Tag Archives: Moses

About that incessant competition for dominance… (August 30, AD 2026, Proper 17)

Readings (Track 1)

It would be hard to find a sharper contrast than that in today’s readings from Exodus and Matthew. Exodus: like last week’s reading, the Egyptian oppression of the Israelites is front and center, and God is going to do something about it. “I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians…So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.” On the other hand, Mattthew. Last Sunday we heard Peter’s confession: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (16:16.) That sounds promising—maybe Jesus will do to the Romans what Moses did to the Egyptians. But no, “Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”

We often hear that the Old Testament is concerned about material things, the New Testament about spiritual things. If that were true it might explain the contrast, but recall how the Romans reading ends: “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” Overcoming evil—in all its forms—is still the challenge; but how?

Moses did bring Israel out of Egypt, but Egypt—speaking metaphorically—was still in Israel. Ironically, it’s King Solomon, renown for his wisdom, who puts the Israelites to forced labor to build his temple (1 Kgs 5:13ff). When at Solomon’s death the people ask for relief, Solomon’s son Rehoboam responds “My father made your yoke heavy, but I will add to your yoke; my father disciplined you with whips, but I will discipline you with scorpions” (1Ki 12:14). Israel out of Egypt—relatively easy; Egypt out of Israel—not so easy.

Jesus doesn’t explain why he, the Messiah, “must” go to Jerusalem, but we get a partial explanation later in response to the request that James and John get the choice seats.

“You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many” (20:25-28).

Pulling back the camera, it’s no good focusing on the Egyptian pharaoh or the Roman emperor. The problem’s deeper, this unending competition for dominance. Jesus going to Jerusalem can’t be another version of that. And Jesus’ followers have hardly begun to learn that that’s not what he’s about.

So, in today’s Gospel: “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.” If we asked Matthew what that looked like in practice, he’d probably sigh and tell us to read the rest of his Gospel. That wouldn’t be bad advice.

Happily, our second reading is the second half of Romans 12. Some weeks back we heard Paul ask the Romans “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (6:3). Baptism: an enactment of Jesus’ “take up their cross.” And he begins our current chapter with “I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice” (12:1). So, while I don’t think Paul’s writing with the Matthew scroll before him (the timing’s wrong), Jesus’ words are being passed down orally, and this chapter is a useful exploration of what “those who lose their life for my sake will find it” might look like in Rome. So Paul—still in last week’s reading—goes immediately to “I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think” (12:3). Enough with this unending competition for dominance.

It would be tedious to go through the reading verse by verse. It’s a reading to take home and tape to the bathroom mirror. One verse might show itself relevant on Tuesday, another on Friday. But let’s notice a couple of things before wrapping up.

“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.” Probably useful to remember when watching the news or scrolling on the smartphone. I’m struck by Ellen Davis’ definition of blessing: “Blessing is fundamentally an act of acknowledging the essential goodness of the other’s being; it is a commitment of one’s will to the flourishing of the other.”[1] Blessing isn’t about approving what the other is doing, but acknowledging that that “other” also bears God’s image, with all the potential for wonder and tragedy that involves.

“Outdo one another in showing honor.” I’d guess that competition is hardwired into our DNA. Paul’s wise enough not to try to squelch it. But he does think it can be redirected. In any parish we’re probably pretty good at honoring some, not so good at honoring others. Paul’s encouraging us to be proactive. As we heard last week, God’s given each of us gifts for the good of the body. That’s something to celebrate. More often. More comprehensively.

“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” How? The second verse of “Lead on, O King eternal” (#555) nails it: “for not with sword’s loud clashing, nor roll of stirring drums, / but deeds of love and mercy, the heavenly kingdom comes.”

Or, as the old riddle goes, “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.”


[1] Opening Israel’s Scriptures, p.28.

Trust (3rd Sunday in Lent, 3/8/2026)

Readings

Have you noticed how our Old Testament readings have been circling around the issue of trust? Two weeks ago, the first Sunday in Lent, Adam and Eve, with the snake in the garden saying “You will not die; for God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Gen 3:4-5). God is selfish, unworthy of your trust. Last week, God to Abram and Sarai “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you” (Gen 12:1)—and they trust, they go. And today’s lesson: the people in the middle of nowhere, without water. “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” (Exo 17:3). Trust, front and center.

Today’s psalm recalls that moment, urges us not to repeat it: “Harden not your hearts, / as your forebears did in the wilderness, / at Meribah, and on that day at Massah, / when they tempted me.”

It would be easier if trust could be sorted out in calm moments, not, say, in the middle of nowhere with no Kwik Trip on the horizon. Or not, say, in the middle of Roman-occupied Galilee. Or not, say, here and now. Recall what we were hearing just before entering Lent:

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” (Mat 5:7-9)

Do we trust enough to risk living like that or, as it were, pick up swords with the Zealots, signal that we’re the right sort with the Pharisees, slither up to Empire with the Sadducees? Our Ash Wednesday liturgy spoke of “the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith,” and here we are.

What might help us with this renewal?

Paul recalls Jesus’ self-offering: “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” I’m all for impartial judges, but our culture’s picture of God as impartial judge often does more harm than good. God in love called Abram and Sarai. In God’s love Christ died for the ungodly. God really wants the project started with Abram and Sarai to succeed: “in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed” (Gen 12:3). To say that God is bending over backwards for it to succeed would be an understatement.

As the rabbis and Paul picked up, there’s a hint of that in our first reading: “I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.” Is Moses striking the rock without striking the Lord? In any case, the rabbis figured that rock accompanied the people in the wilderness, and so Paul writes: “For they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ” (1Cor 10:4). Perhaps our psalm is also recalling that: “let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.”

There are many reasons to come together regularly, one being that our common worship nurtures our capacity for trust. The Great Story from Genesis to Revelation, our liturgy, shared across the globe and—in its essentials—across the centuries, Jesus again feeding us with his own Body and Blood: these renew our capacity to trust this God, to respond humanly, humanely, to our world.

Come, let us sing to the Lord;
let us shout for joy to the Rock of our salvation.
Let us come before his presence with thanksgiving
and raise a loud shout to him with psalms.

The lectionary accompanies these readings with Jesus’ conversation with a Samaritan woman at a well. It contrasts with last week’s conversation with Nicodemus. Nicodemus has the more impressive religious resume; Jesus seems to get further with the Samaritan woman. That might give us pause.

As in the wilderness, water is again the presenting issue. Jesus: “but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” Shades of that rock that followed the people!

I wonder if the conversation doesn’t circle back to that theme of trust we noticed. The woman does not appear to trust easily, and has some skill in verbal sparring. Jesus too is not unskilled, and at the end of the conversation the woman’s at a different place than she was at the beginning. “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?”

We’ve all had experiences that encourage us to avoid trusting. Avoid trusting: that can end up, effectively, as a life goal. But unless we swap reality for illusion, it’s a non-starter. We’re still in the wilderness; we still need water. And it’s not a matter of one bottle, but of a continual communal pattern. Notice how ‘trust’ and ‘hope’ are virtual synonyms in Paul’s words: we “boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts.” It’s trust that allows the story to continue, so that the pouring of God’s love (there’s the water again) is not the end of the story, but continues in that love irrigating our choices, our actions.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”

“[T]he need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.” That Samaritan woman, not the only one profiting from a conversation with Jesus. What conversations might Jesus have with us? How, during Lent, might we make time for these?