Stranger in a Strange Land
To those who reside as aliens, scattered throughout Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia, who are chosen 1 Peter 1:1 NASB
Aliens – Are you one of the parepídēmois? Translated as “aliens,” we might be tempted to read this as Grundmann explains it: “Christians are only temporary residents on earth and must not let their lives be shaped by its interests. They are a Christian diaspora whose true home is the place of their election.”[1] That’s how I thought about this unusual word until I read Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik’s, The Lonely Man of Faith. In that book he provides a different sense of Peter’s Greek term, probably without realizing its application to apostolic material:
“The role of the man of faith, whose religious experience is fraught with inner conflicts and incongruities, who oscillates between ecstasy in God’s companionship and despair when he feels abandoned by God, and who is torn asunder by the heightened contrast between self-appreciation and abnegation, has been a difficult one since the times of Abraham and Moses.”[2]
The man of faith is not a resident alien because he is a refuge from heaven. He’s a resident alien because he lives between earth and heaven. He’s the man caught in the middle, acceptable to no established religious party, ostracized by all. Even within his own community of those who share the same societal rejection, he is still alone, not because of his disconnection from other Messianic followers but because inside he feels the chasm between ecstasy and despair, between awe and distress. His joy is always tinged with discouragement. His hope with melancholy. The world is not what its Creator intended, and neither is he. Torn by the internal conflict of yetzer ha’ra and yetzer ha’tov, there isn’t a day of perfect shalom. Yet the longing is there, reminding him that the world isn’t right—yet.
Growing up in the digital world of personal salvation, we tend to read this statement from Peter as if it paints the black and white image of heavenly-minded believers wading through the muck of this life on a pilgrim’s progress to heaven. We forget that the landscape is fifty shades of gray. That every act of righteousness requires a broken pericardium. As Brené Brown writes: “Until we can receive with an open heart, we are never really giving with an open heart.”[3] Broken-hearted is the way of healing. The lonely man of faith is a broken-hearted man; therefore, he can be healed. “The simple and honest process of letting people know that discomfort is normal, it’s going to happen, why it happens, and why it’s important, reduces anxiety, fear and shame. . . . we need to cultivate the courage to be uncomfortable and to teach the people around us how to accept discomfort as a part of growth.”[4]
Are you parepídēmos? Are you broken-hearted? A stranger in a strange land? Welcome!
Topical Index: parepídēmois, alien, Brené Brown, Joseph Soloveitchik, 1 Peter 1:1
[1] Kittel, G., Friedrich, G., & Bromiley, G. W. (1985). Theological Dictionary of the New Testament (p. 149). Grand Rapids, MI: W.B. Eerdmans.
[2] Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, The Lonely Man of Faith (Three Leaves Press, Doubleday, 1965), p. 2.
[3] Brené Brown, Daring Greatly, pp. 53-54.
[4] Ibid., p. 199.
