Why Did Jesus Die . . . and What Happened Then?

Chapter 3 – The Cross as Futility, not Forgiveness

Meyers wants to do two things here.  First, to give some background on the creation of the gospels, focusing on Mark as the earliest of our four.   In this regard he wants us to know that Mark was written some 40 years after Jesus lived, and that, therefore, there is not a whole lot of historical “fact” to be found in it.

            He is right that as Jesus taught and worked there were no journalists following him around taking notes.  The disciples were likely not literate, and Meyers says elsewhere that Jesus probably couldn’t read or write either.  Besides, at the time no one would have been thinking about recording what Jesus said and did – he was a popular teacher, but no one could have guessed just how popular he would be 2000 years later.

            So the writing of the gospels that we have didn’t happen until (in Mark’s case) the 60s to mid-70s.  (Matthew and Luke perhaps in the 80’s, John the late 90s.)  Scholars do seem agree, though, that there was another written gospel earlier than Mark – now lost – and that there was a significant “oral tradition” before that.

            So the timeline:  Jesus dies around 33-37;  his followers very quickly experience his ongoing presence in their midst – a resurrection of some sort that convinces them Jesus sill lives, not merely in their memories, as say, we remember a favorite uncle, but within them, among them, empowering them.  

            One would think that immediately people would be telling stories about Jesus . . . “Remember the day that he . . . “   And they would have been repeating his teachings – told, remember, in parable form, and in catchy, folksy images that would lend themselves to memorization.  These stories about a revered great teacher would have been circulating through the early Christian community, for say 15-20 years before people started writing them down.

So yes, there is a gap between the living Jesus and the written stories about him.  But not terribly long . . . not centuries.  And there surely would have been a strong oral tradition formed early on.

Sidebar:  Meyers also talks about the manuscript record of the gospels, citing a book by Bart Erheman:   “ . . . the gospels we have, Erhman reminds us, are copies of copies of copies, in which all the mistakes, both accidental and intentional, have been multiplied exponentially over the centuries. In fact, there are now more known differences among our manuscripts than there are words in the New Testament. “  (p. 62)   

            This implies that the texts we have probably have little to do with the original texts produced in the first century.  But that is not the case.   I would quarrel with here in his use of “exponentially” -- typical of his exaggeration and, ironically, certainty about things that are not certain.   At times he sounds rather like the fundamentalists he attacks, when he throws in an “obvious” here and a “clearly” there for statements that are hotly debated among scholars.

           So the first point of the chapter is to sketch the origin of (and, to his mind, the historical unreliability of) the gospels.  That they were written primarily to make a theological point, and had less interest in “history” than we do, is probably right.   But just how far from history their stories are removed in not at all certain:  a lot? A little?  Some? 

            The second theme of chapter three is the meaning of the crucifixion.  And I agree with him that the traditional “blood atonement” interpretation, first, makes little sense to people today, and second, I suspect it was not the intention of Jesus in the first place.  What, then, is the meaning of the cross?  Meyers says that it reveals the futility of violence. 

“Justice was his passion. Healing was his passion. Gathering up the last, the least, and the lost and helping them to stand up straight in a world that kept them permanently bent over was his passion.”  (p. 71)       

Chapter Four – “Easter as Presence, not Proof” -- addresses the meaning of “resurrection.”  And here he begins with the assumption that a “bodily” resurrection – the resuscitation of a dead body – is simply not credible to people today.  (A whole bunch of people do in fact believe it, of course.)  But if you can’t buy a bodily resurrection, what does Easter mean? 

            For Meyers the power of the first believers – power to overcome great opposition, love their enemies, model a new kind of living, being willing to die for their faith – that came not because they thought Jesus had literally come back from the dead, but because they experienced “Jesus” in their midst.

            That is, they kept the faith by following Jesus, not by affirming a belief about him.  They sought to serve Jesus, rather than worship him.   Meyers describes this new kind of believer this way:  “They accept the laws of nature [as the scientific naturalist/rationalists do] yet refuse to live in a universe devoid of mystery or stripped of all enchantment. By following, not by believing, they remain open to the possibility of resurrection in this life, not just in the next. (pp. 94-95)

           

Borg Revisited

When we read Borg’s Reading the Bible Again for the First Time we were introduced to the idea that how we modern – post-enlightenment -- people use the word “believe” in our religion and how pre-enlightenment folk used it are very different.  WE associate it with the head – propositional truth, factual truth, reasonable and scientific truth.  We want "evidence" for our religion, even if that means sometimes tortuous argumentation.  A “believer” is one who intellectually assents to a set of statements, as in the creeds of Christendom.

What Borg – and Meyers after him – argues is that a “believer” in the New Testament sense is one whose heart has been grasped (Kenneth Haught spoke in this way in Is Nature Enough?) by an experience of God, a “spiritual” experience.  One does not come to it by argumentation (although that might be part of the journey), but by experience.  Meyers (p37) says,   “Marcus Borg reminds us that there are four meanings of the word “faith” in the history of Christianity, and only one of them, assensus, has anything to do with intellectual assent, or faith as a “head trip.”

 The other three meanings  “ . . . are faith as fiducia (radical trust in God), as fidelitas (loyalty in one’s relationship to God), and as visio (a way of seeing creation as gracious).

That concept is foundational to a new understanding of faith – key to what the progressive, emergent Christian movement is about.

Meyers in Chapter Two goes on to give a sketch of the historical Jesus of the Gospels (differentiated from the post-Easter cosmic Christ of the Gospels): 

“Jesus of Nazareth was born just before 4 BCE to Joseph and Mary in a tiny hamlet. He was perhaps the firstborn, but more likely not, and had at least six siblings.

. . .   It is reasonable to assume that Jesus went to school in the synagogue in Nazareth to study Torah and became a woodworker.

. . .   He was dirt poor, living just a notch above the degraded (outcasts) and the expendables (beggars, day laborers, and slaves) . . . most likely illiterate,  . . . and he knew, like the vast majority of his contemporaries in an oral culture, the foundational narratives, basic stories, and general expectations of his tradition but not the exact texts, precise citations, or intricate arguments of its scribal elites.”

Meyers goes on – 

“If his family was reasonably devout, Jesus would have been raised in the practices of “common Judaism.”

 But  one day, without question, Jesus left home to became a follower of the most famous, most eccentric, most apocalyptic wilderness preacher of his day—John the Baptist.

Even though Jesus was a follower of John, there came to be a great difference in their messages:  “John preached grim justice and pictured God as a “steely-eyed thresher of grain.” Jesus preached a God of love and forgiveness and compared him to a father who throws a party for a prodigal son. John said the hour is growing late. Jesus said it is never too late.”

The mistake of traditional Christianity is  that we have made Jesus' message to be about himself, when it was about God:  “His message was theocentric, not Christocentric—centered in God, not centered in messianic proclamations about himself. . . .   He was charismatic, a gifted speaker, and a teacher of wisdom. He taught the “narrow way” as opposed to the broad way of convention and tradition . . . . life is seen as a joyful return from the exile of law and judgment to the unconditional love of a recklessly gracious God.

In the end, Jesus had undercut the power and purpose of religious professionals, excited the poor and empowered the powerless, and quickly attracted large crowds in an occupied territory that was smoldering under Roman occupation. Then, as now, the solution to this problem was simple.  (p. 54)

That solution was the crucifixion . . . which is the subject of Chapter 3.

Saving Jesus from . . . Us?!

I think it is curious (a word that in itself is rather curious) that Meyers – like Doug Pagitt and Bruce McLaren, whose books we have read – is coming out of a fundamentalist background.  And I do mean Fundamentalist.  As in Church of Christ Fundamentalist.  NOT United Church of Christ, folks.  That’s who WE are.  Meyers’ “Church of Christ” is quite sure (of everything, really) that you and I are unsaved, unregenerate, heathen pagans bound for hell.  Hell, they don’t even believe in having instruments in their church!  (That’s because the Bible doesn’t mention pianos, still less pipe organs.  So of course we shouldn’t either.)

The point:  Meyers, now a very liberal and progressive UCC pastor, has come a very long way from his roots.  The faith to which he is reacting is very fundamental, but it is still fair to say that MOST of Christianity, even the more liberal brands, have until recently held to some very fundamental creeds:  biblical authority (and perhaps even inerrancy), the divinity of Christ, a literal/bodily resurrection, the historicity of Jesus’ miracles, and so on.  What Meyers is saying (and Marcus Borg and others said earlier) is that it is time for liberal churches to start telling people what liberal pastors for a very long time have been learning in seminary.  That is, let’s trust the flock to understand what scholars have been saying, in order to have a faith that is intellectually sound.  It is a daring proposition.

Meyers’ goal in the book is to answer this question:  How can our faith become biblically responsible, intellectually honest, emotionally satisfying, and socially significant?  (p. 7) And that is a great statement; that is what people, if they are interested in exploring Christian faith, are looking for – and have not found in the traditional formulations and experience of the Christian church.

Meyers is going to raise the issue that we began with long ago – the issue of “knowing” what is true:

“Our clues will come not from holding the text under the magnifying glass of modernity, where veracity equals truth and mythology equals falsehood, but rather from what philosopher Paul Ricoeur called a “second naiveté”—the posture of hearing truth in stories that are not and never were intended to be taken literally.”   (p. 31)  (Italics mine)

Elsewhere he says . . .

“The truth of which Jesus speaks is wisdom incarnate, not [mere - me, sorry] intellectual assent to cogent arguments made on behalf of God. Indeed, a quick glance around this broken world makes it painfully obvious that we don’t need more arguments on behalf of God; we need more people who live as if they are in covenant with Unconditional Love, which is our best definition of God.” (p. 21).

The first chapter – Jesus the Teacher, Not the Savior – includes a good summary of what contemporary liberal scholarship says about Jesus and how we got from an itinerant preacher in Palestine to a God sitting on a throne in heaven.  Evangelical scholars will want to argue with these conclusions.  We could sometime read what they say in defense of a more traditional understanding of Jesus, and there are reputable scholars out there who do deal directly with what people like Borg, Crossan, and Spong are saying.   But for now, Meyers is providing for us an excellent summary of what scholars in our part of the theological Christian world have learned.

Purpose, Meaning, Morality, and other Simple Issues

The classic statement of purpose and meaning for the Christian West is found in the first question of the Westminister Confession of Faith: 

Question:       What is the chief end of man?

Answer: Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy him forever.

That needs some explanation, of course.  How does one “glorify” God?  By singing great choruses of praise?  By converting others to faith in God?  By living in such a way that we reflect the presence and essence of God into the world?

And how does one “enjoy” God . . . forever?  By being happy?  Talking to God, “communing” with God as pietists and mystics have urged us to do? 

For Christians (and other religionists) the meaning of life has something to do with God.  We take our purpose from the teachings of Jesus . . .  and in so far that we can walk in that way of love and grace and humility (at least that’s MY take on what he taught; others will differ, radically) we can feel that we are fulfilling our purpose.   Many of us find it helpful to believe that we are, by our living and by our worship of God, connected to Something Larger than ourselves;  that adds importance, I suppose, to what can seem boringly ordinary.

Epstein recognizes that human beings need to have a sense of purpose,  direction – meaning.  And his challenge is to provide that apart from any connection to a Higher Power.

Some random quotes and observations:

I was surprised that at one point he starts to sound like a preacher – and his view of humanity, especially for a Humanist, is not so great:

“I suspect that what drives most people in this world, what really might be the world’s largest religion, is one form or another of what we can call “striving.” Do you know any strivers? These would be people for whom the meaning of life, whether they admit it or not, is get, get, get as much as you can.”  (p. 72).

It’s interesting that Epstein, like religionists,  thinks that individual responsibility is vital.  “But like it or not, we are responsible for what we do about it all in this life.“  (p. 81)   The preaching of forgiveness of sins does not negate responsibility;  some would argue that the “reward and punishment” teachings about Heaven and Hell – if you can get around the imagery – is really a forceful and imaginative way of saying that what we do in life matters . . .  we are ultimately responsible for our choices.

For Epstein, the greatest good, that which gives us purpose, motivation, meaning, is “dignity.”

“If happiness, love, self-actualization, self-sacrifice, not to mention God, materialism, and antimaterialism won’t work as a purpose around which to build good lives without God, what’s left?”  (p. 87)

And “Sherwin Wine defined [Dignity] by describing its four qualities: “The first is high self-awareness, a heightened sense of personal identity and individual reality. The second is the willingness to assume responsibility for one’s own life and to avoid surrendering that responsibility to any other person or institution. The third is a refusal to find one’s identity in any possession. The fourth is the sense that one’s behavior is worthy of imitation by others.”Along with these four characteristics of dignity come three moral obligations for the person who values them: First, “I have a moral obligation to strive for greater mastery and control over my own life.” Second, “I have a moral obligation to be reliable and trustworthy.” And third, “I have a moral obligation to be generous.”  (p. 90)

And Epstein’s conclusion as to what we are to be about here:

“Seek the best in yourself and in others, and believe in your own ability to make a positive difference in the world. Pursue truth and honesty in all you do; and be wary of allowing power, status, or possessions to substitute for moral courage, dignity, and goodness.

“ (p. 121)

All of which is great stuff – values and priorities that any Christian surely would say “Amen!” to.   He or she might say that they derived those values from Jesus, the Bible, Christian culture.  And they might also say that a sense of God’s presence with them – as mystical as that is – and of God’s patient leading and mercy – as hard as that is to describe – helps them to live out the purpose, value, meaning they profess.  Few Christians I know would say that the promise of Heaven or threat of Hell has much if anything to do with how they live.  But they would insist that their faith gives them the ability to live in love – and that when they fall short of their ideals the grace of God allows them to forgive themselves.

Humanists can live with "dignity" too.  And while the Rick Warrens of the world don't think they can, the rest of us do.  We've seen it.  And we've seen "people of faith" act perfectly crazy.  

Can We Be Good Without a Belief in God?

Or with a belief, we might also ask, given the craziness that is conducted in God’s name every day, right here in Oshkosh.  (No, I don’t have any examples, but I’m sure there must be.  It wouldn’t be good of me, any way, to tell tales of bad behavior, would it?  Certainly not in writing.)   Epstein is more charitable than I in his book, arguing not so much that religious people can be bad – Sam Harris has shown that well enough, I’d say – as much as that non-religious people can be good.  Not many people apparently are willing to say that.   

“One out of every two Americans admits to being prejudiced against fellow citizens who don’t believe in God. No other minority group in this country is rejected by such large numbers.”  [Introduction]  Fundamentalists keep claiming that they are a persecuted minority.  (Pat Robertson, who, I am told is still alive, recently cited the very funny SNL skit that lampooned Tim Tebow’s religious behavior as the latest proof that Christians are the object of the world’s persecution.  If people would stop making the faith so easy to parody, “the world” might find someone else to poke fun at.)  I’m sure Epstein is right that non-believers suffer far more for their non-faith than most of us faith-folk do for faith.   Which reminds me of question from my evangelical days that applies to me in my liberal days:  if I were arrested for being a Christian, could anyone find enough evidence to convict me?   But I digress.

Epstein, to our shame, is I’m sure right: religious people behave badly toward atheists.   The question is Why?  I suppose it must have a lot to do with our human longing for conformity.  And the longing for certainty – a word our group has talked about a lot.  If ten of us in a room all profess the same belief (set aside here the possibility that some of us say we believe, but don’t really), it feels good.  And we won’t have to debate that item of belief, which is a time-saver!  But if one of us breaks rank, and questions . . . there enters some discomfort.  The belief is suddenly a bit less certain, all because of that one voice.  And two voices . . . three . . . 

The “good” behavior toward those dissenting voices, says my faith, is to respect, listen, learn from the minority, to wish them well, and to thereby love them – even to the point of death if need be.  Too many times, though, Christians fearful for their own beliefs, and angry at those who question them, have denied their own faith and in the name of saving society attack rather than love the dissenter.

Which, in my mind, doesn’t prove their faith wrong; only that they have not lived out their faith.

Greg Epstein's book, Good Without God? is very well written, and raises some excellent questions that should help us sharpen just what it is we believe, and what difference it makes in how we live.  

John Stuart Mill Yet Lives

We start afresh in the fall on Saturday, September 17th, discussing a classic in the field of ethics and religion, John Stuart Mill's 1854 essay, Utility of Religion.  It is but 53 pages long, but due largely to the writing style of that age, requires careful reading.


Mill is associated with a form of Utilitarianism, known as the "greatest-happiness principle" that holds that one must always act so as to produce the greatest aggregate happiness among all sentient beings, within reason. 


You can read the essay on your computer clicking here 

Pagitt -- We End Here

Chapter Twelve looks anew at the ancient -- really ancient -- story of "creation" in the opening pages of the Bible.   In contrast to a traditional reading of the story that points toward the complete "depravity" of humankind, Pagitt says that in "the fall" while our relationship with God and one another changed, our basic humanity did not.  Still created "good," we can still "join in to the good things God is doing in the world.  We are still capable of living as the children of God." (Page 136)

Thus, we are created "in the image of God to be God's partners in the world."  Humanity is "inherently godly, rather than inherently depraved."  As such, our purpose is to love, and to be loved. (Page 138)

Thus, he concludes, "the joy of this proper understanding [that we are godly, rather than depraved] is that we no longer have to feel ashamed of our humanity. It is not a sin to be alive." (Page 144)

Chapter Thirteen takes on the concept that God is our Judge.  Christianity has used the language of the legal system to describe how God works:  God give us laws, we break them and go before the Judge.  A price is to be paid -- a fine, perhaps our life -- and Jesus steps in to pay it in our place.  We walk out of the courtroom grateful to Jesus.  But, says Pagitt, this distorts who God is, and elevates "the Law" above even God.  God is subject to his own rules, so goes the argument.

Pagitt thinks that "sin" is real . . . and something to be death with  in one's faith.  But he calls for a faith that begins not with sin (as does the traditional, God-the-Judge theology of many forms of Christianity) but rather with God -- a merciful, loving, creative God who calls us to partner with God in renewing the world, in loving one another. (Page 156)

On sin:  "Jesus cared about the sin in people's lives because sin kept them from being fully invested in life with God. Sin mattered because it was less than what God wanted for humanity." (Page 158)  Sin is not breaking some code, the rules of God.  And we don't need to be told what it is --  wee know that abuse and hatred, for example, are wrong.   We know it is wrong because it brings disharmony into our relationships.

"Sin isn't a legal problem with God; it's a relationship problem with us." (Page 159)   Judgement, then, is about restoration, reconciliation, redemption, renewal -- NOT about punishment.

Chapter Fourteen carries the idea of "sin" farther, to include Hope. The legal model of sin offers no hope.  It is an unending cycle of sin, confession, forgiveness, and then sin again.  The world is indeed rife with sin -- actions and attitudes that divide, that demonize, that kill.  Christians don't pretend that all is well in the world.  We see it, identify it, and then choose life, and choose hope that sin will not win out.  That is the message of Jesus.

Why do we sin?  That is, why do we so often seem to choose disintegration rather than reconciliation?   Pagitt -- here wanting to incorporate the findings of science and medicine into faith -- says that sometimes there is a biological reason for our behaviors (Page 166) -- alcoholism is a good example.  I personally think that  fear motivates us to be less than we know we can be -- fear of ridicule, or losing something, of being seen as we are.  Fear of "the other" surely is part of the worldwide divisions of race and religion.

Pagitt invites us to a faith that says, despite all evidence to the contrary, healing is yet possible, for ourselves, and for our world.

Chapter Fifteen reminds us that Jesus was indeed Jewish.  And Chapter Sixteen continues to talk about Jesus in his Jewish context.  He notes that the common idea of the "Messiah" to come would be a military figure -- God's warrior to carry on the war between good and evil.  But Pagitt sees in the message of Jesus not violence, but peace.  "The way of Jesus not just to shift the war motif from one kind of war to another, but to see Jesus as the ender of war.  Period."  (Page 191)

Jesus came in the spirt not of Joshua conquering the land, but Isaiah announcing justice for the poor -- a re-integration of society.   To call people to be in partnership with God, to overcome evil not with more evil, but with good.  The hope of faith affirms that in the end the good will prevail, even as in the resurrection the seeming defeat of Jesus was reversed.

Chapter Seventeen -- more about Jesus, this time focusing on the issue of the mix of humanity and divinity in the man Jesus.  The paradox that is a great obstacle to faith for many -- How can a human being also be divine? -- is, says Pagitt, the fault of the Church's early adoption of the Greek view of reality.  That view puts humanity and divinity at odds -- never the twain shall meet.  But the Hebrew mind saw no such conflict.  And that is what Pagitt calls us to consider.  Using an image of St. Paul's, he wants us to see Jesus as the "second Adam."  As the first Adam started disintegration, the second Adam begins re-integration.

"Jesus isn't a superhero, and he isn't just a great example."  (Page 209)  He is both Son of God and Son of Humanity.   Jesus was saying to his followers, "This is what life with God looks like. This is it. And you can live this life too."  (Page 211)

Chapter Eighteen, and the Last, is appropriately about Heaven.  And it should come as no surprise that Pagitt takes issue with the usual, traditional idea that Jesus came to the world to save us, so that we can someday live in Paradise with him and all the other good people for eternity.  (Current right-wing Fundamentalism adds the fun, and diabolical, twist that we good people -- no, the people who believe the right doctrines -- get to RULE over the rest of the earth, with force if necessary.)

For Pagitt the message of Jesus was all about today -- and how we live faithfully today.  As Jesus famously said, "The kingdom of God is within you."  That is, here and now, and more scandalously inside human beings.  Pagitt: "Jesus was proclaiming a holistic reorganization of all that is and all that will be. He was bringing about a new kind of life that was meant to be lived out right away, right here, and forevermore."  (Page 220)

Pagitt echoes some of Crossan's views on the kingdom, namely, that when Christians proclaimed the kingdom of God, they were uttering treason against the kingdom of Caesar.  And when they said that "Jesus is Lord," they were also saying that "Caesar is NOT Lord."  And that got them into trouble.

His conclusion is that understanding the "kingdom of God" not as a place to go someday, but a present reality within -- the presence of God to teach us, comfort us, chide us, and above all else go with us -- has revolutionized his faith, and has made "A Christianity Worth Believing."