Ordination as Metamorphosis Pt. 2

Feeling particularly festive today, I thought I would write a Christmas song about our last post:

In the last post on being my true love gave to me,

Seven headaches

Six images

FIIIIIVE arguments about ontology

Four footnotes

Three Hypostasis

Two terms for being

And a saint punching Arius in the head

Merry Christmas!  Perhaps the song makes the last post sound more fun than it really was…  If you found it to be a little too ethereal, I promise this one will be particularly relevant to YOU (yes you).

The very simple point that I was trying to make was: The Cappadocian’s argued that being is not rooted in substance (what a being is).  Being is rooted in personhood (how a being relates).  To talk about your being, we should talk about your person, the multiple ways you relate!  See how simple that was?

Recall for a moment the insights of my brother-in-law who reflected on being a father as he began to relate to his family.  Fatherhood, in the story, involved function, and ontology.[1]  As soon as the firstborn came, he had a radically new function.  He had to do all those things that are required to keep a little baby alive.  Can we say that Fatherhood is reducible to only what the person does?  Richard is a Father only as much as he does what a Father should do? I wouldn’t think so.  Fatherhood is also who a person is.  Even when a Father doesn’t function as a Father (sadly we have far too many examples of this), a Father is always a Father.  Fatherhood involves a change in being.  My brother showed that he became a Father as he interacted with his son; as he related to his family.  The change in being didn’t occur on the level of substance (Richard’s substance wasn’t changed into a Father).  The change in being occurred on the level of personhood. Remember what we said last time: “In the Trinity, there is no personhood without relationship.  There is no being without relationship.”

This tension between function and being takes place in conversations about ministry.  Some religious traditions insist that their pastor is no different than anyone else in the congregation.  The pastor simply takes on a new role in the community.  She now preaches, leads ministries, counsels, celebrates sacraments, etc. Who is the minister?  The one who does these certain things.  Other traditions (Orthodox and Catholic) insist that the pastor not only has a new function, but is a different being.   A pastor receives a mark on his soul forever conforming him to Christ, the priest. Who is the minister? The one who IS a priest.  In this dichotomy, both sides have some drawbacks.  The functional side succeeds in keeping the pastor in relationship to the community.  You can’t function as a pastor without a church!  But it also fails to recognize the shift in identity brought about in a pastor.  The “ontological” side succeeds in understanding the transformation of the individual through the grace of the Holy Spirit.  But it tends to individualize and isolate the ordained person.  A priest is a priest with or without the church community.  This tends toward a “divinization” or at least a “reverence” for the priest who is perceived as altogether different than the normal member of the church.

The pastor is given a new role or function within the community.  In this model, the pastor could return to the community, and a new pastor could be selected.

The priest is ordained by the grace of the Holy Spirit.  The priest experiences a change in being, and then is given a specific church to minister with.

A theologian named Edward Hahnenberg has tried to overcome this dichotomy between function and ontology by looking at the Cappadocian understanding of being.  He says that when a person becomes involved in a ministry within a community, her relationships with others and the ecclesial community shift.  If being is rooted in personhood, these changing ecclesial relationships mark a change in being for any minister.  Using this Trinitarian, relational perspective Hahnenberg overcomes the dichotomy between function and ontology.  Ministers are not identified in isolation as individuals, nor are they identified solely by what they do. “[…] important ministers come to be both through what they do and who they are within a community.”^[2]

Hahnenberg uses the language of “ecclesial repositioning” to describe the changing relationship within the community.  The ontological change that occurs in a minister is directly related to one’s ecclesial position.  The ecclesial position consists of three facets: the commitment of the individual, the recognition of the community, and the ministry one is involved in.^[3]  The difference between an ordained priest and a lay youth minister is a difference of ecclesial position.  The commitment, ministry, and church recognition are different for each.  However, both experience a change in being because of a change in ecclesial relationships.  Viewed this way, priestly ordination is not about the power one possesses, or a beautiful mark on the soul.  The sacramental character of ordination becomes one’s ecclesial position.  “The laying on of hands and prayer at ordination mark the climactic moment of a process of recognition and repositioning in which the new minister is transformed through her or his relationships of service within and on behalf of the community.”^[4]

Taken from "Ministries: A Relational Approach" page 131.

According to this relational model, a minister experiences a change in being because a minister’s relationship to the church shifts.  This model does not require that a minister has a change in substance, only a change in person.  This is a bridge between function and ontology because the minister’s being is rooted in the relationships the minister finds him/herself in.  The relationships involve roles and function, and makes up who the minister is.  My brother-in-law became a Father through relating to his son.  His being was defined by the relationship, which involved the specific function he fulfilled.

Because the Church is already abundantly graced by God, the ordained receives the grace of the Holy Spirit through the Church.  The ordained is repositioned within the community which forms new relationships.  This change in personhood is a change in being.

Hahnenberg is very successful in applying this ancient Greek understanding of being to the question of sacramental character.  The Sacramental Character is the changed relationships.  The large lingering question remains:  Is this compatible with the contemporary theology of ordination in the Roman Catholic Church? Is being-in-relation adequate enough for a Western, contemporary theology.  We will explore this further next time.

I promised you personal relevance, and I will try to deliver.  At first glance, I can see two important implications.

1. You are your relationships.   The Enlightenment gave the West the awareness of the “I.”  I am an autonomous person who is morally responsible for my own actions and I must construct myself.  Well the Enlightenment also took away our relatedness.  The “I” became the primary starting point for….EVERYTHING.   We are still living this individualism each day, and by now, it’s inevitable.  There’s no going back.  I am the main character in my life, and you are the main character in your own life.  We can’t undo it, but we can try to recover something important.  There is no such thing as the isolated “I.” The Cappadocian’s teach us this.  The way you think, the way you talk, the meaning you find in your own life, has come to you because of your relatedness to other people.  You exist because two people abandoned their autonomous selves to give to each other.  From an act of relating love, you came to be (I hope you think about that next time you hear a discussion about sex).  Your existence starts there, and it doesn’t end there.  John Zizioulas says that to be is to move from an individual to a person.  You will find yourself as a dynamic person by extending outward in love in relationship to other persons.  Not only is this the route to happiness, but it is the route to existential contentment.  You find your individual self, by extending out of yourself in relationships.

2. The Christian in isolation does not exist at all.  What we know of God is how he relates to us.  The center of the Christian story is that God is continually extending beyond himself to relate.  Creation is an act of relating. And of course the Incarnation which we contemplate anew in a few days is the activity of a God relating to us.  The “we” that I speak of is the church which was primitively thought of as the body of Christ where Christ is the head.  To find life, to find meaning from the head, you necessarily must be related to the body.  To be related to the body, is to experience changing relationships, changing personhood, and thus, your very being is changed.  Your being as a Christian is rooted in your relating to Christ through the Church.   This has many ramifications, but here is what I have to say for Christmas:

Do not look for Christ in isolation; look for Christ in the other.  For however messed up the institution of the Church can be, it is there in the body of Christ that you will find Christ extending himself in love.  Secondly, look for Christ in the other in whom you wouldn’t expect Christ to be found.  It is through solidarity with that person that you will find Christ, and in relating to that person, you will exist.

Have a prayerful expectation of Christ’s coming again in Glory as you celebrate His first advent among us.

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[1] You remember ontology right?  Ontology is reflection on being.

[2] Edward Hahnenberg. Ministries: A Relational Approach. (New York: The Crossroad Publishing Company. 2003), 96.

[3] Ibid 131.

[4] Ibid 201.

Ordination as a Metamorphosis

Metamorphosis

Grasshoppers do it. Fish do it. Frogs, toads, and newts do it.  A newt?

Do you suppose your pastor has done it?[1]  I would suggest you may have done it!

“So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” (1Corinthians 5:17)

Paul seems to imply that when someone is in Christ, she becomes something different.  He even calls it a new creation!  This is what I’m talking about here: a change in being!  In philosophy, when we want to talk about being we will talk about ontology.   Therefore to talk about someone having a change in being is to talk about an “ontological change.”

Some folks, at least the Orthodox and Catholics, insist that their priests experience a change in being when they are anointed.  Before ordination the priest is simply a Christian.  After ordination the priest becomes someone entirely different, a Christian Priest.  This is very clear in the Western idea of Sacramental Character.  We say that baptism, confirmation, and ordination give an irremovable sacramental character.  What this means is that a person’s soul is marked out as belonging to Christ in a unique way.  This “seal” placed on a person cannot be removed.  The good news?  You can never become unbaptized (or rebaptized for that matter).  In the case of a priest, a priest is always a priest.  Even when removed from ministry for disciplinary reasons, the person has an indelible sacramental seal that makes his being forever a priest.

This idea of sacramental character is beautiful to some, and farfetched and repugnant to others.   In light of this, I have recently finished a paper entitled “Sacramental Character as Being-In-Relation in a Postmodern Context.”  In this paper, I try to talk about sacramental character in a way that is beautiful, accessible, and hopefully not repugnant to most.  I’ll post the full text soon.  For now, let’s unpack the first step, “Being-in-Relation.”

Remember the days when reciting the Nicene Creed flowed like this, “true God, from true God. Begotten not made, one in being with the Father?”  Those were the days before we started tripping over the word, “consubstantial.”  Three years later I still hear murmuring, “Consubstratumalilistic with the Father” mixed with “one in being-tial with the Father.”  What’s with the major theology word interrupting the liturgy?

Believe it or not, this is quite significant for our topic.  Notice that instead of consubstantial we used to say, “One in being.”  You may get the impression that the two words are the same.  But they aren’t!  And this is vitally important! 

You see there was a guy named Arius in the fourth century who said, “Hey, If the Son is begotten of the Father, doesn’t that mean that he was created by the Father?  And if he was created by the Father, doesn’t that mean that there was a time when he didn’t exist?”  As you can imagine, the Council of Nicaea was not a fan of this idea.[2]  The Council formulated a creed that was absolutely opposed to Arius’ position.  It said that Christ is eternally begotten of the Father, “God from God, Light from Light. True God from True God. Begotten not made. ὁμοούσιον with the Father.”  The Creed says that the Son is “homoousion”[3] or “Of the same substance” or “consubstantial” with the Father.  Basically, “whatever Divine stuff (ousia, or substance) the Father is, the Son is also that same Divine stuff (ousia, or substance).  God’s existence was starting to be defined by what God is.  In other words, God’s being was starting to be defined by God’s substance.   You still with me? Good.

You'll have to read footnote #2 for the context of this picture.

The old translation of the creed, “one in being” implies that being is the same as substance (ousia).  But as we will see, this is not the case.  Let’s move on.

Because the council was a little vague about its use of these Greek words, a wise cracker named Eunominus came up with a new argument.  It went something like this:

-The Father has no origin right?  The Father is “Ungenerate” (is not generated from anyone or anything)

-If the Father is Ungenerate then the Divine substance (ousia) must also be ungenerate.

-The Son was begotten of the Father right?

-If the Son is begotten then the Son must have an origin somewhere.

-If the Son is generated, then the Son is not Ungenerate.

-Therefore the Son must not share the same substance (ousia) as the Father.

God’s existence was rooted in God’s substance.  Because the Son did not share the same substance as the Father, the Son must not exist as God.

The three people who directly debated Eunominus were Basil, Gregory of Nyssa, and Gregory Nazianzus, the Cappadocian Fathers.   First they argued that Eunominus was arrogant.  Who can speak about God’s divine substance?  God’s substance or ousia, is so shrouded in light unfathomable that we cannot say what God is.  Gregory of Nazianzus said that the substance of God is hidden “beyond your feeble senses.”  For Eunominus to say that God’s substance was ungenerate was seen as arrogance in apprehending pure mystery.  So the Cappadocians insisted that we can say nothing about God’s substance.  All that we know about God is how He relates. 

God relates to us through salvation history and God relates to Himself through the divine persons or “hypostasis.”  As for Eunominus’ argument, they said:

-The quality of “ungenerate” does not belong to the divine substance (ousia) but rather to the person of the Father.

-Therefore, the begotteness of the Son does not effect His sharing in the divine ousia. 

The Cappadocian’s marked a significant shift in ontology:  Being was rooted not in substance, but in person.  What do we know about God’s being? We know little about God’s substance. We know about God’s personhood.  The term personhood for the Cappadocian’s included relationships.   What this means is that the Father cannot be Father without the Son.  The Son cannot be Son without the Father.  The Holy Spirit cannot proceed without the Father, and the Father cannot give procession with the Holy Spirit.  In the Trinity, there is no personhood without relationship.  There is no being without relationship.

Edward Hahnenberg and others[4] apply this ontology to the human person.  What can we say about my being?  According to the Cappadocian understanding of the Trinity, being is rooted in personhood.  We can speak about my personhood; how I relate. 

My brother, who is a father of three, spoke with me about becoming a father.  He told me that before their first, he and his wife (my sister) had carefully constructed their life together.  It was like a town built by the sea.  With the first baby, a typhoon came and completely washed away the lifestyle they had known.  It was very abrupt.   But aside from his radically new function (he now had to feed, change, and nap a living thing, and sleep a lot less) he did not feel like a father.  My brother became a father slowly as he began to interact with his son.  His being didn’t change immediately as the typhoon changed his lifestyle.  His being changed as he related to his family.

This is what I mean by being-in-relation.  According to the Cappadocian understanding of being inspired by the Trinity, being does not have to be rooted in my substance—what I am.  Being is rooted in my personhood—how I am—how I relate.

Next time we will tackle the question, “How can we understand the sacramental character as a change in being, when being is rooted in personhood?”  If sacramental character is outside of your tradition/interests, consider how the change in being of becoming a Christian is a change in being-in-relation.

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[1] Ok technically metamorphosis isn’t the most precise word. Metamorphosis implies a change in form, (Meta-change.  Morphe-form) and as far as I know, Sacred Chrism has never turned a person into a newt or otherwise.  What I mean to be talking about is “metaontasis” (onta-to be).   If someone else knows of the real word for this, let me know because I just made that up.  I’m trying to talk about a change in being.  

[2] This is the understatement of the new Church year (started in Advent).  In fact, to highlight how intense the real St. Nicholas was, I will tell you this story:  When Eusebius tried to defend Arius’ position at the Council, many of the bishops stood up and shouted, “You lie! Blasphemy!”  His speech was torn in two and some say that St. Nicholas was so worked up that he punched Eusebius in the face.    Jolly Ol’ St. Nick?  Get out of here with that smug, artificial, a-historical character.  The real St. Nicholas was a defender of Christ’s eternal existence, and the defender of the poor, and women who were to be sold into slavery/marriage.  WAAAAY more inspiring than Santa Claus.

[3] Homoousion comes from “homo-the same” and “ousia-substance.”  

[4] John Zizioulas, Catherine Mowery LaCugna

Why Christians need Charles Darwin

At the Carnegie Science Center there is a display featuring an actor who plays Charles Darwin.  You can click on a variety of questions concerning his theories of biological evolution.  One of those questions is “How do religions respond to your theories?”  Darwin’s response is, “No organized religion accepts my theories.”  I assume Darwin is speaking from his perspective in the 19th century.  He even mentions an Episcopalian Minister who was disciplined by his tradition for considering evolution.  "Isn't that ridiculous?"  asked Darwin.

The landscaped has changed some in the 21st century.  Biological evolution is certainly not embraced by all Christian traditions (take the CreationMuseum as an example), but thanks to developments in biblical studies and scientific literacy many traditions have come to accept it.  Is it really the role of religious institutions to “accept” or “reject” scientific theories and discoveries?  Well that’s a bit more complicated isn’t it?  Theology is done by people who, whether they admit it or not, have some scientific assumptions.  We could go on to list all of the other assumptions: social, psychological, historical, political, etc. This is why the accounts of creation from Genesis speak nonchalantly about the water in the dome of the sky which also contained the moon and the sun.  The author(s) were simply framing their theology within the scientific perspective of their day.  It’s what we do!  It is the role of science to observe the universe and help explain how it all works.  It is the task of theology to help understand what that says about the universe, God, and us humans.  We may enjoy an entire post on a helpful way to read the creation accounts.  Let’s save it; we can’t have all the fun in one day can we?

"Do you mean the bible isn’t true? Do you mean that science is more important than faith?  Don’t you believe in divine revelation?" Woah woah, calm down.  Let’s not jump to rash conclusions.  Rash conclusions should be reserved for the previous post “The Bridge.”

Take as an example the Catholic Church’s careful positioning to evolution and faith.  Pius XII in 1950 said that evolution and Christian faith are not incongruent (Humani Generis). In 1996 John Paul II explained that scientific truth would not contradict religious truth.  There have been some qualifications between the truth of evolution and the evolutionism mindset.  These are important distinctions which we can explore later, but for now I’m trying to build up to something!  Here is what I think is remarkable:  The Church insists that scientists should do their jobs, and do them well.  The more science discovers about the universe the more science will discover about God.  To reference Augustine, all truth is God’s truth. I should mention my good friend who, the more he studies science, the more he is in awe of God.  You go scientists! I commend you to your vocations.

Theologians, and religious institutions, I also commend you to your vocations.  The issue between science and theology is not an issue of belief, values, or quality of data (empirical vs emotional).  Both are disciplines that have a place in the academy.  It is simply that the sources and scope of their observation and reflection are different.  Scientists out there may weigh in on this, but I would suggest that the source for scientific observation is nothing less that the universe, and also theories about the universe.  The scope of science is to observe, hypothesis, categorize, and make connections that lead to new observation. 

Theology also deals with the universe, but in a different way.  David Tracy speaks of religious language as "limit language."  We have probably all had a limit experience.  It was an experience so complex, so profound, that it reaches the very limits of our own articulation.  The first views from the Hubble Telescope may have evoked such a sense of wonder that the scientists may have proclaimed, "awesome."  But "awesome" only eluded to the grandeur of the experience.  It is there at the limit experience of the universe that theology resides.  I suggest (taking leads from Tracy) that the sources for theology are the universe, human experience, and religious narratives (which in most cases are considered Divine Revelation).  The scope of theology is reflection on the human experience of the divine--reflection on significance, meaning, truth, and activity.

What I hope to have shown is that theology and science are not at odds, but rather have two different tasks.  A religious person can do great science, and a scientific person can do great theology. You will also notice that theology is dependent on science.  Wait a minute, what?  I'll say it again, theology is dependent on science.  If the universe and the human experience of the universe is a source for theology (as I argued it was) than theology needs to know what science says about the universe!  How can I reflect on the meaning of the universe if I have an inaccurate understanding of the universe?  The inverse is not the case.  Science does not depend on theology as a source.  Theological reflection is not a source for science.   Do not misunderstand, scientists may be motivated by faith, persevere because of faith, and find meaning through their work.  Scientific method, ethics, and funding may be informed by theology, but science is not observation on theological reflection.  The universe is a source. 

Christians need Charles Darwin because Charles Darwin was a scientist!  His theories, though incomplete and in need of further elaboration, have led to a greater understanding of species.  Darwin helped to uncover further knowledge about the universe, and human origins.  Christians need Darwin because the science that has continued because of his work is a source for theological reflection.

If biological evolution is the accepted explanation of the origin of life, how does this inform theology?  We have finally arrived at an interesting book by Denis Edwards called Ecology at the Heart of Faith.  Edwards is an Ecological Ethicist (to break it down: Ecology-the study of interactions between organic systems.  You see how it’s interested in the environment?  Ethics- The study of right living.  Thanks for bearing with my oversimplifications).  In his book, he took seriously contemporary scientific discovery and applied it to themes of systematic theology, only to later bring it back to ecology.  This will warrant its own post, so for now I leave you with questions to ponder (and of course to comment upon):

1.       What does the Big Bang say about our interconnectedness to the entire universe?

2.       If humans emerged from biological evolution, what does it say about humanity and our origins? How about the Image of God?  Or for those who like a challenge: the Incarnation? What?!

3.       How does the current cosmology (theory about the universe) inform an eschatology (theology about the end of all things)?

4.       Lastly, what are some limitations of these theories in informing theology?  I hope you enjoy!

How to Become Greater than the Greatest

I love how gnarly John the Baptist always looks in art!

My very good friend, Branon, called me to talk about John the Baptist and Jesus.  What a wild relationship they must have had.  Cousins who grew up together, shared the same dedication to the Law of God, and anxiously anticipated the Kingdom of God brought by the Messiah.   At the end of life, from King Herod’s prison cell, John sent disciples to Jesus to ask if he is the one they’ve been waiting for.  You can read about this in Luke 7:18-33.  Jesus’ answer is short and like many other sayings of Jesus—it sounds like it avoids the question.  What Jesus really does, is reframe the question to carefully reveal the Kingdom of God.  Jesus answers in vv 22, 23, “Go back and report to John what you have seen and heard: The blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor. Blessed is anyone who does not stumble on account of me.”

Branon pointed out that Jesus was referencing Isaiah 61 in which the Messiah (the Hebrew anointed one) described the mission for which he was anointed.  At the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus stood in the synagogue to read from Isaiah 61.  With boldness he finished his reading, rolled up the scroll and said, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled.”  (Lk 4:21).  What sort of Messiah would Jesus be?  He began his ministry by pointing toward the Anointed One of Isaiah 61.  When asked by John’s disciples, Jesus recalled the work he had done as a witness to his anointedness.

Branon also keenly noticed that in Jesus’ reply to John’s disciples he left out a segment of Isaiah 61:  “To proclaim liberty to the captives.”  If there was a part of the Messiah’s job description that was most relevant  for John, it was the release of prisoners!  Why did Jesus leave that part out when it is precisely that work that would ease John’s troubled mind?  For another thing, why didn’t Jesus start this part of his ministry by setting John free?

We were sensitive to John’s questioning if Jesus was the Messiah.  We thought if we had lived a life like John’s we would also have an end of life crisis.  He spent his adult life on the margin of society—living in the desert, wearing camel hair clothes, and eating locusts and honey.  Just before Jesus came on the scene, he started acting much like a prophet.  The problem with being a prophet is that speaking the word of the Lord usually results in people hating you and wanting to take your life.  In one episode near the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, while John was baptizing people, the baptizer stopped what he was doing to point and say, “Look, the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.”  With confidence John witnessed to Jesus.  At the end of his life, John sat in a prison for calling out the angry King Herod.   With time to look back at his life he must have wondered if it was worth it.  Were all of his efforts to prepare the way of the Lord worth it?  Did he spend his life on the wrong person?  Was Jesus the Messiah?  If so, his life was well spent.  If not...

Another phrase from Isaiah 61 that was missing from Jesus’ response to John’s disciples was “To bind the broken heart.”  Certainly in the midst of an existential end of life crisis, John’s heart would be mended to hear the words from Jesus.  Jesus assured him that he was the Messiah.  John could suffer in peace knowing that his life had meaning.

Still, what is with this omitted “release for the captives?”  While Jesus’ ministry was full of amazing miracles, he did not release people from prison walls (especially not John).  The activity of the first disciples involved dramatic jail breaks, but not Jesus’ life.  Yet as I look back at the significance of some of Jesus’ miracles, prisoners were released.  Think of Mary Magdalene who lived a life imprisoned by social stigma, shame, and objectification.  Her encounter with Jesus set her free.  Or the lepers who after their encounter with Jesus were free to re-enter society.  Think of Zacchaeus and Matthew whose greed kept them bound to be hated by their fellow citizens.  To spiritualize this “release of the prisoner” even more, the Christian tradition insists that in the Resurrection Jesus broke the chains of sin and death.

Check out the busted chains and locks.  Talk about release for the prisoner.

 Prison walls were never broken, and justice systems were never corrected.  The rioter and murderer, Barabbas, went free while the Anointed One was punished.  John the Baptist was imprisoned and eventually beheaded while Herod lived in luxury. 

It was not for lack of love that Jesus did not release John from prison.  For in Luke 7 he spoke highly of him as a prophet of God, and even said in v 28 “I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John.”  Excellent right?  Well Jesus didn’t even stop for a breath before continuing: “I tell you, among those born of women there is no one greater than John; yet the one who is least in the kingdom of God is greater than he.”  The one who is least in the Kingdom is actually greater than the greatest?  Jesus must have been carefully revealing the kingdom again.

We see at the end, Jesus spells out the impossible situation the cousins found themselves in.  They said of John that he didn’t eat or drink wine so he must be possessed by a demon.  They said of Jesus that he did eat and drink wine so he must be a drunkard.  They were both rejected simply because they spoke of a backward Kingdom of God that was subversive to all the power structures.  To be part of the Kingdom of God does not result in a life of luxury, but a life like John’s or Jesus’.  It may be filled with faithfulness and love, but it will also result in suffering and in their cases, death.  Could John have been released from prison and saved? Sure.  Could Jesus have been released and saved?  Sure.  But the Kingdom is such that suffering is salvation.  John found the meaning of his life through suffering.  Jesus brought about the salvation of the world through his suffering. Suffering is not only a natural result from living Kingdom values, it is essential to Kingdom life.  Luke wrote about this incident to a suffering church.  In the midst of persecution a life of suffering needs meaning.  Who is greater than the greatest in the Kingdom?  The least.  The more one suffers, the greater one becomes in the Kingdom of God.