Irenaeus of Lyons and the Mosaic of Christ

Preaching Scripture in the Era of Martyrdom

James G. Bushur

• Editore: Routledge
• Anno: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781351846189
• Edizione: 1
• Argomento: Teologia e religione
• Categoria: Teologia cristiana

Recent theological scholarship has shown increasing interest in patristic exegesis. The way early Christians read scripture has attracted not only historians, but also systematic and exegetical scholars. However, the Christian reading of scripture before Origen has been neglected or, more often, dominated by Gnostic perspectives. This study uses the writings of Irenaeus to argue that there was a rich Christian engagement with scripture long before Origen and the supposed conflict between Antioch and Alexandria.

This is a focused examination of specific exegetical themes that undergird Irenaeus' argument against his opponents. However, whereas many works interpret Irenaeus only as he relates to certain Gnostic teachings, this book recognizes the broader context of the second century and explores the profound questions facing early Christians in an era of martyrdom. It shows that Irenaeus is interested, not simply in expounding the original intent of individual texts, but in demonstrating how individual texts fit into the one catholic narrative of salvation. This in turn, he hopes, will cause his audience to see their place as individuals in the same narrative.

Using insightful close reading of Irenaeus, allied with a firm grounding in the context in which he wrote, this book will be vital reading for scholars of the early Church as well as those with interests in patristics and the development of Christian exegesis.

1
Reading scripture in an age of martyrdom

Why Irenaeus and the second century?

As a young college graduate at the end of the 1980s, I eagerly engaged in the common seminary curriculum, which followed the four academic disciplines—exegesis, history, systematics, and pastoral practice. In these departments, I was well trained to teach and support with reasonable arguments the basic truths of my theological tradition. I entered the ministry ready to demonstrate objectively and reasonably that our theological position was at least defensible according to academic standards. I began my service as pastor under the assumption that the people in my care would be focused on certain intellectual questions: which Christian denomination is correct? Which church teaches the truth about infant baptism? Predestination? Atonement? Christology? And Christ’s real presence in the Lord’s Supper?

However, in the course of my ministry, I discovered that the questions I was ready to answer were not necessarily the questions people were asking. To be sure, many of the most pious members of the church were interested in the theological arguments that supported our distinctive tradition. However, for many others, especially new members and those at the boundary of our ecclesial fellowship, such theological arguments seemed too specialized, irrelevant to daily life, and a bit elitist. I realized that I was answering questions that they were simply not ready to ask. After several conversations with people who had little knowledge of the Bible or historic Christianity, I learned that their questions were more fundamental and profound. When I asked one gentlemen what he was seeking from the church, he answered without hesitation: “a real connection with God.” Instead of seeking a rationally satisfying argument, many were longing for a genuine divine presence. I was eager to answer secondary questions about God and the Bible; but those I served hoped to hear the very voice of God himself, to experience his divine presence, and to interact with him face to face.

In the course of my twenty years in the ministry, I have had many similar conversations. Due to these experiences, I have been moved toward two convictions. First, I have become convinced that academic expertise in biblical studies does not necessarily prepare one to be a preacher of the scriptures for the sake of the church. Since the Enlightenment, the Bible has been removed from the sanctuary of the church and examined in the scientific laboratories of the academy.¹ This change in habitat has altered the very ontology of biblical texts. Instead of being the direct discourse of God to his people, the Bible has become the indirect discourse of a certain people about God. Classical training in the four theological disciplines prepared me to engage in secondary, scholarly discourse about God, Christ, the church and the Bible. However, such secondary discourse is somewhat foreign to the sanctuary where the Bible is intended to function within the economy of God’s intimate, direct interaction with the church. In the academic context, the Bible tends to be reduced to an historical artifact testifying to the idiosyncratic perspectives of a certain community or culture.

Perhaps such a judgment is too general and simply unfair. Indeed, the seminary I attended maintained high academic standards and, at the same time, took seriously the Bible’s divine inspiration. However, the doctrine of divine inspiration is a good example of how the academy can alter the meaning of the church’s dogma. In the academic world, the doctrine of divine inspiration functions primarily to preserve the Bible as an inerrant and infallible authority for use in secondary discourse. The inspiration of the scriptures means that the Bible is an infallible foundation upon which theologians can build reasonable teachings about God. The scriptures are a truly reliable quarry from which theologians can extract proof for their distinctive perspectives. Here again, the inspiration of the scriptures primarily serves the end of secondary theological discourse. This critique of the Enlightenment and the modernism that proceeds from it is a compelling reason to engage the patristic reading of scripture. For the church fathers, divine inspiration certainly included the idea that the scriptures were inerrant and infallible; however, for early Christians, this doctrine primarily expressed the inherent connection between the scriptures and the sanctuary. Divine inspiration meant that the scriptures were intended to be heard as direct discourse from God himself to his people. “So for the time being,” asserts Augustine, “treat the scripture of God as the face of God.”² The doctrine of inspiration primarily expressed the immediacy of God’s presence in scripture, rather than a first principle for secondary rational argument. For the church fathers, to hear the scriptures was to interact directly with God, to come before his face, and to experience his living voice. The hearing of scripture was, first of all, a liturgical act—an act of prayer, spiritual contemplation, and Eucharistic communion. “And on the day called Sunday,” writes Justin Martyr, “all who live in cities or in the country gather together to one place, and the memoirs of the apostles or the writings of the prophets are read, as long as time permits.”³ For Justin Martyr, the Eucharistic gathering is the assumed setting that conditions the church’s interaction with scripture. Thus, this study of patristic exegesis seeks to understand the inherent connection of the Bible to the sanctuary—its baptismal font, pulpit, and Eucharistic altar. This study wrestles with the question of how scripture functions within the economy of God’s direct engagement with his people.

The second conviction that undergirds this study concerns the fundamental question of Christian identity that prevails in our time. Since the medieval period, the Christian character of Europeans was simply assumed. In many parts of Europe, one had to be baptized in order to be counted as a citizen. The debate at the heart of the Reformation testifies, not only to the profound theological dispute that resided at its heart, but also to the fundamental agreement that prevailed among the parties. Lutheran confessors agreed with their papal adversaries on doctrines as fundamental as the Trinity, the incarnation, the virgin birth, the atoning character of the crucifixion, the reality of the resurrection of the body, the inherent truthfulness of the entire biblical narrative, baptismal regeneration, and the reality of Christ’s body and blood in the Eucharist. In other words, the Reformation debate, as profound as it was, remained a dispute within the Christian church. Neither side was trying to be anything other than Christian; furthermore, both sides identified themselves with a Christianity defined by the Bible and the ancient councils of the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church. Thus, orthodox, biblical Christianity conditioned the reformation argument so that the debate revolved around the correct way to confess, preach, and practice the Christian identity each community claimed for itself.

The Reformation debate sheds some light on the disjunction between the sixteenth century and our contemporary context. With the Reformation, the church was entering the period of denominationalism. However, in the contemporary context, such denominationalism is losing its power. Since Christian identity was an assumed condition in the sixteenth century, denominational theologians were free to turn their attention toward secondary theological questions. There was no need to argue about the genealogical roots of Christian identity; most agreed on the doctrine of the Trinity and read the Bible as the inspired Word of God. While the argument for the doctrine of justification was central to the existential question of one’s standing before God, it took place within a framework that was fundamentally Christian. All sides in the debate assumed that the God before whom humanity must stand is the Triune God, who created the world, redeemed it in Christ, and would judge it in the end. Thus, the biblical narrative is the assumed condition without which the Reformation debate simply could not commence.

Today, the orthodox Christian reading of the biblical narrative as the framework for one’s self-understanding in relation to God can no longer be assumed. The contemporary theological conflict is not merely among Christian denominations, but also between Christianity and pagan spiritualities. Few accept or can even articulate the doctrine of the Trinity; few accept the reality of evil, original sin, Jesus’ resurrection, or the historicity of the biblical narrative. Consequently, few are anxious about the coming judgment or seek the certainty to stand before the divine throne. The question is no longer how to persuade a Roman Catholic or Presbyterian to become a Lutheran in light of the biblical narrative and Judgment Day. Now the question is how to convert a pagan (one who has little or no acquaintance with the Bible or historic Christianity) to the orthodox Christian faith? The first question focuses primarily on coming to an intellectual conviction within the Christian landscape; but the second question is profoundly genealogical in character. Is becoming a Christian merely an intellectual decision, or does it consist in something deeper—a change of identity that reaches the depth of one’s humanity? In a pagan context, Christians are compelled to reconnect with that which is most foundational; they must return to the genealogical source of their own Christian identity.

The contemporary context, in which orthodox Christians increasingly struggle with the rise of paganism or at least non-Christian perspectives, is the main reason why a return to the second century is warranted. The second century predates the conversion of Constantine and the Edict of Milan. It is an age in which the church must meet the challenge of a pagan environment on every level—intellectual, social, political, legal, and ontological. A proverb often attributed to Mark Twain suggests that, while history does not repeat itself, it often rhymes with itself. It is my conviction that a common rhythm links the twenty-first century and the second century. The post-Christian era resonates with the pre-Christian context, when people like Clement of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, Justin Martyr, Polycarp, Melito of Sardis, and especially Irenaeus the bishop of Lyons, lived and preached. The second century rhymes with our contemporary context because in both cases, the church’s conflict is oriented toward the external world. The chief task is no longer simply defining the boundaries between Lutheran, Reformed and Roman Catholic traditions. Now the question is more profound challenging one to define boundaries between Christian identity and pagan spiritualities. This question is no longer merely intellectual or academic, but geographical, genealogical, and deeply personal. This question compels the church to return to the concrete, historical roots out of which her life flows.

The resonance of our contemporary age with the pre-Constantinian era makes the second century a worthwhile setting for theological exploration. Rowan Greer writes, “In the early church all roads lead not to Rome but to Irenaeus and the last quarter of the second century.”⁴ This study focuses on Irenaeus, the bishop of Lyons, because the questions of Christian identity permeate his work from beginning to end. His conflict with “Gnostic” opponents offers a rare glimpse of the early Christian reading of scripture. His conflict is not merely intellectual, but truly ontological. His reading of scripture is concerned with questions that are fully existential: where is the relationship between God and humanity to be located? Where is Christian identity to be grounded so that one can face the horrors of martyrdom? Irenaeus knows that, in the hour of martyrdom, the Christian must be grounded in an identity that runs deeper that the mind, the human will, or the emotions, deeper than the law, politics, social status, race, or gender. Indeed, the Christian martyr must bear a Christian identity that is more real and substantial than death itself.

Thus, this study does not proceed primarily out of academic curiosity, but from the pragmatic interests of the pastoral vocation. For this author, the importance of the bishop of Lyons sprouted from the daily challenges of the pastoral ministry. Confronting a cultural context that seems increasingly materialistic yet permeated by pagan spiritualities, I found Irenaeus to be a truly relevant companion. This pastoral approach to Irenaeus’ thought offers one distinct advantage—an inherent resonance with the purpose of Irenaeus’ work. Irenaeus’ writings are not the product of personal choice, but the result of episcopal necessity. Irenaeus is compelled to write because of his love for the church and the burden of his divine office. Thus, while Irenaeus’ writing against his opponents may lack scientific objectivity and systematic precision, his rhetoric nevertheless bears a certain passion and emotion that belongs to the preaching genre.⁵ The kerygmatic character of Irenaeus’ work underlies this study and forms the vantage point from which Irenaeus’ theological vision is considered. Therefore, this study can be reduced to a simple proposal. Irenaeus reads the scriptures within a kerygmatic framework. This proposal does not mean that Irenaeus uses scriptural texts for his own personal agenda. Rather, it means that Irenaeus perceives the scriptures as operating within the economy of God’s own self-proclamation. The Father’s communication of his Word not only defines the essence of the Christian scriptures, but also gives them an ecclesial purpose. The scriptures are meant to be preached for the sake of the church. Thus, the kerygmatic framework shapes Irenaeus’ reading of the Bible and, in a significant way, defines his own pastoral identity.

Martyrdom: the context for Irenaeus’ work

Irenaeus’ five books against his opponents, otherwise known as Adversus Haereses, is a little like stumbling upon the magnificent pyramids in the midst of the desert. Adversus Haereses is an unexpected treasure that appears without much precedence. The writings of the apostolic fathers—Clement of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, and others—testify to the robust and lively character of early Christian theology. Yet, according to their very nature, these pastoral writings are limited by the parochial needs they seek to address. The writings of the apologists, on the other hand, bear a much broader scope; indeed, they are perhaps too broad to give us an authentic sense of early Christian theological discourse. The apologetic attempt to engage the hostility of the political and philosophical landscape that surrounded the church makes these writings more rhetorically reserved and theologically circumspect. In the church’s struggle with the Roman Empire and its civic religions, the philosophical tradition appeared to be a powerful ally that supplied a foothold for the apologists’ defense of Christian doctrines and their critique of pagan religions. However, while Justin and other apologists freely employed philosophical arguments in their libelli to Roman emperors, Irenaeus’ writing reveals a more cautious and skeptical attitude. The Logos-Christology of Justin Martyr and other apologists possessed an efficacy in political and philosophical circles that it lacked within the sanctified boundaries of the church.⁶

Thus, while Irenaeus is often numbered with the apologetic tradition of the second century, his work against his various opponents has a different character. The apologists present Christianity to the external world, but Irenaeus offers a glimpse of the church’s discourse for its own members. However, Irenaeus’ writing has a broader, more catholic purpose than the intimate, pastoral letters of the apostolic fathers. Irenaeus offers an expansive work that exposes and refutes heresies that thre...