“Do not resist the one who is evil” (Part 2)

καὶ μὴ εἰσενέγκῃς ἡμᾶς εἰς πειρασμόν,
ἀλλὰ ῥῦσαι ἡμᾶς ἀπὸ τοῦ πονηροῦ.

And do not lead us into Tribulation
but deliver us from the one who is evil.

Matthew 6.13

Who is “the one who is evil” and what are we to do if we cannot use aggression against him? More recycling from an archived post:

Finally, the disciples must pray to be spared of the eschatological trial (peirasmos, usually translated “temptation”) that will precede Israel’s restoration, and to be delivered “from the evil one” (apo tou ponērou) (Matthew 6.13). It is important to note that these two statements are linguistically joined together in the Greek by the adversative alla (”but”). The pairing of peirasmos and ho ponēros is highly significant when viewed within the context of the Sermon. “The evil one” (ho ponēros) has already been identified as a potential provoker of the forbidden oaths (Matthew 5.33). More importantly, the ponēros is the enemy who strikes on the right cheek (Matthew 5.39), takes the disciple’s coat (Matthew 5.40), and commandeers him for one mile (Matthew 5.41).

For those who have ears to hear, he is none other than the Roman aggressor! Little wonder, then, that he is linked to the eschatological trial (peirasmos) which Israel must undergo as a prelude to redemption–”the evil one” is, in essence, the most tangible “obstacle” to national restoration! And from this “evil one” the disciples must pray to be delivered, for they have already been forbidden from the use of force: “Do not resist the one who is evil (ho ponēros)” (Matthew 5.39)! They must trust rather in the power of God to change even these enemies by the witness of the light of their good works (Matthew 5.16).

Does this interpretation of ho ponēros necessarily contradict the traditional Christian reading in which “the evil one” is thought to be Satan himself?  I don’t think so.  Although I think the primary historical meaning of “the evil one” is the Roman soldier, the heritage of Christian (especially patristic) exegesis warrants a polyvalent understanding that is still rooted in Jesus’ concrete, historical context.

We can say, for instance, that “the evil one” is someone who stands in the way of the kingdom.  Satan would of course be the chief contender for this title from a Christian perspective, but his work of deception and rebellion finds concrete expressions in the world—in real people and real institutions governed by his lies.  This is why the Book of Revelation did not hesitate to depict the Roman Empire of the first century as a terrifying beast (see Revelation 17), an instrument of Satan.

We can also say that, today, “the evil one” is “incarnated” in those who perpetuate what Shane Claibourne calls “the myth of redemptive violence” (the belief that violence can be ended with more violence) as the Jewish rebels did, as well as the many governments that tout their political ideals and economic progress as means by which human beings can find security, wealth, justice and freedom, much like the Roman Caesars who promised these benefits under the name of σωτηρια—”salvation”.  From these, too, we must pray to be delivered.

“Do not resist the one who is evil”

The Gospel for the Malankara lectionary this Sunday is Matthew 5.38-48. I posted the following commentary on this text over a year ago and thought to let it air a little bit more. Once again, your thoughts and comments are welcome.

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“Do not resist one who is evil” (Matthew 5.39). The verb for “resist”, antistēnai, is frequently used by Josephus to describe the military resistance against Roman rule, connoting violence in 15 out of its 17 uses by the Jewish historian. Israel is thus called to renounce not only strategies of violence, but the resistance itself—a departure from the many popular movements of the day. Rather, she must respond with “good works” so that the Roman aggressors might glorify her heavenly Father (Matthew 5.16).

When struck on the right cheek—an act of humiliation, since it is done with the back of the aggressor’s hand—, the disciple must offer his left. If the aggressor were to strike again, he must at least use the front of his hand, thereby recognizing at least to some degree the worth of his victim. By assuming a posture of vulnerability, the disciple thus draws to himself further opportunity to actually serve the offender.

If the aggressor sues him for his coat, the disciple must offer his cloak as well (Matthew 5.40), and if requisitioned by Roman military personnel to go “one thousand paces” (Matthew 5.41), he must go two instead. The word agareusei in Matthew 5.41 (translated “forces” by the RSV) means “presses into service”. Roman soldiers had the right in the first century to forcibly recruit a Jew for an operation. The classic example of this is Simon of Cyrene’s being “compelled” (Matthew 27.32) to bear Jesus’ cross.

For Jesus, Israel must break the cycle of violence that has been imposed upon her whether from within (by the resistance movements) or from without—that is, from Roman occupiers. She is called, not merely to non-resistance, but to go beyond non-resistance to love. In encapsulating his own words, Jesus presents the new perspective that Israel must adopt: the aggressor who takes her coat and commandeers her into forced labor is re-cast as “one who begs from you” and “him who would borrow from you” (Matthew 5.42)! Although commentators often see these sayings about generosity in monetary terms, thus necessitating a sudden shift in Jesus’ stream of thought, I think it is far better to read them as words which invite the hearer to see “the one who is evil” in new light—that is, God’s light—under which the Roman aggressor emerges as a fellow human being who is likewise caught in the drama of sin and violence. He, too, is a beggar and a borrower in need of mercy.

It is this radical perspective one’s enemy as a fellow human being in need—indeed, a “beggar” and a “borrower” to whom one must “give” and “lend”—that is the underlies Jesus’ invitation, not only to a passive non-resistance, but to meet brutality and force with abounding goodness. Only in this way could Israel’s light shine before others for their sake, that they might glorify her heavenly Father.

Jesus’ teaching concerning Israel’s relationship with “outsiders” reaches its climax in his command to love and pray for one’s enemies (Matthew 5.44). In doing so, the disciple will realize his divine sonship—”that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5.45) since God, too, gives to all without discrimination. This, then, is what it means to be one of the “peacemakers” whom Jesus blessed earlier and whom he promised would be called “sons of God” (Matthew 5.9). Unless Israel does this, she is no better than her enemies, be they tax collectors (Matthew 5.46) or “Gentiles”, that is, Roman occupiers (Matthew 5.47).

The conclusion, marked clearly with in the Greek with “therefore” (oun), cannot and must not be missed: it is in loving his enemies and in praying for them, not resisting them with violence, that Jesus’ followers will show themselves to be true sons of God. Indeed, they will then become like God—”perfect” just as he is “perfect” (teleios, Matthew 5.48). The Greek teleios designates not some kind of moral perfection or flawlessness (an interpretation which has sometimes led Christians to a despair induced by perfectionism). In the Septuagint, teleios translates the Hebrew word tamim, which has the basic meaning of “whole”, “complete”, or even “all-encompassing”. This last meaning of tamim fits excellently with the context of Matthew 5.48. The disciples’ love must be all-encompassing, just as their heavenly Father’s love is all-encompassing: “for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matthew 5.45).

Who needs Scripture?

I wrote this piece for another publication a little over a year ago. Since I’ve been struggling for some time now with carving out time to read the Bible regularly, I read it as an exercise in de-planking my own eye. Anything you all have to offer is, as always, much welcome.

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[Jesus] said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read?” (Luke 10.26)

Read assiduously and learn as much as you can. Let sleep find you holding your Bible, and when your head nods let it be resting on the sacred page. (St Jerome, Letter to Eustochius)

While working on a writing project yesterday I came across this text in Ezekiel:

Yet you say, “Why should not the son suffer for the iniquity of the father?”  When the son has done what is lawful and right, and has been careful to observe all my statutes, he shall surely live.  The soul that sins shall die.  The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father, not the father suffer for the iniquity of the son; the righteousness of the righteous shall be upon himself, and the wickedness of the wicked shall be upon himself.  (Ezekiel 18.19-21)

The word of the Lord given through the prophet appears to be addressing what we might call a theological opinion that had arisen among the exiles in Babylon, namely, that God punishes sons for the sins of their fathers.

I won’t go into further details about the meaning of this text because I’m not concerned here with an exegetical reflection of it.  What struck me, and what I want to write about, was that I’d never seen this text brought up in Orthodox-Catholic conversations about original sin and inherited guilt.  Having hung around some ecumenical circles in the blogosphere for a while, I’ve witnessed many a discussion (often polemical) about Orthodox and Catholic anthropologies, but strangely, I don’t remember one in which this passage was carted out and batted around. Instead, the conversations were often saturated with quotations both long and short from the Fathers and modern theologians, and centered on the implication or acquittal of St. Augustine.

I think this points to problem that is neither uniquely Catholic nor Orthodox, but rather common to those of us who are students (or self-proclaimed experts) of the Patristic tradition.  We often go on and on about how the Fathers did not possess as “systematic theology” as we now understand it, and that their endeavor of theologia stood solidly on the grounds of prayer, asceticism and the assiduous reading of God’s Word rather than on philosophical systems or—*gasp*—the scholastic method.  But for all this, are we not merely honoring them with our lips while keeping our heart far away from them?

I’ve always been taught to see the Patristic tradition as a commentary on Scripture, full of diverse voices and theological subtleties, conditioned by the historical particularities of the life of the Church—liturgy, heresy, cultural questions and so forth.  To use the terminology of Cardinal Ratzinger, the Patristic tradition is the primitive and archetypal response of the Church to the Word of God—a response which is not just one among many, but rather one to which we must ascribe authority for its unparalleled and definitive influence on the shape of our faith.  This is true not only of the content of their theology, but also of their method (if I may make a distinction between the two)—namely, the rigorous searching and exposition of the Scriptures within the lived experience of the Church.  But in all this there is still a primacy that belongs to Scripture, for the Fathers saw themselves as servants, not masters, of that revelation.

To come back, then, to my gripe: if the Patristic tradition is like a finger which pointing to the moon, have we, their disciples, often focused exclusively on the finger and forgotten about the moon?

There is among students in many Biblical Studies departments today the vice of drowning oneself in the ocean of linguistic, historical and cultural studies—the so-called “historical-critical” methods, if you will—which leads to an actual neglect of the primary text of the Bible itself.  Even as an amateur student, my experience is that many of the alleged exegetical dead-knots can be untied or at least loosened by a closer and wider reading of the text (which, I should also say, the Fathers had often already done several centuries ago).

Have we, the disciples of the Fathers, fallen into a similar vice by focusing on the commentary of the Patristic tradition to the neglect of a direct encounter with God’s Word? For all our talk, have we turned their love for the Scriptures into something to be discussed and admired from afar, rather an example to be imitated?  I can almost hear St. Ephrem say to me, “Busted!”

I’m reminded, though, of the practice of our Jewish brothers and sisters, who until today show great devotion to both Scripture and tradition in their practice Torah study.  The practice instituted by the Talmud is to read the appointed Torah portion twice, and after that to read the interpretive translation (one could say “commentary”) from Targum Onkelos once.  By doing this, the student is directly engaging the biblical text while simultaneously entering into a conversation with the ancestors of faith who’ve gone before him.

Isn’t there a way Christians can practice something similar? Must we be necessarily torn between Scripture and the Fathers?  I’d like to think not.

Apologies and Moo Point #5

Sorry for leaving this space unattended for the past two weeks. I wasn’t engaged in any marvelous ascetical feats for the recent fast. I’ve just been preoccupied with my new job as lecturer at a college about 20 miles from where I live. When the term starts next Monday (the 24th) I’ll be  teaching Introduction to World Religions and Introduction to Philosophy. We’ll see how that goes.

While listening to one of the Old Testament readings appointed to be read before Qurbana today I got distracted and arrived at this Moo Point instead:

So many neat, airtight theological systems can be exploded by a careful reading the Old Testament.

That’s all I’ve got for now. Your thoughts?

Luke’s murderous intent

Reading Luke these days.

There is a theory floating somewhere out there that Luke and Acts were intended as some sort of a two-volume legal brief compiled in defense of Paul. These works, the theory goes, might have been presented to the Emperor to show that Christianity was not a threat to the well-being of the Empire and that Paul, as such, was a faithful citizen falsely charged with causing civil upheaval.

I think Luke-Acts would’ve made a nice legal brief if Luke wanted to see Paul dead.

Consider the Annunciation narrative (Luke 1.26-38) for instance. First, we are told that the Archangel Gabriel said this about Mary’s child and Paul’s Lord:

He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High;
and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David,
and he will reign over the house of Jacob for ever;
and of his kingdom there will be no end. (vv. 32-33)

One can’t really miss the message: this babe’s going to be one heckuva king. As if that isn’t enough, the Messenger also calls the child-to-be “the Son of God” (v. 35), making him a rival to one of Caesar’s most grandiose titles.

Imagine: Paul, a servant and herald for a Jewish king who, as Luke’s “evidence” shows, is destined to reign for ever and of whose kingdom “there will be no end”. Problem is, there is already a lord and king over the world and he is, as the Roman propaganda goes, Caesar.

If Jesus is shown by Luke to be Caesar’s contender, what would that make Paul?

Not much a defense, I think.