Pastoral Ponderings – Patrick Henry Reardon

The Physical Quality of the Christian Hope

Abigail — Sat, 09 Jul 2022 15:56:43 +0000

The permanence of the soul, its continued life after death, was not in contention among the early Christians. Indeed, thanks in part to Plato, some form of belief in a spiritual afterlife was quite in fashion in the Greco-Roman culture where the Apostles proclaimed the Gospel.

The Apostle Paul, for his part, certainly anticipated an afterlife immediately following death. This persuasion prompted him to “desire to depart and be with Christ” (Philippians 1:23). This immediate afterlife was not, however, the true goal of Paul’s striving, which was, rather, to “attain to the resurrection from the dead” (3:11). Anyway, no early Christians—as far as we can tell—contested the expectation of an immediate afterlife.

When the Apostles proclaimed Jesus as risen, however, they did not mean that he had somehow survived in a spiritual state after his death on the Cross. They meant, quite plainly, “he rose again the third day according to the Scriptures” (1 Corinthians 15:4). It was an event, not a static condition.

Also, it was emphatically physical, not in the sense of induced by physical forces, but in the sense that it happened to the body. Had this not been the case, the Resurrection of Jesus would not have happened “according to the Scriptures.” The Resurrection-hope held out by Holy Scripture had to do with the body. When Isaiah prophesied, “Your dead shall live,” he went on to specify, “their corpses will arise” (Isaiah 26:19).

It was this physical quality of the Christian hope that proved to be too challenging for some of the brethren at Corinth. They summarized their argument with the sarcastic query. “How are the dead raised up? And with what body do they come?” (1 Corinthians 15:35)

What those individuals contested was not a belief in an afterlife, but the physical cosmology implicitly contained in the thesis, “the God of our fathers raised up Jesus” (Acts 5:30). They were unable to grasp that the Gospel proclaimed this truth as a vindication of the whole created order.

Holy Scripture, after all, had not declared, “God approved of all the spiritual things He had made,” but, “God saw everything (kol) that He had formed, and indeed it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31).

It was in refuting the skeptics at Corinth that the Apostle Paul came to understand the Resurrection of Christ as God’s historical act for the purpose of rectifying the evils inflicted on the created order by Adam’s Fall. The Resurrection had to be physical, because death and corruption were physical.

Although it was a single event in history, the “logic” of the Resurrection implied that the whole material world, starting with the bodies of Christians, was destined for restoration and transformation through the risen and glorified flesh of Christ. This meant that the true and ultimate afterlife anticipated by Christians was not based on the immortality of the soul, but on the resurrection of the body.

In answering the Corinthian skepticism, Paul established the “logic” of the Resurrection in a chain of short hypothetical syllogisms. Within 1 Corinthians 15:12-19, the word “if” appears nine times, leading to the final inference, “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men the most pitiable.”

At this point, Paul is ready to move from apologetics to theology, and he marks the transition with a formal “now”: “But now Christ is risen from the dead and has become the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep” (15:20).

To speak theologically means to address truth through the categories, the images, the questions, and the declarations of Holy Scripture. The Resurrection of Christ was not just a bare fact. It was a theological revelation. It happened “according to the Scriptures.” Because this was so, Paul consulted Holy Scripture, in order to grasp what the Resurrection meant.

It is most significant that the first Scripture he consulted on this matter was Genesis. Whereas St. Peter consulted the Book of Psalms for this purpose (Acts 2:24-36), Paul went back to one of the earliest episodes of biblical history, the account of the Fall: “For since death came through a man, through a man also came the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ all shall be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:21-22).

Good Teachers Ask Questions

Abigail — Wed, 02 Mar 2022 04:33:47 +0000

A question is just as likely to convey truth as to seek it. If asking questions is a good way of learning, it is an even better way of teaching. Good teachers ask questions. Consequently, Jesus chiefly employs the interrogatory form as a mode of teaching. Jesus asks questions, moreover, just about as much as he tells parables. For this reason, we need to consider Jesus more closely as the Teacher, the Rabbi.

The Semitic expression “Rabbi” appears to have been a title most readily applied to Jesus during his public ministry. This usage is best preserved in John’s Gospel, where “Rabbi” (or “Rabbouni,” my Rabbi) is a standard way for people to address Jesus (John 1:49; 3:26; 4:31; 6:25; 9:2; 20:16). The word essentially means “Teacher.”

The first time John wrote “Rabbi,” however, he made a point of translating it into Greek—Didaskalos—perhaps because not all his readers were familiar with the Semitic term. This was the early occasion when “two disciples heard [John the Baptist] speak, and they followed Jesus. Then Jesus turned, and seeing them following, said to them, ‘What do you seek?’ They said to Him, “Rabbi” (which is to say, when translated, Teacher), ‘where are You staying?’” (1:37-38).

The equivalence of Rabbi and Didaskalos was also indicated in the first words Nicodemus spoke to Jesus: “Rabbi, we know that you are a Didaskalos come from God” (John 3:2). John also provides the Greek translation of “Teacher,” when Mary Magdalene calls Jesus “Rabbouni” (John 20:16). Often enough, as well, John simply sticks with the Greek Didaskalos, instead of the Semitic word (8:4; 11:28; 13:13-14).

Mark, who goes the furthest in maintaining original Semitic expressions in his story of Jesus, also preserves “Rabbi” or “Rabbouni” as a title by which the disciples addressed Jesus (cf. 9:5; 10:51; 11:21; and, alas, 14:45). More often, however, Mark simply provides the Greek word (5:35; 14:14), especially in the case of direct address (4:38; 9:17, 38; 10:17, 20. 35; 12:14, 19, 32; 13:1).

Luke, who apparently had Gentile Christians in mind, avoids the Semitic “Rabbi,” as a reference to Jesus. He always uses the Greek Didaskalos (7:40; 8:49; 9:38; 10:25; 11:45; 12:13; 18:18; 19:39; 20:21, 28, 39; 21:7; 22:11).

More curious—and provocative of comment—is Matthew’s selective avoidance of “Rabbi” in reference to Jesus, probably because of a reluctance to place Jesus within the same category as those Jewish leaders who opposed the Gospel (cf. Matthew 23:7). In Matthew’s version of the Gospel, Jesus is called “Rabbi” only twice—both times by Judas Iscariot! (26:25, 49)

Indeed, it appears that for Matthew the title “Rabbi” was to be eschewed altogether (cf. 23:8). Hence, when he calls Jesus “Teacher,” he generally sticks to the Greek Didaskalos (8:19; 9:11; 12:38; 17:24; 19:16; 22:16, 24, 36; 26:18).

(With respect to the title “Rabbi,” it is worth remarking that not all Christians have emulated Matthew’s avoidance of the expression. In spite of the injunction to “call no man Rabbi,” Christians in the Middle East, as late as the eighth century, felt no scruple in addressing their priest as “Rabbi” [cf. John of Damascus, Letter on Confession 9].)

Thus, in one form or another—and constantly by implication—the first disciples thought of Jesus chiefly as “Teacher.” And, as Teacher, Questioner, because controlled and directed questioning is an effective form of pedagogy. Questions actively engage the students’ mental processes. When lectured to, the person takes in what the teacher says, but when questioned, the same person is invited to formulate a thought, to engage the lesson in the active processes of his own mind.

On occasion Jesus’ questions served the purpose of engaging the disciples in either a discussion or an activity, making them participants in an event. One recalls how he engaged Philip at the time of the multiplication of the loaves:

“Jesus lifted up His eyes, and seeing a great multitude coming toward Him, He said to Philip, ‘Where shall we buy bread, that these may eat?’ But this He said to test him, for He Himself knew what He would do” (John 6:5-6).

What, then, was accomplished by this question to Philip, since Jesus already “knew what He would do”? His question here served the purpose of evoking the assistance of the apostles in what was about to take place.

Jesus did not ask that question for Philip’s sake, I believe, but for Andrew’s. They were a pair. He knew that wherever you saw Philip, Andrew must be nearby (cf. Mark 3:18; John 12:22). The question was apparently meant to be overheard by Andrew, who promptly replied, “There is a lad here who has five barley buns and a couple of dried fish” (6:9). Now, they could get started!

Thus, by putting to Philip a question to which he already knew the answer, Jesus transformed these apostles from mere spectators to active participants in the experience of the multiplication of the loaves. It is they who will seat the people for the meal (6:10). It is they who will distribute the bread and fish (6:11). In this scene, then, Jesus’ question both commences the event and provides for its participatory structure.

Something similar was at play, it seems, when Jesus asked the blind man at Jericho, “What do you want Me to do for you?” Jesus knew the man was blind, so why did he ask the question? Well, it served as an invitation for the blind man (Bartimaeus, Mark tells us) to ask—to engage Jesus in a give-and-take. It elevated the blind man to something more than the recipient of a blessing. It engaged him as a person. The question was a summons, a bidding, an invitation to express and take possession of his faith in Jesus. And, in fact, this is exactly what happened:

“He said, ‘Lord, that I may receive my sight.’ Then Jesus said to him, ‘Receive your sight; your faith has made you well’” (Luke 18:41-42)

It is no wonder that Mark finishes this story by remaking of the blind man, “And immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus on the road” (Mark 10:52).

Jesus Saves, Jesus Heals

Abigail — Sat, 29 Jan 2022 04:31:10 +0000

The Gospel of St Mathew initiates a lengthy narrative of the Lord’s miracles by a cursory summary of what he did on one day: “When evening came, many who were demon-possessed were brought to him, and he drove out the spirits with a word and healed all the sick.” Matthew took this summary pretty much verbatim from Mark.

Matthew goes on to add, however, a note about biblical prophecy: “This was to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet Isaiah: ‘He took up our infirmities and bore our illnesses.’ This addition is sudden and unexpected. In fact, this quotation from Isaiah is the earliest explicit reference to the Lord’s Passion in Matthew’s gospel.

It seems obvious that Matthew inserts this mention of the Passion in order to prepare for Jesus’ summons to discipleship in the verses that follow:

Then a certain scribe came and said to Him, “Teacher, I will follow You wherever You go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” Then another of His disciples said to Him, “Lord, let me first go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Follow Me, and let the dead bury their own dead” (Matthew 8.18-22).

Thus, as Matthew has arranged his sequence, the summons to the difficulties of discipleship are immediately preceded by the first mention of the Lord’s coming Passion. It is a simple way of saying that the cost of discipleship always involves the Cross.

It remains curious, nonetheless, that Matthew should introduce the image of the Lord’s Passion in connection with His healing of the sick and the cleansing of the demon possessed. This perspective is, I believe, proper to Matthew.

There is more to be noted about Matthew’s citation from Isaiah, however. As he quotes the prophetic text, it reads,

He assumed our weaknesses
And carried our illnesses

This is curious, because in the Isaian texts that have come down to us, this is not exactly what the prophet says. For instance, in the extant Hebrew text the passage reads:

Truly our pains He bore
And our sorrows—He carried them

In the ancient Greek translation (LXX), however, the same passage reads,

He bears our sins
And suffers for us.

Thus, counting Matthew, we have within the Bible itself three different readings for this verse.

The whole context—the most quoted of the Suffering Servants songs—is understood to refer to the Lord’s Passion.

So what prompts Matthew to quote this text—even changing the wording of it—in reference to our Lord’s healing of the sick and the purging of the demon-possessed.

This, I think, Matthew perceives no division or separation in the ministry of Christ our Lord. He saves and heals, whether in the sickroom or on the Cross. He carries our pains, but He also carries them away. He removes sickness, because He takes away sins.

Jesus is, in other works, more than a thaumaturge. The power that flows from His person is not free. It has been bought and paid for. Jesus does not merely remove our affliction; He assumes it. He takes it upon Himself.

In what the gospels record of His earthly ministry, we find Him applying to the flesh and minds of His compatriots the power of the Cross. He was already acting as the Savior of the world, when He touched the hand of Peter’s kinswoman. When He raised the daughter of Jairus, He did so by the might of His own Resurrection.

When Jesus heals the sick, gives sight to the blind, and cleanses from infection the leper’s flesh, these wonders serve as prophecies of the complete healing and the final glory of the resurrected body.

The work of Christ is of whole cloth, and it is all Salvation. “Jesus saves” and “Jesus heals” are the same thing.