Toward the end of my last post I wrote: “To value something is to treasure it, and what we treasure we store within ourselves. It always remains, and even when forgotten it can be brought again to view in the harrowing moments of our value crises.”
When, in the gospel of Matthew, Jesus begins teaching in the Sermon on the Mount, he starts on an extended passage in which he repeatedly stresses the notion of storing up treasures in heaven. He stresses as well the general means by which such “storing up” is to be done. It is to be done by self-abnegation—by forsaking the things of this world.
One of the most important—and most neglected—aspects of Jesus’ teaching here is the function of the listener in the world. Jesus speaks to us of our being “the light of the world.” We must recognize here that this teaching is functionally indistinguishable from the nexus between “treasure” and “light”: “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light. But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!” (6:21-23, KJV).
What Jesus is describing here in terms of “light” is manifestly a generalized conception of “light.” Light, in Jesus’ parlance, is simultaneously described in an active and a passive sense. We exude light (or ought to) and are filled with light we allow inside (or ought to.) “Light” simply exists, and our relationships to it can be proper or improper. If we treasure the right things, we will be associated with light rather than with darkness.
The matter, however—if we act as though we might analyze it—is not so simple. When dealing with the question of how we humans see what we need to see (or do not) or hear what we need to hear (or do not), the gospels all make some sort of reference to Isaiah 6:9-10:
“And he said, Go, and tell this people, Hear ye indeed, but understand not; and see ye indeed, but perceive not. Make the heart of this people fat, and make their ears heavy, and shut their eyes; lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and convert, and be healed.”
Undeniably, the ignorance of the described audience is something inflicted upon them by God, as Isaiah relates the matter. Matthew treats the matter more as if the people’s plight were of their own doing (and the other three gospels fall somewhere in-between.) The gospels all stress the importance of people being enlightened, but it would be disingenuous to maintain that the gospels speak of plain truths taught plainly.
It must be noted, however, that it is not the idea of Jesus speaking plainly that the gospels present as the foundation of his ministry. When Jesus needs to be blunt, he is so, but when speaking of the great themes that he goes about imparting, both Jesus and the gospels describe a scheme of instruction that is tinged with mystery. There is something about Jesus that lends authority to his teaching. This “authority” is not so simple as it might seem. Matthew has, “ . . . the people were astonished at his doctrine: For he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes” (7:28-29). This would seem to be a statement of straightforward power, if not for one thing—it would be difficult indeed to imagine that there was anyone with more overt “authority” than the scribes of Jesus’ time.
Jesus’ manifest authority, then, must have been a function of his persona. It must have been a tremendous thing to hear him speak, or just to be around him. At least, that is how the gospels read. A skeptical reader, for example, might be reluctant to accept John’s assertion, regarding the Arrest, that upon hearing Jesus say, “I am he,” “they went backward, and fell to the ground.” That is nonetheless how the text reads, and no concerted attempt either to understand or to believe the gospels can proceed reliably while ignoring the gospels’ references to the simple power of Jesus’ presence.
Again, it might be believed or not, but it is nonetheless intrinsic to the gospels that Jesus was possessed of an entirely rare potential for impact on people. Surely, we are not to believe that the first disciples—described as they often are in pairs—were just guys who, for no discernable reason, had made pacts to the effect that they would jointly follow whatever self-proclaimed messiah happened down the road. And it is not the case that Jesus always beckons his followers after first haranguing them. Jesus speaks, and immediately people follow him.
The intimate followers of Jesus are not described as being merely privy to all of the details of his ministry. They are described as being privileged to know the secrets that Jesus taught. The common people were taught in parables and such, but Jesus’ inner circle were given the interpretations. Or so we are told. In a few instances Jesus’ painstaking parsings-out of parables are related to us. In many other instances they are not. The disciples, however, are described as being denied nothing in this regard: “and when they were alone, he expounded all things to his disciples” (Mark 4:34).
As Luke has it: “And he turned him unto his disciples, and said privately. Blessed are the eyes which see the things that ye see: For I tell you, that many prophets and kings have desired to see those things which ye see, and have not seen them; and to hear those things which ye hear, and have not heard them” (10:23-24).
And that is not all. As Matthew relates, Jesus told his disciples, “What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light: and what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the housetops” (10:27). That is all well and good, a reasonable observer might say, but one can scarcely avoid making the relevant observation: This explicitly-expounded wisdom, transmitted from Jesus to his followers, such followers being instructed by Jesus to speak in light what they heard in darkness—well, where is it?
An immediate rejoinder from conventional Christianity might be the contention that this wisdom is the contents of the non-Gospel New Testament (or even the Church’s tradition), but that would scarcely address the more proximate problem of Acts 1, describing the post-Resurrection Jesus “being seen of them forty days, and speaking of the things pertaining to the kingdom of God.” And yet the disciples immediately after this had to cast about for some answer about the kingdom-crucial question of the conversion of the Gentiles? The situation must be as ridiculous as it sounds.
The answer is plain. The gospels describe the ministry of Jesus. They do not describe its content, insofar as Jesus considered some such things to be pivotal and eternal. The gospels are guides to our search—our search for the path, and for the gate. This realization at least points up the silliness of arguing about the inerrancy of four awkwardly-lined-up accounts that are not theologically complete, nor were ever intended to be. It also points up the tragedy of so much conflict over two millennia of people trying to force other people to see a salvation plan in a collection of writings that constitutes merely a salvation outline.
No comments:
Post a Comment