Permanence

I haven't posted for a while, and I'm not sure I've ever posted anything that wasn't a commentary Scripture.  (I started the blog to assist my last congregation in Bible reading, after all.)  However, this quote is on my mind.  It's from Wendell Berry's A Place on Earth.  If you haven't read Berry, you should.  I haven't read his non-fiction, but his fiction is a wonderful observation of the meaning of community and the human cost when community is lost.  Anyhow, this exchange happens between Mat Feltner and his daughter-in-law, Hannah, as he is describing a farming mistake that his son, Virgil, had made which resulted in a landslide.

"'Finally, I put my arm around him and I said, Be sorry but don't quit.  'What's asked of you now is to see what you've done and learn better.'  And I told him that a man's life is always dealing with permanence--that the most dangerous kind of irresponsibility is to think of your doings as temporary.  That, anyhow, is what I've tried to keep before myself.  What you do on earth, the earth makes permanent.'  He laughs, and looks at Hannah, 'Every time I make a mistake, that gets more painful to believe.'"

I've come to see the wisdom there.  I've certainly been guilty of not seeing the permanence in my actions.  Theologically, I tend to think on my feet.  I tend to talk until I've worked out an answer.  I notice this especially in Bible study, but sometimes I find it happening in sermons, too.  I say something for shock value, to elicit a gasp, to gain attention, and I forget that words once spoken can't be unspoken.  Said another way, I'm struggling to understand that nothing is purely academic.  A preacher talks about suffering as an academic, bloodless subject at his own peril because he is talking to a roomful of sufferers.  A preacher who discourses on the fate of the unbeliever better reckon with the reality that his hearers include a lot of folks who know a lot of folks about whose salvation they are less than certain.  Frankly, it's one of the reasons I don't talk much about politics:  what I take as obviously ill-advised, another may take as equally obviously wise--and a word once spoken is permanent.

Every word is spoken into a context.  Some contexts we can identify and address.  Some contexts surprise us when a landslide opens at our feet.  Everything is personal for someone.  I wish I were better at anticipating the many contexts in which my words will be heard than trying to clean up the landslide.

1 Chronicles 21

            The key thing that the Chronicler highlights here is the way that David chose and acquired the future site for the temple.  That’s part of a larger agenda that will play out over the next few chapters, an agenda to demonstrate that it could just as well be called David’s temple:  he might not have built it, but he was integral to its planning in all phases.
            I suspect, though, that the thing a modern reader will come away with is a question about responsibility.  After all, 2 Samuel 24 says that the Lord incited David to take the census and 1 Chronicles 21 says that Satan stood against Israel.  Which is it?  God or Satan?  Remember that Satan is less a name and more a job description; the word means ‘accuser.’  So, let me throw this out there:  the Satan/the accuser/the prosecutor stood before the Lord and accused Israel of wrongdoing.  Two things to note:  according to Job 1-2, this seems to be exactly what the Satan did.  Second, he probably wasn’t making things up; he probably had all sorts of evidence about worship at high places, etc. to present.  Under this construction, Satan stood against Israel (1 Chron. 21:1); his accusations angered the Lord, who suggested a test, namely, a census to see if David would trust Him.  David failed the test, but repented when he saw the tragedy being inflicted on his people.
            Now, I think that reconstruction is fair to the biblical evidence, but it’s not terribly helpful in sorting through whether God or Satan is responsible for inciting David.  Lutheran theology teaches that God does not tempt for evil but that He does offer tests for good.  Further, it’s a safe statement to say that Satan uses any such test from God as an opportunity to undermine faithfulness.  (That’s certainly what happens in Genesis 2-3:  the Lord sets a boundary that man may honor Him and Satan is right there challenging the boundary.)  Now the distinction between test and tempt is a fine theological distinction, but it’s a little hard to make in practice.  When you’re in the midst of trial, it’s hard to sort out, “Is God offering me a chance to do what is right, or is Satan tempting me to do what is wrong?”  The answer, unfortunately, seems to be, “Yes.”  Sin/Satan seizes the opportunities presented by God’s command to lead us astray (Romans 7:8).

1 Chronicles 18-20

            Chronicles sets out to demonstrate God’s faithfulness to David, and, in the bargain, the Chronicler highlights David as a paradigm of faithfulness, too.  Consequently, a lot of the less savory things David did are skipped over.  This is very clear in today’s reading.  2 Samuel 10 records the war with Ammon and Syria (1 Chronicles 19-20), and 2 Samuel 21 records the war with the Philistines (1 Chronicles 20).  But from 2 Samuel 11 to 2 Samuel 20 we have the stories of David’s adultery, and Tamar’s rape, and Absalom’s revolt—not David’s finest hours!

            This is as good a test case as you’ll find for the idea that the biblical writers wrote for particular purposes, purposes of which we should be aware.  So, neither the author of Samuel nor the Chronicler are interested in history—as we moderns consider history.  Modern history is concerned with neutrality.  (Although I’d argue that historians are not as objective as they like to think; I’m reading a book about American foreign policy in China in the early 20^th century, and while the author is trying hard to balance his approach, his biases do show.  He’s eager to show how, mistakes and all, American policy was fairer to the Chinese than European policy.  I can’t help but think that a Chinese historian would write a considerably different story.)  Anyhow, the writer of Samuel and Kings wants to show that the problems Israel faced were not about military or political issues but about faithfulness to the Lord.  The writer of Chronicles wants to highlight the special place that David occupies in God’s interaction with Israel.  We moderns might call that propaganda; the Bible calls it good story-telling.

            In practical terms, it’s a good lesson on the 8^th Commandment.  The Catechism’s explanation of that Commandment states that we keep it when we put the best construction on everything.  I wonder how willing we are to leave aside the more sordid elements of a story to highlight the positive ones?

1 Chronicles 1-4

            What an unfortunate choice!  To start blogging again in the week that my Today’s Light reading has me running through the first four chapters of 1 Chronicles.  Now if you read the reading, or if you just remember Chronicles, you know that Chronicles 1-9 is almost completely lists of names—genealogies, and very detailed genealogies, at that.  To add insult to injury, the genealogies are not even strictly chronological.  From 2:3-3:24 you have the line of Judah through the kings of the southern kingdom.  Then, without warning, in 4:1 you’re back in Judah’s day with the rest of his clans.  What gives?

            Well, hard as it is to read, it strikes me that there is method in this madness.  I read in an online edition this morning, and the layout wasn’t helpful.  But tonight I’m looking at an NIV print edition, and the editors have titled the text helpfully.  What they have made clear is the Chronicler’s desire to highlight God’s faithfulness to His promises, especially as those promises flow through David.  So, we go from Adam to Noah—that’s easy enough.  Then, the sons of Shem come in for extended treatment, culminating in Abraham.  The Chronicler dispenses with Abraham’s ‘other’ sons briefly, and then gets to Isaac and his boys, Esau and Jacob.  Again, Esau is taken care of first (all the way to Edom, because Edom is a ‘frenemy’ of Israel—ask your teenager what a frenemy is), but the real story is Jacob and his boys, especially Judah, through whom the promise continues to David and to the exile.

            The point of the whole thing, then, is to remind the reader that God has been at work on His promise to restore humanity for a long time.  Given that Chronicles is written in the period after the exile (cf. 2 Chronicles 36:22-23), this was a welcome word for the recipients.  Their temple was a shadow of its former self; their nation was a mere puppet under foreign governance; shoot, until the time of Nehemiah (around 430 B.C.), their city didn’t even have a wall.  Surely, they were thinking (sarcastically), “This is some fine blessing!  Sure we’re the people of God.  Absolutely.  Anyone could see it.”  The Chronicler reminds them that God’s been faithfully working on this story for a long time.  Even if the recipients don’t know what God’s up to, they should rest assured that He knows what He’s up to.

            Not a bad pay off for us either:  We may not know what God’s up to, but we know what He’s done in Jesus, and we know where the stories headed (the final restoration).  We can take comfort in God’s faithfulness to His promises and we can take hope in that, too.

2 Samuel 6

            The notes in The Lutheran Study Bible pointed out something important about the transportation of the ark from the house of Abinadab to the Jerusalem:  the Israelites transported the ark on an ox-drawn cart—just like the Philistines had.  The ark had rings and poles by which it was supposed to be carried by the Levites.  By the time of this incident, Israel has clearly forgotten how to handle their own sacred vessels.  The fact that David had a tent prepared in Jerusalem (2 Sam. 6:17) raises some hard question about whether this was the tabernacle or not.  (The commentators in The Lutheran Study Bible think not.)  So, perhaps the Lord’s patience is already a little frayed, helping to explain the death of Uzzah.  Certainly there’s a lesson here about paying attention to the Word of God.  Don’t want to run afoul of the Lord?  Remember what He said!

            A second note is David’s self-abandonment in his joy over the ark of the Lord.  It seems to me that David saw himself as dancing before the Lord while Michal thought he should be more concerned about men.  But that’s exactly what’s right with David (at least for a while yet).  He sees himself first of all standing before God and his standing before God determines his actions before men.  That’s a good lesson for us, too.  Your identity and your calling come first from God.  Too often we let our identity before men determine our relationship with God.

            Finally, I don’t know if this foreshadows trouble for David or not, but I do wonder why he offered sacrifices and not a priest.  When Saul did that, it was less than commendable.  Why does David get away with it?  (Other kings will do the same thing, notably Solomon, David’s son.)  The three great offices of the Old Testament are distinct:  prophets speak God’s words to the contemporary age; priests make sacrifices and instruct in God’s Word, and kings rule.  David seems to be taking over an office that didn’t belong to him.  He wasn’t even a Levite, much less a priest!  Lessons?  Perhaps simply to recognize the limits of one’s own vocation.  As a citizen, it’s not my right to determine that a law doesn’t apply to me; as an employee, it’s not my prerogative to complain about a new direction that management is taking us; as a child (hypothetically), it’s not my place to tell my parents what they need to do to raise me.  As a king, it’s not David’s place to offer sacrifices, although in this instance he is not criticized for it.

Timing

            David was 30 when he became king in Hebron (2 Samuel 5:4).  Considering he was young enough to escape his father’s notice when Samuel came anointing, he had probably waited 15-20 years for his chance.  After a certain age, that doesn’t seem like quite so long, but it seems like forever when you’re 30!  And still, it was going to be another 2 years until he unified Israel, and 5 years after that that he would occupy Jerusalem, and some years after that that he finally subdued the Philistines and the rest of his enemies.  The first thing that strikes me, then, is the sheer length of time that the Lord takes to work out his promises.  Since we live in an era when communication is instantaneous and everything happens fast, the notion of waiting 20-40 years for God’s promises to work themselves out boggles the mind.  I find myself content to be the age I am now because I can look back at events 25 and 15 years ago with a certain detachment, a certain wisdom, a certain insight that I lacked when I was going through them.  Time to reflect and consider and grow is a great gift of God.

            The second thing that I’ll point out is more a historical reflection.  I have argued in Bible class that Israel was at best a loose confederation of tribes during the time of the judges—nearly 300 years.  Even Saul doesn’t seem to have really unified the tribes into a nation.  It is David who finally, after a 2 year civil war with all sorts of political intrigues, unites the tribes into a cohesive kingdom.  If you’re looking for meaning in that, I guess part of the meaning is that the Lord doesn’t just work along the relatively short timelines of human lives (20-40 years); He also works on the much longer timelines of nations’ lives (hundreds of years).  And, if we could stretch it a little bit, He works on the timeline of the eons that run from Creation to New Creation.  To read the story of David is, at least in part, to be reminded not to crowd God’s timing.  He works at His pace, for His purposes.  When it suits Him, He lets us see what He’s up to.

Mixed Motives

            David’s response to Saul and Jonathan’s deaths is mixed.  He executes the Amalekite messenger and he grieves deeply for Saul and Jonathan.  Those things are matters the text makes clear.  On the other hand, David’s motivations are ambiguous.  Some have suggested that David’s reluctance to slay Saul, ‘the Lord’s anointed,’ is self-serving.  After all, David himself is the Lord’s anointed, and he doesn’t want to set a dangerous precedent.  It wouldn’t do him any good if people had it in their heads that they could assassinate the king with impunity.  He needed to demonstrate that killing the king was an act against the Lord Himself.

            There may certainly be a streak of self-service in David, but the story of Samuel is an overwhelmingly positive portrait of David.  On the positive side, David is pretty clearly motivated by grief.  He had loved Jonathan as a brother, and, despite all the trouble between them, he seems to have carried a genuine affection for Saul with him, too.  His lament at the end of 2 Samuel 2 is one of the great poems of world literature and expresses his deep grief over the loss of his friend, his king, and the fortunes of his nation along with the king.

            Finally, and probably most importantly, we ought not lose sight of the fact that David is motivated by his own trust in the Lord and in his ways.  He’s been described as a man after God’s own heart.  So, his grief over the Lord’s anointed is not just self-serving or personal, but it is also a reflection of God’s own grief over the fact that Saul had rebelled against Him.  (God’s hope seems to spring eternal.  No matter how often the representatives of Israel fail to live up to his expectation, He always seems to hope that the next one will rise to the occasion.)

            On that last point, it’s important to see that God’s hope is focused not in the progression of failures.  God’s hope is focused in the One to whom all of Israel led—Jesus.  So, God’s is not just a sunny optimism about humanity’s better nature.  Instead, His hope moves determinedly forward to the Faithful Israelite.  In the same way, Christian hope is not just sunny optimism, but a determination to see the world in light of Jesus’ resurrection and all that that means for the future of the world.

            On other point of application:  if David’s motives are ambiguous, we probably shouldn’t be surprised if we can’t figure out why exactly we do the things that we do.  Sometimes we act out of self-preservation.  Sometimes we act out personal emotional engagement.  Sometimes we act out of faith in the Lord.  And most often we act out of all three at once.  So, for example, I have a hard time criticizing other pastors—first, because I know that if I criticize, I open myself to criticism; second, because I fear the further undermining of the Office; finally, because I know that I am called to speak for the building up of my brothers and sisters in Christ.

From Humble Origins

            David was the eighth son.  While 1 Samuel doesn’t make any big deal about that fact, there is the general biblical convention that 7 is the perfect number.  David is one son too many.  Even his father doesn’t count him when the prophet calls for the boys.  In fact, all the seven older brothers looked like good candidates—tall and handsome.  Of course, we know how well those criteria worked out with Saul!

            But ‘the Lord sees not as man sees:  man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.’  What a gift that would be!  To see things as they really are instead of seeing them by the light of the fallen world!

            We see things by the world’s measures:  is the company profitable?  How profitable?  Is the girl pretty?  How pretty?  The world is always surprised when its measurements fail, too.  Consider Bernie Madoff.  There’s a success story—on the outside, at least.  But when reality strikes and we discover it was all a house of cards and a scam, we ask, “Why didn’t we see this coming?”  We don’t see it coming because we measure the wrong things.  What the Lord values are faithfulness, integrity, humility (the list could go on).

            So here’s David, of so little consequence that his dad doesn’t even bother to bring him in from the fields.  But his heart is ‘like the Lord’s.’  When he faces Goliath, he doesn’t rely on the usual trappings of power—armor and swords, he relies on name of the Lord.  And the Lord blesses the work of his hands.

            In this David becomes a type, a foreshadowing of Jesus.  Isaiah prophesies regarding the coming Messiah, “He will delight in the fear of the LORD. He will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears; but with righteousness he will judge the needy, with justice he will give decisions for the poor of the earth. He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth; with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked” (NIV Isaiah 11:3-4).  In the most unexpected way—as a crucified criminal—Jesus looks like he is of no account; but in becoming of no account, he does exactly the thing that the Father wanted.

God's Purpose among Questionable Characters

            Saul’s such a great choice for a king.  After all, as Kenny Mayne often comments on SportsCenter, “He’s tall.”  Also, his dad’s rich.  He must be a good choice.

            On the other hand, he takes direction from a servant, he’s from Gibeah—infamous from the end of Judges—and, when the lot falls to him, they find him hiding among the baggage.  (In Saul’s defense, there is a long history of avoiding office among God’s people:  Moses famously tries to talk God out of it; St. Augustine (early 5^th century) was corralled into priesthood almost against his will and very reluctantly became bishop.  I’ve often commented that if my primary concern was my own spiritual well-being, I would have avoided the Ministry.)  Then, having been anointed, he returns to his home.

            The monarchy is off to a grand start, and to make it worse, Samuel goes all Richard Nixon on the people of Israel:  “You won’t have old Samuel to kick around anymore!”

            Reading Israel’s history makes life in the church a little easier.  After all, it’s pretty clear that there’s no golden age for Israel.  They’re as much God’s problem as the means for His solution.  The same thing holds in the church.  At any given time, it is populated by reluctant leaders, questionable choices, and prickly personalities.  But, through all that, the Church is still called to be the instrument by which the Lord shares His good news with the world.

We Want a King!

            1 Samuel 8 is a fascinating chapter.  First off, it’s fun to speculate about the character of Samuel.  Samuel is presented as this great paragon of faithfulness.  He is committed to the Lord’s service by his faithful mother.  He listens to God’s words.  God does not ‘let any of Samuel’s words fall to the ground’ (3:19).  He subdues the Philistines and Amorites.  He judges Israel ‘all the days of his life’ (7:15).  But, he tries to establish a dynasty, setting up his sons after him.  In this he is no better than old Eli, and you could make the case that he’s worse:  Eli, at least, was a priest; his sons were supposed to follow him!  Further, Samuel gets all bent out of shape when Israel asks for a king, and it’s hard to tell exactly why.  The Lord reminds him, “It’s me they’ve rejected, not you,” and one gets the impression that Samuel’s pique is more about the rejection of his sons than about the request for a king.  When he recounts all the abuses a king will bring—high taxes, forced labor, military conscription—he seems a little too eager, as if he’s trying to say, “You’ll see.  My boys aren’t so bad!”  All of that may be unfair to Samuel, but it’s fun to speculate about. . . .

            What’s more important is that 1 Samuel 8 records Israel’s demand for a king.  The Lord nails it.  “It’s me they’ve rejected.”  After all, the way that Israel was constituted at Sinai, the Lord was to have been their king.  And one of the huge underlying points of the Sinaitic laws was that Israel was to be God’s specially chosen people, living out of step with the world, but living as a shining example of what it means to be in the right relationship with the Lord.  So, the “like the other nations” bit is a rejection of their own unique place in God’s purposes.  We have seen the pressure throughout Joshua and Judges to be like the other nations; here Israel completely caves in and embraces it.

            If you’ve ever heard me talk about the problems of Israel, if you’ve ever heard me preach about Jesus’ proclamation of the kingdom of God over against the way that Israel perceived what that phrase meant, you’ll know that this request for a king sets Israel on a path that will influence and distract that for the next thousand years until Jesus finally demonstrates in His suffering and death what it really means to be Israel!

I won't be posting anything today or tomorrow.  Other responsibilites need attention.  I'll get back on Monday.

Not as Beat as You Think

            Here’s an insight from The Lutheran Study Bible:  when the idol of Dagon falls face down before the ark of the Lord and his head and hands are lying cut off—this is a lot more than a little oopsie with the furniture.  Falling facedown before the ark suggests that Dagon had submitted himself before one who was more powerful, namely, Yahweh of Israel.  When the next morning his head and hands are cut off—not broken off, mind you, cut off—we are looking at the military defeat of the Philistine god.  (Dismemberment was absolute proof of death, and David cut off the head of Goliath.)  So whether the Philistines prefer to think that their god was whupped by the God of Israel or whether they prefer to think that he voluntarily kowtowed to Him, the point is rather the same:  your god doesn’t stand much of a chance, so don’t read too much into having captured Yahweh’s ark.

            As a matter of fact, the Philistines wouldn’t have defeated Israel with the Lord’s allowance.  He’s the one who raises up and casts down; He’s the one who disciplines His people like a father.  And to prove the point, he afflicts the people in 3 of the 5 Philistine cities.  The message seems clear:  you didn’t win; I taught a lesson.

            I find it helpful in times of trouble to remember that ultimately God’s enemies don’t win.  He may allow them the upper hand—sometimes for a lot longer than I’m comfortable with.  (Maybe that’s the case because I’m a slow study.)  But ultimately they don’t win.  I think that’s a big part of the Easter message:  you can kill the Son of God, but death can’t hold him; and if death can’t hold him, it can’t hold me, either.  I know it’s hard to live with that confidence in ultimate, end-time victory.  We would naturally appreciate the occasional taste of victory, but even in the absence of that, we are called to live as ‘more than conquerors’ (Rom. 8).

Without Glory

            Three interesting bits in today’s reading.  First, completely unimportant in the grand scheme of things, but 1 Samuel 4 gives us the origin of the name “Ichabod.”  (You remember Ichabod Crane, from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, right?)  Literally, the name means “No glory,” i-chabod.  The capture of the ark is one of the real low points in Israel’s history.  The ark is the seat of God’s glory, His gracious presence.  So, the capture of the ark literally means that the glory of god has left Israel.  Not to mention that such an ignominious defeat at the hands of the Philistines stole even Israel’s human glory!

            Second, a comment might be necessary about the Philistines and how they knew about Israel’s history from several centuries prior.  The best guess is that the Philistines were a sort of combination of Semitic people who had originally lived on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea and generally Greek peoples who had migrated in the 13^th and 12^th centuries BC.  So, they would have had historical, cultural memory of the Conquest by Israel, and they would have had the more advanced technology of a people who entered the Iron Age ahead of the Israelites.

            Third, and probably most important, is one little word—“it.”  In verse 3, the Israelites say that “it,” that is, the ark, will save them.  Not the Lord, whose ark it is and whose presence the ark represents, but the ark itself.  Pretty clearly Israel has fallen into superstition and idolatry.  The ark has become for them a talisman, a good luck charm.  Truly the glory has left Israel!

Samuel as Type of Christ

            Luke clearly had the beginning of Samuel in the back of his mind when he wrote his Gospel.  Consider the way that Mary’s song (Luke 1:46-56) echoes Hannah’s song.  Here are two woman, each of whom experiences a miraculous pregnancy, each of whom bear a son uniquely dedicated to the Lord, and each of whom sing about the saving power of God and the way that brings a reversal of fortunes—filling the hungry, sending the rich away empty; bringing down princes, raising the lowly.  Consider that Samuel serves the Lord from youth at the tabernacle and that Luke alone records the stories about Jesus’ circumcision and about his 12-year old encounter in the temple.  Consider that Samuel grows with the Lord with him and that Jesus grows in wisdom and stature with God and men.

            What’s Luke up to?  I’d suggest that he wants us to see Jesus fulfilling the story of Israel.  In Samuel’s day, you have chaos, disorder, Israel almost completely ‘off-mission.’  In Samuel’s day, you have a dearth of visions from God.  In Samuel’s day you have corrupt leadership.  Over the course of Samuel’s book, Israel will eventually discover her one great king, David, the shepherd-king, who has a heart like God’s (1 Samuel 13:14).  In Jesus’ day, all those conditions pertain, too:  corrupt leadership centered in the temple, Israel living ‘off-mission,’ a long time (400 years) since there was a writing prophet.  And as the Gospel progresses, we’ll discover the one great king, Jesus, the shepherd king, who will lay down His life for the sheep.  And He won’t just restore Israel’s earthly fortunes, He will fulfill her purposes for the whole world, beginning the establishment of the merciful reign of God over the earth.  1 Samuel 1-3 are important foreshadowings of the work of the Messiah.

Misunderstood Hannah

            Poor, misunderstood Hannah!  Her husband comes across as a bit of an oaf.  He knows that she grieves her lack of children.  He even gives her a double portion of the sacrifice to make up for it.  But there’s never a word that he rebukes or reprimands Penninah for continually mocking Hannah, and he makes a comment that just completely doesn’t fit his context:  “Aren’t I worth more to you than 10 sons?”  Look, that sentiment flies in the modern world, in which we value children differently than in the ancient world.  (Sometimes moderns talk about children as if they’re an accessory—not the outfit itself, but just something to make the outfit look better.)  Of course Hannah’s going to say, “No, you’re not better than 10 sons.  Get over yourself.”

            Then, there’s the other woman, Penninah, who has lots of children and loves to rub Hannah’s nose in it.  The whole thing is clearly reminiscent of Rachel and Leah.  One wonders if perhaps the same dynamic is at work, if Elkanah favors Hannah more than Penninah.  Given the way the story unfolds—that the child of the barren woman becomes a great figure for the deliverance of Israel—it seems we’re supposed to have Jacob’s story in mind.

            And, there’s the priest, Eli.  In the ancient world, you prayed out loud, not silently.  In the same way, you read out loud, not to yourself.  (This is exactly opposite of how we typically do it in the modern world.)  So, because Hannah is weeping and praying silently, Eli accuses her of drunkenness.

            But all Hannah wants is the Lord’s affirmation of her that comes with a child.  She is even willing (and does!) give the child back.

            In that way, I suppose, Hannah isn’t all that different from us.  I think that of all the things we value, unconditional affirmation is one of the top ones.  For Christians, that affirmation is found on the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus, which are the Triune God’s great declaration, “This is how much I value you.”

Ruth

            Given its location in the Scriptures, the book of Ruth shines like gem.  After all, after the horrors of Judges, this wholesome little story is like sunshine after a week of storms.  (Not incidentally, it has been raining here all week, and the sun is supposed to shine this afternoon and all day tomorrow!)

            Judges ends on the lowest of all notes:  there has been inter-tribal warfare, sexual sins in Gibeah that echo (loudly) the depravity of Sodom, idolatry, duplicity, and violence.  And that doesn’t account for the fact that a lot of the judges were a little . . . shady.  Ehud began in deceit, concealing his sword and striking the king of Moab in secret.  Barak hid behind Deborah’s skirt.  Samson—well, what are you going to say about a man dedicated to the Lord from before birth who loves all manner of pretty Philistine girls and has a temper to rival Al Capone?

            Now frankly, Ruth doesn’t start off so well, either.  The prime Israelite in the story is Naomi, but her faith has been so frayed and tried that she changes her name to “Bitterness,”  “Mara.”  It’s the foreign girl, who faithfully casts her lot with her former mother-in-law, who demonstrates the best things that God’s people are supposed to be.  “Where you go, I will go; your people will be my people; your God will be my God.”  If only the Lord’s own chosen people had had that same sense of dedication to Him and to one another!

            There is a faithful Israelite here, too.  That is Boaz, who shoulders the responsibility of his kinsman’s family.  (Ruth is less a love story than it is a story about accepting family responsibility.)  The point, I suppose, is that while the majority of the people are doing what is right in their eyes, the humble few—Boaz, Ruth, Naomi (when she comes to her senses)—are remaining faithful.

            Finally, there is the closing announcement that Ruth and Boaz are the ancestors of David.  David is not explained in Ruth, but the alert reader is supposed to know where the story is going, that David is the great king of Israel, the high point of their history.  While there is no king in the land, the Lord is working to rectify that condition by preparing the way for the one who has His own heart (1 Sam. 13:14).

            Light in the darkness, a faithful remnant in the land—that’s the way the Lord works.  He works that way a thousand years before Jesus, in the life and ministry of Jesus, and two thousand years after Jesus.

"Israel had no king."

            Judges 17-21 is bracketed by this sentence:  “In those days, Israel had no king and everyone did as he saw fit.”  The notice that there was no king is repeated in 18:1 and 19:1.  This is important for two reasons:  one historical, the other theological.

            Historically, throughout the period of the judges, Israel didn’t really exist as a cohesive nation.  There were no central governing institutions.  Instead they seemed to have existed as a loose confederation of semi-integrated—and often antagonistic—tribes.  Let’s stipulate at the outset that this picture seems at odds with the idea of a unified people coming out of Egypt.  Some scholars will use that as a way to drive a wedge into the historicity of the story.  They’ll argue, “Look, the Exodus thing is clearly a propaganda piece, because the historical reality is different.”  We could counter two ways.  First, we can stipulate that Moses has a different story to tell than the writer of Judges.  The former wants to emphasize the Lord’s gracious call to Israel; the latter wants to emphasize how bad things were.  Second, it is possible that the settlement of the land undermined whatever sense of unity had been there following the Exodus.

            Theologically, Israel did have king.  They just forgot to worship Him and treat Him as a king.  (You will have picked up, I’m sure, that the king in question is Yahweh, the God of Israel.)  That Israel doesn’t own Yahweh as king is a major theme through her history.  In a week or so, we’ll read 1 Samuel, and there the people will ask for a king—“like the other nations.”  In Judges this contradiction is demonstrated in the way that Micah builds an image and an idol just before the lack of a king is mentioned (17:5-6).

            The disorder and irreligiosity of Israel is further highlighted by the violence that Dan does to an unsuspecting people and by the brutality of a Levite and of the other tribes against Benjamin.

Belated Thoughts on Samson

            Samson is one of the least likeable judges—to me, at least.  He is headstrong, lustful,  and angry.  He insists on the woman from Timnah, regardless of his parents’ or his countrymen’s concerns.  He justifies his violent actions under the cloak of having been wronged himself.  He even demands that the Lord give him water.  He is the most un-Christ-like figure you can imagine.

            Yet, in one of those only-God moments, Samson becomes a type of Christ.  One hymn writer likened Samson tearing the gates off of Gaza to Jesus ripping off the gates death and hell.  The line goes, “Our Samson storms death’s citadel and carries off the gates of hell.”  And, a little more obviously, Samson dies, and in dying, destroys his enemies.  That event foreshadows the death of Jesus, which destroys sin and death itself.  I cited these lines from Samson Agonistes, by John Milton, on Good Friday:

                                                            all this
With God not parted from him, as was fear'd,
But favouring and assisting to the end. [ 1720 ]Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt,
Dispraise, or blame, nothing but well and fair,
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.

With Samson, the Lord was with him at the end and enabled him to perform a feat of strength one more time.  With Jesus, although He cried out in abandonment on the cross, in the end He committed His spirit to the Father.  So God was not parted from Him, either.

            I find myself strangely comforted by men like Samson.  I confess, I feel a little superior to Samson.  I generally have my temper under control, and I married a good Lutheran girl.  So, I haven’t got the obvious character flaws that Samson exhibits.  Then, I figure, if the Lord can accomplish his purposes through Samson, He can surely work with me.  Samson slaying 1000 Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey reminds us that it’s not the tool that matters—it’s the One who wields it.

Easter Break

I know it's been a few days since I posted.  I've been swamped with Holy Week services and sermons, and I'll be taking Easter Monday.  Tuesday, I'll be back with comments on Samson and the end of Judges.  Christ is risen!

Hardly a Pure Example

            We’re often looking for pure examples.  Aside from Jesus, we won’t find one—especially in Judges.  There are aspects of Jephthah’s story that inspire.  Here is an outcast, a man of shameful birth, surrounded by “worthless fellows” (11:3), and he is called to a high and noble task.  That’s inspiring.  It’s is comforting to think that the Lord can redeem us of the ash heap.  “He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap” (NIV; Psalm 113:7).  We gain hope for our own lives in the way that God uses the most ignoble tools for His purposes.

            Jephthah makes a principled and faithful appeal to the king of Ammon:  “The Lord gave us the land of Gilead 300 years ago.  If your god (Chemosh) was going to give it to you, he would have done it.”  That’s inspiring.  I think we’d all like to have the clarity to see God’s hand in our lives and the courage to say so out loud.

            But Jephthah makes a ridiculous vow to the Lord.  I mean, it’s not as if God needed Jephthah’s bargain to do what he had intended to do anyway.  Before he makes the vow, Judges has already told us that the Spirit of the Lord was on him.  There’s a tragic lack of necessity here.  Unfortunately, it’s a tragedy that we too often participate in.  It might not be quite so blunt as Jephthah, but most of us have said to the Lord, “If you . . ., then I . . .”  Somehow we miss that the logic of our dealings with the Lord is just opposite of that.  (Check out Ps. 50, about the fact that the Lord doesn’t need our sacrifices.)  The Lord says to us, “I have . . ., therefore, you will . . .”  The initiative is always His.

            There’s more to see here:  the tragedy is compounded by the fact that Jephthah has only the one child.  (Note how many of the judges have truckloads of children.)  She laments her virginity, that is, that she has borne no heirs to carry on the family name.  There’s the tragedy that Jephthah followed through on his ill-considered vow and killed his daughter—an affront to the Lord (Lev. 18:21).  There’s the battle with Ephraim, who tries to horn in on the credit for beating Ammon.  There’s the original “litmus test,” that is, the Shibboleth.

            There’s more to see, but let’s focus on Jephthah’s redemption and his faithful claim that the Lord had given Gilead to Israel, and let’s avoid his rash vows.  That will be task enough.

Contrasting Approaches

            What a contrast in stories in Judges 9-10.  In the first story, the sordid tale of Abimelech and Shechem, we have the Lord who allows a curse to be fulfilled.  Interestingly, aside from the note that the Lord sent an evil spirit between Abimelech and the Shechemites, the Lord is pretty isolated from the story.  It is portrayed largely from a ‘down-below’ perspective:  oppression and robbery and revolt and violence.  So, we see that the Lord often uses circumstances that are ‘natural’ to call His people to account.  (The whole question, “Why did God do this?” is a bit of a dodge in that it seems to want to absolve us—and humanity—of any responsibility.  Our race seems to do just fine in messing things up all by ourselves.)

            Contrast that with the beginning of the story of Jephthah.  There, humanity responsibility abounds.  Israel is not just worshipping Baal; it’s a veritable smorgasbord of idols!  And the Lord wants them to take responsibility.  He refuses to help and tells them to ask their other gods.  But, when they repent, we read, “He could bear Israel’s misery no more.”  Here the Lord is at center stage, and He is there to show mercy.  Humans, it turns out, are quite capable of disciplining themselves simply by suffering the consequences of their misdeeds.  But, only the Lord God of Israel is capable of saving.

Questionable Instruments

            One of the things that we notice about the judges is that the Lord chose men of questionable character.  Ehud is a sneak.  He hides his sword on the opposite that most men wear it and meets and kills the king of Moab in private.  (The king’s men are so duped that they think he’s taking a long time on the toilet.)  Barak hides behind a woman’s skirt, refusing to go to war unless Deborah comes with him.  And Gideon, well, he’s alternately a coward and a bully.  When we first meet him, he’s threshing in a pit to avoid detection; he accomplishes his first mission—destroying the Baal altar—at night because he’s afraid; and he asks for several signs—just to make sure.  On the other hand, he threatens the Israelites in Succoth and Penuel, and he retaliates against them before he’s even finished his business with Zebah and Zalmunna of Midian!

            What shall we make of these flawed heroes?  To start with, we can stop calling them heroes.  I know what we mean when we say ‘heroes of the faith,’ but I’m pretty sure the biblical writers don’t want us thinking these men are all noble and good, like Supermen of yore, fighting for truth, justice, and the Israelite way.  These are flawed, sinful men, whom God uses for His purposes.

            That’s the greater lesson, don’t you think?  On Saturday we’ll read about Samson, who slew 1,000 Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey.  The lesson?  God can use whatever He wants for His purposes.  So, Paul famously talks about having the treasure of the Gospel in clay jars.  We Christians ought to take some comfort in that.  He can use the ordinary for His purposes.  So, dads and moms who faithfully train their children in the faith through devotions, modeling, Sunday school attendance, and regular worship attendance are doing really ordinary things through which the Lord works.  Ordinary congregations, too, are the instruments through which the Lord accomplishes His saving work.  (You don’t need to be a 10,000 member mega-church for the Lord to accomplish what He wants.)

            The Lord’s use of the ordinary is at the heart of the Gospel.  It is difficult in these latter days to remember who ordinary crucifixion was—and how ignoble!  Lamentations 1:12, “Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by?”  Yep, on Good Friday, the suffering for a lot of the casual witnesses was nothing.  It was just, “Well, there go the Romans again.”  Tomorrow, our congregation will gather for the Lord’s Supper, another of those places where the very ordinary (bread and wine) contains the very extraordinary (the Lord’s body and blood).

            What we witness in Judges is the Lord’s typical M.O.:  “But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  He chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him” (NIV 1 Corinthians 1:27-29).

Setting the Table for Judges

            As we begin to consider the careers of the judges, we should probably start with a pretty basic question:  “What the heck’s a judge?”  The judges are apparently local, charismatic military leaders who lead portions of the Israelites in times of crisis.  Although the judges are described as leading Israel, the historical realities are more likely that they led particular tribes or coalitions of tribes.  (The relative autonomy of the tribes, the lack of unified action among them, and their resulting vulnerability to attack seems to be some of the factors that led them to desire a king in 1 Samuel.)  In addition, the judges are not dynastic, although Gideon’s family has pretensions.  Instead they are raised up for a certain time and place.  Finally, they are not national leaders, nor do they necessarily have ongoing administrative functions.

            The Lord raises these men (and one woman) up in response to Israel’s repentant cries.  They are repentant for their idolatry and their repentance is sparked by the Lord’s sending powers to oppress them.  So, throughout the book, we see the Lord acting both in Law (sending punishment on His idolatrous people) and in Gospel (sending redeemers to deliver them).  One of the ways that we can appropriately apply the book is to see how these local events draw us into the cosmic events, in which all humanity stands under the oppression of death because of our rebellion and in which the Lord sends Jesus as the One who will redeem us from the oppressor.

            There are twelve judges altogether—6 minor judges, who only get a few verses notice, and 6 major judges, who have more extended stories.  (Scholars count Othniel as a major judge, even though his story is only 5 verses long, presumably because he establishes the pattern for the remaining ones.)  Of the 5 major judges after Othniel—Ehud, Deborah, Gideon (and his son by a concubine, Abimelech), Jephthah, and Samson, we observe a ‘nesting’ pattern.  Ehud and Samson, the bookends, are lone warriors; their exploits are largely accomplished alone.  Deborah is a woman and Jephthah is the outcast son of a prostitute, so they are unlikely leaders.  At the center is Gideon, who, despite some ambiguity in his character, refuses to become king (8:22-23), and Abimelech, who tries to establish himself as king.

Raising the Children of Israel

            Let me comment on three things here in Judges 2:  first, the Lord’s threat in verse 3; second, the problem of the second generation; finally, the pattern of Israel’s national life throughout Judges.

            The first thing that struck me in this chapter was the Lord’s threat that He would no longer drive out the nations before Israel.  For a God who had been so terribly concerned to drive those nations out for the sake of safeguarding His promise, it seems odd that He would wash His hands of the whole business.  On the other hand, it’s not like the Lord is abandoning His promise or His people.  He is forcing them to grow up.  They have the safety and the beginning that they need to survive.  Now they have to experience for themselves the results of their bad behavior.

            I’ve often thought that parenthood is one of the best experiences for understanding the heart of the Lord, and here again I think that’s the case.  I find a parent of teens and pre-teens that we have crossed a line somewhere and that it is no longer responsible for me to cater to my children’s every whim and to save them from every mistake.  If I were to do those things, I’d simply be enabling them in an irresponsible lifestyle in which they expect that life has no real consequences.  So, I’m slowly learning to let them suffer the discomfort of cleaning up their own mistakes.  I think that’s what the Lord is doing in Judges 2 to Israel:  I think that’s what the Lord is sometimes up to in our lives.

            That brings us to the second thing I noted in today’s reading:  the problem of the second generation.  Joshua and all his generation died, and the next generation did not remember the Lord’s mighty deeds.  It’s interesting.  The church has always been multi-generational, and one of the deep Biblical concerns of the church is passing on the faith to the next generation.  On the other hand, there is a reality—in the Scriptures and in church history—that each generation must, in some ways, learn to trust the Lord for themselves. 

            I think a classic case of this was in early American history with the Puritans.  The Puritans, you’ll recall, were true believers.  They came to New England, and they were going to establish a “city on a hill,” “the kingdom of God here on earth.”  (Maybe I’ll write some other time about how misguided that venture was.  For the record, Lutherans would have some rather sharp things to say about the Puritan understanding of the kingdom and of the Gospel.)  Anyhow, the Puritans were true believers; they were here because they had consciously chosen to leave home and hearth.  Their children had not.  When you have based your whole life—church and society—on everyone being equally committed to your take on the faith, and you discover that your children aren’t, well, it leads to heartburn.  (The historical phenomenon is called the “Half-Way Covenant;” you can investigate it a little at this link:  http://www.u-s-history.com/pages/h1166.html.)

            Considering how much most of us want our children to embrace our values and our faith, and considering how much heartburn many of us experience when our children don’t embrace those things, I’d say this is an aspect of Christian experience that calls for prayer and creativity.

            Let me comment on my third thing briefly.  At the end of Judges 2, there’s a pattern that we’ll see repeated throughout the main part of Judges.  It’s introduced here in a fuller form, but it forms a sort of refrain through chapters 3-16.  1) Israel whores after idols.  2) The Lord sends foreign invaders to oppress them.  3) Israel cries to the Lord for relief.  4) The Lord raises up a judge to dispel the threat.  The Lord may be forcing them to grow up, but He never abandons them!

A Tale of Failure

            Judges is a different sort of book than Joshua.  In Joshua, we have indications that the Conquest is not complete, but the thrust of the book is that the Lord keeps His promises and gives Israel the land.  In Judges, the focus is on human failure—and will we witness human failure in this book!  So, Judah is successful in establishing its territory; they even go so far as to burn Jerusalem, which is not even part of their patrimony.  But nobody else finishes the job.  Benjamin won’t even expel the Jerusalemites, although we’ve just read that Judah did the hard work of conquering the city!  The low point seems to be Dan, who don’t just fail to take their land; they actually get repulsed back into the hills.  (The success of Judah might explain their later history:  they resist the temptations to idolatry longer and more successfully than the northern tribes, perhaps because at the beginning they drove out the Canaanites.)

            There are some hints in Judges 1 about why the job isn’t finished.  First, there is the passing comment about Judah maiming Adoni-bezek.  They cut off his thumbs and big toes, rendering him humiliated and unfit for military service.  The thing to notice, though, is that he says he did the same thing to 70 of his enemies.  Israel is starting to behave like the very people she is conquering.  Second, there is the statement in verse 28 that Israel enslaved the Canaanites.  Two problems with that.  1) The Israelites were supposed to destroy them or drive them out, so they’re compromising on God’s command.  2) They were supposed to remember that they had been slaves.  How ironic is it that they began to act like the oppressor?

As for Me and My House

            Many families have Joshua 24:15, “As for me and my house we will serve the Lord,” hanging in their homes.  It’s a nice sentiment and a great goal.  Joshua is a little skeptical about Israel’s chances for pulling it off, though.  So, verse 19, “Oh, you say you’ll serve the Lord, but you won’t.  You’ll get pulled into idolatry, and He’ll have to punish you.”  And Israel’s response, “No, really, we will!”

            Why is Joshua so skeptical about Israel’s chances of remaining faithful?  He has lived among them for a long, long time.  He’s seen how well they hold up under pressure, and he sees how they currently live.  Notice how consistent Joshua warns about  foreign gods?  In verse 23, he makes it explicit, “If you’re going to serve the Lord, you have to get rid of the idols currently in your homes.”

            So, if our families are going to serve the Lord, these many years later, we may need more than plaques on the wall.  We’ll have to create atmospheres that are dedicated to the Lord.  This is a little harder than in Joshua’s day.  In Joshua’s day, an idol was a literal statue.  Our idols are more subtle, but they are no less insidious in their effect on our relationship with the Lord.  Someone once observed, “Show me your calendar and your checkbook, and I’ll show you what you worship.”  Ask yourself what dominates your schedule and I’ll bet the top answers are work and recreation.  (In 2009 the Bureau of Labor Statistics reported that the average American worked 7 ½ to 8 hours a day, spent 2 to 2 ½ hours on household chores, and spent 5-6 hours on leisure activities—about 3 hours on average watching television.)  Now I doubt the BLS broke out spiritual activities, so they’re probably merged in with the leisure activities.  Still, there are an awful lot of other things vying for our attention.  (Consider how hard it is to find time to do these daily readings!)

            A really good question we may ask ourselves is, “If we are serious, that our households will serve the Lord, what ‘foreign gods’ will we need to put away to make that happen?”

An Ambiguous Witness?

The Transjordan tribes--Reuben, Gad, half of Manasseh--return home with Joshua's commendation still ringing in their ears.  They have done what they promised in helping the other 9 1/2 tribes conquer the land west of the Jordan.  How strange, then, that the people of Israel would immediately suspect the worst of them when they built an altar on the banks of the Jordan.

It seems to me that there are two cautionary tales here.  First, the people of Israel should not have assumed the worst possible thing about their brothers.  When Gad, Reuben, and Manasseh explain, "We were afraid you'd forget that we were Israelites, too," everything is cleared up.  I wonder how often we would be better off if we didn't leap to conclusions about people and their motivations?  At least the people of Israel had the good sense to ask what the 2 1/2 tribes were thinking before they made war on them.  It seems to me that we moderns too often make war with our words and in our hearts before we fully understand other people's motivations and points of view.

The second caution here is in the behavior of the 2 1/2 tribes, who were certainly not sensitive to the way that their actions might be perceived--either by the remaining tribes or by future generations.  Paul is clear, especially in 1 Corinthians and in Romans 14, how others perceive our actions needs to shape and control our actions.  While we don't want to find ourselves held captive by the misunderstanding or the refusal to understand of other people, we also don't want to barge ahead as if their impressions were unimportant.  Christian love compels us to explain why we do what we do and to hold back when we risk creating a rift.  Additionally, although the generation that built the "witness" altar didn't intend it as a counterpart to the Tabernacle, as I read, I wondered how their children would take that.  Given Israel's historic struggles with idolatry, I'm not sure an altar that's not supposed to be used as an altar will really stand the test of time.

Avenger of Blood

            The notion of the avenger of blood is apparently ancient.  The difficulty is that the term is literally, go’el, which seems to mean at its root “next of kin.”  Apparently, the next of kin had various responsibilities, one of which included avenging the unjust death of a family member.  Admittedly, I didn’t look high and low, but I couldn’t find a place where the Lord commanded that the go’el be an avenger of blood.  It seems to me, then, that the notion of the avenger of blood is one of those things that was in the culture around Israel (like polygamy) and that the Lord was taking steps to limit the effects of the practice by establishing a means by which an unintentional killer could escape the cycle of vendetta that plagued the ancient world.

            Aside:  one of my favorite Doonesbury cartoons is from the time of the Iraq war.  It goes something like this.  An American officer is scouting an insurgent location with an Iraqi chieftain.  The Iraqi says to the American, “I can’t promise to bring him in alive.  He murdered a member of my family, and I am duty-bound to avenge him.”  The American asks, “When did this happen?”  The Iraqi says, “1387.”  Clearly vendetta needs to have some limits placed on it!  (Wait a sec; here’s a link:  http://www.gocomics.com/doonesbury/2008/01/13/).

            Anyhow, what we have in the assignment of cities of refuge is one more attempt to make Israel less like the nations around her and more like the Lord who has chosen her.  Notice, too, that 5 of the 6 cities of refuge are also Levitical cities.  It’s just possible that the Levites, as the caretakers of the tabernacle and the teachers of Israel, were also supposed to more fully reflect the mercy of the Lord in their civic arrangements.

Alloting the Land

            Again, here are a couple of links to maps that illustrate today’s reading.  These two illustrate the allotments given to the various tribes.

http://mappery.com/map-of/Promised-Land-Hebrew-Settlement-Map

http://www.bible-history.com/geography/maps/map_canaan_tribal_portions.html

            While much of today’s reading is pretty dry—most of us have enough trouble with modern geography, much less ancient, local Israelite geography!—a few things do stand out.  First, notice the repeated emphasis that Levi did not receive an allotment (13:14, 33; 14:4).  I’m not sure what to make of that:  we knew it already.  On the other hand, it’s clearly pretty important to the Lord that Levi is dedicated to His service.  (Here’s a random thought:  I wonder if the old practice of parsonages is related?  I wonder if the idea is that those dedicated to the Lord’s service ought not be pre-occupied with homesteads and land?  I have heard from several sources that when the housing market crashed the number of pastors taking Calls declined significantly . . .  Like I said—random.)

            Another thing to notice is Caleb’s statement in 14:10, that the Lord had kept him alive ‘these 45 years.’  45?  The story would suggest that it’s only been 40:  spies reject God’s plan, 40 years in the wilderness, and the rapid conquest of the land.  However The Lutheran Study Bible has this footnote:  “It had been 38 years since the spying episode and 7 years since entering the land” (363).  Seven years!  You wouldn’t get that from a casual reading of Joshua!  Just goes to show that the biblical writers want to emphasis certain things.  In Joshua’s case, the book wants to emphasize how the Lord gave the land to the people in fulfillment of His promises.  Yet, there are these subtle comments that remind us it wasn’t all at once and it wasn’t all complete.  (That latter part will set the stage for the book of Judges next week.