Therefore, just as through one man sin entered into the world, and death through sin, and so death spread to all men, because all sinned—for until the Law sin was in the world, but sin is not imputed when there is no law.Nevertheless death reigned from Adam until Moses, even over those who had not sinned in the likeness of the offense of Adam, who is a type of Him who was to come.
• Romans 5:12-14, NASB
[Paul] does not posit a perfect pre-fallen state, nor does he attribute later human sin to the sin of Adam. Rather, he sees Adam as a kind of beginning — the beginning of a death-bound mode of life.
Christian tradition has held certain views about “the fall,” “original sin,” and the part Adam played in plunging humankind into ruin on the basis of a few words by the Apostle Paul in the letter to the Romans (5:12-21). There is also a short statement focusing on the resurrection in 1Corinthians (15:21-22, see v. 45). Other than these two passages and the seminal story of Adam and Eve in Genesis 2-4, the Bible is virtually silent about Adam and the nature and results of his first-recorded transgression.
The only other certain references to Adam in the OT are found in genealogies: in Genesis 5 and 1Chronicles 1:1. In the Gospels, Jesus never mentions Adam and Eve by name or refers to their sin. Matthew and Luke include him in Jesus’ genealogies and Jude names Adam in another genealogical reference. Paul writes of Adam and Eve on one other occasion in a discussion about men and women in the church (1Timothy 2:13-14).
This paucity of material may come as a surprise to some, since the Creation-Fall-Redemption template using the account of Adam and Eve in a prominent role has become part and parcel of the way Christians present the message of the Bible and salvation.
Given this background, why did Paul set his attention on Adam in Romans 5?
St. Irenaeus (2nd century) described Adam and Eve as “adolescents.” They were not “perfect” in the sense of “complete.” They represent a beginning and an intention – but something that not only remained unfulfilled – but even something that had deviated from its intended path. From “mud commanded to become Gods,” they became beings unable to be truly human. Death and corruption mark their existence. The stories in Genesis include fratricide among their children. The early chapters of Genesis are not the record of a promising start – they are the record of the start of promises.
We do not normally think of the Book of Proverbs as a work of deep theological content. We think of it as a collection of sayings, practical in nature, giving sound advice for living. But portions of the book go far beyond that.
Take Proverbs 1-9 for instance, which form an extended meditation on the nature and blessings of divine Wisdom (personified), urging the young in particular to open their ears and hearts to receive her teachings so that they will “fear the Lord,” become wise in their lives and dealings, and find the reward of “life.”
Proverbs teaches “the simple” (the young, morally unformed, susceptible to temptation) to listen to and follow “wisdom” (fear the Lord and follow his instructions), because listening to wisdom is the path to “life” and failing to do so leads to “death.”
One characteristic of wisdom literature is that its teachings are rooted in creation more than in covenant. That is, they reflect on the world and life and the characteristics of people and how they relate to each other. Its counsels derive from observation, not from special revelation. To put it simply, wisdom posits that God designed creation and life to work in certain ways. The wise person trusts God and seeks to order his or her life according to those ways. He or she “trusts in the Lord with a whole heart.” The foolish person disregards God and seeks to live “leaning on his or her own understanding.”
I suggested in the previous post that the story of Adam and Eve in Genesis is a wisdom story. Those who composed and edited the Hebrew Bible in its final form were concerned that the post-exilic community learn wisdom about their past, present, and future. So they told the first stories about people in the Bible using wisdom terms and metaphors to make their message clear from the start.
Whatever else one might say about Genesis 2-3 (the text actually goes from 2:4-4:26 and includes Cain’s story) and the account of Adam and Eve and the “fall,” it should be noted that, in its final form, this is a wisdomstory. It is the first in a series of narratives that encourage the post-exilic community to reflect upon their history by showing them, in nascent form, the folly of their own ways which had led them into exile in Babylon.
This week, we will consider Adam and Eve and their story in Genesis 2-3 and what it teaches about the human condition. We start with an overview of its context and general characteristics.
Last Sunday I gave five primary reasons why I think it advantageous for Christians to form their spiritual lives — their walk with God through Christ — around the liturgical year.
It enables us to live in God’s story.
It keeps the main thing the main thing.
It recognizes that one’s calendar forms one’s life.
It links personal spirituality with worship, family, and community.
It provides a basis of unity and common experience for Christians everywhere.
Today, let’s talk about the first point; what it means to be people who are…
Living in God’s Story
Spiritual theology, using Scripture as text, does not so much present us with a moral code and tell us, “Live up to this,” nor does it set out a system of doctrine and say, “Think like this.” The biblical way is to tell a story and invite us, “Live into this – this is what it looks like to be human in this God-made and God-ruled world; this is what is involved in becoming and maturing as a human being.” We don’t have to fit into prefabricated moral and mental or religious boxes before we are admitted into the company of God. We are taken seriously just as we are and given place in his story – for it is, after all, God’s story. None of us is the leading character in the story of our lives. God is the larger context and plot in which all our stories find themselves.
• Eugene Peterson
God created humans, so the old Jewish saying goes, because he loved stories so much. What we have in the Bible is His Story; as Peterson calls it, God’s “immense, sprawling, capacious narrative.”
How did God make the world into a place fit for humankind? People may want to analyze and come up with scientific models, but God tells stories.
Why is the world in the shape it’s in, filled with selfishness, conflict, and trouble? Social scientists study data and develop social theory and then policy. God tells us stories about people — people who hide from God in shame, people who refuse to accept that they are their brothers’ keepers, individuals, families, and nations that live for money, sex, and power.
Do you want to know how God works to turn the world around? Look at this gaggle of slaves, set free from the world’s powers, and how God shapes them through a journey home. Stories. About people. About life. Stories that, together, become the Story.
Oh sure, there are sayings too. Commandments. Instructions. Warnings. Promises. Reassurances. Propositional truth is spoken, sages impart wisdom, prophets spout diatribes, psalmists chant inspired lyrics, apostles write Gospels and epistles, but these words are spoken always and ever in the context of what God is doing on the ground, in the lives of people, as the Story plays out.
When the Promised One came in the Story’s decisive act, he too told stories. What is God like? Let me tell you about this father who had two sons. What is his Kingdom like? The kingdom of God is like a farmer, who went out to sow seeds in his field…. What will it be like when the Kingdom comes in fullness? Well, let’s hear a story about a great banquet. His own life, in fact, becomes the greatest story ever told — an unforgettable narrative played out in familiar locales: Bethlehem, Jerusalem, Nazareth, Galilee, Golgotha, the Garden.
And when Jesus disappears from human sight, exalted to heaven, the Story goes on. From Jerusalem to Judea and Samaria, and even to the uttermost parts of the earth.
The simplest answer to the question, “What does it mean to live a Christian life?” is: It means to take our place in God’s Story.
Just like the people of Israel in every generation are taught to view themselves as those who have Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as their ancestors, as those who, along with their forbears have been redeemed from slavery in Egypt, who are cared for by God in the wilderness, made a holy nation at Sinai, and led into the Promised Land, so Christians see themselves as the new Israel, the people of God formed by the Story of Israel’s Messiah. Called by Jesus to follow him, we walk with him among the poor and needy, we scratch our heads and try to figure out his teaching, we receive fish and bread from his hands and distribute it to the hungry, we turn to him when our boat is overwhelmed by the storm, in awe we see him transfigured in glory on the Mount, when he stoops to wash our feet we blush in shame, we sense impending doom in Gethsemane, we weep helplessly and feel all hope leave our hearts as he breathes his last on the Cross, our mouths drop open in bewilderment when he appears alive and transformed among us.
This is our Family Story, our heritage. It is who we are. We are Christ-ians. In each generation, we tell our children the family name and what it’s all about. We recall the stories. We celebrate the family holidays and mark the special occasions. We practice the family rituals. In baptism we relive every Biblical story about how God brought his people safely through the waters, from life to death, from chaos to new creation. At the Lord’s Table, we give thanks for God’s provision and receive sustenance as we feast together in love and fellowship. When we marry, we speak of Cana, remember water turned to wine, and share the joy. At the grave, our grief is tempered by hope of resurrection and new creation — concepts made real by the fact that it happened before — in our family! It is our Story!
Following the Church Year is how we do it. The seasons of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Pentecost form our family traditions.
In Advent, we take our place in the Story alongside the people of the First Covenant, who longed for God to rend the heavens and come down that this groaning world might give birth to a new creation.
In Christmas, we celebrate the Incarnation of the Promised One, who joined us in our poverty that we might have our Father’s eternal riches.
In Epiphany, we follow and watch as Jesus is baptized and set apart for ministry. We walk with him through the villages and towns of Palestine, amazed at each word and act which shows the compassion and glory of God.
In Lent, we learn that following him means taking up our own cross. He bids us come and die with him. We know this death has arisen from our willfulness; we recognize our failures, weakness, our sins, and utter hopelessness apart from him. Without Jesus, our story is “ashes to ashes.”
In Holy Week, we join him in the streets, in the Temple, in the upper room, in Gethsemane. We stand at a distance in stunned disbelief as Roman soldiers nail him to the Cross. Overwhelmed by the shock of grief, we return home in silence.
On Easter Sunday, and for fifty days following, it is suddenly and unexpectedly springtime. Light breaks through — Jesus is alive! God raised him from the dead. We see him, we hear him, we touch him — we try to take it in. He ascends to his Father, and bids us wait for the next part of the Story to begin.
On Pentecost, it does. Fire falls from heaven! Good News is proclaimed to all people, in their own languages! Jerusalem is shaken. The Church is born. No matter who you are, or what you’ve done, you can join the family. Come, take your place in the Story! It’s all about Jesus! For everyone, everywhere.
Practicing the Church Year is how we live in the Story.
The concept should not be unusual to us. Our families, communities, and nations celebrate special days and seasons annually. We follow a pattern of life that forms our identity. These commemorations reinforce who we are, what we believe, how we live, and what our values are.
Just so, in God’s family, the cycle of the Church Year has been developed so that we might live in the story of the God who created us, redeemed us, and is making us new in Christ forever.
What a great week it has been on Internet Monk, just the kind of week I enjoy — filled with interesting topics and a multitude of voices. We had five different authors writing on subjects as varied as the Church Year, salvation, premarital sex, prayer, the love of dogs, and why people leave church. We had as few as 20 comments on one day and well over 300 on another! For the most part, we kept peace around the place, though of course you know we didn’t all agree about everything. That’s what makes this place special.
Saturday is the day we take a break from our own work so that we can explore what others have been saying around cyberspace. We load up the Rambler station wagon with goodies, drive to a nice place in the country, and unload it all onto a picnic table where you can sample what you like.
Without further ado, let the rambling begin!
• • •
Brittany Maynard, who became the face of the “Death with Dignity” movement, ended her life at age 29.
The Falling Man, and others like him [on 9/11, who jumped from the Twin Towers], didn’t have a real choice to live or die– they only had a choice in which way they died: smoke and fire, or by falling. For their children to have to walk through life saying, “my dad committed suicide” is less than fair and completely untrue– they didn’t choose to die (the very definition of suicide), they just chose how they died.
This is precisely why I’m losing my patience with my fellow Christians who are condemning Brittany Maynard for her decision to take the pills her doctor prescribed her. Brittany didn’t wake up one morning and say “I hate my life and I’m going to kill myself,” just like those who jumped on 9-11 didn’t step up to the ledge and jump because they were in debt or trapped in a bad marriage.
It seems disingenuous to force someone to choose between two ways of dying and then turn on them in judgement for picking the least painful of the two options.
Like the 9-11 jumpers, Brittany didn’t have a choice in dying, she only had a choice in how she died. You see, there are people like Brittany– terminally ill with imminent death looming– who are essentially trapped in a burning building from which there is no way of escaping with their lives. For some of these people, the idea of being burned alive or having to inhale smoke until death overcomes them becomes less appealing than stepping up to the ledge and accepting a quicker, less painful fate.
In all the years since 9-11, I’ve never once heard a Christian speak up in judgement and condemnation over the 9-11 jumpers. I’ve never heard someone say they sinned because they “hastened death instead of accepting God’s timing.” I’ve never heard anyone say that failing to condemn their choice is a “slippery slope that could send the message that suicide is okay.” All I’ve ever heard about the 9-11 jumpers is how difficult their choice must have been, and how sad it is that their lives were taken by terrorism.
Why then, should we say those things about Brittany– or those who choose to die more quickly and less painfully in response to a terminal disease– a death sentence that becomes their burning building? It’s not a choice to die (suicide). It’s just a choice to pick the most painless way to die.
There’s no need to over-interpret the election. If there’s anything we’ve learned watching the see-saw of 2008 followed by 2010 followed by 2012, it’s that the American electorate has no problem turning on a dime. But let’s not under-interpret it, either. Democrats were dealt a bad hand this year, but they lost even worse than that. You can tell a complicated story about why, but the fact that [President Barack] Obama’s approval ratings are stuck in the low 40s summarize it pretty well. Right now, the country isn’t happy with the Democratic Party or its leader. And on Election Day, Democrats paid the price.
R.I.P. Tom Magliozzi, seen here tightening the lug nuts on his brother Ray’s neck.
Tom Magliozzi, who with his younger brother, Ray, hosted “Car Talk,” the most popular entertainment show on NPR, died on Monday at his home outside Boston. He was 77.
. . . By his own account, after graduating from college, Mr. Magliozzi took a conventional path as an engineer until experiencing his “defining moment” after being involved in a close call on the highway.
He described the incident in 1999, when the brothers shared a commencement speech at their alma mater. Tom described driving on Route 128 to his job in Foxboro, Mass., in a little MG that “weighed about 50 pounds” when a semi-truck cut him off. Afterward, he thought about how pathetic it would have been if he had died having “spent all my life, that I can remember at least, going to this job, living a life of quiet desperation.”
“So I pulled up into the parking lot, walked to my boss’s office and quit on the spot.”
His brother chimed in, “Most people would have bought a bigger car.”
Jason Heap, who is suing the Navy for not recognizing the Humanist Society as an endorser of chaplains
CS: As the first Humanist chaplain candidate for the U.S. military, why do you think the military needs Humanist chaplains?
JH: A Humanist chaplain understands the general epistemology, assumptions, and foundations that nontheistic servicewomen and servicemen bring, and can address these more authentically and more effectively than someone who is not a Humanist. Because of my experiences in life, I cannot fully understand and identify with the specific needs and perspectives of some communities. This does not mean that I cannot be a source of love, comfort, and support; rather, it means that I admit my limits. As a professional and pastoral caregiver, I will help recruit whomever I can to provide whatever it is that I cannot.
I would hope that non-Humanist chaplains have the same professional integrity and courtesy when working with nontheists—and, for the greater wellbeing of nontheists, recognize their boundaries and refer when appropriate. This is not to say that theistic chaplains cannot provide support and care, but they do have limitations when it comes to saying, “I know how you feel.”
• Chris Stedman interviews Jason Heap at Faitheist
The only thing I learned about saints growing up Baptist in the American South was that one-day they were going to “come marching in” and I apparently wanted “to be in that number.” More than two decades later, I still don’t know what the heck that means.
Seriously, we Baptists were like most Protestants in that we didn’t think much about saints. I thumbed through a lost-and-found Bible once that added the title to Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. And I remember a Sunday School teacher commenting that saints were just a way Catholics engaged in idol worship. But that was pretty much it.
A few weeks ago, however, I decided to dig into the stories of these mysterious men and women some call “saints.” I’ve concluded that we Protestants could use a few saints of our own.
. . . Saints are people whose stories speak to us from beneath and behind us and say, “It’s ok that you’re a little crazy.” They are reminders that if you follow Jesus, in the words of Flannery O’Connor, “you will know the truth and the truth will make you strange.”
Protestants could benefit from a few more of those kinds of reminders if you ask me.
The best rock band in the world, unplugged, backstage at the Fallon show.
The week that was and is . . .
One of my long term patients died this week. I’ll miss visiting him. No matter how bad he felt, he always put a pot of coffee on when he knew we were coming to see him. Surely he’s enjoying a mug at a better table now. November fell like a gloomy curtain on the world around here through much of the week. Rain. Wind. Gray. Chill. See what happens when baseball ends? I started the process of enrolling for next year’s benefits at my work. Health care choices keep getting more complex, though I’m happy to say our cost is going down and the benefits could be better than ever in 2015. I’m very lucky. Our family has at least one birthday or anniversary every week from now until Christmas and I be broke this time of year. And I eat too much cake.
First of all a confession. The title is really just an attention grabber, and a weak attempt to get Miguel to sputter coffee through his nose. Although a second confession would be that in the eighties and nineties, I did read all I could get my hands on from the Church growth movement. There are a couple of interesting things that I learned from that time, and I wanted to present a sort of random stream on consciousness on the topic.
The numerical growth or decline of a church is strictly related to number of new people entering a church versus the number of people leaving a church.
People leave church for primarily one of three reasons.
1. They die.
2. They move away (primarily vocation, or education based).
3. There are some other factors that cause them to become uninterested in being part of a particular local church.
A few weeks ago in August, my husband and I moved our youngest daughter and a truck full of too much stuff into a tiny dorm room at a large state university 90 minutes away. It was the culmination of 32 years of uninterrupted child rearing. When we got home that night, we shut the third and last of our children’s bedroom doors and cried. We were officially empty nesters.
The next day, with the dawning of our newfound freedom and all its potentialities, we did what millions of other parents in our situation do … a little happy dance. Of course, out of kindness, none of us let our kids see actually see that dance and that poses a big problem. They start to feel sorry for us in all our loneliness. They picture us rattling around in a big empty house … a house that isn’t actually too big. They begin trying to come up with a solution to our very bad situation … a situation that isn’t actually very bad. They decide to do something about it. They give us a puppy.
“Oh, look!” I sneered to my husband, the Sunday paper set out before me. “Pope Francis is calling for the world to pray about ISIS slaughtering every non-extremist in its path. That oughta do a world of good.”
Almost immediately I was hit be a wave of shame so powerful that it swept my breath away. Sometimes the Holy Spirit really doesn’t work in such mysterious ways.
I left the paper and went into our office. Closed the door. Put my head in my hands. And tried to think. I was horrified at myself. When had I become Jonah? When had I become so cynical and disgusted with the world that I’d somehow, at some level, begun to think that prayer simply didn’t matter? Or, worse, if we’re talking about Jonah here, that it shouldn’t matter?
My life itself is a testament to the efficacy of prayer. I’ve written entire books on the efficacy of prayer, not only its importance and relevance, but even how to do it in difficult personal situations. It struck me as I thought about this that I believed strongly in the power of prayer … for individuals. I believe that when I pray for God’s healing and forgiveness, God hears me. I believe that when I pray for the healing and forgiveness of those I know or love, God listens. And even when I don’t get exactly what I pray for, I still know that God has heard me and has given me what I need, if not what I want. Whenever I confront a personal problem or challenge, I turn immediately to God.
But when it comes to the events of the world, something different happens. I don’t think it has anything to do with God.
And that’s precisely the problem. There is a part of me, and at least a part of many others if the discussions I’ve had since the Sunday paper incident are any indication, that has come to fear that maybe God doesn’t want anything to do with us. Not us, individually, never that; but us, collectively: the world that He gave into our care and that we’ve turned into such a teeming mess.
It may even be subconscious, this insidious notion that God has ceased to care about the world, or more accurately, its tribes and nations and economies and politics. I would never stand up at a lectern and tell my audience that God has had it with us, that He has reached the point where if the earth is moving to vomit us off it, He will only shrug in passive empathy. I would never tell anyone that. But I might think it.
Note from CM: One of our regular commenters asked permission to engage the community in a sensitive but relevant discussion. Contemporary culture is saturated with sexuality, and younger people today have grown up in a world where access to sexual materials and depictions of all kinds is remarkably easy and former societal standards regarding sexual behavior seem to have been toppled. The other day, I heard an interview on the radio the other day between two progressive people talking about sex outside the Christian context, and both of them were saying they worry about the sexual expectations that are placed on people in relationships today. The church has the advantage of a long tradition of teaching on sexual morality, but that tradition is being seriously challenged today. There are even many Christian voices critiquing the kind of “purity culture” that conservative Christianity has advocated. Add the fact that Christian people have a less than shining record of chaste behavior, any number of spectacular sexual scandals, and a history (both perceived and real) of judgment without compassion toward sexual sin — all of this makes the “moral standards” we urge on others seem all the more unreasonable.
I hope we can have a humble, enlightening, and encouraging discussion on sexual matters today. How might a Jesus-shaped spirituality speak to our brother’s questions below?
I feel like sometimes we begin to take the basics of our faith for granted. Often when we get tunnel visioned on the peripheral responsibilities of our mission, the Gospel itself even gets assumed, confused, or forgotten. But here is something I have not heard discussed in a good while: If somebody expressed interest, or potential interest, in transferring from being a non-Christian to being a Christian, what would you tell them?
I grew up in a tradition that honored the sinner’s prayer (or similar) as the sacred initiation rite. Some church bodies might point to Baptism, though it would seem this could work out differently for adults and children. Some traditions may require verbal or written assent to a particular set of doctrines. Some would ask you to take a membership course ranging from 3 hours to 20 weeks. How much knowledge is necessary? What rituals or procedures are/must be involved?
In answering this question, I’d like to encourage you to reflect on three things:
1. How did you become a Christian?
For most of my life, I might have said it was when I said a prayer to ask Jesus into my heart, in response to a Gospel presentation in a revivalist children’s video about cowboys, sheriffs, outlaws, and forgiveness. At other times in my life I disbelieved in the authenticity of this experience and wondered if other occasions were my true conversion experience, where I was emotionally moved to deeper commitment or opened up to a larger picture of the beauty of God’s grace in Christ. The pressure to make sure you REALLY believe (which is supposed to be evidenced either by your own faithfulness or at least fervor) never seemed to give me any surety. After I had decided to move across the country to work for a Lutheran church, my father gave me my baptismal certificate. This wasn’t for the voluntary immersion I had at age 9 and believed, at the time, to be merely symbolic. My family had come into the Calvary Chapel tradition out of Roman Catholicism when I was too young to remember, and so I had already been baptized as an infant and didn’t realize it. Looking back today, I would say that I became a Christian then, in the water, as it was poured over me and the name of God spoken to me. It was Jesus himself, marking me as his own. So apparently, I’m “double dipped.”
The Internet Monk Archives 