Christmas 1 - December 26, 2010

Isaiah 63:7-9

            In this Sunday’s OT lesson, the prophet is recalling God’s past activity in delivering God’s people from slavery in Egypt.  This text is the beginning of what becomes a long prayer or confession and petition, calling on God to act again on behalf of God’s people: “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down…” (64:1). Gene Tucker says in his commentary that, unlike most of Isaiah 56-65, which is postexilic, this section probably originated as liturgical material during the Exile.  Seen in that perspective, it seems to me kind of an odd choice for the Christmas season – I would expect something more immediately celebratory of God’s present activity.  Still, there are some nice details: God “became their savior in their distress.  It was no messenger or angel but his presence that saved them….” (verses 8-9).  The implication for the church is that, with the Incarnation (the birth of Jesus), God has done it again!

Matthew 2:13-23

            I can’t help but notice how divergent the birth stories of Matthew and Luke are in most of their details.  Basically, they agree that (1) Mary was Jesus’ mother, (2) Joseph was his (step?)father, (3) he was born in Bethlehem, (4) angels were involved at various points in conveying God’s purposes, and (5) he grew up in Nazareth.  Otherwise, frankly they tell very different stories.  Luke includes a story about John the Baptist’s birth and says the two were cousins; he says the family lived in Nazareth to begin with and came down to Bethlehem for the census; thus the child was born “in transit,” having to be laid in a manger, where similarly transient shepherds were his first visitors; Luke says the family presented Jesus in the Temple soon after his birth, and then they headed back home to Nazareth.  Matthew tells it quite differently: the family lives in Bethlehem to begin with (no census explanation), and up to a couple of years after Jesus’ birth; they live in a house, where magi come calling (no shepherds); news of the birth provokes a massacre of young children around Bethlehem, from which the family escapes to Egypt; and it’s when they return from there that they relocate to Nazareth.  To put it bluntly, it appears to me that the gospel-writers just really did not know much about Jesus’ origins, and so different traditions developed.  The question then is, why—theologically speaking--do Matthew and Luke tell the stories they tell?

            This Sunday, in particular, we’re dealing with the part of Matthew’s story after the magi leave, when the family escapes Herod’s massacre and goes to Egypt, then returns after Herod’s death and goes up to Nazareth.  I think one of Matthew’s main theological points, the way he continually echoes the Joseph-Moses-Joshua narrative from the OT, is that Jesus’ birth is a kind of “second Exodus.”  Thus we have Joseph the dreamer (cf. Gen. 37:5-11); we have Joseph and the family ending up in Egypt (cf. Gen. 37:12ff.); we have Herod being concerned about his power as Pharaoh was, and as a result ordering the killing of young children (cf. Ex. 1); and finally, we have the family leaving Egypt and returning to Israel (cf. Ex. 14; Josh. 3).  I wonder about those magi, too – do they echo the magicians in the Exodus story who go up against Moses?  (see, e.g., Ex. 7:11)  Only this time the magicians are on God’s side!  It has possibilities…

Works consulted:

Gene Tucker's commentary on the OT reading in Preaching Through the Christian Year, Year A.

Special Edition! Christmas Eve

Luke 2:1-20

            In addition to the forthcoming post on this Sunday’s Lectionary texts, I decided to do an extra posting on the Christmas Eve Gospel text, Luke’s story of the birth of Jesus. 
I am struck by how very politically subversive this text is.  Luke writes this in the style of a Roman historical narrative, setting everything in the context of what was happening in the Empire.  And yet his message is that, through events centering on this seemingly insignificant family in a backwater of said Empire, God is working on a scale much grander even than the Roman Empire.  Notice how he sets it up: verses 1-3 establish that no less a personage than the Emperor himself had decided there should be a census of his Empire – or as he regards it, “all the world.”  (Emperor Augustus clearly thinks himself pretty important.)  Verses 4-5 then tell us that, as a result of that decree from the Emperor way off in Rome, Joseph down in Nazareth has to haul ass (donkey) with his pregnant wife Mary all the way to Bethlehem.  Subversive Point #1: the Emperor has unknowingly sent the holy family to the city of David, just where the new king ought to be born.  While in Bethlehem for the census, Mary goes into labor.  And Luke tells us that “she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.”  I thought the detail of the “bands of cloth” (more familiarly the “swaddling clothes”) was interesting – why this detail?  I couldn’t find a satisfying scholarly answer, but Luke’s point seems pretty clear: these are not the kind of people who can either hire out their parenting duties or buy their way into a room at the inn, so it’s bands of cloth and a manger for them.  This provides the perfect segue to verses 8ff., where Luke introduces us to the shepherds “living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.”  Subversive Point #2: turns out, these are the people to whom God’s angel announces the birth of the Messiah – not Emperor Augustus, or Quirinius, or frankly just about anybody else.  A couple of nice details in the next few verses:  1.) “Heavenly host” can also be translated “heavenly army” (as compared to the Empire’s legions); and 2.) The title “Savior” is apparently rarely used in the Gospels but was common for the Emperor!  (Subversive Points #3 and #4, anyone?)  And honestly, it never occurred to me what an unlikely “sign” of God’s activity “a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger” really is.  The story finishes, verses 15-20, with the shepherds fulfilling their role as proto-apostles –  "going with haste,” “making known what had been told them,” “glorifying and praising God.”  Luke’s point throughout: through people like this poor family from Nazareth and these shepherds living in the fields, God is changing the world.  Makes a census look pretty small-time, doesn’t it?

Advent 4 – December 19, 2010

Isaiah 7:19-16 and Matthew 1:18-25

            This week I’m struck by the contrast between Ahaz and Joseph, two characters who are both given signs about what God has in store for God’s people.  First, in the OT text, the prophet invites Ahaz, the king of Judah, to ask for a sign from God.  The context is that the Northern Kingdom and Aram have formed an alliance to defeat Judah, and Ahaz is scared.  God tries to reassure Ahaz that there’s nothing to be afraid of from “these two smoldering stumps of firebrands” (7:4) – that Judah is going to be just fine if Ahaz will just cool it.  So then, in verse 10, God invites Ahaz to ask for a sign, any sign:   “Whatever you need me to show you to prove that my credit is good, just tell me.”  But Ahaz makes an excuse: “Oh, I could never do that!  It just wouldn’t be right to go and pull God’s credit report!”  In other words, Ahaz apparently doesn’t want to do business with God, he’d rather just be left alone with his fear.  God’s response?  Like it or not, Ahaz, “God is with us.”  See that young pregnant woman over there? says God.  Well, she’s going to have her baby and name it “Immanuel,” and by the time that child comes of age he’s going to be eating the kind of foods you can’t get when you’re under siege.  Why?  Because in just a few years, both Aram and the northern kingdom will both be defeated.  In other words, God’s sign comes to Ahaz, and God’s promise to God’s people, whether Ahaz likes it or not. 

            Then there’s Joseph.  While Luke’s birth narrative focuses on Mary, Matthew’s focuses on Joseph – I suppose because Matthew is trying especially hard to show Jesus’ descent from David, which comes through Joseph (see 1:16).  Joseph also gets a sign from God.  But while Isaiah shows us that Ahaz has nothing but false piety, with Ahaz’s lame excuses to God, Matthew shows us a guy who is nothing but pious – and then some.  Joseph is a “righteous” man, so when his fiancée turns up pregnant (and clearly not by him) he plans to divorce her quietly – i.e., just call off the engagement rather than subjecting her to public humiliation or worse (see Deut. 22:13ff. if you’re curious).  In other words, as a good Torah-following man, Joseph takes the most gracious path he can think of – which is why God needs to nudge him a little further.  As we well know, an angel comes to him in a dream and tells him the child is not another man’s but God’s; that the child will be named “Jesus” which is related to “Joshua” which means loosely “he saves.”  And Joseph, being true to his OT namesake, interprets the dream correctly and changes his plan, marrying Mary and naming the child Jesus just like the angel told him to.  In other words, Matthew portrays Joseph’s devotion to God as being so sincere that Joseph is open to God doing something unexpected.  And man, this text is noisy with OT echoes bouncing off the walls – Joseph/Joseph, Jesus/Joshua, “he saves”/”God is with us.”

Works consulted:

J. J. M. Roberts' notes to the Isaiah text and Dennis Duling's notes to Matthew in the HarperCollins Study Bible.

Advent 3 – December 12, 2010

Isaiah 35:1-10

The original context of this week’s OT reading would appear to be the exile of God’s people in Babylon; the prophet promises that God will save his people and bring them home.  I notice that the images are all sharp contrasts - a desert and blooming flowers (verse 1), strength and weakness (verse 3), blindness and sight, deafness and hearing (verses 5-6), dry land and rivers (verses 6-7), joy and sorrow (verse 10).  The prophet’s message: God’s coming makes that kind of radical difference.

I believe the imagery of verses 1-2 alludes to an actual phenomenon that occurs in arid places: certain flowers can grow there, they’re dormant when it’s dry and then they bloom aggressively when it rains.  In fact, to me this entire reading works best when read hyperbolically rather than literally.  In verse 3, the prophet says that when God shows up, those with bad knees are going to want to pour on the extra effort to make the trip home.  Then in verses 5-6, I hear the prophet saying that for those who haven’t anything much to see or hear or talk or sing about in awhile, all of a sudden it will be like their eyes and ears and mouths have been unplugged.  (I’m reminded of the Hold Steady concert I went to this past summer – the guitar sound was so full and loud that it just washed over me, and I heard more than I had in a long time.)  Of course, the gospels see these verses somewhat differently - see below.

I have to say that a big, wide highway that nobody can miss, devoid of wildlife (verses 8-9), is unfortunately not a happy image in my mind as it conjures the smell of asphalt and diesel exhaust for me.  Maybe a better way to think about it is a continuous stream of people – God’s people returning home with their freedom papers in hand, singing and celebrating all the way, so that predators human and otherwise stay far away.  Now that’s a pretty picture.

Matthew 11:2-11

            John the Baptist again figures heavily in the Gospel text this week.  It begins with Matthew telling us that John was in prison (the historian Josephus corroborates this detail – see last week’s post).  Matthew says John heard about Jesus’ activity and sent some of his disciples to find out if Jesus was indeed the “one who is to come” – i.e., the Messiah.  Incidentally, it appears to me that the seams in Matthew’s story are showing a bit here, since supposedly John already recognized Jesus as the “more powerful one to come” back in 3:13.  The relationship between John and Jesus is a little ambiguous, and all four gospels go to some pains to try to explain it, especially the question of why Jesus got baptized by John. 

Anyway, Jesus answers the question posed by John’s disciples by pointing out what he’s been doing (verses 4-6) – the idea is that these actions are the very ones described in various passages in Isaiah – see especially today’s OT lesson as well as 61:1.  Jesus’ point: he is bringing God’s reign to the world!  I especially like verse 6: all we have to do to be blessed by the Kingdom is not resist it. 

What are verses 7-11 getting at?  Jesus is saying that John wasn’t somebody who got blown this way and that by trends, nor was he as powerful person like Herod (the guy in the soft robes and palace who had put him in prison); rather, he was a genuine prophet in the OT tradition who was driven only by the need to say what God had given him to say.  In that sense, John is kind of a midwife of the Kingdom, confirming that Jesus is the fulfillment of Jewish eschatological hopes and helping to bring about the transition to God’s reign.  Final note: Jesus’ reference to “the least” in verse 11, as well as John being in prison and Jesus’ references in verse 5 call to my mind the “sheep and goats” passage in Matthew 25.

Advent 2 – December 5, 2010

Isaiah 11:1-10

            The OT lesson this week looks forward to a new age under a new king from David’s line.  God’s people experienced their glory days under David and his son Solomon, when Israel was a unified kingdom and the Temple was first built in Jerusalem.  The prophet portrays David’s family tree as now just a stump, but promises a surprising new shoot from that royal stump.  (Good image for wintertime, when the trees appear lifeless, but in actuality the buds are already there waiting for spring.)  Just as God’s spirit was on David (see 1 Sam. 16:13), that spirit will also be with this new king.  And like Solomon (see 1 Kings 3), this king will also be a wise judge.  Notice, he’ll restore the balance in the scales of justice, tipping them back toward the poor and the meek, and prosecuting oppressors to the fullest extent of the law.  Incidentally, it seems to me that that image of “striking the earth with the rod of his mouth” is an allusion to Moses and his displays of power before the oppressive Pharaoh. 

The next verses follow appropriately as the prophet says there won’t any longer be predators and preyed-upon (verses 6-7), nor will there be any need for the fear and suspicion that we so take for granted (verse 8).  The images of babies and children in this text, I think, spur us to imagine what it would mean for our children to grow up in a peaceful world.

Romans 15:4-13

The Epistle text also deals with peace, but Paul is talking here particularly about peace between Jews and Gentiles in the Christian community.  Why?  Not just because there was tension between these groups with their different approaches to the faith (and there was), but because Paul saw it as proof that God’s kingdom had indeed dawned that Jews and Gentiles were worshiping and serving God together in the church.  That’s why it’s important that we “welcome one another just as Christ has welcomed us”: when we do, we embody God’s reign in Christ, and we also embody the HOPE that we’ll eventually see the completion of that reign.  Notice that Paul is appealing to both Jews and Gentiles (verse 8 is especially deft), referencing the Jewish scriptures and pointing out that Jesus both fulfilled God’s promises to Israel and at the same time opened God’s household to the Gentiles.

Matthew 3:1-12

I can’t ever read this text without recalling a certain episode of the TV show “In Search Of” dedicated to John the Baptist.  At one time, I was a big devotee of that Sunday evening show which gave equal time to Amelia Earhart, Atlantis, Nostradamus and the Loch Ness Monster.  John the Baptist was the topic one week, and I still remember the characteristic cheap, grainy dramatization of him living in the desert, dressed in animal skins and eating locusts, and of his death by beheading—all narrated in voiceover by Leonard Nimoy.  I remember, too, that it wasn’t until JB made “In Search Of” that it ever occurred to me that he was anybody weird!

And in the scheme of biblical figures, I don’t think he’s particularly weird – he’s basically a prophet in the classic OT tradition.  He is an interesting figure, though.  It’s interesting that all the gospel-writers include him in the story, and go to some lengths to explain the relationship between him and Jesus.  This is probably oversimplifying things, but it suggests that he was an important figure in first-century-AD Palestine and that Jesus was connected in some way, at some point, with his movement.  He shows up in first-century Jewish historian Josephus’s Antiquities of the Jews.  Josephus was writing about sixty years later in Rome, under the sponsorship of the emperors, so his work has its own slant.  He discusses John the Baptist in one section, describing his movement and that he was put to death by Herod Antipas because Herod was scared he might incite a rebellion.  Josephus doesn’t connect John with Jesus (though he also discusses Jesus elsewhere).  Josephus says John “was a good man, and commanded the Jews to exercise virtue, both as to righteousness towards one another, and piety towards God, and so to come to baptism; for that the washing would be acceptable to him, if they made use of it, not in order of the putting away of some sins, but for the purification of the body; supposing that the soul was thoroughly purified beforehand by righteousness.”  (Antiquities bk. 18, ch. 5.)  Then he says that, because John drew a crowd, Herod feared he might start a rebellion.  Matthew commentator Daniel Harrington makes two observations which I think are particularly relevant here.  First, he notes that Josephus talks about John’s preaching in somewhat abstract terms – “virtue,” “righteousness,” “piety” – and that these terms would have meant different things to (gentile) Romans and to Jews.  Romans would have understood the terms philosophically, while Jews would have understood them biblically as having social and eschatological implications.  Harrington also says, and I’ll take his word for it, that Josephus tends to downplay Jewish eschatological claims; certainly in this case, it doesn’t necessarily follow from John’s just being a wise and popular preacher that he’d be likely to foment a rebellion!

And that brings us back to Matthew.  Who is JB for Matthew?  1)  He connects Jesus to the OT prophetic expectations: he’s the voice crying in the wilderness, he looks and acts like Elijah.  2)  He clears the way for the kingdom, calling God’s people to repentance and promising bigger things to come.  And 3) He says it’s not enough to rest on whatever laurels we might have lying around (Abraham as our ancestor, having given at the office, etc.) – to participate in God’s kingdom we need to bear good fruit (an image that links up nicely with the Isaiah text about the shoot out of the stump?). 

Works Consulted:

Daniel Harrington’s Matthew commentary in the Sacra Pagina series

Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews, an old version I picked up somewhere for free

Advent 1 – November 28, 2010

 Isaiah 2:1-5

            Once again this Sunday, there’s a distinctly eschatological tone to the readings.  It’s like we’re going through a door from one church year to the next: Christ the King is one side of the door, and the First Sunday in Advent is the other side.  I’m reminded that Advent is, after all, about Christ’s coming to bring God’s reign to the world.  Those who received Jesus the first time around were looking for the dawn of God’s kingdom; this time around we’re longing for the kingdom’s completion. 

            With that in mind, I hear this Isaiah text somewhat differently from how I have before.  Verse 4 is the most familiar part, about beating swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks.  I have tended to hear this verse as ethical teaching, as saying that we ought to be doing these things.  But I now notice that this is not presented as an “ought”, a “should”, but rather as a vision of what God’s future reign will be like.  God will take up residence in Jerusalem, Isaiah says in verses 2-3, so that the whole world will notice and be drawn there to learn God’s ways.  God will be in charge, mediating our conflicts for us.  As a result, our swords won’t be any use anymore, so we’ll have to repurpose them – makes a dandy plowshare!  Same with the spears – just no need for a heavy, sharp-pointed weapon made for hurling at an enemy when God is making all our enemies friends, or peaceful neighbors anyway.  In a way, it makes this verse much more powerful to hear it this way – do we even dare to dream of such a future?  I think maybe what Advent is about first is having our eyes opened to God’s vision of a future that’s different from our present.  I also think that, as Christians, this vision of God’s future reign is the source of any hope we have of doing any sword-beating in our present age.

Romans 13:11-14

The Epistle text follows nicely on the OT reading, because essentially Paul is exhorting the Roman Christians to behave morally because of the nearness of God’s kingdom.  The part that’s interesting to me is verses 11-12: “… it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep.  For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first became believers….”  Paul is tipping his hand a little, revealing his assumption that Jesus’ return is in some sense imminent.  While we may not share this assumption, I think it’s crucial for us to have the sense that we – and history – are headed somewhere, are moving toward something.  And that something is God’s reign.  As our beloved seminary professor Stanley Hauerwas used to say, for us life isn’t just “one damn thing after another.”  So, Paul says, in anticipation of God’s kingdom, we should get dressed for the party by “putting on the armor of light” (a beautiful image). 

Matthew 24:36-44

The Gospel text finds Jesus discussing his eventual return.  It appears to me that this text puts together some sayings that didn’t originally go together, which gives it kind of a disjointed feel.  Jesus starts off (verse 36) saying that no one, not even he, knows when he will return.  As a result, people will just go about their day-to-day lives not expecting anything unusual, and the kingdom will take them by surprise (verses 40-41).  He compares it to the flood that caught people off guard in Noah’s time (verses 37-39).  (To me the “two will be there, one will be taken” structure echoes the “two by two” of the animals going into the ark.)  So stay awake, he says, because we don’t know when he’s coming.  Then in verse 43 comes the curveball: “’Cause, if you know what time the thief’s going to show up, you can just stay awake and keep him from breaking in.”  Wait a sec - I thought the point was that we didn’t know what time it was going to happen, and that’s why we should stay awake.  (Besides, I like my sleep – if I know what time the thief is coming, I’m going to bed and setting my alarm.)  This is why I think there’s some editing/cobbling in this passage.

I can’t read this text without recalling a friend’s stories about being a teenager in East Tennessee, going down to this certain church after school and being treated to pizza and a “Rapture movie.”  The problem with the literalist approach to eschatology here–mapping out the end times, turning them into a bad horror movie or blockbuster book series— is that Jesus’ whole point in this reading is that his coming is mysterious.  We don’t know the time.  Also, I notice that those two women grinding meal don’t look any different from each other until the coming of God’s kingdom separates them.  It reminds me of some of Jesus' earlier teaching in Matthew (see 6:1-6), where he tells his followers not to make a show of their piety but rather to let their reward come from God.  Come to think of it, I'd say “staying awake” in Matthew’s gospel means faithfully practicing Jesus’ teachings (think the Sermon on the Mount).

Christ the King – November 21, 2010

Jeremiah 23:1-6

            On this Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday of the church year, we have an OT text that contrasts the past leadership of God’s people with God’s promise of future leadership.  And it’s a stark contrast – first God condemns “shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture” – presumably the unfaithful kings who got Israel into the mess that eventually led to their exile in Babylon.  That’s a disturbing image: shepherds, who by definition are supposed to keep the sheep together and take care of them (think Psalm 23), instead are scattering and destroying the flock!  It’s like an abusive parent – it’s just all wrong.  And I suppose there are such leaders at times – of nations and of churches – leaders who do more harm than good.  God says he will “attend” to them.  But God has other business too: gathering what’s left of the scattered flock and bringing them back into the safety of their pasture where they can thrive and multiply.  Again, the immediate context was a promise that God’s people would return from exile to their homeland.  Then we’re told God will raise up shepherds who will do their job, so that God’s people don’t have to live in fear – a vision of restoration, renewal.  Verse 5ff. gets more specific, saying God will promote a “righteous Branch” from King David’s family tree who will deal out justice for God’s people.  Christ the King, anyone?  Of course, Jeremiah didn’t have Jesus in mind, but the nature of biblical prophecy is that it can have more than one meaning and be fulfilled over and over – so it’s appropriate that the church sees Jesus in this promise.

I wish verses 7-8 were part of the reading as well, because they really deliver the payoff of this text: Jeremiah says God has such good things in store for God’s people that, when they talk about the “good old days,” they won’t be reaching way back to the Exodus from Egypt – they’ll be talking about what God has just now done.  Good stuff.

Colossians 1:11-20

            This text is from the beginning of Paul’s letter, and Paul typically follows his initial greeting with a prayer of thanksgiving for those he’s addressing.  And that’s what he’s doing here – praying that God will strengthen them.  What were the Colosssians dealing with?  Well for one thing, competing theological points of view.  On the one hand, he mentions folks who are all about the “elemental powers of the universe,” which would appear to be a polytheistic Greek worldview; on the other hand he refers to others who stress things like circumcision and Sabbath-keeping – i.e., adherence to the Torah.  I’m reminded of all the hectoring and “advice” that comes at us constantly through the media about what we’re supposed to be thinking, doing, valuing.  I’m also reminded what a challenge it is to figure out what it means to be a follower of Jesus in a 21^st-century American context.  Well, in verse 13, Paul says something quite profound: through Jesus’ death and resurrection (and our participation in them), God the Father has “transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son….”  So, even though all the other kingdoms are still around, nonetheless in some sense we’re already living in Christ’s kingdom.  Paul then goes into what’s commonly believed to be a hymn about Christ, the basic idea of which is that all things were created through Christ, so even now he is holding everything together.  I observe two particularly interesting points in the hymn.  First, even the rulers and thrones of our world were created through Christ (verse 16).  Second, God reconciled (made peace with) all things through Christ’s death on the cross – a pretty different form of governance (and throne) from those of our world.  It makes me think that, as messy as it seems to work out following Jesus in our context, somehow he can work it out and help us “hold it together.”

Luke 23:33-43

            I’ve always thought it was gutsy to have this text in the Lectionary for Christ the King – here just before Advent we hear this very Lenten reading, which tells us in very stark terms about Jesus’ style of ruling (see also the last verse of the Colossians text).   Notice that Jesus on the cross has a criminal at either side of himself, which reminds me of all his teachings dealing with people’s obsession about where they’re sitting at the table in relation to the host, and what it says about their status (e.g., 14:7-14).  Also, the people standing around the cross, the soldiers and the one criminal taunt Jesus to “save himself,” which calls to mind his earlier teaching about “those who want to save their life” (9:24) and the need to take up our cross.  The second criminal to me embodies Jesus’ earlier teachings about prayer.  When he admits his own guilt and asks Jesus to remember him in his Kingdom, I’m thinking “thy kingdom come” (11:2) and “God be merciful to me, a sinner” (the Pharisee in 18:13).  So it’s no wonder Jesus responds positively to him. 

That response – “Today you will be with me in Paradise” – presents something of a conundrum to me.  If Jesus isn’t raised for another couple of days, and if the Jewish idea was that when you’re dead you’re dead, then how does that work?  I don’t know; the best I can say is that maybe it’s an already/not yet paradox – that, even though the kingdom hasn’t arrived yet in its fullness, the dead already get to take part in it.  I think of Jesus’ words to the Sadducees, that God is “God not of the dead but of the living” (20:38).

Works Consulted:

Richard J. Clifford’s notes to the Jeremiah text, and David Tiede’s notes to the Luke text in the HarperCollins Study Bible

Proper 28 – November 14, 2010

Malachi 4:1-2a
 

            As we approach the end of the liturgical year, the theme of the lectionary readings turns to judgment and the end times – not the favorite topics of most of us “mainline” Christians, yet I think holding onto the eschatological aspect of our faith is critical.  It’s the source of our conviction that history has a telos - that ultimately God’s reign will prevail.

And so the OT reading this week comes from the last book in the OT, a prophetic book from the postexilic period.  Rhonda Burnette-Bletsch says the historical context of Malachi was such that, “a few generations after the Jews’ return from exile, conditions were not greatly improved.”  God’s people were experiencing hard economic times, the political and religious climate apparently left a lot to be desired… you get the picture.  So in the midst of this, the prophet points ahead to the coming day of God’s judgment, when the “arrogant and all evildoers” would be burned up like stubble in an oven.  If I’m not mistaken, I believe this is a reference to burning up the stalks left in the field after the harvest, so that the field would be ready for the next year’s planting.  I tried to corroborate this in the resources I have, but didn’t find anything addressing it.  If I’m right, though, then it’s a fitting image for this time of year (as I smell burning leaves down the street).  On the other hand, for those who revere God, the “sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings.”  Apparently the winged sun is an image borrowed from Egyptian and Mesopotamian religions – and it’s a nice image, full of light, warmth and life.  And presumably the “healing” is for God’s people as a body: God’s judgment is a cleansing so that God can start over and give God’s people new life, a second (or third or fourth?) chance.

Psalm 98

            A beautiful psalm, with its images of creation praising God (verses 7-8).  But I notice that the reason for all the joy is the expectation of God’s coming as judge.  Again, “judge” may not be our favorite image of God, but think of it this way – if you feel you’ve been wronged, chances are you’d appreciate the chance to get your case in front of a good judge who’s going to intervene on your behalf and rule in your favor.  And verse 9 says God “will judge the world with righteousness, and the peoples with equity.”  That’s good, right?  And the opening verses of the psalm paint a picture of God’s intervention on behalf of his people – God’s “right hand and holy arm” swinging in battle, fighting for God’s people, vindicating their cause.  Part of our expectation of God’s coming is an expectation that God will straighten out what’s wrong with our world, and that God’s reign will not reflect the inequities and injustices of our world.

Luke 21:5-19

            This week’s Gospel text finds Jesus preparing his followers for trying times to come.  Jesus speaks of the destruction of the Temple (verses 5-6), then later Jerusalem’s destruction (verses 20-24), and his eventual return (verses 27-28). 

It’s funny, I used to regard this part of Luke as something of an interruption – “well, and here’s this apocalyptic stuff” – but now it seems to me that there is an eschatological edge to Luke’s entire gospel that just gets sharper as the story moves along.  It starts (chapter 2) with Gabriel’s announcement to Mary that her son would “reign…forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”  Mary responds with her song about God bringing down the powerful and lifting up the lowly (cf. Psalm 98).  When John comes on the scene in chapter 3, he calls the people to repentance because God’s ready to gather the wheat up and burn the chaff (cf. Malachi 4:1-2).  When Jesus then arrives (chapter 4), he announces that God’s jubilee year has dawned, and the people are so upset by his preaching that they try to throw him off a cliff.  As Jesus begins his healing ministry, it is an extension of his proclamation that God’s kingdom has arrived (see 4:43).  Then in chapter 5, his table fellowship with sinners and tax collectors is part of his calling “sinners to repentance” (5:32; cf. John the Baptist); it’s the bridegroom’s feast with the wedding guests at the dawn of God’s reign (5:34-35).  In chapter 6, he lays the “blessings and woes” on his followers, telling them what the social structure of God’s kingdom is going to look like.  In chapter 7, Jesus answers the question whether he is “the one who is to come” by pointing to his healings and preaching of good news to the poor (7:22-23).  In chapter 9, he sends the apostles out to announce the arrival of the Kingdom, and soon afterward Peter acknowledges that he is the Messiah.  After that point in the gospel, there’s a greater urgency.  Jesus tells his followers they’ll have to take up the cross, and that some of them won’t “taste death before they see the kingdom of God.”  (9:27)  He says the dead can bury themselves, but we can’t look back if we’re going to be “fit for the kingdom.”  In chapter 10 he steps up the effort, sending out the seventy into “the harvest” (again, cf. Malachi).  In chapter 11, he instructs the disciples to pray “your kingdom come,” then he says his generation will be given the “sign of Jonah” (impending judgment).  In chapter 12, Jesus tells us to be ready and watchful for his return, and that his coming will mean division even between family members; chapter 13 finds him warning that “unless you repent, you will perish” (13:6); and in chapter 14, he lays out the high cost of discipleship (14:25-33)… 

Anyway, we get the idea.  So chapter 21 doesn’t come out of nowhere, but rather is something of a culmination of this theme that’s been developing throughout Luke.  What’s interesting to me about this text is that Jesus paints a picture of all this chaos and destruction swirling around, and basically says our job is not to worry or be too eager to jump on any bandwagon, or even to prepare what we’re going to say if/when we’re arrested, but just to be ready.  This text, and the rest of Luke's gospel leading up to it, suggests to me that responding to the kingdom Jesus has brought and striving to live the life of that kingdom will be preparation enough. 

Works Consulted: 

Rhonda Burnette-Bletsch, Studying the Old Testament: A Companion

New Jerome Bible Commentary

Gene Tucker’s commentary on Malachi in Preaching Through the Christian Year: Year C

David Tiede’s notes on the Luke text in the HarperCollins Study Bible

Proper 27 – Nov. 7, 2010 (Part 2: Luke)

Luke 20:27-38

            By this point in Luke’s story, Jesus has arrived in Jerusalem, having been headed in that direction since 9:51 (the chapter and verse, not the time of day).  This explains why he would encounter Sadducees, who were a religious faction concerned with Temple life.  This also makes the topic of the resurrection a timely one, since the events of Jesus’ passion are soon to take place.  As Luke tells us, Sadducees didn’t believe in the resurrection (as opposed to Pharisees), so their “question” about it is really just an attempt to show how ridiculous the whole notion is to them.  They present Jesus with this scenario which is based on a Torah provision whereby, if a man died childless, his brother was supposed to marry his widow in order to bear children on his behalf (see Deut. 25:5-6).  In other words, life after death meant procreation.  Their scenario is that these seven brothers, one after the other, all married the same woman and died childless– so isn’t that going to create some chaos in the afterlife when they all meet up around the punchbowl?  The Sadducees’ method is familiar to those of us who live in the age of "infotainment," because they’re not really attacking the idea of the resurrection – rather, they’re attacking their own flimsy cutout version of the resurrection.  It’s like when it snows one day and someone says, “So much for global warming.”

So Jesus’ response to the Sadducees is essentially dismissive: “Yes, it would be ridiculous, if that’s what the resurrection was.”  They’ve assumed resurrection is like walking from one room into another, continuing the life we had with all its trappings and traditions, just in a new location.  But Jesus tells them (verses 34-36) that it’s a wholly new and different existence.  There’s no need for the family structures of this life with all their “hatching, matching and dispatching,” because there’s only one family where we’re all God’s children.  Then (verses 37-38) Jesus goes on to do a little Torah interpretation of his own, observing that when God spoke to Moses he said “I am the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob,” therefore they must all have been alive to God, since God is not the God of the dead but of the living.  (Cue Keanu Reeves: “Whoa.”)  I don’t know if Jesus convinced the Sadducees at all – presumably not, given the way things turned out – but they surely got a lot more than they bargained for with that conversation.

Proper 27 – Nov. 7, 2010 (Part 1: Job)

Job 19:23-27a

Love me some Job.  If you’re not familiar with Job, it’s like this fantastic theological anti-fairytale.  If you just read the prose sections at the beginning and end (specifically 1:1-2:10, 42:10-17), what you’d have is a too-neat story in which “Satan” makes a bet with God that, if upstanding and faithful Job has everything taken from him, he will turn on God.  God takes the bet, takes away Job’s children, wealth and health, but Job still remains faithful and in return God rewards him with double what he had before.  But that’s not all we have in Job – in between the prose sections are forty or so poetic chapters in which the clever author/editor/biblical jazz artist riffs on all that might have happened between Acts I and II.  In its entirety, Job asks in so many words, “What if staying faithful to God doesn’t just mean assuming that suffering is always the consequence of our sin?”  And so Job is a challenge to the theological conventional wisdom of its day (see, e.g., Proverbs), which basically held that the righteous prosper and the wicked are punished, therefore those who prosper must be righteous and those who suffer must have done something wrong.  In Job, this conventional wisdom is represented by Job’s “friends” who come to “comfort” him - which means they try to convince him that his suffering is his fault and that he should just confess his sin to God and be done with it.  Job, however, will have none of it: he insists he has done nothing to deserve his lot, and he calls God to account for it.

Which brings us to this week’s OT reading.  It’s a bit of his answer to one of his friends, and essentially Job is insisting on his innocence – and that eventually he will be proven right.  That’s why he says he wants his words written down, put in a book, engraved in rock: because he may not live to see his vindication.  And that’s why the next verses make sense: “I know that my Redeemer lives…”  This is understood to be a reference to a Torah provision (see Num. 35:19) whereby a person who was murdered was to be avenged by a designated “avenger of blood.”  Is Job saying he believes God is the redeemer who will avenge him, or is God the one he holds responsible for his suffering?  It’s kind of vague, but either way Job is – I think – making a powerful theological statement: that, whether in life or death, he will be vindicated before God.  Which is why this text is fitting for the Sunday after All Saints.

Proper 26 - October 31, 2010

Isaiah 1:10-18

This is a good reading for those of us who like our liturgy, because it tells us that worship, if divorced from a good life, is actually a burden to God: the most beautiful songs sounding horribly off-key, the most sincere-sounding prayers just a grating nasal whine.    Bummer.  In seminary we learned (from the liturgics professor, of course) that “good worship can save bad preaching,” but apparently it can’t save bad practice.  Why?  Because, as verse 15 puts it in some powerful imagery, when we stretch out our hands to God in the worship service, they’re stained red from our participation in evil and injustice.  The solution?  “Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow.”  In other words, work to right the wrongs in the world, dedicate ourselves to the cause of the poor and vulnerable.

But we’re not on our own here, nor is this something that God expects to happen all at once.  Notice, the text says, “Learn to do good.”  Also, we’re invited to “argue it out with God” (verse 18).  Like a court case, it’s not a one-sided process: we make our case, God makes God’s case, and in that two-way conversation we learn how to wash the blood from our hands.

2 Thess. 1:1-4, 11-12

            The letters to the Thessalonians are thought to be some of the earliest of Paul’s letters, and we get a hint as to why that is in this week’s reading.  Again, this is a reading that skips over several verses, so we miss some important information.  Paul first gives thanks for the congregation’s hanging in there in the midst of persecutions.  What kind of persecutions?  We don’t really know, but in verses 5-10 it seems apparent that Paul expects Jesus’ return and the fulfillment of God’s kingdom any time now.  This is partly why these letters are though to be relatively early: Jesus had talked about the arrival of God’s kingdom, then the events of his death and resurrection sure seemed like kingdom-size events, so for a while his followers figured the fulfillment of God’s reign was right around the corner.  It stands to reason, then, that the letters reflecting this view would be earlier. 

Anyway, Paul sees two sides to the fulfillment of God’s Kingdom – relief to those who are being afflicted and destruction for those doing the afflicting.  Good news for the suffering Thessalonians, bad news for whoever was persecuting them.  We mainline Christians don’t tend to like this apocalyptic-judgment stuff very much, which may be why it tends to get left out of the Lectionary readings.  But I actually think it’s a really important piece of the puzzle because it reminds us that, when we talk about “God’s kingdom” and “heaven,” we’re not talking about some bland city in the clouds or individualized “personal paradise” – we’re talking about God’s reign, and it’s possible to be on the wrong side of that (see the Isaiah reading, for example).  Having chewed on this, we can hear more clearly verses 11-12 of this reading, where Paul prays for the congregation to receive God’s power to bring their faith to fruition.

           

Luke 19:1-10

This text begins by telling us that Jesus is in Jericho, a reminder that he’s on his way to Jerusalem (and we know what happens there) and he’s getting closer.  I like this story for its details and for the character of Zacchaeus, who represents a kind of scrambling of Luke’s familiar categories.  Luke says he’s not just a tax collector but a  chief tax collector (i.e., a serious outsider – see 7:34); he’s also rich (does that mean insider? See 14:12); then, too, he’s short enough that he has to climb a tree to get a better view of Jesus (suggesting childlike-ness - see 9:47).  To top it off, his name means “innocent.”  Presumably, though, as a chief tax collector he did not become rich through innocent means but rather through extortion, which makes the thought of him being this little guy climbing a tree that much funnier to me. 

So Jesus sees him up in the tree and calls him down, saying he needs to take Jesus into his house.  This too is a kind of scrambling – Jesus has himself welcomed tax collectors (see 15:2) but here he’s being welcomed by one; that said, Jesus is the initiator here, sort of playing host where he’s the guest (we see this again at Emmaus, 24:30).  The reaction from those watching, though, is as expected – they grumble at him hanging out with a “sinner.”

The next exchange is also somewhat category-defying.  Previously we’ve heard Jesus demand that his followers give up all their possessions (see 14:33).  Here Zaccheus, apparently in response to Jesus’ friendship, offers to give half of everything to the poor and pay punitive quadruple damages for any fraud he’s committed.  Which, any way you slice it, is a lot to those of us who make a big deal about 10%.  So maybe it’s the fact that it’s a voluntary response.  Or maybe it’s the fact that Zaccheus offers to hold himself to the Torah’s strictest restitution requirements (see, e.g., Exodus 22:1) – after all, Jesus has said that Moses and the prophets offer enough guidance in the matter of possessions (16:31).  Whatever the case, Jesus says that “Today salvation has come to this house.”  It seems Zacchaeus has recognized the presence of God’s kingdom in Jesus and has made a sufficiently kingdom-size response.

Proper 25 - October 24, 2010

            I’m not sure which OT lesson we’re using at St. Andrews this week, so I’m going for Jeremiah.

Jeremiah 14:7-10, 19-22

            This text comes from a section of Jeremiah which is a series of laments, the context of which is presumably the siege of Jerusalem by the Babylonians.  (For a good lament, cue up U2’s “If God Would Send His Angels” or “Peace on Earth.”)  Gene Tucker tells us that this section was “edited into its present form by the deuteronomistic editors…probably during the Babylonian Exile.”  That is to say that it reflects some hindsight as well as the theological view that the Exile was the consequence of the people’s disobedience to God. 

So the text begins with God’s people admitting their sins to God.  It occurs to me that we don’t tend to think of ourselves as deserving of God’s judgment, or that our sins might have serious consequences.  (I would take this opportunity to recommend Anne Tyler’s novel Saint Maybe, a fantastic book which was required reading in my div. school Christian Ethics class.)  God’s people here take the reality of their sin seriously; at the same time, they feel abandoned by God and long for God’s intervention.  A series of images (verses 8-9) illustrates their desperation and disappointment: God is like a “stranger in the land” (“Do I know you?”), a “traveler turning aside for the night” (“I’m tired”), “someone confused” (“I – what?”), a “mighty warrior who cannot give help” (“I’m hit!”).  What strikes me most about these images is their irreverence – we never talk about God this way!  But notice that God’s people here aren’t talking about God; they’re talking to God. Why are you acting this way?  They are aiming their disappointment and confusion in the right direction by voicing it right to God.  That may be why there’s then a turn in verse 9:  “Yet you, O Lord, are in the midst of us…”  In verse 10, God gives the people the bad news, reminding us that God didn’t prevent the Exile but instead allowed the people to be overrun and taken as captives to a strange land.   Harsh, but I have to hand it to the Lectionary people here for actually including this unpleasant verse in the reading.  I should say that I find it more helpful to think in terms of God letting the people suffer the consequences of their sins, rather than God “punishing” them. 

Verses 19-22 follow a pattern similar to verses 7-9, beginning with a string of bewildered questions for God, following with a confession, then an appeal for God not to cast them off, and ending with a declaration of faith: “We set our hope on you…”  Could be that, in order to be able to make the declaration of faith in the midst of suffering, we must also be able to voice our anger and disappointment to God.

2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

            A word about the Pastoral Epistles (1 & 2 Timothy and Titus).  One of the things I value about these letters is their very personal character.  Each of them purports to be from an older Paul to a younger protégée in ministry.  Whether they are or are not genuinely Pauline, one aspect that distinguishes them from most of Paul’s other letters is that they are addressed to an individual rather than a congregation.  So when I hear the author giving advice and offering support, to an extent I put myself in the addressee’s place and hear those words addressed to me.  In this way I have at times found comfort in these letters.  It’s ironic because often we make the mistake of reading letters like Romans and 1 Corinthians as if they’re addressed to us as individuals, but those letters are written to a corporate “you,” entire congregations.  With these letters, though, I think it’s appropriate to hear them addressed not just to “us” but to “me.”

            Today’s reading reminds me of a character from one of my all-time favorite books by one of my all-time favorite authors, Father Ignacio Blazon in Robertson Davies’ Fifth Business.  Father Blazon is an elderly Jesuit monk who hopes that, when Jesus returns, it will be as an old person – because Jesus died so young that we have no model for embodying God’s love in old age.   He says that, due to his age, he has thought and felt things that Jesus never thought and felt.  He’s a compelling character, and I thought of him because this text seems to me to address concerns of (relatively) old age and the end of life.  The author is looking back on his life and journey in faith and ministry.  He says he feels pretty much spent, and that it’s about time for him to go.  But I notice his descriptions are theological: he is a “poured out as a libation,” i.e. he’s spent because his life has been an offering to God.  Also he’s “finished the race” in order to get the “crown,” i.e. he’s given his all to his life of faith in order to see God’s reign.  He expects God to meet us at the finish line as “righteous judge.”  We tend to be uncomfortable with the idea of meeting God as judge, but I’m reminded of something theologian Robert Capon wrote – that we should understand God’s final judgment not as “vindictive” but vindicative – that God will view us in the light of Christ’s redemptive grace.

            In the next verses, the author observes that he feels rather deserted and alone, also – I imagine – a familiar feeling for those reaching the end of their races.  But he says that “the Lord stood by me and gave me strength,” and so he believes God will see him through. 

Luke 18:9-14

            Today’s Gospel text has some parallels with last week’s: it’s a parable that contrasts two figures, and Luke opens with his understanding of what the parable is about (thank you, Luke).  The two opposing characters in the parable are a Pharisee and a tax collector.  Pharisees are religious insiders, knowledgeable and fastidious about the Torah and its requirements.  Tax collectors are outsiders, seen as collaborators with Rome and to some extent extortionists, unpopular with most other people.  Jesus portray these two basically standing next to each other at the Temple, praying.  He says the Pharisee’s prayer consists of (1) thanking God that he’s not like “other people,” Law-breakers like the tax collector, and (2) listing his spiritual practices such as fasting and tithing.  By contrast, the tax collector’s prayer is a simple and earnest plea to God for mercy.  The point, says Jesus?  The one who went home “justified,” i.e. “in a right relationship with God” is the tax collector; because he humbled himself before God (a posture from which God can work with him) whereas the Pharisee presented himself to God with a “Ta-da!!” not inviting any involvement whatsoever from God.  A significant note from David Tiede: the verb for the “praying” that the Pharisee is doing means literally “praying to himself.”  Nice.  It would be interesting to compare the prayers in this parable with those of God’s people in the OT text.

            This reading continues a familiar theme in Luke of contrasts between the exalted insiders who will be humbled, and the humble outsiders who will be welcomed into God’s kingdom and exalted.  (See, e.g. 5:29-32; 7:29-30, 36-50; 9:46-48; 10:25-37; 13:10-17; 14:7-24; 15:1-32).

Works Consulted or Cited:

Gene M. Tucker’s commentary on the OT text in Preaching Through the Christian Year, Year C

David Tiede’s notes on the Gospel text in the HarperCollins Study Bible
Robert Farrar Capon, The Youngest Day
Robertson Davies, Fifth Business
Anne Tyler, Saint Maybe