Biblical narrative and artful sermons

Robert Alter’s The Art of Biblical Narrative (Basic Books, 1981), which I have only just belatedly read, thanks to Chris’ recommendations, is stunning. Alter compellingly describes biblical narrative as historical prose fiction, and outlines numerous techniques and styles used by the biblical authors to create their accounts. Even more interestingly, Alter shows how the literary style of the Bible is of a piece with the underlying theological convictions of the Hebrew faith. Here’s an example:

“The underlying biblical conception of character as often unpredictable, in some ways impenetrable, constantly emerging from and slipping back into a penumbra of ambiguity, in fact has greater affinity with dominant modern notions than do the habits of conceiving character typical of the Greek epics. The monotheistic revolution in consciousness profoundly altered the ways in which man as well as God was imagined, and the effects of that revolution probably still determine certain aspects of our conceptual world more than we suspect. This altered consciousness was of course expressed ideologically in the legislative and prophetic impulses of the Bible, but in biblical narrative it was also realized through the bold and subtle articulation of an innovative literary form. The narrative art of the Bible, then, is more than an aesthetic enterprise, and learning to read its fine calibrations may bring us closer than the broad-gauge concepts of intellectual history and comparative religion to a structure of imagination in whose shadow we still stand.”

To my mind, Alter convincingly shows that the biblical narratives are carefully constructed stories, with deliberate and stylized arrangement; and that this is not at all in conflict with their status as theological works.

This, to me, suggests an application for preaching on narratives: sermons split up unified stories into “points” to their peril. Biblical narratives are narratives, designed to be read as such. This means they do not simply make “points”. The truths they seek to communicate are reducible to propositions only at the cost of their generic presentation. This is not to say they cannot be explained in terms of propositions; but their value is not equivalent to these propositional explications. They teach us as stories. They are not simply ideas expanded into story form, which we can then unpick and restate simply. If we will be taught through these parts of Scripture, we need to experience them as stories. Perhaps this will make preaching more difficult; but perhaps it will also make it better.

St Basil on faith and baptism

Part of Basil’s argument against subordinationism in On the Holy Spirit concerns baptism. Basil argues that baptism, in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit shows the equal deity of all three members of the Trinity. He’s right, of course. However, I think his statements on baptism and faith are interesting beyond this argument, particularly in the ways Basil carefully associatiates the concepts of faith, baptism, and the work of the Spirit. He speaks of baptism as the means by which we are saved; but also is careful to distinguish “the grace that comes from the Spirit” from “mere baptism in water”. Here are some highlights:

What makes us Christians? “Our faith”, everyone would answer. How are we saved? Obviously through the regenerating grace of baptism. How else could we be? We are confirmed in our understanding that salvation comes through Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. (26)

Faith and baptism are two inseparably united means of salvation. Faith is perfected through baptism; the foundation of baptism is faith, and both are fulfilled through the same names. First we believe in the Father, Son and Holy Spirit; then we are baptised in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The profession of faith leads us to salvation, and then baptism follows, sealing our affirmation. (28)

In this respect we differ from the Jews: they wash themselves after each defilement, but we know that the baptism of salvation is received only once, since He died for the world once, and rose from the dead once, and baptism is a figure of His death and resurrection. The Lord who gives us life also gave us the baptismal covenant, which contains an image of both death and life. The image of death is fulfilled in the water, and the Spirit gives us the pledge of life. Therefore it is clear why water is associated with the Spirit: because of baptism’s dual purpose. On the one hand, the body of sin is destroyed, that it may never bear fruit for death. On the other hand, we are made to live by the Spirit, and bear fruit in holiness. The water receives our body as a tomb, and so becomes the image of death, while the Spirit pours in life-giving power, renewing in souls which were dead in sin the life they first possessed. This is what it means to be born again of water and Spirit: the water accomplishes our death, while the Spirit raises us to life. (35)

We are also able to distinguish between the grace that comes from the Spirit and mere baptism in water. John baptized in water for repentance, but our Lord Jesus Christ baptized in the Holy Spirit… He [John the Baptist] calls our examination at the judgment a baptism by fire, as when the Apostle says “each men’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed with fire and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done.” Before our day there were some who fought for the true faith, and died for Christ’s sake, not only symbolically, but in actual fact. They had no need of the outward sign of water to be saved, since they were baptized in their own blood. I mention this not because I wish to belittle baptism by water, but to overthrow the arguments of those who pit themselves against the Spirit, confusing things which are distinct, and comparing things that admit of no comparison. (36)

Ministerial Clothing — A theory

Here’s a theory, take it or leave it: different emphases or styles of ministry tend towards different “looks”.

As a test, try matching each “type” of minister in List A with one of the clothing styles in List B. My answers are in the comments. Can you add a style?

List A
(a) Mega Church (b) Management savvy (c) Pastorally oriented (d) Ecumenically Committed (e) Front-line Evangelist (f) Youth Pastor (g) Community Activist (h) “successful” pentecostal (i) “unsuccessful” pentecostal (j) Presbyterian

List B
(1) Suit with unfortunate tie (2) Typically under-dressed, maybe even a flannelette shirt (3) wears a goatee (4) Woolen jumpers and sometimes hush puppies (5) clergy collared shirt and jovial expression (6) Suit with trendy tie (7) Whatever his wife bought him (8) Colourful—maybe even Hawaian—shirt (9) open-neck dark coloured non-business trendy shirt with jacket (10) unexpectedly tight jeans and university logo sweatshirt.

And please don’t anyone be offended — I’m sure this is all nonsense… sort of.

æ

Why Anglican?

I have recently become a candidate for ordination in the Anglican Diocese of Sydney. This is the product of a long and chaotic decision-making process; but here are my basic reasons for throwing my lot in with this denomination. The Anglican Church is…

1. Scriptural

The Anglican Church is a Bible reading church. As Oliver O’Donovan explains:

Fifty years ago Stephen Neill, in identifying the elements that characterized Anglican Christianity, named as the first of these “the biblical quality by which the whole warp and woof of Anglican life is held together…The Anglican Churches read more of the Bible to the faithful than any other group of Churches. The Bible is put into the hands of the layman; he is encouraged to read it, to ponder it, to fashion his life according to it.” That these words would be wholly impossible to write today ought to sober us.

This is no small thing. Christian ministry must be committed to putting the Bible into people’s hands. If it doesn’t do that, it’ll never really get past first base.

2. Reformed
Though in very English fashion its origins were a bit less dramatic than some other reformed churches (although there were plenty of martyrdoms later on), the Anglican church is a reformed Church. The thirty nine articles aren’t perfect, but they don’t compromise where it matters. They are driven by a thorough vision of God, his coming to us in Jesus, and his atoning work to save us; and this leads to a wonderful articulation of the doctrine of justification:

We are accounted righteous before God, only for the merit of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ by Faith, and not for our own works or deservings. (Article XI)

3. Traditional (in a good way)
It’s hard to be complicated; but in thinking about its relation to Christian history and the practices the church of its day had inherited, the Anglican church opted for complexity. It opted to retain much from Christian tradition that it considered either good or unimportant. This has some costs: there are practices and ways of doing things which look a bit odd now, but which are very hard to get rid of. But it also has great gains. It is because of this stance that the Anglican church has a thoroughgoing familiarity with the founding Christian creeds and the best liturgy of the early church.

I think there are things that need to be changed and adapted, and, of course, the Articles allow for this (XXXIV); but this basic attitude to tradition is, I think, a good one.

4. Pastoral
This one’s a little less definable. One of the reasons I like the Anglican tradition is that has a distinct pastoral flavour — it’s interested in people, and things like consolation; and it allows for complexity. This concern manifests itself in the collects, for example:

Keep, we beseech thee, O Lord, thy Church with thy perpetual mercy; and, because the frailty of man without thee cannot but fall, keep us ever by thy help from all things hurtful, and lead us to all things profitable to our salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord.

The pastoral emphasis also comes out in the central place of the Psalms in the Prayer Book, and the carefully constructed services for visitation and communion of the sick. Furthermore, the position the church took on tradition was motivated, in large part, by a concern for “weak brethren” (Article XXXIV).

5. Aware of its imperfection
Finally, I like the fact that Anglican Christianity is aware of its imperfections. Anglicanism has been assailed by criticisms since day one; and some of them are basically fair enough. The governance structure of Anglican churches does not easily map onto Biblical models, whatever some might argue. Nor should we have any illusions about the present state of Anglicanism worldwide. This is not a perfect church. But you know what, what church is?

As the Church of Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Antioch, have erred; so also the Church of Rome hath erred… (Article XIX)

I’d rather be in a Church that knew that than one that didn’t and so could, at times, slip into imagining that it, unlike other churches, had it all together — that’s the road to Pharisaism.

What is a sermon?

How’s this:

…”sermons [are] that peculiar, intense form of dramatic mass communication that early Christianity seems to have invented: a struggle between the speaker, his God, the text of the Bible and an audience of believers.” (Diarmaid MacCulloch, Reformation, 153)

peculiar, intense, dramatic, struggle… I like it. Let’s preach more like that!

Fooles in frocks?

I recently came across this fascinating poem from the period just prior to the English Civil War. There was a great deal of tension in this period between “puritans” and more “traditional” Anglicans, as indeed there had been since the beginning of the Reformation in England. Some of the key issues included: aspects of the liturgy in the BCP, episcopacy, and the extent of ceremonial, such as the wearing of the surplus. The following poem plays particularly with the final issue.

“On Those that Deserve it” (1632)
O When our Clergie, at the dreadful Day,
Shall make their Audit; when the judge shall say,
Give your accompts: What, have my Lambs been fed?
Say, do they all stand sound? Is there none dead
By your defaults? Come Shephards bring them forth
That I may crowne your labours in their worth.
O what an answer will be given by some!
We have been silenc’d: Canons struck us dumb;
The Great ones would not let us feed thy flock,
Unless we played the fools, and wore a Frock:
We were forbid unless we’d yield to signe
And cross their browes, they say, a mark of thine.
To say the truth, great Judge, they were not fed;
Lord, here they be; but Lord, they be all dead.
Ah cruel Shephards! Could your conscience serve
Not to be fooles, and yet to let them sterve?
What if your Fiery spirits had been bound
To Antick Habits; or your heads been crown’d
With Peacock Plumes; had ye been forc’d to feed
Your Saviour’s dear-bought Flock in a fools weed;
He that was scorn’d, revil’d, endur’d the Curse
Of a base death, in your behalfs; nay worse,
Swallow’d the cup of wrath charg’d up to th’ brim;
Durst ye not stoop to play the fooles for him?

There is a wonderful, and wonderfully Anglican sentiment in this poem: it’s worth enduring much that is not important for the sake of preaching the gospel. Thanks be to God for men and women who have known this clearly in the past.

Yet what fascinates me about this poem is the assumption, presumably a historical reality, that wearing the surplus would make one look stupid. I have heard it suggested more than once that, though the surplus today looks odd, “back then” it was quite normal. This poem, however, shows that whenever “back then” was, it was before the 1630s. And it makes me ask: when does putting up with unimportant traditions turn into revelling in antiquated oddities?

In defence of baptism

I am a fan of baptism—infant or adult. I think Jesus commanded us to do it in Matthew 28:19; and I think the early church made the most of it, constantly using it as theological launch pad, being guided by it to an understanding of what conversion meant (e.g. Rom. 6:1–11; 1 Pet. 3:21).

Amongst some there is a tendency, though, to suggest that when the New Testament authors spoke of baptism they were speaking not of the Christian rite, but of Christ’s death—”the baptism that I am baptized with” (Mark 10:38). I sense that this is motivated by a desire to defend Christian faith from “religion”.

There is, of course, much to be said for this program. However I am simply not convinced that this is what the New Testament authors meant. It seems to me that this is a case not of a not… but…, but a both… and… The references is the New Testament to baptism both speak of the Christian act and evoke the death of Jesus. This is the whole point of the imagery.

A more positive reflection on baptism comes from Oliver O’Donovan:

In contrast to the formative moment [of our conversion] we are given a public sign that keeps it before our minds and prevents our ignoring it, as we can so easily ignore what is hidden about other people. The sign is baptism. It is a ritual, and therefore liable to the loss of significance which can befall any ritual when it is taken outside its proper context of understanding. It is a sign, and therefore distinct from the reality to which it points. Nevertheless, a ritual sign is the only appropriate way for the hidden moment of conversion to take public form; for without such a form the reality, given from outside man’s sphere of activity, lying beyond the scope even of his religious capabilities, will be in danger of confusion with the merely human acts of repentance and belief which it produces… Baptism does not point to the high moments of devotion or to the sustained achievements of moral fibre of which the human spirit is capable, but to the formative moment in which the whole of a person’s life, past and future, is taken up and pronounced upon by God in the ‘Yes’ that he has spoken and will speak in Christ. (Resurrection and Moral Order, 258–59)

In my own church experience I have seen baptism really work. It allows someone to see the reality
that has happened in their life enacted in a wonderfully powerful way, giving them a clarity about their decision and the change God has worked in them; and it speaks powerfully to the congregation in which it takes place. Baptism is a much more solid and powerful symbol than, say, ticking a box on a response card. I suspect we do ourselves no favours if we let it slide.

Photo by slagheap, Flickr.com

The danger of caring a lot about little things

What would you say are the real dangers for those Christians (and I count myself in this number) who would describe themselves as evangelicals? If Jesus were to come amongst us, what aspects of our faith and culture might be in danger of coming under his rebuke?

The more I think about it, the more I feel that the answer is something along the following lines: in our good desire to be faithful, and in particular, to hold onto right doctrine, we may end up caring far more about theological minutia than the things that really matter.

We may, that is, become Pharisees. One of Jesus’ most cutting criticisms of the Pharisees and scribes went like this:

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint, dill, and cummin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. It is these you ought to have practiced without neglecting the others. You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel!” (Matt. 23:23-24 || Lk. 11:42)

The mistake the Pharisees made, that is, was to focus so much on the intricacies of obedience that the whole shape of their devotion was distorted. In seeking after the periphery, they lost the centre.

We are in no danger of being distracted by herbs. But perhaps we are in danger of losing our centre — justice, mercy, faith, the love of God — for the sake of theological intricacies: perhaps perfectly precise use of language for atonement theology, or the correct idea of “worship”, or, perhaps most of all, women’s ministry. I believe it is possible to be so concerned with the theological rights and wrongs of these issues that we neglect, perhaps simply through inattention, the core of what it is to be Christians. Let us not be fooled: this is a great danger. Woe to us if we strain out our doctrinal gnats, but end up ignoring camel-sized conspicuous absences in our faith.

We should also note that Jesus does not say these specific things don’t matter. He just says they’re not the main game. They don’t come first. And if we care more about them than anything else, or even if we just think about them more than everything else, then we’re in trouble.

May our Lord keep us from this hypocrisy of claiming to be deeply faithful, but actually being pathetically hollow.

Merry Christmas!

I’ll be away for a little bit, so don’t be surprised if the posts are a bit thin. I’ll be back in the new year, and I hope you will join me again!

“Better is a dinner of vegetables where love is than a fatted ox and hatred with it.” (Proverbs 15:17)

An incarnational gospel

In my experience, many Christmas sermons end up skating over the incarnation in order to get to the really important stuff at the other end of Jesus’ life. The incarnation is relegated to a  secondary status – a means to an end. In the last few weeks, I have given a number of Christmas talks, and I have been struck by the fact that at many, many points in the Bible, when the gospel is summarised in one way or another, it is the incarnation that is the focus: “God so loved the world that he sent his one and only Son”; “God has done what the Law… could not do, by sending his Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and as a sin offering.” The gospel is described in terms of the Father’s sending the Son, which has at least as much room for Jesus’ birth as for his death.

I have found it wonderfully liberating to see that Christmas is at the heart of the Biblical gospel: the incarnation is the good news. As I suggested in my own summary of the gospel: the Christian message is that in Jesus Christ God has saved us. Merry Christmas!