A Triptych of Light for the Triduum: Great Vigil

Alberto_Piazza_Apostoles_entorno_al_Sepulcro_Staatliche_Museen_Berlín

Apóstoles entorno al Sepulcro (“Apostles around the Grave”), by Albertino Piazza da Lodi [c.1520]

From the deeps I call out to you, O Lord; my Lord, hear my voice!
Let your ears be attentive to the sound of my pleadings. …
I await the Lord!
My spirit looks––and for His message I am waiting––
my spirit looks for my Lord
more than the watchmen for the morning, the watchmen for the morning.
            –from Psalm 130

Today is the Great Vigil, the feast which marks the end of the Lenten season.  For the last forty days, we have prayed and fasted to one degree or another.  We have acknowledged our own sin and mortality, remembered our need for forgiveness and redemption, and awaited the advent of our Messiah on His royal steed to save us from our distress.  Over the past week, the week of His holy Passion, we have grieved as the cheers of adulation turned to jeers of mockery.  We have stood by as a best friend betrayed Him with a gesture of feigned affection.  We have both pounded the nails into His hands and kissed His feet as He hung on the cross.  All this we have done, and tomorrow we will celebrate.  But today…

Today is Holy Saturday, the Great In-Between Day, the cosmic sabbath rest of Jesus Christ entombed in stone.  A friend of mine once whimsically reflected on this particular Saturday, saying that it always feels like “the deep breath before the plunge.”  The sentiment is fitting; today, the clockwork of the entire universe is held in suspended animation.  The Three Days (called “triduum” in the church-Latin) are days of activity: on Maundy Thursday, Jesus washes our feet, showing us the way of the cross and teaching us His new command to love and serve and sacrifice for His sake. Yesterday, on Good Friday, Jesus suffers the pain of our atonement, breaking His own body and pouring out His own blood, even unto death. Tomorrow, on Easter Sunday, Jesus rises from the dead and ascends to God in triumph.  Yesterday we despaired, and tomorrow we will exult.  But today…today is, well, in-between.

Today is also the seventh day, the day of rest.  It is a day of nothingness, of darkness and chaos, of anticipating the creative and re-creative work of God.  Tomorrow is a day full of life and light, when the Sun rises and fills all the earth with the knowledge and glory of God.  The ground will sprout forth its vegetation, the trees stretching out their hands in praise.  The sea, the air, the land, all teeming with swarming creatures, will revel in the beauty and grandeur of what God has done for us and with us.  And God will say that it is Very Good.  Tomorrow, God will speak out into our darkness, “Let there be light!”  But all of that is still Tomorrow.  For as long as it is called “Today,” it is not Day; it is Night.

Today, the deep covers the earth, and darkness is over the face of the waters.  Yet the Spirit of God hovers in the air, looking, yearning, groaning for the redemption of our bodies, of His body.  Can you see?  The days of creation and redemption and re-creation are all ordered alike: darkness, then light; evening, then morning; death, then life; for first comes the night, and afterward the dawn.

But the Resurrection is not yet come.  So we wait, our spirits looking for our Lord, more than the watchmen for the morning…

…the watchmen for the morning…

 

A Triptych of Light for the Triduum: Good Friday

Jacobello_del_Fiore_Crucifixion

Crucifixion, by Jacobello del Fiore  [c.1400]

Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am distressed;
my eye wastes away in grief, my spirit and my body.
My life is spent from sorrow, and my years from groaning;
my strength fails in my iniquity, and my bones are wasted away.
I have become a reproach to all my enemies––and to my neighbors especially––
and a dread to my acquaintances; those who see me in the street flee from me.
I am forgotten, like a dead man, out of mind;
I have become like an earthen vessel, destroyed.
For I hear the whispering of many, terror from all around in their scheming together against me;
they plot to take my life.
But me––on you I am trusting, O Lord; I am saying, “You are my God.”
The seasons of my life are in your hand;
rescue me from the hand of my enemies and my persecutors.
Shine your face on your servant!  Save me in your lovingkindness.
             –from Psalm 31

Yesterday’s meditation was quite cerebral; in contrast, this passage is exactly the opposite.  This psalm is sentimental, even visceral in its portrayal of emotions that we have all experienced.  But for today, let us not personalize this prayer with ourselves as the target.  It is tradition in the Christian religion to re-enact in our worship during Holy Week the events of Christ’s Passion––we wave palm fronds, wash each other’s feet, venerate Jesus on the cross, and hold vigil until his resurrection.  Today, I encourage us to take the imagination one step further, to transport ourselves back in time and participate in the events themselves.  We are the same crowd that chants both “Hosanna!” and “Crucify!”  So let us forget our lazy and fickle selves and rather seek to identify with Christ.

Let us plead with the Father to be gracious to Jesus as his spirit and body expire upon the cross.  Let us groan with sorrow at the reproach that Jesus endured from his enemies, and especially from his closest friends.  Let us lament that in his death Jesus has been forgotten, out of mind, by the very people he came to save––in spite of the fact he is indeed risen from the dead!  Let us hear the plotting and the scheming against his very life; and let us not raise our voices in protest but instead say…

Not my will, Father; but Your kingdom come, Your will be done.

Jesus trusted God his Father.  Let us also trust.  Jesus prayed, “You are my God.”  Let us also pray.  Jesus placed his life in the hand of his Father, truly and literally, even in the midst of a rejection and forsaken-ness that he had never known before.  The most intimate and everlasting fellowship of the Triune God was broken somehow during those few hours while Jesus hung on the cross.  Is it really so much for us to trust Him in the midst of our loneliness and pain?  Yes, it is so much: too much, in fact.  It was not too much for Jesus, but it is too much for us.  However, God’s grace is sufficient even for that.  In the end, all we can say is this:

Father, we beg You, please smile on us and save us in Your lovingkindness! 

So let us say it, together, today.  Then let us empathize with Jesus our Mediator, the one close to the Father’s heart, His one-and-only well-beloved Son, in whom He is well pleased.

A Triptych of Light for the Triduum: Maundy Thursday

William-Adolphe_Bouguereau_(1825-1905)_-_The_Flagellation_of_Our_Lord_Jesus_Christ_(1880)

The Flagellation of our Lord Jesus Christ, by William Adolphe Bouguereau [c.1890]

But he was pierced for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that gave us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed.
He was oppressed, and he was humiliated, but he did not open His mouth;
for he was cut off from the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people.
They placed his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death;
because he had done no violence, with no deceit in his mouth.
Out of his anguish he shall see light; he shall find satisfaction through his knowledge.
The Righteous One, my servant, shall justify many; and their iniquities he himself shall bear.
            –an excerpt from Isaiah 53 (emphasis added)

These words are worth contemplating as we memorialize once again the holy Passion of Jesus.  This is the very passage which the Holy Spirit used––via a series of extraordinary events that you can read about in the book of Acts, chapter 8––to introduce the Gospel to the continent of Africa several chapters ahead of the missionary endeavor to Europe (which does not commence until Acts 16).  On the return journey from Jerusalem to his own country, a man whom we know simply as the “Ethiopian eunuch” was reading this text and was confounded by the question, “Is the prophet here speaking of himself or someone else?”  Philip the Evangelist answered him by affirming that this passage speaks about Jesus the Messiah, the Suffering Servant of the book of Isaiah. One of the ways we know that this text is about Jesus is because of the word “light” which I have highlighted in the translation above.

In modern English, we use the expression “see the light” to communicate figuratively the idea of recognizing or realizing the truth.  But in ancient Israel, the expression “to see light” was used in a literal way to communicate the idea of being alive as opposed to either unborn or dead (see Job 3:16; Psa 36:10, 49:20).  In the book of Isaiah, the prophet takes great pains to communicate to the reader that the Suffering Servant will suffer, die, and be buried (v.10), but then afterward will be alive again and “see light.”  In other words, the prophet foretells the story of the resurrection of Messiah, not with a grand flourish but with a common figure of speech.  That is God’s way, is it not?  We might have missed it had not Jesus pointed out to his disciples (and the Holy Spirit to us) that the Hebrew Scriptures prophesied that the Messiah would both die and rise again.

Then Jesus opened their minds to understand the Scriptures; and he said to them, “Thus was it written for Christ to suffer and to rise again from the dead on the third day, and repentance for the forgiveness of sin to be proclaimed to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.  You are witnesses to these things”  (Luke 24:45-48, emphasis added).

Yes, Jesus, we are witnesses.  Thanks be to God.

Jesus Christ: God from God, Light from Light, True God from True God; the Light of the World, prepared for all the world to see, for the enlightening of nations; He who descends into the earth like the sun and ascends into heaven with the dawning of a new day, a new age, a new covenant of peace between God and humankind.  By His light we see light.  By His wounds we are healed.  He who knew no sin was made sin for us, so that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him.  We eat His flesh, broken for us; and we drink His blood, the cup of our salvation.

For we proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.

Must Jesus be called “Son of God” in a Bible translation?

Q: “I recently read an online article that describes how some Bible translations in Muslim-majority countries are not using the phrase “Son of God” (Grk. υιος θεου) because the concept is too easily rejected within the Muslim worldview. Instead, certain Bible translations are using the phrase “Beloved Son who comes (or originates) from God,” with much greater success in terms of the numbers of people reading the Bible and believing the Gospel. What do you think––is this a good or bad change in language for a Bible translation?

First of all, here is a link to the article being mentioned. It’s worth reading through, and I will write my response with the assumption that the reader is familiar with the contents. Second, I need to stipulate that there is a difference between theology (i.e. what is actually true about God) and language (i.e. how we say that which is true about God), and I would argue that theology transcends language. We as humans are limited by our bodies; that is, we cannot engage in theology except by using language, so there is considerable overlap between these things. But this does not blur the fundamental difference between the two, and that distinction is very important for the current question. We cannot “do theology” without using language, but human language cannot fully plumb the depths of theology. We are finite human beings who touch an Infinite Divine Being; or rather, He touches us.

The best answer I can give is that I believe both sides of this debate are correct. There is no such thing as an “equivalent” translation, languages are too complex for that. Any translation, of any kind, is a negotiation of the construals of conceptual worlds. This means that ALL translations require some level of negotiation between the two languages. So whether the term “Son of God” must be maintained in a translation really depends on what the translation sets out to do at the beginning. Not all translations are created equal. There’s lots more to discuss here, but the shortest answer is that both arguments are correct, depending on what “job” the translation is intended to do.

But speaking theologically, I think this debate really boils down to one thing. When Jesus said he was the “Son” of God, what did He really mean? I propose a thought experiment. Suppose an alien spacecraft landed in your back yard, and an alien came out, someone who had no frame of reference for understanding what the word “son” means. How would you explain to that alien what you mean when you say Jesus is the “Son of God”? Could you do it without using either your own father or your own son as examples, or are you as a human person bound by those biological realities in your linguistic communication? The issue is still a bit more complex than that, but I think the entire issue ultimately really is decided by that question.

Concerning the issue whether “Beloved Son who comes (or originates) from God” is acceptable over against the simple phrase “Son of God,” that depends on how strict the translation must be in terms of the rigorous of its faithfulness to creedal Trinitarian theology. Professor Horrell (quoted in the article) is correct when he affirms that the human father-son relationship is the closest thing we have in the physical world that can describe the relationship between Jesus and God the Father. However, we humans are made in the image of God, not the other way around. It is an error to think that the human father-son relationship communicates everything about the intra-trinitarian relationship between Jesus and the Father, because Jesus clearly says that he and the Father are one [whereas this is absolutely NOT true of human fathers and sons]. So the human father-son relationship is an incomplete analogy, but it’s the closest thing we have, and we cannot do without it. But at the same time, any kind of human linguistic expression is finally inadequate; we cannot truly understand a tri-personal being. We simply cannot; that’s all there is to it. So to answer my own thought experiment above, I affirm that our linguistic communication is genuinely bound by our biological realities, but our biological realities still fall short to express actual trinitarian theology.

But this theological question is really different than a translation question, because theology finally transcends Scripture alone. Scripture is merely one among a company of witnesses that profess theology — ultimately, our expression of theology must come from the incarnate Christ and not only the written Scriptures. Therefore, theology is like a globe that spins on three axes simultaneously: textual, i.e. it must be faithful to Scripture; historical, i.e. it must be faithful to the witness of Jesus Himself; and philosophical, i.e. it must express what is true and not what is false. So the question of what is acceptable in a Bible translation really is a linguistic issue more than a theological issue, although I would also confess that a Bible translation must not transgress the other witnesses (historical and philosophical) to proper theology. Take the Nicene Creed, for example. In theory, at least, the Nicene Creed could be superseded if the textual witness of Scripture, the historical witness of the Church, and the philosophical witness of human reason together demonstrated that the Nicene Creed does not accord with what Jesus proclaimed about God and about Himself.

So the bottom line is that all linguistic translations of Scripture are inadequate to express theology. The question is how much “inadequacy” is tolerable in any particular linguistic translation. In my opinion, there’s room for disagreement on this issue, depending on many, many factors. In the final analysis, I really think this is a *linguistic* issue more than a *theological* issue in the proper sense. But my personal opinion is that, both in the case of language and theology, the term “Son of God” must be retained, in spite of the difficulties it presents for other worldviews outside Christianity.