Responding to Weeden’s critique of Bailey’s Middle Eastern background for oral tradition

Kenneth Bailey contended for a model of oral tradition behind the Gospels based on Middle Eastern practices of passing on tradition. James D. G. Dunn, N. T. Wright and others developed his basic model. Theodore Weeden, however, severely critiqued the model, noting some significant problems in Bailey’s data. Some scholars, such as Eric Eve at Oxford, have taken a nuanced view, acknowledging some of Bailey’s weaknesses but showing from other scholarly work that Bailey’s proposal resembles what studies of oral history also suggest.

In this new article in Journal of Greco-Roman Christianity and Judaism, I respond to Weeden’s critique of Bailey. Although some of his observations are correct, Bailey’s model still has a great deal to offer, and Eve (and Dunn, Wright and others) have been right to point this out. (I should note: although most of my posts on this site are at a more popular level, this one is more academic.)

http://jgrchj.net/volume13/?page=volume13

(Note for those later finding this post in my archives: after the print version of the journal comes out, perhaps in late summer or fall of 2018, their web version will come down.)

Wake up, for the Day is near!—Romans 13:11-14

In some circles, we think of “revival” or “awakening” as happening only when people fall down weeping or laughing or have other kinds of unusual experiences. And it is true that in recent centuries, such experiences have commonly accompanied what we call awakenings. We’re not physically built to withstand the fullness of God’s glory, so sometimes people get too overwhelmed with the Spirit or God’s glory to stand before him (1 Sam 19:20-24; 1 Kgs 8:11; 2 Chron 5:14).

But as some old-time Pentecostals with experience with such matters pointed out, “It’s not how high you jump, but how straight you walk when you come down.” Genuine awakenings are followed by transformed lives. Like Jacob with his limp, those who come away from encounters with God normally come away changed.

The language of “awakening” actually comes from Scripture. Here I want to look at one passage that urges awakening: Romans 13:11-14, where Paul warns that the time has come to awaken from sleep, because Jesus’s coming has drawn nearer.

The church in Rome, whom Paul addresses, couldn’t afford to be (spiritually) asleep. Some believers in Rome have recently returned from half a decade of exile due to the previous emperor’s demand that Jews (or at least high-profile ones arguing about the Messiah) leave Rome. Within a decade after Paul’s letter, the current emperor, Nero, will be burning Christians alive to light his gardens as torches at night. Some time not long after that, Paul himself will be beheaded there in Rome. When faced with life-threatening realities, we can’t simply fade into an oblivious world around us, focused on everyday desires or objectives. If Jesus is worth dying for, he’s also worth living every moment for.

Yet it’s not merely in light of coming persecution or economic distress that Paul calls us to awaken. Paul calls us to awaken in light of Jesus’s return, and thus in light of eternity. Some people wisely think of saving for the future. But Paul is urging us to think about the longest future, a future that lasts forever.

When the alarm clock sounds, it is time to awaken from sleep. Paul says that it’s time to awaken because the promised salvation at Jesus’s return is now nearer to us than when we first were converted (13:11). We converted to live in light of salvation, but sometimes some of us forget the reality of that conviction; Paul reminds us of that reality. Of course, Jesus did not come right after Paul wrote this letter, but his basic point was an obvious one: whenever Jesus is coming, it’s nearer now than it used to be. The point is not that Jesus must come in the next few years, but that he may: his coming is always imminent.

And that puts everything in this world into a brand new light: the light of the promised future world. When Paul speaks of the “day” that is at hand (13:12), he is thinking of the day of the Lord, which will supplant darkness forever (1 Thess 5:2, 4-5). As people of the coming age, we can live our lives in the light of that coming day, rather than consumed by the present darkness. That means that we live our lives in a productive way that counts for the future, not simply squandering the present on the best that the present has to offer.

So Paul urges believers to cast off the “works of darkness” (13:12), and then gives examples: wild parties and drunken orgies, quarreling and jealousy (13:13). Paul recognizes (and is even more explicit in 1 Thess 5:7) that people are more apt to get drunk and sleep with sexual partners other than their spouses at night, but Paul adds to these sins others, more common among practicing Christians, such as quarreling and jealousy (Rom 13:13). Under cover of darkness (or social media anonymity), people act differently than they do when anybody can see them. But if we live in light of the day of the Lord, when all the secrets of everyone’s hearts will be exposed (1 Cor 4:5), we won’t want to do anything shameful. We will want our choices to count for God’s kingdom.

When Paul speaks of not providing for the flesh’s “lusts” or “desires” (Rom 13:14), he employs a Greek term that covers not just sexual desires (Rom 1:24) but any kind of coveting or desiring what is somebody else’s (7:7-8). (Paul isn’t condemning legitimate hunger or passion for one’s spouse, but desiring what we shouldn’t.) We live to serve Christ’s body, not our own (12:1-13).

Paul’s solution is not just to tell us what to avoid but what to replace it with. Putting off works of darkness, we should put on the armor of light (13:12), and put on Jesus Christ as Lord (13:14). After we wake up, we normally get dressed (cf. Isa 52:1; Acts 12:8; Rev 16:15), and Paul’s image here is no exception. Paul speaking of putting on the “armor of light” reminds us that we are in a spiritual war (Eph 6:11-17; 1 Thess 5:8), not against people, but for people. When nations are on war footing, they mobilize all their resources for their ultimate goal of victory and perhaps even survival. Likewise, we must stand guard, because ultimate matters are at stake.

In ancient theaters actors would put on masks, adopting the persona of someone else. But when we are clothed with Christ, this is no mere impersonation, using a fake mask. This adoption of a new persona is by God’s own power; the Old Testament sometimes speaks of people being “clothed” with the Spirit (the Hebrew text of Judg 6:34; 1 Chron 12:18; 2 Chron 24:20). We do not fake a new identity; by divine empowerment, we can recognize the new identity that God has given us in Christ and thus live according to his character at work in us. That, rather than any specific method, is our ultimate goal: to be so one in purpose with Christ that out of love (Rom 13:11-14) we do what he would do, reflecting his character.

What does living in light of eternity look like? Since it may look somewhat different for different individuals, your own heart is the best judge of that. Still, we let ourselves off the hook way too easily if we think that it should not make a difference in our lives, so I will try to offer a potential, concrete example.

The danger of trying to give an example of what this could look like is that someone might use the example as a standard. One generation’s acts of devotion in the midst of an outpouring of the Spirit can become the next generation’s traditions and the following generation’s legalism: because one generation gave up card-playing or jumped to show devotion to God, we think that we serve God by jumping high and eschewing card-playing. What we need is not to simulate a past generation’s or another person’s actions, but to walk in light of the same Lord that they experienced.

Lest the thought remain purely theoretical, however, let me offer examples. It seems to me that if we live in light of eternity, every temporal moment in this age becomes infused with eternal significance. It becomes an opportunity to make a difference for eternity by investing in things that matter eternally.

The average person in the United States watches some five hours of television per day. He or she will also spend five years of their life on social media. Just imagine what would happen if we dropped some non-productive activities and committed three more hours a day to prayer, study of Scripture, sharing Christ with others, helping the needy, serving our neighbors, and so forth. Imagine if, say, even just 30 million Christians in the United States alone devoted those three extra hours per day to working for the kingdom in the various ways available to us in our communities. That would yield more than 32 billion more hours of service for Christ each year. Consider how that could make this world a different place.

You may think of other ways to live in light of eternity. The important point is: we must awaken. Too much is at stake for us to live our lives for values that have no lasting significance.

A Tale of Two Kings–Luke 2:1-20

(Rerun from Sept. 2013)

Part of our Christmas story is a tale of two kings: one powerful in the eyes of the world, and the other identifying with the lowliest of people. It is the latter who is the true King, and this reminds us that we serve a God who is not impressed with power or status, but who dwells close to the lowly (Ps 34:18; Is 57:15). If we want to find God’s presence, we too will likelier find Him among the lowly.

This passage opens with a decree of Augustus Caesar, who displays his power here by censuses used to collect taxes for Rome and its empire (Lk 2:1). Augustus had achieved power by brutally crushing his competition, and he maintained power through absolute political control. Emperors fed Rome with free grain levied as taxes on Egyptian farmers—whose children sometimes starved. His was an empire maintained by force and propaganda, utterly different from the unpretentious kingdom that Christ came to bring.

All the important people would feel honored to be in Caesar’s presence; by contrast, Christ was born to a betrothed village couple from Judea’s “frontier” of Galilee, forced to migrate to Bethlehem for Caesar’s census. In contrast to Caesar, Christ was not born in what people of status would have viewed as a “respectable” family.

For readers in the Roman Empire, the narrative here is full of similar contrasts. Augustus lived in a palace; Christ was born in a feeding trough meant for animals. Choirs in Augustus’ temples hailed him as a god, lord and a “savior” for the empire; an angelic voice hailed Jesus as “born this day a savior,” “Christ the Lord” (Lk 2:11). The empire celebrated Augustus’ birthday; heaven celebrated Christ’s.

Imperial propaganda announced and celebrated the “Pax Romana,” the “peace” that Augustus established (i.e., imposed) for the empire by subduing (i.e., conquering) many of its enemies (i.e., neighbors). By contrast, at Jesus’ birth heaven announced God’s offer of true peace to humanity (Lk 2:14).

Virtually everyone in the empire knew of the emperor. Yet God chose to reveal Jesus’ identity to shepherds, who were outcasts to most of ancient Mediterranean society. Who would heed shepherds? Yet they faithfully proclaimed what they had experienced to anyone who would listen (Lk 2:18). Some ancient laws rejected the testimony of shepherds and women; yet Luke’s Gospel opens and closes with such testimony, approved by God.

If Augustus had a son now, he would be born in a palace and clothed with expensive garments (cf. Lk 7:25). But some time after Mary and Joseph reached Bethlehem, Mary gave birth and laid Jesus in a manger in a cave, apparently because the house was too crowded. (Contrary to most translations, there was no “inn” involved; if anyone excluded them from the house at all, it was apparently not an innkeeper, but relatives!) Mary wrapped Jesus with “swaddling cloths” (wrappings meant to help a baby’s limbs grow straight), not royal robes.

At Christmas we celebrate the incarnation of God in flesh, the incomparably great one sharing our broken humanity and ultimately our mortality. When God came among us, he came not among the great and mighty. He was not impressed with the pretension of human power, as if the prestige of powerful human empires mattered anything to him. Instead, he came among the broken, among the lowly, and showed us that we do not need to pretend to be anything great; he welcomes us by his own generosity. Like the shepherds, let us recognize the love of our king who cares for each of us, and tell everyone about him.