So, the semester is starting to get to that point where everything seems to want to be due. It's been a really interesting semester thus far, and I hope that these last fours weeks are just as good as we wind things up. I hope to have a bit of time to work some things over in my mind before the next semster begins since I've had several things pique my interest that I'd love to pursue. Here's a list of some hopeful inquiries:
1) Is Luther's argument for justification by faith actually built on a misreading of Romans? Would it matter?
2) Would John of Damascus' "Three Treatises on the Divine Images" have much to say regarding the use and limitation of theological language?
3) How can/does apophaticism intersect ethics?
4) In what ways are fiction and theology similar? Different?
5) How do I know that a "shewa" is vocal or silent? (I know that we've talked about the rules over and over in Hebrew, but I still can't figure it out)
Those are some of the many ideas floating around my head right now. I'm in the throes of putting together my thoughts regarding Ignatius' view of martyrdom, and I'm turning up some interesting things. That's my last major project besides two rounds of preaching coming up after Thanksgiving for my Homiletics class. It's been a wild ride, but I feel like my sense of early church thought has grown by leaps and bounds, and I feel as though I could take quite a bit of time investigating the many different issues presented to me, especially in my patristic and medieval theology course. It's a doozy! Not much more to go!
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
"What good is a hermeneutic...
...if you don't have a life?"
Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, p. xiv
Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, p. xiv
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Maybe I'll write on here again...
So, the summer and the beginning of the school year have been a major blitz. Beginning to shoot weddings (with my camera, of course) while also waiting tables to fill in the gaps took up a TON of time, and things haven't yet slowed down with the onset of school. I'm a busy busy busy boy, but I'm really liking my classes. Rather than list those (you can see 'em on our family blog), I'm going to give you all the run-down of my paper/reading topics to pursue over the next couple of months.
1) A brief paper/presentation on Martin Luther's spiritual writings. My emphasis will be on his "Three Treatises" that he wrote in 1520, one of which is entitled "The Babylonian Captivity of the Church". It hopes to be rockin'.
2) Learn Hebrew as best I can.
3) My proposed paper topic for Patristic and Medeival Theology regards Ignatius' theology of martyrdom in the 7 letters written on his way to Rome to be executed. While my preliminary research had largely dealt with text-critical issues related to the 7 letters, I am going to move quickly into dealing with the texts themselves. Even if they aren't verifiably from Ignatius, the fact remains that they are an integral piece of the church's history. I was provoked to read more Ignatius after reading a brief selection from his letter to the Roman church, his final destination as it were. In this letter, he implores the church not to intervene for his sake and to let the martyrdom take place, making some very poignant statements to the effect of "now I become a disciple." It should be really interesting. If I have more time after my intitial synthesis of the letters is complete, I may begin to incorporate more contemporary voices into the discussion, especially those who connect martyrdom and sacrament.
4) I will be reading and reporting on Richard Hays' "Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul". I've been wanting to read this work for a while, and my NT use of the OT biblical theology class seemed to be the best place to do so. I'm struggling a bit in that class since I only have about 3 weeks worth of any biblical language under my belt. I also found a very cool source to go along with my reading of Hays' book that is a collection of essays written in dialogue with Hays a few years after the publishing of this work. All the essays are specifically addressing at least a piece of what Hays brings to the table. What a find, eh? Praise the Lord!
Ok, that's it for now! Grace and peace be yours in Christ Jesus!
1) A brief paper/presentation on Martin Luther's spiritual writings. My emphasis will be on his "Three Treatises" that he wrote in 1520, one of which is entitled "The Babylonian Captivity of the Church". It hopes to be rockin'.
2) Learn Hebrew as best I can.
3) My proposed paper topic for Patristic and Medeival Theology regards Ignatius' theology of martyrdom in the 7 letters written on his way to Rome to be executed. While my preliminary research had largely dealt with text-critical issues related to the 7 letters, I am going to move quickly into dealing with the texts themselves. Even if they aren't verifiably from Ignatius, the fact remains that they are an integral piece of the church's history. I was provoked to read more Ignatius after reading a brief selection from his letter to the Roman church, his final destination as it were. In this letter, he implores the church not to intervene for his sake and to let the martyrdom take place, making some very poignant statements to the effect of "now I become a disciple." It should be really interesting. If I have more time after my intitial synthesis of the letters is complete, I may begin to incorporate more contemporary voices into the discussion, especially those who connect martyrdom and sacrament.
4) I will be reading and reporting on Richard Hays' "Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul". I've been wanting to read this work for a while, and my NT use of the OT biblical theology class seemed to be the best place to do so. I'm struggling a bit in that class since I only have about 3 weeks worth of any biblical language under my belt. I also found a very cool source to go along with my reading of Hays' book that is a collection of essays written in dialogue with Hays a few years after the publishing of this work. All the essays are specifically addressing at least a piece of what Hays brings to the table. What a find, eh? Praise the Lord!
Ok, that's it for now! Grace and peace be yours in Christ Jesus!
Friday, May 16, 2008
Kinds of Knowledge
Since I'm done with the school year, I thought that I'd pick up another novel to read before starting to study Greek and reading Theopolitical Imagination by William Cavanagh. I've never studied Greek before, so I guess this probably would best be described as procrastination but hopefully not time wasted or fruitless. Having read Lewis' space triology over the past several months, I found again that I much prefer his fiction over his other works by far, and I decided to reread Til We Have Faces. I ran across this quote this morning while, and I'm interested to hear what you think.
To set the stage, the kingdom of Glomeis in great turmoil. For several years, the kingdom has been plagued by all sorts of ills: pestilence, famine, lions, external threats, etc. Having recovered from the plague himself, the great priest of Ungit (Aphrodite) approaches the king to tell him that Ungit requires a specific sort of sacrifice in order that these maladies may diminish. Having listened to the description of the necessary sacrifice, the Fox--a Greek slavce taken in battle--loses his patience and names the apparent contraditions in the priest's checklist of requirements for the sacrifice. Here is how the priest replies:
"'We are hearing much Greek wisdom this morning, King,' said the Priest. 'And I have heard most of it before. I did not need a slave to teach it to me. It is very subtle. But it brings no rain and grows no corn; sacrifice does both. It does not even give them boldness to die. That Greek there is your slave because in some battle he threw down his arms and let them bind his hands and lead him away and sell him, rather than take a spearthrust in his heart. Much less does it give them understanding of holy things They demand to see such things clearly, as if the gods were no more than letters written in a book. I, King, have dwealt with the gods for three generations of men, and I know that they dazzle our eyes and flow in and out of one another like eddies on a river, and nothing that is said clearly can be said truly about them. Holy places are dark places. It is life and strength, not knowledge and words, that we get in them. Holy wisdom is not clear and thin like water, but thick and dark like blood. Why should not the Accursed not be both the best and the worst?'"
C.S. Lewis, Til We Have Faces, Orlando: Harcourt, 1984. p. 50
To set the stage, the kingdom of Glomeis in great turmoil. For several years, the kingdom has been plagued by all sorts of ills: pestilence, famine, lions, external threats, etc. Having recovered from the plague himself, the great priest of Ungit (Aphrodite) approaches the king to tell him that Ungit requires a specific sort of sacrifice in order that these maladies may diminish. Having listened to the description of the necessary sacrifice, the Fox--a Greek slavce taken in battle--loses his patience and names the apparent contraditions in the priest's checklist of requirements for the sacrifice. Here is how the priest replies:
"'We are hearing much Greek wisdom this morning, King,' said the Priest. 'And I have heard most of it before. I did not need a slave to teach it to me. It is very subtle. But it brings no rain and grows no corn; sacrifice does both. It does not even give them boldness to die. That Greek there is your slave because in some battle he threw down his arms and let them bind his hands and lead him away and sell him, rather than take a spearthrust in his heart. Much less does it give them understanding of holy things They demand to see such things clearly, as if the gods were no more than letters written in a book. I, King, have dwealt with the gods for three generations of men, and I know that they dazzle our eyes and flow in and out of one another like eddies on a river, and nothing that is said clearly can be said truly about them. Holy places are dark places. It is life and strength, not knowledge and words, that we get in them. Holy wisdom is not clear and thin like water, but thick and dark like blood. Why should not the Accursed not be both the best and the worst?'"
C.S. Lewis, Til We Have Faces, Orlando: Harcourt, 1984. p. 50
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
One Movie Meme
1. One movie that made you laugh:
So I Married an Axe Murderer
2. One movie that made you cry:
In America
3. One movie you loved when you were a child:
The Three Amigos
4. One movie you’ve seen more than once:
Thank You For Smoking
5. One movie you loved, but were embarrassed to admit it:
Little Women
6. One movie you hated:
Star Wars: Episode 1/3 (My wife also informed me that ought to be embarrased by the fact that I know which one is which)
7. One movie that scared you:
Labrynth
8. One movie that bored you:
From Russia, With Love
9. One movie that made you happy:
Transformers
10. One movie that made you miserable:
There Will Be Blood (Wow...depressing...)
11. One movie you weren’t brave enough to see:
The Ring (The Camp I worked at contracted with the makers of The Ring to use part of the waterfront during the filming, and sie I still have good memories of that place, I don't want to corrupt them with horror film images)
12. One movie character you’ve fallen in love with:
Amy March in Little Women (Kirstin Dunst...whew, that was a long time ago...)
13. The last movie you saw:
There Will Be Blood
14. The next movie you hope to see:
Quantum of Solace (New Bond Movie)
15. Now tag five people: Sam, Eric, Luke, Josh, Jonas.
So I Married an Axe Murderer
2. One movie that made you cry:
In America
3. One movie you loved when you were a child:
The Three Amigos
4. One movie you’ve seen more than once:
Thank You For Smoking
5. One movie you loved, but were embarrassed to admit it:
Little Women
6. One movie you hated:
Star Wars: Episode 1/3 (My wife also informed me that ought to be embarrased by the fact that I know which one is which)
7. One movie that scared you:
Labrynth
8. One movie that bored you:
From Russia, With Love
9. One movie that made you happy:
Transformers
10. One movie that made you miserable:
There Will Be Blood (Wow...depressing...)
11. One movie you weren’t brave enough to see:
The Ring (The Camp I worked at contracted with the makers of The Ring to use part of the waterfront during the filming, and sie I still have good memories of that place, I don't want to corrupt them with horror film images)
12. One movie character you’ve fallen in love with:
Amy March in Little Women (Kirstin Dunst...whew, that was a long time ago...)
13. The last movie you saw:
There Will Be Blood
14. The next movie you hope to see:
Quantum of Solace (New Bond Movie)
15. Now tag five people: Sam, Eric, Luke, Josh, Jonas.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Priesthood as Foundational
So, here's a thought that I've been pushing around my head for a while now. At our home community with Imago (think small group), I have had the privilege of leading a study through the book of Hebrews, with several detours into issues of doctrine, heresy, authority, and other such pursuits. It has been, at least for me, a pleasure. In the process of gathering my thoughts last summer, I found a vaguely formed idea taking root, and I'd like to test it out here for any who would be interested in hearing it. Please feel free to qualify, rebuke, correct, whatever if you deem it necessary.
In chapter 7 as almost an aside, the writer of Hebrews notes that the law was given on the basis of the priesthood. In this instance, the law means the Mosaic law and the priesthood is the Levitical priesthood and Aaronic high priesthood. I find that connection backwards to what I would have expected. Instead of having the cultic framework (mean cultic not in the sense of cult-ish or occult, by the way) contained within a moral framework, it is the other way around. The cultic framework serves as the foundation of a code or political paradigm, so to speak (I'm tempted to use Cavanaugh's language here, but I've only read like 5 pages of Theopolitical Imagination, so I must refrain). The way that the people of Israel are instructed to live together is governed by the prioritization of the priesthood.
This is fascinating to me, but it makes so much sense at the same time (at least, to me it does). Why would the rules of our life together be foundational to worship? Wouldn't that, in a sense, prioritize the life of the community apart from its dynamic relationship to the God sustaining it and forming it for His glory? But this is exactly what often happens! The values which govern our social interactions so often become prioritized over the priestly conditions under which those law could make sense, and when disordered, they tend to look arbitrary, voluntary, and be divisive. We often understand these issues as a subordination of spirituality to institutionalized ecclesial forms (more or less faithful...though when this happens, faithlness is at the heart of the matter) such that the rules which govern the Church's life become somehow absacted from their cultic foundations
and become ingrown.
It is interesting to me in all of this that the law is built upon the priesthood, the institution of mediation set up by God so that the people could stand vicariously before their Creator and Deliverer. In the tabernacle, the high priest interceded for the people and brought blood into the most holy place--the very presence of God. In the heavenly tabernacle, Christ reaches behind the curtain and forever intercedes for us before the Father, offering His once-for-all shed blood in bringing many sons to glory. The writer is clear in that the priesthood that Christ occupies is superior to that of the Levitical order and thus moves the latter into obsolescence. The point that I'm wondering about is that if the priesthood is the basis of the law, then a new priesthood both renders the old law useless and futile and introduces one of its own that moves inexoribly out from it. We could say that the Church isn't governed by the Mosaic Law because it doesn't require the Levitical priesthood to mediate between God and community. Rather than finding ourselves in hermeneutical pretzles, why not just answer the question on these grounds? Instead, the Church finds Jesus to be the one mediator between God and man, and thus the law the governs our life together is bound up in the nature of Christ's work, on His priesthood alone. Similarities are bound to be developed if for no other reason than that the tabernacle, the foundation of Israel's political paradigms, was a shadow of heavenly realities.
I am also particularly interested in the idea of appointment/election as this connects to priesthood, but that will have to wait.
In chapter 7 as almost an aside, the writer of Hebrews notes that the law was given on the basis of the priesthood. In this instance, the law means the Mosaic law and the priesthood is the Levitical priesthood and Aaronic high priesthood. I find that connection backwards to what I would have expected. Instead of having the cultic framework (mean cultic not in the sense of cult-ish or occult, by the way) contained within a moral framework, it is the other way around. The cultic framework serves as the foundation of a code or political paradigm, so to speak (I'm tempted to use Cavanaugh's language here, but I've only read like 5 pages of Theopolitical Imagination, so I must refrain). The way that the people of Israel are instructed to live together is governed by the prioritization of the priesthood.
This is fascinating to me, but it makes so much sense at the same time (at least, to me it does). Why would the rules of our life together be foundational to worship? Wouldn't that, in a sense, prioritize the life of the community apart from its dynamic relationship to the God sustaining it and forming it for His glory? But this is exactly what often happens! The values which govern our social interactions so often become prioritized over the priestly conditions under which those law could make sense, and when disordered, they tend to look arbitrary, voluntary, and be divisive. We often understand these issues as a subordination of spirituality to institutionalized ecclesial forms (more or less faithful...though when this happens, faithlness is at the heart of the matter) such that the rules which govern the Church's life become somehow absacted from their cultic foundations
and become ingrown.
It is interesting to me in all of this that the law is built upon the priesthood, the institution of mediation set up by God so that the people could stand vicariously before their Creator and Deliverer. In the tabernacle, the high priest interceded for the people and brought blood into the most holy place--the very presence of God. In the heavenly tabernacle, Christ reaches behind the curtain and forever intercedes for us before the Father, offering His once-for-all shed blood in bringing many sons to glory. The writer is clear in that the priesthood that Christ occupies is superior to that of the Levitical order and thus moves the latter into obsolescence. The point that I'm wondering about is that if the priesthood is the basis of the law, then a new priesthood both renders the old law useless and futile and introduces one of its own that moves inexoribly out from it. We could say that the Church isn't governed by the Mosaic Law because it doesn't require the Levitical priesthood to mediate between God and community. Rather than finding ourselves in hermeneutical pretzles, why not just answer the question on these grounds? Instead, the Church finds Jesus to be the one mediator between God and man, and thus the law the governs our life together is bound up in the nature of Christ's work, on His priesthood alone. Similarities are bound to be developed if for no other reason than that the tabernacle, the foundation of Israel's political paradigms, was a shadow of heavenly realities.
I am also particularly interested in the idea of appointment/election as this connects to priesthood, but that will have to wait.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Smith on Pentecostalism
"In other words, Pentecostalism remains, first and foremost, a spirituality: a rhythm of rituals and practices, prayers and altar calls. But that produces a position of theological and philosophical significance. Pentecostals take the central point of the narrative of Acts 2 to be Peter's courage and willingness to recognize in strange phenomena the operation of the Spirit and declare it to be a work of God. To declare "this is that" (Acts 2:16) was to be open to God working in unexpected ways and to make a theological claim about the phenomena. Thus at the heart of Pentecost is a radical openness to God—especially an openness to a God who exceeds our horizons of expectation and comes unexpectedly."
James K. A. Smith. "Thinking in Tongues". First Things, April 2008, p.27
I can't help but notice in Smith's definition here that he views the form as distinct from its theological explication. Later, he notes that much of what passes as Pentecostal theology rests on historical sources with largely implicit frameworks, the likes of which are grown out of the "liturgical origins" of the movement, namely camp meetings and peaching.
I am curious about the connection that Smith seems to be articulating in this discussion of Pentecostalism, and I wonder if the particularities of Pentecostal origins might be similar to those of other movements in Christian (or Judeo-Christian) faith. It seems that "liturgical origins" for subsequent theological development are found all over the place in the narratives of Scripture, and I would be inclined to say that without liturgical origins, any subsequent theological development is suspect. It seems that on could say that theology is, merely, a sustained reflection on the nature of God's revelation and an attempt to draw necessary conclusions (implications, inferences, etc.). Let me give an example:
Dave, a friend from MBC, recently posted THIS on his own blog, Flying Farther. Using that framework, one could easily (I think) make the argument that the tabernacle was a liturgical space for the people of Israel vicariously realized through the work of the priesthood, though this witnessing of divine presence was by no means limited to the tabernacle. Throughout the whole narrative of Exodus, God is constantly revealed in more or less distinct ways: fire, cloud, plagues, Moses, passover lamb, etc. In effect, all of creation is recruited to reveal God in one way or another. Dave relegates liturgy, it seems, to the devotion of a space wherein the context is formed in such a manner as to facilitate one's participation in the God who is revealed in Jesus. For the people of Israel, a historical space that they constantly return to is Egypt as their liturgical space, and this seems to be localized in the formation of the tabernacle. Though, one note of caution in this reading of the Exodus story in particular is that it may very well be painting Dave's definitions in different colors.
The reason I say this is that Israel's liturgical space was marked both by a story that they retold (however poorly or infrequently as the case may be), as well as a place that God dwelled among His people--the tabernacle. In fact, the tabernacle more closely aligns with what Dave is saying in that it functions as an ontological space/action which served as a Christological matrix both in the existential event/experience of the people via the priesthood as well as without.
As a Christological matrix, this is the what the writer of Hebrews seems to be saying about Jesus as our great high priest in the order of Melchizedek. We vicariously, mysteriously enter the real presence of the Father by the indestructable life of the Son by the power of the Spirit. I am reluctant to call the tabernacle prototypical, though, since Moses clearly is commanded to build what he sees on the mountain, a vision that, according to the writer of Hebrews, is no less than a vision of heaven itself. Though in the paradigm of tabernacle, Christ is not only figured as the priest who approaches to offer blood (Hebrews) but also as the God who is present in the most holy place (Revelation--the Lamb upon the throne) and the sacrifice as well. In Christ, we see all elements of the tabernacle fulfilled in form, mediation, and presence.
What I'm getting at is that the tabernacle served as the "liturgical origin" for the people of Israel, both in terms of the physical "ontological space" as well as the culmination of a narrative of deliverance in which God almighty creates a people for Himself and dwells among them by a direct intervention. The combination of those elements could, it seems, be called liturgical origins, though the significant element that I see is that both the Exodus stories as well as the tabernacle are fundamentally revelatory of God on is own terms. Thus the people of Israel were called upon to trust the one who delivers them by surreal phenomena--plagues, blood, fire, cloud, etc.--and who dwells among them in the tabernacle. Only inasmuch as the rituals of sacrifice and festivals and such (liturgical time) brought this people back to a vital, life giving retelling their own story in honesty were the statues commendable. To call something "liturgy" seems to require this at its core. Is this ontological space vitally engaging the spirit such that worship is direct result? If this doesn't happen, can we call it liturgy? Generally, I associate liturgy with worship, but it seems as though it might be better to call liturgy the dynamic context of God's presence wherein we experience God. I would also add that this would certainly attend to Dave's attention to a "Christological matrix" in that Christ is, as the writer of Hebrews puts it, the very representation of God--the fullness of God dwelling bodily, the Word made flesh.
It could be argued that Pentecostal experiences are not the same sort of thing as we see in the Exodus narrative, though I'm not trying to say that they are the same (though I'm no saying they aren't, either). I'm more curious about the connection. Please excuse the wandering thoughts and rampant typos. My keyboard is el lame-o sometimes...and I don't redraft blogs...
Thoughts?
James K. A. Smith. "Thinking in Tongues". First Things, April 2008, p.27
I can't help but notice in Smith's definition here that he views the form as distinct from its theological explication. Later, he notes that much of what passes as Pentecostal theology rests on historical sources with largely implicit frameworks, the likes of which are grown out of the "liturgical origins" of the movement, namely camp meetings and peaching.
I am curious about the connection that Smith seems to be articulating in this discussion of Pentecostalism, and I wonder if the particularities of Pentecostal origins might be similar to those of other movements in Christian (or Judeo-Christian) faith. It seems that "liturgical origins" for subsequent theological development are found all over the place in the narratives of Scripture, and I would be inclined to say that without liturgical origins, any subsequent theological development is suspect. It seems that on could say that theology is, merely, a sustained reflection on the nature of God's revelation and an attempt to draw necessary conclusions (implications, inferences, etc.). Let me give an example:
Dave, a friend from MBC, recently posted THIS on his own blog, Flying Farther. Using that framework, one could easily (I think) make the argument that the tabernacle was a liturgical space for the people of Israel vicariously realized through the work of the priesthood, though this witnessing of divine presence was by no means limited to the tabernacle. Throughout the whole narrative of Exodus, God is constantly revealed in more or less distinct ways: fire, cloud, plagues, Moses, passover lamb, etc. In effect, all of creation is recruited to reveal God in one way or another. Dave relegates liturgy, it seems, to the devotion of a space wherein the context is formed in such a manner as to facilitate one's participation in the God who is revealed in Jesus. For the people of Israel, a historical space that they constantly return to is Egypt as their liturgical space, and this seems to be localized in the formation of the tabernacle. Though, one note of caution in this reading of the Exodus story in particular is that it may very well be painting Dave's definitions in different colors.
The reason I say this is that Israel's liturgical space was marked both by a story that they retold (however poorly or infrequently as the case may be), as well as a place that God dwelled among His people--the tabernacle. In fact, the tabernacle more closely aligns with what Dave is saying in that it functions as an ontological space/action which served as a Christological matrix both in the existential event/experience of the people via the priesthood as well as without.
As a Christological matrix, this is the what the writer of Hebrews seems to be saying about Jesus as our great high priest in the order of Melchizedek. We vicariously, mysteriously enter the real presence of the Father by the indestructable life of the Son by the power of the Spirit. I am reluctant to call the tabernacle prototypical, though, since Moses clearly is commanded to build what he sees on the mountain, a vision that, according to the writer of Hebrews, is no less than a vision of heaven itself. Though in the paradigm of tabernacle, Christ is not only figured as the priest who approaches to offer blood (Hebrews) but also as the God who is present in the most holy place (Revelation--the Lamb upon the throne) and the sacrifice as well. In Christ, we see all elements of the tabernacle fulfilled in form, mediation, and presence.
What I'm getting at is that the tabernacle served as the "liturgical origin" for the people of Israel, both in terms of the physical "ontological space" as well as the culmination of a narrative of deliverance in which God almighty creates a people for Himself and dwells among them by a direct intervention. The combination of those elements could, it seems, be called liturgical origins, though the significant element that I see is that both the Exodus stories as well as the tabernacle are fundamentally revelatory of God on is own terms. Thus the people of Israel were called upon to trust the one who delivers them by surreal phenomena--plagues, blood, fire, cloud, etc.--and who dwells among them in the tabernacle. Only inasmuch as the rituals of sacrifice and festivals and such (liturgical time) brought this people back to a vital, life giving retelling their own story in honesty were the statues commendable. To call something "liturgy" seems to require this at its core. Is this ontological space vitally engaging the spirit such that worship is direct result? If this doesn't happen, can we call it liturgy? Generally, I associate liturgy with worship, but it seems as though it might be better to call liturgy the dynamic context of God's presence wherein we experience God. I would also add that this would certainly attend to Dave's attention to a "Christological matrix" in that Christ is, as the writer of Hebrews puts it, the very representation of God--the fullness of God dwelling bodily, the Word made flesh.
It could be argued that Pentecostal experiences are not the same sort of thing as we see in the Exodus narrative, though I'm not trying to say that they are the same (though I'm no saying they aren't, either). I'm more curious about the connection. Please excuse the wandering thoughts and rampant typos. My keyboard is el lame-o sometimes...and I don't redraft blogs...
Thoughts?
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