Jesus, Lord at thy birth

In the tradition of all lazy bloggers, but also with an eye on finding these again easily, here is the rather timely assortment of quotations that hit my inbox this morning...

Our Lord Jesus Christ, the word of God, of his boundless love, became what we are that he might make us what he himself is. --Irenaeus of Lyons (fl. 175-195)

From Jesus began a weaving together of the divine and human nature in order that human nature, through fellowship with what is more divine, might become divine. --Origen (185-254)

Christ was not degraded by receiving a body. Rather, he deified what he put on; and, more than that, he bestowed this gift upon the race of men. --Athanasius (296-373)

That he should remain God, though born as man, does not contradict our natural hope. For the birth of a higher nature into a lower state gives us confidence that a lower nature can be born into a higher condition. --Hilary of Poitiers (300-367)

Religion does not allow us to worship the mere man: and it is not true reverence to speak of Christ as God only, separate from his manhood. For if Christ is God but did not take manhood, we are aliens from salvation. Let Him then be worshiped as God, but let it be believed that He also became man. --Cyril of Jerusalem (315-386)

If the Lord did not assume that over which death reigned, death would not have been stopped from effecting his purpose, nor would the suffering of the God-bearing flesh have become our gain. --Basil of Caesarea (329-379)

What He was, He laid aside; what He was not, He assumed. He takes upon Himself the poverty of my flesh so that I may receive the riches of His divinity. --Gregory Nazianzen (330-390)

He who exists eternally did not submit to a bodily birth because He wanted to live, but in order to recall us from death to life. --Gregory of Nyssa (335-394)

When Christ took upon him man's flesh, it follows that He took the perfection and fullness of incarnation. And so he took flesh, to bring flesh to life. --Ambrose (340-397)

He descended to become identical with us.... He made the human soul His own, thus making it victorious over sin. -- Cyril of Alexandria (376-444)

Live and Die a Pirate King?

Just saw the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie the other day - yes, I have no life.

Now, with Owen going through an extended pirate phase, I'm pretty up on pirate lore and the like. It doesn't take a lot of profound thought to notice that pirates are into treasure. Lots of it, actually.

But not, it seems, in the Caribbean. There's even a joke about it in the last film, when a plot device ('the nine pieces of eight') turns out to refer to nine pieces of rubbish, rather than anything of value.

But the third film also tipped its hand toward the end, when Geoffrey Rush made reference to there being 'other ways to live forever'. I'm slow. It's obvious. All three films have had little or no concern for treasure; in fact, hardly any instances of anything vaguely resembling a fiscal transaction. But they're all about living for eternity: whether it's the cursed treasure from the first film that locks Barbosa and his crew in an undead phase, or Davy Jones' Flying Dutchman and its crew, or the ontological necessity that the Dutchman have a captain whose heart has been surgically removed for storage (though I had the impression that the reason for this changed between films 2 and 3), or finally, the 'fountain of youth' that Rush and Depp are vying for as the credits roll on the last film.

Ok, so everlasting fame and glory is part of the piracy mythos, but this is the first time I can think of that eschatology has come into it.

Interesting too, that it's transactional. To live forever, you have to pay a price: look pretty ugly by daylight; look fishy all the time; lock your heart in a box; spend a decade at sea ferrying the dead, with only one day ashore at the end of it; and so on. A fairly bleak view of eternal life, that's for sure. Indeed, the message of the films seems to be fairly hedonistic - live for the moment, as exemplified in Keira's fate.

Crime doesn't pay, after all!

The Turkey without the Turkey

So the British government is debating whether Christianity is being actively discriminated against. That's the horse just cresting that mountain in the distance, and if you're wondering where the stable door is, it's just where you left it a century ago, methinks.

But what a valiant defender. The turkey without the stuffing indeed. And a utilitarian argument about right-wing parties. Can't buy Christmas cards and advent calendars. Oh dear. Next they'll ban Christmas presents! I suppose at least there's always one of those quaint old stone churches you could visit...

And the secularist! Over-represented in public life, he says. Perhaps he should form a right-wing party of his own - it's easier to get the right Christmas cards!

Harrumph. Bah humbug.

Blowing Apathy Out of the Water

So it's been a while.

But I've been shaken out of my lassitude by finally succumbing to rave reviews and making the time to get started on The Doors of the Sea: Where was God in the Tsunami? by David Bentley Hart.

There's a theory that says a writer has to grab you on the first page if they want you to finish their book. When the fourth word of the book is 'verdant' you know you're reading a writer, but it was page six that hooked me good:

Considering the scope of the catastrophe, and of the agonies and sorrows it had visited on so many, we should probably have all remained silent for a while. The claim to discern some greater meaning - or, for that matter, meaninglessness - behind the contingencies of history and nature is both cruel and presumptuous at such times. Pious platitudes and words of comfort seem not only futile and banal, but almost blasphemous; metaphysical disputes come perilously close to mocking the dead. There are moments, simply said, when we probably ought not to speak. But, of course, we must speak.

I read it out to Jude when I got home, and her immediate response was to reserve the book to read herself. With three demanding kids, she's pretty choosy with her time. Now she wants The Beauty of the Infinite for Christmas!

Joy in the reading of theology; an aesthete would be pleased...

Habakkuk meets The Castle

We're halfway through a integrated series of sermons and Bible studies on Habakkuk at the moment, and this week was Hab. 2. And in the last few minutes of preparing, I put my finger on what was bothering me about the chapter.

It had a few refrains and themes whirling around in it, but I wasn't having much luck in figuring out why these were the things highlighted about the Babylonians...and then the penny dropped. 2:4-20 is about the vibe, specifically, the Genesis 4-11 vibe.

We found stacks of references to Cain, Ham, and Babel - and the latter makes plenty of sense when the focus of Habakkuk is the Babylonians. There's too many to list, but for me the highlight comes toward the end of the chapter. Verse 17 again repeats the accusation of 'shedding man's blood', referencing Gen 9:6's prohibition on murder, and then verses 18-19 move on to idolatry and the making of images...just as Gen 9:6 bases the ban on murder on the fact that man is made in God's image.

It certainly makes you reassess what v. 14 means, with the earth being filled with God's glory like the waters cover the sea - a reference to the glory seen in the flood of judgment, or to the glory seen in rescue when the waters were pushed back?

And for Habakkuk, it's a good answer: sin has always been like this, says God, and that's why I tolerate the treacherous. I'm busy saving them!

Am I a completer/finisher?

I've always had some doubt about this category - out of some Myers-Briggs type assessment. I just can't tell whether I fit the bill.

I'm a last-minute guy when it comes to deadlines, which hardly suggests that I have a great love of finishing things off. And then there's the whole 'what happened to June's blog posts?' kind of consistency...

But on the other hand, I finish some things obsessively. I can name a couple of too-fat books that I finished reading a number of years after I first started - Martin Gilbert's World War Two survey, and then just recently the somewhat patchy Geoffrey Blainey's 'Short History of the World'.

And now I can announce that today I completed an 11-year-held ambition, and read Billy the Punk to my firstborn son. And then I had second thoughts...what if he followed Billy's example!! Well done Jess by the way, you're still in print, and deservedly so.

Now, what shall I go procrastinate with next?

Home and Hosed

I preached on the parable of the faithful and wise servant (Mt 24:45-51) on the weekend, and found the commentaries pretty pedestrian (a common fault when it comes to Matthew, I've found...). Call me pious, but I'm of the opinion that Jesus doesn't waste his breath, and so if he felt the need to say more after the parable of the thief and the householder that precedes this one, then he must have had something to say other than 'be ready' again.

So I dug around for a while, looking for something that made this a parable and not just another example or metaphor, and I think the answer's in the 'household' bit. That is, Jesus isn't just posing a question about his own disciples, he's also taking aim at the Temple leadership, prompted by the assumptions his disciples appear to display at the start of ch. 24. They look like they're being faithful because the Temple's in great physical condition...but Jesus says a faithful servant looks after the other servants, not the house.

Plus, there's also the fact that ch. 23 is a fairly serious hosing for the Jewish authorities for their failings in precisely this, and Jesus concludes with the reflection that Jerusalem's house, the temple, has been left desolate by them.

What's Taken For Granted

In an effort to live up to that 'largely after the fact' bit, I'm finally getting around to something I spotted last week. This story was much like any other (well, much like the ongoing Wolfowitz saga, writ smaller, anyway), but the last few paragraphs caught my eye.

"No one is arguing about Ms Swaffield's qualifications for her positions ... but the perception in the House is that quite possibly the best applicant was not appointed." It's a bit of a Clayton's accusation of corruption, isn't it? She was qualified for the positions she was promoted to, but they're still unhappy.

Why is it, do you think, that sufficient is no longer seen as sufficient? She could do the job, but maybe somebody better could have done it too. But wait, if somebody more capable had been appointed, wouldn't that have been a waste of their greater ability anyway?

The whole idea of merit advancement was an Enlightenment-era reaction against their equivalent of jobs for the boys, the preferral of the aristocracy for anything that mattered. The rising middle classes wanted access to the plumb jobs, and thought that merit was a better means for selecting people. And hey, they had that right.

But does it really mean that you take the most overqualified person? Isn't it really meant to guard against getting a moron with good connections? I suspect that the pendulum might have been pushed too far on this score.


As for the next quote, "I treat all anonymous letters with the contempt they deserve." What makes anonymity contemptible, I wonder? A priori, that is, without any consideration of the reason for anonymity? I'd hate to have amnesia and have to write to this guy. Does he read the mail he gets from the government? His tax refund? Conversely, does he really believe the Readers Digest letters about how he's WON THE ULTIMATE whatever, simply because they have a signature printed at the bottom?

Or does he just like it as an easy cop-out for not doing his job...?

As for the idea of the same individual being in charge of the Sydney Opera House and Foxtel...

Not My Greatest Idea...

...chiefly because it's not mine at all, but comes from an astute Bible study group member.

We've been working through Acts, and this week was ch. 8. It's a chapter I love for the last pericope - the way the Ethiopian eunuch finds a welcome at last in the good news of Jesus, having been shut out of everything that matters previously. He looks powerful, but knows his emptiness.

I made an observation that this is somewhat parallel to Simon Magus, earlier in the chapter - a reputed Great Power who is really an outsider, as a Samaritan, to true religion. And Isaiah 53 is a hugely appropriate starting point for a gospel presentation to someone in such a position as these two are, with its promise that the outsider can be valued by God and exalted.

I also suggested that it was no coincidence to find these two stories in a chapter that opens with a new persecution of the church: the very stories are encouraging to the church that has been recently ostracised.

But the nice idea was this: that ch. 8 leads up to Saul's conversion in the next chapter, as the chief of outsiders comes in from the cold, 'as one unnaturally born'.

Inter Mission

Nothing profound today, I suspect - just a chance to raise my head above water and reflect on the week of mission we've nearly finished.

The coolest outcome has to be something that happened right at the start. We arranged letterbox advertising in the week or so leading up to the mission, and one guy turned up the week before with his son, prompted by seeing our flyer. He'd been thinking that he should look into finding a church, and there was the prompt in his letterbox. Well, it was a pretty slick flyer... And so he came back last Sunday, heard the sermon on John's prologue, and repented. On his way out, he farewelled me with a 'definitely see you next Sunday' that meant more when I read his comment card. How good is God?!

Another highlight has been the opportunity to do scripture seminars in the high schools. We had half of the year 11/12 school in a seminar on Tuesday, and it generated piles of follow up - more than a tenth of the school. Some of that is spoof responses, but even so...God is good.

It's been interesting to coordinate the mission - particularly in thinking about the impact of advertising/branding. My impression is that for many, it was when they started seeing the same fonts, slogans and colours that they started to recognise that the mission was on. Or perhaps, more accurately, that they started to have confidence in it. Momentum was negligible for most of the months leading up to mission, but has picked up markedly in the last couple of weeks. We've been well served by the mission team, which has reinforced the impression that the whole thing is worthwhile.

The tricky part now is managing follow-up, which isn't very public, and avoiding a post-mission slump around the church. Providentially, we've arranged to have a baby next month, so that might help keep people focused.

The truth will out...

It's a bit of an old story, but I came across it again recently, and it's worth a rerun. It seems that Canterbury has had to face that the whole thing is crumbling - and in public, no less.


...though thinking about it, it's probably outlasted Rome (well, the Empire, anyway)...

Repenting at leisure popular

I think it took 5 attempts to get a combination for this blog's address that wasn't taken already. I guess I'm not alone in indecision.

There are some high standards out there that I won't reach, so the tentative theme seemed appropriate. I'm hoping to air some of my more original thoughts here, and we'll see if anyone cares to affirm or infirm them...

To kick us off, Isaiah 40. A purple passage, of course, and there are many ugly trinkets that still haven't managed to kill off the beauty of the language. What interests me tonight, however, is my idea for reading the last few verses.

All that strength for the weary, soaring on wings like eagles etc, is very nice indeed. But what's tiring them out? It seems to be a trip that they're on - one that's long enough to involve stumbling, fainting and the like. In the context of the chapter, I suspect that Isaiah is looking ahead to the return from exile; after all, Jerusalem's sin has been paid for. Neither Webb nor Motyer seem to look this far in their commentaries, preferring to see it as reassurance for the drabness of exile.

But this then fits back in with vv. 3-11. God is coming through the wilderness, and, shepherd that he is, bringing his people with him. The highway is for both God and his people. The natural extension is that God is with his people even in exile - for the word of the LORD stands forever.

In preaching this tomorrow, the last two points on my outline - 'Coming Home' '...When Home Never Left You' - I love the power of the image of coming home, and hope to double it (deliberate reference to v. 2 there) with the realisation that home was with them all along.