4.5 stars.
Mary-Jane Rubenstein, who I stumbled upon by accident when trying to learn more about Heidegger, eventually was the reason I read Kierkegaard’s “Fear and Trembling”. In an interview Rubenstein described how she accidentally ended up in a religion class, encountered "Fear and Trembling" for the first time, and wanted to do whatever was necessary to read the book for the rest of her life. That book also had an immense influence on me. One of the passages that I’ve never forgotten about goes:
“Yet Abraham had faith, and had faith for this life. In fact, if his faith had been only for a life to come, he certainly would have more readily discarded everything in order to rush out of a world to which he did not belong. But Abraham's faith was not of this sort, if there is such a faith at all, for actually it is not faith but the most remote possibility of faith that faintly sees its object on the most distant horizon but is separated from it by a chasmal abyss in which doubt plays its tricks. But Abraham had faith specifically for this life—faith that he would grow old in this country, be honored among the people, blessed by posterity, and unforgettable in Isaac, the most precious thing in his life,”
Paul’s writings are often pitted against the gospels, but in this respect they agree: creation matters, physicality matters, the earth matters, temporal history matters. That is why Jesus prays, “Thy kindom come, thy will be done, ON EARTH, as it is in heaven,” as Brian McLaren so importantly pointed out and which I have never forgotten.
I specifically remember sitting through a sermon on Romans 4 a year or two later at my church (after reading “Fear and Trembling), which seemed completely oblivious to how the word “faith” was used in the Pentateuchal texts Paul was drawing from in his epistle (specifically Genesis 15 and 17). The preacher was simply taking the word “faith” for granted, assuming it simply meant believing that Jesus died for our sins so we could go to heaven.
I think the initial surprise I had when I first read Kierkegaard’s “Fear and Trembling”, and the later surprise I would have hearing a preacher completely skip over the heart of the primary sources Paul built Romans 4 upon, shows something of the gap I experienced between the so-called “Old Testament” and so-called “New Testament”. I think the eisegesis, which occurs all too frequently in evangelical faith, is at the heart of what Wright is trying to flag in this book. The Christian Testament is only comprehensible by way of the Hebrew Bible.
I learnt a tremendous amount from this book, and it has reshaped the way I read Paul, and how I understand faith within the larger narrative in which Christians choose to inhabit. The book itself seemed like it was written in a hurry. By that I don’t mean it’s of poor quality. It’s just that Wright doesn’t take the time to insert the whole passages he’s referring to in his arguments. Frequently, he’s throwing out verse numbers, sometimes in long strings. He’s often referring to whole chunks of biblical passages at so frequent a pace, one might imagine he’s been too frequently chastised by editors about the length of his writing (like in his magisterial books on Jesus and Paul). Just one example, I picked by randomly skimming through the pages:
“Thus Galatians 4:8-11 functions, rhetorically, as the balance to Galatians 3:1-5: the highly charged appeal, the "How can you possibly be doing such a thing?" within which the more sober, step-by-step argument of Galatians 3:6-29, and its extension into Galatians 4:1-7, is located. This entire section thus builds directly on Galatians 2:11-21, and of course prepares the way for the rest of the letter.”
I unfortunately don’t know what all those passages are off the top of my head, even after just reading them. Wright seems to have this photographic memory of the biblical text, and while reading this book, I kept having to search out the texts just to follow Wright’s line of thought, where he was often citing multiple texts within the span of just a sentence or two. So, I personally found it very difficult to read, without a bible sitting next to me. I most often read books on the go (e.g. on a bus) but it just wasn’t possible here, and that’s why I think it took so long to finish reading.
Wright sometimes can be repetitive, which I actually appreciate sometimes, because it can take a while for his theological sketches to really sink in to something resembling comprehension. Other times, Wright flurries through a thought, and I find myself having to reread a paragraph multiple times. And sometimes I never quite get it. But all the important things, I think Wright makes sure to get through into your brain.
For example, Paul’s emphasis on faith over works of the flesh, has more to do with Gentile inclusion and Church unity between Jews and Gentiles (the so-called “New Perspective”), than it does with whatever Luther was so preoccupied by during the Reformation (i.e. the law is bad, it’s all about faith). It’s interesting that this “sola fide” (faith alone) emphasis, eventually haunted Luther later in his life when, just like with ascetic monastic practices, Luther feared was not enough. Luther was constantly worrying he would lose faith before his death. Wright’s passage here reminded me of Luther’s internal terrors:
“You cannot, in short, have a Pauline doctrine of assurance (and the glory of the Reformation doctrine of justification is precisely assurance) without the Pauline doctrine of the Spirit. Try to do it, and you will put too much weight on human faith, which will then generate all kinds of further questions about types of faith, about faith and feelings, about what happens when faith wobbles. This, in turn, will generate worried reactions, as people look on and see a supposed Protestantism which appears to regard strong emotional certainty of being saved as the criterion for being saved in fact.
…Faith is the breath which enables us to praise God, not to praise breath… faith is faith not in faith itself—the classic Protestant dilemma, if it isn't careful—but faith in the God who has acted out his all-powerful love in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ his Son."
For Paul, faith is also at its root about God’s promise to Abraham that his offspring would be a blessing to all the nations. When the issue of the Abrahamic covenant first came up, Wright never mentioned a specific verse, and I actually had to go rummaging through some of his other books to find out which text he’s referring to (one of them being Genesis 22:18), but it eventually came up later in the book. Sometimes it feels Wright just expects you to have the same photographic memory of the bible he has.
Another of the more memorable points Wright made was that the whole Reformation preoccupation of having this ladder of moral works to climb up is not what justification is based on, nor salvation — not even Christ’s ability to climb this ladder. Wright’s point is that, in the scheme of the Exodus, the archetypal narrative to which the Christian faith is constantly referring to, God’s people are ‘saved’ and ‘redeemed’ (a word that has to do with being bought out of slavery), and only AFTER they are redeemed from Egypt is the law given to them on Sinai (via Moses), to show how to live as a redeemed and liberated people, who, as Brueggemann puts it, live in a generous and neighbourly economy of abundance outside the dominance of Pharaoh’s economy of scarcity, dissatisfaction, ceaseless productivity, and coercive control. The notion that God gave us the law, and only those who keep this law perfectly will be redeemed/saved gets it the wrong way around, even if Jesus is offered as a vicarious obeyer of the law.
The participationist notion of being “in Christ” has also significantly reshaped the way I experience church services, when singing songs or reading verses, because the language of being or believing “in Christ” is so ubiquitous. Having faith “in Christ”, is not only believing what Christ did in his life, death, and resurrection, but also that we participate now “in Christ” in those acts and also in the faith Christ had that God will deliver on God’s promises to make the world right. This spills into the emphasis Wright put into describing how the righteousness of God is about God’s faithfulness to God’s covenantal promises to bless the nations through Abraham’s seed, than it is about God living up to some abstract moral code perfectly.
The connection between justification and resurrection, which Paul explicitly makes (in Romans 4:25), was also incredibly illuminating. The judgement of the ‘powers that be’ is not final. Pilate’s judgement on Jesus to be put to death was not the final word. God resurrecting Jesus showed that the ‘powers that be’ do not have the final word, and their judgement of condemnation of death is ultimately wrong.
Paul says, that if you “confess with your lips that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Being 'saved' refers back to God's action in the Exodus, and that is why Easter is situated during Passover. Being 'saved' is about being liberated from slavery. Following this, it's understandable why this Pauline verse is so foundational to the Christian faith now. When Christians assert that ‘Jesus is Lord’, the inescapable subtext is that ‘Caesar is not’ (or in Exodus language, 'Pharaoh is not'). Within the context of first-century Palestine, “Lord” was a title Caesar had. God’s power does not exist in a vacuum, it challenges and negates the powers that be. The Lord's Prayer ends, "For thine is the kindom, the power, and the glory." But if we examine the way most Christians live their lives (myself included), it often seems like Christians would much rather like saying the prayer not to God but to multi-national corporations, to tech giants, to the market economy, to governments, to financial institutions, to police forces and the military — all of whom to which we yield such power over to, rather than someone as intangible and inscrutable as God. Christians would much rather revel under the glory of tangible glass towers of Babel, than under the glory of the 'invisible' God. To my mind, the glory of God directly challenges the very vanity of such idolatrous modernist temples of glass, which are symbols of inequality and corporate ostentation. What else are financial district skyscrapers but assertions of power?
Colossians 2:15 says that Christ “disarmed the rulers and authorities and made a public example of them, triumphing over them in it.” The “powers that be” are always armed, they rule by violence, and like Pharaoh at the time of Moses’ birth, they assert their power by murder — i.e. bringing death. In contrast, God in the biblical narrative is thought to exhibit power by resurrecting people — i.e. bringing new life (as Ezekiel talked about, and as Abraham had faith regarding in his extreme old age). When Christians believe God raised Jesus from the dead, they believe this to be the first fruits of new creation. That is, they believe (have faith) in a coming restoration of all creation, a future where the world is transformed into a world of peace and justice. This promise of God is about hope, and about living in prefigurative community, which lives out the peace and justice it both yearns for and anticipates to come. Christ’s resurrection is thought to be the first fruits of God’s promise to set the world right, and restore justice and peace in this world of violence and injustice. That’s the promise God made to Abraham, and which Christians are to have faith in. Not about escaping to heaven, while all the godless people Christians tolerated on earth burn in hell. Colossians 1:20 reads:
"through [Christ] God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace..."
Or in the words of Julian of Norwich, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well." 'All' is as universal and cosmic as it gets. As Romans 8:19-22 says:
“For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now;”
In a world hurling down a path of apocalyptic climate change and mass extinction, it’s not difficult to hear how “the whole creation has been groaning”. It’s also sensible to lack any optimism that we will change course, but I think Pauline texts, while maybe saying nothing of optimism, certainly speak about hope. That’s what “faith” is about in Paul’s text: hope for all creation.
To add a Kierkegaardian slant, a story from “Fear and Trembling”:
“Toward evening, he goes home, and his gait is as steady as a postman's. On the way, he thinks that his wife surely will have a special hot meal for him when he comes home—for example, roast lamb's head with vegetables. If he meets a kindred soul, he would go on talking all the way to Østerport about this delicacy with a passion befitting a restaurant operator. It so happens that he does not have four shillings to his name, and yet he firmly believes that his wife has this delectable meal waiting for him. If she has, to see him eat would be the envy of the elite and an inspiration to the common man, for his appetite is keener than Esau's. His wife does not have it—curiously enough, he is just the same.”
This is Kierkegaard’s knight of faith. Whether his wife really has the meal in the end is not at issue. It is the existential practice of faith that is at issue for Kierkegaard. We don’t know how this new creation will turn out. What matters is the way we live out the peace and justice and new life we anticipate. And in the end, it may well be “just the same”. Only we lived as “good and faithful servants”. It is not about punishment and reward. It is about love and how we express it in the way we live with others, and the hope that a world other than the one before us is possible.