| ||
|
| ||
|
|
A quick disclaimer: My wife is Roman Catholic (see her blog here), and I am a member of a Church of Christ. We are committed together to working for unity among our Christian fellowships, and we believe that table fellowship––that is, sharing of the Lord’s Supper––should be an early step toward this goal. So as I consider John 6 here, I make no pretense of being a disinterested interpreter. My friend Scott Slaughter made a good point in response to my last post, and I want to take it up as a new post interpreting John 6. Scott wrote:
I think Scott gives a good reading of what’s going on in John 6, and he highlights something that I didn’t do justice to with the sermon in the last post––that people constantly misunderstand Jesus in John’s Gospel, and that it’s often because they take things literally when he means them spiritually. So let me see if I can think through this more clearly than I did before. Misunderstanding in John Nicodemus (John 3) thinks Jesus is talking about being born a second time from his mother’s womb, while Jesus is talking about a spiritual rebirth: the word can mean either “born again” or “born from above,” and it seems Nicodemus thinks the former, and Jesus means more of the latter. The Samaritan woman at the well (John 4) thinks Jesus is offering her actual water that will last forever: the phase “living water” in Greek was the normal expression for “running water,” and it seems the woman thought that’s what Jesus meant, whereas he actually meant a different kind of “living.” It seems simple to read these in light of John 3:31 and be done with it: “The one who comes from above is above all; the one who is of the earth belongs to the earth and speaks about earthly things.” If we take that at face value as our interpretive principle, then we expect to see Jesus in John rejecting physical meanings in favor of spiritual meanings. Spiritual and Physical as a False Dichotomy But Jesus isn’t always talking about purely spiritual things. In 2:18-22, the Jews misunderstand what Jesus is saying, but the real meaning isn’t spiritual as opposed to physical––rather Jesus was talking about his body (a physical thing) instead of the Temple (another physical thing). Now of course, spiritual application was key––Jesus’ death on the cross was certainly a spiritual event. Yet it was his body, not just a spirit, that died. So while the deeper spiritual meaning of the crucifixion might be key, the physical death on the cross was necessary and indeed central to what was happening. This is what I was pushing with the sermon: on the one hand there’s a sharp break between the world and God, between the physical and the spiritual. But in another sense there isn’t. My sermon suggests that communion is a place where the division breaks down. What is being revealed in John 6? So then in John 6, Jesus tells people to look for food that endures (6:27), which sounds a lot like what he said about water with the Samaritan woman at the well. At this point, we can take Jesus as saying something spiritual, which the crowds misunderstand as physical. Then he calls himself the bread of life and compares himself with the manna from heaven; again, we could take this as spiritual talk which the crowd misunderstands as physical. The Jews think they know where Jesus is “from” (his mother and father, Mary and Joseph), while John constantly reminds us that Jesus is actually “from” the Father above. Next Jesus says, “the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (6:51). Now things are getting more confusing for the crowd, so the Jews naturally ask, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” (6:52). We as Christian readers assume that Jesus “giving” his flesh must have something to do with the crucifixion (and I think we’re partly right), but we’re waiting for his explanation of exactly what he’s getting at. Yet what’s striking to me is that Jesus’ explanation that follows says nothing about the crucifixion, nor does it say anything about faith. Instead, he says this (NRSV):
If the answer to the whole quandary raised by chapter 6 was that Jesus’ talk of bread refers directly to our faith in him through his crucifixion, then what Jesus says here at the end of the discourse is exceedingly unhelpful for making that point. Instead we get “my flesh is true food,” to which is added (out of the blue) “my blood is true drink.” Granted that flesh and blood tend to go together, blood hasn’t been mentioned since John 1:13, and here suddenly it shows up in 6:53, 6:54, 6:55, and 6:56. So what do we make of this? I’ll grant that there’s not a completely self-evident answer, yet the sudden reference to flesh and blood as food and drink is striking. The last supper traditions in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Paul (1 Cor 11:23f) all use very similar language to John here. In 1 Corinthians, it’s explicit that churches were reciting that tradition in preparation for communion: bread and wine were body and blood. And it seems like the other Gospels are doing the same thing. So when John turns to flesh as true food and blood as true drink, it seems that almost any Christian reader at that time would naturally think of communion. To me, that has to be the first interpretation of the text, unless John gives us some reason to think he’s talking about something else. Yet as I’ve noted, John’s concluding explanation for the discourse (6:53-58) doesn’t say a thing here about faith or about the crucifixion. Instead, it repeats over and over again that those who follow Christ must eat his flesh and drink his blood. John must have known people would assume this meant communion, and he does nothing to deny that that’s the case. The possible problem with my argument here is that Jesus goes on to make another anti-flesh comment in 6:63. Here’s the passage: Many of his disciples, when they heard this, said [to one another], “This is a hard teaching. Who can heed it?” I can see how someone could want to use this passage to summarily dismiss all the references to the flesh in 6:52-58, but I don’t think such an argument is warranted. Rather, the start of the quote above (6:60) has the disciples wondering who can accept Jesus’ teaching, and the end of the quote (6:65) has Jesus answer that God must be the one to draw people to Jesus. Assuming that that’s the topic of discourse, then the dismissal of flesh in 6:63 isn’t a blanket statement claiming that all flesh is useless, so the Lord’s supper must not entail Jesus’ real flesh. Rather, it affirms that people cannot accept Jesus’ teachings on fleshly terms––which is what the disciples are trying to do, and are finding difficult. Instead, Jesus’ teachings must be accepted spiritually, through faith––which only happens when God grants it to people. So coming back to Scott Slaughter’s comment: I think he’s exactly right until he writes, “this entire passage seems to be more about faith than communion.” Instead, I would say that the passage encompasses both of these things, but with an emphasis on the latter. Jesus’ audience is indeed taking things too literally, but that doesn’t mean Jesus’ alternate explanation is purely physical. Both the crucifixion and the communion table are thoroughly physical, but they’re also charged with spiritual action and spiritual meaning. The crucifixion is where Jesus became bread, and that’s why we take communion. Now, the tough question is: In what sense is the communion meal Christ’s flesh and blood? For that, I’m not sure. However, I see nothing in John 6 that somehow pushes faith and memorial over against Jesus’ actual body and blood. Rather, John seems adamant that somehow, we consume Christ’s body and blood when we eat communion. And while this obviously happens in faith, I don’t think John 6 allows us to reduce the whole thing to faith alone. The eating of Jesus’ body isn’t something we do through faith while eating communion, but rather something we do by eating the physical bread and drinking the physical wine of communion. I’m not sure how anyone could prove to me that this must be transsubstantiation. But I don’t see how I could read John 6 and then insist that it isn’t. |
August 21st, 2009 at 12:35 pm
Wow to be cited…I’m either thrilled or terrified…I will get back with you on which one.
Transubstantiation seems to just be a word to me. If I were to think the actual bread and wine pulled an Optimus bit and literally transformed, could I still eat the cracker without hurting Jesus? What if I dropped it? What about the left-overs that get dumped into the trash?
The wording I guess can be misread. For example, “my flesh is true food.” What if I say, “blue is my color.” Obviously a color cannot by owned. However, since Jesus said, “this is my body” Matt 26:28, I believe that it is his body. I eat it knowing and remembering the sacrifice.
If people get so focused on the eating part that they go to church for the communion thinking that act will give them the eternal life, then why would they ever need to believe. I just see a bunch of friars running through forests 800 years ago telling people to eat bread and drink wine to be saved.
I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a problem. I worry about people I see going through the actions of a religion and not really believing or even simply knowing what they doing.
August 21st, 2009 at 1:10 pm
Yeah, there can definitely be abuses, but I think that’s more about the people themselves than it is about the practices being abused.
My take is that communion is a meal, so it only really makes sense to regard the bread as the body of Christ while it’s in the context of a meal. I do help Beth eat leftover communion bread and juice at the Church of Christ so it won’t be thrown away — in my case, not because I think it’s throwing away Jesus, but because it shows respect for the occasion, and also so we don’t waste good food God has given us.
Yet almost any act of piety can lead to an abuse, like where a priest makes people afraid to take communion because they’re afraid they might accidently drop some crumbs or something. One Catholic practice I disagree with is where people will gather where communion bread is kept to worship Jesus, with the idea that it’s his body, and we would obviously show adoration to Jesus if we saw him in the body. But not all Catholics accept that practice anyway.
Some Catholics have treated baptism and communion like a ticket to heaven and dismissed faith and lifestyle. Some Church of Christ folks have done the same thing with the plan of salvation and correct acts of worship. Tons of evangelicals have reacted against Catholic sacraments by pressing “salvation by faith” to the point where they say baptism can’t play a role in salvation, and communion is only symbolic.
Others want to make communion “special,” so they only take it once a month. Others want to attract people to Christ, so they turn their ministry teams into marketers and their churches into sets of programs and services that attract people more to convenience and nice feelings than to Christ. Carefully planned music performances designed to worship God can turn into glorification of the human musicians. So can carefully-practiced a cappella 4-part harmony. Wanting to know the Bible can turn us into people with answers more than people with faith. Academic study of scripture can make us more secular but make us think we’re more spiritual.
Some of these things are matters of doctrine, others just matters of form. The thing I think they all have in common is that they all mean well, but they all end up with sick worship. And I think different Christian groups have practices that push people toward different abuses: from what I’ve seen, Catholics tend to become superstitious (worship bread), CofC to become legalistic (worship the Bible), Baptists to become individualistic (worship alone). I’m sure folks who know other groups could fill in the blanks for their practices.
August 21st, 2009 at 1:52 pm
The individualist Baptists generally come from the churches that are so stuck in tradition that they refuse to open doors and knock down their own walls.
They feel that listening to the band is the same as actually making the music themselves. Its not the church leadership that neccessarily teaches this but rather the membership that passes it to their children.
Honestly it drives me nuts. I’ve described our worship before, its very conservative, very traditional. But these same traditions result in the Lord’s Supper being served quarterly or something due to the “special” effect.
Traditions can be evil.
August 22nd, 2009 at 1:05 am
Scott S. is right. Transubstantiation is a weird word.
Scott H. is right. “Communion is a place where the division (between matter and spirit) breaks down.”
This is a very tricky issue. I want to say first that I think that the Lord’s Supper is both a sign and source of Christian unity. It is a sign because it points to a reality (that all Christians are one in Christ) and a source because, at least as Catholics, we believe the Eucharist conveys grace to those who receive in good faith to be as Jesus calls them to be. So thanks very much to Scott for the courage to do such a post and preach on such a tricky issue.
Catholics believe that the Eucharist is a sacrament, meaning it is an “outward sign of inward grace.” So the outward sign is material, obviously, bread and wine. But the inward grace is something spiritual. Matter and spirit coming together.
Catholics believe that the Eucharist is really the flesh and blood of Jesus under the appearance of bread and wine. What happens in the mass is that Jesus feeds us with his own body, as he promises in John 6, but we have to have faith to see what is going on. If you don’t have faith, you just see a wafer and a chalice. But if you don’t have faith, and that is all that you see, that does not mean that is all that is there. Just like people did not see Jesus for what he was when he was alive, people can also not see the Eucharist for what it is. So faith is obviously necessary, but it is not faith that makes the bread the body and the cup the blood–it is Christ.
And so the Eucharist is not meant to be an end in itself. It is meant to point to Christ who truly does feed us, both physically and spiritually. Now, my man, Thomas Aquinas, asks whether we couldn’t just have a purely spiritual understanding of the Lord’s Supper and answers in the negative. The reason he says is that human beings are composed of flesh and blood (or matter and form) and so in all of our sacraments, we need matter and form to make them true signs of an inner reality. So with baptism, it is not enough to just accept Jesus in your heart (the purely spiritual path). You also have to get dipped in the water (the material path). The matter is important.
And this brings us to the state of Jesus for Christians today. Jesus’ flesh is a serious matter. God became flesh. God became incarnate. God became human. God could have just *poof* fixed our sinful human souls but God didn’t. God became a human, lived among us, and died on a cross for us. Very physical. And that needs to be a part of Christian life today–the flesh of Christ. Now, unlike those who walked among Jesus, we cannot see the full man, but we can see the flesh in the Lord’s Supper. But, just like those who lived at the same time as Jesus, we need faith to see what that flesh really is–true life.
Catholics are all about both/ands. The Eucharist is BOTH a MEAL and a SACRAMENT. The Eucharist is BOTH the body of Christ AND a sign of what that body did for us. The Eucharist is BOTH physical AND spiritual. It seems that when you deny either side of this, you do not do justice to what the Eucharist is. Like when you just worship the host but don’t fully acknowledge the meal (which many Catholics are guilty of) or when you just acknowledge the meal and not the sacrament (the outward sign of inward grace) like many protestants do.
I don’t know how helpful this contribution is. I think that for the sake of ecumenism, the term transubstantiation needs to be set aside. But I think that the presence of Christ in the Eucharist (which includes matter and form, namely, the meal and the grace that makes it Christ’s body and blood that is being consumed) is what the term “transubstantiation” is trying to get at, and that issue cannot be set aside. My position, and I get this from George Hunsinger who wrote a great book for Catholics, Reformed, and Lutherans but not so much baptist and Church of Christ folks called The Eucharist and Ecumenism, is that we need to find language that can retain the distinctiveness of each individual tradition (Catholic, reformed, restorationist) but is theologically not offensive to other Christians. I’m not sure it can be done, but I agree with Scott H. that if we take seriously the idea that Eucharist conveys grace to make Christians one in Christ, a good place to start is opening the table.
August 22nd, 2009 at 10:35 am
Quick note: I just added a couple of paragraphs to the post, because I don’t think I had done justice to 6:60f, where Jesus and the disciples are still discussing his teaching on the Bread of Life. I added the paragraph starting, “The possible problem with my argument here,” followed by the block quote, and then the long paragraph after that.
August 22nd, 2009 at 10:38 am
Thanks, Beth, I think that really helps.
One line I especially like for clarifying the Catholic view was this: “If you don’t have faith, you just see a wafer and a chalice. But if you don’t have faith, and that is all that you see, that does not mean that is all that is there.”
This seems like a good point for me to reflect on to try to figure out what I believe happens at communion––and it’s difficult for me to say for sure whether I think this is the case or not. I keep thinking of the comparison with baptism, where the water doesn’t have to transform into anything in order for it to serve as the matter for the sacrament. You can dip me under water over and over again, but only the time where I am dipped in faith for the purpose of baptism does it wash my sins away––in some real way, even though it would seem wrong to say water by itself could wash away sins.
I would tend toward the same line of thought for communion: the bread and the wine become the body and blood of Christ––in some real way––when I/we eat them in faith for the purpose of sharing in the Lord’s Supper.
I certainly think it’s possible for the bread and wine to become the body and blood of Christ in some more objective way apart from the moment where a person consumes them, but I’m not clear on how we could come to that conclusion from scripture or why it would be otherwise demanded in order to function as a sacrament. Would the latter be necessary in order for the eucharist to be a sacrifice? (Also, I don’t remember what the grounds are for the eucharist being a sacrifice.)
August 24th, 2009 at 7:23 am
Scott,
It seems to me that, as important as it is to interpret the biblical passages that speak (or seem to speak) about communion, we can never hope to understand either the issue itself nor its import in faith and theology in general unless we connect it to christology. Note that the Lutheran and “Reformed” (Zwinglian) debates on the Lord’s Supper quickly became about Christology.
It baffles me a bit how it is that whereas Lutherans felt a need to support their sacramentology with a Christology that includes a communicatio naturarum, Catholics do not. How can a “real” physical human body be all over the world all the time, and without appearing to be there? Does Jesus’ flesh “participate” somehow in the divine nature’s ubiquity (and invisibility)? And if so, how then can we say with the ancient creeds “without confusion, without change?”
Jesus’ flesh is important: that much I agree with whole-heartedly. But I see the importance adhering to the limited, wholly physical, historical flesh of Jesus of Nazareth in the first third of the first century. There and then we were saved.
The fact that this “there and then” has import here and now, in my view, is not due to a transformation of the flesh of Jesus which allows it to transcend time and space and interact with us. Rather, it is due to two factors: divine election and the Holy Spirit. God chose in eternity past to create the world in order to save it through Jesus Christ. We and all things were created for that purpose, and God has always considered us viewed, as it were, “through” Jesus. That’s how a single limited person’s life (and flesh) are significant for us. But also, we come to know this and “participate” in it through faith awakened by the Holy Spirit, which shows us that this has significance for us.
Now, of course, I do not claim that there do not remain difficult biblical passages. You might point to the “changes” in Jesus’ flesh post-resurrection indicated by doing things like walking through walls, etc. You will wonder how my view “squares” with John 6. I don’t deny this, but I think we have to think through our theology creatively and not simply rest on biblical passages, which in any case in my view are at a bit of a variance vis-a-vis the eucharist. Compare John 6 to 1 Cor (10 and 11, I think), and you might find differences. I somewhat doubt we can just say the word “mystery” and leave it at that. Perhaps I’m wrong.
August 25th, 2009 at 2:28 am
Let me add that though, as you point out, Jesus says nothing about faith in John 6 vss 52-59, he had already established in verses 35-51 two things: (1) that belief leads to eternal life, and (2) that this can be spoken of in the metaphor of eating/hunger.
As to the first point:
vs. 40, “All who see the son and believe in him may have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day.”
vs. 47, “whoever believes has eternal life.”
As to the second:
vs. 35, “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” It seems here he’s saying the same thing in two different ways. It seems only by insisting that the “coming” and the “believing” are talking about two different things can you avoid the conclusion that satisfying this “hunger” is a matter of belief. And how do you literally satisfy hunger? By eating, of course. It is no stretch therefore to see faith as, metaphorically, eating.
Also on point 2, Jesus alternates back and forth throughout the passage as a whole between talking about faith and eating. Is he changing the subject? Or perhaps he’s clarifying himself, saying in effect: “Oh yeah, besides belief, you also have to eat my flesh for eternal life.” Possible, yes; not likely and certainly not certain.
So in the immediate context of John 6, to say nothing of the rest of John (3 especially) and the rest of the canon (particularly the Pauline letters), reading “eating my flesh” here as “believe in me” is a very likely reading. The absence of belief language in vss. 52-59 fails to tip the balance in the other direction, it seems to me. Rather, by this point I think we can detect a note of exasperation in Jesus’ discourse. They’ve taking his metaphorical language in vss 35-51 literally, so he stops trying to explain the metaphor and just repeats it. After all, he had also emphasized that those who are not drawn by the Father cannot come to him or believe in him, so leaving them in their literalistic confusion seems appropriate.
Finally, I do not doubt that there are echoes of the Lord’s Supper in John 6. However, this alone is no reason to miss the metaphor between believing and eating (which can be even more than a metaphor, if we see the Lord’s Supper as an act of faith, yet it still need not be literal eating of flesh).
August 30th, 2009 at 3:35 pm
Jason wrote: “Oh yeah, besides belief, you also have to eat my flesh for eternal life.”
It’s kind of patent that having faith isn’t literally the only thing one must do to have eternal life, isn’t it? So for example, you can subsume loving one another under faith as something that will naturally follow from faith, if you want. But that doesn’t mean loving one another is simply the same thing as having faith.
To me, the better way to put the question is, What are the things consonant with faith that are part of the Christian life, part of what bring eternal life? I don’t doubt that faith is central for salvation in John’s Gospel. But one gets the impression that John also has a very particular understanding of what it means to be a Christian, as evidenced by the constant dualism and the talk of insiders and outsiders.
So returning to John 6. I tend to think the passage developed in stages, so I don’t doubt that 6:1-50 may have originally meant essentially what you’re saying: the bread Jesus multiplied should lead the crowd to faith in Jesus as the revelation of God. Jesus is the bread of life––that is, his teachings are what feed God’s people and lead them to faith.
But then at 6:51, things change. Jesus’ flesh is introduced. Why? Perhaps to bring the cross into play, to say that faith in Christ comes through seeing him on the cross. And yet, this part of the text never claims this. Instead it goes into the discussion of flesh and blood, which we seem to agree makes at least some reference to the Lord’s Supper.
I guess where we differ is that I think communion is explicitly in view, and you think it’s only alluded to. To me, it’s a rather striking expansion of the preceding passage, especially when he expands his language to include both flesh and blood together after they ask their overly-literal question. Yet I think I can see your point, that it could be Jesus further obscuring the discussion in order to force his opponents further into their own blindness.
This points to one of the difficult things about Communion (and theology in general): we seek our understanding of it based on probabilities. I like your point of bringing in Christology, yet Christology can be developed in all different ways depending on the articles of faith it needs to include.
The difficulty of dialogue with Catholics is that they officially don’t see any of this in terms of probabilities; instead, the notion that the bread becomes the real body of Christ is an article of faith, and it’s difficult to conceive of this ever changing.
What baffles me is when Protestants want to insist that John 6 has to be only metaphorical––yet without the mechanism of having decided that fact as an article of faith. When I read John 6, I just find it too ambiguous for anyone to deny the possibility of Jesus’ real flesh––somehow––in the eucharist. But maybe I’m misunderstanding how most Protestants read the Bible.
August 31st, 2009 at 11:58 am
Scott wrote: “It’s kind of patent that having faith isn’t literally the only thing one must do to have eternal life, isn’t it? So for example, you can subsume loving one another under faith as something that will naturally follow from faith, if you want. But that doesn’t mean loving one another is simply the same thing as having faith.
To me, the better way to put the question is, What are the things consonant with faith that are part of the Christian life, part of what bring eternal life?”
I think we need to distinguish sharply between, on the one hand, things that lead to eternal life, and on the other, things that flow from that which brings eternal life. And I say this acknowledging full well that Scripture might not be as clear in that distinction as we ought to be. So whereas a passage like Matt. 25:31ff. sounds pretty much like a straighforward works-righteousness passage, I can’t see integrating it into my (admittedly Paulo-centric) theology without reading it as telling us what flows from faith. So, no, we can say, I think, that faith is “literally” the only thing necessary (from our end) for salvation. Its the other stuff I don’t think we should say “literally.”
Loving one another, the example you mention, I take as flowing from faith.
Now that brings us to the question of whether we could read John 6 as telling us one of those things that, while not itself bringing salvation (though, perhaps clumsily, telling us it does) actually flows naturally and even necessarily from true faith, which may or may not mean literally (”somehow”) eating Jesus’ flesh. I think one could read it that way. The reasons I do not include my Christology, of course. But within the passage itself, it seems to me that “believe in me” and “eat my flesh” language (the latter sometimes obliquely, as in talk of satisfying hunger and thirst) are put in pretty straighforward parallelism, not in an ordered manner. The problem addressed is, it seems, lack of faith; not apparent faith in face of the lack of a certain sign of it (one way of reading James).
And I do not think Jesus’ flesh saving us means only that we must look at his flesh on the cross. His flesh, his whole historical, bodily existence (including but not limited to the cross), saves us. It is what we really need, even more than literal food. “Eating” this means realizing in faith what this is for us. The stark metaphor underlies the scandalous view that one historical person’s meat and bones and fluids, all that crude stuff, belongs to God and is as such very precious to us, *even in all its messy limited particularity, not necessarily as it is changed into something “more”.*
The reasons I think this is important: It colors one’s whole theology one way or the other when one chooses which way to go on sacramentology. I realize I’m letting my Reformed and Zwinglian views show here. I think Christology should control sacramentology, not vice-versa. This is of a piece with my view that belief is sufficient for salvation and nothing else (though of course certain things flow from faith), which is why I wish to read “eat my flesh” as a metaphor for belief (besides the other considerations). That is because I think we need to be concerned to get our “belief” right, about Jesus, which is Christology. Everything else must flow from that and be controlled by it. “Every thought captive,” etc.
Reformed Christology, I think, is very much like Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Christology. Lutherans, it seems, have let their sacramentology control their Christology.
(On the above, Bruce McCormack’s _For the Salvation of the World_ is informative.)
Catholic sacramentology, it seems to me, sits uneasily with their Christology, but their ecclesiology, among perhaps other things, lets them get away with that. I could be wrong, but I have never seen any sign or explanation as to why they think Jesus’ flesh can literally be ubiquitous without undergoing change, which the Creed denies. (Catholics enlighten me if you will.) But you say it well: it is an article of faith. It doesn’t need to be integrated, just accepted. That, I think, is a difference between a certain kind of Protestantism and Catholicism, speaking almost too generally to be wise. Certain kinds of Protestant (including myself) do not just accept whatever can be defined as tenets of the faith without pushing for greater integrated understandings. There is, in the final analysis, one tenet of the faith: “Jesus is Lord.” Of course, of course, that is just a more or less interesting string of syllables without some kind of “fleshing out” of the terms (if I may make a bad pun in the circumstances), but that is finally what all theology worthy of the name is. That’s my view, and I think the ultimate intention of Protestantism in at least one of its major strands.
Others, most Catholics and perhaps even most Protestants, will think this posture arrogant and anything but “faithful.” Protestants who think that way often wind up as Catholics in the end; after all, from where I’m standing they’re already at least halfway there. We’ll see if that includes you.
August 31st, 2009 at 2:27 pm
I can see why you’d put christology above sacramentology, but in this case it seems you’re actually letting your *soteriology* become the driving force in preventing John 6 from affecting your sacramentology. To put it another way, I think John 6 might have something helpful to say to help shape your Christology, but you won’t listen to it because of your conceptually predetermined soteriology based on the pure notion of “faith alone”. And even if you argued that sacramentology should be subsumed under soteriology, you’re still letting one part of Paul dominate your soteriology.
This seems to me the same move that leads southern evangelicals to turn baptism into a nice (optional) pious symbolic act “to fulfill all righteousness”, because otherwise it seems like too much of a work, which they’re convinced can’t save them.
This has a logic to it, I admit––and maybe it’s something like the stance you hold as well. But to my mind, this mixes up all the categories. “Faith alone” simply isn’t the starting point for Christian theology. It is possibly the key to Paul’s soteriology, but Paul isn’t the only voice in the New Testament, no matter how useful the Reformers found him for opposing Roman Catholic teachings. (OK, I’m getting a little snarky here; let’s keep this fun.)
To my mind, a much better starting point for Christian theology is “God alone” and/or “Christ alone.” That is, all the things that bring about our salvation have God as their source. So God can use material things, along with spiritual gifts such as faith, to help bring about salvation. That allows us to say, e.g., that baptism forgives our sins––which is attested very broadly in scripture––even though the pure principle of “faith alone” would undermine it. It’s what allows us to say that God will judge us by our works––again, attested in the NT––even though the pure principle of “faith alone” would again undermine it. And I think it’s what allows us to say that John 6 is talking about food with spiritual benefits, and not just about faith.
I do admit, though, that faith runs through all of this. Baptism isn’t baptism without faith––I’m just saying it also isn’t baptism without water. And I think the entirely of baptism is what saves us (with the caveat that God can save whomever God wants to save, even if they aren’t baptized). That doesn’t downplay faith, because of course faith is the precondition for the whole thing. But God is free to act lots of different way. The degrees to which God acts through our faith or through matter should be based on the variety of the scriptural witness, not through one idea of Paul’s that we allow to dominate our theology.
Catholics are very good at categorizing, e.g., how baptism and the eucharist can mean more than one thing at the same time. Protestants, it seems to me, prefer to collapse it all into faith. That might line up with Luther’s slogan, I just don’t see why it should be true.
August 31st, 2009 at 2:42 pm
By the way, I assume you know you’re being reductionistic by suggesting Catholics don’t integrate the various parts of their theology together. In my kitchen there are 5 volumes of Aquinas’ Summa Theologica that say otherwise.
Catholics may accept too much ecclesial authority, but I can relate. I was raised to look to the Bible as the first authority, so that definitely is a big part of why I feel I can accept something like John 6 as mysterious even if I don’t know how to integrate it with what I think happened to Jesus’ flesh when he ascended to heaven. I certainly want specialists to keep working on the question, and I’m glad to have you pushing me to view it more carefully. But in general, I go with my exegesis till someone persuades me otherwise.
Catholics, I guess, tend to keep exploring and making new metaphysical distinctions till they figure out how to reconcile things like Jesus body being in different forms in heaven and on earth at the same time. Protestants, it seems, are more likely to iron out the wrinkles by reducing the number of different elements at work––i.e., baptism and eucharist are subsumed under faith, etc.
September 1st, 2009 at 12:25 pm
Scott,
This is fun.
First of all, I have in no way conceded your reading of John 6. And I consider it a bit unfair to conclude at this point that I simply won’t listen to the passage because of prior commitments. It seems very reasonable to me, as I have argued above, to see in John itself (bracketing Paul at this point), even in the 6th chapter, all the building blocks for my reading. Only, it seems, by pointing out that belief language is not in ch. 6 vss. 52-59 can you insist that it is not there in view. But that is, in my mind, a thin basis on which to insist that anyone not previously biased will read it the way you do. Saying “Eat my flesh” is not logically distinct, in my mind, from saying “I am bread from heaven” which will satisfy “hunger” and “thirst” when one “comes” and “believes” in him. The metaphor only gets sharper–and that, I think, is a the value of pointing out how something seems to change in vss. 52ff.–but here one can certainly opt for seeing an insistence on *belief in* the “fleshiness” of Jesus, a common Johannine theme.
I’m not surprised that baptism (belatedly?) has entered the discussion. Knowing several CofC members growing up, it often surprised me that their view of baptism was so distinctively…how shall we say it?…sacramental and not their view of the Lord’s Supper. I, unlike you, do not see a problem with seeing (water) baptism as an act of faith and not something that miraculously transforms you or “washes your sins away” or however you want to put it. The variety of descriptions of what is sometimes called the “order of salvation” in the NT, it seems to me, gives us freedom and responsibility to think through things in a way not limited to taking all of these descriptions literally and finding some way (with all the distinctions necessary) to fit them all in. There is, after all (as Pentecostals will point out fervently) something in the NT called “Spirit baptism” which, especially in Acts, is clearly distinct from water baptism, neither necessarily causing the other. I see no problem with thinking therefore that Spirit baptism, as an act of God, is what saves us, not the water baptism.
Which brings us to the point about “God alone.” Obviously that point can be understood variously. The Reformed have usually, and I would say especially in Karl Barth, insisted that God in Christ alone means God acting on our behalf for our salvation (at least our justification) without our “cooperation.” Then faith, eventually, becomes more or less just acknowledging what God has done, and then acting in accordance with that belief. THat is, we don’t add anything to Christ’s work considered incomplete before we do something (or even before God does something in us). What I’m trying to say here is that, in my view at least, saying “God alone” doesn’t get us away from “faith alone.”
Finally, I’m not unaware of the herculean efforts of Catholic theologians, Thomas especially, to integrate all their beliefs. But surely there’s a difference in the following two approaches:
1. Taking a certain “set” of doctrines, practices, etc., as given tenets of faith and then trying to come up with some system to fit them all together, all the while assuming they are all true regardless of the success of the effort, and
2. Critically testing whether supposed “tenets” really belong based on whether they can be said to adhere to and flow from the ONE tenet.
So let’s take an example: creation. Whether or not one is a “creationist”, one could insist that, because it’s said in Genesis, it’s a tenet of faith that God created the world and called it “good,” at least before the fall. And with Augustine, then, one might insist that there is still a modicum of goodness in all beings (insofar as they are still the creation of a perfectly good God). Furthermore, because this is so, we have something on which to stand to explain God’s love as in some way merited. Finally, by examining natural beings including ourselves, we might come to an understanding of God’s goodness distinct from, even if in harmony with, that understanding derived from Scripture’s witness to JEsus Christ.
Then when one is confronted by modern biology (i.e., evolution), in which it seems there was pain and suffering and violence and death long before humans ever reached the scene, the choices are (1) denying the validity of the science on which mod. bio. is based, (2) changing our view of God’s goodness to include the findings of mod. bio., (3) proposing that God changes with the changing world, (4) ignoring the problem.
But what if you say, instead, that “creation” as the view that once upon a time God created a paradicical (sp?) world that is now marred by human sin (to some extent), is not really a tenet of faith? What if God saving the world through Christ (and him crucified) is the only tenet? Then your options become, in my view, better (or at least different). You can admit the findings of mod. bio. as they stand. God is the savior of the world in Jesus Christ. All the world had to “contribute” to this is the NEED to be saved, and thus there is no reason why this need should not be total and, as it were, primal.
Now I’m aware that all kinds of objections to the view just expounded will arise, but I believe they can be met satisfactorally, though it would be better to leave it to another time to discuss that. All I am trying to demonstrate at this point is the fundamental difference between two postures and procedures for doing theology. Admittedly, it is a bit clumsy to call one “integrating” and the other not. But it’s a different kind of integrating, for sure.
September 7th, 2009 at 10:13 pm
OK, I’ll chase your latter point, and we can leave John 6 behind for the most part. In any event, I’ve been describing a reading that I think is likely but not certain, and it seems we just weigh the evidence differently.
As to theology: first I have to admit I’m in over my depth here. The only Thomistic theology I know is what my wife has taught me, which has been quite a lot in the year-and-a-half we’ve been together, but we’ve hardly gone through the whole Summa systematically or comprehensively. But if you’re still up for discussion, I’ll give my take, for what it’s worth.
I don’t see how your solution, in this case regarding the problem of evolution, escapes the problems you ascribe to the Catholic view. You suggest Catholics are too intent on seeing good in the world, but your view seems to deny all that good. What *do* you do with the argument you mention that if God made something, he should naturally love it for what it is, even if all its merit is ultimately due to God’s creating it? How does that amount to a world that can only contribute its need to be saved? Shouldn’t we hold instead that the world contributes its beauty and order, and its wondrousness––even if those things are all given by God, and even if they’re marred by sin?
I agree that Christ should reshape all our theology. But I think we can say, for example, that Christ is the source and the goal of creation without saying that the only good in creation is what Christ gave it through the incarnation and cross, which it seems is what we’d have to assume if “God saving the world through Christ (and him crucified) is the only tenet”, as you suggest. To my mind, that approach doesn’t so much integrate the doctrine of creation as *empty* the doctrine of creation of most of its content.
If this were just changing how we read Genesis (in our Old Testament), that would be one thing. We could say that before Christ, we saw creation in one way, but that now that Christ has come, we see it differently. But baptism and the eucharist are in the New Testament, and they’re given meaning there––grounded in Christology, no less. Being judged for the deeds we do is there too––even in Paul (2 Cor 5:10).
If one point of NT theology makes much of the rest of the NT practically unintelligible, I don’t see that as integrating anything.
So why shouldn’t we admit that ultimately we owe everything we are, and all our good deeds to God, and yet hold that in our existence, as beings created with will and ability to do things, that we do good things that contribute to our salvation? Why, again, should God not have wanted to create beings that could do some good? If God were to create something that wasn’t God, shouldn’t we expect him to want to take joy in it doing good on its own, without God being the immediate cause of every one of those good deeds?
Obviously, you could reply with “Paul says so.” But that doesn’t seem to follow the mode of argument you’re after, so my question is this: Why should your view fit better into the character of God than the one I’ve just suggested?
September 7th, 2009 at 10:21 pm
By the way, my wife loves Karl Barth, interestingly enough. I think it’s because Aquinas and Barth are both passionately dedicated to God as the starting point of theology, and to God’s grace as the starting point and constant mover in all existence.
September 9th, 2009 at 6:27 am
Scott,
I must admit I’m confused by your third paragraph above in your next-to-most-recent post. Specifically how this sentence fits in: “How does that amount to a world that can only contribute its need to be saved?” What is the referent of the “that?” If it means something in the previous sentence, does it mean the argument or what I do with it?
Leaving that aside, it seems you think I’m saying there is no goodness in creation whereas I think I’m just concentrating this concept on Christ. He is our goodness. “The firstborn over all creation,” etc. And surely there’s a difference in seeing Christ as THE goodness of creation and of us, rather than the apex of that goodness which we can recognize elsewhere. The difference is, it seems to me, that we don’t run into problems, such as with evolution. And the claim that this simply denies creation’s goodness doesn’t really hit the mark.
You say you don’t see how this “escapes the problems [I] attribute to the Catholic view,” but then the problems you mention are different from the ones I mention. Are you saying both views have problems, even though different? That would get us somewhere. Or are you saying they’re the same problems?
I think we get into unnecessary problems when we assume God’s goodness and creation’s need to be in a direct relationship: the old Theodicy problem of how could a good God create a flawed world, or even allow flaws to creep in subsequently (not really different problems) which elicits the response of trying to argue that in fact our world is the best of all possible ones. That, in my view, is a problem caused by getting the wrong end of the stick, as it were. It assumes the world as it is is what God intends it to be; that God created the world for it just to exist as it is (perhaps with the atonement being “plan B”). And I’m saying those problems disappear if you say God’s goodness is not (as in old metaphysical views) the “plenitude of being” which necessarily excludes the existence of evil as “lack.” A better view is of God’s goodness as that which confronts and overcomes evil. If that IS essentially what God’s goodness is, there is no contradiction in the world being flawed. That is because God could have created the world to exercise his goodness; to confront and overcome the evil in the world-to save it.
And it has the, in my mind advantageous, result that our view of God’s goodness flows from the cross (where God’s goodness as his confrontation with evil and overcoming it in triumphant suffering has its actualization and its manifestation).
You might say this view has problems, but they, at the very least, are not the same ones. Evolution gives us no contradictions. This need not be the best of all possible worlds, etc. Facts are free to be what they are, and we are free to acknowledge them as such. No small accomplishment, in my view.
The objection might be that God creating the world either as flawed originally, or as destined to fall and be flawed, makes God evil. I think that is not so. God only need have had a good purpose in creating the universe. And saving it is a good purpose. “Do the ends justify the means?” Yes and no. Ends, we might say, justify means when the ends are good, when they are legitimately sought by the agent in question, and the means are necessary and conducive to those ends. I like to use the example of hazing in this regard: hazing is an example of something where its proponents would say the good ends (say, group identity) justify the otherwise evil means (humiliation and/or torture of initiates). But this argument doesn’t work because any group identity forged through these means must be flawed to begin with. Meaning, the ends and means are not separable. But arguing that God could have created a flawed world to save it does not assume separability of ends and means.
Further, it could be argued that God creating a flawed world is not, even in itself, an evil act (regardless of the ends sought in doing so). That is, we could argue that this world’s flaws are not, as it were, an extra addition to its otherwise good being but constituent of it. Take evolution again: without all the clawing and biting and raping and murdering our ancestors did, we wouldn’t exist. It’s not that we would exist, but without our flaws. So if evil is in a way constituent of the universe as it is, God creating this universe flawed was the alternative to NOT CREATING IT, not the alternative to creating it PERFECT. And the choice to create a flawed world rather than leave it uncreated cannot be said to be evil, at least not as obviously, whereas we would more legitimately say it is evil to add flaws to an otherwise perfect thing. So much for God being evil for creating a flawed world.
Note in passing: You might say I’m getting my theology from evolution, not from God’s revelation in CHrist. Not so. I’m simply saying that when we get our theology from Christ and him crucified alone, we avoid problems caused by evolution. Also, evolution gives us an analogy for explaining how something’s existence can be thought to be determined by something evil, which helps to make conceptual space for the possibility that God created the world as already flawed without this being an evil act. Whether, in fact, God did so is, I think, a question to be answered on the basis of understanding creation from the viewpoint of the cross.
More generally, I think it inaccurate to say that my methods lead to the result that “one point of NT theology makes much of the rest of the NT practically unintelligible.” Specifically, I don’t deny “baptism and the eucharist,” I just interpret them differently, and I think not with violence (you probably disagree here). I don’t even directly deny OT stuff like the goodness of creation. You seem bent on attributing to me an exclusive Paulinism: a view that Paul is true and every other man a liar. I think I’m more of an inclusive Paulinist: taking certain Pauline themes and interpreting other things in light of them. You, on the other hand, could be accused of simply ignoring these Pauline themes, or reinterpreting them in light of other teachings such that they lose their intelligibility. Is that really so preferable?
I think one could not do better in trying to understand Paul, as I see him, than to read Alain Badiou’s _St. Paul: The Foundation of Universalism_. It’s only a bit more than 100 pages long, and gives quite a powerful statement about what is at state in Paul’s theology, especially when compared to other biblical and even NT writings. Paul’s inclusion in the canon at the very least gives us the choice to think as it seems he did; and Badiou’s work explains how simply adding Paul’s thoughts and thought-forms to others as part of a diverse collection will wind up denying the power of his thought precisely in its *militancy*. You can’t say Paul was just as right as, say, Peter and James when they were arguing about circumcision and table fellowship (Galatians). Either Paul was right and Peter and James wrong, or Paul was being contentious for no reason and thus was in the wrong. I’m suggesting it may be similar with regard to comparing his writings to those of the rest of the NT. In a sense, you have to make choices about which of varying and really contradictory views you will accept. If that’s so, it’s a bit silly to chide me for my choices when yours are, at best, just as arbitrary.
September 9th, 2009 at 7:50 am
I have to be brief here, so I can’t get into your whole comment. I’ll address the two plainest questions you give at the beginning.
When I say “How does that amount to a world that can only contribute its need to be saved?”, I’m referring to the argument you suggest from Augustine. In particular, I do find it compelling. God created things to be good, and that can be marred but not completely destroyed. If something is created good, then it does have some merit to offer to God––as do people––because that is what God created things and people to be.
My impression is that you disagree with this view, which I suppose is fine. But if so, I think it just exposes you to another problem, analogous to (though admittedly not the same as) the one you’re trying to avoid. You suggest that the goodness of creation doesn’t have to be a tenet of the faith, but we’re still confronted with the *fact* of what’s good and wondrous and creation, just as we’re confronted with the fact of evolution as a means by which “fallenness” of death of the unfit helped creation develop. I think creation, as it stands, *obviously* has some merit to give back to God. When a lion roars, or a waterfall crashes, or sperm whale jumps out of the water onto its back, I see nothing depraved going on. Those actions amount to creation doing what God made it to do, and thus contributing something beyond a need to be saved. The creation also needs to be saved of course, but I think a reasonable theology has to take that goodness into account. I haven’t seen you do that yet.
So that’s what I meant about not escaping the problems of the Catholic view. I meant that I see in your argument the inverse problem. Catholics have trouble accounting for evil in the pre-human age, while you have trouble accounting for good. Now you may have a good solution for that, but anywhat that’s what I mean by suggesting the two views have the same problems.
September 18th, 2009 at 2:36 pm
Scott,
Sorry for the delay in responding, I’ve been on vacation and my internet connection at home is on the fritz. But I did commit to this conversation. On the other hand, nobody likes someone who insists on the last word. So I’ll let you have it IF you want after I make one small point.
I don’t think I have problems accounting for good. I don’t say, and I don’t think my view commits me to saying, that the world is as bad as it could conceivably be. No; I only say it NEED NOT be as good as it could be–that there is no need to say that this is the best of all possible worlds, or even that it would be if human free will hadn’t screwed things up. So all things animals do are not bad, that I have no problem with. Neither are all the things humans do bad. It’s primarily a matter of thinking God’s goodness (in the particular act of offering up his Son on the cross for our sins) FIRST, and then thinking general goodness only in light of that, rather than thinking “abstractly” (that is, in terms not controlled by God’s act of redemption) about goodness in the world as a whole and then seeing God’s goodness as the highest expression of it. In the first option, which I take, I see no problem with there being evil in the world. In the second, I see a problem; it’s mainly one of selection: how can you say X thing or act in the world, natural as it may be, is good and Y is not, if you don’t start with a view of what’s good already?
Thanks for the conversation; it’s been good fun.