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Priest and king (Hebrews 1:3)

Cape Disappointment

Having set Jesus among the company of prophets (1:1-2), our writer now uses the offices of priest and king to tell us more about his Lord.

When we read that Jesus provided purification for sins, we’re meeting language drawn from the OT, and its intricate system for handling ‘unrighteousness’ (cf. 1 John 1:7, 9). Jesus steps into this and with a single stroke (the Greek verb implies a past action, with on-going effect), deals with a long-standing problem. The act is Jesus’ crucifixion; the problem is sin.

The reason for and impact of Jesus’ crucifixion are matters of keen interest these days. Efforts to deal with ‘the atonement’ lead some to insist that we understand that event under a particular heading–to read it through the lens of Christus Victor, or penal substitution, for instance. Interesting, then, that while this line in Hebrews’ opening clearly refers to Jesus’ move towards and death on the cross, it doesn’t really fit with either of those ‘atonement theories’. The simple explanation for this is that any single attempt to cover the atonement succinctly is likely to fail: what Jesus did and how His activity influences humanity is too big for one basket to hold. When NT writers reflect on the cross-work, they do so via a variety of expressions, which indicates that what happened at and because of Calvary occupies a great deal of bandwidth.

Hebrews will find much in the OT descriptions of priests and their duties that illuminates the person and work of Jesus; this opening remark sets the stage. But note how the sentence ends: He sat down. With a stroke, our writer moves out of the temple and into the palace, because for all its depth and complexity, the priesthood does not tell us enough of what we need to know about Jesus. He may, like a priest, approach an altar, but He also reigns, like a king.

To sit at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven is to be accorded status as regent; that Jesus rules on high cannot be missed even in the moving descriptions of His loving service. Magnificently, humility and authority are balanced in Him. Experience makes us suspicious of rulers, but in Jesus, we have a king worthy of faith, obedience, and love.

The tightly coiled phrases of this book’s opening lines will unspool in the pages to follow. Theology will mingle with ‘practical application’ to engage minds and stir hearts, and Jesus will all the while be the center–caller, keeper, friend, and Lord.

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So summer’s underway…

Need a novel for the beach/pool/long car ride?

(PLY-uh pur-DEE-duh)

Expats in an uncharted beach community recruit a reluctant pastor to class up the neighborhood. Grace happens.

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Available in paperback or as e-book

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Dan Schmidt has a terrific mind and a gift for language. In Playa Perdida, he has drawn on a world he knows well to craft a tale you will not forget.
John Ortberg, Senior Pastor; Menlo Park Presbyterian Church

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What better summer beach reading could there be than a book about a beach? Really, Playa Perdida is a great read for any season. It deals with the quiet drama of spiritual growth—through endearing characters and an engaging story in a captivating setting.
Brian McLaren, Author/speaker

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Fiction for both sides of your brain…

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Monday prayer

water rock

That Your glory rises in the morning sun
and sparkles off flowing waters,
that the glory of the everlasting world
shines in this world
growing from the ground and issuing forth
from every creature,
that glory can be handled, seen, and known
in the matter of earth and human relationships
and the most ordinary matters of daily life–
assure me again this day, O God,
assure me again this day.

J. Phillip Newell
Sounds of the Eternal: A Celtic Psalter

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The radiance of God’s glory (Hebrews 1:3)

bright

Last week, after concluding a Saturday evening post series on 1 Peter, I started a new one on Hebrews. The prologue of this book is just packed…

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Mention of ‘glory’ tends to evoke the notion of bright lights and big noise: we link glory with dramatic phenomena. When we look at the Biblical texts that describe glory, however, we find that (a) the phenomena change; (b) they’re not always big; and (c) that glory is distinct from the phenomena associated with it. That last point is important, because in displays of glory, it’s not the phenomena that are important, but the way they indicate the presence of God. To say it another way, when the glory of God is evident, the God of glory is near.

To describe Jesus as the radiance of God’s glory, then, is to tie into OT stories about glory and all the wonder and drama of that, but also to insist that where Jesus is, God is, too. Again, with the benefit of hindsight, we’re willing to concede this with little argument–but in the first century, it was still an open question.

As Hebrews begins, that question is faced head-on, as the ‘nature’ of Jesus is reviewed. He is in line with divine revelation, we are told–a successor to the prophets. He is heir of all things, which ramps up the intensity. He is the agent of creation (a point other NT writers love to make). And, He is the radiance of God’s glory. These phrases pile up, but also grow more bold, cascading into this last batch: radiance, exact representation, sustaining. The writer cannot be more clear in expressing the idea that Jesus is divine.

Some, apparently, dispute this. Some wrestle with the nature of Jesus, or simply yawn. To both, and to all in between, this writer wants to lay out a series of claims that are rooted in familiar (for readers of the OT, at least) phrases, descriptions, and allusions. Mention of glory, for instance, is more than an appeal to the ‘specialness’ of Jesus: it links Him directly to the God who revealed glory on several other unmistakable occasions. That God and this Jesus, the writer says–they are inextricably connected.

When God shows up, and God’s glory is perceived? You heard about that happening long ago in terms of thunder, lightning, a palpable presence. And now, it is occurring again, in your lifetime, and with people whose testimony can be trusted. God is among us again, and this time, we see God’s glory clearly–in the one called Jesus.

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Naming the hero (Hebrews 1:1-4)

journey

This journey we’re on, the adventure of which we are part–who is the hero of the story in which we find ourselves?

The trenchant opening of Hebrews leaves no doubt: Jesus is the focal point of the tale this writer weaves. Son of God, heir of all, agent of creation–this is the one who occupies center stage.

Readers of this book knew themselves to be enmeshed in an ancient, complex story; they knew its major turning points, and had a fair idea (or a fond hope) of how it would turn out. So much of the NT seems to upend the trajectory of that familiar tale, though, with its insistence that the center of the story–God’s work in, through, and among God’s people–deserved a different understanding from what prevailed. It was, the NT writers claimed, a story of grace and inclusion, rather than one of privilege and judgment. And its key figure was not so much a triumphant warrior as a motivated friend.

And so the writer establishes from the outset that the hero of this story is One they have known, but have perhaps misunderstood, or underestimated. And as will become clear in the telling, the story is so broad as to include each one who picks up this book to read with interest. At the same time, it is not a casual story, to be read while doing and thinking about other stuff. The narrative warrants close attention–it is, as the writer says in his conclusion, an exhortation (13:22)–and essential to living well as the journey continues and the adventure unfolds.

Note:
This marks the start of a new series for the Saturday evening post–
an ongoing interaction with Hebrews.

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Paging Tom Edison

light bulb by Thomas Edison

If I’m not careful, my days break into too many small pieces: I have a variety of interests and responsibilities that clamor for attention, and want to give them all time and energy. But doing so can be wearing, and leave me huddled over the desk after sundown with a sense that not much was accomplished in any arena.

When several of those days pile together, I resolve to focus, to start the next morning by thinking in terms of chunks more than bits, hours more than minutes. Segments when things will happen.

On days like that, I section off a chunk for fiction, and set to it with determination. Usually, it works out rather well: time flies, and words show up on paper (the quality of those words is another story, as I’m also trying not to get too worked up about sentences or paragraphs during these early drafts, trying to listen to those who say ‘put words down before giving your inner editor license to critique’. Success in this is occasional).

The wrench? Reading over what’s appeared on the page. Sometimes, I like it fine. Other times, not so much. Recent case in point: a story that is unfolding more as a batch of episodes than as a sequence of events had me in its throes, and I bashed out another few hundred words only to find upon review that what I’d written would not do. Too many new ideas, too many unexplained pieces, too much drama for what needed to follow. Argh! One of my chunks wasted.

I went for a quick walk, grabbed a snack, checked email. A new idea occurred, and so I bent to that. Much better fit this time. So why couldn’t I have done it right the first time? This ‘technique’ seems rather inefficient.

Recollection of a story/urban legend about Thomas Edison floated in, how the esteemed inventor was trying to find what would hold a current and illuminate a gas to create a light. He tried this, that, and the other thing, failing each time. Are you discouraged? he was asked. Not at all, he replied. Now I know what doesn’t work.

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Peace to all (1 Peter 5:13)

door slot for letters

Peter closes his letter with several personal remarks, showing a tenderness that surprises, given the intensity we had seen in the gospels. She who is in Babylon … sends greetings. Is Peter referring to a person? A church? Opinion is divided, as it is on the location of ‘Babylon’ (though Rome seems likely). It’s a code of sorts, not clear for us, but most likely plain to first readers–and even though the full message is obscured, the sense of it comes through: one person/group is mindful of another, concerned, aware, engaged.

… and so does my son Mark. The Mark of the Gospels, the guy who supposedly fled naked after Jesus’ arrest, the one who later left Paul and Barnabas, only to be sought out by the latter to participate in another mission? The Mark whom Paul eventually saw as a valuable member of the larger team and who spent time with Paul during at least one imprisonment? The Mark who wrote a Gospel, and who, according to tradition was Peter’s scribe? Maybe so; probably, and regarded highly by one who also had stumbled more than once.

Peace to all of you who are in Christ. ‘In Christ’ is that potent phrase so common to Paul, but picked up by others: it works like shorthand, to convey in brief the much huger notion of life in a particular ‘place’. And ‘peace’? In the midst of turmoil–both that facing the writer and what his readers are experiencing–Peter shares his wish for peace. He’s wanting this for them, asking for it from God on their behalf. He wants that they will have peace to manage, to handle all that’s happening. And notice that he prays for peace, not removal.

Know anyone for whom a prayer like this would be meaningful?

That Peter ends here shows us his heart. No last minute, ‘make sure you do this’ or ’stay far away from this’–but an emotional epilogue full of insight and interest. In this world you will have trouble, Jesus said, and Peter would have heard it. Would also have remembered what followed: take heart, for I have overcome. Peter’s counting on that for all who are in Christ, assuring them that peace can wrap a heart and mind. He’s been there, done that, and lived to tell the story.

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Fun with words

putting words on paper

So, writing is what you do for fun?

The question was posed with a kindly smile, but even still, I hesitated. My brain cut in: No, writing is my job. Not my only job, but work, nonetheless. I take it seriously: I study the craft, log the hours, hone the grammar, attend to plot development, attribute sources; I build a platform, figure out marketing, push back at my introversion in order to network; I stay at it.

But then, another voice, the one that reminds me of how worlds emerge when I read, how worlds form when I put pen to paper. How a well-crafted line or two from a greeting card can amuse or intrigue. How prose–Dillard-lithe, or Dickens-rambly, and so much in between–delights.

Tom Holt, Terry Pratchett, Antoine de St. Exupery, Anne Patchett, Orson Card, Eugene Peterson–it hardly makes no never mind: reading writers who run along the high wire always draws a gasp. And to join such a troupe, if only by choosing to spend time like they do–not a bad way to fill the hours.

So: fun? Aye.

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The true grace (1 Peter 5:12)

watering can

Peter brings his book to a close with a word of explanation: I have written to you briefly, he says, encouraging you and testifying that this is the true grace of God. Encouragement we understand–for people who are experiencing more than a little stormy weather, it helps to have a stalwart, significant person pull up alongside and offer a good word.

That second line, though–the one about testifying that this is the true grace of God–that needs some unpacking.

Taken together with Peter’s opening remarks (see 1:3), this closing line ‘book-ends’ the letter with grace. By doing this, Peter emphasizes what he wants readers to take away: he’s keen to have them ponder and live out of grace.

We think of people needing grace for salvation (see Ephesians 2:8-10, for example), but Peter says that it is also a gift given to believers (see 1:10, 13). As such, grace is a means to an end, a point he drives home in 4:10. That last reference startles, for there Peter asserts that people are mediators of grace. To save? No, that is God’s prerogative. But to heal, to help, to add, to bless–grace fills lives so that it might be poured out on needs.

The true grace of God, then, is wide, deep, full, free. It describes the environment of where Peter’s readers–those who have been rescued from darkness and brought into the realm where Jesus is Lord–now live. It also empowers their activity, as they put into play what they have received for the benefit of all around them.

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Life at work

unexpected signs of lifeLast weekend, working through the 1 Peter passage, I came across a phrase that hasn’t let go. It’s from one of Paul’s letters, where he’s talking about pressures and setbacks, and how such troubles are the shared lot of Christ followers. He’s honest, but not despondent; he’s aware of a treasure shared by his readers that’s bigger/better/stronger/deeper than any weight or storm. And because of this treasure–God’s glory–he can say that life is at work in you (2 Corinthians 4:12).

Life is at work. The phrase pretty well sums up what God is doing, what God is after, what God prizes.

Tomorrow, I get to celebrate with a bunch of friends as the church our family helped start has its 25th anniversary. Looking back on that season of activity stirs a host of memories; I recall a lot of stormy weather. But so much change, so much strength poured in along the way, too. Life was at work.

I went into church planting thinking I knew some stuff, and kept at it, willing to learn. Realized how much I didn’t know. Had some great days, had some that felt like they’d end in a hospital–and discovered that my experience was not unique: a lot of us were going through rough water. But looking back, I can see how glory persisted. And looking around now, its consequences are easy to spot.

Life is at work.