The List

Went to Ingles the other day with a “list” for Cheryl. Why she sends me to those places I don’t know. There is a strange logic that governs supermarkets that only women can discern. She sent me to fetch a package of walnut halves to use on a pie. Sounds simple enough. Well, that just shows how much you know. I wandered through the wilderness of boxes and packages and cans for 40 minutes desperately looking for walnuts. Nothing. Not even a pillar of fire by night!

Turned down aisle five and ran into Dan and Ron, two retired guys at the church where I served as interim pastor, hunched in a hopelesss huddle both with their own lists! I joined them.

“Where do you suppose they keep the birdseed?” Dan asked.

Ron and I both looked at each other, looked at our own lists, and said in unison: “Search me!”

“Where do you think the nuts are?” I asked. Sometimes, it’s just too easy.

“I think they’re right here looking at these stupid lists,” Ron said.

“Well, this is the blind leading the blind,” said I.

Dan said: “I’m gonna find me a woman!”

Oh yes. The walnuts. They were on aisle seven – with the baking goods!!! Who knew????

And every woman out there is thinking: “Idiot!”

Ministerial Formation

Yesterday, I spent the day at Kendalls Baptist Church in New London, NC, teaching the Book of Revelation. Billed as a “Day in Revelation,” I taught the combined Adult Sunday School classes, preached on Revelation at the 11:00 service, taught again at 4:00, broke for a light supper at 5:00, and concluded with a final session from 6:00 to 7:00. It was a long, but very rewarding, day.

It was rewarding, in large part, because it enabled me to reconnect with one of my former students, the Rev. Chris Fox, who is pastor at Kendalls. Chris was a student of mine at a divinity school where I was dean. It was a pleasure to be with him and to catch up on what has been going on in his life in the intervening years…and a lot’s been going on in his life! When I knew Chris as a student, he was not married. Married to Jamie now, they have two beautiful daughters, Madison and Hannah. Chris has settled into marriage and fatherhood very well, I would say. It was a joy to watch him with his daughters. He’s a good husband and a good father; and while I take no credit for that, I nonetheless took considerable joy.

I do, however, take some credit for the polished, mature, poised pastor he has become. Watching him with his people, leading in worship, listening to his vision and dreams for the congregation and community, I beamed with satisfaction. He’s a fine pastor with a deep sense of calling and commitment. I’d like to think I helped in that…at least a little bit. He studied preaching with me while I was his dean. I told his congregation, “If you like his preaching, just remember that I taught him everything he knows. If you don’t, well, what can I say? I did the best I could with what I had to work with!” They laughed, then later told me, “He’s a good preacher. He works hard at it, and it shows.” One said: “He makes it worth the trip here on Sundays.” I like that.

Teaching is, in some ways, like carrying a baby you never get to see delivered. We teach; we nurture; we form; and then they go off to God knows where to do God knows what and we never know how they turned out. That’s why yesterday was so satisfying for me, watching Chris “do his thing” with such poise and passion and presence. “Congratulations! It’s a minister!”

The Pool and the Church

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day, but in the calendar of the Church it’s the sixth Sunday of Easter. One of the scriptures for this Sunday (there are usually four choices each week) is the story of the healing of the lame man at the Pool of Bethesda in John 5:1-9. The story is intriguing in many ways, but it also provides a rather dramatic example of the value of biblical archaeology in recovering the history of the Intertestamental Period and in vindicating the historical reliability of the New Testament.

In the 1960's archaeological excavations done by the Roman Catholic White Fathers actually discovered on the northeast corner of the ancient Temple Mount the pool of which John speaks. That discovery proved that there was indeed an historical tradition underlying the Fourth Gospel which is independent of the Synoptics but no less credible.

John's description of the Pool of Bethzatha in John 5 is quite specific, and for years skeptical scholars scoffed at his claim that such a pool ever existed. Intriguingly, John says: “Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool called in Hebrew ‘Bethzatha,’ having five porches (stoa in Greek) at which a multitude of the sick, blind, lame and paralyzed lay.” Now that’s pretty precise information! It’s a little like saying: “on the corner, next to the Post Office, there’s a MacDonald’s.” Presumably, anyone living in Jerusalem at the time would have known immediately the place of which John was speaking. The problem is that no other ancient writer ever mentions such a pool, and no such pentagonal-shaped, five-sided structure, which would seem to be demanded by John’s description, is referenced in any writing from antiquity. John’s credibility was suspect. And yet, his description is so specific that he seems to assume that everyone reading his gospel would know exactly the pool to which he was referring. Now, we know they would.

John’s mention of the “sheep gate” is precise. Actually, the Greek says, “Now there is in Jerusalem, at the sheep______ a pool.” The word John used was probatike (dative for the word “sheep”), and is here used as a substantival adjective, literally, “at the sheep (place).” Presumably, anyone from Jerusalem would have known what “at the sheep (place)” meant. A reasonable hypothesis was that the reference was either to a sheep gate (so RSV), or to a sheep market (so KJV). More likely, however, is that both were intended in that a gate leading outside the city, just beyond which lay a sheep market, would have come to be known as the “sheep gate.” Locals tell me that up until recently (within the last fifty or so years) there has been a sheep market in the area. Indeed, a sheep gate was mentioned by Nehemiah (3:1; 12:39), which, from the descriptions given in the passages, seemed to have been situated on the north city wall just outside the temple area, the very location John described.

The pool near the sheep gate John called Bethzatha, “Bethesda” in English. In Hebrew, Bethzatha means “house/place of pouring,” and so, by extension, “pool.” The existence of a pool called Bethesda in the city of Jerusalem at the time of Jesus has now been confirmed by the Dead Sea Scrolls. In the famous Copper Scroll from Qumran (3Q15 11.12-13), written sometime prior to A.D. 68, a list of places in Jerusalem is cited, among them this one: “At Bethesda (Beth Eshdathayin), in the pool where you enter its small(er) reservoir. . . .” What is even more striking about the Copper Scroll’s reference to Bethesda is the spelling – it uses the Hebrew dual form (thayin). Note also that the Scroll describes the pool as having a “smaller” reservoir, and, one presumes, a larger. Hence, the Dead Sea Scrolls attest to a pool in Jerusalem known at the time as Bethesda, the “House of the Two Pools.”

In their excavations in the 1960’s, twin pools surrounded by covered porches (stoa) is precisely what the White Fathers found. Two pools rectangular in shape, a larger pool to the south and a smaller to the north, separated by a dike of stone nearly twenty feet in width, were discovered. The pools were situated in a small valley, now filled in, which ran diagonally to the Kidron Valley. No doubt, the pools were thus placed so as to act as reservoirs, just as the Copper Scroll described, to collect runoff rainwater on its way to the Kidron. The pools may have also been supplied by a spring which intermittently bubbled up to the surface, thus accounting for the legend of the angel who “troubled the waters” to which some manuscripts of the Gospel of John refer (see John 5:4). Excavations have revealed numerous columns, capitals, and bases indicating that the pools were surrounded by five colonnaded porticoes or porches (one each around the perimeter of the pools and one on the dike through the middle), just as John described. The pool did indeed have “five porches;” it just wasn't pentagonal in shape as scholars had assumed. For the full story, see my book, Where Jesus Walked (pp. 150-165).

Finally this. Next door to the archaeological excavations of the pool is a small chapel with a long history of its own. Built by Roman Christians in the Byzantine period, it was destroyed and rebuilt several times finally taking the form in which it appears today. The chapel has been known historically as the “Church of St. Anne” because tradition holds that the site was the birthplace of Mary, Jesus’ mother, Anna and Joachim being Mary’s parents, Jesus’ grandparents. According to tradition, Joachim, Mary’s father, was a shepherd, and so their association with the sheep market in the area was a natural one.

Right next door to the chapel is the Pool of Bethesda. And while it’s just tradition, I can imagine Jesus on more than one occasion visiting his grandparents in Jerusalem and watching the pathetic picture of a pool that promised, but could not deliver, healing for a man who had lain there crippled for thirty-eight years. Intriguingly, John rather casually remarks, “Jesus knew that he had been lying there for a long time” (John 5:6). Now, how could Jesus have known that? Perhaps, just perhaps, because when he visited his grandparents, who lived right next door to the pool, he’d seen that pathetic old figure lying there year after year, hoping against hope that he would be healed. And I can just imagine that the young Jesus, taking note of that man (remember, the Gospels say that not even a falling sparrow escaped his attention!), said to himself: “You know, one day I’m gonna do something about that.” And one day, John says, he did.

Creation Day

Today is Earth Day, and there’s a common hypo-narrative (story beneath the story) running throughout. Briefly, it is this: “The earth was once a place of pristine beauty and harmony and peace; that is, until humankind came along and messed up things. If we’re going to save the earth, we must return it to its pre-human state by minimizing, and even eliminating where possible, all human interference and influence on the planet.” The metanarrative beneath this hypo-narrative is a theology of an eternal, sui generis, independent Nature which, for reasons of its own (the best and brightest among us suspect “survival of the fittest”) has produced creatures all of whom live in perfect balance and harmony with Nature save one, humanity.

The church, by and large, has accepted the hypo-narrative and adopted the metanarrative, but has done so, I would suggest, without critical reflection or attention to the issue of whether or not these narratives are, at their core, either logical or Christian. Something of the illogic of the above got played out in my own home recently. My wife and I had been eagerly awaiting the broadcast of the highly advertised Discovery Channel series called Life. When the first episode aired, however, my wife’s enthusiasm waned rather quickly. Said she, “It was not what I expected.” I said: “Why?” She said: “I guess just didn’t expect all the gore and gruesomeness.” Said I, “Well, that’s Nature! You’re either the mauler or the meal!” Nature, when we get beneath the hypo-narrative, can be brutal and cruel by human standards. The alpha lion systematically kills the cubs sired by his rival when he assumes control of the pride. Whatever this goddess called Nature is, she is anything but sweet.

That’s why Christians have a different metanarrative. We don’t believe in an eternal, sui generis, independent “Nature;” rather, we believe in creation. “In beginning God created….” We Christians believe in an eternal, sui generis independent “Creator” who has created things other than Himself, including what we call “nature.” Humanity is regarded in our metanarrative as the Creator’s special “creation” in that He put a bit of Himself into humanity (that’s not to say that God has not put something of Himself into creation; rather, it is to say that creation resembles God as a building resembles its designer, but humanity resembles God more like a child resembles its parent). Now, before you rush in and accuse me of providing cover for the crowd that treats the earth with contempt, let me quickly add that the biblical mandate is that humanity has a God-given obligation to act as “stewards” of that creation. Especially in the Old Testament (see the creation narratives in Genesis which are then reflected upon in places such as Psalm 8 and elsewhere), humanity has a responsibility (given the fallen nature of Nature) to tend and care for and “husband” creation in behalf of its true “Owner,” namely, the Creator. What that means practically speaking is that Christians do not consume more resources than they need; Christians work for the health and wholeness of the creation; and Christians do not destroy or otherwise desecrate (the use of the sacral word is intentional) God’s creation. I believe in recycling; I believe in reducing our carbon footprint; I believe in reducing our consumption of resources (of all kinds) wherever possible; I believe in doing everything in our power to reduce pollution on the planet. But I do not believe in these things because I think that by doing them we can somehow “save the planet,” still less because I owe some obeisance to a goddess called “Nature.” I believe these things because I am a Christian, and that’s what Christians do. It is an expression of my stewardship of God's creation as one of His creatures specifically charged with that sacred obligation and privilege.

In the New Testament, this theology of nature takes an eschatological turn. I said above that the biblical theology of nature is that creation, not just humanity, has “fallen” and, as a result, finds itself at odds with its Creator. Consequently, Paul moves the Old Testament “stewardship theology of creation” a step further when he says that “all creation groans in eager expectation for the revelation of the sons of God” (Romans 8:19). You see, creation itself has a stake in humanity’s making peace with the Creator, and so Paul holds out the hope (the eschatological hope) that one day Christ (the “Man” who gets it right and undoes the Fall) will become pas en panti, “all in all.” The author of the Revelation caught a glimpse of that same hope when, far from the belief in some sort of eternal sui generis Nature, he envisions a day when there will be a “new heaven and a new earth...for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21).

But meanwhile, this is our “home away from home,” and no one likes a sloppy housekeeper.

Only a Few Things Really Matter

Back in the mid-80’s I served on the faculty of Midwestern Seminary in Kansas City, Missouri. At Midwestern in those days, it was our practice to invite pastors to campus whom we felt would be good pulpit models for our students. In what we called "A Week of Preaching" these model pastors would preach each day in chapel, guest lecture in our classes, and have both formal and informal conversations about ministry with students and faculty. The speaker one particular week was Dr. John M. Lewis, pastor of the First Baptist Church of Raleigh, North Carolina, from which he was shortly to retire. I had no inkling at the time that I would someday succeed him in that pulpit.

I still recall the impression he made on me. He had just lost his beloved wife, Jean, and was obviously in grief, but that did nothing to diminish the quality of what he did on our campus that week. His sermons were brilliant and beautifully crafted; his classroom lectures were both practical and profound; and his conversations with the faculty in the Faculty Lounge were memorable and disarming. I recall one in particular. A group of us were in the lounge picking John's brain when I asked him if he could summarize for us what he had learned in over forty years of ministry, nearly thirty of which with one congregation. He thought for a moment, looked at me and said: "I guess I would say that after forty years of ministry I've learned that only a few things really matter."

That was twenty-five years ago, a quarter of a century, and I stand now where John was then. I turn sixty this year, and fulfilling a promise to my beloved wife, I have “retired” from full time ministry. That doesn’t mean that I’m just “sitting and rocking.” I still teach for Liberty University Online, but I don’t have to get up and get dressed and go somewhere to lecture, as I did all those years in seminary and university teaching. And I also still carry a speaking schedule. The difference is that I used to have to preach because it was Sunday; now I only have to preach when I have something to say.

I have a list, I hope it’s not a “bucket list,” but who knows? I have several books to write that got put on the back burner by more immediate obligations. I hope to get to them now. I took up nature and wildlife photography some years back, a concession to mutinous menisci that rebelled from my being a thirty-mile-a-week runner for thirty years. My wife thinks I’m actually pretty good at it, but she loves me, and so her judgment is suspect. I want to do more with that. I used to play piano but gave it up years ago when other obligations crowded it out; I plan to take it up again. I love to travel, having guided groups to the Middle East for twenty-five years, but I’ve missed some of the most beautiful places in the world right here in the US. I hope to correct that.

But most of all, I want to spend time with Cheryl, my wife of forty years. She was a “church widow” for much of my career, though she never complained or groused or whined about it…okay, she whined once or twice. I’m embarrassed that it took me forty years to discover that only a few things really matter. I take some comfort, I guess, in the knowledge that better men than I struggled with that too.

“So what have you learned, “ I asked, “after forty years of ministry?” Who knew that I was both asking…and answering…the question?