Good News for Whom?

Liberation theology gives the gospel back its credibility.
~ Leonardo and Clodovis Boff
The proclamation of the gospel is to be a proclamation of good news. After all, “gospel” means “good news”. As contemporary Christians, it is worth asking the question: for whom is our gospel good news?
Within the world in which Jesus lived there were various gospel proclamations in competition with one another. In particular the gospel of Jesus, the good news of Jesus, competed with the gospel of Caesar, the good news of the Emperor. The word gospel, within the Roman Empire in the first century, would be heard as a political term, a term that related to the question of lordship. The Roman empire proclaimed a gospel that said that Caesar was Lord, while the early Christians burst onto the scene proclaiming a gospel that said that Jesus, and not Caesar, was Lord.
Thus, the gospel of Caesar was proclaimed every time the Emperor won a victory. The triumph of Caesar was good news for the elites — the wealthy, the established, the powerful, and the comfortable. Every victory won by Caesar was good news for the status quo.
However, the gospel of Jesus was proclaimed as good news for the poor. The victory won by Jesus was good news for the dispossessed, the helpless, the outcasts, the persecuted, and the sinners. On the cross, Jesus overcome all the brute force and violence of Rome, he overcome the separation that existed between God and humanity, and in his resurrection he revealed that transformation of an unimaginable sort was now bursting into the present moment of human existence. And this news is somewhat disconcerting to the status quo. It reveals that even the powerful must be held accountable, and resisted when necessary. It displays the corruption that goes hand in hand with wealth and comfort, and it asserts that one day the first will be last and the last will be first.
It is this gospel proclamation that the liberation theology birthed in Latin in America has sought to recover. This is why the Boff brothers are correct to assert the liberation theology “gives the gospel back its credibility”. By “credibility” we must not think that liberation theology makes the gospel more culturally relevant, nor must we think that it makes the gospel more pragmatic, rather recovering credibility means a recovery of true Christian identity. Simply put, liberation theology calls all of us Western Christians to stop living as liars. When we honestly embody the gospel of Jesus that is fundamentally good news for the poor, then we will once again be credible.
It saddens me how far the Western Church (and I include myself as a member of this Church) has strayed from this vocation. I had the privilege of listening to Bishop Tom Wright speak on this topic last week (actually, I'm hoping to blog about Wright's seminars and the discussions I was able to have with him but I'll save all that for later), and he too lamented how much of the Church has drifted. Wright compared much of the Western Church to a lighthouse keeper who decides to set up mirrors in order to keep all the light within the house… and then either turns a blind eye to all the ships that crash or the rocks, or blames the ships themselves for being unable to see in the darkness. Instead, Wright said, the Western Church must become like the early Church — God's groaning place in the midst of the darkest places of the world. He used the example of Christian communities in the first centuries that would remain in plague stricken cities — even after the wealthy (including all the doctors!) had fled — and care for the sick and dying, often becoming sick and dying with the others. This, Wright argued, should be the model that our Church seeks to emulate.
And I agree. When the Church embraces the poor, when the Church returns to the ghettoes, when the Church embraces those who suffer from AIDS, when the Church chooses to journey alongside of all those who are in pain, who are abandoned, and who are oppressed today — and genuinely enters into that pain, abandonment, and oppression — then we will once again be a body proclaiming a credible gospel.

The Poor Church

The best way to evangelize the poor consists in allowing the poor themselves to become the church and help the whole church to become a truly poor church and a church of the poor.
~ Leonardo & Clodovis Boff, Introducing Liberation Theology
This suggestion, made by two Latin American liberation theologians, is correct but it only makes sense if we recover the radical nature of Jesus' proclamation of forgiveness. The Western Church will always have problems including the poor — and being a Church of the poor — as long as it requires that repentance and conversion precede the proclamation of forgiveness. The Western Church is all too compromised by the monopolies it tries to maintain. These monopolies consist of a monopoly of wealth, and a monopoly of “goodness”. Thus many Western Christians are able to be wealthy because they choose to allow others to remain poor, and they are able to affirm themselves as “good” because they choose to make the sins of others more grievous than their own sins. Therefore, this leads many Western Christians to claim one more monopoly — a monopoly on God. Those who are rich, and who are “good” must surely have God on their side.
Unfortunately, this is not the case. The Christian God does take sides and, to our great discomfort, this God sides with the poor and the oppressed. One cannot read the Bible with any amount of seriousness and not walk away with the realisation that God consistently sides with the oppressed and against the oppressors. Thus, in the Old Testament, God is the God who brings about an Exodus, liberating slaves and bringing them to a new land. In the Gospels, God is revealed in Jesus' radical solidarity with those on the margins of society. And in the Acts, God is the God of a Church that holds all things in common so that there would be no poor people within the community.
It is this God, in Jesus, who goes to the poor, the social outcasts, and the most blatant sinners (at least as understood by social standards — in Jesus' day these were the prostitutes and tax-collectors), and offers a message of radical forgiveness. Jesus came and told these people that they already were forgiven and so they were free to follow him in new life.
And this is the message the the Church must recover for the poor today. You, who suffer the greatest degree of exile, oppression, and godforsakenness, have been forgiven. You are beloved by God. Come journey with us. We desperately need you to journey with us if we are to know how to live faithfully as followers of Jesus. We need you to teach us how to be a poor Church. We need you to teach us how we have been compromised by our wealth, and by our self-serving notions of goodness. Please, teach us to be poor that we too may be blessed and inherit the kingdom of God.

April Books

1. Free of Charge: Giving and Forgiving in a Culture Stripped of Grace by Miroslav Volf. This is a beautiful pastoral work that is an excellent follow-up to Volf’s much more academic work, Exclusion and Embrace: A Theological Exploration of Identity, Otherness and Reconciliation. Volf shares his wisdom, his questions, and his own personal struggles with the reader, while honestly confronting the mass of questions and objections that our culture brings to the topics of giving and forgiving. The book is broken into two major sections, the first on giving, the second on forgiving. Both sections begin by examining how the Christian God addresses these things, and then examines how we should do these things and then examining how we can do these things. This is an excellent and challenging book, and is highly recommended.
2. The Inner Voice of Love: A Journey Through Anguish to Freedom by Henri Nouwen. I read and reread Nouwen’s books because he helps my heart to stay soft. He helps me, over and over again, to fall deeper in love with my God, with my neighbour (and even with myself). This book is Nouwen’s “secret journal” written during the most difficult period of his life and not published until eight years later because Nouwen felt that the material was too raw to be shared with others. Thank God that he changed his mind. Read this book, but read it slowly, meditating on each entry.
3. Prayers for a Lifetime by Karl Rahner. Rahner was one of the greatest theologians of the 20th-century. He published an absurd amount of material, and was highly influential of Vatican II on the ongoing reshaping of the Catholic Church. This book is a collection of prayers that he wrote and prayed over his career. I prayed my way through these prayers over the last month. What better way to do theology than to pray theology? Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi.
4. Texts Under Negotiation: The Bible and Postmodern Imagination by Walter Brueggemann. Long before Kevin Vanhoozer was writing The Drama of Doctrine, Brueggemann argued, in this book, that drama is the appropriate approach for the Church to take towards hermeneutics (it’s odd that Vanhoozer doesn’t even cite this work). Brueggemann begins be highlighting some elements of the transition from “modernity” to “postmodernity” and points to reasons why this transition should be considered a good thing. He then goes on to study the way the biblical texts should shape the Christian community within this context, before providing a series of specific examples. The more I read Brueggemann, the more I love him. Thanks, Jude & Cheryl, for this delightful gift!
5. The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge by Jean-Francois Lyotard. This is a classic text known, more than anything else, for defining postmodernity as “incredulity toward metanarratives”. In order to keep a promise I made to one of my brothers, I’ll summarise it in a little more detail.
More than anything else, this book raises the question of what it is that legitimates knowledge within our contemporary context. Over against terrorist governments that legitimate knowledge, including scientific knowledge, through narratives, Lyotard argues that postmodern science must engage in language games that challenge the metaprescriptives of positivistic performativity, in order to offer a counter-legitimation through paralogy.
Lyotard argues that it is the demand for legitimation that sets our technologically advanced cultures apart from all previous cultures (27). This demand questions who determines what is true, what is just, and whether a statement should be included within the discourse of society (7-8). Who, or what, legitimates knowledge is an essential question to ask because, now more than ever, it is knowledge that provides power. This is so because technological advances — the “computerisation of society” — have transformed the nature of knowledge (3-4). Within our societies, knowledge is increasingly exteriorised, translated into information, and produced in order to be sold (4-5). Because knowledge is power, the question of the legitimation of knowledge is linked to the question of the legitimation of a government’s power (9).
Systems of power, although supported and strengthened by their access to computer databanks, are actually premised upon two other things: narrative knowledge and the language of performativity. First of all, it is narrative that has traditionally provided the legitimation of knowledge. Here it is metanarratives that determine what is true and what is just, and this narrative knowledge makes possible “good” performances in relation to various objects of discourse (18-19). Narrative knowledge is self-legitimating, for it becomes legitimate simply by being recited according to the rules that define the pragmatics of transmission (20-23).
The credibility of the State is linked closely to narrative for legitimation, so much so that it attempts to transform science into a narrative form of knowledge. It makes science epic, and then it links its credibility to that epic (27-28). The State does this by telling two types of narratives: a political version, and a philosophical version. Within the political version, humanity is the hero of liberty, and all people have the right to science. The nation as a whole wins its freedom when State-sponsored institutions spread knowledge to the population (31-32). The philosophical version is a little more ambiguous towards the State, and it argues that knowledge should be pursued for the sake of knowledge. However, it still links science and the pursuit of knowledge to the moral training of a nation by positing a universal Spirit, and gaining legitimacy through speculation (32-33). In the end, the political version gained dominance and knowledge, to the State, became a means to an end (36).
However, it is exactly here that technology has contributed to a major shift in how knowledge is understood. Technology shifts the focus from ends to means, and when coupled with capitalism, causes the old metanarratives — speculative or emancipatory — rooted in institutions and traditions to lose credibility (38). This leads to the dissolution of grand narratives, and postmodernity is, therefore, most simply defined as “incredulity toward metanarratives” (xxiv, 14). It is exactly in this context that the State gains power through the language of performativity. For technology, coupled with capitalism, ensures that both research (the gathering of knowledge) and didactics (the transmission of knowledge) capitulate to performativity. In relation to research, it is technology that has become that which proves or disproves what is allowed to be a proof. However, technology follows the principle of optimal performance and this means that the question of efficiency — not the questions of truth or justice — comes to dominate science (44). Furthermore, because these technologies are costly, it requires money in order to establish proof, and science becomes a language game played by the rich (45). Yet, not desiring to squander their money, the rich seek to get a monetary return on their investment, and so the end result of science is made saleable, and science becomes a force of production (Ibid.). Thus, the production of proof is co-opted by performativity, and the end goal is power and self-legitimation; for if technology allows a person to say what is “real” this increases a person’s right to saying what is true and what is just (46-47).
Didactics are also co-opted by the language of performativity, and the goal of education thus becomes the optimising of a person’s contribution to the social order (48). This means that universities become job training and retraining centres, providing students with skills and information, while simultaneously maintain society’s internal cohesion (50). Thus, classical didactics are no longer necessary, professors can be replaced by computers, the central questions being asked are questions of efficiency, saleability, and usefulness, and the university is subordinated to the existing powers (50-51).
However, this incredulity toward metanarratives, coupled with technological advances, is not an entirely lost cause. In fact, Lyotard finds a way forward – rooted in the seeds planted by the ambiguity the philosophical narrative held towards the State – based upon these two things. Having little affinity for the positivism of performativity, Lyotard, roots himself in Wittgenstein’s notion of agonistic language games (10, 54). It is true that society has been fractured as metanarratives have lost their credibility, but individuals are not isolated, rather they are part of flexible networks of language games, and from these “islands of determinism” “catastrophic antagonism” is the rule (16-17, 59). The language game of postmodern science takes paradoxes and limitations seriously, recognising that the discourse on validating rules is imminent to science (54). This has been made particularly clear because of two developments: the multiplication of scientific methods that posit various axioms on which scientific denotative utterances rely, and the advent of quantum mechanics and nuclear physics which refute the notion of a grand determinism in nature because they reveal that uncertainty does not decrease but actually increases as accuracy increases (42-44, 56-57). On these “islands of determinism” grand narratives no longer exist, but little narratives are essential to the play (60). Within these little narratives, postmodern science does not produce knowledge of the known, but rather knowledge of the unknown, and it finds its legitimation in paralogy (ibid.).
Legitimation by paralogy focuses on dissension rather than on consensus. It counters systems of control and domination that, despite their appealing aspects, are “terrorist” systems because they operate by removing players from the game (63). Systems of control allow various language games to speak – but only if they contribute to the metalanguage of performativity (64). Lyotard argues that postmodern science must provide an open “antimodel” to this stable system (ibid.). In order to do this postmodern science points out the metaprescriptives (i.e. presuppositions) of performative narratives and science, in order to get people to accept different prescriptives (65).
And it is the computerised society that makes this resistance possible. Whereas previous power groups could maintain their control through a monopolisation of information, computers can be used to provide groups discussing metaprescriptives with the information they usually lack (67). Thus, these groups can be empowered to engage in a politics that respects both the desire for justice, and the desire for the unknown (ibid.).
6. Mother Night by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. Well, I’m loving Vonnegut more and more. This is the story of an American spy who writes propaganda for the Nazi regime. The moral, as Vonnegut makes clear at the beginning, is that “we are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be”. Thus the protagonist, Howard W. Campbell Jr., begins by dedicating this book to himself. As he writes: “This book is rededicated to Howard W. Campbell Jr., a man who served evil too openly and good too secretly, the crime of his times”. And, perhaps, the crime of our time, too. Vonnegut’s writing is poignant, sad, delightful, and honest. Wilde may be the master of the playful bon mot but Vonnegut is rapidly becoming, in my estimation, the master of the profound bon mot.
7. Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison. This is my second novel by Morrison (the first one being Beloved, which I loved). Her voice continues to intrigue me, as does the way she blends together (in a marvelous vibrant swirl that seems both captivating and painful) racial, socio-economic, haunting, and spiritual themes.
8. Baudolini by Umberto Eco. Within this novel, Eco returns to his love of the medieval period — although this book takes place several centuries prior to the events recorded in The Name of the Rose. Eco loves words and loves playing with his reader but, despite the fun I had with this book, I found it to be less meaning-full than his previous works of fiction.
9. More Letters from a Nut by Ted L. Nancy. This book was read purely for pleasure. Ted L. Nancy, whoever s/he might be, likes to write crazy letters to various corporations, cities, hotels, or celebrities, and then publishes those letters along with the responses that he receives. He’s frickin’ hilarious.

Plundering Egypt or Returning to Egypt?

Now the LORD said to Moses, “One more plague I will bring on Pharaoh and on Egypt; after that he will let you go from here. When he lets you go, he will surely drive you out from here completely. Speak now in the hearing of the people that each man ask from his neighbor and each woman from her neighbor for articles of silver and articles of gold.” …
Now the sons of Israel had done according to the word of Moses, for they had requested from the Egyptians articles of silver and articles of gold, and clothing; and the LORD had given the people favor in the sight of the Egyptians, so that they let them have their request. Thus they plundered the Egyptians.

~ Exodus 11.1-2, 12.35-36
The question of the relation of Christian theology to secular and pagan philosophy has long been questioned within the Christian tradition. Indeed, from the very beginnings of Christian theology this question has created controversy in the Church. Thus, Tertullian, writing in the early third century, rhetorically asks: “What does Athens have to do with Jerusalem?” Tertullian believed that Athens [pagan philosophy] has nothing whatsoever to do with Jerusalem [Christian theology]. However, other Church Fathers, notably Origen in the East in the late second century, and Augustine in the West in the late fourth century, argued that Christian theology could make significant gains by dialoguing with pagan philosophy and appropriating its methods, categories and terms. In this regard, both Origen and Augustine [and several others since then] used the analogy of “plundering the Egyptians” to speak of this appropriation. Just as Israel, in obedience to God, plundered Egypt on their way to the promised land, so also the Christian theologian can “plunder” pagan philosophy on the way to Christian theology.
However, I wonder a little about the approach of Origen, Augustine, & Co. After all, not long after the Hebrews plunder Egypt, what happens to the gold that they took with them into the wilderness? It was melted down and turned into a golden calf. Plundering Egypt leads fairly naturally into worshiping Egypt's gods. That is to say, Christian theology, in its eagerness to gain respectability, relevance, and practicality, can be a little too eager in its appropriation from secular philosophical systems, and the end result can be very appealing, impressive, and convincing… but not at all Christian. Plundering secular philosophies often leads to the abandonment of the Christian god. Our plunder becomes that which fuels our idolatry. To state things in an overly simplistic manner, this is the mistake often made by more Liberal theologians.
Furthermore, it seems that many contemporary Christian theologians are so eager to plunder Egypt that they don't just plunder Egypt as they depart. They return again and again to Egypt [note that God commands the Hebrews not to return to Egypt], and often end up deciding that the back and forth journey is a waste of time. And so they have taken up residence in Egypt, and have been delighted to do so. It's much more comfortable. In Egypt we get the security, respect, and acclaim we desire. Thus, we forget that the people of God are a people on the way to the holy land, and as such we will be forever seen as a little odd to those around us. Thus, as Hauerwas and Willimon say, we are “resident aliens” or as Rodney Clapp says, we are “a peculiar people”. After all, following Jesus is not a road that is altogether appealing, respectable or intelligible. Rather it is a road that seems foolish, embarrassing, distasteful, and painful. Too often our motive for plundering Egypt stems from our fear of carrying a cross. Instead of being a cruciform people presenting an embodied mystery to a wondering world, we become a respectable people presenting efficient arguments to a pragmatic world. To state things in an overly simplistic manner, this is the mistake often made by Conservative theologians.
In this regard, I am tempted to side with Tertullian. Of course, Tertullian himself was more influenced by the philosophy of his day than he seems to recognise. We are all inescapably contextual beings and will be shaped by the categories, themes, and methods of our times. Thus, if we are to avoid the mistake of either worshiping Egypts gods or making Egypt our home, we must maintain a critical distance from secular philosophical frameworks, hermeneutics, languages, and stories, while also reflecting critically upon ourselves.
God may have commanded the Hebrews to plunder Egypt, but the Church's vocation is rather different. Like Paul, we are to be “fools for Christ's sake… weak… without honour” saved not by the wisdom of the wise but by the “power of God” which destroys the wisdom of the wise and which is, therefore, a “stumbling block” to some and “foolishness” to the rest [cf. 1 Cor 1 & 4].

Transforming Intimacy

You go from dream to dream inside me. You have passage to my last shabby corner, and there, among the debris, you've found life. I'm no longer sure which of all the words, images, dreams or ghosts are “yours” and which are “mine.” It's past sorting out. We're both being someone new now, someone incredible…
~ Thomas Pynchon, Gravity's Rainbow
That's exactly it. It is intimacy that makes us new and, to our own amazement, incredible. Yes, we really do become incredible — but we are so overwhelmed by the joy of the beloved that there is little room for vanity in our new-found self-awareness. It is our encounter with an oh so tender, oh so patient, and oh so certain affection that transforms us.
And this is exactly what I have found in God. I have found, or rather been found by, a God who has sifted through my shabby corners, who has entered into the debris of my life, and declared me to be something beautiful — and in that declaration I have actually become something beautiful.
It is this realisation that is the foundation for my own vision. Having been transformed by such an encounter how can I not see others as beautiful? It's not as though I am turning a blind-eye to everything that is hurtful, broken, or dirty within others, it's just that I have become aware of the fact that all of us are beloved by God. And when we start to see others as beloved, we also begin to discover that they are truly lovely. Yes, here too is beauty, here too is life, here too is that which takes my breath away.
And what I've really been meaning to say, all this time, is that I love you.

Gifts and Rights

To treat gifts as entitlements and to complain about not getting more is to be a poor receiver and to wrong the giver.
~ Miroslav Volf, Free of Charge: Giving and Forgiving in a Culture Stripped of Grace
Christians affirm the belief that all of the world, all of creation, is a gift from God, the Creator. It is not that creation is a gift to us, for us to use or manipulate as we choose, but rather that, as a part of creation, we are all gifts to one another. The earth is a gift to me, and I am a gift to the earth. My neighbour is a gift to me, and I am a gift to my neighbour. Based on this belief, being itself is seen as a gift. Life is a gift.
As a gift, life brings certain responsibilities, or better stated, life understood as a gift generates a particular perspective, a specific lens, through which we view ourselves and the world around us. Seen through this lens, the world around us becomes a sacrament, it points to the hand and purposes of the Giver. Such a perspective requires us to tread a little more softly than we would otherwise, it requires us to consider that those around us may be far more sacred than we have previously realised. Suddenly we discover awe in the most unlikely places. And gratitude becomes that which dictates how we live and act.
It is also this perspective that causes me to be uncomfortable with the language of human rights. This is not to say that those who pursue human rights have bad motives or wrong goals. The motives and goals of those involved in the world of human rights are quite admirable. However, seeing life, and all that comes with it, as a right also functions as a perspective, and a specific lens, through which we view ourselves and the world around us. This views approaches life as something that is owed to us, or rather, something that is owed to me. Thus my life becomes structured around ensuring that I get what is mine. Within this view, the human person becomes the be all and end all of life. The world and people around us are not sacraments of some other Giver, they are not sacred, rather they are individuals who deserve respect — meaning that they should not be harmed and should be left to themselves, just like I should be left to myself. There is little room for awe here, we only discover what is mine, and what is yours. Thus, entitlement replaces gratitude as that which dictates how we live and act. Such a mentality actually fits surprisingly well with a consumer culture, for, as long as I'm not harming others than I can come to believe that I am entitled to more and more (of course, such a mentality, although rather prevalent, is quite naive for almost all Western consumption harms others).
Therefore, if we are to find a way forward that truly recovers the true humanity of ourselves and those around us, and recovers the sacredness of creation, we must ensure that we view life as a gift, not, as a right. Gratitude, not entitlement, should dictate our approach to life.

Jesus as "Prophet": Part VI

Conclusion
This paper has attempted to study Jesus as prophet, it has challenged the interpretation of Jesus provided by Rudolph Bultmann and the Jesus Seminar, and highlighted the strengths and weaknesses of various streams of scholarship that see Jesus as an apocalyptic, social, or charismatic prophet. Of the scholars mentioned it seems that Tom Wright does the best job of holding the various streams together. Following his lead, and refusing to create a false dichotomy between the apocalyptic and the social (and the charismatic), this section will highlight essential elements of the prophetic that should be present if it is to be exercised appropriately today. It will then conclude with a word on Jesus as “more than a prophet”.
Synthesis: Twelve Elements Essential to the Prophetic
Based upon the positions surveyed in this paper, twelve elements are essential to the contemporary prophetic movement.
One: The contemporary prophetic movements must be grounded in biblical eschatology. Prophecy is fundamentally concerned with a memory of the past, an awareness of God's future, and an understanding of what time it is right now. Apart from this eschatological foundation, prophetic movements are bound to drift off into arbitrary, and often largely inconsequential, activities.
Two: Closely related to the first point, the contemporary prophetic movement must be thoroughly apocalyptic. Here apocalyptic must be understood as that which invests current events with their theological significance. In a way this understanding of apocalyptic ties in well with contemporary charismatic prophetic movements that emphasise the role that prophesy has in speaking into the life of individuals. However, it challenges contemporary movements (which focus primarily upon speaking prophetically to individuals) to address larger social issues and institutions.
Three: Closely related to a foundation in eschatology and apocalyptic, the contemporary prophetic movement must be thoroughly rooted within the Christian Scriptures. Contemporary prophets must also be teachers of the Word, offering new or forgotten readings that counter interpretations of Scripture that either support, or are apathetic toward, contemporary structures of violent power.
Four: Thus, contemporary prophetic movements must by actively, subversively, and radically political. The political nature of Jesus, and all the biblical prophets, is inescapable, and contemporary prophetic movements cannot simply retreat into self-gratifying religious communities, nor can they simply affirm the state authorities, as if they are God's chosen leaders. The contemporary prophetic movement must maintain a critical distance from political parties, while actively engaging society.
Five: As socially subversive groups, contemporary prophetic movements must be restoration movements. This means that they must live in radical solidarity with those on the margins of society, they must turn the tables of the socially acceptable religious order that perpetuates cycles of exile and declare forgiveness to sinners, freedom to captives, and sight to the blind. In this regard, the miraculous elements often associated with the contemporary charismatic prophetic movement must be restored into an intimate relationship with the proclamation of forgiveness and the end of exile. Too often contemporary miracles are simply seen as necessary for the betterment and gratification of the one receiving the healing, yet miracles removed from their eschatological and radical sociological significance are miracles divorced from their true purpose.
Six: This also means that contemporary prophetic movements must issue a call for repentance and warn the powers that be that the risk facing the judgement of a God who sides with the oppressed and against the oppressors. The contemporary prophetic movement must be able speak specifically about certain events, and name specific institutions, and even specific individuals who perpetuate cycles of exile, and call them to repentance. Just as Jesus spoke critically of the religious leaders and the temple institution, so also a large part of this contemporary call to repentance and warnings of judgement must be directed toward Western Christians and the Western Church.
Seven: However, the contemporary prophetic movement cannot avoid the fact that the ultimate enemy of God's desire for reconciliation is not a human institution or construct but a spiritual being — Satan. This realisation will also help prevent the contemporary prophetic movement from demonising any humans, even if that contemporary human engages in more violent and cruel practices than the Caesars of Jesus' day. Thus, the contemporary prophetic movement must learn to engage in spiritual warfare, and engage in such activities as intercessory prayer. The contemporary charismatic prophetic movement has already made several important steps in this regard, although it often become so focused on this element that is loses track of point six.
Eight: Members of contemporary prophetic movements must embody a cruciform lifestyle defined by suffering love. This notion counters much of the self-gratification that exists within contemporary charismatic prophetic movements. Contrary to popular teaching following Jesus does not mean the removal of suffering; it means loving others deeply enough to enter into their suffering so that that suffering can be overcome. Thus, it should come as no surprise that among the Beatitudes that are to function as the identity markers of the people of God, Jesus says those who are persecuted are blessed, for the prophets were also persecuted for the same reasons. This love is also a love for oppressors, not just for the oppressed, and this love of enemies manifests itself through the refusal to resort to violence.
Nine: Members of contemporary prophetic communities must be energised by a hope that flourishes in the midst of suffering. This hope is solidly grounded in eschatology — in the memory of what God has done in Jesus Christ, what the Spirit has done since Pentecost, and what the Father will do when the kingdom is consummated. It is this hopeful energising that should separate the contemporary prophetic movement from most of the scholars surveyed in this paper. Faith in the resurrection, and in the inauguration of the new creation, can be the only lasting foundation for any Christian prophetic word or act that is performed today. This hope also motivates the Christian love for enemies for it believes that enemies can be transformed into friends.
Ten: All of this should lead the contemporary prophetic movement to pursue deeper intimacy with God as Father. This emphasis has been one of the greatest strengths of contemporary charismatic prophetic movements, and it should be encouraged. Furthermore, it should be expanded so that God is not only seen as my Father but as Father of all people and all creation and especially as the loving Father of the poor and the oppressed.
Eleven: All of this requires the contemporary prophetic movement to espouse a radical dependence upon the Spirit of God. It is by being in Christ, and by being indwelt by the Spirit of Christ, that the Church is empowered to live as a prophetic community. Within our pragmatic and efficient culture the notion of dependence is often downplayed as we seek more effective and successful means of engaging with those around us. However, the contemporary prophetic movement must be cautious of techniques and approaches that appeal to us as Westerners, and it must learn to listen to the Spirit who acts in surprisingly new ways, and even leads us where we have no desire to be led.
Twelve: Therefore, the contemporary prophetic movement must espouse a holistic approach to mission and the proclamation of the good news of the story of Jesus' Lordship. This means that the contemporary prophetic movement must be constantly flowing out to all people, to all sectors of society, and to all parts of the world, proclaiming the entire Christian story embodied in the canon of Scripture and the prophetic traditions of the Church.
Jesus as more than a Prophet
This paper has sought to study Jesus as a prophet by integrating insights from various streams of scholarship. Although the purpose of this study was to examine what implications this has for our contemporary understanding of prophecy it seems appropriate to conclude with a final word about Jesus. It is in this final section that we pick up our opening question taken from Mark's gospel when Jesus, after being told that the crowds tended to think of him as a prophet, asks his disciples: Who do you say that I am?
Most of the scholars examined in this paper paint a picture of Jesus as prophet that largely diverges from the Christ of faith. Thus, those who belong to the Jesus Seminar tend to see Jesus as less than a prophet. Those who belong to the apocalyptic prophetic stream tend to see Jesus as only a prophet, and a failed one at that. Those who belong to the social prophetic stream also tend to see Jesus as only a prophet, but Jesus was an excellent prophet from this perspective. Finally, those who belong to the charismatic prophetic stream also tend to see Jesus as only a prophet, although what sort of prophet Jesus was remains rather vague.
However, some of the scholars mentioned in this paper — Tom Wright, James Dunn, Ben Witherington, Mortimer Arias, and Walter Brueggemann — see Jesus as a prophet, but they also see Jesus as more than a prophet. This papers agrees with these scholars and with the disciples in Mark who declare that Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God, and it also affirms the salvific death and glorious resurrection of Jesus. It is faith in the divinity of Jesus that provides Christian prophetic movements with the assurance that they are acting as agents of God's new creation, and not just simply participating in a long line of mostly misguided apocalypticists, or failed social radicals.
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Jesus as "Prophet": Part V

Two Pastoral Reflections on Jesus as Prophet: Arias and Brueggemann
This paper has largely focused upon scholarly approaches that examine the historical Jesus as an apocalyptic, a social, and a charismatic prophet. Before concluding and tying together what can be learned from this broad range of scholarship it is worth examining two reflections on Jesus' relevance for our understanding of the prophetic that have been written from a more pastoral perspective — although the men writing, Mortimer Arias and Walter Brueggemann, are scholars in their own right.
Mortimer Arias: Prophetic Annunciation, Denunciation, Witness, and Consolation
Mortimer Arias, in his study of the prophetic rooted in Jesus' proclamation of the reign of God, approaches the prophetic from four angles. Arias argues that hope is the central motif of the prophet, and the motive for the prophet's mission. And hope is thoroughly eschatological for it means living with a future-orientation that makes living in the present meaningful. Thus, Christians who follow Jesus and prophetically announce the kingdom of God as hope, announce “a future which every present takes meaning from, and in which every past is redeemed”. This proclamation of hope also means denouncing any power, program, or purpose that opposes God's plan, and so the prophet, like Jesus, must maintain a critical distance from any political order, while simultaneously engaging with society. In this regard, it is essential that the prophet speak against specific structures, for silence or vague talk negates hope. Arias also emphasises that prophets who witness in this manner will face suffering, persecution, and misunderstanding, and, therefore, will truly become witnesses to hope in the fullest sense of the word — they, like Jesus and the prophets before him, will be martyrion. Finally, as witnesses to hope, prophets will follow Jesus and engage in a ministry of consolation to the broken-hearted and the oppressed. Thus, prophets of hope must combine annunciation, denunciation, suffering and consolation, and each of these elements should not be separated from any of the others.
Walter Brueggemann: Prophetic Pathos and Energising
Walter Brueggemann further fills out the study of Jesus as social prophet by emphasising two elements: prophetic pathos and prophetic energising. Brueggemann begins by closely following scholarship that links Jesus to the social prophetic stream, and he argues that Jesus engaged in the ultimate criticism of the powers and “the royal consciousness”. Jesus, according to Brueggemann, dismantles the dominant culture and nullifies its claims through his solidarity, and shared vulnerability, with the marginalised. By proclaiming forgiveness, Jesus threatened religious sanctions that functioned as social controls; by healing, especially on the Sabbath, Jesus placed freedom from rejection over the social order; and by eating with outcasts, Jesus embodied a critique of the heart of the temple's purity structure. In all of these acts Jesus juxtaposes prophetic grief with royal rage, and thus Jesus is moved primarily by compassion and pathos. As Brueggemann writes: “Compassion constitutes a radical form of criticism, for it announces that the hurt is to be taken seriously, that the hurt cannot be accepted as normal and natural but as an abnormal and unacceptable condition for humanness”. Jesus replaces royal numbness with prophetic suffering love, and this is what truly triggers a social revolt, for empires can tolerate charity and good intentions but not solidarity with pain and grief. By internalising the pain of the marginalised, Jesus and the prophets before him bring to expression all that the royal culture has tried to repress or deny. And this prophetic pathos culminates with Jesus' death on the cross, which announces the end of a culture of death by taking on death and provides the ultimate assurance that prophetic criticisms must be done not by outsiders but by those who intimately know the pain of the marginalised. However, the prophetic does not stop with pathos but it engages in a radical energising premised upon the resurrection and the in-breaking of new life where none was expected. The resurrection is the ultimate energising for the new future. Therefore, the prophetic counteracts numbness through grief, and despair through a new future. The prophetic ministry evokes alternative communities and operates by “offering an alternative perception of reality and in letting people see their own history in light of God's freedom and his will for justice”.

Jesus as "Prophet": Part IV

Jesus as Charismatic Prophet: Vermes, Dunn, Twelftree, Rivkin & Borg
Within this section we will examine scholars who argue that Jesus is better understood outside the categories of “apocalyptic/oracular” and “social/leadership”. Instead, these scholars prefer to present Jesus as a prophet that more closely resembles our contemporary understanding of charismatic prophets. We will begin by looking at the work of Gaza Vermes, before moving to James Dunn's comments. We will then briefly examine the writings of Graham Twelftree and Ellis Rivkin before commenting on Marcus Borg's model of Jesus (which fits this category, albeit awkwardly). Finally we will conclude with some critical reflection upon this perspective.
Gaza Vermes: Jesus the Hasid
Gaza Vermes, who began his career as a scholar as a Christian but later on converted to Judaism, argues that Jesus, as a first century prophet who performed healings and exorcisms while proclaiming forgiveness, belongs within the stream of charismatic Judaism. Although there were other exorcists and healers, notably magicians, Vermes argues that Jesus does not follow their prescribed rites, methods and incantations. Rather, Jesus' spontaneous and unscripted actions parallel those of the “holy men” known as the “Hasidim”. Thus, Vermes compares Jesus to two other notable Hasidim of Second Temple Judaism: Hanina ben Dosa and Honi the Cirle Drawer. The Hasidim were charismatics who performed miraculous deeds because of their intimacy with God, and the greater their healing power, the greater their intimacy with God. The Hasidim were able to perform healings through their prayers because the devil was believed to be at the root of sickness and sin, and so contact with God would drive the devil out. Vermes argues that the Hasidim were so intimate with God when they prayed that they referred to God as Father, and this is one of the marked characteristics of Jesus' prayers. Thus, Vermes concludes that Jesus is the paramount example of the early Hasidim and the heir of the prophetic tradition.
James Dunn: Jesus the Spirit-Inspired Prophet with Authoritative Charisma
James Dunn argues that because Jesus' words were inspired by the Spirit to effect forgiveness, and because his acts were inspired by the Spirit to effect healing, Jesus is naturally a charismatic figure. However, Dunn recognises that “charismatic” is a rather broad term and so he seeks to put it into its appropriate context. Dunn argues that Jesus had a reputation as a miracle worker, and this reputation comes to us in “explicitly charismatic terms” for the working of dunameis (might deeds) belonged to the charismata, and the dunameis authenticated the doer of those deeds as a person of the Spirit. Thus, Dunn describes Jesus as a charismatic because everything about Jesus was inspired by the Spirit.
Furthermore, what was true of Jesus' deeds was also true of his teachings and his presence, and so there is a charismatic nature to Jesus' authority in general. In his ability to provoke respect and awe, Jesus, Dunn argues, must have possessed a divinely appointed charisma (with charisma fitting the more standard definition as the ability to inspire fear, awe, confidence, trust, or hostility). Thus, Jesus was a charismatic in the sense that he manifested a power and an authority which were not his own but were given to him by virtue of God's Spirit upon him.
In exploring Jesus as a charismatic of this sort Dunn distances Jesus from other first century charismatics by arguing that Jesus was not an ecstatic — evidence that would support the notion of Jesus as an ecstatic simply does not exist within the Gospels and the early Jesus tradition. By distancing Jesus from the ecstatics Dunn paints a portrait of Jesus as a missional and ethical charismatic prophet. As he concludes, “As [Jesus] found God in prayer as Father, so he found God in mission as power… [and] in this two-fold experience of Jesus we see clearly interwoven both the ethical and the charismatic”.
Graham Twelftree and Ellis Rivkin: Jesus as Exorcist and as the Charismatic of Charismatics
In addition to the works of Vermes and Dunn, Graham Twelftree has highlighted the exorcisms and placed them at the core of Jesus' work as a charismatic prophet. However, he is careful to distance Jesus from the other first century Jewish exorcists by arguing that Jesus closely linked eschatological significance with the exorcisms he performed. Demons were cast out, not simply because Jesus was close to God, but because the kingdom of God was at hand.
Ellis Rivkin, like Dunn, picks up on the notion of charisma as the ability to gather and hold a crowd. In this regard, Jesus was the “charismatic of charismatics” and it is this that inevitably leads to Jesus' death. Rivkin argues that Jesus was nonviolent and largely apolitical in his mission or message — but Jesus was politically dangerous because he attracted crowds that could become quite unpredictable and violent. Thus, Jesus was executed because of the potential, although unintended, political consequences of his teaching and popularity.
Marcus Borg: Jesus the Spirit-Person
Finally, this section concludes with a comment on the work of Marcus Borg. Borg, like Crossan and even more like Thiessen, is difficult to fit into the categories used to structure this paper. He is a member of the Jesus Seminar and sees Jesus as a subversive sage, but he also argues that Jesus was a radical social prophet and movement founder who espoused a fully here-and-now approach to eschatology and apocalyptic. However, Borg argues that all of these ideas about Jesus are firmly rooted in the notion of Jesus as a Spirit-Person, and this becomes the fundamental paradigm that he applies to Jesus. Thus, as a Spirit-Person Jesus was a visionary mystic, a channel through which God's Spirit flowed to others, a healer, and a person with a deep personal relationship with God. Borg also highlights the fact that this notion of Jesus as a Spirit-Person also fits well with the charismatic experiences that abounded in the New Testament church. Finally, as a Spirit-Person, Borg's Jesus is incredibly compassionate, and thus Borg's focus on Jesus as a charismatic is used to downplay the moral teachings of Jesus.
Critical Reflection
Scholars within this category have made two particular valuable contributions to the study of Jesus as prophet. They have shown how Jesus' mission and teachings were inextricably linked to the working of the Spirit, and they have also highlighted the intimacy that Jesus has with God the Father. However, there a few criticisms that must be mentioned.
First of all, Vermes' notion of Jesus as an Hasid faces several challenges. The Hasidim were known as “ultrapietistic” and “ultrastrenuous” observers of the law, and the Jesus of the Gospels (or Borg's charismatic Jesus, for that matter) does not sit comfortably within either of those categories. Secondly, the miracles effected by the Hasidim, and first century charismatics in general, was linked to rigorous, painstaking, and prolonged prayer, and this does not fit well with the healings performed by Jesus. Thirdly, although the Hasidim expressed intimacy with God, Jesus is unique in proclaiming God as “abba”. Fourthly, as noted by Twelftree and by the scholars who see Jesus as a social prophet, Jesus' miracles carried eschatological significance and this sets him well apart from the first century charismatics. Fifthly, like Dunn, Gunther Bornkamm argues that charismatics tended to appeal to ecstatic states and visions for legitimation, but Jesus hardly does this at all. Sixthly, as a charismatic, Jesus would have had difficult gathering a large popular following, and would likely have been held in greater suspicion, and be seen as more deviant, by the crowds. Finally, it should also be noted that these scholars also tend to separate the Jesus of history from the Christ of faith, and tend not to see Jesus as divine, or put much weight in the resurrection narratives.
Therefore, although there is some plausibility in seeing Jesus as a charismatic prophet, this type is not without its problems. However, the greatest problem with this perspective is the fact that it is altogether too vague and leaves out too much material. Therefore, we can conclude this section in agreement with Ben Witherington who (rather graciously) writes:
While it is accurate to call Jesus a Spirit person, a charismatic holy man, or an exorcist, this is only a partial explanation of the gospel evidence about Jesus… Interpreters must avoid the pitfall of mistaking the part for the whole in attempting to portray Jesus.
Thus, those who participate within the contemporary charismatic prophetic movement, who are correct to emphasise the ongoing significance, and miraculous workings, of the Spirit and the Fatherhood of God, would do well to fill out their understanding of the prophetic by becoming more firmly rooted in the apocalyptic and social approaches to the prophetic.

Jesus as "Prophet": Part III

Jesus as Social (Leadership) Prophet: Crossan, Thiessen, Horsley, Kaylor & Herzog II
Within this section we will examine several prominent scholars who focus upon Jesus as a leadership, rather than an oracular, prophet. We will begin by studying John Dominic Crossan, who does not fit too comfortably here, but whose work has been influential upon others in this category. We will then examine the work of Gerd Thiessen, Richard Horsley, R.D. Kaylor, and William Herzog II, before critically reflecting upon this perspective.
John Dominic Crossan: Jesus as Prophetic Magician and Itinerant Cynic Sage
John Dominic Crossan is difficult to locate within a typology that examines Jesus as prophet. With his emphasis upon Jesus as sage, he fits well with the position of the Jesus Seminar — of which he is a member, albeit one that is rather distanced from, and arguably well beyond, most of the other members. Similarly, with his emphasis upon Jesus as a magician, rather than as prophet, it could be argued that he better belongs within the group that understands Jesus as a charismatic. However, this paper has located Crossan here because his work has borne much fruit, and functioned as a springboard to others who locate Jesus as a radical social prophet.
Although Crossan avoids the title “prophet” and prefers to call Jesus a “Jewish peasant Cynic”, he argues that the Cynics embodied a lifestyle and mindset that was opposed to the cultural heart of Mediterranean civilisation. As a Cynic Jesus espoused “a way of looking and dressing, of eating, living, and relating that announced its contempt for honor and shame, for patronage and clientage”. Thus, Jesus, rooted thoroughly in the tradition of the Jewish peasantry, sought to develop a religious and economic egalitarianism by announcing the “brokerless kingdom of God”. Therefore, Crossan argues that Jesus better fits the type of “magician” than “prophet” for the magician is one who “can make the divine power present directly through personal miracle rather than indirectly through communal ritual”. Jesus follows the model set by Elijah and Elisha who both combine oracular political prophesy with popular individual magic and thereby functions as a “magical prophet” or, better yet, a “prophetic magician”. Jesus thus espouses a different ideology than the powers that be, for his life and actions raise the question of the validity of other authorities. Therefore, the conflict that Jesus encounters is that between the magician as the personal and individual power, versus the priest or rabbi as the communal or ritual power. Thus, according to Crossan, Jesus was subversive, but was more sophisticated than radical in his form of subversion. Yet Jesus planted the seeds of what could become a much more radical form of subversion.
However, like the previous group, Crossan continues to drive a wedge between this historical Jesus and the Christ of faith, and he therefore argues against the resurrection, or the notion that Jesus was divine. Thus he writes:
If those who accepted Jesus during his earthly life had not continued to follow, believe, and experience [Jesus'] continuing presence after the crucifixion, all would have been over. That is the resurrection, the continuing presence in a continuing community of the past Jesus in a radically new and transcendental mode of present and future existence.
The resurrection is simply a handy metaphor employed by the early ecclesiastical authorities in order to legitimate their authority and the direction they provide the Christian community.
Crossan avoids calling Jesus a prophet, and limits the subversive nature of Jesus' ministry. However, several other scholars have developed this picture of Jesus in a much more radical manner and rooted it in a more thoroughly prophetic tradition, and it is to these scholars that we now turn.
Gerd Thiessen: Jesus as a Charismatic (Prophet?) Renewing the Poor
Gerd Thiessen also tends to avoid calling Jesus a prophet, and prefers to see him as an itinerant charismatic but because of his emphasis upon Jesus as a social radical, he fits this category better than the others offered in this paper. As part of a radical socio-ecological Jewish renewal movement, Jesus is an itinerant who calls for separation from pagan cities and espouses an ambivalence towards Jerusalem. Thiessen argues that Jesus was thoroughly rooted in the margins of society, and in opposition to the rulers. Within Jesus' ministry economic distress, religious unrest, and political resistance are all interconnected. Thus, through actions like healing the lower classes and the outcasts, Jesus comes into direct conflict with the authorities. Through this conflict Jesus was hoping to bring about the kingdom of God, which would result in the poor coming “into their own”. Jesus was hoping to bring about a “revolution in values, a takeover of upper-class attitudes by the lower class”. Consequently, Jesus dies a political death, just as John before him died a political death.
Richard Horsley: Jesus the Revolutionary Prophet
It is with the writing of Richard Horsley that the notion of Jesus as a radical social prophet really begins to reach its full expression. Here, Jesus is seen as an oracular and leadership prophet at the head of a “grassroots movement of Galilean peasant protest”. Jesus is emphatically not a cynic or a wandering charismatic, but is a social prophet like the Old Testament prophets. He is a revolutionary siding with the oppressed over against the oppressors. Thus, when approaching Jesus as an oracular prophet, Horsley emphasises the need not to take apocalyptic literally, but argues that it must be read within its context and understood as an act of subversive remembering by oppressed groups. Apocalyptic motivates resistance and demystifies the present social order. From this perspective talk about the kingdom of God, is all about rejecting the rulers for the communal solidarity of the traditions of Israel — it has nothing to do with the future or with a detached spirituality. Therefore, the key to Jesus' approach, as a social prophet, is resisting exploitation by the rich and powerful without surrendering Israel's egalitarian traditions or resorting to violence. The society that this Jesus envisions is one of radical equality, living within the “kingless kingdom of God”. It is a community that is co-operative, non-hierarchical, defined by solidarity, mutual service, and the absence of all authorities, and all authoritative institutions.
Because this Jesus envisions such an egalitarian society, he focuses upon those who were “utterly excluded” and pronounces judgement on the rulers. Like an Old Testament prophet, he opposes those who oppress the poor, and he therefore targets the temple and the high priests because they were the true power and the client rulers for Rome. Indeed, Horsley sees all of Jesus' actions as an assault on Rome. By exorcising demons, which, significantly, go by names like “Legion”, and by healing wounds caused by imperial power, Jesus claims victory over Rome. Because Jesus challenges the authorities so explicitly when he comes to Jerusalem (first by mocking all messianic pretenders by riding into Jerusalem on an ass, and then by overturning tables in the temple), he dies the death of a rebel and a prophet. Yet this provides the renewal movement with the impetus to live on in his name — and those today who resist the idolatry of power will inherit the kingdom of God.
R.D. Kaylor: Jesus the Social Prophet of the Here-and-Now
R.D. Kaylor largely follows the thesis of Horsley. Jesus was a prophet renewing Israel through a return to the social standards set by the covenant. He was political, with a political agenda, and was killed as a political subversive who saw the spiritual significance of seemingly mundane things like food, clothes and shelter. Kaylor also continues to argue that the focus on Jesus as a social prophet requires a move away from eschatology and spirituality. The kingdom of God, according to this Jesus, was all about the here-and-now, it was all about earthy politics. In this picture there is little room for such things as transcendence or a future coming kingdom.
William J. Herzog II: Jesus as Prophet of the Justice of the Reign of God
Finally, it is worth examining the significant contribution of William Herzog II. Like Wright, Herzog follows Webb's thesis by differentiating between first century clerical, sapiental, and popular prophets, before arguing that Jesus is most similar to, but not identical with, the popular prophets. Popular prophets, Herzog argues, tapped into deep wells of popular discontent, and worked towards delivering the people from foreign or corrupt domination. Thus, Jesus is quite political, albeit in a way that in not necessarily immediately obvious to the twentieth century Western reader. Active politics was one of the defining characteristics of the Old Testament prophets and Jesus fits well with the example they provide, for, like them, Jesus also upholds Torah, and came into conflict with “court prophets” who supported the existing regime. Thus, Jesus embodies what is common to all prophets.
Combining these three elements (Torah, politics, and conflict), Herzog argues that Jesus connected faith and theology based on a reading of Torah that saw God's land as a haven for justice in an unjust world, and this reading clashed with those who co-opted Torah for the purpose of political advantage. Therefore, Jesus attacks the temple system because it had become a place of economic exploitation and a means of legitimating the state and establishing dynastic claims. By attacking the temple system, Jesus also attacked the notion of a clear hierarchy of holiness with distinct boundaries that existed at all levels of Jewish society. The levies and taxes kept the people perpetually indebted to the temple and therefore in a constant state of uncleanness and vulnerability. Therefore, Jesus did not seek to cleanse the temple, he sought its destruction, based upon the desire to replace it with something different. As Herzog says, “The destruction of the oppressive institution that the temple had become was one step toward the coming justice of the reign of God”. In his assault on the temple system, Jesus also drives a wedge between the temple and the land, when he talks about the fruitfulness of the land apart from the temple system. This Jesus argues that the people were poor, not because the land was not producing, but because the people were being exploited and oppressed by tributes, tithes, and taxes.
In his conflict with the Pharisees, Herzog's Jesus counters the “Great Tradition”, that legitimated the powers and the then existent socio-political and economic order, with the “Little Tradition” of the dominated peasant masses. This is essentially the clash between religious traditions which support hegemony and religious traditions which challenge hegemony. These traditions can be traced back to two codes that exist within the Torah: the debt code, and the purity code. These codes do not coexist on equal terms but one becomes focal while the other becomes subsidiary and is mediated through the first. Thus the Great Tradition starts with the purity code while the Little Tradition begins with the debt code.
As a social prophet of the Little Tradition, Jesus is a herald of the kingdom of God, announcing it, articulating its meaning — justice for the oppressed — and mediating its power. Indeed, Jesus' healings and exorcisms are all a part of this conflict and part of Jesus' political strategy. Jesus never performed miracles just for the sake of performing miracles, rather the miracles revealed who channelled God's power, who mediated God's power, and on whose behalf God's power was exercised. All of this meant a rather damning judgement against the socio-political and economic powers, and it required the cancellation of debts, and the redistribution of resources.
Critical Reflection
What then are we to make of Jesus the social prophet as he is presented by these scholars? Crossan's Jesus will be examined first, and then Thiessen's Jesus, before some summary comments are made about Jesus the social prophet as he is reflected in the works of Horsley, Kaylor, and Herzog.
Crossan's magical Cynic Jesus has faced rather damning criticisms from several New Testament scholars. First of all, Crossan has imposed a more romantic and sophisticated type, that of Cynic, upon Jesus — but it is a type that would not likely be familiar to a first century Jew from Galilee. Although Crossan does attempt to distinguish between Greek Cynics and the followers of Jesus, there does not seem to be any significant evidence that the Cynics were a known presence with the Galilee of Jesus day. Secondly, if Jesus was the type of Cynic that Crossan describes, it becomes quite difficult to comprehend why anybody would want to kill this Jesus. Furthermore, the notion of Jesus as magician is rather suspect, not only because the term “magician” would be considered quite derogatory within Second Temple Judaism (hence, we discover that it is Jesus' opponents that apply this title to him in the Gospels), but also because Jesus' methods do not align with those of a magician. First century magic was “ritual and practices used to coerce the gods and spirit powers” and magicians tended to rely on material aids and magic formulas, while Jesus does not use aids or formulas and primarily operates through touch or simple commands. Magicians were regularly doing these deeds for money, they were magicians for hire, and Jesus certainly does not fit this model. Examining Crossan's model of Jesus helps us to realise how much more appropriate the prophetic type is, and so we can conclude with James Dunn that “there are parallels which can be pressed to affirm Jesus as magician, Jesus as Cynic. But is either case a good example of solid historical evaluation? I think not”.
Gerd Thiessen's model of Jesus — more socially radical than Crossan's but still not explicitly prophetic — has faced some criticisms from others within this section, especially from Richard Horsley. Horsley argues that Thiessen's move away from the prophetic type to produce an itinerant charismatic Jesus results in a Jesus that is far too removed from politics. Thus, according to Horsley, Thiessen does not do justice to Jesus' context of dislocation, conflict, and distress. More could (and should) be said about Thiessen's model of Jesus but further criticisms of the charismatic type will be reserved for the next section of this paper.
Examining the work of Horsley, Kaylor, and Herzog (and the elements that overlap in the work of Crossan and Thiessen), one finds much that should be affirmed. These scholars are absolutely correct to emphasis the socio-political and economic priorities of Jesus' mission, and of the prophetic vocation in general. One cannot engage with these scholars and still retain any doubt that Jesus was political and was at least subversively, and perhaps revolutionarily, so. Especially important in this regard is the insight that the miracles Jesus performed were done with a political and eschatological end in mind. As a first century prophet, Jesus' socio-political stance is firmly rooted within the traditions of Israel, and thus in the works of Horsley, Kaylor, and Herzog, the result is a convincing historical portrait of Jesus.
However, there are at least three criticisms that need to be raised against this perspective. The first is that these scholars tend toward an over-realised eschatology. In this sense, Ben Witherington is correct to argue that these scholars are often right in what they affirm, but wrong in what they deny. By stressing the social/leadership element, these scholars too quickly discard the apocalyptic/oracular element. Certainly Horsley makes a valiant effort to account for apocalyptic or eschatological elements within Jesus teachings, but he stresses that the eschatology all refers to events in the present, not in the future. Too much of the religious is lost in an overemphasis upon the notion that the kingdom is fully here, fully now, and not future at all.
This leads to the second criticism levelled at these scholars: they confuse the ultimate enemy that Jesus is fighting against. For all of these scholars the enemy is the corrupt leaders in Jerusalem and, ultimately, Rome. From this perspective it becomes difficult to understand why Jesus did not resort to violence (apart from the argument that asserts that Jesus was trying to break the cycle of violence — an argument that sounds quite nice to a twentieth century audience but could well have brought a lot of blank stares in a first century audience). Thus, it seems that Tom Wright's thesis, that Jesus understood his ultimate enemy to be Satan, is far more convincing. The exorcisms and healing may reveal secondarily that Rome's days are numbered, but they first and foremost reveal that Jesus is waging war with Satan. Jesus wins the initial skirmishes, and he goes to Jerusalem to (among other things) win the final battle. These scholars, with their move away from all things spiritual, have difficulty accepting this thesis, yet, if we are to do justice to the worldview of Jesus and the Old Testament prophets, it must be retained.
The third criticism confronting these scholars is that they also separate the Christ of faith from the Jesus of history, and reduce Jesus to only a prophet (albeit a very good one). In this regard these scholars fit within the neo-liberal school (although they hover on the radical fringe) as they deny any Christological elements or claims of Jesus, as well as denying the resurrection. Once again, this is the result of a too-realised eschatology driven by an overemphasis upon the here and now. If we are to do justice to Jesus as prophet, the apocalyptic and social elements, the oracular and leadership elements, must be kept together, not driven apart. Apocalyptic must be both heavenly and political, and the kingdom must be both now and not yet.
Finally, it should be noted how different this social prophetic Jesus is from the prophetic type that is common in the contemporary charismatic prophetic movement. Contemporary charismatics are generally apolitical, which really means that they support the current state of affairs. For someone to do this, and claim to be a prophet while doing so, is a total betrayal of the whole history of the prophets from the Old Testament through to Jesus. Having said that, let us now examine the more explicitly charismatic prophetic type as it is applied to Jesus.