This sermon is part 3 in a 3-part series on 1 Kings 17-22.
Outline:
- The manic street preacher
- Who rules Israel? (vv. 1-16)
- God’s word versus the king (vv. 17-29)
- God’s word, God’s kingdom and us
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A while back I was looking through my father-in-law’s collection of old newspapers and found this little piece in the London Gazette (Monday August 26, 1768, Number 118; Twopence-Farthing). It’s either a letter to the editor or an editorial comment; I’m not sure which! It comes just after the announcement of a soiree to be held by Mrs Grant-Forsdyke and just before a description of a French pirate ship at large:
This sermon is part 2 in a 3-part series on 1 Kings 17-22. Outline:
This sermon is part 1 in a 3-part series on 1 Kings 17-22. Outline:
My review is now on Themelios. I’ve also included the full text below:
David J. Rudolph. A Jew to the Jews: Jewish Contours of Pauline Flexibility in 1 Corinthians 9:19–23. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 2.304. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. xii + 290 pp. £69.00/$137.50.In 1 Cor 9:19-23, Paul seems to wear his Jewishness very lightly. He claims, for example, that he is not “under the law” and that he “became as a Jew” in order to win Jews. These claims are often cited as evidence that Paul was indifferent to Jewish identity and Torah observance. David Rudolph’s monograph seeks to demonstrate that this “consensus” reading of 1 Cor 9:19-23 cannot be sustained. Rudolph’s primary aim is to demonstrate “that scholars overstate their case when they maintain that 1 Cor 9:19-23 is incompatible with a Torah-observant Paul.” As a secondary aim, Rudolph also seeks to show “how one might understand 1 Cor 9:19-23 as the words of a law-abiding Jew” (p. 19). In part I (chs. 2-4), Rudolph aims to destabilise the consensus reading of 1 Cor 9:19-23. Chapter 2 deals with intertextual issues. He first argues that key texts often used to support the idea that Paul’s Jewishness is erased or inconsequential in Christ (esp. Acts 16:3; Rom 14; 1 Cor 7:19; 10:32; Gal 1:13; 2:14; 3:28; 5:6; 6:15; Phil 3:8) do not clearly support this idea. Rather, the texts can be interpreted to mean that Paul’s Jewishness is less important than his belonging to Christ. Rudolph then examines other key texts (esp. Acts 21:17-26) which suggest that Paul viewed Jewishness as a distinct “calling in Christ”. Chapter 3 examines 1 Cor 8:1-11:1, arguing that Paul’s whole approach to idol-food fits well within the bounds of Torah-observant Judaism. Paul was not indifferent to idol-food; he simply took a more nominalist Jewish position (what matters is a person’s intention in eating) as opposed to a realist position (idol food is intrinsically dangerous). Paul’s instructions can, in fact, be read as a contextualised application of the apostolic decree (Acts 15). Chapter 4 discusses 9:19-23 directly. He first argues that Paul’s “all things to all people” discourse is consistent with the Jewish practice of accommodation in table-fellowship. Although there was variation in the interpretation of food-laws amongst first-century Jews, there is also ample evidence that many Jews were willing and able to share meals with others (stricter Jews, less strict Jews and Gentiles) without compromising their own purity. Rudolph then examines individual phrases within 9:19-23, showing that they are compatible with the view that Paul was a Torah-observant Jew. For example, the phrase “under the law” does not necessarily mean “under the authority of the Mosaic law”; it might simply refer to those who live according to a strict Pharisee-like interpretation of the law. Chapter 5 offers his proposed interpretation of 9:19-23. Paul is a Torah-observant Jew who does not personally violate the biblical dietary laws, and he is as “strict” about his Torah-observance as the Pharisees. Paul imitates the gospel-tradition concerning Christ’s accommodation towards others and open table-fellowship. Thus, when Paul claims that he “became like a Jew”, he means that he received the hospitality of various kinds of Jewish hosts. He did not adopt a chameleon-like approach to Jewish identity and practice. Rudolph’s most interesting contribution is his formulation of Jewish identity as a distinct “calling in Christ” (pp. 75-88). On the one hand, Paul did not view Jewish Torah-observance as a means of eschatological salvation. On the other hand, Jewishness is not erased or inconsequential in Christ. Rather, for Paul, Jewish Torah-observance is a distinct “calling” or a “vocation” within a more fundamental Christian identity (7:19). The Mosaic law, therefore, applies to Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians in different ways. Paul understood this difference; hence he lived consistently as a Jew, but never insisted that Gentile converts do the same. This nuanced formulation of Paul’s Jewish identity undergirds the cohesiveness of Rudolph’s entire thesis. It also helps to integrate Paul’s letters with evidence from other sources, for example, the story of Paul’s law-observant actions in the temple in Acts 21:17-26 (pp. 53-57). Furthermore, it has significant implications for other important areas of discussion, such as Paul’s view of male-female distinction in Christ (e.g., p. 31), Paul’s reliance on Jesus-traditions (e.g., pp. 179-90), and the role of Paul’s letters in Jewish-Christian dialogue (e.g., p. 211). However, Rudolph’s presentation of Torah-observance as a “calling in Christ” also raises significant unresolved tensions concerning the role of the Mosaic law in Paul’s theology. When discussing the law, Rudolph focuses almost entirely on questions of halakhah—that is, how did Paul live day by day, and how did he expect others to live? Yet apart from a brief discussion of the ambiguity of the phrase “under the law” (pp. 154-59), Rudolph does not adequately deal with the soteriological implications of Paul’s use of the word “law”. He tends to skim past Paul’s frequent (often negative) utterances concerning the relationship of the law to eschatological blessing and salvation. However, most expressions of the “consensus view” Rudolph is seeking to oppose are written in the context of these soteriological considerations. Ultimately, then, if Rudolph’s thesis is to be convincing, it needs to be integrated and reconciled with a more comprehensive understanding of Paul’s view of the Mosaic law, particularly its relationship to salvation in Christ. Lionel Windsor This is an astonishingly profound and helpful summary of Luther’s understanding of the significance of God’s “Law”. I commend it especially to preachers. A warning though: Don’t try to read it on the run. You need some time and space to digest it properly. Luther On Law – Jono Linebaugh. PS Jono is a former colleague of mine. From The Briefing:
One lazy afternoon in 1999, travel writer Bill Bryson discovered a shop that sold pet supplies and pornography.1 It was at the far end of the main street of an unassuming Australian country town called Young. The front of the shop contained rather mundane supplies of flea powder, fish flakes, and other pet accessories. But at the back of the shop, behind a small wooden gate, there was a whole section devoted to the sale of explicit pornographic material. Bryson was apparently baffled by the existence of such a bizarre establishment. But I think I can explain what it was doing there. If memory serves me correctly, there was a period during which various local planning laws existed to get rid of the ‘adult’ industry in Australian towns. The lawmakers didn’t ban small stocks of pornography in shops that existed for other purposes (e.g. newsagents2). But they did try to make sure that all such stocks were strictly controlled. No shop was allowed to have pornography comprising more than a certain small percentage of its total stock. Therefore, no dedicated ‘adult’ stores could exist. The laws were designed to create a safe and wholesome town environment by ensuring that the sale of explicit material couldn’t become a business in its own right (remember, at this point the internet was still taking off).3 But what actually happened? Did the laws work as intended? Not quite. Instead, bizarre shops started to spring up, shops like the one Bryson encountered. The shops still had pornography as their real core business, but to get around the planning laws, the stores put up not-very-subtle ‘fronts’. A shop that advertised pet supplies out the front could ‘legitimately’ claim that it was not really an adult store, since its main purpose was something else. And since there were more individual packets of cheap flea powder and fish flakes on the shelves than there were magazines out the back, the stocks of pornography technically came under the legal limit. But everybody knew what the shops were really for. The laws, despite their good intentions, had failed. This is a clear illustration of a problem that crops up whenever we try to use laws to make things better. These planning laws were good. They were worthy manifestations of our community’s desire to uphold marriage as the proper context for healthy sexual expression, and to limit the harm and exploitation that arises when this context is ignored. I’m glad the lawmakers did what they did. But the legislation couldn’t, by itself, get to the heart of the problem. The laws couldn’t make men love their families more. They couldn’t convince people that being a real ‘adult’ is about care and responsibility, not self-gratification. The letter of the law did nothing to make people love the spirit of the law. It just brought about grudging compliance and tragically comic workarounds that exploited loopholes. A good law doesn’t make people good. This isn’t just a problem for Australian planning laws. In fact, the problem also crops up when we try to put God’s law at the centre of our lives. In Romans 2:17-24, the apostle Paul has a debate about this very issue. Paul and his debating partner were Jews. This means they were law-people, and glad of it. The God of the entire world had especially revealed himself to Israel through the law of Moses. Jews had a fantastic privilege: they knew God’s will in the law. They knew what was good and right and proper, because the Creator himself had told them all about it. Jews were also equipped to teach other people all about this great revelation of God’s will. But Paul insists that God’s law-revelation has a fundamental problem. It’s not that the law is bad; actually, the law is great. But the problem is that the law won’t change the heart. God’s good law doesn’t make God’s people good. In fact, as Paul goes on to show in Romans 3, the law does something else entirely. In the end, the law makes our sin and hypocrisy crystal clear. It silences every mouth, and holds us accountable to God (Rom 3:19-20). The law doesn’t save us. Instead, it shows up our failure, and points to something greater: the forgiveness and transformation that we find in Jesus Christ, through the word of the gospel and the Spirit of God. A heart that relies on the law to find salvation before God is a bit like that store at the end of the main street in Young. It might look respectable and well-ordered. It might seem quite attractive to a casual passer-by. It might have a plentiful stock of law-compliant good deeds on the shelves. And yet there are those sealed sections, the bits at the back. At one level, these sealed sections might seem small or insignificant compared to the much more obvious good deeds that can be pointed to as examples of that heart’s own inherent goodness. But in fact, it is these back sections that truly show up the heart’s real orientation. And if we admit it, there’s a bit of that hypocrisy in all of us, isn’t there? Simply knowing God’s character and will, even his character and will as expressed in the pages of the Bible itself, will not solve our biggest problem. If we want actual forgiveness, salvation, and transformation, we need something far more radical and powerful than God’s law. We need God himself to forgive us. We need the cross of Christ. And we need God to change our hearts, imperfectly now, and soon our whole heart, soul, and strength perfectly on that last day. 1 Bill Bryson, Down Under, Black Swan, London, 2001, pp. 109-110. 2 Newsstands to American readers. 3 I’m relying on my memory of news reports. I’ve tried hard, but haven’t been able to track down the laws that were in effect twelve years ago. Comments at The Briefing.From The Briefing:
I’m about to use Yoda as a model for Christian love. If you haven’t seen the Star Wars movies, you’ll probably be mystified by what I’m about to say. This is not the article you’re looking for. Our home group recently spent a few weeks discussing Christian love. We were focusing on how to love people facing particularly difficult problems like depression or relationship crises. We were thinking about how, in these situations, we could ‘speak the truth in love’ (Eph 4:15). We talked a lot about some of the mechanics of speaking the truth in love: for example, how do you ask the kind of questions that get to the heart of the issue? When a person reveals personal information to you, how do you organize the information in your head? Most importantly, how do you bring the gospel of Jesus Christ to bear in the situation? We soon discovered that there were two kinds of people in the group. Firstly, there were the ‘naturals’, people who were instinctively good at loving people facing hard times. They knew how to be kind, they knew when to listen, they knew when to comfort and when to challenge. When it came to speaking the truth in love, they were Jedis. But there were others, like me, who were less intuitive. We needed to be more deliberate and conscious. We were more like apprentices, young Luke Skywalkers. To some of the Jedis, all this talk about the ‘mechanics’ of love seemed a bit wrong. They thought: “Isn’t it a bit cold and calculating? Isn’t it inauthentic, formulaic, non-relational? Surely you just have to love people genuinely, from the heart, and the rest will follow?” But after a while these Jedis realized something: the apprentices were different from them. The ‘just do it’ approach didn’t work for the apprentices at all. In fact, the apprentices needed the wisdom of the Jedis. We needed them to reflect on what they were doing, to break it down into little bits and teach us. In other words, we needed the Jedis to become Yodas. Yoda was more than just a Jedi. He was a Jedi master. He knew that other people didn’t share his natural intuition. He reflected long and hard about his own innate Jedi skills. He was patient and kind. He shared his Jedi powers with Luke, in simple steps, so that Luke could understand and learn. The Jedis in our group were very gracious to us. They became Yodas for us—and it was incredibly helpful. When it comes to speaking and serving the body of Christ, what gift comes ‘naturally’ to you? In this area, can you become a Jedi master, break it down, and teach the rest of us? Comments at The BriefingBrian Rosner’s Annual Moore College Lectures on Paul and the Law are now available for download (MP3 and PDF) at the Moore College site. I expect it’ll be well worth listening to. OverviewFive Lecture Series
From The Briefing:
I’ve just read an article that I agree with, but can’t relate to. The article, by Carl Trueman, is about the problems with hagiographies (a hagiography is a ‘saint-biography’: an account of somebody’s life that treats them as a hero of holiness and leaves out the naughty bits).1 He argues that hagiographies are bad for multiple reasons: they’re not good history, they promote an unhelpful black-and-white view of the world, and they make readers feel depressed and inadequate when they don’t measure up. I think he’s right. But I just don’t feel his pain. I’m not blaming Carl. It’s just that he and I come from opposite sides of the world. Carl is writing in an American context, where the common impulse is to praise heroes and aspire to greatness. So he needs to warn people about the dangers of hero worship (like Paul does in 1 Cor 3:4-9). But I’m an Aussie: my gut instinct is to sledge heroes and cut down tall poppies.2 So I need to learn more about how to affirm and praise examples of holy living and ministry (like Paul in Col 4:7-13). Hagiography is an American problem, not mine. Okay, by now you might be protesting that I’m making wild stereotypical and racial generalizations. I’ll come clean, and admit that indeed I am. Americans and Australians aren’t that different, are we? We share a lot of culture. We even speak similar languages. Ultimately, both of us need to hear each of these messages. Whatever country we’re born in, we need to learn to affirm and praise great examples of holy lives, and we need to avoid the danger of hero worship. But how can we do both of these things at the same time? I learned the answer from a wise and godly man—my former ministry trainer and the founder of this publication. He taught me this: when we see people persevering, growing, working, preaching, loving, praying and dealing with sin day by day, we should rejoice. But when we rejoice, we should remember that we’re not rejoicing in the holiness of people. We’re rejoicing in the holiness of the Holy Spirit, who makes all God’s children holy. That is, when we talk about the great deeds of ‘saints’, we’re not praising the saints. We’re praising the sanctifier: the Holy Spirit, who with the Father and the Son is worshipped and glorified. No matter what our cultural tendencies are, the task is the same for all of us. If you’re inclined to cut down tall poppies, praise the God who made them grow tall. If you’re inclined to worship heroes, then praise God and not the person. In both cases, we’re doing what we were created for: praising and worshipping God, who alone is perfectly holy. 1 You can read Carl’s article at http://www.reformation21.org/blog/2011/06/writing-on-athanasius-a-genera.php. 2 Translation: insulting heroes and criticizing successful people who distinguish themselves Comments at The Briefing. |
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