If you haven’t read the first part, please take a peek at that.
I didn’t fully finish talking about some of the main points that Wright makes in the first chapter in TCOJ entitled “The Challenge of Studying Jesus.” First off, when Wright says that there is still much to be said about Jesus which is not what most Christians think is the case. Anything ‘new’ about Jesus is often lumped into the ‘liberal’ or ‘heretic’ pile and ejected. Wright makes stakes out his ground in this matter. He writes that many Christians “wonder…if the attempt to say something fresh is not a denial either of the church’s traditional teaching or of the sufficiency of Scripture” (13; look, I haven’t even left page 13 yet!). In response to this, he states that he “regard[s] it, not just as permissible but as vitally necessary that we grapple afresh with the question of who Jesus was and therefore who he is. In doing so I in no way want to deny or undermine the knowledge of Jesus” that has been witnessed to in “the common experience of the church” (13-14). It is on page 14 that we get a hint of what Wright will be talking about in the last chapter: the marriage of knowledge and love. Wright continues: “If even in a human relationship of knowledge and love there can be misunderstandings, false impressions, wrong assumptions, which need to be teased out and dealt with, how much more when the one to whom we are relating is Jesus himself” (14).
“The common experience of the church” (which I would interpret as the whole of the Christian Tradition, including the Bible) seems to be the rock on which Wright anchors his historical and theological ventures. As I read this again, I’m reminded of last November when I sat in my prof’s office.
“Ok C.A., so here’s the deal, I’m not baptized, and after reading the early Church Fathers on baptism, I kinda think ‘Oh, crap’ and realize that baptism is far more serious than I had taken it, as a Baptist, ironically.” I said.
“Yeah, it’s pretty important.” C.A. replied. He had a slight grin to his face as he raised his eyebrows. Perhaps he suddenly remembered the first time he read the Church Fathers and was shocked by the critical importance of something he had once thought of as optional or non-essential.
“And here’s the deal, I feel like I need a spiritual tourniquet.” I wasn’t sure if he would get where I was going with this, so I explained a little further. “I think baptism can act as that spiritual tourniquet which can cut off the loss of faith from my bloodstream.”
“Something like a leash, you mean.” C.A. replied.
“Yeah.” I replied, though I liked the term ‘spiritual tourniquet’ better. It sounded more crucial, necessary, and I-need-it-now-or-else.
“I think that’s important.” C.A. continued. “Not something to tie you down in a restricting way, but to keep you from straying too far, to always bring you back to the core, to remind you where you come from.”
I later told K.C. that C.A. had said I needed a leash.
“That’s so like C.A. to say you need a leash.” K.C. poked fun back at his friend and colleague.
A few days later, I was back in C.A.’s office this time voicing that I was walking a thin line between complete rejection of Jesus and the Christian faith and sticking around for another round. As I walked out of his office, C.A. said quite emphatically: “Stay with the Church.” I have taken C.A.’s forceful statement as an affirmation of the Church as the “pillar and ground of Truth.” But the Church is not merely some institutional body that has a hierarchy or has leaders; it is, simply, the body of Christ. To be in the Church is to be in the Body of Christ and therefore able to penetrate more deeply into the mystery of Christ. (I should note that neither C.A. nor I are Catholic or Orthodox.) Also, “Stay with the Church” constantly reminds me of the sacrifice, wisdom, knowledge, commitment, tenacity, and faithfulness of the centuries of Christians who have gone before me. For me to say that I know more than Athanasius or Abba Antony is wrong. For me to say this and then on top of that reject them, call them useless pieces of antiquity, or to simply ignore them on the basis that they look, sound, and feel different is downright arrogant. Imagine if I did that to my blood relatives, my grandparents, and my great-grandparents. Why should I allow the same to my ancestors of faith? Jaroslav Pelikan aptly states:
For those who believe that you don’t need tradition because you have the Bible, The Christian Tradition [referring to his five-volume work] has sought to say, ‘You are not entitled to the beliefs you cherish about such things as the Holy Trinity without a sense of what you owe to those who worked this out for you.’ To circumvent Saint Athanasius on the assumption that if you put me alone in a room with the New Testament, I will come up with the doctrine of the Trinity, is naïve. (My italics.)
After reading this quote for the very first time, I remember thinking: “Yes. Who am I? Who do I think I am?” I need the ancestors of the Faith to guide and direct me through questions, criticisms, and doubts. But what is more is that these men were not merely intellectuals, they were pastors (see R. Wilken’s The Spirit of Early Christian Thought for a really good discussion on this) so they are also the ones who will guide me to Christ through the suffering of the human condition. I am reminded of a quote from Alfred the Great that one of my prof’s mentioned:
Our forefathers who before us held these places, loved wisdom, and through it they obtained wisdom, and left it to us. Here may we still see their footprints, but we cannot follow them up and therefore have we lost both wealth and wisdom, since we would not incline our hearts to their example. (Alfred the Great, Letter to Bishop Waerferth, 890 CE)
A few more points: First, as I mentioned in the last post, if we had said everything that we could say about God and Jesus, then there is probably something wrong in our theology and we might want to take a second gander at what we’re trying to do and how we’re doing it. Furthermore, considering that we find ourselves in a very different context than that of first century Judaism or the early Christian Church, we’re going to need to understand what Jesus meant by what he said in his own context while still probing for his meaning to our own world. Certainly, there is continuity through all contexts (and I would say continuity is needed between all contexts).
Second, I know I might be stepping on some toes when I say this, but it seems to me precisely because Jesus is not physically here on this earth (notice the qualifier, on this earth) standing in front of you or me in such a way that we are 100% certain it is him, our interaction with Jesus is open to a greater possibility of misunderstandings, false assumptions, and flat out wrong ideas. He cannot stand there and say “No, you’re misunderstanding me” in the same way I can say to you “No you’re misunderstanding what I meant.” I don’t know if that made any sense. Let me put it another way. I find it incredibly difficult to have a meaningful one-on-one relationship with a person that I can see face-to-face and sit down with and talk. I find it incredibly difficult to get my own family right, or my friends, I found it difficult to understand my former girlfriend. All of these people I can see, touch, and hear; I am pretty darn certain that what I’m sensing is reality. But Jesus, he’s in a whole other boat (not asleep though). I can’t experience Jesus in the same way that I experience other people. So I find it somewhat more plausible that I have deeply misunderstood Jesus based upon the fact that I can’t sit down for coffee with him (or perhaps he likes a good lager). Of course, there’s the whole Holy Spirit thing and that might throw a wrench (a good one) into what I just wrote. Even so, I don’t think that entirely does away with the necessity and responsibility of wrestling with Jesus, with God, and with the truth that is said to be personified in the man from Nazareth. The Holy Spirit has been used and abused by many and a discerning response can help to alleviate misunderstandings and false assumptions caused by subjective religious experience.
Robert Louis Wilken, might also have something to say about the whole question of “what does it mean to see God/Jesus?” but that’s for another day.
Another point that Wright puts forward is that “When Christianity is truest to itself…it denies precisely this dichotomy [between history and faith]” (16). I wrote a bit about this dichotomy in the last post, but I have a few more thoughts about it that I’d like to put forward as well. Wright says that when Christianity is the most true to itself, it does not accept the dichotomy of the Enlightenment that the academy and the church have bought whole-heartedly into. I said in the last post that I often wonder why Christians are so afraid of scholarship or the difficult questions that are out there floating around in the minds of non-Christians and Christians alike. Often, the response to the difficult questions that challenge the core points of the Christian faith are quickly silenced, swept under the carpet, left in the back janitor’s closet. No one wants to deal with, or more likely, no one can deal with them because they have not dealt with previously critical questions. Thus, most Christians shoot themselves in the foot: because scholars are suspect, Christians can do little more than lob Bible verses or cute phrases at the difficult questions leaving everyone unsatisfied. But what is more is the fact that without this dichotomy between faith and history, Christianity can be released from the bonds of the Enlightenment dichotomization and unfurl itself into a broader and more all-encompassing reason and meaning for our world. Most times that faith and something else are pitted against each other, it results in a stunted faith, a faith afraid of the ‘enemy’, a faith that is defencive not reconciliatory, a faith that is not intent on becoming fully human in all aspects of life, a faith not driven to contribute as an independent prophetic voice to all venues of life. It is a faith afraid of pursuing and discovering Truth/truth.
This is the third reason Wright gives to the reader as to why the quest for Jesus is necessary: “the Christian imperative to truth.” He writes that
Christians must not be afraid of truth…My agenda is to go deeper into the meaning than we have before and to come back to a restatement of the gospel that grounds the things we have believed about Jesus, about the cross, about the resurrection, about the incarnation, more deeply within their original setting (17).
Wright is right. Christians are quite afraid of truth. It sounds counterintuitive since the everyday Christian would say they know the Truth/truth. But the fact that many Christians are afraid of what is coming out of historical and theological reflection suggests to me that the confidence in the Truth/truth is uncertain. As I have had the opportunity to study at the university, on my own, and in a community of fellow searchers, very uncomfortable points do come up and I am left with knots in my stomach as I reflect on something I have discovered. Then I remind myself that on the journey to heaven, I will be met with challenges and facing these challenges head on is much more beneficial in the long run. When I tackle the difficult challenges to faith the result is me taking one step forward in the journey towards a greater understanding and application of the truth. (Though I admit more often than not it feels like I take one step forward and two steps back.)
I remember growing up believing that Christianity was utterly true. I lived in community with many people who believed that as well (and still believe it). Then I was faced with the daunting questions that professors at the university put forward and the rather uncomfortable answers they suggested. It was not until very recently that I finally realized that the truth of Christianity is much broader and deeper than the individual and his/her experience. It is rather terrifying to have a confident (supposedly) faith shaken for the first time by difficult questions and criticisms. What’s more is when one is confronted by historical and theological realities, one must either make the choice to outright reject these realities or lend an ear to listen to them.
I once had someone tell me that I shouldn’t go too far down certain paths as I might stray from the truth. Those two paths were studying other religions and their potential influences on early Christianity and the issue of religious pluralism. I responded vigorously: “If truth matters, we ought to go to the greatest length necessary to discover it and apply it.” A pretty straightforward answer, in my opinion, that encapsulates the purpose of our entire lives: “we are made for God: for God’s glory, to worship God and reflect his likeness. That is our heart’s deepest desire, the source of our deepest vocation” (16). Our vocation is to draw ever closer to God and to Christ and I would argue that this is not merely drawing near to him in spiritual knowledge (i.e. religious experience) but in all avenues of life. Wright doesn’t see historical and theological reflection as detached from a life of faith, prayer, service, and sacraments (worship) as some do.
Here’s another point that I am really struggling to find any sense of consistency: some Christians pride themselves on having a ‘personal relationship’ with Jesus yet are very afraid of any and all findings that Jesus-research brings up. It seems strange to me, actually it seems rather absurd, that someone would claim to know someone but then believe it unnecessary to take seriously any task of understanding and interpreting the subject of their relationship. What’s more is that many Christians claim they want to know Jesus more though I suppose they do not think scholarship is the way to go. Spiritual knowledge, personal religious experience, and “knowing God” (versus “knowing about God”) are the avenues these people take. Each of these avenues is true and good, but they are often traveled down at the expense of avenues such as the life of the mind (which is equally important and equally necessary). It makes more sense to me to pursue a relationship with someone on all points: intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and physical rather than some atomized attempt that results in a partial picture of the subject.
In conclusion, I would like to suggest something: I find Christianity to radiate unity from its inner being. Unity of the Holy Trinity. Unity of heaven and earth in the New Creation. Unity of suffering and redemption. Unity of theology and worship (in the lives of the early Church Fathers in particular). Unity of a call to conversion/repentance with a message of forgiveness and new life. Unity of love and justice. Unity of true humanness and true divinity in the person of Jesus. Unity of all peoples in the Gospel (for the Jew and the Gentile). Unity of body and soul. Unity of humanity in the divine life of God (in union with God). Simply put, I find the Christian message to be a message of unity. Thus, to me (and I think Wright would agree), trying to dichotomize everything ends up moving in opposition to a message of reconciliation (again, to me having connotations of unity) that seems to be at the heart of the Christian faith. (Of course, there are a few kinks that need to be worked out of these thoughts because I will admit that some choices necessitate a separation, e.g. ‘You either can go on sinning or you can be reconciled with God, but you can’t have both.’)

