Pacific Side

Several weeks ago in my reading, I came to the passage in John 10 where Jesus is in Jerusalem for Chanukah. "At that time the Feast of Dedication took place at Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the colonnade of Solomon." (John 10:22-23) Those two sentences alone are intriguing to me. The Bible tells us a lot about what Jesus said and did but not much about his unvoiced thoughts. As he walked the halls of the Temple that holiday season, was he remembering the statue of Zeus that had been raised there in the winter almost two centuries before? The pig slaughtered upon the altar of burnt offering? Antiochus Epiphanes' callous disregard for all that was sacred to the faith when he marched with force into the Holy of Holies?

As a boy, I first learned the story of the Maccabees, Antiochus Epiphanes, and the desolation and rededication of the Temple from my dad while studying the prophecy of Daniel. The clash of the classical world of the Greek empire, its rich mythology, and plethora of deities with the ancient Jewish monotheism and Hebraic values that I'd been raised to reverence made for a colorful period of history that piqued my interest from the start. My dad literally has bookshelves stacked on bookshelves in his study. When I was young, I would sometimes take down books at random and flip through them. One of those books was the Antiquities of the Jews by Josephus. There was one image in that particular book that fascinated me, a neoclassical depiction of Eleazar Maccabee toppling the elephants of the Seleucids. It was just a simple black and white illustration, but the dynamic quality of the scene was thrilling. I can't help but wonder if as a boy, Jesus found a sense of excitement in the Chanukah story as well. Chronologically, he would have been about as far from the events of the first Chanukah as we in the U.S. today are from the events of the Civil War. It's clear from scripture that he shared the Maccabees' intense passion for the sanctity of the Temple Mount. All four of the gospels record how he cleansed the Temple grounds by driving out all who were buying and selling goods and exchanging money, even aggressively crafting a weapon, a whip of cords, for the purpose. And with his actions came his words:

"Take these things away; do not make my Father's house a house of trade." (John 2:16)

"Is it not written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations'? But you have made it a den of robbers." (Matthew 21:13, Mark 11:17, Luke 19:46)

"Zeal for your house will consume me." (John 2:17, Psalm 69:9)

As heir to a fraction of the territory conquered by Alexander, Antiochus IV became the first ruler in the history of the Greek empire to explicitly claim divine titles for himself. "Theos Epiphanes", "God Manifest," was attached to his name wherever it occurred. He was Zeus incarnate, and every coin and scrap of paper issued in the Seleucid realm proclaimed it. It's clear from any study of the history of the wider world that this was nothing new. Men have consistently laid claim to godhood as far back as the records go. The Egyptian pharaohs claimed to be various incarnations of Horus, Osiris, and Ra. The sovereigns of the Xia (夏) and Shang (商) dynasties in China were called sons of Heaven (天子) and in the Qin (秦) assumed the additional title of divine emperor (皇帝), intended to hearken back to the god-kings of prehistoric legend. The rulers of Mesopotamia had often declared themselves deities; Nebuchadnezzar II is known for raising a massive statue of his own image for worship. In every case, the pointed words of the Shema echoed through history in stark contrast, "Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one." (Deuteronomy 6:4) Not two. Not three. Not fifty. Not millions. When Antiochus Epiphanes profaned the Temple with idolatrous monuments to his own divinity, it was blasphemy against the unity of the LORD, and for three years the sons and daughters of Israel fought to regain Jerusalem with the same zealous conviction that led Jesus, when asked which of the commandments is most important, to begin his answer with the Shema. "Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one." (Mark 12:29)

With those thoughts, I can move on from those first two sentences in John 10. Jesus had already claimed to be the Messiah (John 4:26). Apparently the word about him had spread and there was public debate about the matter (John 7:25-44), so people at the Temple in Jerusalem for Chanukah ask him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” (John 10:24) Traditionally, the Messiah was expected to be a great man of royal descent but not God. For Jesus, his identity as Messiah and as the Son of God always went hand in hand:

But he said to them, "How can they say that the Messiah is David's son? For David himself says in the Book of Psalms, 'The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool.' David thus calls him Lord, so how is he his son?" (Luke 20:41-44)

"If you are the Messiah," they said, "tell us." Jesus answered, "If I tell you, you will not believe me, and if I asked you, you would not answer. But from now on, the Son of Man will be seated at the right hand of the mighty God." They all asked, "Are you then the Son of God?" He replied, "You are right in saying I am." (Luke 22:67-70)

In John 10, it’s the same; when they ask if he is the Messiah, he responds by explaining his relationship to the Father, which implies he is the Son of God. The people prepare to stone him “for blasphemy, because you, a mere man, claim to be God.” (John 10:33) The charge given against Jesus before he was killed was exactly the same, "We have a law, and according to that law he must die, because he claimed to be the Son of God.” (John 19:7)

Given that they were gathered in Jerusalem to remember Chanukah, their incredulity is somewhat understandable. Not only does this man make himself God like Antiochus Epiphanes, but this time around the one making the claim is a son of Israel. It raises questions. Why would one with clear reverence for the holiness of God, his Temple, and the values of Chanukah make such a claim? What difference if any is there between the claims of Antiochus Epiphanes and Jesus?

The simple answer and the one Jesus gave them is that his claim is justified because he is who he says he is. It’s late here (I’ll have to edit later) and I’m not about to tack on an apology for the deity of Christ. ”Why then do you accuse me of blasphemy because I said, 'I am God's Son'? Do not believe me unless I do what my Father does. But if I do it, even though you do not believe me, believe the miracles, that you may know and understand that the Father is in me, and I in the Father.” (John 10:36-38) Antiochus Epiphanes came in his own name. Jesus came in the name of the Father. Antiochus Epiphanes exalted himself in the pursuit of his own glory. Jesus’ claims to divinity always made mention of his relation to the Father. One came in defiance against the God of Israel. One came according to the order woven into the very fabric of the universe by its Creator.

Three of the gospels record that the curtain of the Temple was torn in two when Jesus died (Matthew 27:51, Mark 15:38, Luke 23:45). By any other hand, it would have been an act of desolation, but he alone who was completely holy was capable of fulfilling the law for all eternity. Through his sacrifice, the Holy of Holies was opened for us to enter, not on terms of our own choosing but only by the righteousness we have through Messiah. (Hebrews 6:19, Hebrews 10:20) He is our great high priest who intercedes for us in the very presence of the LORD. God with us. Rejoice, rejoice, Immanuel has come to thee, O Israel.

My sister reminded me this afternoon that Rosh Hashanah (the Feast of Trumpets) was beginning at sundown. On CNN this evening, the correspondents on Larry King and Anderson Cooper 360 kept talking about how anymore work on an economic bailout by Congress is delayed until Thursday now due to Rosh Hashanah. This has to be the first time in American history where Rosh Hashanah (or any of the holy days) has affected the whole nation in any way. Suze Orman pointed out that we lost one trillion dollars today alone without the bailout. Given that we have to twiddle our thumbs for now, maybe it's worth talking about the holidays for which we're literally giving up billions each day this week.

In Leviticus 23:23-25, sandwiched between the Feast of Weeks (Shavuot or Pentecost) and the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), we find:

"And the LORD spoke to Moses, saying, 'Speak to the people of Israel, saying, "In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall observe a day of solemn rest, a memorial proclaimed with blast of trumpets, a holy convocation. You shall not do any ordinary work, and you shall present a food offering to the LORD."'"

There is a Christian tradition that looks for the fulfillment of each of the seven holy days listed in Leviticus 23 in Christ. According to the tradition, four of them have already been fulfilled. Passover (Pesach) always looked back to the first sacrifice of Passover lambs in Egypt and the deliverance of the Israelites from slavery. The day was fulfilled when Christ, the Lamb of God, breathed his last at the time of sacrifice (the ninth hour or 3pm) on that Passover Friday, and the curtain in the Temple was torn in two. The New Testament records that there was something of a rush to bury the body because sundown on Friday evening marked the beginning of not only the Sabbath but "that Sabbath was a high day" (John 19:31 ESV). This means that in that year the Sabbath (Saturday) coincided with the first day of the weeklong Feast of Unleavened Bread, which follows Passover. Matthew, Mark, and Luke all record Christ breaking the unleavened bread at the last supper and saying of it, "This is my body." The Sunday following that Sabbath was the Feast of Firstfruits when the first grain of the harvest was offered to God in the Temple (Leviticus 23:9-14). At dawn on that day, Christ rose from the dead, "the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep," as Paul describes him in 1 Corinthians 15, the first of a new creation. Fifty days after the Firstfruits was the Feast of Weeks (Shavuot or Pentecost). Just as Passover looked back to deliverance from Egypt, the Feast of Weeks was traditionally a time to commemorate the giving of the Torah and the establishment of the covenant between God and Israel. Acts begins by recounting how at Pentecost the first believers were anointed by the Holy Spirit, the Counselor Christ had promised, by whom we are "sealed for the day of redemption" (Ephesians 4:30).

Apart from whatever shallow romantic appeal the tradition may hold, there does seem to be an intelligence to the coinciding of the holy days and the Sabbath in the year of Christ's death and an ordered correspondence between the meaning of each day and the events that occurred that year. As the author of Colossians writes, "These are a shadow of the things that were to come; the reality, however, is found in Christ."

What then of the remaining three holy days? Without venturing into the speculative realm of eschatological detail (as some are eager to do), the Feast of Trumpets (Rosh Hashanah), the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur), and the Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot) are often associated with Christ's Second Coming, the Judgment Day, and the creation of the New Heaven and New Earth respectively. I prefer to leave the details of how things play out to God, but there is little doubt that the three remaining days will also find their fulfillment in the work of Christ.

According to Wikipedia, "Rosh Hashanah is characterized by the blowing of the shofar, a trumpet made from a ram's horn, intended to awaken the listener from his or her 'slumber' and alert them to the coming judgment." Rosh Hashanah begins the period of the High Holy Days, the Days of Awe (Yamim Noraim) or the Ten Days of Repentance (Asseret Yemei Teshuva), with a call to prepare for the Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur) through repentance of sin. The Day of Atonement concludes the High Holy Days and "is the most solemn and important of the Jewish holidays."

That is what began this evening and what is costing the nation billions of dollars this week by the delay it has caused. If anything, may we take these valuable days waiting for an economic bailout to focus on the far superior value of the atoning sacrifice for sin that we have in our Messiah. May we appreciate the profound significance of these next few days and look with expectant hope to their coming fulfillment in Christ.

Like most life-long readers of The Chronicles of Narnia, I am really looking forward to the release of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in December. I used to do my homework on C.S. Lewis' desk in the afternoons during my first year at Wheaton and thought it was the coolest thing ever (before it became a dead museum piece in the new Wade Center). Needless to say, the commercialization of the story is painful to watch. People in malls promoting the movie dressed like lions. Action figures in production and probably a video game at some point. CCM artists using the Narnia tag to try and sell their music to the mainstream. I concede that the hype offers the Church a unique opportunity to share the story with moviegoers, but I hope that those who go searching for a reading of The Chronicles this Christmas do not settle for a poor one. One distinction I find to be particularly powerful in the books separates allegorical representation from the symbolic genre that C.S. Lewis sometimes labels "myth". To further employ this terminology, the symbolism of The Chronicles of Narnia is not allegory but "incarnated myth".

What is the difference? To clarify this distinction with the example at hand, allegorical writing would examine the New Testament account of the salvation of our world and ask, "How can the historical facts of this story be retold in the land of Narnia?" or "What can we use to represent the characters of Christ, Satan, Judas, and Mary?" Myth, on the otherhand, perceives a reality and truth that transcends space and time and asks, "How would this truth that has entered into the history of our world in a particular way make itself manifest in the world of Narnia?" Allegory supposes Narnia to be a direct representation or copy of our own world. Incarnated myth supposes Narnia as a parallel world subject to the same higher order. In The Chronicles, it is made clear that Narnia's story is not meant to be a mere retelling of the story of our world. Both worlds exist side-by-side in the books and have independent histories that interact at times. Ultimately, this is most apparent at the close of The Last Battle where the two worlds are brought together into a common deeper reality.

In a letter to a fifth grade class in the United States, C.S. Lewis once wrote, "You are mistaken when you think that everything in the books 'represents' something in this world. Things do that in The Pilgrim's Progress but I'm not writing in that way. I did not say to myself 'Let us represent Jesus as He really is in our world by a Lion in Narnia': I said 'Let us suppose that there were a land like Narnia and that the Son of God, as He became a Man in our world, became a Lion there, and then imagine what would happen.' If you think about it, you will see that it is quite a different thing."

Why is the distinction important? As incarnated myth, The Chronicles allow Lewis more freedom and imagination with the story, instead of demanding that everything directly correlate with some part of the New Testament chronology. Besides allowing the author more freedom though, the use of incarnated myth as opposed to allegory is also one of the things that makes The Chronicles uniquely powerful. Instead of being a symbol that is only relevant within the borders of the story, Aslan is a character that is not intended to represent Christ but is supposed to actually be the person of the Son of God in Narnia. Aslan's sacrifice in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe may remind readers of the crucifixion and resurrection, his roles as creator and king in the other books may further reinforce the correlation, but ultimately it is at the end of The Last Battle that it becomes clear he is more than a symbol. "And as He spoke He no longer looked to them like a lion." As the form of the lion fades, the focus is directed towards his person, and we discover that he has always been present and active in the histories of both Narnia and our world.

By suggesting that C.S. Lewis means for Aslan to be the second person of the Trinity made incarnate in the Narnian world and not an allegorical representation of the man Jesus Christ, I am not trying to advocate a dualism that tears transcendent spiritual reality from the gospel of history or favors one over the other. Elsewhere he writes, "As myth transcends thought, Incarnation transcends myth." The power of The Chronicles is amplified by the realization that the eternal Son of God we cannot help recognizing in the person of Aslan did become a man at a specific time in history. He was born into our world. He died bearing our sins and then rose again. He reigns forever as our King. The power of The Chronicles and the story of Christmas lie together there. The Myth become fact. The Word made flesh.