I opened up “Dirty Glory” by Pete Grieg this morning. I have had it for a couple of months but have not been able to get it started until today. I am only at the beginning but I am already drawn in (as I usually am) by Grieg’s ability to communicate deep, penetrating truth in such engaging ways. What follows is Grieg’s take on the opening 30 or so words of John’s Gospel, which, if you have been following this blog you will know, is of particular interest to me at the minute. How I wish I had had this stuff when i was writing my opening comments on the gospel of John a couple of months back!
“When God made us again, he came first to a teenage girl, and then to unwashed shepherds and later to pagan astrologers. God spoke the gospel as a dirty word into a religious culture. “The Word,” we are told by John at the start of his Gospel, became “flesh.” The Latin used here is caro , from which we get “carnivore,” “incarnation,” “carnival,” and even “carnal.”  God became a lump of meat, a street circus, a man like every man. John is messing with our minds. He knew perfectly well that this opening salvo was a shocking, seemingly blasphemous way to start his Gospel. Like Malcolm McLaren, Alexander McQueen, or Quentin Tarantino, he is grabbing attention, insisting upon an audience, demanding a response.
“In the beginning,” he says, echoing the opening line of the Bible, lulling us all into a false sense of religious security. At this point, I imagine John pausing mischievously, just long enough for every son of Abraham to fill in the blank incorrectly. “In the beginning,” he continues, “was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” It’s the familiar creation narrative outrageously remixed, featuring a mysterious new aspect of the divinity named, like some kind of superhero in a Marvel comic, The Word . And yet for John’s Greek readers the vast majority of Christians by the time the Gospel was written  the Word was not a new concept at all. For them this was the familiar Logos of domestic philosophy, that divine animating principle pervading the cosmos. The bewildering thing for their ears would have been John’s emphatic conflation of this pagan Greek notion of divinity with the Creator God of Jewish monotheism: “The Word,” he says unambiguously, “was God.” And so, in just these first thirty words of his Gospel, John has effectively both affirmed and alienated his entire audience, Greek and Jew alike. And then, like a prizefighter in the ring, while we are all still reeling from this first theological onslaught, John lands his body blow: “The Word,” he says, “became flesh .” It’s a breathtaking statement, equally appalling for the Jews, who had an elaborate set of 613 rules to help segregate holiness from worldliness, and for the Greeks, who despised the flesh with its malodorous suppurations and embarrassing, base instincts. “The Word became flesh.” Imagine the intake of breath, the furrowed brows, the wives looking at their husbands silently asking, “Did he just say what I think he said?” and the husbands glancing towards their elders wondering, “Is this OK?” It’s punk-rock theology. It’s a screaming “hello.””