Want to know who the “Real Jesus” was? Ask the people who were there.

As a society, we value first-hand knowledge and experience more than ever. With the ever-expanding immanence of technology, there’s no need to rely on 2nd or 3rd hand accounts of anything. We can connect to someone who was there—is there—through YouTube, Twitter, or Facebook. We don’t trust accounts that aren’t firsthand. We want up close and personal.

It’s Spring, which means three things: flowers budding, students sweating impending finals, and loads of stories about “the real Jesus” in magazines and on TV as we approach Easter. What do we really know about him, and how do we know? Is it possible to get any sense of who he really was? Do we have any first-hand accounts that tell us what we want to know?

I recently got acquainted with Richard Bauckham’s landmark book Jesus & the Eyewitnesses to prepare for a discussion on these very questions at Sojourn, our Thursday night forum for questioning faith and doubt.

I had been hearing about the book for a while now, so I was eager to get a hold of it. While I don’t have the time to write a full review of the book here—that’s already been done in several places, better than I could anyway—I will try to summarize some of what makes the book so helpful.

To understand the value of Bauckham’s contribution to NT scholarship and apologetics, it’s important to understand something of the context. For over 250 years, the “Jesus of Faith” has been pitted against “The Historical Jesus” of Higher Criticism. In other words, we are told that we must choose which Jesus we believe in: either the one we read about in the Gospels, or the “real” one behind or underneath the Gospels, who must be recovered by higher critics and their scholarly methods.

Form Criticism is a branch of Higher Criticism, along with Redaction Criticism and Source Criticism. (Lower Criticism refers to Textual Criticism, the discipline of comparing the thousands of biblical manuscripts and their variants in order to recover the most reliable biblical text). It’s impossible to define an entire discipline of scholarship in a nutshell without being reductionistic, but essentially Form Criticism is the method of classifying units of Scripture by their literary form and their cultural context (Sitz im Leben), in order to determine how the story was originally told. If you took Religious Studies and learned how the Pentateuch is made up of four traditions known as JEDP (aka, the documentary hypothesis), you’ve learned Form Criticism.

One of the central assumptions of Form Criticism—and the one that has arguably had the most sweeping impact—is that the Gospels are derived from several generations of oral tradition, and are therefore less reliable. This is the “Whisper Down the Lane” argument—that whatever was originally said must have been corrupted (and probably intentionally changed) by following generations. (You can partially thank Form Criticism for all those magazine covers and TV specials purporting to have uncovered “the truth” about “the Real Jesus”). The changes over time produce “layers” on top of the original story. Form Critics believe they can strip away these layers (and agendas) to arrive at the kernel of truth or actual event within a given story.

There are several problems with this approach, notably 1) the outright skepticism of the historicity of what we have in the Gospels; 2) the assumption of a lengthy and corrupting oral tradition; 3) the often accompanying anti-supernaturalistic assumptions (since we know Jesus couldn’t have performed miracles, we know those stories must have been added later); and 4) the optimism that their critical method can reconstruct something more accurate and true than the Biblical accounts. It’s important to note that the study of the Bible’s literary and cultural contexts is important and profitable; it’s the accompanying presuppositions of Form Criticism that are problematic.

The most egregious (and admittedly extreme) example of Higher Criticism at work is the infamous Jesus Seminar. This illustrious gathering of scholars (which includes Paul Verhoeven, the director of such cinematic gems as Robocop, Basic Instinct, and Showgirls) has radically redefined what they believe to be the accurate depiction of the real Jesus. By means of voting with four colored beads, they decide which statements are most or least likely to actually have been said by Jesus himself. Among their criteria for inauthenticity is anything self-referential (which would automatically rule out much of the Gospel of John); any “framing” material surrounding an event or story (such as who Jesus was addressing, curiously eliminating the all-important contextual clues); and anything perceived to have a theological agenda (you know, because Jesus himself wouldn’t have had any theological ideas or anything). Not surprisingly, they end up with something like 15-20 “authentic” statements, and a Jesus whom no one would care to listen to, let alone crucify.

Tomorrow, I will outline Bauckham’s response to Form Criticism and how his approach is able to bring together the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith.

Jim Collins (Good to Great) optimistic about the next generation

Jim Collins, author of Good to Great, in an interview in the April 2009 issue of Inc.magazine.

Q: What’s the source of your optimism?
A: A lot of it has to do with the young generation. A general at West Point told me, ‘This is the most inspired and inspiring generation to come through West Point since 1945.’ I see the same thing with the young people who come to work for me. They have a sense of responsibility and service and a lack of cynicism that is remarkable and wonderful. It’s an ethos, and its collective. That’s what’s really powerful. It’s connected technologically. It’s not grandiose, but there is a fundamental assumption of being part of a much larger world and a much larger set of aspirations. The world can be a really awful, brutal, turbulent place. And yet I’m hopeful precisely because of this generation of kids. I really think we ought to just give them the keys as soon as we can. Let them run it.

In working with you, the next generation, I share Collins' assessment and optimism. I agree--let's give you the keys! That's what Missio Dei is about--unleashing you to make a difference for the Kingdom! So here’s the keys—where are you taking us?

I Asked the Lord that I Might Grow

John Newton (1725-1807) is famous for being the former slave trader-turned-pastor who penned the words to the well-known and beloved hymn "Amazing Grace." He was also a mentor to the great abolitionist William Wilberforce and to the hymnist William Cowper, and for many years pastored a congregation in Olney, England, where he was noted for his outreach to the poor and for his preaching.

As this poem reveals, he was a probing contemplative as well as a gifted lyricist. He had a powerful understanding of the Gospel, and he captures well the struggle with sin and the surprising ways in which God answers our prayers for growth in holiness. 

I asked the Lord that I might grow,

In faith and love and every grace,

Might more of His salvation know,

And seek more earnestly His face.

It was He who taught me thus to pray,

And He I trust has answered prayer.

But it has been in such a way,

As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favored hour,

At once He'd answer my request.

And by His love's constraining power,

Subdue my sins and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel,

The hidden evils of my heart.

And let the angry powers of hell,

Assault my soul in every part.

Yes, more with His own hand,

He seemed, Intent to aggravate my woe.

Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,

Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried.

Will You pursue Your worm to death?"

"This is the way" the Lord replied,

"I answer prayer for grace and strength."

"These inward trials I employ,

From self, and pride, to set you free;

And break your schemes of earthly joy,

That you may find thy all in Me."

—John Newton

Is there a "Coming Evangelical Collapse"?

Michael Spencer, aka the Internet Monk, thinks so. His article on the Coming Evangelical Collapse (CEC) has me agreeing with him.

We are on the verge – within 10 years – of a major collapse of evangelical Christianity. This breakdown will follow the deterioration of the mainline Protestant world and it will fundamentally alter the religious and cultural environment in the West.

Within two generations, evangelicalism will be a house deserted of half its occupants. (Between 25 and 35 percent of Americans today are Evangelicals.) In the "Protestant" 20th century, Evangelicals flourished. But they will soon be living in a very secular and religiously antagonistic 21st century.

This collapse will herald the arrival of an anti-Christian chapter of the post-Christian West. Intolerance of Christianity will rise to levels many of us have not believed possible in our lifetimes, and public policy will become hostile toward evangelical Christianity, seeing it as the opponent of the common good.
Millions of Evangelicals will quit. Thousands of ministries will end. Christian media will be reduced, if not eliminated. Many Christian schools will go into rapid decline. I'm convinced the grace and mission of God will reach to the ends of the earth. But the end of evangelicalism as we know it is close.

Spencer goes on to outline why this has happened (shallow theology, caving in to consumerism, fighting the wrong battles, ie, the culture wars), and what the landscape will look like (less professed evangelicals, more Catholic and Orthodox converts, and more persecution).
He also goes on to say that this is not all bad--there is much of evangelicalism that needs to die. The corruptions and perversions attached to evangelicalism need to be washed away, like the health and wealth heresy. (How long would it take Joel Osteen to become an all-out universalist if his lucrative livelihood was threatened?)

I don't know if I see things quite as direly as Spencer does, but he is right. Current evangelicalism is incredibly and tragically shallow. It is biblically and culturally illiterate. It has retreated to its Holy Huddle, and is utterly unprepared to survive in a hostile society. The environment for being a Christian in the West is rapidly changing. Might Obama be our last professing Christian president? Maybe. If not him, perhaps the next. Will Christianity be expelled from all civic discourse, politics, academia? Likely. Will Christians face some form of persecution? Likely. Will the money dry up, in the Christian world, as Spencer predicts? Yes, but this will likely be a good thing in the big picture, as many stupid/silly projects won't get funding. But it will still hurt many worthwhile ministries, eg, someone like me who raises support for a living. Many of us will have to consider going bivocational.

I've contemplated dropping the term "evangelical" as a self-descriptor because of the culture-warrior baggage and because the tent has become so big that I don't want to affiliate myself with beliefs/causes I believe to be unbiblical. I've heard some folks going with their tribe (Reformed), or using "orthodox" (small "o") to describe their time-tested, biblical beliefs.

What do you think? Is evangelicalism going to collapse? Is it already? Do you use that term to describe yourself? Why/why not? Will we face persecution soon? Will the money dry up? What does a post-evangelical America look like?

Pruning to Bear Fruit

We have a peach tree in our yard. At least, we think it’s a peach tree. Late last summer, it bore a very peculiar, shriveled, sour-tasting fruit-like substance that we placed somewhere in the peach family. It seems that the previous owners were not much in to pruning, so the tree became rather unfocused in its growth. Dozens of little branches here and there; undisciplined growth all over the place; and no fruit—at least not the kind of fruit worth eating.

 

We were told by a friend who knows about these things that when you have an overgrown fruit tree, you need to really pare it back. This is short-term loss, but long-term gain. If you do it right, the tree won’t be ready to bear good fruit the first year (nor will it even look pretty), but in the second year, the tree’s energies will no longer be diluted, and its growth should result in sweet, delicious fruit. Peach cobbler. Peach pie. Peach jam. Mmm.

 

So Saturday morning I took out the chainsaw and started hacking away. I lopped off limb after unfruitful limb. It was satisfying. When I was done, it seemed that three trees worth of limbs had been cut down. Somehow, all the branches had come down from this one little tree. I had thought it would take 3 minutes. But pruning it well had been a more involved procedure than I had thought. Yes, I enjoyed the violence of it—but all the more because it was constructive violence.

 

Yes, I am a little worried that my pruning was too extreme. I may have gotten carried away. We’ll know for sure next year. The proof is in the peaches, so to speak. During my pruning, Jesus’ words in John 15 seemed especially fresh and relevant:

 

I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” (John 15:1-2)

 

Some Lessons Learned from Actually Pruning a Fruit Tree

 

1. Showy fruitlessness is worthless. Bearing fruit is the point! Not all growth is good growth. What good is a peach tree that doesn’t bear peaches? Not much. This tree did have a lot of growth, but it wasn’t the right kind. It was undisciplined, unintentional—and unfruitful. It was darn near losing the right to be called a peach tree. Showy fruitlessness is why Jesus condemned the fig tree in Mark 11:12-14.

 

2. Pruning is short-term loss, long-term gain. The same morning I pruned the tree, I had breakfast with a mentor. He not-so-coincidentally brought up John 15, and he said that a recent pruning season in his life “put me on the bench for three months.” But he spoke with commingled joy and sorrow about it, because he was in a much better place now. The pruning had done its work.

 

3. Pruning is constructive violence. It takes things we may think are important, even essential, and hacks them off. After years of unfruitful “growth,” it may take a chainsaw! It may be painful. But it will be for ours—and others’—good.

 

4. Jesus is the Vine and God the Father is the Good Vinedresser. He knows what he’s doing.  His pruning (unlike mine) will always result in greater fruitfulness. He is wise and we can trust him.  

TIME mag cites "New Calvinism" as one of the "10 Ideas Changing the World Right Now"

This is old news to those of us inside the movement, but its notable when TIME notices the resurgence of neo-Calvinism. They give shout-outs to John Piper, Mark Driscoll, and Al Mohler. It is true, as the article notes, that the real energy and vigor in the evangelical world is coming from Reformed circles. From their most recent issue.

What is a movement? 12 marks

If you hang around me long enough, you know I'm fond of talking about Missio Dei as a movement. But what exactly IS a movement? How is it different from what others may be doing? And why is this distinction important? 

Recently a pastor friend challenged me with those questions, and this was my response. I drew it from my study of revivals and awakenings, going back to the first Great Awakening of Jonathan Edwards and George Whitefield and the Wesleys; the Haystack Revival; the Welsh Revival; the Student Volunteer Movement; the work of men like D.L. Moody and Billy Graham; and modern movements ranging from Vineyard and Calvary Chapel to Sovereign Grace, Redeemer, and Acts 29. Part of this draws on a talk I heard Mark Driscoll give at an Acts29 Boot Camp in Raleigh in Feb 09. 

So is Missio Dei a movement? Not yet. But I think we're heading in the right direction. You should also know that I'm personally uncomfortable with #11, but it seems impossible to ignore when you look at history. 

1. It’s an extraordinary outpouring of the Spirit of God upon a praying people. It is inherently something beyond the normal workings of God, and well beyond man’s ability to create.

 

2. It’s characterized by extraordinary events and transformations: the renewal of an apathetic, dry church; resulting in many conversions of people within and without the visible church.

 

3. It is unusual in its degree and scope. It breaks down human distinctions which are not biblical and which have impeded Kingdom expansion (ie, the convergence of charismatic theology with the Reformed world in recent years).

 

4. It actively seeks to NOT become institutionalized. When it becomes institutionalized, it loses a great deal of momentum.

 

5. It is discerning about the essentials--those things which must be agreed on or maintained (closed hand), and which are non essentials—those things not necessary to agree on (open hand). There is unity in diversity.

 

6. It CAN work in concert with institutions, to renew and expand them.

 

7. It is a recovery of sound theology and practices—what are not new, but seem that way to those experiencing them.

 

8. It is messy around the edges—and sometimes at the middle. It attracts bad theology, bad practices, and unstable people.

 

9. A movement generates a lot of discussion, both within and without the movement. Some of it is healthy; much of it is gossip and speculation and criticism. But it cannot be ignored.

 

10. It takes hits on both sides. From secular leaning folks, and from the religious establishment. The bad apples are used by skeptics to discredit the entire movement.

 

11. It is frequently spearheaded by a particularly charismatic or larger-than-life leader who seems to be anointed for the task. These leaders are lavished with praise by their followers, but are frequently unfairly criticized and undergo great suffering and temptation.

 

12. It leaves lasting changes in those impacted by it: individuals, families, churches, communities, and even cultures are never the same.