I have always been grateful for the privileges that I have had in life. My father, the famous corn futures trader, Joseph Jones, raised me to be comfortable and able to associate with the best element of society money could access. I attended the best private schools, went to the most exclusive clubs, socialized with the most sophisticated families, and when I reached adulthood, I attended Harvard, of course, graduating in the top of my class with an M.B.A. That was my vision and my obligation, to succeed in life and carry forward the Jones legacy that my father had built.

Joseph Jones was born in Trenton, New Jersey, and grew up with very little money – lower middle class. He built his trading company from the ground up, and he taught me the importance of helping others who are “less fortunate.” Sometimes, as I drive my Bentley across town, I see some of the poor souls on the streets with such little hope, and I wish for them the opportunity to work hard and climb up the American economic ladder. It was such an opportunity that I gave my first personal assistant, when, on that fateful night of March 24, 2015, my wife and I were refused service at the ____ club in Manhattan, and the idea of bartering with the poor came to me in a lightning bolt of inspiration.

I had dressed in some of my best casual attire for the evening. I wore a $400 Brooks Brother’s sweater over a fine silk shirt from Saks. No tie, and I slipped on my third favorite Rolex, solid gold, to round out the presentation.

I did not have a reservation that evening, as the ____ club had always accommodated me before. But that evening, the dining area was full, and being seated was going to be a challenge.

“I’m sorry, sir. We are completely booked this evening.” said the maître d’.

“Well, yes. I am sure you are sorry. You remember me, don’t you? Brant Jones, owner of Jones Futures.” I handed him one of my gold-leaf embossed business cards, and then left a pause in the conversation so the realization could sink in. “Now, please, I would appreciate your nicest table.” I slipped a $100 bill into the suit jacket pocket of the maître d’, and clasped him on the arm, indicating my friendly intent.

“I am truly sorry, Mr. Jones. I really am. But we just do not have any tables available,” the maître d’ insisted.

To tell the truth, I am still somewhat insulted by the whole incident. However, I have always been a problem solver. When I took over as CEO of my father’s company, the futures markets were still being traded with old chart trading platforms. I saw our profit margins, and knew they could be greatly improved if we would just join the 21st century and invest in high-frequency trading programs, which would allow us to legally buy and sell massive amounts of futures in seconds. Not to brag, but this move tripled our profits in the first year.

I tried to be unemotional about this incident at the restaurant, and decided to do what I do best – identify the problem, and then solve it.

I looked at the maître d’s name tag, and then asked him, “Joseph, are you are saying you do not have any more tables? Am I correct in assuming that this is the main problem? I assume you would like my business, if only you had another table at which to seat me. Is that an accurate assessment, Joseph?”

“Yes, sir,” the maître d’ replied. “We value you as a patron, and apologize that we just have no more tables. If you’d like to wait, we may be able to seat you in…”

I wandered aside, and entering my inner world where I routinely solved problems of greater magnitude and complexity than this, I pondered how to obtain an additional table. I stepped outside. Walking in my direction, like God himself had timed it for this very purpose, came the collision which has changed my life in incredible, and quite positive ways ever since. A man, wearing worn down clothes, and looking worn down himself, walked right into me. I made eye contact with the one I would call Number One.

“Sorry, man. Sir, do you have any spare change?” said the vagrant.

“Well, I certainly do,” I said, chuckling, thinking “Get a job, buddy”. I was distracted by my problem, and didn’t give the man a second thought. If he wanted money, let him go work for it like the rest of us.

And then, came the key moment, when the vagrant said, “If you won’t give me any money, can I do something for you? I’m hungry. This entreaty caught my attention in a way that mere begging never could have done. I noticed that here we were, this vagrant and I, both confronted with a problem, and both seeking to solve it. This common bond that Number One and I had at that moment created the possibility of mutuality.

It was one of those moments, like in the cartoons when a lightbulb illumines over one’s head, when the fog of daily confusion lifts, and a problem that had been heretofore unsolved was revealed as solvable. Like an echoic voice blared between my ears a great, “A-HA!” It came to me that this vagrant and I could help each other. I felt simultaneously elated that my problem was solved, and pleased that it could be solved in such a humanitarian way.

Turning back around to face my dilemma, wide-eyed with excitement, I said to him, “In fact, my friend, I think that I have an idea that will suit our needs quite well! Come with me.” I grabbed the man by the sleeve and led him upstairs. I approached the maître d’, and said, “I have found myself a table.”

“Sorry, sir?” the maître d’ asked, confused.

“You wanted to seat me, except you didn’t have a table. Here is my table.”

“I’m sorry, but I still do not understand.”

“This, here.” I said to the maître d’, pointing at Number One. “This man has agreed to serve as my table. Find me two chairs, and we will dine off of this fellow’s back.” The man I later named Number One seemed taken aback, but when the maître d’ asked him whether he was indeed willing to serve as the dinner table for myself and my wife, he mumbled that he was.

We dined that night, in more extravagance than ever before. There’s just something that feels fabulously wealthy about eating food from off of your assistant’s back. At first, the other patrons seemed scandalized, but as the night progressed, our fellow diners acknowledged us with approval and, if I read the situation rightly, envy.

“Not only have you demonstrated creativity,” said Mr. Mason, a staple at the club, whose family has been in coal for over 100 years, “but there is something inherently right about the scene here. This table of yours is more than just a table, but also adds a human element to the experience of dining well. Plus, you say this table of yours was in need of financial assistance, and you have provided him with a way to earn his keep. In so doing, you have given him the gift of dignity.”

This occurred two years ago. By now, it is rather bland for people to dine off the backs of their impoverished assistants. In fact, when you enter a nice restaurant, it’s become customary to be asked if you will be providing your own table. A table base can be brought out, placed on the back of your assistant, and a tablecloth placed over the tabletop. If I do say so myself, I began a trend among the upper-middle class which combines luxury and charity in a new way. To those critics, who say that the experience is degrading to the assistants, I can only say that they are treated very well. Often, when we are eating some scrumptious dish, prepared by the best chefs in the city, we will take a small sampling of the meal, put it on a bread plate, and put it on the floor for our assistant to eat. I can tell you that my assistants have many times complimented the food and thanked me for letting them taste it.

Further, the various assistants of the diners at the club see each other regularly, and have developed friendships outside of their duties, sometimes whispering in conversation to one another as we dine. Such friendships have been fostered solely because of the opportunity that we have provided them. Plus, they agree to do it. If they didn’t want to serve in this capacity, they could always just quit…

Not long after my breakthrough moment two years ago, I was walking along to dinner with my wife. Number One was behind me, as had become our habit. I was chewing a piece of gum, and realized that I was holding my gum wrapper in my hand. There were no trashcans anywhere in sight. I perceived another chance to perform an act of service to my assistant’s financial well-being. I dropped the gum wrapper on the ground, and said, “Number One, please pick up my wrapper, and hold it until we get to the next trash can.”

Number One did so, and in that instant, my assistant became to me more than merely a table. There was incredible potential for my assistant to fulfill all of the menial functions that I had been carrying out on my own all these many years. When I had some refuse to discard, I could throw it on the ground, and Number One would retrieve it. If I had somewhere that required me to stand in line, I could give Number One a cell phone, and he would call me when he had moved toward the front while I sipped a martini or handled business. I imagined Number One being quite grateful for these insights of mine, since each act as my assistant led to an increase in pay. Surprisingly, though, this was not the case, as I found out several months later.

It was at Wimbledon when I found Number Two. It was tea time, Sunday morning of the men’s championship. Another marathon bout between Djokovic and Nadal was promised. Number One stood in line and ordered my tea while I strolled the gardens. When it was time to sit down to enjoy my beverage, I saw there were no seats available. “Number One, I need a seat,” I requested politely, as I always do. I gestured for him to prostrate himself, so that I might sit down.

“No, sir.” Number One replied.

I did a double take. “I’m sorry?”

“No, sir.” Number One replied again. “I will not allow you to sit on me. I have humiliated myself for months now, and while I am grateful for the money, I cannot do this any longer. I will continue to provide you with assistance where it does not degrade me as a human being, but I just cannot go along with serving as an object for you to use any longer. And letting you sit on me like a piece of furniture is my first stand.”

I chuckled, to hide my dismay. I couldn’t believe it. Would Number One have ever had the chance to travel to London, to eat the finest foods, and peruse the finest neighborhoods without me? Would he be wearing the clothes that I bought him, in order than he might be presentable when accompanying me? I felt abused by his refusal, and troubled that human beings could be so thoughtless. “Ok, Number One. You’re fired. If you will not show gratitude for all I have done for you, then leave. I am sure I can find another to take your place, and with a smile while he does it.”

And that I did. I sent Number One home on the next plane to New York, and never saw him again. The next day, when Number Two walked past me on the streets of London, I knew him the moment I laid eyes on him. We were meant for each other. I still needed an assistant, and he obviously needed work. And food. Not to mention, his English accent would go over very well back home. Very classy. Everyone loves a touch of the Old Country.

I approached him, and before he could humiliate himself and ask me for some unearned capital, I offered him the chance of a lifetime. “Hey, pal,” I said. “Would you be interested in some work?”

AUGUST 2-3, 2013
Fellowship of Hope Mennonite Church, Elkhart, Ind.

Last year, Jesus Radicals celebrated its tenth annual gathering. After ten years, we felt it would be good to step back, relax, and simply be together in a much more unscripted way. And so this year, instead of a “conference” sort of format where we listen to respectable folks, we’re hoping to cultivate a retreat format where we allow the topics for engagement to emerge from who are gathered. No big names. Just each other. One of the purposes of our time will be to discern and dream together as we begin a second decade of Jesus Radicals.

Participants in the retreat will be responsible for their food needs and meals will happen in a communal space. Camping is the suggested lodging choice. Options for camping are forthcoming. Music sharing and enjoying will happen in the evenings. Email newsletter@jesusradicals.com if you’re interested in performing!

Follow this link to register online for the retreat.

I seem to be imbibing a sort of tension by a process of osmosis where I see the world spinning out of control to a cataclysmic end.

The daily rash of children being abused, the surging tide of mental illness, senseless killings, all thugs at my emotions. As a Christian and theologian, I question the reality of these daily atrocities in the world.  The thoughts come . . .will we ever see peace in the Middle East, will Arabs and Jews ever peacefully co-exist, issues of poverty, sexism, female subjugation, egotism, and  xenophobia would ever be totally eradicated with rational certainty.

These are the major problem now seriously affecting our world. The sacred scriptures of the holy Bible give me a true sense of hope in light of these growing dilemmas plaguing the human estate, the critical reading of the Luke Treatises in the Acts chapter 2:1-21

And when the day of Pentecost had fully come, they were all assembled together in one place, ² When suddenly there came a sound from heaven like the rushing of a violent tempest blast, and it filled the whole house in which they were sitting. ³ And there appeared to them tongues resembling fire, which were separated and distributed and which settled on each one of them. ⁴ And they were all filled (diffused throughout their souls) with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other (different, foreign) languages (tongues), as the Spirit ^[a]kept giving them clear and loud expression [in each tongue in appropriate words]. ⁵ Now there were then residing in Jerusalem Jews, devout and God-fearing men from every country under heaven. ⁶ And when this sound was heard, the multitude came together and they were astonished and bewildered, because each one heard them [the apostles] speaking in his own [particular] dialect. ⁷ And they were beside themselves with amazement, saying, Are not all these who are talking Galileans? ⁸ Then how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own (particular) dialect to which we were born? ⁹ Parthians and Medes and Elamites and inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and [the province of] Asia, ¹⁰ Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya about Cyrene, and the transient residents from Rome, both Jews and the proselytes [to Judaism from other religions], ¹¹ Cretans and Arabians too—we all hear them speaking in our own native tongues [and telling of] the mighty works of God! ¹² And all were beside themselves with amazement and were puzzled and bewildered, saying one to another, what can this mean? ¹³ But others made a joke of it and derisively said, they are simply drunk and full of sweet [intoxicating] wine. ¹⁴ But Peter, standing with the eleven, raised his voice and addressed them: You Jews and all you residents of Jerusalem let this be [explained] to you so that you will know and understand; listen closely to what I have to say. ¹⁵ For these men are not drunk, as you imagine, for it is [only] the third hour (about 9:00 a.m.) of the day; ¹⁶ But [instead] this is [the beginning of] what was spoken through the prophet Joel: ¹⁷ And it shall come to pass in the last days, God declares, that I will pour out of My Spirit upon all mankind, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy [^[b]telling forth the divine counsels] and your young men shall see visions (^[c]divinely granted appearances), and your old men shall dream [^[d]divinely suggested] dreams. ¹⁸ Yes, and on my menservants also and on my maidservants in those days I will pour out of My Spirit, and they shall prophesy [^[e]telling forth the divine counsels and ^[f]predicting future events pertaining especially to God’s kingdom]. ¹⁹ And I will show wonders in the sky above and signs on the earth beneath, blood and fire and smoking vapor; ²⁰ The sun shall be turned into darkness and the moon into blood before the obvious day of the Lord comes—that great and notable and conspicuous and renowned [day]. ²¹ And it shall be that whoever shall call upon the name of the Lord [^[g]invoking, adoring, and worshiping the Lord—Christ] shall be saved.

Acts 2:1-21
Amplified Bible (AMP)

The Pentecostal manifestation brings new meaning to a world facing difficulties and tragedies. The disciples of Jesus were confronted with the a similar situation, hopeful because of the resurrection of their master, but also in a world of fear, and oppression by empire, transformed by a fresh wind of God’s Spirit on the Day of Pentecost (Pentecost, or ‘the Feast of Weeks’, Some fifty days later, was an agricultural festival celebrating God’s ownership of the land and thanking God for its fruitfulness).

The hope which the Pentecost brings is found within the assurance that while the world in which we live is shrouded in darkness, God has already found a way to overcome it.  The manifestation of the Pentecostal experience has changed the world. God has come, if we believe it, if we want to believe it, we are prompted by this experience. The room was filled with all manner of person, Jews and Gentiles, males and females, gays and straights from all over the then known world. Multiple cultures, multiple languages, were all together in one accord and all interestingly spoke the same thing in various languages (Speaking in tongues) as God gave them utterance. For the witnesses of the resurrection and ascension of Jesus Christ this was even greater assurance, because the promise made to them by Jesus that the Holy Spirit would come was fulfilled fifty days later.

In Marcus J.Borg‘s book Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time he states in Chapter three Jesus, Compassion and Politics

Be compassionate as God is compassionate1 …This crystallization of Jesus’ message speaks of a way of life grounded in an imitation dei –an imitation of God. Image of God and ethos-What God is like and how we are to live-are brought together. Moreover, for Jesus compassion was not simply an individual virtue, but a sociopolitical paradigm expressing his alternative vision of human life in community, a vision of life embodied in the movement that came into existence around him.

This understanding given by Prof. Borg helped to shape my own understanding of the Jesus I want to share.

Thus, Borg’s Jesus turns out to be a social liberal, driven by a “politics of compassion” to champion the rights of women and the poor against an oppressive social establishment. Jesus’ ethos of compassion, says Borg, also implies the advocacy of gay rights and the provision of universal health care now!

Today in the 21 Century God’s Holy Spirit still breathes on us, wooing us into service to him, to the church and also to humanity.  In a world of hate, malevolence, human suffering, inequality and injustice God’s Spirit still breathes.  Ecological decline, God’s Spirit still breathes!

The challenge and responsibility we receive from Pentecost is to be filled with God’s Holy Spirit to be agents of hope. We are therefore to be the people of hope, professing hope ideologically and professing hope in praxis.

Where here is exploitation, we profess justice. In a world where injustice has become endemic, the subjugation of women in certain places in the world; we have to take the hope and message of equality concomitantly this obviously requires critical and public reassessment of the biblical interpretation which penetrated and often perverted the bible and encourages this practice.

The Noted Harvard University Professor Harvey Cox in Fire From Heaven: The Rise of Pentecostal Spirituality and the Reshaping of Religion in the Twenty-First Century, Cox sees ‘Speaking in tongues’ as liberating in that it gives a voice to the voiceless, those who in formal settings where there are formal ministries would never be allowed to speak because of their low estates.

Pentecostal prophetic manifestation brings an awakening and calls for demonstrable challenge.  Its theological reflection encourages us not into complacency, but active engagement. It is an artisan of dynamism and hope, filling the vacuum created by hate with love. This is not a message which domesticates the Holy Spirit, but takes God’s activity at the center of human responses.

Sources

Marcus Borg, Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1994), p. 14.

http://www.reasonablefaith.org/rediscovering-the-historical-jesus-presuppositions-and-pretensions#ixzz2Rry5ggf7

Harvey Cox, Fire from Heaven: The Rise of Pentecostal Spirituality and the Reshaping of Religion in the Twenty First Century (Cambridge, MA: Da Copo.Press, (1995) p.95

For those who appreciate unique and prophetic voices within the Christian Tradition (many of which appear in the pages of Jesus Radicals), we are compelled in the month of May to pause and mark the first anniversary of the death of a significant voice within the world of biblical studies and New Testament interpretation: Walter Wink.

Wink, who died on May 10, 2012 and was Professor of Biblical Interpretation at Auburn Theological Seminary in New York City, and an important and highly creative New Testament interpreter. His work on the biblical ‘principalities and powers,’ progressive interpretations of the bible and homosexuality, Jungian analysis and biblical study, and advocacy for ‘militant nonviolence,’ means his death leaves a marked gap in socially progressive Christianity and interpretation of the bible.

Wink is perhaps best known for his ‘Powers’ trilogy: Naming the Powers: The Language of Power in the New Testament, Unmasking the Powers: The Invisible Forces that Determine Human Existence, and Engaging the Powers: Discernment and Resistance in a World of Domination. Together, these book’s influence continues to be felt not only in theological circles, but also in the world of peace activists whose work confronts “the myth of redemptive violence”—a term he coined to describe the widely held belief that violence can “save.”

Wink’s writings helped reveal how widely persistent this mythology truly is, exposing its pervasiveness in the narratives of literature, contemporary film, and even children’s cartoons. For example, think of the eternal conflict between Popeye and Bluto, whose narrative resolution involves the anabolic properties of spinach and pummeling of the antagonist Bluto by Popeye in each and every episode. Wink contends we are all trained to think of this solely violent archetype for conflict resolution. ‘Resolution’ in the myth is synonymous with violence. And our imaginations are captured so completely by it that we rarely conceive of a conflict scenario that does not include responsive violence at the top of the list. If you doubt Wink’s “myth,” consider recent political dialogue on the attacks in Benghazi, or escalating tensions in Iran, or any other potentially foe-laden narrative that problematizes our world, and then listen to ‘proffered ‘solutions’ to these problems. Wink called it the “real myth” of the modern world, suggesting that culture is moved more by the myth of redemptive violence than any of the other dominant religious beliefs in America today: Judaism, Christianity, or Islam.

His analysis of the “Powers”—the psycho-socio-political structures that seem to govern history—was an important exposé on the ways in which the world systematizes violence and oppression. Nothing escaped Wink’s power analysis—even the church was indicted by it for its perpetuation of patriarchy and violence against women. His experience of the Powers was more than mere academic armchair quarterbacking too. He was an outspoken critic of the Vietnam War, serving on the steering committee for the Clergy and Laity Concerned About Vietnam from 1967 to 1976. In 1982, Wink and his wife moved to Chile in order to experience the military dictatorship of Augusto Pinochet.  It was during this time that Wink became convinced that nonviolence, what later became known as his “third way,” was the only way to overcome the domination systems of the ‘Powers.’ His ongoing work on the Powers took him to places like South Africa, Northern Ireland, Palestine, and East and West Germany, among others. He often taught churches inventive ways to nonviolently deal with the principalities and powers in their own contexts.

Wink was a powerful proponent for Jesus’ third way of dealing with the enemy—neither fight nor flight—but rather active nonviolent resistance. He elevated ‘nonviolence’ beyond its under-appreciated status as passivity or non-resistance. For Wink, nonviolence was active and even more labor-intensive than inflicting violence. In an obituary in Sojourners, one of his former students recalled Wink as an “engaged scholar, connecting the academy with the risk of the streets.” This is perhaps indicative of what will be Wink’s most lasting influence: the utility of his theology for missional praxis and social justice where it matters most—in the world.

In his most powerful moments, Wink conceived of ‘injustice’ as monumental systems that could be resisted. Above all else, he illuminated the power of nonviolent resistance and offered imaginative portraits of its ability to transform not only the disciple, but also the systems in which they exist and labor for change. Perhaps in an anthropological parallel to his work on Jesus, the “Son of Man”—which Wink contended pictured Jesus as an archetype for “true humanity”—Wink became an archetype for scholarly engagement with justice and compassion issues in the world. In this way, he provides a way forward as the truest of Jesus radicals—one who goes to the root of the matter and allows Jesus’ transformative embodiment its most precise ethical voice and practice.

Wink’s voice will be sorely missed.

In this interview, Joanna and Jarrod interview Vincent Harding.

This interview is part of the Widening the Circle mini-series.

To more deeply engage a commitment to undoing oppression with seasoned justice-seekers, the Iconocast is launching a mini-series, Widening the Circle: Experiments in Christian Discipleship. Editor Joanna Shenk and the co-hosts will interview chapter authors about their continuing journeys of discipleship, asking questions like: How has their thinking deepened around the themes they wrote about? What do they see happening in the discipleship community movement currently? What is taking shape in their community/organization? What have they let go? In the meantime, make sure to check out Widening the Circle, with stories including from Dr. Vincent Harding, Reba Place Fellowship, Christian Peacemaker Teams, Mark Van Steenwyk, Andrea Ferich, Anton Flores and Jesce Walz.

* * * * *

If you like the Iconocast, please make a donation to make more episodes possible. Each episode takes tens of hours of pre-interview prep, in-studio recording, and post-interview editing and engineering. Since each episode of the Iconocast involves multiple hosts often in different locations (as well as guests who are often on the other side of the country), recording and editing offers unique challenges. New episodes depend upon your generosity. Click here to donate.

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Intro and bumper music for this episode is Ella’s Song performed by Sweet Honey in the Rock and All Along the Watchtower as performed by Jimi Hendrix.

As a Roman Catholic woman called to ordained ministry, I have had to confront a question arising from hierarchical opposition to women’s ordination, “What gives you women the authority to preach and to administer the Sacraments?”

~~~~    ~~~~    ~~~~    ~~~~

They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.  Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, ‘What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.’ But Jesus rebuked him, saying, ‘Be silent, and come out of him!’ And the unclean spirit, throwing him into convulsions and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, ‘What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.’  (Mk 1:21-27, NRSV)

*****

When I seek internally for a sense of my own authority to teach, I find an empty space — a specific empty space.  It resembles a corner of the narthex in my childhood church.  Arriving there Sundays with my parents, brother, and sister, I heard the vestibule door close behind us; felt my feet crossing slippery tiles toward sanctuary door; inhaled amalgamated fragrances of candle wax, communion hosts, flowers, and newsprint misalettes; and saw ushers, priests, and acolytes preparing for mass.  I prepared too — by casting out my girlness as though it were an unclean spirit.

~~~~    ~~~~    ~~~~    ~~~~

They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. (Mk 1:21-22)

*****

What can we learn from studying Mark’s comparison?  Presuming “astounded” means a positive response to Jesus’ teaching, perhaps Mark tells us Jesus was a better teacher than the scribes of the Capernaum synagogue.    Or maybe Mark illustrates the elevated nature of Jesus’ teaching by comparing it favorably against that of those with an established reputation for knowledge.   Or, did the gospel writer have an ax to grind in regard to the scribes?  Although these angles are worthy of exploration, there is another option I find more useful here.

“Astounded” can mean a notable and surprising difference without regard to positive or negative, better or worse.  This leads me to ask what distinguished the authority of Jesus’ teaching from the authority of these scribes’ teaching.  Scribes’ authority derived from their encyclopedic knowledge of scripture and tradition, which made them an invaluable resource to their religious communities.  Probably a man became a scribe by studying under men who were scribes.  It seems reasonable to imagine this might at times have been passed down in families from father to son or uncle to nephew.

Matthew 13:55 tells us Jesus was a “carpenter’s son.”  Legend images Jesus as apprenticed to his father Joseph in carpentry.  The gospels, however, do not depict Jesus as carpenter.  In the gospels, Jesus teaches, heals, and gives people food. To whom was he apprenticed in these?

Why, to his mother of course . . .

~~~~    ~~~~    ~~~~    ~~~~

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, ‘They have no wine.’ And Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.’ His mother said to the servants, ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ (Jn 2:1-5)

*****

Although women of Jesus’ time were restricted from acting in the public sphere, the household was largely their domain.  There they educated the children (and servants or slaves if any), tended the sick, and prepared and served food.  The wedding in Cana story is compatible with Jesus having been apprenticed to Mary in these roles.

As far as we know, Jesus never married.  Nonetheless, at someone else’s wedding, Mary pushes him out of the nest.  The story begins, “On the third day,” meaning it is “the fullness of time;” it marks the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry.

Note the unspoken yet mutually understood meanings in this telling exchange:   Mary says, “They have no wine;” Jesus hears something like, “The wine has run out, so help everyone out by doing what I know you can do.”  Jesus refuses, “My hour has not come.”  Mary hears something like, “I don’t feel ready to grow up and leave home.”  But she remains confident that Jesus will understand and follow through.  “Do whatever he tells you,” she says to the servants.  It is the confidence of a teacher who knows her disciple is ready for commencement.

Mary’s teaching is sacramental — “mediating the grace of God through the concrete stuff of creation for the sanctification of human communities and the well-being of all God’s creation” (Moore, 10). At the wedding in Cana she presides over the sacrament of Jesus’ marriage to public ministry.  Mary is able to mediate God’s grace because she meditates on it: “But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart” (Lk 2:19). She teaches in intimate connection with daily life: “They have no wine.”  And her teaching has healing effect in human communities – as, in this case, the community is able to fully celebrate the wedding. 

I believe these things account for the astoundingly different type of authority heard in Jesus’ teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.  It is sacramental, and he learned it from his mom.  Since women didn’t teach in the synagogue, people weren’t used to this type of teaching there.  No wonder they were astounded.

So what gives me the authority to teach?  I guess it could be Mary, taking a seat in the part of my heart that is a corner of the narthex of my childhood church (St. Mary of the Mills, by the way), saying, “They have no . . .”   For if Mary was Jesus’ first role model of teaching, healing, and sharing meals as sacramental acts, then gender is no obstacle to effectively administering sacraments that pertain to any of these.  But maybe we women should refrain from carpentry?

Reference:

Moore, Mary Elizabeth. 2004. Teaching as a Sacramental Act. Cleveland: Pilgrim Press.

I recently visited my mother’s side of the family in Rhode Island. Unlike my father’s side, my maternal family is not your usual white, American Protestant family. For example, while having tea after dinner, my grandparents lectured to my mom about communism, and how authoritarianism is why, sometimes, it goes in the wrong direction. My grandfather compared the communistic endeavors of the early church (Acts 2:44, 4:32), and their eventual failure (Acts 5:1-11), to the failed Bolshevik Revolution. What is interesting about my family is that the day before, a preacher in my family, who happens to wear a Jesus fish belt buckle, was quoting David Barton and talking about America being a “Christian nation.”

In my family, I have experienced all sides of Christianity. I have experienced the radical discipleship of my grandparents, the cultural Christianity of my mother, and the hyper-nationalist evangelicalism of my aunt and cousins. Many, however, are not as fortunate as I have been. When many experience Christianity, it is in the nationalistic and oppressive form. On one hand, some experience these negative expressions of religion and stick to them, and perpetuate them. On the other hand, many of the radicals today outright reject Christianity as oppressive and fundamentalist, and then lump religion in general into that category.

I have especially found this trend in anarchist communities who dismiss religious anarchism as some sort of oxymoronic, recent invention. The truth of the matter, however, is that religious anarchism has always been there, right beside secular anarchism, and some anarchists even recognize its religious roots.

While far from complete, the purpose of this post is to provide a summary of the history of religious anarchism. Since we Christian anarchists find ourselves marginalized by both the established church and most anarchists, it is important to realize that we have a long tradition—a foundation—to build from.

There were anarchistic tendencies among certain religious sects, even before the rise of modern anarchism. Two popular secular anarchists—Peter Kropotkin and Rudolf Rocker—both described the anarchistic tendencies in religion and philosophy that predated modern anarchism. Peter Kropotkin outlined a small religious history of anarchism in his Encyclopaedia Britannica article “Anarchism,” and Rudolf Rocker gave a similar history in Anarchosyndicalism, specifically in the introductory chapter.

Kropotkin and Rocker’s histories of anarchism offer the same general description of the religious tendencies of the movement. They trace anarchism throughout history to diverse philosophers and religious reformers. They begin with Lao-Tse, the father of the Chinese religion and philosophy Taoism. Then, they trace anarchism through many of the Greek philosophers and to the Gnostics. In fact, Gnosticism typically taught against spiritual beings called “archons,” so it is “anarchistic” in one sense of the word. Finally, Rocker and Kropotkin mention numerous movements in Christianity such as the early church, the Hussites, Peter Chelcicky, early Anabaptists, Gerrard Winstanley, and the Diggers. Even in the modern anarchist movement, which largely originated with people such as William Godwin and Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, one can still find religious anarchists.

Beginning with the nineteenth century, when anarchism really formed a coherent political theory, there were a number of religious anarchist movements. Jewish anarchism, of both secular and religious varieties, became a prominent movement in the 1800s and early 1900s. From the secular side, many famous anarchists such as Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, and Noam Chomsky have Jewish roots, but what is of particular interest is religious Jewish anarchism. Within this movement, there was Yehuda Ashlag and Yankev-Meyer Zalkind, both Orthodox rabbis and libertarian communists—the latter being a friend of Rudolf Rocker. Rocker entered into the anarchist movement through the Jewish anarchist community, even though he was not Jewish. On the more mystical side of Jewish anarchism, some have drawn similarities between anarchism and Kabbalah, and Gustav Landauer had an interesting form of messianic anarchism.

The group of most interest to us, and perhaps the largest group of religious anarchists, is the modern Christian anarchist movement. As with other forms of anarchism, Christian anarchism has its roots in the 1800s (though there are anarchistic sects that did exist earlier). Beginning with the United States, Christian anarchism can be traced to Adin Ballou, Lysander Spooner, and some in the Transcendentalist movement—each linked to the Unitarian church. Ballou simply identified as a socialist, but he was a colleague of Tolstoy, and lived in a time when anarchism, Marxism, and others were not entirely separate forms of socialism. I am sure one could also list some parts of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers), Mennonites, and other similar traditions.

Perhaps the most famous Christian anarchist from this period of history was Leo Tolstoy. While he did not like to call himself an anarchist, he did agree with them in everything except for the use of violence (see “On Anarchy”), but this was before pacifist anarchism had gained acceptance. From Tolstoy emerged the Tolstoyan movement, which established Christian anarchist communities all across the globe. Even Gandhi was once a member of a Tolstoyan commune in South Africa, and exchanged letters with Tolstoy himself.

As we moved further into the 1900s, religious anarchism began to change and the effects of this period can be seen today. First, religious anarchism began to develop a strong anarcho-syndicalist flavor. Rudolf Rocker was anarcho-syndicalist, and though not Jewish himself, was closely associated with Jewish anarchism. As for Christian anarchism, Fr. Thomas Hagerty co-founded the Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), and Bart de Ligt and Dorothy Day developed a pacifist anarchism that was very syndicalist. Through people like de Ligt, Day, Ballou, and Tolstoy, Christian anarchism also became closely linked to pacifist anarchism (or anarcho-pacifism).

Religious anarchism also shifted geographically for most of the twentieth century. Where religious anarchism existed in pockets all across Europe originally, it soon shifted west. Eventually, especially after World War II, religious anarchism had almost entirely retreated across the Atlantic to the United States, with thinkers like Jacques Ellul being one of a few exceptions. It is certainly possible that non-American branches did exist during the post-war era, but the major groups like the Tolstoyans had largely disappeared by this time (after being attacked by the Soviet government). While on the other side of the ocean, the Catholic Worker Movement was strong.

If we move into the latter half of the Cold War, however, one begins to see religious expressions of anarchism becoming stronger again. In the United States, the Catholic Worker continued to be strong, and in Latin America, some expressions of Liberation Theology had anarchistic tendencies. Today, certain wings of the Zapatistas are inheritors of the anarchistic parts of Liberation Theology.

Today, I think we are having a renaissance of religious anarchism. When it comes to Christian anarchism, the Catholic Workers are still around, and we now have the Jesus Radicals, the South Pacific Christian Anarchists, and other groups. We also have many new books on the subject—where The Kingdom of God Is Within You was our only major work for a long time. Christian anarchism also seems to be picking up followers in the historical peace churches (i.e. Quakers, Anabaptist-Mennonites, Brethren, etc.), neo-Anabaptist groups, and New Monastics. It appears to be mostly centered in the United States, but there are also Latin American, European, south Pacific, and numerous other expressions internationally. In addition to Christian anarchism, the neo-pagan community seems to have developed some forms of anarchism, as have Buddhists and Muslims.

This short history of religious anarchism is exactly that—short. It is not to serve as a detailed guide to the anarchistic impulses of religion, but to show that they do in fact exist. For many today, religion is associated with the kind that I see in some parts of my family—one that is purely cultural at best or oppressive at worst. This is very unfortunate. As someone who was exposed to all shades of religion, and has a past with far-left political organizations, I think we are missing out when we create a false dichotomy between radical politics and religion. When faced with oppressive religious institutions or the anti-religious, it is important to have this third way. It is important to know our history so that we have somewhere to stand. We should not see ourselves as marginalized, but rather as part of a long tradition of radical discipleship.

“Lord God, merciful God, our Father, shall we keep silent, or shall we speak? And if we speak, what shall we say?” – Dorothy Day, January 1942

FRIDAY—THE BARE FACTS AND THE CHURCH’S RESPONSE

This is going to be a very difficult piece to write and, in all honesty, I do not know if I am going to do a very good job.  The region where I live has, in the past few months, witnessed two very heinous acts of violence that were prominently covered in the mainstream media.  On December 14 of last year, twenty children and six teachers were gunned down in a school shooting in Newton, CT.  Yesterday, three people were killed and 126 wounded when two bombs exploded at the finish line of the Boston Marathon.

Both of these events are horrific and inexcusable.  As followers in Jesus’ way of peacemaking and justice-seeking, I do believe that we are called to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15) and to “persevere in prayer” (12:8).  In this light, how could we, the Church, not respond to tragedies like these by holding services of commemoration to mourn the loss of life involved in these events?  How can we not pray for the dead, the injured and those still in harm’s way?  These are, on one level, profoundly understandable responses.

Yet, speaking only for myself, I see something else in the response to both of these events in communities to which I belong that I find a lot more troubling.

We are not only commemorating these events, we are collectivizing them.  We are going beyond saying that the Newtown school shooting and the Boston marathon bombing are traumas—which they are—to the point of saying that they are our traumas.  Facebook memes are abounding encouraging people to hug their kids or drop f-bombs about the levels of evil in the world and the like—things that one would normally do not to sympathize with another person but rather to express grief for one’s own loss.  In Church, we are singing songs like “I Want Jesus to Walk with me” and “How Can I Keep from Singing?” songs that express a personal sense of grief and loss.

This isn’t compassion or solidarity.  This isn’t reaching out in love to others who are suffering.  So what is it?

Many people on the radical left—where I locate myself—want to respond to these events in one of two ways.  One thing that they will do is to point out the underreporting of other tragedies.  After Newtown, friends and authors justifiably asked “why isn’t there this much media coverage when young, low income people of color are killed by gun violence in Newhallville or Dixwell,” neighborhoods in my city like other neighborhoods across the United States where racism, income inequality, police brutality and the criminal injustice system are conspiring to gun down children every day.  Many of the same folks are now encouraging us to remember that, on the same day as the Boston bombing, explosions also tore apart limbs and lives in Iraq and Syria.

The other response among radicals is to point to systemic causes.  Within an hour of Newtown hitting the media, memes were circulating on facebook calling for stricter gun controls.  Somewhat braver souls are now venturing to point out that, if the Boston marathon bombing was a terrorist attack (and, as I write this, it is not yet clear that it was), that it is the inevitable response of some to an ongoing (and infinitely deadlier) campaign of terrorism being carried out by the American state.

For the sake of full disclosure, I will confess that this is the direction that I was first tempted to move in.  My first response, upon hearing the news, was to remember what Rev. Jeremiah Wright told us after 11 September: “now we are indignant because the stuff we have done overseas is going on in our own front yards . . . Violence begets violence, hatred begets hatred and terrorism begets terrorism!”

These are good ways to start to think through what is going on, but they are inadequate, in my view, precisely because they do not address the difference between commemorating and collectivizing trauma.  It is all too easy to fall into either a cheap radicalism of “my tragedy is worse than your tragedy” or an easy liberalism that simply takes the existing news coverage, adds a coma and inserts other issues and events.

None of this addresses the issue that I am trying to raise here: if Newtown and Boston are not only traumas but OUR TRAUMAS, who is the “we” or the “us” in this equation?

SATURDAY—COLLECTIVE VICTIMHOOD AND THE CONSTRUCTION OF WHITENESS

I want to raise the difficult and frightening idea that the “we or “us” to whom tragedies like Newtown and Boston are deemed to be communal traumas is the collective “we” of white America.

In the case of Newtown this process was somewhat more apparent, first of all because the shooting occurred at a relatively affluent and predominantly white school.  Of the twenty children killed in the shooting, nineteen where white.  But even the internet memes and news coverage of the Boston bombing has focused largely on white suffering.  On the other side of the equation, almost nothing was made of the race of Adam Lanza, the Newtown Shooter.  Much was made of the possibility that he was mentally ill.  No such discourse has surrounded the man being held in connection with the attack on the Boston Marathon.  In the news, he is only described as “a 20 year old Saudi man,” emphasizing the fact of his race.

As a dear friend of mine remarked today, “when white people commit acts of violence, they are crazy.  When brown people commit acts of violence they are terrorists.”

I do not have space here, nor do I think it would be helpful, to systematically go through the news coverage generated in the last twenty four hours, or several months ago, and do an academic analysis.  What I am putting down on paper here is a set of personal observations, not something I make any claim to have systematically proven.  But here it is, in a nutshell.

I believe that the victims of the Newtown School Shooting and the Boston Marathon Bombing are being set up by our collectivization of the trauma of these events as martyrs to white identity and white privilege.

In collectivizing the trauma of these events, we have set up an “us” that I believe is implicitly coded as being white in a number of ways.  There is, first, the focus on events that primarily affect white people.  But there are also subtler dynamics too.  One of the biggest is the way that these particular victims are conceived of as “innocent” and the violence as “senseless.”  Have you ever noticed how, when a white person of a certain age is killed, that person is referred to as a “child” (read: innocent) but when a person of color of the same age is killed, that person is referred to as a “youth” (read: reckless, irresponsible, living on the edge)?

Our collectivization of grief and trauma also sets up an implicitly racialized, threatening “them.”  If these particular acts of violence are not only tragic but against US, then we are called to feel threatened by “crazy, senseless” people (read people of color) against whom we have to defend ourselves.  Whenever a Newtown or a Boston happens, the President always pledges to “hunt down” the guilty party.

Sometimes, this collective energy is leveraged in relatively positive ways.  After Newtown, it was used to push for stricter gun control laws that will probably save lives.  But it is also extremely dangerous, precisely because, in setting up a pure, innocent, martyred, collectively traumatized and implicitly white “us,” we create the conditions necessary for extreme violence against the senseless, raging, violent, collectively othered and implicitly black or brown “them.”  We saw after September 11, 2001, a frighteningly quick move from “we are all New Yorkers” to a “crusade” that has lasted more than ten years and killed, in its first few days, more civilians than were killed in the violence to which it was purportedly responding.

Given that the Boston Bombing is being described as an act of terrorism, I am deeply worried that our collectivization of grief and trauma—and the racial dichotomy that it sets up—will create the conditions necessary for more and more extreme acts of violence.

This is not something that I feel comfortable saying and I expect that this article will get many negative reactions.  But as a white person myself, I feel that it is my responsibility to name these dynamics, even if they are uncomfortable for me to say or for others to hear.

SUNDAY—“WE ARE STILL PACIFISTS”

I am inspired by the example of Dorothy Day who, in the article that I quoted at the beginning of this piece, was also struggling to respond to an inexcusable act of violence that was being turned into a collective trauma and therefore being used to “move our country from undeclared to declared war” with Germany, Italy and Japan.  Day wrote in circumstances far more dire than those we find ourselves in.  The violent rage that was consuming the American psyche as she wrote would eventually consume millions of lives and help justify the production and use of nuclear weapons.  In that sense it is a violence that still lives with us.

Day also struggled for the words to speak in the face of very real tragedy on the one hand and the publicly constructed collective trauma that would lead to war on the other.  In the end, she had no direct answers and neither do I.  I cannot shut off the media or stop the explosion of memes on facebook.  Realistically, I cannot even stop my own clergy from aiding in the process by expressing what they legitimately feel is a necessary form of pastoral care.

Like Day, however, we can continue to preach the Gospel—the same Gospel that we preached yesterday and the same Gospel that we will preach tomorrow—the Gospel of Peace and Liberation in Christ Jesus, Crucified and Risen.

We are still pacifists. Our manifesto is the Sermon on the Mount, which means that we will try to be peacemakers. Speaking for many of our conscientious objectors, we will not participate in armed warfare or in making munitions, or by buying government bonds to prosecute the war, or in urging others to these efforts.

We may not be able to stop the construction of whiteness through the collectivization of trauma.  But we can preach love, which means, in part, preaching racial justice.  We may not be able to stop the Church from participating in this process.  But we can ask—and should ask—why, if these traumas are “injuries to us all” our first response should not be to remind ourselves and one another that the love we show our enemies (real or imagined) is the yardstick by which the Church measures its love for God.

To the very real tragedies of this world, to the myths of Empire by which those tragedies are turned into excuses to murder other people’s children, we can only preach love.  We can do nothing but continue in works of justice and mercy, in prayer and in the faithful reading and preaching of the word and ministration of the sacraments.  We can, in short, do nothing but continue to follow Jesus to the Cross, the place that absorbs all tragedy and all imperial violence, in the radical and possibly foolish hope that this journey will ultimately lead to resurrection.  Amen.

In this episode, Joanna interviews Mary and Peter Sprunger-Froese. Since 1979, Peter and Mary Sprunger-Froese have been Mennonite peace activists with an ecumenical community in Colorado Springs. They work with homeless people, refugees, and nonviolence seekers. They find the Anabaptist story deeply sustaining in their Christianized military setting.

This is a part of the Widening the Circle mini-series.

To more deeply engage a commitment to undoing oppression with seasoned justice-seekers, the Iconocast is launching a mini-series, Widening the Circle: Experiments in Christian Discipleship. Editor Joanna Shenk and the co-hosts will interview chapter authors about their continuing journeys of discipleship, asking questions like: How has their thinking deepened around the themes they wrote about? What do they see happening in the discipleship community movement currently? What is taking shape in their community/organization? What have they let go? In the meantime, make sure to check out Widening the Circle, with stories including from Dr. Vincent Harding, Reba Place Fellowship, Christian Peacemaker Teams, Mark Van Steenwyk, Andrea Ferich, Anton Flores and Jesce Walz.

If you like the Iconocast, please make a donation to make more episodes possible. Each episode takes tens of hours of pre-interview prep, in-studio recording, and post-interview editing and engineering. Since each episode of the Iconocast involves multiple hosts often in different locations (as well as guests who are often on the other side of the country), recording and editing offers unique challenges. New episodes depend upon your generosity. Click here to donate.

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Intro and bumper music for this episode is All Along the Watchtower as performed by Jimi Hendrix.

I’m weary of Jesus talk. In the black church we say “don’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk.” You have to be sixteen to drive a car and twenty-one to drink a beer but you can talk about Jesus all you want and no one will call you on it as you long as you say the right things. But what are the right things to say about Jesus? The real Jesus that is—not the plastic Jesus riding on the dashboard of your car but the bloodied Jesus knocked in the ditch by our monster truck churches and hit-and-run lifestyles.

Flannery O’Connor understood something disturbingly true about the real Jesus. In her novel Wise Blood she wrote of her protagonist Hazel Motes, “He [Hazel] knew by the time he was twelve years old that he was going to be a preacher. Later he saw Jesus move from tree to tree in the back of his mind, a wild ragged figure motioning him to turn around and come off into the dark where he was not sure of his footing, where he might be walking on the water and not know it and then suddenly know it and drown.” ¹

Jesus as a “wild, ragged figure” is quite different from the well groomed and ever so clean person portrayed in the Sunday School literature of my youth. O’Connor’s Jesus is a mysterious character, given to the shadows, obscure and difficult to see. This Jesus is a threatening figure who gives us pause as he calls us off onto uncertain paths; or leads us out into the stormy depths where we might lose our lives.

This is a figure too scary for Sunday School children to hear about and perhaps that is part of our problem. The Jesus we were taught about as children is not the real Jesus at all. And having been taught about a phony Jesus when we are children the real Jesus encountered as an adult is unrecognized. What we might really need is a Jesus who sometimes scares the hell out of us!

The Jesus of the Gospels was often a frightening figure. In the very passage that O’Connor references where Jesus is walking on the water he comes to the disciples like a ghost (Mark 6:49-50). We often miss the frightfulness of this experience for them. Other examples of the disciples feeling afraid in the presence of Jesus occur in Mark 4:40, 5:15, 9:32 , 10:32, and 16:8. To walk with Jesus was not to walk on the sunny side of the street. Jesus led them into the darkness, the shadows, through graveyards, and into the midst of the storm.

“Who do you say that I am?” Jesus asked (Mark 8:29). Clearly he was not expecting them to parrot back something they learned in catechism class. He was asking them to make a declaration based upon their own personal experience. This experience would have been an ever-changing (orienting-disorienting-reorienting) cycle of interpretation. What kept them around until that so-not-bitter-end we call resurrection was the continual discovery that Jesus was always more than they imagined him to be. If they had left the scene early (see “rich young ruler” or “Judas Iscariot”) they would never have known that. They would have remained bound by their not-high-enough-expectations of him.

It’s crucial to understand that it was the reality of Jesus that kept blowing them away! Jesus kept surpassing their noblest ideas and their wildest dreams. That is one reason they eventually felt at ease equating Jesus with God. They had learned never to underestimate this man.

“Jesus is Lord” became a declaration of that first generation’s intense experience of him and the hold he had upon them. The disciples experienced Jesus as someone surpassing all their past prejudices, presumptions, and paradigms. They tried to append traditional titles to him (Lion of Judah, Son of Man, Messiah, etc); but these were inadequate and they kept inventing others (Lamb of God, Alpha and Omega, etc) which also remained inadequate.

Nicaea a few hundred years later finally collated and codified these titles as “one Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, begotten of the Father, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father.” We’re a long way from Mark chapter 8 now! But what remains valuable in the Nicene Creed is the bringing together of two questions that help us in understanding Jesus. The first is “who do we say that God is?” and the second is “who do we say humanity is?” Nicaea asserts that Jesus provides a clue to answer both questions — and perhaps more than just a clue.

Both God and humanity are mysteries to be explored. We are questions not answers. Jesus is a landmark and touchstone to both. He functions as a landmark that we move toward as we follow him in discipleship. He functions as a touchstone who continually helps us test discernments about ourselves and God.

By “believing in Jesus” I am staking my life on the suspicion (the strong and overwhelming suspicion) that following him will take me further in the direction I need to go than following anyone else or striking out in any direction I may sometimes want to go. I may be wrong about that or I may even at some point change my mind. Who knows? On the other hand, I might also be wrong “to set my hand to the plow and turn back” (Luke 9:62) because this “wild, ragged figure” has surprised us before. If Jesus really is Lord then we should never count him out nor give up on him too soon.

Albert Schweitzer in the conclusion to his Quest for the Historical Jesus wrote: “He comes to us as One unknown, without a name, as of old, by the lake-side, He came to those men who knew Him not. He speaks to us the same word: ‘Follow thou me!’ and sets us to the tasks which He has to fulfill for our time. He commands. And to those who obey Him, whether they be wise or simple, He will reveal Himself in the toils, the conflicts, the sufferings which they shall pass through in His fellowship, and as an ineffable mystery, they shall learn in their own experience Who He is.” ²

Schweizer emphasizes that the following precedes the knowing. Discipleship in this view is more important than orthodoxy – our walk more important than our talk. The revelation of who Jesus is comes to us in the toil, conflict, suffering we pass through in actually following Jesus. It is not that the identity of Jesus is unimportant, but that the way to knowing that identity comes through the following. Peter’s confession that “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God” comes as both a gift of grace and as part of the discipleship that made that gift possible.

And yet even then Jesus will remain “an ineffable mystery”—a wild ragged figure motioning us to turn around and come off into the dark where we are not sure of our footing. “Come and follow me,” says Jesus. Be my disciple. Take a walk on the wild side.