Marked Pages

You must speak my words to them, whether they listen or fail to listen, for they are rebellious. ⁸ But you, son of man, listen to what I say to you. Do not rebel like that rebellious people; open your mouth and eat what I give you.”

⁹ Then I looked, and I saw a hand stretched out to me. In it was a scroll, ¹⁰ which he unrolled before me. On both sides of it were written words of lament and mourning and woe.

(Ezekiel 2: 7-10)

Ezekiel holding his scroll, Iconostasis of Kizhi monastery, Russia

Ezekiel’s call is as interesting as his prophetic life. We know him to be the crazed prophet God called to do weird things. When he was commissioned to bear the prophetic mantle, Ezekiel first received a staggering vision of the glory of God (Eze. 1). He saw the glory of God arriving in Babylon to be among the exiles, depart from Jerusalem, and finally return to Jerusalem. In chapter 2, God gives him instructions pertaining to his mission. He was to speak to the Israelites, whether they listened to him or not. Chances were, they wouldn’t listen because they were a ”rebellious people.”

Before he could speak to them, however, Ezekiel was shown a scroll upon which were written the judgments of God. These were the words that God had purposed to tell his disobedient people. But Ezekiel had to first eat the scroll. When Ezekiel ate it, it tasted as sweet as honey to him (3: 3).  God’s Word, even when it contains judgment and admonishment, is ultimately life-giving and sweet: “How sweet are your words to my taste, sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Ps. 119: 103) Since he was obedient, unlike the “rebellious people” of God, Ezekiel found God’s Word to be sweet as honey, and as nourishing.

Ezekiel had to internalise and digest the word of God before he could tell others of it. He was to tell the word that God had committed to him. He could not speak of something else. He was not at liberty to invent or add new things to it. He did not regard it lightly. And he did not try to force interpretations to it that he knew were wrong. Rather the message, as it was, had been committed to him, and it devolved upon him to convey it exactly as he found it.

For Ezekiel, as for all the prophets God called and commissioned, fidelity to the message of God was not optional. The wonder of his prophecies make us laugh and even doubt his sanity (was he schizophrenic?). Using blocks of clay to draw the city of Jerusalem, and laying siege to it like a little boy with his toys, shaving his head and beard, using scales to divide the hair, and then slashing the hair with a sword … Poor Ezekiel must have provided many hours of entertainment and conversation among the people to whom he proclaimed God’s message. But whatever God told him to do, he did steadfastly, without apology or regret, right up to the time his wife died, and he was instructed not to mourn her passing:  “Son of man, with one blow I am about to take away from you the delight of your eyes. Yet do not lament or weep or shed any tears. Groan quietly; do not mourn for the dead” (24: 16-17).

The proclamation of God’s message, for Ezekiel, was part and parcel of the vision of God he had had. Fearing God, he would never have tampered with the given word, no matter how difficult being faithful to it was. No wonder he needed such a name as Ezekiel (“God will strengthen”)!

Two things impress me about Ezekiel:

1. he obediently internalised God’s message before he proclaimed it

2. he conveyed it exactly as he was instructed to without invention, addition or subtraction

Today, there are no longer prophets like Ezekiel. The canon of Scripture is complete, and closed. The day of the prophet receiving direct revelation from God is over. We are stewards of a received and complete revelation now. But we are asked to be as careful as Ezekiel was in handling the word of truth. We may be laughed at too, or mocked. We may not be popular either. (God doesn’t specialise in scratching our itches by telling us what we want to hear.) But that doesn’t matter. For as long as we are called stewards, we must guard the purity and sanctity of the message that has been committed to us with as much care as Ezekiel did.

Just as God strengthened Ezekiel, so too will he strengthen us with steadfastness and the courage of our convictions. How could we live otherwise?

Paul is probably the Number 1 saint I would like to meet in heaven. His epistles, his ministry and his life are testaments of the grace and power of God at work in a human being. I like his spunk too, notwithstanding the crazy Pharisee bit. Here was someone who had the courage of his convictions and was willing either to live or die for them. He did so many things and went to so many places in the course of his Christian ministry that it amazes me–this being a pre-jet age. How did he manage it all?

I have taught a number of Pauline epistles to my bible class, and right now, we are in the midst of Ephesians. Reading this six-chapter wonder again and again brought me to focus on what drove Paul and energised him. It was not only the strength of his convictions but also what he fully believed: that the power of the Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead was the same power at work in him. The entire book of Ephesians flows with an undercurrent that often bursts onto the surface of the text.

Paul, by nature and training, was an intellectual. His writings have been of great significance in the shaping of the Church. The book of Acts records that in his audience with him, Festus was so appalled by his talk of resurrection that he cried out, “Paul, your great learning is driving you mad!” (Acts 26: 24NASB). And yet, if we look at his life, we know it was filled with deep and abiding passion for people and for God. Whether he was playing the role of scholar, or missionary, or pastor, or father, Paul’s energy and power were directed towards one thing alone: the glory of God. Totally integrated, totally ‘together’, Paul lived in a way that demonstrated powerfully the lesson he taught the Galatian church: “I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2: 20).

So convinced was he himself of the transforming power of God that in I Corinthians 11:1, he boldly tells the confused and quarrelling Corinthians, “Imitate me, just as I also imitate Christ.” What an example he has set us! His entire mindset and perspective had been so suddenly yanked in the right direction on the Damascus road that Paul could never look at life in the same way again. That was metanoia indeed! Christ infused his whole life so thoroughly that even breathing was done “in Christ.”

Nowhere is this immersion in Christ more evident, I think, than in his prayers. The life, or liveliness within, dynamic, manifests itself in the elevated prayers he prays for the Ephesians: “I thank God …”, “I pray that you …” What I like even more is the seamless way that theological argument and analysis in Paul move to prayerful expressions and back again: aspects of the same whole, evaluation and prayer weave in and out of each other effortlessly, creating a beautiful tapestry that speaks of intimate knowledge of God. I want that in my life.

His own CV was impressive, of course. Very often, he called himself a slave of Jesus Christ, an apostle called by God through Christ, and set apart for God. Other Christians tell us of his person and reputation too, long after he had died.

Clement, Bishop of Rome, wrote in AD 90: “By reason of jealousy and strife Paul by his example pointed out the prize of patient endurance. After that he had been seven times in bonds, had been driven into exile, had been stoned, had preached in the East and in the West, he won the noble renown which was the reward of his faith, having taught righteousness unto the whole world and having reached the farthest bounds of the West; and when he had borne his testimony before the rulers, so he departed from the world and went unto the holy place, having been found a notable pattern of patient endurance.” (1 Clement)

Paul’s death is not recorded in the Bible, but Eusebius of Caesarea says he was beheaded in Rome by Nero.

We are generally taken up with Paul’s ideas, language, style, and vocabulary. But what about his physical description? What does a “hero” in Christ look like? In the apocryphal Acts of Paul and Thecla, Onesiphorus, meeting Paul for the first time, says that he was “a man small of stature, with a bald head and crooked legs, in a good state of body, with eyebrows meeting and nose somewhat hooked …” Hardly a flattering portrait of the Apostle! But he goes on: “… full of friendliness; for now he appeared like a man, and now he had the face of an angel” (from “A Physical Description of Paul” by Abraham J. Malherbe, Harvard Theological Review  Vol 79 No 1/3  Jan-Jul, 1986, pp. 170-75).

Below is a composite picture of Paul by (of all people) the LKA, or Landeskriminalamt. LKA is the German term for a State Investigation Bureau in Germany. Honestly, I think Paul may have looked a little more beetly than this … but that’s not the key thing. It’s what Onesiphorus said about how Paul struck him as a person: “…full of friendliness, for now he appeared like a man, and now he had the face of an angel.” If that doesn’t speak of the transforming grace of Christ, what does?

Facial composite of Paul by experts of the LKA NRW, Germany

(Nero would have appreciated the mug shot …)

St Jerome by Jacques Blanchard, 1632

Every time we think of Bible Study, the tendency is to whip out the concordances and commentaries. I’m a big culprit here: I’m usually armed with highlighters and notes (well, these days it’s more likely electronic than anything else …) together with my trusty NIV Study Bible (non-electronic … but wait till I get my hands on Glo Premium). Hey, I’m not apologising for any of this. That’s how I love doing Bible Study most of all. The truth is, it gives me a buzz–totally!

But sometimes, even I down tools. There are always occasions when you just need to vary your diet. As an alternative to the bizzie lizzie strong analytical and evaluative style that I’m used to, I find what Christian tradition calls “Sacred Reading” to be very appealing.

As a spiritual practice, Sacred Reading is simply a deliberately slower and quietly thoughtful way of reading Scripture. It’s devotional reading, basically, a way of reading and praying Scripture that has been around since the Bible was written, which makes it very ancient indeed. The Eastern Desert Abba John Cassian introduced it to the West. The Catholics formalised and popularised it during the medieval age. St Benedict, particularly, instructed his followers to practice Sacred Reading in his Rule.

Its Latin name is lectio divina, and its aim is to bring us more intimately into communion with God. There are four steps (or moments) to lectio divina. We may imagine a ladder, and each of these steps is a step upwards on the ladder, bringing us finally to an increased knowledge of, and intimacy with, God. That deeper understanding of God must master us, and work its transforming change in our lives. Lectio divina is reading Scripture with love in mind. It is a discipline that helps to remind us that our focus on the Word is really a focus on a Person whom we love and aspire to please.

How is it “done”?

Place

Select a special (and suitably quiet) place and keep to it.

Time

Select a particular time and be consistent. Lectio is traditionally practised for one continuous hour. However, it can also be divided into two half-hour sessions at set times. Select Scriptures from a devotional guide or a daily Bible reading programme. Keep the passages short.

Preparation

Quieten down, move from the normal bustle of daily activity to a more reflective and prayerful mood. A simple prayer such as “Open my eyes, that I may behold wonderful things from Your law” (Psalm 119:18) would be sufficient to help us focus.

The Four Moments

(Taken from Wikipedia Commons, with thanks)

Lectio Divina has been described as “Feasting on the Word.” Its four steps are:

• first taking a bite (Lectio) 
• then chewing on it (Meditatio)
• then savouring the essence of it (Oratio)
• and finally the Word is digested and made a part of your body (Contemplatio).

Lectio

Read the selected passage slowly and attentively. Re-read aloud several times, holding the same attention. Reading was not a silent exercise for the ancients. In fact, silent reading is relatively recent. Hear yourself reading Scripture. As you read attentively, write down any words that seem to jump out at you. Resist the tendency to analyse the passage. But from time to time, ask the question: “Lord, what are you trying to say to me?”

Meditatio

Reflect on the passage. This is the time to saturate and immerse yourself in the Word, letting it penetrate your heart and mind. Allow time for God to marinate your soul through this process. Much as a cow sits and chews the cud, so too are we to sit and ruminate on the unfolding depths of God’s wisdom and truth. Ask such questions as :”What does this mean?”, “How do I respond to it?”, “Do I believe what I am reading?”

Oratio

Prayer is a dialogue with God. Think about what you can say to God in response to the reading. Ask him questions; ask him for insight.  This is a time of loving conversation: offer God your own discoveries, thoughts, hesitations and doubts even about the passage. Invite the Holy Spirit to enter in to teach, encourage, admonish, heal and comfort you. Let God dispel your false thoughts, misunderstanding, and fill you with his light and truth. In this prayer of consecration, allow God’s Word to effect change in you.

Contemplatio

Present yourself to God in yieldedness and quietness. Contemplation is simply directing and fixing our entire focus on God, wordlessly. It is resting in his embrace, receptive and content that he is there with us. Sometimes, there is no need for words.

Contemplation is the highest step in the ladder of lectio divina. At this stage, we are united with God in “mystic, sweet communion.”

Application:

Actio (Operatio)

There is really another part to lectio divina. It’s application of the four moments we have looked at, and it’s called Action or Works. We must live what we have learned. Ultimately, this is our expression of the transforming grace of Christ in our lives. Contemplation without action is not enough. Action without contemplation is foolishness. Both Mary and Martha are necessary to living out the balanced Christian life.