The Prophetic Imagination

by Walter Brueggemann

  On the Sabbath as a sign of the freedom of the messianic age, see Jürgen Moltmann, The Church in the Power of the Spirit: A Contribution of Messianic Ecclesiology, trans. M. Kohl (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1993), 261–78. Moltmann quotes Fromm to good advantage: “Death is suspended and life rules on the Sabbath day” (270). Compare Hans Walter Wolff, Anthropology of the Old Testament, trans. M. Kohl (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1974), 135–42, on the radical social implications of the day. See also Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Modern Man (New York: Farrar, Straus and Young, 1951). ↵

  Paul W. Hollenbach, “Jesus, Demoniacs, and Public Authorities: A Socio-Historical Study,” JAAR 49 (1981): 567–88; John J. Pilch, Healing in the New Testament: Insights from Medical and Mediterranean Anthropology (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2000); Norman K. Gottwald, “The Plot Structure of Marvel or Problem Resolution Stories in the Elijah-Elisha Narratives and Some Musings on Sitz im Leben,” in idem, The Hebrew Bible in Its Social World and in Ours (Atlanta: Scholars, 1993), 119–30. ↵

  Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Reconstruction of Christian Origins (New York: Crossroad, 1983; 10th anniversary ed., 1994); Kathleen Corley, Private Women, Public Meals: Social Conflict in the Synoptic Tradition (Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1993); Ekkehard W. Stegemann and Wolfgang Stegemann, The Jesus Movement: A Social History of Its First Century (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 378–88. ↵

  Douglas E. Oakman, “Jesus and Agrarian Palestine: The Factor of Debt,” in SBL Seminar Papers 1985 (Atlanta: Scholars, 1985), 57–73; K. C. Hanson and Douglas E. Oakman, Palestine in the Time of Jesus: Social Structures and Social Conflicts (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1998), 119–20, 152–53. ↵

  K. C. Hanson, “Sin, Purification, and Group Process,” in Problems in Biblical Theology: Essays in Honor of Rolf Knierim, ed. H. T. C. Sun et al. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 167–91; this article deals with Leviticus 4–5; Jeremiah 7–8 and 26; Acts 2. ↵

  There can be little doubt that, in his temple sermon of Jeremiah 7, Jeremiah had to combat a high theology of Jerusalem in part encouraged by Isaiah. The critique of the claims of Jerusalem inevitably meant conflict with the royal consciousness. On the royal dimension of the Jerusalem tradition, see John H. Hayes, “The Traditions of Zion’s Inviolability,” JBL 82 (1963): 419–26; J. J. M. Roberts, “The Davidic Origin of the Zion Tradition,” JBL 92 (1973): 329–44; idem, “Zion in the Theology of the Davidic-Solomonic Empire,” in Studies in the Period of David and Solomon and Other Essays, ed. T. Ishida (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1982), 93–108; Jon D. Levenson, “Zion Traditions,” in ABD 6:1098–102. ↵

  On the law and social convention as related to biblical faith, see the critique by José Porfirio Miranda, Marx and the Bible: A Critique of the Philosophy of Oppression, trans. J. Eagleson (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1974), especially chap. 4. ↵

  José Porfirio Miranda argues in a similar direction concerning compassion, though with reference to a different Greek term; Being and the Messiah: The Message of St. John, trans. J. Eagleson (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1977), 148–53. ↵

  Both the value and the deficiency on structural criticism are evident in the various discussions of the parable of the good Samaritan in Semeia 2 (1974). ↵

  That claim is of course at the center of prophetic faith and of liberation theology. A somewhat different rendering of the same reality is expressed by Paul Elmem in commenting on the poet Robert Lowell: “. . . the secret known to poets and to nightingales; that pain can be managed when it finds a perfect expression” (“Death of an Elf­king,” ChrCent 94 [1977], 10–57). That is the secret completely denied to the managers who shape the empire. ↵

  It now is clear that the “woe oracle” used by the prophets and then by Jesus is to be understood not as a harsh renunciation but as a summons to grieve a death. Compare W. Eugene March, “Prophecy,” in Old Testament Form Criticism, ed. J. H. Hayes, TUMSR 2 (San Antonio: Trinity Univ. Press, 1974), 164–65, and references there to the works of Richard J. Clifford, Erhard Gerstenberger, Günther Wanke, and James G. Williams. The recharacterization of the form in that way is indicative of a quite new discernment of what the prophets are about. Such a form indicates grief as the proper context for such speech and indicates the heavy misunderstanding of the prophets in many circles where “woe” is understood as threat and rage. For an interpretation of “woe” in terms of honor and shame, see K. C. Hanson, “How Honorable! How Shameful! A Cultural Analysis of Matthew’s Makarisms and Reproaches,” Semeia 68 (1996): 81–111. ↵

  The cross thus is the announcement that God has abandoned all theology of triumph and glory. See the arguments of Douglas John Hall, Lighten Our Darkness: Toward an Indigenous Theology of the Cross (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976). ↵

  Paul Lehmann, The Transformation of Politics (New York: Harper & Row, 1975) 48–70. ↵

  Terence E. Fretheim, The Suffering of God: An Old Testament Perspective, OBT (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1984), 132–36. ↵

  The argument of Lifton from chap. 3 is pertinent here. The collapse has to do finally not with visible, imperial items but with the collapse of the symbol system. Alienation from a symbol system that leaves us disconnected is the harshness of this criticism. ↵

  See R. H. Fuller, The Foundations of New Testament Christology (New York: Scribner, 1965), 207. ↵

  On embrace of negation see Douglas John Hall, Lighten Our Darkness: Toward an Indigenous Theology of the Cross (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1976), chap. 2 and passim. See also Walter Brueggemann, “A Shape for Old Testament Theology, II: The Embrace of Pain,” CBQ 47 (1985): 395–415. ↵

  6

  Energizing and Amazement in Jesus of Nazareth

  The formation of an alternative community with an alternative consciousness is so that the dominant community may be criticized and finally dismantled. But more than dismantling, the purpose of the alternative community is to enable a new human beginning to be made. The primary work of Moses was to make a new human beginning with the religion of God’s freedom and the politics of justice and compassion.

  In considering the work of Second Isaiah, we have seen first that his forsaken community of exiles was in despair because it did not know or believe that any new beginning was possible and, second, that the only way to overcome the despair was the public presentation of hope. As the pre-exilic community was encapsulated in numbness, so the exilic community was beset by despair. As the pre-exilic prophet (Jeremiah) penetrated the numbness by the public presentation of grief, so the exilic prophet (Second Isaiah) penetrated the despair by the public presentation of hope. As Jeremiah presented grief as the ultimate criticism, so Second Isaiah brought Israel to a sense of a new historical beginning by the action of God in his sovereign and gracious freedom. If we are to understand prophetic energizing, we must see that its characteristic idiom is hope and not optimism.[1] The point of this idiom is to permit the community to engage in amazement that will not be prevented by the despair of the community for whom everything has collapsed.

  When in the prophetic tradition we come to speak of the ultimate presentation of energy, we finally must turn to Jesus of Nazareth. We have seen that, by his actions and words, and especially by his crucifixion, he engaged in the dismantling of the royal consciousness and brought his community to face its grief in that dismantling. The counterpart to that, and indeed the focus of the work of Jesus, was not dismantling but the inauguration of a new thing. This imagination and action stood against all the discerned data and in the face of the doubt and resistance of those to whom he came. That ultimate energizing gave people a future when they believed that the grim present was the end and the only possible state of existence. That new future in which no one believed was born in staggering amazement, for it was correctly perceived as underived and unextrapolated and therefore beyond human understanding (Phil 4:7) and human control.

  It is the task of every would-be prophet to present such unde­rived
and unextrapolated newness. It is the claim of every would-be prophet that the newness is possible only because God is God, and God is faithful to the promised newness. So the argument of this chapter is simply that Jesus of Nazareth is the fulfillment and quintessence of the prophetic tradition. He brought to public expression the newness given by God. The response to his work and person is amazement, for it is amazing that anything should be unextrapolated in our history. That amazement gave energy, the only kind of energy that gives newness.

  Jesus’ Birth

  The birth of Jesus is presented, especially by Luke, as decisive energizing toward a new social reality. The early church obviously struggled with how to begin its tale of Jesus. The beginning must be just right, for there is something new here that can scarcely be articulated, and the articulation must match the reality of the newness. The birth itself is presented by the song of the angels against the rulers of the day. The rulers had decreed a census and all the managing ways that went with it, but a census never led to energy or newness.[2] This new one from God could not and would not be counted. The grim holding action of census was penetrated by the unscheduled and unextrapolated song of angels who sing a new song for a new king. There is no way to begin this new narrative except by a new song in the mouth of angels, authorized from the throne of God. The very idiom of lyric means the penetration of closed royal prose. The beginning is with a song that stands in conflict with the decree. All the old history is by decree, but the new history begins another way. The birth of a new king marks a new beginning in heaven and on earth of a very different kind. So the Lucan version is in keeping with the devices of Second Isaiah, an enthronement formula and a new song for a new king. The birth of the new king, the one Rome did not anticipate and Herod could not stop, begins another history, which carries in it the end of all old royal histories. Characteristically, the birth of this new king marks a jubilee from old debts, an amnesty from old crimes, and a beginning again in a movement of freedom (so Luke 4:18-19).

  The newly lyrical beginning is received by the only ones who could receive it, the shepherds, who were certainly bearers of society’s marginality. There is no hint here of the lyrics being heard by any of the managers of the census. They just kept counting and assuming that all numbers come in sequence and finally add up. This beginning is not among those who operate the old order; rather, it emerges among the victims of the old order. It comes among a barren old woman (Elizabeth), an innocent but believing young woman (Mary), an old man struck dumb (Zechariah), and society’s rejects (shepherds). It is a place for amazement because they are the ones who had known the depths of grief. Thus amazement happened among them and not among those who had not yet grieved the death of the old age.

  The newness announced and observed is not a newness that fits the old categories, for it is precisely the old categories that are now shattered. So there is no easy categorizing of the event, as kings are inclined to do. The event will not be contained by the rationality of the king, ancient or contemporary. Rather, there is here a brooding, a wondering, and an amazement. The shepherds themselves are moved to a doxology (Luke 2:20), Mary is left with pondering (2:19), and the others are left in amazement (2:18). The praise, brooding, and astonishment are appropriate to the event, for it was not expected and it could not be understood on any conventional grounds. There is criticism here, for implicitly the old rulers are dismantled and have no access to the new future. A newness has begun, and it is a newness to the victimized ones. Invited to join are all those who have groaned under the ways of the old kings.

  The same energizing power from the birth is evident in the poems and songs with which the Lucan birth narrative is surrounded. The songs are about promises being kept just when all the promises appear to have failed. This is the character of the energy in the gospel; apparently failed promises are being kept just when we thought they were abandoned. So the song of Mary (the Magnificat; Luke 1:46-55) is about the unthinkable turn in human destinies when all seemed impossible: “For with God nothing will be impossible” (v. 37). The answering song of Zechariah (1:68-79) is a song of new possibilities given late, but not too late, possibilities of deliverance/forgiveness/mercy/light/peace. The old order had left nothing but enslavement/guilt/judgment/darkness and hostility, and no one could see how that could ever change. It will not be explained but only sung about, for the song penetrates royal reason. The song releases energy that the king can neither generate nor prevent. The transformation is unmistakable. Tongues long dumb in hopelessness could sing again.[3] The newness wrought by Jesus will not be explained, for to explain is to force it into old royal categories. And in any case the energizing hope comes precisely to those ill-schooled in explanation and understandings. It comes to those who will settle for amazements they can neither explain nor understand.

  Jesus’ Ministry

  The ministry of Jesus is, of course, the energizing that leads to the radical beginnings precisely when none seemed possible. Everything hinges on the ministry and the narrative rushes to the ministry. Indeed, the birth narratives are told only because of the impact of Jesus’ ministry. The birth is only a hope; but the ministry is where the possibilities of hope must seriously engage the world of despair. Jesus is presented and trusted as the one whose very person made a difference. His words and acts were not without abrasion, but those who were open and received, who let gifts be given and reality be redefined, did not notice the abrasion. Indeed, it was not an abrasion to them, for the abrasion was against the old order whose death they had long since faced and affirmed.

  What people noticed is that life had been strangely and inexplicably changed. The change did not come by proper means, for Jesus’ means were as much in violation of proper order as the results violated rationality. (Means, like ends, are a scandal.) The strange newness happened in ways that did not wait for royal sanction, and they did not happen in any of the ways that administered things happen.

  Luke is especially aware that Jesus’ deeds took place among the marginal victims of society. Mark is more sensitive to the fact that hardness of heart can stop his work, indeed, that where there is no belief he could not energize (Mark 6:5-6). It was possible to resist the new energizing, but there were great numbers who were free to embrace it and had no need to resist. The whole movement is summarized in staggering simplicity:

  The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, the poor have good news preached to them. (Luke 7:22)

  And then the response. Of course, those who valued what is old resisted:

  The chief priests and the scribes and the principal men of the people sought to destroy him. (Luke 19:47)

  The Pharisees went out, and immediately held counsel with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him. (Mark 3:6)

  And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, “He is possessed by Beelzebul, and by the prince of demons he casts out the demons.” (Mark 3:22)

  The conspiracy formed quickly, for these wanted no new energy anyway. But the others! The ones from whom and for whom the gospel is written were aware of the staggering newness:

  And they were all amazed, so that they questioned among themselves, saying, “What is this? A new teaching!” (Mark 1:27)

  And they were filled with awe, and said to one another, “Who then is this, that even wind and sea obey him?” (Mark 4:41)

  And many who heard him were astonished, saying, “Where did this man get all this? What is the wisdom given to him? What mighty works are wrought by his hands!” (Mark 6:2)

  Mostly they were amazed, for more was going on than they could understand or account for, and so they marveled:

  And amazement seized them all, and they glorified God and were filled with awe, saying, “We have seen strange things today.” (Luke 5:26)

  And all were astonished at the majesty of God. (Luke 9:43)

  When the disciples heard this, they fell on their faces, and were filled with awe. (Matt 1
7:6)

  But marveling at his answer they were silent. (Luke 22:26)

  And they were astonished:

  And when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at his teaching, for he taught them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes. (Matt 7:28)

  And when the crowd heard it, they were astonished at his teaching. (Matt 22:33)

  And he got into the boat with them and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded. (Mark 6:51)

  And they were astonished beyond measure, saying, “He has done all things well; he even makes the deaf hear and the dumb speak.” (Mark 7:37)

  It is such a curious summary. We are accustomed to his work among the blind and lame and deaf, even though it scarcely fits our presumed world. Mostly, we do not live in a world where blind see again, where lame walk freely, or where deaf hear. We do not live there, and the stories of Jesus are so old and familiar that the wonder is blunted. Along with those conventional matters (conventional for Jesus, that is), however, appears leprosy. It is in healing leprosy that Jesus contradicts the norms of society concerning clean and unclean.[4] And in causing that rethinking of clean and unclean, Jesus was in fact calling into question all the moral distinctions upon which society was based.

  With the moral distinctions called into question, all the sanctions for justifying the political and economic inequities are gone. The list is more staggering, for with these “conventional” healings comes the unthinkable and ultimate energizing of human persons out of death. Neither Luke nor the early church nor any of us understand what this means. It will not do to reason or argue or explain or calculate, for we are in the realm of the lyrical. We are called to doxology, for only doxology can adequately speak about the newness that came in Jesus. That strangeness of life from death should have been the last word, but the summary is kept securely in daily reality, for the last act is economic rehabilitation.[5] The poor have their debts canceled and their property restored. The last Messianic act is the end of royal confiscation. That supreme and most dangerous political act is more radical than life from death. On every imaginable front, Jesus is restoring the victims of the royal consciousness. If the managers of cleanness and uncleanness, the overseers of debt laws, and the officers of death have their verdicts overridden, they are obviously no longer in power. Surely this doxology contains a criticism, and that is evident in Luke 7:23. The actions of Jesus are a scandal, for they violate propriety, reason, and good public order.