March 1, 2009

Glynn Cardy

Lent 1     Psalm 25:1-10     Mark 1:9-15

Every culture has what anthropologists call a mythic structure. These are the collection of socially powerful traditional stories that shape a culture’s assumptions and expectations. In the New Testament there are two underlying myths used to interpret Jesus, one dominant and one less so.

The dominant myth is the ‘outside redeemer’. In this myth the hero comes from the outside, performs a saving function, and then returns to the outside. The movement is from and to an alien space. In the 4th Gospel this myth has Jesus coming down from heaven, redeeming the world, and returning to heaven. In Star Trek it has the U.S.S. Enterprise entering a planetary system, sharing the supposed benefits of their superior knowledge and technology, and returning once again to outer space. In both cases the movement is from outer to inner to outer.

The myth assumes that our world is basically flawed and must be redeemed from outer space. We are too sinful, too ignorant, or too weak to bring peace and healing to our own planet. Our salvation comes via the redeemer hero from beyond. This hero belongs to a world not of our own. The hero is not one of us. He or she is qualitatively different from us. To follow or imitate the hero is problematic, for he or she is not bound by the same limitations we are. In the final analysis us Lois Lanes will always be dependent our Clark Kents – because they can fly and lift buildings and we can’t. She, like we, must be dependent and trust every time in our super saviours.

This movement of a heroic saviour coming from outside and then returning to the outside is reflected in a number of liturgies of the Church. The Prayer of Great Thanksgiving in the 1970 Anglican liturgy [now found on p.420 of the New Zealand Prayer Book] has the structure of Jesus coming from heaven, saving us, and returning to heaven. The Nicene and Apostles creeds also reflect this myth.

The other and less dominant myth in the New Testament used to interpret Jesus is the ‘internal redeemer’. In this myth the hero begins by leaving home. He or she undergoes trials and tribulations in a foreign place, eventually emerging victorious over some evil power or powers, usually with the help of friends. The hero then returns home, is reintegrated into society, and is then able to bestow blessings upon others.

Frodo Baggins of The Lord of the Rings is an internal redeemer. In Tolkien’s great novel Frodo and his friends, the unassuming and relatively powerless hobbits, go on an epic journey, fight a mighty enemy, and then return home to Hobbiton.

This internal redeemer myth can be seen in the story of Israel leaving the land of promise for Egypt and its tribulations, and then returning via a great exodus once again. Similarly the myth is seen in the journey of Judah into Babylonian captivity and back again. In the New Testament it is apparent in the story of the Prodigal Son who comes home only by leaving home. The prodigal’s struggle in the pubs and in the pigpen was not only to discover the joy and the pain of freedom, but also to discover and be confident in his true self. He could then return home to enter into an adult-to-adult relationship with his family.

The temptation story, our gospel reading today, is an example of Jesus the internal redeemer. Jesus leaves his home and friends and goes on a vision quest for 40 days. As an emerging teacher he is aware of his people’s expectations of a new prophet and a new messiah. Yet in that desert place of tribulation he reviews all the possibilities associated with those traditions and discards all the standard features. He wrestles with the Scriptures and rejects and counters the common interpretation.

Unlike Moses he won’t turn stones into bread. He won’t be a Moses clone. There are features of the teaching and practice of Moses that he will explicitly reject. Instead of an unbelievable miracle he will feed and inspire people with a self-giving love. Rules, or the law, will be shaped by that love. Not love by the rules.

Unlike a divine magician who allegedly could survive a fall from the top of the Temple [a 1st century Sky Tower equivalent], Jesus is not going to use magic. He is not Clark Kent’s alter ego. Unlike the stories of Elijah and Elisha, Jesus doesn’t do tricks. And he doesn’t expect his followers to either. The only ‘magic’ is the magic of love.

Lastly, he won’t form political alliances in order to rule the world. Indeed ruling the world is not on his agenda. Aspiring to glory, power, and splendour is injurious of one’s spiritual health. He doesn’t want to be king. That’s not to say his actions and teaching weren’t political. The power of love, amongst other things, is a political power.

It is important to bear these aspects of Jesus’ vision quest in mind when we read the other bible stories about him. The miracle of feeding the five or four thousand was not a magical trick or a supernatural event. The reported healings in the Gospels were not magic or supernatural. The resurrection was not magic or supernatural. The laws of science were not suspended for three years in first century Palestine in order that paranormal events could place.

Now some commentators would argue that the provocative satan knew that Jesus had the power to do all these things – making bread, sky diving, and imperial governance – otherwise it wouldn’t have been a real choice not to. I prefer however to think of the temptations as Jesus wrestling with expectation and ambition. He’d probably had a taste of how some people hung on his words. He’d probably had some experience of how his presence could soothe and encourage the ill. He’d probably had some come and ask him to support their political hopes. He wrestled in his mind with the notion of power, how to use it and not to use it, and how not to be corrupted by it.

It strikes me as both ironic and sad that most churches have refashioned Jesus into the very person that he himself rejected in the wilderness. Most churches have believed the satan character that Jesus is a magical miracle-worker, with superhuman powers, who will one day rule the world.

A brief explanatory note on ‘miracles’: While I don’t believe in turning stones into bread, I do believe and have seen the miracle of love and grace transforming people’s lives. The latter is both a literal and metaphorical use of ‘miracle’. The former is just nonsense. A similar explanatory note on ‘satan’: It is a literary device used to personify division of opinion within a person or community. It is not a being, and it does not literally exist.

What emerged from the 40 days and 40 nights was not just clarity of Jesus’ vision but a strategy to achieve the vision. Jesus would pursue an itinerant lifestyle, deliberately not being the patron to a dependent group. He would not operate in the usual manner of society’s gifted and powerful ones. He would not use so-called miracles as evidence of his power, worth, or truth of his message. He would be religiously and politically provocative, but not for the purpose of achieving religious or political office. He would not be restricted by interpretations of Holy Scripture, but offer his own interpretation. Most of all he would teach and live out a radical, egalitarian vision which invited people into relationships of mutuality and generosity.

The liturgies that we have been experimenting with here at St Matthew’s over the last year, despite their shortcomings, reflect this sort of Jesus. They reflect a Jesus who is born among us, rather than tele-transported from another world. A Jesus who walks, talks, and suffers like we do, rather than a superman in disguise. A Jesus who lifts our vision, inspires and transforms us, rather than a super-saviour who does all the work for us. Commenting on the ‘outside redeemer’ myth Robert Funk says, “if [Jesus] arrived via a miraculous birth, knew himself to be the messiah and son of God, and had foreknowledge that his death would be reversed in three days, he is not qualified to function as my redeemer.”[1]

The Jesus of the ‘internal redeemer’ myth is one that is believable. There is integrity about him. There is something real about this Jesus of the gospels, despite the gloss of supernatural myths and interpretations placed on him. Jesus is dreaming what could be possible. He is asking of us, as disciples, to give up our notions of power to join him in that dream. He is offering not power but the suffering that comes with self-giving love. He is not going to rescue us; we all need to do any rescuing. When he suffers with us he is actually feeling pain because he is a human being not a being from outer space. Why we see God, truth, and hope in him is precisely because he is concrete and real and not the imaginary character of an unbelievable fantasy.

Endnote:

[1] P.308 Funk, Robert Honest To Jesus, Hodder Stoughton, 1996.