Category » Herman Ridderbos
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
In part I, we discussed John 6:22-51 in order to better understand the context of the famous bread of life discourse. We now come to the concluding section of the passage, viz., verses 52-58. In verse 52, we again have echoes of the Israelites’ grumblings during the exodus, as the Jews in the current dialogue dispute among themselves in their attempt to grasp the meaning of Jesus’ words. In typical fashion, Jesus does not directly answer their question, but begins His response in verse 53, saying, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you.” Here Jesus refers to Himself as the “Son of Man,” which in Johannine theology denotes “both Jesus’ heavenly origin and destination [cf. e.g., 1:51; 3:13; 6:62] … and his ‘lifting up’ (substitutionary sacrifice) on the cross (3:14; 8:28; 12:34; cf. 6:53; 12:23; 13:31)” [Ibid., p. 86]. Köstenberger goes on to argue that here Jesus “speaks of the surrender of his ‘flesh and blood’—a Hebrew idiom referring to the whole person (cf. Matt. 16:17; 1 Cor. 15:50; Eph. 6:12; … Heb. 2:14)—unto death and of believers ‘eating and drinking’ of it as the bread that came down from heaven by which alone a human being can live” (Ibid., p. 216). Calvin adds that when Jesus emphatically accents, “the flesh of the Son of man,” He is addressing the Jews’ unbelief of Jesus’ heavenly origin, given that He resembled other men in the flesh. In other words, Calvin explains the meaning of verse 53 as, “[d]espise me as much as you please, on account of the mean and despicable appearance of my flesh, still that despicable flesh contains life; and if you are destitute of it, you will nowhere else find any thing else to quicken you” (Calvin’s Commentary on John, p. 265).
Verse 54 is yet again in no way an excessive use of repetition given our inclination to seek life outside of Christ. “Accordingly, as he lately testified that nothing but death remains for all who seek life anywhere else than in his flesh, so now he excites all believers to cherish good hope, while he promises to them life in the same flesh” (Ibid., pp. 265-266). Then in the last part of verse 54, we find an important connection between the one who feeds on Christ and the one who is resurrected “on the last day.” Calvin, appealing to St. Augustine, writes, “[i]t ought to be observed, that Christ so frequently connects the resurrection with eternal life, because our salvation will be hidden till that day. No man, therefore, can perceive what Christ bestows on us, unless, rising above the world, he places before his eyes the last resurrection. From these words, it plainly appears that the whole of this passage is improperly explained, as applied to the Lord’s Supper. For if it were true that all who present themselves at the holy table of the Lord are made partakers of his flesh and blood, all will, in like manner, obtain life; but we know that there are many who partake of it to their condemnation. And indeed it would have been foolish and unreasonable to discourse about the Lord’s Supper, before he had instituted it. It is certain, then, that he now speaks of the perpetual and ordinary manner of eating the flesh of Christ, which is done by faith only. And yet, at the same time, I acknowledge that there is nothing said here that is not figuratively represented, and actually bestowed on believers, in the Lord’s Supper; and Christ even intended that the holy Supper should be, as it were, a seal and confirmation of this sermon. This is also the reason why the Evangelist John makes no mention of the Lord’s Supper; and therefore Augustine follows the natural order, when, in explaining this chapter, he does not touch on the Lord’s Supper till he comes to the conclusion; and then he shows that this mystery is symbolically represented, whenever the Churches celebrate the Lord’s Supper, in some places daily, and in other places only on the Lord’s day” (Ibid., p. 266; emphasis added).
When Jesus explains that His flesh (sarx) is true flesh and that His blood is true drink (σάρξ μου ἀληθής ἐστιν βρῶσις, καὶ τὸ αἷμα μου ἀληθής ἐστιν πόσις, v. 55 ), He draws attention to Himself as “the eschatological, typology fulfillment in relation to OT precursors” (Johnp. 216). Yet, there is more, as Calvin so beautifully explains, “when he declares that his flesh is truly food, he means that souls are famished, if they want [lack] that food. Then only wilt thou find life in Christ, when thou shalt seek the nourishment of life in his flesh. Thus we ought to boast, with Paul, that we reckon nothing to be excellent but Christ crucified; because, as soon as we have departed from the sacrifice of his death, we meet with nothing but death; nor is there any other road that conducts us to a perception of his Divine power than through his death and resurrection. Embrace Christ, therefore, as the Servant of the Father, (Isaiah 42:1, ) that he may show himself to thee to be the Prince of life, (Acts 3:15.) For when he emptied himself , (Philippians 2:7, ) in this manner we were enriched with abundance of all blessings; his humiliation and descent into hell raised us to heaven; and, by enduring the curse of his cross, he erected the banner of our righteousness as a splendid memorial of his victory. Consequently, they are false expounders of the mystery of the Lord’s Supper, who draw away souls from the flesh of Christ” (Ibid., pp. 266-267). Here we should keep in mind that Calvin is not saying that this passage speaks directly of the Lord’s Supper, as the Lord’s Supper had not even been instituted at this point in the Johannine narrative. Yet, Calvin neither denies that what is said in John 6 is symbolically “represented, and actually bestowed on believers, in the Lord’s Supper” nor does he rule out a depth to the text that would allow for multiple dimensions to be brought forth at a later time in redemptive history. For example, Calvin is neither ignorant of nor does he condemn St. Paul’s interpretation of the manna in 1 Cor 10:1-5 [1]. Regarding these two seemingly opposed interpretations, Calvin repeatedly highlights the fact that Christ and St. Paul are dealing with different audiences and must speak accommodatingly to those audiences and with regard to the specific problems at hand. For example, in St. John’s gospel, Christ is dealing with unbelief and with those who were concerned only with satisfying physical needs. Hence, Christ in his comparison of the present unbelief of the Jews with the Israelites of old emphasizes how both groups because of their lack of faith were only able to see according to their own preconceived notions. St. Paul, however, is dealing with a different issue in 1 Corinthians. The Corinthians had become arrogant and were testing God with their candidly sinful behavior. Consequently, St. Paul appeals to certain aspects of the Israelites’ story to urge the Corinthians to repent. As Calvin acknowledges, in 1 Cor 10:1-5 St. Paul presents a correspondence between the eating and drinking in the wilderness wanderings and the sacraments of the Lord’s Supper. In addition, without denying the temporal advantages of the blessings of food and drink given by God to sustain his people, St. Paul speaks of a (hidden) spiritual dimension in relation to these outward signs. Though these spiritual dimensions, viz., the spiritual eating and drinking, are not found explicitly in the OT text, St. Paul, given his status as an apostle and under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, re-interprets (that is, gives a new meaning to) these events in light of the progress of redemptive history. Here we have what we might call an exclusive hermeneutical apostolic (and divine) privilege [2].
Returning to our discussion of the immediate text (in John 6), the first part of verse 56 reads, “[w]hoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood,” is as Calvin says, “another confirmation; for while he alone has life in himself, he shows how we may enjoy it, that is, by eating his flesh; as if he had affirmed that there is no other way in which he can become ours, than by our faith being directed to his flesh. For no one will ever come to Christ as God, who despises him as man; and, therefore, if you wish to have any interest in Christ, you must take care, above all things, that you do not disdain his flesh” (Ibid., pp. 267-268). Then in the last part of verse 56, we encounter the language of abiding, viz., our abiding in Christ and his abiding in us. This mutual indwelling mentioned here foreshadows what will be discussed at length in John 15 regarding the believer’s union with Christ. Then in verse 57 we read, “As the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever feeds on me, he also will live because of me.” Here the intimacy of Jesus’ union with the Father is presented as the archetypal image of our union with Christ from whom and through whom we obtain eternal life. Calvin adds that in this verse Christ “now comes to speak of the principal cause, for the first source of life is in the Father. But he meets an objection, for it might be thought that he took away from God what belonged to him, when he made himself the cause of life. He makes himself, therefore, to be the Author of life, in such a manner, as to acknowledge that there was another who gave him what he administers to others. Let us observe, that this discourse also is accommodated to the capacity of those to whom Christ was speaking; for it is only with respect to his flesh that he compares himself to the Father. For though the Father is the beginning of life, yet the eternal Word himself is strictly life. But the eternal Divinity of Christ is not the present subject; for he exhibits himself such as he was manifested to the world, clothed with our flesh.” Calvin goes on to state regarding the words, “I live because of the Father,” that “[t]his does not apply to his [Christ’s] Divinity simply, nor does it apply to his human nature simply and by itself, but it is a description of the Son of God manifested in the flesh. Besides, we know that it is not unusual with Christ to ascribe to the Father every thing Divine which he had in himself. It must be observed, however, that he points out here three degrees of life. In the first rank is the living Father, who is the source, but remote and hidden. Next follows the Son, who is exhibited to us as an open fountain, and by whom life flows to us. The third is, the life which we draw from him. We now perceive what is stated to amount to this, that God the Father, in whom life dwells, is at a great distance from us, and that Christ, placed between us, is the second cause of life, in order that what would otherwise be concealed in God may proceed from him to us” (Ibid., pp. 268-269).
Ridderbos sums up the thrust of this passage (vs. 53-58) well when he describes St. John’s focus as highlighting “the offense of Jesus’ death on the cross,” the intimate union between Jesus and believers, and “the reality of the incarnation; in other words, in all this we are dealing not with the mystery of the sacrament but with the mystery of christology” (The Gospel of John: A Theological Commentary, p. 237).
Notes
[1] Calvin acknowledges that St. Paul’s interpretation of the manna and the rock cannot be obtained from what we might call a strict grammatico-historical reading the OT text. He then gives a similar example of this kind of (re)interpretation as exhibited by Christ himself in his explanation of the brazen serpent as a “spiritual sacrament (John 3:14) and yet not a word has come down to us as to this thing, but the Lord revealed to believers of that age, in the manner he thought fit, the secret, which would otherwise have remained hid” (Calvin’s Commentary on 1 Corinthians, p. 315).
[2] A second paper would be required in order to give a detailed exegetical explanation for this passage (1 Cor 10:1-5). Suffice it say that Calvin’s view is “that the reality of the things signified was exhibited in connection with the ancient sacraments. As, therefore, they were emblems of Christ, it follows, that Christ was connected with them, not locally, nor by a natural or substantial union, but sacramentally. […] Regarding St. Paul’s words that the Israelites of old “ate the same spiritual food” and “drank the same spiritual drink” which was Christ (1 Cor 10:4), Calvin says that though this clearly predates Christ’s incarnation, nonetheless, those who ate in faith ate true spiritual food and were nourished, as ultimately, “their salvation depended on the benefit of his [Christ’s] death and resurrection. Hence, they required to receive the flesh and the blood of Christ, that they might participate in the benefit of redemption. This reception of it was the secret work of the Holy Spirit, who wrought in them in such a manner, that Christ’s flesh, though not yet created, was made efficacious in them. He [St. Paul] means, however, that they ate in their own way, which was different from ours, and this is what I have previously stated, that Christ is now presented to us more fully, according to the measure of the revelation. For, in the present day, the eating is substantial, which it could not have been then — that is, Christ feeds us with his flesh, which has been sacrificed for us, and appointed as our food, and from this we derive life.” Perhaps Calvin’s explanation here gives evidence that his Eucharistic understanding (contra D. Farrow) does in fact include eschatological dimensions that transcend time—in this particular instance, as it were, extending backward. Regarding the natural question of how we are to understand an unbeliever’s participation in the sacraments of old, Calvin states that those Israelites who did not eat with faith invalidated the possibility of an effectual partaking because the instrument by which Christ is received, viz., faith, was absent. As Calvin explains, “the manna, in relation to God, was spiritual meat even to unbelievers, but because the mouth of unbelievers was but carnal, they did not eat what was given them”(Calvin’s Commentary on 1 Corinthians, p. 319-320).
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
In John 8:19 Jesus pointedly answers the Jews’ unbelieving question “Where is your Father?” with, “You know neither me nor my Father. If you knew me, you would know my Father also.” As Ridderbos explains, the Jews’ question was not a case of simply needing more information, rather “[i]n raising the question they are assuming a formal legal position: if a person appeals to the testimony of a witness, that person should be able to produce the witness! Again, […] they are presenting a demand for legitimation and an indirect challenge: if the Father is going to be your witness, bring him forward!” (The Gospel of John: A Theological Commentary, p. 297). This demand for legitimation is actually an indication of their failure to acknowledge Jesus’ own self-testimony as Lord (as St. Paul would say, a “suppressing of the truth in unrighteousness”), which is in turn a rejection of the Father’s self-testimony. “That is, they are inwardly strangers to and outside the fellowship of both Jesus and his Father. And the two are inseparable. If they really knew Jesus and if his words did not sound strange and presumptuous in their ears, they would not ask, ‘Where is your Father?’ They would know that what he says is of God and that the Father is his witness” (Ibid., p. 297).
Jesus has repeated made the claim throughout this pericope that He and the Father are one, but now He says it in such a way to press what some Reformed theologians call the “antithesis,” i.e., the divide between believer and unbeliever in which the ultimate question becomes: will you acknowledge and embrace Jesus’ claims and place yourself on the side of covenant-keepers or will you reject his claims, demand further “legitimation” (to what higher authority could one appeal?), and align yourself with covenant-breakers who suppress the truth? Though, of course, at this point, the wisdom of the world cries, “circularity, circularity, circularity.” That is, the “person will say that Jesus’ ‘evidence’ consists precisely in what needs to be proved: that the Father is with him as the great ‘witness’ of what he says and does. This short circuit is inherent in the issue itself. God’s revelation does not subject itself to human control and cannot be required to legitimate itself by human standards. It can only be ‘known’ and assented to by those who ‘know’ him, that is, by those who, as children of God, are born not of flesh and blood but of God (1:13; 3:3ff.). But this a priori is not a demand for blind faith in the one sent by God. It is a ‘knowing’ in the light of Jesus’ words and works. If, therefore, Jesus bears witness to himself as the light of the world, this does not call for ‘unknowing’ acceptance (cf. 6:69). Rather, it is a coming to know, by the content of Jesus’ words and the power of his deeds, the claim and irrefutability of the love of God extended to the world in him. It is to that decision of faith that all these dialogues lead and in the confrontation with which they all find their conclusion and climax” (Ibid., p. 298). In sum, Ridderbos seems to be saying that not all circles are vicious (though some are) and indeed some circles are necessary. I tend to agree.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Commenting on John 5:36, “but the testimony that I have is greater than that of John. For the works that the Father has given me to accomplish, the very works that I am doing, bear witness about me that the father has sent me,” Ridderbos says the following in regard to the self-legitimation of Jesus’ greater testimony:
“Jesus bases himself on the ‘works’ that the Father ‘granted’ him ‘to accomplish’ […] this term [works, τα εργα] refers to the content of Jesus’ entire mission, his miracles and his words; for the words, Jesus’ speaking with the authority of God’s Son ‘to make alive’ and ‘to judge,’ also belong to that which the Father has ‘granted’ Jesus (cf. vss. 22, 26, 27). Implied in this, however, is that Jesus’ legitimation does not consist only in something outside his own actions, or in some additional verification from without, as the Jews desired (cf. Mt. 12:28ff.; 16:1ff.; 1 Co. 1:22), something that would furnish to everyone an ‘objective’ proof of his heavenly origin. No person who cannot recognize the work, voice, and revelation of God in Jesus’ work itself will be persuaded of it by some other independent means” (The Gospel of John: A Theological Commentary, p. 203; bold added).
This seems to me to be the same point that Calvin and other Dutch Reformed apologists have made in regard to the self-attesting nature of Scripture (though I don’t think that Ridderbos advocates the latter). The self-attestation of Christ and of Scripture seem to go hand in hand and any attempt to appeal to some external authority or additional verification seems to place that thing or person or group of people above the canon or above the God of the canon. Some circles do seem necessary, but not all of them are vicious.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Commenting on John 5:24, “Truly, truly I say to you, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life. He does not come into judgment, but has passed from death to life,” Ridderbos writes the following:
“for the one who hears his word and believes God who sent him eternal life has already begun, the judgment of God has lost its fearsomeness, and death has been superseded. What makes this pronouncement special is, of course, that the final decision that determines the life and future of human beings and that is spoken of here and in what follows in eschatological language is transferred from the future to the present, in accordance with the word that Jesus speaks as the one sent by the Father and with the answer people give to it. The distinction between present and future is not thereby canceled out […], but eternal life does begin qualitatively in the present. Death also gains a different content than what it usually has for humans: already in this life it is experienced as a passage to true eternal life and thus loses its all-threatening, ultimately critical character for the future. It is no longer ahead of a person but behind him or her” (The Gospel of John: A Theological Commentary,p. 197, emphasis added).
Then in the next verse we read, “Truly, truly I say to you, an hour is coming, and is now hear when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live” (John 5:25). Here Ridderbos says that verse 25, though seemingly paradoxical concretizes verse 24, and being “an expression of Jesus’ messianic consciousness, it may perhaps be considered the most powerful pronouncement in John’s Gospel” (Ibid. , p. 197). The dead spoken of here is not a reference only to the future dead, “for the voice of the Son of God that calls the dead to life resounds now. Those who hear his voice will not just live in the future, therefore, but now already they will ‘pass out of death into life,’ delivered from the power of death by the voice that calls them to rise” (cf. 1 Jn 3:14; p. 198; emphases added).
Слава Богу!
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Not only does Balthasar see a Trinitarian acting in the Word becoming flesh, but Ridderbos does as well (here focusing specifically on the Father and the Son). In his commentary on the Gospel of John, Ridderbos writes, commenting on John 3:16,
“Here we read not of the Son of man but of God’s only-begotten Son (cf. 1:18), so designated here as the highest gift God could give (cf. Ro. 8:32: ‘who did not spare his own Son’; Gn. 22:16). And we read, ‘gave’ in the sense of what is elsewhere called ‘giving up,’ ’surrendering’ (e.g., Ro. 4:25; 8:32; Mk. 9:31), namely to death on a cross. All this shows how in the Fourth Gospel, as elsewhere in the New Testament, the God-given sacrifice of Christ is of central significance. This is surely the case also because in that surrender the glory of God manifested itself so clearly ‘in the flesh’ of the man Jesus, but above all because it brought to its highest manifestation the measure of God’s love for the world (cf. 13:1). [...] it is God who makes the all-embracing sacrifice for the world. There is no further analysis of why God loves thus. The text’s exclusive concern is the fact and the magnitude of God’s love. It is love that not only manifests itself over death, the death into which the world (like Israel in the wilderness) would sink: in the death of Christ it also identifies with the world in its lostness and thus imparts the deepest meaning to the great statement in the prologue, ‘and the Word became flesh.’ [...] God in his eternal love returned to the world as to his own, that he loved it in the surrender of his only-begotten Son (cf. 3:35), and that the Father loves the Son because he gave his own life (cf. 10:15) in a love that persisted to the end (cf. 13:1ff.)” [pp. 138-39].
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Addressing the common allegations of a flesh and Spirit opposition as a hermeneutic key to understanding the Fourth Gospel (e.g., Bultmann’s gnostic interpretation), Ridderbos offers a different take. First, reveiwing briefly Bultmaann’s position, according to his view “flesh” and “spirit” denote “the radical opposition between two mutually exclusive metaphysical principles, which he then “demythologizes” and interprets utilizing terms and concepts taken from existentialist philosophy (Ridderbos, The Gospel of John, p. 130). “Flesh,” e.g., speaks of the “nothingness” and “inauthenticity” of human existence, whereas “spirit” refers to “authentic” existence in which “nothingness” ceases to have dominion. Ridderbos, in contrast, rejects an original dualism, pointing out that from the very beginning of the Fourth Gospel, we encounter the notion that the Word is the creation of all things–παντα δι αυτου εγενετο, και χωρις αυτου εγενετο ουδε εν (John 3:3). Commenting further, Ridderbos states,
“The opposition between flesh and Spirit primarily relates therefore to the creatureliness and dependence of humanity in relation to God as Spirit, Source, and Ruler of all life. In that connection, ‘flesh’ does not denote what is ‘lower’ in humankind but the whole human person, physical as well as spiritual. Accordingly, what is opposed to humankind in its ‘authentic existence’ adn threatens us as our ‘fate’ is not our existence as flesh but the radical disturbance that has arisen in that existence as the result of the self-direction that has brought us into a position of estrangement from God, of guilt and powerlessness, of transience, uncertainty, and meaninglessness. Hence, when, as here, the ‘Spirit’ is contrasted with this powerlessness of the flesh to enter the kingdom of God and to inherit the true life, ‘Spirit’ does not denote the great ontological anti-flesh principle, but God himself as the source of life (cf. 1:13) and above all in his restorative and life-renewing power as the only possibility left to humans to save them from lostness and alienation from God and to give them eternal life. [...] The alternatives ‘flesh’ and ‘Spirit’ are not ‘anthropological’ in the sense of humankind as it is and as it should become in order to rise from the inferiority or nothingness of one existence (flesh) to a higher or ‘authentic’ existence (Spirit). The alternatives rather concern humankind in its (fleshly) powerlessness over against the sovereignty of and omnipotence of God (the Spirit), who alone can transform humankind, that is, grant us the needed rebirth from above” (Ibid., p. 131).
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
Commenting on John 1:14, particularly the last phrase, “και εσκηνωσεν εν ημιν,” (“and the Word tabernacled or dwelt among us”), Ridderbos notes that the verb σκηνοω means “to pitch one’s tent” and recalls “numerous Old Testament statements in which mention is made of God dwelling in the midst of Israel, the fundamental motif being the tabernacle in the wilderness in which God’s presence in Israel and his glory were manifested (Ex. 25:8; also, e.g., Ezk. 37:27; Jl. 3:17, Zc. 2:10; cf. also Rv. 21:3)” [pp. 50-51]. In addition, “pitch one’s tent” has a salvation-historical overtone particularly in light of the connection with “glory” in the following clause. That is, contra the view that alleges a Gnostic background of the prologue, Ridderbos argues that “’pitch one’s tent’ does not emphasize the transience of the manifestation of the Logos in the human sphere but rather the act of taking up residence and then staying. The newness of this indwelling consists, of course, in the incarnation of the Word. It distinguishes itself from the divine indwelling operative up to that point by its totally different form of proximity—as that of one who permits himself to be seen and to be a member of society (cf. vss. 38, 39), to live among people as one of them” (p. 51). Hallelujah!
Another interesting point made by Ridderbos is in regard to the verb translated “behold” (θεασθαι, vs. 14) which has a stronger force than the word for simply “seeing.” This particular verb seems to emphasize the “dramatic, spectacular, and totally absorbing nature of what is seen, which after all, is the glory of God” (p. 52). Given Ridderbos’ take on the revelation of Jesus’ glory in His flesh, he opts for the view that the “we” speaks of those who lived with Jesus and who were His eyewitnesses from the beginning (not the inclusive “we” of the church). To go with the inclusive “we” as those of the church whose eyes have been opened in faith is “to remove the specific connection between the incarnation and this sight. At stake is the glory of God in the flesh, which could only be seen and ‘beheld’ by those who were the eyewitnesses of that flesh” (p. 52). Though it is the case that many who beheld Jesus’ glory were not moved to belief given their spiritual blindness (cf. 9:39-41), others believe without having seen His glory in the flesh (20:29). However, this does not mean that the glory of Jesus’ revelation in the flesh was seen only by those who have the eyes of faith. Rather, “the revelation of Jesus’ glory, not just the weakness of the flesh, occasions the hostile reaction of ‘the Jews’ (cf. 9:16, 24f.; 11:47). The plea they sometimes base on his human origins and the like […] is nothing but an attempt to hide from the power of that glory” (p. 52). So it seems that just as the “words” of the Gospel bring about two kinds of responses broadly speaking (embracing or hostile) given their divine origin and glory, so too the revelatory “event” of the Word Incarnate in the glory of his flesh occasions positive and negative reactions as well for the same reasons.
By Cynthia R. Nielsen
I recently purchased Herman Ridderbos’, The Gospel of John: A Theological Commentary, and must say that thus far it is excellent. In an introductory section entitled, “History and Revelation,” Ridderbos discusses critical views that reject not only the Johannine authorship, but also the historical character of Jesus described in the fourth gospel. E.g., having decided Johannine authorship unreliable, critical scholars likewise cast shadows as to “any direct personal contact between the Evangelist and the historical events he described” (p. 12). This then allowed for “much more radical views concerning the relationship between interpretation and history” (p. 12). As the story goes, “the great distance in time and space that separated the author from Jesus’ historical appearance and ministry made it impossible for him to form a clear picture thereof and, going further, that his Christology affected to a high degree his telling of the story, to the point where if he did not completely dissolve its historical character he at least weakened it” (p. 12). Whether one seeks to explain John’s Gospel in terms of syncretistic Hellenistic categories emphasizing an inherent dualism in John’s gospel or in terms of a dichotomous earthly-heavenly Lord, history either becomes that which serves merely as “pointer to a higher or fundamentally different reality” (p. 12) or a historical context created by the Evangelist that manifests characteristics of the later church (i.e., John’s gospel is full of anachronisms). In light of these accounts, Ridderbos restricts himself to what he views as central to this complex of problems, viz., “the meaning the Evangelist attributes, in his interpretation of the Christ-event, to history […] The Evangelist views the real miracle of the coming and work of Jesus, the Christ, as the in-carn-ation of the Word or, as he states in a no less pivotal pronouncement, as the descent of the Son of man (3:14)” [p. 13]. This, of course, cuts against any account claiming that in John’s Gospel the meaning of history recedes to the background, is made fuzzy, spiritualized or simply fictitious. Rather, in John 1:14 we encounter the unthinkable, the scandalous—και ο λογος σαρζ εγενετο (and the Word became flesh). As Ridderbos points out, “‘flesh’ refers precisely to that which is human, natural, and historical, and that neither as the unreal though visible world over against a real though invisible world nor as the concealment of the glory of the only begotten of the Father […] but as the life in which and the means by which his glory was made visible to every eye and, as it were, palpable to every hand (cf. 1 Jn.1:1ff.). Hence, to have ‘beheld’ the revelation of that glory in the flesh and to witness to him who thus dwelled among us forms the foundation and content of the Fourth Gospel” (p. 13).
Ridderbos has just said a mouthful (and a delicious mouthful at that). What struck me in reading the words και ο λογος σαρζ εγενετο και εσκηωσιν (and the Word became flesh and ‘tabernacled’ among us) is how dissonant this would have sounded to a Greek mind. If one considers the Platonic or Neoplatonic view of “flesh,” one finds a rather disdainful orientation toward the bodily. For example, in Plato’s Phaedo, the philosopher is described as one who constantly pursues death. Why such a dark picture of bodiliess? Plato’s picture of our bodily state is that of a fallen state (see the Phaedrus), a prison house, that which hinders the soul’s search for knowledge and keeps us tied down to the sensible where we only have doxa. This negative view of the body is part of the reason why Socrates claimed that for the philosopher death is not to be feared because his/her whole life is spent pursing a “death” of sorts anyway.
Given this orientation, we can see that when John says that the Word became flesh, this would have shocked a Greek thinker. An analogy that comes to mind as to the “about face” that such a statement would produce is what is called in jazz “playing out.” For example, if you are improvising in the key of C major (say for at least 4 measures, thus establishing the tonal center of C), you can for a kind of “shock” effect purpose to play one-half step higher (in this case D-flat). That is, you would play a short melodic pattern in the key of C and then play the exact same pattern in the key of D-flat and then resolve it back to C major. Because the movement from key to key is only a difference of a minor second, it creates an incredible, even alarming dissonance. Moreover, “playing out” is something effectively executed by an experienced player—someone who understands the rules of music theory and who knows full well what kind of effect will be produced when he/she engages in “out-playing.” This seems to me quite analogous to what John did—he was no doubt cognizant that his claim of the Word becoming flesh would sound completely “out” to his hearers. Not only did this Jesus become flesh, but He dwelt among us as one of us. Another shocking claim—here we don’t encouter a nous nous-ing or an aloof impersonal god, but a God who cares about his people so much that in order to save them, he actually becomes one of them and ‘tabernacles’ with them. With Ridderbos, I wholeheartedly agree, “nowhere is Jesus’ glory more splendid than in the Fourth Gospel. Nor is his humanity more human anywhere else—right down to the account of his death and resurrection (19:34; 20:20, 27). And nowhere does the Son of man, clothed by God with all power, descend more deeply, realistically, and scandalously into human flesh (cf. 6:27, 53)” [p. 14].
