A thousand points of light
Commentary
Caught in a Darkness at sea too terrifying for words, a Darkness that crawled and oozed and grabbed and stuck, the children of C. S. Lewis’s Narnia world sailed their ship, the Dawntreader, in circles of fear. “If you’ve ever loved us at all,” cries Lucy to the skies, “send us help now!”
And in a growing speck of light that seemed, Lucy thought, to look a lot like a cross, the battle of the powers whirled around them, till Darkness and fear melted before his Brightness.
Today, in the Darkness of Advent waiting, glimmers of the Light of God’s coming keep our hopes alive. Isaiah vocalizes the testimony of God’s Servant, anointed to bring Light. Paul reminds early Christians in Thessalonica to be reflected Light. And John brings us back to the source of Light. No Darkness in this world has ever held back his Dawning!
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Isaiah stands at the head of the collection of Old Testament prophets for good reason. While he is not the earliest among them (Samuel was already considered a prophet three centuries before, and many of the first prophets noted in the Bible -- e.g., Nathan, Ahijah -- were evidently not “writing prophets” as they have bequeathed to us no documents to peruse), Isaiah is chief over them. He gave the prophetic message lyrical power, and addressed every theme that others would pursue only in part. Isaiah is the grandmaster of covenant prophecy.
According to the list of kings that Isaiah identifies, during whose reigns he received and declared messages from Yahweh, this prophet’s work spanned about 50 years (740-690 BC). For all that time, Assyria was the constant superpower threat in his contemporary world. “Israel” (the northern portion of David and Solomon’s kingdom) had been split off from “Judah” for nearly 300 years (since 922 BC). Because of the tenacious advance of the Assyrian war machine, Israel was desperately seeking ways in which to form alliances that might hold it back for a time. Syria and Israel became partners throughout most of the eighth century, often as much by the sheer dominance of Syria’s military might coercing Israel into defensive pacts as by the choice of the Samaria-based government. This temperamental twosome made many overtures, both friendly and threatening, toward Judah, seeking to draw the smaller kingdom into their anti-Assyria alliances either by compliance or force. Throughout a succession of kings, Judah tried to retain its own identity in several ways:
* Uzziah chose to come under the protectorate of Israel, and thus allowed Judah to become a vassal province of the Israel-Syria alliance.
* Ahaz made an end run around his northern neighbors and appealed directly to Tiglath-pileser of Assyria for protection against Israel and Syria, hoping that in their destruction Judah would regain some of the old territory as its administrative district.
* Hezekiah first formed a tentative alliance with ambassadors from Babylon, as that eastern province of Assyria was beginning to stir in rebellion. Later he joined Egypt in a stop-payment of tribute to Assyria, which roused their ire against him until he was forced into reasserting submissive ties to Nineveh. Later, after a miraculous escape from what seemed an imminent crushing defeat by Assyrian forces, Hezekiah renewed his subversive contacts with Babylon.
These international political policies (and several more beside) were possible choices for tiny Judah. The prophets probed them all, assessing each according to the evaluation of Yahweh, and then asserting what they believed was the only political option true to the theology of the ancient Sinai covenant. In summary, these were the options:
* Join Egypt, the only nearby strong nation, in opposing Assyria.
* Join the Israel-Syria confederation in opposing Assyria.
* Declare allegiance to Assyria and become a vassal province of that empire, in hopes of reaping enlarged borders when the fighting was finished and northern neighbors Israel and Syria were destroyed.
* Ally with Babylon, the restless eastern province of Assyria, in hopes of an overthrow of Assyria, which would net independence in their remote mountainous locale.
* Stay neutral from all international alliances, relying solely on Yahweh for protection and deliverance.
Only this final piece of political and religious advice was put forward consistently by Isaiah and the other prophets. This was the single viable path open to those who truly believed that Yahweh was sovereign over all nations, and that Israel’s (Judah’s) mandate was to continue as a witness to the surrounding nations rather than becoming a subservient vassal to their gods and cultures.
Who was Isaiah? His name meant “Salvation is of Yahweh,” and this truly typified his words and prophecies. He was married (Isaiah 8:3) and had at least two children (Isaiah 7:3, 8:3), who were themselves illustrations of Isaiah’s prophetic declarations. The commissioning scene of Isaiah 6, with its Temple location, along with all the liturgical language surrounding Isaiah’s call, suggests that Isaiah might have been a priest, or at least a member of a Levite family. At the same time, his easy and constant access to successive kings (cf. Isaiah 7:3, 38:1, 39:1) might imply that he was an employee of the royal court, although his statement in 37:6 (“Say to your master...”) could be interpreted as setting him outside of the political system, at least at some point. Nevertheless, with the narratives of chapters 36-39 incorporated directly into the book, Isaiah obviously was at minimum a court recorder or scribe or historian of some kind (see also 2 Chronicles 26:22). Most likely he was the chief historian in the royal house, and possibly even a member of the extended royal family. In his duties, he appears to have functioned as the official scribe or court recorder. Using that platform as a pulpit, he expressed magnificently worded prophetic analyses and judgments about the religious and political actions of the kings.
Although the elements of Isaiah’s prophecy, in their current literary form, have been pieced together from a variety of independent oracles, there is a logical flow to the whole of the book:
* 1-12 -- Messages for Judah & Jerusalem: the current crisis will be resolved by a divinely sent deliverer.
* 13-23 -- Prophecies against the nations around.
* 24-27 -- News of Yahweh’s impending worldwide judgment, the outcome of which will be the restoration of Israel.
* 28-35 -- A cycle of judgments and woes, especially if an alliance is made with Egypt.
* 36-39 -- The historical events during Hezekiah’s reign that shaped a revival, and brought renewed confidence in Yahweh (note that this section is virtually identical to 2 Kings 18:13-20:19, with the addition of Hezekiah’s prayer in Isaiah 38:9-20).
* 40-55 -- Prophecies of future restoration through a “Suffering Servant.”
* 56-66 -- This coming restoration expanded into a global, creational renewal.
Most biblical scholars acknowledge that there are at least two major sections in the current book of Isaiah. These may or may not indicate different authors; the language and theological content affirms their close relationship:
* Chapters 1-39 -- The judgmental prophet caught up in the intrigues of political challenges, and finding only Hezekiah to be a like-minded reformer.
* Chapters 40-66 (sometimes called “Deutero-Isaiah”) -- The visionary poet who sees a bright future, after God has led the way through a painful recovery by means of a “Suffering Servant.”
Many students of these prophecies further split chapters 40-66 to form three major sections in the book as a whole. Again, this might possibly suggest multiple authorship to the collection of prophecies in their final version:
* 1-39 -- The judgmental prophet caught up in the intrigues of political challenges, and finding only Hezekiah to be a like-minded reformer.
* 40–55 (“Deutero-Isaiah”) -- The empathetic visionary who sees that the only way to a new future is through a cleansing period of repentance and renewal led by the “Suffering Servant.”
* 56–66 (“Trito-Isaiah”) -- The visionary poet who sees a bright future in which God restores Israel, and in so doing renews all of creation, including the nations that have formerly been viewed as enemies and national threats.
Regardless of whether one person, or several from a community that was shaped by a larger than life teacher, wrote the various and combined oracles of Isaiah, the message is consistent throughout. Isaiah was overwhelmed by a divine commissioning (6) that took place in the Temple during the year that King Uzziah died. He was guided by the theology of the Sinai covenant (2-5), which mandated that Israel was supposed to have a unique lifestyle among the nations, a set of behaviors which would serve as a missional call for others to join this holy community in a global return to the ways of their Creator. He was confident that Yahweh could resolve all political problems (7-11), no matter how daunting they might seem. He believed Israel/Judah needed to repent (12), and recover their original identity and purpose as Yahweh’s covenant partners and witnesses. He was certain that Yahweh was sovereign over all nations (13-35), even if Yahweh’s primary focus was attached to Israel/Judah. He heard the heartbeat of divine love and compassion, wrestling for the soul and destiny of Israel/Judah as a loved companion and partner (36-41). He saw Yahweh transforming Israel’s/Judah’s identity and fortunes through a “Suffering Servant” leader (42-53). He envisioned a future age in which all the world and every society and even the universe itself would be restored to harmony with its Creator, and would resonate with magnificent glory (56-66).
Among the prophets of ancient Israel, Isaiah was truly a prince, and his writings shaped the language of theological reflection among his peers and on into the age of the New Testament church.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
In a parable by Kierkegaard, there was a break-in at a large store but the thieves didn’t take anything. When the clerks opened the store in the morning, all the merchandise was still there. A diamond necklace was marked $2,000, and a pair of leather shoes 50 cents. A pencil, however, now cost $75, and a baby’s rattle was priced at $5,000.
Instead of stealing merchandise, the thieves had stolen value. By stealing intrinsic worth, they had stolen identity. When the prices changed, no one knew any longer what the value was beneath the packaging.
Shelley Rodriguez, of Independence, Kentucky, explains the phenomenon this way. She brought her eight-year-old grandson to a farm. He loved the magic of the auctioneer’s singsong voice, yet something bothered him. “Grandma!” he asked, “How’s that man ever going to sell anything? He keeps changing the prices!”
Sometimes that seems to be the power of our society -- changing the price tags on us so we don’t really know the value of things anymore; changing the price tags of our identity so we don’t really know who we are. It is precisely because of this pressure to lose ourselves or our intrinsic worth that Paul provides these quick reminders and challenges at the close of his letter to the Thessalonian church. But what’s the value of godliness in our aggressive society? Do we really know? Do we know the value of ourselves? Do we really know who we are?
Levina Thiessen, of Winnipeg, Manitoba, remembers bringing the family out to watch her husband’s city baseball team one summer. After the game, their three-year-old daughter raced out onto the ball diamond to find her father. The team was gathered in a post-game cluster, and since all the men wore the same uniform, the little girl was suddenly confounded. She looked back at her mom with tears in her eyes and yelled, “Mommy, which Daddy is mine?”
This is the crisis of identity. We’re all trying to pretend, projecting more on the outside than we feel on the inside. In fact, sometimes the thing we’re hiding most is something that’s not even there -- the emptiness of our own souls.
As one young woman put it, “Deep down, I’m shallow!” Maybe so. But shallowness is more than just a bent of character. It’s a bent of no character. It’s a mark of sin. That’s why Jesus can say so forthrightly: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness.” No one persecutes a shallow person. Someone who is persecuted because of righteousness is a person who has an identity that others can respond to.
John 1:6-8, 19-28
Although its development is markedly different from that of the synoptic gospels, there is a very clear pattern to John’s portrayal of Jesus’ activities and teachings in this gospel. When reading straight through the document, one notices several significant literary points of change. For instance, John 1:1-18 is a kind of philosophic reflection on time and space and the incarnation. Then suddenly, at 1:19, we are brought directly into the daily life of first-century Palestine, walking among crowds who are dialoguing with John the Baptist about his identity. Clearly a shift of some kind takes place between 1:18 and 1:19.
The flow of life in real time continues through the next several pages, as John the Baptist points to Jesus and then steps out of the way (1:19-36), Jesus gains a following through his miracles and teachings (1:37--12:50), and then predicts his impending death (13:1-38). What transpires next seems to move into another kind of literature once again. From chapter 14 through chapter 17, Jesus is almost lost in a last reverie, a kind of mystical intimate moment with his disciples. The monologue weaves back and forth on itself until it shoots upward toward heaven in a prayer that surrounds Jesus and his disciples in a divine blanket of engulfing holiness (17). Abruptly the light dissolves, and with a kind of staccato journalistic pedantry, the events of Jesus’ arrest, trial, death, and resurrection are recorded (18-20). Chapter 20 ends with a brief but sufficient conclusion to the book as a whole. Yet suddenly another story appears, and the finality of the wrap-up in chapter 20 is broken and ignored (21). The disciples are listless and almost devoid of the power revealed when they earlier had realized that Jesus was come back to life. They now decide to go off fishing, for lack of anything better to do. But then Jesus appears, and their lives are quickly refocused so that they will be his followers to the end of their days. With that said, a second brief conclusion is offered, and the gospel is finished.
Stepping back from the whole of this narrative, and reviewing the obvious literary disjunctures or sudden stylistic shifts in gospel, it becomes apparent that a significant transition happens between chapters 12 and 13 (related to the coming of “the hour” for Jesus; note 2:4, 4:23, 7:6, 12:23, 13:1, 17:1). This pivotal point is further accentuated by the grouping of all of Jesus’ “miraculous signs,” as John calls them, into chapters 1-12. This is why the first part of John’s gospel is often called “The Book of Signs,” while the last part wears well the name “The Book of Glory” because Jesus terms it so (12:23). Bookending everything, a cryptic prologue opens the gospel (1:1-18), and an epilogue, perhaps written by another party and added after the initial gospel was completed (chapter 21), brings it to a close.
The gospel’s unique prologue highlights several ideas. First, both Jesus and the message of Christianity are tied to the comprehensive foundational values shaping common philosophic systems of the day. Logos, in the Greek mind, was the organizing principle giving meaning and identity to everything else.
The philosophic meaning of logos was first voiced by Heraclitus (c. 535-475 BC). He believed that our normal discourse and actions were somehow part of a larger cosmic meaning and purpose, which he identified as logos. Sophists like Protagoras (c. 490-420 BC) continued to link logos to the meaning behind our daily conversations. Aristotle (384-322 BC) declared logos to be reasoned discourse, and worthy of study in its own right within the field of rhetoric. Eventually the Stoics, headed by Zino (c. 334-262 BC), explained logos as the divine principle that animated the whole of reality. By the first century AD, as John was incorporating the term into the prologue of his gospel, Roman writers such as Seneca (4 BC-65 AD) and Epictetus (55-135 AD) had popularized logos to mean the ultimate divine thought behind the cosmos and the energizing principle that guided things to exist as they were supposed to be and interact as they had been designed. This is the connection John was trying to make. By using this term to describe Jesus, John portrays him as more than just a fine teacher who said a few nice things on a Palestinian spring afternoon. Jesus is, in fact, according to John, the very creator of all things, and the one who gives meaning to life itself. Apart from Jesus nothing makes sense or has any intrinsic meaning.
Second, “light” and “darkness” explain everything. Right up front, John helps us think through life and values and purpose in a stark dualism that is engaged in a tug-of-war for everything and everybody. Nicodemus will come to Jesus in the darkness of night (chapter 3), only to be serenaded by Jesus’ fine teachings about walking in the light. The blind man of chapter 9 is actually the only one who can truly see, according to Jesus, because all of the sighted people have darkened hearts and eyes. Judas will enter the room of the Last Supper basking in the light of the glory that surrounds Jesus (chapter 13), but when he leaves to do his dastardly deed of betrayal, the voice of the narrator ominously intones “and it was night.” Evening falls as Jesus dies (chapter 19), but the floodlights of dawn rise around those who understand the power of his resurrection (chapter 20). Even in the extra story added as chapter 21, the disciples in the nighttime fishing boat are bereft of their netting talents until Jesus shows up at the crack of dawn, tells them where to find a great catch, and is recognized by them in the growing light of day and spiritual insight. Darkness, in the gospel of John, means sin and evil and blindness and the malady of a world trying to make it on its own apart from its Creator. Light, on the other hand, symbolizes the return of life and faith and goodness and health and salvation and hope and the presence of God.
Third, as a corollary to these ideas, John shows us that salvation itself is a kind of re-creation. Using a deliberate wordplay to bind the opening of the gospel to the sentences that start Genesis, John communicates that the world once made lively by the Creator has now fallen under the deadly pall of evil, and needs to be delivered. The only way that this renewal can happen is if the Creator re-injects planet Earth with a personal and concentrated dose of the original Light by which all things were made. Although many still wander in blindness or shrink back from the light like cockroaches or rodents who have become accustomed to the inner darkness of a rotting garbage dump, those to whom sight is restored are enabled to live as children of God once again.
This leads to a fourth theme of the prologue, namely that the New Testament era is merely the Old Testament mission of God revived in a new form. Jesus, the Logos, comes to earth and “tabernacles” among us (verse 14), just as the Creator had done when covenanting with Israel, and commissioning her to become a witness to the nations. Furthermore, those who truly recognize Jesus for who he is, see in him the “glory” of the Father. This is a direct link to the Shekinah glory light of God that filled the Tabernacle and the Temple, announcing the divine presence. The mission of God continues, but it will now be experienced through the radiance that glows in all who are close to Jesus. The “Tabernacle” that houses the glory of the divine presence is on the move into the world through this “only begotten Son of God” (1:14) and all who become “children of God” (1:12) with and through him.
Application
Maurice Boyd remembers one incident that sealed the impact of his father’s faith on his life forever. His father worked in a shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland. During the Depression, work dried up. Times were tough, and for three years his father was out of a job. The Darkness was palpable around them.
Then one of his father’s old bosses at the shipyard approached him. The important man would find work for Mr. Boyd. He would guarantee it, no matter how much worse things got. All Mr. Boyd would have to do would be to buy a life insurance policy from the man. It would work to their mutual benefit: the boss’s income would increase, and Mr. Boyd’s work income would be guaranteed!
It was a great deal except for one thing: it was illegal. Maurice Boyd remembers his father sitting at the kitchen table with the whole family surrounding him. There at the table his father counted the cost. He reviewed their desperate financial situation. He ticked off the outstanding bills and the money he would be making, ought to be making, if only he’d say yes to his boss.
His father wrote it all down on a sheet of paper: the gains and the losses, what he could make and what he could lose. Then he wrote down a category that Maurice Boyd will never forget: integrity. What did it matter if he gained the cash to pay the rent but lost his ability to teach his children right from wrong? What did it matter if he gained the dignity of a job but lost it each morning when he looked at himself in the mirror and knew that the only one reason he could go off to work instead of someone else was because he cheated?
His father declined the job, and the family groveled through several more years of poverty. Yet, of his father, Maurice Boyd says: “He discovered that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent, and that one way you can keep your soul is by refusing to sell it. He realized that whatever else he lost... he didn’t have to lose himself.”
And there was Light, in their hearts and household, and in the neighborhood where they pushed back the Darkness.
Alternative Application
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24. Robert Coles, child psychiatrist and Harvard University professor, tried at one time to figure out why we do the things we do. In his book The Call of Service, Cole reflects on people who try to make a difference in life; people who seek to reform themselves, even when sinful tendencies oozed like tentacles through their inner marrow; people who attempt to better society, in spite of the fact that it stubbornly refused the challenge.
“Why do they do it?” Cole asks. The people themselves often have a hard time defining what makes them tick. One young teacher in an urban school gets challenged all the time by street-smart students. Weary of self-righteous do-gooders, they ask “What’s in it for you?” And he really can’t say.
But all these compassionate volunteers have one thing in common: earlier in their lives, each of them ran into a crisis situation that tested their identity and their willingness to do something about it. In that crisis situation, each of them encountered someone who put his or her life on the line and taught them the meaning of service -- someone who gave of themselves in a way that bucks the trend of selfishness and of self-preservation. And the influence of that someone else made it possible for the person they helped to be greater than each of them had previously thought they could be.
This is the challenge that Paul presents. Who are we? Whose are we? And will we live in a way that this comes to expression?
If we know, if we will, there will continue to be Light.
And in a growing speck of light that seemed, Lucy thought, to look a lot like a cross, the battle of the powers whirled around them, till Darkness and fear melted before his Brightness.
Today, in the Darkness of Advent waiting, glimmers of the Light of God’s coming keep our hopes alive. Isaiah vocalizes the testimony of God’s Servant, anointed to bring Light. Paul reminds early Christians in Thessalonica to be reflected Light. And John brings us back to the source of Light. No Darkness in this world has ever held back his Dawning!
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11
Isaiah stands at the head of the collection of Old Testament prophets for good reason. While he is not the earliest among them (Samuel was already considered a prophet three centuries before, and many of the first prophets noted in the Bible -- e.g., Nathan, Ahijah -- were evidently not “writing prophets” as they have bequeathed to us no documents to peruse), Isaiah is chief over them. He gave the prophetic message lyrical power, and addressed every theme that others would pursue only in part. Isaiah is the grandmaster of covenant prophecy.
According to the list of kings that Isaiah identifies, during whose reigns he received and declared messages from Yahweh, this prophet’s work spanned about 50 years (740-690 BC). For all that time, Assyria was the constant superpower threat in his contemporary world. “Israel” (the northern portion of David and Solomon’s kingdom) had been split off from “Judah” for nearly 300 years (since 922 BC). Because of the tenacious advance of the Assyrian war machine, Israel was desperately seeking ways in which to form alliances that might hold it back for a time. Syria and Israel became partners throughout most of the eighth century, often as much by the sheer dominance of Syria’s military might coercing Israel into defensive pacts as by the choice of the Samaria-based government. This temperamental twosome made many overtures, both friendly and threatening, toward Judah, seeking to draw the smaller kingdom into their anti-Assyria alliances either by compliance or force. Throughout a succession of kings, Judah tried to retain its own identity in several ways:
* Uzziah chose to come under the protectorate of Israel, and thus allowed Judah to become a vassal province of the Israel-Syria alliance.
* Ahaz made an end run around his northern neighbors and appealed directly to Tiglath-pileser of Assyria for protection against Israel and Syria, hoping that in their destruction Judah would regain some of the old territory as its administrative district.
* Hezekiah first formed a tentative alliance with ambassadors from Babylon, as that eastern province of Assyria was beginning to stir in rebellion. Later he joined Egypt in a stop-payment of tribute to Assyria, which roused their ire against him until he was forced into reasserting submissive ties to Nineveh. Later, after a miraculous escape from what seemed an imminent crushing defeat by Assyrian forces, Hezekiah renewed his subversive contacts with Babylon.
These international political policies (and several more beside) were possible choices for tiny Judah. The prophets probed them all, assessing each according to the evaluation of Yahweh, and then asserting what they believed was the only political option true to the theology of the ancient Sinai covenant. In summary, these were the options:
* Join Egypt, the only nearby strong nation, in opposing Assyria.
* Join the Israel-Syria confederation in opposing Assyria.
* Declare allegiance to Assyria and become a vassal province of that empire, in hopes of reaping enlarged borders when the fighting was finished and northern neighbors Israel and Syria were destroyed.
* Ally with Babylon, the restless eastern province of Assyria, in hopes of an overthrow of Assyria, which would net independence in their remote mountainous locale.
* Stay neutral from all international alliances, relying solely on Yahweh for protection and deliverance.
Only this final piece of political and religious advice was put forward consistently by Isaiah and the other prophets. This was the single viable path open to those who truly believed that Yahweh was sovereign over all nations, and that Israel’s (Judah’s) mandate was to continue as a witness to the surrounding nations rather than becoming a subservient vassal to their gods and cultures.
Who was Isaiah? His name meant “Salvation is of Yahweh,” and this truly typified his words and prophecies. He was married (Isaiah 8:3) and had at least two children (Isaiah 7:3, 8:3), who were themselves illustrations of Isaiah’s prophetic declarations. The commissioning scene of Isaiah 6, with its Temple location, along with all the liturgical language surrounding Isaiah’s call, suggests that Isaiah might have been a priest, or at least a member of a Levite family. At the same time, his easy and constant access to successive kings (cf. Isaiah 7:3, 38:1, 39:1) might imply that he was an employee of the royal court, although his statement in 37:6 (“Say to your master...”) could be interpreted as setting him outside of the political system, at least at some point. Nevertheless, with the narratives of chapters 36-39 incorporated directly into the book, Isaiah obviously was at minimum a court recorder or scribe or historian of some kind (see also 2 Chronicles 26:22). Most likely he was the chief historian in the royal house, and possibly even a member of the extended royal family. In his duties, he appears to have functioned as the official scribe or court recorder. Using that platform as a pulpit, he expressed magnificently worded prophetic analyses and judgments about the religious and political actions of the kings.
Although the elements of Isaiah’s prophecy, in their current literary form, have been pieced together from a variety of independent oracles, there is a logical flow to the whole of the book:
* 1-12 -- Messages for Judah & Jerusalem: the current crisis will be resolved by a divinely sent deliverer.
* 13-23 -- Prophecies against the nations around.
* 24-27 -- News of Yahweh’s impending worldwide judgment, the outcome of which will be the restoration of Israel.
* 28-35 -- A cycle of judgments and woes, especially if an alliance is made with Egypt.
* 36-39 -- The historical events during Hezekiah’s reign that shaped a revival, and brought renewed confidence in Yahweh (note that this section is virtually identical to 2 Kings 18:13-20:19, with the addition of Hezekiah’s prayer in Isaiah 38:9-20).
* 40-55 -- Prophecies of future restoration through a “Suffering Servant.”
* 56-66 -- This coming restoration expanded into a global, creational renewal.
Most biblical scholars acknowledge that there are at least two major sections in the current book of Isaiah. These may or may not indicate different authors; the language and theological content affirms their close relationship:
* Chapters 1-39 -- The judgmental prophet caught up in the intrigues of political challenges, and finding only Hezekiah to be a like-minded reformer.
* Chapters 40-66 (sometimes called “Deutero-Isaiah”) -- The visionary poet who sees a bright future, after God has led the way through a painful recovery by means of a “Suffering Servant.”
Many students of these prophecies further split chapters 40-66 to form three major sections in the book as a whole. Again, this might possibly suggest multiple authorship to the collection of prophecies in their final version:
* 1-39 -- The judgmental prophet caught up in the intrigues of political challenges, and finding only Hezekiah to be a like-minded reformer.
* 40–55 (“Deutero-Isaiah”) -- The empathetic visionary who sees that the only way to a new future is through a cleansing period of repentance and renewal led by the “Suffering Servant.”
* 56–66 (“Trito-Isaiah”) -- The visionary poet who sees a bright future in which God restores Israel, and in so doing renews all of creation, including the nations that have formerly been viewed as enemies and national threats.
Regardless of whether one person, or several from a community that was shaped by a larger than life teacher, wrote the various and combined oracles of Isaiah, the message is consistent throughout. Isaiah was overwhelmed by a divine commissioning (6) that took place in the Temple during the year that King Uzziah died. He was guided by the theology of the Sinai covenant (2-5), which mandated that Israel was supposed to have a unique lifestyle among the nations, a set of behaviors which would serve as a missional call for others to join this holy community in a global return to the ways of their Creator. He was confident that Yahweh could resolve all political problems (7-11), no matter how daunting they might seem. He believed Israel/Judah needed to repent (12), and recover their original identity and purpose as Yahweh’s covenant partners and witnesses. He was certain that Yahweh was sovereign over all nations (13-35), even if Yahweh’s primary focus was attached to Israel/Judah. He heard the heartbeat of divine love and compassion, wrestling for the soul and destiny of Israel/Judah as a loved companion and partner (36-41). He saw Yahweh transforming Israel’s/Judah’s identity and fortunes through a “Suffering Servant” leader (42-53). He envisioned a future age in which all the world and every society and even the universe itself would be restored to harmony with its Creator, and would resonate with magnificent glory (56-66).
Among the prophets of ancient Israel, Isaiah was truly a prince, and his writings shaped the language of theological reflection among his peers and on into the age of the New Testament church.
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24
In a parable by Kierkegaard, there was a break-in at a large store but the thieves didn’t take anything. When the clerks opened the store in the morning, all the merchandise was still there. A diamond necklace was marked $2,000, and a pair of leather shoes 50 cents. A pencil, however, now cost $75, and a baby’s rattle was priced at $5,000.
Instead of stealing merchandise, the thieves had stolen value. By stealing intrinsic worth, they had stolen identity. When the prices changed, no one knew any longer what the value was beneath the packaging.
Shelley Rodriguez, of Independence, Kentucky, explains the phenomenon this way. She brought her eight-year-old grandson to a farm. He loved the magic of the auctioneer’s singsong voice, yet something bothered him. “Grandma!” he asked, “How’s that man ever going to sell anything? He keeps changing the prices!”
Sometimes that seems to be the power of our society -- changing the price tags on us so we don’t really know the value of things anymore; changing the price tags of our identity so we don’t really know who we are. It is precisely because of this pressure to lose ourselves or our intrinsic worth that Paul provides these quick reminders and challenges at the close of his letter to the Thessalonian church. But what’s the value of godliness in our aggressive society? Do we really know? Do we know the value of ourselves? Do we really know who we are?
Levina Thiessen, of Winnipeg, Manitoba, remembers bringing the family out to watch her husband’s city baseball team one summer. After the game, their three-year-old daughter raced out onto the ball diamond to find her father. The team was gathered in a post-game cluster, and since all the men wore the same uniform, the little girl was suddenly confounded. She looked back at her mom with tears in her eyes and yelled, “Mommy, which Daddy is mine?”
This is the crisis of identity. We’re all trying to pretend, projecting more on the outside than we feel on the inside. In fact, sometimes the thing we’re hiding most is something that’s not even there -- the emptiness of our own souls.
As one young woman put it, “Deep down, I’m shallow!” Maybe so. But shallowness is more than just a bent of character. It’s a bent of no character. It’s a mark of sin. That’s why Jesus can say so forthrightly: “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness.” No one persecutes a shallow person. Someone who is persecuted because of righteousness is a person who has an identity that others can respond to.
John 1:6-8, 19-28
Although its development is markedly different from that of the synoptic gospels, there is a very clear pattern to John’s portrayal of Jesus’ activities and teachings in this gospel. When reading straight through the document, one notices several significant literary points of change. For instance, John 1:1-18 is a kind of philosophic reflection on time and space and the incarnation. Then suddenly, at 1:19, we are brought directly into the daily life of first-century Palestine, walking among crowds who are dialoguing with John the Baptist about his identity. Clearly a shift of some kind takes place between 1:18 and 1:19.
The flow of life in real time continues through the next several pages, as John the Baptist points to Jesus and then steps out of the way (1:19-36), Jesus gains a following through his miracles and teachings (1:37--12:50), and then predicts his impending death (13:1-38). What transpires next seems to move into another kind of literature once again. From chapter 14 through chapter 17, Jesus is almost lost in a last reverie, a kind of mystical intimate moment with his disciples. The monologue weaves back and forth on itself until it shoots upward toward heaven in a prayer that surrounds Jesus and his disciples in a divine blanket of engulfing holiness (17). Abruptly the light dissolves, and with a kind of staccato journalistic pedantry, the events of Jesus’ arrest, trial, death, and resurrection are recorded (18-20). Chapter 20 ends with a brief but sufficient conclusion to the book as a whole. Yet suddenly another story appears, and the finality of the wrap-up in chapter 20 is broken and ignored (21). The disciples are listless and almost devoid of the power revealed when they earlier had realized that Jesus was come back to life. They now decide to go off fishing, for lack of anything better to do. But then Jesus appears, and their lives are quickly refocused so that they will be his followers to the end of their days. With that said, a second brief conclusion is offered, and the gospel is finished.
Stepping back from the whole of this narrative, and reviewing the obvious literary disjunctures or sudden stylistic shifts in gospel, it becomes apparent that a significant transition happens between chapters 12 and 13 (related to the coming of “the hour” for Jesus; note 2:4, 4:23, 7:6, 12:23, 13:1, 17:1). This pivotal point is further accentuated by the grouping of all of Jesus’ “miraculous signs,” as John calls them, into chapters 1-12. This is why the first part of John’s gospel is often called “The Book of Signs,” while the last part wears well the name “The Book of Glory” because Jesus terms it so (12:23). Bookending everything, a cryptic prologue opens the gospel (1:1-18), and an epilogue, perhaps written by another party and added after the initial gospel was completed (chapter 21), brings it to a close.
The gospel’s unique prologue highlights several ideas. First, both Jesus and the message of Christianity are tied to the comprehensive foundational values shaping common philosophic systems of the day. Logos, in the Greek mind, was the organizing principle giving meaning and identity to everything else.
The philosophic meaning of logos was first voiced by Heraclitus (c. 535-475 BC). He believed that our normal discourse and actions were somehow part of a larger cosmic meaning and purpose, which he identified as logos. Sophists like Protagoras (c. 490-420 BC) continued to link logos to the meaning behind our daily conversations. Aristotle (384-322 BC) declared logos to be reasoned discourse, and worthy of study in its own right within the field of rhetoric. Eventually the Stoics, headed by Zino (c. 334-262 BC), explained logos as the divine principle that animated the whole of reality. By the first century AD, as John was incorporating the term into the prologue of his gospel, Roman writers such as Seneca (4 BC-65 AD) and Epictetus (55-135 AD) had popularized logos to mean the ultimate divine thought behind the cosmos and the energizing principle that guided things to exist as they were supposed to be and interact as they had been designed. This is the connection John was trying to make. By using this term to describe Jesus, John portrays him as more than just a fine teacher who said a few nice things on a Palestinian spring afternoon. Jesus is, in fact, according to John, the very creator of all things, and the one who gives meaning to life itself. Apart from Jesus nothing makes sense or has any intrinsic meaning.
Second, “light” and “darkness” explain everything. Right up front, John helps us think through life and values and purpose in a stark dualism that is engaged in a tug-of-war for everything and everybody. Nicodemus will come to Jesus in the darkness of night (chapter 3), only to be serenaded by Jesus’ fine teachings about walking in the light. The blind man of chapter 9 is actually the only one who can truly see, according to Jesus, because all of the sighted people have darkened hearts and eyes. Judas will enter the room of the Last Supper basking in the light of the glory that surrounds Jesus (chapter 13), but when he leaves to do his dastardly deed of betrayal, the voice of the narrator ominously intones “and it was night.” Evening falls as Jesus dies (chapter 19), but the floodlights of dawn rise around those who understand the power of his resurrection (chapter 20). Even in the extra story added as chapter 21, the disciples in the nighttime fishing boat are bereft of their netting talents until Jesus shows up at the crack of dawn, tells them where to find a great catch, and is recognized by them in the growing light of day and spiritual insight. Darkness, in the gospel of John, means sin and evil and blindness and the malady of a world trying to make it on its own apart from its Creator. Light, on the other hand, symbolizes the return of life and faith and goodness and health and salvation and hope and the presence of God.
Third, as a corollary to these ideas, John shows us that salvation itself is a kind of re-creation. Using a deliberate wordplay to bind the opening of the gospel to the sentences that start Genesis, John communicates that the world once made lively by the Creator has now fallen under the deadly pall of evil, and needs to be delivered. The only way that this renewal can happen is if the Creator re-injects planet Earth with a personal and concentrated dose of the original Light by which all things were made. Although many still wander in blindness or shrink back from the light like cockroaches or rodents who have become accustomed to the inner darkness of a rotting garbage dump, those to whom sight is restored are enabled to live as children of God once again.
This leads to a fourth theme of the prologue, namely that the New Testament era is merely the Old Testament mission of God revived in a new form. Jesus, the Logos, comes to earth and “tabernacles” among us (verse 14), just as the Creator had done when covenanting with Israel, and commissioning her to become a witness to the nations. Furthermore, those who truly recognize Jesus for who he is, see in him the “glory” of the Father. This is a direct link to the Shekinah glory light of God that filled the Tabernacle and the Temple, announcing the divine presence. The mission of God continues, but it will now be experienced through the radiance that glows in all who are close to Jesus. The “Tabernacle” that houses the glory of the divine presence is on the move into the world through this “only begotten Son of God” (1:14) and all who become “children of God” (1:12) with and through him.
Application
Maurice Boyd remembers one incident that sealed the impact of his father’s faith on his life forever. His father worked in a shipyard in Belfast, Northern Ireland. During the Depression, work dried up. Times were tough, and for three years his father was out of a job. The Darkness was palpable around them.
Then one of his father’s old bosses at the shipyard approached him. The important man would find work for Mr. Boyd. He would guarantee it, no matter how much worse things got. All Mr. Boyd would have to do would be to buy a life insurance policy from the man. It would work to their mutual benefit: the boss’s income would increase, and Mr. Boyd’s work income would be guaranteed!
It was a great deal except for one thing: it was illegal. Maurice Boyd remembers his father sitting at the kitchen table with the whole family surrounding him. There at the table his father counted the cost. He reviewed their desperate financial situation. He ticked off the outstanding bills and the money he would be making, ought to be making, if only he’d say yes to his boss.
His father wrote it all down on a sheet of paper: the gains and the losses, what he could make and what he could lose. Then he wrote down a category that Maurice Boyd will never forget: integrity. What did it matter if he gained the cash to pay the rent but lost his ability to teach his children right from wrong? What did it matter if he gained the dignity of a job but lost it each morning when he looked at himself in the mirror and knew that the only one reason he could go off to work instead of someone else was because he cheated?
His father declined the job, and the family groveled through several more years of poverty. Yet, of his father, Maurice Boyd says: “He discovered that no one can make you feel inferior without your consent, and that one way you can keep your soul is by refusing to sell it. He realized that whatever else he lost... he didn’t have to lose himself.”
And there was Light, in their hearts and household, and in the neighborhood where they pushed back the Darkness.
Alternative Application
1 Thessalonians 5:16-24. Robert Coles, child psychiatrist and Harvard University professor, tried at one time to figure out why we do the things we do. In his book The Call of Service, Cole reflects on people who try to make a difference in life; people who seek to reform themselves, even when sinful tendencies oozed like tentacles through their inner marrow; people who attempt to better society, in spite of the fact that it stubbornly refused the challenge.
“Why do they do it?” Cole asks. The people themselves often have a hard time defining what makes them tick. One young teacher in an urban school gets challenged all the time by street-smart students. Weary of self-righteous do-gooders, they ask “What’s in it for you?” And he really can’t say.
But all these compassionate volunteers have one thing in common: earlier in their lives, each of them ran into a crisis situation that tested their identity and their willingness to do something about it. In that crisis situation, each of them encountered someone who put his or her life on the line and taught them the meaning of service -- someone who gave of themselves in a way that bucks the trend of selfishness and of self-preservation. And the influence of that someone else made it possible for the person they helped to be greater than each of them had previously thought they could be.
This is the challenge that Paul presents. Who are we? Whose are we? And will we live in a way that this comes to expression?
If we know, if we will, there will continue to be Light.
