this is our god.

O Thou, the greatest and the best, mightiest, almighty, most merciful and most just, utterly hidden and utterly present, most beautiful and most strong, abiding yet mysterious, suffering no change and changing all things: never new, never old, making all things new, bringing age upon the proud and they know it not; ever in action, ever at rest, gathering all things to Thee and needing none; sustaining and fulfilling and protecting, creating and nourishing and making perfect; ever seeking though lacking nothing.

Thou lovest without subjection to passion, Thou art jealous but not with fear; Thou canst know repentance but not sorrow, be angry yet unperturbed by anger. Thou canst change the works Thou hast made but Thy mind stands changeless. Thou dost find and receive back what Thou didst never lose; art never in need but dost rejoice in Thy gains, art not greedy but dost exact interest manifold. Men pay Thee more than is of obligation to win return from Thee, yet who has anything that is not already Thine? Thou owest nothing yet dost pay as if in debt to Thy creature, forgivest what is owed to Thee yet dost not lose thereby.

And with all this, what have I said, my God and my Life and my sacred Delight? What can anyone say when he speaks of Thee? Yet woe to them that speak not of Thee at all, since those who say most are but dumb.

-Saint Augustine's Confessions

a revolutionary revelation.

The magnitude of the incarnation of the divine through the person of Jesus Christ is lost in the Gospels’ translation from Greek to English. These inspired accounts of Jesus’ life and ministry speak uniquely to the first-century Jew and Gentile. As such, our understanding of the Gospels is made more complete when we look at the person of Christ from the worldviews and perspectives that dominated the culture of that day.

The ideas and philosophies of great thinkers like Plato provided the intellectual backdrop of this first-century world. Particularly, his allegory of the cave would have been the lens through which many people perceived and understood the world. And it’s through this very lens that I would like to consider the message and quite revolutionary meaning of John 1.

The unique thing about the Gospels, and particularly this chapter in the Gospel of John, is that they enter into a conversation that already exists in the ancient world. In both the Republic and Timaeus (my incorporation of and comments regarding the latter may not be entirely accurate seeing as I have yet to read this Platonic work; my knowledge and commentary regarding it are based on one single lecture from the great Dr. Jeffrey), there is an underlying craving to understand the world, how it came to be, why it has gone so terribly awry, and how to bring it back to completeness. And John brings answers to these questions.

Plato, in both his works, recognizes that the notion of goodness and justice is transcendent. There is something higher, something intangible that is guiding all things. In Timaeus, he identifies this being as the demiurgos: that which has brought all things into being. In the Republic, his allegory of the cave (which is my new favorite topic of discussion) is a metaphor for the world and all things that were created through this demiurgos.

Consider the illustration above. The cave is a place of darkness, of shadows, and of half-truths. It deals with the tangible, the becoming, the changing. Objects, facts, and things of the literal realm define life down here. As I discussed in a previous post, and as Plato indicates, all of humanity is in this cave. We live in a world where the things we see and experience are merely shadows and incomplete imitations of the truth.

But above this cave, above this darkness is a world full of light. It deals with the intelligible, the being, the eternal. Subjects, forms, and things of the spiritual or figurative realm define life up here. This is a world of truth. This is the place we try (but fail) to imitate.

Side note: C.S. Lewis’ The Great Divorce is enfused with these Platonic ideas. The Valley of the Shadow of Death (filled with gray shadows) and the Valley of the Shadow of Life (filled with bright, solid objects) are closely based on this idea of the cave.

In the Republic, Plato (well, technically, Socrates seeing as he is the speaker) mentions that some people will journey from the cave into the light. But it’s a select few: only the best and brightest, the philosophers, and those who possess a predisposition for understanding the world of forms travel above. Thus, the opportunity to know the truth and to experience true life is only for a privileged few. The rest of us are, basically, without hope of ever knowing the intelligible, perceiving the eternal, or stepping into the light. Our lives are restricted to the world of shadows, our comprehension limited to simple, finite objects and facts.

The Gospel of John addresses this philosophy. It enters into this conversation. The author plays on Plato's ideas by turning them on their heads:

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made.” (John 1:1-3)

Here, John is suggesting that the Word has created all things. (Later, he’ll go on to establish that the Word is Jesus, God incarnate.) In Greek, the term for “word” is logos. Logos, however, can also mean the “reason,” “argument,” “speech,” “story,” and “verb.” (Remember this. I’ll bring it up later.) So John is replacing the demiurgos, which Plato has suggested to be the creator of all things, with Jesus, the Word, and logos.

The revolution comes when John writes, “In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it…And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” (John 1:4-5, 14)

Light has penetrated the darkness. Jesus, being truth, came down. He descended the throne to dwell among us, the people in the cave.

Here, in the person of Jesus, the world above, the intelligible, the being collides with the world below, the tangible, the becoming. Where formerly the Greeks considered all things either tangible or intelligible, John points out that Jesus is both! The Creator of the Universe, the logos, the reason, the story, and the verb connects the object with the subject. (Get it? subject + verb + object? It’s like a sentence; it’s completion and fullness. Once again, Dr. Jeffrey’s insight.)

So the Platonic way of thinking has been reversed:

We do not have to go up to receive truth. The truth is no longer unable to be grasped. The truth is not for the select few anymore. It’s not just for the smart people. It’s not just for the people who have it all together.

Rather, it’s accessible because it has come down to us.

It’s for everyone.

Do you get it? Do you see? This is crazy! Jesus changes everything! Just as he does Jewish law, he turns Greek philosophy upside-down. He’s the fulfillment of the promise, and he’s the truth among us. Because of him, there is hope in our darkness. Because of him, we can reach the light.

So there you have it, the revolutionary revelation. It’s there. Actually, it’s always been there. It’s in the words. It’s in the significance behind the words. But sometimes we miss it because we don’t know the context or because we lose it in the translation. So we must keep looking back. We must understand the context to understand the message because this is too big to miss.

Because this is revolutionary.

understanding divinity.

This is an essay I very recently turned in for my favorite class, Literary Bible. It's long, I know, but I wanted to share it with you.

Francis Petrarch once posed the question, “What is theology, if not poetry about God?” His inquiry suggests a connection between poetry and “the science of things divine,” as The Oxford English Dictionary defines “theology.” This supposition that divine knowledge may be acquired best in the figurative sense aligns with a statement made by Thomas Aquinas:

Poetic knowledge is of things which, on account of a defect of truth, cannot be grasped by reason, and that is why reason must be seduced by a certain likeness; theology, however, concerns things which are above reason. The symbolic mode is common to them both, therefore, because neither is precisely proportional to reason.

Both of these statements share the idea that basic modes of reason are insufficient means of attaining knowledge of the heavenly realm. These men recognize that the finite minds of humans are unable to comprehend things divine in nature. Reason alone does not, cannot, and will not produce full knowledge. Thus, figurative language becomes a necessary means to acquire an understanding of that which is beyond our literal world. As Jesus demonstrates in Mark 4 however, symbolic discourse does not always usher in a complete understanding of the divine. Rather, his explanation of his parables reveals an underlying supposition that our knowledge of God is not under our control; these parables and figurative stories lay truth in the hearts of men, but the Spirit brings final revelation to our limited perception.

In this sense, poetry only acts as a partial bridge between the end of our ability to know and the beginning of divine truth. As defined by The Oxford English Dictionary, “poetry is the expression or embodiment of beautiful or elevated thought, imagination, or feeling in language adapted to stir the imagination and emotions.” It arouses within readers an emotional response. Its imagery illuminates truth. It speaks to the deepest part of the soul. It is “the art by which the poet projects feeling and experience onto an imaginative plane, in rhythmical words” (Funk and Wagnall’s Standard Dictionary: International Edition). As a result, poetry has the potential to reveal the qualities and character of the poet as they are projected into verse. But often its ability to do so is incomplete, as Jesus’ parables demonstrate.

When Jesus descended the throne and entered humanity, his main mode of discourse was allegorical. He, both divine and human, recognized our inability to comprehend by reason alone so he taught using parables. Though not exactly metrical verse, these culturally relevant metaphors infused with moral lessons were very similar to poetry. Their symbolism spoke to the heart and stirred emotion using figurative language. In this way, wisdom of the heart, chokmah, was nurtured, and knowledge of the divine was then fostered. In essence, he seduced reason into that “certain likeness,” of which Aquinas spoke. At the same time however, few people understood the meaning of these metaphors. So although figurative language brings us closer to comprehension of the truth, as Petrarch and Aquinas assert, we are still reliant on another to usher in complete revelation; Someone must reveal the truth to us.

Just after telling a large crowd the parable of the sower, Jesus opposes the notion that symbolic language divulges understanding. Concerned that his parables cause more confusion and unrest than necessary, the twelve disciples question Jesus. In response, he says to them, “To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside everything is in parables, so that they may indeed see but not perceive, and may indeed hear but not understand, lest they should turn and be forgiven” (Mark 4:11-12). In saying this, Jesus refutes that figurative language makes things easier to understand. Rather, he confesses that some will not understand the parables, and those who do not understand the parables will not understand the truth. It is here that the beginnings of the notion of an incomplete comprehension of the divine manifests. For even the disciples, who have been given the secret, are unable to grasp the truth. And if those closest to him cannot understand him, others might not either. As a result, the chasm between own human finitude and God’s incalculable nature is made obvious.

Jesus further expounds on this concept of knowing by explaining the parable of the sower to his disciples. He first establishes that the seed being sown is the word. This word is the Gospel, the good news, the truth. In Greek, it may be translated as logos, or the reason and the argument. In Hebrew, it may be translated as dabar, or the word and the action. Regardless, this word is that through which revelation is revealed, and this word is sown. Here, an emphasis falls on the idea that truth comes to believers; believers do not reach the truth by their own means. The division between God and us is far too wide for us to cross on our own. Thus, the idea that Something or Someone intercedes for us offers hope that the truth can be grasped.

Jesus continues to discuss the understanding of parables as he proceeds to assert that the different types of soil in this parable are representative of the different types of people. The effects of the environment surrounding the individual and the state of their heart affect the way they receive the word. In most people, the word is choked or does not last. But in some it is sustained: “those that were sown on the good soil are the ones who hear the word and accept it and bear fruit, thirtyfold, and sixtyfold, and a hundredfold” (Mark 4:20). In some people, the word does mean something. Because their hearts have received the word, they now have wisdom of the heart, or chokmah. In these people, the word produces radical results. Yet it is not by any work of these individuals. Rather, it is the work of the Lord. Later on, Jesus explains this, “The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground. He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how” (Mark 4:20-21). Regardless of the man’s actions, the seed sprouts, and he is dumbfounded. The mystery of a seed’s growth is reiterated in the following parable:

With what can we compare the kingdom of God, or what parable shall we use for it? It is like a grain of mustard seed, which, when sown on the ground, is the smallest of all seeds on earth, yet when it is sown it grows up and becomes larger than all the garden plants and puts out large branches. (Mark 4:30-32)

So what by nature appears to be small and insignificant, God makes larger than imaginable.[1] Like the seed, our understanding of truth grows. As these two parables indicate, however, a seed’s growth is not by our own works. The truth manifests itself in us not on our own terms, but rather, on the terms of another Being who sustains its growth. So ultimately, our understanding comes from God.[2] As a result, we are dependant on him for knowledge. So while the figurative brings us closer to revelation, we ultimately find ourselves reliant on God for complete comprehension.

Though hard for our finite minds to apprehend, these parables reveal to us God’s nature. His complexities, like the parables, are not easily discernible; he remains shrouded in mystery. But in the same way that our understanding of Jesus’ teaching is on God’s terms, so is our understanding of God himself. The author of Mark notes that after receiving Jesus’ words and witnessing the calming of the storm, “they were filled with fear and said to one another, ‘Who then is this, that even the wind and sea obey him?’” (Mark 4:41). Though not necessarily a concrete revelation of who God is, this question is representative of the disciples’ journey to discover their rabbi’s identity. We can be sure of this because fear of the Lord ushers in wisdom.[3] This place of fear is humbling; it reminds us of our place in life, the chasm between God and ourselves, and thus our own insufficiency. Yet in this place, we acquire wisdom as God’s Spirit reveals him to us in his timing. We will begin to see that he is strong—strong enough to cause the small to become great, strong enough to calm storms on the sea. We will see that he is love—for what other reason would someone choose to cherish the broken. In the end, our revelation of the nature of God is concluded because the Spirit inclines himself to us, completing what the figurative introduced.

As Petrarch and Aquinas stated, reason alone cannot usher in understanding of the heavenly realm. Their conclusion, however, that the symbolic mode brings full comprehension is not sufficient either. As Jesus demonstrates to his disciples in Mark 4, what is figurative is more often puzzling than enlightening. And though his parables are not poems, they are figurative in their symbolism. Mostly, they illustrate that while the parabolic does bring us closer to understanding the truth than does reason, it is still incomplete. For, as the parable of the sower exemplifies, full knowledge is not a result of our keen perception. Rather, it is a consequence of the grace bestowed us by an all-powerful God, who plants truth within us and is the cause of its growth. Our understanding of the “science of things divine” is contingent on that Divinity’s descent and offer of revelation to us.

---

[1] This mirrors Paul’s assertion in 1 Corinthians: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are” (1:27).

[2] Paul calls this wisdom from the Spirit: “what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him—these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 2:9-10).

[3] Proverbs 1:7 states, “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge.”

a call to justice and costly grace.

Tonight, I was reminded of the injustice in our world. Tonight, I find myself a little frustrated, a little unsatisfied. But rather than take the time I do not have to write out how I feel, I'll leave you with several quotes...

"I hate all your show and pretense - the hypocrisy of your religious festivals and solemn assemblies. I will not accept your burnt offerings and grain offerings. I won't even notice all your choice peace offerings. Away with your noisy hymns of praise! I will not listen to the music of your harps. Instead, I want to see a mighty flood of justice, an endless river of righteous living."

-Amos 5:21-24

"Is this not the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter - when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn..."

-Isaiah 58:6-8

"When you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!"

-Matthew 25:40

"We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters...Dear children, let us not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions."

-1 John 3:16, 18

"The essence of grace, we suppose, is that the account has been paid in advance; and, because it has been paid, everything can be had for nothing...Cheap grace means the justification of the sin without the justification of the sinner. Grace alone does everything, they say, and so everything can remain as it was before.

"Costly grace is the treasure hidden in the field; for the sake of it a man will gladly go and sell all that he has...It is the call of Jesus Christ at which any disciple leaves his nets and follows him...Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ."

-The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

My challenge to you is this:

Don't reduce your faith to a schedule of religious activities through which you feel justified to live unbothered by the brokenness, injustice, and suffering in our world. Let the love and grace you've freely received cost you something.

we're all in this together.

Someone put my heart into a documentary:

"When we ignore the prostituted child, we actually lend our hand to their abuse. When we ignore the widow and the orphan in their distress, we actually add to their pain. When we ignore the slave who remains, it's us who's entrapping them. When we forget the refugee, it's us who's displacing them. When we choose not to help the poor and the needy, we actually rob them.

"Perhaps the only fair thing to say is that when we forsake the lives of others, we actually forsake our own."

Thank you, Joel Houston.

(Stay tuned. After seeing this film later tonight, I'll probably have something to say.)