What Are Biblical Values?, by John J. Collins (2019)

John J. Collins investigates a series of contemporary questions through the lens of the Bible. He attempts to arrive at a clearer picture of where the Bible "stands" on tricky issues.

In the chapter called Violence and Zeal, for instance, Collins argues that the Bible presents mixed messages about if/when violence is justified. In the Old Testament, Yahweh is "a man of war" (Exodus 15:3) who uses violence, at times, to impose his will and to punish humans. Collins writes that "It does not always follow that his followers are authorized to act as Yahweh does, but he sets a powerful example." Collins also emphasizes the statement that "there is a time to kill" (Ecclesiastes 3:3).

A concrete example of justified violence is the conquest of Canaan by the Israelites. In Deuteronomy 7:2, the Israelites are advised to show no mercy. Although the conquest probably did not actually occur, "the texts present a model for the way Israel should relate to its neighbors."

According to Collins, one way that Jewish theologians have addressed the problematic Biblical narratives is by arguing that they concerns historical groups (like the Canaanites) who no longer exist, and cannot be analogized to modern people like the Palestinians. Collins points out that this treatment is unsatisfactory: "If the kind of violence that is extolled in these texts now seems unacceptable, should these texts still be regarded as authoritative and, if so, in what sense?"

Learning to Pray, by James Martin, SJ (2021)

Earlier this year, I thoroughly enjoyed James Martin's My Life with the Saints. 

Martin writes with impressive clarity. I love the way that he weaves together personal anecdotes, historical context, and theological rumination. 

His books make me think about Father Hicks and the other Jesuits at Nativity. They had a significant impact on my life, both in terms of introducing me to the joys of education and providing a model for the contemplative life. Martin writes about the Jesuit Retreat Center in Gloucester, Massachusetts, which I believe is where our faculty spent a couple of days in 1996 or 1997.

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Beginning when I worked at Nativity, I have heard about the Spiritual Exercises, but I have not read the book nor was I familiar with any of the details. Martin's explanation of Ignatian contemplation (beginning on page 238) is fascinating.

The idea is that you picture yourself in the midst of a Biblical story or scene. You use all of your senses to imagine as many details as you can. You establish the scene, and then you let your mind roam freely and see what happens. Here is part of Martin's explanation:

St. Ignatius did not invent this type of Christian prayer. It probably dates from the first person who heard the story of one of Jesus's miracles and imagined what it would have been like to have been there ... More than a thousand years later, St. Francis of Assisi encouraged people to place themselves in the scene when he created the tradition of the Christmas creche...

But it was Ignatius who popularized imaginative prayer in his 16th century manual Spiritual Exercises, where it is the basis of much of the prayer in that book. This was one of Ignatius's favorite ways to help people enter into a relationship with God, and it flowed from his own experience...

As with any prayer, first ask God to be with you and help you. St. Ignatius often suggests asking for a specific intention, for example, to be closer to God, to understand Jesus more, to experience healing. He also asks us to be generous in our prayer, not only with our time, but with how much of ourselves we give. By "giving ourselves," I mean being as present, aware and attentive as possible, remaining open to wherever God might lead us; and being willing to spend whatever time we allotted for our prayer, even if it seems dry.

Earlier in the book, I enjoyed reading Martin's explanation of the power of rote prayers (page 118). 

I have been saying the Lord's Prayer more than "original" prayers in the past couple of months, so this portion of the text feels very relevant. 

Martin states that we pray rote prayers for a number of reasons:

First, we know them. In times of struggle or when words fail us, it's helpful to have a "premade" prayer. Having them memorized is of even greater help...

Second, they have distinguished history. Many rote prayers come from significant religious figures. The most obvious example is the Our Father, which came from the lips of Jesus himself after the disciples said to him, "Teach us to pray." That alone should recommend the Our Father.

Third, when we pray them, we united ourselves with believers throughout the world and down through time. Have you ever wondered how many people are praying the Our Father at the same time you are? The prayer connects you to believers around the world in a way that is mysterious (you can't see them) but real (you know that people are surely praying the prayer). Thus, when you pray the Our Father, you are engaging in a communal act of worship.

Finally, I find Martin's steps for reading sacred texts to be helpful (page 266). He says this process is called Lectio:

1. Reading - What does the text say?

2. Meditation - What does the text say to me?

3. Prayer - What do I want to say to God on the basis of this text?

4. Action - What difference can this text make in how I act? What possibilities does it open up? What challenges does it pose?

The Triumph of Christianity, by Bart Ehrman

Bart Ehrman writes some of clearest analyses of early Christianity. I've recently been reading The Triumph of Christianity, in which he explores the reasons that the religion became so popular. Here are his statistics summarizing its spread:

• In 30 CE, there were approximately 20 followers of Jesus
• In 300 CE, there were 2 to 3 million Christians

The earliest historians of Christianity (including Edward Gibbon) argued that Christianity spread so quickly because it was superior to Roman polytheism: "Christianity filled the spiritual vacuum created by the collapse of paganism, which fell under its own weight. At this point in antiquity, no one could any longer believe the ridiculous myths of the pagans or accept the bizarre cultic practices established by age-old traditions." (p. 106)

Ehrman explains why the Gibbon view is misguided. The discussion reminds me of my class discussions about why contemporary believers have tended to choose monotheistic frameworks (one of the Abrahamic faiths, or the Brahman-centric view of Hinduism) rather than polytheism.

Ehrman's Reasons for the Massive Expansion of Christianity

1. Romans were ready to accept Christianity, in part because many of them were already henotheistic (p. 111). Henotheism refers to the belief in a central, "overarching" god, without excluding other gods.

2. Unlike Roman Polytheism, Christianity was evangelistic (p. 116). Why? Paul taught that Jesus died in order for God to bring salvation to the world. When God "entered into judgment," people who had accepted Jesus would be saved, while those who had not accepted Jesus would suffer eternal punishment. "If God commands his people to love others and to act in ways that will benefit them, and if others are destined to the coming divine judgment unless they turn to God in repentance, there is only one clear conclusion: Christians need to urge others to adopt their religion ... It is the only way a Christian can really show love for the other."

- A historian named Martin Goodman argues that Paul was "the single apostle who invented the whole idea of a systematic conversion of the world, area by geographical area."

- Ironically, until the conversion of Constantine, Christian missionary work was unorganized (it was done at the individual, informal level), with just a few exceptions:

• 
  Gregory the Wonderworker (worked in Pontus (northern Turkey) during the 200s)
  
• Martin of Tours (a bishop during the 300s in France)
• Porphyry (a bishop during the 300s in Gaza)

3. Unlike Roman Polytheism, Christianity was exclusive. Once you converted to Christianity, you were expected to abandon all other beliefs.

4. Reports of miracles -- by Jesus, but also by his followers -- convinced many people to convert to Christianity. The story of Gregory the Wonderworker commanding pagan demons (p. 149) is an example. Ehrman explains the importance of miracles as follows:

"It is important to recall a key point at which ancient pagans and Christians agreed with respect to human interaction with the divine. Participating in worship was believed to have real benefits. Among pagans, gods were worshiped, on one hand, simply because they were great and deserved to be acknowledged and revered for who they were ... even more than that, the gods were worshiped because of the great benefactions they could give: they controlled the weather, caused the crops to grow, made the livestock multiply, healed the sick, and protected travelers from harm ... The gods had superhuman powers, and, in no small measure, worship allowed people to access that power. 

Why, then, would a pagan decide to worship a new or different god? For the same reason: he too could do miracles, and even better ones. But in this case there was a catch. Anyone who came to worship the Christian god was expected to forgo the worship of the other gods."

The Council of Chalcedon: Nestorians and Miaphysite Christians

Athanasius (298-373)

This summer, I am trying to improve my understanding of (1) the history of Christianity and (2) the varieties of belief within Christianity. To that end, I am currently reading (and listening to) Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years by Diarmaid MacCulloch.

There was considerable theological ferment during the 300s and 400s, as Christians debated whether and how to systematize their beliefs. A series of councils developed creedal statements that organized Christian beliefs and resolved (or aimed to resolve) budding controversies.

For example, the Council of Nicaea (called by Emperor Constantine in 325) examined the question of Jesus's relationship to God the Father. The context was that two important leaders disagreed about the theology: Athanasius stated that Jesus had been "begotten" by the Father from his own being (and therefore had no beginning), while Arius believed that Jesus had been created and did have a beginning.

The bishops who gathered at Nicaea overwhelmingly sided with Athanasius; therefore, the Nicene Creed states:

[And we believe in] one Lord Jesus Christ,

the only Son of God,

begotten from the Father before all ages,

God from God,

Light from Light,

true God from true God,

begotten, not made;

of the same essence as the Father.

I think I'm starting to get my head around the Athanasius/Arius debate. The key question seems to have been the extent to which Jesus was a "regular" human, and the resolution seems to have been that he's not regular at all.

The next debate is proving trickier for me to understand, and it has to do with the nature of God and Jesus.

The Council of Chalcedon was called by Emperor Marcian in 451, and its primary focus was whether Jesus had both a divine and human nature or only a single (combined) nature. The lay of the land was as follows:

- Nestorius, the bishop of Constantinople (and a follower of Theodore), argued that Jesus definitely had two natures. He attacked references to Mary as Theotokos ("Bearer of God"), because he did not believe it was possible for God to be born; thus, Jesus's human nature must have been distinct from his God nature.

- Cyril, the bishop of Alexandria, Cyril argued that Jesus had one nature that unified his God hypostasis (this word means "person") and his human hypostasis. The idea of one nature is called the hypostatic union.

This is where it gets extremely tricky for me. The Council of Chalcedon tried to thread the theological/linguistic needle between these two positions, and it did indeed satisfy most Christians. Here are excerpts from MacCulloch:

The Chalcedonian agreement centred on a formula of compromise. Although it talked of the Union of Two Natures, and took care to give explicit mention to Theotokos [in this sense, the agreement favored Cyril], it largely followed Nestorius's viewpoint about 'two natures', 'the distinction of natures being in no way abolished because of the union.' 

... In the manner of many politically inspired middle-of-the-road settlements, the Chalcedonian Definition left bitter discontents on either side in the Eastern Churches. 

On the one hand were those who adhered to a more robust affirmation of two natures in Christ and who felt that Nestorius had been treated with outrageous injustice.

On the other side, history has given those who treasure the memory of Cyril a label which they still resent, Monophysites ("a single nature"), though this label has been widely replaced by Miaphysite ("one nature").

Today, most sources seem to use the term Church of the East (or Assyrian Church of the East) for people who held onto the Nestorian perspective and Oriental Orthodox (which includes Coptic Orthodox) for people who held onto the Miaphysite perspective. Here are two different graphic depictions that are helpful for me:

One interesting detail is that the Coptic Orthodox Church has a pope; other than Roman Catholics, they are the only other group to use this title. In the case of Coptic Orthodoxy, the current pope is Tawadros II, born in Egypt in 1952.

Pope Tawadros II