Who are you looking for?

Tonight, the ESR class of 2012 celebrated their time at ESR in a baccalaureate service.  Susan Yanos, professor of writing and ministry, gave a message based on the ending of the Gospel of John, when the resurrected Jesus reveals himself to Mary.  In honor of tonight, and of this pilgrimage we find ourselves on, whether in or out of school, I'd like to share the following assignment I recently wrote for my New Testament class.

The Gospel of John portrays a deep and wide range of human experiences and emotions.  In the prologue, we read that the Word takes on flesh and dwells among us (1:14), validating our existence as humans.

We can see the gospel’s embrace of human experience in characters’ speech.  For instance, Nathanael expresses mistrust when he asks, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (1:46).  I imagine the steward in Cana guffawing after saying, “Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk.  But you have kept the good wine until now” (2:10).  Nicodemus reveals his ignorance—and expands the primal human metaphor—when he asks Jesus for clarification:  “How can anyone be born after having grown old?  Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” (3:4).  The man healed of blindness expresses frustration and defiance when he tells the Pharisees, “I have told you already, and you would not listen.  Why do you want to hear it again?  Do you also want to become his disciples?” (9:26-27).  We catch a glimpse of the Pharisees’ wounded pride in their response:  “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” (9:34).

One of my favorite revelations of character is when Jesus goes to Judea to see his beloved friend Lazarus, and Thomas tells the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him” (11:16).  Although Thomas may have literally willed to die with Jesus, I like to imagine Thomas speaking sarcastically, knowing that they are heading into danger, yet, maybe because he is a disciple, or because he knows it is right, he has no other choice but to follow.

Before Jesus’ crucifixion, Pilate expresses wonder and existential despair in response to Jesus:  “What is truth?” (18:38).  After Jesus’ resurrection, the disciple whom Jesus loved exclaims upon seeing Jesus, “It is the Lord!” (21:7).  The narrator tells us that Peter is pained at Jesus’ asking three times, “Do you love me?” (21:17).  We see Peter’s curiosity, perhaps out of competition or fear of what’s to come, when he asks, “Lord, what about him?” (21:21).

Characters in other canonical gospels reveal character, too.  For instance, Peter has a reputation of sometimes speaking thoughtlessly (Matt 26:33, Mk 14:29, Lk 22:33).  But not only are the words I quoted unique to John, I also think their humanity is emboldened because Jesus’ speech is often symbolic in John.  From Jesus’ “I am” statements (4:26, 6:35, 8:12, 8:58, 10:11, for example) to his final speech and prayer (13-17), ironically, Jesus often doesn’t speak in a manner we would expect people “of the flesh” to speak.  Jesus’ symbolic speech foils for the earthly speech of other characters, and especially for Jesus’ own fleshly speech. 

Perhaps the most poignant expression of Jesus’ emotion is when we might expect Jesus to speak, but instead he is silent.  Near the middle of the gospel, Jesus and his disciples learn that Lazarus has died.  Jesus sees Mary and the Jews with her weeping, and asks a practical question:  “Where have you laid him?” (11:34).  They respond with Jesus’ own symbolic words (1:39), reversing the roles between master and servants:  “Lord, come and see” (11:34).  Then, “Jesus began to weep” (11:35).

On the morning of Jesus’ resurrection, Mary is weeping at the empty tomb, speaking with two angels in white.  Then she turns around and sees Jesus, although she doesn’t recognize him.  Could Jesus be teasing her?  He asks, “Woman, why are you weeping?  Who are you looking for?” (20:15), echoing his symbolic speech in 1:38.  Mary, thinking he is a gardener, asks him to take her to Jesus’ body.  Then Jesus says, “Mary!”  (20:16).  In one word, we see that Mary is reunited with her Lord, and her Lord is excited to see his friend again.


Verses taken from the NRSV.

Playful Theology

Today I took my final exam for History of Christianity I, in which I was instructed to compare Anselm's ontological argument for the existence of God with one of Thomas Aquinas' proofs for God's existence.  If you have no clue what I just wrote, especially after the word "compare," then wait until you read Anselm's argument.  I would recapitulate it for you, but that's not my main reason for writing this entry, so I'll let you discover it on your own.  (To quote my professor, "Please don't feel bad" if you have to re-read Anselm's argument several times.  It didn't click for me until about half an hour after I turned in my exam, and I still feel fuzzy when I think on it.)

Anywho, my main reason for writing is to explore the fact that in their argument/proofs, neither Anselm nor Aquinas were really trying to prove the existence of God, as if they couldn't believe in God until they perfected their formulas.  That is, if they had not completed their their proofs, they still would have believed in God by faith.  As church historian Justo González writes, "What [Anselm] sought in doing this was not to prove something that he did not believe without such proof, but rather to understand more deeply what he already believed."  And for Aquinas, González says, "rational inquiry helps us to understand better that which we accept by faith."

Before, I thought that theologians like Anselm and Aquinas were trying to teach an unbelieving world that God actually exists.  Believe, because it's rational!  Now that we've proven God through logic, you have no excuse!  Certainly, theologians tried this later, including some today.  But Anselm and Aquinas were doing something different than trying to save souls in their writing.  They were exploring the unseen territories of what they already believed, like someone who has bought a house and begins wandering through the rooms to really get to know the place.  Like musicians of thought, they were playing.

"Playing and praying are like the musicians' art that combines discipline with delight," writes Eugene Peterson.  "Music quickens something deep within us. . . . Karl Barth once declared that the music of Mozart led him to 'the threshold of a world which in sunlight and storm, by day and by night, is a good and ordered world.'"  Playing and praying, Peterson writes, enhance life, renew us, make us fully human.