(Sermon preached at Providence Church in Caro, MI on January 10th, 2021, Feast of the Baptism of Christ Light modifications have been made.)
On this day, January 10, in 49BC, Julius Caesar set in motion the Roman Civil War. He had been governor over a region of Gaul and, when his term had ended, was to return to Rome. Instead, he lead his army across the shallow Rubicon River, a clear declaration of war on the Roman Senate. “Crossing the Rubicon” has, ever since, meant crossing a point of no return, taking a definitive and clear step of war, whether literal or metaphorical.
In our text this morning (Mark 1:4-11,) we see Jesus, in His Baptism, at a river-crossing event. Jesus is at the Jordan River, not the Rubicon, but the symbolism is just as powerful. And in fact Jesus’ “Rubicon crossing” in the Jordan is no less a declaration of war.a
“‘Are these the Nazis, Walter?’ ‘No, Donnie, these men are nihilists. There’s nothing to be afraid of.'” Moments before Donnie’s tragic death,a Walter assures Donnie that the nihilists won’t hurt them: “No, Donnie, these men are cowards.”
Fyodor Dostoevsky, on the other hand, took the threat of nihilism more seriously than The Big Lebowski’s Walter. Perhaps that was, in part, because he was once a nihilist himself. Before his exile in Siberia, Dostoevsky was part of a group of young radicals. His activity with the progressive Petrashevsky Circle led to their arrest and a death sentence that was commuted at the last moment. His time in exile proved transformative. Enduring suffering with his copy of the New Testament as his only comfort, he emerged from exile a devout Orthodox Christian and Russian conservative.
Since this past Summer, the United States has witnessed nihilism run amok on our streets. Literal mobs bent on destruction have been allowed to have their way with American cities. Of course this didn’t come out of nowhere; this movement has been fomenting and picking up steam for some time now, but this year it seems to have maintained energy in a new way.
Our Dostoevskian Moment
Back in July, Rod Dreher, drawing from an article by Daniel Mahoney, described what we are seeing now as “America’s Dostoevskian Moment”. We are facing in our day the same kind of destructive fervor, the same kind of nihilism, that Dostoevsky predicted in his novel Demons would lead to the death of 100 million Russians if the revolutionaries come to power. History has proved that he knew what he was talking about.
Mahoney makes a compelling argument, and I encourage the reader to visit his article. We face an election coming on Tuesday, the results of which are sure to be hotly contested, in an already heated political climate. Whichever way the election goes, our contemporary nihilists are set on violence and destruction. We have learned that we cannot count on civic leaders to protect property or lives. What are we to do?
That this is the case seems beyond dispute. My purpose in writing is to consider Dostoevsky’s alternative to nihilism in the narrative of Demons, and how that might inform us as we face similar forces in our day.
A New Cry
In his typical style, Dostoevsky does not mount a formal argument against nihilism. Rather he embeds his argument in the narrative. One of my favorite passages in Dosoevsky centers on Shatov, a character in Demons who has turned away from his former revolutionary ideals and embraced Christ. He accepts suffering as he is singled out to be a scapegoat by his former associates. In this passage, his estranged wife, Marie, returns to him, pregnant by another man, ready to give birth. Shatov fetches Arina Prokhorovna, a local midwife. Waiting outside the room while Marie labors, he then hears “a new cry”:
And then, finally, there came a cry, a new cry, at which Shatov gave a start and jumped up from his knees, the cry of an infant, weak, cracked. He crossed himself and rushed into the room. In Arina Prokhorovna’s hands a small, red, wrinkled being was crying and waving its tiny arms and legs, a terribly helpless being, like a speck of dust at the mercy of the first puff of wind, yet crying and proclaiming itself, as if it, too, somehow had the fullest right to life…
‘Pah, what a look!’ the triumphant Arina Prokhorovna laughed merrily, peeking into Shatov’s face. ‘Just see the face on him!’…
‘What’s this great joy of yours?’ Arina Prokhorovna was amusing herself, while bustling about, tidying up, and working like a galley slave.
‘The mystery of the appearance of a new being, a great mystery and an inexplicable one, Arina Prokhorovna, and what a shame you don’t understand it!’…
‘There were two, and suddenly there’s a third human being, a new spirit, whole, finished, such as doesn’t come from human hands; a new thought and a new love, it’s even frightening… And there’s nothing higher in the world!'” b
This new cry of life, Shatov’s exuberance over this new being, is Dostoevsky’s contrast to the destructive ideals of the nihilists. This new life is the light in the darkness of the narrative of Demons. And new life, New Creation, must be the light we shine in the face of our nihilistic mob, in what feel like dark days in our own culture.
On one level, the way we do this is simply by valuing precisely what Shatov rejoices over: the new life of the most weak and vulnerable, infant life crying out, proclaiming itself. Simply opposing the slaughter of the unborn incites the mobs against us, as is clearly being played out in Poland now.
The Risen Christ is the light that breaks the darkness, new life liberating those held captive under the bonds of death. As St. Paul says in His “Christ Hymn” to the Colossians,
He is the firstborn, and we, the Church, follow in His new creation life. We bring the reality of Christ’s reign, of His new creation, to bear on the world. Dostoevsky believed we best do this by joyfully suffering in Christ. St. Paul would agree: just as Christ “humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on the Cross,” so we are to follow Him, taking up our cross, participating in Christ’s suffering, so that we may “shine as lights” in the midst of our “crooked and twisted generation.”d Suffering with joy, living lives of gratitude, of feasting, of abundant hospitality: this abundant resurrection life is how we confront our culture’s nihilistic love for death and destruction. So stop wringing your hands about the plight of our nation, and start get to work forming deeply joyful communities in your church life, family, and neighborhood.
Try to vote in the guy you think will do the most to defend life, preserve peace, punish the wicked, defend freedom. Work for God-honoring public policy. Engage in debates, make the case for the Faith. But our ultimate “strategy” must be the way of the Cross. Christ and Him crucified is the light that breaks the darkness, shining through the lives of His saints. That is how the Church turns the world upside down.
It’s been 22 years since The Big Lebowski came out. The time for spoiler alerts is over. (back)
Dostoesky, Fyodor. Deomons. New York, Everyman’s Library, 1994. p. 592-3 (back)
“The Church is not a building!” This has been a popular cliche for some time, and it has recently found renewed popularity as many have argued, in the time of COVID, that the Church can do just fine as Christians worship in private or online. While it is not my aim to address the shutdown situation here, this past Sunday’s Gospel lessona, Matthew 16:13-20, goes against the grain of this thinking. Of course, the Church is not constituted by the roof and walls in which congregations congregate; I know of no one who believes otherwise. And yet, a building is precisely how our Lord describes His Church.
On This Rock
Jesus asks the disciples, “Who do you say that I am?”, and receives from Peter one of the most clear confessions of Jesus’ identity in Matthew up to this point: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Peter’s bold confession receives a profound, astounding response from the Lord: “… you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church…” This statement is one of the most discussed and debated verses in the New Testament. What is Jesus saying?
Jesus uses a clear pun in the Greek: the name Peter comes from the word for stone. It is Petros is Greek, and the term for stone used here is petra. Translating this literally would sound something like, “You are the Rock, and on this rock I will build my church.” He is clearly “punning” on Peter’s name. The question that has come up in the Church’s history is, what is the rock upon which Jesus says He will build His Church? Is it Peter? Is it the truth in Peter’s confession?
The Roman Church has found in this verse a support for the supremacy of the Pope of Rome. Peter was (according to their argument) the first bishop of Rome, and Christ built the Church upon him; thus, the bishop of Rome, the Pope, is the human head of the true Church. On the other hand, many Protestants will argue that what Jesus was actually saying was that it’s not Peter, but the content of Peter’s confession (that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God) that is the rock upon which the Church is built. It’s not Peter, but true doctrine.
Neither of these positions- that Christ confers supremacy to Peter and his successors, or that He is only talking about true doctrine- seem to fit with the text. Jesus’ response is a response to the confession Peter makes. It is also clear though, from the pun Jesus uses, that He is identifying Peter as the rock upon whom He builds the Church. Considering the nature of this “building project” according to the rest of the New Testament will help us make sense of this.
Built on the Apostles and Prophets
“Upon this rock I will build my Church,” Jesus says. The Church is a building. We’re used to hearing the exact opposite: “The Church is not a building,” many say, emphasizing that the physical structure in which we meet does not constitute the Church. That’s true, in so far as it goes. But the Church is a building. It’s a building that’s not made of bricks or stones, nor even upon an abstraction or an idea, but upon persons. And the ultimate One upon Whom the Church is built is Christ Himself, the Chief Cornerstone.
The same Apostle Peter writes of this building in his first epistle: “As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious, you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.” (1 Pet. 2:4-5)
The Church is a building, a great house, being built up through history. We are a house made of living stones- you and me, together with all the saints!- and Jesus Himself is the cornerstone upon Whom we are built: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” (v. 7)
But Jesus identifies Peter, the leader of the disciples as this time, and says He is a rock upon whom the Church will be built. Jesus is saying the same thing that Paul says in Ephesians, that the Church is “built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.” (Eph. 2:20-22)
The Apostles and Prophets, joined with Christ the Cornerstone, form the unique foundation of this building. And what both Paul and Peter tell us is that this is a house in which God and man dwell together; that’s to say, a temple. The Church, in Christ, is the fulfillment of what the Temple pointed to.
The Church grows upon this foundation, Paul says, into “mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ…” (Eph. 4:13) Jesus will bring His Church to maturity; or, in the words He speaks to Peter, “the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” (Matt. 16:18) Jesus assures us of victory. This is not a victory in our own strength; Peter himself, who is an example here of boldly confessing Christ, becomes an example of the fact that it’s in our weakness that Christ works. But He will win the victory through us; He will use us to disciple the nations, to make all His enemies His footstool.
for churches following the Revised Common Lectionary. (back)
for churches following the Revised Common Lectionary.
This past Sunday, Western churches celebrated the Feast of Pentecost, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples gathered in Jerusalem. The Spirit came with a sound “like a mighty rushing wind” (Acts 2:2) and alighted upon the disciples in the form of tongues of fire, incorporating them, us, as the body of Christ. He brings us in to participate, through union with Christ, in the Divine life.
The Holy Spirit forms at Pentecost a New Humanity; just as the Spirit hovered over the face of the waters at creation, just as the dove is sent out by Noah over the waters when the world is judged and renewed, so now the Spirit comes over the new creation, the Church. The Spirit descended upon Christ at His Baptism in the form of a dove, and now, in union with the crucified and resurrected Christ, the Church is formed as the New Humanity.
Just what is new about this New Humanity? Much in every way. But for one, what is new is that, through the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus and effected in us by the Spirit, our fleshly divisions are overcome. Humanity since Babel is torn apart by division, marked by the confusion of language and religious confession. The story of humanity post-Babel is a story of ever-deepening division. Peter Leithart says, “Under Babelic conditions, division becomes institutionalized and permanent. After Babel, flesh separates from flesh.” a
Reversing Babel
God sets out at war against the flesh, against the dominion of sin and death. He covenants with Abraham to bless all the families of the earth. The Lord intends to put death to death and bring humanity to peace with God and with one another.
At Pentecost, the Lord reverses our Babelic division. The Spirit rushes in and breaks through the divisions of the flesh. At Babel, the Lord confused the language of the people; now, at Pentecost, “each one was hearing them speak in their own language” as the disciples proclaimed “the mighty works of God.” (Acts 2:6, 11) The story that unfolds in Acts and through the Epistles is the story of the Spirit working out this new unity in the body of Christ. We are all baptized into Christ, and in that baptismal water the Spirit does away with division between Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female, “for you are all one in Christ Jesus,” brought into the family of Abraham (Gal. 3:26-29). We have been made one body in Christ: “For in one Spirit we were all baptized into one body- Jews or Greeks, slaves or free- and all were made to drink of one Spirit.” (1 Cor. 12:13)
The Church as Model Society
We are seeing these fleshly, Babelic divisions playing out ever-more heatedly in America today. Police brutality and abuse of power, rioting and looting, violence in the streets, deepening partisan divides, fighting over social media, all make clear that our culture is in chaos, living according to the flesh.
The only hope for our divided culture is the peace-giving Spirit of Pentecost. And this peace is found in the body of Christ, the Church. The Church is the New Humanity in Christ, where our fleshly divisions are overcome and all are one in the one Body of the Lord, where we relate to one another in self-giving love. What’s more, the Church is the model-society; we are called to embody in our communal life ideal human society, shaping the world around us. The Church is brought up into the Divine life in union with Christ and by the Spirit, we live out that life among our brethren, and we carry those gifts as we are sent out to disciple the nations.
In His High Priestly Prayer, Jesus prays that the Church will be one “so that the world may believe that you have sent me.” (Jn. 17:21) Christians have no business feeling frustrated and wringing our hands about current affairs around us. It should be no surprise to us that our society is gripped by division, hatred, and fear, when there is division in the Church. Our call to the world is to repent: repent of brutality, hatred, looting, division, and embrace the peace achieved by Christ and bestowed by the Spirit. But we cannot truly expect that to happen until we repent of our own disunity as the people of God, seek peace with one another, and embody the life of self-giving love of our Triune God.
Delivered from the Elements of the World, p. 86. (back)
The Church is in the midst of Eastertide. Having celebrated and commemorated the events of Jesus’ birth, life, death, resurrection, our minds go to that
In the gospel of John, one of the works of the Spirit that is highlighted repeatedly is that of remembrance. The Holy Spirit works in us to bring to our memory the person of Jesus, His life, words, and works.
Of the essence of the Christian faith is communion – we are not a collection of individuals, but a Body, a people – we are saved in community, saved into the Church. We are “living stones” in the spiritual house of God (1 Pet. 2:5), various members of the one Body of Christ (1 Cor. 12:12ff.) Humanity is created in community, and redeemed in community.
And yet, here we are in the time of the virus, most of us cut off from our normal in-person social lives, and many churches not gathering as normal for public worship. Our public response to the Coronavirus pandemic has driven us apart from one another, cloistering into our homes. Our response to the virus has health effects (positive, we hope) and dire economic effects, but also a significant sociological impact. We cannot live healthy human lives, let alone healthy Christian lives, alone for long. a
And yet, in our focus on the corporate life of the people of God, we must not neglect the call to a personal spiritual life. The Christian life is essentially corporate, ecclesial; our primary nourishment is not individual devotions, but hearing the Word read and preached in the Divine Liturgy; our primary prayer is when we join our voices together as the people of God in the assembly; we are fed as we gather together at the Lord’s Table week-by-week. We are created, and redeemed in community, and yet we all need times of solitude. We need times of quiet during which we can “withdraw to desolate places and pray.” (Lk. 5:16) The ecclesial life of the disciple feeds the individual life of devotion. The disciple who develops a healthy, quiet, individual devotion bears greater fruit among the community of disciples. Yes, the corporate life of the Church is primary, but the relationship between the communal life of discipleship and the quiet devotion in solitude is reciprocal.
In our present context, many of us have been forced into isolation This has resulted in a palpable loneliness. Even those of us who are introverts quickly come to miss normal human interaction with the outside world before long. And loneliness is deadly. How can we respond when we are forced into isolation? At the risk of sounding cliche, we need to see this trial as an opportunity for maturation. Where is God leading us in this?
Well, for many, this forced isolation has served already to open their eyes to the importance of community life (whether the community life of the Church, or community more broadly.) Quarantine has created a greater hunger for life together, and for that we can be thankful. But what do we do with our time alone?
From Loneliness to Fruitful Solitude
“What if the events of our history are molding us as a sculptor molds his clay, and if it is only in a careful obedience to these molding hands that we can discover our real vocation and become mature people?” Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out, p. 37
In Reaching Out Henri Nouwen describes three movements of the spiritual life. The first movement is the movement from loneliness to solitude. Nouwen wisely diagnosed his contemporary, Western society with overwhelming loneliness. Forty-five years later the diagnosis is just as true, if not more so. Now, in forced isolation that loneliness is magnified. Physically separated from society we are acutely aware of just how disconnected and lonely we have all become. Life in the Spirit, however, leads to a conversion of loneliness into a fruitful solitude.
This, I have come to believe, is one of the lessons the Lord would have me, and perhaps you, learning during our quarantine. Convert the keen sense of loneliness that we may feel to a fruitful solitude. Find ways to grow in solitude that will make us more fruitful disciples when our normal community lives are restored. “Solitude,” Nouwen says, “does not pull us away from our fellow human beings but instead makes real fellowship possible.”b
Quarantine serves to pinpoint areas in our lives that are in need of growth. I venture to say that all of us have room to grow in our prayer lives; this is a great time to seek growth in that discipline. If you’re stuck at home, dive into the Psalms. Read them. Pray them. Sing them. Get into the practice of praying the Daily Offices of Morning and Evening Prayer. It can be easy to fall into patterns of laziness, drawn into our phones and social media. Don’t let that happen.
In solitude, we come to greater knowledge of ourselves, often painfully. Calvin says that true and sound wisdom “consists of two parts: the knowledge of God and of ourselves.”cA growing knowledge of God brings to light truths about ourselves, our condition, areas of our lives where we need to work out our salvation to walk in a manner worthy of the Gospel. This self-knowledge will, as Calvin says, in turn drive us to greater love of God.
I’ve been using the terms “solitude” and “isolation,” but in fact for many we are not completely alone. We are quarantined with our families, and this concentrated time with our spouses and children brings to light areas in need of growth as well. Use this time to develop patterns of prayer with your family, to grow in your love for spouse and children, to learn more about these people with whom you live. Concentrated, prolonged proximity can lead us to greater irritability towards one another, or it can give us opportunity to die to ourselves in love and service for each other. Let your quarantine with your family work in you a readiness to respond to others in love that will bear fruit once our full community life is restored.
It is my prayer that our time of solitude will make our community lives all the richer on the other side of this.
Note, it is not my purpose here to comment on the wisdom or lack-thereof in our public response to the virus, but simply to highlight how we can respond to the situation as it is.(back)
Note, it is not my purpose here to comment on the wisdom or lack-thereof in our public response to the virus, but simply to highlight how we can respond to the situation as it is.
“Preach the word,” Paul charges Timothy (II Tim. 4.2); “devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching.” (I Tim. 4.13) He is charged to be given to the Word in such a way that he will be able to guard against false doctrine, to entrust the body of doctrine received to faithful men in the congregation, and bring them up in leadership. The pastor is to be a minister of the Word, “able to teach”, and to fulfill that calling he must be a perpetual student of the Word. Scripture reading is one of the three essential acts of pastoral work described by Eugene Peterson in Working the Angles. In this post, we will converse with Peterson’s work as we briefly reflect on the ministry of the Word in pastoral work. a
Open Ears
Pastors are called to the ministry of Word and Sacrament, yet it is in the midst of the pastor’s vocational study of the Word, Peterson warns, that the pastor may be at risk of abandoning his work: “in reading, teaching, and preaching the Scriptures, it happens: we cease to listen to the Scriptures and thereby undermine the intent of having Scripture in the first place.” We have become so accustomed, since the invention of movable type, to think of receiving the Word in visual terms that we can forget that our primary calling in regard to God’s Word is to listen. This mindset has had a significant impact on how the Church has understood the Word of God and its place and function in the community. “The Christian’s interest in Scripture,” Peterson says, “has always been in hearing God speak…” He calls pastors to “be analytically alert to the ways in which listening to the word of God slides off into reading about the word of God, and then energetically recover an open ear.” (Working the Angles, p. 87)
Like my last post, I must qualify: I’m writing about pastoral work, but as an aspiring pastor, which is why I’m taking my cues here from someone with far more wisdom and experience than myself. (back)
Like my last post, I must qualify: I’m writing about pastoral work, but as an aspiring pastor, which is why I’m taking my cues here from someone with far more wisdom and experience than myself.
The homilies of Origen, one of the Church’s earliest and most seminal theologians, give a window into the tone of early Christian exegesis. Peering into that window can help open the eyes of 21st century expositors to the Church’s historical tradition of creative, exciting, and compelling exegesis. I want to give a brief and cursory consideration of Origen’s Bible reading from his first homily on Genesis with an eye to how we, conservative Reformed and evangelical interpreters of Scripture, can learn from his approach. This is neither meant to be a critical interaction, nor a blanket endorsement, but rather an appraisal that sifts through the at-times unhelpful and bizarre to find what might be helpful in our present context.a
Beginning in Christ
The first words of Origen’s first homily on Genesis address, appropriately, the opening verse of Scripture: “In the beginning God made heaven and earth.” How does Origen exposit Genesis 1.1?
What is the beginning of all things except our Lord and “Savior of all,” Jesus Christ “the firstborn of every creature”? In this beginning, therefore, that is, in his Word, “God made heaven and earth” as the evangelist John also says in the beginning of his Gospel: “In the beginning was the Word… “
Homily 1.1
Origen’s comments on this verse reflect his hermeneutical presupposition, that the Christian reader does not come to Scripture prima facie, but rather we always read and hear the text in and through Christ. Henri de Lubac, a 20th century Catholic ressourcement theologian strongly influenced by Origen, puts it well: “For a Christian to understand the Bible means to understand it in the light of the Gospel.” (Catholicism, p. 178) God has definitively revealed Himself in the person of His Son, and there is now no going behind that.
Our conservative evangelical tendency is to look for the grammatical-historical interpretation of the text as the primary meaning, and to (maybe) go from there to types, to how the text foreshadows Christ or the life of the Church. Origen shows us, in the pattern of patristic exegesis, that for the Christian the Christological is the primary meaning of the text. Our task when reading the Old Testament is not to find or pick out what things might be pointing to Christ; Jesus has already solved that for us. All of Scripture is fulfilled in Him, in His life, death, and resurrection, and in the continuing life of His body, the Church.
Full disclosure: I am not an Origen scholar, nor am I a scholar of patristic exegesis more broadly. In fact, I’m rather new to Origen. I write this aware of my ignorance (it has to count for something when one is not ignorant of one’s ignorance, right?) of the philosophical discussions at play. Yet, this ignorance and lack of expertise notwithstanding, there are basic patterns and principles of exegesis shown by Origen that can be highly illuminating and instructive for us. (back)
Full disclosure: I am not an Origen scholar, nor am I a scholar of patristic exegesis more broadly. In fact, I’m rather new to Origen. I write this aware of my ignorance (it has to count for something when one is not ignorant of one’s ignorance, right?) of the philosophical discussions at play. Yet, this ignorance and lack of expertise notwithstanding, there are basic patterns and principles of exegesis shown by Origen that can be highly illuminating and instructive for us.
There is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry, ‘Mine!’Abraham Kuyper
