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 15, 2009 - Third Sunday in Lent, Year B

Exodus 20:1-17 - link to the NRSV text

Note: Also see my previous post on the Ten Commandments.

Why does God give us law?

For many people, the idea of God giving law means that God is punitive.  God has to set up rules else everything will descend into chaos, and if you break those rules then you're going to get what you deserve.  Break the law, and you will be punished.  God becomes something on par with The Man, Big Brother, Microsoft: the great power that everything else must bow to.  Law thus becomes strictly a list of dos and don'ts by which God judges and weighs humanity as determinative of their worthiness and holiness.  Law is restrictive, controlling.

Within the concept of covenantal relationship, however, I think law has a little different character.  God gives the law not because it is punitive; the law, in this case the Ten Commandments (or Words) serves as an ordering force for the life of the covenant community.  

And this is something so often ignored when these commands are discussed: they are commands for the covenant people.  "I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me" (Exodus 20:2-3).  The scope of the commandments could be understood as restricted to those who have experienced the mighty grace and mercy of God.

And the law then sets out a pattern of life for the covenant people, of how they are to live in relation with God and with each other.  And these two different relations are not distinct; how we relate to God has an impact on how we relate to others.  And the bridge is found in verse 8-11, in the command about the Sabbath:

But the seventh day is a sabbath to the LORD your God; you shall not do any work-- you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the alien resident in your towns (Exodus 20:10, emphasis added).

Covenant life with God has a material and physical manifestation; it is not restricted to private religious observance.  Instead, the divine-human relationship pours out into all other relationships, demanding that others receive rest also, that one honors the family, that we do not damage each other through either action (murder, adultery, theft, false testimony) or animosity (coveting the possessions of someone else).

The law provides a pattern of religious and social action that provides a rhythm for day-to-day living. Maybe this idea provides some insight into Jesus' teaching when he said:

You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, 'You shall not murder'; and 'whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.'  But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment...You have heard that it was said, 'You shall not commit adultery.'  But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart.  (Matthew 5:21-22, 27-28).

Maybe Jesus is suggesting that these commands were about more than just right action, but about fundamental human-to-human and divine-to-human relationships.  When actions like murder and adultery are even contemplated, Jesus suggests, the rhythm of covenantal living is interrupted.

But that's not the end of the story, for God's law ("teaching" may be a better translation of torah) is not punitive.  This is not some impartial judge sitting high on a throne and pronouncing guilt for those who diverge.  The one who gave the law gave it out of love and grace: "I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of slavery."  

The law, the Ten Commandments stand as a stark reminder of the rhythm that we are called to adhere to as the covenant people, and as a reminder of how much we struggle to do so.  Yet the God who makes covenant, who makes relationship, is ready to continue to be in covenant.  When the rhythm is interrupted, God comes to show us the way again.  And isn't that part of what Lent is about?  The reminder that our sin is ever present, our brokenness ever before us, but that in God's mighty acts we find new life, that we experience resurrection?

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

March 1, 2009 – First Sunday in Lent, Year B

Genesis 9:8-17 - link to the NRSV text

The Old Testament/Hebrew Bible lections for Lent this year, other than the Numbers reading on the fourth Sunday, revolve around God's covenant with Israel.  From Noah to Abraham to Moses and Sinai to Jeremiah, the theme of covenant moves us toward Easter and the covenant inaugurated in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

And this journey of covenant begins with Noah; in fact, the word "covenant" (Hebrew: berit) appears for the first time in the biblical narrative in the flood narrative: "But I will establish my covenant with you: and you shall come into the ark, you, your sons, your wife, and your sons' wives with you" (Genesis 6:18).  I've blogged about the flood story before, so I'm going to shift away from the flood itself (which occurred in the chapters before our reading) and focus instead on the aftermath.

Divine speech encompasses the entirety of our reading; it is God laying out for Noah the covenant that God is establishing as he had promised back in chapter 6.  The verses immediately preceding laid out Noah's responsibilities:
    To be fruitful and multiply (9:1)
    Reaffirmation of humanity's stewardship over the creation (9:2)
    God's permission to eat meat, but not the blood (9:3-5)
    Condemnation of shedding human blood (9:6)
    Repetition of command to be fruitful (9:7)

These commands could potentially be seen as a reestablishment of the relationship between God and humankind as it originally was following creation.  The commands to multiply and the reaffirmation of humanity's stewardship of creation echo similar commands from the creation stories.  The condemnation of human bloodshed seems to echo the Cain and Able narrative as a warning from God to not repeat that mistake.

But the focus of the story is not in Noah's responsibilities.  If these commands are a reestablishment (or at least a recitation) of the divine-human relationship, they are only of any consequence in light of God's choice to enter into covenant with the creation.  "I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth" (9:11).  The continued existence of creation now and in the future rests solely on God's decision to not wipe it all away and start over.

And to seal the covenant, God declares that a sign will be given as a reminder.  "This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations: I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth" (9:12-13).  God sets aside a "bow," and instrument of war and destruction, as God's sign that further destruction against the creation will not occur.

I remember as a child being told that the rainbow was the sign that reminded us that God would not send a flood again.  The text, however, as a much different take: the bow is not a sign for us primarily, but a sign for God.  "When I bring the clouds," God says, "and when I see the bow in the clouds, I will remember the everlasting covenant between me and all that is in the earth."

The rainbow, what the ancient author of the flood narrative interpreted as God's weapon laid aside, stands between us and God as a sign of the covenant that reminds us of the mutuality of covenant: that there are two parties, both of which are in this together.

The rainbow does serve as a sign for us, a sign that reminds us of God's promises first and foremost, a sign that reminds us that God remembers us and has not abandoned us.  It is a sign that God's memory is more powerful than our forgetfulness, that God's desire for resurrection and new life overcomes our appetite for destruction and death.

"When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth."  God remembers, God is faithful, and God continues to be in covenant, to be in relationship with us.  And in my book, that is good news.

Shalom,
Geoff

February 25, 2009 - Ash Wednesday, Year B

Joel 2:1-2, 12-17 - link to the NRSV text

How do we respond in times of calamity?

I recall the weeks following September 11, 2001: the prayer services, the increase in attendance in houses of worship, a seemingly collective and united turn towards the divine in order to make sense of what had happened.  For just a moment, we all gathered together around a common need to grieve, to mourn, trying to understand what was happening.  Children and adults, young and old, male and female, we all turned and gathered in common need and supplication.

These are the images that came to mind when I read the words from the prophet Joel:

Return to the LORD, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing…Blow the trumpet in Zion; sanctify a fast; call a solemn assembly; gather the people. Sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the children, even infants at the breast (Joel 2:13, 15-16).

This does not mean I’m arguing that 9/11 was punishment from God.  But the actions that the prophet calls the people of Judah to are very reminiscent of what occurred here in the United States in the weeks following the fall of the World Trade Center. 

The prophet calls for a collective and united turn towards the LORD their God, to come together, the aged and the children, even the infants.  The tragedy that is on the horizon in the form of an advancing army (cf. 2:12) is one that threatens everyone, and thus everyone should assemble before the LORD.

Joel’s call to repentance and religious observance is not one of individual repentance and regret, though that is an element.  Instead, Joel calls for communal faith to be enacted, for the people to come together, to seek God’s presence as one assembly.  This is congruent with advice John Wesley once received and recorded in his journal: “The Bible knows nothing of solitary religion.”  It is only together that true faith can be lived out.

Which brings us to Lent and Ash Wednesday.  Too often Lenten observance becomes an individual thing: what am I going to give up for Lent?  How is my heart before God this Lenten season?  But to restrict Lent to individual piety is to miss the words from the prophet Joel, that true repentance is something done together.

We are symbolically moving into a time of calamity and tragedy, where we remember the dark days of Jesus’ life and ministry as we move from the mount of Transfiguration this past Sunday to the mount of Calvary on Good Friday.  We are entering the valley, beginning our journey towards the cross.

And theologically, what is occurring in this season is a result of our choices: our refusal to be redeemed, our refusal to treat each other with love and dignity, our inability to love God and each other fully and completely, our rejection of God’s Kingdom that Jesus came to proclaim in favor of our own fiefdoms.

Yet what we meant for evil, God used for good.  The One we thought was destroyed through our violence was exalted in glory. 

The day of the LORD is near, a “day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness” (2:2).  The shadows of Lent are coming upon us, preparing us for the new light and life of Easter.

So call a fast!  Assemble the people!  Sanctify the congregation!  Let us come together!  For Lent is here; may we weep for our brokenness as individuals and as communities.  May we cry out for mercy, we who are loved but struggle to love in return.  May we, in our ashes of mourning, repent and turn again to the God of our Salvation.

And in our weeping, mourning, and fasting, may we once again discover the God who loves us so, who is “gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love” (2:13).

Shalom,
Geoff

Returning Soon!

So things have been a little crazy in my neck of the woods and something had to give.  Since this gig doesn't pay, it was put to the side for awhile.  But it'll be back soon; be on the watch for an Ash Wednesday related posted and we'll kick back into full gear with the Lenten season.

Grace and peace!

Geoff

November 16, 2008 - Twenty-Seventh Sunday After Pentecost

Judges 4:1-7 - link to the NRSV text

Just as the wilderness narratives had a pattern of crisis-grumbling-providence-deliverance, the book of Judges often follows a pattern of its own: apostasy-oppression-cry for salvation-God raises up a judge.  And as the story goes on, the times of faithfulness seem to shorten while the periods of apostasy seem to lengthen.  The tribes continue this pattern and it gets progressively worse until the end of the book, when the tribes turn on each other and the land descends into civil war (cf. Judges 19-21).

This pattern begins to play out for this generation here in Judges 4:1: "The Israelites again did what was evil in the sight of the LORD," followed by the description of the oppression by Jabin of Canaan and his right-hand man Sisera and is said to have lasted twenty years.  So the Israelites cry out to God, and then we are introduced to Deborah.

Deborah is described as both prophetess and judge, much like Samuel would function as both prophet and judge later in Israel's history.  Functioning as the judge of Israel, Deborah summons Barak from Kedesh of the tribe of Naphtali and gives him some military instructions.

That is where the lection for the day ends, but to really get into it the rest of the story probably needs to be referenced.  In the verse 8, Barak argues that he will go only if Deborah goes as well.  This could very possibly be a editorial insertion to downplay female authority, for verse 7 seems to suggest that she would be leading a seperate force to lure Sisera into Barak's ambush.

This weakening of female power is emphasized by Deborah's assertation that because he asked this, then instead of him receiving the glory for victory it would be given to a woman (at this point, we would presume Deborah).  Battle ensues, with Sisera's troop trounced and Sisera himself fleeing only to find himself on the wrong end of Jael's tent peg (cf. 4:17-24).

The preacher could emphasize God using people the world would normally consider less-than-ideal (Deborah as judge, Jael as the one who defeats Sisera).  And that is a powerful story and one that needs to be heard.

But alternatively, in this day and time, someone could focus less on Deborah and Barak as the instruments of deliverance, but on Israel's apostasy and the pattern of neglect-trouble-need for deliverance.  Think about our financial crisis here in the states and globally.  Think about the rising demand for energy that will most likely occur in the decades to come.  

How are we contributing to these problems through "ungodly" living?  That is, living in ways that are not in harmony with God, with each other, and with the rest of creation?  What are we as people of faith doing or failing to do in order to point the world towards more harmonious life?  How have we "done evil in the eyes of the LORD" through how we use our money, time, and resources that have contributed to the economic situation?

Yet with that comes the word of comfort, that even when we do turn away and God turns us over to the consequences of our actions, God is there when we call and offers us new beginnings.  So the follow up question to "How have we done what is evil in the eyes of God?" is: "So how is God at work in the midst of these circumstances, and how can I be a part of that work like Deborah and Barak?"

Shalom,

Geoff

November 9, 2008 - Twenty-Sixth Sunday After Pentecost

Joshua 1-3a, 14-25

This Sunday is the last of the semi-continuous readings from the Hexateuch (the first sixth books of the Bible) and the next to last semi-continuous reading from the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible in Year A this liturgical year as Christ the King falls on November 23.

In this week's text, Joshua has finished allotting the various lands to their respective tribes; the Israelites are now the ruling power.  The LORD has delivered them from Egypt with a mighty hand and fulfilled the promise of long ago, the promise of a land that is their own.  Now Joshua, like Moses before him, begins to prepare the people for life without him.

"Then Joshua gathered all the tribes of Israel to Shechem" (Joshua 24:1).  Joshua has some important things to say to them, words of reminder and warning.

First, the reminder.  Again, much like Moses in Deuteronomy, Joshua reminds the people of God's work in the past: "Then I took your father Abraham from beyond the River and led him through all the land of Canaan and made his offspring many" (Joshua 24:3a).

But Joshua knows this people; he knows how fickle they are, how quick they are to despair and to turn away from the God of their salvation, and even though those fears will soon be played out and will be played out again and again in Israel's and Judah's history, still Joshua tries to impress upon them the need for them to not forget the reminder and thus exhorts them to make a choice.

Because Joshua recognizes a simple truth, one summed up well by Bob Dylan: "You're gonna have to serve somebody."

You will either serve the LORD God on your own interests, in this case represented by "other gods."  Other gods would have been attractive, I admit; they often promised good harvests, fertility, prosperity, favorable weather, etc.  All the comforts of ancient life, things to make a hard life easier if only you make the appropriate sacrifices and do the right rituals.  Service to these gods demanded comparatively little over and against the demands of the God of Israel.

The God of Israel demanded much more than just proper worship and ritual, but demanded justice within the community, concern for the poor, widow, and orphan, concern for the stranger, alongside proper religious practice.  As Amos would later put it (in a reading which is the OT reading for today in some alternate lectionaries):

I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies.  Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; and the offerings of well-being of your fatted animals I will not look upon.  Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream (Amos 5:21-24).

Joshua knows that this God demands more of God's people.  "Choose this day who you will serve," Joshua says.  'Cause you're gonna have to serve somebody.

Some of us in the wake of the election are ecstatic and hopeful for the future, others are intensely uncertain and afraid of what an America under President Obama will look like.  Still, President-Elect Obama will be our President, and my prayers are with him, his family, and his administration just as they would have been with Senator McCain if he had won.

But I have made a choice of who I serve, and while I support the new President-Elect because he will be our leader, my ultimate allegiance is not to him or his party.  "But for me and my house," Joshua says, "we will serve the LORD."  No matter your party allegiance or who you voted for, if you call yourself a disciple of Jesus, you have a commitment and loyalty and servitude higher than any elected official.

I am a citizen of the United States of America, but I have a higher citizenship, one that trumps all other loyalties and oaths and promises, and that is to the kingdom of God that Jesus came to proclaim. 

My prayer for President-Elect Obama and for all our elected officials is that God's wisdom may be with them, will guide them, and that they be discerning, compassionate, and strong leaders.  But at the end of the day, I choose a higher, and in many ways harder, calling to serve not worldly interests alone like economic policy or national security or any number of important issues.  Instead, I serve a living God who demands justice, mercy and righteousness first and foremost.  As for me and mine, we will strive to serve the LORD.

Hopefully, our country will as well.

Shalom,
Geoff

November 2, 2008 - Twenty-fifth Sunday After Pentecost/All Saints Sunday

Joshua 3:7-17 - link to the NRSV text

"After the death of Moses the servant of the LORD, the LORD spoke to Joshua son of Nun" (Joshua 1:1).

Next Tuesday in the United States will mark the beginning of a new era, a new time in our country's history.  Regardless of one side's attempts to link their opponent to President Bush and argue that it will be more of the same (I will not go into whether that is true or not in this space), power will change hands.  A new administration will be selected and a new thing will begin.

The truth is that time and again, change happens.  At the beginning of the book of Joshua, that change is happening to the Israelites.  "After the death of Moses the servant of the LORD..."  Moses is dead, and they were soon to leave the wilderness areas they had known for a generation and enter into a new land.  Though they believed the land was a good land, the truth is there was probably a little uncertainty.  For while change is inevitable, and even when it is welcome and anticipated, change is also frightening.

"...the LORD spoke..."  Yet when change happens, when new eras emerge, when times are different, again God breaks in and speaks to God's people.  And not just that God speaks.  "...the LORD spoke to Joshua son of Nun..."  God speaks to people and does not just blindly shout into the chaotic whirlwind of this world.

After centuries of slavery, God spoke to Moses.  Now, God speaks to Joshua.  Down the road, time and again, God will speak to the judges.  God will speak to Samuel.  The word of the LORD continues to break in and interrupt the way things are going in order to announce that God is doing something new.

Which sets the stage for Sunday's reading in chapter 3.  The LORD says to Joshua (there's that speaking thing again!): "This day I will begin to exalt you in the sight of all Israel, so that they may know that I will be with you as I was with Moses."

Joshua needs a pedigree.  He's got a little clout, he was Moses' side-kick for a good long while after all.  Back in chapter 1, the Israelites had banded behind Joshua (see 1:16-18), but maybe there were some murmurings.  This people had shown their ability to turn from their leader in a heartbeat before, after all, and Joshua needs to shore up his credientials.

So God says to Joshua, "You are the one who will command..." (3:8, emphasis mine).  No longer is it Moses' responsibility, but it nows falls to Joshua.  It is now his job to give the commands, to lay the course, to see it through, and here God is reminding Joshua of that responsibility.

But it does not all fall on Joshua, for the reason for this event is not just about Joshua but a reminder to the people who is their true leader.  Sure, Joshua is the face and name, but it is the LORD who goes before them and to prove to them that God will remain with them even without Moses there.  As Joshua puts it: "By this you shall know that among you is the living God" (3:10).

As leadership changes hands, as new eras begin, as the future unfolds, who goes with us?  Who is among us?  Or more correctly, who do we know is among us?  Will we despair if our desired canidate is not elected as we want, or do we cling to a higher hope that in all times and among all leaders the living God is among us and continues to speak?

"After the death of Moses...the LORD spoke to Joshua..."  O LORD, speak to us again and remind us that you, the Living God, are truly among us in all things, in all times, and in all ways.  Amen.

Shalom,
Geoff

October 5 – Twenty-First Sunday After Pentecost

Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20 - link to the NRSV text

There are many iconic images and stories in the Bible that shape our imaginations, but few rival this Sunday’s reading from Exodus, which is the giving of the Ten Words (or Commandments) to Moses on top of Mount Sinai.  For Jews and Christians alike, it is a formative theological memory, and the Ten Words themselves are foundational teachings that inform moral behavior.

All that being said, sometimes iconic texts are the hardest to preach because they come with so much baggage.  To quote Alan Rickman’s character the Metatron, the Voice of the Almighty from Kevin Smith’s Dogma: “Tell a person that you're the Metatron and they stare at you blankly. Mention something out of a Charlton Heston movie and suddenly everybody is a theology scholar.”  We assume that, “Yeah, the Ten Commandments.  I know those things [Note: Well, maybe not].  I know what they mean.  How can I not?  I’ve been hearing about them my whole life.”

But often what we think we know about a text gets in the way of what the text is actually trying to communicate.  At first glance the Decalogue seems to be a list of regulations, and that’s what we assume they are, a list of do nots.  But maybe they are more like a framework through which life,
specifically life with God, is interpreted.

Jewish tradition about the Decalogue gets this in a way that post-Pauline Christianity has seemed to have lost.  For many Christians, the Ten Words are “law” vis-à-vis the gospel or good news of God revealed in Jesus and even though we’ll still think following them is a good thing, they are seen as something distinct from the concept of God’s grace, as things that we as humans have failed to live up to and thus we need saving.

But in Jewish tradition, the Ten Words are a response to grace.  The Jews traditionally order their commandments differently; what the Jews regard as the first commandment or word, many Christians just dismiss as a prologue or introduction to the commandments.  But in Jewish tradition, the first commandment is not to have “no other gods before me,” but is instead: “I am the LORD your God, who brought you out of the  land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery"  (Exo 20:2).

In other words, the first word of life with God is to, “Remember what God has done for you!”  All the other commandments flow from this, even the commandments about relations with other human beings because they flow out of response to God’s goodness.  Those that had been slaves in Egypt have been liberated and thus are called to a new allegiance, a new bondage to the one that has provided for them so graciously, and these Ten Words define what life with this new lord and master shall look like.

And note that life with God is defined by a dual relationship, a relationship with God and with other people.  Jesus noted this when he refused to separate the commandments to “Love God with all that you are” and to “love your neighbor as yourself.”  But that principle is traced back here, to the Ten Words, these foundational spoken commands from the liberating and life-providing God of Israel.

In many ways, the rest of Torah is a working out of what living out these Ten Words looks like in everyday life and is a continuing, on-going process of reflection and discernment in the midst of life’s toils and troubles.  The Jewish rabbis frequently understood that Torah observance must shift according to new times and contexts, and I think this principal is found in the character of the Decalogue.  For the Decalogue defines the boundaries of faithful living, but does not provide the answer to how this is to be lived out.

What does it mean to hallow the Sabbath and to rest?  How is an image defined?  What does it mean to honor your parents?  These and other questions are the work of discernment and God’s working in the community of faith to guide God’s people to faithful observance.

But first and foremost is the word: Remember!  Remember what has been done. "I am the LORD, your God, who brought you out of Egypt, up from a house of slavery."This is the Word on which all faithful living is formed and founded, that God has already done so much on our behalf.  How will we respond?

Shalom,
Geoff