Fear, Idolatry, and Late Capitalism

What frightens a people serves as a reliable guide to their idolatries.

~ Vinoth Ramachandra, Subverting Global Myths
About half a dozen years ago, I spent a few weeks holding cardboard signs outside of the commuter-hub of downtown Toronto–Union Station.  All of the suburban business people would take the bus or, more usually, the train into the core of downtown and head from there to work in office buildings, banks, skyscrapers, and the Toronto Stock Exchange.  It’s an interesting contrast — by day the streets are filled with suits, and the buildings full of some of the most over-paid people in Canada; by night the streets are littered with homeless people sleeping on grates, and the buildings are full of some of the most under-paid people in Canada (the overnight cleaning staff).  The very rich and the very poor occupy the same space… yet rarely do they genuinely encounter one another.  Odd, perhaps, but not accidental.
Anyway, for about two weeks, I would stand outside of Union Station during the commuter rush, and hold up a cardboard sign containing a single question.  ‘What do you hope for?’ or ‘Are you free?’ or ‘What are you sure of?’ that sort of thing.  I also held up a few statements.  Specifically: ‘Stop trying so hard!’ and ‘Don’t be so afraid!’
It was a wonderful experience — some people poured out their lives to me, others brought me gifts (coffee, food, poetry), others heckled me, and still others tried to give me money (and were usually offended when I refused it; so I started writing ‘No money, please’ on my signs).  I would hear strangers talking to one another in the crowd about the signs; others told me that they went home and discussed the questions at dinner with their families.  In fact, of the various things I have done in my life, this ranks amongst my favourites (and, it should be noted, it is fairly easy to replicate in any major city around the world, should anybody else want to give this a shot!).  
It was also interesting to note the different reactions I got to different questions.  Some questions were certainly more popular than others (‘Are you free?’ being the one that actually got the most vocal positive and negative reactions), some statement were universally well received (‘Stop trying so hard!’ was much appreciated… after all, I did hold it up on a Friday) but ‘Don’t be so afraid!’ appeared to be the sign that people liked (or perhaps understood?) the least.
The topic of fear is one of the themes that has always been dominant in my life.  This is so for at least three reasons.  First of all, my own life was totally dominated by fear, up until about the age of 17.  I reckon that this was due to a combination of the environment in the home in which I was raised and my own personality.  Regardless, I was terrified of pretty much everything.  I could barely speak in the presence of strangers, and I frequently cried because I was scared (hell, I remember bawling my eyes out when I got dropped off for Sunday school, which is basically the most harmless environment out there!).
As I went through my teenage years, I became increasingly aware of the hold that fear had on my life, and I began to take deliberate action to overcome it.  I would go for walks in the woods at night, I would spend time in sketchy neighbourhoods downtown and I would spend time with people, and in social circles, that I found intimidating.  Needless to say, I was scared out of my mind while doing these things… but I chose to keep doing them.  Gradually, as I have noted elsewhere, my experiences of these people and places began to change.  Gradually, I began to learn that the Spririt that haunts these people and places is the Spirit of God.  Gradually my time with these people and places became a time of worship and, to my surprise, renewal
So, yes, sometimes I still do get afraid by events I encounter (although this has grown less and less over the years), but fear no longer determines how I act or respond to that which I encounter (for example, I was initially afraid to hold up signs outside of Union Station, but that fear rapidly faded).  This, by the way, is why I always find it somewhat amusing when people say that it ‘takes a special kind of person’ to do what I do — because I never was that person.  If I have become something of that ‘special kind of person’ it is only because I have been converted and transformed in the process of this journey.  The same goes for any of us.  It is only after we commit to these things that we become that which is required (of course, that people persist to think and talk about ‘special kinds of people’, simply reveals how we use this line as an out for ourselves).
Which leads me to the second reason why fear is a frequent theme in my thinking.  Gradually, as I encounter popular and Christian resistance to journeying in relationships of mutual love with the marginalised, I am increasingly aware that it is fear which motivates this resistance.  Cut through all the arguments and the rationalisations (‘I’m not that special kind of person’ or ‘I’d just be enabling an addict if I give her money’ or whatever) and what you will find is a fear of engaging that which is Other than one’s self — and that which is, therefore, perceived as threatening. 
The irony is that the threat perceived is often greatly over-inflated or illusory.  ‘Dangerous’ neighbourhoods and people are never as dangerous as we imagine, and ‘safe’ neighbourhoods and people, are never as safe as we imagine.  I learned this lesson well while working at a camp for rich Christian kids.  I have known many young men and women who have suffered terrible physical and sexual abuses in the ghetto… but I have known nearly as many young men and women who have suffered the same terrible physical and sexual abuses in suburban Christian families.  That this is usually forgotten in discourse related to ‘what should be done’ with pockets of urban poverty, simply demonstrates the ways in which fears are created and manipulated for the financial gain of the powers that be.
By the way, as we will see, financial gain is an important factor in all of this.  I say that fear is a major obstacle to our journey with the marginalised, but the second great obstacle is greed.  Should we overcome these two things, then we will be well on our way as disciples of Jesus.
Therefore, try as I might to encourage Christians to journey into deeper intimacy with the poor and the abandoned, I find that generally well-intentioned people are too dominated by fear to be able to respond with much more than a donation to a local charity (which, in itself, isn’t a bad thing, but is a far cry from both what is needed and what Christ calls us to do).
Thirdly, a couple years back, I read a passage in one of N. T. Wright’s sermons, which mentioned that the command ‘Do not be afraid!’ or ‘Fear not!’ is thesingle most repeated command in the bible.  This suggests to me that I’m not alone in thinking that fear is one of the great obstacles to discipleship (i.e. God and God’s messengers might think the same).
Now, it is in light of these things that I read the quote from Vinoth Ramachandra, which I used at the opening of this (rambling) post.  This provides another interesting angle on things.  In my own thoughts I had considered fear to be evidence of a lack of faith in God (i.e. we say that we have faith in God but, when push comes to shove, we do everything we can to avoid situations that require us to actually, and tangibly, rely on God) but Ramachandra carries this thought through to its conclusion: if our faith is not in God, it is in somebody or something else, and when somebody or something else replaces God, this is called idolatry.
Who then, I asked myself, are we worshipping when we are too afraid to love and help our neighbours in need?  Perhaps it is the money we work so hard to gain.  Perhaps it is the families for whom we work so hard.  Perhaps it is simply the final out-working of the individualism that our society forces upon us; that is to say, perhaps our fear of Others is simply a manifestation of self-worship, and the ultimate expression of our primordial desire to ‘become like gods’.  Perhaps.
However, there is more to this.  As I mentioned above, our fear is often something created, manipulated, or exacerbated by other forces.  In particular, our fears are driven by the ethos that is maintained by the power brokers of late capitalism.  Perhaps, therefore, the influence of fear over our lives is simply a sign that we have allowed these power brokers to become as gods before us (which really shouldn’t be too surprising as many of the world’s cultures — from Egypt, to Babylon, to Rome — have treated the rulers as deities).  In this regard, we must recall that who or what we worship isn’t so much determined by what we say, as by what we do.  After all, who was it that said, ‘These people come near me with their mouth and honour me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me’?
Still, I would be curious to hear what others might think.  If fear is a guide to idolatry, what do our contemporary fears betray about who or what we worship?

John 12.8: What does it mean to 'always have the poor with us'?

In Jn 12.1-8, we read a short story regarding Jesus’ stay at Bethany.  This occurs in-between the time when he raised Lazarus from the dead, and his parody of a ‘triumphal’ entry into Jerusalem.  From a literary perspective, this pericope heightens the sense of doom that is now beginning to engulf Jesus.  Thus, in Jn 11, after raising Lazarus, the politico-religious leaders begin to plan how to kill Jesus — and Jesus is driven into hiding.  Then, in Jn 12.1-8, Mary (likely the sister of Martha and Lazarus) anoints Jesus with a costly perfume — which Jesus tells us was reserved for the day of his burial (cue ominous theme music).  Things only get worse in 12.9-10 where we read of the plot to kill Lazarus, in 12.19 where the plot to kill Jesus is confirmed, and again in 12.27-36 wherein Jesus speaks of his imminent death.
However, literary approaches aside, the focus of most popular readings of Jn 12.1-8 is upon Jesus’ rebuke of Judas.  When Judas accosts Mary for wasting an expensive perfume on Jesus (‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’),  Jesus responds by saying:

Leave her alone… You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.

Now, it seems to me that contemporary Western readers of this text almost universally interpret it in the following way: Jesus is telling us that we will never ‘solve’ the ‘problem of poverty’, so we shouldn’t get too caught up in trying to give everything away for the sake of the poor (thank God we have this passage to balance out what Jesus says to the ‘rich young ruler’!).  Instead we should realise that we are entitled to live comfortably ourselves.  Thus, if anyone tries to tell us to sell our nice things (like the expensive perfume Mary bought for Jesus) we should rebuke that person just as Jesus rebuked Judas.
It is my contention that this is exactly the opposite of what this text actually says.  Let me explain why.
First of all, when Jesus says, ‘you always have the poor with you’, he is actually quoting from Deut 15.11 — from a chapter explaining the outworkings of the Sabbatical year, marked by its concern for the poor.  Thus, Deut 15 begins by talking about the remission of debts, and based upon this principle it asserts: that ‘there will be no poor among you.’  However, it then goes on to say the following:
If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns within the land that the LORD your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbour.  You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be… Give liberally and be ungrudging when you do so… For the poor will never cease to be in the land; therefore, I command you saying, ‘Open your hand to the poor and needy neighbour in your land (I’m combining readings from the NRSV and the NASB).
Now this puts an entirely different spin on Jesus words that ‘you will always have the poor with you’.  Our popular reading of these words is used to justify hard-hearted and tight-fisted behaviour towards the poor, but Deut 15 would suggest that Jesus means precisely the opposite.  So, what then does it mean to say that the poor will always be with us?  Well, according to Deut 15, that the poor will always be with us, means that we should be sure to give openly and generously to the poor.  Assuming that the people of God are actually taking seriously their talk of God’s ‘provision’ and ‘abundance’ (instead of just affirming this in some superficial way), this shouldn’t be a problem.
Second, how does this understanding of these words fit with the passage in Jn?  Easy.  It fits because Jesus himself was poor.  Jesus was a vagrant (cf. Mt 8.20), dependent upon the charity of others (in the passage at hand, Jesus is living off of the charity of Lazarus and staying at his home) or the abundance of God (cf. Mt 17.24-27).  Thus, anointing Jesus for burial with an expensive perfume, is a perfect illustration of what Deut 15 requires because Jesus is a poor man on the way to his death (not surprisingly, at the hands of the wealthy and powerful).
In this way, Jesus continues to demonstrate his mastery of rhetorical battles.  We are all aware of the various ways that Jesus overcomes the scribes and teachers of the law, by speaking subvesive truths while also not explicitly implicating himself (Mt 22.21 is a fine example of this).  However, it is far less frequently noted that Jesus has achieved the same thing here (actually I don’t know if this is noted anywhere because it has been a long time since I’ve read any commentaries on Jn).  Here is what has happened: Judas, out of his greed to steal from the money made by selling the perfume, masks his greed by pretending to be concerned for the poor (or so the author of Jn tells us).  In response, Jesus affirms a genuine commitment to the poor, while challenging Judas’ greed (he really was that good!).
Third, and finally, the specificity of this event needs to be noted.  Part of the reason for Jesus’ rebuttal of Judas is that he, the eternal Word (according to the author in Jn 1.1-18) and the great ‘I Am’ (Jn 8.58), is on his way to his death, and will soon no longer be with the disciples.  Hence, the second half of his sentence: ‘You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’
Consequently, from this perspective, Mary’s act can be perceived as an act of worship — of giving generously to God.  However, this perspective does not contradict the thoughts I have developed above.  Rather, it confirms those thoughts because giving to God, and giving to the poor are not mutually exclusive acts.  This is evident all throughout Scripture, but one of the most cited passages on the interconnection of worship and generosity to the poor is Is 58.6-12.  Through the prophet the LORD proclaims:

Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?  Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?  … Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, Here I am.
If you remove the yoke from among you, the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your ight shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday…

Thus, although the person of Jesus is no longer physically with us, we can continue to engage in the form of worship demonstrated in this passage by giving generously to the poor amongst us.
In conclusion, I hope that I have adequately demonstrated the false nature of popular understandings of Jn 12.8.  Jesus is most certainly not telling us to relax because the problem of poverty will be resolved.  Rather, he is telling us to give generously to the poor in our midst.  So, the next time you’re talking about solidarity with the marginalised, and somebody throws this passage at you (as they inevitably will), you will at least have a response prepared!

Who are 'the Poor'? Explanation and Defense

I know that I frequently speak of ‘the Poor’ on this blog, and that I sometimes don’t define what I mean by that title (and sometimes do) and so, in response to a comment made by Dave (http://www.indiefaith.blogspot.com/) on my latest thoughts regarding ‘the Poor’ as members of the body of Christ, I thought I would spend some time explaining what I mean by this title, and why I choose to use it.
To begin with, when I speak of ‘the Poor’ I am referring to more people than simply those who are economically disadvantaged.  In this regard, it is helpful to understand how the term ‘the Poor’ is used in the New Testament in general, and by Jesus in particular.
The Greek word ptochoi (‘the poor’) is used by Jesus to refer to people who underwent the following experiences (NB: in what follows, I will be developing James Dunn’s reflections on this term found in Jesus Remembered):
(1) Material poverty based upon the lack of a secure economic base.  There are many ways in which a person could lose his or her economic base.  One could lose one’s kinship group — like widows, orphans, and aliens — and thereby be without the most foundational means of economic support and protection.  One could also lose one’s land, and thereby lack the primary material means of earning a (subsistence level) income.  Similarly, one could suffer some sort of physical injury and become incapable of working — think of the sick, the lame, and the blind, and how the Gospels frequently number them amongst the poor.  Finally, one could undergo some sort of experience that left one outside of the religious purity boundaries established by society which could lead to poverty due to marginalisation or ostracism — in this regard, think of the lepers, the woman with the issue of blood, and the demon-possessed who are also included amongst the poor.
(2) Experiencing material poverty then leaves the poor vulnerable to economic exploitation.  Hence, the poor are not only the economically disadvantaged, they are simultaneously the marginalised and oppressed.  This exploitation can occur on a number of levels — materially, the little that the poor have can be taken away from them; socially, the poor are accorded a low level of status are are cut-off from the general public and, just as significantly, from people and places of power; spiritually, or religiously, the poor are also classified as ‘sinners’ or as ‘unclean’ (note how frequently the titles ‘the poor’ and ‘the sinners’ are paired with each other in the Gospels).  Of course, socio-religious methods of exploitation are often simply the means of paving the way for the economic and material exploitation of the poor.  Not many people pay attention to the plundering of those who are insignificant and damned — especially when those who are doing the stealing are the powerful and the righteous, who can claim abundance as the result of their godly living!
(3) Finally, given that the poor are “helpless and hopless in the face of human oppression” (Dunn’s words) they are also defined as those who recognise their vulnerability and look to God for help, especially since they have nobody else to whom they can turn (I believe these are those whom Jesus calls ‘the poor in Spirit’).
Thus, Dunn notes that the word ptochoi, as it is used in the LXX, replaces a number of Hebrew terms such as `ani’(poor, afflicted, humble), dal (crushed, oppressed), ‘ebyon (in want, needy, poor), `anaw (poor, afflicted, humble, meek), and rosh (in want, poor). So Dunn concludes:

The traditional Jewish understanding of poverty, therefore, was neither simplified nor idealized.  Starting from the harsh, often brutal reality of poverty, it recognized different dimensions of poverty — material, social, and spiritual.

To Dunn’s helpful source critical analysis, we should add one insight from Bruce Malina’s helpful sociological reading of the New Testament world (cf. The New Testament World: Insights from Cultural Anthropology. Third Edition, Revised and Expanded).  Malina, while recognising the multiple forms poverty takes, stresses the priority of the social element of poverty during the first century, in the Graeco-Roman world.  He argues the the terms “rich” and “poor” are not primarily about how much capital one owns; rather, they refer to the greedy and the socially ill-fated.  Hence:

The terms do not characterize two poles of society as much as two minority groups, the one based upon the shameless drive to expand one’s wealth, the other based on the inability to maintain one’s inherited status of any rank.

According to Malina, wealth and poverty are more about social trajectories: those labeled “rich” are those who have exploited others to try and climb the social ladder, while those labeled “poor” are those who are falling down the social ladder.
Now, this combination of elements would suggest that David is right to question my monolithic use of the term ‘the Poor’.  After all, when I use this term, I have all of these elements in mind.  When I speak of ‘the Poor’ today, I am thinking not only of the economically disadvantaged, but also of the oppressed, those suffering social marginalisation, those considered ‘damned’ by the Church, those considered ‘criminals’ by the Justice System, those who are rejected due to illnesses or biological differences, and so on and so forth.  Why, then, do I not use a more general term — why not simply speak of ‘those in exile’ or something like that?  Well, I have at least four reasons for persisting in using language that highlights wealth and poverty.
First of all, I believe that the language of ‘exile’ is too vague for much of what I am seeking to express.  Indeed, as my own reflections on exile have developed, I have come to believe that all of us, in North America, are undergoing an exilic experience.  Consequently, the language of ‘exile’ too easily blurs the experiences and responsibilities of those who are comfortably situated in places of privilege and power and those who are abandoned to places of pain and lack.  To posit another analogy, we all may be in Egypt, but how we experience Egypt, and what we are called to do there, is very different depending on if we are in Pharaoh’s household, or in the household of a Hebrew slave.  (This, by the way, is why we need to be skeptical of comfortable middle and upper-class Christians who rush to emphasise ‘poverty of spirit’.  What they usually mean by this — token dependence upon God — generally has nothing to do with the genuine, and desperate, poverty of Spirit of which Jesus speaks.)
Secondly, and most importantly, I believe that we must continually speak of wealth and poverty today, because it is economics that now functions as the cornerstone of our existence in the world of late capitalism.  Thus, while Malina may be correct in arguing that status was the cornerstone of the Greco-Roman world, we must recognise that our world is not theirs (and vice versa).  Consequently, we must privilege the economic aspect of poverty today, precisely because it is this aspect that undergirds all our other experiences of poverty (I think that Jesus was already onto this point when he spoke about the love of money as the root of all evil).
Thirdly, and closely related to the second point, I hold onto the language of ‘the Poor’ because it is concrete — in fact, it is uncomfortably concrete for most of us.  Again, more general language makes it easier for us to rationalise our life-as-it-is.  The more vague the terms, the easier it is for me to include myself within the group God privileges even when, in reality, I am a part of the group that is persecuting God’s people.  Hence, I like this language because it rattles me and, I hope, it rattles others.  We need to be rattled.  That, I believe, is how we are led to conversion.
Finally, I retain the language of ‘the Poor’ because this is the language, and the term, prioritised by the Christian Scriptures.  While I recognise that there is a wealth of implicit meaning found in this term, I also recognise the value of learning to speak biblically.
This, then, is my explanation, and defense, of my use of the term ‘the Poor’.

New Blog

I have decided to switch to a wordpress blog from my old livejournal account.  I’m still in the midst of importing all my old posts (alas, I lose all 3000+ comments!), and I’m also figuring out how to negotiate this server… so bear with me.  I may have a few book-smarts, but I certainly do not have the computer-smarts!

Regarding the Poor as Members of the Body of Christ

Jonas (http://blog.bahnhof.se/wb938188) recently asked me this question, based upon my review of Jon Sobrino’s latest book:
Would you like to explain the view of the poor as Christ´s body? Does that mean that the poor [are] incorporated into Jesus, the Messiah, even if they verbally deny him and don´t want to follow him? What would be the biblical base for this teaching?
Here is my response:
Fair question!
I wouldn’t necessarily say that “the poor [are] incorporated into Jesus, the Messiah” but rather that Jesus, the Messiah, incorporated himself into the poor. Therefore, there is now an indissoluble and sacramental link between the poor and Christ. By choosing to identify with the poor, the marginalised, and the damned, Christ revealed to us that these people are priests, administering God’s presence to the world. Not only that, but Christ reveals to us that God has chosen to locate himself in and amongst the poor. Hence, the poor are the people of God — because they are the people with whom God has chosen to identify. Therefore, as Porfirio Miranda reminds us, if we are seeking God, we should go where God has told us he can be found — in and amongst the poor. We are foolish to look elsewhere, when God has already revealed his location!
But let us explore this sacramental connection a little further so that too much is not left in the realm of mystery (which is far too often a refuge for any ideological position).
First of all, the poor reveal to us, in history, the bleeding and suffering of God due to the brokenness of the world. Hence, the poor are the sacramental presence of the body and blood of Christ just as much as (if not more than) the sacramental presence of the body and blood of Christ found in the Eucharist.
Secondly, by bearing our sins — by taking nothing from us while we take everything from them, by taking our hunger while we take their food, by bearing death as we flee from it — that poor also hold the potential to be ministers of salvation to us. They reveal the falsehoods structuring our societies, they make manifest the perverse results of our ideologies, and they expose the hypocrisy that runs through our expressions of piety. Hence, in this regard, the poor are the sacramental presence of the Christ who proclaims, “I am the truth”.
Thirdly, the poor and those amongst them who choose to act non-violently towards the rich and privileged — that is, the majority — are also agents of God’s grace. By choosing to work with us in pursuit of new life together, by refusing to respond to us by taking away our lives, our loved ones, and our daily bread, the poor treat us with a value which we have never ascribed to them. This truly is ‘amazing grace’. However, to be clear, this does not mean that we can simply go on living lives built upon the blood of others. Such an approach would be the worst example of the ‘cheap grace’ that Bonhoeffer despised. The grace shown to us, by the poor, is not an opportunity to go on sinning, it is a call to conversion.
This means that the poor are counted as members of the Church, even if they verbally deny Jesus and assert that they do not want to follow him. For, just as with the confessing members of Christ’s body, they are simul justus et peccator — righteous and, at the same time, sinners. If the sin of a good many of the confessing members of Christ’s body is their refusal to journey into solidarity with the oppressed, then the sin of a good many of the crucified members of Christ’s body is their inability to confess Jesus as Lord (for now anyway). Note, however, even here the sin of the confessing members is greater than the sin of the crucified. Often the crucified have never been truly presented with the gospel, or with individuals or communities who genuinely reflect the liberating news of Jesus’ lordship to them — thus, the Jesus they have rejected is not the historical Jesus and risen Lord. The confessing members, alas, have far less excuses for missing that which is so obvious within Scripture.
As for the biblical basis for this teaching, I would simply point to manifestations of God’s preferential option for the poor contained within Scripture. Think, for example, of the fact that the very poor are left in the land when all of Israel is carried away into exile. In this event, the poor are spared the judgment that is poured out on all, not because they have lived righteously, but because God identifies with the poor and show them preferential treatment because of the ways in which they have been dehumanised by the social powers who act in the service of Sin and Death. Similarly, think of the unconditional proclamation of forgiveness that Jesus offered to the poor, the sick, and the marginalised. To the poor, Jesus said, “You already are forgiven; come, journey with me” — it was only to the comfortable and powerful that Jesus brought harsh warnings of judgment. For a multiplication of examples, I’ll simply refer you to the writings of Gutierrez, Boff, Sobrino, et al. I think I have adequately made my point.
However, let me reaffirm my prior assertion, while switching the emphasis. Yes, the poor are members of the body of Christ, but they are not the only members thereof. This is why I continually speak of both the ‘crucified’ and the ‘confessing’ members of Christ’s body. The key thing is to bring those two halves together so that the body can be whole, and so that the Church can truly manifest the presence of Christ in our world. The goal is for the crucified members to become confessers of Christ, and for the confessing members to become crucified with Christ. The new creation of all things is (proleptically) contained therein.

Eschatology and Ethics (a brief response)

Michael of “Pisteoumen” recently posed a question regarding the possible relationship between eschatology and ethics (cf. http://michaelhalcomb.blogspot.com/2008/08/eschatology-ethics.html).
Not surprisingly, given that so much of my thesis revolves around this relationship, I believe that, from a Christian perspective, eschatology and ethics are intimately, and inextricably, connected. Eschatology is that which provides us with a narrative framework for understanding history, and our own historicity, in a meaningful way. Ethics is then our effort to embody that meaning in our day-to-day actions. The key here is realising that, from a biblical perspective, eschatology is far closer to a praxis-oriented philosophy of history, than it is to a collection of 'end times' doctrines.
Stated another way, we could say that a properly eschatological (and therefore properly Christian) ethics is a way of remembering the past and anticipating the future in order to live meaningfully in the present.

Come on, People!

The other day, I had a particular encounter that surprised me — not because of how I responded, but because of how everybody else responded. I was walking down the alley behind my house, heading to the bus stop, when I thought I heard somebody yelling. As I turned the corner out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, I saw an elderly woman holding her neck, slumped over in a bus shelter. She appeared to be street-involved, and was yelling: “Help me! Help me! I'm having a medical emergency!”
However, the thing that really surprised me, was that I observed people walking by her, completely ignoring her — and the other people waiting for the bus were all backing up, and moving away from her. There must have been about 6-8 people within earshot of her, and all of them were keeping the hell away from her.
I'd like to say that I responded to the situation by doing what anybody else would do — i.e. I ran over to the woman, found out what was wrong, called an ambulance, and waited with her until help arrived — but it turns out that nobody else responded in this way.
Actually, that's not entirely true. Shortly after I started talking to the woman, a homeless man came over to help as well. So, I guess you could say that I responded to the situation like any other homeless person would.
Thinking about this scenario, made me remember another event that happened several years ago, when I was living in downtown Toronto. It was the middle of winter, night was falling, and I came across an homeless man who was semi-conscious, lying in a puddle of slush. I didn't have a cell phone, but I knew the number for the Street Help Line, so if I could get ahold of them, I knew that they would come and look after this man. The problem was, I didn't have a quarter to call the Street Help Line from the payphone across the street. No big deal, I thought. There was a crowd of people a few feet away waiting for the street car. I turned and said to them, “Excuse me, there is a man lying here who needs help. Can somebody give me a quarter so I can call the Street Help Line?” To my amazement, every single person in that crowd ignored me (just like they were ignoring the man lying in the slush). This made me angry, and instead of asking nicely, I became aggressive and, in no uncertain terms, I told the people what I thought of them. That worked much better, somebody gave me a quarter, and everything worked out.
Now, I understand that middle-class people are scared of pretty much everything and everybody, but I cannot understand how one can allow such irrational fears to override any loving or helpful actions. I mean, in both of these situations, nobody had even taken out a cell phone and called 911. Bloody hell. Besides, it's not like I never get scared. I do get scared. It's just that I try not to let my fear overpower my identity in Christ.

What do we do with Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles?

A good many New Testament (NT) scholars have demonstrated the value of reading the NT in light of extra biblical sources — be those sources literary, epigraphic, numismatic, or archaeological. Hence, the NT scholar finds it necessary to explore the Old Testament Pseudepigrapha, Greek and Latin classics, public inscriptions, images on coins, and the city plans and buildings found within the NT era. All of this leads us to a fuller, and more accurate, understanding of the content of the NT scriptures.
However, where this becomes curious (at least in my own particular area of study) is the way in which the genuine Pauline letters are still, by and large, studied without serious regard given to The Acts of the Apostles or, more especially, the Deutero-Pauline epistles. Why is it, for example, authors like Virgil, Tacitus, and Suetonius are given so much weight in our readings of Paul, while Luke's narrative account of parts of Paul's life is given less weight? Or, to take another example, why is an author like Juvenal considered an useful resource (even though he wrote after Paul did) when the Deutero-Pauline epistles are not (even though they were likely written earlier than much of Juvenal)? Or, to mention an even later work, on what basis can we refer to The Acts of Paul and Thecla while simultaneously ignoring 1 & 2 Timothy?
It seems to me that, given the tensions (and, perhaps, even contradictions) that exist between the genuine letters of Paul and the Deutero-Pauline epistles (especially the later pastorals), it is easier for us to ignore the epistles and find extra-biblical sources that verify what we want to find in Paul. The problem is that the Deutero-Pauline epistles might be closer to Paul than a good many of these other sources.
Perhaps another reason to ignore these epistles is the bulk of material a person would have to address. Academic specialisation leads to narrow foci within scholarship, and it is probably easier to, for example, read Paul in light of Virgil (a relatively unexplored realm, which also makes this more excited work — and work that is more likely to gain recognition) than it is to read Paul in light of the Deutero-Pauline letters.
Of course, there are scholars who continue to view these Deutero-Pauline epistles as genuine letters of Paul, but, IMO, this is an oversimplification. Rather, what I think we should be asking is 'how was it that these epistles developed out of Pauline communities, and in what ways are they faithful and unfaithful to Paul?'
Consequently, given all the appeals currently being made to extra-biblical sources, I am somewhat baffled that The Acts of the Apostles and, more particularly, the Deutero-Pauline letters are still largely neglected in Pauline scholarship. Indeed, those scholars who engage in 'counter-imperial' readings of Paul (i.e. the scholars I have been reading a lot) should be especially ocncerned with addressing the questions listed above. Rather than brushing aside Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles simply because they were not authored by Paul, they need to explore how communities that begin with such a radical founder can devolve into communities that embrace the dominant sensibilities of the empire (if, indeed, the Acts and the Deutero-Pauline epistles do this).

Jesus Saves (a prayer of sorts)

You know, it's all well and good that Jesus saves us from the consequences of our own sins, but I'd much rather he spent more time saving us from the consequences of the sins of others — or, for that matter, saving others from the consequences of our own sins. In particular, it would be nice if he spent a little more time saving the dis-empowered and vulnerable from the sins of the powerful and predatory. Yep. That would be really great.

Back Soon…

Just a quick note to say that I have been out of town and away from any computers, for the last little while. However, I fly home tomorrow, and hope to continue the conversation with Halden, Eric, Jonas, et al., in the very near future (oh, and I also need to write my “Response Part 2: The Need for Academic Endeavours”).
For now, I'll point out that Eric has written his own three part series, in response to my question (cf. http://ericdarylmeyer.wordpress.com/) and Ben has also written a response on his blog (cf. http://benbyerly.wordpress.com/2008/07/02/the-academy-and-the-poor/).
As I said, I hope to respond in more detail soon, but for now let me say that I really am interested in hearing what any and all have to say on this subject. This includes those outside of the realm of academia, for I really do believe that the question posed is one that people in all areas of life should consider. My thanks to Heather and Kelley for speaking from their own experiences and from other areas of expertise. I reckon jumping into a discussion full of people who like to throw around technical words might be a little off-putting, but I'm glad that both of you did.