On Tenting at Christmas

A Sermon Preached on Christmas Day 2023 at
The Anglican Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, Kefalas, Crete

The readings were Isaiah 9:2-7, Psalm 96, Titus 2:11-14, and John:1-18.
    

John Mordhorst. as he was in 1979

Do you like camping? I used to do a lot of it, often on shelters and cabins, but sometimes in tents. Groups from my school went camping for cadets and as hiking in the Green Mountains of Vermont. I knew a guy named John Mordhorst, who was one of my instructors when I did Outward Bound, canoeing for a month in Northern Ontario in 1979. A couple of years before this Outward Bound gig, he, along with three others, had travelled from the height of land in the Yukon to Hudson’s Bay, about 1500 miles (2400 km). It took them something like a year and a half, and involved canoes and dog-sleds. While on the trip he discovered a downed Russian satellite, which interrupted their trip as they had to be flown to Edmonton to be checked out for radiation exposure, but otherwise they were in the wilderness constantly. He was a real outdoorsman, living mostly in tents. I remember he told us that he had not slept indoors in a bed for years. He said that when he did once, he was so uncomfortable that he had to pull out his sleeping bag.

Jesus: A Big Fan of Tenting

This is what happens when you ask AI to give you a picture of Jesus in a tent.

Someone else who liked tents was Jesus. Verse 14 in our gospel this morning reads in the original Greek: Καὶ ὁ λόγος σὰρξ ἐγένετο καὶ ἐσκήνωσεν ἐν ἡμῖν – and our translation and most other English versions translate this as “the Word became flesh and dwelled among us.”

The Greek verb ἐσκήνωσεν is usually translated as “dwelled” but the word literally means “put up a tent” or “tented” – and in modern Greek the word is σκηνή. This is the same word that is used in the ancient Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible (our Old Testament) for the Tabernacle, the tent where God met Moses. A large chunk of the Book of Exodus describes how it was to be constructed. This tabernacle is the place before which sacrifices were made, offerings of incense and freshly baked bread were offered inside. Inside the tent was the Ark of the Covenant, in which were the tablets of the Ten Commandments. When the people journeyed from Mount Sinai to the the Promised Land the Israelites would deconstruct it and carry it along, and then reconstruct it wherever they camped. King David, we are told in the Books of Samuel, brought this holy tent and its contents to Jerusalem. Solomon constructed the Temple, which was a stone version of the Tabernacle, only about twice the size.

One reconstruction of what the Tabernacle looked like. See Exodus 25–31 and 35–40.

This is probably why the gospel author used this phrasing. The Word of God pitching a tent among us represents a living, breathing Temple – the presence of God, the shekinah among us. What the sacred Temple was to Israelites, Jesus is for us – the place of sacrifice, the place of meeting God, the place of reconciliation, the place of glory. What the psalms say about the Temple we can now say about Jesus. As the Letter to the Hebrews explains, Jesus is both the great High Priest and the sacrificial victim, offering himself once for all in heaven and on earth. Jesus explicitly identifies himself with the Temple when he says in John 2.19-21 “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” and the gospel then explains “. . .  he was speaking of the temple of his body.”

The Tabernacle in Kefalas. Not as fancy as the one God commanded the Israelites to fabricate.

Let’s draw out a couple of more implications. Here, in this place, this church in Kefalas, we meet in the name of Jesus. Jesus promised us that whenever two or three gathered in his name, he is present. Now, this could happen anywhere, but we have set aside for this purpose this tent-like structure which we call “The Tabernacle.” This is where, in the Liturgy of the Lord’s Supper, in the hearing of scripture and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, we meet Jesus, and in Jesus we know the Father. So it is good and right that we call this The Tabernacle, not that it is any more special than any other building or tent, but because it is here that we become mindful of God’s presence among us.

But it is also here that we become the Body of Christ. As Christ dwells within us we become that Tabernacle, too, not made of canvas and metal and wiring, but of our selves, our souls and bodies. In offering up to God all that we are and all that we have we allow ourselves to be transformed into the image of God, so that we can look into the eyes of our neighbour here and encounter the divine. It is like the ancient Celtic hymn from St Patrick’s Breastplate:

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

So, on this day of Christ’s mass, in which we celebrate his birth, may we once again allow him to be born is us, as individuals, and as a church, as a communion around the world, as this body of saints that is now twenty centuries long and some seven billion souls, living and dead. Let us become, like him a tent for the dwelling of the divine. Come, Lord Jesus, and the renew the face of the earth.

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Good News for a Broken World: A Christmas Eve Morning Sermon

A Sermon Preached on The Fourth Sunday of Advent – Christmas Eve
at The Anglican Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, Kefalas, Crete
24 December 2023.

The readings were Isaiah 11:1-12, Psalm 98, Romans 16:25-27, and Luke 2:1-20.

I am a little anxious this morning. This happens every Christmas. It is a bit like what the late American literary critic Harold Bloom called “the anxiety of influence”: how can this preacher standing before you live up to this moment? How can I possibly do justice to the Christmas story? How might I say anything new, something you’ve not heard before? If you’re not a regular church goer, how might I say something that might inspire you to become one? If you are one of those people for whom this Christmas is hard, because you are missing loved ones, how might I comfort you? Ah, anxiety!

Or, I could just talk about the Bible and let God worry about what goes on in your hearts and minds. Let’s see how that goes.

It is Still Good News

Kelly Latimore’s 2016 icon of
La Sagrada Familia

I want to suggest to you that the news of Jesus Christ is good news, and that it is news that this broken, fallen, sinful world needs.

In the Gospel of Matthew we hear of how that old tyrant King Herod the Great sought to destroy every person he thought might be a threat to his rule. Having heard that a king was to come from Bethlehem, he sought to kill that child. Thus, male children around Bethlehem suffered innocent deaths because of his depraved fears. Jesus and his parents became refugees, having been warned in a dream. Now, there is nothing sweet and heart-warming about this part of the story. What the story does tell us is that Jesus is with the innocent victims, with the murdered and displaced. At a time like this, the good news speaks to those suffering and says, God is on your side, and God will see justice done.

Have I shared with you the good news about Caesar Augustus, the Victorious Saviour, Son of God?

In this morning’s gospel reading from Luke we hear how “a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered.” Isn’t that so typical of dictators? The imperial might of Rome exercises itself in a census of its subject peoples, creating great inconveniences. This Emperor Augustus is acclaimed in various obsequious inscriptions in the Greek language as a saviour, whose victories were considered to be good news, and he is described elsewhere as the adopted son of Julius Caesar, who was considered a god after his death; thus, Augustus was considered to be a son of God. It is not an accident that the humble birth of Jesus begins with this decree from Augustus, for in invoking his name it forces a contrast and the questions: who is the real saviour? Who is the true son of God? Whose coming is the real good news?

For people like the shepherds and those like Joseph and Mary, displaced by the whims of the powerful, the coming of Augustus is not good news. But the birth of the son of God in a humble stable is.

A Nativity Scene in the Lutheran Church of Bethlehem, 2023

We are now in a time when it is strange and hard for some to sing about Bethlehem. The Christian churches in Bethlehem, which are mostly Palestinian, have suspended public Christmas services in this time of war. How can we sing about the birth of Jesus when children are dying, when both sides are traumatized, and when their leaders are sending bombs and armed forces after each other?

Jesus offers an alternative to violence. All three of the Abrahamic faiths, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam have in common the values of care for others and living in peace with neighbours. The vast majority of the people in those religions do live and let live, getting on with life and seeking to live up to their ideals. All too often, though, extremists are allowed to prey on the fears of their co-religionists, and justify the violence of pogroms, crusades, and terrorism. Jesus, who suffered at the hands of violent Roman soldiers at the command of Pontius Pilate and with the encouragement of a collaborationist religious leadership, appears to have lost and been defeated. But the good news is that the love of God in Christ is stronger than death, greater than the violence that was meted out to him, and more powerful than any empire, authority, party, army.

The reading from Isaiah envisages a kingdom where the root of Jesse assembles the dispersed people of Israel and all the nations, and where all live in peace, even the animals and children:

The wolf shall live with the lamb;
the leopard shall lie down with the kid . . .
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp . . .
the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
as the waters cover the sea.

We are not there yet. But God has begun to make all things new, beginning with the resurrection of Jesus, continuing on the day of Pentecost, and continuing through the past twenty centuries in the lives of holy men and women, people from every nation. We haven’t always got it right, and sometimes we have gotten it very wrong. But we hold before us this vision of what God calls us to be.

Questions

So, the question for us on this Christmas Eve morning, perhaps, is this: Are you going to be full of despair at the state of our fallen world, or do you have hope that God will break through? Do you continue in difference, or do we allow Christ, by the Holy Spirit, to fill our hearts with love, so that we can seek justice, and love kindness, and walk humbly with our God? Whose side are you on? Herod and Augustus? Or the babe born in Bethlehem?








































































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The Fourth
Sunday of Advent

The
Anglican Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, Kefalas, Crete

24
December 2023 11:00 am

Open    

I am a little anxious this morning. This happens every
Christmas. It is a bit like what the late American literary critic Harold Bloom
called the anxiety of influence: how can this preacher standing before you live
up to this moment, and do justice to the Christmas story? How might I possibly
say anything new? If you’re not a regular church goer, how might I say
something that might inspire you to become one? If you are one of those people
for whom this Christmas is hard, because you are missing loved ones, how might
I comfort you? Ah, anxiety!

Or, I could just talk about the Bible and let God
worry about what goes on in your hearts and minds. Let’s see how that goes.

 

Assertion

I want to suggest to you that the news of Jesus Christ
is good news, and that it is news that this broken, fallen world needs.

In the Gospel of Matthew we hear of how that old
tyrant King Herod the Great sought to destroy what he saw as a threat to his
rule, and so tried to kill Jesus. His parents became refugees, and male
children around Bethlehem suffered innocent deaths because of his depraved
fears. There is nothing heart-warming about that. Jesus is with the innocent
victims, with the murdered and displaced. At a time like this, the good news
speaks to those suffering and says, God is on your side, and God will see
justice done.

In this morning’s gospel reading from Luke we hear how
“a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be
registered.” Isn’t that so typical of dictators? The imperial might of Rome
exercises itself in a census of its subject peoples, creating great
inconveniences. This Emperor Augusts claimed to be a saviour, whose victories
were considered to be good news, and as the adopted son of Julius Caesar was
considered to be a son of God. It is not an accident that the humble birth of
Jesus begins with this decree from Augustus, for in invoking his name it forces
a contrast and the question: who is the real saviour? Who is the true son of
God? Whose coming is the real good news?

Jesus is on the side of people like the shepherds and
those displaced by the whims of the powerful.

We are now in a time when it is strange and hard for
some to sing about Bethlehem. The Christian churches in Bethlehem, which are
mostly Palestinian, have suspended public Christmas services in this time of
war. How can we sing about the birth of Jesus when children are dying, when
both sides are traumatized, and when their leaders are sending bombs and armed
forces after each other?

Jesus offers an alternative to violence. All three of
the Abrahamic faiths, Judaism, Christianity, and Islam have in common the
values of care for others and living in peace with neighbours. The vast
majority of the people in those religions do live and let live, getting on with
life and seeking to live up to their ideals. All too often, though, extremists
are allowed to prey on the fears of their co-religionists, and justify the
violence of pogroms, crusades, and terrorism. Jesus, who suffered at the hands
of violent Roman soldiers at the command of Pontius Pilate and with the
encouragement of a collaborationist religious leadership, appears to have lost
and been defeated. But the good news is that the love of God in Christ is
stronger than death, greater than the violence that was meted out to him, and
more powerful than any empire, authority, party, army.

The reading from Isaiah envisages a kingdom where the
root of Jesse assembles the dispersed people of Israel and all the nations, and
where all live in peace, even the animals and children:

The wolf shall live with the lamb;

                                    the leopard
shall lie down with the kid . . .

                                    The
nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp . . .

                                    the
earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord

                                    as the waters
cover the sea.

We are not there yet. But God has begun to make all
things new, beginning with the resurrection of Jesus, continuing on the day of
Pentecost, and continuing through the past twenty centuries in the lives of
holy men and women, people from every nation. We haven’t always got it right,
and sometimes we have gotten it very wrong. But we hold before us this vision
of what God calls us to be.

 

Invitation

So, the question for us on this Christmas Eve,
perhaps, is this: Are you going to be full of despair at the state of our
fallen world, or do you have hope that God will break through? Do you continue
in difference, or do we allow Christ, by the Holy Spirit, to fill our hearts
with love, so that we can seek justice, and love kindness, and walk humbly with
our God? Whose side are you on? Herod and Augustus? Or the babe born in
Bethlehem?

Posted in Advent, Christmas, Sermons | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

On Gifts

A Sermon preached on The Twelfth Sunday after Trinity
at The Anglican Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, Kefalas, Crete
on the 27th of August 2023.

The readings were Romans 12:1-8, Psalm 124, and Matthew 16:13-20.

While written for the late summer, it seems appropriate to publish this thirteen days before Christmas, when many of us are scurrying around looking for gifts, and wondering what we might get from our loved ones.

Let us spend a little time talking about gifts. Gifts in general, in human society, and gifts as understood in Christian teaching.

Gifts are – pun very much intended – part and parcel of human society (see what I did there?). Some societies are grounded in gift-giving. The indigenous peoples in British Columbia and the northwest of the United States are such societies. Among the Tlingit, Tsimshian, Nisga, Kwakwakewakw, and Coast Salish there are great feasts at which leaders and celebrants will give out many things – canned fish, oolichan grease, copper shields, bracelets, rings, masks, carvings and paintings. Non-tangible things are given as well, such as dances and songs, Sometimes the feast is to celebrate the giving of a storied name to a chief who has earned her or his status. At other times it is to celebrate a marriage. The feasting is, as one would expect a something called a feast, surrounded by food, largely salmon and other local delicacies; at one feast I attended I had some sealion stew. It is not at all unusual for well over a hundred people to attend, and for the hosts to prepare for over a year. The amount one gives away is correlated to one’s status. With the arrival of Europeans in the 19th century the resources available to be acquired and given away expanded, and the feasts became much greater events than before contact. The way in which some of the leadership seemingly impoverished themselves so shocked British and American officials and missionaries that in the early 20th century they banned the potlatch, as they called the feasts. In the past seventy-five years they have been restored as a central part of these First Nations’ culture, and it is an honour for an outsider to be invited, as I was.

Peace dance at Kwaxalanukwame’ ‘Namugwis, Chief William T. Cranmer’s potlatch, 1983.
President Macron’s Gift to King Charles III on his visit to France, September 2023: a gold medal to celebrate his accession to the throne and Franco-British friendship

We see gift-giving in Western and international societies. Doweries used to be very important, and still, in marriage engagements, a ring is offered, and at marriage rings are exchanged. Bridal showers and wedding gifts remain a thing. At summits and in diplomatic meetings gifts are exchanged, and much attention is paid to whether the gift is just right, and whether a snob is intended or the proper respect is being paid. And then there is Christmas, where the duty to buy presents seems to have more to do with keeping the economy going than generosity.

In some Continental philosophy the gift became an important issue. Is it a gift if we are tied up in expecting it to be reciprocal? Do we require thanks? Is it really a gift if the present comes with strings attached? If we look a gift horse in the mouth, are we truly grateful? Obviously in this kind of thinking we are a long ways away from coastal British Columbia.

Christian gifts can be looked at few ways. First, there is the gift of creation and of our existence, and the challenge of what to do with our lives. Then there is the gift of redemption, in which God in Christ reaches out to us in a freely offered self-sacrifice and letting go, and invites us into the mystery. When Paul uses the word “gift” or χάρισμα he is usually thinking of spiritual gifts, and a non-exhaustive list includes:

  • faith;
  • prophecy;
  • leadership;
  • diligence;
  • encouragement;
  • ministry;
  • teaching;
  • compassion;
  • cheerfulness
  • tongues;
  • discernment;
  • interpretation of tongues;
  • powerful acts;
  • hospitality;
  • and the crafting of things

As you hear me listing some of these you might be thinking, well, so-and-so has always had that gift. Well, perhaps so, but the gift that they have naturally is no less a gift of God from being there from birth or childhood. And, some people, in coming to faith, receive gifts of compassion that leads them from self-concern to being concerned for others. It’s like the so-called Prayer of St Francis:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me bring love.
Where there is offence, let me bring pardon.
Where there is discord, let me bring union.
Where there is error, let me bring truth.
Where there is doubt, let me bring faith.
Where there is despair, let me bring hope.
Where there is darkness, let me bring your light.
Where there is sadness, let me bring joy.

O Master, let me not seek as much
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love,
for it is in giving that one receives,
it is in self-forgetting that one finds,
it is in pardoning that one is pardoned,
it is in dying that one is raised to eternal life.

We pray this to God not because we have never done these things, but because if we are to continue to do them consistently we need the power of Holy Spirit within us and the gracious favour of God to persist and do the right thing. If we rely on ourselves and do not look to Jesus, we are liable to go off track, make compromises, and fall into self-justification.

What I notice is that when someone has identified their spiritual gifts, they realise that this is what they are really passionate about. We get the spiritual gifts we need to fulfill our Christ-like calling.

So, my friends, if you have not already done so, consider what gifts God has given you, and make your lights so shine that others may see your good works, and give God glory.

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The Second “Affliction” of George Herbert

Affliction (2017) by Cerise Brg

I have not written about the poems of George Herbert in over a year, so I will have a go during this Advent, perhaps Herbert wrote once or twice, perhaps more. We shall see.

Herbert wrote no fewer than five poems with the title “Affliction”. I have already written about the first one in The Temple, known as “Affliction (1)”, and in this post I will look at “Affliction (2). Whereas the first “Affliction” may be Herbert’s most autobiographical, the second is much shorter and more focused on Jesus compared with generic human suffering. Behind that may be Herbert’s genuine suffering – his consumption and his failure to achieve a position at court, but in the poem itself there is little that might not apply to any other person’s suffering. Here is the poem:

Affliction (2)

Kill me not ev’ry day,
Thou Lord of life; since thy one death for me
Is more than all my deaths can be,
Though I in broken pay
Die over each hour of Methusalem’s stay.

If all men’s tears were let
Into one common sewer, sea, and brine;
What were they all, compar’d to thine?
Wherein if they were set,
They would discolour thy most bloody sweat.

Thou art my grief alone,
Thou Lord conceal it not: and as thou art
All my delight, so all my smart;
Thy cross took up in one,
By way of imprest, all my future moan.

So, let’s begin with the technical issues. The lines are not all the same length. Each verse has syllables in the the pattern of 6/10/7/6/10. The rhyme is ABBAA. As is usual, Herbert mostly uses short words of one or two syllables, with “Methusalem” standing out with its four syllables.

The true artistry, as Anne Pasternak Slater points out, is in his use of metric harmony and disharmony to mirror spiritual states. She writes,

The poem wobbles at the start with its reversed first foot (‘Kíll mē’) to settle into a regular iambic beat thereafter, only breaking down again after the warning ‘broken pay’ of the penultimate line. The natural stresses, prompted by the sense (and italicized below) fall quite differently from the expected iambic template (also marked below) – so that, in effect, the line can only be spoken (heavily) as prose.

Diē óvēr eách hoūr of Mēthúsalēm’s stáy.

George Herbert, The Complete English Works (Everyman Library 204), New York NY: Knopf/Random House, 1995, p. li.

The poem, then, wobbles, settles down, and then breaks down into what is effectively prose. This happens three times, once in each stanza.

The theme of the poem is to “compare Christ’s suffering with the vast inadequacy of the Christian’s reciprocal grief.” (Pasternak Slater, p. 419).

In the first stanza the poet begs Christ not to afflict him with death every day. Presumably “death” here is not actual death, but suffering, but even if it were death, Jesus’s one death is greater in value than if the poet were to die every hour for the length of Methuselah’s life. Now, Methuselah is described in Genesis 5:27: “all the days of Methuselah were nine hundred sixty-nine years.” Twenty-four hours times nine-hundred and sixty-nine is 23,256, but the number is not so important as the disparity; some theologians would suggest that the death of the incarnate Word of God, fully human and fully divine, without sin, is infinite in its value. Whatever massive number the poet conceives, the value of Christ’s death, sufficing for all of humanity and the fallen cosmos, is greater.

In this Herbert demonstrates just how much of a Protestant he really is. While some commentators retroprojected onto him a High Church aspect, in valuing the death of Jesus as having a value greater than any one human death or many tens of thousands, he is referring to the penal substitution theory of atonement.

In the second stanza (I want to call it “the second verse”, but that’s more the sense of “verse” in hymnody than in poetry) the metaphor of suffering’s tears are used, and these are found to be less than that of Jesus’s bloody sweat. This is a reference to the the description in some ancient manuscripts of the Gospel according to Luke of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane: “In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground” (Luke 22.44). Now, while modern scholarship since the middle of the 19th century notes that this verse is not in the best and oldest copies (notably Sinaiticus, Vaticanus, and Alexandrinus, as well as many 3rd century papyri), and so may not be original with the author of the gospel, Herbert would not have known this, having depended on the Textus Receptus, the Vulgate, and various early modern English translations that included it.

What I find strange is that humanity’s tears would discolour Jesus’s bloody sweat; I would have thought that if the disparity were infinite then there should have been no discolouration. Perhaps I am misreading it, and Herbert is suggesting that the bloody sweat would discolour humanity’s tears, but that’s not the obvious sense of the words.

The third stanza identifies the poet’s suffering with that of Jesus: “Thy cross took up in one . . . all my future moan.” Only in becoming identified with Jesus does the affliction become bearable, “as thou art/
All my delight, so all my smart
.” One cannot have the delight without the affliction, because the goodness and glory of the divine leads to the cross, and the cross leads humanity back to the Good and the Glorious. “Imprest”, Pasternak Slater tells us, is the same as a deposit on a loan.The deposit, again, is of far greater value than all of the poet’s future suffering, or “moan”.

I personally have not encountered much suffering. I am, after all, a “white” male from the upper middle class, from a country where they speak English. I have experienced some depression, a few illnesses, one case of sexual assault when I was a minor, and some grief over the death of close ones, but that’s it. I have never experienced war, hunger, violence, repeated sexual abuse and exploitation, harassment, and the like of which is all too well known by persecuted minorities or innocents caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. This might explain why I never get too excited by the theology around “the blood of Christ”. I do not identify with a suffering Jesus, although I certainly see him as a persecuted First Century colonised subject of the Empire, abandoned by his disciples, denied by one and betrayed by another, and turned on by the collaborationist forces of Jerusalem and Judea. This simply encourages me to ensure that I am an ally on the side of those who are suffering.

The penal substitution theory of atonement does not appeal to me, either. I can give notional assent to it as being meaningful for others, but for me it is but one metaphor among meany that describe the ultimate meaning of the death of Jesus.

Thus, while I can admire the artistry of this poem, it is not one that really speaks for me. Perhaps Affliction (3) might be different?

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On Repentance (Not “Four Last Things: Heaven”)

A Sermon preached on The Second Sunday of Advent
at The Anglican Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, Kefalas, Crete,
on the10th of December 2023, at 11:00 am.

The readings were Isaiah 40:1-11, Psalm 85:1-2, 8-end, and Mark 1:1-8.    

I’ve now done two sermons on the Four Last Things, on Death and Judgement, so I really should do the next one on Heaven, and the one after that on Hell. The problem is, there’s no way to make the connection given what the readings are doing.

So, how about I preach on repentance instead, eh?

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

So, we read in verses four and five of the first chapter of Mark. Repentance here seems to mean confessing sins, being baptized, and being forgiven as a result.

Harry Dean Stanton (right) as John the Baptist in Martin Scorcese’s 1988 film The Last Temptation of Christ. Even Jesus (left, played by Willem Dafoe) looks a little freaked out by him.

John has been described as a homeless man, someone who lives off whatever is at hand, whether honey or locusts (” a spoonful of honey helps the locusts go down . . .”) , and he is definitely not part of the establishment or conventional society. And yet he is clearly charismatic (in the secular sense), drawing people to himself, somehow getting them to tell him their most secret and scandalous doings, and then offering them God’s forgiveness. He doesn’t make it easy – they have to go to him, presumably some distance; it’s a little over fifty km from Jerusalem to the traditional site of where he baptised. He does all this without the imprimatur of the religious elite in Jerusalem, or from the scribes, the Pharisees, the Saducees, or the Essenes, the Herodians, the Zealots, or any of the other Jewish groups in Judea. He is sui generis, in a class of his own (although he does have his disciples). He offends all of the groups in Judea, Samaria, and Galilee, and in time one party, the Herodians, are so ticked off that they imprison him, and ultimately put him to death.

The gospel portrays him as a prophet, and as the one who foretells of the coming of one who is greater than he and who will baptize with the Holy Spirit.

How does this all fit together?

Repentance is subversive. It subverts our fallen nature. Our fallen nature, our warped instincts, do not want us to be aware of our defects and faults, but wants us to continue as we are. If we become aware of our arrogant pride, our greed, our anger, our envy and jealousy, our lust and unhealthy desires for things and using people as objects, our gluttony and our sloth, well, maybe we will begin to think they are unhelpful, unnatural, and maybe we will want to live and become the beautiful creatures God has made us to be.

The problem is that it is hard to let go of these things. Indeed, some of us think we are defined by the mix of all these characteristics. What will be left if we lose these things? Won’t we just become empty shells?

And that’s where Jesus comes in. By being baptized with the Holy Spirit, we let go. John the Baptist and his baptism with water for the forgiveness of sins takes us part way, but not all the way. God may forgive us, but God wants to do more with us. God wants to change us, to renew us, to resurrect this fallen humanity into something like the image of Christ Jesus.

The Greek word μετάνοια, metanoia is usually translated as repentance in English, but it literally means “change of mind”. Our minds need to be refreshed by purity of desire, a willingness to restrain oneself, love filled with empathy and care, diligence and responsibility, patience, kindness, and humility. And these characteristics, which we can associate with Jesus, is what we want to be filled with. We want to be filled with Jesus.

John the Baptist prepares the way for Jesus, but we as individuals need to prepare ourselves, our souls and bodies, to receive Jesus as the one who sends the Holy Spirit into us and makes him like himself, his very body. But we cannot do it on our own. We need God to act – in the person of Jesus, in what has already been accomplished, and in the person of the Holy Spirit, filling us up.

Okay, maybe that’s what heaven really is – being in the presence of the Divine, “who art in heaven”, and being subject to God’s rule and will “on earth as it is in heaven.” We find heaven on earth by experiencing the transforming grace of God, something that begins with repentance as usually understood, but does not end with our action, but with God’s. So on this Second Sunday of Advent let us indeed repent and confess our sins, alone to God or to another person, but let us open ourselves to the one whose sandals we are not worthy to stoop down and untie, and, when we nevertheless try to do so we cannot, because we find him already kneeling before us in sacrificial love, washing our feet, redeeming us, giving himself and his life for us, and making us whole.

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Schism is Brutal: A Speech Not Given at General Synod November 2023

Last month the General Synod of the Church of England met in Church House to discuss the proposals from the House of Bishops (and the College of Bishops) emerging out of the Living in Love and Faith process. Some individuals spoke about having broken their relationships with their bishops, some argued for some form of alternative episcopal oversight, and and still others openly advocated leaving the Church of England. I thought to speak to the matter, and drafted the speech below, but did not get called upon to speak. Just as well, eh? I doubt anyone would have listened.

Image from the dust jacket of Raymond E. Brown’s The Epistles of John, A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (Anchor Bible Vol. 3) (New York, NY: Doubleday, 1982). Fr Brown notes that the context in the three Letters of John is that of a church which has recently undergone a division.

Good afternoon. Bruce Bryant-Scott, Europe 113. I speak in favour of the main motion.

I am a veteran of the same-sex blessing and same-sex marriage battles in the Anglican Church of Canada that took place over a decade ago. Conservative clergy and lay leaders opposed to any whiff of church approval of same-sex relations made demands for adequate alternative episcopal oversight. The House of Bishops in Canada made an offer that seemed to fit the bill, but it was rejected. Those wanting to maintain a conservative view on marriage wanted no contagion with the Anglican Church of Canada, and they went to other provinces on the Anglican Communion, such as the Anglican Church of Rwanda, the Province of the Southern Cone of the Americas, and elsewhere. Schism followed, as did lawsuits over property. Allow me to make some observations.

First, schism is horrible. It is a scandal. It is brutal. Previously friendly relationships are broken, and can devolve into acrimonious, antagonistic, and expensive legal action.

Second, in my experience we were all diminished by schism, both those who stayed and those who left. That said, those who left all too often saw their congregations quickly wither away and their ability to do ministry impeded. All too often, rather than being freed by breaking away, they remained chained by their anger and resentment. Those of us who were left moved on from anger and hurt, but we missed our old friends and the challenge to our theologies.

Finally, when the legal battles did break out over property and other such things, the bishops and dioceses almost always won, not merely because they had deep pockets for good lawyers, but more importantly, because the common law and ecclesiastical law was on their side. Dissident groups in the Anglican Church of Canada and in The Episcopal Church were told that they could, with a little bit of effort, leave the officially recognised denominations and take their properties with them. These promises, based on dodgy legal rhetoric, and fueled by anger and adrenaline, failed. The fundamental principle that was borne out again and again, is that while individual clergy and laity may leave a parish or a diocese, a parish cannot leave its bishop and diocese, any more than the metropolis of London can unilaterally leave the United Kingdom.

So, I say to those in this room and outside, those who are contemplating leaving the Church of England, or breaking with your bishop and diocese: don’t. From what I have seen, you will be a more effective force for evangelism by staying in the Church of England. Stay with us. The best theology is hammered out on the anvil of controversy and disagreement. You enrich our common life, despite difference and disagreement. God bless you, and this daft old Church of England.

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Who are the Blessed?

A Sermon for All Saints and All Souls at
The Anglican Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, Kefalas, Crete
transferred from November 1 and 2
and preached on 5 November 2023 11:00 am.

The Readings were: Revelation 7:9-17, Psalm 34:1-10, 22, 1 John 3:1-3, and Matthew 5:1-12.   

Stop for a moment and imagine yourself in the Beatitudes.

Where are you?
Who are you?
Are you blessed?
Do you feel like you fall short of qualifying for a blessing?

Some people hear the Beatitudes and think that these are descriptions of what a Christian should be. Certainly, St Francis of Assisi heard them that way: he sought to be poor, meek, to hunger and thirst for righteousness, to be merciful, pure in heart, a peacemaker, and for this he was persecuted, and reviled. And it’s not just Franciscans and Catholics who hear it this way, this is also a common attitude in Evangelical circles.

But I recently read an author, Dallas Willard, an American philosopher and Baptist layman who also taught about the Christian faith, who argued that what this is actually is Jesus declaring blessed those whom the world sees as hopeless. Jesus brings the good news to those who are suffering the most.

Now, in the First Century, as in the Twenty-First Century, the world sees those blessed and fortunate

  • those who are rich, and rich in confidence,  
  • those who are avoid vulnerability and suffering, and focus on the good times and having fun
  • those who are arrogant and control the earth
  • those whose power and might means they get to define what is right
  • those who are savage and cruel, because people will fear them and their revenge
  • those who don’t give a damn about what’s in their heart, because they are self-contained narcissist
  • those who get revenge on their enemies
  • those who persecute others
  • those who are honoured for their awesome and frightful power.

Now, when put like that, this set of counter-beatitudes may not be what you want, but these days it seems like an awful lot of people believe that it is better to be powerful than it is to be like what Jesus describes. Machiavelli is the man of the moment, not Jesus, despite the lip-service given to him.

That’s the importance of All Saints and All Souls. In the Saints of the past twenty centuries we see the ideals of Christianity lived out – never perfectly, but still, rather impressively. In commemorating All Souls we hold up the fact that God is merciful and accepts even the most miserable of sinners – yes, even you, even me. God will transform us, and is transforming us. God collapses time and space and together we all with all the people of ages past present and future gather at the Banquet of the Lamb.

So, for us,

  • the kingdom of heaven is ours, not just in the future, but also now.
  • we will be comforted, and are comforted now
  • we will inherit the earth, and we are stewards of creation this very day
  • we will be filled with righteousness, and taste it even now.
  • we see mercy
  • we see God
  • as children of God, we see the possibility of peace even in the depths of violence and war
  • despite persecution among some of us, we reign in heaven with the apostles and Jesus
  • despite being reviled and mocked, we will receive our reward, and already have it in Jesus.

We are a people of hope, hope in the face of despair. We are a people who challenge the worst aspects of our culture and our nations. So let us rejoice and be glad, for we are the Body of Christ, and we are blessed.

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Two Speeches at General Synod November 2023

I am a member of the General Synod of the Church of England, which is the legislative body of that denomination in which I work. I am one of three clergy elected from the Diocese in Europe, and along with three laity also elected, plus our Diocesan Bishop, the Rt Rev Dr Robert Innes, we are the seven person team from the nearly three-hundred congregations across Europe, Asian Turkey, and western North Africa. We meet in General Synod, usually twice a year, with a meeting in February in Church House, a purpose built meeting space and office building next to Westminster Abbey, and another in the University of York in July. This year we had a third meeting in Westminster in order to deal with the Redress Scheme and with the Living in Love and Faith proposals.

There are three hundred of us at General Synod, and it can be hard to get recognised by the chair to speak to a motion. Somehow I got recognised not just once, but twice. Here are the YouTube videos of the speeches I gave.

The first is from Tuesday morning, 14 November 2023.  In it I argue for the proposed Redress Scheme for survivors of sexual abuse by people in the church. Click on this link, and it should open a new window in which you can run the video.

In this second speech on Wednesday afternoon, 15 November 2023, I talk about how we might trust the Bishops more and affirm them in their work on Living in Love and Faith.  Again, click on this link to watch the video.

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The Gospel According to Mark: Some Preliminary Notes


In September 2023 we started an in-person Small Group Bible Study here in the Anglican Church of St Thomas the Apostle, Crete, and we meet at 4:00 PM every Monday at a congregant’s home. The group decided to study the Gospel According to Mark, being a relatively short and “simple” gospel, and perhaps one of the earliest witnesses to the good news about Jesus. If you are in Crete, contact me and I will tell you how you can join us.

An Ancient Text

Before I make any posts with some notes about the various chapters, I will start with some general ones about the Gospel, as well as the New Testament.

The Christian Bible, with its two parts we call the Old Testament and the New Testament, is probably the oldest text that most people in Western society will ever read. Unless they are type of folks who enjoy reading Homer or Julius Caesar, or are adherents of Confucianism reading The Analects, or just a reader having a go at a translation of the Epic of Gilgamesh, the Bible is likely the only ancient work that they look at. So, I suggest, we need to consider the fact that it is not a text like one produced in modern times – it is not a novel like the ones written by Charles Dickens, or an historical document like constitution of the United States, or a history like the one Winston Churchill wrote about the Second World War. The conventions around such texts were unknown in the first century when the gospels were written, and the expectations that the readers had and the assumptions of the writers were also different.

Among those assumptions are these:

  • Most people experienced the text not as readers, but as listeners. They probably listened to someone reading the text.
  • The text may well have been read in one go. It might take ninety minutes to two hours to read something like the Gospel according to Mark.
  • The author was anonymous, and the identity of the author was not as important as the content. The earliest attribution to John Mark, mentioned in Acts, dates from the late second century. The earliest record of the title with the text dates from the fourth century. This anonymous character is true of all four gospels. Thus, we only have the text.
  • Mark is considered to be the first of the four gospels that was written, and Matthew and Luke demonstrate that they used Mark as a written source for their versions of the life of Jesus. Thus, it is important to know that this was a new genre – there were no preconceptions from the first readers/listeners about what form this text should take, or how the story should go.
  • The listeners would not have expected the text to be literally true, in the sense that it was in a historical sequence; rather, they were looking for the truths that mattered to them.
  • The first readers/listeners would not have considered the gospels to be sacred, in the same sense that the Torah or the Prophets were holy writings – but they would have considered the object of the story told as sacred.
  • At best the readers/listeners were ambivalent about the Roman Empire, and more likely considered it to be the means of oppression by an elite. The first readers/listeners did not speak Latin, the language of the Empire, but Greek, and were probably not citizens, but subjects, including freedmen and slaves.

Transmission

Let’s consider its transmission history. This is some 1900 years long – a tremendously long time. Initially it was probably written on papyrus, a kind of paper hand made from the pith of Cyperus papyrus, a kind of reedy plant. Papyrus paper does not last in most climates, as humidity and the ordinary ravages of time destroys it, so most of what we have comes from the dry climate of Egypt. These have been found in graves, buried in the sand, and occasionally reused for various purposes. The oldest fragment of the gospel appears to be something scholars catalog as P.Oxy LXXXIII 5345 from late second to early third century A.D. Below is a photo of the two sides of the fragment from the scholarly report about it, and the little piece, about an inch (two cm) tall, is, as you can see, just a scrap. Despite that, it is identifiably from Mark 1.7-9, 16-18. It is, of course, written in Hellenistic Greek, or koiné.

In the time of Jesus all manuscripts were on scrolls – sheets of papyrus joined together in a long roll, and written on only on one side. Indeed, to this day, in synagogues Jews read from Torah scrolls. In the two centuries after Jesus a new technology emerged, called a codex – a bound manuscript with many individual pages sewn together and written on both sides of the paper. As used as we are to these codices, which we think of when we thing of books, someone had to invent them, and when invested they quickly caught on, largely because they were more cost effective (using both sides of the paper) and more easy to use, as one only had to flip pages instead of scrolling along and rolling and unrolling the book. We can tell that P.Oxy LXXXIII 5345 above is from a papyrus codex because it is written on both sides.

We do not start finding complete manuscripts until the Fourth Century. By then there is usually a title attached, commonly at the end of the gospel. These are often written on vellum – sheep skins that have been treated to form a kind of canvas on which a scribe can write something. Vellum was very expensive, and complete Bibles would have cost a king’s ransom. The two oldest more or less complete Bibles are on vellum and have names – Codex Vaticanicus, because it is in the Vatican Library, and Codex Sinaiticus, because it was found in the Monastery of St Catherine at the foot of Mount Sinai. It is not an accident that these codices were written only after Christianity was legalised, and they were probably financed by Imperial patronage or some other wealthy aristocrat. Codex Sinaiticus may well have sat in the monastery in Sinai from the 4th Century until it was “rediscovered” in the late 19th century. Likewise, while Vaticanus was known to exist in the 16th century, it was only in the late 19th Century that a copy of it was published. A third great Bibe, the Codex Alexandrinus, appears to date from the Fifth Century. Both Alexandrinus and Sinaiticus are in the British Library, and are on display physically in its gallery of treasures, and they have been made available digitally in whole or in part. If you are wondering how they are dated, it is done by an analysis of the writing (paleography) and the material it is written on.

It needs to be kept in mind that these were written by hand. The hands in these codices are identifiable. Because the codices were handwritten, moveable type not reaching Europe until the 15th century, it means that variations occurred. Sometimes the variations were due to mistakes, such as skipping a line or a word. In other cases the copier might not have been able to make out what a word was in the text they were working from, so made a guess. Often the scribe disbelieved what a text wrote, and so smoothed it out, or made additions. Over time these variations accumulated. Because the texts were copied repeatedly, there developed “families” of manuscripts. In the late fourth century one family of texts, known as the Byzantine, began to predominate. These were the types of texts that were rediscovered in the early modern period (sixteenth century) and became known in Western Europe as the Textus Receptus, or the received text. In the 19th century, as older manuscripts were found, it was determined that the Byzantine family of texts did not always preserve the very best readings, but the accumulations of errors and editorial changes. Thus, starting in the mid- to late 19th century, critical editions of the New Testament emerged that were based on Vaticanus, Alexandrinus, and Sianaiticus. These were supplemented by even older papyrus fragments of scrolls, which continue to be unearthed to this day. As well, there are very old translations into Syriac, Latin, Coptic, Ethiopic, Armenian, and Georgian which may preserve variant readings from Greek originals that no longer exist, or which preserve older readings that disappeared in the Byzantine family of manuscripts.

Modern textual criticism deals with all of this, and sifts through all the variants and makes educated guesses at the best readings. Most modern translations of the New Testament use the Novum Testamentum Graece (The New Testament in Greek) that is now in its 28th Edition; as the original editors were two men named Eberhard Nestle and Kurt Aland, it is known as NA28. The United Bible Societies have a less heavily footnoted version of NA28, now in its fifth edition, and is known as UBS5. There is also a commentary in English on the text, noting the most important variants, why the editors preferred one reading over others, and the strength of that conviction (listed as A, B, C, D, where A is quite certain, and D means they really don’t know what was in the original). Some Bible translators continue to use the Textus Receptus (the New King James Version is an example of that), but they are in the minority and, in my opinion, just wrong.

The Art of Translation

Unless you are fluent in Koine Greek (pronounced “Kee-neh”) you are dependent on translators; I am not fluent in either Koine (or Standard Modern Greek), but I know enough to be able to distinguish between translations that I think are good and accurate and those that are not.

Translation is an art. Sometimes it is simple enough, but it becomes more complex when the grammar and vocabulary in the original text are different from that in the target language. English has a massive vocabulary that allows for many shades of meaning, Koine Greek, not so much. Word order in English is very important, whereas in a highly inflected language like Greek playing the word order is much more flexible. Further, because of the inflection, what we in English would consider as run-on sentences are perfectly allowable in Koine Greek.

There are three basic types of translation. One aims for word-for word translation. In English the King James Version is the best example of that – where a word is translated one way in a text, it is probably translated the same way elsewhere. This can be problematic, because the word in English may not have exactly the same range of meaning as the word in Greek. Thus, πνεύμα in Greek can be translated as “breath”, “spirit”, “wind”, and “ghost.” As well, and particularly in Paul, the KJV sometimes reproduces the Greek syntax and word order, which makes it less than fluent English. More recent translations in the last hundred years have used a broader vocabulary, works to get fluent English word order, and breaks up the sentences into digestible lengths. These types of translations are often called “literal” in that they try for a great degree of accuracy.

A second type of translation is called “dynamic equivalence”. This type of translation attempts to find equivalent phrases in a language to match phrases or words in the original. In Hebrew, for example, if someone is standing before someone else, they “before the face of” that person; in English instead of the literal translation one can simply say, “in front of.” This, of course, allows for greater judgement on the part of the translator.

A final type of translation is a paraphrase, where the translator will use modern idioms or situations to give the meaning to the original. While many people find these kinds of translations helpful, they are very interpretive and often demonstrate the translator’s biases. I personally avoid paraphrases. I have been in too many Bible studies where people think they understand a difficult passage because their paraphrase phrases it in a particular way, but what they fail to understand is that it may just be an obscure passage in the original, too, or it is so far removed from our experience that we do not get the meaning. Often the translators using paraphrase remove ambiguity where the author intended it.

Translation gets very difficult indeed when it is poetry, because much of the effect is built up in compact sentences with poetic meters and sounds. The Gospel according to Mark does not have poetry in it, and there are debates about how much is in the New Testament, but it is definitely present in the Hebrew Bible.

One of the important things to know about the Gospel of Mark is that much of it is written in the present tense of Koine Greek. This is the difference between, “I threw the ball to Billy” and “I throw the ball to Billy.” Now, while it is not unknown in modern English literature (John Updike’s Rabbit, Run is in the present tense) it is not common. This gives it an immediacy, but most translations put the verbs into the various forms of the past tense, as that is more conventional in English narration. So, right there, we have lost a major stylistic decision of the author.

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The Name of God

A Sermon preached on The Thirteenth Sunday after Trinity
at The Anglican Church of St. Thomas the Apostle, Kefalas, Crete
on September 3, 2023, at 11:00 am

The readings were  Exodus 3.1-15, Psalm 105:1-6, 23-26, 45c, and Matthew 16:21-28.

“If they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” God said to Moses, “I am who I am.”

Exodus 3.13-14
Moses and the Burning Bush by Marc Chagall (1966)

God has many names. God, Elohim, Θεός.

But in today’s first reading God identifies himself with a name that is pretty obscure to most people, or if they know it, follow the tradition of treating it as too holy to pronounce. That name is Yahweh, and in the Hebrew Bible that is the way the God of the Israelites is addressed. You may recall when Roman Catholic English translation of the Bible, The Jerusalem Bible, came out in 1966, it used that name. In the psalm as we read this morning we heard, as is found in the translation given in “Common Worhsip” (2000):

O give thanks to the Lord and call upon his name . .
Seek the Lord and his strength,

but in “The Jerusalem Bible” (1966) it reads

Give thanks to Yahweh, call his name aloud . . .
Seek Yahweh and his strength,

Yahweh is the name of God. It occurs over 6000 times in the Hebrew Bible, what we call the Old Testament. It even has a short form: Yah, and it shows up in the word “Hallelu-Yah” which simply means “Praise Yah”. Our reading from Exodus gives the name an origin. Moses asks, who shall I say sent me? And God answers, אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה‎‎ ’ehye ’ăšer ’ehye, which is translated into English as, “I am who I am”. However, it’s a bit ambiguous in the original ancient Hebrew, and other scholars have translated it as: I am who is”, “I will become what I choose to become”, “I will be what I will be”, and even “I create what I create”. It is likely that the name “Yahweh” predates the story of Moses being commissioned by God, and the giving of the name ehye ’ăšer ’ehye; it is a etymology which sounds right and is theologically meaningful, but was probably a creation of the author of Exodus, or a tradition about the name which was passed down through the ages.

So, if God has a name, why do we not use it? Why do we not call the Divine Yahweh, or Yah? After all, Moses did, and all the prophets did so. What happened?

Sometime, perhaps three centuries before the time of Jesus, pious Jews began to feel that the personal name of God was so holy that it should not be spoke aloud, not even when reading the Torah in the Synagogue. In reading the Torah and other parts of the Hebrew Bible in the synagogue readers started to replace the name “Yahweh” with “Adonai”, which simply means, “the Lord”. This is what was carried over into the Septuagint, the Greek translation of Bible done a century or two before Jesus. Today pious Jews consider even Adonai too sacred, and will simply refer to God as “Ha shem”, or the Name. This practice was carried over into the Greek New Testament, and virtually all English translations. Look in the Old Testament of your Bible – a printed one, as digital ones may not be so precise, and you will see “The Lord” typically printed all in capital letters – and this signifies that it replaces Yahweh in the original Hebrew.

Now, I personally do not have a problem using the name of God, but I can understand that after more than twenty centuries some people find it a bit odd, if not sacrilegious. Certainly, many people found The Jerusalem Bible, with its consistent use of Yahweh, a bit disconcerting. Indeed, in 2008 Pope Benedict XVI had the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments instruct the Roman Catholic Church to cease using the divine name in translations, as well as songs and psalms.

There are two ways in which the name Yahweh carries over into the New Testament. First, the name Jesus. In Greek it is Ἰησοῦς, and over time, through Latin and Old Germanic, vowel shifts and so forth, it became our “Jesus. Ἰησοῦς is the Greek form of the Hebrew and Aramaic יֵשׁוּעַ‎ (Yeshuaʿ/Y’shuaʿ), a shorter form of יְהוֹשֻׁעַ‎ (Yehoshuaʿ), or Joshua. Now, all Biblical names seem to have meanings. יְהוֹשֻׁעַ‎ is usually translated into English as “The Lord saves” but it literally is, “Yah saves” – that short name of God. So, every time we use the name Jesus, we use the personal name of God. It’s been garbled in its journey from Hebrew to English from Yeshuaʿ to Jesus, but it’s still there.

The other way in which “Yahweh” really shows up in the New Testament is in the Gospel according to John. There Jesus regularly makes what are called the “I am” statements. In the original Greek it is an emphatic I am: Ἐγώ εἰμί. And they are bold claims:

  • I am the Bread of Life (John 6:35)
  • I am the Light of the World (John 8:12)
  • I am the Door (John 10:9)
  • I am the Good Shepherd (John 10:11,14)
  • I am the Resurrection and the Life (John 11:25)
  • I am the Way and the Truth and the Life (John 14:6)
  • I am the Vine (John 15:1,5)
  • Unless you believe that I am, you will die in your sins” (John 8:24)
  • Before Abraham was, I am (John 8:58)

In all these uses and appearances the author of the gospel is building on the claim that shows up at the start of the book:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

John 1.1.

Jesus is not just the son of God, like the Roman Emperors of the time claimed, not is he somewhat semi-divine, like the Greek hero Hercules. He is not merely another prophet sent to save the people. The use of all these “I am” statements mean that he is God – he is fully divine. The continued use of Ἐγώ εἰμί I am is a reference back to ’ehye ’ăšer ’ehye, and the name has power. This is seen in chapter 18, when the police and the chief priests and the Pharisees arrest him.

Detail from The Guards Falling Backwards by James Tissot (c.1886/1894)

Jesus, knowing all that was to happen to him, came forward and asked them, ‘For whom are you looking?’ They answered, ‘Jesus of Nazareth.’ Jesus replied, ‘I am.  Judas, who betrayed him, was standing with them. When Jesus said to them, ‘I am he’, they stepped back and fell to the ground.

John 18.4-6

Jesus in this telling literally knocks people of their feet with “I am.”

But our gospel reminds us of the nature of this power. It is a power which empties itself, and we have heard today,

Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.

Matthew 16.21

and

If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.

Matthew 16.24-25

So, my friends, in Jesus we see the nature of the name of God, the one who is, the one who saves, the one who in human flesh pours out himself for all humanity. Let us let go of the temptations of power, and follow Jesus, the one through whom we know the true character of Divinity.

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