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WORTHY

SCRIPT:

The kinds of things you hear at a young age play a major role in shaping who you are.

They dramatically affect how you perceive yourself and the entire world around you... Especially the things you hear repeatedly. A lot of how we frame our own identity is wrapped up in what we heard from others as children. From parents, from siblings, from extended family, friends, teachers, other kids. Its that dull roar that's always with us - like an invisible companion in our lives that no one else can see. The echoes of our past, informing our present and thus shaping our future. 

This is all fine if what you're hearing is true and constructive and empowering... But it isn't always. Sometimes, it's defeating, destructive and false. And as a result, most of the pain you experience on the playground of life isn't so much physical as it is emotional and psychological. There are injuries and abuses of this nature that you might have been carrying around for a long time. And all because a voice you trusted, and something that was spoken over you - time and time again - was allowed to define you.

SEE, just like superheroes... and supervillains... EACH OF US has an origin story

And this is true for Christianity as well - whether you were born into a Christian family, or even if you came to faith well into your adulthood. Either way, you spent some formative years hearing some very formative things. Repeatedly. They sought to tell you who you are. They were meant to give you identity - meant to anchor you in some version of reality or perception which could then control how you see things. How you see God. How you see yourself.

But not all of them... were good.  

And I think it's time to undo one idea that many of us have heard quite enough of. It's a concept we have often glued to the gospel itself - to the point where the two are likely inseparable to us. And like so many things that are popular to believe, it might sound innocent, but it really isn't. It ultimately carries great weight and yields great power over us. I think it's time we deny it that power, and see if we can't get the echoes to finally cease. Everyone ready?   

You hear a lot in Christian circles about how "unworthy" we are.

You hear a lot of it in Christian music and sermons, too. And this idea of our unworthiness is one that's meant to champion God's goodness and grace... But it's misleading. It's misleading because, while God's love and goodness may not be something we have to earn, that doesn't mean we aren't "worthy" of it. 

For a lot of us, that sounds like a bold statement to make. My question is... Why?

Here's something important that we often forget when it comes to "worthiness":

THE ONE GIVING THE GIFT IS THE ONE WHO DECIDES WHETHER THE ONE RECEIVING IT IS WORTHY.

Let's repeat that again, and make sure it sinks in...

THE ONE GIVING THE GIFT IS THE ONE WHO DECIDES WHETHER THE ONE RECEIVING IT IS WORTHY.

So it's odd when Christian culture tries to show its appreciation specifically by telling God how unworthy we all are... Like that's going to prove something. Like God was holding our imperfections over our heads, wanting us to grovel before treating us the way a loving Parent would. As if that's the response God is looking for - us clinging to how pitiful we are. As if that's the only way we can legitimately receive a gift, feel valued, feel loved.

Consider this: If I do something for you that helps you, I must think that you are worth my doing it. And it would be weird if you were to sit there telling me you aren't actually worthy. In fact, if you responded like that, it would seem to me much more a reflection of the way you see yourself than it would a reflection of the way I see you. Or suppose you hand me a gift, and - instead of opening it - I place it on the floor, and keep repeating to you that I'm not worthy to receive it... Are you moved by this display? Or would you have preferred I unwrap it and delight in it and, you know, use it?

Think about that. 

To say you aren't worthy of something done for you out of love is to say you are not worthy of love itself... It's to say that whatever motivated the gift isn't correct in its assessment of your value. In effect, it is to disagree with God and God's character, and all in order to appear pious or humble or whatever... I really don't know what we think we're accomplishing by it, or why the language of unworthiness continues to be used all around us. How has this sort of language come to be the dominant perspective wielded by so much of Christianity? It's truly baffling. And yet - nurtured by a false notion of God and especially God's "holiness" (as discussed in the previous podcast) - this language, and this mindset, persists.  

Just consider, for a moment, a lot of the lyrics in the popular songs people sing together in church. I have heard way too many Christian songs on this theme over the years - whether hymns or new songs - making sure to passionately declare how terrible and worthless we are. And I just can't go along with that. It has never made sense. That whole line of thinking is self-defeating, self-focused, and really beside the point... Because, again, it's up to the gift-giver to decide if you are worth the gift or not. You don't need to weigh in on that. And when you go on and on about how unworthy we are, you are suggesting that there is nothing inherently lovely or beautiful about us. You are implying that God acts on our behalf in order to love us.

That's backwards.

Let's try something NOT-backwards: God loves us and takes joy in being with us... and that will never change... and so God acts on our behalf. It never would have been up to you to motivate that connection and intimacy in the first place, so it's strange to say you aren't worthy of it now. God moves to preserve your worth, not to create it. It was already "all good" when you came into existence. You were already precious. In fact, the very concept of something like "redemption" assumes an inherent value that is worth redeeming. And the point of all of this is to help you live and move in the worth you always had, which means the point is not to make you focused on how unworthy you were or are. 

Look, we were born into an imperfect world and we had no choice in that. And obviously, we are all imperfect. Obviously. But we take it too far... To the point where it's eerie. To the point where we think it's spiritual to be forever belittling ourselves for existing in the only way we ever could have. And it doesn't matter how many stuffy old men have written books about this mentality and called it "biblical." 

THE FACT IS, WE DIDN'T GET THIS POISON FROM JESUS. 

But this sort of "I'm not worthy" distraction in our thinking and theology shows us something. It shows us that we still have a long way to go in understanding God as "Abba" in the way Jesus told us to. 

You see, a good father isn't concerned with whether a kid earns love and mercy. A good father isn't hung up on a child telling him how unworthy she is. A dad just loves and gives recklessly. And a child just receives and knows she belongs... She doesn't grovel as though she was before a ruthless emperor who wants her to cower and feel like she's nothing in order for him to feel gratified. She knows she is safe in the arms of a loving parent who would do anything for her - who finds her precious and worthwhile, no matter what she has or hasn't done. And when she looks into that parent's eyes, she sees that she has value. She has worth. She would never cry out otherwise, because that very perception of worth is what empowers her to see herself as her loving parent sees her. 

To contradict that perception is, on some level, to refuse to embrace God's posture of love. If I insist on my unworthiness, am I not disagreeing with God in a vain attempt to honor God? 

This image of God we're maintaining is way off. It's nothing like Jesus. 

God does not relish your self-pity – it's not the sacrifice you must bring in order to satisfy God. And a response of "I'm not worthy, I'm nothing!" is not one that God expects or requires before God will delight in us recognizing the goodness and love we have known. You can, in reality, be appreciative of the love you receive without falling into the trap of thinking you aren't worthy of such love. 

And gratefulness is not to be found in constantly undermining and contradicting the way God sees you. That's just not how you show appreciation. You show appreciation by going out with an empowered sense of that worth, so that you can live beautifully and cultivate it in others. 

We need to stop telling ourselves otherwise. We need to stop getting this backwards. We need to start telling each other something more like this:

OF COURSE YOU'RE WORTHY.

That shouldn't be a bold statement. It's simple: You're worthy because you have inherent worth. You bear the image of God. You are beautiful and fascinating and precious. 

...And it doesn't diminish God at all to say so. In fact, it upholds what God says about you, rather than what insecurity, shame and religiosity have to say about you. When those poisonous things take root, they distort our perspective of God. They've been doing so since the beginning - twisting our view of God's heart and God's nearness.  

The understanding of "worthiness" should not be framed as though God acts in spite of you, because that misrepresents God's central posture toward you as a child. If your worth is inherent - it's never about what you have earned or merited... Your worth goes far deeper than those actions and behaviors... So worthiness shouldn't be confused with merit at all. Merit is a discussion of your DOING, but worth is a discussion of your BEING. And since you are a human being (and not a human doing), your actions and behaviors have never defined your worthy-ness. 

Worth is at the very core of you. It exists as soon as you exist. You don't even have to be aware of it in order to have it. It's built into your substance. 

In Jesus' parable of the prodigal sons, the father rushes to meet the son and embrace him while he is still a long way off. This is important because, in Jesus' view, the father doesn't wait for the son to get himself back home. He doesn't wait for him to get through his prepared speech of "I'm no longer worthy to be called your son..." The father in Jesus' story is not waiting on anything before he moves as though that child has worth and value.  

Christians need to allow God to be like this sort of father, rather than the sort who sits on a throne waiting on them to grovel, waiting on them to prove they're serious about their commitment before he will take them seriously... This sort of poor theological propaganda might help pastors bully those listening to them into being more religious and legalistic for a moment, but there is no life in it. It's just the worst sort of mentality to have. It's an ugly downward spiral of never-ending shame. It brings death. And it's why so many people refuse to have anything to do with much of modern Christianity. They're sick of our bad news and our phony smiles covering it up. They're sick of our wrist-slitting worship songs. They're sick of the whole charade. 

And good for them. They should be. And we should be, too. 

Albert Einstein once said, "Love is a better teacher than duty." When we make a discussion of our worth a discussion of what we have (or haven't) done, we are making our discussion one of duty... And thus, we are not learning from the better teacher, because we are not seeing through the eyes of love. We are not seeing through the very essence of what makes God... God. 

So delight in this: It was never up to you to prove yourself worthy. It never would have been. And it has never been expected of you to keep your unworthiness in mind, nor to speak to God some recognition that you lack value. 

That's a distortion of what worthiness is even about. Whoever rooted your understanding of God's love and rescue toward you in the idea of your unworthiness... was wrong. A God who has all power and perfection and yet holds "unworthiness" over the heads of his children would be a monster. And Jesus never revealed so monstrous a God. 

Take heart, and know this: You were born, and you are loved, and therefore...

YOU. ARE. WORTHY. 

Because worthiness isn't a choice you ever had to make.


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OTHER

SCRIPT:

Words: We hear a lot of them. We use a lot of them.

And so many of them we take for granted. There are some words which we confidently assume the meaning of, and some words that we never question a meaning for at all. And a lot of these sorts of words continue in heavy usage as religious terminology, and are even given great importance despite their relative vacancy in our hearts and minds. Ask your average Christian what "righteousness" means, for instance,  and you might just get a blank stare. In reality, it’s the kind of word many of us have a hard time defining without using the word itself... Which won't get you a passing grade in high school English, but somehow seems to work just fine for Christianese. 

The thing is, a lot of these sorts of words can deal damage and destruction when wielded by the traditions and assumptions of a religious culture which does not seek to understand what it is communicating, but still insists on maintaining this dizzying flurry of religious words. 

"Holy" is one such word. 

It's mostly used in Christian speech by people who rarely unwrap its meaning. We hear it in many songs as well, and similarly, few of those songs really delve into it - or allow it to inform the lyrical ideas surrounding it - even though they might use the term itself relentlessly. And in Christian sermons and teaching? ...Let's just say we might spend a lot of time talking about how holiness is expected of us even when we've spent no time at all talking about what holiness is, or where we might look to see it defined. And this is a pretty strange way to approach something that everyone seems to think is so important. When it comes to holiness, it's just assumed that we all know what we're talking about. But why? Do we really? And is our current understanding of holiness serving us (or anyone else) well? 

...These are questions worth asking. 


"Holy" (from the Hebrew quodesh or the Greek hagio) means "set apart" and "different." Or we might say "transcendent in purpose," or "sacred in use," or even just "other." I actually think the term "otherness" might be the best way to cast "holiness" meaningfully in modern language. So, when we say that God is holy, we are saying that something about God is particularly other. We're saying that God's way of being is different, and that it's different to a degree which draws attention to some purpose or quality we would not have known otherwise... This, of course, is all rooted in the Old Testament... And by the New Testament, the concept has blossomed fully into this idea of being “sanctified.” It's what happens when someone is transformed - made “holy.” And as any preacher you’ve heard has probably told you, we’re called to pursue holiness, reflect holiness, or walk in holiness once we've experienced it. There’s this whole "Be holy, because I am holy” motif repeating in the scriptures — God whispering something distinct over people, calling them to reflect God's own otherness, so that there's something "other" about them, too.

It’s kind of like the options on the top of a soda cup lid: If your cup contains a beverage for which the typical labels and designations do not apply, there’s an “Other” button for that. Kind of a cheap example, but still... You could say some soft drinks are holier than others. 

I’m guessing some of us have heard a lot of these ideas before… But I lay them out again because, as I said, there's plenty to this subject we don't hear much about, and don't hear brought up so often. How do we define this holiness, this quality of otherness? Where are we looking to see it defined?

Consider this question: What is it about God that makes God so other, so holy? 

I would think the best and most simple answer would be, "God’s self-giving LOVE." So far so good, right? ...Well, maybe not… because typically, most modern Christians have been led to believe that holiness has more to do with “God's righteous standard and our failure to meet it,' and thus — for so many of us — when we talk about God’s holiness, what we are immediately forced to dwell on is the idea of a great distance created between us and God. Holiness in this model is not an expression of God's nearness to us no matter who we are and what we've done... We've been taught another holiness instead, which has effectively meant that God is removed as a result of holiness.

SO, TO MANY OF US, THE VERY IDEA OF HOLINESS IMMEDIATELY DRUMS UP AN UNDERSTANDING THAT GOD DEFAULTS TO BEING FAR AWAY FROM US.

So rather than being told something like this: 

God is holy, and so God is not bound by our insecurities and our fears, which means that God draws near to us even in our mess and whatever the cost without condition... 

We have more likely been told this: 

God is holy, and thus God cannot look upon sin or be near us in our imperfection.  

So either God is holy, and that means God is near, or God is holy, and that means God is distant

You have two options there, but only one of them is like Jesus. Choose carefully. 


See, you may have heard the second idea your entire life, and you may have been taught to see all scripture through the lens of it... But I would submit to you that, however popular and pervasive this idea might be, we shouldn't automatically assume that it's a good one. What many of us don't realize is that the way we view the concept of holiness is more founded in Reformation-era thinking (and even Dark Age Roman Catholicism) than it is in the actual and contextual scriptures. We don't see this sort of "holiness" in scripture because we must, we see it because we’ve been told to. We see it because it's all many of us have ever known. 

And maybe that's why we might fail to notice that, at its most basic level, this concept of holiness is simply not holy. And how can it be if it's not different from the way we already are by default? In that first example I gave before, God is holy in a way that means God is near. And if that’s the case then God isn’t like us in how we fragment and fracture and separate from one another, because God is the great healer and unifier, restoring everything… But in the second example, God is very much like us: God has been offended, and so God is off alone somewhere, defiantly standing on principle until we grovel. Some might say that's God's right because God is perfect, but that doesn't make it holy. It's still just a glorified version of how people already treat one another. 

You will find that when some people passionately talk about how “holy” God is, what they mean is this: “God is so perfect that you are basically disgusting to God. Revolting even. God can’t even bear to look at you. But thank goodness! God soothes himself with blood in order to be able to stomach your presence.” However, when other people talk about how God is “holy,” what they mean is, “God is mysteriously and wonderfully and essentially connected to us in radical love. God is always present and delights in being with us and near to us. And Jesus died to change our minds about God, not to change God’s mind about us.”

Again… two very different choices there. Choose carefully. 

Do we see God as a glorified version of ourselves?

Or do we allow this view to be dismantled in favor of something that can actually prove to be holy? 

As I began to say before, it seems to me that the chief, preeminent expression of God's holiness is God's radical, reckless love. Love for the entire universe and every being it might contain.

That is how God is so different and other than the brokenness we have known. Nothing has to prove its beauty or worth to God. 

Jesus models this second kind of holiness, the sort of holiness which proclaims forgiveness toward those murdering him, and which tells James and John they do not know what spirit they are of when they wish for violent retribution. Jesus' holiness has him making intimate friends with sinners, not separating himself from outcasts, declaring the great faith of Roman centurions and gentile women, and - in so many other ways - modeling closeness and oneness with all manner of people the religious establishment thought of as "far from God." Jesus was born to people of no real consequence, and celebrated by unclean shepherds and pagan astrologers. He was to be called “Emmanuel,” "God With Us” - and yet, he entered straight into the beautiful chaos of humanity. 

But if Jesus had modeled the kind of “holiness” we often ascribe to God, he would have been born glowing in a bubble in some temple somewhere, and he would have avoided getting too close to any of us until the proper rituals had been performed. But Jesus - the Word who was with God and who was God - didn’t do any of that.  

And if you claim to believe Jesus, that really should change how you view God in proximity to people... Because it's clear that Jesus' holiness is not the kind the Pharisees (and now Christianity) would prefer to be selling. And shouldn’t that bother us? Shouldn't it bother us that Christians are more likely to teach holiness the way Jesus’ most vocal opponents did? Shouldn’t it bother us that Jesus isn’t the primary way we define God’s holiness? Shouldn't it bother us that we aren't told to look to Jesus to see how God is other? 

I know some might disagree with me there, but I'm not exaggerating. The proof, as they say, is in the pudding. And, while I’m not really sure why that's a saying, I am pretty sure that our view of God’s holiness looms over Jesus to the degree that it makes him a slave of our assumptions rather than their master. He is meant to be the Light, but we have relegated him to the shadows, because there are things we believe about God that we consider too important to let Jesus mess with. And when you’re honest about what that means, then you have to admit… There must be something wrong with Jesus, because he cannot measure up to our view of God.

Perhaps that statement might offend some Christians, but it is what it is. At some point we have to confront the reality of our ideas and explore their logical conclusions. And we need to do that on this subject because, if holiness is what we’ve made it out to be, we don’t need Jesus to weigh in on the subject at all. We don’t need him to inform the sort of "holiness" that so many of our popular authors and pastors preach - like it's some sort of contrary value that is required in order to balance love out. 


Love does not need balancing out.
Love requires no equal opposite to keep it "sensible."
Love is not the yin to some equally important yang.


We have built up all these ideas hoping to make sense of our own thinking, but all that they achieve is to diminish love and make it powerless. And we all know plenty of people who naturally act like that false holiness - measuring their love and dispensing it only when they feel it is deserved - so it simply can’t be holy. It’s literally not different compared to what we already know in our brokenness. It’s not other. It’s not other compared to the lacking understanding of holiness we were clinging to before Jesus came to make God known.

So the real question to ask yourself is this: Why can’t love be enough? And why do we assume it to be so weak that it needs help from contrary values?  

YOU WILL OFTEN HEAR CHRISTIANS SAY,

“God is love, but God is also holy.

This might be one of the most poisonous religious statements in heavy usage today. But contrary to the cliché, love is whole all by itself. That’s how the apostle John can say “The one who doesn’t love doesn’t know God, for God IS love,” and John can make that statement without feeling compelled to immediately water it down or overqualify it into oblivion…

“Beloved, let us love one another. For love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.” 

This distinguishes the kind of otherness of God we are meant to be marked by, doesn’t it? It sounds about as holy as anything possibly could. Love has always been the thing to pursue. Love is our quest. There’s nothing more sacred, more transcendent, more holy. And holiness should be a revolution which gives us new eyes to see a new world with a new heart. 

But if God’s holiness is simply being removed from those deemed “bad,” demanding they get what they deserve and are punished… God’s holiness isn’t technically very holy at all. We already do all of those things in every human society on the planet. And millions of gods across thousands of pantheons throughout history in different cultures and religions have already displayed that sort of holiness. Their followers have cried out to it. Sought to appease it. Sought blood... But there's good news. Jesus reveals a God who says, “Let’s stop all that. And even if you take my life, I will proclaim forgiveness from the very instrument of my death.”

Jesus reveals a God who is not separate in the sense of proximity, but in the sense of quality.

The Father Jesus reveals is distinct in character, not location.

And if you believe that God is holy, and Jesus is the son of God… who said he did only what he saw the Father doing, and who said he did always the things which pleased the Father, and who said he and the Father were one… then it must be the case that Jesus is showing us in every moment what holiness looks like. And as he does, he invites us to join him in his other Way. 

But what Jesus reveals to us has a lot to say that we aren’t hearing. And none of it includes a God who is revolted by humanity or unable to look upon sin. None of it includes a Father who “turns his face away” from us, or from Jesus on the cross - as though Jesus was suddenly less like God once he was up there… Jesus' idea of God's perfection is not the same as the idea we've been assuming. We’re the ones who’ve pitted Jesus against God while claiming to believe he is God in human flesh. That doesn’t make sense. 

Of course, it’s possible that, to some hearing all this, the security of tradition remains enticing. Why leave the known comfort of old ways of thinking? And yet major questions remain, confronting us: If Jesus doesn't meet your standard for God's holiness, doesn't that mean you should take an honest look at your standard?

We have a culture of Christianity which would never say so directly, but thinks in a way which suggests it's Jesus who got God wrong and not us... But it seems we are finally in a time where people are starting to see how weird that is.

If your idea of God's perfection is something Jesus failed to live up to, you really might have a problem.

If your idea of holiness means you have a better grasp of God’s fulness than Jesus was able to show, you really might have a problem. 

And if scripture contains the charge to "Be holy, because I am holy” from God, that statement cannot mean "Be set apart and away from people, distant and removed because of how super perfect and religious you are." And if it can't mean that for us, we need to stop assuming that's what it means for the very God whose holiness we are told repeatedly to pursue and reflect. Holiness never made God an island, so it certainly shouldn’t make us one either. And holiness never meant to be set apart for the sake of being set apart and distant. Holiness is to be set apart for a creative and redemptive purpose - a purpose which requires nearness without condition or reservation. 

And, SPOILER ALERT: The purpose, and the holiness of God, is LOVE.

Love is what makes God so holy, so other. 


In fact, Jesus says that love - even for our enemies - is what makes us like the very children of God. If something defines the character of the children so much as to make it obvious who the parent is, it must also define the character of the parent. God - in all holiness - is love. Love is more sacred and transcendent than anything else. It’s what people search their whole lives for, and it is the very substance and essence of God. Love is the one command of Jesus within the new covenant. It is so holy that it has overshadowed the Law and religiosity itself. It is the purpose that we have been set apart for. 

WE ARE NOT CALLED TO LOVE, BUT TO ALSO BE HOLY.
WE ARE CALLED TO BE HOLY, AND THAT MEANS WE ARE CALLED TO LOVE.

Jesus has revealed a holiness which means God is not perfect and thus distant, but perfect and thus near. God’s intimacy is perfection. God’s embrace is perfection. God’s love is perfection. So to us who’ve known so much imperfection in this world, there is absolutely nothing more holy than perfect love. The kind that casts out our fears of an angry, distant God. The kind that can actually stand in contrast to what we would have thought anyway. We already built great monuments of religiosity - temples and sacrifices and all the rest - to our own sort of holiness… But Jesus declared all of that to be over. Because Jesus wasn’t just a glorified version of everything we already thought and believed about God.

Because Jesus was actually and truly different.

Because Jesus - who was the express image of God - showed us what it meant for God to be holy.

Jesus… was other. 

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SEEING

SCRIPT:

So… there’s this story. 

Salvador Dali agrees. 

Salvador Dali agrees. 

It’s in the Bible, and you’ve probably heard it a number of times, especially at Easter. In the narrative of John’s gospel, this incredible thing transpires — it’s full of meaning and rich with implication… but here’s the twist: Even though you know the story? You probably can’t see what I’m referring to. 

I’m not questioning your ability to read or observe, but simply the language that we’re expected to depend on... What I mean is, it’s not your fault: If you or the pastors you’ve heard speak were reading this passage only in English, then you literally can’t see what I was referring to. And you can’t see it because... it’s not there.

The New Testament, of course, was written in Greek, and some things get lost in translation. They always do.

Even if those things are a big part of the Easter story. 

It turns out that you often have to get closer to a text if you really want to SEE its intent.  

So let’s set the stage for the big reveal. 


In John chapter 20, upon hearing of Jesus’ missing body, Peter and John leave the other disciples and go running like mad to the site of the tomb. John, you might remember, points out that he outruns Peter, and arrives there first. Standing at the door to the tomb without entering, we are told that John bends to SEE the strips of linen lying there. The text then tells us that Peter arrives, and in true and wonderfully impetuous Peter fashion, he barges straight into the tomb. And Peter, we’re told, SEES the same strips of linen and the cloths lying there — that they’re covering nothing, and oddly not providing a wrapping for a dead body as he would reasonably expect… Finally, John decides that embracing this moment is more important than maintaining his religious law, and more important than the Jewish culture of “purity,” and John, too, enters. When he does, we’re told that John SEES the state of things in the tomb. And he… believes.

Now maybe you’ve always kind of wondered about this, because you can just naturally feel that something is missing here — like the gravity of John’s believing is dependent on some dimension of the text you’re missing. You read it, waiting for that moment to hit, but when it does, it falls flat… and you get a sense that it shouldn’t. You’re left wondering why you see a narrative that comes across as less meaningful than it should at such a crucial moment. Know what I mean? 

So here’s the thing: each of the three times the English text tells us what John or Peter SAW, the word is a different Greek word with a different implication. When John arrives on the scene and peers in, the first word used comes from the Greek “blepo,” and it means that John is seeing the tomb in the most basic and literal sense - just taking it all in. But as Peter then reaches him and rushes inside, the second word used comes from the Greek “theoreo,” and it means that Peter is wrestling with what is before him — he is seeing things in more detail, questioning the evidence, attempting to discern and scrutinize what he sees as he explores the possibilities. When John joins him inside and takes another look, the third word used is from the Greek “eido,” and it means that John is beholding with understanding and awareness — he is reaching a point of density, of revelation and implication. John is seeing the meaning of it all. And it is changing absolutely everything for him. 

...But all those words? They are simply translated as “saw” in English. 

So there’s an inherent depth to this text, a depth which ceases to exist when we ourselves observe it from the outside — passively and simplistically. Our language essentially leaves us stuck at the door, peering in, and there’s a progression that we ourselves (ironically) cannot see. But were this progression to form and take shape, we might begin to reach some new ideas in regard to what John’s gospel is stressing to tell us. 

We might begin to see that, when taking in something of real value, beauty and meaning, the goal seems to be that we move with it. That we allow it to take us deeper: Perhaps from the “passive observation” category, to the “scrutinizing and questioning” category, to the “perceiving with depth and resonance” category. 

AND HERE’S THE STRANGEST PART: WE CAN ACTUALLY FALL VICTIM TO THE VERY THING THE TEXT IS WARNING US ABOUT IF WE FAIL TO RECOGNIZE ITS EXISTENCE.

Superficial we remain—stuck at the doorway to meaning, assuming that we “saw” it and that’s all that matters, though we’ve yet to become aware, and yet to behold it with a richness of understanding and experience. We’ve yet to truly come to that place where everything changes — where we realize that, just seeing that something is THERE doesn’t mean we have truly seen it in any meaningful sense. 


Here’s the big point: Observation is not the same thing as illumination. 


The English version of the text of John takes us to a certain point, but no further. The Greek version, on the other hand, brims with a dense trajectory of implication and metaphor. The Greek version speaks to those great shifts in perception which so mark the Path. It ultimately champions the laying aside of our religious hangups and assumptions in order to get close enough to truth to experience it intimately. Whatever others might think of us (and whatever we might think of ourselves), we do not let any fear or superstition keep us from drawing near to our opportunity to truly SEE.

Such moments are too important.
We can’t be concerned with maintaining appearances.
We can’t be content to remain outside.

If we do, death still marks us, and we have not known resurrection. 

The original text of John isn’t as clean and straightforward as it may now appear — it’s messy. It costs us something. It implies that we may all have to be okay with being “unclean” in the eyes of our tribe — in all its religious fervor and certainty — if we want to experience resurrection up close. John accepts defilement under the very Hebrew codes which have so dominated his perspective in order to go inside that tomb. And as he finds peace with what he has been taught his whole life to fear… As he willingly joins his friend Peter, and becomes rendered “unclean” (of all times, at Passover)… John comes to the kind of life-altering moment which would have never been possible any other way.


NOTE: THIS TRANSMISSION WAS ADAPTED FROM A PORTION OF AN ARTICLE I WROTE FOR THE STAINED GLASS COLLECTIVE, WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE.

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