1 Peter

Daniel M. Doriani

• Verlag: P Publishing
• Jahr: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781629950402
• Thema: Theology & Religion
• Thema: Biblical Commentary

Dan Doriani explores how Peter presents both the effective work of Jesus for us and his personal work in us—and how this enables us to live faithfully amidst trials.

1

Strangers in a Strange Land

1 Peter 1:1–2

Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, to God’s elect, strangers in the world, scattered throughout Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia, who have been chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through the sanctifying work of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and sprinkling by his blood: Grace and peace be yours in abundance. (1 Peter 1:1–2)

The Author: The Apostle Peter

The unanimous tradition of the early church declares that the apostle Peter wrote his first epistle while living in Rome, late in his life, around A.D. 65.¹ If that is correct, then Peter wrote from a lifetime of wisdom and conviction. He experienced everything, not least the trials and suffering that he describes in his letter. He also walked with Jesus every day for roughly three years. Yet Peter drew on more than experience when he wrote his epistles. He was an apostle, God’s ambassador, chosen by Jesus to see his deeds, hear his words, and declare what it all means. Peter was at ease with this authority. He did not trumpet his credentials. Rather, he assumed that he had the right to describe God’s salvation and explain its significance.

Peter addressed his epistle to people and churches that he calls “God’s elect.” They lived in regions east of Rome, in “Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia” (1 Peter 1:1).

Since Peter identifies himself as “an apostle of Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 1:1), he invites us to read his letter through the lens of his experience as disciple and apostle. The Gospels name Peter as one of “the Twelve” (Mark 10:32; 14:10) and as a member of the inner three, “Peter, James and John” (5:37; 9:2; 14:33). Peter was, at a minimum, the most outspoken among the twelve disciples. At most, he was their spokesman, and in some sense their leader. He articulated their best thoughts, thoughts given by God himself. He confessed Jesus: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matt. 16:16). But Peter also blurted out the disciples’ worst errors. He even dared to rebuke Jesus—on the very day that he confessed Jesus’ deity—for saying that he must go to the cross (16:21–22). He asked pointed questions (19:23–27), made rash vows (“I will never disown you,” Mark 14:31), and failed to keep them, above all by denying Jesus three times (John 18:15–27).

After the resurrection, Jesus commissioned the apostles to make disciples of the nations (Matt. 28:18–20). Despite Peter’s failures, Jesus reinstated him as an apostle and commanded Peter to feed his sheep (John 21:15–17). At Pentecost, Peter proclaimed Jesus’ resurrection, and three thousand repented, believed, and were baptized. That marked the birth of the church as we know it (Acts 2:22–41). When Peter preached again, the church exploded with additional disciples (4:4; 5:14). Peter performed signs, testified to Christ, solved problems, and rebuked sin within the infant Jerusalem church. Before Paul took the lead, Peter inaugurated the mission to the Gentiles (Acts 10).

Peter did betray Jesus, but even his failures fascinate us and illumine both the man and the message. It is fitting that Peter, who betrayed the Lord and received the grace of forgiveness, both opens and closes his epistle by offering his churches the grace of God. His letter begins, “Grace and peace be yours in abundance” (1 Peter 1:2). And he closes, “I have written to you briefly, encouraging you and testifying that this is the true grace of God. Stand fast in it” (5:12). Knowing Peter’s history, we understand that his talk of grace is no mere formula. Peter denied Jesus three times, insisting, with oaths, that he did not even know Jesus. He did this despite warnings, despite vows to the contrary, and at the hour of Jesus’ greatest need. Yet Peter repented, in tears, and received forgiveness and reinstatement as an apostle (Luke 22:62; John 21:15–17). Because he knew the depth of his need and because he understood the perfection of Jesus’ offer, Peter loved the grace of God.

Peter’s need of grace was most acute when he denied Jesus during the trial. It is moving, therefore, that Peter wrote his letter to help God’s elect as they “suffer grief in all kinds of trials” (1 Peter 1:6). Yet trials bring more than misery and temptation. When we endure trials, when we remain loyal in hardship, according to Peter, it proves our faith genuine (1:6–7), and that brings us glory when Christ is revealed. So suffering can create confidence. If we are willing to suffer for Jesus, it shows that we truly belong to him (4:1) and stand fast with him (5:12). We stand fast when we remain holy in a corrupt age (1:14–16; 4:1–4) and when we remain loyal to Jesus through persecution (4:12–16).

The Audience: Believers Who Are Strangers in Their Own Land

Peter wrote for everyone, but especially for believers, God’s elect. He explicitly addressed a group of churches scattered through a wide swath in the northeast of the Roman Empire: “To God’s elect, strangers in the world, scattered throughout Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia and Bithynia” (1 Peter 1:1–2). These named areas represent millions of people across an area of roughly the size of Turkey or America’s Southwest from Texas to California (about 750,000 square miles). In short, this is a universal letter, not a local letter.

Peter reminded his people of their status, privileges, and responsibilities. The church is God’s elect, “who have been chosen according to the foreknowledge of God the Father, through the sanctifying work of the Spirit, for obedience to Jesus Christ and sprinkling by his blood” (1 Peter 1:2). The elect are redeemed by the triune God. The Father chose them according to his foreknowledge. The Spirit sanctifies them for obedience to the Son, who sprinkled them with his blood and so atoned for their sins. In God’s name, Peter blesses his readers: “Grace and peace be yours in abundance” (1:2). So Peter opens with his great themes: the work of the triune God who elects, gives grace, commands and empowers holiness, and leads us to a mission. The first hint of that mission arrives in the salutation. Peter identifies us as “God’s elect, strangers in the world” (1 Peter 1:1). More literally, we are “elect exiles of the dispersion” (1:1 ESV). The church is privileged by God; we are his chosen ones. Yet at the same time, and for the same reason, the church is disadvantaged in society. Because believers are God’s chosen people, we are “strangers” or “exiles” in our own world. The word stranger or exile (parepidemos) denotes a temporary resident, a traveler whose stay is measured in weeks or a few months.² The term alien (paroikos), used in 1 Peter 2:11, is similar but suggests a long-term resident. It could describe an immigrant from a distant place who has lived in another land for several years, started a career, and found a home.³ Both terms signify that the person originally belonged elsewhere.

Peter wants believers to realize that we never fully belong in this world. Strangers have no permanent residence. Aliens cannot hold positions of power and rarely enjoy full privileges. This is essential to a Christian’s identity. People in Reformed and Calvinist churches have committed to engage the culture rather than fleeing from it, and rightly so. Yet we must remember that we are exiles and therefore will never be completely at home in this world.

Most commentators believe Peter’s audience consists primarily of Gentiles, not Jews. Peter’s people “were redeemed from the empty way of life handed down . . . from your forefathers” (1 Peter 1:18). For years, they did “what pagans choose to do” (4:3). Their neighbors thought it “strange” when they abandoned their former life of dissipation (4:4). Their lifestyle was manifestly different from the conduct of others in the empire. So most of Peter’s people did not grow up in the covenant. God’s election, salvation, and subsequent sanctification estranged them from their native culture.

The life of John Adams is illustrative. Adams was a Massachusetts farmer and lawyer. The Constitutional Congress named Adams as its ambassador to France. He was not successful. He was too fiery, too much the unyielding crusader, to suit the cool and venial French court. Adams was a great American, but in France he was a stranger in a strange land.⁴ Travelers often experience the same sense of estrangement. Whether we know the language or not, we feel out of place when we first visit a new land. The food, the conception of time, and sundry unwritten rules of conduct conspire to surprise and unsettle us. Similarly, the first visit to any established group, whether social, spiritual, professional, or intellectual, can easily leave the newcomer feeling out of place.

These are the experiences of strangers and aliens. Peter understood that life. He knew Greek, he had once had a good income as a fisherman, and he had traveled widely in the Roman Empire before settling in Rome itself. But he was a Jew from Galilee, a backwater of the empire. When he first traveled to Jerusalem, he marveled at its sights (Mark 13:1). We can imagine how Rome impressed him. Since Galilee had been Hellenized to a degree, he was familiar with elements of Greco-Roman culture. Still, a wholly Gentile world had to seem strange at times to an observant Jew (Acts 10:14).

In fact, because Peter had followed Jesus from the beginning, he had become an outsider even within Israel. After he became a disciple, he left his business and family to wander through Galilee and Judea with Jesus (Luke 5:1–11). When the authorities began to question Jesus, Peter and the other disciples were implicated (e.g., Matt. 12:1ff.; John 18:1–27). After Jesus’ ascension, Peter became even more controversial. He performed miracles like the miracles of Jesus and did so in his name (Acts 4:2, 13). As the church grew, the authorities threatened, beat, and jailed Peter (Acts 4, 5, 12). Peter fit neither in Rome nor in Israel, and he tells the believers in the church that his lot will be theirs. They, too, will be outsiders and aliens.

But we must not think Peter resented his status. He knew his identity and savored his call. He knew that every disciple of Jesus will, in part at least, be an outsider, stranger, and exile in the wider world.

Peter wrote his epistle to Christians scattered through five provinces of the eastern empire, provinces that encompassed many peoples and languages. But Peter ignored race, ethnicity, and language and defined the churches by their status as God’s elect. He said that Jesus had sprinkled us with his blood and so atoned for our sin. We are sanctified by the Spirit, that we may believe the gospel, obey Jesus, and experience God’s grace and peace (1 Peter 1:1–2).

Exiles live between two worlds. When a couple has a baby, they remain in their old world, with the same marriage, skills, friends, and interests. Yet their baby places them in a new world, with a new schedule and a powerful new interest in the eating, sleeping, crawling, and babbling of their child. They meet other parents, who become new friends and advisers. The new world of parenting will partially alienate them from their former world, since they have less in common with their childless friends, whether single or married. But the change from pagan polytheist to Christian is greater than the changes wrought by parenthood. As strangers and exiles, we will never perfectly fit in with, never fully belong to, pagan society. We feel like aliens in our own world because we are—at least partially so.

We need to grasp the right lessons from this. Peter says that we are aliens, but he never tells us to alienate ourselves from this world by abandoning it or cursing it. God did not abandon his creation; he sent his Son to redeem and restore it and fully renew it one day. Since God’s ways are our model, we should remain engaged with this world. Historically, the Reformed or Calvinistic branch of Christendom has engaged the culture. We hope to form, reform, and transform it, not abandon it. We admire Calvin not only for his theology but also for his social action. For example, an infectious plague swept through Italy and Switzerland during Calvin’s day, in the sixteenth century. Showing admirable courage, Cardinal Borromeo of Milan stayed in his city to feed and pray for those who were dying. Yet we may admire Calvin more, not because he was braver, but because he was wiser. “Calvin acted better and more wisely, for he not only cared incessantly for the spiritual needs of the sick, but at the same time introduced hitherto unsurpassed hygienic measures whereby the ravages of the plague were arrested.”⁵

Nor was Calvin’s cultural engagement limited to the traditional sphere of works of mercy. In sixteenth-century Europe, the growth of market economies led to a sharp increase in the cost of living and a simultaneous drop in the value of labor. Calvin spoke prophetically against a rising aristocracy that exploited the poor by depriving them of fair wages.⁶ We are prone to admire Calvin for his cultural engagement, but is this the way that God expects his exiles to act?

Scripture holds two ideas in tension. We are, simultaneously, exiles in this world and agents of change within it. Because we are exiles, we resist conformity to the patterns of this age. God told his people, living in the shadow of Babylon, that great city of wealth and decadent pleasures, “Come out of her, my people, so that you will not share in her sins, so that you will not receive any of her plagues.” Clearly, we must flee the corrupt world, for judgment will fall upon it (Rev. 18:4). Yet we are reformers, constantly ready to engage society. Jesus notes that his disciples are “in the world” but that “they are not of the world any more than I am of the world.” He continues, “My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one” (John 17:11–15). As we so often notice, Jesus called his disciples “the salt of the earth”—retarding its decay—and “the light of the world” (Matt. 5:13–14).

So, then, we are engaged exiles. A few years ago, I shared a long meal with the brilliant, crusading atheist Christopher Hitchens. His book title, God Is Not Great: How Religion Poisons Everything, reveals his conviction.⁷ Hitchens’s tone was occasionally brutish but generally cordial (it helped that my agnostic dissertation adviser had been a friend of his). Through our long conversation, I came to understand atheism better and, as he listened to me and another theologian at the table, he came to understand Christianity better. Since his main ideas about Christianity came from European Catholicism, liberal Protestantism, and the atheist’s list of “repulsive things we found in the Bible,” we were able to blunt many of his objections to biblical Christianity. We cleared up serious misconceptions and introduced him to essential tenets of the faith. At times it seemed that we were making progress. Yet Hitchens remained a devoted atheist. A radical individualist and libertarian, he despised the ve...