Christmas observation is interpretation

All observation is interpretation; I’m sure someone must have said that before. It has certainly been widely discussed. We never simply “see”. Facts are never delivered to us neatly isolated from everything else and wrapped up in a bow. Or to change the metaphor, there is no truth tree that if shaken drops fully formed, ripened and reliable facts into our laps to be consumed. That’s just not how the universe is. That said, there is stuff to be known, observations to constructed and interpreted. And it is sometimes interesting to note when something that is knowable, is not known by folk you’d think would know better. I was surprised by the surprise of Melvyn Bragg this morning on the R4 “Today” programme (which he was guest editing) when he discovered that the Bible accounts of Jesus birth do not specify three wise men (there are three gifts, but the number of “magi” isn’t given). I would have expected Melvyn to know his Bible better than that. Slightly later on I was also surprised at the surprise of “the undercover economist” Tim Harford (presenter of “More or Less” a programme about numbers), who was confused both about the number of “wise men” and their status. He appeared to think they were kings, again something that isn’t claimed by the Gospel writers. What is actually stated in Matthew and Luke’s birth narratives is basic stuff and eminently knowable (if apparently widely unknown). However, even many of the “facts” about that first “Christmas” even if known could appear somewhat underwhelming (as discussed previously). So both before and after the key event (the actual birth of Jesus) help is provided for us to understand something of the significance of what is going on. To help us interpret what we can observe correctly. You wouldn’t want to get this wrong.

Luke lays out, in great detail and as part of his “orderly account”, many of the preparatory moves. After centuries of what seemed like divine silence (the theme of a previous post), and several degrees of confusion amongst the Jews of the period (was their exile over or not? had their God forgotten about them? why were they still under gentile rule not to say oppression?), things suddenly started to happen almost as though to tee up a coming main event. The story of Zechariah and Elizabeth (the parents of John the Baptist) never really figures in modern nativities, but Luke clearly sees it as highly relevant to the story of both Jesus birth and His later public ministry. But it also acts as a bit of a wake up call. And Mary’s older (and certainly more experienced) cousin Elisabeth provides her with necessary support when bizarre things also happen to her. But even having been alerted that something pretty amazing is going to happen, the significant facts of Jesus actual birth are so intrinsically unbelievable, that many at the time (and certainly since) assume a simple explanation for a) Mary being pregnant and b) Joseph not being the father. After all, the problem was not that Joseph (and everyone else) did not know where babies come from, rather the problem was that he did (hence his initial idea of quietly divorcing his betrothed). And yet, as amazing as Jesus conception and birth are, the climax of the story could simply be perceived to be what looks like a fairly ordinary baby, albeit laid in a feeding trough. To this extent, it is difficult to see what the fuss is about (particularly if we miss some of Gabriel’s hints and how they relate to the angel’s own personal history).

So, because all observation is interpretation, and because interpretation always requires subsidiary facts (or a network of background beliefs and assumptions), we’re given some help. This is aimed at helping us understand not so much the how but the who of Bethlehem. This is where the shepherds and the “magi” come in, and their focus is on who the baby is, not so much how or where the baby was to be found (although neither of these is unimportant). Of the two, the shepherds are perhaps given both the most and the most dramatic help to understand what they will be seeing when they look into that feeding trough. Like Mary they have a scary encounter with an angel (no doubt made scarier still by the “glory of the Lord” which also appeared). Like Mary they are told things that for them (as they would have been for any of us) are scarcely reconcilable. On they one hand they will find themselves looking at the Messiah (Luke uses the Greek equivalent “Christ”) who has indeed come to save or rescue His people (the clue was in His name of course). And there is a heavy hint as to His divinity too; in calling Him “Lord” (κυριος, kyrios) Luke uses the Greek word used for God’s name in the Greek translation of the Old testament). But on the other they’ll be staring at a baby! The magi make their way from the east (we aren’t told from whence or precisely when) guided by a sign in the sky and their own learning. They sought extra help from the very earthly source of King Herod of course. They think they are looking for a king, it is apparently Herod who works out they are looking for the Messiah. What is often missed about these (probably Gentile) men, is that when they see the baby they fall down and worship Him. Clearly they are not merely seeing a baby and being suitably appreciative. Nor is their action merely one of respect. It is one of worship – they too are looking on not just a baby, but a being who is worthy of their worship. But this was revealed, rather than worked out, just as it was for the shepherds.

It would take lots of other people a long time to work out what these two groups were told. Some never got it. Many still don’t. If you just observe a story about a baby (or perhaps several contradictory stories about a baby – something else I heard on the radio this morning) you will be seeing but yet not seeing. That too turned out to be true of lots of people who would see and hear the man the baby grew up to become, and lots of people who hear (or indeed read) about Him today. 

Happy Christmas.

"Of the making of books......"

A new year, and a new pile of books has appeared (as if by magic). It is just a little pile for the moment. One of them is part of a longer term project and I won’t really be able to tackle it properly for a while, but I was being pushed for Christmas present suggestions. Another is a holdover from 2023 which I’ve nearly finished reading. The rest are the “next” in the queue to be read. I get the feeling that the writer of Ecclesiastes was a bit ambivalent abut books, even at a time when there were far fewer of them about (see what he has to say about them in Ecc 12:12). These days all sorts of things get published. Just because something appears in a book (or is published in a journal as I used to stress to students) doesn’t guarantee good sense, wisdom or helpfulness. But I’m reasonably hopeful this pile will get my reading year off to a good start.

At the bottom of the pile is the Tyndale House Greek New Testament (Reader’s Edition, published by Crossway). Foundational to reading, and more importantly to understanding, is what God has to say. He sets the agenda and provides the framework. God is a speaking God, and although not knowable apart from his revelation of himself, what he says is understandable in any language. We all think using a framework that consists of a cloud of background assumptions and commonplaces. It’s important to know where it comes from. I want mine to depend on what God has said in his word, the Bible. What was written by the human authors of the Bible was obviously written down in a language other than English. However, it looses none of its power when translated, whether into English or any other language. This was a major bone of contention at the time of the Reformation, although the issue was really who had the authority to interpret Scripture. Ordinary believers were claimed not to be able or allowed to interpret it for themselves, so why let them read it in their own language? There is also a contrast here with Islam. The Koran only carries authority when read and cited in Arabic. As Pickthall wrote of his own English translation “The Quran cannot be translated. [This] is only an attempt to present the meaning of the Quran … in English. It can never take the place of the Quran in Arabic, nor is it meant to do so.”

So why bother learning New Testament Greek? Because not everything is equally clear and straightforward as the New Testament itself says (e.g. see 2 Peter 3:16), and all translation involves a degree of interpretation. To get into the mind of the writers in their own language is to gain a useful new perspective. Therefore, rather later than I probably should have, I’ve embarked on learning New Testament Greek. It won’t be a quick or easy process. But I hope to have completed the basics over the next eight months or so, and then there’s the possibility of progressing to some of the language modules offered by Union where I did my MTh. Perhaps by the year’s end, I’ll be able to read the odd verse here or there.

The holdover is Barclay’s “Paul & the Gift”; I started it last month (i.e. last year). It takes a bit of reading and illustrates why getting on top of NT Greek can be so useful. Barclay explores Paul’s use of the idea of a gift (linked with concepts like grace and mercy). You might wonder why this is needed given that the writing in question has been around for two thousand years or so. My view is that the big picture is fairly clear and easily understood. In my natural state I cannot work my way into acceptability with a God who is perfect, holy and just. But neither can he just “let me off” as an act of “simple” mercy – that would be outrageously unjust; he would become something less than he is. And if he just lets me off, what about you? That looks suspiciously capricious as well as unjust. So instead he does something daring in the extreme not to say surprising. He takes my punishment on himself (in the person of Jesus) and then he lets me off. Turns out it is simple. But then again it isn’t really. This leaves all sorts of issues hanging. Some of the complications are to do with how Paul discusses all of this especially in his letters to the Romans and the Galatians (hence the usefulness of the Greek, which Barclay quotes and discusses in detail). Some of the issues are to do with how Paul’s writing relates to the Judaism of his day, and how this is to be understood (something that changes from time to time). And some of it has to do with the ways we think today about gift and grace, which turns out to be different to what these things meant in the ancient world. All well worth exploring in more detail, which Barclay certainly does.

Sounds a bit heavy. Much shorter is Peter Williams “The Surprising Genius of Jesus” which is primarily a look at what is commonly called the “parable of the prodigal”. Williams, now principal of Tyndale House, was involved in producing the Greek NT I’m looking forward to being able to read, and is an expert in Greek (and other things). So this will again be about the specifics of the language Jesus uses and how he tunes it to the precise context of his original audience. William's point is that this is done with such skill that Jesus demonstrates not just the genius of an expert story teller but the genius of the original author; he is of course both.

I have some philosophy/philosophical theology in my pile In the form of Plantinga’s “Knowledge and Christian Belief” and Tyson’s “A Christian Theology of Science” (which I mentioned briefly previously). How do we know what we think we know? Plantinga is perhaps best known for his book “Warranted Christian Knowledge”, but the book in my pile is later, shorter and perhaps an easier read. No doubt to the bemusement of that rarest of beasts the “new atheist”, Christian belief (along with lots of other wild and wacky stuff) is potentially respectable again. This may be the product of a culture that has privatised belief and elevated the principle of tolerance to totemic status. If sincerely held belief is beyond criticism (at least when privately held and not inflicted on others), then this must apply to Christian beliefs. Where such beliefs raise their head in public, say in academic debate, they should be given a polite hearing, if only to be dismissed as just someone else’s “truth”. Tyson seeks to give priority to Christian belief (or at least theology) over even science. That this should be at all entertained is very different to the attitudes I was exposed to as a student forty years ago. It was taken for granted that progress, particularly in science, meant we could dispense with certain types of belief which were only for the weak-minded. How things have changed, at least superficially.

Some history next: a two volume biography of Selina, the Countess of Huntingdon (obtained from the excellent Kernaghan's bookshop) and Richard Turnbull’s biography of Shaftesbury (“Shaftesbury: The Great Reformer”). Selina was an influential participant in the “Great Awakening” of the eighteenth century. Although almost forgotten now, she was one of the great supporters of George Whitefield and a number of other prominent preachers. What the Awakening achieved is disputed by historians, but arguably is saved Great Britain from the kind of revolution that afflicted France at the end of the eighteenth century, and laid the basis for major social reforms in the nineteenth. Some of these were implemented by Shaftesbury, hence the idea of reading about the two together. I confess that I’m looking forward to these as “light relief” meaning no disrespect to their authors. I love reading history and had the privilege of studying the history and theology of evangelicalism with Richard Turnbull not that long ago. He was kind enough to give us his copies of his book, so I’ve felt morally obliged to read it for a while. I’m sure it will be a treat.

Finally on the pile is John Wyatt’s account of his friendship with John Stott (“Transforming Friendship”). John Stott was probably almost as influential as Shaftesbury but at a very different time and in a very different way. I was attracted to this book because at its heart is a friendship, the topic of my dissertation. That was dry, clipped, academic, referenced – it was theory. Wyatt’s book is of interest because it is about personal practicality. An interesting contrast.

So, these are the books that make up my initial pile for 2024. Looks like a good reading year already.

Easter 2023: Welcome to the flip side….

Poor Matthew (Parris) doesn’t get it. I get why he doesn’t get it. And he isn’t alone. His problem is both relatively straightforward and relatively common. As Benjamin Franklin wrote in a letter to Jean-Baptiste Le Roy in 1789 “...in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes” – and dead people stay dead. So I can forgive Matthew for being confused as to the significance of Jesus’ death. Writing in his Times column yesterday under the title “I’ll choose heroes before martyrs any day”, Matthew described Jesus as “the supreme example of a great man felled by midgets”. He was objecting to the notion that Jesus death proves or validates His teaching: “That Jesus was falsely accused and cruelly crucified does not make him a better man, or his teachings more true than if he had lived comfortably to ripe old age.. The depth of his suffering has no bearing on the validity of the Christian message..”. His basic thesis was that Jesus died a victim and His victimhood generated such sympathy that it prevented (and prevents) a proper analysis of what He taught. This rather implies that Jesus’ death was either a miscalculation or bad luck, but not in any way key to who He was or what He was seeking to do. But this indicates that Matthew has entirely missed the meaning and significance of Jesus’ death (for it has both). It is something that is easily done.

The reason he misses the point is that he is focussing on only half of the story. There’s lot about Jesus’ death that might make one rage (much as I was doing on Friday). At a minimum it certainly came as a huge disappointment to His earliest followers. But if Jesus simply died, coming to a horrible end, that could not possibly validate His message (to this extent I agree with Matthew). In fact it would convincingly invalidate His message. If He was merely a victim, He could be no example. For on its own, His death would proves nothing beyond Him being either a fool or a liar. Who would want to follow either? This is because He Himself was very clear about the place and circumstances of His death, and spoke about them repeatedly. But He also insisted that His death would not be the end. His original audience either did not hear Him, did not understand Him or did not believe Him. That inner group of disciples, so traumatised by the events of “good” Friday, were every bit as incapable as Matthew at putting it all together. They were so sure that dead people stay dead, and Jesus was certainly dead. So that was that. But then they should also have known that this is not entirely true. Among their wider number was a man called Lazarus. Lazarus had died, but Jesus had raised Him from the dead. You would have thought that this might have caused them to pause and ponder when a number of women reported to them that Jesus tomb was empty on the Sunday morning following Jesus’ Friday death, and that they had been told that the reason the tomb was empty was that Jesus was alive.

We are able to gain bit of an insight into the thought process (or rather the lack of thereof) going on inside the heads of the first Christians that particular Sunday. Luke records a conversation that two of them had with a seemingly ignorant stranger, as they trudged, depressed, from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35). They had placed their hopes in Jesus, but these had been dashed by His death. So certain were they that His death had marked the end of those hopes, that they had totally discounted clear evidence that something remarkable had happened. They had heard the report of the women that Jesus’ tomb was empty. And they knew that this was not wishful thinking on the womens’ part, because it had been confirmed by others (i.e. men). They knew that the same demonstrably reliable witnesses (the women) who had reported the empty tomb also claimed to have been told that Jesus was alive. But of course that was ridiculous. Perhaps what might have swayed them was the evidence of their own eyes. If they themselves could have seen Jesus then they would believe. Indeed that would transform the whole situation. This is a common misconception. Because, as it turned out, they could see Jesus. Indeed they were talking to Him; He was the seemingly ignorant stranger they were talking to.

To cut the story short (you can read it for yourself in Luke 24) eventually they recognise the risen Jesus. The rest, as they say, is quite literally history. Jesus alive transforms everything. Now His death is not a tragic miscalculation, nor is it the triumph of midgets and lesser men over a great man. In fact His death is demonstrated not to be the death of just a man at all. But it is His resurrection that validates His own claims, that He did not lose His life but gave it. He died not as a victim, having had death imposed upon Him (by either men or God), but as a willing substitute and sacrifice. His death is not unimportant (merely the prelude to resurrection), but He stresses twice that it was a necessary means through which he accomplishes what had been set for Him, prior to returning to the glory that had always been His. His resurrection demonstrates that He was not at all just another good man and religious teacher from whom we might learn useful things. His resurrection demonstrated that He was uniquely the God-man who had pioneered the way by which death could be overcome for all those who would trust and follow Him. His resurrection is the flip side of the story of his death that Matthew either misses or, perhaps more likely, dismisses.

Because it just can’t be true. Except, of course, it is. All the evidence is there. But then, as the two on their way to Emmaus demonstrate, it is not now, nor has it ever really been, a matter of evidence, of knowing stuff. It’s about recognising Him.

Christmas Reflections III - Even angels can learn...

There was stuff going on that first Christmas that was normal and ordinary, and then there was the other stuff. The stuff that was neither normal nor ordinary. We sometimes patronise the characters in the Christmas story as primitives who didn’t know what we know. That’s why they could believe promises that clearly were not believable. So writers like Luke concoct stories that we know can’t be true and therefore are at best mythology, rather than history. The problem is, this isn’t what they claim to be doing, and it’s not how it reads. Luke claims that he is setting out to investigate what happened and then compile an orderly account so that we may have "certainty". And his writing seems to be largely like the reporting of ordinary human responses to extraordinary events. 

Take the characters in Luke 1 blogged about previously. You don’t need to know a lot about the finer points of gynaecology, embryology and development biology to know where babies come from, and what is necessary to make them. And Zechariah and Elisabeth on the one hand, and Mary on the other, were pretty clear on both topics. Zechariah is promised a child, something that he’s wanted for years, and promised it by an impeccable source. As discussed previously, he gets himself into hot water by making it clear he is not convinced, no matter where the information comes from. This is a story that  reads like Bible, not Hollywood. Mary receives disconcerting news in a disconcerting way, and she responds with a question, which prompts a very interesting response that I’ll return to. But first, what might seem like a digression.

A couple of thousand years before the events recorded in Luke Ch1, three men appeared out of the heat haze near Abraham’s camp at a place called Mamre (you’ll find the story in Genesis 18; you’ll find Mamre just to the north of Hebron). One of the “men”, it turns out, was God himself; the other two were probably angels. A conversation ensued with Abraham, while his wife Sarah listened in the background. It’s in this conversation that God promises Abraham that Sarah will have a child, even though (spookily like Zechariah and Elisabeth) Abraham and Sarah were well on the elderly side of old. Sarah chuckles at this promise; after all it’s clearly preposterous. Like New Testament characters, Old Testament characters are not stupid; they know about making babies. God’s response is to challenge Sarah’s lack of belief by posing a question – “Is anything too hard for the Lord?”. And, of course, it turns out that delivering on promises about miracle babies if not too hard, because a child, Isaac, duly appears. This is a story Zechariah would have been familiar with, and this is perhaps one reason why Gabriel is fairly sniffy with him when he doesn’t respond appropriately to a similar promise given to him and Elisabeth. Their child would be miraculous but not unique.

Speaking of Gabriel, I’ve always wondered if he was one of the two angels with God at Mamre. He’s not named of course.  If he was there, this makes his response to Mary’s question intriguing. Because while Mary is clearly willing to accept what he tells her, she also has questions, precisely because, like Sarah, she’s knows where babies come from. Famously, Gabriel tells Mary that something entirely unique is going to happen in her to bring about her pregnancy. But he adds something else. This time it is not a question like the one posed to Abraham. It’s a statement: nothing is impossible with God. Had Gabriel been here before? Had he heard a similar promise, observed a human, and sceptical, reaction to it? Did he hear the question that God responded with? He had certainly seen the promise realised. So perhaps he has learned something. With confidence, confidence borne of experience rather than belief, he’s able to reassure Mary. Possibly.  I’m speculating of course.

The rest, as they say, really is history. Maybe angels can observe, listen, watch and learn. Maybe we should learn from them.

Christmas Reflections II – Rug weaving for beginners

I know nothing about weaving patterned rugs. It’s a pity, because this may be a dying art. They don’t seem to be as popular as they used to be. I blame TV makeover shows that constantly recommend neutral shades and the complete absence of strong patterns. Despite my ignorance, even I know that only one side of the rug carries the pattern. The other side, the underside, is often a visual mess; just lots of strands and flecks here and there. Somehow that visual chaos is exactly what is required to produce the pattern that you see on the other side. I wonder if that’s how it appears to a master rug maker? Maybe they can see a pattern even in the underside mess.

Sometimes life appears to be a bit of mess, at least at the scale most of us necessarily perceive it. When I read about the lives of others, I wonder just how much of the big picture, the pattern, people living their lives are aware of. In the first chapter of his account of the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth, Luke weaves together the strands of two particular lives, recounting two particular pre-birth narratives. Why the two stories? There’s very definitely weaving going on as Luke cuts from one story to the other and back again. I think that he does this because he wants us to compare and contrast. The main strands of the two narratives concern an older man, and a young girl. One is famously part of the Christmas story (the young girl), the other is one of Christmas’ forgotten characters, Zechariah.

Zechariah is an interesting pick, particularly at this point in his life. He’s a priest, and a fairly faithful one at that. Luke focuses on a particular occasion, which is probably the high point of Zechariah’s priestly career. It has fallen to him to go in to the temple in Jerusalem and burn incense (symbolically to lead the people’s prayers). Once he has finished his task inside, he will emerge out onto the temple steps, lift his arms and bless all the people who are standing outside, waiting. The point is that he will probably only get to do this once in his career. At this point in Israel’s history, there are lots of priests and not that much to do. So this is his big moment. Exciting as this probably was for him, something extraordinary then happens. As he’s carrying out his duties in the enclosed space of the “Holy Place” in the temple, an angel appears. You might think that this is a fairly common occurrence, but in fact it’s not. As discussed previously, it had been centuries since God had spoken to Israel, and even longer since something like an angel appearing had happened. So this was far from what Zechariah was expecting, and in fact Luke tells us it freaked him out. Once he’s calmed down the angel (who we learn later was Gabriel) gives him good news and better news. A baby is going to be born (and this after Zechariah and his wife Elisabeth had probably given up hope of having children), and the baby is going to grow into someone with a special job to do. This is something Zechariah has been hoping for and praying about. But then it goes a bit pear-shaped.

If this were simple romantic fiction, Zechariah would run home, give Elisabeth the good news and everyone would live happily ever after. But precisely because angels suddenly appearing and saying exactly what you want hear is not an everyday occurrence, it’s all a bit hard to take in. And Zechariah basically tells Gabriel this – not a good idea. He basically asks “How can I believe this?”, indiating a fairly basic lack of a willingness to believe what he’s been told. Because of his lack of belief, poor old Z has to spend the next nine months or so not being able to hear or speak, condemned, as it were, to silence. On the one hand this seems a bit harsh. Yet on the other, it’s symbolic that he’s behaved as Israel has all along. Not believing what God consistently said to them had resulted in silence, as God had warned through the prophet Amos (see Amos 8:11: ‘a famine….of hearing the words of the Lord’). That famine was coming to end, and God was going to do something new. Zechariah, and for that matter his son John, were part of that old story. Something new was about to happen.

Of course, poor old Z’s big day is ruined. His encounter with Gabriel is inside the temple. When he emerges after a delay, with all the people looking to him to bless them, he can’t – he’s got no voice. This particular thread in the pattern then just seems to peter out.

Six months later, the same angel turns up in Nazareth, to speak to one of Elisabeth’s cousins, Mary. There’s obviously a number of contrasts to be drawn between Zechariah and Mary. He was male, she was female, at a time and in a culture where this really mattered. He was a mature, public figure who had carved out his place in society. Mary was a teenager, somewhere between childhood and marriage (she was betrothed – a legal status beyond engagement, but less than marriage), probably not particularly well known beyond her own family. Zechariah was given good news about something he had longed for, hoping against hope. Mary was given disturbing news, with big implications for her and her husband to be. But the real contrast is this. While Zechariah reacted in disbelief, Mary took on board what she was told, and made it clear she was ready to accept it, even although she didn’t understand fully what was going on. Not for the first time, expectations are turned on their head. It’s the educated, professional, religious (proud?) bloke who gets it wrong. It’s the straightforward, if inexperienced but humble girl, that gets it right.

Luke continues to weave the threads. There are two songs, and then two births to come. One birth will be a repeat of another promised child born to a couple who were really too old to have children. It will have its miraculous elements; it will be special, but not unique. The other birth will be a miracle from start to finish, biologically inexplicable, and eternally significant. The characters involved understood some things (like how to make babies), and not others (like how to make particular babies). Z learns to trust what his God tells him, and when he responds properly he will be enabled to sing about “..light to those who sit in darkness..”. Mary, well we know what happens to Mary. 

How much of the big picture, the big pattern, did they understand? Probably not much. But we have the benefit of a master weaver revealing what’s going on. Mind you, even then we struggle to see the pattern at times.

Keswick III An apology to Micah

It turns out that Keswick has been a brilliant place to sit out the heatwave currently afflicting the UK. Today is the only day it's been really hot here, and it's probably nearer 25° as opposed to the 35° being experienced "down south". We've been enjoying our riverside walks to the tent in Skiddaw St where the Bible readings on Micah have been taking place. We're not quite done yet; there's one more to go. But I feel I owe Micah an apology.

I've never viewed the Old Testament as an irrelevance, as just the prelude to the interesting bit. There are lots of reasons for this, but here's one. At the end of his Gospel Luke records an encounter between Jesus and two of his former followers. That's how they would have though of themselves I suppose, because they though Jesus was dead. And they were probably fairly fearful they might be next. Jesus, who initially is unrecognised by them, walks alongside them as they head away from Jerusalem. They're pretty depressed, and probably grieving. After all, their leader and mentor has just been executed. As they new well, the Romans knew a thing or two about executions and dead men stay dead. Hence their general state of depression. The problem was that Jesus was no failed insurrectionist, or teacher of novel ideas swept away by accident or miscalculation. And the evidence? The resurrection of course. 

One of the intriguing things about this whole incident in Luke 24 is that the two disciples actually knew the key facts about the resurrection. They'd been told that the tomb where Jesus' body had been left was empty. They'd even heard that some of their number had been told that Jesus was alive. But of course, all of their experience told them this could not be true. He was dead. So they had headed off down the road, disconsolate. But Jesus of course wasn't dead. And as He walks with them he does something very interesting. It's also interesting what He doesn't do. He doesn't show them his wounds (as He did with Thomas) to identify Himself. Nor does he do a miracle to impress them. Instead, He conducts a Bible study, concentrating on all those bits of the Bible I find obscure and difficult to understand: the Old Testament, including the law and the prophets. For all I know he even did a quick tour of Micah. The point He was making was that it all spoke about Him. His approach, exposing people to the Old testament Scriptures as a way of encountering Him, proved to be a lesson that really stuck with the early disciples. When Peter gets the chance to talk to a vast crowd a short time later, what does he do? He preaches from an obscure corner of the Old Testament, the prophecy of Joel. I have to confess, given the opportunity to address a vast crowd about who Jesus is and what He's done, I probably wouldn't have done the same. But I might now be tempted to turn to Micah.

It's been amazing (except it's not really) how bang up to date and relevant Micah is.We've had the abusive elites in Micah 3, exploiting those weaker than themselves just because they can. This leads to what Chris Wright rightly called a kind of "social cannibalism" that consumes the consumer. Are we not concerned about elites in our day? Mind you, that doesn't get the rest of us off the hook. Perhaps we get the leaders we deserve by not thinking critically about so many of the little choices we make every day. Of course, Micah was largely ignored in his own day. Everything was basically fine wasn't it? Religious leaders were able to claim with apparent impunity that God was fine with what was going on. Except He wasn't, and judgement was coming. The creeping injustice, the toleration for what was wrong being called right, the religious syncretism that sought to keep the Living God in His place, in His box, and out of the public sphere. It wasn't doing in any damage was it? Things just kept going. And for those with a continuing pang of conscience, there was always temple, always religion, always more ritual.   

Except as Micah points out, God had shown what He was looking for. It wasn't more and more sacrifices. It wasn't even ultimate sacrifices. In a startling pointer to Jesus' future mission (and Micah prophesied the site of His birth), Micah says God doesn't want the sacrifice of their fistborn(s). Why? Because it was going to take the sacrifice of God's firstborn to clear the debt we have all incurred. But in general God had been consistent and clear in what He requires. As Micah 6:8 makes pithily clear (and as Jimmy Carter quoted in his presidential inaugural address) God requires us: "..to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with your God."  This was no radical departure, this is the whole teaching of the Old Testament. The rituals and sacrifices had their place, but it was limited. And they provided no answer for habitual, continuing, rebellion against God. Of course few were listening in Micah's day. Few may be listening today. Shortly after Micah, it all came crashing about the heads of leaders and people. They had persisted in going their own way. 

There it is in Micah. A warning to me, to us. It was there all the time. The bad, the good, the ugly and the best. 

Sorry I wasn't listening Micah.