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As Jesus gathers with his disciples for one final dinner ‘before I suffer’, the air is thick with ironies.

One of them involves the status, stature, and deportment of those followers of his who will survive his extra-judicial murder. What is to become of these, disciples of a man who has been proclaimed a king in the manner of David but who has lived and is soon to die as a pauper? Will they be princes? Or slaves?

Also a dispute arose among them as to which of them was considered to be greatest. Jesus said to them, ‘The kings of the Gentiles lord it over them; and those who exercise authority over them call themselves Benefactors. But you are not to be like that. Instead, the greatest among you should be like the youngest, and the one who rules like the one who serves. For who is greater, the one who is at the table or the one who serves? Is it not the one who is at the table? But I am among you as one who serves.’

The answer seems clear. They are to be servants of all, for high status and the prerogatives of lords are anathema to those who would follow Jesus. As he has led them by—figuratively and literally—washing their feet, so their lives shall incarnate a servant’s destined humility. Continue Reading »

A rough diagnostic of our times lies ready at hand in the profile of those whom we choose to admire.

Our celebrities and our fads are a projection of our values and our desires. Like a modern pantheon, we paint them upon a canvas as peoples choose their deities. If we are not exactly what we worship, we at least aspire to become like the gods we have created for our service. Created to worship someone or some thing, we cannot escape this dynamic nor its determining logic unless we worship our Creator himself. But he demands so much, so we settle. Continue Reading »

Jesus spoke of calamity with an almost chillingly realistic tone. When asked about the destruction that he hinted would fall upon Jerusalem—an event that could be ominously abbreviated as ‘the end’—he located it over the horizon by sketching out the painful normalcy that must precede.

Some of his disciples were remarking about how the temple was adorned with beautiful stones and with gifts dedicated to God. But Jesus said, ‘As for what you see here, the time will come when not one stone will be left on another; every one of them will be thrown down.’

‘Teacher,’ they asked, ‘when will these things happen? And what will be the sign that they are about to take place?’

He replied: ‘Watch out that you are not deceived. For many will come in my name, claiming, “I am he,” and, “The time is near.” Do not follow them.When you hear of wars and revolutions, do not be frightened. These things must happen first, but the end will not come right away.’

Then he said to them: ‘Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom.There will be great earthquakes, famines and pestilences in various places, and fearful events and great signs from heaven.’

We fear chaos, as perhaps we should. Humanity’s bloodiest runs tend to occur not under the jackboot of empires but rather during the lawless interludes between them. Continue Reading »

The biblical proverbialist deploys sharp insight into the rhythms of the human heart. He knows what news ails and the report that cures, the loss that deadens the human soul and the novelty that brings it back to life.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a desire fulfilled is a tree of life.

If hope deferred sickens the heart, then one wonders what kind of medicine comes to us in the eighty-eighth psalm. This dark articulation of loss contains not one word of hope. Indeed it has been singled out as the only exemplar in the ‘psalms of lament’ that contains no movement towards hope’s expectation of better things. It simply chronicles the end of things, assigning the causality of catastrophe to YHWH with neither flinching nor apology. Continue Reading »

Luego de más de un año de abstinencia del cine, decidí acompañar a unos amigos recién llegados al país a ver alguna película. Nos detuvimos frente a la gran sala transitada, mientras observábamos las pocas variedades, como era de esperarse; nos ofrecían los celuloides hollywoodenses.

Eso sí, el trato con mis amigos, una pareja de colombianos estudiantes de teología; era escoger alguna cinta que nos dejara algún contenido para seguir la charla con un cafecito. Nos llamó la atención un título en cartelera: “El Rito”.

Esta película prometía basarse en hechos verosímiles que narraban la historia de un seminarista escéptico, quien luego de varios enfrentamientos con los poderes del mal, convierte su escepticismo en fe renovada que le ayuda a realizar un exorcismo. Según interpreté.

Más allá de calificar la producción como buena o mala, juzgar la actuación como siempre impecable del británico Anthony Hopkins; me puse a meditar en lo que acababa de ver mientras las luces se encendían, los créditos corrían y los espectadores se levantaban de sus sillas satisfechos o ¿insatisfechos?, por este filme.

Para empezar, encontré en esta película varias incongruencias de carácter bíblico y teológico y, una clara intención de favorecer el poder político y jerárquico de la estructura eclesiástica. Para muestra un botón: En algunas escenas el espíritu maligno o demonio dentro de la persona, era intimidado cuando se le mostraba ciertos iconos, tales como: cruces, agua bendita, rosarios, etc. En otra escena el seminarista novato intentó cerrar las cortinas de la ventana de una habitación, pero fue interrumpido por el sacerdote experimentado (Hopkins), quien sujetando a la persona posesa, ordenaba no hacerlo:

-“Para que el demonio supiera quién mandaba allí…” (En ese momento las cámaras nos mostraba al otro lado de la ventana donde a los lejos se divisaba el edificio del Vaticano).

Confieso que el tema no es algo que me desvele. Ya lo decía Juan Stam, citando a su profesor Karl Barth, quien aconsejaba a “mirar todas estas cosas con el rabo del ojo…” Advirtiendo no olvidar que la misión de la iglesia es ante todo Integral.

“La liberación espiritual,” término más reconocido en algunos sectores protestantes, es algo que se debería analizar con pinzas y bisturí en mano. Muchos hemos sido testigos de los abusos que se han cometido a lo largo de las últimas décadas por esta práctica, la cual no niego tenga su fundamento bíblico.

Pero enhorabuena porque hemos superado aquellas “cacerías de demonios” y la fe mediática de ver espíritus en todas partes. Un pastor me compartía lo frustrante que fue dar consejería en esos tiempos. Cierta vez un feligrés justificaba su constante infidelidad a su esposa, alegaba que no era su culpa, sino “de los demonios que le tenían controlado”. ¡Qué desfachatez! Aunque este tipo de pensar fue parte de las secuelas del exceso de una práctica mal interpretada y aplicada que permeó algunos sectores.

Cierta vez Jesús recriminaba la actitud de sus discípulos:

“Maestro, hemos visto a uno que en tu nombre echaba fuera demonios, pero él no nos sigue; y se lo prohibimos, porque no nos seguía. Pero Jesús dijo: No se lo prohibáis; porque ninguno hay que haga milagro en mi nombre, que luego pueda decir mal de mí. Porque el que no es contra nosotros, por nosotros es.” (Marcos 9:38-40).

Para Cristo la práctica del exorcismo, era parte de natural de su quehacer diario como promotor y representante del reino de Dios (Lucas 11:20). Y su respuesta a sus discípulos de: “no prohibirle a otros que lo estaban haciendo…”, nos demuestra que su intención nunca fue conferirle un poder exclusivo a los apóstoles; así como tampoco lo fue delegarle la “franquicia” a un sector o denominación en la actualidad. Su eficacia no descansa en artefactos, ritos o personajes, es un don de Dios dado por la autoridad de Jesús a los que en él creen.

Bien lo dijo el Señor a aquellos setenta, quienes regresaban alegres “como niño con juguete nuevo”. Era de esperarse, ¡habían visto que los demonios se sujetaban…! Más la respuesta del Señor fue como “un balde de agua fría” a sus embelesados semblantes:

“…No se alegren de que puedan someter a los espíritus, sino alégrense de que sus nombres están escritos en el cielo” (Lucas 10:20).

Continuaba la charla con mis amigos reconociendo que aquella mesa se había convertido en un espacio de reflexión por encima de las tazas de café que sorbíamos y recordábamos la época de los años noventa…

Estos fueron los años en que precisamente la “liberación espiritual” cobró mayor auge, pero rápidamente fue eclipsado por otra corriente extrema. En su lugar surgió la proliferación de una espiritualidad que rebosaba el sobre énfasis por entusiasmo del Espíritu Santo, sus dones y sus manifestaciones como un fin en sí mismo. Y de allí fuimos arrastrados por otra ola que promovía un “evangelio de ofertas”, que señalaba las promesas de las soluciones de las necesidades físicas y materiales, por encima de la misión integral y las verdades fundamentales de las escrituras.

Me parece que debemos volver a los exorcismos. Eso sí, aclaro que me estoy refiriendo a la urgente tarea de exorcizar y echar todas aquellas influencias anti-bíblicas que se han ido arraigando en la iglesia y que nosotros hemos permitido.

Juan Stam observando todas estas infiltraciones decía:

Dos de los grandes vicios de la iglesia evangélica hoy son la sed de poder, prestigio y riqueza de algunos de nuestros líderes, y entre los fieles el culto, ciego y casi idolátrico, a las personalidades famosas. Hay mucha obsesión con títulos, oficios y el poder lucir y ser importante. Se emplean constantemente las técnicas de publicidad y promoción del mundo secular. Eso es totalmente contrario al espíritu de Jesucristo y del evangelio.

Dios nos ayude a instruir a las próximas generaciones para que no cometan los mismos errores del pasado y sigan observando a Jesús como el único paradigma a seguir. La instrucción es clara, el Señor nos la mostró: “alégrense de que sus nombres están escritos en el cielo” (Lucas 10:20).

Cuando servimos al reino de Dios, toda acción nos lleva a reafirmar el compromiso cristiano en búsqueda de una genuina conversión y una fe salvífica y no un espectáculo para entretener a las masas. Lo demás, ¡es puro rito!

In the gospels’ presentation, the scribes and Pharisees come across as villainous for two reasons. First, they fail to discern the scale of relative priorities that orders the manifold demands of Torah. Second, they strain after a public pose while neglecting the righteous internal life that organically produces a public reputation.

In the face of these two failures, Jesus is merciless.

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint, dill, and cummin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faith. It is these you ought to have practiced without neglecting the others. You blind guides! You strain out a gnat but swallow a camel!

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and of the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup, so that the outside also may become clean. (Matthew 23:23–26 NRSV)

Hypocrisy is endlessly subtle and supple. Its capacity for adapting to the self-protective requirements of the moment is almost inexhaustible.

Yet it pivots upon these two sins, making righteousness all the more difficult for those who by ignorance or principle fail to play by ‘pharisaical’ religion’s arbitrary and self-referential rules.

In Jesus’ dialect, those who act this way—no matter how nicely starched their robes—are sons of hell.

The high value of wisdom is dynamic rather than static.

It is a gift—the Proverbs also consider it an achievement—that keeps on giving. Some forms of wealth hold their value but do not generate more. Wisdom is active, catalytic, interest-bearing, expansive. Wisdom adapts to a changing environment and proves its worth with suppleness as circumstances evolve.

Happy are those who find wisdom, and those who get understanding, for her income is better than silver, and her revenue better than gold. She is more precious than jewels, and nothing you desire can compare with her. (Proverbs 3:13–15 NRSV)

The wise person is no mere repository of information. Rather, the sage takes in his predicament—or that of his community—and knows what to do. The wise woman does not live encased in fear of the unknown, for she has the capacity to deal with the unknown when it shows its face. The wise man does does not merely bear information that will prove useful tomorrow. He walks toward tomorrow with supreme usefulness.

Silver and gold are good things. Yet they must be stored, secured, and transported. Each stage of the process throws up risks and liabilities.

Wisdom, by contrast, works its way into the warp and woof of a human life.

It requires neither protection nor heavy lifting, though the cultivation of it is the most arduous effort.

Where the wise person goes, it goes too.

The eleventh psalm has often been quoted as a counsel of despair.

If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do? (Psalm 11:3 NRSV)

Whether as a summons to vote this or that political party into office or a warning against the dismantling power of a culture’s decay, the psalmist is brought in to verify that righteous deeds become impotent when the wider culture has crossed a certain threshold of barbarism.

Most modern English translations of the Bible make a critical placement of the quotation marks that turns these words into the counsel of the despairing who have lost their confidence in YHWH. They are probably right to do so.

In the LORD I take refuge; how can you say to me, ‘Flee like a bird to the mountains; for look, the wicked bend the bow, they have fitted their arrow to the string, to shoot in the dark at the upright in heart. If the foundations are destroyed, what can the righteous do?’

Read in this way, the psalm does not counsel despair. It refutes it.

For two reasons, the poet reckons that discouragement is implausible. First, the discouraging word directed at him does not take into account his own programmatic decision to trust in YHWH.

Second, such pessimism fails to fathom the searching, testing gaze of YHWH, who has not left his throne. Nor does it contemplate YHWH’s moral passions.

The LORD is in his holy temple; the LORD’S throne is in heaven. His eyes behold, his gaze examines humankind. The LORD tests the righteous and the wicked, and his soul hates the lover of violence. On the wicked he will rain coals of fire and sulfur; a scorching wind shall be the portion of their cup. For the LORD is righteous; he loves righteous deeds; the upright shall behold his face.

As long as YHWH still hates the lover—splendid paradox—of violence, the discouraging word rings emptily. So long as YHWH still loves righteous deeds and brings the doer of them into intimate conversation with himself, despair is not only implausible. It sounds faintly ridiculous.

their faith: Matthew 9

We think of faith as a matter of the heart.

Each man, woman, or child has faith. Faith is mine, faith is private, faith is the exertion of a person’s will against the privations, limitations, and frustrations of circumstance.

So we believe, for our culture has taught us well. We have been good learners.

Yet over and above the indelible individuality of faith and the experience of it, the biblical witness allows us to glimpse shared faith.

And just then some people were carrying a paralyzed man lying on a bed. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Take heart, son; your sins are forgiven.’

In the famous story of the paralytic whose friends bore him to Jesus, these men would not be stopped. Although Matthew’s telling does not linger over such details, we learn elsewhere that they cut their way through a roof and lowered the man practically on top of Jesus. Crowds clogged the doorway and faith would not permit postponement.

Curiously—for us, at least—the text discerns Jesus’ motivation to heal this man in the faith of more than one individual. It is reasonable, though perhaps not necessary, to imagine that the paralyzed man shared the adventurous confidence of his friends. They appear convinced that—if only Jesus could me made aware of their friend’s plight—he would do something. The text does not find it urgent to localize faith in them or in him or in any one.

Jesus sees their faith, turns to a man who has forgotten how to move his limbs, and pronounces his sins forgiven.

They walk away, the man’s litter tucked under someone’s arm.

Sometimes we carry a fallen friend to Jesus, believing—almost—for him.

Both the righteous sufferer and the gloating murderer speak to the absence of God.

The former employs a question mark, the latter an exclamation point. So do they determine their own destiny.

The tenth psalm bursts upon its reader with one of the psalter’s classic, pained questions:

Why, O LORD, do you stand far off?
Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble? (Psalm 10: 1-2 NRSV)

When the righteous sufferer addresses the hiddenness of God, he knows that something is wrong and pleads for it to be set right.

By contrast, the troubler of the poor affirms God’s absence as the convenient status quo.

They stoop, they crouch,
and the helpless fall by their might.
They think in their heart, ‘God has forgotten,
he has hidden his face, he will never see it.’

The righteous lament God’s hiddenness. The wicked declare it their stage and prance blood-stained and cackling upon it.

The psalms know that YHWH’s absence is not the final word, even as they plead for the void to be filled by his raised arm. The wicked imagine that—since no just Governor watches or cares—all things are possible.

The righteous prays for resolution. The wicked assumes continuity.

The world hangs on a prayer.