“Surely the Lord is in this place—and I did not know it” (Gen 28:16). Here we wonder about encountering G-d at the intersection of Bible and Life–typically prompted by the (Episcopal) Book of Common Prayer.
The Lectionary begins our ten-day stint with Hosea today (for overviews, here and here). Abraham Heschel: “God is conceived, not as the self-detached Ruler, but as the sensitive Consort to Whom deception comes and Who nevertheless goes on pleading for loyalty, uttering a longing for reunion, a passionate desire for reconciliation.”
One’s eyes can glaze reading texts like that from Acts today. Luke Johnson’s observation helps: “More significant by far than any single stage of the journey is the way in which Luke has so obviously structured it to mirror the great journey of the prophet Jesus to his death and triumph in Jerusalem (Luke 9:51-19:44).” I wonder: while Paul specifically is important for the story Luke wants to tell (how the Gospel advances from Jerusalem to Rome), is Luke also using Paul as a model for every believer, someone in whom Jesus’ Spirit continues to work?
As commentators notice, Luke in this Gospel text both follows Mark and reorders his sequence (we encounter the calling of the disciples in our next Luke reading). Is the point to give Jesus’ call of Peter some context? Meanwhile, “proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God:” executing the previously-read mandate from Isaiah, healing and exorcising. O Jesus, we could use more of that here, today.
When the Assyrian army surrounded Jerusalem in the time of King Hezekiah and the prophet Isaiah we’re told that one night “the angel of the Lord” struck down 185,000 Assyrians in the camp—and the Assyrians departed. Today’s text records a similar outcome—at the cost of one Assyrian life. I wonder: has something shifted in the culture and/or theological sensibility?
(By the way, the Book of Judith continues for three more chapters. Judith’s thanksgiving song is particularly worth attention, e.g., “Her sandal ravished his eyes, / her beauty captivated his mind, / and the sword severed his neck!”)
Every year Episcopal parishes complete the Parochial Report—many numbers—“to assist the Church in planning for mission.” Why isn’t one of the numbers requested the number of times merchants in the city have rioted in response to the parish’s missional activities?
The demon gets it right: Jesus is “the Holy One of God.” Not that it does the demon any good—he’s still sent packing, and an unnamed man—his former residence—is a little freer. Holiness and freedom: that’s a very old association: Moses encounters holy ground—and gets sent to bring Israel out of Egypt. Here’s another missional project for us—that also will not be (directly) registered in the Parochial Report—make more visible in our city the link between holiness and human freedom.
Judith: exemplary courage over an extended period in which things could have gone terribly wrong at any moment. (“It would be a shame for us to let such a woman go without having sex with her. If we don’t reel her in, she’ll laugh at us.”) Her speech, a master class in double meanings (vv. 4, 14, 18). When does assassination belong in the asymmetrical conflict toolkit? Judith’s story is also part of that conversation.
Meanwhile, here’s Jesus in front of a Jewish audience illustrating “bring good news to the poor” by citing Elijah, who helped the widow at Zarephath in Sidon (and not the Israelite widows) and Elisha, who cleansed the Syrian general Naaman of leprosy (and not the Israelite lepers). Naaman—any different than Holofernes? On my extended “bucket list:” listen in on Judith, Esther, Mary (Jesus’ mother) and Priscilla (from the September 22 reading) comparing notes.
P.S. There is perhaps one important difference between Holofernes and Naaman. Both receive accurate intelligence re Israel, Holofernes from the Ammonite leader Achior (re the Lord’s protection of Israel), Naaman from a young Israelite girl captured in one of the Aramean raids (re a prophet with the gift of healing), Holofernes chooses to ignore the intelligence; Naaman to act on it.
Later in Luke we’ll hear Jesus tell this parable: “’A sower went out to sow his seed; and as he sowed, some fell on the path and was trampled on, and the birds of the air ate it up. Some fell on the rock; and as it grew up, it withered for lack of moisture. Some fell among thorns, and the thorns grew with it and choked it. Some fell into good soil, and when it grew, it produced a hundredfold.’ As he said this, he called out, ‘Let anyone with ears to hear listen!’ Then his disciples asked him what this parable meant. He said, ‘To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of God; but to others I speak in parables, so that “looking they may not perceive, and listening they may not understand.” Now the parable is this: The seed is the word of God. The ones on the path are those who have heard; then the devil comes and takes away the word from their hearts, so that they may not believe and be saved. The ones on the rock are those who, when they hear the word, receive it with joy. But these have no root; they believe only for a while and in a time of testing fall away. As for what fell among the thorns, these are the ones who hear; but as they go on their way, they are choked by the cares and riches and pleasures of life, and their fruit does not mature. But as for that in the good soil, these are the ones who, when they hear the word, hold it fast in an honest and good heart, and bear fruit with patient endurance.’”
Today we might read the first and third lessons in split screen. What will the protagonists do after the build-up in the previous chapters? Judith’s prayer (chapter 9) gives us clues, but leaves much unsaid. Simeon and Levi led with deceit, then drew the sword; Judith prays for her deception’s success and leaves the sword unnamed. Between Zechariah’s prophecy, Mary’s song, etc., a wealth of potentially different expectations re what Jesus will accomplish. Judith in front of her closet is a classic hero-preparing-for-battle scene; Jesus stands before his deciding what not to wear, what trust in God looks like. (And what about the sword in that closet?) Both will be performing without a net.
Note: the first link connects to all of chapters 8-9.
Luke. Yesterday’s reading—bumped by the Feast of St. Matthew—introduced John and began a course reading of Luke that will continue into late Advent. There John called for fruit proving repentance, and gave examples. Here John—switching agricultural metaphors—reminds us that our choices yield identities: wheat or chaff. No inside track for the privileged, no judges to bribe; just choices to be made.
Judith. Today we meet Judith—and the Lectionary leaves too much on the cutting room floor. Of the many striking elements in Judith’s prayer (chapter 9), here are three:
Judith emphasizes God’s hand in events—past, present, and future (vv.5-6). But this does not stop her asking that God make her plan successful.
Judith describes God’s character: “But you are the God of the lowly, helper of the oppressed, upholder of the weak, protector of the forsaken, savior of those without hope.” She sounds something like Hannah; Mary sounds like both.
Judith’s opening (vv.2-4) reveals perhaps unexpected freedom to read against the grain of Scripture. In Genesis 34 prince Shechem seizes and lays with Dinah. Her brothers Simeon and Levi respond by slaughtering all the males in his city. Their father Jacob rebukes the brothers, and on his deathbed doubles down on the rebuke. But here Judith celebrates their action in response to the outrage. Judith’s plan builds on their action to prevent further outrages.
Judith, written with the Maccabean violence against Hellenistic outrages fresh in the mind, reads Israel’s traditions in support of that violence. The context in which we read and the choices we make in reading matter.
Matthew begins his narrative with the angel’s appearance to Joseph and comments “All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: ‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,’ which means, ‘God is with us’.” He ends the narrative with Jesus’ words: “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” “God is with us;” “I am with you always;” Emmanuel. Appropriately, the Lectionary chooses the portion of Isaiah which includes “Do not call conspiracy all that this people calls conspiracy, and do not fear what it fears, or be in dread. But the LORD of hosts, him you shall regard as holy; let him be your fear, and let him be your dread. He will become a sanctuary, a stone one strikes against; for both houses of Israel he will become a rock one stumbles over– a trap and a snare for the inhabitants of Jerusalem.” In these chapters of Isaiah Emmanuel is about both judgment and salvation (7:14; 8:8, 10)—depending largely on the hearers’ choices. We might hear “Do not call…” as also a guide to making good choices, for then as now there is plenty that demands our fear. Few of us have as much freedom as we’d like, but we can choose whom to fear. As did Matthew.
“You must understand this, my beloved: let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness, and welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.” This sounds like the mantra I need to adopt through at least mid-January. And I would really like to know how James read the Book of Judith.
“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.” A timely warning also for those of us who use social media.
Judith. “No Ammonite or Moabite shall be admitted to the assembly of the LORD. Even to the tenth generation, none of their descendants shall be admitted to the assembly of the LORD” (Deut. 23:3). Perhaps this text has functioned twice like the proverbial grain of sand in the oyster, for in our canon we have both the Book of Ruth (from Moab) and the Book of Judith with its attention to Achior (of Ammon), who at the book’s end is received into Israel.
Acts. “…nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mortals life and breath and all things.” This is bedrock for Paul, and for both Testaments. Yes, both Testaments speak of God’s servants—as further testimony to God’s generosity.
John. John (the Evangelist) is interested in witness. The noun ‘witness’ (marturia) 14x in John, 4x in the other Gospels; the verb ‘to witness’ (martureō) 31x in John, 2x in the other Gospels. Many commentators think chapter 12 wraps up a major part of the book. Today’s text: Jesus describing the logic of his witness. I wonder: is this also a description of the readers’ witness? They say what they’re commissioned to say. Their task is not to judge, but to save. We could have saved ourselves a good deal of grief had we heard the text in these terms.
Jesus’ description also reframes the question. While there is obvious overlap, the question is not Jesus but God. Who is this God really that the Jews have been worshipping for centuries, and what is this God up to? And—the overlap—to receive Jesus’ testimony is to move from darkness to light (recall John’s prologue!).
Judith is a novella, probably from the 2nd century B.C. and reflecting the Maccabean crisis, whose heroine (introduced in chapter 8) is a mash-up of Jael (Judges 4-5), Esther, and Lady Wisdom (Prov 1-9; Sirach 24). In today’s text we’re dropped into the middle of another moment in which—as in Esther and the Maccabean crisis—the survival of the nation is at stake. The villain: Holofernes.
John. I, with many, find the frequent use of Isaiah 6:9-10 in the New Testament (Matt 13:14-15; Mk 4:12; Lk 8:10; Jn 12:40; Acts 28:26-27) deeply puzzling. Two things worth noticing: (1) the Jewish tradition (OT, NT, Mishnah, etc.) affirms both divine and human responsibility without attempting a resolution. (2) Isaiah might be understood as seeing 8th century B.C. Judah in parallel with the Exodus: as God’s judgment then included the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart, so now (an additional reason to repent!). Christian tradition, seeing Jesus as a second/one-greater-than Moses, may have found it particularly appropriate to speak again of divine hardening of this new Moses’ opponents.
All that said, the core of the puzzle remains, both because (1) Scripture elsewhere emphasizes God’s desire that all be saved (e.g., Ezek 33:11; 1 Tim 2:4) and (2) various combinations of the seven deadly sins (recall Holofernes & his modern counterparts) seem more than adequate explanation for human opposition to God.
Job. Among the multiple ways we might enter the text, here are two. (1) The poem is a timely reminder of the difficulty of attaining wisdom and understanding. Timely, in a society that often confuses wisdom with what I just saw on the internet. (2) Within Job chapter 28 comes at the end of the dialogue (argument?) between Job and his friends, serving as an implicit negative verdict on their success in attaining a shared wisdom. The Lectionary’s placement of the chapter at the end of the book invites us to incorporate (privilege?) the Lord’s speeches from the whirlwind and Job’s response as we hear “the fear of the Lord” and “depart from evil.” Recall Habel’s translation of 42:6 (“Therefore I retract / And repent of dust and ashes”) and Davis’ commentary cited in yesterday’s post.
John. Here again Jesus’ context and John’s audience’s context merge: vv.34-36a reflect equally the latter’s arguments. “The Messiah remains forever:” this reading of the law is ever attractive, negating Jesus’ “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (12:24). The crowd understands that the Messiah’s trajectory and his followers’ trajectories run parallel. The crowd has a point: what good is salvation if it means taking up the cross? What’s the point of Passover if Jesus’ message is that the model for all the participants is that poor lamb whose blood is on the lintel (whose blood keeps death away)? And this theology of glory as an alternative to a theology of the cross leaves us defenseless before swindlers and shysters. “While you have the light, believe in the light,” so that, like the disciples as portrayed in the Gospels—slow on the uptake on their best days—we may continue exerting ourselves to attaining and practicing wisdom.
With Jacob at Bethel 