Mysterious Identity In the Face of Jesus
It is this perception of what has heretofore been largely hidden that distinguishes the family of God from both the fallen creation, and from the earlier situation of that nation which God called. It is, of course, risky, to make a claim for theoria in the letters of the apostle, since he never uses the noun, and in fact, uses the verb related to it for various actions, not limited to God-inspired sight. Yet, the concept is in his letters just as surely as the divinity of our Lord Jesus is present (cf. 1 Cor. 8:6), though there is no statement of his co-essential being with the Father! We could show this aspect of special sight throughout the letters, but will fasten on the argument of 2 Corinthians 3–4, which brings together many of the themes of mystery that we have seen so far, and joins them with the question of apostolic and general Christian identity. Here, the apostle begins with what appears to be a defense of his own apostolic calling, but moves into a discussion of corporate transformation (3:18; 4:6), before concluding with a reference to the “outside” and “inside anthropos” (4:16) and an antinomy concerning the community’s gaze upon eternal mysteries (4:17–18).
Throughout these two chapters, there is an emphasis upon sight: internal letters that can be seen by all (3:2–3); not seeing and seeing the glory (3:7, 15, 16); veils and unveiling (3:16–18); hiding and not hiding (3:2–3); blinded eyes and being given the gift of inner sight (4:4, 6); what is visible and hidden (4:7–11); what is inside and outside (4:16); and looking on what cannot be seen (4:18). It is not just a matter of what Israel could not see because of the era in which she was called (though this is part of the dynamic), since Paul speaks of a mystery that Moses saw at that same time; it is not just a matter of a resurrection life to come, but one that is to be perceived now by gazing at Christ and each other (3:18), by recognizing the character of the apostolic message (4:1–4), by perceiving the command given to the heart that we should see (4:6), by rejoicing in the deepening of worship among the people of God (4:14–15), and by seeing the true value of suffering in the light of Christ (4:16–18). To look slightly beyond our passage, St. Paul does not simply anticipate the future resurrection, but uses the present tense to describe Christian possessions: we have a dwelling in the heavens (5:1), and we have been given the gift of the Spirit as the outward (or inward) sign of this (5:5).
True sight, then, goes beyond mere theological understanding (with the mind) to something that is deeply internal, and that redirects the body, the attitude, the entire life of believers together. It involves symbiosis, give and take, sacrifice and reception (4:7–12), and it is described as a metamorphosis from glory to glory, together. Clearly, a major characteristic of the unveiled or apocalypsed life that Christians inhabit is that they see—perhaps not all the same thing or in the same way, but there is a communal sight that God has declared by a performative utterance concerning the new creation. “For God, that very one who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness’ has shone in our hearts for the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ Jesus” (2 Cor. 4:6). This means that such sight is not simply a characteristic, but also a means by which the glory of God is seen (“for the light”). The proof of the pudding comes when the Corinthians see, with the apostle, that even the earthen vessel that hides the light or the body that is wasting away (4:16) becomes itself a means by which the light can be seen. When this happens, the community is reflecting Jesus, who sacrificed by means of the cross, but first, by the taking on of entire humanity in its dying and limited condition. So, then, the “seeing” involves recognizing the worth of the entire creation, and the continuity of God’s action in it, throughout history, and in the entire apocalyptic coming of the Son—his life, his cross, his resurrection, and his exaltation. Material things that direct the newly-enlightened eyes to God are now everywhere, as the character and purpose of God are perceived not simply in the invasion of the cross, nor even only in covenantal history, but in the entire creation, made new.
The identity of God’s people, then, is such that everything, and indeed, every event, communicate God’s glory to them, including even (or especially) affliction, which is preparing a “weight of glory” that is unimaginable, yet even now presently glimpsed. There is, because of this, a paradoxical relinquishing and reaffirmation of the world that God has made—for it, like us, is being unmade and will be remade. Human sight being what it is, we can only conceive of one action at a time. And so, at times, the enlivened eyes will see the vanity and fleeting nature of this world, and fix instead upon the heavenlies, where Christ has been exalted. At other times, however, illumined eyes will see the power of God at work in earthen vessels, and the ongoing birth pangs of the cosmos, made clearer as God’s people pray in the Spirit, and have confidence that the resurrection is already accomplished for them in Christ. Both the language of a present heaven, making its mark on our world, and a future resurrection, intimated in the Risen One, are appropriate: not the one without the other, but both together, as we have need either for ascesis and chastisement, or for comfort and assurance. Thus, the two axes, vertical and horizontal, are conjoined by the One whose identity we share, the Alpha and Omega, the One who has descended to the depths, and who has ascended above all things, but remains in company with us. As the Orthodox Troparion in the Paschal Hours exclaims, “In the tomb with the body and in Hades with the soul, in Paradise with the thief and on the throne with the Father and the Spirit, wast Thou, O boundless Christ, filling all things.”
Conclusion
D. Francois Tolmie concludes an intriguing paper on unseen beings with this question and answer: “[D]oes Paul use angels as arguments? . . . Only rarely, but when he does, he does so in a variety of ways, which in some cases, are very complex.”[33] I would concur with the complexity and nuance which he observes, but am not so sure that the envisioning of mysterious beings, along with the reality of mysterious realms, is so very rare in Paul. The mysteries, seen here in the letters to the Corinthians, Thessalonians, Galatians, and Romans, perhaps seem few and far between because they are summarily affirmed, and because Paul never argues for their reality nor dwells upon them in an esoteric or detailed discussion. Rather, the angels serve, to borrow the language of Hebrews, as merely “ministering spirits,” furthering the apostle’s advice, theological argument, or liturgical instructions. Angels are barely named, not ranked, and not given a history—though we may assume that some are fallen and that others are connected with the transmission of the Torah. Such omissions distinguish Paul from the pseudepigrapha and the gnostic writings that treat the angels as subjects in their own right. Instead, Paul assumes their existence, expecting that his readers share this perspective with him. As a result, unseen beings find a natural but unexpounded place in his writings.
Similarly, realms that are not normally seen are never presented by means of titillating travelogues in the letters of Paul, such as we observe in, for example, the pseudepigraphic exploits of Enoch. Instead, St. Paul both discourages such exploits (Rom. 10:6–8), and downplays them (2 Corinthians 12) by frustrating our expectations for visual details. After all, the apostle knows that he must prepare his readers to live in this world, though they may, at times, feel that it is better to “be with the Lord” in a more definitive way. Moreover, he sees that the Lord has sanctified this world and this era, coming at the climax of his work in creation, at just the right time, in order not only to correct the creation (“rectify,” as Lou Martyn would have it), but also, to affirm, heal and re-instate it as (at least potentially!) very good. Where unseen realms are intimated, they are incorporated, almost entirely without explanation, within his pastoral counsel, as part of his argument with those who glory in such visions, and as a central part of his calling to worship the lord of both heaven and earth. This oblique approach means that full mastery of his argument is frequently elusive for the contemporary reader.
What we can determine is this: Paul considers not only that he is one of the apostolic “st
ewards of the mysteries of God” (1 Cor. 4:1), but also that he is fulfilling his ministry in full view not only of human beings, but also of the angels. Moreover, the life of the entire church is making its mark not only on earth, but also in heaven! (But to demonstrate this clearly, we would have to move beyond the undisputed letters, to, say, Colossians). What he proclaims not only includes the reality of mystery, putting this in its place, but also proceeds in the light of these revelations. So, then, both the spatial and temporal dimensions of apocalyptic are traced in Paul’s letters, and are interconnected with how he construes his own identity, and the identity of his brothers and sisters. His ministry is envisaged as an episode in the story that is moving to an eschatological dénouement, but that also partakes, because of what Christ has done, in here-and-now mysteries. It is not simply that the eschaton has been brought into Paul’s time through the resurrection of Christ, but that heaven has embraced earth. Apocalyptic, in her motherly conception of theology, employs many nurturing techniques, borrowed from the world of time and space, from those things seen and unseen, and also from the recognition of humankind’s ambivalent identity in that world. Though not accentuated, the “apocalyptic principle” noted by Patrick Reardon is everywhere present in Paul’s letters: “More is going on than appears to be going on.”[34]
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I had once hoped that the use of this adjective-qua-noun would come to an end in our guild, due to its infinite elasticity. I myself prefer to use the noun “apocalypse,” in reference to the genre, and to use the adjective more precisely by attaching it to a particular noun, such as “eschatology,” “structure,” or “imagery.” ↵
Ernst Käsemann, “The Beginnings of Christian Theology,” JTC 6 (1969): 17–46, at 40. ↵
Ernst Käsemann, “Paul and Early Catholicism,” in New Testament Questions of Today, trans. W. J. Montague (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1969), 238–51, at 241. ↵
Ernst Käsemann, “Worship in Everyday Life: A Note on Romans 12,” in New Testament Questions of Today, trans. W. J. Montague (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1969), 188–95, at 191. ↵
Ernst Käsemann, “The Pauline Doctrine of the Lord’s Supper,” in Essays on New Testament Themes, trans. W. J. Montague (London: SCM, 1964), 108–35, at 133. ↵
David V. Way, The Lordship of Christ: Ernst Käsemann’s Interpretation of Paul’s Theology, Oxford Theological Monographs (Oxford: Clarendon, 1991), 112. ↵
Oscar Cullman, Christ and Time: The Primitive Christian Conception of Time and History, trans. F. V. Filson (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1950), 37. ↵
Ibid. ↵
In these sections, Cullman notes the “mystical” dimension in Paul’s phrases “through whom are all things” and “Your life is hid with Christ.” Perhaps, had he paid more attention to the cosmic dimension in Paul’s thought, Cullman might have read these statement not merely in an individualist context of piety, but as demonstrating the interconnected spatial mysteries handled by the apostle. ↵
Andrew T. Lincoln, Paradise Now and Not Yet: Studies in the Role of the Heavenly Dimension in Paul’s Thought with Special Reference to His Eschatology, SNTSMS 43 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 174. ↵
Ibid. ↵
See, for example, J. Louis Martyn, “Apocalyptic Antinomies,” “God’s Way of Making Things Right,” and “The Covenants of Hagar and Sarah: Two Covenants and Two Gentile Missions,” in Theological Issues in the Letters of Paul (Nashville: Abingdon, 1997), 111–23, 141–56, 191–208 (respectively). ↵
N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2013), 451. ↵
Ibid. ↵
Though see the ironic construction of an “anti-apocalypse” in 2 Cor. 12:1–9, which contains all the formal or structural elements of the genre without actually disclosing a visual revelation. Clearly, the apostle knew the genre well enough to subvert it, as shall be suggested below. ↵
For evidence of this third basic element (the identical) in actual apocalypses, see Edith M. Humphrey, The Ladies and the Cities: Apocalyptic Identity and Transformation in Joseph and Aseneth, 4 Ezra, the Apocalypse and The Shepherd of Hermas, JSPSup 17 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1995). ↵
Calvin J. Roetzel, Paul: The Man and the Myth (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1999), 101. ↵
Some will lament that I have capitulated to the historical-critical tradition at this point. Certainly, there is much material in Colossians and Ephesians that would support an emphasis upon the vertical axis. Not to deal with these two letters also makes it difficult for me to respond to the most recent challenge of Edwin van Driel that both the covenantal (cf. Wright) and apocalyptic (cf. Martyn) accounts of Paul’s Christology miss the supralapsarian contours implicit in Pauline election (see Edwin Chr. van Driel, “Climax of the Covenant vs. Apocalyptic Invasion: A Theological Analysis of a Contemporary Debate in Pauline Exegesis,” IJST 17, no. 1 [2015]: 6–25). However, in uncovering a neglected aspect of the apostle’s thought, it is better to begin on common ground: unfortunately, there is no space here for an apologia defending the apt use of these ecclesially-oriented letters. ↵
The main clause is prefaced with the participial phrase concerning his presence, ἀπὼν τῷ σώματι παρὼν δὲ τῷ πνεύματι (1 Cor. 5:3); then the presence is introduced as the second part of a genitive absolute construction: συναχθέντων ὑμῶν καὶ τοῦ ἐμοῦ πνεύματος (5:4). ↵
If this seems too far-fetched, consider the insistent assumption of those gathered in John Mark’s mother’s house that Rhoda was mistaken about the presence at their door, and that his “angel” was visiting them (Acts 12:15). Luke presents this detail concerning the opinion that “his spirit” may be at the door rather matter-of-factly, without registering any compulsion to correct the worldview, over against his critique of magic in Acts 8 or 19. ↵
A further example of Paul’s appeal to unseen beings may be seen in the perspective that he offers in 1 Thess. 4:13–18, where, as Roetzel argues, Paul “bridged the great divide and drew the boundaries of the community broadly enough to include both the living and the departed saints” (Paul, 103). Though the apostle’s explicit teaching here is eschatological, it is based upon a cosmic ecclesial picture that embraces the living and “those who are asleep.” Those who are unseen (whether by geography or by “sleep”) are still present to the church. ↵
For an argument that casts this speech in the deliberative mode, see Edith M. Humphrey, “Ambivalent Apocalypse: Apocalyptic Rhetoric and Intertextuality in 2 Corinthians,” in The Intertexture of Apocalyptic Discourse in the New Testament, ed. Duane F. Watson (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2002), 113–36. ↵
On the apocalyptic mode of Romans 10, see Edith M. Humphrey, “Why Bring the Word Down?: The Rhetoric of Demonstration and Disclosure in Romans 9:30—10:13,” in Romans and the People of God: Essays in Honor of Gordon D. Fee on the Occasion of His 65th Birthday, eds. S. Soderlund and N. T. Wright (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 129–48. ↵
Lincoln’s description of Paul’s method—he “serves up a [midrashic] cake, the basic ingredients of which are typological but which has some allegorical icing”— is comic though apt (Paradise Now, 14). ↵
Ibid., 18. ↵
Ibid., 21. ↵
Ibid. ↵
Martyn, “The Covenants of Hagar and Sarah,” 200. ↵
C. S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength, The Cosmic Trilogy (London: Bodley Head, 1989). ↵
An implicit reminder of the angelic role in directing worship is consonant with the apostle’s final word on worship to the congregation, that all things should be done with an eye to taxis, that is, “according to order” (1 Cor. 14:40). ↵
Much is uncertain concerning what can be known about the origin of head-coverings in the Jewish synagogue, but it is clear that at least the priests covered their heads when serving in the Temple. ↵
Paul’s understanding of prophecy assumes that “the spir
its of the prophets are subject to the prophets” (1 Cor. 14:32), and so, a woman, when she prophesies, does not yield to ecstatic abandon, but retains a sign of “authority” or “power” on her head. ↵
D. Francois Tolmie, “Angels as Arguments? The Rhetorical Function of References to Angels in the Main Letters of Paul,” Hervormde Teologiese Studies 67, no. 1 (2011): 1–8, at 7. ↵
Patrick Reardon, The Trial of Job (Ben Lomond, CA: Conciliar, 2005), 24. ↵
6
Apocalyptic and the Sudden Fulfillment of Divine Promise
N. T. Wright
The space is too constrained, and the current debates too many-sided and wide-ranging, to allow for detailed interaction with other views. There will, however, be many times when Mark’s “apocalyptic” warning will be appropriate: “Let the reader understand.”
Paul and the Apocalyptic Imagination Page 14