Joseph of Arimathea

Today the church remembers Joseph of Arimathea, a wealthy man (by Matthew’s account) and a secret follower of Jesus for fear of the Jewish leaders (according to John) and himself a member of the Sanhedrin though not in accord with the decision to convict Jesus (says Luke). Mark and Luke also say that Joseph was “waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God” (Mark 15:43; Luke 23:51). It’s fair to say that Joseph risked a great deal by going to Pilate to request permission to take down Jesus’ body from the cross. This request is, of course, granted and Joseph puts Jesus in his own garden tomb. John’s account says that Nicodemus helped him bury Jesus and perform the ritualistic anointing of aloes and spices and wrapping the body in linens. Joseph and Nicodemus both bring some dignity to Jesus’ death. Even though he died a criminal, he is buried like a prince.

What moved Joseph to do this? Surely there was some risk in his request to Pilate. The following passages in Matthew show the Pharisees and chief priest requesting Pilate for guards at the tomb, so they know where Jesus is buried and possibly whose tomb it is. Is it too much teasing of the text to suggest that Joseph risked his status to give Christ the status he deserved? That this poor carpenter born in squalor should be buried in grandeur? Only after Christ died was Joseph willing or daring enough to put his faith out into the open. Christ’s death moved Joseph to give up his future burial place; he invited Christ to take his place in the grave. Surely this is not too much of a stretch theologically.

All four Gospel writers mention Joseph of Arimathea’s actions. This must be significant. It must mean more than just an answer to the question, “How did Jesus get from the cross to the tomb?” One reason is that his actions were a sign of his attempt to keep the Law, which stated that criminals were to be buried the same day of their execution. The Romans would’ve left the body there for scavengers to consume. There ought not be such a fate for the body of our Lord. The significance of this is that it is one more example of Jesus’ Judaism. Even in his burial, Jewish customs are enacted.

Perhaps a key to the significance of Joseph’s actions is found in the descriptive phrase, “he was waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God.” By burying Jesus, Joseph was still moving forward. Surely he had no idea of the coming Resurrection, but he must have had notions of the promises of God. I am reminded of the story, I forget where I first heard it, of a group of Jews in a concentration camp during the Holocaust. There were some lawyers in the group, and in their misery they decided to put God on trial to see if he had abandoned them. The set up a mock court room, presented evidence for and against God, and rendered their verdict: God had indeed abandoned them. Just then, they noticed that the sun was setting. It was now Friday evening: it was time for Shabbat. The ended their trial and began their worship.

In my sheltered, comfortable world, I am daily shielded from the death, famine, decay, and injustice that most of the world experiences regularly. When I do come in contact with it, my first impulse is to hide from it, to ignore it, or to look beyond it. I have never been at a point in my life where things were so bad—from all angles—that I felt like God had abandoned me completely. Usually, when I feel like God has abandoned me, I think it’s probably because I did something to make him turn away. It doesn’t take much for me to slack off on spiritual disciplines.

What must it be like to have so much evil around you, to be acutely aware of it, to see its ugly face, to feel its claws pressing into your raw flesh? If I abandon God when I experience a minor personal setback, do I have the faith to remain with God when something really bad happens?

This is perhaps too tangential to the story of Joseph of Arimathea. The overall point, though, is that God’s promises are true. God’s promises are the bedrock of our faith, embodied in the Incarnation of Jesus and the Spirit-filled church. In all things, let us worship and live expectantly.

Lighthouses

Our rallying cry at church lately has been, "We need to be a lighthouse, not a clubhouse." The meaning of this is simple: we need to be focused on bringing people in, not excluding people who don't meet certain "church club" standards. Like many evangelical churches, our congregation is filled with mainline refugees: Catholics, Episcopals, Lutherans, and the rest. Evangelical churches often promote themselves as a place for those who are tired of "traditional" church, feel stifled by it, or find it to be utterly irrelevant to their lives. To be relevant, evangelical churches seek to create a church environment that, at its best, supercedes the other offerings of daily American consumer life (see my post "WOW!" below).

I believe in the "lighthouse" mantra. Clearly, Matthew 5: 14-16 is behind this: "You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before people, that they may see you good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." A church that is focused on servanthood--doing good deeds--will be a lighthouse for the world. A church that hoards its light--under a bowl--is like a dog in manger.

But is it so simple, so cut-and-dried: lighthouse, not a clubhouse? I am opposed to pregnant "us-them" language, but when I read the Bible I hear, again and again, that there are God's people, and there are those who are not. While some take this and attempt make clear boundaries as to who's in and who's out, I refuse to go that far because it is not my job to judge. Thankfully, that task is firmly in the hands of Jesus. As Christians, we're called to explore what it means to be God's people. We're all on different points of that journey, and we best travel with companions.

Companionship is not limited to the living. We have two thousand years' worth of witnesses to the path of Jesus. What an unbelievable, unfathomable treasure! When you become a Christian, you join this group, which is a society that is different. "Club" is too limited a word. Ekklesia is better. To be a part of that society, there are no prerequisites, but there is initiation: baptism. You have now entered a society that teaches that life is found in self-death, that strength is found in weakness, that beauty exists because its Creator, not the taste of others. Identity is not found in self-help but in serving others in the name of Jesus. And through all this, the light of Christ shines and illumines the world.

In sum, to be a lighthouse means to gather around the light. The community of believers--including those in the past and those across the globe--are all gathered around it. It's not a club, but it is a gathering of peculiar people who find their primary identity not in the nation they live in, the color of their skin, or the amount of money in their wallet, but in the living Jesus Christ, who at once embraces and confounds us.

Wrestling with...approval

Last Sunday, I preached from Genesis 32: Jacob's wrestling at Peniel. I titled it simply, "Wrestling With God." It's a passage that has been near and dear to my heart for quite some time, so preaching from it was especially exciting. I was also worried about doing the passage justice. I felt an odd mixture of humility and confidence as I worked on it, because of all the experiences I've had in my pampered, white-middle-class life, wrestling with the changes, hurts, and questions in the context of faith in Christ is something I feel somewhat qualified to speak about. Along my studying, I discovered a wonderfully written little book called Scarred By Struggle, Transformed By Hope, by Joan Chittister, a Benedictine sister. Check it out.

Anyway, Sunday came and I preached. If immediate positive feedback and personal satisfaction are indicators, it was one of my best sermons. I even had people talk to me afterwards with tears in their eyes, telling me it really spoke to them. As a pastor, this is enormously gratifying. Perhaps--perhaps--the Holy Spirit spoke through my poor words and touched hearts. Somehow, my own blood, sweat, and tears mingled with the ink to craft something that encouraged and comforted others in the Body. That encouragement and comfort came to them out of my own scars is a retelling of the Jacob story.

But...after all, this is cynical idealism...don't you ever wonder what to make of it when the only feedback you get from parishioners is positive? Maybe I am a glutton for punishment. Maybe I don't know how good I have it at my church. Maybe at some churches pastors are scrutinized for every little phrase they utter from the pulpit. But in spite of all the accolades that Sunday, I found myself longing for someone to come up to me or call me on the phone and say, "Pastor, I really disagreed with what you had to say on Sunday." I think I understand more why Jay Phelan, President and Dean of North Park Theological Seminary and regular columnist for The Covenant Companion, enjoys it when people write strident letters of disagreement to the editor. It means people are paying attention. It means people want to dialogue and understand (sometimes!). This to me seems to be a fuller meaning of "agreeing to disagree"--a conclusion two people come to after truly understanding and appreciating each other. I may be wrong, but this seems to be the intent behind the Covenant Church's "unity in essentials--freedom in non-essentials--love in all things." Plus, I want to know if I've inadvertently preached heresy!

There is one other thing that troubles me. After all the good feedback I've gotten--"I heard you brought it on Sunday!" "You really set the bar high!" "That was awesome!"--I feel like I somehow have to find a way to follow that up with something at least as good if not better. Like a hit song or movie. Kierkegaard's words on the pastor as actor come to mind. Alas, I have become a objectified.

Okay, okay

Perhaps my last post was a bit harsh. A bit.

I was in no way ridiculing Waltz and others who take on this consumer-based "seeker-sensitive" approach. My use of the Nazi analogy was to show how other ideologies can obscure the way of the cross. With the Nazis, we have the benefit of history. What blind spots from our civilizationwill Christian historians be studying centuries from now?

I need to add that I am, too, a consumer, and no small one either. I love to buy books, coffee, and music; I love to go to movies; I have a Netflix Queue with 453 movies in it; I have several pairs of jeans, and I have an affinity for sweaters. So I am guilty.

What I'm saying is that we deal with this consumerism crap so much in our daily lives. Why should we perpetuate in the church? The narrative of me-first is a powerful one. Only a church that knows its story--the story of Jesus and his people--and finds itself within that story is going to offer real, lasting hope. Having written this, I'm more inspired to get back into Arthur Simon's How Much Is Enough? Hungering For God in an Affluent Culture.



Surely, there are seeker-senstive churches filled with people who are formed by the narrative of Jesus, and there are churches that ostensibly teach and preach the story of Jesus from the deep wells of tradition but are bent in on themselves and their own preservation. No church is perfect. The trajectory of the church should be towards following Jesus, being willing to forsake all other ideologies in order truly to learn more about what that means. Think Jesus' discourse with the Rich Young Ruler.

In the long run, I think this can be faithful to Waltz's and others' mantra, "because people matter." People matter in light of their Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer. Without the church, we wouldn't know that.

WOW!

I was perusing a book today given to me by our Children’s Ed coordinator entitled: First Impressions: Creating Wow Experiences in Your Church. The author is Mark L. Waltz, Pastor of Connections at Granger Community Church in Granger, Indiana. Reading the title, I initially thought, “Here we go. Another book that encourages the church to offer the commodity ‘Jesus’ the same way other businesses offer their wares.” I’ve been reading books like this right now as I study ways to develop a welcoming/outreach ministry at our church. But the first chapter, entitled “Reflections of a Consumer” intrigued me. Waltz states, “The church is not called to be the catering, whim-granting marketplace of the twenty-first century” (10). Right on, I thought. But he continues on to say that since consumerism is the stew that people are swimming in, that’s where we have to begin. The church, he says, is competing with other businesses for the attention of people. We want to offer them Jesus. So we need to do it in a way that blows these other businesses out of the water. “There are winners and losers,” Waltz writes. “If your church is going to be effective, then you must beat the competition, pure and simple. You must find out who the competition is, what it is doing, and how to win its consumers to your church” (17). To offer biblical reinforcement, Waltz turns to Jesus’ feeding of the 5,000 (Mark 6:34-44). Even though the people were coming out of a consumer desire—to have their spiritual and physical needs met—Jesus lavished good gifts on them. “He didn’t seem to worries that their motives where self-serving” (16).

Doesn’t this water down the Gospel? “Is it possible,” he writes, “that the church will somehow communicate a value system of consumerism that merely reflects the self-focused interests of our culture? Perhaps, but I believe it is worth the risk” (17). Why does Waltz believe this is a risk worth taking? Why is he willing to put the church into the consumer game? “Because in time, our guests’ value will get sorted out inside a personal relationship with God. As this relationship develops, the materialistic consumerism that poses a threat to personal holiness and integrity will begin to melt away” (17).

I appreciate Waltz’s sensitivity to the problems of consumerism. I’m so glad that he acknowledges that the church and consumerism are strange bedfellows. So far, however, I’m not convinced that a “personal relationship with God” will conquer consumerism. I’m not questioning the power God; I’m questioning the power of a church whose methods are dictated by the rapaciousness of consumer culture. The issue here is not the faith and dedication of Christians who agree with Waltz’s methodology—I have little doubt he is sincere and full of Christ’s love. I admire and applaud his willingness to share the love of Christ with others. I checked out his blog, which is nobly titled, "Because people matter."

The issue is this: how can a church front-loaded with consumerism lead people into self-giving discipleship? How can such a church help people move beyond their personal relationship with Christ and into a communal, ecclesial relationship with Christ—one that attends to the whole, global church? I’d be interested to hear Waltz’s response to this. I’m not sure that fits into the scope of his book.

Let’s take another context: Nazi Germany. The driving narrative here is German Nationalism. That’s the stew people are swimming in. I realize this is a different context than our current American consumer culture, but consider my rephrasing of Waltz's statement above: “The church is not called to be the nationalistic, Aryan pep rally of mid-twentieth century Germany...Is it possible that the church will somehow communicate a value system of white supremacy and nationalism that merely reflects the ideological interests of the Third Reich? Perhaps, but I believe it is worth the risk...in time, our guests’ values will get sorted out inside a personal relationship with God. As this relationship develops, the nationalistic racism that poses a threat to personal holiness and integrity will begin to melt away.”

Does comparing Nazism with consumer culture seem too extreme? Perhaps. But is not consumerism just as destructive—though more seductive and deceptive—as Aryanism, Nazism, or the Holocaust? Both are demonic forces aimed at controlling people and distracting them from the truth of Jesus Christ. Both are aimed at dividing allegiances. Both are aimed at creating worlds without Christ as Lord of all.

I’m sure the Nuremberg rallies were real wow experiences.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer encouraged the church in Germany to see through the Nazi ideologies and see that following Jesus means following Jesus, not Jesus and a State bent on genocide, totalitarianism, imperialism, and warmongering. Predictably, Bonhoeffer was largely ignored by his brothers and sisters, and was eventually martyred by the Nazi regime.

It would seem that we as a church continue to require more reflection on what the Bible means, who Jesus Christ was and is, and what it means to be the church. How else will we be able to offer an alternative to the self-destructive, self-consuming forces of this world?

Waltz is obviously correct: consumerism is the stew we're swimming in. And if we are to be truly Incarnational people, taking cues from John 1 and moving into our neighborhoods--like the Word becoming flesh--we must meet people where they're at. But we must not confuse worship and mission. Both are formational, but their contexts are different. Worship is for God and God's people. It will be odd and confusing to people who are not Christians. Mission is the manifestation of God's people in the world. Since we are so inward-focused, we spend all our time thinking about how we can be a better welcoming community while spending little time thinking about what we choose to do on Sunday morning.

It has been said that when you seek to share your faith with individuals, you need to "earn the right to be heard." I take this to mean that you have to be involved in someone's life at a very human level--on their level. You have to start sharing Christ with them by actions before you can start sharing Christ with words. If they know how much you care, if they see Christ's light shining through you, they will be attracted. If you are walking alongside them, you can help them get over the strangeness of a Christian worship service, coach them along the way, be their spiritual mentor, sponsor them when they are baptized. Both of you will be more deeply formed by a life-giving narrative--the story of Jesus--and will be better able to withstand the competing narratives around us: consumerism, nationalism, militarism, racism, sexism, and other "isms." This to me seems to be a better way, a more prophetic way. But it's definitely not seeker-sensitive.