Desert Scribblings

May 11, 2008 - Pentecost Sunday (Year A)

Psalm 104:24-35 - link to the NRSV text

There are two particular themes in Psalm 104 that makes it suitable for Pentecost: first is creation, at times echoing language from Genesis 1. Creation is a constant theme throughout the psalm, going through a litany of creative acts by God: the heavens, the earth, the waters, vegetation, celestial bodies. The sea is the last focus of this creation theme, picked up at the beginning of our lection for the day in verses 24-26.

Verses 27-30 that follow are a celebration of creation’s dependence upon God; the psalmist imagines God as one who gives and takes life and vitality, a strong image of providential care and oversight by the deity. But the issue isn’t really about whether God is a great lever-puller that causes the sun to rise and set or for rain to fall or not. Instead, the very existence of creation hinges upon God.

It’s almost like a stack of Jenga blocks; there is that one Jenga block holding the whole thing up, and if you remove it, it all comes crashing down. And yes, I know it’s a very imperfect analogy, but it seems that for the author of this psalm, the stack of the created order is held up solely by the activity of God. Or as Karl Barth put it:

We exist and heaven and earth exist in their complete, supposed infinity, because God gives them existence…Everything outside of God is held constant by God over nothingness (Karl Barth, Dogmatics in Outline, 54-55).

In this theme of creation is a sense of universality; because God is the source of all, creator of all, all things have their being in and through God, then the psalm is almost inviting the reader (or hearer) to open themselves to the wider reality around them.

And in a way, this is the miracle of Pentecost: the disciples and the other Jesus-followers are filled by the in-rushing Spirit of God, and they “began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability” (Acts 2:4). It is a widening of God’s activity in the world, authorized and commissioned by Jesus to the ends of the earth (cf. Luke 24:46-49, Acts 1:8) and now empowered by the gift of God’s indwelling Spirit. You have the list of peoples in Acts 2:8-11 as a witness to God’s now widening mission in the world. And the heavens and earth, the creation itself will be a witness to God’s new work (Acts 2:19-20).

And it’s this idea of God’s creative and life-giving Spirit which is our second theme for Pentecost. In this context, the psalmist’s confession in verse 30 is being lived out among the early church: that God sends the Spirit upon the people and they are created (or re-created) in order to renew the face of the ground or earth (Hebrew: adamah) from which we, humankind (Hebrew: adam) were created.

The New Testament hope for a new creation and a restoration of the world is not only one that is an echo of Jesus’ Resurrection, but also one of their experience of the Spirit’s re-creative power in the life of the church. And for those who also have such hope for this world and the world to come in the fullness of God’s reign, we echo the words of the psalmist, that we will sing as love as we live and while we have being, and that such celebration shall be pleasing to God. It is an affirmation of the God who creates and re-creates, who offers new life and hope through Christ and the gift of the Spirit, and who commissions the Spirit-empowered and Christ-embodying church in order to be God’s agents of new life in the world.

Shalom,
Geoff

May 4, 2008 - The Ascension of Our Lord (Year A)

Psalm 47 - link to the NRSV text

[EDIT: Yikes!  Just saw all the weird formatting errors.  Should now be correct.  Apologies! - Geoff]

In his book Surprised By Hope, N.T. Wright, New Testament scholar and a bishop of the Church of England, noted that the story of Jesus’ ascension is a story that communicates the Christian confession that “Jesus is Lord,” the ruler of earth and heaven through and in whom all things are created. This is what is meant by the phrase in the Apostles’ Creed when it states “he ascended into heaven and is sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty.” Thus, Wright argues, the observation of Christ the King Sunday is an anacronism, and what that day intends to celebrate is more properly to be observed on Ascension Sunday.

Whether you argee with Wright on whether or not Christ the King is a redundant day in the Christian year, his point about Ascension Sunday provides a good place to start when considering what route to go on this day of the Christian calendar. The point of the Ascension is not that Jesus has left this world and is now in heaven somewhere else, and when we die we go to meet him there. The point of Ascension is the conclusion of the Christ-event in Christian theology, that Jesus the Incarnate Son of God has been resurrected and glorified and has now taken his proper place at the right hand of God as the Lord of Creation.

Psalm 47 is thus an appropriate psalm for the day, celebrating God as the “great king over all the earth” (v. 2) and “king over the nations” (v. 8). The psalm is what could be classified as a hymn of praise, or what might be classified as a psalm of orientation. This is a psalm that proclaims and celebrates God as in control, as God in power, as God in charge. It does not have the places of uncertainty and distress that classify psalms of lament or thanksgiving; there is no expression of desperation, only confident trust in the authority of the God of Israel.

There is also an element of the enthronement theme in vv. 5 and 8 (cf. Ps 24 for a full enthronement psalm), celebrating God’s enthronement on the ark of the covenant and in the holy of holies within the Temple. Whether or not Psalm 47 was used in an enthronement ritual or not the idea of God being enthroned within the Temple is assumed and celebrated by the psalmist. There is an assumed assurance through God’s residence within the Temple, an assumption attacked by the prophets at various points (see particularly Jeremiah 7:1-17 and Ezekiel 10).

The prevailing expectation was that God’s kingdom would somehow be related to the preservation and continuation of the Temple, as it was understood as the location of God’s dwelling on earth and thus the true seat of power. The Qumran community so tied the Temple to God’s kingdom that they expected two messiahs, a political/military messiah that would kick out the Romans and a religious/priestly messiah that would restore the Temple to what the Qumran community believed was true Temple purity and practice.

Jesus’ ascension reoriented the early church’s understanding of God’s kingdom and from where God ruled, however. Jesus the Messiah did not come to sit on an earthly throne, but instead ascended to the heavenly throne where he is at the right hand of God, the position of power and authority. It is from “heaven” that Jesus reigns; not the “heaven” as popularly understood as the blissful place of angels playing harps and where our disembodied soul goes when we did, but the biblical understanding of heaven as the realm of God which will one day be united in fullness with the created order through Jesus’ return (the paraousia) and the resurrection of the dead.

This brings us back to Psalm 47, which has a glimpse of this eschatological hope, this restoration of creation as once again being under the reign and rule of God. As the psalm says: “The princes of the peoples gather as the people of the God of Abraham” (v. 9). This language of all the earth becoming a part of the people of God is echoed in Isaiah and elsewhere as a hope that all people will come to understand God as ruler of all the earth. Even the Hellenistic-era writing of 1 Enoch has this hope, where the writer envisions all the other animals that represent the Gentile nations becoming just like the sheep of Israel (see 1 Enoch 90:30-42).

The early church came to understand (though slowly!) that the ascension of Jesus was the fulfillment of this hope and promise. Or as Luke puts it: “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8; cf. Luke 24:47). The reign of God was proclaimed in Jesus’ coming (Mark 1:15), and is now revealed in fullness through the resurrection of Jesus and God’s triumph over death itself. Thus, the reign of God has begun and it is now the church’s job to pick up the call to proclaim it. We proclaim our hope and promise, the one that the prophets begun to have an inkling of and which Jesus proclaimed and lived:

God has gone up with a shout,
    the Lord with the sound of a trumpet.
Sing praises to God, sing praises;
    sing praises to our King, sing praises.
For God is the king of all the earth;
    sing praises with a psalm.
God is king over the nations;
    God sits on his holy throne.

Shalom,
Geoff

April 27 - Sixth Sunday of Easter (Year A)

Psalm 66 - link to the NRSV text

Psalm 66 is a combination of a hymn of praise (vv.1-12) and a song of thanksgiving (vv. 13-20), but they follow parallel patterns of praise-witness-blessing:

1. Praise
   a. The earth sings and praises (v. 1-2)/Worshipper brings offerings (13a)
   b. Speak/say to God about God’s deeds (v. 3)/Utterance of God’s vows (v. 13b-14)
   c. The earth worships (v. 4)/Worshipper offers sacrifices (v. 15)
2. Witness
   a. Come and “see” God’s deeds (v. 5)/Come and “hear” what God “has done for me” (v. 16)
   b. Wintess to the Past (v. 6-7)/Witness to the Present (v. 17-19)
3. Blessing
   a. Blessing of God from the “peoples” (v. 8-9)/Blessing of God by individual (v. 20)

The hymn of praise in vv. 1-12 is a corporate act of worship, using plural verb forms and plural personal pronouns. Verses 1-4 open the hymn with a call to corporate praise. It calls all of the earth to “make a joyful noise” and to sing to God (v. 1-2), followed by utterance (what we in the Christian liturgical tradition would define as an act of “word”), followed by a repetition that “all the earth” worships Godf and sing praises (v. 4).

Verses 5-7 is a call to corporate witness (most likely to the nations mentioned in verse 7), beginning with the command to “come and see” God’s deeds on behalf of Israel. Verses 6-7 then recount the exodus tradition as those aforementioned “awesome deeds.” Verses 8-9 in thus a call for corporate blessing, calling the “peoples” to bless God who had acted on behalf of Israel.

Verses 10-12 close out the hymn, shifting the language away from imperative command towards active verbs with God as the subject: “For you…have tested us…You brought us into the net…you have brought us out...” These verses act somewhat like a prayer of confidence, recalling God’s past deeds as the psalm shifts towards the individualistic song of thanksgiving.

That song of thanksgiving spans verses 13-20, and echoes the same structure of verses 1-9 as shown in the outline above. In verses 13-15, the making of vows (the individual act of “word”) is bracketing by the worship act of sacrifices. The worshipper than witnesses to God’s deeds on their behalf, inviting others to come and “hear” about the present deliverance, when the worshipper cried aloud and declares that “truly God has listened” (v. 19). Then the individual worshipper offers a closing blessing to God who has been faithful and not rejected their plea for help. Some suggest that this individual song of thanksgiving in 13-20 is actually a communal song offered by a represenative of the community, like a priest or even possibly the king.

Psalm 66 is a good example of how much of the Old Testament does theology, by interpreting present reality through the lens of God’s past actions on behalf of Israel. You see it throughout the OT; the Ten Commandments begin with a recitation of God’s deeds. The whole book of Deuteronomy is a witness to God’s work and a call to respond in obedience;“for you were slaves in Egypt” is Deuteronomy’s oft-spoken refrain.

In this psalm, you have dual testimony; you have testimony about God’s great deeds in the past alongside God’s great deeds in the present. Especially key to the memory of God’s past doings is the memory of the exodus event, shown here in verses 6-7. As I told my “Invitation to the Old Testament” Disicple class in the fall this past year, to begin to understand the Old Testament, you need to understand the two “ex”-es: exodus and exile.

In Isaiah, the exilic prophet anticipates restoration as a new exodus from Egypt, declaring boldly to the exiles: “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (see Isaiah 43:17-21). This same theme and way of understanding the present through the past is at work in Psalm 66 as well, tying the testimony of God’s past deeds (exodus) to the individual testimony of God’s present deeds, seen as a kind of new exodus in the life of the testifier or in the life of Israel who the testifier speaks on behalf of.

The worship found in Psalm 66 is not worship for the sake of worship, but is worship because of the confidence found in God’s deeds on behalf of God’s people. It is not worship so that we might get something in return, but worship because of what God has already done for us. And it is worship intended to do more than just give thanks, but to invite others to share in the celebration: “Come and hear, all you who fear God, and I will tell you what he has done for me” (v. 16). It is worship as testimony about God, about who God is and what God has done for God’s people. And in response to this kind of God, the psalm suggests, we should freely and joyfully offer praise and thanksgiving and blessing.

Shalom,
Geoff

April 20, 2008 - Fifth Sunday of Easter (Year A)

Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16 - link to the NRSV text

A shorter entry this week than normal. Hope you find it helpful! [NOTE: I’d love to hear your thoughts also, so please comment!]

Psalm 31 is a psalm of lament, opening with a petition for protection and help: “In you, O LORD, I seek refuge” (v. 1). Protection imagery abounds in the opening verses of the psalm: “refuge” (v. 1), “rock of refuge” and “strong fortress” (v. 2), “my rock and my fortress” (v. 3). Shepherd imagery potentially comes forth in the second half of verse 3, echoing the language of Psalm 23:

 “…for your name’s sake lead [Hebrew root: nchh] me and guide [Hebrew root: nhl] me.” (31:3b)
 “He leads [Hebrew root: nhl] me beside still waters…He leads [Hebrew root: nchh] me in right paths for his name’s sake…” (23:2-3)

The image of “hand” (Hebrew: yad) is important in Psalm 31; the term appears four times. The first time it appears, it is in the verse famously quoted in Luke’s account of Jesus’ crucifixion: “Into your [God’s] hand I commit my spirit” (v. 5). In verse 8, which is not part of our lection for this Sunday, the psalmist notes that God has not “delivered me into the hand of the enemy [Hebrew: ‘oyev].” This hand imagery is repeated in verse 15, putting God’s hand in parallel opposition to the hand of “my enemies [Hebrew: ‘oyevai] and persecutors.” 

This imagery of refuge and God’s hand; these are signs of protection and providence, in which the psalmist is laying their hope and trust. It is into this refuge, into God’s hand that the psalmist is entrusting their very breath [Hebrew: ruach] (v. 5). This movement from complaint to confession of trust is characteristic of most lament psalms (see Hopkins, Journey Through the Psalms, 105-06). 

In this case, the shift takes places at verse 14 with the “But I trust…” The psalmist moves from complaint and petition for refuge and help to confidence in God’s ability to fulfill the request. Thus the psalmist can confidently declare that their “time,” that is their destiny and outcome is ultimately in God’s hand and control, and thus God can deliver the psalmist from the hand and control of their enemies.

Verse 16 concludes the lection for the Fifth Sunday of Easter with a request for divine favor, summed up in the phrase “Let your face shine upon your servant” (cf. Num 6:25), and this favor is expressed in the hope of salvation or deliverance from the trouble or affliction: “save me in your steadfast love” (v. 16).

Like most psalms of lament, the place of lament is not the end of the story. Lament in the psalms usually makes a shift towards confidence and hope, looking towards the future that the psalmist anticipates that God will provide. But this hope is deeper, richer than some of the trite theology we see around suffering in our own cultures. These aren’t cliché statements thrown about, like “It’ll all be okay” or “Everything happens for a reason.”

Lament does two things simultaneously, two things that in many ways we have regulated as unable to coexist: anguish and hope. Too often we feel we can only exist in the dark places of life as one or the other; if we have hope, then we shouldn’t feel anguish. Or if we are in anguish, we don’t allow ourselves to see any hope. But the psalms of lament push us beyond this compartmentalization of grief and pain to a place where they can maybe coexist together.

I really think that lament is about more than just moving from “plea to praise” as Claus Westermann observed (see Hopkins, 105), though it does do that. But I think that movement is not a linear pattern of going from step A to B to C and out the other side, but the movement of the lament is one that recognizes that places A, B, and C exist together in our times of struggle and heartache. It’s not that you must go from complain to praise, but that maybe it is possible (though difficult!) to be in both places together.

Shalom,
Geoff

April 13, 2008 - Fourth Sunday of Easter

Psalm 23 - link to the NRSV text

I don’t know about you, but I hate preaching a text like Psalm 23.

Psalm 23, the parable of the Prodigal Son, the Sermon on the Mount, John 3, The Ten Commandments, Moses and the burning bush, the Christmas and Easter stories, and I’m sure many others; these texts, these stories and teachings have so much baggage attached to them that it can be daunting having to try and hear a fresh and renewing word from God while at the same time wading through and being sensitive of the emotional, spiritual, and personal attachments that people bring to these texts.

However, these are obviously powerful texts or they wouldn’t have all of these meanings and emotions attached to them. Something about these stories and teachings span time and space, person and place. They seem speak in diverse circumstances to a diverse group of people, and so maybe they deserve new attention, to hear where these texts might be speaking anew today.

Which brings us specifically to Psalm 23, almost certainly the most famous of all the psalms, at least within American Christianity. Living in the south of the United States, I’m thankful to The United Methodist Church for printing the KJV translation right in our Book of Worship, so that I don’t have to dig out a King James bible for funerals and memorial services because so many people want this psalm read, and they usually want it in the KJV translation that they grew up hearing.

And though Psalm 23 is an appropriate psalm for an occasion such as a funeral, limiting its use to such times robs it of some of its rich imagery and theological relevance for everyday life with God.

The psalm opens with a personal confession: “Adonai is my shepherd.” The metaphor of “shepherd” is a widespread one in the cultures of the Ancient Near East; it was used to describe gods and kings, and this was a common metaphor in Israelite thought as well (see Hopkins, Journey Through the Psalms, 107 and Mays, Psalms, Interpretation, 117). It is a statement of confidence and trust in God’s providential care, which is underscored by the second part of verse 1: “I will not lack.” God the shepherd provides for the psalmist.

The rest of the psalm is then an expression of that trust and care, describing in what ways God is “shepherd” and provider. Both Denise Hopkins and James Mays point out the linguistic and thematic ties to the exodus and wilderness tradition found in vv. 2-4 (see Hopkins, 107 and Mays, 117-18). This limits the ways in which the psalmist does not “lack” anything; the psalm is not an open prescription to come and request anything of the LORD, but instead offers a thematic list of how God the shepherd provides.

In verses 4b-6, the language shifts from 3^rd person (“he”) address of God to 2^nd person (“you”) address. This underscores the individual confession of verse 1, that God “is my shepherd”, by placing God’s actions for the individual within a communal circumstance. You have images of feeding (“you prepare before me a table”), of healing and grooming, or to borrow from the shepherd motif, “tending” to the psalmist (“you anoint my head with oil”), and of blessing and abundance (“my cup overflows”).

But these don’t take place in private, but “before my enemies.” God’s role as shepherd and as “host” in the later verses of the psalm are not restricted to internal feelings of peace and relief, but there is hope that this providential care will exert itself in life. This hope is echoed in verse 6 when the psalmist prays, “Surely good and faithfulness will pursue me all the days of my life.”

And it is in that hope that I think we find the true meaning of the psalm, and why the psalm is appropriate for a funeral or memorial service though it was probably never intended for that purpose when it was composed. This confession of trust that embodies this entire psalm is common in psalms of lament; it is the turning point of the lament, where the complaint turns towards a confession of trust. Usually, that confession of trust is marked by a “but.” “But you, O Lord…” It is a confession of trust even in the midst of trouble.

So when we read Psalm 23 at a funeral or in any other season of distress and anguish, in many ways we are moving from our unspoken laments to our confession of trust. “I’m certain about what is going on in my life, but the Lord is my shepherd.”

“I may be struggling to make ends meet, but I will not lack.”

“I might have trouble sleeping because of everything going on, but God causes me to lay down in good pastures.”

“Storms and tsunamis and hurricanes may bring damage to life and limb, but God will lead me to still waters.”

“I might be beaten down and hurt and broken right now, but my very being will be restored.”

The psalmist recognizes, and the text invites us to recognize as well, that our immediate circumstances are not the end of the story. The psalm reminds us that no matter what is going on, there is more to this life than the now. It is a reminder that it is ultimately God who provides, nourishes, and comforts us in our times of trouble, and that this provision goes beyond just the immediate but pursues us “all the days of [our lives]” and invites us to also dwell in the house of the Lord for the length of days.

Shalom,
Geoff

March 30, 2008 - Second Sunday of Easter

Psalm 16 - link to the NRSV text

Shorter post this week; I'm still recovering from Holy Week!  If you'd like to leave a comment, I'd appreciate it.

The psalter for the Second Sunday of Easter is another instance where the early church used the Psalms to interpret the Easter events and to understand what God's new work in Jesus meant.  This particular psalm is quoted two times in Acts (cf. Acts 2:25-27, 13:35), one time by Peter and the second by Paul, and it clearly sees Jesus as the "faithful one" (NRSV) in v. 10 who is not abandoned to Sheol and does not see the Pit.  In fact, a portion of Peter's Pentecost sermon in which he quotes Psalm 16 is the Acts reading for the day, with Acts replacing the OT readings for the Easter season.

Regardless of whether or not Jesus is literally the "faithful one" mentioned in the psalm, it's an appropriate psalm to read and reflect on during the Easter season.  The psalm contains four main movements: the psalmists petitions God for protection (v. 1), followed by a confession in the Lord as the source of all good things (v. 2).  Tied to this confession is the psalmists declaration of or hope for the fate of those who choose other gods (vv. 3-4).  [Side note: The Hebrew of these verses is messy; compare the NRSV with the NJPS translation.]

The third movement of the psalm is the psalmist's praise of the Lord (vv. 5-9).  In vv. 5-6, inheritance and possession language is used; this echoes language in the book of Joshua that is used to describe the occupation of the promised land (see James Mays, Psalms, Interpretation, 87).  But not only is the Lord the psalmist's inheritance and promise, but the Lord also gives counsel, and this counsel leads to "mindfulness" and the ability to "not be moved" (v. 8). 

Thus there is rejoicing in the "heart" and "soul" and there is rest in the "body" (v. 9).  This three-fold repetition of parts of the self echoes Deuteronomy 6:5, though the only common Hebrew word is "heart."  It is possible that a rhythmic pattern of repetition might have been a way to speak of the whole self, ala "heart," "being," and "might" in Deut 6:5, though this is just speculation on my part at first glance.

The final movement is found vv. 10-11, where the "fate" of the psalmist is laid out, and that fate is life.  v. 10 professes the psalmists deliverance from the place of death ("Sheol" and the "Pit" operating in parallel).  The NRSV makes it seem like there is a connection between the end of v. 10 and the beginning of v. 11 ("not...let your faithful one see" and "You show me..."), but the Hebrew more properly says that "you do not...let your faithful one see" and "you teach me" or "cause me to know" the path/way of life (see the NJPS again).  But what is this path of life?  The end of verse 11 might be the answer: the presence and the right hand of the Lord, which is the psalmist's "joy" and "pleasures."

Many people across time and throughout the earth have prayed similar prayers to verse 1: "Protect me, O God, for in you I take refuge."  The psalm offers us two answers to that prayer: first, the Lord is our portion, our cup, and our strength.  The psalm echoes Israel's salvation history through this portion and inheritance language, seeing a tie between God's actions in the past and God's actions in the present and possibly future.  This tie with Israel's past also suggests that this psalm also possibly could have been a prayer by the exilic and early post-exilic communities (see Mays, 88).

The hope of the psalmist found in vv. 10-11 echoes the hope of Easter, yet the hope of this psalm is not one restricted to Easter; it is the prayer and hope of all people of faith in the darkness of this life.  As you move away from Easter and towards Pentecost, let us remember that the Easter hope is not restricted to one day a year alongside chocolate bunnies and painted eggs, but is the very hope in which we find our strength, for God in Jesus has not abandoned us to Sheol, and has not allowed the power of death to bind us.  Instead, the hope is that through the death and resurrection of Jesus, who was not abandoned to the Pit, we too can be taught the path of life, and that in God's presence there is finally and truly "fullness of joy."

Shalom,
Geoff

March 23, 2008 - Easter Sunday

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24 - link to the NRSV text

“This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes.”

Easter is a strange day in the life of the church. On one hand, it is the day that the church stands up and makes the most audacious, stupefying, counter-cultural and ridiculous claim of its entire history, the very claim on which it lays it foundation of being: “He is Risen! He is Risen indeed!”

And yet, while the world watches us with puzzlement and confusion, the church gathers to celebrate the Resurrection with an almost nonchalant malaise. We show up in our suits and Easter dresses, we sing the great Easter hymns like “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” or “The Day of Resurrection,” we read the Gospel stories, we hear the Easter sermon, then we go home for what is often the real event: Easter dinner.

Now, I know that this isn’t the case for everyone. Many Christians who come to church on Easter are sincere, really do come to celebrate this highest of holy days of the Christian faith. But in a lot of ways we’re numb to its mystery, its power; part of the reason we celebrate is because we supposed to celebrate on Easter. But the reality is that we know the story, we know the ending, and so we know what to expect when we walk through the doors on Easter morning.

This wasn’t the case that first Easter. The reality is, not one of Jesus’ disciples or followers expected this. Not Peter. Not Andrew. Not James or John or Matthew or any of the others. And especially not Mary Magdalene and the other women who went to the tomb the morning following the Sabbath.

People have tried to explain what happened to these followers after Jesus’ crucifixion. Mass hallucination. Altered states of consciousness experiences. They made it up. We do not have scientific proof, a security video or photograph, that denies or verifies what these followers claim they experienced in the days and weeks following Jesus’ death at the hands of Pontius Pilate and the Temple authorities: that when these women showed up that Sunday morning, the stone was rolled away and there was no body, just the linens in which it had been wrapped. They spoke of a messenger of some sort, and an experience with the risen Jesus.

Following that, there were other accounts: the disciples gathered in the upper room; the disciples on the road to Emmaus; Paul records an appearance to Peter all alone, and an otherwise unrecorded appearance to five hundred at one time. The disciples and followers of Jesus witnessed to a transformational experience with a resurrection Jesus, a resurrection that they claimed proved he was the promised Messiah and had come to turn everything on its head.

I’m not attempting to “prove” the Resurrection; but something happened, something motivated these disparaged and downtrodden and defeated followers of an executed Jewish leader to march out into the Greco-Roman world proclaiming that this same leader had been raised from the dead by the power of God. And further they claimed that this shamed, rejected leader had become the way through which God is reconciling us back to God’s self.

Five times in the New Testament, verse 22 from Psalm 118 is cited as a witness to God’s work in Jesus, that the “stone the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone” (cf. Matthew 21:42, Mark 12:10, Luke 20:17, Acts 4:11, 1 Peter 2:7). And it’s easy to see why Psalm 118 would be one that the early church would gravitate towards to make sense of God’s new work in Jesus.

In our lection from the psalm, vv. 14-24, the petitioner sums up what the Lord has done for them with the statement that the Lord has become their salvation (v. 14). This is followed by thanksgiving, the “songs of victory” and the chorus about the right hand of the Lord, or what the Lord has done. Because of what the Lord has done, the petitioner gives praise and confidently declares the difference between life with God versus what would have happened except for the Lord’s actions: “I shall not die, but I shall live, and recount the deeds of the Lord” (v. 17).

The rest of the reading can be understood as a liturgical action. Some parts are clearly the petitioner, while others are the response of the assembly; verses 19-21 follow this pattern, with the petitioner asking for access to the sanctuary through the “gates of righteousness” in order to give thanks (v. 19). The assembly then vindicates the petitioner, affirming that they can enter (v. 20), followed by the thanksgiving that was promised back in verse 19.

Verses 22-24 are unclear about who is speaking; verses 22-23 could be the petitioner alone, or it could be the whole assembly. Regardless, these verses are a celebration of the Lord’s vindication of the petitioner, symbolized by the rejected stone made into the cornerstone (v. 22). This is interpreted as the Lord’s doing, and that this day of vindication and victory is a day made by the Lord that the assembly is called to rejoice and be glad in response.

For the early Christians, whose Easter experience was a movement from defeat and despair to victory and celebration, the figure of the rejected stone that is vindicated by the Lord is easily connected with the resurrected Jesus, a Messiah rejected by the leaders of the world and of his people and put to death. In his resurrection, God vindicates Jesus and opens to him the gates of righteousness.

The early church also saw their own hope in this psalm. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, the gates of righteousness are open to us as well, and we can confess “I shall not die, but I shall live…This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes” (v. 17, 23).

The celebratory tone, the rejoicing in the deliverance from death, the confidence in God’s mighty works: all of these themes and images are appropriate for Easter, and are entry points for how we in the modern church might recapture the passion of those first Easter experiences. Easter is not a celebration of how we escape from this life and will go on to heaven in the next life, but that this life is transformed through God’s mighty works in Jesus’ death and resurrection.

The powers of this world that dominate us, sin and fear and doubt, like the power of Rome before them, are conquered and overturned. The power of death, which looms over all human beings and shadows all that we do, is shattered. God, in and through Jesus, has become our salvation, our deliverance, and our hope.

Therefore, with confidence and hope, we can sing in celebration alongside the psalmist,

The stone that the builders rejected

has become the chief cornerstone.

This is the Lord’s doing;

it is marvelous in our eyes.

This is the day that the Lord has made;

let us rejoice and be glad in it.

Shalom,
Geoff

PS: Please comment!