The power of the Word of God is not rhetorical: Let's start with St Peter

When we think about powerful words, we may think of rhetoric: skillful persuasion. There is a tendency to think of evangelism and even faith itself in terms of persuasion. To be sure, persuasion done well can help build understanding and overcome barriers. But the power is not wholly in persuasion, not even in the skill of the persuader. The Bible often discusses the power of God's word in terms that go beyond persuasion, and are not even in the same category as persuasion. In this post I'll look at St Peter. 

Peter writes about the word of God in terms that moderns instinctively, unconsciously reinterpret. Consider when he says

you have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God; for “All flesh is like grass and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever.” And this word is the good news that was preached to you. (1 Peter 1:23-25)

Peter quotes an older scripture contrasting things that are failing and decaying -- grass, flowers, human flesh -- and what is imperishable: the word of God. Peter's point is not simply that the word of God is imperishable, but that this imperishable quality in God's word is what matters when we are born again, because this is how some of God's attributes become our own. 

To take Peter's points in an order we might expect to construct an argument, he says: 

1. the word of God is imperishable, 
2. this same word of God was preached to them, causing them to be born again, and so 
3. they are born again of what is imperishable. 

Parts of this argument are often taken as analogy, simile, or metaphor. But there is no sign in the text that he meant it as analogy, or simile, or metaphor. The argument has no force if one part is meant literally (they did have the good news preached to them in words), but the bridges back his wider focus -- that we now have an imperishable aspect to us -- are mere rhetorical flourishes. 

The Scriptural language of being "born again" and "children of God" speak of a change of nature in which we are no longer merely beings of flesh and children of men, but also children of God. We easily assume that what is spiritual is figurative, because we often must speak of the spiritual figuratively. But if we speak of the spiritual connection between our spirits and the Spirit of God, we must consider the possibility that this connection from spirit to Spirit is not merely figurative. If an author means to convey that God is with us and transforms us in a way that touches our natures, what language could he use to persuade us it was more than figurative? 

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I'm feeling a series coming on. I hope to continue this next week. 

Evil as "lack of good" is only part of the story

In Christian circles, evil has long been understood as the lack of good. Evil, we believe, is not a thing in itself, much like darkness is not a thing in itself but the absence of light. 

So far so good. But nature abhors a vacuum. When there is a lack of good, the vacancy does not remain empty. When a nation lacks god, it tends to create idols. If it lacks faith in any god, humans do not stop having a need for hope and trust. We may place that hope and trust in other things, or we may opt for cynicism, but the unmet need is going to make itself known either way. Love can also be replaced by different substitutes. The non-religious often consider sex to be the most available substitute for love, and hope that one will lead to the other. The religious (or the checklist-oriented seculars) may fall back on a dependency on rules, and so legalism becomes a cold substitute for love. 

This vacuum-effect plays out in so many ways. Someone may need respect -- and decide to buy the appearance of success, or pursue relative respect by congratulating themselves or putting down others. Someone may want a sense of well-being and obtain it through spending, or self-medication. Someone may want a life full of friends, and fill the emptiness by binge-watching content designed to camouflage emotional emptiness and fill it with the company of phantom friends. 

But the substitutes tend to leave us hungry for the real thing. Faith, hope, and love remain. The greatest of these is love. 

Today, may I notice if I have been using an artificial sweetener in my spiritual life, and seek the Lord. 

And on the third day ...

On Good Friday, we have a solemn service in remembrance of Jesus' death. And we do achieve solemnity. But we probably do not come anywhere close to the devastation and grief that the apostles felt when they first laid Jesus in the tomb. 

Because for whatever solemnity we observe on Friday, we likely have already made some preparations for the feast on Sunday. 

Whenever in life I find myself at the tomb, caught up in the devastation and grief, may I remember Good Friday -- and how hard it is to be overwhelmed with defeat when we are looking forward to a victory feast. 

Christ is risen!

He is risen indeed. Alleluia!