Easter – An Informed Faith

From Learners to Leaders: deepening discipleship in Luke’s “orderly account”

The Gospel passage set in the Revised Common Lectionary this coming Sunday tells of when Jesus sent out seventy followers, to engage with people in the villages where they were, sharing a message of peace and proclaiming the good news of the kingdom (Luke 10:1-20). This is a critical moment in the development of the movement which was clustering around Jesus.

Throughout his “orderly account”, Luke portrays the inner circle of Jesus’ followers as disciples, committed to the task of learning from Jesus. They provide role models for those in a later generation who listen to the story which Luke has written in his Gospel and strive to be faithful followers of the way of Jesus in their own times. So the stories from long ago are not simply historical reminiscences; they are narratives which provide stimulus and encouragement for us, in the 21st century, as we seek to be faithful followers of Jesus.

Luke reports how, early in the ministry of Jesus, as growing numbers of people show interest in him (4:15, 36, 42; 5:1, 15), Jesus calls three fishermen to form the core group of his followers (5:1–11). Simon Peter is singled out at this point, but his business partners, James and John, are recruited with him to move from catching fish to “catching people”. The tax collector Levi then responds to Jesus’ challenge to “follow me” by leaving everything (5:27–28); these first four named followers thus stand as a pattern for how people were to respond to Jesus (as 14:26 reinforces).

Soon after these early recruitments, Luke reports the gathering of a group of twelve disciples, whom he names and designates “apostles” in recognition of their role in representing his message to those whom they encounter (6:12–16). This is the group that we often have in mind when we talk about “the disciples of Jesus”; but, as we shall see, Luke actually has many more in mind beyond this inner group.

Immediately after this scene, Luke reports at more length the teachings which Jesus directs towards his disciples: “love your enemies…be merciful…do not judge…hear my words, act on them” (6:20–49). The role of the disciples as learners is firmly established; these words are to be programmatic for all that they undertake. So their first task is to listen, and learner. Disciples are learners. (In fact, the Greek word translated as “disciple” actually comes from the root verb which means “to learn”!)

The narrative continues, and as the disciples travel with Jesus, they continue to learn—they witness how Jesus preaches, teaches, heals and exorcises (7:11, 22; 8:1, 9, 22, 45). After a period of such learning in the company of Jesus, this inner group is then commissioned to replicate these activities for themselves, going out in pairs to “proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal” (9:1–6). The twelve will later be promised a key role at the ultimate judgment of Israel (22:28–30). This inner circle thus transitions from learners, to leaders.

Sending out the twelve to bear witness to the kingdom is told in the source used by Luke, the Gospel of Mark, as well in Matthew’s Gospel. Luke intensifies the importance of this missionary activity by reporting that, after sending out the twelve, Jesus then sends out a larger group of his followers, to do likewise. There were seventy such disciples (or in some versions, seventy–two) for the role that will later consume their lives: “cure the sick and say to them, ‘the kingdom of God has come near’” (10:1–12; cf. 9:2).

“The disciples” in Luke’s account is a broad, inclusive group of followers. Time spent with Jesus involves not just learning from him—although this is the bedrock of the relationship—but also putting his ethic into practice. So the seventy, having spent time with Jesus learning, are now challenged to exercise leadership within the Jesus movement.

(As Paul writes in the letter to the Galatians, also set in this week’s lectionary: “Those who are taught the word must share in all good things with their teacher”, Gal 6:6.)

Quite significantly, when the seventy are sent out, they are in the region of Samaria (9:51-62). The Samaritans were difficult customers; James and John actually wanted Jesus to invoke the wrath of God and consume them (9:54). Jesus, by contrast, refuses to do this (9:55) and charges the seventy to preach a message peace to the Samaritans (10:5) and to declare the good news, that God’s kingdom is right there, in midst of them (10:9,11; cf. 9:2).

The seventy are thus charged with moving on, from being learners, listening in the crowd as Jesus teaches and tells parables, to become leaders, undertaking activities for which they need initiative, resolve, and capacity. And such leadership means addressing the challenges of the context and plunging into the difficult situations with the message and actions of hope. Samaria was not an easy gig!!

The inner group of twelve is thus not depicted as being isolated from, or elevated above, the others who travel with Jesus in Galilee. They form a kind of model for the seventy, and, by extension, later disciples—right up to the 21st century. We are all called to move from being learners, to become leaders.

Thus, in the following chapters, the teachings of Jesus are explicitly addressed to disciples on matters such as prayer (11:1–4), integrity (12:1–2), the appropriate lifestyle to lead (12:22–34), fidelity to God (16:1–13), forgiveness and preparedness (17:1–10, 22–37) and the nature of the kingdom (18:15–17). In keeping with his focus on those who are poor (4:18; 6:20; 7:22), “give to the poor” is a motif which runs consistently through the words of Jesus (12:21, 33; 14:13, 21; 16:19–31; 18:22; cf. 19:8). All of these teachings were important for the first followers of Jesus. All of these teachings apply to our discipleship, as well.

Strategically, these teachings also include Jesus’ revelation of his own fate (9:43b–44; 18:31–33) and the high cost of discipleship (14:25–35). Jesus emphasizes the distinctive nature of leadership in his movement (20:45–47; 22:24–30). “Deny yourself” and “be like one who serves” provide central motifs for Jesus’ instructions to those who will continue his enterprise after his passion. The twelve and the seventy, who first heard these words of Jesus, thus function as role models for the way that leaders are to operate after the lifetime of Jesus, as we in turn listen to these teachings.

The second volume of Luke’s work shows a range of figures who have learned from Jesus (or his disciples) and are reported as putting into practice the charge which Jesus gave to his disciples, to “proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal”. The followers of Jesus throughout Acts are offering leadership: proclaiming the good news, undertaking acts of mercy and charity, standing up for justice, and other ways of being faithful to the way of Jesus.

Overall, the lines of continuity can be clearly traced from the example of Jesus through the activities of the leaders of the movement. The learners were diligent, and became effective and faithful leaders. May that be the pathway that we each walk, also, in our lives, as faithful followers of Jesus—learners, who now exercise leadership.

The images come from The Seventy-two Disciples (Unknown artist, Provenance Ethiopia, Dated about 1480 – 1520; Tempera on parchment).

[I know they are all male figures; and I am convinced that the first followers of Jesus included many women–see Luke 8:1-3 and 23:49,55, 24:10–but traditions about the disciples have been heavily influenced by patriarchal assumptions throughout the ages.]

On literary devices and narrative development (Acts 16)

The lectionary reading from Acts, this coming Sunday, recounts what happened to Paul and Silas in prison (16:25-34). There are two interesting features of this section of the second volume of the “orderly account” that was written for Theophilus (Luke 1:3; Acts 1:1). Each feature functions as a literary device to move the story on.

Arrested and in prison, Paul and Silas are praying. Suddenly, we read that “a great earthquake” shakes open the prison doors (16:26). This has the effect of moving the narrative on to the next scene. Luke reports this, not so much for its value as an historical happening, but as a literary device to move the plot forward.

The universal scope of the earthquake’s impact (“all the doors opened … everyone’s chains unfastened”) is striking, but perhaps a Lukan exaggeration which is characteristic of his narrative—notice how many times “all” the people say, or do something (3:11, 4:16, 9:35, 17:21, 19:10, 19:17, 22:12, 26:4). I take this as a sign of his literary licence. He’s a garrulous story-teller, not a clinical historian.

Although there is no explicit indication of divine guidance at this point, an earthquake was widely considered to be a portent of the divine will. The Psalmist expresses the common scriptural view that God was the initiator of earthquakes: “O God, you have rejected us … you have caused the land to quake, you have torn it open” (Ps 60:1-2; see also Judg 5:4-5; 2 Sam 22:8-16; Pss 18:7-9; 29:3-9; 68:7-8; 97:4-5; 104:32; 144:5-6; Isa 13:13; 29:4-6; 64:1-3; Jer 4:24; 10:10; Ezek 32:7; Joel 2:10-11; Nah 1:5-6; Zeph 1:14-15; Hag 2:6-7,20-23; Zech 14:5).

The historian Dionysius of Halicarnassus articulates a view found often in hellenistic literature, when he lists among “the terrible portents sent from the gods” such phenomena as “flashes shooting out of the sky and outbursts of fire … the rumblings of the earth and its continual tremblings” (Rom. Ant. 10.2.3; for descriptions of such portents, see Cicero, De div. 1.33.72-49.109, De nat. deor. 2.5.13-14; Minucius Felix, Oct. 7.1-6; for the theme in hellenistic histories, see pages 78-84 of my book, The plan of God in Luke-Acts, published in 1993 by Cambridge University Press).

Indeed, the narrative of Acts has already reported how God can sovereignly release a person from prison (as with Peter in Jerusalem, 12:6-11). Although it is not described with explicit reference to God, the earthquake in Philippi is nevertheless a clear portent of divine providence.

The melodramatic response of the gaoler (16:27) enables Paul and Silas to speak the word of the Lord (16:32), explaining that what must be done to be saved is to “believe on the Lord Jesus” (16:31). The ensuing scene replicates familiar elements: the gaoler and his household were baptised (16:33; see 2:38), he set a table (16:34; see 2:42,46; also 10:23,48), and they rejoiced (16:34; see 5:41). His conversion now makes him “one who has come to belief in God” (16:34). These are stock standard Lukan elements in his conversion narratives.

However, the release of Paul and Silas (16:35-40) takes place, not by divine intervention, but through the invocation of Paul’s Roman citizenship (16:37-38). Roman writers documented the prohibition against flogging a Roman citizen (Livy, Hist. 10.9.4; Cicero, Pro Rabiro 4.12-13). Paul makes no reference to his Roman citizenship in his letters, although there is no need for him to have done so. The name Paul may well have been his Roman name.

Yet his claim clearly plays a strategic role in Luke’s narrative at two points (here, and in Jerusalem, 22:25-29), as it plants the seeds for Paul’s eventual journey to Rome. This scene (as also the scene in Jerusalem) is shaped by Luke’s rhetorical purposes, to put the spotlight on Paul as a positive role model (Lentz 1993:105-138). I am wary of pinning much historical weight onto the Lukan narrative. We just don’t know about Paul’s Roman citizenship, since he never referred to it, and the issue serves both apologetic and literary purposes for Luke.

After an official apology (16:39), Paul and Silas leave the prison, paying a parting visit to Lydia’s home where, in typical fashion, they exhorted the community members (16:40; see 13:15). Paul’s own description of his time in Philippi notes that he “had suffered and been shamefully mistreated” (1 Thess 2:2), but his letter to the Philippian believers rejoices in the fellowship that they shared with him (Phil 4:14-16). “You hold me in your heart … all of you share in God’s grace with me, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel”, Paul writes to them (Phil 1:5-7).

Whatever actually happened in Philippi, however we read the narrative that Luke provides, this one thing is clear: Paul valued and appreciated the fledgling faith community in that city!

A new heaven and a new earth … musing on Revelation 21

One of the readings set in the lectionary for this coming Sunday tells of “the new heaven and the new earth”. It’s a vision that stands in the climactic place in the narrative of Revelation, providing the culminating scene to a long series of visions which were seen by the author when he says, “I looked, and there in heaven a door stood open! And the first voice, which I had heard speaking to me like a trumpet, said, “Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.” (Rev 4:1)

The new heavens and new earth become evident immediately after Satan is released from prison and thrown into the lake of fire (Rev 21:7-10). This scene includes a final battle, against “the nations… Gog and Magog” (20:8). This passage, like all of this book, depends on earlier biblical passages and reworks multiple biblical allusions into the newly-seen vision.

The account in Revelation 20 is brief, but the distinctive names (Gog and Magog) evoke a reference to an older battle against invaders from the north, described by Ezekiel (Ezek 38:1–39:20). This decisive encounter effected the definitive punishment of God and paved the way for the promised restoration of Israel to the land (Ezek 39:21–29) and the vision of a restored temple (Ezek 40:1–46:24).

The same pattern is followed in Revelation 20. After the battle against Gog and Magog, the devil is also cast into the lake of burning sulphur, all the dead are judged, and Death itself is destroyed (20:7–15). This is followed by the establishment of a new heaven and a new earth, a place devoid of death, bathed in light, sustained by the water of life, a city dazzling with jewels and home to “the throne of God and of the Lamb” (21:1–22:5). The vision appears closely related to the final visions reported at the end of the book of Isaiah (Isa 65:17; 66:22–23).

The imagery used in these verses relates particularly to various sections of the book of Isaiah:

The bride prepared for her husband (21:2) recalls the scene of Isa 61:10.

The wiping away of tears (21:4) evokes the banishing of sorrow (Isa 35:10).

The gift of water from the spring of life (21:6) is suggestive of the way that water functions as an image of life (Isa 35:6–7; 41:18).

The prominent place of the river of the water of life in the new Jerusalem (22:1–2) evokes Isaiah’s link between “the new thing” and “rivers in the desert” (Isa 43:18–21).

Likewise, the description of the spectacular beauty of the city and the careful itemizing of its measurements (21:10–21) imitates the section of Ezekiel where the Temple of his vision is carefully described and numerous measurements are provided (Ezek 40–42).

What is noteworthy, of course, is the pointed declaration that “I saw no temple in the city” (21:22) and the insistence that the divine presence will provide more than enough light for the whole city (21:23–25; 22:5).

Despite the author’s lengthy and intricate entwining with scriptural sources, in this final vision he points beyond the past, to a new form of the future. Yet still, he reaches back before the temple, to the times when the shining light signaled the divine presence (Exod 3:2; 13:21–22; Ps 78:14).

In similar fashion, perhaps the prominence of the tree of life (22:2) is intended to supplant the many trees beside the river in Ezekiel’s vision (Ezek 47:12) and provide a reminder of the single tree in the creation story (Gen 2:9).

The biblical resonances in the visions recounted in Revelation appear regularly and incessantly throughout the book. The future we hope for can only be understood in terms of what we know in the present, strongly shaped by our experiences in the past, and interpreted in the light of our current situation. The past is foundational in how we view the world and thus what we hope for in the future. The present is dynamically engaged in the process of making sense of what as already occurred and setting up possibilities for what is still yet to come.

The future is ours for the making, now.

Resurrection life, economic responsibility, and inclusive hospitality: markers of the Gospel (Acts 9)

There is a story in the lectionary, this coming Sunday, which is set in Joppa, the Greek name for the town named Jaffa in Arabic. We know this place, today, as the southern suburbs of Tel Aviv, a large and growing port city in modern Israel, a city with a vibrant multi-cultural and multi-religious life. Tel Aviv-Jaffa is also the place where most nations base their embassies to the country of Israel.

This story in Acts, set in the port town of Joppa, sits within the season of Easter and recounts a resurrection, told along the lines of the way that the resurrection of Jesus is told. Tabitha, the woman in the story, becomes ill and dies. There is no doubt about this; she is dead.

As the story proceeds, the apostle Peter commands Tabitha to rise; and then, “she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive.” (Acts 9:40-41) There is also no doubt, that the one who was dead, is now alive.

As a result, Luke informs us, “this became known throughout Joppa, and

many believed in the Lord” (Acts 9:43). What happened was striking, noteworthy, remarkable—miraculous!

The flow of the narrative is the same as what we read in the accounts of the resurrection of Jesus, moving from death, to life. We have this story in our readings during the season of Easter, to help us maintain our focus on the resurrection, and to invite us to consider how the story of new life shapes our life of discipleship.

As Jesus died and was raised, as Tabitha died and was raised, so we are called to move from death to life within our own discipleship. The paradigm which is provided by the death and resurrection of Jesus provides a model for the way that we are to be, as disciples of Jesus in our own time. And this might very well be how “many believe in the Lord” in our own time.

In addition to this dynamic, there are other features of the story which are worth noting. Tabitha, or Dorcas, is noted as a woman “full of good works and acts of charity” (9:36). The array clothing that she produced is noted (9:39).

Alongside Tabitha, significant women in Acts are presented as positive models of faithfulness and who were leaders in the early Jesus movement. These include Lydia in Philippi, who provides hospitality to Paul and his companions (16:15); Priscilla, who with her husband, Aquila, teaches Apollos in Ephesus (18:26); and the four female prophets in Caesarea (21:9). Each of these women demonstrate faithful discipleship and exercise a leadership role in the early church.

Tabitha, or Dorcas, was a well-to-do woman, with her own business. She is one of a number of people who are located towards the apex of the social pyramid, who appear as believers in Acts. Converts to the movement included “devout women of high standing” in Antioch (Acts 13:50), “not a few leading women” in Thessalonica (17:4), “not a few Greek women of high standing” in Beroea (17:12) and Damaris in Athens (17:34). Luke attests to the equality and mutuality of gender roles in leadership within the early Jesus movement.

Communities of believers met in the houses of people of means, both unnamed individuals (2:46; 5:42; 8:3; 20:20; 21:4,7) and some identified individuals: Simon the tanner in Joppa (10:5–6, 32), Cornelius in Caesarea (10:24, 48; 11:12), Mary in Jerusalem (12:12), Lydia in Philippi (16:14–15), the gaoler in Philippi (16:29–34), Titius Justus in Corinth (18:7), Philip in Caesarea (21:8, 10), and Mnason in a village near Jerusalem (21:16). Tyrannus provides Paul with the use of his lecture room in Ephesus (19:9).

These high-status believers demonstrated the centrality of economic justice in the message preached by Jesus, and lived by the early faith communities. Jesus taught his followers to sell all their possessions (Luke 12:33, repeated at 18:22). The Jerusalem community put this command of Jesus into practice (Acts 4:32–35). Members of the community “had everything in common” (4:32)—they sold their lands and houses and pooled the money thus gained (2:44–45; 4:34).

Joseph Barnabas provides a positive example of this practice (4:36–37); Ananias and Sapphira provide the negative example, warning of what happens when this practice was ignored (5:1–11). The means of the wealthy are to be put at the disposal of the poor. Economic justice is to be enacted through such table fellowship.

As Luke narrates his Gospel, it is at the table that he earths the reality of inclusive Christian community; this provides the groundwork for establishing inclusive communities of faithful people across the Mediterranean basin … and beyond, as the good news spreads.

The Lukan story indicates that people of all levels in the social hierarchy, from rich to poor, were welcome at the tables of generous Christian hosts. And that picture of economic responsibility and of inclusive hospitality is a fine model for us to remember, and emulate, in our time!

https://johntsquires.wordpress.com/2019/04/30/the-calling-of-saul-and-the-turn-to-the-gentiles-modelling-the-missional-imperative-acts-8-12/

With regard to Revelation (and the “great multitude that no one could count” in Rev 7)

The book of Revelation is currently appearing as the “second reading” in the Revised Common Lectionary. That’s the spot where we usually find excerpts from the various New Testament Letters, mostly by Paul, occasionally by James or John or Peter.

This book has probably become the most misunderstood book of the New Testament—because of the enigmatic nature, and the dramatic power, of the graphic visionary descriptions it contains. There are numerous theories seeking to ‘explain’ the meaning of the visions and to ‘prove’ the identity of the various figures who appear in these visions.

In particular, this most misused book of the New Testament has been misinterpreted by groups of fervent believers throughout the centuries as evidence that the end of the world was at hand.

If we turn to scripture with an expectation that we will find clear doctrinal statements, this book could be mined as a source for teachings about “the last days”. But I don’t think this was the intention of the book’s author.

Or perhaps we hope to encounter stories which help us to understand what has transpired in history? In which case, we will look for evidence that pins down the content of this book and grounds it in real-life events. But that is somewhat fraught.

Both of these approaches require us to develop an extensive system of interpretation for reading this book. This is not a simple or straightforward task.

An alternative (and often employed) way of reading this book is to consider that it is prophecy which provides a set of predictions about the future. Sometimes this is seen to relate to the times immediately in the future of the writer, in the late 1st century. Other interpreters claim that the book is pointing forward in time, to events that will take place beyond the time of the reader, in our own times (that is, the 21st century). Even more fraught, I reckon.

Some people will want to read the book simply as literature in its own right; as a work of art, it has the power to generate ideas and responses without necessarily tying these down to what is “true” or “accurate”. Ideological critics might wish to engage in dialogue with the book in relation to the violence which runs throughout the visions.

Some readers have considered this book to be an expression of patriarchal power, caught up in the masculine enterprise of solving disputes through coercion and violence. Others have undertaken a search for an alternative vision of peacemaking in the midst of human warfare, as the lamb who was slaughtered is the one who ultimately triumphs.

How do you come to this book? What is the lens, the perspective, that you employ, to read this dramatic and different book?

Whatever the way is that we seek to approach our reading of this book, it will influence the kind of understanding that results. Because the work does not lay down one simple narrative line; because it is so rich and intricate in its symbolism; because it places layer upon layer, image upon image, it will produce multiple readings with multiple appreciations. Such is the complex nature of interpreting biblical texts.

It is clear to me that, as we read the book of Revelation, we can identify certain literary features which are quite characteristic of apocalyptic literature. The authority of the author is a key concern (1:9–10; 22:8–9) and the declaration is made that what is now being revealed is a mysterious secret (1:20; 10:7; 17:5, 7). This revelation comes direct from God through his authorized messenger (1:1–2, 11–20; 22:8–10).

The warning not to change the text (22:18–19) is characteristic of apocalyptic, as is the regular reminder of the author’s expectation that the present era is coming to an end (2:26; 21:1, 4) and his description of a vision of the beginning of a new era (1:1; 7:9–17; 11:19; 21:1–22:7; 22:12, 20). The role of angels and visions reflects typical apocalyptic features.

Also typical of apocalyptic are the many coded depictions which are conveyed in numbers: four (4:6–8; 5:6, 14; 6:1–8; 7:1–3, 11; 9:14; 14:3; 15:7; 19:4; 21:16); ten (2:10; 12:3, 18; 17:3, 12–16); twelve (12:1; 21:12–14, 21; 22:2); twenty-four (4:4, 10; 11:16; 19:4); 144,000 (7:4–8; 14:1–4); the intriguing 666 (13:18); and, of course, seven, which recurs in numerous places throughout the book (seven letters, 1:11; golden lampstands, 1:12, 20; stars, 1:16, 20; 2:1; angels, 1:20; 3:1; 15:7; spirits, 1:4; 3:1; seals, 5:1; horns and eyes, 5:6; trumpets, 8:2; thunders, 10:3–4; diadems, 12:3; plagues, 15:1, 6; golden bowls, 15:7; 16:1; and seven heads, 17:3, 9–10). Finally, as we have noted, there is the appearance of Babylon as a symbol of Rome (17:5, 18).

The passage from Revelation set for this Sunday is one of these passages which plays with symbolism in numbers. Just before this passage, the foreheads of 12,000 people from each of the twelve tribes of Israel are sealed by the lamb (7:1–8). This crowd of 144,000 who had been sealed by the lamb reappear in a later vision (14:1–4). However, the vision of 7:9-17 concerns “a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands.”

On receiving an enquiry as to the identity of these people, the author responds, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb” (7:14). I have already reflected on the significance of the theme of sacrifice within the visions of Revelation (see https://johntsquires.wordpress.com/2019/05/01/worthy-is-the-lamb-that-was-slaughtered-a-paradoxical-vision-rev-5/)

This huge, uncountable crowd, drawn from all cultures and nations, surely reflects what we declare in our preaching of the Gospel: the wide expanse of divine grace and love which extends far beyond our immediate, parochial context. And that vision is one that ought to inspire us to be ever-generous and ever-faithful in our ways of relating to other people, for we are all part of this “great multitude that no one could count”.

“Worthy is the lamb that was slaughtered”: a paradoxical vision (Rev 5)

The book of Revelation is currently appearing as the “second reading” in the Revised Common Lectionary. These readings invite us into a world of unfettered imagination, with evocative imagery, enticing language, and disturbing rhetoric. There are a number of visions within the book, each one containing graphic descriptions and dramatic happenings.

The first of these visions sets the scene set for what will later be revealed as a colossal, cosmic battle between good and evil. It opens with the striking claim that the door into heaven is opened (4:1). A disturbing and increasingly detailed dramatization of “what must take place after this” is revealed. The vision comes to a climax with an image of a slaughtered lamb, and this is the passage set in the lectionary this coming Sunday (5:11-14).

Gazing into heaven, the author views a magnificent scene of worship (4:2–5:14). The importance of this scene is signalled by gleaming jewels and a shining rainbow, golden crowns and white robes, thrones and torches of fire, a sea of glass, grumbling thunder and flashes of lightning (4:3–6).

Thunder and lightning were characteristic of the God of Israel (Job 37:1–5; Ps 29) and were associated with the foundational event of Israel, in the Exodus from Egypt (2 Sam 22:15–16; Ps 18:13–19; Ps 77:16–20). The biblical nature of the imagery is very clear.

Twenty-four elders and four six-winged creatures sing praises to “one seated on the throne” (4:2–11), and to a slaughtered lamb “with seven horns and seven eyes” (5:1–14). The hymns they sing appear to combine attributes of God which feature in scriptural songs of praise (holy, worthy, glory, honour, power, creator) as well as elements familiar from other New Testament texts in which early Christian thinking is developing.

Jesus is depicted in this book as the supreme authority, the one who has risen from the dead and is at one with God. Yet there is a stark counterpoint running throughout the whole book. Jesus is the one who has been pierced (1:7); perhaps this evokes the piercing of Jesus’ side as he hung on the cross (John 19:34–37, citing this as a fulfillment of Zech 12:10).

In this initial vision, the Lord God Almighty is seated on the throne, surrounded by four six-winged creatures (4:2–11), holding a scroll with seven seals, which no one was able to open (5:1–4). The author then introduces the one who has power to open the scroll: “the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David” (5:5)—phrases which clearly evoke the Davidic lineage of Jesus which the Gospel writers have so carefully claimed. (The same Davidic lineage is noted at 22:16.) Immediately, this “Lion” is described as a “Lamb standing as if it had been slaughtered” (5:6).

This paradoxical description of Jesus as “the Lamb that was slaughtered” recurs in hymns later in the book (5:9, 13; 13:8). His victory has been won, not through the power of force, but by submission to death. It seems that it is the fact that he has been slain which qualifies him to open the scroll. His power lies in his avoidance of violence, his submission to death.

The opening doxology affirms the redemptive power of the blood which Jesus has shed (1:5); this affirmation, of Jesus as the lamb who is sacrificed in order to effect redemption, is a common refrain (5:10; 7:14; 12:11; 14:3–4; 19:13). In the regulations for temple sacrifice, the purity of the sacrificial lamb was essential (Num 28:3; Lev 1:10).

The purity of this Lamb and his followers is symbolized in the white robes which they wear (3:5, 18; 4:4; 6:11; 7:9, 13–14; 19:14). The 144,000 who “follow the Lamb wherever he goes” are identified as virgins (14:4), another indication of purity.

Followers who maintain purity are linked closely with Jesus in the final scenes. When heaven rejoices at the fall of Babylon, preparations are made for the marriage supper of the Lamb (19:6–8) and it is the servants of the Lamb who are specifically and unequivocally invited (19:9–10).

When the vision of the new Jerusalem is proclaimed, and the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb stand in place of the temple (21:22), the people who enter are “those who are written in the Lamb’s book of life” (21:27).

Yet the pathway into this heavenly celebration is daunting. The servants of the Lamb, in an earlier vision when the fifth seal is opened, are described as “those who had been slaughtered for the word of God and for the testimony they had given” (6:9).

When Michael slays the dragon and his angels, the victory of the Messiah and his comrades is won “by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony, for they did not cling to life even in the face of death” (12:11). They must be prepared to be taken into captivity and killed by the sword (13:10). Faithful discipleship requires a willingness to submit to death. This is the way of Jesus, according to Revelation.

This message is reinforced at the end of the laments over the fall of Babylon, in the declaration, “in you was found the blood of prophets and of saints, and of all who have been slaughtered on earth” (18:24). It was those who stood up to the might of Babylon who were killed for their faith.

Here is the key to the situation addressed by this book, and the key to the form of discipleship which it most values. For all its speculative visions, the work is a potent tract of political strategy. Discipleship can mean conflict with Empire. There are sufficient hints throughout that it is failure to offer due worship to the Roman Emperor which has brought persecution and death to the followers of Jesus. The book is both a call to faithful discipleship and a vision of hope in the midst of persecution.

The calling of Saul and the turn to the Gentiles: modelling the missional imperative (Acts 8—12)

Today I am reflecting on the story of “the conversion of Paul” (as it is often called) in Acts 9. This story appears in the lectionary readings for this coming Sunday. I see it as providing a model for the missional calling of the church in our times.

I prefer to call this story “the calling of Saul”, since Saul is how he is named in the narrative, and the text actually recounts a calling to a particular role, rather than a conversion from one faith to another. (The way the story is told follows the conventions of call narratives as we find them in Hebrew Scriptures and Hellenistic Jewish texts.)

I think it is worth viewing this story within the broader narrative framework of Acts, the second volume which follows on from Luke’s “orderly account” of the story of Jesus. This first volume ends with a brief narrating of the ascension of Jesus into heaven (Luke 24:50–53). This pivotal event is repeated at the start of the second volume (Acts 1:6–11).

A crucial role is played by Luke’s version of the commission which the risen Jesus gives as a parting word to his disciples: repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, “beginning from Jerusalem” (24:47).

Another version of this commission introduces the second volume (Acts 1:8): “You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” This verse sets out the programme for the rest of this volume, as the good news is carried out from Jerusalem into all manner of other places.

Immediately, Luke turns his attention to the community of Jesus’ followers who remain in Jerusalem (1:12–26). Here, in Jerusalem, the spirit is manifested both to these followers and to a crowd of pilgrims who witness what takes place (2:1– 13). Peter seizes the opportunity to proclaim the good news of Jesus, with greatly encouraging results (2:14–42).

The early faith community in Jerusalem maintained its strong link with Judaism, participating in the Temple rituals on a regular basis (2:46; 3:1; 5:12). Interestingly, Luke reports that a number of priests became believers (6:7). Subsequent chapters (3:1–8:3) report key developments in this community of Jesus’ followers. Peter and John are twice arrested by the Jerusalem authorities and twice released from imprisonment (4:1–22; 5:17–42), whilst Stephen, after his public denunciation of the Temple, is stoned to death (6:8–8:1).

Stephen’s martyrdom is the next pivotal moment in Luke’s narrative; it provokes persecution and a scattering of community members away from Jerusalem (8:1). The followers of Jesus now form a dispersed movement, known simply as “The Way” (9:2; see also 18:25); they preach and heal in a variety of places.

One figure, Philip, travels to Samaria, where he replicates the preaching, miraculous activity, and successes of the leaders of the Jerusalem community (8:4–40).

In subsequent chapters, Luke recounts further strategic events relating to the leadership of the movement. The first strategic moment is when one of the persecutors of the movement, Saul of Tarsus, is commissioned as a messenger for the movement, which he joins in Damascus before moving to the community remaining in Jerusalem (9:1–31).

We read some of this story in the Acts reading set in the lectionary for this coming Sunday. Interestingly, this story was so important for the author of Acts, that it is retold (with some interesting expansions and variations) twice more–in Acts 22, when Paul is attested in Jerusalem; and in Acts 26, when he stands before the Roman authorities in Caesarea.

The calling that Saul receives is signalled at 9:6 (“get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do”), and then specified in the words of the Lord given to Ananias: “he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name” (9:15-16). This calling signals the turn to the Gentiles in a clear way. The book of Acts narrates a selection of key moments as the mission to the Gentiles grows and beats fruit.

A second strategic moment in the narrative occurs when the leader of the Jerusalem community, Simon Peter, experiences a dramatic vision which overturns his understanding of how holiness is to be lived out in daily life, at table. He meets with a Roman godfearer, Cornelius, and together they institute a ground–breaking table fellowship of Jew and Gentile, and the spirit inducts Gentiles into the hitherto Jewish community of Jesus’ followers (9:32–11:19).

Luke thus offers this important pairing of leaders within the early movement: both Saul (later Paul) and Peter are in the vanguard of taking the good news to the Gentiles. So, all is prepared for the crucial “turn to the Gentiles” which will take place under the leadership of Saul, with the agreement of Peter. The section ends with an account of community life in Antioch (11:19–30), where members of “The Way” are first named “Christians” (11:26), and then in Jerusalem (12:1–25).

From this point in the narrative, attention is focused almost exclusively on Paul (the new name adopted by Saul of Tarsus). With Barnabas, Saul is commissioned in Antioch as a representative of the movement; the pair travel north and west to proclaim the good news to the nations. They start to enact the “turn to the Gentiles” already foreshadowed, beginning in Pisidian Antioch, where Paul preaches, with mixed success (13:14–52). This will be Paul’s experience in every place he visits.

This week’s Acts reading underlines the missional imperative that was at the heart of this movement. Each in their own way, Saul and Peter, provide us with a clear model of what following Jesus means. We are charged with this missional task in our own time.

https://johntsquires.wordpress.com/2019/04/26/the-cross-cultural-nature-of-the-early-jesus-movement/

https://johntsquires.wordpress.com/2019/02/05/costly-discipleship-according-to-luke/

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