Readings (Track 1)

What is God up to today? My friend Qoheleth (the book of Ecclesiastes) repeatedly argues that we can’t know. At the same time, Qoheleth does a lot of wondering. So, coming off today’s texts, we might wonder: today is God up to something like that?

Our Gospel provides a useful anchor. Ten lepers ask Jesus for mercy; Jesus heals them. One of many healings in the Gospels, one of many acts of power and mercy in the Bible. God desires our health, our shalom. So today’s psalm recalls that archetypical act: the Exodus (“He turned the sea into dry land, / so that they went through the water on foot, / and there we rejoiced in him.”). Where things get puzzling is the human response (“Were not ten made clean? But the other nine, where are they? Was none of them found to return and give praise to God except this foreigner?”). So the question here isn’t what God’s up to, but what we humans are up to.

What God’s up to in the situation assumed by our first reading is far from clear. The triumphant Babylonian army has taken some of the Jews into exile in Babylon. What’s God doing? Is God capable of doing anything? Some prophets are announcing that God’s about to bring the exiles back home. So Jeremiah writes a letter, part of which we just heard. Perhaps the main point: “Thus says the LORD of hosts…to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon…” The exiles are there by the Lord’s decision; the Lord’s still in control. The prophets announcing an immediate return have it wrong; you’ll be there for a while. So “multiply there, and do not decrease.” And then, another surprise: “But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” Seek the welfare (the shalom) of Babylon, pray for Babylon. If the exiles thought Jeremiah was going to encourage their faith, this is probably not the faith they were thinking about. By faith Abraham left, now by faith they’re supposed to settle in, where it’s hard to walk a few blocks without encountering a temple to another Babylonian god or goddess? This is a faith Qoheleth would have recognized: keeping the faith, remaining faithful despite not having a clue what the Lord is up to.

Then there’s today’s psalm. I noticed the allusion to the Exodus. But then there are these lines:
For you, O God, have proved us;
you have tried us just as silver is tried.
You brought us into the snare;
you laid heavy burdens upon our backs.
You let enemies ride over our heads;
we went through fire and water;
but you brought us out into a place of refreshment.

As the last line shows, these troubles are now in the rearview mirror. But prior to that last line, these troubles would have generated multiple psalms of complaint. “Lord, are you paying attention to what’s happening to us?” So, retrospectively, these lines: “For you, O God, have proved us; / you have tried us [or refined us] just as silver is tried.” Testing, refining, formation: it’s part of the package. From the letter to the Hebrews: “Although he [Jesus] was a Son, he learned obedience through what he suffered; and having been made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him…” (Heb. 5:8-9).

Recall this morning’s collect. That “we may continually be given to good works” isn’t a given—that’s why we have the Confession and Absolution. So we ask that God’s grace “may always precede and follow us.” We probably don’t want to pray that God’s grace “whip us into shape,” but there may not be much of a difference. (Having Vince Lombardi as one of our state’s patron saints may help us with this!)

So God is always testing, refining? That, Qoheleth would argue, claims too much knowledge. Is God going to pass on a good opportunity to test, to refine? Probably not.

Paul’s letter adds another dimension. He writes “even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained.” God’s passion for human freedom (recall the Exodus) generates opposition. Our options may be limited; God’s are not. Paul doesn’t understand why in God’s providence he’s chained like a criminal, but he does understand that God’s options are not thereby limited. And Paul’s decisions even within his limited options matter: “Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory.” In passing, most of us probably underestimate the effect our decisions have on those around us. In the midst of all that he doesn’t know, Paul knows that his decisions—and Timothy’s—matter.

I opened this sermon with “What is God up to today?” The story that we tell at every Eucharist, whether in the Creed or the Eucharistic Prayer, gives us the broad outline, placing us somewhere between “Christ is risen” and “Christ will come again.” We met that broad outline in today’s readings, whether in the joyful memory of the Exodus, Jesus’ “Go and show yourselves to the priests,” or Paul’s forward look to “the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory.” But within that broad outline, today? Qoheleth: “All this I have tested by wisdom; I said, ‘I will be wise,’ but it was far from me. That which is, is far off, and deep, very deep; who can find it out?” (Eccl. 7:23-24). Perhaps we’re with the exiles, in Babylon by the Lord’s decision. Perhaps we’re in the middle of that proving and refining described by the psalm, wondering about the wisdom of having prayed “that your grace may always precede and follow us.” Perhaps we’re with Paul, in a situation where it’s good news that while our options are painfully limited, God’s are not.

The point, of course, is not to celebrate our ignorance, but to recognize that it’s not unfamiliar territory for God’s people. And in the midst of this ignorance our decisions still matter. So we might start with this: when grace does meet us, whether in small ways or great, are we there with the Samaritan at Jesus’ feet, giving thanks, or with the other nine, leaving Jesus scratching his head?

But rather than invite an “Amen,” perhaps a postscript is necessary. To confess ignorance is not to underwrite passivity, as two of my favorite Old Testament protagonists show us.

Nehemiah is a layperson in the Persian civil service. He makes no claim that God has asked him to do anything. But he sees an opportunity, wrangles a royal charter, and rebuilds Jerusalem’s walls.

Esther and her cousin Mordecai are Jews living in the Persian capital. Through a strange series of events she becomes queen, and then learns of a planned genocidal attack on her people. The Lord’s name does not even appear in the book, but rather than go to ground she uses her position to thwart the attack, as celebrated even today in the annual feast of Purim.

Qoheleth got it right: we often haven’t a clue what God’s currently up to. But Qoheleth also gets this right: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do with your might” (Eccl. 9:10a).