already putting himself at the risk of making Jesus out to be a demigod, in the eyes of his Jewish audience.  For Wright, as I understand him, Matthew and Luke believed in the virgin birth of Jesus, and they got that idea from its occurrence.

I’ll list three problems that I have with this argument.  First, why couldn’t the virgin birth have simply been an original idea that Matthew and Luke came across and included in their works?  The fact that an idea is original does not mean that the idea has any grounding in reality.  There are all sorts of original ideas out there!  Second, why couldn’t a first century Jew absorb ideas from pagan cultures, while still opposing paganism?  We see that sort of thing a lot in the Hebrew Bible: things are said about the God of Israel that other nations say about their gods, such as Baal.  By drawing on these motifs, the writers of the Hebrew Bible may be saying that the God of Israel is the one who truly does the deeds that pagan nations attribute to their own gods.  Why couldn’t something similar be going on with the virgin birth story?  Third, and this contradicts the first problem that I listed, I think that the idea that Jesus was born of a virgin could have come from something other than its actual occurrence—-that the concept, in a sense, has a Hebrew precedent.  In the Hebrew Bible, there are stories about figures who are born when their parents are really old, and such births can be described as miraculous.  Why couldn’t a Christian come along and suggest that Jesus’ birth was miraculous—-and even more astounding than the births of the Old Testament figures—-for Jesus was born, not of a woman whose womb had dried up, but of a woman who had never even known a man?

2. “Of course, legends surround the birth and childhood of many figures who afterwards become important. As historians we have no reason to say that this did not happen in the case of Jesus, and some reasons to say that it did. But by comparison with other legends about other figures, Matthew and Luke look, after all, quite restrained.  Except, of course, in the matter where the real interest centres. Matthew and Luke declare unambiguously that Mary was a virgin when Jesus was conceived. What are we to make of this?”

My impression is that Wright here is making the sort of argument that many evangelical apologists (such as David Marshall) have made: that the Gospels’ stories about miracles are more reliable historically than non-Christian miracle stories because the Gospels are more restrained and low-key than the non-Christian miracle stories.  I wonder what this proves, though.  Perhaps the main thing we can conclude is that the Gospel writers were simply imitating the style of the Hebrew Bible, which was low-key in its description of miracles.

3.  Wright makes the following statements:

“Further, anyone can say that Matthew made it all up to fulfil Isaiah 7:14 (‘the virgin shall conceive’). Since Luke doesn’t quote the same passage, though, the argument looks thin. Is Bethlehem mentioned only, perhaps, because of Micah 5:2-4?”

“What then about his central claim, the virginal conception itself, dropped almost casually into the narrative, with no flourish of trumpets? Some have argued, of course, that there is instead a flourish of strumpets: Matthew has taken care to draw our attention to the peculiarities (to put it no stronger) of Tamar, Rahab, Ruth and Batlisheba, presumably in order to warn us that something even stranger is coming; or perhaps to enable us, when the news is announced, to connect it with God’s strange way of operating in the past. He is hardly likely on this occasion, however, to have made up the story of Mary’s being with child by the Holy Spirit in order to ‘fulfil’ this theme.”

I can see Wright’s point that Matthew did not make up the virgin birth story, for the concept of Jesus’ virgin birth also appears in Luke, and their stories are so different that they appear to be independent.  Both could have gotten the idea that Jesus was born of a virgin from a common source.  I also agree with Wright that Matthew 1 is trying to show that the strange circumstances around Jesus’ birth do not detract from Jesus being the Messiah, for God in the past was involved in peculiar situations, such as births from Gentile women, some of whom engaged in trickery or sexual immortality.  Matthew is responding to something.  But what?  Could it have been a prominent belief that Jesus was a mamzer?  Matthew does not believe that Jesus was a mamzer, for he has the tradition of the virgin birth, which could have been developed by someone else in response to the charge that Jesus was a mamzer.  I guess my point here is that the fact that Matthew did not invent the virgin birth and was seeking to defend Jesus from a charge does not show that the virgin birth happened.

Time for Carlos to Sacrifice

I watched the new Desperate Housewives tonight, and the plotline that stuck out to me the most was Carlos’ job dilemma. But Lynette almost running over that guy who threatened her son was a close second!

Carlos is getting his sight back, and he needs a job. One of his old cut-throat CEO colleagues wants Carlos to work for him, since he respects Carlos as a “shark.” Carlos’ wife, Gabby, wants him to take the job, since it pays in the six figures and offers all sorts of fringe benefits. After she accepts the CEO’s offer on Carlos’ behalf, she rushes to the mall to buy some expensive shoes.

Carlos, however, has something else in mind: he wants to work with the blind at a community center. Gabby invites the CEO and his wife to dinner so Carlos can hear him out, and Carlos grows annoyed with the CEO’s stories of his exploits as a cut-throat businessman. “Maybe you can tell that story to the other CEOs in hell,” Carlos jokes to him. Carlos and Gabby also get to observe the CEO’s strained relationship with his wife.

The next day, Carlos announces that he’s made his decision: he still wants to work with the blind at the community center. He doesn’t desire a job that robs him of his soul and keeps him away from his family. He wants something fulfilling, a job that can allow him to make a difference in the world.

Gabby responds, “Look, I’ve been helping a blind man for the past five years. It’s not as fulfilling as it looks!” And she goes on to remind Carlos that she has sacrificed for him for five years, and it’s now time for him to step up. The family has been poor, and she has had to sell her cherished items (e.g., fancy clothes, shoes, etc.) to take care of life’s necessities. Carlos then calls the CEO and accepts the job. And Gabby goes to her closet and kisses her new shoes!

At first, Gabby struck me as rather shallow. “I thought this lady grew after her years of self-sacrifice. But no. She’s still the same old materialistic Gabby!” But when Mary Alice (the narrator) said at the end of the show that people don’t like to struggle, and Gabby was shown looking out the window with a tired look in her eyes, I began to identify with her more.

Personally, I don’t care about dresses and a new pair of fancy shoes because (1.) I’m not a woman, and (2.) I’m not obsessed with how I look. But fashion is something that’s important to Gabby. And she has had to do without for five years to take care of life’s necessities. I can’t always buy everything my heart desires, and I’d probably have to sell my cherished CDs, DVDs, and books if my family didn’t help me out. Fortunately, I haven’t come to the point where that is necessary. Gabby, however, was not so lucky.

Here are some things that come to my mind:

1. Will Carlos be a shark when he takes that CEO position? Sure, Carlos looked rather selfish when he expected Gabby to keep on sacrificing just so he could fulfill his feel-good desires. But the fact is that Carlos has changed. He’s no longer the money-grubbing, ruthless CEO that he was five years before. He’s learned to value other things, like family, life, beauty, and giving to others. Will he be able to resume his role as a shark? Or will his soul continue to be intact just because he’s doing what he doesn’t like for Gabby and his kids?

2. Gabby’s statement that helping the blind isn’t all it’s cracked up to be is refreshingly honest. A lot of us expect community service to resemble what we see on Highway to Heaven–with everyone smiling and feeling good about helping others. And service work can indeed have those sorts of rewards. But there’s another side to it: the grunt work, people’s lack of appreciation, wondering if you’re even making a difference, etc.

3. I thought about the rich young ruler, the one Jesus told to sell all his possessions. Mark 10:22 says, “When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions” (NRSV). Gabby’s situation reminded me of that, since she preferred having possessions over her husband helping the blind full-time. (She was open to him doing service work on the weekends, just so long as he took the job with the six-figure salary.) Similarly, the rich young ruler chose wealth over Jesus’ ministry to the poor, the sick, and the blind (among others).

Is Christianity only about giving things up? I remember Joyce Meyer saying that the rich young ruler was actually the one making the sacrifice with his selfish, short-sighted decision. He could have gotten so much more had he forsaken his wealth to follow Jesus! Not only would he have gotten treasures in heaven and the satisfaction of helping others, but he also would have received his treasures back, and so much more.

We see something like this in the text. Later in the chapter, Jesus tells his disciples, who gave up everything to follow him: “Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age–houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions–and in the age to come eternal life” (vv 29-30). Notice that Jesus mentions rewards in this life, not just the hereafter.

And here are some points that came to me in my Luke quiet time ages ago. I always had problems with Jesus’ sayings about giving to others. I have in mind passages like the following:

“[A]nd if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.” (Matthew 5:40-42)

“Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys” (Luke 12:33). This is directed towards Jesus’ disciples, so we can’t use the argument that Jesus’ command to the rich young ruler applied only to him!

Give to everyone who asks? Give even my cloak? I’d have nothing if I did that!

But Jesus says these things with the presupposition that God is an abundant provider:

“[G]ive, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back” (Luke 6:38).

“Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well” (Matthew 6:31-33).

As Proverbs 11:24 affirms, “Some give freely, yet grow all the richer; others withhold what is due, and only suffer want.”

I’ve heard stories in which these principles work in real life: a person tithes or is generous, and God blesses him financially. But then I’ve heard the opposite as well. Armstongites could be extremely generous in their tithes and offerings, and many of them suffered as a result.

But the Bible doesn’t necessarily present a zero-sum game, in which giving to others means deprivation for oneself. Rather, there are places where it affirms that people can experience the best of both worlds: service, along with happiness in this life.

Luke 4: Jesus’ Temptation

In Luke 4, we read Luke’s story of Jesus’ temptation. It is similar to the temptation story in Matthew 4, only it presents the events in a different order.

In Luke 4, Satan first tells Jesus to turn the stones into bread, to which Jesus replies, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone’” (NRSV). Then, Satan offers Jesus all the kingdoms of the world if he will fall down and worship him, and Jesus responds, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’” Finally, Satan takes Jesus to the pinnacle of the Jerusalem temple and encourages him to jump off. Satan actually appeals to Scripture: “It is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” And Jesus retorts, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

But why did Jesus have to undergo temptation? What’s the point of this scene in Luke’s overall story?

Christians have offered a variety of explanations. Many say that Jesus was doing right what his predecessors had done wrong. Adam and Eve succumbed to the temptation of Satan the devil when they ate the forbidden fruit, plunging the entire human race into sin, misery, and condemnation. But Jesus reversed that curse as the Savior of the world and the second Adam, for he represented humanity and resisted the devil. As Romans 5:18-19 says: “Therefore just as one man’s trespass led to condemnation for all, so one man’s act of righteousness leads to justification and life for all. For just as by the one man’s disobedience the many were made sinners, so by the one man’s obedience the many will be made righteous.”

Others believe that Jesus was correcting Israel’s past mistakes. In the wilderness, Israel valued food over God’s word, worshipped other deities than the true God, and put God to the test (see Deuteronomy 8:3; 6:16; 10:20; Psalm 78:18-20). But Jesus did the opposite in his wilderness experience, and he quoted Deuteronomy as he thwarted the devil’s schemes. In this scenario, Jesus was giving Israel a fresh start when he embodied her, as he did right what she had done wrong.

Some argue that a temptation scene is typical of most stories. According to Joseph Campbell, most hero-myths present the protagonist encountering trials and challenges as he undergoes his journey (see here). Shamans (the spiritual leaders of tribal communities) often have to suffer as part of their initiation (see here). And, in Buddhist legend, the devil Mara tries to hinder the Buddha from attaining Enlightenment, as he sends his daughters Desire, Hatred, and Lust to keep him attached to the world (see here). But the Buddha remains unmoved, and he’s consequently able to help other people.

I think that all of these explanations are correct, in some way, shape, or form. But here’s something else that entered my mind: maybe Jesus needed to make a clear stand for God in order to prepare for his ministry. And what better opportunity is there for this than a temptation scene right before his career?

I don’t entirely understand all of Satan’s temptations, to tell you the truth. Granted, Jesus not worshipping Satan is obviously a no-brainer, but why couldn’t he turn the stones into bread? He was hungry, after all! And what would be wrong with putting God to the test to see if he’s truly there? Gideon did that with the fleece (Judges 6:36-40), Isaiah told Ahaz to ask God for a sign (Isaiah 7:11), and God tells the Jews to tithe and see if God will bless them (Malachi 3:10). Would Jesus have been wrong to jump?

But I do believe that Jesus was practicing skills that would be essential for him later on in his ministry. The first temptation (turn the stones into bread) taught him that he needed to live by every word that proceeded out of the mouth of God, even when he wasn’t particularly comfortable. He wouldn’t always have a place to sleep (Luke 9:58), and there’d be times when he and his disciples would be hungry (Luke 6:3). Ultimately, he’d have to undergo a great deal of pain at the crucifixion. But continuing to fast in obedience to God’s word was a way for him to prepare for those kinds of hardships.

For the second temptation (bow down to Satan and get all these kingdoms), Jesus obviously couldn’t worship Satan and glorify God at the same time. But he also couldn’t be succumb to the temptations of money, power, sex, and prestige, for he needed to be a pure vessel–one who was more concerned about God and his neighbors than he was about his own personal ego. How many ministries has Satan brought down through those kinds of temptations?

Regarding the third temptation (jump off the cliff), there may be a lot of things going on here. For one, Jesus couldn’t be frivolous with God, for he had to be serious-minded. His task was important, since he was overthrowing the dominion of Satan and bringing in the kingdom of God. He had no time for games, which jumping off a cliff was.

Jesus also needed to trust God implicitly. In this particular temptation, Jesus quoted Deuteronomy 6:16, which says, “Do not put the LORD your God to the test, as you tested him at Massah.” The story of Massah is in Exodus 17. In that chapter, we see that the Israelites did not trust God. They were thirsty, so they complained to Moses, saying things like: “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” (v 3); “Is the LORD among us or not?” (v 7); or, in the account of Psalm 78:19-20, “Can God spread a table in the wilderness? Even though he struck the rock so that water gushed out and torrents overflowed, can he also give bread, or provide meat for his people?” The Israelites tested God in that they questioned God’s love for them, his presence among them, and his power to help them.

But Jesus could not continually entertain such doubts. He was about to experience opposition, after all! Even his own home-town and family would think he was weird (Luke 5; 8:19-21). His disciples wouldn’t always get what he was saying (Luke 9:45). He was about to embark on a lonely life, and he needed to be sure in his own mind that God loved him, was with him, and had the power to help him. His faith would be the only thing keeping him going, on a number of occasions!

In my opinion, it’s no accident that the temptation story is where it is in Luke’s Gospel. Prior to the temptation scene, Jesus is coming off of a spiritual high. He’s just received the baptism of John, the Spirit has come upon him, and God has assured him, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22). And what happens after God has told Jesus he is his son? Satan tries to make Jesus question that he is God’s son! “If you are the son of God,” Satan says over and over. Jesus needed to hold on to who God said that he was, regardless of what Satan or anyone else may carp. That would serve him well in his ministry. Again, the temptation was giving Jesus a chance to practice skills that would be useful as he served God later on. It was an initiation, if you will!

After Jesus’ temptation, he experienced rejection in his own home-town (Luke 5). The people of Nazareth somewhat trivialized what he was saying, since they knew him and his family. Plus, they tried to throw him off a cliff after he offended them. That would hurt my feelings if it happened to me! But Jesus had learned to place God’s will ahead of his personal comfort and ego, and to trust God implicitly regardless of his surroundings. His temptation by Satan had prepared him for what was to come.

Perhaps that’s how it is with many of us. God has a desire to use us, but he wants to see if we can pass certain necessary tests, with the help of his Spirit and word, of course. When we do so, then we can go on to the next level. Sure, God can use crooked sticks (e.g., Samson), since he is God and can use anybody for anything. But he may seek a pure vessel, someone who is committed to him rather than self.

Signs of Revival

Yvette of Pascalian Awakenings has given me a link to a discussion about the Lakeland revival. It’s from the web site of Michael Brown, the author of Answering Jewish Objections to Jesus.

I don’t know much about the revival in Lakeland. Some Christians like it. Others hate it. Some think it’s crazy, authoritarian, and unorthodox. Others say it’s been accompanied by miraculous healings. In the world of blogdom, Jim West and Peter Kirk have written about Todd Bentley, a key figure in the revival, who looks like a rider from Hell’s Angels. And, whenever someone starts a thread on Todd Bentley on my Christian dating site, you can guarantee it will get tons of replies!

I want to make two points before I quote Michael Brown’s criteria for a true revival. First of all, just because something’s strange, that doesn’t mean it’s not of God. On two occasions, the spirit of God came upon Saul and inspired him to prophesy, and he ripped off his clothes in one of those incidents (I Samuel 10, 19). That prompted people to ask if Saul was one of the prophets. For them, “prophet” and “weird” could go in the same sentence. God instructed Isaiah to walk around naked and barefoot (Isaiah 20:2). I’m sure he got some odd stares when he did that! And, on Pentecost, people thought that the disciples were drunk when they saw them speaking in tongues (Acts 2:13). God doesn’t always work in conventional ways.

Second, critics of the Lakeland revival are not necessarily blaspheming the Holy Spirit (which is a frequent charismatic accusation, within a variety of settings). Criticism holds movements accountable. God actually anointed the kings of Israel and Judah, yet that didn’t stop the prophets from criticizing them. People should take heed not to become hardened to God or the possibility that he might be working in Lakeland. But no one should be insulated from criticism, not even revival leaders. Even Jesus invited critique when he said, “Which of you convicts me of sin?” (John 8:47). The people who shun criticism are usually those who have something to hide.

Now, here are Michael Brown’s criteria for true revival, which are based on guidelines established by Jonathan Edwards:

“1) Is it exalting Jesus? Does He have the preeminence and are people being drawn to Him and His centrality?

“2) Is there an increasing hunger for the Word of God and an increasing desire to submit to the Word of God?

“3) Are people repenting of sin and turning to holiness by God’s grace and power?

“4) Is there an increasing burden to touch and save the lost?

“If so, then God is at work, since Satan can’t cast out Satan and the flesh can’t give birth to Spirit.”

Brown doesn’t mention healing, since it may not be an actual criterion for a genuine revival. After all, people can embrace God without miracles. But isn’t healing at least one sign that God is involved in a phenomenon? Brown says that Satan can’t cast out Satan, but the biblical context for that statement is Jesus’ healing of a blind and mute demoniac. Jesus said he was plundering the kingdom of Satan when he did so, and that “if it is by the Spirit of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you” (Matthew 12:28). I know that Michael Brown wrote a book on Jesus’ healing ministry, which I own but have not yet read. I’m puzzled about why he doesn’t comment on the healings at Lakeland, since healing in the Gospels is one way God delivers people from Satanic oppression.

But Jesus also preached repentance, godliness, and the possibility of a new life. Jesus said that “wisdom is vindicated by all her children” (Luke 7:32, 35). I wonder if Jesus meant that his message was confirmed by the new lives of the sinners who repented through it. The Pharisees were critics of John the Baptist and Jesus, whose ministries brought about dramatic conversions among people who ordinarily wanted nothing to do with religion. Tax collectors were leaving behind their lucrative business to follow Jesus. Prostitutes were turning to God. People were ceasing from their evil ways and learning to do good. This would be like hardened drug dealers experiencing a complete spiritual turn-around. It would be miraculous! And this is a sign that revival is taking place! Notwithstanding the Pharisees’ criticisms, the ministries of John and Jesus were vindicated by those who repented (wisdom’s children).

I don’t have to agree with everything that goes on in Lakeland. But if God is using it to bring people to himself, then praise God!

A Bizarre Dinner-Guest

In Luke 11:37-54, we see a strange interaction at the dinner table. The Pharisees invite Jesus to dinner, and they notice that he doesn’t wash before eating. They ask him why. In response, Jesus goes into a long tirade against the Pharisees, calling them proud hypocrites who are internally corrupt. You know that big speech against the Pharisees in Matthew 23? Luke puts it here–at the dinner table.

As the lawyers listen to Jesus’ tirade, they say, “Teacher, when you say these things, you insult us too” (NRSV). And Jesus replies by laying into the lawyers. He accuses them of binding heavy burdens on people that they’re unwilling to lift themselves. He tells them that their ancestors killed the prophets, and that they’ll kill the prophets whom God is about to send. After this incident, the Pharisees resolve from that point on to trap Jesus in his own words.

There are other scenes in which Jesus just goes off. In Luke 4, Jesus speaks to his home-town of Nazareth, and he actually gets a pretty decent reception. V 22 says, “All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth. They said, ‘Is not this Joseph’s son?’” But Jesus responds by criticizing them. He says that a prophet is not accepted in his hometown, and he refers to the fact that Elijah and Elisha helped out Gentiles, but not the people of Israel. And the people of Nazareth went into a rage when they heard this, as they attempted to throw Jesus over a cliff.

Jesus is bizarre. He’s gets set off by a simple question. What kind of a dinner-guest is this?

The scene in Luke 11 reminds me of two things. First of all, it’s hard to be around people who hold strong opinions. You don’t know what will set them off! And you see this all over the religious and political spectrum: left and right. I much prefer to be around open-minded people, who acknowledge that there are various ways to see an issue.

At the same time, the Pharisees don’t really appeal to me either. They criticize Jesus because he doesn’t do things exactly as they do. I hate this kind of group-think. It just reeks of “Why don’t you do things like us? After all, we’re the group, so that automatically makes us right.” And you see this all over the place: in religion, in politics, in academia. Consequently, I can understand Jesus’ annoyance. It’s refreshing to hear someone say (for once), “You want to know why I don’t do things your way? Because your way stinks!” Whoa, Jesus, you’re challenging assumptions that the group thinks should be unquestioned. And how dare you question the wisdom of the all-knowing group!

Also, the lawyers are somewhat haughty. “You’re criticizing us–the lawyers! People don’t dare to criticize us!” It reminds me of a classroom incident I once had. A professor was showing us a video on which he was a guest, and a student criticized one of the video’s main points. The professor responded, “Actually, I was the one who recommended that this point be made.” That struck me as rather arrogant. Did he expect the student to retract her statement once she realized she was disagreeing with his royal highness? That seems to be the lawyers’ attitude.

I also think that the Pharisees overreacted–just a little bit. Just because he criticized them, that doesn’t mean they should try to undermine him. But the honor and shame system was probably big back then, and Jesus had definitely shamed the Pharisees. Plus, they realized that, if Jesus became popular, he’d convince the people not to follow them. And they didn’t want to lose their power and influence!

Unrefined Reflections on the Pharisee and the Publican

These are unrefined reflections. That means I’m just writing what I think, and if people don’t understand what I’m saying, then they don’t have to read it. I’m not in the mood right now to phrase everything smoothly and accurately. Plus, everyone should expect to be offended by this post.

Luke 18:10-14 has the parable of the Pharisee and the tax collector, in which the Pharisee brags to God about all the good things he does while looking down on the sinful tax collector. The tax collector, meanwhile, beats himself on the chest and prays, “God be merciful to me, a sinner.”

I feel that a lot of evangelicals fit the profile of the Pharisees. “No I don’t–I believe in salvation by grace through faith,” I can hear them saying. Sure, but they still think they’re better than everyone else. “I’m so good because I believe the Gospel,” the Arminian types say. “There’s evidence that God has saved me, for I do good things, plus I don’t sin that much,” the Calvinist types say. When evangelicals gather together and display that “joy” they love to express, are they truly happy, or are they just trying to show others that they’re better than everyone else because they have a “happy, happy” facade?

I see a lot of self-righteousness in the alcoholic recovery community as well. In one group I attend, a person relapsed, and he’s not been back to the group. One of the members said in his absence, “You have to want it” (recovery), implying that the guy who relapsed didn’t truly want to recover. No wonder the guy’s not been back. I wouldn’t come back either, if I had to put up with such self-righteousness.

In evangelicalism, if a person doesn’t believe 100% like evangelicals and runs into problems, the evangelicals can be really judgmental. “That’s what happens when one doesn’t follow God,” some of them say (or imply). Some may interpret the problems as a divine punishment. Others may see them as divine chastisement. Still others may view them as the natural outgrowth of sin. There’s not a lot of humility in any of the approaches. It’s all basically, “This person fell because he’s not perfect like I am.”

I also hate the way that evangelicals treat people as projects. One time, I was looking at Christian books at an evangelical’s house, and I asked about one of them. “You’re not ready for that book,” he said. That’s really condescending. It screams, “You’re not ready to read that, since you’re not as spiritually advanced as I am.”

When I hear evangelicals brag about all the unbelieving friends they have, there’s a sarcastic thought that goes through my mind: “Well, aren’t you salt and light?” I hope they’re making friends with them because they like them, not to show how they’re such good Christians because they’re reaching out to unbelievers.

Evangelicalism is rife with “I’m so much better than the next guy, because he doesn’t do all the good things that I do.”

Now let me criticize mainline Protestants. Mainline Protestants look at a parable like this and say, “Aww! Jesus is so compassionate! He’s reaching out to the tax collectors, who were the outcasts of society. And so we should reach out to the outcast.”

Indeed, Jesus reaches out to the outcast. But the tax collector really was a sinner. He wasn’t just misunderstood or shunned out of prejudice. There’s a reason he was beating himself on the chest! John the Baptist told the tax collectors not to take more money than was due them (Luke 3:12). Why? Because they were extorting people! The tax collector Zacchaeus paid a lot of people back when he turned to Christ (Luke 19:8). These guys were bullies and oppressors, not victims.

Of course, who knows? Liberal Protestants may not care when the federal government oppresses people, especially when it’s collecting taxes. But if a corporation exploits people, watch out!

Part of me admires the tax collectors. They earned lots of money, and they didn’t give a rip whether their neighbors liked them or not. They had a fairly comfortable lifestyle. And I guess they had community–they ate with each other. In times when I feel like an outsider, I think, “Well, I wouldn’t care about this if I had lots of money and was set for life.” And that’s how the tax collectors were.

But, as I was saying yesterday, the way of the flesh is a dead end. They needed to make their peace with God. And so that one in the parable asked God to be merciful to him, a sinner.