By John Indermark

Did you know that the gospel of Luke provides its own “overview” or prologue of what will follow? Read Luke 1:1–4. Listen to how several key phrases open up this gospel to us.

“Orderly account” occurs not once but twice in these verses. This phrase acknowledges Luke’s contribution to written witnesses of Jesus’ life and ministry that already exist. This phrase also underscores the importance of points of view in the gospels. For if Luke (and those others to whom he refers) wanted to record a single “unanimous” gospel, why should Luke add yet another recording? The answer leans in the direction of Luke’s giving voice to the themes of Jesus’ ministry that strike home most closely to Luke and Luke’s community.

A very brief sketch of those themes most closely identified with Luke, often exhibited in stories unique to Luke includes: (1) the inclusion of those often considered outside the scope of God’s love and concern (crucified thieves, good Samaritans, welcomed and welcoming prodigals); (2) the importance of prayer and worship (Luke begins with Zechariah and ends with the disciples at the temple); (3) the concern for justice for those who are poor along with warnings about wealth (perhaps most clearly revealed in Mary’s Magnificat in 1:46–55 and Luke’s version of the Beatitudes in 6:20–26).

“Events that have been fulfilled” underscores how Luke will frequently portray the ministry of Jesus as a fulfillment (not a rejection!) of Judaism and the promises God made. Jesus as a boy at the temple and as a young man returning to his hometown synagogue is portrayed as one who keeps those traditions. Luke 1 contrasts Zechariah’s initial disbelief of promise with Mary’s acceptance and openness to God’s fulfillment of those promises.

Luke ends (and the Book of Acts begins) on the note of the promise of God’s Spirit, so fulfillment comes not only in resurrection, but in the next part of the story.
 
“Just as they were handed down to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses” subtly reveals that the author/editor of the gospel of Luke identifies with second-generation Christians. There is a clear reliance of others identified as eyewitnesses. This may also bring the often-made connections between the author of Luke with that of Acts, especially those who assert Luke as an occasional travel partner with Paul on parts of his missionary journeys (several sections in the middle of Acts are written in the first-person plural).

“For you, most excellent Theophilus” raises intriguing possibilities. Both Luke’s prologue and the first verse of the Book of Acts mention this name. Some suggest Theophilus is a specific individual, perhaps a Roman official who served as some sort of patron for this work. Some read Luke 1:4 to suggest that Theophilus was actually a member of the community to whom the gospel was written, so that this becomes a sort of dedication. Others suggest looking at the meaning of the Greek word “theophilus” – lover of God. Following that, some consider Luke to use this name as a “code word” for all those in the church, including all of us.

The placement of the author’s prologue/summary at the very beginning of the gospel serves to open the story to all, which is as already noted above one of the gospel’s chief themes. By letting us know at the outset what this gospel is about, the author “makes room” for us to welcome ourselves into this faith through the stories that will follow. The agenda is far from modest: the author would open the gospel to the whole world, a detail provided by the genealogy in chapter 3. There, the family tree of Jesus traces back past David, past Abram – all the way to “son of Adam, son of God.” For Luke’s gospel aims to include the whole world in the reach of God’s grace as seen in the all-inclusive ministry of Jesus.

John Indermark is a frequent writer for Seasons of the Spirit. John is the author of several books, his most recent is Do Not Live Afraid which is published by Upper Room Books.

By John Indermark

Here’s a trick question for a game of trivia: the gospel of Luke begins with the story of whose birth? Answer: John (the Baptizer).

John’s father was a priest named Zechariah. Luke identifies his mother, Elizabeth, as a “relative” of Mary the mother of Jesus. The exact meaning of “relative” is unclear. Any impression that John and Jesus would grow up together and know each other as cousins is dismissed by John 1:33 (“I myself did not know him” – John speaking of Jesus). The gospels do not focus on the family ties between John and Jesus. What matters is the relationship of their ministries.

John the Baptizer, as his unofficial “surname” indicates, urged a symbolic washing linked to repentance to signify the new life of turning to God. He was not alone. The Dead Sea Scrolls have made clear that at least some of the communities associated with those writings practiced regular ritual washings. Like them, John the Baptizer exercised his ministry in the Judean wilderness. The valley of the Jordan River wound far below and a long day’s journey from Jerusalem. John had a following of disciples not unlike those who would later follow Jesus. Several of John’s disciples became Jesus’ disciples (John 1:36–37). Some scholars suggest that much of the material about John in the first chapter of Luke originated among John’s followers.

Zechariah’s blessing (Luke 1:68–79) names John a prophet. That does not mean he will be a fortune teller. Rather, a prophet is a truth-teller. And the truth John has come to declare is the approach of God and the preparation required to ready our lives for that coming.

In Luke 3, we find material that indicates the preparation John sought. To be sure, baptism or some ritual form of washing was involved. But John the Baptizer was by no means interested in purely symbolic expressions of turning. His call was for transformed lives. When the crowds, then tax collectors and finally soldiers ask what they should do, John offers specific guidance directly related to the conduct of their lives and professions. It is not business as usual, with everyone for themselves. The ethic is sharing. The ethic is justice. John’s motive for action is expectation, and that expectation is in Luke’s words “good news” (euaggellion).

John’s proclamation is close in spirit to the ethical direction of Jesus’ sermon on the mount (Matthew 5–7). Both proclaimed the nearness of God’s coming that evoked the need for turning (repentance) and trust in God. Both died at the hands of abusive political power (John by order of Herod Antipas, Jesus by order of Pilate).

Traditionally, the church has portrayed John purely as one who “prepares the way.” The gospels are filled with that imagery. “I baptize you with water… he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Luke 3:16). “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). “I am not worthy to carry his sandals” (Matthew 3:11). Perhaps some of that portrayal owed to a desire to draw into the church those who continued to follow John’s teachings. Or, as others suggest, that “subordination” may have reflected a desire to undercut the arguments of John’s followers that he, not Jesus, was the one to follow.

What is clear, however, is the major role played by John the Baptizer in that era and in association with Jesus. Family or not, rival or not, John and Jesus changed the landscape in ministries with remarkable con-nections: a common announcement of the good news of God’s coming, and lives called to transformation as a result.

John Indermark is a frequent writer for Seasons of the Spirit. John is the author of several books, his most recent is Do Not Live Afraid which is published by Upper Room Books. This article first appeared in Congregational Life, Advent, Christmas, Epiphany 2006–2007.

An excerpt from The Misunderstood Jew by Amy-Jill Levine

With the stress in some churches on Jesus’ divine sonship, the cross, the resurrection, and the redemptory role of saving humanity from sin and death, his historical connection to Judaism gets lost along with his very Jewish message of the kingdom of heaven.

The problem is more than one of silence. In the popular Christian imagination, Jesus still remains defined, incorrectly and unfortunately, as “against” the Law, or at least against how it was understood at the time; as “against” the Temple as an institution and not simply against its first-century leadership; as “against” the people Israel but in favor of the Gentiles. Jesus becomes the rebel who, unlike every other Jew, practices social justice. He is the only one to speak with women; he is the only one who teaches non-violent responses to oppression; he is the only one who cares about the “poor and marginalized.” Judaism becomes in such discourse a negative foil: whatever Jesus stands for, Judaism isn’t it; whatever Jesus is against, Judaism epitomizes the category. Jesus and his followers such as Peter and Mary Magdalene become identified as (proto-)Christian; only those who chose not to follow him remain “Jews.”

This divorcing of Jesus from Judaism does a disservice to each textually, theologically, historically, and ethically. First, the separation severs the church’s connections to the Scriptures of Israel – what it calls the Old Testament. Because Jesus and his earliest followers were all Jews, they held the Torah and the Prophets sacred, prayed the Psalms, and celebrated the bravery of Esther and the fidelity of Ruth. To understand Jesus, one must have familiarity with the Scriptures that shaped him.

Second, the insistence on Jesus’ Jewish identity reinforces the belief that he was fully human, anchored in historical time and place. This connection is known as the “scandal of particularity”: not only does the church proclaim that the divine took on human form, it also proclaims that it took on this form in a particular setting among a particular people. The church claims that divinity took on human flesh – was “incarnated” – in Jesus of Nazareth. The time and the place therefore matter. Further, the Jewish tradition into which Jesus was born and the Christian tradition that developed in his name were “historical religions,” that is, their foundational events took place in history and on earth, rather than in some mythic time and mythic place; they have a starting point and a vision for the future. To disregard history, to disregard time and place, is to be unfaithful to both Judaism and Christianity.

Historically, Jesus should be seen as continuous with the line of Jewish teachers and prophets, for he shares with them a particular view of the world and a particular manner of expressing that view. Like Amos and Isaiah, Hosea and Jeremiah, he used arresting speech, risked political persecution, and turned traditional family values upside down in order to proclaim what he believed God wants, the Torah teaches, and Israel must do. This historical anchoring need not and should not, in Christian teaching, preclude or overshadow Jesus’ role in the divine plan. He must, in the Christian tradition, be more than just a really fine Jewish teacher. But he must be that Jewish teacher as well.

Further, Jesus had to have made sense in his own context, and his context is that of Galilee and Judea. Jesus cannot be understood fully unless he is understood through first-century Jewish eyes and heard through first-century Jewish ears. To understand Jesus’ impact in his own setting – why some chose to follow him, others to dismiss him, and still others to seek his death – requires an understanding of that setting. If we today have difficulty fathoming how our grandparents could function without the Internet and cell phones, let alone without television, how can we possibly presume to understand the worldview of Jesus and his contemporaries without asking a few historical questions?

When Jesus is located within the world of Judaism, the ethical implications of his teachings take on renewed and heightened meaning; their power is restored and their challenge sharpened. Conversely, the failure to understand the Jewish Jesus within his Jewish context has resulted in the creation and perpetuation of millennia of distrust, and worse, between church and synagogue.

From The Misunderstood Jew: The Church and the Scandal of the Jewish Jesus by Amy-Jill Levine.
Copyright © 2006 by Amy-Jill Levine.  Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.

Philippi in the time of Paul was a Roman kolonia. This does not indicate a “colony” as we might think of it. It conveys more of a sense of “little Rome.” Philippi was a distant place where a Roman citizen could feel at home. In Philippi, one could find many expressions of Roman culture.

Philippi was the leading city of Macedonia. Former Roman soldiers and other Roman citizens settled in Philippi. As a result, the culture there became a blend of older Greek culture and newer Roman culture. Not all of Philippi’s residents were Roman citizens. However, it seems that those who weren’t largely accepted the Roman culture. This included participation in the activities that “bound together again” (in Latin, religio) the people of the Roman Empire.

It is difficult to estimate the population of ancient cities. Philippi was probably between 20,000 and 100,000 people. It is likely that only 50 people or so would have identified themselves as members of the church addressed by Paul’s letter.

Paul refers to the Christian community as an ekkl¯e sia.(See also Philippians 4:15.) This term, which we usually translate “church,” had its origins in the political assembly of Athens several centuries earlier. It literally means “called out.” Paul’s choice of this word points to his understanding that the “church” was to be an alternative society right in the midst of the Roman Empire. Thus, if Philippi was seen as a distant “outpost” of the Roman emperor, the ekkl¯e  sia was an “outpost” of God’s empire. The Roman citizens of Philippi counted on an imperial visit in the event of trouble. In a similar manner, the Christians awaited the “presence” (parousia) of their saviour, Christ.

Paul’s letter strives to bolster the church’s allegiance to Christ in the face of the prevailing lordship of Caesar. Paul’s letter brims with confidence in God and in the Philippians. Paul is certain that what God has begun in them will be completed.

During this second half of the Season after Pentecost, we listen to exhortations, encouragement, stories, and letters from Matthew and Paul. Both are writing to and through three very early Christian churches.

There is little information on the community of the gospel of Matthew, other than clues given in the gospel itself. Several places have been suggested for its location; however, most scholars situate the community in Antioch. Matthew is the only gospel to use the term church to describe this community of followerscommissioned to go intothe world in ministry and mission (Matthew 28:18–20).

Paul’s message in our readings from Philippians and 1 Thessalonians is directed to the young and forming churches in Philippi and Thessalonica.
In order to better appreciate Matthew’s gospel and Paul’s epistles, it is helpful to know more about the communities surrounding these early churches. As you read about these communities, keep in mind your own church and wider community. Who lives in your wider community? What in-fluences your worship, witness, and serving? What are your struggles in remaining faithful?

Antioch

Antioch was the capital in the province of Syria of the Roman Empire, what is now Turkey. Like many urban centres, then and now, the citizens held a wide variety of worldviews. In Antioch one could find people who were influenced by Greek philosophy, Roman culture, and Jewish traditions.

Matthew’s audience was probably living one or two generations after Jesus’ resurrection. Because some of the believers had died before the anticipated event of Christ’s return, one of the central questions of this group was how to stay faithful over the long haul.

The people in this early Christian community at Antioch likely included both Jews and Gentiles. One of their challenges was to forge a united community of people from many backgrounds. Matthew portrays Jesus as a new Moses, providing Torah-like wisdom to guide the community. Key to that wisdom is the ability to bring forward ancient, but still living, tradition while remaining open to God’s ever-new Word.

Philippi

Philippi was the leading city of Macedonia, what is now northeastern Greece. Documents of Roman history report that Mark Antony captured Philippi and founded it as a Roman colony about 42 BCE. Antony settled many former Roman soldiers in Philippi. As a result, the culture there became a blend of older Greek culture and newer Roman culture.

Philippi in the time of Paul was a Roman kolonia. This does not indicate a “colony” as we might think of it. It conveys more of a sense of “little Rome.” Philippi was a distant place where a Roman citizen could feel at home. In Philippi, one could find many expressions of Roman culture.  Not all of Philippi’s residents were Roman citizens. However, it seems that those who weren’t largely accepted the Roman culture.

Paul refers to the Christian community as an ekkl¯e sia. (See Philippians 4:15.) This term, which we usually translate “church,” had its origins in the political assembly of Athens several centuries earlier. It literally means “called out.”

Paul’s choice of this word points to his understanding that the “church” was to be an alternative society right in the midst of the Roman Empire. Thus, if Philippi was seen as a distant “outpost” of the Roman empire, the ekkl¯e sia was an “outpost” of God’s empire. The Roman citizens of Philippi counted on an imperial visit in the event of trouble. In a similar manner, the Christians awaited the “presence” (parousia) of their saviour, Christ.

Thessalonica

Thessalonica, also in Macedonia, was about 160 km/100 mi. from Philippi. This city was founded in 316 BCE by a general of Alexander the Great and named for his wife. After Macedonia became part of the Roman Empire in 146 BCE, Thessalonica became the centre of Roman administration for the region of Macedonia. Thessalonica maintained strong allegiance to the Pax Romana of the Roman Empire and its claim to provide “peace and security.” This explains Paul’s warning in 1 Thessalonians 5:3. “When they say, ‘There is peace and security,’ then sudden destruction will come upon them, as labour pains come upon a pregnant woman, and there will be no escape!”

Paul’s letter to the church in Thessalonica is probably the earliest writing we have from Paul. The struggle that Paul mentions was likely not official persecution, as there weren’t enough Christians to matter to the government. Rather, Paul refers to the deeper, daily challenge to remain faithful amidst temptations to conform to the world.

The letter to the Thessalonians reveals Paul’s forging of a new faith language. It is difficult for us to imagine the time before “standard” Christian terminology developed. Terms that may seem familiar to us, such as gospel, salvation, or second coming, were new in this letter. Some terms from Paul’s later letters, such as redemption and justification, are not used here. Surprisingly, Paul’s central teaching about the cross is not even mentioned in this letter.

The central message of this letter is the “lordship of Jesus Christ,” rather than the lordship of the emperor. This phrase is used eleven times in the letter. Paul urges the Christians in Thessalonica to stay faithful to Christ in the midst of the surrounding Roman culture. The steadfastness in faith exhibited by this tiny community in Christ remains a testament for us today. From the Thessalonians we can learn to trust in God alone when other voices are calling for our allegiance.

Your community and church

Your church continues the story and theology started by the early Christian churches in Antioch, Philippi, and Thessalonica. Reflect on the following questions. Based on your responses, write a paragraph describing your church.

· What are the demographics of your congregation, the neighbourhood surrounding your church, and your city?
· What are the most important aspects of the culture of your community (customs, arts, conveniences, etc.)?
· What would you say are the most important aspects of the culture of your congregation?
· What “living traditions” does your church have that you value?
· What issues are most important to your church at this time?
· What is your church “called out” to do? Does it have a specific mission statement?
· In what ways would you say its vision is different from the popular culture?
· What daily challenges does your church face to remain faithful and to trust in God alone?
· What encouragement does your congregation offer to those who seek to live faithfully?

FAREWELL TO THE RAPTURE
by N.T. Wright, Bible Review, August 2001

Little did Paul know how his colourful metaphors for Jesus’ second coming would be misunderstood two millennia later.

The American obsession with the second coming of Jesus – especially with distorted interpretations of it – continues unabated. Seen from my side of the Atlantic, the phenomenal success of the Left Behind books appears puzzling, even bizarre.¹ Few in the U.K. hold the belief on which the popular series of novels is based: that there will be a literal “rapture” in which believers will be snatched up to heaven, leaving empty cars crashing on freeways and kids coming home from school only to find that their parents have been taken to be with Jesus while they have been “left behind.” This pseudotheological version of Home Alone has reportedly frightened many children into some kind of (distorted) faith.

This dramatic end-time scenario is based (wrongly, as we shall see) on Paul’s First Letter to the Thessalonians, where he writes: “For the Lord himself will descend from heaven with a shout of command, with the voice of an archangel and the trumpet of God. The dead in Christ will rise first; then we, who are left alive, will be snatched up with them on clouds to meet the Lord in the air; and so we shall always be with the Lord” (1 Thessalonians 4:16–17).

What on earth (or in heaven) did Paul mean?

It is Paul who should be credited with creating this scenario. Jesus himself, as I have argued in various books, never predicted such an event.² The gospel passages about “the Son of Man coming on the clouds” (Mark 13:26, 14:62, for example) are about Jesus’ vindication, his “coming” to heaven from earth. The parables about a returning king or master (for example, Luke 19:11–27) were originally about God returning to Jerusalem, not about Jesus returning to earth. This, Jesus seemed to believe, was an event within space-time history, not one that would end it forever.

The Ascension of Jesus and the Second Coming are nevertheless vital Christian doctrines,³ and I don’t deny that I believe some future event will result in the personal presence of Jesus within God’s new creation. This is taught throughout the New Testament outside the Gospels. But this event won’t in any way resemble the Left Behind account. Understanding what will happen requires a far more sophisticated cosmology than the one in which “heaven” is somewhere up there in our universe, rather than in a different dimension, a different space-time, altogether.

The New Testament, building on ancient biblical prophecy, envisages that the creator God will remake heaven and earth entirely, affirming the goodness of the old Creation but overcoming its mortality and corruptibility (e.g., Romans 8:18–27; Revelation 21:1; Isaiah 65:17, 66:22). When that happens, Jesus will appear within the resulting new world (e.g., Colossians 3:4; 1 John 3:2).

Paul’s description of Jesus’ reappearance in 1 Thessalonians 4 is a brightly coloured version of what he says in two other passages, 1 Corinthians 15:51–54 and Philippians 3:20–21: At Jesus’ “coming” or “appearing,” those who are still alive will be “changed” or “transformed” so that their mortal bodies will become incorruptible, deathless. This is all that Paul intends to say in Thessalonians, but here he borrows imagery – from biblical and political sources – to enhance his message. Little did he know how his rich metaphors would be misunderstood two millennia later.

First, Paul echoes the story of Moses coming down the mountain with the Torah. The trumpet sounds, a loud voice is heard, and after a long wait Moses comes to see what’s been going on in his absence.

Second, he echoes Daniel 7, in which “the people of the saints of the Most High” (that is, the “one like a son of man”) are vindicated over their pagan enemy by being raised up to sit with God in glory. This metaphor, applied to Jesus in the Gospels, is now applied to Christians who are suffering persecution.

Third, Paul conjures up images of an emperor visiting a colony or province. The citizens go out to meet him in open country and then escort him into the city. Paul’s image of the people “meeting the Lord in the air” should be read with the assumption that the people will immediately turn around and lead the Lord back to the newly remade world.

Paul’s mixed metaphors of trumpets blowing and the living being snatched into heaven to meet the Lord are not to be understood as literal truth, as the Left Behind series suggests, but as a vivid and biblically allusive description of the great transformation of the present world of which he speaks elsewhere.

Paul’s misunderstood metaphors present a challenge for us: How can we reuse biblical imagery, including Paul’s, so as to clarify the truth, not distort it? And how can we do so, as he did, in such a way as to subvert the political imagery of the dominant and dehumanizing empires of our world? We might begin by asking, What view of the world is sustained, even legitimized, by the Left Behind ideology? How might it be confronted and subverted by genuinely biblical thinking? For a start, is not the Left Behind mentality in thrall to a dualistic view of reality that allows people to pollute God’s world on the grounds that it’s all going to be destroyed soon? Wouldn’t this be overturned if we recaptured Paul’s wholistic vision of God’s whole creation?

The Rt. Rev. Dr. N.T. (Tom) Wright is Anglican Bishop of Durham, England. This article first appeared in Bible Review, August 2001. Used by permission.

Footnotes
1. Tim F. Lahaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, Left Behind (Cambridge, UK: Tyndale House Publishing, 1996). Eight other titles have followed, all runaway bestsellers.
2. See my Jesus and the Victory of God (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1996); the discussions in Jesus and the Restoration of Israel: A Critical Assessment of N.T. Wright’s Jesus and the Victory of God, ed. Carey C. Newman (Downer’s Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1999); and Marcus J. Borg and N.T. Wright, The Meaning of Jesus: Two Visions (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1999), chapters 13 and 14.
3. Douglas Farrow, Ascension and Ecclesia: On the Significance of the Doctrine of the Ascension for Ecclesiology and Christian Cosmology (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999).

The Advent and Christmas seasons are filled with language about the coming of Christ. Liturgically, Christians often speak of Advent as a time of expectation when we prepare ourselves for Jesus Christ to return again. Then Christmas Day arrives and we realize this coming is a metaphorical and spiritual reality, not necessarily a physical one – at least, not yet. So what are we to understand by this second coming of Christ?

Jewish tradition uses the metaphor of God’s coming to describe ways in which God’s presence is known among God’s people. God is present with human beings in many ways. The cloud is a sign of God’s presence with the people in the Exodus. The wooden box, the ark, is a special sign that God is in the midst of Israel. God comes to Jacob in a dream. God comes to Abraham in the form of angelic messengers. God is intimately connected with the everyday lives of God’s people.

As time went on, the people fell short in their faithfulness to God’s covenant. The people believed, and the prophets warned, this faithfulness resulted in a distancing by God. God was no longer intimately connected with their everyday lives. As a result, Israel began to express a hope that God would intervene more directly in human affairs to restore justice and peace. We hear this in Psalm 96:13, for example, that speaks of God “coming to judge the earth.”

After the time of exile in Babylon (586-536 BCE), the later prophets felt that only God’s dramatic return in power to judge humankind would be sufficient to restore the broken relationship between God and the people. The hope for this return was expressed in vivid and dramatic imagery by prophets like Daniel and Malachi. In Malachi 3:1–2, the prophet declares that God, whom all are seeking, will come suddenly, then asks who will be able to endure the day of God’s coming – who will be able to stand when God appears. God will come to judge and to purify. God’s Messiah will come to announce that God’s reign has begun in all fullness. These descriptions of the coming judgment are known as apocalyptic writing.

Dramatic, cataclysmic action on the part of the Divine is the prevailing theme in apocalyptical writing within scripture. God will act and, like a lightning bolt from the sky, God’s heavenly action will be immediate, all-encompassing, and will bring about God’s reign. The gospel writers place this apocalyptic theme in the mouth of John the Baptizer, the one who prepared the way for Jesus Christ. John was a voice warning people to get ready because God’s reign, which included harsh judgment, was on its way.

The Christian scriptures proclaim that God did come into the world in the birth of Jesus the Christ. In Jesus the Messiah, the new age has begun, though the early disciples had trouble recognizing this reality. The Christian scriptures also include passages of apocalyptic writing. The gospels were written in a time of persecution for the young Christian community. Jesus had promised to come again. Surely the disastrous events of persecution must mean that Christ would be returning soon. But years went on, and Jesus did not return. Paul had to caution Christians to continue in their daily lives and witness, and not to neglect their duties in the belief that the present age was nearly over.

A vivid hope for Jesus’ immanent return has persisted in Christianity, particularly in situations where Christians have felt themselves to be oppressed. In such times, there can be a deep longing for deliverance from the particular troubles of the time. Today, from time to time, we hear predictions about the precise time and method of Jesus’ return. Conflict in the Middle East, climate change and natural disasters, wars and rumours of wars are seen by some as evidence that the time of the fulfillment of God’s new reign is near. Passages from apocalyptic writings such as the book of Revelation are taken out of context to support these predictions.

Along with the prediction of end times, there are often statements that only a select few, who believe in a certain way, will become part of God’s new world. The message of Isaiah that all people shall see God’s glory is diluted in these prophesies. Reminding ourselves of the dialogue within scripture is a helpful remedy to the voices of alarm and judgment that arise within our culture.

Patricia Bays is an Anglican author and theological educator, and lives in Ottawa, Canada.