The Samaritan in Luke 10 is a man not valued or respected in his society. You will notice that the expert in the law couldn’t even bring himself to name the Samaritan as the one who had been a good neighbour. He takes the roundabout route of answering Jesus’ question on that matter by saying that it was the one who had mercy on him. The Samaritan was not valued – and yet he gave freely to a stranger.
It is actually interesting to note that this whole story was about people who would be looked down on by the man who asked the question. He was an expert in the law. That’s what we’re told about him. Now, I actually find it fascinating that Jesus, who usually tried to connect so well with people, answers this man’s question with a story about a bunch of characters who he would have had no time for. If we look carefully, there are six characters, or groups of characters, in the story. Three play active roles and three really are in the background. If ever we have acted this out in Junior Church, Sunday School or whatever, and probably many of us have, then we probably have started with the robbers attacking the man and have seen that as the most active bit. In terms of dramatic action that might be so. However, in terms of the story it’s not. That is just background, context. The three active characters are those who come across the wounded man, the priest, the Levite and the Samaritan. Now the point is that this man was an expert in the law. We’re not actually told that he was a Pharisee, though that was the role that the Pharisees usually adopted. Certainly, if he wasn’t, as an expert in the law, he would have been alongside them. The priest and the Levite were part of the religious set-up, and we might imagine that this expert in the law, Pharisee or not, would align himself with them also. The priest and the Levite were associated with the temple – and, in fact, the Pharisees were often in tension with the temple and its cult. They concentrated on a very careful interpretation of the law, the torah, and weren’t much interested in anything that wasn’t focussed there. They looked for such a high standard that no one else could really get alongside them.
And, of course, the Samaritan would be really beyond the pale. Apart from the problems caused by his ethnicity, he was, most likely, like the wounded man, a trader. After all, why else would either of them be travelling that road? And traders weren’t up to much either. They were notoriously dishonest – and their itinerant lifestyle made it virtually impossible for them to observe appropriate standards of purity and hygiene.
Innkeepers were another despised group. Their whole lives and livelihoods centred around places where transients could find accommodation. Remember that, in the context of the times, the only people who would stay at an inn would be those who had no family in the area and no social or economic claims on anyone’s hospitality. They were needed, but it was very much a last resort.
And that only leaves the robbers. Again it is interesting to dig just very slightly into the context. In first century Palestine these probably would not have been simple muggers or highwaymen, but rather some of the roving terrorists staging their own form of protest against various types of official and unofficial exploitation of the poor. Strangely, this may even have been the one group in the parable that some of Jesus’ audience might have had some sympathy with. Maybe some of them had even done this Robin Hood type thing – setting on wealthy travellers in order to do a bit of unofficial redistribution of wealth.
But, even if there were some sympathetic to the robbers, it certainly wouldn’t include the lawyer who, doubtless, was a potential victim of such himself. So, in a sense, the story is not just about an unexpected neighbour – though that is a big element in it – but it is also about saying that everyone has a story, and that everyone has value.
Friday, 2 October 2009
Saturday, 26 September 2009
Learning from Nehemiah
Nehemiah plays a key role in the return of the Israelites to Jerusalem after the exile. His particular pioneer project is the rebuilding of the city walls. It seems an impossible project, but Nehemiah is convinced that it is the task to which he is called. He is fortunate enough to have friends in high places and so he goes and gains permission from the king. He then encourages and challenges others to get on with the job. It is a big task and there clearly is careful planning, and also hard work. He divides those who are working with him into teams giving them specific chunks – and so divides the task down into smaller achievable tasks. He is pretty single-minded. He endures ridicule. And he achieves what he sets out to do.
Nehemiah was an inspiring leader and he got those engaged in the wall rebuilding project to achieve what many would have long given up as impossible. Raymond Brown (in “The Message of Nehemiah” BST) suggests nine features of the task undertaken by these builders:
- Their priority – they worked out what they were going to do first, and so on.
- Their unity – people from a wide variety of backgrounds worked on the wall.
- Their individuality – they worked together, but brought their differences to the project.
- Their disappointment – it didn’t always go well.
- Their commitment – there was a lot of sacrificial giving.
- Their enthusiasm – they didn’t just start this project, they kept at it.
- Their privilege – they didn’t regard it as a gruelling chore, but as a priceless opportunity.
- Their reward – they got there.
What are the questions that arise from the story of Nehemiah? Perhaps some of them are these:
- What is the real aim, the mission statement?
- What’s going to happen if/when it doesn’t go well?
- How is the project an opportunity?
- What’s the end aim?
- How does it bring a range of people on board?
Nehemiah was an inspiring leader and he got those engaged in the wall rebuilding project to achieve what many would have long given up as impossible. Raymond Brown (in “The Message of Nehemiah” BST) suggests nine features of the task undertaken by these builders:
- Their priority – they worked out what they were going to do first, and so on.
- Their unity – people from a wide variety of backgrounds worked on the wall.
- Their individuality – they worked together, but brought their differences to the project.
- Their disappointment – it didn’t always go well.
- Their commitment – there was a lot of sacrificial giving.
- Their enthusiasm – they didn’t just start this project, they kept at it.
- Their privilege – they didn’t regard it as a gruelling chore, but as a priceless opportunity.
- Their reward – they got there.
What are the questions that arise from the story of Nehemiah? Perhaps some of them are these:
- What is the real aim, the mission statement?
- What’s going to happen if/when it doesn’t go well?
- How is the project an opportunity?
- What’s the end aim?
- How does it bring a range of people on board?
Tuesday, 21 July 2009
The Prodigal's Elder Brother - Luke 15:22-32
We all like celebrations except, of course, for those times when we don’t – those times when we’re not in the mood, those times when we feel left out, those times when we’d rather be doing something else. That’s how it was for the elder brother in Jesus’ famous parable of the prodigal son.
That is especially so in verse 25 and verse 28: "In the meantime the elder son was out in the field. On his way back, when he came close to the house, he heard the music and dancing. .... The elder brother was so angry that he would not go into the house; so his father came out and begged him to come in."
The story is well known. It is one of the all-time favourite parables. It’s a vivid account of a wayward son. But I’m not going to explore the whole story – because my interest at the moment is simply in the reaction of the elder son.
His father was quite clear. This was party-time. It didn’t matter what the younger son had done. I am sure that the father no more wanted to commend that than did his big brother. This isn’t about saying to him: what you’ve done doesn’t really matter. This about saying: you’re back. This is the joy of reunion. This is the joy of having the family complete again. For the time being, what has happened is irrelevant. What matters is to celebrate the moment. The party must have been thrown together pretty quickly, but then I suppose that’s what happens in such a situation. It is simply not relevant to plan and to wait.
And so, by the time big brother gets home from the day’s work, ready to watch the television, or whatever the first century equivalent was, the thing is in full swing. What’s happening? A natural question. But when he gets the answer it doesn’t provoke in him the remotest desire to join in. He is furious. He wants none of it. All his years of hard work have gone without any such reward. But now his waster of a young brother is back and the red carpet is rolled out. And the celebration is lavish. You don’t kill a calf unless you are throwing a big party!
This is the backdrop to a conversation between the father and his older son. The dilemma is that they are operating on different value systems. Of course, the father values all that the older son has contributed to the family business. Who wouldn’t? Of course, he recognises his commitment and loyalty. But he can’t help himself from jumping for joy because the younger son is back, This was a day that he had longed for, a day that he may well have thought would never come – we had to celebrate and be happy, because your brother was dead, but now he is alive; he was lost, but now he has been found.
In many ways I think that the challenge of this parable, and especially this last bit of it, is to recognise that God sees things differently from us.
I think there is an interesting parallel with another parable, that of the workers in the vineyard recorded in Matthew 20. That’s the one in which the vineyard owner progressively hired more and more workers through the day. Then, at the end of the day, he paid them all the same, giving rise to the inevitable view from those who had worked the longest that it wasn’t fair. They needed to learn: don’t I have the right to do as I wish with my own money? Or are you jealous because I am generous? Actually, it is pretty clear that they were jealous.
This story, like that one, almost invites our jealousy. Surely the father has been over-extravagant. Is it really necessary to offer such a lavish response to the younger son’s return? No wonder the older brother is angry.
I think, in the end, we are left with two key questions. The first question for me is about how the story ends. What happened? We’re not actually told whether the older son was persuaded by his father or not. Did he go in to the party or did he stick it out? We simply don’t know. We might like to think that the father’s happiness was made complete by some kind of reconciliation between the two brothers. That is certainly perfectly possible. There’s nothing that says it didn’t happen. But somehow, and in a sense I wish it were otherwise, that’s not the feeling comes over. The older son seems pretty dug in. As one of the commentators puts it: “The uncomfortable feeling lingers that perhaps there is still one lost son.”
The other question moves it on to the personal level. Where do we fit in to the story? What would we have done? It’s about our feelings now, our response. As one commentator puts it: “Well, where are you in the end? Inside, joining in the celebration, or stuck outside, hearing the music and dancing but too angry to go in?”
That is especially so in verse 25 and verse 28: "In the meantime the elder son was out in the field. On his way back, when he came close to the house, he heard the music and dancing. .... The elder brother was so angry that he would not go into the house; so his father came out and begged him to come in."
The story is well known. It is one of the all-time favourite parables. It’s a vivid account of a wayward son. But I’m not going to explore the whole story – because my interest at the moment is simply in the reaction of the elder son.
His father was quite clear. This was party-time. It didn’t matter what the younger son had done. I am sure that the father no more wanted to commend that than did his big brother. This isn’t about saying to him: what you’ve done doesn’t really matter. This about saying: you’re back. This is the joy of reunion. This is the joy of having the family complete again. For the time being, what has happened is irrelevant. What matters is to celebrate the moment. The party must have been thrown together pretty quickly, but then I suppose that’s what happens in such a situation. It is simply not relevant to plan and to wait.
And so, by the time big brother gets home from the day’s work, ready to watch the television, or whatever the first century equivalent was, the thing is in full swing. What’s happening? A natural question. But when he gets the answer it doesn’t provoke in him the remotest desire to join in. He is furious. He wants none of it. All his years of hard work have gone without any such reward. But now his waster of a young brother is back and the red carpet is rolled out. And the celebration is lavish. You don’t kill a calf unless you are throwing a big party!
This is the backdrop to a conversation between the father and his older son. The dilemma is that they are operating on different value systems. Of course, the father values all that the older son has contributed to the family business. Who wouldn’t? Of course, he recognises his commitment and loyalty. But he can’t help himself from jumping for joy because the younger son is back, This was a day that he had longed for, a day that he may well have thought would never come – we had to celebrate and be happy, because your brother was dead, but now he is alive; he was lost, but now he has been found.
In many ways I think that the challenge of this parable, and especially this last bit of it, is to recognise that God sees things differently from us.
I think there is an interesting parallel with another parable, that of the workers in the vineyard recorded in Matthew 20. That’s the one in which the vineyard owner progressively hired more and more workers through the day. Then, at the end of the day, he paid them all the same, giving rise to the inevitable view from those who had worked the longest that it wasn’t fair. They needed to learn: don’t I have the right to do as I wish with my own money? Or are you jealous because I am generous? Actually, it is pretty clear that they were jealous.
This story, like that one, almost invites our jealousy. Surely the father has been over-extravagant. Is it really necessary to offer such a lavish response to the younger son’s return? No wonder the older brother is angry.
I think, in the end, we are left with two key questions. The first question for me is about how the story ends. What happened? We’re not actually told whether the older son was persuaded by his father or not. Did he go in to the party or did he stick it out? We simply don’t know. We might like to think that the father’s happiness was made complete by some kind of reconciliation between the two brothers. That is certainly perfectly possible. There’s nothing that says it didn’t happen. But somehow, and in a sense I wish it were otherwise, that’s not the feeling comes over. The older son seems pretty dug in. As one of the commentators puts it: “The uncomfortable feeling lingers that perhaps there is still one lost son.”
The other question moves it on to the personal level. Where do we fit in to the story? What would we have done? It’s about our feelings now, our response. As one commentator puts it: “Well, where are you in the end? Inside, joining in the celebration, or stuck outside, hearing the music and dancing but too angry to go in?”
Monday, 20 July 2009
Doing Justice with Amos - Amos 5:21-24
Sentiments encouraging us to justice occur in many places in the Bible, but certainly not least in the prophets. I guess one of my favourite statements on this theme comes in the stirring words recorded by Amos in Amos 5:21-24 – "I spurn with loathing your pilgrim-feasts; I take no pleasure in your sacred ceremonies. When you bring me your whole-offerings and your grain-offerings I shall not accept them, nor pay heed to your shared-offerings of stall-fed beasts. Spare me the sound of your songs; I shall not listen to the strumming of your lutes. Instead, let justice flow on like a river and righteousness like a never-failing torrent."
Well, there’s not an awful lot held back here, is there? I spurn with loathing. I take no pleasure. I shall not accept. Spare me the sound of your songs. I shall not listen.
Amos is an interesting character. He began his prophetic task around the middle of the 8th century BC. He is the first of Israel’s prophets to have his words preserved in written form, though he was certainly not the first prophet. Elijah and Elisha were amongst those who had preceded him and, though there is some record of their activities, it is interesting that neither of them gets a book of their teaching preserved, while the likes of Amos does.
Though he is interesting, we actually know very little of Amos, only what we can glean from the nine chapters that make up his book. He is never mentioned in the historical books of Kings and Chronicles. His home was somewhere near Tekoa in the southern kingdom of Judah, though his prophetic ministry took place in the northern kingdom of Israel. He had something to do with sheep and fig trees. He apparently had visions and was involved in a confrontation with the priest at Bethel. He seems to have had a thing about the people going on pilgrimage to Bethel and their thinking that by engaging in a pilgrimage they could do just what they liked the rest of the time. Not so, says Amos, and he offers a clear call to a different way of living – in which the pilgrimage impacts on every other aspect of life. Amos has no time for what a friend of mine once called ‘Sunday Christians’.
He expects faith and worship to be lived out in everyday detail. Amos would have got on well with James. James 2:17 – "So with faith; if it does not lead to action, it is by itself a lifeless thing." Earlier in the chapter it is made clear that God’s concern is with what is going on inside the people, not with any external demonstrations of piety. That’s in Amos 5:4/5 – "These are the words of the Lord to the people of Israel: if you would live, make your way to me, not to Bethel; do not go to Gilgal or pass on to Beersheba; for Gilgal will surely go into exile and Bethel come to nothing."
Amos condemns the traditional holy places, clearly indicating that lifestyle is far more important than location. What matters is that the people behave themselves, not where they do it. There is a wealth of religion in verses 21 to 23. It’s what we might call Gilgal, or Bethel, religion. Festivals, sacrifices and music are all evident and abundant. There is no doubt that they went in for religion in a big way at Gilgal. They took it seriously. They gave full expression to their religious joys, singing songs to the accompaniment of harps. The vibrancy and excitement virtually communicates itself. One can almost hear them singing. Only God can’t. I doubt if there are any other Biblical passages that so vehemently and so lucidly express the divine distaste. I spurn. I shall not. Instead.
They went to Gilgal to be religious, but they left their religion behind when they went home. Pilgrims rolled in to the festivals, but justice and righteousness failed to roll out into everyday life and relationships. Therefore their religion stank so far as God was concerned. When, in verse 21, it says I take no pleasure in .. , that literally means ‘I will not breathe in the odour of’. God rejects the worship the people offer him, looking instead for justice and righteousness.
What are these? What is this about? In verse 7 there is a reference to you that turn justice to poison. This indicates justice as being something that involves the treatment of other people. Justice is right behaviour in relation to others. The good person wants what is good for others, what is good for the neighbours. That is what he works towards.
In the same verse 7 righteousness is depicted as something thrown to the ground –"you thrust righteousness to the ground." This suggests righteousness to be a standard or a norm that is rejected. This measure of how things are is not taken up.
Amos here offers a clear expression of what God will not countenance and what God demands. It is simply not possible to offer God worship while trampling justice underfoot. Amos rejects a cult that is too rich in ceremony. He is looking for something different. Amos’ remarks must have seemed monstrous to his contemporaries, as they called in question the whole religious life of the Israelities. Amos is wanting to press another way.
The trouble with the Gilgal theology is that it kept religion in a sealed compartment. It was an activity isolated from the rest of life. What we have here is a tick box kind of mentality. Do the religious bit. Do the worship bit, then tick it off and move on to something else. There is always a risk that chuch can be viewed like that. Fulfil your obligations, and then it doesn’t matter how you behave the rest of the time.
Amos is stunningly clear that that is not how things should be. That view, of course, puts him firmly in the prophetic tradition. He knows that such a stance was never God’s intention for his people. What is needed is joined-up thinking. Their faith and their lifestyle need to influence each other. Is Amos saying that worship is a waste of time? I don’t think so – not for one minute.
But he is saying that meaningless worhip is precisely that – meaningless. Their worship needs to be accompanied by justice and righteousness. Justice and righteousness must not be things of fits and starts. They must be a consistent feature of the nation’s life if its corporate and organised worship is to be pleasing to God, so maintaining a proper relationship with him.
The metaphor used for the impact of justice and righteousness is that of water. Justice is to flow like a river. Righteousness is to be like a never-failing torrent. This has been Amos’ complaint all along. The torrent is the stream that flows from the hills in flood when the rains come, but dries up in the hot, dry summer. Rather, it should be never-failing.
Well, there’s not an awful lot held back here, is there? I spurn with loathing. I take no pleasure. I shall not accept. Spare me the sound of your songs. I shall not listen.
Amos is an interesting character. He began his prophetic task around the middle of the 8th century BC. He is the first of Israel’s prophets to have his words preserved in written form, though he was certainly not the first prophet. Elijah and Elisha were amongst those who had preceded him and, though there is some record of their activities, it is interesting that neither of them gets a book of their teaching preserved, while the likes of Amos does.
Though he is interesting, we actually know very little of Amos, only what we can glean from the nine chapters that make up his book. He is never mentioned in the historical books of Kings and Chronicles. His home was somewhere near Tekoa in the southern kingdom of Judah, though his prophetic ministry took place in the northern kingdom of Israel. He had something to do with sheep and fig trees. He apparently had visions and was involved in a confrontation with the priest at Bethel. He seems to have had a thing about the people going on pilgrimage to Bethel and their thinking that by engaging in a pilgrimage they could do just what they liked the rest of the time. Not so, says Amos, and he offers a clear call to a different way of living – in which the pilgrimage impacts on every other aspect of life. Amos has no time for what a friend of mine once called ‘Sunday Christians’.
He expects faith and worship to be lived out in everyday detail. Amos would have got on well with James. James 2:17 – "So with faith; if it does not lead to action, it is by itself a lifeless thing." Earlier in the chapter it is made clear that God’s concern is with what is going on inside the people, not with any external demonstrations of piety. That’s in Amos 5:4/5 – "These are the words of the Lord to the people of Israel: if you would live, make your way to me, not to Bethel; do not go to Gilgal or pass on to Beersheba; for Gilgal will surely go into exile and Bethel come to nothing."
Amos condemns the traditional holy places, clearly indicating that lifestyle is far more important than location. What matters is that the people behave themselves, not where they do it. There is a wealth of religion in verses 21 to 23. It’s what we might call Gilgal, or Bethel, religion. Festivals, sacrifices and music are all evident and abundant. There is no doubt that they went in for religion in a big way at Gilgal. They took it seriously. They gave full expression to their religious joys, singing songs to the accompaniment of harps. The vibrancy and excitement virtually communicates itself. One can almost hear them singing. Only God can’t. I doubt if there are any other Biblical passages that so vehemently and so lucidly express the divine distaste. I spurn. I shall not. Instead.
They went to Gilgal to be religious, but they left their religion behind when they went home. Pilgrims rolled in to the festivals, but justice and righteousness failed to roll out into everyday life and relationships. Therefore their religion stank so far as God was concerned. When, in verse 21, it says I take no pleasure in .. , that literally means ‘I will not breathe in the odour of’. God rejects the worship the people offer him, looking instead for justice and righteousness.
What are these? What is this about? In verse 7 there is a reference to you that turn justice to poison. This indicates justice as being something that involves the treatment of other people. Justice is right behaviour in relation to others. The good person wants what is good for others, what is good for the neighbours. That is what he works towards.
In the same verse 7 righteousness is depicted as something thrown to the ground –"you thrust righteousness to the ground." This suggests righteousness to be a standard or a norm that is rejected. This measure of how things are is not taken up.
Amos here offers a clear expression of what God will not countenance and what God demands. It is simply not possible to offer God worship while trampling justice underfoot. Amos rejects a cult that is too rich in ceremony. He is looking for something different. Amos’ remarks must have seemed monstrous to his contemporaries, as they called in question the whole religious life of the Israelities. Amos is wanting to press another way.
The trouble with the Gilgal theology is that it kept religion in a sealed compartment. It was an activity isolated from the rest of life. What we have here is a tick box kind of mentality. Do the religious bit. Do the worship bit, then tick it off and move on to something else. There is always a risk that chuch can be viewed like that. Fulfil your obligations, and then it doesn’t matter how you behave the rest of the time.
Amos is stunningly clear that that is not how things should be. That view, of course, puts him firmly in the prophetic tradition. He knows that such a stance was never God’s intention for his people. What is needed is joined-up thinking. Their faith and their lifestyle need to influence each other. Is Amos saying that worship is a waste of time? I don’t think so – not for one minute.
But he is saying that meaningless worhip is precisely that – meaningless. Their worship needs to be accompanied by justice and righteousness. Justice and righteousness must not be things of fits and starts. They must be a consistent feature of the nation’s life if its corporate and organised worship is to be pleasing to God, so maintaining a proper relationship with him.
The metaphor used for the impact of justice and righteousness is that of water. Justice is to flow like a river. Righteousness is to be like a never-failing torrent. This has been Amos’ complaint all along. The torrent is the stream that flows from the hills in flood when the rains come, but dries up in the hot, dry summer. Rather, it should be never-failing.
Saturday, 18 July 2009
Building God's House: Or Not? - 2 Samuel 7
At the time of 2 Samuel 7 David is an important character. He has settled down. He has made it. He is, as the first verse of 2 Samuel 7 puts it, 'established in his palace'. This is a fascinating passage, this account in 2 Samuel 7 of what happens when David tells the prophet that he wants to build a place of worship.
David is now a formidable force on the world scene. He is an established figure politically. As the latter part of 2 Samuel 7:1 puts it, 'the Lord had given him security from his enemies on all sides'. Things have gone well for David and he’s enjoying the prosperity. He’s enjoying the power. He is very happy with what he has achieved. It’s a settled period and roots are being put down.
David is doing quite nicely, but a pang of guilt suggests to him that perhaps he has not done too well by God. David is feeling a bit guilty that he has invested so much in his own comfort, but done nothing about the provision of an appropriate worship space.
The people have moved on – so that they are not now moving on all the time, but God, as it were, has apparently been left behind still in their nomadic phase. 'Here I am living in a house of cedar, while the Ark of God is housed in a tent'. David wants to do something about the provision that has been made for God’s house, for the place of worship.
Nathan, like any good church minister, welcomes the prospect of this major donation –'Do whatever you have in mind, for the Lord is with you'. It sounds great. But has David got it right? David has got kingship right. He has taken the people to a good place. They are settled. They are prosperous. But we’re about to discover that he hasn’t got his theology right. Nor, of course, has the prophet.
But, before we go on to say just a little about that, let’s remind ourselves that we, too, sometimes need to be moved in an unexpected direction by God. There are times when we think we’ve got it all mapped out, but actually we’re working off the wrong map. It’s our one, not God’s.
But let’s get back to our story. Nathan has told David to get on with putting his plan into action – but now he has got to reverse his advice because God tells him that he needs to tell David something different. Indeed, he needs to tell him precisely the opposite. The donation is to be turned down. The point is, of course, a theological one, as well as a practical one. The tent, in which God has so far dwelled, is a symbol of mobility. It indicates that God is on the move. In essence, David wants to pin God down. David wants to make sure that God is always there for him.
Now I don’t actually think there is anything wrong with wanting to pin God down. It’s natural. We all want to do it. We want to know that God is there for us. We want to do that, just as much as David did. But we need to learn, just as David did, that you can’t. I am not, of course, saying that God isn’t there for us. Of course, God is. That is fundamental. But it is equally fundamental that God is not necessarily there for us in the way that we want.
David has settled down. Now he starts thinking about getting God settled down as well. Only God doesn’t do settling down. David wants to give God a permanent roof, to try and make sure God doesn’t wander any longer, to create a place for God that removes any need to be vagrant or itinerant. Only God is not – and never will be – ready to be domesticated. God has been free and God will continue to be free. Even a royal apparatus as great as that of David is not able to make God its patron. The proposed permanent residence for God is unacceptable because it violates God’s freedom. God cannot be pinned down. Most of us try to do that at some time or other – but it just doesn’t work.
Now, of course, all this doesn’t mean that God isn’t interested in David. It doesn’t mean that God isn’t there for David. But what it does mean is that it is God who is setting the agenda. It is not David who is doing that. We all quite like to think that we can set God’s agenda – but we can’t. But the great thing is that the very fact that we can’t opens up all sorts of possibilities. What’s going on here is not David being limited because he can’t get enough of God. Rather, David is to find himself fulfilling a potential beyond his dreams because of what God makes possible.
There’s an interesting little play on words in verse 11. David has wanted to build God a house, a temple. That’s not to be for David. The house-building is to be done by God. God will build for David a house, a dynasty. Up to this point David’s concern has simply been with gaining the support of God to enable him to engage in a successful reign of king. But now the promise is that that is only part of the story. His reign is the start of a dynasty. The promise of God, through the prophet, takes us on a great leap into the future.
In words from Ephesians, chapter 3, verse 20, 'God has done for David more than all we can ask or conceive'.
David is now a formidable force on the world scene. He is an established figure politically. As the latter part of 2 Samuel 7:1 puts it, 'the Lord had given him security from his enemies on all sides'. Things have gone well for David and he’s enjoying the prosperity. He’s enjoying the power. He is very happy with what he has achieved. It’s a settled period and roots are being put down.
David is doing quite nicely, but a pang of guilt suggests to him that perhaps he has not done too well by God. David is feeling a bit guilty that he has invested so much in his own comfort, but done nothing about the provision of an appropriate worship space.
The people have moved on – so that they are not now moving on all the time, but God, as it were, has apparently been left behind still in their nomadic phase. 'Here I am living in a house of cedar, while the Ark of God is housed in a tent'. David wants to do something about the provision that has been made for God’s house, for the place of worship.
Nathan, like any good church minister, welcomes the prospect of this major donation –'Do whatever you have in mind, for the Lord is with you'. It sounds great. But has David got it right? David has got kingship right. He has taken the people to a good place. They are settled. They are prosperous. But we’re about to discover that he hasn’t got his theology right. Nor, of course, has the prophet.
But, before we go on to say just a little about that, let’s remind ourselves that we, too, sometimes need to be moved in an unexpected direction by God. There are times when we think we’ve got it all mapped out, but actually we’re working off the wrong map. It’s our one, not God’s.
But let’s get back to our story. Nathan has told David to get on with putting his plan into action – but now he has got to reverse his advice because God tells him that he needs to tell David something different. Indeed, he needs to tell him precisely the opposite. The donation is to be turned down. The point is, of course, a theological one, as well as a practical one. The tent, in which God has so far dwelled, is a symbol of mobility. It indicates that God is on the move. In essence, David wants to pin God down. David wants to make sure that God is always there for him.
Now I don’t actually think there is anything wrong with wanting to pin God down. It’s natural. We all want to do it. We want to know that God is there for us. We want to do that, just as much as David did. But we need to learn, just as David did, that you can’t. I am not, of course, saying that God isn’t there for us. Of course, God is. That is fundamental. But it is equally fundamental that God is not necessarily there for us in the way that we want.
David has settled down. Now he starts thinking about getting God settled down as well. Only God doesn’t do settling down. David wants to give God a permanent roof, to try and make sure God doesn’t wander any longer, to create a place for God that removes any need to be vagrant or itinerant. Only God is not – and never will be – ready to be domesticated. God has been free and God will continue to be free. Even a royal apparatus as great as that of David is not able to make God its patron. The proposed permanent residence for God is unacceptable because it violates God’s freedom. God cannot be pinned down. Most of us try to do that at some time or other – but it just doesn’t work.
Now, of course, all this doesn’t mean that God isn’t interested in David. It doesn’t mean that God isn’t there for David. But what it does mean is that it is God who is setting the agenda. It is not David who is doing that. We all quite like to think that we can set God’s agenda – but we can’t. But the great thing is that the very fact that we can’t opens up all sorts of possibilities. What’s going on here is not David being limited because he can’t get enough of God. Rather, David is to find himself fulfilling a potential beyond his dreams because of what God makes possible.
There’s an interesting little play on words in verse 11. David has wanted to build God a house, a temple. That’s not to be for David. The house-building is to be done by God. God will build for David a house, a dynasty. Up to this point David’s concern has simply been with gaining the support of God to enable him to engage in a successful reign of king. But now the promise is that that is only part of the story. His reign is the start of a dynasty. The promise of God, through the prophet, takes us on a great leap into the future.
In words from Ephesians, chapter 3, verse 20, 'God has done for David more than all we can ask or conceive'.
Saturday, 27 June 2009
God Calls Moses - Exodus 3 and 4
The story of the call of Moses is in Exodus 3 and 4 – and there is quite a conversation between God and Moses. The first thing is that Moses’ attention is attracted. He notices a bush on fire, but not being burnt up. 3:3 – And Moses said to himself, ‘I must go across and see this remarkable sight. Why ever does the bush not burn away?’
I am not going to engage in any speculation as to an explanation of the physical phenomenon of an unconsumed burning bush. That is all very interesting, but not what I regard as the main point – which is, quite simply, God’s attracting Moses’ attention. God happens to have used something unusual, at least sufficiently unusual for it to do the job. There are endless ways in which God might attract our attention. It might be someone saying something. It might be something we read. It might be a spectacular experience of some sort. But the only thing that matters is that we allow our attention to be attracted.
The next thing is to notice is that God calls Moses by name.
It is fundamental to the Biblical understanding that God knows who we are and will call us by name. We matter to God – and God chooses to work in partnership with us.
Moses responds, ‘Here I am’ – though, as we will discover, that is all that he means. He’s there. He’s noticed that there is something strange going on. He is not saying: I am ready for action. He is not saying that he is willing to do whatever it is that God wants. But he has reached the starting line – and that’s important. It can be important for us too. Like Moses, as we see as we continue through the story, we might end up wanting to engage God in debate. We might even want to suggest that we’re not the right person. And, of course, God doesn’t want everyone to do everything. That would be unsustainable. But God has Moses’ attention. And presumably he has ours. Otherwise we wouldn’t even be here.
The next significant thing in this story for me is the verse 5 comment – the place you are standing on is holy ground. Places are important in the Bible. This is a special place. Now, of course, what makes it special is God’s presence. That’s why it is holy. God can be with us anywhere, of course. God can make anyone holy. But it is not unknown for us, even within our reformed tradition, to find some actual spaces spiritually helpful – Iona, Taizé and Holy Island spring to mind. But your holy place – the geographical location where God speaks to you – might be anywhere. The holiness comes not from any history or tradition, but from the presence of God.
Then, there’s the task. God explains to Moses what he has in mind for him – and we need to try and listen for God’s explanation as to what he might have in mind for us.
And, if we hear it, what are we going to do? Moses said ‘no’. 4:1 – but they will never believe me or listen to what I say. How often has that been said, or similar? But when and if we feel like that, and we will sometimes – we need to bear in mind what happens through the rest of chapter 4. There are two key things here.
One is that God gives Moses some resources. Now God probably isn’t going to give us the ability to do funny things with sticks, or to turn water into blood – and actually I am quite glad about that. But there are many and abundant ways in which God does resource us.
The other thing, which is more than a resource, is that God gives Moses a colleague. Verse 14 – Do you not have a brother, Aaron the Levite? He, I know, will do all the speaking. And God adds, he is already on his way to meet you, and he will be overjoyed when he sees you. God doesn’t expect us to do it all on our own – just to play our part.
I think Moses is quite helpful and quite challenging.
Here he is, in this situation in Midian because he has committed murder. Moses is an unlikely, reluctant candidate, needing resources and support, but, when God stops him in his tracks, despite all the avoidance techniques, his ultimate response is positive.
I am not going to engage in any speculation as to an explanation of the physical phenomenon of an unconsumed burning bush. That is all very interesting, but not what I regard as the main point – which is, quite simply, God’s attracting Moses’ attention. God happens to have used something unusual, at least sufficiently unusual for it to do the job. There are endless ways in which God might attract our attention. It might be someone saying something. It might be something we read. It might be a spectacular experience of some sort. But the only thing that matters is that we allow our attention to be attracted.
The next thing is to notice is that God calls Moses by name.
It is fundamental to the Biblical understanding that God knows who we are and will call us by name. We matter to God – and God chooses to work in partnership with us.
Moses responds, ‘Here I am’ – though, as we will discover, that is all that he means. He’s there. He’s noticed that there is something strange going on. He is not saying: I am ready for action. He is not saying that he is willing to do whatever it is that God wants. But he has reached the starting line – and that’s important. It can be important for us too. Like Moses, as we see as we continue through the story, we might end up wanting to engage God in debate. We might even want to suggest that we’re not the right person. And, of course, God doesn’t want everyone to do everything. That would be unsustainable. But God has Moses’ attention. And presumably he has ours. Otherwise we wouldn’t even be here.
The next significant thing in this story for me is the verse 5 comment – the place you are standing on is holy ground. Places are important in the Bible. This is a special place. Now, of course, what makes it special is God’s presence. That’s why it is holy. God can be with us anywhere, of course. God can make anyone holy. But it is not unknown for us, even within our reformed tradition, to find some actual spaces spiritually helpful – Iona, Taizé and Holy Island spring to mind. But your holy place – the geographical location where God speaks to you – might be anywhere. The holiness comes not from any history or tradition, but from the presence of God.
Then, there’s the task. God explains to Moses what he has in mind for him – and we need to try and listen for God’s explanation as to what he might have in mind for us.
And, if we hear it, what are we going to do? Moses said ‘no’. 4:1 – but they will never believe me or listen to what I say. How often has that been said, or similar? But when and if we feel like that, and we will sometimes – we need to bear in mind what happens through the rest of chapter 4. There are two key things here.
One is that God gives Moses some resources. Now God probably isn’t going to give us the ability to do funny things with sticks, or to turn water into blood – and actually I am quite glad about that. But there are many and abundant ways in which God does resource us.
The other thing, which is more than a resource, is that God gives Moses a colleague. Verse 14 – Do you not have a brother, Aaron the Levite? He, I know, will do all the speaking. And God adds, he is already on his way to meet you, and he will be overjoyed when he sees you. God doesn’t expect us to do it all on our own – just to play our part.
I think Moses is quite helpful and quite challenging.
Here he is, in this situation in Midian because he has committed murder. Moses is an unlikely, reluctant candidate, needing resources and support, but, when God stops him in his tracks, despite all the avoidance techniques, his ultimate response is positive.
Thursday, 25 June 2009
Shiphrah and Puah - extraordinary midwives - Exodus 1
(With thanks to Trevor Dennis who strongly inspired these thoughts!)
The little story of Shiphrah and Puah in Exodus 1 is an amazing little incident. Here are the Israelites in Egypt, long after the time of Joseph. You remember the Joseph story. He ended up in Egypt as Potiphar’s slave, having been sold off into slavery. Falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife, who was annoyed because he wouldn’t have an affair with her, he ended up in gaol, where he gained something of a reputation as a dream-interpreter. News got round and, when the Pharaoh had some strange dreams, Joseph got called upon. Cutting a long story short, he ended up as prime minister, overseeing the preparations for the famine that he had foretold.
And it was during that famine that his family, searching for food, ended up moving to and settling in Egypt. At that time the Egyptians were more than happy to welcome the family of the one who had saved them from starvation – and Joseph and his family were re-united. For the time being it was a happy-ever-after story.
But now we have moved on a considerable period. Joseph and his contribution to the Egyptian economy has long since been forgotten. All that’s bothering this Pharaoh is the increasing number of Israelites. He’s scared that one day they’ll plan an uprising – and take over. It’s actually not very likely. They’re kept in a pretty subservient position. But this Pharaoh’s not one for taking chances. He’s scared all these Israelite baby boys will grow up to be strapping soldiers.
And so he takes a pre-emptive strike. He calls in the midwives. Now, we perhaps have to say that this story, as we have it, is a mix of the plausible and the implausible. It seems unlikely that there would have been only two midwives, and so the two specified in this story symbolise all then carrying out this profession. It also seems unlikely that Pharaoh would have given a personal audience to them, no matter how concerned he was about this issue. Surely he would have instructed one of his minions. Another thing that’s not clear is whether these midwives worked just amongst the Israelites, or amongst the Egyptians as well. But none of these elements really matter. We need to remember that this account emerges from a story-telling society and should be seen as a story told, rather than a chronicled history.
But that, in no way, diminishes the truth, nor the impact of the story, which is packed with a powerful punch. Perhaps the first amazing thing in this story is that their names are recorded, Shiphrah and Puah. In the Bible women basically take a subservient role to men. That’s not the Bible’s fault. It’s reflective of the kind of society whose story is being told. But one of the things it does mean is that relatively few women are named. This is a tiny incident in the Biblical scheme of things. It only takes a very few verses. It’s quite remarkable that we’re given the names of these two women.
Anyhow, they are given the task of dealing with this problem. What they are to do is pretty horrific. They are to ensure that any baby boys don’t survive. Baby girls are O.K. Now, actually this probably wouldn’t have been quite as horrific to the original hearers of the story as it is to us. It would not be unknown to do that to a baby. The surprise would be getting rid of a boy.
So Shiphrah and Puah are sent off to do Pharaoh’s dirty work. But they don’t want to do it. It’s against God. It’s against what they are trained for. It’s against all their instincts. It’s against everything. And so, they don’t do it. But Pharaoh has his secret police out, and he gets to know that what he’s commanded is not happening. And so he summons the midwives again and asks them to explain themselves. And what they do effectively is – they tell him a joke. They tell Pharaoh that they can’t do this because, though they get there as fast as they can whenever they hear that one of the Israelite women is going to deliver, they are always too late. These Israelite women always have their babies so quickly than it’s done and dusted by the time we get there. It’s nonsense, of course. Every midwife would know that. Every woman would know that. But old Pharaoh is not too sure. He doesn’t know much about women having babies – and it sounds plausible. Also, he quite likes the idea that the Israelite women are different from the Egyptian women. That appeals to his racism. He accepts the story, and dismisses the midwives.
Pharaoh, of course, finds another way of dealing with the problem – but that’s not our concern here. What does concern us is the amazing faith and courage of Shiphrah and Puah. In an age when the Pharaoh was regarded as divine, they were prepared to defy him, with all the attendant risks, because they were convinced that the opposite was what ought to be. Their loyalty was to God and they do not back away from deceiving Pharaoh. Their story certainly challenges us about loyalty and commitment and risk and the whole question as to whether we are ready to do those things to which God calls us without counting the cost.
The little story of Shiphrah and Puah in Exodus 1 is an amazing little incident. Here are the Israelites in Egypt, long after the time of Joseph. You remember the Joseph story. He ended up in Egypt as Potiphar’s slave, having been sold off into slavery. Falsely accused by Potiphar’s wife, who was annoyed because he wouldn’t have an affair with her, he ended up in gaol, where he gained something of a reputation as a dream-interpreter. News got round and, when the Pharaoh had some strange dreams, Joseph got called upon. Cutting a long story short, he ended up as prime minister, overseeing the preparations for the famine that he had foretold.
And it was during that famine that his family, searching for food, ended up moving to and settling in Egypt. At that time the Egyptians were more than happy to welcome the family of the one who had saved them from starvation – and Joseph and his family were re-united. For the time being it was a happy-ever-after story.
But now we have moved on a considerable period. Joseph and his contribution to the Egyptian economy has long since been forgotten. All that’s bothering this Pharaoh is the increasing number of Israelites. He’s scared that one day they’ll plan an uprising – and take over. It’s actually not very likely. They’re kept in a pretty subservient position. But this Pharaoh’s not one for taking chances. He’s scared all these Israelite baby boys will grow up to be strapping soldiers.
And so he takes a pre-emptive strike. He calls in the midwives. Now, we perhaps have to say that this story, as we have it, is a mix of the plausible and the implausible. It seems unlikely that there would have been only two midwives, and so the two specified in this story symbolise all then carrying out this profession. It also seems unlikely that Pharaoh would have given a personal audience to them, no matter how concerned he was about this issue. Surely he would have instructed one of his minions. Another thing that’s not clear is whether these midwives worked just amongst the Israelites, or amongst the Egyptians as well. But none of these elements really matter. We need to remember that this account emerges from a story-telling society and should be seen as a story told, rather than a chronicled history.
But that, in no way, diminishes the truth, nor the impact of the story, which is packed with a powerful punch. Perhaps the first amazing thing in this story is that their names are recorded, Shiphrah and Puah. In the Bible women basically take a subservient role to men. That’s not the Bible’s fault. It’s reflective of the kind of society whose story is being told. But one of the things it does mean is that relatively few women are named. This is a tiny incident in the Biblical scheme of things. It only takes a very few verses. It’s quite remarkable that we’re given the names of these two women.
Anyhow, they are given the task of dealing with this problem. What they are to do is pretty horrific. They are to ensure that any baby boys don’t survive. Baby girls are O.K. Now, actually this probably wouldn’t have been quite as horrific to the original hearers of the story as it is to us. It would not be unknown to do that to a baby. The surprise would be getting rid of a boy.
So Shiphrah and Puah are sent off to do Pharaoh’s dirty work. But they don’t want to do it. It’s against God. It’s against what they are trained for. It’s against all their instincts. It’s against everything. And so, they don’t do it. But Pharaoh has his secret police out, and he gets to know that what he’s commanded is not happening. And so he summons the midwives again and asks them to explain themselves. And what they do effectively is – they tell him a joke. They tell Pharaoh that they can’t do this because, though they get there as fast as they can whenever they hear that one of the Israelite women is going to deliver, they are always too late. These Israelite women always have their babies so quickly than it’s done and dusted by the time we get there. It’s nonsense, of course. Every midwife would know that. Every woman would know that. But old Pharaoh is not too sure. He doesn’t know much about women having babies – and it sounds plausible. Also, he quite likes the idea that the Israelite women are different from the Egyptian women. That appeals to his racism. He accepts the story, and dismisses the midwives.
Pharaoh, of course, finds another way of dealing with the problem – but that’s not our concern here. What does concern us is the amazing faith and courage of Shiphrah and Puah. In an age when the Pharaoh was regarded as divine, they were prepared to defy him, with all the attendant risks, because they were convinced that the opposite was what ought to be. Their loyalty was to God and they do not back away from deceiving Pharaoh. Their story certainly challenges us about loyalty and commitment and risk and the whole question as to whether we are ready to do those things to which God calls us without counting the cost.
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