Great line

Reading student papers, I came up with a great line on the fly. It was in response to a bright student's suggestion that the student was not keen enough to grasp certain important issues:

"False humility winds up, in the end, being more false than humble."

The Fifth Sunday in Lent: Is That Light up ahead?

Jeremiah 31:31-34; Psalm 51:1-12 OR Psalm 119:9-16; Hebrews 5:5-10; John 12:20-33

I returned to my dark wood/light fading metaphor of Lent before checking out the lectionary passages for today. I have discovered the title couldn't be more apt. For the lectionary texts today (choosing either Psalm option) seem to signal a shift from darkness to light, from the coldness of night to the warmth of a dawning new day. Jeremiah's "new covenant" passage is justifiably famous in Christian circles, and even though I would quibble with a too-hasty Christologizing of this promise, reading it in the light of Christ is not prima facie abusive of the significance of the text. What gets us into problems is, once we see that a certain text may point forward to Christ, or that Christ may fill full the significance of a given text (and the emphasis is very important), then we assume that Christ is what the authors/editors/compilers of the text in question had in mind first, middle, and last.

Such an assertion is impossible, and indeed is the ultimate root not only of ignorance of the Old Testament but perhaps some anti-Semitic sentiment as well. (NOTE: I do not suggest that ALL anti-Semitism comes from hasty Christologizing of the Old Testament; such a suggestion would suffer from several logical fallacies: ad hominem, post hoc ergo propter hoc, equivocation, and probably many others). There is simply NO WAY that Isaiah of Jerusalem had Jesus in the manger in mind when he gave the promise to King Ahaz that is now enshrined in Isaiah 7:14 and Christmas cantatas from here to eternity. But, that does not mean that Matthew was mistaken or untoward in suggesting that Jesus' coming was like the baby promised so long ago: he will be called Immanuel, for he will save his people from their sins.

In one of my classes this week (the last week of the semester), I believe Old Testament Theology, we were discussing this very point, or at least a similar one. It is one of my maxims that the NT can say it fulfilled the OT, but that in no way exhausts the signficance of the OT. This is a very important point, but it should also not imprison us the other way either. There is nothing to say that there could not be more events to which the prophecies of the OT could be reasonably applied (what the NT means by "fulfillment"). Thus, in the present economic crisis, the word of Jeremiah could be that a new day is coming, in which Yahweh will enter into a new covenant with his people, even though they broke the old one through casual misuse of their financial futures to have the latest gadget or maintain their profit margin on the backs of the poor. This is a word that can be spoken to us. And it is one to which we should listen.

The significance of Psalm 51 and its penitential wailing for the season of Lent should be easy to see, so I'll pass it by without comment. Psalm 119, however, seems to strike a similar chord to Jeremiah 31. In inquiring after how young people can keep their ways pure, this Psalm in some way hits on the theme that the young people do, indeed, have an opportunity to live better than their parents. In the old style capitalist mindset, "young people living better than their parents" meant that they were more wealthy, more secure, more gadgets, more cars, bigger houses, more this, bigger that, more the other thing. And we sacrificed our futures to get it, so now those chickens have come home to roost. The vision of Psalm 119, however, seems to be different--young people living better than their parents is not getting more and keeping more and having more and wanting more--but keeping fast to the law of God, which throughout the OT always has a concern for building up treasure where moth and rust do not destroy, to borrow a NT phrase.

The Hebrews and John passages speak to a similar theme. The sermon of Hebrews suggests that Jesus has brought about a new way of living, by being designated as high priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek. I haven't any idea what this is supposed to mean, other than to dive into the etymology of Melchizedek and say it means "the king of righteousness." And the lyrical statements of Jesus in John 12, namely that the king of righteousness must die in order to produce life in his disciples is very poignant in this time of economic struggle. Something in our world is dying, or was already dead but we didn't notice the smell of the rotting corpse until just a few months ago. And although the death of Jesus was ultimately a happy thing in that it brought about the victory over sin and death, it was still a very painful thing for him and for those who followed him and witnessed it. And ran away. Would that we not run away in the sight of the death of the old way of doing things in our world, but instead construct a brighter future, entering into a new covenant with God. Amen.

The Fourth Sunday in Lent: Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21

This is yet another of those times when the connection between the various lectionary texts is rather easy to make. The Numbers and John passages make reference to the same event: Yahweh sending poisonous snakes to attack rebellious Israelites, then Moses setting up an image of a snake that people would just look toward and be healed. This is now enshrined in the hymn, "Look and Live:

"Look and live, my brother live!
Look to Jesus now and live!
'Tis recorded in his word, hallelujah!
It is only that you look and live!

Later on, this snake image that Moses is to have set up in the wilderness--and never mind the Second Commandment implications--was removed as part of King Hezekiah's reform efforts. But Jesus uses the image--or John's Jesus uses the image, or John suggests that Jesus might have used the image, or the Johannine community had the theological framework in which Jesus might or might not have used such an image (I'm gonna bang my head against the wall)--as an analogy to what is going to happen to himself soon enough. He is the ultimate thing to be lifted up at God's command for the salvation of humanity.

The Psalms and Ephesians texts also seem to move in the same circles. This is not at all to suggest--as if anyone would think that I would suggest such a thing--that whoever wrote the Ephesians passage had the Psalm text in mind, but it is interesting when things written from a vastly different perspective and several thousands of years apart hit on the same theme independently. Both talk about having moved out of a previous sinful existence and having gone on to a new way. Even though we were "rich" in trespasses, God was richer in mercy and poured out that mercy upon us.

You know what? I don't think there's anything more to be said about that. Amen.

A Paper of Brilliance

Last night I read a really great student paper. Like usual, it needs a fair amount of tweaking to make it spectacular, but it employed a creative strategy that flooded light into the drudgery of grading.

First, a note on "drudgery of grading:" I would much rather check the fourteen zillion papers I have in the file folder over here to my left and in various folders on the harddrive than be withering to death in a bank window, but that doesn't mean that grading is not often boring work.

Second, I will not reveal any details of the paper: the author, the course, the creative strategy that got me so happy. The student will know the results soon enough, and it is up to the student (even avoiding gendered pronouns here) if the student wants to do anything further with the paper. I offered the student assistance in shaping the paper up for publication, but I am leaving the decision up to the student as to what the student wants to do with it.

Reading this paper energized me for the reading of the rest of the slush pile. And for that I am thankful.

The Third Sunday in Lent: Halfway through a Dark Wood

I didn't post a Christian year reflection last week, principally because I spent the Second Sunday in Lent and the Monday following in airplanes and airports making my way back from Nashville to Manila. Along the way I lost about 12 hours in an instant as my plane to Tokyo crossed the International Date Line. I suppose this was fair since I had been given the opportunity to live February 28 twice. But I digress.

Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 1:18-25; John 2:13-22

The Sundays in Lent "don't count." That is, the 40 days of Lent are meant as a kind of sorrowful preparation for the deep anguish of Holy Week and the amazing triumph of Easter. But Sunday is the weekly celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus. This weekly remembrance, weekly reliving (what the earliest Christians called anamnesis) of God's ultimate victory over sin's ultimate weapon, trumps everything else that might go on on a particular day. So when the day of a Saint or some other feast happens to fall on a Sunday, it is usually transferred to the following Monday in order to compensate. In a sense, then, all of Lent's somberness is transferred to the weekdays, in order to compensate for the fact that we cannot fast while the bridegroom is with us (Mk 2:19); and when is the bridegroom with us if not when the community of faith gathers together to celebrate the Resurrection?

All of that was said to say this: we are almost halfway through the dark wood of Lent. Yesterday, Saturday, was the 16th day of Lent. We will actually pass the halfway point next Thursday, the 20th day. But as we look forward throughout this entire season to the ultimate victory over the ultimate problem humans and the world face, we can also look forward to the halfway mark, because it will have been in our grasp and gone back out of it by the time we get to the next day that doesn't count for Lent because it counts for so much more. The following is the text of a sermon I once had prepared to preach at a Lenten service. As I recall, something got in the way and i was unable to deliver it, but the sentiment is still powerful. NOTE: The sermon makes reference to Isaiah 49:8-15, which is the Old Testament lesson for the Wednesday after the Fourth Sunday in Lent in Year C.

In J. R. R. Tolkien’s novel The Hobbit, the party going off to confront the Dragon has eventually to go through a dark forest called Mirkwood. A guide tells them that

“Your way through Mirkwood is dark, dangerous, and difficult.” By and by, they come to the edge of the forest, only then to discover that the wizard Gandalf is not to accompany them through the dark wood.

They despair at this news, but Gandalf says, “We may meet again before it is all over, and then of course we may not. That depends on your luck and on your courage and sense.” After a few minutes more of conversation, Gandalf rides away, and the party hears his voice from afar: “Good-bye! Be good, take care of yourselves—and DON’T LEAVE THE PATH!”

The unlikely hero, Bilbo Baggins, wanted to know if there was some other way to get where they were going without having to go through the dark wood. He is told, no, this is not possible, because they would have to go many, many miles out of the way, and even then they would not have a journey free from peril. And so they proceed together into the dark wood, on to the adventures and the dangers that await them.

We’ve been going through a dark wood, after a fashion, for just under three weeks now. It is a dark, dangerous and difficult time. Yesterday was the sixteenth day in Lent, not counting Sundays, so we’re short of halfway through the dark wood. Things are about to turn in our favor, but they haven't quite yet. Sometimes I feel like Bilbo Baggins, wondering if there is any way to get to the goal of our journey without having to go through the dark wood of Lent. But there really isn’t another way, and in any case it’s not a very safe road. The world we live in is not a very safe one, not a very happy one, and in the end we all will face the same fate. And we all must stay on the path. For if we get off the path, then we will be lost.

This Old Testament Lesson is the Word of the Lord for people who are halfway through a dark wood. The Second Isaiah, as it is called, is written to a group of people who are seeing things about to turn in their favor, but they haven’t quite yet. The Babylonian Empire was in decline, and the people from whom the Empire had taken their land could not have been happier. The prophet, seeing the events unfolding on the stage of world politics, testified that the God of Judah was in control of all world history, so that great nations and kingdoms would rise and fall at God’s command. Even if the nations and kingdoms thought that it was by their own might that they had the success they enjoyed, the prophet has a much different view. In this way, the people of God could rejoice in God’s faithfulness and could resist the power of the colonizers. At the beginning of the Exile, they were understandably sad, they were despairing, because their sinfulness had brought them to the edge of a dark wood, and they felt that God had abandoned them. It was a dark, dangerous and difficult time. Really, God hadn’t abandoned them, but instead forced them to go through this experience because he wanted to reestablish a relationship with them. This relationship could not be reestablished until they had gone through the dark wood of having their lives uprooted and their inheritance taken away. When they no longer could depend on the promises of old, when they had to rely on their luck and their courage, they had gotten to the point where they could journey back toward wholeness. While they might have wished that things could have been restored, and they could have gotten on in their journey as the people of God without having to go through the dark wood of Exile, really there was no other way. They had to stay on the path.

The Persian Empire, maneuvering to take control of the ancient near East at the time Second Isaiah was written, you see, had a much different way of dealing with captive and subjugated peoples than did their predecessors. The Babylonians moved their subjects away from their homelands in order to sever the ties between people and land, so as to keep rebellion down to a minimum—because, they thought, people will always fight harder to defend their own turf. The Persians, on the other hand, sought to create loyalty by moving subjugated peoples back to their homelands, and Judah (now called Yehud, but that’s another matter) was no exception. The prophet and the people to whom he preached expected this to happen not too far into the future, but it hadn’t happened yet. They were halfway through the dark wood, but only halfway. It was a dark, dangerous and difficult time. If they only stayed on the path, they would come through the Exile, be allowed to return to their land, and once again enjoy the benefits of a relationship with God.

And so we, too, are called to go through the dark wood, the dark wood of Lent. We know the end of the story. We know that Bilbo Baggins is ultimately successful in defeating the Dragon, we know that the people of Yehud did come back to their land, we know that Easter is just a few short weeks away. But we are still only halfway through the dark wood.

We might wish there were another way to get through to the goal of our journey, triumphant Easter Sunday and the death of death. But there is no other way. Even in the dark, dangerous and difficult time of Lent, things will begin to turn. In a couple of weeks we will again hear Jesus’ prayer in the Garden, wondering if it were possible to get to the end of his journey without going through the dark wood, which in his case was the dark wood of the Cross. Things are about to turn in our favor, and we are about to see the goodness of God once again in our lives. That is, we may meet with God again, depending not so much on our luck as on our courage and sense and faithfulness.

We will meet with God again. If only we stay on the path. Amen.

Reading List--February 2009

1. Alexander Heidel, The Babylonian Genesis (42 of 153 pages)
2. William H. Willimon, Word, Water, Wine and Bread: How Worship Has Changed over the Years
3. H. Grady Davis, Design for Preaching
4. Ernst Troeltsch, Protestantism and Progress: The Significance of Protestantism for the Rise of the Modern World
5. Philip R. Davies and John Rogerson, The Old Testament World (2nd ed.; 129 of 245 pages)

Maybe someday I'll add comments about these books, but I doubt it.

First Sunday in Lent: The Light is Fading Fast

Genesis 9:8-17; Psalm 25:1-10;1 Peter 3:18-22; Mark 1:9-15

The light is fading fast. I really do not like the Season of Lent. I understand why it is there: to prepare for Holy Week and Easter through a season of penitence. But even though I am generally a very introspective person by nature, I do not like the window that Lent not only throws open on my soul but forces me to look into. I don't want to see that, generally. White-washed tomb and all that. I think it is very interesting that the Old Testament lesson is the reestablishment of the covenant between God and the world after the flood. This is sort of a "this is how the world is" moment, as opposed to the "this is how the world used to be" moment of the history leading up to the flood. In the book of Genesis there is one more story in the "this is how the world used to be" sort of moment: the tower of Babel with its common language and common ambition for humanity, neither of which were the case either at the time of the authors nor at the present time.

The new covenant between God and the world established after the flood includes the provision that God will never again destroy the world by water. This is perhaps a reflection of the ancient motif from other flood stories that the gods became disturbed at their own destructive potential, but I'll leave that point aside for now. After Noah makes his sacrifice, God's wrath is appeased, and the relationship is reestablished. That is often how it works, even if it is present fashion to want to downplay notions of God's wrath in favor of God's mercy and care for creation. Especially coming off my recent experience at the environmental responsibility conference, I would tend in this direction as well. God does in fact care for creation, even if God was willing to destroy creation through water because of the sinfulness of humanity. That in itself says something.

But our texts also include Psalm 25, one of the great hymns of trusting in God in the face of many enemies. While this was not the case for Noah, since he and his family were the only humans and so there were not any enemies, soon enough sin and judgment entered back into the world. But for the singer of Psalm 25, trust is cast upon God in the hopes that God will honor that trust and not put the worshiper to shame. The Psalmist also calls God to remember the promises that were given before. Could these promises that God is called to remember include the promise not to destroy the earth by water again? It is certainly possible, for this is indeed a promise of God.

The passage from 1 Peter indicates something similar, specifically from a Christian standpoint. The judgment has come, just like it did with Noah. The judgment that should have been laid on humanity was instead laid upon Jesus. Nevermind the substitutionary atonement potential in this statement; the point is rather that God has hung his war bow up in the sky. God does not desire that anyone should perish, but that all should come to repentance. That is the essence of the Gospel. That is what it really means when Jesus was baptized, and when the Spirit of God descended upon him with God's judgment that he was the beloved. Even the beloved was sacrificed so that there could be redemption. And even the beloved world was sacrificed so that there could be a renewed relationship between God, humanity, and creation. We pray only that God will not remember our previous sins against us, and the ultimate promise of the Gospel is that God forgets. We are now fully into the swing of the dark wood of Lent. And the light from the meadow now has failed. In spite of the wonderful potential that inheres in the willingness of God to forgive even after his punishment and judgment are meted out, still we have to go through the punishment, through the scourging. And even if we do not like what we see when we are forced to look into the darkness of our souls by the window thrown open by Lent, we stay on the path, praying that God will remember us even as he forgets out sin. Amen.