I think this interpretation is also consistent with the idea that Jesus is looking more for us to be disciples through our faith and not by acts alone. In any event, thanks for the post!

In the Jeremiah vision of the end-times we are given unprecedented and barrier-free access to the divine. We won’t need to wrestle with Scripture or tradition; we won’t need to weigh the words of wise teachers who disagree, and try to discern the voice of the Spirit in the positions of each. We won’t be like the pre-exilic Israelites, trying to decide whether Jeremiah or his opponents are more correct about God’s concerns and intentions. We’ll know directly. And we’ll be able to ask God all the ultimate questions that seem to have no satisfying answers in this life … and actually understand whatever answer God offers! Who wouldn’t want that!

But in the meantime two things are clear – God continues to reach out to humanity in spite of our failure to respond; and we need to keep trying to get it right, if only so that our lives and life-decisions will be seen to have contributed to the mending of the world. For Jeremiah’s people, it was startlingly good news to hear that God was still with them and not defeated by the gods of the Babylonians who had sacked Jerusalem. For us it’s good news to proclaim that God has not been defeated by the forces of consumerism, scientism, modernism, or nihilism. It’s good news to point out that human generosity, hope, passion, love, courage and sacrifice can be understood to be grounded in something deeper and bigger than any human being, and that what we call triumphs of the human spirit may indeed be glimpses of the Divine continuing to reach through the barriers of our frailty to inspire, nurture, and call forth new life. It reminds me of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians – “now we see in a glass darkly, but then face-to-face; now we know in part, then we shall understand fully, even as we have been fully understood.” The covenant promise Jeremiah proclaims is a promise that runs both directions – we shall understand fully, and we shall be fully known.

For me, that means I will continue to wrestle with Scripture and tradition – striving to catch glimpses of the Divine in the midst of very human and sometimes flawed insight. I will be humble in my assertions, and non-judgmental as I strive to take seriously what others who disagree with me have to say. I will trust that there are good reasons for other’s behaviour (or God’s) even when I can’t now understand what those might be. And I will live as though the Divine Mystery cares – about me, about my family and friends, about the town I live in and the people who see things so differently than me, and ultimately about all of Creation.

All appearances to the contrary, God has not given up on the world – and the glimpse that Jeremiah received reassured him (and can reassure us) that God continues to reach out to us, to call us into covenant, to know and be known, to love and be loved. For exiles trying to pull the threads of life together after the collapse of all they held sacred this was good news in the extreme. To us, who are watching the collapse of the church as we have known it, it can also be an important proclamation.

It seems to me that snakes are simply one of the risks of travelling through the desert … and while it’s a natural human reaction (especially in a pre-modern worldview) to blame God for natural disasters, I’m not convinced that it’s legit to do that.

In my sermon on the topic I simply said that life is risky.

After all … the story never says the snakes go away. The issue is that God gives them the means to deal with it. I suppose you could say that a “good” God would never put us in risky situations … but that’s not the world we live in.

First, God sends poisonous serpents into the Israelite camp, and various people die. Then God says to make a bronze serpent, stick it on a pole, and look at it. Those bitten, who gaze on the bronze serpent, will live. If not …

Were one of my kids to intentionally poison his friends, then give the antidote to anyone who asked for it … well, we’d have a few words. The gnawing question is less why God “saved” the bitten Israelites, but why God sent the poisonous snakes out there in the first place. As we’re told is the case.

John doesn’t pick up that part of the Numbers passage, doesn’t address why we’re in need of saving. And I agree that the Atonement theology isn’t necessarily implicit in this John passage …

… but the parallel between God sending poisonous snakes into the Israelite camp and God being the Cosmic sociopath demanding the Atonement theory’s blood sacrifice .. ain’t pretty.

That’s true whether we’re talking about individuals or about societies. Think of how Britain responded during wartime – and the ways in which still for many people who lived through that dreadful time it is tinged with memories of great joy, meaning and satisfaction, as well as sorrow and fear. Britain was able to find a way to look square in the eye at what it feared the most (tyranny), and find the strength to band together with sacrifice and commitment to bring healing to Europe.

And that’s surely the challenge that faces us today in our economic crisis too – rather than sit back and be passive victims of a horrific situation we can (if we’re willing) find ways to face our fears, risk losing everything, and re-imagine a society where one person’s greed doesn’t drag everyone else down.

Christians are well-suited to make such sacrificial risks because we are convinced that whatever we might lose, ultimately we (and everything else) is in God’s hands. And so gazing at Jesus held up on a soapbox, a podium, a dais, a pole – risking everything to bring healing to the world – can quell our fears and inspire us to be healers too. We too may be inspired to climb onto similar soapboxes, podiums and daises. We too may be inspired to take strong stands for others, full-knowing the potential consequences. Gazing at the cross – or calling it to mind – reminds us of what is most important in life, and what ultimately gives life meaning now and forever.

That’s an important warning to interpreters of this passage from John: whatever is going on here John is not contemplating the meaning of a crucifix!

John is, though, trying to understand why Jesus got killed. Why did it happen; why did God allow it; how can this most terrifying of events be in any way hopeful? Nakashima Brock is certainly correct that John doesn’t see Jesus’ death as a substitute for our own – that would definitely be importing a 12th century theology into a 1st century text. Yet the theology is so imbedded in the assumptions we bring to this text that it’s hard to set it aside and see what meaning this had for John.

The key for me is the emphasis in the Numbers passage on healing – the snake on the pole was a sign of God’s healing presence among the beleaguered Israelites. The memory of Jesus on the cross seems to have been similar for John – even if nobody turned it into a painting – simply calling this to mind reminded people that God was still among them to bring healing and protection from what they feared most. It gave them the courage to face the risks that might lead to a similar execution for themselves; it promised that their lives (and deaths) could also have meaning; it reminded them that even death is not ultimate and that those who die (as Jesus did) are not extinguished from Creation or removed from God’s care.

I think it’s possible to affirm all of that without ever moving into a substitutionary theory of the significance of the cross. And the fact that John puts this story so early in his gospel (chapter 3) suggests that he thinks this is a significant aspect of Jesus’ earthly ministry too – this is why Jesus walked among us as well as why he died among us, and looking at him (either on the pole or elsewhere) can bring healing and hope especially to those who face the snakes.

As you know, I worship at Fredericton’s local Anglican cathedral these days – for complicated reasons. It’s fairly “High Church,” with some bits of many services chanted, with the use of both modern and old prayer books for the liturgy, etc. It would be easy to see it having a whole lot in common with Eli’s shrine.

Last Good Friday, I was asked to be a cantor for a good bit of the Passion narrative – which was all chanted. And we reflected, the Music Director and I, on the foibles of modern technology. The mike system was “out” that day, which made spoken bits of the service inaudible for many … but the chanted stuff sailed through to the last row.

Most of us “turn off” when we hear traditional chant, with all the syllables ridiculously pro-nounc-ed and silly esoteric rules about empasis on this or that bit of the phrase. Except that unamplified, all that apparent hoity-toity garbage allows inclusion. Allows everyone in a vast sanctuary to participate, to join.

It’s the same with a slavish adherence to King James’ English. Yet in abandoning the “thee” and “thou,” we haven’t abandoned Majestic Language that sets our God far beyond Ordinary Reach. We’ve lost our native tongue’s equivalent to the intensely intimate “tu” of French … the word you’d mostly speak to family. “You” is more modern, but “Thee” is actually far more informal, more intimate.

Eli’s shrine preserved the minutiae of the Religion of his time … probably practices which, like chanting today, were kept for reasons of identity rather than of inclusion or intimacy. But understood in original context, they become expressions of love – the quaint continuation of practices of inclusion.

I have started to enjoy the words of the old Prayer Book again, reading them through intimacy’s eyes. I’ve started to perk up, when I hear which bits of the Eucharistic prayer which are traditionally chanted … because those bits are the ones traditionally thought that it’s most urgent that people hear.

And I wonder, were I writing a modern liturgy as you do weekly, which bits I’d set to music now, emphasizing the most theologically crucial elements today.

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So what do you need to fly me in for? Aside from a pint?

t

I think I’ll just move over and fly you up from Fredericton for Sunday’s sermon!

Wish I could!

I think the story about the call of Samuel shows the two kinds of religion clearly: the old and corrupt priest Eli whose job is to run the shrine and busy himself with the trivia of organized religion, and the voice in the night which comes to Samuel (not to Eli) and turns his life upside down.

Eli, corrupt as he is, recognizes the reality that comes to Samuel, and has the integrity to encourage Samuel to trust it.

Certainly organized religion has an important function in the world, but I think our true purpose is to watch for when the voices in the dark come to people like Samuel, and then encourage those people to take them seriously. All too often we just pretend that we ourselves have all the answers.