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I witnessed a convergence of ideas the other day when reading Rob Moll’s The Art of Dying: Living Fully in to the Life to Come. (A book, incidentally, that I think ought to be read, along with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross' classic On Death and Dying.)
A few months ago I came across (again) Gilbert Meilaender's brief article "I Want to Burden My Loved Ones" (first published in 1991 in First Things—back when it was less of a rag). Moll then brought it up in The Art of Dying and unpacks it a bit:
"Meilander gently argues against the application of living wills or advance directives as the modern fix-all to the tendency of doctors to rely too heavily on medicine. We say we don't want to burden our families with making difficult choices when we cannot make medical decisions on our own, so we turn to legal documents that outline what we would and would not want should we ever be unable to tell a doctor ourselves. . . .
[But] this appeal to a piece of paper overturns what families are supposed to do—carry each other's burdens. When we allow someone else to care for us, make decisions for us, Meilander says, we most often discover that they are willing and eager to pick up our burdens." (p. 90)
Advance directives are, of course, not inherently wrong, but "it is best when a range of people . . . are part of the conversation about what medical care a patient desires." The main benefit of advance directives is getting the conversation started.
Moll also writes early on in the book about what he alludes to in the above quote—relying too heavily on modern medicine. "Our hope in medicine can lead to an unrealistic expection that medicine can cure whatever disease we or our loved ones might have. Such expectations tempt us to believe we need not contemplate and prepare for our death or that of our family members." He goes on: "Aggressive medical care may always be our first option, but by pursuing powerful medicine until there is 'nothing left to do' we likely forgo time with loved ones, final pursuits or perhaps a spiritual deepening in anticipation of life with God" (p. 35). Such is the irony of certain Christians' proclivities toward being "so pro-life [that] we're anti-death" (in the words of one Christian gerontologist, p. 33).
Then along came Hauerwas. In "America's God Is Dying," he writes (among other things that are actually the piece's focus):
"The fear of death is necessary to insure a level of cooperation between people who otherwise share nothing in common. In other words, they share nothing in common other than the presumption that death is to be avoided at all costs.
That is why in America hospitals have become our cathedrals and physicians are our priests. I'd even argue that America's almost pathological reliance on medicine is but a domestic manifestation of its foreign policy. America is a culture of death because Americans cannot conceive of how life is possible in the face of death. And thus 'freedom' comes to stand for the attempt to live as though we will not die."
The point about foreign policy aside, think how this same culture (of triumphalism and glory) has gripped the American church—the very place where the cross ought to be rooted. Christians here cannot conceive of how life is possible in the face of death. And so American Christians, just as much if not more than non-Christians, die poorly, precisely because they have forgotten how to die well, which means they've forgotten how to live.
THE STORY OF LOT isn’t particularly nice. It is, in fact, one of the more gross stories in the Old Testament. A recalcitrant man of faith, a self-centered wife, two incestuous daughters, obstinate daughters and sons-in-law, and a city full of violence and perversion—great characters all—for a tragedy. Yet it is not without hope. For despite his depressing mistakes, Lot was a righteous man whose faithful soul was tormented over the lawless deeds of the Sodomites (2 Peter 2:7–8). God, ever utterly faithful to his covenant, did not abandon Lot (for Abraham’s sake, Gen. 19:29); rather, he repeatedly delivered him, providing ample opportunities for him to return to the covenant community. Our continual prayer ought to be that God would do the same for us when judgment strikes, lest we be caught vacillating like Lot’s wife.
The comment in the narrative about his wife in turning into a pillar of salt (Gen. 19:26) serves one major purpose: to show what becomes of those who identify themselves with the objects of God’s wrath. In looking back, Lot’s wife directly violates the command in verse 17 (“Do not look back or stop anywhere in the valley.”). She therefore shows her solidarity with the evil city and forfeits her salvation (see Matt. 6:24; 13:22). Before we stand on our own self-constructed pedestals, however, consider some of the reasons why Lot’s wife would have looked back: her husband was a judge in that city (Gen. 19:1), and she undoubtedly enjoyed riches and respect; her home and all her possessions collected over a lifetime were destroyed; and, not least, her other two daughters, who stayed behind with their husbands, were suffering a horrific, burning death. Would you not linger?
So great is the temptation to become identified with the luxuries given by God’s grace that Jesus Himself warned his disciples to “remember Lot’s wife” (Luke 17:32). Lot’s wife, not surprisingly, had become something of an omen in the stories of Israel. She represented the one who, faced with the reality that life and luxury were slipping away, clung tightly to what this world offered, thereby rejecting the salvation of Israel’s covenant Lord. The context in which this warning appears should provide further light on its application for us today.
Readers familiar with Luke 17 know that it’s not easy to understand. As the Pharisees grill Jesus about the coming of God’s kingdom (they in no way consider Jesus’ ministry to be a sign that the kingdom has come), he responds that it is within their grasp—if they weren’t blind to the fact that standing before them was God’s Anointed One. He further remarks that despite the present reality of God’s kingdom in and through his life’s work, judgment is coming. And it will be swift.
Just as in the days of Noah and Lot (vv. 27–29), so too will devastating judgment fall upon those who fail to heed the divine warning. Jesus did not want his disciples falling prey to this destruction, for this destruction would not be preceded by any supernatural signs of imminent danger (vv. 20–21). Therefore, they must be alert. They must not be swayed by false messiahs (see Luke 21:8–9), for the “days of the Son of Man” will be clear to all, like lightning flashing in the sky (17:22–24). When that happens, Jesus warned, flee: “On that day, let the one who is on the housetop, with his goods in the house, not come down to take them away, and likewise let the one who is in the field not turn back” (v. 31).
Well, on what day would this occur? Presumably, “wherever the body is, there the eagles will be gathered together” (v. 37, NKJV). This answer, to us now probably cryptic, may not have been so to His hearers. It is a point of fact that when Rome marched, their imperial standard bore the eagle. Possibly this whole discourse, then, is about the forthcoming destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70, the once-great city that rejected her Messiah and Lord.
It is in this context that our Savior exhorted his disciples to remember Lot’s wife. When the judgment of God through the legions of Rome began, they were not to look back. Nostalgia is not worth facing God’s wrath. As the Roman army swept through the city, the chaotic and seemingly random sword of death took one and left another—whether in bed or in the field (vv. 34–35). Ironically, in this situation, being “left behind” is a good thing, for it is those who are left, who are saved from being taken in judgment, that are rescued by God (with apologies to Tim and Jerry).
If we too are to be left behind, receiving the justice of God reserved for his elect (18:7–8), then we must pay heed to the divine warning. And that warning is the gospel itself. The Messiah has come, vanquishing sin and death through suffering and rejection (17:25; see John 5:24–25 and Rom. 8:3). God’s wrath has been turned from his people (1 Thess. 1:10), and their sins have received atonement (1 John 1:7). To ignore God’s way of peace, to exalt oneself, is to lose the very life so tenaciously grasped (Luke 17:33). Has our generation given itself up to worldly, godless living, just like in the days of Noah and Lot? Will we, too, be taken up by surprise in divine judgment and destruction? With which city do we identify?
True, life and luxury are slipping away, but the word of our God stands forever (Isa. 40:8). And that Word, now come in the flesh, whose Spirit fills every believer, enables us to endure patiently, whatever the cost in self-sacrifice, and to be instantly ready for the return of our King. Remember Lot’s wife!
{This originally appeared in Tabletalk 11.6 (Nov. 2006): 23–24}
That's the question my introduction of this Perspectives volume on the Sabbath seeks to answer. In so doing, it sets up the rest of the book, which presents in point-counterpoint form the four most common views of the Sabbath commandment that have arisen throughout church history, representing the major positions held among Christians today (and despite their absence, Catholics and Orthodox can also be found on the continuum this project articulates). The publisher summarizes the book as follows:
Skip MacCarty (Andrews University, Pioneer Memorial Church) defends the Seventh-day view, which argues the Sabbath commandment is a moral law of God requiring us to keep the seventh day (Saturday) holy. It must therefore remain the day of rest and worship for Christians. Jospeh A. Pipa (Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary) backs the Christian Sabbath view, which reasons that ever since the resurrection of Christ, the one day in seven to be kept holy is the first day of the week. Craig L. Blomberg (Denver Seminary) supports the Fulfillment view, which says that since Christ has brought the true Sabbath rest into the present, the Sabbath commands of the Old Testament are no longer binding on believers. Charles P. Arand (Concordia Seminary) upholds the Lutheran view that the Sabbath commandment was given as Torah to the Israelites alone and does not concern Christians. Rest and worship are still required but not tied to a particular day.
It doesn't hit the shelf until April 2011, but this project, from its acceptance to final manuscript, has taken about 2.5 years. And I've been talking about it for about four. Glad that it's done on this end, and hoping that it serves the church well.
In the July/August 2010 Modern Reformation, Kevin J. Vanhoozer contributes a short article where he lays down "a ten-point checklist for fledgling theological interpreters of Scripture." It basically articulates a way of reading the Bible as Scripture—as God's self-communication—in a canonical and ecclesial context (pp. 16–19).
This is nothing new, of course. But it's still unwelcome among large swaths of religious academia. I'll just reprint the theses here; Vanhoozer provides commentary under each one in the article. Here's how he describes his decahedral: "The ten theses are arranged in five parts: the first term in each pair is properly theological, focusing on some aspect of God's communicative agency; the second draws out its implications for hermeneutics and biblical interpretation." Without further adieu:
- The nature and function of the Bible are insufficiently grasped unless and until we see the Bible as an element in the economy of triune discourse.
- An appreciation of the theological nature of the Bible entails a rejection of a methodological atheism that treats the texts as having a "natural history" only.
- The message of the Bible is "finally" about the loving power of God for salvation (Rom 1:16), the definitive or final gospel Word of God that comes to brightest light in the Word's final form.
- Because God acts in space-time (Israel, Jesus Christ, and the church), theological interpretation requires thick descriptions that plumb the height and depth of history, not only its length.
- Theological interpreters view the historical events recounted in Scripture as ingredients in a unified story ordered by an economy of triune providence.
- The Old Testament testifies to the same drama of redemption as the New Testament, hence the church rightly reads both testaments together, two parts of a single authoritative script.
- The Spirit who speaks with magisterial authority in the Scriptures speaks with ministerial authority in church tradition.
- In an era marked by the conflict of interpretations, there is good reason provisionally to acknowledge the superiority of catholic interpretation.
- The end of biblical interpretation is not simply communication—the sharing of information—but communion, a sharing in the light, life, and love of God.
- The church is that community where good habits of theological interpretation are best formed and where the fruit of these habits are best exhibited.
Vanhoozer sums it up:
Scholars know deep down that they can and should do better than stay within the confines of their specializations: "For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. For I do not do the interpretive good I want, but the historical-criticism or proof-texting I do not want is what I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but interpretive habits that have been drilled into me. Wretched reader that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of secondary literature?" Thanks be to God, there is a way forward: the way, truth, and life of collaboration in Christ, where sainthood and scholarship coexist, and where theological exegesis and exegetical theology are mutually supportive and equally important.
Now, I'll admit to being blinded by a slight infatuation with Vanhoozer, especially after reading books like Is There Meaning in This Text? I've not much to say here by way of criticism. I'm hoping some others can pick that up, not least the "apocalyptic" bunch floating around out there, as I'm not quite sure what view, if any, they might have with respect to hermeneutics (if "they" even have a "view"). I'd also like to see some discussion about how Vanhoozer's implicit criticisms here cut to the quick of a lot of modern confessional Reformed exegesis and theology.
Also, this touches upon what I've grown increasingly comfortable saying publicly as of late: Theology done without an eye on (i.e., in service of) the church is useless. But on second thought, it might be best to break off this subsequent and tangential discussion from this post and deal with it later. For now, I'll leave the Decahedral to stand alone for the reader to digest.
2:49 PM
Moll also writes early on in the book about what he alludes to in the above quote—relying too heavily on modern medicine. "Our hope in medicine can lead to an unrealistic expection that medicine can cure whatever disease we or our loved ones might have. Such expectations tempt us to believe we need not contemplate and prepare for our death or that of our family members." He goes on: "Aggressive medical care may always be our first option, but by pursuing powerful medicine until there is 'nothing left to do' we likely forgo time with loved ones, final pursuits or perhaps a spiritual deepening in anticipation of life with God" (p. 35). Such is the irony of certain Christians' proclivities toward being "so pro-life [that] we're anti-death" (in the words of one Christian gerontologist, p. 33).
