Desert Scribblings

March 22, 2009 - Fourth Sunday of Lent, Year B

Numbers 21:4-9 - link to the NRSV text

There are certain texts that are just head scratchers.  These are what I term "problem texts" to myself, because something about them tends to pull against my understanding (or lack thereof) of God.  Yet I often find that studying or preaching one of these texts can become some of the most powerful moments of enlightenement.

And as I mulled on the reading from Numbers 21 this week, as I struggled with the idea of God setting serpents upon God's people, as I wrestled with what can be edifying about this story of God's wrath and miraculous healing for a portion of the people through a near-idolatrous item (cf. 2 King 18:4)...I was reminded of today's Gospel reading where Christ on the cross was linked by John's Gospel to the story of the bronze serpent: "And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life" (John 3:14).

John's Gospel gave me a new lens through which to hear the story of the bronze serpent.  I'm not saying that the bronze serpent was actually Jesus on the cross, or that this story somehow anticipates the crucifixion in any precognitive way.  But there is a thematic tie between the serpent and the cross, one that is especially appropriate for us to hear as we near Holy Week.

In both stories, of the serpent and the cross, a cause of death was transformed by God into a symbol of life.

The image of the poisonous serpent, the thing that had been so deadly, became for those Israelites in the wilderness an image that promised healing and life.  In the Christian imagination, the cross was eventually transformed from an instrument of oppression, torture and execution to a vital symbol that reminds us of God's promise of resurrection and restoration.

Now, this doesn't work out some of my other concerns about this story and others like it: God bringing about death as punishment, the semi-magical source of healing, the question of whether or not God asks Moses to violate the commadment to not make an image.  

But now I see a glimmer of why this story might have been kept alive in the imagination of the Israelites such that it was included in the Torah.  The one thing, the one enemy we all share is death itself.  And God takes death and stands it on its head; God announces that out of death comes new, vibrant, resurrection life.  Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Shalom,

Geoff

March 8, 2009 - Second Sunday in Lent

Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16 - link to the NRSV text

Identity matters.

However we define the idea of "identity," it is ingrained in us early on.  I remember when I was in pre-school, early elementary school, and I remember when my sister was that age also.  I remember what we were taught.  "You're unique."  "Everyone is special."  Early on we become communicating the idea that identity, what defines "me" as "me," is important.

Our identity matters.  Ignoring whether or not this should be the case, people with recognizable identities are treated differently, either positively or negatively.  A movie star may be bothered in public by fans wanting an autograph or to take a picture with their phone.  On the flip side, a famous athlete may be charged with something illegal and either get off or get less punishment where a non-celebrity very well could have been shipped up the creek without a paddle.

Identity matters.  Reputation, history, character, values, those things that define us, either to ourselves or to other people, all of it is wrapped up into this idea of identity.  And the concept of identity stands right in the middle of our reading from Genesis for this Sunday.

God appears to Abram, who is nearing the century mark in age by this point in the story, and announces God's presence and gives Abram God's identity.  "I am El Shaddai.  Walk in My ways and be blameless" (Genesis 17:1 TNK).

The meaning of El Shaddai isn't one hundred percent clear.  We know that the name "El" was often associated with the supreme god is Semitic religions and came to be used in Hebrew as a general term for a god or to specifically refer to the God of Israel, and is frequently found in Hebrew names (i.e. Israel, Elijah).

But the second part of the name, shaddai, is where we hit the roadblock.  The most widely accepted origin of the name that I came up with was from the Akkadian word s(h)adu, which means "mountain" or "range of mountains" (see HALOT 1421).  Whatever the name means, however, it is supposed to have some effect.  God goes to the trouble to identify God's self beyond just "Hi, I'm God" and instead adds this qualifier of shaddai.

And there's an effect: Abram falls on his face at the identity of the one who is speaking to him.  And God makes covenant with Abram, and then proceeds to change Abram's own identity.  Abram is now Abraham, and Sarai is now Sarah.  The new covenantal relationship alters who Abram and Sarai are and will be, and thus their identities must match their new realities.

Covenant signifies a shift, a change in the relationship, and a change in the lives of those who enter into it.  No longer are they Abram and Sarai, but Abraham and Sarah, the people of the covenant.  No longer do Abram and Sarai have freedom to do whatever they wish because they are now a covenantal people with El Shaddai, this God that will be God to them and to their descendants.

Being a person for and of God requires a shift from self-identity to an identity that is self-denying in many ways.  In Abraham's case, that denial is found in verse 11 which is not a part of our lection: "You shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and that shall be the sign of the covenant between Me and you."

Look, I'm a guy; the very idea of circumcision at age 99 makes me cringe in horror; and poor Ishmael, who was circumcised by his father at 13!  But God made a gracious move towards humanity and said, "I want to be your God."  But then God asked, "But to show your seriousness, I need you to do something in return."  Identity with God does not always jive with our own expectations and desires.

There is a paradoxical relationship with identity with God; being on God's side is, unfortunately, not the norm.  It goes against this world time and again.  God told Abraham, "You're ninety-nine, your wife is barren, but you will have a son by her."  And Genesis 17:17 tells us that Abraham laughed.  And God replied, "You might think the idea is funny, and I can't blame you.  But when it happens, you will name your son 'he laughed,' as a reminder of what I did for you over and against what you thought was possible."

For many people then and now, life with God doesn't make sense; it turns everything we expect on its head.  Think of some of the things Jesus taught.  "If you want to save your life, lose it, sacrifice it."  "Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you."  "Blessed are the poor, the meek, the persecuted."

Or how about the prophets?  What if Isaiah showed back up on the scene with the same message he had in the 8th century?  

[God] shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more (Isaiah 2:4).

Imagine if Isaiah showed up today and said, "Take your tanks and turn them into tractors.  Take your war budgets and use them to build schools.  Take the resources we use to kill and use them to cure disease and fund hospitals."  

How might America respond to a prophet showing up and saying:

Ah, you who make iniquitous decrees, who write oppressive statutes, to turn aside the needy from justice and to rob the poor of my people of their right, that widows may be your spoil, and that you may make the orphans your prey! (Isa.10:1-2).

Would we not scoff?  Would we not laugh?  Would we not think this person is insane, foolish, if not outright treasonous?

America is supposedly a "Christian country," according to various people out there, or there are

a lot of people that desire us to be a "Christian country."  But I look around and I wonder.  What about our country identifies us with the crucified Messiah, the ultimate paradox, that life can come out of death itself?  I will acknowledge that historically, our values and our laws in this country were rooted in Judeo-Christian ethics.  But ethics and values alone does not make a disciple, a person of covenantal living!

A disciple is disciplined in the way of her or his teacher.  A disciple emulates their teacher in all things. Having a certain set of values and/or ethics might be a part of discipleship, but that is all it is: a part. Discipleship is something more, something deeper; it is an identity!

Through covenant, through the Torah, through his prophets, through Jesus, God contradicts all that we think we know.  The same El Shaddai that spoke to Abram still speaks to the world today calling us into a new identity as a people.

And that is important for those of us in the church: we are a covenant people. Christianity is not a religion of the individual.  It is a covenant between a community of faith, the church, and the God revealed in the person, character, teaching, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. 

That is why we gather; that is why for centuries, going back to Israel, the faith community has in some way, shape, or form come together to remember and participate in the covenant.  From the old Temple and festivals of the kingdom period, to the synagogue of the Exile and through the rabbinic tradition in Judaism, through the formation of the church up until this era, right here, today, those in the covenant of the faithful gather to remember and observe that covenant: that to Abram and to all his descendants, God will be our God.

We live as a covenant people, as Easter people.  We remember the covenant this Lent as we move to remember the ultimate act of covenantal relationship, the ultimate paradoxical revelation of God: that out of the death of one, true life can be given to all, and God will be our God and we will be God's people.  

Thanks be to God!  Amen.

Shalom,

Geoff

September 21, 2008 – Nineteenth Sunday After Pentecost

Exodus 16:2-15 - link to the NRSV text

 

Last week I spoke about the pattern that is repeated several times in the wilderness narratives of crisis-grumbling-providence-deliverance, and this pattern shapes the narrative for this Sunday.  The Israelites, so recently saved from slavery and delivered through the sea, are quick to turn and doubt that the God who had performed such wondrous and awe-inspiring deeds of power would be unable to provide for their most basic needs.

 

And so the people grumbled “against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness” (Exo 16:2).  “If only God had killed us back in Egypt!” they despair.  “Why, back in Egypt we had plenty of food!  You’ve only brought us out here to die from hunger.”

 

The present often seems worse than the past.  We often romanticize the “days of yore” and think of them as better than now.  We especially see this is the American church; while dealing with declining membership and people’s suspicions of apathy towards the Christian faith, we think back to when everyone just went to church because it was “what you did.”  And we assume that this was better.  Maybe it was better, maybe not. 

 

Or we think back and look at society and culture and think things were so much better than.  People were more polite, you didn’t have to lock your doors, everything was closed on Sunday, no school would ever schedule activities on Wednesday nights, etc.

 

I could go on and on about the things we think were “better” back in the previous times.  But I think the main reason we romanticize the past is that we know that we can get through the past whereas the present and future is still undecided.  Kind of a “better the enemy you know” way of thinking; sure, it wasn’t perfect but at least we know we could get through it.

 

The God of Israel, however, is not a God of the past.  This God is a God of the present and future, one who calls us to new places and new ways of being in relationship with God and with each other.  Jesus himself hinted at this idea when he taught, “[H]ave you not read what was said to you by God, 'I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob'? He is God not of the dead, but of the living” (Matthew 22:31-32; cf. Mark 12:26-27, Luke 20:37-38).

 

Here in his teaching on resurrection, I believe Jesus is pointing to a fundamental characteristic of this God: that this God is one that seeks life and renewal over death and stagnation.  It might seem self-evident, but I know in the church we often do live this teaching out very well, clinging stubbornly to our pasts to the detriment of our future.

 

And in this story of bread from heaven, we are reminded that while the future may be uncertain God does not send us to a place where we will not be provided for.  As God tells Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day” (Exo 16:4).  God will provide us what we need to go on, to live and to survive in our wilderness places.  It is a promise that God will be with us daily, providing us what we need to get by, whether this “bread from heaven” is physical or spiritual food.

 

And lastly, how God provides may be in ways that we don’t recognize at first and we’re unsure what God is at work doing.  The Israelites, when they went out to gather, the found what the text describes as “a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground” (16:14).  And the Israelites look at it, then each other and ask, “Okay.  So what is it?”  And Moses answers, “It is the bread God has provided you to eat.”

 

Where are those gifts and blessings God has sent that we don’t immediately recognize?  What are some of the things we have that we haven’t realized is God’s doing in order that we might be people of life and love and not people dragged down by what always was?  Were is God raining “bread from heaven” in your life and in the life of your church or family or community in order that it might find its way forward in the wilderness, away from the past of bondage and into a new day of life with God?

 

As Jesus taught his disciples to pray, so we too pray this day: “Give us today our daily bread,” whatever form that bread might take in order that we can be the liberated people of God.

 

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

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!

March 9, 2008 - Fifth Sunday in Lent

Ezekiel 37:1-14 - link to the NRSV text

    Many of us have our own “valley of dry bones.” We have circumstances, relationships, communities and groups that are torn asunder and falling apart. We have families shattered by betrayal and anger and abuse and addiction. We have churches divided over theology or worship style or ministry goals. We have a country separated by partisan politics, by rhetoric, by the color of the state, and by our stubborn refusal to even hear the other side and to try and work together for a common good. Sometimes we’ll look around at these shattered relationships, these crushed dreams and hopes, and we’ll assume that’s the end of the story.

    This may have been the same kind of thinking that many of the Judean exiles may have been feeling in Babylon, especially after the destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple. Is our relationship with God over now that God has allowed this to happen? Have we been abandoned to our fate? Is there anything left to cling to? The future of God’s people was in jeopardy. The Temple was gone; the dwelling place of the Almighty was razed to the ground. Many of the Judeans most likely would have felt abandoned, cast off. Or as our reading from Ezekiel for this Sunday puts it, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely” (v. 11).

    It’s within this context of exile and fear of the unknown future that we have to examine Ezekiel’s famous vision of the valley of dry bones. Many interpreters have assumed that the text speaks of individual resurrection from death, but to do so misses the rhetorical point that the text is trying to truly make.

    Ezekiel describes his experience as a visionary journey, where Ezekiel is taken from his present location to another place where he experiences the revelation from God. In this case, Ezekiel says that the “hand of the LORD” picked him up and placed him in a valley of bones. God commands Ezekiel to prophesy to the bones and to tell them to “hear the word of the LORD” (v. 4). The results of this will be that God will bring the bones back together, restore to them their flesh, and breath into them so that they will live. All of this is so that the bones will know that “I am the LORD” (v. 6).

    Ezekiel then performs two prophetic actions. His first prophetic act restores the flesh and muscle as promised, but there is no breath (Hebrew, ruach) in them. God commands Ezekiel to now prophesy to the breath and command it to enter the bones so that they may live. The breath obeys; the bones live and stand together as a “vast multitude” (10). This dual prophetic action in some ways mirrors God’s own actions in the creation story: God forms a man from the dust of the ground, and then breathes into it the breath of life (Genesis 2:7).

    God then explains to Ezekiel the meaning of the vision: the bones are the exiled house of Israel, cut off and dried up, with no breath or life. God’s word through Ezekiel, that they shall live and know that the LORD has acted, is in contrast to Israel’s words of defeat and despair. This is repeated twice in verses 12-14, that Israel will be restored from the “grave” and thus they shall know “I am the LORD” and that “I, the LORD, have spoken and will act.”

    The prophetic vision here is one of restoration, of recreation, and maybe even reconciliation. As possible rebellion against Babylon loomed, there were different views on what the kingdom should do. The prophet Jeremiah, seeing the coming war and ensuing destruction that would be caused, urged the kings to submit to Babylonian rule, believing that whatever befell Judah as a result of the war was punishment for Judah’s apostasy and failure to live up to the commands of justice and righteousness commanded by Torah. His viewpoints caused several clashes with the authorities and Judean nationalists, even including an arrest and jail time in a cistern (Jeremiah 38:1-13).

    So maybe those things that divide us and leave us as the “dry and cut off bones” of the body of God’s people are not insurmountable. Maybe we can be restored, we can be reconciled to each other and to God, and we can be recreated and resurrected into the kinds of communities, families, countries, or people that God desires us to be. Our fatalistic words of hopelessness and abandonment are not the final word, for God’s word still comes to our valleys and brings us up from our graves (v. 13). But it takes more than just speaking to our brokenness, more than just commanding restoration and reconciliation, more than just saying that resurrection is possible. It requires the breath of God moving in and among the bones; it needs the spirit of God infusing us with new life, moving us to better ways of living and being.

    Ezekiel’s vision is not one that is regulated strictly to some distant time past, but one that speaks in the face of all places of spiritual and emotional exile and death. Restoration is possible, but true restoration will only occur when the spirit of God moves and is put within the communities and circumstances that need it. Then we shall live and we shall know that “I, the LORD have spoken and will act” (v. 14).

Shalom,
Geoff